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Should be a blast to watch with a big old south hitting on Friday and pumping till Sunday.

Free Nathan Fletcher video this week only-
Some really cool stuff in the mix

Marioville! Sports, Politics, Humor and more... / Brilliant!
« on: July 07, 2009, 11:22:23 AM »
The Washington Post's Mensa Invitational once again asked readers to take any word from the dictionary, alter it by adding, subtracting, or changing of one letter, and supply a new definition.

Here are this year's [link] winners:

1. Cashtration (n.): The act of buying a house, which renders the
subject financially impotent for an indefinite period.

2. Ignoranus: A person who's both stupid and an asshole.

3. Intaxication: Euphoria at getting a tax refund, which lasts until
you realize it was your money to start with.

4. Reintarnation: Coming back to life as a hillbilly.

5. Bozone (n.): The substance surrounding stupid people that stops bright ideas from penetrating. The bozone layer, unfortunately, shows little sign of breaking down in the near future.

6. Foreploy: Any misrepresentation about yourself for the purpose of getting laid.

7. Giraffiti: Vandalism spray-painted very, very high.

8. Sarchasm: The gulf between the author of sarcastic wit and the person who doesn't get it.

9. Inoculatte: To take coffee intravenously when you are running late.

10. Hipatitis: Terminal coolness.

11. Osteopornosis: A degenerate disease. (This one got extra credit.)

12. Karmageddon: It's like, when everybody is sending off all these really bad vibes, right? And then, like, the Earth explodes and it's like, a serious bummer.

13. Decafalon (n.): The grueling event of getting through the day
consuming only things that are good for you.

14. Glibido: All talk and no action.

15. Dopeler effect: The tendency of stupid ideas to seem smarter when they come at you rapidly.

16. Arachnoleptic fit (n.): The frantic dance performed just after
you've accidentally walked through a spider web.

Like you did not see this coming.

"Palin rally in Virginia moved to NASCAR track"

(CNN) – Hockey Moms might be the hot political demographic of the moment, but NASCAR Dads haven't been forgotten.

The McCain campaign is moving Sarah Palin's Monday appearance from the Arthur Ashe Center in downtown Richmond, Virginia — capacity 6,000 — to a much larger outdoor venue: the Richmond International Raceway, which hosts two NASCAR Sprint Cup Series races yearly and can accommodate over 100,000 people.

Next Stop - Walmart 

Holy crap. I was worried before I read this. Now it ALL makes perfect sense-

Stories of Stoke: The Aloha Room / Stoked to be Stoked Stoke
« on: July 31, 2008, 05:45:12 PM »
Sooooooooooo, I had been getting down and sort of just burnt-out about surfing recently. Sure I enjoy the good ones and the pure moments, but for a lot of reasons I have just seemed to have an over-all case of the surfing blahs lately.  Nothing seems to be able to shake the funk. Friends, movies, trips, stories, it just all has seemed stale and done before.  Deja-vu of deja-vu of deja-vu. All very much the same ole, same ole and going nowhere. Have had about 8 boards in the last year and none really gave me that feeling. The crowds have just been insane and the whole spirit of surfing has just sort of passed me by.  Watching the cycles of surfing over 45 years has left me very jaded and unhappy as it all seems to be spiraling downward and out of control when viewed in a rear view mirror.

The subject of me and my boards came up with my good buddy and wing-man.  Finally he said "The happiest I ever saw you was on your old Wave Tools Stinger Fish's you had a few years ago".  Then it dawned on me, the word he used was "happiest" not "best you surfed".  So we sat down a put together a list of the boards that I was happy on, not the ones I thought I surfed best on, though there were obvious areas of overlap.  Then taking all of the general characteristics in to play I drew a list of prioritys and must haves. The short list was

1) under 6'3"
2) not a thruster
3) thick with lots of wave catching in the nose
4) continous rocker, nose to tail, no flat spots
5) extra kick in the tail
6) lots of tail vee through the fins
7) flat, no concave
8) foiled tail
9) soft boxy rails in the middle

So I placed an order from Lance and just layed it out, with more details but gave him the jest of what I wanted.  Sure enough I get back this rather odd looking (by todays comparisons) 80ish quad, that when you look real close is totally tricked out. It was obvious that LC heard me and just went right for it.  Oh and I got it taxi cab yellow with B&W checkerboard stripes down the deck. I wanted the NY Taxi look, as that has a big piece of my past in it, driving a cab and surfing for FUN. Sure enough first budduy that saw it called it the Taxi Cab board. YES!

SO cut to the chase; I take it out on a crowded, sunny, warm afternoon at lunch and first wave, slide right into a glassy waist+ high sucking out frontside clean one. Quick roll and top turn to set up ("just like the old days"), two pumps to get in the spot, push the tail down and stall mid face, let the hook come over me and then just nudge the gas peddle and scoot right along through the hole, slide out, head covered with dripping water. Do the head shake as I swoop a long gliding kick out and just feel this unbelievable rush of memories and past sensations. Giant smile and glow as I get set to jump back on and a Quebecian standing just a few feet away, with his soft-top board says "Wow, that was great" and I just about hugged him as I went by him saying "more then you ever can imagine"

Marioville! Sports, Politics, Humor and more... / Super Bowl Thread
« on: January 21, 2008, 10:06:53 AM »
Finally a Super Bowl game to care about.

Stories of Stoke: The Aloha Room / I Could Have Died Then
« on: August 30, 2007, 06:15:43 AM »
Here's one for SeaCliff. I know, I still owe you my Rassmusen story. Here's a loaner. Hope it keeps me in good standing for now.

I warn you that when this was happening I was fully telling myself that no one was going to fully understand or even believe, but I hope some of you do. Words REALLY don't do it justice.

Setup - The forecast for Tuesday up here was for small waves, knee high, and we had just had a head high ground swell on Saturday, so I was just laying low and thinking of sleeping in. But since I am on vacation this week AND the moon was shining right in my eyes at 5am I decided to get up and at least look at the cam. First light hits at about 5:20 and I can see something real odd. The whole, entire beach is flat except for this one pile of rocks that has what looks like a wave hitting it. I know the spot well and surf just 50 yards down from it usually. Its a pile of leeched up rocks surrounded by sand and usually slow and closing out. Every once in a while it works for moments but it rarely has the right angle and the ratio is like 1 rideable wave compared to 30 or 40 at the other breaks/bars. Oh and I need to mention it is a dead low moon tide at 5:30, way way out beyond where it normally is.

So anyway I figure what the hell it's warm and near end of summer, so I grab a coffee and my WaveTools twin fin longboard and head down. Heading towards the water, the horizon is just starting to really glow and it has the violet and pink look going with a full moon on the otherside, cosmic to say the least. Not a soul around as it's the first day of school (yipee). Pull up and the entire mile or so of beach is black glass flat, EXCEPT the rock pile. A wave hits it, stands up straight, looks solid waist plus high, and just slowly peels and throws for as far as it possibly can, about 50 or 60 yards before it folds on the beach. HOLY fark. That had to be a freak as it was completely flat behind it and in front of it. My head starts spinning though, "what if I can get just one of those? I hit the fast dress, maniac mode. "Hurry maybe one more will come in" Get into the suit and grab some wax and look up and "Holy Mother of God" two of the most perfect, total glass lefts, I have seen in years reel off perfection just like the earlier one. I instantly hit the freak out button. What to do, go get the Quad, change my fins from the little ones, should I laugh cry, is this real? WTF? My head is spinning. I can't even calculate it, there is no other movement in the ocean except these every 4 - 5 minute hallucinations from my school book cover. I am on full adrenal overload now. I have a freakin woody. Is this real? I am 50 years old, surfing 45, surfed millions of waves and places all over the world, but I can't wrap my head around this. WTF? Get my act half together, screw stretching, screw wax, run..........

It only got better, (better does not describe it really) and as I write this I am still way short of figuring out how to relate it. The angle was freakishly perfect and beyond perfect. The wave was chest to head high and was freakin ruler perfect in speed and shape. There was not a bump of water or a section to any wave for two hours. The only waves to be seen where the sets of two or three waves, nothing else, Not a bump, not a roll, nothing else. Perfectly flat black glass with just a hint of offshore. AND no one checked it, no one saw it at it's best. I rode 30 or 40 long perfect California Perfection (best analogy I can think of is the old Hollister Ra-nch photos of perfection) waves BEFORE I saw my first section fall in front of me. And when it did it freaked me out, because I had gotten so use to flawlessness that quickly. I wished I had my quad, but I really didn't care. It would have been better, yet it could not have been better. I actually kept saying to myself, Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god. AND I actually thought that if was going to ever die sudenly, I would want it to be right now. That was in so many ways the zenith of my surfing life. I'll never see it again, I am sure. My best surfing buddy who would have been there had flown to Germany the night before. I left him a message and he thought I had lost my mind or something tragic had happened.

In the end the worst part - I did not get to share any of it, so I hope this gets some of it across.

Stories of Stoke: The Aloha Room / A Brush with Death and a God
« on: April 24, 2006, 01:35:28 PM »
OK, here is the deal.  It is actually so well etched in my mind I only needed to think about (and feel) the day and it all started filling in pretty well. So sit back brothers and sisters we are going surf tripping to SoCal…

This was back around 1986 to 88 in either January or February.  It had been a real wet and cold winter for Southern California, raining a lot.  Mudslides and chaos everywhere, and with lots of big Northwest swells, one right after the other.  This next one was different though; this was going to be a mega-swell. This was a giant storm system that covered the entire northeast Pacific Ocean. Predictions were off the charts. Buoys were 20’+ on Friday night and folks were scrambling.  My friends and me had surfed at home in El Porto for the last few swells, but those had been lonely, sketchy sessions, especially for the two girls, Deb and Shirley. They were both very core and beyond expert skiers, tough as nails, but giant winter swells were past their comfort zone as far as surfing went. And the way the sand bars were torn up at home they were getting past mine too.  El Porto thumps normally, never mind at triple overhead. Plus my other buddies Jose, Richard, and Javier were starting to show mental signs of wear and tear from having to paddle out into constant 10-15 foot brick walls. I had to try and remember that my East coast insecurity/thirst/wave fever complex sometimes made me the odd man out in SoCal.  Yeah, I guess a road trip to some mid-sized, under control fun would be a good call. Why not? It’ll still be good, just smaller.  So we huddle the night before at my house and run down the choices.  Go North to a point, or go south to somewhere slightly out of the max window?  North points will be everyone’s call, and it’s Saturday, so the crowd factor could be a big factor too. Since the girls had been pushing it hard we decided to take a safe call and head down to Old Man’s figuring it is always a harmless ticket, even at double overhead it’s a soft-ish, kinda wave the won’t kill you and can hold any sized swell.  And we could always walk over to Church if that was working.  Plus I could break out my 6’4” love of my life board, which had not gotten wet in over a month.  Cool, we’ll meet at 4am and we’ll just have fun!

Next morning, icy cold, pitch black and still as glass. My house was a mile from the beach, up on a hill in El Segundo and when the surf was really big, you could hear a slight rumble.  That morning, standing in the street and loading up it sounded like we were standing 10 foot from the waters edge.  You could hear the snap and crush of every wave. We were just staring at each other thinking, Holy sh*t, it’s HUGE. I immediately started having second thoughts. We could surf here, alone. What if it’s flat down south, what if, what if?? I could tell by the resounding silence that I was locked into the south trip. Oh well, come on 6’4” lets go play somewhere else. We’ll burn a few bones and just have a kicked back session.

The ride down was pretty quiet. I just sat way in the back listening to my favorite Dead tape and replaying one of the greatest Bertha into Fire on the Mountain jams, over and over, thinking about what we were driving away from. Dam.  That rumble was downright scary. Maybe Hammerland was holding it?

So we pulled up to the gate at the State Park and got into an already long line, in the still pitch-blackness. We had a good 15 minute wait until 6 when they open the gate at San Onofre, so Shirley kills the engine and we get out to stretch. Listen, holy f*ck, there’s that sound again. We run over to the cliff area and you can feel the ground at the top of the 100’ cliffs shaking with every wave. It’s just pure thunder cracking. Oh my god. My heartbeat cranks immediately right up to maxi with wings. Vrmmmm.  And the very first thought in my head?  6’4”, pure freakin genius I am!  F*ck!!

Ok coffee gets sucked down, pisses get taken, boards waxed and rewaxed, we finally get in and snake down the road to S.O.  Now if you have never been, the great thing at Old Man’s is you park right there on the beach, in dirt lots and just hang out of your car all day. So we pull up to the north end by the fence so we can see Church as it gets light. Plus that is usually were the corner is and its ALWAYS a dry hair paddle out from there. Get out to look into the first peek of light and all you can see is whitewater. Constant, from S.O. all the way across the bay, about a mile that is usually flat, to Church. Immediately it becomes apparent that this ain’t no safety session. This is serious.  Normally it’s a good ¼ to ½ mile paddle outside at Old Man’s. Today was a serious mile and even that may have been conservative. Now the lots are filled, but there is not a lot of talking, just a little nervous banter once in a while. No one was ready for this.  I start timing the 6 foot shore pound in the bay, just to see if it’s possible to get out there and go around. Slowly people start to try and get out in front and the results are not looking good. A few folks get lucky and make it through the inside pound and then get swept into the bay where you can head out. OK there’s hope here. I decide to head to the porta-potty and get ready for what could be a long paddle.  The others are wavering on chancing it or just watch for a while and let me be the guinea pig. Fine, I can play that role. I am a not fully packed up top at times, so my judgment regarding surfing safety can be called into question at moments like this. OK 6’4” it’s you and me old girl.

Rather than the bay route I go the other way and jump right into the pit by the entrance and hope to get lucky.  I must have done something right because just a few hard dives and I was getting ripped right out, with a little pull north, but that was to be expected.  Now from this point the only reference I have is the cars and the cliffs, because in front of me is nothing but whitewater and lots of it. Thank goodness for my paddling gloves, and days in the gym, because it was a long hard paddle out there.

Now I finally get around what feels like the corner and I just start stroking as hard as I can to get south. It felt like I went 3 miles out and sideways just to get near where I wanted to be. And at this point, being WAY outside, the cars are tiny on the beach and to say there is a lot of water moving around is a vast understatement.  Waves look like cold, black, steel mountains that just keep rising up until they can’t hold their own weight and just heave out into space. Remember I said Old Man’s is mushy? Forget that. This day it looked like a reef break. 15 to 20 foot faces throwing out as far as they were tall. There was absolutely no resemblance to the Old Man’s I knew and the place I was at.

Looking down and outside there are a couple of surfers but no one is riding. I head over and start to try and calm down and scope out a spot to get a shoulder from.  Just as I pass over what I think is a wave where I want to be, I see an old gray geezer sitting outside another 40 or 50 yards, on a, get this, a florescent pink longboard.  OK, there’s my safety marker. I can use him as a gauge to judge wave height as the pass under him. And as I start to zone in a little to the situation and try and calm down, I suddenly notice that the old guy is looking at the horizon. He starts to paddle even further out. Oh f*ck, is he just crapping himself or is it possible there is a wave out there. As soon as I start to paddle, deciding not to be stupid for a moment, I see what he saw.  Now I am not prone to exaggerate about big surf or my own fear.  I rarely ever hit that point, but let me just say that once I had fully grasped this situation I think me adrenal gland gave out, because here I was staring up at the biggest wall of water I had ever seen and I had little to no chance of get over it. I will all ways remember that there was a wave in front of it that was a solid 15 foot face and the one behind it DWARFED that one.

Now I have to stop and tell you that as fast as all this is happening, it’s all somehow seemed in frame by frame slo-motion, and still is how I see it all today. It's just like I am still there. My own personal Ground Hog Day.

OK, so, instincts being what they are, they severely kicked in, and I paddled like I have never paddled before, or have since. As fast as my webbed gloves, 6’4” and all the adrenaline my body had propelled me over that first wave. Just in time to see old pink geezer paddling up the face of the wave that is about to kill me. And if he does not start stroking harder he is going to be the object impaled in the lip that is going to impale me. F*CK. Move old man. You stupid son of a bitch, we’re both going to die. SO as I track a little more north hoping beyond hope to bust over the top of this monster outside of the death zone of the pink longboarder, what does this moron do? He wipes his board around!! Holy mother of freaking Jesus, you’re out of your mind grandpa. You’re as good as dead AND you’re going to take me with you.  But does reason affect his mind? NO! And to make the cherry on the freakin sunday here what does gramps do on this about to explode, left from hell. He paddles right, jumps to his feet and fades right, straight into the pit. OK ,so you deserve the pummeling and possible death you are due now, pops. I might have given you points just for attempting to take off, but that was absolute, pure stupidity. As I see him drop into this thundering pit from my eagles view, what does this nut case do next? Pretty much the most amazing non-chalant 270 degree, full speed, drawn out, arched back, no-hands bottom turn I have ever seen. All this with an iceberg sized eye wall just clipping his rail, as he redirects, back and straight up the face, directly at me, who is scratching for the top now, as the lip which I had forgotten about is about the unload on my head. “OH, this is like some bizarre, dream, Fellini movie thing going on now. I am just going to have to quit the weed if I ever live through this.” And as I look back down at psycho longboarder, he’s not where I thought he would be, noooo, much worse, he is coming straight up the vertical wall and directly at me. GOD NO!  At the last second as I hit the peak flying up, and get ready for impact, geezer goes straight up, puts 9’ of his 10’ board out of the wave above my head and does an off the lip right next to my ear with the grace and style of a cat. Not a move or motion out of place, just like it was 2 foot Trestles. Straight up to right back straight down a pure vertical wall. The most graceful thing I had ever seen, never mind in death defying, mind numbing waves like this. And as I finally get that millisecond to look the old guy in the face, I flash that David Nuuhiwa is looking back at me, right square in the eye and just smiling from a very pure soul, and whoosh he was gone as everything exploded.  It was way beyond magical; it very much felt like a moment with a god.

Post note- The ending lacks a little as I was getting tired and I am not that good a writer to begin with. But it is also very hard to explain in words the poise and calm that Nuuhiwa was surfing with in those moments. I have been around the surfing block a few times and seen lots of great surfers, but none were ever near the same "other worldliness" control and cold steel nerve that I saw exhibited in those few seconds. It was if he was in absolute control of the ocean itelf at a moment, when no one was even near their peek level of self- control because of the heavy, heavy situation.  It was a pure black and white exhibit of what a "legend" really is compared to the rest of us.

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