I no longer surf with a leash.  It’s just way to dangerous.  Wipeouts can be so bloody violent here, that I felt it was time to remove the noose out of my surfing equation.  I finally had a leash related incident this morning that pulled the piss out of me.  The fucking thing wrapped around the top of my thigh near the groin, and just before it cinched tight I managed to Houdini out of it.  I’m tired of having to perform magic tricks.

Surfing without a leash removes any chance of entanglement on the takeoff.  All surfers know that a time or two out of 10 or 20, the leash stands a chance of ending up between a toe or under a foot.  End of the world?  Normally not.  Here at Main Beach, where the critical takeoff is 4/5 the battle, having to battle the cord could end up being the difference between the barrel of a lifetime, and a life changing ocean incident.

Thinking of pulling in?  Aware of the consequences if you don’t make it out?  I don’t think you are!  I’m not talking buckets of water with see through lips.  Around here, water is measured in tons.  Heavy water pounding on shallow sand.  Do you want the pointed fiberglass weapon anywhere near you during the heart stopping violence?  I don’t think you do.  I know I don’t.  You don’t even know what you want do you?

Indecisions cost a lot here.  Everything has to be 110% or you pay.  Duck diving is important.  Understanding when NOT to duck dive is more important.  An indecision between the two will haunt you.  I just had one.  Tried to get under an iron curtain.  I was blessed with just a fat lip.  Got pinned under water in a washing machine environment with a rubber rope attached to a surfboard attached to my ankle.  Sketchy odds friend.

The Hills are Alive

For such a small port town in Southern Mexico, there sure are a lot of music shops.  I am not talking about Guitar Center type of music shops or anything even remotely close.  The music shops around here are more Sound Shops.  Sure these shops have a guitar or two on the shelf, maybe a drum set, a few cheap keyboards, cables, microphones etc..  But the bread and butter for all these shops is PA systems, loudspeakers, and loads of booming speakers.  It’s big business.  You see, there are no noise ordinances down here.  If you want to draw people into your shoe store, or restaurant, or OBGYN clinic, you Pump the Volume through booming speakers right on the sidewalk.  If you have something to sell like Tortillas, Fruits and Veggies, Widgets, or even the car you are driving, then your drive that car around town with a megaphone or a recorded loudspeaker roped down on the roof, and you Pump UP the Volume.  Throwing a party for your 13 year olds Communion, you PUMP UP the VOLUME.  Wedding Night for Hector and Isabella?  PUMP UP THE VOLUME!!


Anytime of Day or Night, Anytime is Quite Allright

Vote for Pedro

Pedro is a Prince.  I don’t know how else to say it.  I first caught wind of him maybe two months back when I was with my buddy Rocky.  He approached us with his tail between his legs.  He also walked the final 10 feet backwards.  I couldn’t believe what I saw.  I had Rocky on tight leash.  Pedro gave Rocky one choice only.  Smell my peaceful ass.  Rocky did, as Pedro just stood there frozen.  They played as rough as I would let it get.  Rocky’s combinations are fit for a black bear.  Pedro was frail, small, and a bit lost.

Weeks later Pedro ended up on a concrete stoop close by my hotel.  I noticed a coffee cup filled with water up against the stoop.  Huh.  Pedro was out cold.  Couldn’t make him open his eyes for anything.  I pulled a small tick out of his right ear, and he slept right through it.  This type of behavior went on for days.  He would party all night and into the morning, and sleep on the stoop all day.  I mean out cold.  He would just be so exhausted from spreading the canine gospel.  The chosen one led by example.

A mile down the beach, I stopped a Swedish couple one afternoon and told them that just in case they were wondering and/or felt sad for this special dog that had been following them around for the past three hours, that they didn’t need to feel that way.  His name is Pedro I said, and he’s in good hands.  Last week I saw him approach a pack of four neighborhood dogs.  He sat down inside his cornered circle and closed his eyes.  The others did what they could, but the new kid checked out squeaky cool.

Dennis @ the stoop is becoming attached to Pedro.  It’s too cute.  They make a pretty good team.  Yesterday, Dennis pulled out some official canine document to show me.  I didn’t know what it was until I saw Pedro’s picture in the upper right corner.  Height, Weight, Age, Color et al..  Apparently Pedro took his very first trip to the Doc for a complete checkup.  The Vet had Pedro at seven months. He came back all clean and shiny.  All his street buds were waiting for his return so they could smell his ass.

He then went MIA three straight days and nights showing off his first ever collar.  Dennis was sad.  He finally returned one morning.  His collar was gone.  He had some minor scratches and a few puncture wounds.  I wondered if this was going to be the moment that Pedro threw in the towel on being a street dog.  I wondered if he was finally ready to sleep on a couch, eat boring dog food, and play by the rules set forth by one human being.  I know Dennis is hoping for that.  Unconditional love goes both ways you know.


Kind and Generous

I approached the venue and heard crying.  Sobbing actually.  Coni sounded terrible.  My competition and I both were sure that somebody had died, and that she was just getting word via telephone.  He and I were wide eyed and were whispering to each other how gnAAAArly it sounded.  I chose his left hand.  My right.  I was white.

She came through the gate to have a cigarette and a beer.  She had wiped away all her tears, but missed the eye liner that was all over her swollen face.  I had to know, so I asked.  She said her 16 year daughter just told her that she was pregnant.  I offered up my congratulations.  She smiled.  I moved my strong side Bishop out three rows.

She asked if she could play winner.  Whoa..a female chess player..Really?  Let’s do this young lady.  I was white.  She spoke English.  Yo tambien.  She took a phone call and was gone for about 10 min.  While she was gone, I noticed something  unique about the way things were set up on the chess board.  I gave myself a personal Whoa Guy!

Twenty moves in, I was up several skill players, and ready to create a crafty lure that was sure to have her reeling.  I was but a left brain twitch away from moving my Knight to a handsome spot, when I noticed that if I did that, she could then move her Queen diagonally the full length of the board, trap my King in back, and call Check Mate.

I motioned for The Legend.  He suggested I make the move anyway.  “Cmon dude, the lady is down and out…She probably won’t see it anyway, but give her that chance…It’ll totally cheer her up.”  I’m like, Really??  You really think she will forget her woes if I give up the Mate and act all surprised?  He’s like Dude, and I’m like Dude.

I decided to make the albeit handsome move, and give the young lady a golden OPP to send me packing.  She came back, thought long and hard, cut through all the bait and cheddar that I had craftily created for the past 30 min.  She finally grabbed her Queen and made the full length of the board diagonal sling and called a delayed Check Mate.

She lit up.  We high ten’d.  She had a sparkle in her eye.  “Holy crap lady, you play the game quite well.  I didn’t see that one at all.  Incredible!  We should play again sometime.”  I made the 100 yard walk home in the dark. Barefoot and in Bathing Suit.  The two legged dog dragged herself across the street to get some love.

I got back to my room.  As I got closer to my sliding glass doors, I heard music.  I remembered that I left my PA on.  Kind and Generous by Natalie Merchant was playing through my new Peavy Speakers.  I thought of my Aunt Carol.  I cut up five oranges and squeezed myself 16 ounces of C.  I’m not sure exactly how I felt.  The moon was full.

Gringo Traps

There are Gringo Traps everywhere you look forget to look.  The minute you start looking down…you whack your head on a low lying branch or telephone wire hanging over the sidewalk.  The minute you begin looking up, you stub your toe on rebar and fall down on the uneven pavement or step in dog shit.  This place keeps you on your toes. Personally, I would prefer to step in dog shit with more the ball of my foot.   

Speaking of balls on feet.  I came across seven teens playing 4v3 on the tall sand.  That was my cue.  I evened out the sides and went to work.  My work is that of hustle and understanding.  Skill play in the tall sand takes more practice than I am willing to commit to.  It also could mean serious injury.  Sprained toes,  Blasts to the shin.  Sand scrapes and the like.  20 minutes of that was about all I could take.  Drenched.

Octopus’s Garden

During the middle of the day, when the sun is really doing a job around here, many of the women bust out their paraguas.  That would be an umbrella.  Strangely, I haven’t seen one single male using an umbrella, and I’m just curious if I should be that man.  It’d be so nice in certain situations.  Been getting a bit tired of dodging in and out of the shade.  Everybody already looks at me and giggles anyway.

The Inverted Reverse Takeaway

I high stepped to my third floor room to retrieve a sharp knife, a bowl, and a plate.  The pretty Australian asked for them to cut her pineapple, and I obliged.  I try and run the steps at the hotel with a purpose.  I am forced to run them at least 20x per day, and figured I might as well design challenges, make art, and find form. 
The internet was down at the hotel, but my hunches were telling me all of town was down.  I told the other pretty Australian that I would run to Dan’s Deluxe to see if he was down.  If he was down, town was down.
I spotted an oversized Hacky Sack on the ground.  With the bottom of my left bare foot, I rolled it to the top of my right bare foot.  I then lifted it into the air and balanced back on my left.  I rested it there for maybe 5 seconds.  From there, I flicked it and stalled it on the back of my neck.  I straightened up and let it run down my back.  I blindly tried to hit it with my achilles, and missed.  The moment surely went unnoticed.
I ran barefoot to Dan’s.  The yummy mummy was sitting in the cafe with her laptop open.  I asked if she was online.  She said No.  Her six year old bi-lingual surfer grom son asked me to play ping pong with him.  I said No.  I ran back to the hotel barefoot to report that the internet was down everywhere.
Two hours later, I bounced over to Dan’s again.  This time to borrow a couple of books, pre-audition for my music gig, and eat some lunch.  Mummy and the kid were still there.  After I ordered, I asked the six year old if he still wanted to play ping-pong.  He said Yes.  I gave him five minutes because he was more interested in whacking the ball and kicking it.  I showed the kid the floating ball trick.  Mummy never looked up once to watch us play or nothin’.  She wasn’t checking me out him out us out it out.  She wasn’t smiling at the joy I was bringing her kid.  She probably thought that the only reason I was playing with her kid was so that she would notice and think it was so cute.  Is it that obvious?
I finished up my food, and tried to skizzle out of there unnoticed.  Just as I was one foot into the dirt, Yummy picked her head up and said, “Thanks for That.”   I turned to my right, tipped my cap and said, “Anytime Baby..”

Who’s Your Daddy?

Here come the old people.  Clockwork.  They come from Canada.  Europe.  East Coast.  California, if they’re smart.  Basically snowbirds getting the hell out of the cold.  As this annual migration occurs, I slowly but surely morph into an entirely different character all together.  It’s kind of neat.  It’s the craziest bit of magic!  For the past four months, as the heaps of young travelers and hot shot surfers have dominated the region, I get type set as somebodies father, even though I’m not.  Like a wannabe somebodies father.  Ouch!  Not a fun character to portray if you think about it.  Kind of creepy actually.  But that’s fine.  I can dig it and handle it and laugh at it all in the same sigh.  But don’t look now dot dot dot here comes boy wonder.

Smell Ya Later

The tennis ball bounced over the chain linked fence.  I chuckled to myself wondering if it landed near the cadaver of the dead animal that had to be somewhere very near.  The smell was rude.

I jogged out of the court area, and went to where I thought the tennis ball had come to a stop.  The closer I got to where I thought the ball was, the stronger and fouler the stench became.  Yikes!

When I got to the ball, I also got to the dead goat.  The ball was inside the dead body.  I held my breath and reached out with my racket to pull the ball out.  All the blood and guts were exposed.

Just before I walked away, I smeared some additional goat guts over both sides of my nylon strings.  Free Gut was tough to pass up.  Fact is, gut will control topspin much better than nylon.