Wednesday, December 21, 2011

Saturday, December 17, 2011

Martin Potter, Wave Warriors III

Herbie Flether is the godfather, the Vito Corleone of modern surf films. Taylor Steele is Michael (trying to keep with the mafia sub-plot of Steele's mid-career hit The Show here). Steele gets most of the credit for post-modernizing surf films with his highly individualized, punked-out New School brand, but Fletcher was the first to deconstruct the old model of long-winded, spot-oriented (Padang Padang--so good they had to name it twice) documentaries with goofy voice-overs. Like Steele, Fletcher had a deep talent pool at his very fingers, son Christian and his friends Archie, Dino, and Justin Roberson. Without the aerials of Archie and Christian, without the progressive power surfing of Potter and Curren, the Poor Specimen generation could not exist. Wave Warriors III & IV, featured big airs and big tail-releasing turns. Slater, Dorian, Williams, and Machado took it from there. Steele packaged it for them.

One of my favorite sections of the Wave Warriors series was Potter's WWIII part. Fletcher's technique was to make everything "rad" as this was the motif of all things '80's. You can hear it in the voice-over and see it via Pottz' webbed gloves and the Oakley blades he's sporting. But check out the surfing! It still stands up today as absolute ripping! I am semi ashamed to admit that after watching this clip for the first time at fifteen, I had my dad drive me to Cal Surf so I could buy a pair of webbed gloves. While pumping down the line frontside with my Webbz, I'd even have the same shitty song in my head, imagining I was ripping as radly as Pottz.

Thursday, December 8, 2011

The First First Lady to Pose for Playboy

Last year, my buddy's uncle gave me half his Playboy collection, which included every issue from 1978 to 1998. Since then, they've been coming in handy in more ways than one. They inspired me to write a story about Dixie Wang, the first First Lady to pose for Playboy. It's now out in the newest issue of the delinquent. They're a hot literary mag out of London, so shipping for the print edition might cost you a couple extra bucks. Or, you can buy the Ebook version for like $1.50. Either way, worth the money.

Monday, December 5, 2011

Down in History

I have a story in the new issue of Solstice. It's another violent tale with lots of pop culture allusions, this one about Marissa Tomei turning into the Incredible Hulk.

Sunday, December 4, 2011

New York Tyrant #9

Newest issue of New York Tyrant features my story "My Mother's Bird Tweets."

Wednesday, November 30, 2011

Low Lives

Proud to have a short story in the newest issue of Superstition Review. The working title of the story had been "Tears of Heaven Minus Eric Clapton's Son." That pretty much says it all.

Friday, November 18, 2011

RIP Surfer X

This was posted in the Boston Globe last week...
"SurfSET Fitness is a new company that allows people to work out like surfers. CEO and founder Mike Hartwick developed the Rip Surfer X - a one-person machine that can be part of gym workouts - as a way to exercise while he was away from the waves.

The company is rolling out demonstrations ahead of what it hopes will be a distribution of machines and programs to gyms throughout the country.

The first classes were held at the Boston Athletic Club in South Boston this weekend.
I realize surfing is pretty much the best thing anyone could ever do with their life, but don't bother with these gimmicky simulations. Either paddle out and do the real thing or stick to your Elliptical. Mike Hartwick must be a kook if he thinks Rip Surfer X can replicate the aerobic benefits of a surf session. It can't for the very simple reality that the overwhelming majority of your surfing "workout" occurs while paddling and pushing against your board (ducking-diving and hopping to your feet). The actual riding of the wave provides the least amount of energy. Why not call this hunk of shit Rip Snowboarder X? It seems like a more fitting description, plus, any fat ass who can mount a ski lift can relatively rip on one of those. But nobody wants to be a snowboarder. They want to be surfers and thank god the real thing is too hard (and too cold in New England) to master. Otherwise my local surf breaks would have all the neon of a ski resort.

Thursday, November 17, 2011

San Francisco Free Session

Depending on how you like your surf entertainment served, Julian Wilson is giving Dane Reynolds a run for his magic markers in regards to the best blog on the ASP. These days, Dane barely updates his Marine Layer site and when he does, you're not always getting "marine" themed content. Julian doesn't offer hipster doodles on his site, but he does offer a lot of this kind of thing...

San Francisco Doesn't Suck. from Blake Kueny on Vimeo.

...which in my opinion is much better.

Tuesday, October 18, 2011

Curren v. Coffin | The Surfer's Journal

One of the best parts of this video is that the 3X world champ and inventor of modern surfing gets dropped in on by two guys and almost a third on the same wave. Have they no respect?

Curfin: Tom Curren vs. Conner Coffin. from Michael Kew on Vimeo.

The Use of Force (Charmin version)

"The Use of Force" is a short story by modernist poet William Carlos Williams. It's about a doctor's house visit to a poor family in which the daughter is gravely ill with diphtheria. The stubborn child refuses to open her mouth for a throat culture. She's ashamed of her illness and distrusts the compassionate doctor whom the mother describes to her daughter as a "nice man" albeit a complete stranger. The parents try holding their daughter down while the doctor attempts to look inside her mouth. The doctor tries sweet-talking the brat, but she won't bite. The doctor actually likes and respects her stubborn distrust and independence, even after she knocks his glasses off his face. Her parents fare no better. The father tries holding her down, but his own shame and fear of hurting his daughter weaken his attempt. The daughter becomes hysterical, shrieking and biting the doctor's wooden tongue compressor. The compassionate doctor, who had formerly prided himself on being calm and rational, finally gets feed up. He tells the mother to get him a metal spoon. In a final "unreasoned assault," the doctor overpowers the child amidst her kicking and screaming. He pries her mouth open with the spoon and her swollen tonsils are revealed. The doctor enjoys dominating the child but feels ashamed for doing so.

Ultimately, the story begs questions about altruism, utilitarian ethics, and even military force/war.

Recently, I mounted a toilet paper dispenser on my bathroom wall that I'd purchased from IKEA. It looks like this. The thing is designed like a bear trap. The chrome plate is tightly spring-loaded with a sharp-toothed end that kept snapping down on my hand as I tried holding it up with one hand and screwing the back in with the other. I felt like the doctor in WCW's "The Use of Force." I shrieked a few cocksuckers and motherfuckers every time it snapped down on the back of my hand. I finally got the thing secured onto the wall but not after loss of blood and flesh. I felt all too proud conquering this chrome-plated, Swedish-engineered death trap. Ultimately, the experience begged questions about masculinity and labor. The fact that I compared the far-from-manly task of mounting a toilet paper dispenser to a work of literary fiction pretty much makes me a giant pussy and here are photos of the wound to prove it.

Friday, October 7, 2011

Revelations #1

This is a short film by my good friend Gerald Lewis. He made it a while back and I am posting this in hopes of inspiring him to make more. It's funny and favorite kind of thing.

Tuesday, September 13, 2011

Runman! You're a Runman! Runman!

The Runman films of the mid to late '80s are as important to the culture of surfing as Duke Kahanamoku, Bruce Brown, and/or Pac Sun. The films came out before Taylor Steele's Momentum and Momentum II, which featured the beginnings of New School progression to mainstream punk rock (Pennywise, Offspring, NOFX). One could argue that Taylor Steele's early films were somewhat inspired by the Runman videos and that he provided the surf industry with a much more marketable brand of the Runman concept, which consisted first and foremost of lewd hijinks and old school punk and THEN surfing, or "ripping." My friends and I would watch these videos in my living room and laugh our asses off. We adopted some of the language and catch-phrases into our everyday talk. We even attempted some of the Runman stunts at home. You didn't put on a Runman video to amp yourself up before a surf. You didn't watch them to inspire your surfing abilities. You watched them to become a better "surfer." I think today's Reef-footed, Quik-donned, "rippers" should take a long hard look at the Runman films. Surfers aren't supposed to be sheep. Their supposed to be goats.

BTW, this Surfer's Journal vid about Runman kind of sucks. I would have done a WAY better job with it. There's also a part II on the site.

Monday, September 12, 2011

Surf Simulations

My article for NE Surf about the Quiksilver Pro contest at Long Beach, inspired by Baudrillard and Kelly Slater.

Monday, September 5, 2011

Quiksilver Pro-New York

This Thursday I'll be heading down to NYC to cover the Quiksilver Pro for NESURF.COM. The event is being held in Long Beach and swells from Hurricane Katia are already en route. I have mixed feelings about the ASP allowing Quiksilver to throw a bunch of money (in the pro-surfing cents)at this particular contest for the sake of broadening the surf market. New York is the cultural center of the U.S. and arguably the world. Will the city's hipsters, poets, artists, stock brokers, models, athletes, sidewalk prophets, guidos, gangsters, dirt bags, junkies, drag queens, and fuckheads care to wear the new Jets NFL 22" boardshorts? I hope not. New York (Long Island) already has a surf scene and we know Quiksilver isn't hosting this event so the locals can watch pros rip their home break. The contest is intended for the other 8 million plus people who live in the city and the millions more who live around it. If something doesn't happen in New York it doesn't actually happen at all. NYC is the phenomenological standpoint of our mass media reality. Fuck L.A. Surfing on the continental U.S. grew up there (Malibu) and look at what Hollywood has done to surf image/culture. The country revolves around New York and surfing doesn't exist for New Yorkers. It doesn't exist for the Mid West either, but everything that everybody ever sees or reads somehow had its inception/conception (most likely) in New York City. The ASP and Quiksilver are hoping to get on the conceptual grid and I for the sake of traffic at my local breaks, hope the mainstream media ignores the contest as much as possible.

Starting Thursday, I'll be blogging and tweeting about the contest on a daily basis with pics and video from the event. Stay tuned or else you might relapse into ontological uncertainty.

Thursday, June 30, 2011

Musical Novels

There's been much ado lately about technology boosting book sales, or rather story sales. Kindles, Sony Readers, iPads, and other electronic forms of experiencing literature are reacquainting a new generation of dumb-dumbs to the printed, or rather transmitted word. People like shiny bells and whistles. Their attention spans require hokey fun to stay tuned. These handheld devices seem to do the trick. Maybe the print publishing industry should wire all books with songs so when a novel is opened, a kick ass tune starts playing. Kind of like musical greeting cards. Fucking brilliant. Here's some novels and the theme songs that I think should accompany them when opened. I can see FSG selling at least a hundred or so more literary novels this way.

Portnoy's Complaint, Phillip Roth

A continuous monologue about a young, Jewish man's schlong, dong, cock, and yes, balls. Portnoy is an oedipally complexed bachelor who sometimes jerks off with raw liver. Think Ron Jeremy on a shrink's couch wearing a pair of Woody Allen glasses. I couldn't think of a better opening theme song for this protagonist than AC/DC's "Big Balls."

White Noise, Don DeLillo

A charming satire about death and a toxic chemical blast that occurs just outside an all-American suburb. Eerily, the only thing that seems to result from the blast is that the local sunsets become more spectacular due to added chemicals in the atmosphere. Watch the ending of the Postal Service's video and don't tell me the director didn't have the Gladneys in mind when filming the final scene.

The Road, Cormac McCarthy

Post-apocalyptic fable about a father and son's struggle for survival in a sunless, environmentally ravished America. They're constantly on the run from squads of man-eating militiamen as they head south in search of a warmer climate and remaining "good guys." The father carries a gun for both defense and/or suicide in case they are captured by the cannibals. It's a hell-on-earth scenario and I can't think of a better theme song for the novel than the Misfits' "Night of the Living Dead." Writer and New York Tyrant editor/publisher Giancarlo DiTrapano is currently working on a rewrite of the novel in which the son eats the father at the end. Keep an eye out for that.

Moby Dick, Herman Melville

I hate Led Zeppelin and I hate people who claim John Bonham as a genius on drums, but the song does have some sort of seafaring determination to its rhythm and beats. Plus, the song is an instrumental so dumb-dumb readers won't get distracted by lyrics while trying to comprehend Melville's metaphorical and highly stylized language.

The House on Mango Street, Sandra Cisneros

Okay, so The House on Mango Street has done fairly well for a novel in regards to sales, but I think it could do even better. Sure every white, college freshman has read the book, but why not get lower/working class white kids reading it? Nothing sells Latin America to uneducated white folks like J. Lo. The lyrics and themes to "I'm Real" perfectly suit the plights of Esperanza's coming-of-age conflicts. I've included the "I'm Real" remix with Ja Rule because uneducated black people could also get something from reading The House on Mango Street.

Wednesday, March 16, 2011

DeLillo Prophecy #1- Japan

White Noise, pg 66-67, published in 1984

"Japan is pretty good for disaster footage," Alphonse said. "India remains largely untapped. They have tremendous potential with their famines, monsoons, religious strife, train wrecks, boat-sinkings, et cetera. But their disasters tend to go unrecorded. Three lines in a newspaper. No film footage, no satellite hookup. This is why California is so important. We not only enjoy seeing them punished for their relaxed lifestyle and progressive social ideas but we know we're not missing anything. The cameras are right there. They're standing by. Nothing terrible escapes their scrutiny."

"You're saying it's more or less universal, to be fascinated by TV disasters."

"For most people there are only two places in the world. Where they live and their TV set. If a thing happens on television, we have every right to find it fascinating, whatever it is."

"I don't know whether to feel good or bad about learning that my experience is widely shared."

"Feel bad," he said.

"It's obvious," Lasher said. "We all feel bad. But we can enjoy it on that level."

It should also be noted that the Bhopal chemical disaster in India (leading to the deaths of over 10,000) took place months after the novel's publication.

Monday, March 7, 2011

Chicks and Sticks Do Mix

I've been frothing for this year's ASP tour to get going. Dane and Jordy are coming into their own. Parko is due for a world title, and there's always the Kelly X-factor. The waves at the Quicksilver Pro Snapper Rocks event have gotten off to a disappointing start. Six lay days in a row before Round 2 finally started up on Saturday. Round 3 kicked off yesterday and I was waiting all day for the fifteen hour time lapse with the Gold Coast. The morning heats started yesterday evening EST; however, they kicked off the day of competition with the women. Typically, I wouldn't bother watching. I know how pathetic that sounds. My wife is a feminist who has taught women studies at the university level. I consider myself a feminist, which is to say I believe that all women should have the same rights and opportunities as all men. That said, I've never watched a single heat of women's surfing.

My past reasoning? I never found the performances exciting enough. I am just being honest here. Taking nothing away from Frieda Zamba, Wendy Botha, or even Lisa Anderson, women's surfing from the late '80s to late '90s never did it for me. In some male chauvinist way I always felt like they could barely if at all surf better than me and that was/still is somehow the measurement of whether or not a human being (especially a man) will sit and watch another person perform an athletic activity, or perhaps any activity for that matter. So there you have it: sports entertainment is a consequence of male ego and gender hierarchy.

I no longer believe or practice this. After the last few months royally sucking for waves, I was so hungry for surf that I decided to watch the women's rounds of the Roxy Pro because I just wanted to at least watch anyone, someone ride good waves. So I gave women's surfing a chance by default last night, and was incidentally blown away but what I saw. Women surf way better than me now. Way better than any male surfer in New England, probably even New York and New Jersey. Carissa Moore is freakishly good like Slater. Sixteen year-old Tyler Wright surfs like Occy. Coco Ho is mind-blowing as well. I was thoroughly put in my place watching these women. I am a fan. From here on, I will be watching each event with the same enthusiasm as I do the men's tour.

Checkout the progressive hack Carissa Moore pulls in this clip at 1:40. I have never seen any male in New England perform a turn like that and to back it up I'll give anyone fifty bucks if they can provide a video proving otherwise, but either way, I plan on watching women's surfing from here on out.

Friday, March 4, 2011

Mr. Mouth Eats a Wade Boggs Dribbler

My winning Literary Death Match story has been posted up on Thought Catalog.

Wednesday, February 16, 2011

Wave Scum Garden

Wavegarden (Short) from wavegarden on Vimeo.

Q: What do artificial wave pools and fat chicks have in common?
A: They're both fun to ride until your friends see you on them.

Remember that cruel '80s joke about mopeds and fat chicks? I always thought it heartless, but then I witnessed something even more heartless...this video. It's an artificial wave pool somewhere in Europe. I could really care where; it's not the point. The point is that the industrial surf complex wants to sell board shorts and rash guards to pasty inlanders worldwide. I don't know what bothers me more, the idea of riding knee-high murky pond water or the surf industry stickers and flashy wetsuits of the wave garden riders. Maybe I wouldn't have minded so much if Bobby Martinez, Jordy Smith, and the others were surfing in jean cut-offs and John Deere caps (can't believe the Malloy bros missed that marketing opportunity). That would somehow do the wave garden justice in its doing an injustice to actual wave-riding.

Adding to the heartlessness was seeing Martinez ride that pathetic mushburger. Here's a man with one of the best backhand styles of all-time, who regularly rides one of the world's premiere pointbreaks, the geographical whim which is Rincon del Mar in Santa Barbara, CA. Here's that man riding this aqua fart. Gross.

The same can be said for Jordy, who rides the world's other best right-hand point break with the highest combo of progression and power seen by surfers thus far.

Surfing is visceral texture combined with mutability. It's as much about the salt as the water. It's about surfing a one of a kind wave from a one of a kind storm that is pushing swells into/around/upon a randomly formed coastal topography. Surfing is happenstance and luck. It is impermanence. You can't always have it and that's what makes it special. We consumers forget this in an age of right-clicking instant gratification.

The best, most agonizingly orgasmic thing about surfing is that the swell won't last. You can't just turn it on with a switch, a click of your mouse.

For more than twenty years, I've been surfing one of the most meager locales in the world: New England. Sadly, the waves of the Euro garden remind me of sessions I've had at my local breaks, but I'd like to think that I have done so with more dignity given the immense visceral qualities of the Atlantic, that I've done so in sub-zero temperatures, in snow, sleet, and rain. I grew up on the beach, swimming, snorkeling, skimboarding, and just plain living. This too is a necessary condition of calling yourself a surfer. You've got to have an actual relationship with the ocean. Sorry, you just do.

Me and my friends spent our entire summers on the beach. It was literally our backyard, but as often happens here in summer, a day or two of offshore winds would blow our warm gulf stream waters out to sea, dropping the local ocean temps below ankle-numbing. It can be 90 degrees and humid and the ocean will drop to 56. During one of these scorching summer days with an ice-cold ocean, a friend of mine called me over his house. He said that his mother had filled the back of her pickup truck with water and that he was going to go bodyboarding. It sounded bad-ass so I ran up the street with my Morey Waimea Pro under arm. I got there to find that his mom had laid a tarp in the bed of her green F-150 and filled it with a running garden hose. My friend was just sort of floating there like a corpse on his bodyboard. Aside from the Wave Garden video, it was the most heartless thing I've ever seen. He asked to me to hop in. I politely declined and went home. Sometimes it's better to not surf at all. Only a true surfer knows that feeling.

Monday, February 14, 2011

Marilyn Monroe in The Crucible

A few weeks ago, my wife and I went to see Arthur Miller’s The Crucible at Providence’s Trinity Repertory Company. The man playing Reverend Samuel Parris seemed detached from the character’s hell-raising vanity. It was most noticeable in his articulation and tone. He delivered lines with a certain estrangement of voice. I don’t necessarily blame the actor. Other than God himself, who in their right mind would want to play such an asshole? Reverend Parris is a diehard megalomaniac with the worst kind of ego, one that achieves great heights by belittling others morally and economically. To use an oft spoken word in the play (with heaps of thematic resonance), his egotism is all pretense. Reverend Parris hasn’t done anything spectacular to warrant such a high and mighty self-opinion. Win a Pulitzer, sleep with Marilyn Monroe, and then you can preach your greatness to the choir.

I attribute the defunct performance of Reverend Parris to the character’s archaic fear and wonderment of God. Do such men exist anymore? I don’t think so. We certainly have our share of religious nuts, but to me their extreme devotion isn’t based in teleological astonishment or a reverence for the categorical imperative. Most Christians don’t attend church or believe in God in order to have the makings of the universe explained to them. They have Wikipedia for that. Their religiosity is based in exclusivity. Being Christian for many is an excuse to vilify and/or exclude others from their ideological environment, and by others I mean any person who represents characteristics which stand to confuse, refute, and/or mock the idea of Jehovah creating the universe in seven days, casting Adam and Eve from Eden, and persecuting individuals who want to marry someone of the same gender.

Even Christian extremists know better than to take the Bible’s fables literally. Furthermore, they don’t actually believe in God, never mind fearing or revering him. They attend church because they want themselves to be right and for everyone else to be wrong. It’s the lowest common denominator of self-realization. They fear progress. They are afraid of relinquishing the smallest iota of their ideological power to pacifists, secularists, homosexuals, tree-huggers, socialists, hipsters, vegans, Jews, book-readers, and logicians.

Man needed God to exist so he invented him, but that was a long time ago. We don’t need him anymore and for that reason I found The Crucible exhausting. Money grubbers and jealous lovers manipulating the church for their own gain, people claiming to have seen the devil, and worse, others believing those claims. I could barely sit in my seat. I was literally cringing. At various moments, I wanted to get up and slap a few bitches, Abigail, Reverend Parris, and Deputy Governor Danforth in particular. How could our society and government be so morally corrupt, so intellectually vapid? It made the George W. Bush era look like the flower power ‘60s.

All the evil/satanic melodrama. All that Linda Blair-like screaming. I actually started laughing at the play, and then it dawned on me. Arthur Miller meant for the play to be viewed and directed as a comedy of errors in which the subject of mistaken identity is the devil himself. I am now thinking of revisionist performances/translations of other religious texts under the same concept. Any suggestions?

Wednesday, February 2, 2011

The Other "Me" in We Being Brand

Art review of Thomas Deininger's newest exhibit.

Thursday, January 27, 2011

Wednesday, January 26, 2011

Boston's Literary Death Match, Episode 5

Just want to thank Todd Zuniga, editor of Opium Magazine and creator of Literary Death Match for a great evening of readings in Boston. I had the honor of reading in this year's Boston Literary Death Match, Episode 5 with some well-known Boston-area authors (Christopher Monks, Heidi Pitlor, Myfanwy Collins). Somehow I came out on top. Thank you also to co-host Kirsten Sims and my MFA mentor Elizabeth Searle, and Episode 4 winner, for suggesting my name to Todd.

I highly recommend that everyone attend the next one. Todd's definitely adding life to the literary scene nationwide.

Tuesday, January 18, 2011

Twilight Fans Await Pattinson's Performing of Rectal Exam Scene in DeLillo's Cosmopolis

Twilight star Robert Pattinson has been selected by director David Cronenberg to star in his upcoming film adaption of Don DeLillo’s semi-recent novel Cosmopolis. DeLillo disciples (like me) can only hope that Pattinson’s portrayal of existential assets manager Eric Packer might turn Twilight readers (20 million and counting) onto the literary genius of America’s premiere novelist (sorry Pynchon, McCarthy, and Roth, but it’s true).

Cosmopolis might not be DeLillo’s best work, but I would argue that it rivals if not bests anything else published in 2003, which includes Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, The Da Vinci Code and titles by Amis, Atwood, Coetzee, Lethem, and Palahniuk, not to mention Pulitzer Prize winning Middlesex by Eugenides.

Either way, Cosmopolis will surely experience a spike in sales but will its sparse, poetic style and relatively heady thematic explorations prove too much for those prone to blood and brain cell-sucking vapidity? Will some Twilight readers convert to quality literature? Will Pattinson have an Oprah-effect on DeLillo’s career? Would that lead to Oprah selecting Cosmopolis for her book club and might we consequently see DeLillo sitting on Oprah’s couch? Nah.

I visited a few Pattinson/Twilight fan sites and here’s a sampling of early reactions to Cosmopolis. Not surprising, most of them are looking forward to Pattinson's performance of the rectal exam scene. Is this the kind of public/media attention that forced another DeLillo protagonist, celebrated author Bill Gray, into maniacal reclusion?

Hmm... ive never heard of that book but I hope it's better than it sounds.

I’m probably in the minority, but I’m halfway through reading my free copy from Google books but the book is a bit boring and the love scenes are not sensual. It’s almost robotic. I do hope the filmmakers can make it more exciting. So far DeLillo has not made me care about any of the characters.

The book is too expensive for my Nook. $10.00

I like Rob but I’m not thrilled with this choice. I’ve read Cosmopolis and it wasn’t very good. Here’s hoping that Cronenberg can make a lousy book turn into a better movie.

I’m a tad confused reading this book. Some of the words that the author puts together don’t even seem to go together. My brain was aching when I was finished with part 1…and ya, I had to go back and re-read some parts just to make sure I fully understood what I was reading…even then I’m not sure I did…LOL.

Yeah, I am reading it and having a hard time with it too. Eric definitely seems like an asshole. The book kind of reminds me of the book, “Up in the Air” in a way. Jerk in an airplane, jerk in a limo. I did end up liking the movie version of “Up in the Air” though, so hopefully “Cosmopolis” will be the same- plus, Rob’s in it so it can’t be all bad. Actually, I’m sure he be great in it. The rectal exam/orgasm was disturbing. And Eric does that(the exam) every day?! And what’s up with the wife? I hope the book gets better.

Struggling? hell to the yeah! this is the weirdest thing i’ve ever read and i’ve read Ballad of the Sad Cafe (i thought that was weird). boy was i ever wrong. not only i find eric strange but he seems to be a hypochondriac. seriously, he has a doctor’s exam just about everyday. either that or he likes a finger up his ass while a woman watches. i’m not sure if eric is an asshole. i think he is bipolar or paraniod at best, but clearly he does have some problem (lack of sleep, an obsession with birds). the inner monologue is getting on my nerve. on a personal note, i have to say that ff has definitely ruined me for real books.hahaha i was hoping for a little more sex for the sexy times, but just like a man. wham bam thank ya mam and it was over. the whole bottle fucking thing, i did not get. all around weird.
yeah, i have read and re-read this first chapter and i am still confused, except, yes, he does want a haircut. that is all i can glean from this. still trying. and yes, i can totally picture Rob in this part. ever see the look he gives the paps when he’s had enough. could totally be prick-worthy.

Yep, I’m reading it. Yep, it is def … uhhh, weird. :/ I can see Rob playing Eric, but I just wonder how well this material will translate to film. However, I really. really want to hear Rob say the *cough* “bottle” line. ;P

It’s definitely a very strange read. Sometimes it’s fairly straightforward, and then it goes off on a stream of consciousness tangent. The dialogue sounds very stilted too, which I guess is intentional. I don’t think Eric is an asshole or a prick. I think he’s jaded and maybe a bit drunk on the power he has. He watches scenes of violence with boredom and even enjoyment, and doesn’t seem worried about the possibility of losing loads of money. I think this is a great role for Rob to take, for all the reasons you said.This is no romantic hero role, that’s for sure. I have to admit, I found the prostate exam oddly hot, and no, I don’t think we’ll see Rob getting a full-on rectal exam. Maybe just a bit of tush . As I read I keep picturing Rob in various scenes and I can so see him pulling this off. I can’t wait to see it.
I’ve finished reading the entire book. Upon reading the last line, I closed it and asked myself “what the fuck did I just read?”. I found the book very confusing and the writing style to be a little strange. BUT I think it has good bones to make a really stellar movie.

Thank God I’m not the only one confused and lost when I’m reading this. I have it on PDF on my eReaders and I worried there was an error in the download. I at least go everything that was mentioned in the summary so that’s good. I’m dreading the next part cause I started it today and I’m totally lost. Really hope they cut the rectal exam but (no pun intended) they can leave in the sex. I’m all for naked Rob.

Saturday, January 15, 2011

Doppelganger #1 DeLillo-Travanti

Underworld meets Hill Street Blues.

Tuesday, January 11, 2011

You Betcha?

Josh Kerr-azy

Trash Can- Left over Bali clips from the Kerrazy Kronicles from KerrAzy Productions on Vimeo.

I am guessing these clips didn't make it into the film due to the less than stellar wave quality (any of them would be near-perfect days here in New England), but Josh Kerr's explosive speedy aerial assault is as near perfect as I've ever seen. Probably the best aerialist today. He's better than Dane in this particular category and Timmy Curran, who still despite his age, lands some of the highest airs with the most consistency. What separates Kerr from one-trick pony aerialists like Ozzie Wright is that he's sure-footed/leg-strong. Check out the man-hack at 1:00! Also, it takes power to muscle a huge air-reverse on a waist high wave (1:50) and try wrapping your head around the turn at 1:58.

Other notes of interest...
Check out the recovery at .50 seconds.
The flow air at 1:15 followed by another almost 360 air.
The Dane-esque power reverse at 2:38
The retro groovy power turn at 3:40 on his fish.

Saturday, January 8, 2011

Tuesday, January 4, 2011

Dan Malloy & Dane Reynolds Board Swap | The Surfer's Journal

Okay, so I'm on one of my Dane Reynolds kicks this week. Watching him and Dan Malloy rip small, New England-like waves on shitty/experimental boards is inspiring and humbling. Good song by Little Wings.

Dan Malloy & Dane Reynolds Board Swap | The Surfer's Journal