(Screen grab from video)

California Governor “Gestapo Gavin” Newsom singles out Orange County as “seat of all evil, unrepentant Coronavirus super spreaders” and shutters its beaches!

"Carry on being careful."

Who would have ever believed, when the clock struck noon Pacific Standard Time, that typically conservative, well-to-do Orange County, California would be the very heart of rebellion? Oh not me and not in a thousand years but there I was, driving home from Orange County, California when the clock struck noon bringing Governor “Gestapo Gavin” Newsom to the airwaves.

We had all learned, last night, that he was planning on closing all of California’s beaches, from Crescent City to the Tijuana Sloughs, and I was already burning.

Boiling with rage.

His smarmy voice, slightly ragged as is the fashion these days amongst political leaders showcasing their “strength, wisdom and compassion” filled my truck’s interior. He began by complimenting Californians on coming together to “flatten the curve” adding nothings about “standing together” and “being on the same team” as he went.

My knuckles turning white, gripping the steering wheel, anticipating his pivot to the beach closure and his nanny state nonsense.

“The beaches…”

And here it was.

“Orange County has been on our list of health concern and they’ve done a wonderful job down there, I just think we can tighten that up a little bit. So we’re going to have a temporary pause down there.”

Down there?

Down where?

He continued rambling, passive aggression etc. The “raised alarm bells” from people outside in the sun, appearing not to obey “physical distancing guidelines” from the smashed perspective of a telephoto camera lens. Semi-praising San Diego and Los Angeles counties while digging the heel of his jackboot into Orange County.

And what the hell?

I almost couldn’t believe my ears.

He was leaving the rest of the state to “carry on, being careful” etc. while putting the entirety of Orange County under lock and key.

Does he have a vendetta against California’s crown jewel?

Some major beef?

That has to be outside of his purview, no? Like, he can close state beaches but not city beaches, yes?

“My job as governor is to keep you safe, and when our health folks tell me they can’t promise that if we promote another weekend like we had then I have to make this adjustment…” he continued to roll.

But my mind was running hot, wondering if Orange County’s proud residents will rise up as one, this weekend, in defiance.

More as the story develops.


Photo courtesy of The Northern Star.

Gruesome: Playful dolphin brutally snacked upon by rage-filled shark washes up on Australian beach, “distressed” young woman attempts to caress it back to life!

"It was pretty shocking and just shows that we share the ocean with many wonderful creatures."

Oh my goodness and oh my gracious I woke up angry this morning. Steamed. Filled to the brim with a malicious rage. A bubbling, boiling rage. A grey pall has settled on California beaches where Governor “Gestapo Gavin” Newsom has just announced that every one of the state’s beaches will be closed, put under the jackboot, in less than 24 hours. Sure, hospitals are at half capacity, the death toll is low and shrinking, the public agitated but Gestapo Gavin has tasted the power, the righteousness, and has made his decree.

I’m angry enough to bake a vanilla cake in his likeness, a touch of caramel to color the vanilla skin frosting, dewy green Skittles for eyes, movie star hair made from cinnamon frosted mini-wheats and take a big bite out of the head.

Two big bites even.

I suppose I can’t take complete credit for the idea as I was inspired by an Australian shark that took out its rage on a playful dolphin near Australia’s New Brighton beach. Shall we learn more from the local Northern Star?

Jonathan Miller’s beach walk came to a grisly halt when he stumbled upon the 2m dolphin with about six bites “at least 30cm long”.

He made the discovery just before 6am on Tuesday when he saw a young woman looking quite distressed trying to care for the dolphin which had washed up on the unpatrolled beach.

“It was clearly already dead,” Mr Miller said.

“I’m convinced it was a shark or many sharks, and surfers need to beware.

“Most of the surfers are well aware of the risks and happy to take them. It was pretty shocking and just shows that we share the ocean with many wonderful creatures.”

Besides the very sad thought of a distressed young woman attempting to caress the dolphin (pictured above) back to life, would you like to know the phrase in the story that brings a tear to my eye?

Many tears even, now rolling down my cheeks but hot and rage-filled tears?

“Unpatrolled beach.”

And… I’m sorry. I can’t continue.

More as the story develops.


"Those surfers were a threat to our way of life and we stopped 'em didn't we." "We sure did. We sure did." | Photo: @revengeofthenerds

California über alles: Gov Newsom to close every damn beach in California after Orange County surfers flout COVID rules: “This virus doesn’t go home because it’s a beautiful sunny day around our coasts!

Those surfers were a threat to our way of life.

How about that for a switcharoo?

After a brief and beautiful moment where surfing was decriminalised in the golden state, Gov Newsom’s jackboot will descend, again, this Friday with all Californian beaches and state parks shuttered.

From our pals at the NY Post, who got it from Fox II,

After well-publicized media coverage of overcrowded beaches this past weekend, in violation of Governor Newson’s shelter in place order, the governor will be announcing tomorrow that beaches and all state parks in California will be closed, effective Friday, May 1,” said the notification, which was sent out to all California police chiefs on Wednesday.

Newsom on Monday blasted the beachgoers, singling out those who flocked to Huntington Beach and Newport Beach in Orange County.

“This virus doesn’t take the weekends off, this virus doesn’t go home because it’s a beautiful sunny day around our coasts,” the governor said.

Just as a few Instagram photos got Bondi and surrounds closed for two weeks, same deal in California.

Photos swirled online last weekend of the coastal crowds who appeared to be flouting the social distancing rules as temperatures soared into the 80s on Friday.

One image shows a group of at least five young women within six feet of each other on Huntington Beach. Others show sunbathers sitting so close their towels touch.

How you feeling about it?

You think Gov Newsom has lost his mind and that if you ain’t sixty-plus, fat, diabetic and crammed into an apartment building on the lower east side, well, maybe, a little time in the sun might do some good?

Or no?


Back in the spring of 2020, I didn't surf for forty-eight days straight, kid. Wow, did you win a medal? Or did people think you were a steaming wiener? | Photo: @meatballs

Report from Santa Barbara: “Surfing has not handled Corona with surefooted grace. We swing dizzyingly between smug righteousness and angry nihilism. Neither feels or looks especially good”

Each day, Instagram offers up a parade of people determined to signal their virtuous self-denial. I’m not surfing! Look at me not surfing! As though following the rules is worthy of a medal.

For one thing, it was hot.

That night, the winds came, scouring through the passes, hurtling down the mountains, hot as the devil’s breath. I slept fitfully, tangled sheets and fevered dreams, the sound of dry leaves rustling, restless. Sunrise came too bright, too early.

I head down to the beach where a small, sloppy windswell is almost enough to ride if you squint at it with enough optimism. Everyone else has the same idea and we dodge and weave, trying to keep our distance. Chatting with friends, we stand awkwardly, not quite six feet apart, but not quite close either.

I paddle out, spring’s still-cold water welcome in the disorienting heat. It’s April, but it feels like late summer. I wander lost in the desert and dream of ice cream.

A girl in the lineup I’ve never seen before tries to chat me up. She tells me she’s from Camarillo. She wants to know how the spot works, when it’s good. I tell her I don’t really know, which isn’t entirely a lie. I check it a lot. Sometimes, I get lucky.

I have found the things I hated before Corona, I hate infinitely more now. The SUP strafing the lineup? So much hate. The snitchy, pearl-clutching Karens on the internet? Still hate ‘em. The guy who tried to burn me yesterday? “No! Fuck you!” I yelled with zero regrets. Heat waves. I hate heat waves even more than I believed possible.

A girl in the lineup I’ve never seen before tries to chat me up. She tells me she’s from Camarillo. She wants to know how the spot works, when it’s good. I tell her I don’t really know, which isn’t entirely a lie. I check it a lot. Sometimes, I get lucky.

On the whole, surfing has not handled Corona with surefooted grace. We swing dizzyingly between smug righteousness and angry nihilism. Neither feels — or looks — especially good. Surfing isn’t rainbows and unicorns during the best of times, and this is certainly not the best of times.

Each day, Instagram offers up a parade of people determined to signal their virtuous self-denial.

I’m not surfing! Look at me not surfing!

As though following the rules is worthy of a medal, as though doing the bare minimum is worthy of great praise and adulation. Look at me, I’m amazing! Yes, yes you are, you precious darling.

The rest of us struggle to rise above our own worst impulses. Fuck the rules, spraypaint the walls.

“Surfing is not a crime,” reads new graffiti at Malibu.

Resentment burns and festers against hikers, against anyone on a bike, against everyone, really. We dream up intricate strategies designed to evade the rules, sometimes with embarrassingly hilarious results (Looking at you, Trestles boat guy).

The whole thing feels like a test: Are you an asshole? You drove an hour or more, past the closed beaches near where you live, across a county line or several, to go for a surf. You put your drone in the car and you went down to the beach, just so you could later post a video online to shame people for going outside. You burned a local.

Entitlement breeds a bitchy new localism. Just let us surf. Close the beaches to everyone else, never mind the law, never mind any nice notions like equity or fairness. Surfers have always been selfish, but these days, it feels like everyone’s become an exaggerated version of themselves.

The whole thing feels like a test: Are you an asshole? You drove an hour or more, past the closed beaches near where you live, across a county line or several, to go for a surf. You put your drone in the car and you went down to the beach, just so you could later post a video online to shame people for going outside. You burned a local.

There are so many ways to be an asshole, these days. It’s hard to keep count. Are you making things better, or just performing virtue? Are you thinking about the people around you, or do you just not give a fuck? The bar isn’t set terribly high, not really, but it’s just high enough to trip and land facefirst. And so many of us are suddenly so clumsy.

I ride my bike down the street, past the restaurants offering curbside pickup, past the porta-potties the city has supplied for the homeless people, who panhandle vacant sidewalks.

The Forever 21 is stripped bare. Only the fixtures remain, forlorn and empty. At Tillys, a Sharpied sign tells UPS to go around the back, and at Brandy Melville, the clothing is off the hangers, stacked up on a table, entombed in plastic. Fast fashion, here today, who knows about tomorrow. There’s no forever now.

They boarded up the Volcom store, but the city must have objected, because a few days later, the plywood disappeared. The mannikins stare blankly out at the mostly empty street, all dressed up in fresh boardshorts for summer, if we ever get there.

Two doors down, the Billabong store turned their mannikins around, and their backs face the street. A blue-hued image of a tropical island hangs in the window, a postcard from the past, a dream for the future.

I put on my face bikini, this spring’s hottest new accessory, and head to the grocery store. I feel ready for anything. Rob a bank, start a riot. In truth, I’m just hoping for ice cream, some fresh produce, and a roll or two of toilet paper. Maybe if I’m lucky there’ll be some pasta, one of the good shapes, not the shit-small shapes made for soup, the shapes that no one actually buys ever, even now.

My mind wanders in strange directions.

I have a sudden desire to longboard Waikiki, even though I can’t ride a longboard, not properly, not with any grace at all. I imagine getting in a car and driving as far, as fast as I can, down the empty highway to the vanishing point, with the stereo cranked as loud as it will go. But I hate driving.

The days fade one into the next, mostly indistinguishable.

Is it May or July?

I’m not really sure.

I can count the days by the length of my hair, which rapidly approaches full feral hippy.

The sun beats down, unfeeling and unforgiving.

Here I am, standing on the same street corner.

Another day, another espresso.

Is it today or yesterday, and will tomorrow be any different at all?


Growth Market: New development featuring “largest in United States” 6 acre surf park set to break ground in central Virginia!

Broad appeal, attracting spectators!

David Lee Scales and I had a recent chat about the viability of surf tanks in the time of the Chinese Flu. He was bearish, thinking the financing would dry up and hordes of jobless citizens would be too busy murdering each other over corn husks and dying to care about the freshwater barrel experience. I was bullish, thinking that air travel will be more costly over the coming years and nations less likely to desire tourists thereby creating “local” surf vacations to Waco, Palm Springs and Chesterfield County there in the middle of Virginia.

But let’s read about the just unveiled Chesterfield County development, two hours from the Atlantic, that is to include the largest surf park in these United States.

Since the project, which the developers are calling “The Lake,” was zoned in March 2017, (local real estate developer Brett) Burkhart has scrapped plans for a whitewater rafting course modeled after the U.S. National Whitewater Center in Charlotte, North Carolina. Instead, he decided to create a surf park with customizable wave technology that can accommodate both beginner and professional surfers. At 6 acres, the Chesterfield surf park will be three times bigger than a similar facility, BSR Surf Resort in Waco, Texas, that opened in 2018.

The development will feature a PerfectSwell wave pool manufactured by California-based American Wave Machines, which gives the operator push-button control over the size and type of waves being generated.

Burkhart thinks that potentially could position Chesterfield to host surfing competitions, while also providing a recreational venue for people to surf or boogie board without having to make the two-hour trek to Virginia Beach.

“The business model is comparable to whitewater, but after realizing the broad appeal and its ability to attract spectators, I was convinced this could be something unique and successful in Central Virginia,” Burkhart said in a recent interview.

First, the abandoned super core whitewater rafting course sounds very fun. No? I am already a big fan of the manmade lazy river experience. You know, the meandering chlorine snake-shaped pools carrying children and adults along at a leisurely pace. Make that river un-lazy and even funner. No? Especially if the adults are allowed to ride with “Yards of Ale” like they are in Las Vegas, Nevada.

Second, what is your opinion on the viability of wave tanks for 2021 and beyond? Bullish or bearish?

Third, what will Kelly Slater do to steal limelight from “largest in the United States” claim?

More as the story develops.