Notoriously spiteful surf journalist sees light, repents of life spent injuring, heckling: “I was rude and took pleasure in being so but this will change the world and make you rich while so doing!”

Cakes to the moon.

Two nights ago, I left my home by the sea and traveled east then north into the Big Bear. Here I enjoyed my spirit, the crunch of melted-then-refrozen-to-sheet-ice snow, those twinkling stars above, that Eagle-Eye Cherry soundtrack below. I slid down and rode up and slid down and rode up and passed many other sliders wearing Los Angeles Lakers jerseys and Los Angeles Rams jerseys.

On one ride up, the chair upon which I sat, did not stop but continued past the man raking sheet ice snow, past his small chalet, past a large map and into the woods. There was no light, no moon, and the darkness surrounded me and my darkest demons emerged from the trees to engage in combat. I fought them and they slapped at my neck and I tried to dance them into submission, but they continued to come, spitting fire water and blowing smoke.

We danced a menacing dance for hours, endless hours, the only light coming from the terrifying yellow glow emanating from their hideously misshapen heads.

After an eternity my legs became exhausted, hands weary, and I feared I could dance no more so stopped my legs, let my hands fall, accepted my demise and as quickly as I had accepted it my darkest demons vanished.

I sat alone, breathing smoke heavily, until realizing I was not alone but sat next to a man also breathing heavily except without smoke, also glowing yellow but his yellow was not terrifying and his breath was pure.

Yellow, illuminating.

I was drawn to it, drawn into it, and realized the glow emanated from fire attached to wax stick attached to tier then a larger tier then a larger tier still.

A cake.

And the man glowing yellow, without word, nodded at me and I realized without a word that he expected more from me and expected me to do more. I realized, without word, that I had once baked cakes out of spite. Out of a low and mean spirit that sought to bring shame and embarrassment on others.

I realized, without word, that I wanted to bake cakes out of love instead.

“This is only the beginning of many great things…” reverberated through the air, trees, into me in great waves. Waiting to reverberate from me.

Abundance not lack.

I nodded, subtly, and come to you, now, filled with understanding. Imbued with enlightenment, or enlightenment-adjacent.


The man glowing handed me cakes and disappeared into the trees still without word.

The cakes a gift, always a gift announcing celebration, and I bring cakes to you, one yellow, one blue but you must have faith in them and trust in them and trust in me for now my eyes are pure and around my mouth hides no disgust.

Cakes that bring abundance.

Derek Rielly, in his recent piece about NFTs, profoundly misunderstood because he is too beautiful and therefore too blind. Trapped in the physical realm.

You can purchase a cake, own the cake and the specific gift it holds, sell the cake for a profit and pass that gift along. The more time the cake is bought and sold, the more gift it brings to you and others until, eventually, it becomes so imbued with gift and profit that World Surf League CEO Erik Logan will purchase and have his cake baked from spite replaced with a cake baked with life.

Cakes to the moon.

(buy here. own here. extremely exclusive. all rights including commercial. change the world.)

Extremely important race car driver Lewis Hamilton proffers most high praise to world’s greatest surfer: “He probably doesn’t know this but Kelly Slater changed my life for the better.”

"I want you all to know how great of a human being this man is."

I woke up this morning, dear reader, and thought, likely against my best judgement, to be completely transparent with you. I beg forgiveness at the outset. You know that I write and speak often about the world’s greatest surfer Kelly Slater. What you don’t know is that sometimes, very rarely, I am not altogether straight in my most high praise and descriptions of his excellence.

Sometimes, almost never, a low, smirking sarcasm drips in. A rude and and sniveling cynicism most underserving.


Jealousy maybe? An all-too-human desire to deface beauty? My motivations lost and swirling in this polluted heart.

But who am I to write and speak anything but appreciation for the 11x World Champion? An award-nominated author, yes. One half and one third, respectively, of two different surf podcasts (one currently on hiatus but re-emerging soon).


Almost opposite from extremely important race car driver Lewis Hamilton who took to Instagram while I was sleeping my toxic, feverish sleep, to write:

He probably doesn’t know this but Kelly changed my life for the better. I want you all to know how great of a human being this man is. I am forever grateful for the time you have given me, for the insight and your passion for the waves. Thank you @kellyslater! Can’t wait until we can hit the waves again (praying hands emoji)

A fool.

I am a fool or foolish.

Possibly both.

Legendary Hawaiian surfer-artist who designed UN stamp honouring the world’s oceans “used a wooden elephant statue to smash a neighbor’s car window” and menaced a security guard with knives; pleads guilty to “second-degree terroristic threatening!”

"He was actually deep in his neurosis. He is getting much better and doing much better.”

The marine artist Christian Riese Lassen, a one-time darling of the naive art set and who set up his eponymous galleries in Waikiki, Key West, Laguna Beach, San Francisco, Las Vegas, La Jolla and Seattle, has been hit with four years probation for breaking into his ex-girlfriend’s joint, waving knives at a security guard and smashing a neighbour’s car window with a wooden elephant statue.

Lassen, now sixty-four, but still remembered as the swinging, long-haired blond in tight pants and leather jacket who guest starred on Baywatch and Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous in the nineties, pleaded no-contest to first-degree burglary, second-degree criminal property damage and second-degree terroristic threatening.

Two years ago, yeah, justice moves fast, Lassen, whose record was clean until 2019, went down the hole of arrest, re-offend, arrest etc.

On December 2, 2019, Lassen threatened a security guard with a set of knives. (His attorney said the knives were designed for spreading butter and, therefore, weren’t sharp.)

One week later, he used a wooden elephant statue to smash a neighbour’s car window.

Nine days after that, he busted into his ex-girl’s house, damaging property.

The prosecution didn’t buy into Lassen’s defence that it was mental illness that drove the acts.

“The state does believe this is a case of the defendant’s mental illness getting the best of him and him not being able to control himself in these quite impulsive acts… We are appreciative and glad he has gotten treatment for that, and he does seem to be on the right path.”

Defence attorney Marcus Landsberg said, “Back then, he wasn’t really committed to recovery… He was actually deep in his neurosis. He is getting much better and doing much better.”

Lassen himself said he couldn’t afford his medication and “that’s why I got into trouble.”

As part of his probation, Lassen can’t sink booze or take drugs.

It’s a long fall for Lassen.

Two years back he was still living in a 7800 square-foot beachfront estate on Maui, “with 25-foot-high motorised glass pocket doors that open to the lush grounds, a tropical haven with an infinity pool and rock waterfall, two hot tubs, wet bar, grilling station, and private access to the beach” and valued at fourteen mill.

Lassen’s old joint on Maui.

And the juicer bits from Warshaw’s Encylopedia of Surfing

Chris began painting with oils while still in California; he sold his first hand-painted T-shirt design to a local gift shop while in the eighth grade. He was soon recognized as both an athlete and artist. Lassen appeared sailboarding in commercials for Swatch and Quasar in 1985, and three years later was featured on the cover of Surfer magazine

In 1992, Lassen created a United Nations commemorative stamp honoring the world’s oceans, and said that his work “expresses the interconnectedness between Earth’s life forms and the creative forces of the universe.” Not everyone, however, was swept away. Surfer, in 1999, called Lassen’s work “narcoleptically banal,” and said that his environmentalism “has the depth and power of Spice Girls feminism.” Lassen was among the artists included in Wall Street Journal’s 2006  “Shopping Mall Masters” feature, whose poster-copied work was likely to “adorn the walls of dentists’ offices, nursing homes and chain-hotel rooms.” Lassen originals, however, were fetching  up to $300,000.”

Watch Lassen on Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous here.

In shocking rumor likely to send VALs and their loved ones into fits of uncontrollable rage, despair, Costco to discontinue the much-adored 8ft Wavestorm!

Dark days ahead.

Oh but how the VAL utopia was ticking along without a bump in the road. An abundance of rinse-kits. Lineups packed with joy. A smile on every face and a Wavestorm in every garage but a hot new rumor out of Oahu for portents much possible trouble directly over the horizon and I quote:

Potential for civil strife here in Oahu. My buddy and I we’re just at the local Costco turning in our battered Wavestorms for freshies in prep for an upcoming south swell. After being refunded, we were informed that Costco has discontinued carrying the classic 8.0 Stormie!


And can you imagine what the VAL will do? This may be the first time he has had a problem in his surfing life, a bump along her surfing road. It’s been all shakas and inclusivity up until now. Rainbows with various meanings.

One ocean etc.

Will they turn on each other in vicious ways, snarling and snapping like injured dogs?

Will they quit en masse?

I’d imagine a run on Costco not seen since the great toilet paper recession of 2020.


More as the story develops.

Listen: If Kolohe Andino wins a World Title this year he will throw it in the trash, catch it on fire, stomp away while flipping an all-American bird at professional surfing!

America? F*ck yeah.

I don’t know this for a fact, or because I have spoken to Kolohe lately, but his recent interview absolutely torching the World Surf League’s new and ill-considered format on Brazilian media made me fall in love with him once again.

The two of us have history which you may, or may not, be aware of.

I first interviewed him for a feature on proto-Stab Premium decades ago, taking him to the Ritz-Carlton overlooking Salt Creek, ordered some vodka thing and asking if he wanted the same.

He said, “No. I’m 14.”

On the way home he added, “Don’t worry. I won’t tell my dad you tried to buy me booze.”

Later, after the success of Red Bull’s greatest surf film of all-time, Who is JOB, I secured a Red Bull Kolohe Andino film wherein he would be depicted at the end of his career. Many substance abuse issues, broke, living in his mother’s basement.


We shot the first scene and did not receive any more funding. I have it somewhere and it’s brilliant.

But Kolohe is us.

He always has been.

And him ripping in to the new WSL format re-re-re-confirms. He wants a title, an actual title, not some random win at Lowers on some random day.

He, like us, knows “it takes a tour to make a title.”

He, like a phoenix from the ashes is our new North Star.

Did you ever think the lame “takes a tour…” tagline would actually sum up what we’re all about?

Me neither.

David Lee and I also discuss revolutionizing the whole game by sponsoring Caio Ibelli.

The best surfer in the world?

A tight race between he and Kolohe.

Listen here.