Casa De Strillis

Springtime 2oo4
Music by Los Lobos

Jack sort of lived with Tommy down at the Conch a number of years back. He'd show up for a month or two at a time and pull Tommy out of bed and into the water. I reckon Jack just figured that part of the rent he paid was the right to pull Tommy out of bed and into the water.
Funny, Tommy lived in that house for a quite a while, with a full view of Rincon from his front yard, and I don't think he once paddled out at the point. What a guy.
Yesterday I was gifted a special sneak peak at the goofy goings on during that turbulent time.
And here, I gift it to you.

The Case of the 20 Year Old Sticky Lumps

So, maybe 15 years ago, prolly closer to 17, Tommy took a summer job at a surfboard shop near his childhood home in Sandy Eggo.  At the time, Tommy was all about collecting stuff. He had a few wetsuits, a bunch of leashes, a few cruddy old boards, a truck, a car, a motorcycle and a very good looking beard.  Did I mention the afro?  Anyhow, so there he was working at that shop collecting stuff. Or beginning to collect stuff, because maybe it was within a couple years he had all that shit in one place, namely that little yellow house on the hill in Summerland.  Or maybe it was at the Ranch?  I don't remember, honestly.  But at this point Tommy thought it would be a great idea to buy a couple of cases (cases) of Sticky Bumps.  Then he stuck the gooey loot in a closet in his parent's house in Sandy Eggo and left it there.  Or, more likely, he carried around the boxes full of the junk to the 20 or so odd different domiciles he would inhabit over the next ten years.  That's probably more like it.  I can't be sure.  Or I could be, but I choose not to be.  Anyhow, getting back to it, a handful of months ago Tommy handed over a handful of these old bars of Sticky Bumps, you know the ones with the scary ghoul guy on the package? Yeah.  And I'm all "holy cow! where'd you find this old stuff?"  and he reminds me of all that old crud he used to have and that he still had this military grade cabinet chest thing full of old wax and that I was welcome to it any time.  So this morning, waxless and worried, I find some of those old bars in the boot of my car. Ever try to wax your board in 2011 with 1996 sticky bumps?  Rub the heck out of it on the pavement to get at the golden nugget of goodness within the hard candy shell.

Tommy always had a lot of stuff. At one point we counted, in the driveway and in the back yard at Summerland, three cars, a motorcycle and maybe five surf boards. Something like that. He also had a massive CD and VHS collection and more surfing paraphernalia than anyone I knew. All this at the tender age of twenty. Or something like that. Memory is a tricky thing. Either way, he had bunches of stuff. He used to work as a summer life guard at some public pool in Chula Vista. I stole one of his life-guard shirts once. Really steamed him. I was always stealing his stuff. In Chula Vista there was some surf shop he managed to work for when he wasn't life guarding and that's where he got all his gear. Boxes of (and boxes) of wax, a collection of rash guards, a couple pairs of booties, for too many leashes. Ian used to call him "Gear Guy." One summer he saved enough money to get a custom longboard shaped for him. It must have been '96. He told the shaper to make him a 9'6" triple stringer classic longboard shape. When he got the board a month or two later, he was dismayed to find it had a pointy nose and glassed in skegs. It was pretty funny to watch him fret over the thing. He was ready for a nose rider. This thing looked more like a 60's Hawaiian gun. Of course the board was beautiful. The lines were immaculate and after a little while grousing (and after finally taking it out) Tommy realized it worked pretty well in ways he didn't expect. For a long time I was the caretaker of that board and I'll say I haven't ridden a better longboard in big waves. Super fun to paddle and the speed is fantastic. Of course Tommy grew to love it. It was just that initial shock of not getting what he expected. Here it is a number of years ago in the back seat of one of the old Trejo Vanagons. I think near Terramar. Damn I love that board. Happy Father's Day.

Tommy Colla

As Hurricane Bill passed, there were a few photographers I kept my ear to the ground for. I knew whatever imagery Tommy Colla would get would be the stuff I'd want to see and he doesn't disappoint. As we sat on the bluffs above some of the Montauk breaks, the vision of what we assumed was a Coast Guard training session dominated the view to the east. Pretty incredible to see these big boats rolling and pitching right next to the lineup. Check out the surfer in the first photo. I can still hear Lentini saying "that's the craziest thing I've ever seen!" Truly. Crazy.

Jojo Playing in Brooklyn

I remember the first time I listened to Jonathan Richman.  Must have been around 1992. I couldn't believe what I had lucked into.  I couldn't believe a guy like this existed.  Someone who could bottle up the weird, spastic childish energy I had, someone who could channel some bizarre combination of Gertrude Stein, Trader Vic's, Serge Gainsbourg and The Velvet Underground.  As Wifey once pointed out, "That's the best bad French singing I've ever heard." I could say that Jonathan Richman was a key external synthesizer in my life.  Outside perhaps Fishbone, the English Beat, The Kinks, Dire Straits, John Coltrane and Fleetwood Mac, there has been no other act so instrumental in codifying my musical proclivities. And I hate admitting to things like that.   If you get a chance, take a chance. 


Jonathan Richman has been writing songs, making records and performing live for most of his life, winning fans and making friends around the world with his guileless honesty and playfully catchy compositions. He's revered by countless fellow artists, and has built a remarkably loyal international audience through his tireless touring. His deceptively straightforward songs embody timeless qualities of humanity, optimism, emotional insight and a boundless sense of humor, untainted by cynicism or transient notions of hipness. The records that Jonathan Richman has made over the past 30 years have long held a special place in the hearts of his fans. He began playing guitar at the age of 15, and in the early 1970s formed the Modern Lovers, whose raw, minimalist sound and emotionally forthright songs helped to lay the groundwork for punk rock. But by the time the group's landmark debut album (including the much-covered "Road Runner," a Top Five single in Europe) was released in 1976, Jonathan had already moved on to a quieter sound and a gentler lyrical focus. Since then, he's continued to record and tour prolifically, first with a series of Modern Lovers lineups, later on his own, and eventually as a duo with drummer Tommy Larkins. Over the years, Jonathan's music has absorbed a multitude of influences, from doo-wop to country to a variety of international styles, without sacrificing the artist's effervescent personality. Jonathan's fans have remained fiercely devoted over the years, and his audience expanded substantially in the 1990s, thanks to his frequent guest spots on TV's Late Night with Conan O'Brien, his prominent appearance in the 1998 film comedy smash There's Something About Mary, and the inclusions of his Modern Lovers classics "Ice Cream Man" and "I'm A Little Airplane" on Sesame Street. For much of his career, Jonathan has toured almost almost nonstop around the world. "Traveling and playing for new people in new places is one of my favorite things," he notes. "It's great playing places that are off the beaten track. You can learn a lot when you play in a little town in Holland or Western Australia, and you learn different things than you would learn playing a big city. This year we're going to try to play in Extremadura, which is the southwest of Spain--we might become the first American entertainers ever to play there. I'm hoping that we can able to play the Canary Islands soon. "Playing shows and making records keeps been getting easier and more fun," Jonathan states, adding, "Me and Tommy play totally different than we played two years ago. We already play a different style than we played on that live DVD, and the way we played then was totally different from the way we played three years before that. I still feel like we're just starting out, and I still learn new stuff every night."

There will be no opening act.

Days of Beer and Roses

Carlsbad Bureau, Tommy & Reba's Wedding

When I'm in North County, things take a decidedly homely turn. It's a casserole filled with family, surfing and letting the boy get his fill. It is also about morning Budweiser, afternoon gin and Cessi's burritos. Koko Beach, Pollo Maria, Leucadia Donut Shoppe and Pizza Port all make sneaky appearances. And if I really haven't been around in a while, In 'n Out is a must. The twenty minute drive up to San O and Church or the 10 minute ride down to Swami's inevitably happens once or twice. And every now and then, for good measure and for a clear mind, I remember to sleep on the beach. The Santa Cruz Mullis Compendium tries to plan their trips down to San Clemente as close as they can to our scheduled visits, and Tommy and Reba always make an appearance for a night or two. If we are extra lucky, the Sacramento and SLO Stewarts make the trek. If we are even more extra lucky, the Santa Barbara Demmons drive down. Abuelita is around, Mimi is around, G&P, Tia, Buelo and Uncle are around. It is a magical place filled with magical people and the expectation is to have a good time.

Happening: Tommy Colla at Lost Weekend

Tommy Colla takes the photos.

Tommy Brull Foundation Fundraiser this weekend!

The foundation will be making donations this year in Tom's name to the following:

-Camp Anchor Building Fund in Lido Beach, NY
www.campanchor.org

-James Lasko: (Uncle of Kelly, Lizzie, and Kevin Joyce - ANCHOR staff members)
James is 58 years old. James was scheduled for surgery to repair a congenital heart abnormality. On the day of the surgery, he suffered a massive stroke. After the stroke he suffered irreversible brain damage. He now has what is called "locked in syndrome". He is only able to move his eyes. James needs assistance with an aide to be there when his family cannot. His physical therapy, speech therapy, and occupational therapy is interrupted frequently because he does not show progress and insurance does not want to pay for it. Individual therapists would benefit him on a daily basis.

-The ASPIRE Center:
ASPIRE Center is a new, unique outpatient private clinic serving clients with Autism Spectrum Disorders and other social learning difficulties. The Center offers the opportunity to acquire skills in the area of assessment, treatment, consultation, and conducting groups (social skills, CBT, parent education) and community outings with youth and adults with autism spectrum disorders (ages preschool to adulthood) and their parents. The possibilites are endless.


More info about the Tommy Brull Foundation here...

Sifu Onion

My tai chi teacher, my son's kung fu sifu, is one of those guys.  Peel back a little bit, get a little more. No more than a rabid martial arts disciplinarian to some, Sifu Lee has more than a few other sides to him. Fishing, bow hunting, living out of his camper, playing bass in a rock band.  The guy is always surprising me with something.  The other day he shows up with an 8mm video cassette of Christian Hosoi ripping it in a 1980's Connecticut grocery store parking lot. At least that's what he thinks is on there. We haven't transfered it yet.  Today he sends me this simple statement with a link to the following vid.  I'm going to start calling him Sifu Onion.

Tommy Guerrero was to me the epitome of "Street Style" ....his delicate moves, knee bending and grace is what I find lacking in todays skaters. 
-Sifu Christopher Lee

Happening : Tommy Colla

Happening: Tommy Brull Fundraiser

We've Got Derek Hynd in the Basement

Mr. Hynd downstairs after the talk, talking.

The Derek Hynd Q&A with Jamie Brisick at Pilgrim last night. Story, opinion and design forum. Surprise guest Nick Carroll. We filmed the thing best we could, and we'll see what kind of mess we made of it and what kind of mess we can make of it to get it out there for you to see too. Suffice to say that whole hashtag of the NewYorkSurfingLife never gets dull.

 Nick, Tommy and I

They tell me that after every 30-45 minutes of sitting in a chair gazing at the video screen, I ought to get up and move around, stretch my legs and stair at my thumb then stair at a building outside. "Ok!" I say, but first can I randomly click a link on the blog roll? Sometimes it just makes me happy, sometimes it just makes me furious. Sometimes it astounds me. I'm only sorta sure which one of these reactions this find elicited.
Tommy Colla pic, found at Shipverm unt Gvibble.
Observe and re-post in full effect.

Happening Tonight : Tommy Colla Opening at Lost Weekend

And if you needed any more inspiration to go, read this...

The Other Side of Irene

via Tommy Colla

The hard effects of Irene are still being felt further inland.   A lot of people lost their land and some lost their lives.  It's hard to account, mentally, for the devastation when one's own little bubble was so unaffected.  In NYC, we barely felt it.

More Memories-As-Cautionary Tales from the Santa Cruz Bureau

Springtime 2oo4
Music by Charles Mingus

"I and the usual crew spent 3 days in Baja for Benji's bachelor party. Head high mostly empty surf all trip. I was out the whole time. Sam joined me now and then. Derol who's a good surfer, lives blocks from the beach and hasn't surfed in a decade, refused to surf with me. I begged, but Jon's diet of cigarette's and 'margs' was apparently too delicious.
After the trip we're back at the Conch and Derol finally gives in. 2 ft crap.
Sam, Derol and I. Tons of fun.
Afterward Tommy served us drinks at the Four Seasons bar, while Derol went on and on about how he loves surfing.
4 years later he hasn't surfed since."

Cute October.

There are times when I am just a chatter box in the water.  Yes, it gets me dirty looks.  I go with a friend and I want to talk.  In the water.  Or I see a friend and I want to talk.  In the water.  I hoot, then I whistle and then I try something goofy on a wave someone else might take more seriously.  Not because the wave isn't serious, or because I am so gall-darn good on a surfboard I am like a Superman among Jimmy Olsens, but because I have a hard time directing my energy in a studious, contained manner.  Today was a day like that.  Today was also a day that very much reminded me, amidst all of my grousing about how much I hate the Autumn time-compression vomit fest, that October may very well be the best month to surf in New York.  Verily, perhaps my favorite month surfing anywhere, that is, surfing in New York in October is better than surfing anywhere else at any time.  This is hogwash of course, but there is a grain of truth there.  However atomic. And some of my favorite surfing memories have been with Tommy.   His ability to keep me on my toes with an never ending variety of dispositions is a joy I'll not let myself forget.  Ever.  And isn't it just cute, that there chalk drawing?

Tommy Brull Foundation, The Latest Gig

Tommy Brull Shine A Light Music Festival

Great Ocean Quarterly & Acid

A few days ago I had a nice conversation with someone who runs an online art gallery. We touched on artistic process, sensibilities and value systems. We talked about archiving and collecting. I mentioned that I used to keep notebooks of drawings and writings but that those things were inevitably replaced by blogging, something I had conceived of as an easier daily practice at some point, the argument being that the blog, being inherently public, offers the kind of pressure to produce that having an audience (however imagined and fictional) provides. The idea that someone somewhere just might be waiting for that next statement or observation or flight of fancy or experiment, the idea that there might be someone like that in some possible world at least, is enough to coerce laziness to scram. In fact, over the years blogging has done just that. I've been able to practice writing, to one degree or another. I've been able to create little worlds of process that have allowed me to stake out a little mental space for myself apart from the rest of my life. But when I mentioned this move away from the overtly tactile process of keeping a physical journal, full of hand written notes and little sketches and drawings, I think she sorta got a screwed up look on her face, a little crinkling of the nose, as if she'd momentarily smelled something disappointing. My apologetic reaction to that was to assure her that I someday I will return to sketching and writing in my books, a thought that has occurred to me but I'd never really given much weight. As I said it though, I realized how true that statement is. I will return to the notebooks.

How do magazines continue? How do they stay relevant? It is easy to see why the garden variety daily newspaper would be overcome by the hourly, minutely, news cycle digital media offers. You'd think magazines would go the same route. But magazines are something different. Somehow the online glossy just doesn't have that mystique, that magical component of physical artifact still playing upon our heart strings just so. In the best cases, a magazine, the physical thing itself, becomes a little art gallery of imagery, and a little library of thought that's all yours. There it is on the shelf, or the table or wherever, a kind of inspirational security blanket that might remind you that poetry isn't dead, that travel writing isn't dead, that hard work isn't dead.

A couple really rad ones. Magazines that warm the literary heart. Thanks to Tommy Colla for keeping a GOQ for me which inspired me to finally subscribe after months of promising to do so. Glad I did. And Acid there, I bought that little magazine a while ago and have been waiting for the next round ever since.  Now I gotta go find it.