Monday, June 29, 2009

Brown chicken, brown cow, Torn Slatterns and Nugget Ranchers

(Urban Dictionary explains brown chicken, brown cow, is how the tragically hip kids slyly imply people are having sex as the iambic pentameter and pronunciation of brown chicken, brown cow, resembles the guitar muzak of seventies porn)

Bernie Madoff sentenced to 150 years. So does that mean, when he gets out, he'll be as old as Larry King is now? But, really, it's only 100 if he gets time off for good behavior.

It's worse than it sounds. When Madoff dies, the rest of the time is tagged on to the time he has to spend watching "The View" in hell.

Not to
disparage President Bush, but it is kind of nice having a President who doesn't think Carpe Diem is Latin for fish expense money.

Manny Rameriz, serving a 50 game suspension for taking female hormones, is joining the Dodgers on July 3rd in San Diego. Manny is so excited he could cry. He can't wait to see his teammates and discuss their feelings and where their relationship is headed.

Manny returning to the Dodgers against the Padres in San Diego on July 3rd after being suspended for taking female hormones. And Manny loves playing around the Fourth of July; at least I think that's what Manny meant when he said he is on his time of the month . . .

Jenny from the W-town 'hood

Mark Sanford's wife, Jenny, is from my hometown of Winnetka, Illinois. In Winnetka people like to hike the Indian trail which is an actual trail you can scale as opposed to the Appalachian Trail which is a tale the morally frail use to nail Argentine tail.

Oh, snap, yes I d' 'id.

Let's call this next segment:

Lex raps really badly to a sports story

Yo, yo, check it, Joe, Manny being Manny means shots in his fanny from a female name of Annie and Manny took so damn many he's gonna go from a trannie to one day being a granny.


(No, really, I mean what? I've got no idea what the hell that just was)

Since you asked:

Had a lovely time last night listening to Jimmy Buffet, Jack Johnson, the Eagles, the Red Hot Chili Peppers and sipping wine and eating fish tacos while watching the Sunset at Power Park in Del Mar.

The stand up paddle board surfing before that? Not so great.

We go to the park in Del Mar a lot in the Summer and have a picnic and watch the sunset. We usually meet our good friends the Meyers and their dad, my buddy, Allen, goes out and surfs and then joins us. This has always made me jealous until I started SUP surfing.

But I wanted to get good enough to impress my wife and daughter and the Meyers, before I did it during our picnic. Sunday dawns and I decide I am good enough. Last time I went out at La Jolla Shores I rode at least ten great three to four foot waves, turning right, turning left, kicking out.

We get to Del Mar and it looks gnarly. Big waves but really windy and choppy. (Not one fellow SUP was out, this should have been a clue) But I decide to bravely rough it out. Three waves in a row wipe me out and send me all the way back to the beach. Finally, a lull and I paddle like hell to get to the smooth water. The problem? There was no smooth water. It was brutally choppy as far as the eye could see. There were times where I had trouble just sitting on the board, let alone try and stand up and paddle.

After finally getting a semblance of my sea legs, I paddle for a spot where the waves are breaking on a reef 200 yards south. When I get there there is a line of hot shot surfers waiting to go. Too crowded, so I start to paddle back north against the wind. It was a trail of tears. Take two paddles, fall in. Get back up, take four paddles, fall back in. You cannot believe how exhausting this is.

After about forty minutes of this, I call no joy. Time to go in. The problem? Now the sets of waves are huge. Five to six feet and strong. Screw it, I am going to catch one. I square up and paddle straight for the beach. Ride up and down on a roller before it breaks, another. Now my confidence is up. I start paddling harder. Sure enough, I hear the thunder of a big wave coming, I turn around just in time to see it breaking on top of my head. My board goes flying up in the air, so does my paddle and I am buried in a sea of churning surf for what seems like one minute but was probably ten seconds.

When I finally do pop up, I am exhausted. Bam, another waves knocks me down again. So when I pop up again, I just surrender and climb up and lie on top of the board and let the waves pound me into the shore like an angry carpenter on meth whaling on a stubborn nail.

Emotionally and physically beaten, I find my paddle, lift up the board and Robinson- Crusoe- stagger my way out of the water and up to the beach. Standing there to greet me is my beloved about-to-be-11 daughter, Ann Caroline, and her good friend, Hanna Myers. My daughter looks at me sweetly and smiles;

"Oh, don't worry, Daddy," she said patting my wet and exhausted back, "you did just fine."

"Yeah," chirped Hannah, "and it was really, really funny."