Childhood Confessions #2

Childhood Confessions

Surfing


[This] diversion is only intended as an amusement...at least they seem to feel a great pleasure in the motion which this Exercise gives.

Lieutenant James King 1779 (First white dude to watch the natives of Hawaii surf)


I'd been intending to learn to surf since arriving in Los Angeles, but everything has fallen into place only recently. It all started this winter when I began looking online for a surfboard. TNT, who is going through reverse culture shock on moving back to Minneapolis from San Diego, gave me “advice” by turning down every used board I liked that came up on Craigslist. He was particularly scornful of a “Jim Beam” surfboard, and impressed upon me that surfing was not a sport like golf, or an activity like fishing, but a lifestyle. One needs style to pursue a lifestyle, and since I obviously had none, he offered to help. Piece of advice #1: Stop asking him about surfboards that are clearly designed for women.

Some of our email communications over the last six months:

Mezz0: What do you think about epoxy “sticks” from both philosophical and pragmatic perspectives?

TNT: Dude – FU – No questions today (it’s below zero)

Mezz0: Don't get me wrong, I appreciate and value your input, and don't want to jeopardize your future evaluations of surfboards for sale on Craigslist, however, do you think maybe that subconsciously you don't want me to surf?

TNT: What are you looking for in a surfboard?

TNT: There's absolutely nothing wrong with the boards [you sent me yesterday] and you probably should have purchased one of them, but I just wanted to confirm that you didn't proceed without my approval.

After a few months of this, the stock market crumbled, and a new crop of boards flooded the market. I saw one I liked, and emailed it to TNT. Within minutes he replied:

TNT: I would go with this board for many, many reasons.

Mezz0: Thank you, why don’t you give me two reasons?

TNT: A leash is included and the board will right size your life – you’ll have to trust me on this one.

Mezz0(to surfboard owner five minutes later): I would like to buy your surfboard. Today, if possible.

I brought the board home, and admired it for five minutes prior to stashing it behind the couch. I think it’s got a South African flag on it. While waiting for it to warm up, I cruised Craigslist for a used wet suit, which is not a good idea. It’s sort of like buying used underwear. Used underwear that someone has pissed in……And that has a virtual Petri dish of germs and bacteria. I saw a wet suit for sale that I liked, and according to the seller it had only been used 30 times, but TNT dropped me some science on wet suit wear and tear, and encouraged me to respond.



Dear [Surfboard Seller],

Clearly, that wet suit has been used more than 30 times, and I am offended that you are trying to pass it off as practically new. Granted, I've only been surfing once in my life, and wouldn't really know what a wet suit should look like after 30 uses, but I have on good authority (from someone that used to live in San Diego) that you are looking to scam someone out of their hard earned dollars. For shame!

Sincerely,

Mezz0

* * *

Dear Mezz0,

I am selling the wetsuit for a friend and I take his word for granted.

Anyways, I am not sure on what grounds you are making these assumptions (global wear, fold.. ?), he is the second owner, so he had only the information from the previous owner. If you meant the fold on the suit, it is unfortunate, he folded it wrong, so it doesn't look as nice as before.

I know for sure that my friend wore it less than 20 times (surfing).

Be assured that I am not trying to scan anyone, neither is my friend.

Sincerely,

[Surfboard Seller]

* * *

So what you are saying is that you have no idea how much it has been used by either of the wetsuit’s two owners, but a friend of yours claims to have used it approximately 20 times…Fair enough….I’ll give you $40 for it (final offer).

-Mezz0

* * *

[Mezz0]

Not exactly. I know how many times my friend (second owner) used it, but there's no way how you can be certain if the previous owner was exact. If we exchange a few more emails you might offer a price that I might
accept..

- [Surfboard Seller]

* * *

Eventually, I gave up on finding a used wet suit, and bought one on sale at the surf shop down the block. I was locked and loaded. I was “dialed in.” I was “hooked up.” I even had a rack for my Jeep. What happens next, I can only describe as mystical, which is something you get used to after spending some time in the ocean chasing waves. My Jiu Jitsu buddy rented a place a block from Venice beach. This place had a garage. This place was a ten minute walk from the Venice beach point break. He was an intermediate surfer, looking to get back into it. Suddenly, I had a place to stash my surfboard and wet suit, a place to park, and a person to surf with. I was stoked! When he first invited me over to his apartment, and we took a walk down to the beach, I couldn't help but to say, "This is going to be so good for us!"

These Spring and Summer weekends have been more fun than a human being should be allowed to have:

• Take off from work a few hours early on Friday (or train MMA/Jiu Jitsu on Saturday)
• Ride the Dirty Whore in between traffic that is backing up against the coast
• Smoke a J
• Wax my stick and walk through muscle beach to the breakers
• High fives
• Surf (i.e. stand up on board all wobbly-like, fall off, and get pounded by the waves)

By the time the weekend has ended, I feel like I have been on a vacation, and all the stress in my life has evaporated. People love to brag about how much they hate Los Angeles, but this southern California lifestyle is really growing on me.

We Are Teh World


"But I have told the enemies ... that this nation ... will strike you in the face so hard you will lose your way home"

- Ahmadinejad
Mezz0 [2:48PM]:
So waht does Ahmadinejad mean by "in the face"?

Amir [2:48PM]:
This is a farsi sentence, which means we will hit our fist in to your face! people sometimes say it is a hook, i.e. I will give this guy two hooks, one right hook and one left...

Mezz0 [2:48 PM]:
So it's like a figure of speech? Like how Americans sometimes say, "I'm going to kick your butt"

Amir [2:49 PM]:
exactly man, we have things in common

Mezz0 [2:49 PM]:
We're not so different after all. Why must we fight each other?

Amir [2:50 PM]:
that is damnn right man, we should not and we will not, I am possitive

Mezz0 [2:50 PM]:
We can admire each other's women, etc.

Amir [2:50 PM]:
I feel the same way,

Mezz0 [2:50 PM]:
Do you have any sisters?

Amir [2:50 PM]:
unfortunatly not, but you know we all brothers and sisters - from Adam

Mezz0 [2:51 PM]:
Gross

Too Much, Too Soon

Over The Edge


When they took away our snacks, I said nothing, and used the vending machine

When they took away our Indian (H1B Visa) developers, I said nothing, and found my entertainment elsewhere

When they took away our floor of the building, I said nothing, and negotiated for my own office on the main floor

When they took away the receptionist, I said nothing, and pawned the work onto the admins

When they took away free parking ($160/month), I said nothing, and rode the Dirty Whore to work every day (she fits around the parking gate)

But today, I strolled into the office kitchen shortly after arriving and damn near keeled over. "Oh no you didn't," I thought to myself, "Oh no you fucking didn't!" But they did. Those motherfucking bastards just took away the espresso machine.

I know this economic downturn has been hard on everyone. I know many people are scraping by with pay cuts, part time work, and unemployment. I know many people can't afford to retire and can't find work. But this was the first time the economic downturn has hit me. I feel fist-fucked by Adam Smith.

The Gays Next Door

A couple years ago Master P's newly single mother (Sugar) cast off the shackles of her repressive suburban life and set her sites on the big city, Chicago. No longer would she be burdened by the hassle of her three grown children or her ex-husband's compulsive blinking. It was a brand new adventure for her, an adventure bound to be fraught with all the ups and downs of a modern day Jane Austin novel.





















She imagined herself in a slinky black dress, sipping French wine as her dinner guests raved about her hors dourves. It was a chance for her to start anew and to reconnect with her younger, hipper self...at least that's what she thought when she made the decision to move downtown...at least that's what I like to imagine...

Sugar took special care when looking for a place to buy and she made sure to give the realtor specific instructions.

"I want to be in the middle of the action. You know, somewhere that's a short walk from everywhere…I want to live somewhere where I can go out for a drink at any time, day or night," she continued, "Also, and I want to make sure I'm clear about this...I must have MEN. I want to live near the young single ones…the well-manicured fellows who have never been married. Show me a neighborhood where the men share my love for wine and my delicate sensibilities."

















"What, like Boys Town?" the realtor asked, half kidding.

Sugar's eyes lit up and she smiled warmly, "Well that sounds delightfully naughty!"

She fell in love with a home quickly and as the realtor drove her around the neighborhood, she saw young, athletic men everywhere. Her heart fluttered and, aside from being slightly jealous of one man's perfectly even tan, she felt comfortable with her surroundings. She wondered if the Irish were finally getting their shit together. After all, there were multi-colored rainbow patterns all throughout the neighborhood. Naturally, she assumed that this was an Irish neighborhood and that the rainbows were a cultural nod to leprechauns, pots of gold, and God's promises.

God's progressive agenda





















As it turns out, she moved into the largest openly gay neighborhood in the midwest. Not that there's anything wrong with that....and nor should there be.

Just like there isn't any problem with Master P's sister and m-

OK, hold on a second. Initially I intended to develop a seamless and scandalously interwoven web involving Master P's mom, his increasingly hot sister, who was living with her earlier, and the friendly homosexual couples who they have befriended in the nearby area, but I'm a bit lazy. Also, I'm a simple person, and I realize that once you (I) start talking about Master P's mom, Sugar, and her daughter it's easy to get sidetracked.











Sorry.

In summary:

If you live near Wrigley Field, don't be alarmed if you see something that seems out of place...a man running down your street wearing nothing more than a green g-string speedo and a rhinestone leprechaun hat, for example. What you are seeing are homosexual tourists unbound by the constraints of a "breeders" world during Pride Week--fueled only by a proud gay spirit and the siren song of Debbie Gibson (and Appletinis).














Master P's mother, Sugar, and his sister (now studying for her MD degree out of state) lived together in this sexually charged and promiscuous atmosphere...in the same building...did I mention that she's going to be a doctor? HOT!

The gays who live in the neighborhood are quite friendly, especially if you have a patio in front of your place and are willing to share...and gossip!

Apparently, it's only an occasional thing for them to dress up like this.





















Sweet Tea Vodka with crushed mint, a splash of lemonade, and a smidge of Sprite is fucking delicious.

I feel as liberated to use the term "Gays" as I did "Jews" once I realized that it wasn't a slur, in and of itself.

I couldn't really find a place for this anywhere in here.

As Master P said to me before heading upstairs with some artistically seasoned flank steak, "It's nice having some friendly people nearby to socialize with, hell, we like to cook and drink."

I agreed, "They make good neighbors."

My Marriage In Post It Notes #6 - Walden Fucking Pond


This does not include the new bed purchased upon moving out to Los Angles, or the second-hand coffee table, second-hand futon, second-hand computer desk, kitchen table & chairs left by prior tennant, and hand-built TV stand for our symbol of the American Dream - a bigass flat screen TV. (I'd like to point out that we don't have cable. We're might as well be living in a shack in Walden Fucking Pond as far as not being defined by our material posessions. Or maybe we just own a lot of old junk. I mean, I wouldn't turn down a Harley V-Rod if someone left it in our parking space, and when you are living in apartments indefinately, what's the point of settling in, particularly when the upstairs neighbors just might be crazy in the stabby sense of the word, and anything you buy you have to move, and it's not like we're home much anyway, and doesn't it make more sense to save money for a house rather than buy stuff to fill up a shabby 1000 sq ft apartment in West Los Angeles? Right? I mean, Right?)

All righty, I'm changing the channel.
Someone I know killed himself a few weeks ago, and I wrote this.

Dear A,
Seems you couldn't see the charm
in your own charming human blunders
anymore

Now I imagine you as Spirit
shaking your head at your former self
like a much older man remembering his youth
wondering over how
you lost perspective
until

the stars shifted
someone gasped
and you were gone

And I imagine
that in your last human moment
you felt the horror of what you had done

And I imagine
that your first realization as pure Spirit, as a being of light,
was that you had always been one
along with the rest of us
each our own charming human flavor
with our own wretched and glorious moments

And this is how I will remember you:
Giggling impishly
at something you had said to poke at C
then straightening up into seriousness
but letting the giggles overtake you again
before you could go on
"ok. ok." you said, more to yourself than anyone.
"it's ok, it's ok." I say to myself -- am I dreaming?

Oh, A --
sometimes, in a space, a moment of frozen time shatters,
and I can hear the echo of your laughter.

And now I walk out into the night,
with Mama Earth beneath my feet,
look up at the blade of a moon that slices the sky
a crack in the veil between us
feel myself as a part of it all

feel you a part of it, too

I now return you to your regularly scheduled program.