There's blood on the floor and my heart on my sleeve

I bought the ugliest snowboard I have ever seen today.

I bought it as a "rock board," for $ 150, including bindings.

It is seriously hideous, which is why it was only $ 150 for a full set up.



I intend to punish its ugliness by riding it in the very early season this November, over rocks, stumps and what-have-you.

When you ride a lot, you kind of need a "quiver" of boards for various conditions.

I have my main gun, my Burton Triumph, for when conditions are good.

It rides like a finely-tuned sports car- fast, twitchy and highly responsive.

I love it.



And this is my old board, alongsinde the one I snapped.



Here is the one I snapped.



You may notice, it looks like it has a slight boner. That ain't natural.
This edge is supposed to be straight.



It was a Burton.



I keep it around because I am perversely proud.

I took it to two different board shops. In the first one, they were flabbergasted that I managed to do that to a board. In the second, they said they had seen this happen only once before.

So I kept it around as a conversation piece.

I am listening to Ray LaMontagne right now. Jesus, that is some sad, sad music. My favorite kind.

I went out for sushi with India earlier.

It was nice, and we made each other laugh.

[Redacted... sorry, none of your business...]

Anyway- I wanted to give a special shout out to Jeb and the other guys in his outfit over in Iraq.

Thanks for reading. I am happy to provide you guys with a diversion from what you are going through every day and night over there. Keep the emails coming when you have the chance. It is fascinating, scary and sad, all at the same time. (In fact... maybe you guys should start a blog... I know I would read it.)

Please, please, please keep your head on a swivel, watch your 6 and come home safely.

Slide Away

My friend, Stacey has turned me on to some great, new (to me) music lately. He mailed me completely legal (I'm talking to you, RIAA!) copies of some Gram Parsons, some Beth Orton and Chris Whitley, all of which I like. Particularly the Gram Parsons.

He posted this on his blog, and I copped it and put it here for your enjoyment.

It is Joseph Arthur on Letterman. I had never heard him until Stacey posted this:



I have listened to it about 6 or 7 times as I sit here.

It is growing on me like a miniature siamese twin, attached somewhere kind of innocuous, like on my shoulder blade. And he is really small, and quiet and nice. You don't even really notice him until you take off your shirt, and he's like, "hey, dude!" all chipper and cheerful.

And you're like, dang, little siamese twin dude, you're not only cool, but I am damn glad you are there!

(How's that for an analogy? Sometimes, I step outside myself and just shake my head.)

Anyway, what's not to like about that clip?

You've got a hot-shit, gorgeous woman playing lead guitar, what appears to be an out-of-work supermodel playing bass and a goofy hipster dude singing a heartbreakingly gorgeous song in a weird falsetto.

We here at The Dude Abides heartily endorse this clip.

Thanks, Stacey.

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I've got my 'Sconi boys coming next weekend- UJ, Dan-O and the Eck.

Gosh, golly, I sure hope this disagreeable weather takes a turn for the better, so I can take these guys on a cool hike somewhere.

It's gray and ominous and rainy and cold, which means a nice base is forming up at Big Sky, but doesn't bode well for outdoor fun here in the Valley.

^^^
^^^
Man, my LA trip is coming together like the rug tied the Dude's room together, with nary a carpet-pissing Chinaman in sight.

(Dude, that's not the preferred nomenclature. Asian-American.)

I exchanged some emails with my law school buddy, Chuck, last night.

Chuck is a pimp.

He rallied a bunch of my law school buds, and we are all going to the SC-Cal game on Saturday. All the married guys got kitchen passes, and Doug is even flying in from Jersey. That was a coincidence, but a sweet, sweet, sweet one.

So, why is Chuck a pimp?

Duder dialed up a big SUV limo to squire us around in the manner to which I have become accustomed. (I am a pretend rock star, you know.)

I spoke with my college roommate, Rob, who also resides in LA, and he scored us some sweet seats to the game and tix to a VIP tailgate.

I also talked to my sister, Liz, who just so happens to be the Queen of LA. She clued me in to the fact that TENACIOUS D IS PLAYING A SHOW ON FRIDAY NIGHT BEFORE THE GAME.

I AM TYPING IN ALL CAPS BECAUSE I JUST ORDERED FOUR TICKETS FOR ME, ROB, CHUCK AND LIZ TO SEE THE D!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

THE FREAKIN D, MAN!

You know how I mentioned Chuck is a pimp?

Well, you have no idea how strong his pimp hand actually is.

Duder knows some guy who has pull at the venue and he is going to try and rustle us up some VIP what-have-yous for the show.

DUDES- IF I GET BACKSTAGE AT A D SHOW I MAY SPONTANEOUSLY COMBUST.

Think about it, man.

Rock singers are only rockin' you half the time!

The rest of the time, thet're, they're, they're breathing IN!

We will be privy to the most powerful tool in singing technology since, yodeling:

Inward Singing.

Shoot, I am gonna gain 40 pounds, buy me an oversized guitar and try to become the next D.

I know, I know, the road is hard, man....

But once I was asked by a strange, disembodied voice:

Do you believe in Gawd?

I believe.

I believe.

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I can't believe I made it through that post with only a single "shit." Oops, make it two.

You need to know that sweat is pouring down my forehead from the effort.