Lessons in Religion

"Be not fearful of my presence mortal, for I bring with me only mirthful tidings," said the Archangel Dagmar.  And so Jebediah cast aside his fear and approached the towering celestial figure.  The silence of the night hung heavy as a wreath around the two of them.  "Am I wrong, during this most joyous time of year, to revel in the Dionysian pursuits of the mortal world," inquired Jebediah.  "What knowledge have you of the pleasures awaiting you in the next life, or if such a life even exists," responded Dagmar.  Jebediah pondered the Archangel's words for a moment, and then with great jubilation answered, "I suppose there is no certainty in a life after this one.  Perhaps I should feel no guilt indulging in all the glorious delights this Christmas has to offer!"  "Yolo," responded Dagmar, "Yolo."          

Humping an imperial walker is acceptable.

Bring all your friends together!

Los Gatos in full splender.

Pour your own beer on your birthday.

Make a steak face.

And never forget the ham.  

Crossbreeding the Holidays

There are some folks who might mate a Schnauzer with a Shih Tzu, or perhaps graft an olive branch onto a cherry tree.  These activities, and a slew of others, are considered normal.  So I think it perfectly fine that I take footage from this past Halloween and display it on December 17th.  Stay strapped for the holidays my friends, what if it isn't Santa coming through yo chimney.  

Christmas Clog Wellness Advice

As hopeless as a middle aged white man in a nightclub searching for a way to gyrate his hips to the beat of some tune completely foreign to him, a car's wiper blades will never truly sync up with the music being played within it.

The bass thumps
the blades jump to catch up,
land perfectly as cymbals chime,
but fall behind in short time.

On occasion song and blade will share a perfectly choreographed duet, but only for a fleeting moment, and then it's back to heads bumping and toes exchanging blows.  While the wiper blade syncopation issue may be out of our mortal control, there are a few simple activities proven to enhance our quality of life.  
 

Always eat a hotdog before or (and) after cutting down a Christmas tree.

Always grind your own spices.  It speaks volumes about the type of human being you are.

Always go to a body of water when it rains, because this is when they are the happiest.

Finally, always lick the beaters.  You know that you want to.

(I completely condone the consumption of raw eggs)

Empty Nest Syndrome

I am not sure whether my love of minimalist living drives me to reside in a tiny room, or my love of quaint dwellings forces me to toss away all but a few scraps of my earthly possessions.  I do know however, that my purging of clutter is akin to the vomiting patterns of a bulimic super model at a buffet.  And when my beloved roommate Niko moved on to greener pastures, I stood in my doorway surveying a barren four walled wasteland, with a bed and a desk occupying but one lonely corner.  Clothes, books, memories, and the like could be fit into several boxes, or just as easily become snacks for a hungry dumpster.  A room swap was surely in order!

You a space to plop down a beanbag chair or sofa, but I see only a dark abyss.

My new window to the world!  It should also be notes that I have now occupied every room in the upstairs of Yellow House.

Or maybe I was just doing Irving the hoarder a favor.

See you on the Battlefield

I have always thought that stumbling into a rowdy bar is similar to charging headlong into battle.  This ignorant uneducated comparison is in no way meant to belittle those who have experienced war first hand, and the significant date of this post (Veterans Day) is nothing but coincidence.  Excellent, now I can belly flop guilt free into this completely absurd and untimely Clog post. 

Drinking within the cozy confines of a bar is nothing more than an adult version of playing with little green army men in a sandbox.  Now let us decide which plastic soldier you most resemble.  

Clockwise from top left:

1.  You are spending far more time on the phone trying to call for reinforcements than actually pounding brewskis with the troops already at your side.  Or maybe your girlfriend is just pissed off at you.  

2.  You've got the heavy artillery out tonight, with plenty of shots to go around.  You may not be on the front line chatting it up with every human being in sight, but anyone who gets in your path is going to get a firm hug or an earful of nonsense. 

3.  We see you over there in the corner, acting all sly with your cocktail and curiously shifty eyes.  Perhaps you only wish to observe the madness, or perhaps its sexual conquest you're after.

4.  You came straight from cashing your paycheck to knocking back shots at the bar.  You are on the front line demanding nothing less than death or glory.  You'll be telling your friends war stories, if you can remember them.  

5.  You are in way over your head but still want a piece of the action.  This battle is no place for someone as shy or sober as you, but still you insist on crawling into the melee.  Is it a blind sense of duty or mere stupidity that drives you to fight?  Stray bullets and splashed drinks assail you whilst ponying up to the beer soaked bar. 

6.  Oh hey there wildcard, what's that you got there in your hand?  You've got a couple screws loose because the AMF is your weapon of choice.  Suicide bar bomber best describes you, and your time in battle will be brief.  I sense a dishonorable discharge from the bar within minutes.  

P.s. I always fancied the flamethrower soldier myself.    

Tools of the Trade

Pie Season is a fictitious collection of calendar days spanning from November first to January first, during which time pie baking flourishes like a naked mud covered hippie at Woodstock.  I take full advantage of the cold weather and shortened days by cranking out a cornucopia of pumpkin, pecan, and apple pies.  And while these pies may look pretty and taste divine, special attention should be paid to the tools that make it all possible.  

My great grandma was a rotund woman who I never met, but her old ceramic mixing bowl is present every time I bake a pie.  It is the perfect size, weight, and shape.  The handle allows for easy turning and the smooth glazed surface is much less prone to sticking than metal.  The crude markings carved into the bottom of the bowl are those of Bybee Pottery, a company out of Madison County Kentucky whose roots date back to the 1809.  All of this boring drivel means that inside every pie I bake there is love, history, and probably some toxic ceramic particles.  Embrace Pie Season! 

Half way Through Film Review

October is half way finished and I have yet to provide all of you loyal Cloggers with a proper horror movie to "Netflix and chill" to.  

A Girl Walks Home Alone at Night is sure to get you laid, but also a subtly brilliant movie.  As far as I'm concerned this little gem is perfect for a romantic evening with your "bae."  What could be better than a Persian vampire Film Noir shot in Southern California?  Oh I dunno, maybe one with an eerie soundtrack, tense methodical pacing, and even a dash of skateboarding.  Did I mention A Girl Walks Home Alone at Night is literally available right there on Netflix?!  No need to say thank you, just think of me as you are lighting up your post sex smoke.  Actually please do not, because that is strange.          

The Elders Foretold of Such Things

It is around this time of year, when the daylight hours shrink down to slivers and the leaves turn a fiery red, that you can take an evening stroll through Downtown San Jose and feel the presence of souls trapped between this world and the next.  They say if you stand at the corner of 7th and Reed and listen closely, you can hear a faint voice with a slight southern drawl cry out the name "Napppppoooollllliiiiiiiii."  Like the distant baying of some tormented beast it floats eerily through the tree branches.  This is the howl of Chase Newton's Ghost, and normally it mixes with the sounds of the Autumn wind and goes unnoticed.  But this year the Texas Rangers are back in the playoffs, and with each postseason win Chase's voice will grow louder, his words more pronounced, and his obscenities more colorful.  They say the Mayan calendar predicted a third chance for the Texas Rangers to win The World Series, and that Chase's spirit would at last be at peace.  Until then,

Smashed cell phones,

Skull shaped bottles of tequila,

cursing, 

television abuse,

and irresponsible betting.

But just so we are clear on one thing, when all is said and done,

    

Pulling the Rock from my Shoe

Occasionally I will edit some footage together on my computer and let it sit there for an unusually long time.  I wait for just the right moment to set it free into the digital world.  Sometimes the wait grows too long, and the unused edit pesters me like a rock in my shoe.  I go about my daily business as if nothing is bothering me, but there is most certainly a slight discomfort in every step.  Eventually I can hold off no longer, tear the shoe from my foot, and allow the rock to bounce happily onto the pavement.  

Here is a little jagged rock I found in my shoe.  

Just add Water

When the heat stings,
and your flesh melts.
When you're feeling sad.
Simply remember your favorite things,
(like malt liquor, flat bars, and gremlins)
and I bet you won't feel half as a bad.

Thoreau's Before Hoes

I have long been an admirer of Henry David Thoreau's writing and the minimalist existence he chose.  The man truly embodied the, fuck all this bullshit I'm gunna do me, lifestyle many rappers and hip hop stars claim to live.

Jay-Z claims to have had a whopping 99 problems without a bitch being one of them, while Thoreau famously said, "Our life is frittered away by detail.  An honest man has hardly need to count more than his ten fingers..."  This man is barely stressing into the double digits!  While it is true that Thoreau never specified whether a woman was one of his few problems, I have to imagine that living a life of isolation in the woods restricted him from having very much female interaction.  This fool probably smelled something funky. 

In summation, I respect works of Jay-Z, but you must recognize a true G!   

Make a Toast to Making the Most, of Your Summer

It's amazing how drinking a beer can make make even the most pitiful skate obstacles seem like funnest skatepark.  Daydreaming about Krysten Ritter also makes everything in life a little more enjoyable.  Disregard the unorthodox video format and enjoy!

My so Called Weekend

Has Anyone ever uttered the following words to you?

"Nah, Hell no man, I do believe you'd get your ass kicked saying something like that."  Jesse and I never hear this wretched phrase either, because we perpetually have mondays off.  I take a small amount of sick pleasure in knowing that while the majority of society is waking up monday morning crusty eyed to a blaring alarm, I am gleefully and leisurely rolling in my sheets like a pig in mud.  Jesse and I have begun treating our two day vacations as if wednesday might not arrive.   

If you happen upon a brewery whilst driving to another town you are obligated to stop there for a beverage.  There are rules to be followed. 

The inside of your tent should be just as beautiful as...

the outside.

Morro Bay is pretty easy on the eyes.

Wonderland might be pushing it a bit.

The river life isn't too bad either.

Good to see the skaters of Guerneville are working hard to keep the scene alive.

Bodega Bay is another sweet piece of eye candy.  I am seeing a reoccurring theme with bays.

Oh yah, we drank some beer and skated too.

What are you Driving Behind?

I possess an inhuman level of faith in my fellow man.  nine times out of ten I assume people are telling the truth, acting with good intentions, and deep down naturally kindhearted.  For good or for ill, I use this happy go lucky attitude as an inner tube to help me float down the winding river of life.  Unless I am driving, in which case I don't trust a single god damn soul on the road.  Here are two Final Destination-esque death scenes just waiting to happen.

Am I really suppose to believe that a tiny pathetic strap is preventing several tons of concrete from tumbling down on my hood at 70 mph?

Has this genius seriously never seen Final Destination?  I almost feel like whoever loaded this rebar wanted to impale some hapless fool following behind him.

Howling at the June Moon

Have you noticed that the days are a little longer and the nights a t-shirt friendly temperature?  That's right my pretties, summer is upon us.  A lackluster winter and a yawn inducing spring made us forget about the mirthful months of summer.  I have a feeling that during these next few months the black raincloud bitch of a year known as 2015 will pull the metaphorical rod out of its colon and allow us some joy and merriment.  Only time will tell, so in the meantime let me give a little shout out to the Cloggers and those who...

Save hot sauce packets from restaurants, and actually use them.

Pregame for the after party.

Appreciate a good front crooks.

Find joy walking as opposed to driving.  

Wear an SNK tattoo.

Live for the simple things in life.

Laugh until they cry.

Show up unannounced.

Bring a beer bottle but not a water bottle during a hike.

Keep it mellow.

Keep is super mellow.

Walk around barefoot.

Will never learn their lesson.

Yell at the top of their lungs.

Intentionally break their phone.

Know what's up.

Embrace the good life.

Have experienced Tommy's.

Have ever cruised the Carlton Ave.

Don't believe in proofreading. 

To those who have ever loved,

 to those who have every lost,

 and to those who have never stopped fucking around,

 no matter the cost.

You can Always Squeeze a Little More Blood out of the Stone

In my particular case, the stone is my hard drive and the blood being wrung out is excess footage.  Enjoy watching some of the homies do what the do best, and no I don't mean drinking beer and acting like children, even though they excel at the too.  The featured skaters are

Austin Gardner

Aaron Brown 

Billy Roper

Dave Abair

Dillon Constantine 

Peter Raffin

Jesse Rose

Matt Hicks

Erik Deringer

Gunz

James Delreal

Wayne Nguyen 

Home Girl  

One More for the Road

A while back I discovered why, as people grow older, they become increasingly more bitter and unreceptive to the world around them.  I came to this particular revelation after my local Hollywood Video closed its doors and I could no longer peruse the vast selection of films until something caught my eye.  I felt a tinge of resentment towards the modern world for robbing me of one of my favorite activities.  I then realized that after decades of similar unfortunate occurrences one transforms into a Scrooge like version of their former self.  Over time a person's spirit erodes like a cliff consistently being berated by the pesky sea.  Huge tragic events do not break down the human spirit, it is little things, like the closing of a video store or perhaps your favorite bar.

I was frightened by what I had learned about the human race but also relieved that I had recognized the issue early on.  These photos may not be the cure, but they sure do ease the pain.

            

However, after I learned that Bukowski already wrote about this type of thing in, "The Shoelace," I felt a little less special.  But I still love these damn photos.  

Photo credit should be paid to Lane Kerans, myself, and others.