Como?

He yelled my name twice from the ground floor.  Maybe even a sharp whistle.  I forget which.  It’s how it’s done around here.  I stopped fighting it.  I get it.  Mexican Doorbell.

He was sending an older couple from Italy up to see me.  Apparently they wanted to stay for a month.  This was going to be interesting.  Hopefully they spoke PigLatin.

He spoke only Italian.  She knew a bit of Spanish.  I love New York Pizza.  He wouldn’t know a bagel if it hit him across the head.  She wasn’t buying into my presentation.

The young French surfers showed up 45 min. later.  In a combo language zey vondered es de coot tenian la cuard perfecto y dinero no pro-lame.  Zees gut?  Seguro en Merci.

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.

The Pretender

I first noticed her beautiful ass as she was ordering her mocha or latte.  When she turned around, I about shit a purple Twinkee.  I totally remembered her name, her ways, and her story.  I pretended not to notice her.  She didn’t pretend anything, spotted me, and came to my table to say hello.  She looked gorgeous.  I had met her two winters ago while she was here on a yoga retreat.  She was struggling through a hurtful divorce at the time, and naturally didn’t look all that attractive.  I could tell she was extra keen on me back then.  Prolly why I shifted gears into Extra Vague, and kept the sunglasses on Extra Dark.  Truth is, I was already comfortably hooked with a young gun from Montreal, and it’s tough enough to juggle brushing and flossing around here, let alone two ladies.  But here she was again.  Right in front of me.  Fair Skin.  Canadian.  Frizzy blondish brownish hair.  I’m sure a ton of grey ones in their too.  Probably about 42.  Flexible as taffy.  Great body.  Long and Lean.  Walks real tall.  Has that ballerina gait with the toes kind of pointed outwards.  Pretty smile.  Smart.  Sexy.   My hunches tell me she even has her own money.  She is also in a committed relationship.  I pretended I was happy for her.

Happy Fucking Chanukah!

She ‘liked’ us on Facebook.  Childs play!  Of course she ‘liked’ us.  She stole my leash.  With her big boobs and pretty face leading the way, she asked to borrow it for the day, kept it all week, ultimately deciding it was hers.  She(They)snuck her(their) pretty friend in for a night without paying.  I called them on it.  She(They) had a polished reason as to why the friend didn’t have to pay.  One of the bitches left super black footprints on the freshly painted white wall.  They chiseled me down to a ridiculous price.  They played bad music on their guitars.  I watched their giant backpacks at no charge when they went away for a few days.  They complained about something every single day, knowing damn well I was going to fall over backwards for them.  Total Takers.  And in this particular case, con artists and crooks.

 

Apollonia

Been seeing her.  Boy have I been seeing her.  Them actually.  Her and her dog.  They walk down my street most everyday, sometimes two or three times.  She is just something else.  She wears bottoms that create that ass fold, where the tail end of her ass folds over and under the true bottom, creating a good size crevice where it hits the top of her hammie.  She is dark skinned and way out of my league.  Always listening to music.  She’s probably 25 and just smoking.  Her female dog is full sized.  It’s some sort of Pit Bull from what i can tell.  They are a confident duo for sure.   

One morning I was out doing some ball work, without a ball, but with a good boy named Rocky.  You’d know him if you saw him.  He’s sharp.  We run in the tall sand.  The wet sand is impossible with the Little Man because a sand crab scurrying to its hole generates the exact same reflex in him that blinking an eye might have on you and me.  If you don’t see the ‘pull’ coming in advance, it could end up being your shoulder or arm socket.  This dog will send everything he has into that precise moment.  He will stomach a tablespoon of sand if it contains one dime sized sand crab.  

We finished around 8:30 am.  We were almost to the street, but still in the sand.  Rocky was on rope and panting.  It hit us both like a thunderbolt.  There they freaking were.  Her and her dog.  Her dog was off leash.  It didn’t seem like a good idea to introduce the dogs, but it happened quickly, and I spoke first.  “Hola, I’m Rocky, and this is my dog Aaron.”  Boy I fucked that one up. The Italian babe then opened her mouth and said three words.  Sara y Everista.  We kissed cheek to cheek.  All the focus immediately turned on the canines. The roughest true love imaginable.  

A True Waterman

I’ve been playing lots of chess with my Jewish friend Jon Silver. The kind of Jew with lots of tattoos.  He’s in his early 50’s.  He was born in the same country as my brother and sister.  That would be California.  In the early to mid 70’s, when I was one of the fastest age group swimmers in all of The OC, Jon Silver was too.  During that period of his life in California, he was in the Mission Viejo area.  Too trippy.  That meant he was swimming for The Nadadores, coached by Mark Schubert.  And rubbing elbows with Olympic Gold Medalists Brian Goodell and Shirley Babashoff.  And closer to home, that meant he was competing against the legendary Vassallo Brothers,(Jesse & Vicente) as I was regularly getting lit up by their eight year old prodigy brother named Salvadore.  Jon opted out of swimming to pursue elite level H20 Polo, and opted out of Water Polo to pursue a career in riding Nasty Waves at The Mexican Pipeline.  He’s been in Puerto for 20+ years.

Of course I wanted pictures and stories.  He didn’t have swarms of pics from back in his day, but he did have a few.  One that said it all though.  In 2003, from a half mile away, Woody Woodworth took the pic of a 44 year old Jon Silver from the rooftop of The Santa Fe Hotel and Restaurant on a day that lured only a small handful of takers.  Coco Nogales was one of them.  Jon was riding a 10’6” and it was freaking giant.  I can’t begin to tell you how life and death it really is out there on XXL days.  He filled me in on many of his life and death oceanic moments.  He comes across as someone who has spent a good amount of time over the course of his waterman’s life, desperately trying to get that critical breath of air.  Gnarly is right.  He has an eighteen year old son named Aaron who is in The States trying to get into the Coast Guard.  His eleven year old beautiful daughter named Kirra lives in Puerto Escondido and shares time with Jon and her mother.

Jon & Kirra

Baby Got Back

There was a knock on my opened door.  I couldn’t believe my eyes.  It was the Hula Hoop girl.  I’ve seen her down on the beach quite a bit with her dog and her variety of hula hoops.  She performs this extra super slow motion hula hoop action that takes front and center.  Actually, the dude with the beanie that juggles the yellow soccer ball while remaining seated in the sand steals the show when he is around.  And of course nobody can hold a stick to Yoga Antonio when he gets fired up.  But the Hula Girl is pretty amazing in her own right.  She wears a thong bikini.  She measures in at about five feet small.  She is probably in her early 20‘s.  Her gigantic ass and hips allow her to work the hula hoop extra devilishly.  So there she is at my door.  Before I let her coax me into whatever it was she was going to try and coax me into, I said, “Aren’t you the giant assed hula hoop lady?”  She smiled and did a slow motion hula hoop motion right at my door.(without a hula hoop)  I said, “You ARE the bubble butted hula hooper.”   I told her that I really admire her work and her courage and her passion and all the junk she packs in the back.  She blushed.  She told me her name was Carla, but that her friends call her Nanda.  Perfect segue for me to tell her that my name was Ben G. but my friends call me Wig.

          

Almost, Almost Famous

Dear Tim-

You don’t know me.  Murray is my stage name, and I am a 1990 Chico State Graduate.  I was leaving town when The Mother Hips were first arriving I suppose. I live here in Puerto Escondido, Oax.  You know….the Mexican Pipeline.  I know you are a surfer. You would like it here on many different levels.

Until I moved south of the border, I had been living in Santa Cruz.  I’ve seen you guys play a couple dozen times.  Seen your boy Jackie Greene grow up on stage too.  Even saw The Hips open for Jackie in Reno once.  I’m sure you remember that show.  We love our Truth & Salvage Co., our Skinny Singers, and we all caught The CRB bug when they ripped through Felton, CA.  We know you guys are all one big team of sorts, and what you are doing on stage these days is absolutely sick. Look Tim, I am trying to bring some of that sickness to the Mexican Tropics.

So I’m down here in Puerto.  I had an idea that you and Jackie would skinny up and come here to Puerto Escondido and play at the 2012 Puerto Blues Festival. It’s the 12th or 13th annual or something like that.  Maybe it’s just the 7th.  I don’t know.  I have no part of it whatsoever, I just told the heads that I may have an act to trump all acts.

Tim, the state of Oaxaca is very financially poor.  Unfortunately we can not pay you to come here.  I know you guys are way beyond playing for FREE, or are you?? The Puerto Blues Festival can totally take care of your airfare(which i know is expensive), and we can put you and Jackie up in a nice hotel for as long as needed. You would want to bring your own guitars, but all the sound would be provided by the venue.  Jackie is welcome to play my Roland if he wants, or I could just play it up there with you.(wink)  We have plenty of surfboards for both of you, so that you wouldn’t have to lug them on the plane.

What an opportunity to spend a bit of time in Puerto.  The muses are alive and well.  The Festival has like eight venues over the course of eight weeks or so. Always super talented acts.  Typically from Canada.  It all begins in mid January sometime. All music is played on a nice stage right on the beach.  Anywhere from 150 to 300 people will be watching.

I wouldn’t mislead you Tim.  It’s an enchanted land down here.  Please give it some thought, and get back in touch with me soon.  Hope to hear from you.