Friday, December 31, 2010

Dane Reynolds Backside Matrix Snap

Check out this sequence of Dane Reynolds. His surfing has become so progressive that his spray defies the laws of gravity and physics. People say that Curren had the ability to create his own tubes. He could. I've seen it in real life and on video. Reynolds is Marcel Duchamp to Curren's Picasso. His surfing is so post-modern that it deconstructs the actual dynamics of a breaking wave.

Wednesday, December 15, 2010

Public Service Announcement, Drawn and Written by Thomas Deininger

You ain't ever going to fit into that Victoria's Secret swimsuit if you keep eatin this shit. And the coffee sucks too.

Friday, December 10, 2010

This Week's Swell in Santa Barbara

I used to live here. Now I live in Providence, RI. Do I want to move back? I think this picture answers the question.

Friday, December 3, 2010

Cocaine Mug

Ever wonder what you'd look like if you ate an entire bag of cocaine?

Sunday, November 28, 2010

Know Your Neighbor: Stan Dimock

I will be writing one of these weekly for the Bristol/Warren Patch.

Tuesday, November 16, 2010

Italian Proverb #1

Any man worth the salt of his semen will raise a son mighty enough to ruin him.

Sunday, November 14, 2010


My father-in-law died of a heart attack this week. He was halfway across the country on business. He died in his sleep, alone, in a hotel room. He was 64. My best friend Bob would have been 39 today. He too died unexpectedly, from complications of a kidney condition. This is him surfing. He was a good surfer even if his style was a tad goofy at times. Nobody had more fun though. Benji Weatherly and some pros laughed at him once. Bob was getting out of the water in Little Compton during a hurricane swell wearing his goofy homemade wetsuit visor. Benji and the other pros had been watching Bob from the beach. When he came up, Benji made a sarcastic remark about Bob catching some "good ones." Bob just laughed it off and went to his car. Benji and his friends followed him up the path. When they got to their car they discovered that they had locked their keys inside, their wetsuits and boards too. They asked Bob if he had a coat hanger. Bob said no even though he had like six of them in his car due to work shirts (waiter at the Millwharf). Bob drove off with a smile on his face while Benji and the other pros stood there looking stupid. Don't listen to all the stuff written about Bob making a saint out of him. He enjoyed being a prick sometimes. Love ya, buddy.

Click on title for video.

Wednesday, October 27, 2010

Emprise Review Interview

After publishing my story "Birth Control," Emprise Review asked if I was interested in giving an interview. It's my first as an author and probably my last.

Monday, October 18, 2010


Drove my wife's orange convertible Volkswagen bug to the beach this day because she needed my car to shuttle some furniture for work. I wasn't feeling too masculine as a result and it carried over to my surf session as I proceeded to surf like a chick while Danny and Xavi killed it in the small stuff.

Filmed and edited by Kev and Xavi.

Tim surfing C Street

, from Tim Healy on Vimeo.

Tim was one of We Being Brand's first team riders. He won the first and only We Being Brand/Levitate, Head of the Class surf contest. My claim to fame will someday be that I was the first person on the South Shore to recognize his talents. Now he is going to school at Santa Barbara City College (my first teaching gig out of grad school) and surfing all of my favorite spots in Ventura/SB. Here's some footage of Tim ripping some small waves at C Street in Ventura the other day.

Sunday, October 17, 2010

Birth of Frankenwalsh (Putt'n on the Shitz)

Rated R for Strong Language and Gore.

Wipeout footage from last week.

Wednesday, October 13, 2010

La Merda Che Mia Madre Dice

My mom is now on Facebook. Most nights, she is on Facebook while under the influence. The other night, while reading various posts on my wall, she got it into her head that I was cheating on my wife. I am absolutely not cheating on my wife. Never have. Never will. But my mother has a brilliant imagination. Always has. Always will. Vodka and Facebook only enhance her powers as an overbearing, yet extremely psychotic and loving Sicilian mother. It's a good thing that her arthritis keeps her from texting to her full potential.

And yes, that is a picture of me and my parents; aka, my oedipal triangle.

Monday, October 11, 2010

Tropical Oatmeal

The sandbar was still gone for the Danielle swell. Very mushy on the inside, especially at full high tide which was when most of the footage was shot. It was fun nonetheless given how flat it had been.

Monday, September 27, 2010

Friday, September 24, 2010

Wednesday, September 22, 2010

Oedipal Apparatus

Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad blames capitalism for poverty and the next day "capitalism" tops Yahoo search results because most Americans aren't really sure what "capitalism" means. Apparently "capitalism" is also to blame for ignorance.

First day of class this semester, most of my students couldn't explain the basic principles of capitalism, democracy, or Christianity. The holy three. The three Oedipal figures responsible for constructing their reality...

And that's one to grow on!

Tuesday, September 21, 2010

Cosa Sua

Rhode Island is a temporal vacuum. A large portion of the female population either feather or perm their hair. Most male clothing stores still sell Sansabelt slacks. As of Saturday, September 18, 2010, the top Netflix, Local Favorite selection for Providence, Rhode Island is the 1939 classic Mr. Smith Goes to Washington starring James Stewart. To this day, some Rhode Island residents inject themselves with polio just for old time’s sake.

During recession years, Time rewinds in Rhode Island. The Ocean State recedes. It regresses morally and therefore socially. Republican senator Lincoln Chafee—the state’s most bi-partisan politician in recent history—was ousted during the 2005 elections as a result of George Bush’s disastrous presidency. Change for the sake of change rarely fosters progress. In Rhode Island it typically achieves the opposite. The perfect metaphor being my armory district neighborhood where the corbels and gables of every other Victorian might be refurbished, but ignorance and poverty still abound.

Rhode Island is the all-American contradiction. Jay Gatsby resides here. The International Tennis Hall of Fame. World Cup sailing. Slave ships. Cosa Nostra. Victory over Japan Day. And let’s not forget Alan Shawn Feinstein. Feinstein is an alleged philanthropist who only gives money to institutions willing to rename themselves after him or one of his family members. Rhode Island’s a hard-up state so his name is everywhere, as is his ridiculous motto:

“Helping to better the lives of others is the greatest of all achievements.”

Aside from its clunky wording, this motto sucks. It doesn’t make sense. Bettering the lives of others is not an achievement. Maybe it’s a virtue. Maybe it’s a moral act. Maybe it will get you into heaven, but it is not an accomplishment. Managing a profitable racketeering ring for three decades is an achievement. Sailing past the Royal Perth Yacht Club amongst the choppy waters of Narragansett Bay is an achievement. Conducting twenty-six successful slave voyages is also an achievement. None of these will get you into heaven, but they’re accomplishments nonetheless.

Feinstein wants to end hunger in the state of Rhode Island. I suppose that would be an achievement, but what’s taking him so long? How many starving people can there be in a state of just over one million people? Thirty-thousand is a generous estimate. Feinstein has built athletic and academic facilities at Brown, Providence College, Roger Williams University, RIC, URI, and Johnson & Wales. He donated money to help build the IMAX. How does this help to feed Rhode Island’s hungry? It seems like some of that money would be better spent building food pantries. It seems like he’s not even close to achieving his goal. An achievement is something accomplished successfully, especially by means of exertion, skill, practice, or perseverance. Feinstein is exerting and persevering, but mostly towards his own goal of achieving immortality. Why else would he advertise his own donations on local television commercials? Why else would he put his name on every good deed?

In labeling charity an accomplishment, Mr. Feinstein treats it as something to put on a résumé, a big cock to unfurl at a urinal. Charity is not a prosthetic penis. Charity is not an accomplishment. It’s our duty. We’re all obligated to help the less fortunate, especially the well endowed.

I’m pretty sure that Mr. Feinstein is not a scholar of Kantian ethics. Moral actions should be judged by their intentions not consequences. Mr. Feinstein wants to live forever. He wants to go down in history as the state’s leading altruist. He must rethink his intent and marketing strategies or he’ll always be runner-up to Rhode Island’s most beloved and celebrated humanitarian, Mr. Potato Head.

Wednesday, September 15, 2010

The American

My wife and I saw The American last night. We left mostly disappointed. The film is philosophically contrived. My favorite movie of all time is Antonioni's L'Avventura, a black and white visual masterpiece that's slower to watch than reading Kant's Metaphysics of Morals. I also have a man-crush on George Clooney. Therefore, you can't accuse me of being an ADD American who doesn't appreciate good art or the salt and pepper handsomeness of Danny Ocean. Clooney wasn't himself in this film. I don't think he can pull off gloomy. He's just too goddamn good-looking to be bummed out or broody.

The only thing that saved The American from being a complete waste of my time was the cinematography. The beauty of Abruzzo has personal aesthetic value for me. My grandfather was born there. He was born in the town of Introdaqua where many of the scenes are shot. I never met my grandfather. He died of stonecutter's lung when my father was only 18. Many of his cousins still live there. I'd like to move back, but there's no ocean and thus no surfing. I'd consider seeing The American a second time, but there's a George Clooney in the film and no Danny Ocean.

Tuesday, September 14, 2010

Irish Proverb #1

I was feelin a little bummed out last nite before bed so i farted in the dog's face. Problem solved. Watever it takes.

Monday, September 6, 2010

One Man's Junk

The first signs of Danielle. After a flat spring and summer, it felt good to get in the water knowing that better swell was on the way. Better footage from the next day to come. For those who are too young to recognize the song, it's the theme song from an 80's sitcom Sanford & Son. Viva Redd Foxx!

Monday, August 23, 2010

My Funeral Play List

1. “This Is the Sea” The Waterboys
2. “Parasites” Ugly Casanova
3. “The Shining” Badly Drawn Boy
4. “I’ll Fly Away” Alison Krauss
5. “Why Was I Born” Billie Holiday
6. “Una Furtiva Lagrima” Enrico Caruso
7. “Do You Realize” The Flaming Lips
8. “Heroin” The Velvet Underground
9. “Sleepwalkn’” (scroll down and click on video entitled "Novelty Gifts") Modest Mouse
10. “Bye Bye Blackbird” Dean Martin
11. "Sixteen Tons" Tom Jones
12. “And I Was a Boy From School” Hot Chip
13. “Serenade to a Shylock” Pee Wee Russell
14. “Moonlight Mile” The Rolling Stones
15. “Breakdown” Jack Johnson
16. “Dracula’s Lament” Jason Segel
17. “Welcome Back (theme song Welcome Back Kotter)” John Sebastian
18. “Bye Bye Blackbird” Miles Davis
19. “Communist Daughter” Neutral Milk Hotel
20. “Buenas Tardes, Amigo” Ween
21. “Let’s Cool One” Thelonious Monk
22. “Such Great Heights” The Postal Service
23. “Factory Girl” The Rolling Stones
24. "Mamie's Blues" Jelly Roll Morton
24. "Everyone" Van Morrison

Wednesday, August 4, 2010

Guilty Pleasure #1: "Empire State of Mind"

I like Jay Z’s “Empire State of Mind,” especially the Alicia Keys chorus sections. I like the song despite the fact that it’s sucky and silly. I like the song despite being a Boston kid. Jay Z’s voice sounds strangled and monotone, like he’s holding his breath while pooping, but it doesn’t matter. Hearing the song makes me want to publish a short story in The Paris Review. The beats and rhymes are weak, but after hearing them, I want to hop onto the next Feng Wah to Bowery Street. From there I’d hail a cab to the office of Farrar, Straus, and Giroux where I’d stand on the desk of Lorin Stein and begin reading the first chapter of my unpublished novel to the beat of Alicia Keys singing Let’s hear it for New York, New York, New York.

I can’t explain my deep-seated love for this song. I don’t like any other Jay Z songs and this one seems particularly artless. Not only are the beats and rhymes weak, but the lyrics are repetitive. Yeah, Jay Z, I get it. You know lots of ballplayers (and hookers). The song sounds like a PG-13 commercial for the new Yankee Stadium, but fuck it, I’m tossing out my Red Sox cap and buying a Yankee one. The song moves me that much, which maybe isn’t that impressive given Theo Epstein’s dismantling of the Red Sox. Listening to the Dropkick Murphys while Papelbon takes the mound has never inspired my literary aspirations. Take that Leslie Epstein!

New York City brings out the best and worst in people; sometimes it brings out the best and worst in a single person simultaneously. You can’t foster genius without delusions of grandeur. You can’t capitalize on genius without fucking a few people over. I haven’t capitalized on shit, so let’s focus on delusions of grandeur. I remember my first time in NYC. I stood against the window of my friend’s 36th floor apartment in Hell’s Kitchen, wondering if Don DeLillo could see my Alpo Glow all the way from Bronxville. When I hear “Empire State of Mind” I truly believe that Deborah Treisman is going to select my short story from the New Yorker slush pile, or all I have to do is show up at the KGB Bar and begin reading...And since I made it here, I can make it anywhere. Yeah, they love me everywhere

This line doesn’t make sense, yet I believe it when Jay Z and Sinatra sing it. It’s much easier to make it in NYC than it is Topeka. There is no anywhere other than NYC, not unless you have movie aspirations, then maybe it’s L.A. or perhaps D.C. if you have political ambitions. Otherwise, it would be more impressive for a person to have made a name for themselves having never left Cleveland. Jay Z and Sinatra made it in New York. Big deal. There’s more overpaid, over-hyped mediocrity in that city than any other. But perhaps that is the new American Dream, fame and fortune as a result of ho-hum talent. Now that I think of it, signing up for this blog was even cheaper than a one-way ticket on the Fung Wah, and I don’t have to worry about losing a wheel and flipping over on the Mass Pike. Can anyone link this post onto the wall of Lorin Stein’s Facebook?

Thursday, July 22, 2010

Gizmo KaKa

Rated R for sexually suggestive language.

Never expose a Mogwai to bright lights, never put it in water, and never feed it after midnight.

Sunday, July 18, 2010

What Women Want (minus Helen Hunt)

Mel Gibson lost me as a fan shortly after The Patriot, but I’ve been digging his new spoken word recordings. His talents as an actor plateaued in Lethal Weapon 2 when he broke the neck of a South African nationalist by slamming it in a car door four times. After that it was Martin Riggs with a blue face and then Martin Riggs in a George Washington wig. Mel’s career was going the way of Jean-Claude Van Damme, but like other great artists of the 1980’s—Bono, Madonna, and Rodney Dangerfield—he has reinvented himself. He has become the greatest, ultra-conservative performance artist of our time.

He’s done so by transforming the loony anger of Martin Riggs into a brilliant hybrid of Rush Limbaugh, GG Allin, Moe, Larry, and Curly. Compared to Mel, Glen Beck is nothing more than Shirley Temple with a military buzz and small penis; Dennis Miller nothing more than a right wing thesaurus. Listening to Mel threaten and belittle his ex-girlfriend, Oksana Grigorieva is like listening to Hitler read Goethe. His demeaning phraseologies will be adopted by misogynists throughout the English-speaking world the same way that certain Seinfeld expressions have become part of our everyday parlance.

Mel’s new art form got off to a shaky start. His homophobic statements of 1997 were too polemical. Any pansy-ass can be a homophobe. His anti-Semitic tirade of ‘06 was too esoteric. But like William Wallace, Mel never gave up despite being disemboweled by the liberal media. He kept swinging, until finally, he landed something…a straight right to the mouth of his girlfriend. Mel Gibson is a first rate misogynist of biblical proportions. He is a new man with a whole new career. I can only think of Babe Ruth stepping off the mound in favor of a bat, or Julian Schnabel quitting art in favor of film. Mel Gibson was born to hate on women. Aside from his explosive temper, he’s got the bloated alcoholic face, which makes him look like the consummate wife beater. Combine all this with his almost Vince Vaughn-like knack for dishing out verbal abuse, and you have the conservative man’s Andy Kaufman.

But enough from me. Judge his genius for yourself. He crafted the following stanza after Oksana denied him a blowjob before having sex in the Jacuzzi.

I deserve to be blown first!/Before the fucking Jacuzzi!
I'll burn the goddamn house down/but blow me first!

The next stanza is wildly metaphysical, as brilliant as anything Donne penned.

You have no fucking soul. And my soul is screaming
because you don't have one to join mine!

Here’s where he gets Three Stooges.

You need a bat on the side of the head. How about that?

In the following quartet, he is simultaneously racist and misogynistic. The quartets of Pound and Eliot never came close to this kind hateful multitasking.

You're an embarrassment to me.
You look like a fucking bitch in heat
and if you get raped by a pack of niggers,
it will be your fault.

His eye for the female body is also reminiscent of Donne. Here he is on Oksana’s breasts.

They look ridiculous.
Get rid of them, why don’t you.
They look stupid; it’s just an appraisal.
Keep them if you want. Look stupid.
See if I give a fuck, but they’re too big
and they look stupid.
They look like a Vegas whore.

Everyone knows that Russ Limbaugh and Bill O’Reilly don’t believe a word of what they say. They’re neo-con WWF wrestlers. It’s all show. It’s all for the ratings. Only lower middle class dingalings and misled Christians buy their acts. Mel, on the other hand, believes and lives by everything he says. You cannot separate the dancer from the dance, nor Mel from the misogyny. He lives and breathes sexism. He walks the talk. And to put the sour icing on the cake, he recently donated $25K to a women’s center in Boston. He’s a bigger douche than Pontius Pilate!

Of course this is all sexist bullshit. Can you imagine a woman celebrity being that violent and hateful towards her lover? The public would stone her. Hollywood would throw acid in her face. We wouldn’t find it as funny. We wouldn’t find it as clever. We are all sexist in this regard. We all know that women are morally superior to men. Betsy Ross was right when she said, “All men fucking suck.” For this reason there’s a double standard when it comes to women being abusive to men. We unfairly expect better from them.

For example, what if Sandra Bullock flipped out on Jesse James? What if he taped her berating him? What would she say? How would she say it? I’m not sure, but I do know that Sandra Bullock looks like my mother. I also know that my mother acts and sounds like Mel Gibson when she’s drunk on vodka. She’s threatened to cut my dick off. She’s threatened to stab me in my sleep. She once punched me in the face until she was too winded to lift her arms. Don’t worry. It didn’t hurt. She and I sometimes laugh about it now, but what about poor Sandra Bullock? Would we want to hear a four volume box set of her shitting all over her husband? Would the transcript find itself on every major blog and newspaper in the English-speaking world? Again, I’m not sure, but I’ve written up some samples so we can experiment. I’ve written them with the voice of my mother and the words of Mel Gibson in mind. I hope you find them entertaining.

You balding piece of shit! You’d be working on Huffies if it wasn’t for me bailing you out all the time!

I’ll torch your entire fucking bike shop, but eat me first!

You need a ratchet to the side of the head! Can you dig that?

You dare fall asleep on me! Truth be told, I barely fucking noticed! You lick pussy like a stroke victim!

You’re an embarrassment! You look like a washed-up, biker hillbilly. If you get raped by a pack of toothless hermits it will be your fault. At the very least, I hope your dick gets ripped off by a flock of Asian masseuses.

It’s just not the same. It’s too emasculating for the patriarchal mainstream. Nobody wants to listen in on a man being verbally castrated. Men only want to hear women screaming at other women. Cat fight! Meow! Supposedly there is a recording somewhere of Sandra Bullock screaming at one of James’ former fuck dolls, an ex-porn star. Now that’s something that all men want to hear, especially if Sandra’s speaking her native German! It’d be like listening to Eva Braun read Rilke.

Thursday, July 1, 2010

Birth Control

A short story published in the newest issue of Emprise Review. Thanks again, Amber. This story has got Ghengis Kahn and my father's missing middle finger. It does not talk about me losing my mom's teeth. That one's coming soon.

Wednesday, May 12, 2010

Santo D'Alessandro Tags Himself

Another short story out. This one was published with Johnny America. Domestic farting and a protagonist who creeps on himself on Facebook.

Wednesday, May 5, 2010


This is what a republican looks like.

This is what a democrat looks like.

Monday, May 3, 2010

Self Defense

A new short story published in decomP. Thanks to Jason. Honored to be included. Click on title and it will bring you there.

Sunday, April 25, 2010

Tom Curren

I lived in Santa Barbara during the Christmas swell of 2005, but on the 23rd of December my wife and I flew back home to Boston for the holidays. We left for the airport that morning. We had an hour to kill, so we swung by the pier. It was one of the biggest mistakes of my life. I'd never seen such perfect barrels (still haven't). My wife told me to paddle out. She even suggested that we cancel our flight. For some stupid reason, I decided to be a thoughtful surf husband for the first time. The conscience chooses strange times to make up for former sins.

Instead of surfing, I walked out to the tip of the jetty and watched. I began talking to a guy who was filming from the beach with a fancy-looking camera. It turned out he was shooting for an upcoming film by Jason Baffa (Singlefin: Yellow). The guy wasn't a surfer, so he was having a tough time following his assignment, which was to capture the rides of Tom and Joe Curren. I offered to be his spotter. He asked if I could pick Tom Curren out of a crowd of 75 surfers. I told him that any surfer worth his salt could do it, especially one who grew up in the mid to late 1980's. Any of the land footage of Tom Curren surfing Sandspit in the film One California Day was spotted by me. That's my claim to fame. I also took a few photos of my own. The following pic is one of them.

Friday, April 23, 2010

American Beauty Minus Kevin Spacey

Click above on title for a short story about a suburban couple combating domestic fascism. Published at Waccamaw which is edited by Dan Albergotti and Jason Ockert.

Wednesday, April 21, 2010

West Side Story

You can buy chicken for $1.99lb. at this place!

Tuesday, March 30, 2010

Atlantic Daze

One of those mornings when you wished you were surfing as good as the waves looked. Waves were pretty but fat, an oceanic metaphor of myself.

Surfers: myself, Dan, Walshy, Tim, Xavi, and some unidentified tube dodger.

Clicking on the title takes you to my sister-in-law's vimeo site for higher quality.

Tuesday, March 2, 2010

Danger Zone Minus Tom Cruise

Mentor and friend Elizabeth Searle was kind enough to share her blog with me this week. Feel free to post some Tom Cruise thoughts at the end of the story, which by the way is 82% true. Click on title of this thread and it will take you there.

Saturday, January 30, 2010

Mona Lisa Penis

Mona Lisa has been making the news as of late. Some Italian scientists want to exhume Leonardo da Vinci so they can answer questions surrounding that iconic face. Is it a self-portrait of Leonardo himself? Was she a prostitute? Was she pregnant? Did she have high cholesterol? Why doesn't she have any eyebrows? Did she lose them after passing out at a frat toga party? What about her smile? Is it innocent or slutty? Whatever the answer, she has certainly made a lot of money for a lot of nerdy art dealers, curators, and enthusiasts. We Being Brand wants to cash in on her enigmatic iconography and have decided to do so by offering our followers this amazing tee shirt. We've only printed 50 of them. For $25 (shipping included) this pretty little thang can be yours. From across the room, friends and family members will think you're walking around with a picture of a man's package on your shirt. When they get up close, they'll realize it's just an upside down image of Mona Lisa herself. Act now! Supplies won't last! Email me for more information at

Monday, January 25, 2010

sunny-slow in Sea minor

Trying to make gutless surf look pleasant. At least the sun was out.

Rated G for general gayness (in the happy sense of the word).

Tuesday, January 5, 2010

Horse Shit

Imparting an erotic terror to the dreams of the republic.

Rated R for crotch-grabbing and F-bombs.