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	Wisdumb
	Surf, Sangre, Suplexes and Soil; The Big Hippies and Me (9-14-04) I moved to Isla Vista (IV) to start graduate school in, well... a while ago. I chose UCSB because it had 2 point breaks on campus, was sufficiently far from Los Angeles and didn't require me to take this difficult entrance test like the hippies at UC Santa Cruz demanded. Speaking of hippies... I lived in the standard IV ghetto apartment with all the amenities you would want like cottage cheese ceiling, no windows in the bathroom, a view of the parking lot and beer flavored carpet. It was a bunch of boxes connected with corridors not unlike the Habit-trail that was popular with hamster lovers in the '80s. Ours was the 'punk rock' house where touring bands would mix it up with the usual ghouls and crusts and make the neighbors quiver and mothers to warn their children about the freaks next door. They must have enjoyed calling the police to report a 'dead guy' on our front step which was Mundo after a solid night of cocktails. Later I poured some of the fake blood I made in honor of GWAR all over the walkway and drew a chalk outline of a body to amuse the neighbor kids. Their faces lit right up! Upstairs lived a couple of nice guys we referred to as the "Big Hippies". They surfed, which was cool, but at night it was pro wrestling full on. They would do these flying suplex take-downs with a spin and knock the asbestos off our ceiling. It was give and take. One day we had a solid swell with great conditions. The big hippies and I decided, since we were new to the area, to try to find a new surf spot. We figured that if it was a spot, it would be good today. We drove up to Gaviota and essentially pulled over at every spot with cars and had a look. I don't even remember where or if we surfed that afternoon. What I do remember is running out to the edge of the bluff at the first place we stopped, looking down and seeing this nice wave tubing across some reef that looked fun. Before we could act on our new find, I looked to the right and saw some folks on the beach. A closer inspection indicated that they were indeed nude and all dudes! We hustled out of there and let the terrifying locals keep their beach. A later day we drove out to a local beach break called Sands. It is never that good but nearly always has something to ride. We pull up and the old parking lot is full of mud. You see, the Indian Clay traps the water, forming vernal pools where seasonal native species find refuge and action. It also makes for some good ole hillbilly sport of mud-boggin'. We walk past a big white phone company van and scan for decent surf. It didn't look very promising so a few minutes later we were back at the truck full of disappointment and youthful exuberance. That white van was still sitting there with the big phone company sign on the side. Remember how, before cell phones, you had to set up your phone service every time you moved. Was it a pain in the arse? Were they nice to you, when they charged you a ton of money for something that was free (for you) at your parent's house? Do you just want to DO something because it looks fun and stupid? You're damn right. We back up the Big Hippie truck next to the side of the truck, rev the engine, drop the clutch, start hooting and blast that white truck with a fountain of mud and gravel. We can still see spots of white so for good measure, we go and do it again! Jackson Pollock would have been proud of our piece entitled "Your call is very important to us." in a mixed media of mud, gravel, white paint and steel. It's all about give and take. more stories >>