"Can I get you something to drink?" I said, to the young mom and son sitting in1E and1F. She turned to her 10 year- old and lifted his headphone enough so that he could hear. "What do you want to drink?" "Coke", he said. His eyes remained glued to his PSP. She turned to me and politely relayed the information. "Tell your f@#$ing little punk as kid to pause his game, take off his Skull Candy headphones, look me in the eye and tell 'me' what he'd like to drink", I thought to myself, "or maybe he shouldn't get anything at all!"
I wanted to blame it on their "Orange County Allstar" appearance. The Mom was in a Juicy Couture sweat suit, the dad in baggy chinos, surf hoodie (which I'm sure was concealing several tribal band tats) and over-sized Globe skate shoes, and the son was a mini-version of dad, minus the tats I'd hoped. Both mom and dad were very polite, made eye contact and seemed appreciative to be sitting in First Class, so appearance had nothing to do with this. It must be that whole "treat your kids like your little buddy" style of parenting... "Enablers", I thought.
Parenting isn't easy, especially when it comes to discipline. Who wants to discipline their kids, I mean come on, what a drag. Nothing fun about discipline, and you certainly can't be cool, at least in your kids eyes, if you set them straight. It's better to get 'em a PSP and keep 'em occupied so that we can do our grown up stuff.
It's really not surprising to me that so many people are outraged when the president uses simple manners and diplomacy when dealing with other countries of the world. I mean, God forbid we show a little respect to our neighbors through good ole fashioned manners, let alone being ever so slightly empathetic to how their cultural lens might affect their own world view.
It now seems to be the exception rather than the rule when not only children, but adults actually say "please" and "thank you" anymore, at least in this country. We have so much to be thankful for, yet we as a country have become jaded, bloated and gluntinous to an extent. We are used to plopping down a credit card and living beyond our means and/or needs. Well, except for a few freegans out there.
Thank You and Happy Holidays...
(wait, I mean Merry Christmas... don't want to offend any real Americans reading this, because of course real Americans celebrate Christmas and not any of those other stupid holidays and we specifically say "Merry Christmas", not "Happy Holidays.") (for those of you who aren't real Americans and celebrate Hannukah and Kwanzaa and other stuff, remember that America is the great melting pot and we celebrate diversity and please ignore what I said in the last parenthetical.)
Jason
Friday, December 18, 2009
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Willie Nelson Plays Dodgeball
I was in the midst of my 3 o'clock massage with Heather when my phone vibrated. Heather grabbed the phone for me and relayed the message. It was from Erika and it said, "Call me when you get out of massage. btw... do you like Willw Nelson" Heather handed me the phone and I replied, " Yes. & just finished. Call u in a few min." What an odd question. Heather and I wondered what the hell Erika was up to.
When I rang Erika, she explained how she herself had received a text from a friend she hadn't seen in about two years. His text asked if she'd like to see Willie Nelson in concert. She texted back a "yes" reply and he responded with instructions to go to will call and tell them she's with the dodge ball people. Her friend she told me, is a professional dodge ball player. I'll say it again, he's a... professional... dodge ball... player! We arrived at Club Nokia and did as we were instructed. "Uh, we're on the dodge ball list", Erika said straight-faced to the girl behind the counter. Erika signed her name to the list, then the girl promptly handed Erika two tickets. "That was way too easy", I thought to myself.
We entered just in time to catch the opening act, Asleep at the Wheel take the stage. I felt like we just walked in on Bob Wills at the Grand Ole Opry in his hay day. We scanned the scene for potential Dodge-ballers. Except for Dean, who we had met in line and immediately (Erika) called out as a dodge-baller, Erika said she didn't see anyone she recognized. Apparently Dean had received the same surreptitious text and was just as in the dark as we were. I was immediately suspicious of him. I thought for a moment, "could there be something more to all this", and "who the fuck are these dodge-ballers?" Maybe we didn't dress properly and were considered pariahs amongst their clan. I saw guys dressed like droogs from a Clockwork Orange. I saw guys with porn-staches and Corinthian Leather jackets drinking single malt. I'm sure those guys were in on it. I saw retro-hip- juke-joint-sick boys and girls with cowboy hats. Maybe everyone at the show was an incognito dodge-baller. Oh my god, Willie fucking Nelson plays dodge-ball. He's one of them. His son, Lucas too. At one point when Willie was playing with Asleep at the Wheel, each member showed their chops on their respective instruments. During the pianists' solo, he threw in a couple bars from Rhapsody in Blue. Was that an under the radar nod from the band. Erika and I both work for United. Hmmm. Maybe this was some sort of initiation.
At the end of an amazing show, we made our way back up to the VIP lounge. Uh, yeah, we got VIP wristbands because we were with the dodge-ballers. I know you think that the VIP wristband thing blasts a huge hole in my "everyone is a dodge-baller" theory, but think again. When we were on the elevator, we packed in and all showed our wrist bands to the attendant. There were however two girls who didn't have wristbands, hell they didn't need them. The attendant asked where their wrist bands were and the the brunette said, "They're upstairs. We're going to meet our friends and they have them." Yeah, right. The attendant sent them on their way as if they weren't the droids he was looking for... They had to be dodge-ballers to pull that one off with such skills. Then, we were supposed to meet Erika's friend, the guy who was responsible for all of this. He was supposedly just downstairs taking care of his tab. We know this because Erika saw his "brother", and he said so. Well, do you think he actually materialized? Robin Masters? Charlie? "This is weird", I thought to myself. Oh, and I forgot to mention that when we were going into the show we saw Johnny Knoxville. Based on the definition of dodge ball (from the Urban Dictionary) I guarantee on all that's holy that Johnny Knoxville is a dodge-baller...
Dodge ball:
A great game that quickly separates the strong from the weak, the boys from the girls, and the normal from the pussies.
The sole reason for showing up to elementary school gym class.
C'mon, kids! Let's get in some dodge ball before the liberal commie fags at the school board make us stop and hug each other for gym class.
Anyway, after last night I get the feeling that dodge ball is about to soon take over the world! I may not get to play against Willie and friends, but I'm gonna check it out, soon. That is if we our initiation was successful. I'm hoping to get a text any day now.
When I rang Erika, she explained how she herself had received a text from a friend she hadn't seen in about two years. His text asked if she'd like to see Willie Nelson in concert. She texted back a "yes" reply and he responded with instructions to go to will call and tell them she's with the dodge ball people. Her friend she told me, is a professional dodge ball player. I'll say it again, he's a... professional... dodge ball... player! We arrived at Club Nokia and did as we were instructed. "Uh, we're on the dodge ball list", Erika said straight-faced to the girl behind the counter. Erika signed her name to the list, then the girl promptly handed Erika two tickets. "That was way too easy", I thought to myself.
We entered just in time to catch the opening act, Asleep at the Wheel take the stage. I felt like we just walked in on Bob Wills at the Grand Ole Opry in his hay day. We scanned the scene for potential Dodge-ballers. Except for Dean, who we had met in line and immediately (Erika) called out as a dodge-baller, Erika said she didn't see anyone she recognized. Apparently Dean had received the same surreptitious text and was just as in the dark as we were. I was immediately suspicious of him. I thought for a moment, "could there be something more to all this", and "who the fuck are these dodge-ballers?" Maybe we didn't dress properly and were considered pariahs amongst their clan. I saw guys dressed like droogs from a Clockwork Orange. I saw guys with porn-staches and Corinthian Leather jackets drinking single malt. I'm sure those guys were in on it. I saw retro-hip- juke-joint-sick boys and girls with cowboy hats. Maybe everyone at the show was an incognito dodge-baller. Oh my god, Willie fucking Nelson plays dodge-ball. He's one of them. His son, Lucas too. At one point when Willie was playing with Asleep at the Wheel, each member showed their chops on their respective instruments. During the pianists' solo, he threw in a couple bars from Rhapsody in Blue. Was that an under the radar nod from the band. Erika and I both work for United. Hmmm. Maybe this was some sort of initiation.
At the end of an amazing show, we made our way back up to the VIP lounge. Uh, yeah, we got VIP wristbands because we were with the dodge-ballers. I know you think that the VIP wristband thing blasts a huge hole in my "everyone is a dodge-baller" theory, but think again. When we were on the elevator, we packed in and all showed our wrist bands to the attendant. There were however two girls who didn't have wristbands, hell they didn't need them. The attendant asked where their wrist bands were and the the brunette said, "They're upstairs. We're going to meet our friends and they have them." Yeah, right. The attendant sent them on their way as if they weren't the droids he was looking for... They had to be dodge-ballers to pull that one off with such skills. Then, we were supposed to meet Erika's friend, the guy who was responsible for all of this. He was supposedly just downstairs taking care of his tab. We know this because Erika saw his "brother", and he said so. Well, do you think he actually materialized? Robin Masters? Charlie? "This is weird", I thought to myself. Oh, and I forgot to mention that when we were going into the show we saw Johnny Knoxville. Based on the definition of dodge ball (from the Urban Dictionary) I guarantee on all that's holy that Johnny Knoxville is a dodge-baller...
Dodge ball:
A great game that quickly separates the strong from the weak, the boys from the girls, and the normal from the pussies.
The sole reason for showing up to elementary school gym class.
C'mon, kids! Let's get in some dodge ball before the liberal commie fags at the school board make us stop and hug each other for gym class.
Anyway, after last night I get the feeling that dodge ball is about to soon take over the world! I may not get to play against Willie and friends, but I'm gonna check it out, soon. That is if we our initiation was successful. I'm hoping to get a text any day now.
Monday, December 7, 2009
Surfing Puerto Rico (Hurricane Erika) 1997
Wrote this for a Dos Equis contest
CHASING ERIKA
We’d flown to Puerto Rico from San Diego on a whim. I laughed off all those “waitress in the sky” jokes I’d heard since becoming a flight attendant and paddled out into the 8-10ft. hurricane surf. It was breaking perfectly making the 1 mile paddle worthwhile.
We surfed for several hours catching the rides of our lives, until our arms had nothing left to give. We began to worry when the 2 boats that had been anchored in the channel had gone in, each of them full of surfers. We hadn’t seen one fishing boat all day and our hopes of catching a ride dimmed like the setting sun. We would have to paddle.
The ebbing tide and the offshore winds fought us the whole way in, and the thought of big fish with big teeth was on our minds. It was a long, long paddle. At times I was very concerned about making it to the beach. On flight home I sank back in my seat and hummed the Replacements song “Waitress in the Sky” and fantasized about my next adventure.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Hurricane_Erika_1997.gif
CHASING ERIKA
We’d flown to Puerto Rico from San Diego on a whim. I laughed off all those “waitress in the sky” jokes I’d heard since becoming a flight attendant and paddled out into the 8-10ft. hurricane surf. It was breaking perfectly making the 1 mile paddle worthwhile.
We surfed for several hours catching the rides of our lives, until our arms had nothing left to give. We began to worry when the 2 boats that had been anchored in the channel had gone in, each of them full of surfers. We hadn’t seen one fishing boat all day and our hopes of catching a ride dimmed like the setting sun. We would have to paddle.
The ebbing tide and the offshore winds fought us the whole way in, and the thought of big fish with big teeth was on our minds. It was a long, long paddle. At times I was very concerned about making it to the beach. On flight home I sank back in my seat and hummed the Replacements song “Waitress in the Sky” and fantasized about my next adventure.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Hurricane_Erika_1997.gif
Push Present Poem (for birth of Millaa)
Our Lives lived now yet lived before
Through the intertwining of Two Souls...
And come to pass now unto Thee
Two Souls become not two but Three!
And so God breathes a “beautiful breath of New Life,” to make a man a father; and a mother of his loving wife...
Through the intertwining of Two Souls...
And come to pass now unto Thee
Two Souls become not two but Three!
And so God breathes a “beautiful breath of New Life,” to make a man a father; and a mother of his loving wife...
Sunday, December 6, 2009
Hey Dude Where's Chato (The animated surfari adventures of Dude and Chato)
This is a series my good friend Dimitri and I developed. Eventually I hope to post the characters he drew, they're fantastic. It's kind of fun, enjoy!
ps- Sorry about the format, not sure how to make Final Draft work in this blog.
CUT TO:
EXT. MC SPOCK’S RESTAURANT
DUDE and CHATO have just jumped out of the Surfari 9000 Space Van and are walking towards the entrance. There are all kinds of tough looking biker types hanging out.
DUDE
OK Chato, we’re just getting food and fuel and then we’re outa here. This place creeps me out.
CHATO
Yeah and there’s no surf here either. It’s been three days since we’ve caught some waves. I can’t take it.
Chato’s attention quickly turns to two Farley 123 space hogs parked in front. He’s enamored by them.
CHATO (CONT’D)
Hello my little friend.
He sees that the coast is clear, and jumps up on one of the bikes.
DUDE
Hey man, that’s a really bad idea!
Chato is already in his own little world and doesn’t hear a word Dude is saying.
DAYDREAM:
EXT. SPACE
Chato is flying through space riding the Farley 123 space hog.
CHATO
Whooohooo!
He does a fly by through a Mc Spock’s space station and waves at some girls and then starts showing off for the crowd that has gathered. He starts riding the bike like it’s a surfboard. He does hand stands, etc... Because he’s showing off, he doesn’t see the big space RV pulling out in front of him. By the time he sees it it’s too late and in an effort to avert the RV, he wipes out. Then we hear loud crashing and we see stars. Then Chato snaps back to reality.
END DAYDREAM
EXT. MC SPOCKS BURGER RESTAURANT - DAY
Chato is dressed in his normal clothes sitting in the seat of a space bike that’s parked in front of Mr. Mc Spocks restaurant, jumping up and down on the seat. In the excitement of his imaginary flight, he has caused the bike next to him fall over. There is a cloud of dust and Chato cringes knowing that there’s going to be some serious damage. When the dust settles however, there’s no damage at all to the bike. In fact, it even sparkles. Chato looks relieved.
CHATO
Man that was a close one.
He shrugs his shoulders and turns to walk into the Mc Spock’s thinking he got away with one. At that moment, we see a hand come from behind him and firmly grab his shoulder. The hand has skull rings on each finger and there’s a spiked band on the wrist. Chato turns expecting to find a huge scary biker, but laughs it off when he sees the little guy before him.
CHATO
Buzz off amigo, I’m trying to eat my lunch.
Laughing, Chato turns to Dude.
CHATO (CONT’D)
Can you believe this guy, Dude?
SPACE BIKER
(in a refined voice)
I am not your amigo and furthermore you are liable for the damages done to my space bike. You’ll be hearing from my attorney promptly.
He snaps his fingers and an ATTORNEY appears from nowhere and issues Chato papers saying that if he doesn’t pay for the damages he’ll have to do ten years hard time.
Close up: Papers
CHATO
Damages? What Damages?
Then we hear the creaking of one of the bike’s mirrors as it falls to the ground and shatters. Chato gasps in horror.
DUDE
I told you it was a bad idea.
SPACE BIKER #2 steps in and nudges Space Biker #1 on the arm.
SPACE BIKER#2
(Whispering)
Hey Bernie, remember what I said about playing the part. That’s what these weekend rallies are all about.
SPACE BIKER
Of course Frederick.
(Tough guy voice)
Listen, I ain’t your amigo. You’re gonna have to pay for that mirror, or you’re really gonna pay.
MONTAGE:
INT. PRISON
We see Chato working on the chain gang. Eating awful looking food. And shivering in a cold dark cell. All in view a beach with people surfing and having fun.
END MONTAGE
Chato looks destitute.
CLOSE UP: Chato pulls his pockets out and there’s a family of cockroaches in one pocket with a for sale sign on there house.
He looks at the Space Bikers with a fearful look on his face and starts crying.
CHATO
I ain’t got no money.
Dude taps Chato on the shoulder.
DUDE
Hey man, why don’t you surf in the contest.
Chato looks shocked.
CHATO
Surf contest? I didn’t even know there was an ocean on this planet!
Dude points to a spaceship overhead that’s pulling a banner which reads: “Intergalactic Surfing Championships - Today”. What they don’t see is the part of the banner that’s folded over, which says, “Space Donkey Intergalactic Surfing Championships-Today.”
Chato speaks as if he came up with the idea.
CHATO
Wait a minute, I can surf in the contest and after I win I can pay for the mirror with the prize money.
Dude gives him a look.
DUDE
Yeah, and we’ll have gas money too, so we can continue on our search for perfect waves.
EXT. BEACH - DAY
Dude and Chato pull up to the beach. There’s a huge crowd gathered, and various creatures with surfboards.
Chato walks down the beach and sees the sign saying “Space Donkey Intergalactic Surfing Championship.” He gets a nervous look on his face and turns to leave, but the Space Bikers are right behind him.
DUDE
Not space donkeys! They smelly and loathsome, and viscious and rude and, did I mention smelly?
CHATO
I can’t stand space donkeys!!! Space donkeys are the lowest forms of life in the galaxy!
SPACE BIKER
(refined voice)
Well, it appears you’ve come to a bit of a crux my friend.
SPACE BIKER#2
Ahem...
SPACE BIKER
(tough guy voice)
I mean, it looks like it’s the big house for you!
Chato looks at Dude.
CHATO
Dude, are you thinking what I’m thinking?
DUDE
That Jamie Lynn Spears is da bomb man!
CLOSE UP: Chato’s face.
CHATO
The wheel is rusted and the hamster has died ladies and gentlemen...
Chato shakes his head.
CHATO
No Dude... that I need to figure out a way to surf in the contest and I think I’ve got it.
Chato runs into the bushes. We see a bunch of commotion and then he springs back out looking like one of the space donkeys.
CHATO
Not bad eh?
DUDE
Whoa, you look just like my old girlfriend Shirley.
Dude pulls out a photo from his wallet and shows them. She looks a lot like Chato does in his space donkey get up.
DUDE (CONT’D)
She had the prettiest smile.
The Space Biker and his friend look confounded.
SPACE BIKER
(whispering)
You know the weekend isn’t over yet. I can call Hal and have him book us a tee time over at Bushwood.
SPACE BIKER#2
(whispering)
Get it together Bernie. This role playing relates directly to your skills as an effective leader down at the office. Besides, I think they’re really scared of us.
SPACE BIKER
I suppose you’re right Freddie.
He turns towards Chato and gets in his face.
SPACE BIKER
(tough guy voice)
I don’t care what you do, just get me my money!
CHATO
Easy Fonzy. I’m going to surf circles around these donkeys!
DUDE
Hey man, isn’t that Donkey Darko over there?
Walking down the beach with board in hand, is DONKEY DARKO.
Chato freezes and his confident smirk turns to a look of fear.
CHATO
Holy chiquita banana, not Donkey Darko!
ANNOUNCER
Welcome to the Space Donkey Intergalactic Surfing Championships! It’s a great day, with perfect waves!
The announcer sounds the horn, beginning the heat.
EXT. WATER
Chato begins paddling out next to Donkey Darko. He’s got a big obnoxious smile on his face.
DONKEY DARKO
Do I know you?
CHATO
No, I don’t think so.
DONKEY DARKO
Oh well then you probably need a quick briefing on the rules. Rule number one. Don’t get in my way!
A long beat.
CHATO
What’s rule number two?
DONKEY DARKO
You look like a slow learner. Why don’t you just stick with rule number one for now.
CHATO
Ay chihuahua. How do I get myself into these messes?
Montage:
We see Chato Drop into a wave and Donkey Darko comes flying by and sprays him and he gets pitched over the falls. Donkey Darko knocks all the other space donkeys from their waves too and wins the heat.
EXT. BEACH - LATER
ANNOUNCER (OVER P.A.)
After a long day of surfing, we’ve narrowed the field to two competitors.
Dude and the Space Bikers walk up to Chato.
DUDE
He’s making you look like a dufus out there.
SPACE BIKER
Yeah, your friend’s right, he’s shredding all over you. You better get it together or you’re dead meat!
CHATO
(to himself)
There’s no way I’m going to the slammer!
ANNOUNCER (OVER P.A.)
We need the two finalists to report to the beach please.
Chato and Donkey Darko are standing on the beach side by side.
DONKEY DARKO
Prepare to get squashed!
CHATO
Ay chihuahua, what am I gonna do?
From nowhere appears a small yet mystical man. MR. MIAGO
MR. MIAGO
Come with me.
Montage:
We see a dilapidated house. Mr. Miago takes out a hammer and some nails. Chato basically remodels the whole house.
Next he is painting the house. He wipes the sweat from his brow and chugs a bottle of water.
CHATO
(panting)
Is my training now complete sinse?
MR. MIAGO
Sure kid whatever you say. Thanks for fixing my house up.
EXT. WATER - LATER
Chato and Donkey Darko are paddling out into the surf. Without Chato seeing it, he puts a shark attractor on his surfboard.
DONKEY DARKO
Now there’s no way I can lose.
Donkey Darko drops into a really nice wave and leaves Chato sitting alone on the outside. Behind him we see two large fins closing in on him.
CHATO
Holy guacamole. Time to catch a wave!
Fortunately for Chato, a set comes and Chato catches the biggest wave of the day. The sharks are right behind him. Chato turns around and sees the Sharks and then he notices the beacon.
CHATO
Ay Chihuahua! What’s this?
Chato grabs the beacon and tosses into one of the Sharks’ mouths. Instantly, the other shark stops chasing Chato and goes after the other shark.
EXT. BEACH - MOMENTS LATER
ANNOUNCER
Let’s hear a huge cheer for our winner!
Cheers (i.e.- Tom Slick)
CROWD
Yeah.
DONKEY DARKO
Wait a minute, that’s no donkey!
The crowd gasps in disbelief (i.e. Tom Slick)
CROWD
Ahhhhh.
CHATO
Oh yeah, prove it!
Donkey Darko tries to pull off Chato’s donkey get up, but it won’t come off. Chato looks into the camera and winks.
DONKEY DARKO
This can’t be. I’ve never been beaten. Ahhhhh!
EXT. BEACH - LATER
Dude and Chato are walking back to the Surfari 9000.
DUDE
Hey man, would it be OK if you waited a little while before changing?
Chato gives Dude a harsh look.
CHATO
Are you crazy Dude? There’s no way I’m sick of looking like a space donkey.
DUDE
I just really miss Shirley man.
Chato tries to pull off the outfit. He pulls and pulls and finally he gives up.
CLOSE UP: Chato’s face.
CHATO
I guess I shouldn’t have used super goop to put this stuff on with..
Chato and Dude walk side by side and Dude pulls his hand from his pocket and puts his arm on Chato’s shoulder, and Chato brushes it off.
SPACE BIKER
(refined voice)
That’s it Freddy, forget about the stupid mirror.
SPACE BIKER#2
(refined voice)
I agree Bernie. Come on, I think we can still get in those eighteen holes.
The space biker pulls a gadget from his pocket, hits a button, and they both transform back into the yuppie golfers that they really are.
Dude puts his hand back in his pocket for a few more steps. Then he pulls it out again and puts his arm on Chato’s shoulder again. Chato brushes it off once more. (Repeat 4x) Then Chato looks into the camera.
CHATO
The search continues.
Fade out:
ps- Sorry about the format, not sure how to make Final Draft work in this blog.
CUT TO:
EXT. MC SPOCK’S RESTAURANT
DUDE and CHATO have just jumped out of the Surfari 9000 Space Van and are walking towards the entrance. There are all kinds of tough looking biker types hanging out.
DUDE
OK Chato, we’re just getting food and fuel and then we’re outa here. This place creeps me out.
CHATO
Yeah and there’s no surf here either. It’s been three days since we’ve caught some waves. I can’t take it.
Chato’s attention quickly turns to two Farley 123 space hogs parked in front. He’s enamored by them.
CHATO (CONT’D)
Hello my little friend.
He sees that the coast is clear, and jumps up on one of the bikes.
DUDE
Hey man, that’s a really bad idea!
Chato is already in his own little world and doesn’t hear a word Dude is saying.
DAYDREAM:
EXT. SPACE
Chato is flying through space riding the Farley 123 space hog.
CHATO
Whooohooo!
He does a fly by through a Mc Spock’s space station and waves at some girls and then starts showing off for the crowd that has gathered. He starts riding the bike like it’s a surfboard. He does hand stands, etc... Because he’s showing off, he doesn’t see the big space RV pulling out in front of him. By the time he sees it it’s too late and in an effort to avert the RV, he wipes out. Then we hear loud crashing and we see stars. Then Chato snaps back to reality.
END DAYDREAM
EXT. MC SPOCKS BURGER RESTAURANT - DAY
Chato is dressed in his normal clothes sitting in the seat of a space bike that’s parked in front of Mr. Mc Spocks restaurant, jumping up and down on the seat. In the excitement of his imaginary flight, he has caused the bike next to him fall over. There is a cloud of dust and Chato cringes knowing that there’s going to be some serious damage. When the dust settles however, there’s no damage at all to the bike. In fact, it even sparkles. Chato looks relieved.
CHATO
Man that was a close one.
He shrugs his shoulders and turns to walk into the Mc Spock’s thinking he got away with one. At that moment, we see a hand come from behind him and firmly grab his shoulder. The hand has skull rings on each finger and there’s a spiked band on the wrist. Chato turns expecting to find a huge scary biker, but laughs it off when he sees the little guy before him.
CHATO
Buzz off amigo, I’m trying to eat my lunch.
Laughing, Chato turns to Dude.
CHATO (CONT’D)
Can you believe this guy, Dude?
SPACE BIKER
(in a refined voice)
I am not your amigo and furthermore you are liable for the damages done to my space bike. You’ll be hearing from my attorney promptly.
He snaps his fingers and an ATTORNEY appears from nowhere and issues Chato papers saying that if he doesn’t pay for the damages he’ll have to do ten years hard time.
Close up: Papers
CHATO
Damages? What Damages?
Then we hear the creaking of one of the bike’s mirrors as it falls to the ground and shatters. Chato gasps in horror.
DUDE
I told you it was a bad idea.
SPACE BIKER #2 steps in and nudges Space Biker #1 on the arm.
SPACE BIKER#2
(Whispering)
Hey Bernie, remember what I said about playing the part. That’s what these weekend rallies are all about.
SPACE BIKER
Of course Frederick.
(Tough guy voice)
Listen, I ain’t your amigo. You’re gonna have to pay for that mirror, or you’re really gonna pay.
MONTAGE:
INT. PRISON
We see Chato working on the chain gang. Eating awful looking food. And shivering in a cold dark cell. All in view a beach with people surfing and having fun.
END MONTAGE
Chato looks destitute.
CLOSE UP: Chato pulls his pockets out and there’s a family of cockroaches in one pocket with a for sale sign on there house.
He looks at the Space Bikers with a fearful look on his face and starts crying.
CHATO
I ain’t got no money.
Dude taps Chato on the shoulder.
DUDE
Hey man, why don’t you surf in the contest.
Chato looks shocked.
CHATO
Surf contest? I didn’t even know there was an ocean on this planet!
Dude points to a spaceship overhead that’s pulling a banner which reads: “Intergalactic Surfing Championships - Today”. What they don’t see is the part of the banner that’s folded over, which says, “Space Donkey Intergalactic Surfing Championships-Today.”
Chato speaks as if he came up with the idea.
CHATO
Wait a minute, I can surf in the contest and after I win I can pay for the mirror with the prize money.
Dude gives him a look.
DUDE
Yeah, and we’ll have gas money too, so we can continue on our search for perfect waves.
EXT. BEACH - DAY
Dude and Chato pull up to the beach. There’s a huge crowd gathered, and various creatures with surfboards.
Chato walks down the beach and sees the sign saying “Space Donkey Intergalactic Surfing Championship.” He gets a nervous look on his face and turns to leave, but the Space Bikers are right behind him.
DUDE
Not space donkeys! They smelly and loathsome, and viscious and rude and, did I mention smelly?
CHATO
I can’t stand space donkeys!!! Space donkeys are the lowest forms of life in the galaxy!
SPACE BIKER
(refined voice)
Well, it appears you’ve come to a bit of a crux my friend.
SPACE BIKER#2
Ahem...
SPACE BIKER
(tough guy voice)
I mean, it looks like it’s the big house for you!
Chato looks at Dude.
CHATO
Dude, are you thinking what I’m thinking?
DUDE
That Jamie Lynn Spears is da bomb man!
CLOSE UP: Chato’s face.
CHATO
The wheel is rusted and the hamster has died ladies and gentlemen...
Chato shakes his head.
CHATO
No Dude... that I need to figure out a way to surf in the contest and I think I’ve got it.
Chato runs into the bushes. We see a bunch of commotion and then he springs back out looking like one of the space donkeys.
CHATO
Not bad eh?
DUDE
Whoa, you look just like my old girlfriend Shirley.
Dude pulls out a photo from his wallet and shows them. She looks a lot like Chato does in his space donkey get up.
DUDE (CONT’D)
She had the prettiest smile.
The Space Biker and his friend look confounded.
SPACE BIKER
(whispering)
You know the weekend isn’t over yet. I can call Hal and have him book us a tee time over at Bushwood.
SPACE BIKER#2
(whispering)
Get it together Bernie. This role playing relates directly to your skills as an effective leader down at the office. Besides, I think they’re really scared of us.
SPACE BIKER
I suppose you’re right Freddie.
He turns towards Chato and gets in his face.
SPACE BIKER
(tough guy voice)
I don’t care what you do, just get me my money!
CHATO
Easy Fonzy. I’m going to surf circles around these donkeys!
DUDE
Hey man, isn’t that Donkey Darko over there?
Walking down the beach with board in hand, is DONKEY DARKO.
Chato freezes and his confident smirk turns to a look of fear.
CHATO
Holy chiquita banana, not Donkey Darko!
ANNOUNCER
Welcome to the Space Donkey Intergalactic Surfing Championships! It’s a great day, with perfect waves!
The announcer sounds the horn, beginning the heat.
EXT. WATER
Chato begins paddling out next to Donkey Darko. He’s got a big obnoxious smile on his face.
DONKEY DARKO
Do I know you?
CHATO
No, I don’t think so.
DONKEY DARKO
Oh well then you probably need a quick briefing on the rules. Rule number one. Don’t get in my way!
A long beat.
CHATO
What’s rule number two?
DONKEY DARKO
You look like a slow learner. Why don’t you just stick with rule number one for now.
CHATO
Ay chihuahua. How do I get myself into these messes?
Montage:
We see Chato Drop into a wave and Donkey Darko comes flying by and sprays him and he gets pitched over the falls. Donkey Darko knocks all the other space donkeys from their waves too and wins the heat.
EXT. BEACH - LATER
ANNOUNCER (OVER P.A.)
After a long day of surfing, we’ve narrowed the field to two competitors.
Dude and the Space Bikers walk up to Chato.
DUDE
He’s making you look like a dufus out there.
SPACE BIKER
Yeah, your friend’s right, he’s shredding all over you. You better get it together or you’re dead meat!
CHATO
(to himself)
There’s no way I’m going to the slammer!
ANNOUNCER (OVER P.A.)
We need the two finalists to report to the beach please.
Chato and Donkey Darko are standing on the beach side by side.
DONKEY DARKO
Prepare to get squashed!
CHATO
Ay chihuahua, what am I gonna do?
From nowhere appears a small yet mystical man. MR. MIAGO
MR. MIAGO
Come with me.
Montage:
We see a dilapidated house. Mr. Miago takes out a hammer and some nails. Chato basically remodels the whole house.
Next he is painting the house. He wipes the sweat from his brow and chugs a bottle of water.
CHATO
(panting)
Is my training now complete sinse?
MR. MIAGO
Sure kid whatever you say. Thanks for fixing my house up.
EXT. WATER - LATER
Chato and Donkey Darko are paddling out into the surf. Without Chato seeing it, he puts a shark attractor on his surfboard.
DONKEY DARKO
Now there’s no way I can lose.
Donkey Darko drops into a really nice wave and leaves Chato sitting alone on the outside. Behind him we see two large fins closing in on him.
CHATO
Holy guacamole. Time to catch a wave!
Fortunately for Chato, a set comes and Chato catches the biggest wave of the day. The sharks are right behind him. Chato turns around and sees the Sharks and then he notices the beacon.
CHATO
Ay Chihuahua! What’s this?
Chato grabs the beacon and tosses into one of the Sharks’ mouths. Instantly, the other shark stops chasing Chato and goes after the other shark.
EXT. BEACH - MOMENTS LATER
ANNOUNCER
Let’s hear a huge cheer for our winner!
Cheers (i.e.- Tom Slick)
CROWD
Yeah.
DONKEY DARKO
Wait a minute, that’s no donkey!
The crowd gasps in disbelief (i.e. Tom Slick)
CROWD
Ahhhhh.
CHATO
Oh yeah, prove it!
Donkey Darko tries to pull off Chato’s donkey get up, but it won’t come off. Chato looks into the camera and winks.
DONKEY DARKO
This can’t be. I’ve never been beaten. Ahhhhh!
EXT. BEACH - LATER
Dude and Chato are walking back to the Surfari 9000.
DUDE
Hey man, would it be OK if you waited a little while before changing?
Chato gives Dude a harsh look.
CHATO
Are you crazy Dude? There’s no way I’m sick of looking like a space donkey.
DUDE
I just really miss Shirley man.
Chato tries to pull off the outfit. He pulls and pulls and finally he gives up.
CLOSE UP: Chato’s face.
CHATO
I guess I shouldn’t have used super goop to put this stuff on with..
Chato and Dude walk side by side and Dude pulls his hand from his pocket and puts his arm on Chato’s shoulder, and Chato brushes it off.
SPACE BIKER
(refined voice)
That’s it Freddy, forget about the stupid mirror.
SPACE BIKER#2
(refined voice)
I agree Bernie. Come on, I think we can still get in those eighteen holes.
The space biker pulls a gadget from his pocket, hits a button, and they both transform back into the yuppie golfers that they really are.
Dude puts his hand back in his pocket for a few more steps. Then he pulls it out again and puts his arm on Chato’s shoulder again. Chato brushes it off once more. (Repeat 4x) Then Chato looks into the camera.
CHATO
The search continues.
Fade out:
Friday, November 27, 2009
Surfing Localism
Last week I drove down to Palos Verdes in hopes of catching a few waves. There was a nice northwest swell running and conditions were ideal, with light offshore Santa Ana winds and a medium tide. I made my way down the steep cliff side and took in the beauty around me. After about a ten minute hike, I dropped my gear, suited up and paddled out into the cold, not so blue Pacific. I had set my sights on the outside peak where the set waves were running about 3-4ft overhead with only 2 guys surfing. As I was paddling by the 4 or 5 guys surfing the inside corner, I gave a "howzit" to one of the guys. Not surprisingly, he scowled at me. The reason I wasn't terribly surprised by this behavior is because Palos Verdes (for those of you non-surfers) is known to be quite localized.
I couldn't help but think, "here I am on this beautiful, stellar day. Minimal crowd and a consistent swell with beautiful conditions. How lucky am I! Perfect vision, health, job, food, warm bed at night." All these things came to mind. And this guy has the nerve to try and vibe me because he doesn't know who I am. I guess I should have been thankful that no one slashed my tires or threw rocks at me, something that has certainly happened at some of the most localized breaks. I can understand and in fact support local stewardship of A class surf spots. But the idea that an individual can lay claim to a piece of the ocean is ridiculous. At places like New Break in San Diego, Palos Verdes in LA, Hazards in San Louis Obispo and of course Fullers in Big Sur you can regularly see grown men act like a spoiled two year-old who can only focus on the toy they don't want to share..." Mine!" It's a very bizarre and also sad thing to witness. These are fit, healthy individuals who are fortunate enough to be spending time doing what they love. They are fortunate beyond belief. Yet, they're emotional maturity hasn't developed beyond their childhood years.
Check out the following link and read the comments posted by local and non-locals alike in regards to localism at Fullers.
http://www.wannasurf.com/spot/North_America/USA/California/Monterey/fullers/index.html
If I paddle out at a localized spot, don't show up with a crowd, follow the rules of etiquette and know how to surf then these self-proclaimed locals should show the respect they expect shown to them. If someone paddles out and does not adhere to the unwritten rules of surfing etiquette then they by all means should send that person packing. But no one has the right to claim ownership of a particular piece of ocean.
Rules for surfing an A class surf break-
1- Respect the locals.
2- Don't show up with a group of people.
3- Don't paddle right to the peak. Hang wide or inside and wait for the leftovers.
4- Don't jockey or back paddle for waves.
5- If caught inside and someone is dropping down the face of the wave that's breaking in front of you, don't attempt to paddle for the shoulder, paddle inside the surfer and take the wave on the head.
I couldn't help but think, "here I am on this beautiful, stellar day. Minimal crowd and a consistent swell with beautiful conditions. How lucky am I! Perfect vision, health, job, food, warm bed at night." All these things came to mind. And this guy has the nerve to try and vibe me because he doesn't know who I am. I guess I should have been thankful that no one slashed my tires or threw rocks at me, something that has certainly happened at some of the most localized breaks. I can understand and in fact support local stewardship of A class surf spots. But the idea that an individual can lay claim to a piece of the ocean is ridiculous. At places like New Break in San Diego, Palos Verdes in LA, Hazards in San Louis Obispo and of course Fullers in Big Sur you can regularly see grown men act like a spoiled two year-old who can only focus on the toy they don't want to share..." Mine!" It's a very bizarre and also sad thing to witness. These are fit, healthy individuals who are fortunate enough to be spending time doing what they love. They are fortunate beyond belief. Yet, they're emotional maturity hasn't developed beyond their childhood years.
Check out the following link and read the comments posted by local and non-locals alike in regards to localism at Fullers.
http://www.wannasurf.com/spot/North_America/USA/California/Monterey/fullers/index.html
If I paddle out at a localized spot, don't show up with a crowd, follow the rules of etiquette and know how to surf then these self-proclaimed locals should show the respect they expect shown to them. If someone paddles out and does not adhere to the unwritten rules of surfing etiquette then they by all means should send that person packing. But no one has the right to claim ownership of a particular piece of ocean.
Rules for surfing an A class surf break-
1- Respect the locals.
2- Don't show up with a group of people.
3- Don't paddle right to the peak. Hang wide or inside and wait for the leftovers.
4- Don't jockey or back paddle for waves.
5- If caught inside and someone is dropping down the face of the wave that's breaking in front of you, don't attempt to paddle for the shoulder, paddle inside the surfer and take the wave on the head.
Monday, November 23, 2009
My monthly politcal rant (frequency subject to change)
Remember the saying, "don't believe everything you read?" There seems to be a lot of that going on in this country lately. At least amongst those who subscribe to the 1% of news that's not a part of the liberal media conspiracy (dripping with sarcasm). What I'm talking about in short are right wing propaganda chain emails. You know the ones. Obama is a Muslim, doesn't wear a flag pin, wasn't born here, wants to move "In God we trust" from the face of the new $1 coins to the edge. (That was already approved long before he was in office during the Bush admin.)
I'm regularly forwarded such emails, and they are passed along almost as if they were the word of God. During the elections I was swamped with such letters, all of which were refuted on Snopes or FactCheck.org in about 2 minutes. I responded to such emails by saying that I'd prefer to hear about how great the candidate these people support is and why, and that I didn't appreciate bullshit propaganda smearing any candidate in any party. Tell me something good. Don't make up something bad. Funny thing is, I didn't receive one email utilizing these tactics from the liberal left. The the "liberal media conspiracy" I mean the mainstream media has taken care of it ... I'm sure.
That's my monthly political rant (frequency subject to change)for now. Thanks for reading. This is Jason Brock sighning out... Good night.
I'm regularly forwarded such emails, and they are passed along almost as if they were the word of God. During the elections I was swamped with such letters, all of which were refuted on Snopes or FactCheck.org in about 2 minutes. I responded to such emails by saying that I'd prefer to hear about how great the candidate these people support is and why, and that I didn't appreciate bullshit propaganda smearing any candidate in any party. Tell me something good. Don't make up something bad. Funny thing is, I didn't receive one email utilizing these tactics from the liberal left. The the "liberal media conspiracy" I mean the mainstream media has taken care of it ... I'm sure.
That's my monthly political rant (frequency subject to change)for now. Thanks for reading. This is Jason Brock sighning out... Good night.
Friday, November 20, 2009
Perfume River (Song Huong) Vietnam
Just before the Perfume River/Song Huong (named for the fragrant shrub growing along its banks) spills into the South China Sea, it snakes its way through the old imperial capital city of, Hue. After touring the impressive Citadel my travel partner Rick and I made our way to the river bank in search of a dragon boat to take us up river to see some of the tombs of the Emperors of the Nguyen dynasty.
There are six tombs as well as the Thien Mu pagoda; of which we visited the tombs of Tu' Duc', Ming Mang, and the Thien Mu pagoda. Although the tombs we visited were triumphs of architecture and design, it's not the tombs that made the trip special, at least for myself. At one of the stops some of us chose not to visit the nearby tomb but instead mill about the small local village. I split from the group and let my sense of adventure guide me in the direction of some music. It sounded like the neighbor kid's garage band. Out of tune, off tempo and too loud.
I walked down the lane and soon came upon an open-aired establishment that looked like a bar or restaurant. I stepped inside to investigate and it immediately became evident that this wasn't a public house, this was someone's backyard patio! I froze as all eyes turned toward me. The guitarist, drummer and bass player stopped playing. A couple seated at the table nearest the band stood up. She was in a white flowing dress. He was in a suit. "oh shit" I thought, this is a wedding party.
A mustached man approached and smiled. He directed me to sit down. The band continued to play and before I knew what was happening, a glass of cold beer was handed to me and dishes of food were spread out before me. The people sitting at my table all seemed eager for me to enjoy, so bottoms up! Before I knew it I felt like part of the family.
I couldn't help but think that most of the people around my age and older had lived through the war and one of its most deadly battles. In fact, 80% of Hue was left in ruins and the Northern communists massacred as many as 6000 unarmed Hue civilians during the Tet Offensive. Millions died. No family was untouched by the ravages of war. And all that any of them had truly wanted was to tend to their farms, raise their children and be left alone. It's funny, but most of my exposure to the country had been from films, all of which were about the Vietnam war which incidentally we learned is called the "American War" over there.
From the little I had studied about the inner-workings of the politics involved in the war, I felt humbled that these people would take so kindly to a strange American, or French, Chinese, Japanese, or Brit for that matter; considering that these 5 nations had left indelible scars of sorts on "their" country. And it wasn't like they were being nice to try and sell me a souvenir or something. They were just good people, like most of the local people I tend to meet on my travels.
Perhaps they already knew the credo I would later profess when traveling outside the U.S. during our last political administration. When many American backpackers would don Maple leaf patches on their packs... "Don't judge me by my governments actions!"
There are six tombs as well as the Thien Mu pagoda; of which we visited the tombs of Tu' Duc', Ming Mang, and the Thien Mu pagoda. Although the tombs we visited were triumphs of architecture and design, it's not the tombs that made the trip special, at least for myself. At one of the stops some of us chose not to visit the nearby tomb but instead mill about the small local village. I split from the group and let my sense of adventure guide me in the direction of some music. It sounded like the neighbor kid's garage band. Out of tune, off tempo and too loud.
I walked down the lane and soon came upon an open-aired establishment that looked like a bar or restaurant. I stepped inside to investigate and it immediately became evident that this wasn't a public house, this was someone's backyard patio! I froze as all eyes turned toward me. The guitarist, drummer and bass player stopped playing. A couple seated at the table nearest the band stood up. She was in a white flowing dress. He was in a suit. "oh shit" I thought, this is a wedding party.
A mustached man approached and smiled. He directed me to sit down. The band continued to play and before I knew what was happening, a glass of cold beer was handed to me and dishes of food were spread out before me. The people sitting at my table all seemed eager for me to enjoy, so bottoms up! Before I knew it I felt like part of the family.
I couldn't help but think that most of the people around my age and older had lived through the war and one of its most deadly battles. In fact, 80% of Hue was left in ruins and the Northern communists massacred as many as 6000 unarmed Hue civilians during the Tet Offensive. Millions died. No family was untouched by the ravages of war. And all that any of them had truly wanted was to tend to their farms, raise their children and be left alone. It's funny, but most of my exposure to the country had been from films, all of which were about the Vietnam war which incidentally we learned is called the "American War" over there.
From the little I had studied about the inner-workings of the politics involved in the war, I felt humbled that these people would take so kindly to a strange American, or French, Chinese, Japanese, or Brit for that matter; considering that these 5 nations had left indelible scars of sorts on "their" country. And it wasn't like they were being nice to try and sell me a souvenir or something. They were just good people, like most of the local people I tend to meet on my travels.
Perhaps they already knew the credo I would later profess when traveling outside the U.S. during our last political administration. When many American backpackers would don Maple leaf patches on their packs... "Don't judge me by my governments actions!"
The (Budapest) Spa That Was'nt so Relaxing
We crossed the Erzsebet (Elizabeth) Bridge to the Buda side of the Danube ready to experience one of Budapest's most famous attractions, The Gellert Baths. I remember the guide book mentioning that Gellert was the more touristy of the baths in Budapest. The grand foyer welcomed us, Built between 1912 and 1918 in the Art Nouveau style, the building was truly elegant and screamed "you're about to be pampered my friend." Brandon and I entered the spa, ready for massage, mineral baths and some relaxation.
As we were about to enter the men's spa, I realized I'd forgotten to put my camera in the locker, so Brandon went ahead while I dropped off the camera. I soon returned and entered the spa. I was directed by a man to grab one of the loin cloths and put it on. Hmmm...? I did and he directed me to the steam baths. He explained that I should begin in the first room and work my way to the last and that each room increased in temperature. I thought to myself, "does this guy work here?" I sat on one of the chairs. He sat in the chair opposite me. Hmmm...? At that instant it occurred to me that he probably did not work there. I decided to sit back and relax and ignore. I closed my eyes and let my mind drift... A few minuets later my instincts told me that something wasn't quite right. I quickly opened my eyes. The man was still there across from me, but there was nothing out of the ordinary. I did my best to relax again but soon got the feeling that something wasn't kosher. I opened my eyes and caught the perpetrator in the act of perpetrating, so to speak. "Uh yeah, nice dude", I said and bolted. Upon exiting I ran into Brandon who had just come from the massage room. "How was the massage?" When he hesitated for a moment I should've known. "Uh, good", he said. "How was the steam bath?" "Uh, good", I said.
When I entered the massage room and saw the large Hungarian man holding a hose with running mineral water in one had and pointing to massage table with the other, that should have been my second clue. The stainless steel table was cold and industrial, save for some cushy foam padding on top. I laid down and hoped for the best. I was guessing that the masseuse' name was Boris. He looked like a Boris, even though the name is of Russian origin. The thought of someone named Boris giving me a massage wasn't helping to relax me. The large Hungarian went to work, and I held on for dear life. My thoughts began to run wild. "What's he gonna do with that hose?, why the hell didn't we go to Thailand! don't the girls give you a happy ending there. Oh shit, I hope they don't give them here." Boris worked his magic, kneading the muscles in my back like cookie dough. I gripped the table like an abalone to an undersea rock. This was not f$&%ing relaxing at all. Boris finished his handy work. I got up and walked deliberately out of the room. Holy f@$#%ing crap what the hell was that?! This was supposed to be the touristy spa, not a circa '70's Castro bathhouse!
We walked outside to what was supposed to be a wave pool and ordered two beers. The waves were more like boat wakes, but we took a jaunt anyway, and did our best to body surf the ankle slappers. "What the f@#k just happened", I spouted. Brandon just laughed, almost like he was in on it. "I'm about twenty times more tense than before we got here", I told him. "How come you look so relaxed?" We drank our beers, laughed and made plans for our next trip... Pamplona, the Whisky Trail in the Scottish highlands or perhaps... Thailand.
As we were about to enter the men's spa, I realized I'd forgotten to put my camera in the locker, so Brandon went ahead while I dropped off the camera. I soon returned and entered the spa. I was directed by a man to grab one of the loin cloths and put it on. Hmmm...? I did and he directed me to the steam baths. He explained that I should begin in the first room and work my way to the last and that each room increased in temperature. I thought to myself, "does this guy work here?" I sat on one of the chairs. He sat in the chair opposite me. Hmmm...? At that instant it occurred to me that he probably did not work there. I decided to sit back and relax and ignore. I closed my eyes and let my mind drift... A few minuets later my instincts told me that something wasn't quite right. I quickly opened my eyes. The man was still there across from me, but there was nothing out of the ordinary. I did my best to relax again but soon got the feeling that something wasn't kosher. I opened my eyes and caught the perpetrator in the act of perpetrating, so to speak. "Uh yeah, nice dude", I said and bolted. Upon exiting I ran into Brandon who had just come from the massage room. "How was the massage?" When he hesitated for a moment I should've known. "Uh, good", he said. "How was the steam bath?" "Uh, good", I said.
When I entered the massage room and saw the large Hungarian man holding a hose with running mineral water in one had and pointing to massage table with the other, that should have been my second clue. The stainless steel table was cold and industrial, save for some cushy foam padding on top. I laid down and hoped for the best. I was guessing that the masseuse' name was Boris. He looked like a Boris, even though the name is of Russian origin. The thought of someone named Boris giving me a massage wasn't helping to relax me. The large Hungarian went to work, and I held on for dear life. My thoughts began to run wild. "What's he gonna do with that hose?, why the hell didn't we go to Thailand! don't the girls give you a happy ending there. Oh shit, I hope they don't give them here." Boris worked his magic, kneading the muscles in my back like cookie dough. I gripped the table like an abalone to an undersea rock. This was not f$&%ing relaxing at all. Boris finished his handy work. I got up and walked deliberately out of the room. Holy f@$#%ing crap what the hell was that?! This was supposed to be the touristy spa, not a circa '70's Castro bathhouse!
We walked outside to what was supposed to be a wave pool and ordered two beers. The waves were more like boat wakes, but we took a jaunt anyway, and did our best to body surf the ankle slappers. "What the f@#k just happened", I spouted. Brandon just laughed, almost like he was in on it. "I'm about twenty times more tense than before we got here", I told him. "How come you look so relaxed?" We drank our beers, laughed and made plans for our next trip... Pamplona, the Whisky Trail in the Scottish highlands or perhaps... Thailand.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
A Day to Remember
When my friend Tyler and I scurried onto the wood planks of the boardwalk and into the sun, I was in disbelief at what I saw. A crystal blue sky was the backdrop for the crisp four to six foot hurricane swell. The light northeast winds were grooming the peaks like a snow cat on fresh powder. It was a good a morning as I’ve seen anywhere in my travels. We couldn’t suit up and wax our boards fast enough. When we entered the water that morning, just after sunrise, the Gulf Stream waters were about 70f. We entered wearing only our board shorts, without so much as a chill. Considering it snows on that same beach in the winter, it was really impressive. On the beach, setting up their equipment, was a crew from New York’s Channel One news, apparently getting a shot for the morning weather segment. Maybe we’d even be recorded ripping up the waves!
After 2 hours of pure joy, Tyler and I jumped the LIRR back towards the city. Tyler was heading to a class in Manhattan and I was jumping off at Kew Gardens in Queens. Not the typical morning surf for this San Diego boy, but typical became a long lost word once I became a flight attendant for United Airlines.
As we left Long Beach behind and crawled into Metropolis, I felt like I do after any good surf. Salty skin... Anticipating a nice hot shower... Belly empty and ready for warm yummy meal... Post surf smiles and laughter. The joke was on all those poor fools taking the train into the depths of the city; their noses to the grindstone in order to pay for the huge spread in the Hamptons, the wife and all her upkeep and private schooling for the brats. So out of touch... The awakening would come too soon.
Jamaica station had just been called as the next stop when a cell phone rang. The man next to me took that call. He was quiet for only a moment and then he shared what the voice on the line had said. “A plane just hit one of the Trade towers.” “What was it a small plane like a Cessna,” I asked? The man relayed my question. “No, he says it was big, like a DC-10.” The implications of this didn’t immediately register. “I guess I won’t be going to work today,” the man said insouciantly. He was one of the lucky ones who were going to the office late that day. I wondered if my 1p.m. flight to Los Angeles would be delayed, still hoping to surf Malibu that afternoon on my layover. Incidentally, we all kind of joked it off, until Jamaica station came into view and in the distance a flaming monolith. It was approximately 8:50am, and the first 767 had hit Tower 1 just a few minutes earlier. We saw a ball of fire blazing from the tower roughly 15 miles away and instantly knew how serious the situation was.
When we reached Kew Gardens the train stopped. I said bye to Tyler and went for the door, but it didn’t open. I realized I was in car #5 and you had to be in the first four cars to exit at that station. As the train began to pull from the station, I ran for the next car forward. That’s when a minor miracle occurred. The train stopped, and I was allowed to exit (if you’ve ever spent time in NYC, then you understand). When I jumped onto the platform and headed back to my commuter pad, the gravity of the situation enveloped me. My knees felt weak, my head went spacey, and I began to sweat profusely.
When I arrived at my crash pad, I found no respite. Everyone was focused on the television set. The newscaster confirmed that a 767 had hit the tower and it was believed to be an American or United airliner. Another plane was also suspected of being hijacked. It was believed to be a United Airlines 767. It was heartbreaking news. I immediately called my parents but got the answering machine and tried to leave a message. I could not speak coherently. I called my sister and let her know I was OK. She hadn’t seen or heard the news, and barely understood what I was telling her. She contacted my parents and they got through to me before all circuits went busy. I tried to speak, but only incomprehensible sobs bellowed from my mouth. I told my parents I loved them, got off the phone and went back to the T.V. just in time to see United flight175 hit the second tower at 9:02:54 a.m.
Not knowing which of our friends was up there is a feeling I’ll never forget. A thousand knots wrenched my gut. Those of you early risers on the west coast watched in horror with us. And by the time the towers fell, most of the world was watching.
The weeks following September11th were lugubrious. The air felt heavy and colors were less vibrant. I swear I’m not being melodramatic. The whole of New York mourned. But amidst the gloom, I saw things happen in New York that I never thought possible. Complete strangers spoke to one another on the train and on the bus. They consoled one another, and cared about their fellow man. It was unfathomable!
When I finally got home, two weeks later, I can’t tell you how good it felt to see my family. I missed home so damn much. It also felt good to see how 3000 miles away, Californians were feeling it too. American flags, American flags, and still more American flags. Ok, at first it felt good, but then it got kind of creepy. It was as though “We” had developed a sense of Nationalism that could only be orchestrated by “der Furher.” I knew I was wrong though. I knew that we all had changed for the better and would never forget what had happened. We had grown closer as a nation and as a world. This brings me to the point of this reflection. What the f^@k happened?
I’m not pointing the proverbial finger. I’ve been just as guilty as the rest. Yelling at the moron in front of me to stop driving like a ninny, bitching because the line at the post office is too damn slow, and most of all taking the little things for granted, like health, friends, and family. The little things of course are different for each of us (I know people who can’t stand their family, or don’t have any friends), but life is so much sweeter when we focus on the positive. Anyway, the next time you’re in line at the grocery store and some old lady is counting her pennies and digging through her double coupons, remember just how bad “bad” can be, and think of all the good. Have a happy and healthy day, and thanks for letting me get this off my chest.
After 2 hours of pure joy, Tyler and I jumped the LIRR back towards the city. Tyler was heading to a class in Manhattan and I was jumping off at Kew Gardens in Queens. Not the typical morning surf for this San Diego boy, but typical became a long lost word once I became a flight attendant for United Airlines.
As we left Long Beach behind and crawled into Metropolis, I felt like I do after any good surf. Salty skin... Anticipating a nice hot shower... Belly empty and ready for warm yummy meal... Post surf smiles and laughter. The joke was on all those poor fools taking the train into the depths of the city; their noses to the grindstone in order to pay for the huge spread in the Hamptons, the wife and all her upkeep and private schooling for the brats. So out of touch... The awakening would come too soon.
Jamaica station had just been called as the next stop when a cell phone rang. The man next to me took that call. He was quiet for only a moment and then he shared what the voice on the line had said. “A plane just hit one of the Trade towers.” “What was it a small plane like a Cessna,” I asked? The man relayed my question. “No, he says it was big, like a DC-10.” The implications of this didn’t immediately register. “I guess I won’t be going to work today,” the man said insouciantly. He was one of the lucky ones who were going to the office late that day. I wondered if my 1p.m. flight to Los Angeles would be delayed, still hoping to surf Malibu that afternoon on my layover. Incidentally, we all kind of joked it off, until Jamaica station came into view and in the distance a flaming monolith. It was approximately 8:50am, and the first 767 had hit Tower 1 just a few minutes earlier. We saw a ball of fire blazing from the tower roughly 15 miles away and instantly knew how serious the situation was.
When we reached Kew Gardens the train stopped. I said bye to Tyler and went for the door, but it didn’t open. I realized I was in car #5 and you had to be in the first four cars to exit at that station. As the train began to pull from the station, I ran for the next car forward. That’s when a minor miracle occurred. The train stopped, and I was allowed to exit (if you’ve ever spent time in NYC, then you understand). When I jumped onto the platform and headed back to my commuter pad, the gravity of the situation enveloped me. My knees felt weak, my head went spacey, and I began to sweat profusely.
When I arrived at my crash pad, I found no respite. Everyone was focused on the television set. The newscaster confirmed that a 767 had hit the tower and it was believed to be an American or United airliner. Another plane was also suspected of being hijacked. It was believed to be a United Airlines 767. It was heartbreaking news. I immediately called my parents but got the answering machine and tried to leave a message. I could not speak coherently. I called my sister and let her know I was OK. She hadn’t seen or heard the news, and barely understood what I was telling her. She contacted my parents and they got through to me before all circuits went busy. I tried to speak, but only incomprehensible sobs bellowed from my mouth. I told my parents I loved them, got off the phone and went back to the T.V. just in time to see United flight175 hit the second tower at 9:02:54 a.m.
Not knowing which of our friends was up there is a feeling I’ll never forget. A thousand knots wrenched my gut. Those of you early risers on the west coast watched in horror with us. And by the time the towers fell, most of the world was watching.
The weeks following September11th were lugubrious. The air felt heavy and colors were less vibrant. I swear I’m not being melodramatic. The whole of New York mourned. But amidst the gloom, I saw things happen in New York that I never thought possible. Complete strangers spoke to one another on the train and on the bus. They consoled one another, and cared about their fellow man. It was unfathomable!
When I finally got home, two weeks later, I can’t tell you how good it felt to see my family. I missed home so damn much. It also felt good to see how 3000 miles away, Californians were feeling it too. American flags, American flags, and still more American flags. Ok, at first it felt good, but then it got kind of creepy. It was as though “We” had developed a sense of Nationalism that could only be orchestrated by “der Furher.” I knew I was wrong though. I knew that we all had changed for the better and would never forget what had happened. We had grown closer as a nation and as a world. This brings me to the point of this reflection. What the f^@k happened?
I’m not pointing the proverbial finger. I’ve been just as guilty as the rest. Yelling at the moron in front of me to stop driving like a ninny, bitching because the line at the post office is too damn slow, and most of all taking the little things for granted, like health, friends, and family. The little things of course are different for each of us (I know people who can’t stand their family, or don’t have any friends), but life is so much sweeter when we focus on the positive. Anyway, the next time you’re in line at the grocery store and some old lady is counting her pennies and digging through her double coupons, remember just how bad “bad” can be, and think of all the good. Have a happy and healthy day, and thanks for letting me get this off my chest.
Monday, November 16, 2009
The Value of Parenthood
When I was growing up, my father (a firefighter) was able to buy a home and support us on his (at the time) lower middle class income, while my mother was able to stay home and raise my sister and I. Today, in most families, both parents have to work just to make ends meet. The Feminist movement made incredible strives in achieving equality for women in society. From Politics to the boardroom, women have done some amazing things. Unfortunately the most important woman of all was left to the way side... The housewife/mom. How many times have you heard the term housewife used with an unspoken yet implied "she's just a" lingering in the air? Not to mention stay-at-home dads. I think most people don't want to be defined with any sort of "he or she's just a..." title. This of course is understandable and is the one of the reasons we have to make a pivotal shift in how we define and label what's really important in our society.
Many parents are forced to drop their kids off at day care for 10 hrs/day 5 days a week. During the week they only see their kids when they're getting them ready and out the door in the morning and in the evening when they feed, bathe and put them to sleep. Basically, they only spend about 40-45 waking hours per week with their child, while the child spends 50 waking hours under the influence of the daycare provider. This is preposterous! Families should not have to chose between economic prosperity and having the ability to raise their own children.
Ann Crittenden, in her book "The Price of Motherhood", say's
"Despite the overall advancement of women, mothers' work remains unappreciated in an economic sense, even though moms are cultivating "human capital." Raising productive citizens, the author argues, directly contributes to the overall health of the economy and wealth of the society."
Check out this interview with Ann Crittenden about her book "The Price of Motherhood"
http://life.familyeducation.com/working-parents/family-time/36305.html
In May 2007, just before Mother's Day, Salary.com Inc. gave an annual estimate of market value of mothers' work. They determined that a stay-at-home mother deserves an annual salary of $138,095.00
Check out the article on the Wall Street Journal blog
http://blogs.wsj.com/numbersguy/putting-a-price-on-mom-102/
The truth is if we put the true value on engaged parenting that it deserves and made it possible for at least one parent to have the opportunity to stay at home to raise a child, our society would be incalculably better for it. We should not only have the opportunity to be there for our kids, we should be encouraged to.
Many parents are forced to drop their kids off at day care for 10 hrs/day 5 days a week. During the week they only see their kids when they're getting them ready and out the door in the morning and in the evening when they feed, bathe and put them to sleep. Basically, they only spend about 40-45 waking hours per week with their child, while the child spends 50 waking hours under the influence of the daycare provider. This is preposterous! Families should not have to chose between economic prosperity and having the ability to raise their own children.
Ann Crittenden, in her book "The Price of Motherhood", say's
"Despite the overall advancement of women, mothers' work remains unappreciated in an economic sense, even though moms are cultivating "human capital." Raising productive citizens, the author argues, directly contributes to the overall health of the economy and wealth of the society."
Check out this interview with Ann Crittenden about her book "The Price of Motherhood"
http://life.familyeducation.com/working-parents/family-time/36305.html
In May 2007, just before Mother's Day, Salary.com Inc. gave an annual estimate of market value of mothers' work. They determined that a stay-at-home mother deserves an annual salary of $138,095.00
Check out the article on the Wall Street Journal blog
http://blogs.wsj.com/numbersguy/putting-a-price-on-mom-102/
The truth is if we put the true value on engaged parenting that it deserves and made it possible for at least one parent to have the opportunity to stay at home to raise a child, our society would be incalculably better for it. We should not only have the opportunity to be there for our kids, we should be encouraged to.
Sunday, November 15, 2009
Traveling solo
By: Jason R. Brock
It was
My wingman Lou left the previous day to get back to work. With all that
As I warily made my way through the maze-like streets of
As I crossed the road, a group of smiling faces, huddled in the light of the storefront greeted me. I was invited to join them and was soon playing percussion on an empty two- liter bottle of Coca-Cola. We sang a few more John Denver tunes before the young Indonesian offered me his guitar. I asked if they had heard of a band called Nirvana. They hadn’t. I guess I shouldn’t have been so surprised. I took the guitar and played “Where did you sleep last night?” I’ve never had a voice, but I passed it off, the way Dillon does with his own songs. When I finished playing, I handed back the guitar, and thanked my friends for the fun. At the time I didn’t realize that I should thank them for much more.
Next day, as I stepped from my room, shielding my bloodshot eyes from the piercing tropical sunlight, I was approached by one of the local vendors on my way to breakfast. He was selling spots on the next surf charter to Nusa Lembongan,
Two Aussies, three South Africans and myself, loaded our gear into a dodgy old “spider boat.” These locally built boats were rickety, to say the least. No GPS, no life preservers, and no back up motor. For sustenance, we had a generator powered “refer”, full of warm Bintangs and some live chickens, which were held captive in hand-woven reed baskets. The details of this sojourn aren’t important. It was a great adventure and I made some new friends. The reason I mention, it is that I did it. I went for it, and in doing so I developed my sense of “individual spirit” even more than if I had just planted myself in
Since we are born without an “Owners Manual”, we have only our perceptions and experiences to teach us about who we are. It has been said, that you can learn more by traveling the world than in any classroom. This takes on a whole new meaning when you are traveling alone, because you aren’t bound by an identity. As fun as it can be to have someone with you on your holiday, it can also be a set back. The reason for this, is that you have an identity, which has been characterized through your relationship (however small it may be) with that person. This identity in some ways can be inhibiting and in a sense, it can confine your actions, whether it’s on a conscious or subconscious level. Spontaneity is most assuredly stripped from the equation too. A less enthusiastic travel partner can veto a great spontaneous idea, as fast as it was sparked.
Most people enjoy sharing the experience of travel with a good friend or loved one because by nature, we are social beings. But take it from me, and those “many people” who do occasionally travel solo, try it, at least once in your lifetime. You’ll be surprised at how many people you’ll meet, how much fun you’ll have and the volumes you’ll learn, about your world, as well as yourself.
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