Sessions

I still surf.

I had two, count em two(Utah...get me two!)sessions over the weekend up at The Local with various iterations of the crew, including a guest appearance from a dude named Matt, who I just bought a boardbag off of. Matt was riding a new Jim Phillips hp longboard that he picked up because, you need a log of some sort in New England.

Saturday I rode the pig. I love that board. Granted, I'm still knocking some rust off but I had a great time. Ride of the day was a right that I caught from way the hell out there and milked all the way to the inside. Tony asked me if I scraped my fin on the bottom. A little bully stance, some cut backs, a head dip. Good day.

Hot Generation on Sunday! Crew was in full force, minus Josh(who was out on Saturday). This was my second outing on the HG. Observations? It's fast. Take offs from behind the peak? Sure. All the board does is beat sections. It's smooth as hell. It glides into trim like a hot knife cutting through butter. It paddles well. Feet close together amidships, climbing and dropping on a right was my favorite wave of the day(carves, man). Stability is good. I passed it off to both Ed and Jay and I kind of had to crowbar it back from Jay. He was having fun.

The problem I have now, and it's not a bad one, is deciding which board to take out on a given day. When I get my Sam, I'm going to have real problems.

In other news, we are almost at 50 degree water, although sadly, I need a new 4/3. Still, I scaled down to 3 mil gloves and 5 mil boots and peeled my hood back. After a lot of shitty, cold weather. Things are turning around.

Sharing

Like any good album, there has to be highs and lows, correct? The previous entry was a bit somber so it’s time to bring things up a bit.

In the vein of my previous ruminations concerning posting anything too personal, I have also refrained from letting anyone get a clear look at me, image-wise. There are, I believe, only four pictures of me lurking on these pages and none of them are all that revealing. I kind of like the anonymity. I will however, step out from the shadows a bit for the purpose of this tale.

This blog is mostly about my passions and up until now, I left one out. Baseball. I have been a fan of the Boston Red Sox since I was a kid. It started with my grandfather, who gifted each male grandchild with a mitt, ball and bat at birth, even if it would be some time before they got to use the gifts.

The connection to the sport(and the team) was further strengthened by the fact that Grandpa(a Parnell) traced and claimed kinship(distant cousins) with the last Red Sox left hander to throw a no hitter until John Lester threw his in 2008, Mel Parnell(who also embraced my Grandpa as a cousin). In fact, my mother tells stories of having met Mel and how he was extremely gracious to them whenever they went to Fenway, signing autographs, etc. The cap that I wear is a nod to this connection as it is a replica of the ones worn by the team from ’46-’51. Cousin Mel would’ve sported one like it during his tenure with the Sox.

I made my true bones in ’86 at age 15 as I watched “that play” go down while at a CYO banquet, clustered around a tv with a bunch of others. You could hear this collective gasp like we had all taken a punch to the gut. Naively at the time, I swore to myself that they would win Game 7. We know how that turned out.

I first stepped foot in Fenway at age 17 as I was going to college in Boston and would routinely walk down with friends and buy bleacher seat tickets for $8 bucks. Yes…$8 bucks.

I took a sabbatical from baseball when the strike in ‘94/’95 happened. I was so pissed off that my interest remained casual at best until my ire had subsided a bit, which was only around 2000/2001.

I put in an appearance in “Still We Believe. The Boston Red Sox Movie” as the bar we frequented in LA, Sonny McLean’s was a haven for all of the New England expats and featured in the movie. The film focuses on 2003 and when Aaron “bleepin’” Boone hits that dinger, I can be seen with my head on the bar.

Still and all, there was 2004, followed by 2007 and my passion for the game remains as strong as always, if not stronger, as I have become increasingly geeky about following our minor league prospects and getting all stoked when they make their first appearance in The Show.

My tale notwithstanding, Thing 1 has watched games with me on tv since he was a baby and even has his favorite players. He is not happy that “Gonzo” is no longer with the team and goes into apoplexies when Jacoby Ellsbury is batting. So when I got a phone call from a friend of ours that she had two extra tickets to the Sunday afternoon game of a double header, I jumped at the chance to take Thing 1 to his first game at Fenway. He had a great time, eating hot dogs and peanuts and gleefully following my heckling advice(the folks around us were pretty amused at his, “Take a seat!” whenever an opposing player struck out). A true trooper and possible future fanatic, he lasted all 9 innings with only a minor amount of grousing.

I hope he never forgets the experience because I know I never will. Much in the way that I was thrilled to give him his first wave riding experience on the front of my board last summer, I was beside myself getting to share my love of the game with him and I look forward to Thing 2’s first game as well.

The photographic evidence and me stepping from behind the curtain a bit, submitted for your approval.

Letting Go

It’s been a weird few months. I could trot out some excuse about my usual procrastination issues but the bottom line is, I know what I’ve wanted to write about but just kept putting it off because I was having a hard time quantifying what I wanted to say.

I mentioned in the post about my wife that I tend to avoid posting anything too personal in this online missive. I’m not sure why that is. Perhaps in this world we live in, where you can go onto Facebook and “tmi” is oozing off of every update that you scroll through I figured that there were some things that are better left unsaid. In the end however, there is catharsis is putting oneself out there on occasion, isn’t there?

I lost my Dad last month. That in itself is surreal. It’s strange that I have his number in my phone and feel that I need to call him to check in or to see if he can give me a hand with a project around my house, but I can’t. I have known for over two years, since his diagnosis, that there would come a time for that inevitable moment, however, I wasn't ready and I don't think you can ever prep yourself to lose someone you love.

He had a Stage 4 Glioblastoma. That’s the name they have for an inoperable brain tumor. Essentially, if you have this thing, there is no cure. You manage it, you buy time but you don’t beat it. There are some outliers. One that I know of has lived for 15 years with his. Dad was given 15 months and they expected him to live half of that. He made it for over two years.

I could talk, I suppose, about what the man meant to me and how he impacted me but if it’s all the same to you, I want to hold on to that stuff. It’s mine. I have been carrying something, however, that I want to put out there, that I need to put out there.

During his illness, I did a fair share of research into just what it was he was walking around with and in doing so, came across support sites for those who had loved ones that were wrestling with this insidious disease. I lurked for a time but couldn’t ever bring myself to post our story. A lot of those people were discussing the various treatments their parent/aunt/uncle/child, etc were going through and I was watching my Dad go through the same shit. I knew all about the radiation, the Temodar, followed by more radiation, followed by Evastin and the constant battery of pills that he had to take day in and day out. Postings were followed by messages, pledges of support, rife with platitudes to “keep fighting” and “don’t give up hope”. I wasn’t sure how I felt about those.

When Dad was first diagnosed, I was beyond happy that he had decided to go with the radiation and Temodar treatments and to stay with us as long as he could. I wanted him to meet Thing 2, who had yet to be born. I was thrilled that he saw me get my house, which he wanted for me.

As an aside, he was going through treatment and showed up every day to help me when I was getting the house ready for us to move in. It was a Herculean effort for the shape he was in and yet, it was where he wanted to be because that was the person that he was. As is usual, I digress.

I wasn’t sure about those messages of hope and fighting the good fight because as the tumor spread and the treatments started to have little effect, I knew that he had done all he could do. He wasn’t even 70 years old and the entire process had aged him. He could barely communicate, mobility was an issue…I don’t think I have to continue to paint the portrait. I wanted my father here to see his grandsons grow and to be in our lives. End of story. However, it was easy for me to want that. I wasn’t sleeping for entire days or forgetting what I read after I closed a book or dealing with a variety of side effects of medication. Dad couldn't ride his motorcycle anymore, couldn't drive, couldn't disassemble small engines or work on his house. He couldn't do the things he was happiest doing. He wanted to go.

That’s why I had/have a problem with the “keep hope alive” stuff because in the end, telling a person to soldier on is selfish. You want them to stay because you love them and you can't conceive of them not being there but it’s selfish. I sure as hell didn't have that thing in my head and in the end, when he wanted to stop fighting, I told him it was alright. What about that message? What about the preservation of a person's dignity by throwing in the towel on the good fight and letting go? Bottom line, consider what "quality of life" really means, because to me, it isn't suffering through another round of treatments because people want you to. In the end, that person you care about so much deserves to rest. You soldier on and live your life secure in what your parent/sibling/aunt/uncle/child, meant to you and eased by the thought that no matter what, they will always be with you.

I love and miss you Dad. Watch yer topknot.

Beach Break Brutality

When my Mom arrived yesterday to watch the kids, I told her that I had a doctor's appointment at 1:45 and would be leaving early from work. After the appointment, I also informed her, I would be going surfing. "You're an idiot. You don't want to wait until it's warmer?" Thanks Mom but no, I need this.

The air was about 50, the water about 37/38. I brought the Hot Generation to baptize it. As it turned out, it would not be the best day to try and get a new board wired.

It didn't look that bad from the beach, however, at The Local, you have to get pretty close up to get a true assessment of what's going on out there. The parking situation at The Local has sucked for some time. I've previously mentioned that construction on the causeway up there, which is dragging on way too long, has resulted in the huge parking lot(state beach) being closed off. This means that if you luck out and get a spot in the small lot at the rotary, well, you've lucked out. As I'm changing, a dude with a board on top of this truck racks pulls in and barks out, "Leavin'?" "Nope." He pulls into a recently vacated spot and the huge rails give the guy away. Sweeper. "You surfing or paddling?" "Surfing, man." "Attaboy!" It's hard to be standoffish to such an affable janitor.

I walk down to "Dirt Pile" and watch for a bit while stretching. White water is heavy. It's not overhead. Call it chest to head. Doable. If you want to take a longer stroll to get to "Bath House" or "Third Bench", you can. However, it's easier to hit the peak at "Dirt Pile" where the water is nice and mungy. Again, I can't wait for the lot to open back up, so I can just go right out at either of the two aforementioned peaks.

I thought there was a channel but no. Perhaps it was wishful thinking. Perhaps I was just impatient. Still and all, paddling headway was being made. Just as I time it right and get reasonably far out, a set wave Maytags me before I can get outside. Shit. I struggle a little longer but it's not happening. I ride a reform in and walk even further up the beach. That's a channel.

This time I get out. It was 3:30 when I started all this. It's now a bit past 4. It looks to be head high on the sets. Once I've had my rest, I start trying for them. Now I'm too far out. Alright, I move in. Legs are starting to get cold. Finally, I drop in on a set wave. Lots of white water. I'm more or less on the flats, trying to turn the corner and as fast as the HG is, I never quite make it. I settle for some reforms on the inside as I know I have to get out and head for home.

At least I got wet.

Tunes for the Backseat Crowd

Do I sometimes resemble one of those parents trying to force their music/taste on their kids in order to impart some sort of taste/cool factor by way of osmosis? Guilty as charged. In my defense, a lot of it is organic as I always listen to tunes in the car and when the boys are with me, we take turns. Sometimes it's Greasy Kids Stuff(great comps) and sometimes it's Dad's choice although the two backseat critics(especially Thing 1)have exercised their power of veto on more than one occasion. Dinosaur Jr., for example usually does not go over too well. Roadrunner? Always a popular choice. Thing 1 was requesting it and singing along with it at age 2 and Thing 2 has been known to fervently car seat pogo when it's playing. So boys...this one's for you.

For the Missus

I write about some of my passions, surfing, music, beer but generally speaking, I’ve avoided too much of the truly personal. In those moments when I do write about, say, my little clan, it’s about my lads while THE most important person in my life hasn’t gotten much press. I am referring, of course, to Mrs. Meezy.

As of December, we have been married for 6 years, although we have been together for a little over 10 years.

At the time of our meeting, our intrepid hero was not feeling so intrepid. I had been out in LA for 5 years and when I arrived home for the holidays in ‘02/’03, I had been out of work for three months, having been laid off from my job at FX Networks. A job I’d held for almost three years. There had also been no traction in regards to my fledgling screenwriting career. Out there, everyone has a script. I had also been stuck in the black hole that is LA’s dating scene for a lonnnng time. There is plenty to do as a young single person in Los Angeles but life out there can be isolating, as I found out.

So it was that I arrived back on the East Coast for the holidays with my tail between my legs but with the steely resolve that at 33 years of age, I was going to be an eternal bachelor.

Little did I know...

New Year’s Eve arrived and I found myself at The Druid in Inman Square, Cambridge with “The Bollocks” and his lovely wife. Although there were a number of lovely young women in attendance that evening, I was sticking with my steely resolve. Besides, see how well you do when you're attempting to chat up a NE girl but then have to admit that you live in LA. Picture the scene where Daffy Duck tries to upstage Bugs Bunny and gets nothing but crickets for his troubles and you should have a clear picture of how that bit of information usually went over.

However...

Fifteen minutes after my arrival and "she" walked in. She wasn't backlit and fans weren't blowing her hair around but I was instantly drawn to her. She was very pretty, dark brown hair, nice smile, bright blue eyes and to cap it off, when I sidled up to get a closer look, she went and ordered a Stella Artois. I was done for. Now she had noticed yours truly as well and was subtly trying to get my attention and although I am not a shy person by any stretch of the imagination, choking out even a “hello” was proving to be impossible. She then asked me to take a picture of her and her friends and we spoke and then adjoined to another bar and I walked her home and took her out on what would be the best date of my life two days later and a day before I would fly back to the West Coast.

For the next 9 months we flew back and forth across the country(admittedly, she came West more than I flew East)to see one another until she made a decision that she had actually been pondering for some time and moved out West.

The End?

Hardly.

One move West, another back East, two more moves from Somerville to Arlington and finally Dedham, MA, a house, two kids, countless laughs, some tears, some yelling, a lifetimes worth of “good conversation” and no end in sight. She’s my best friend and a large part of why I’ve made the advances that I’ve made in my life. She knows the above story all too well. She’s lived it and it’s been told a million times but the best part is that it’s far from over.

Happy Valentine's Day my Love!

PS -

Even if I said I wouldn't put up any pictures of you, you're incognito behind those shades and yet...your beauty is still readily apparent.

Maiden Voyage

Since November, either I, or a member of my little clan have been sidelined with some kind of illness. Sometimes the timing wasn't right. A lot of times, there just weren't any waves. Yesterday, however, the stars aligned a bit.

I joined the crew at The Local yesterday morning to try out my new acquisitions. It was a tad small for the Hot Generation but conditions were perfect for longboarding. Enter...The Golden Girl(sobriquet provided by Brian Hilbers).

Pause.

I had my mind blown a little.

Unpause.

D-fins do indeed turn. In this case, the board whips right around into trim. Glide? Yes. Nimble? Oh yes. Stable? Mmm-hmm(I can knee paddle it just fine). I love how I can throw it around. I might love it too much. I nearly took out Tony P when I called "Left!" on one wave and then decided to whip back around to go right. Jay got nearly the same treatment. It takes a high line perfectly. I got a bit of a stretch five at one point. It was a good day.

I don't know. It may have been only the first session but I'm drinking the kool-aid that Mike Black has been peddling. Pigs rule, man.