Chula Vista Times
A Southern California man says he’s registering a protest against Global Warming by refusing to surf the perfect conditions that have persisted in the Golden State over the last few weeks.
“I’m fed up,” says Jack Clune, a 52-year-old husband, and father of two boys. Speaking from his home in Chula Vista, nearly 15 miles from the nearest beach. Clune says he is engaged in a peaceful protest- for now.
“It’s f@#$% ridiculous. Every single goddamn day, the wind is offshore, it’s sunny, and the waves are 4 to 6 feet and firing,” says Clune.
He’s also angry that he now has all the free time in the world to go to the beach and surf, with the Covid-19 virus bringing his job as a personal injury attorney to a halt. Clune says there are far fewer car accidents or dog bites since the world shut down. …
The howling music began to fade out in the darkened studio. Candles lit the recording room, and the lead guitar peeled off the last few mournful notes of the solo in the distance.
Jack St. Desmond opened his eyes and looked over at lead guitarist Davey. Seated on the floor, Davey’s eyes opened, and he smiled and nodded his head. Davey closed his eyes again and put his head back against the wall.
“Boys, that’s the best fuckin’ album you’ve ever made, and that’s the best fuckin’ closing track I’ve heard in a long time. …
Ventriloquism, yoga breathing techniques, sign language, and flashcards
When I turned fifty years old, I realized I was squinting to read everything—especially the bills at restaurants. I dine out frequently. Way too frequently, in fact. How come at restaurants, they make the bill amount on those receipts tiny and impossible to read? Is it some psychological trick they are playing on us so that we don’t register how much money we just spent on a grilled scallop taco? ($14.50, by the way).
It got embarrassing always having to ask the wait staff to read the receipt to me. I was becoming my Granddad back at The Sizzler in the ’80s. Next thing you know, I’ll be packing the whole family in the car to eat dinner at 4:00 P.M. …
Winter is nearly upon us. Daylight savings time is looming (I started this post last week). The world seems like it’s in a general state of depression, as there is a Pandemic and so much uncertainty for the future. (The future seems brighter now, after the weekend).
The courts are closed for jury trials until next summer, so while a personal injury attorney like me can jump up and down and threaten the insurance companies, you really have two choices — settle the case for what the insurance company is offering or wait until next year for a trial.
In the last few weeks, my writing dropped off, and I was worried it was “writer’s block.” What it was, however, was me dreading going back and editing my long manuscript I wrote, memoir-ing my early childhood. …
The other day I was lying on the couch in the Man Cave, feeling sorry for myself because the San Diego Padres just lost to the Los Angeles Dodgers in the NL 2020 playoffs.
My thoughts turned to some of the things I regret in my life, the missed opportunities, and the terrible decisions I made.
If only I could go back in time to fix things.
Suddenly, the comedian George Carlin appeared in the bar stool chair.
“George Carlin, what the hell …?” I asked.
“The powers that be sent me here to give you a chance to travel back in time to fix one of those regrets you’re always stewing on,” said George Carlin, rolling his eyes upward to indicate who the “powers that be” was. …
Here is a super-secret, first look at the next story from Jack’s Man Cave!
Dear Cave Dwellers, the wait is over. I offer you here a sneak preview of the next story from the Man Cave. You are getting the first glimpse.
I would add all sorts of pithy puns and allusions- but I’m simply too tired. This story is a real doozie. It took it out of me, I’m not going to lie.
I hope you enjoy it!
I have a friend who is a fellow attorney. He’s about ten years older than me. When I took up guitar twenty years ago, he went to the guitar store with me and helped me pick one out.
That’s because even though my friend is 5'4" tall, balding and weighs 145 pounds, when he plugged in an electric guitar at my loft, he unleashed a torrent of rock n roll licks like he was Jimmy Page.
After I picked my jaw up off the ground, my friend told me this story.
He told me about two kids he grew up with in his neighborhood. They came from some foreign country and they could barely speak a lick of English. The boys’ parents could not speak any English at all. …
It was my Junior Year of College, and I was studying abroad in Spain. I’d spent the beginning of the summer of 1989 staying with my high school friend Mike Heinz and his grandmother at her house on the outskirts of Madrid.
Mike interned at the American Embassy, and as his mom was Spanish and his dad German, he spoke three languages fluently. Once we got off the plane, Mike spoke only Spanish to me, and while it was painful at first, it really did help me later.
As Mike put on a suit and tie and went off to work each day, I kept busy just wandering around magnificent, but sweltering Madrid, going to the parks and museums, seeing what mischief I could get into. Sadly, not much exciting happened then, as I was early in the Hero’s Journey of my year aboard in Spain. …
I’ve leased the same strange, niche model of BMW for three times in a row, amounting to nearly nine years with the same car. I have to get the identical car all the time because it perfectly suits my need to put surfboards in it on the two or three occasions per year now I actually go surfing.
I don’t like to put my precious surfboards on a roof rack because I do not want them to get stolen. These surfboards are not the foam boards from Costco. These are McCoy surfboards from Australia, and they are works of art. …