Transhumanist Zoltan, NYT and fam. | Photo: @HollyOgden5

Nor Cal surfers in fury over Transhumanist VP candidate and New York Times columnist who says surfing ain’t a crime: “Stay home kook!…Shelter in place, barney!”

"There are pictures of you on every telephone pole, soon to be on T-shirts, the local surfers all know your face now…"

As we’ve written before, surfers, if that’s what you want to call us, have ridden the COVID train to hitherto never before seen heights of self-policing, usurping the usual snitches, informers, rats and so on.

Public exceptions, of course, are Joel Tudor, and Derek Dunfee, the big-waver and photographer who, according to Coronado mayor Richard Bailey, “singlehandedly” brought together all the mayors in San Diego to talk about and eventually overturn the no-surf ban.

Two days ago, the libertine transhumanist Zoltan Istva wrote in The New York Times of being a lockdown runner and…



Oh, using tech to beat death, disease etc, not in the usual ways like antibiotics and dentures, but with artificial wombs (the concept is that women have the right not to carry a fetus, but not to kill it, therefore if artificial wombs can be employed both sides of the abortion debate win), and implants to augment our senses, a melding of man and robot etc.

Terrific stuff and I’ll be the first to rid myself of this poorly functioning brain and body.


Zoltan wrote,

“I just couldn’t see how walking out of my house, getting into my car, parking near the beach, and paddling into waves could be dangerous for anyone. Even on the beach — which hasn’t been crowded since the pandemic hit — most people were wearing masks and practicing social distancing. In the water, we were always considerably more than six feet apart from one another.

“A few days ago, a county sheriff’s officer stood outside his vehicle in the parking area of the beach in Bolinas, waving off visitors and telling surfers to go home. Like many other surfers, I avoided him by parking on a side street. I suited up and after making sure he was looking the other way, sprinted to the water. I caught my first wave of the day a minute later.

I understand that quarantine rules must apply to everyone or the plan to flatten the curve doesn’t work. But I doubt that surfing alone jeopardizes the health of society in any statistically meaningful way, especially because all the surfers I’ve seen have been careful to practice social distancing in and out of the water. The physical, mental and spiritual benefits to surfing outweigh the tiny chance a surfer might become infected or infect someone else.”

He does get a little silly when he writes about weeping in the surf and how “Being in the ocean and riding waves can be ecstatic and spiritual.”

I get it, I agree, but it looks rough on paper.

Importantly, he’s a Tudor, not a Skindizzle.

The response, very fierce.

#gohomezoltan is trending on IG

“Maybe ur day tripper friends are all jacking eachother off while looking at ur ny times article but the entire population of every single small beach town is utterly repulsed,” writes Heather Lowry.

“You’re the kind of guy that goes to town and buys a chai latte putting his infectious waste grubby mitts all over the counter putting our local population at risk. There are pictures of you on every telephone pole, soon to be on T-shirts, the local surfers all know your face now, you named not only our town but the local surf break, which no true surfer ever does, but you told others how to break the rules, your welcome in Bo is not going to be a warm one. Kook,” writes Andrew Owston.

To one cutie-pie in a titty-popping bikini who trolled him he responded with,

Holly, You & plenty others have threatened me in social media, & there are screen shots for it all. I’m a federal candidate and convicted violence against could mean federal prison. And because I’m a public figure, it may also mean more media at Bolinas soon.

Two questions in all this, I suppose.

Who’s winning the war of hearts and minds, the Tudors or the Skinnies?

And transhumanism,

Did you ever think such a fabulous thing might happen in our lifetimes?

Steve Nash (pictured) backside roof dragging on his first barrel attempt.
Steve Nash (pictured) backside roof dragging on his first barrel attempt.

Revealed: Revered ex-NBA superstar Steve Nash also “best VAL in the entire world!”

"He surfs the thing all the way into the shore I’m like, ‘it took me like three weeks to do that.’"

And how many things are you properly good at? Like, not only proud of your ability/talent but other people also acknowledge and are sometimes amazed by your skill? I’ve got one but it’s a good one.

Parallel parking.

I can whip any sized vehicle into any sized space with a casual/cool right arm on passenger seat back, twisting my head over the right shoulder, sunglasses down bridge of nose, slightly, not because they interfere but because that studied look goes well in the parallel parking game.

Vehicle backs in, I crank the wheel straight, pull forward and there we have it.

No fussing about with extra movements.

No do-overs, ever.

Oh, I wish I was as good at surfing but not everyone can be Kelly Slater or ex-Phoenix Sun all-star point guard and certain first ballot Hall of Famer Steve Nash.

The Golden State Warriors’ Hall of Fame coach Steve Kerr, who happened to be the general magic for three years during Nash’s sparkling run, went on a podcast, recently, and discussed how the Canadian also happens to be the best VAL in the entire world and here, I shall transcribe for you because who has time for anymore podcast listening?

Steve Nash came out to visit me in San Diego, probably seven or eight years ago, and I used to surf at that time, and he had never surfed before. So he, he decided to paddle out, he said ‘well what do I do?’ and I’m not a very good surfer, but I tried to give him my advice. We paddle out there, and I said, ‘hey, just you know, paddle into this, you want to do is you turn the board and you paddle. And then you kind of stand, you know, you try to stand up, you pop up real quick and now it’s probably going to take a few times,’ and he’s like, ‘okay.’ The first wave comes he paddles twice he pops up he’s surfing. He surfs the thing all the way into the shore I’m like, ‘it took me like three weeks to do that.’


But also, we have reached a moment, I think, when we must consider that the World Surf League might never come back. That financial pressures, an “evolving” pandemic etc. could make professional surfing for an audience of 20k “unviable.”

Now, we could replace with the World VAL League though might I suggest the World Parallel Parking League?

Picture with me exotic, crowded Hong Kong, Tokyo, New York, Sydney, Paris, Copenhagen, Moscow. The world’s best parallel parkers in the world’s busiest cities. Every turn makes a title. There would be judging, of course, as well as good, old fashioned “beat the clock” action.

Speed, power, flow.

Tell me you aren’t excited.

The many wonderful faces of Kelly Slater! | Photo: @sensitiveseashellcollector

Listen: “Kelly Slater has done more damage to the earth than any single non-politician of the last decade!”

Join Chas Smith and Steve “Longtom” Shearer on Dirty Water, episode seven…

In today’s episode of Dirty Water, which is episode seven, and hot on the heels of our capitulation to WSL CEO Erik Logan who left Chas and I crumpled on the floor like drained wine-skins, we bring in the razor-sharp analysis of BeachGrit‘s best writer Steve “Longtom” Shearer.

Longtom you know for his ability to turn even the gloomiest of round one at a WCT event into a work of literature and for his reporting on such matters as the Slater-WSL billion-dollar wave pool and canal estate development on Sunshine Coast wetlands and the mat-rider v former world number two assault case at Lennox Head.

Many topics are covered in a rambling sorta conversation including a recent incident at Lennox Head where Kelly Slater set the town “aflame” after, allegedly I suppose since I wasn’t there, fading a local grommet who is the kid of the joint’s great enforcer and ending with Kelly promising the kid a private surf session in Hawaii.

There is conspiracy talk.

“Kelly’s a libertarian conspiratorialist,” says Chas, before Longtom interjects with a little game.

Bill Finnegan is going to write a hundred words on Kelly Slater, what’s going to be in the first sentence,” asks Longtom.

“Greatest surfer of all time,” says Chas.

“Loves Instagram,” I say.

“What else?” asks Longtom. “Starts with E.”

“Empath?” says Chas

Longtom booms, “Environmentalist! That’s how the world knows him!”

Chas retorts, “Everything Kelly does has an eco-centric point in it. But, for reals, Kelly Slater has done more damage to the earth than any non-politician of the last decade. That man has travelled, spewing carbon into the atmosphere, the amount of surfboards he’s chewed through, he’s the most damaging human of the last ten years.”

And draining the Coolum wetlands to build a canal estate makes him number one with a bullet,” says Longtom.

It goes on, and then on some more.

Finishes with lovely story about roosters and a tortured John Fante poem.

(Available on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, Google Podcast, Stitcher, TuneIn + Alexa, iHeartRadio, Overcast, Pocket Cast, Castro, Castbox, Podcast Addict, Podchaser, Deezer and Listen Notes.)


Alarming: Great White Sharks disappear from South Africa’s False Bay; Scientists wonder if they’re hiding in Australian fish and chips!

Strange days.

Though did you ever see the film Strange Days starring a younger Ralph Fiennes, Angela Bassett, Juliette Lewis, Vince D’Onofrio etc? It wasn’t the best movie ever made, of course, but a semi-fun dystopian look at the near future. Similar to Back to the Future II.

Escape from L.A.


And, my goodness, our apocalyptic future looked so grim but exciting back then. Everything a grey + neon swirl with mini-CDs as currency. We are living in it now, of course, and it is neither grey nor neon just the same colors as always, with the mini-CD technology vanishing too quickly and… Oh, I don’t know. If I’m being honest very disappointing.

Sure, there the petrodollar’s collapse is imminent and that will lead to a global economic crash, a Chinese-crafted disease is ripping through immuno-compromised populations and the Great White shark has vacated once-fertile False Bay in South Africa but where did they go?

According to Australia’s ABC news:

Only a few years ago, scientists estimated there were between 300 and 500 great white sharks in South Africa’s False Bay. Now, they have completely disappeared.

While local surfers might have relaxed, the absence of the apex predators is alarming to scientists, and the lucrative industries that rely on their presence.

“I’ve spent my entire life in the field watching these animals on a daily basis,” local cage dive operator and wildlife photographer Chris Fallows says.

“When the waters go quiet, both above and below the surface, and these predators are not there, it sounds huge alarm bells.”




Theory until we get to…

“Flake” has long been a staple in Australian diets, but overfishing of gummy and school shark populations led to protection of the two species in our waters in the early 1990s.

In order to meet demand, Australia began importing “flake”, mostly from New Zealand and, more recently, from South Africa.

Australia’s seafood labelling laws require that any fresh or frozen fish sold must be labelled with the country of origin, but once the seafood is cooked, these laws no longer apply.

In many cases, it is impossible to know where or how the fish you’re eating at your local cafe, restaurant or fish and chips shop was caught.

“Australians commonly refer to shark meat as ‘flake’, but it can be sold as ‘pearl fillet’, it can be sold as ‘boneless fillet’ and it can be sold as ‘monkfish’. There’s no legal obligation to actually call it what it is,” Dr Guida says.

With 70 per cent of the seafood we consume in Australia coming from overseas, this poses significant challenges to traceability and accountability, disempowers consumers and impacts Australia’s reputation as a leader in sustainability.

I suppose that’s a sort of dystopian vision I can really get behind. Disturbing, certainly. Very grim but also exciting?

Oh, I don’t know.

These are strange days.

Wild scenes in Huntington Beach as surfers, Trump fans and conspiracy loons turn on beach closure laws: “Newsom is probably thinking, ‘How many of you fuckers would be dead if I hadn’t been the first to shut it all down?'”

Gov Newsom shutters OC beaches; surfers say nein!

It felt strange to be stuck in traffic again. I hadn’t seen brake lights in front of me in so long it was disorienting.

Then I saw and the red hats, the American flags, a huge sign in the bed of a raised truck, “Trump 2020, no more bullshit.”

All of them going the same place I was, Main Street, Huntington Beach, USA, USA, USA!

A month ago, or was it, two, or twenty, the mayor of Los Angeles, Eric Garcetti, closed the beaches.

So I became one of the bad people, escaping the lockdown three, four, sometimes five times a week by driving through the quiet streets of Inglewood and onto the 405 south. The journey, which normally took an an hour or two was suddenly managed in a breezy thirty minutes.

And the pillowy bosom of good old HB welcomed me with fun three-to-four-foot surf nearly every time.

Why HB?

Because, until Monday, the stretch from Surfside to Newport was literally the only stretch of sand anyone could legally touch in the two hundred miles from Oxnard to Imperial Beach.

All because of a pesky virus that’s killed 240,000 people across the globe.

When California’s governor Gavin Newsom issued a stay at home order on March 19 I was honestly scared. Apocalyptic scenes of sickness and death from Italy, Spain and then New York played out on television and social media every day.

It was only a matter of time before the same thing started happening in America’s most populous state, right? Overflowing hospitals, ventilator shortages, mass graves.

It would all be here soon.

What was I thinking going surfing, especially driving to another county to go surfing? The selfishness, horror, the shame.

I’d park my car a few blocks away from Main Street, keep my head low as I ran across PCH and hope that Kim Prather a UCSD scientist endlessly quoted by the press when she hypothesized that the virus could be easily spread by sea spray, was wrong.

When Trestles was shuttered in early April, all star crew often headlined by Kolohe Andino, Yadin Nicol and the brothers Colapinto were seen shredding next to the HB pier alongside Brett Simpson and Kanoa Igarashi. Springtime HB, never to be confused with world class waves, was suddenly Surf City once more – the new North Shore.

After I surfed, I was usually hungry, so would head to the safest place I could think of to eat, Little Saigon.

Why there? Vietnam shares a border with China, but COVID-19 was no match for the iron will and organizational might of the Vietnamese people.

To date: 270 infections, 0 deaths. Charlie crushed the virus like a bug.

You go north to get to Little Saigon from HB. You pass by the Huntington Valley Healthcare Center, a nursing home where over a hundred poor souls are currently battling the virus.

The toll in this one facility accounts for almost half the infections in all of Huntington Beach, a city of 200,000.

My lunch spot is tucked inside the Mall of Fortune in Garden Grove.

I hear the boom, boom, boom baseline of Nancy Sinatra’s These Boots Were Made for Walking in my head every time I pull inside the parking lot. The virus isn’t getting anywhere near this joint. The cooks are suited up head to toe in PPE,  gloves, masks, hats, the works. A glass wall separates me from the cashier. A two-gallon jug of hand sanitizer sits at the ready next to the credit card reader. I self-pay, the cashier places my order on a table and never comes within fifteen feet of me. I eat in my car and go home.

It was a nice little program.

I stayed healthy and quietly enjoyed it until I started see alarming messages on my instagram on Wednesday night. “Newsom to close all beaches in California tomorrow,” they said.

Thursday I woke up thinking that it was my last day to surf so of course that’s what I did.

Then the cracks in the wall started showing. The San Diego City Council had just instituted a sensible policy allowing for surfing and active recreation on beaches but no sitting allowed. They’d left their full beach ban behind and weren’t going back.

But HB and Newport?

They’d committed the cardinal sin of embarrassing Newsom by drawing summer type crowds on over the weekend.

Does it matter that not a single case of COVID-19 infection can be traced to the ocean or a beach?


Newsom was mad dad and needed to punish his wayward children.

Starting Friday he decreed, all OC beaches will be closed indefinitely.

I soon saw a “Defend your rights, storm HB Pier Saturday May 2” insty story.

Shit, this could get interesting.

A pack of surfers running past police to claim public stretch of ocean?

Like D-Day in reverse.

HB wasn’t having it.

The City Council voted to block Newsom’s order in an emergency late-night session Thursday.

Mayor Lyn Semeta said, “Our experience here locally has been that most people are being responsible and complying with social distancing, and given that Orange County has among the lowest per capita COVID-19 death rates in California, the state’s action today seems to prioritize politics over data.”

OC Sheriff Don Barnes went even further. He flatly refused to enforce Newsom’s shutdown order.

So that was the stage for today’s rally against the Gov today in Surf City. A motley crew had assembled on Main Street, Trump supporters, anti vaxxers, 5G truthers, Q Anon followers and the rest of us who just want to be free to go the beach.

I wore a mask, looked at the ground and tried not to breathe as I crossed PCH today amidst a sea of unprotected humanity standing shoulder to shoulder fighting for their right to party.

I couldn’t see the virus, but I know it was there.

A phalanx of police on horseback and on foot stood guard in front of the pier. A friendly cop explained the situation to anyone who asked.

“Yes, the beach is closed, but we’re only asking for voluntary compliance. No, we’re not going to arrest you if you go on the beach.”

It was a protest with no speakers and no formal agenda other than giving Newsom the finger.

I wonder how many of these angry people would want to live in a state like New York that waited too long to shut down and now has the highest numbers of COVID infection and death in the world.

Or would they prefer to be in Georgia where the head of state deemed tattoo and massage parlors to be essential businesses?

Newsom will probably watch this HB happening and think, “How many of you fuckers would be dead now if I hadn’t been the first to shut it all down?”

The whole thing started to feel ugly and weird.

I didn’t want to feel like I’m joining forces with this crowd just because I want to be able to surf. I positioned myself next to the entrance to Duke’s, thirty-feet upwind from the throng.

Was I safer there? When the virus gets carried in the breeze, does it only go in one direction?

Someone asked the friendly cop what would happen if the everyone rushed the beach at the same time.

“Then we’ll have a problem,” he said.

The mood was aimless, restless, twitchy. I started feeling some Dealey Plaza vibes on Main Street.

John Birch Society types coming out to play for the first time in many moons.

Is there a little guy with a rifle in the clock tower above Jack’s?

Who is that shadowy figure on the grassy knoll above the parking lot?

Are they the virus? Or are we?

I had to get out to there. I walked back to my car. Put on my wetsuit and slipped past the police cars stationed on the mostly empty beach without looking back. No one stopped me. The spring sun was warm and the waves looked sparkly and fun. Only one other guy was out on the south side of the pier.

Surfing was still allowed.

I padded out and a big OC County lifeguard boat pulled up next to us.

I thought the blonde guy at the wheel was going to tell us we had to go in.

“Sorry bros, Newsom’s orders.”

That kind of thing.

But he didn’t.

He smiled, waved us a shaka and sped away.

I got a whiff of that familiar gasoline smell from his boat as the onshore wind carried it my way.

Smelled like victory.