The proper way of dealing with aggression is with
more aggression…
It must be a slow news day, because the LA
Times just ran a new piece on Lunada Bay. Nothing
new in it, really. Rehashing of old stories, empty promises from PV
pigs, same ol’ same old.
Fun stuff from the new PV police chief, Jeff Kepley.
“I’m not so naive to believe that we can solve this instantly or
overnight,” Kepley said. “It took 50 years to get here. Hopefully,
it won’t take that long to resolve, but I think it’s very important
to get the word out as aggressively and enthusiastically as we can
that the status quo is going to be mixed up around here.”
Pretty standard lazy pig bullshit.
A half-wit would point out that stationing a cop on the bluff
during swell would instantly solve any problems, but it’s unfair to
expect that type of high level mental gymnastics from a person who
willingly sought a career in law enforcement. Especially one in
Palos Verdes, an affluenza-addled shithole that plays elite-level
NIMBY.
It’s a little over two years from the day I destroyed my
shoulder bodysurfing small Pipe, found myself bored as hell and out
of my mind on painkillers. I don’t do well with downtime, post
surgery healing, then physical therapy, meant I was in for a lot of
it.
Chris Taloa’s brother (I think it was his brother) had run into
some trouble trying to surf Lunada and and Chris was very upset
about it. Won Ton is a classic character, and has long been one of
my personal heroes, thanks to his unreal stand-up bodyboard
ability.
Bit of a tangent, but I think it’s very funny that, thanks to
Catch Surf, we’re in the midst of a stand-up boogie renaissance,
while calling it surfing. It is not. Doesn’t make it any less cool
or fun, but we should call a spade a spade.
I hit up Chris via social media and offered to help him with his
campaign. Living thousands of miles away I didn’t really have a dog
in the fight, but I grew up in the shadow of PV, dealt with some of
those fuckers growing up, and, perhaps most importantly, didn’t
have anything better to do.
Personally, I’m of the opinion that the proper way of dealing
with aggression is with more aggression. The wave would be a long
ruined clusterfuck on every swell if people did the right thing and
bashed the fuck out of anyone who tried to tell them where they
can, or cannot, surf. Turning the other cheek just gets you hit
twice, and while the meek may inherit the earth it’ll only be
because it fills their mouths and chokes their screams.
Chris wanted to mob the spot, so I tossed a post up on reddit to
see if I could drum up some interest. It struck a nerve, people
were very upset, and I realized the story had legs. Was it likely
that a bunch of surfers would actually have the balls to stand up
for themselves, face down a group of sad sack spoiled middle aged
babies? Of course not.
Transworld Surf had recently been murdered via
corporate transfer and the only paid writing work I could find was
pumping out shorts for The Inertia. It was easy money,
pandering ain’t difficult, and I thought they’d be a great spot for
rousing the rabble. Ctrl+V’ed the post into a word doc and sent it
over to Alex Haro as a freebie.
The response rattled Weisberg.
“Within a few minutes, my inbox filled up with hate mail, and I
was honestly worried about what might happen there. The piece was
pretty incendiary, and a LOT of people read it. I just wanted
everyone to be safe. There was a lot of anger coursing through our
inboxes, comments, Facebook pages, etc…”
He did a hard edit, after it had been
posted, and moved to distance himself from the
hoopla.
“The manner in which this message was originally delivered
was exceptionally incendiary and intent on creating animosity in
the local surf community, and, after more careful review, the tone
has since been edited to reflect a more respectful attitude. Posts
intended to inspire aggression, ill will, or worse, violence, will
not be condoned. “
Absolutely fucking lovely.
At the time I was pretty pissed, it was a real
soft-cock move, and I vaguely remember calling Zach and giving him
a hard time. Of course, I was sucking down oxycontin like they were
Pez, so it may have just been a mumble slur rant. And, really, he
had just furthered my aim of drumming up as much drama as
possible.
Personally, I’m of the opinion that the proper way of dealing
with aggression is with more aggression. The wave would be a long
ruined clusterfuck on every swell if people did the right thing and
bashed the fuck out of anyone who tried to tell them where they
can, or cannot, surf. Turning the other cheek just gets you hit
twice, and while the meek may inherit the earth it’ll only be
because it fills their mouths and chokes their screams.
I started making phone calls, sending emails, trying to plant
the story everywhere I could. There were hundreds behind me, I was
merely the face of the movement. Total, utter, complete bullshit.
Like a hoary cripple with a malicious eye I lied in every word. It
was very fun.
And people bought it.
It’s an amazing thing, how a lie often repeated with a straight
face can so quickly become “truth.” I’m hardly a reliable narrator,
I obviously had an agenda, but I was still taken at my word.
“Almost immediately after he had posted the notice, threats of
violence and even death appeared in his inbox. But Parker was
unfazed, buoyed by a belief that localism runs counter to the
essence of surfing, which he believes is to have fun, keep fit, and
partake of an incredible natural resource.
“This just feels like the right thing to do,” Parker said. “It’s
a corny, stupid reason for putting myself out there like this, but
it’s the right thing to do… We all share resources. They [Bay Boys]
leave The Hill to go shopping. We’re going to climb The Hill to go
surfing.”
Click here to read!
In the end it all worked as I hoped, and expected. The PV cops
showed up in force, news choppers circled the bay, and almost no
one showed up. My Dad was there, Taloa paddled out alone, and it
seemed like it fizzled.
But the point was never to change anything, it was to create a
story that would engage, grow larger every time told. Which it has,
rehashed every few months by lazy reporters worldwide.
It created a constant nagging headache for a wealthy enclave and
their corrupt running dogs. Puts a smile on my face every time a
story appears. I can’t stand rich people, and I really, really,
really, fucking hate cops.
