The King of Instagram's surf saga gets even more
tawdry!
This morning, I posted a story that genuinely
tickled. Dan Bilzerian, the
self-proclaimed King of Instagram, made famous for posting pictures
of lots of girls hanging out with him and his beard and his
airplane and his lack of self-esteem posted a picture of him and
his beard and a strangely concave Al Merrick waxed all the entire
way to the nose. The caption read “Good gettin back in the
water today w the gambling surf guru @ricksalomon”
Oh how funny! But, apparently, the whole business gets even
better. A wonderful man by the named Earl White informed me, via
Facebook, that, “My buddy saw him take this picture then pullout a
longboard to paddle on…wouldn’t say he ‘surfed’ it.”
How amazing! But really? Is true? I had to know.
“Yes.” he said. “It was at Sunset (Santa Monica). Big yellow
longboard.”
And don’t social fame just cut both ways? Dan gets paid,
presumably, to shill whatnots to his 15 m followers. They say
things like “You live a blessed life” and “Amazing” but sometimes
“You have very short legs.” On his surf post his non-followers say
things like “Kook” “What a kook” and “Go back to the valley, kook.”
And also bury him deeper with tales of what truly went down that
day.
Happy shredding, Valley Dan!
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Laugh: Dan Bilzerian is a kook!
By Chas Smith
Come giggle at the "King of Instagram!"
I used to very much enjoy watching celebrities
surf wrong. Wax the underside of board, put wetsuit on backward,
put fins in backward etc. etc. “They so dumb!” I’d giggle, but the
thrill dissipated over time. Surfing is, at its core, a set of
byzantine bylaws always shifting, always moving slightly as if
built upon sand. And so I’d forgive the celebrity his foibles as I
forgave those learning on the beach and even, sometimes, my own (I
didn’t start waxing my tailpad until this month! So late to the
game!)
But now there is a new batch of celebrities to mock! Social
media ones! These are, generally, shallow/misogynistic/pointless
enough to mercilessly bash without a moral hangover. Take, for
example, Dan Bilzerian. He is a trust funder who played poker, I
think, then made a name for himself on Instagram, taking pictures
of many women and himself being rad and cool and flying on private
jets and looking at stuff. He, in fact, calls himself King of
Instagram and just might be with over 15.3m followers. He wants to
be an actor, loaning the movie Lone Survivor one
million bucks, apparently, for eight minutes of screen time. He got
less than one minute and sued.
In any case, guess what else? He is a kook! Three days ago he
posted a photo of himself (he is always in the photo) gazing out at
the Pacific, Al Merrick under arm waxed all the way to the nose.
The caption read “Good gettin back in the water today w the
gambling surf guru @ricksalomon”
(Remember Rick S? He was one half of Paris Hilton sex tape!)
And his board was waxed all the way to the nose! I was sent the
photo by a very good friend and laughed and laughed at his idiocy
without even a twinge of conscience and mocked and posted to
Instagram. The wonderful @kook_of_the_day also posted with the
funniest of hashtags including #royalflushtheyeastoutofthatsuit
I have been laughing now for one hour and feel better and better
and better with each chuckle. Thanks for being a kook, Dan
Bilzerian!
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Watch: How Meth Ruined Santa Cruz!
By Rory Parker
The former Santa Cruz pro Anthony Ruffo and his
life as a dealer of methamphetamine…
(Editor’s note: The documentary Learning to Breathe, a
long-form film about the former Santa Cruz pro Anthony Ruffo and
his life as a dealer of meth and how it ruined his
community, costs $US7.99 to watch on iTunes. For the next 72
hours, it’s free to watch at BeachGrit.)
In an uncertain world there are few things you can count
on. The sun will rise and set, the tides will come and go,
and meth addicts will lie with every word.
Which is important to remember as you watch Learning to
Breathe: From dealer to healer. A young addict is a pathetic
thing, an old one dangerous. You don’t make a decades long career
of inflicting pain on those around you, and still have them around
you, without knowing how to smile sincerely. Say the words, shed
those crocodile tears. Deflect blame, provide a handhold, some
excuse to which they can cling.
And so when Anthony Ruffo states, at the beginning of the
documentary on his addiction and supposed redemption, “When I say
these things there’s no justification. I’m just telling you why,”
it’s important to remember that he’s obviously spun, pupils
dilated.
His words mean nothing. Ruffo’s tale is not that of a young man
gone wrong, it’s that of an old man desperately seeking to dodge
responsibility. Ruffo says he was not a gang member, he merely
worked with them. He was not a violent man, others committed
violence on his behalf. Every admission is followed by a but or
because, as though reasons matter.
A young addict is a pathetic thing, an old one dangerous. You
don’t make a decades long career of inflicting pain on those around
you, and still have them around you, without knowing how to smile
sincerely. Say the words, shed those crocodile tears. Deflect
blame, provide a handhold, some excuse to which they can cling.
He gleefully recounts successfully flushing more than a pound of
meth in the face of a police raid, claims, “We all know, man, when
you get involved with drugs danger lurks all the time.” Which is
not true. Danger lurks when you flip pounds, when you rob people,
when you forego the protections of society and chase your wants
like an animal.
Director Rocky Romano pieces together an interesting narrative,
following Ruffo from his 2010 arrest to 2012 sentencing. Interviews
with the Santa Cruz crew, through which addiction ran amok, are
surprisingly forthright. Family members of Ruffo, and other local
addicts, share an insight into how they deal with the agony of a
loved one’s slow demise.
Unfortunately, that insight lays bare the desperate need to find
reasons free of accountability. “Drugs” are personified. They ruin
lives, lead us to make terrible choices. It’s understandable,
forgivable, that need to cope, to justify. Necessary when seeking
to sustain the love you want to feel for a person who is destroying
themselves, and you.
His words mean nothing. Ruffo’s tale is not that of a young man
gone wrong, it’s that of an old man desperately seeking to dodge
responsibility. Ruffo says he was not a gang member, he merely
worked with them. He was not a violent man, others committed
violence on his behalf. Every admission is followed by a but or
because, as though reasons matter.
Anthony Ruffo is a charismatic man, with a broad smile and
confident gaze. The type of man who can make you believe the lie
you know he’s telling. The type of man who believes the lies he’s
telling. But the words of his prosecutor are true, “He’s not a
victim, he has victimized.”
It’s the third act that left a sour taste in my mouth, wherein
we watch Ruffo attend rehab in New York, then return to Santa Cruz
to begin his good works. There are tears, and hand holding. Circle
session bonding, declamations of change and rebirth and hope.
It’s poignant, nearly believable, if you’ve never been on the
inside of a relationship with an addict. But if you have you
already know, their words are hot air in chase of desire. Experts
at disingenuous dissemination. A prudent man cares enough about
himself to walk away in the beginning, leave the lost to their own
devices.
We see Ruffo at his sentencing, handed a relatively light
sentence in the context of his charges. Not that he gets off easy,
a year of freedom lost is a heavy price. Most striking is the look
on his face when he learns he’s going away. Utter confusion, total
surprise, as though he really believed that a year of sobriety and
decency could atone for a life of depravity.
“Why put that in a cage?” he asked The New York
Times. “If I come into court a changed man from
when I got busted and I’m showing these positive results, why
wouldn’t you want to keep that person going in that direction?”
Because redemption is a myth, a get-out-of-jail free card handed
out by a lord and savior who does not exist. In this world good
deeds don’t undo bad, no one has a right to ask forgiveness. It can
be given, and maybe should be, but to expect it demonstrates a near
total lack of insight. Nothing unrings a bell. People may still
love you, but they’d be fools to trust you.
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Paul Speaker: “I can ski backward!”
By Chas Smith
Come get to know the World Surf League's CEO!
Bloomberg Business is, like, the holy grail of
business news. Founder Michael Bloomberg was once mayor of New York
City and outlawed big sugary drinks. The publication, both in print
and online, features investment plans, money stuff, and people who
make money. Also, Paul Speaker, CEO of the WSL.
He was featured in the “HOW DID I GET HERE?” segment
and here are some quotes:
“I was class vice president, editor of the yearbook and
newspaper, and head of the float and prom committees. I played
football, basketball, track, and some baseball.”
“They’d done some official Olympic winter sports videos. I wrote
them letters saying I could ski backward and hold a camera.”
“I was an economics major. I loved the people but could not wait
to go make money.”
“I worked on Super Mario Bros. for 18 months.
It was a game changer for me.”
“Everybody would be like, ‘Oh great, the idea guy’s here. Let’s
let him come up with some ideas.’ I was 29 and didn’t know it was a
stupid title.”
“I saw that the surf tour needed help, so I flew to Australia to
meet with the board of the Association of Surfing Professionals. It
was almost a year of negotiation.”
“We’re the governing body of professional surfing—we changed the
name to WSL last year—from junior programs up to our world
championship tour. It’s incredible fun.”
Which is your favorite? I like the part about incredible
fun.
I also like how handsome he was in high school.
Go HERE for a complete timeline
of the man’s career and inspiration like, “Know when to adjust and
when to stay the course.”
P.S. Do you know what snowboarders call it when skiers ski
backward?
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Miserable: How committed are you?
By Chas Smith
Are you committed enough to brave freezing
temperatures? Icicles on your thick wooly beard?
Do you live in California? Australia? Brazil,
Israel, Mexico, Florida? Is the thickest rubber you ever climb into
three mil by four mil? Do you complain when your toes get numb? I
do! I dislike booties and so never wear them but cry like a baby
when my feetsies get chilled.
I grew up surfing the Oregon coast but have surfed southern
California, and Bali, Mexico, Australia, warm, nice, etc. for the
past two decades and don’t know how I’d react, once again, to
instant frostbite. I’ve gone soft.
Which brings me to my point. How committed to surfing are you?
Let’s say you did not have enough money to get on a flight to a
warm locale but lived on the banks of Lake Superior. Would you
brave literal freezing temperatures for a little head dip like
Hardcore Dan in the video here? He says that people who don’t surf
in the winter are dumb.
“I like the fact that I can go play in the water and catch waves
and not just have to be in regular life on flat ground. It’s like a
giant washing machine. It picks me up and throw me around. I feel
like a little kid and the lake is my parent just playing with me in
the water, you know?”