StrangeLove

My bad alter ego is a horrible fellow named, DARF—arrived at by slurring “Dave.” He’s generally completely blacked out and a total nightmare to deal with. Thankfully we haven’t seen much of DARF recently and that’s perhaps due to the fact that I have since developed an alter alter-ego named, Big Sur Steve. Big Sur Steve was born a few years ago when I was driving north from the Fernwood in Big Sur to the grocery store near Carmel to pick up some supplies when I came upon an accident in one of the many windy cutbacks that distort the distance between the two locations. A car was on the shoulder smashed into the guardrail. A group of four Asian men were standing around the car seemingly confused about what to do since the car was no longer a car.

Okay, so it was me. I did it. I fully admit my participation and subsequent culpability for the "Shit Man" and "Dickman" graphic transgressions that took place during the last century for Zero Skateboards. Wait, what? Why am I even copping to having done such an egregious thing when this detail could have just as easily been swept under the substantially soiled rug of skateboard history, let alone talking about a fellow competitor in the market place on the day of a product release on our very own website? Well, the reasons are many, sad to say, so let's just go point by point and alleviate this weight from my conscience once and for fucking all.

I’ve visited my old friend Scott Bourne in Paris a few times, but the last trip was especially memorable because he invited Tania and I over for dinner with his wife and family. At the time, they occupied a charming apartment on the fourth floor of a building with views overlooking the bustling Place de la République. After watching the sun set over Paris we sat down to a simple but elegant dinner of roast chicken, salad, red wine, cheese—prepared perfectly, absolutely delicious, and is one of the most quintessential French experiences I’ve ever had. I’ve tried to replicate it a few times, but it’s missing a key ingredient: Paris.

Well, it's March 2021, so it only makes sense I dawdle back in time to 2020 and relive the past since I'm having a rather difficult time focusing on the present. And don't even get me started on the future... hell, that frankly scares the plant-based shit out of me. Everyone's talking about this "new normal" that we're allegedly on the brink of, but I've always found myself betting on the "doomsayers" side of the coin. Why so consistently negatron? I don't know. Genetics, possibly, but call me a cynical simpleton of sorts, because if you've been keeping a sly eye on the global scene then you know there are still all kinds of shenanigans going on with production supply chains and the high cost of shipping finished goods. In short, not a lot of clarity and a lot of super unknowns—a one-two punch that I've never handled well in life—so I'm more than happy to default into an ostrich and bury my head deep down in this online sandbox of nonsense.

'Twas the day after post-election announcement 2019 and I was reflecting on just a smattering of moments that have taken place over the past four years. I couldn't help but feel like Casper in the final scene of Kids (1995), when he woke up the morning after a 24-hour blitzkrieg of big city teen atrocities with the foggy summation, "Jesus Christ… what happened?"