A Long Awaited Post

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 Aaron Smyth: Slapping Chopping his way through life and generally being an ass-hat.

 Alright, I've been receiving some flack for the somewhat granola and nature boy content which I have posted lately. Actually, I've only received flack from that asshole, Aaron Smyth who wrote on my Facebook wall, "Hey! Enough of the touchy feely one with nature blog posts. I want more hilarious tales of mexicans and the ability to get booze for a dollar."

So here is a small tid-bit of grits from the more comedic side of Los Angeles which I have failed to post and some other greatness which happened only hours ago.

The L.A. Zoo and Slash from Guns And Roses.

We made a trip to the Los Angeles Zoo partly out of curiosity and partly out of boredom. We had nothing better to do and the little ones needed to be set free so we travelled the half hour or so north to Glendale where the Zoo lies.

It looked as though there were plenty of other parents in the same boat when we arrived. There were around one hundred or so people all waiting with spun out kids. Every individual wore the same look on their face which seemed to state that they had no better place to be so, why not the Zoo?

We gained entrance after paying the fee and made our way past the gift shops and food stands, god knows most of these people (fatties) wouldn't make it more than another couple of hundred feet without a greasy cinnamon bun or thirteen greasy Churros stuffed into every available hole in their body.

The kettle corn stand was the most puzzling.

Situated just before and JUST upwind of the Flamingo habit stood the  kettle corn poppery which was spewing out a sickly mix of oil and sugar covered popped corn. This of course, is just what the doctor ordered for the obese three year old licking his chops and busily shifting his weight from foot to foot while his dad ordered three large bags. The smell, I admit, was not bad. That is to say, it was not bad until you passed a mere ten feet by the stand and were assaulted with the ammonia rich stench of ankle high Flamingo shit. The word caustic, acrid and vile come to mind when thinking back. I watched fatty after fatty almost vomit moments after taking in a massive waft of Flamingo ass-leavings. I'm sure that more than one popped kernel was aspirated that day but nonetheless, with  the same American "can-co" attitude which "won the big one" (thanks for waiting well into the war America), those fatties paused for but a moment and then plowed through that kettle corn like it was set to take down the local In-and-out Burger should it not be ingested in the next thirty seconds.

More puzzling than even the mixture of sweet treats and shit was the reptile exhibit or rather, the exhibit which is presently being built. There on the fencing surrounding the construction site hung a sign detailing how one could buy tiles which would cover the future reptile house. Each tile would cost a varying amount depending on its location and would bare your name. Of course, this is not puzzling in the least. I'm sure the majority of us have seen something like this in the past. What then could be puzzling about this at all, you ask?

Slash, from Guns and Roses was a benefactor.

There beside the sign hung another one adorned with a picture and quote:

Alright, let me just say it. There is no way Slash used the words amphibian and invertebrate in a sentence. This was obviously written by someone else. This in turn pretty much says, "tax write off" all over it because let's face it, the liquor store might give receipts but whores and coke dealers do not. I'm sure Slash needs some place to funnel some dollars in order to save a couple on the other end.

Calling these Rep-tiles would be a stroke of genius considering the quality of his character if he had in fact sobered up for the hour it would have taken for him to construct this sentence provided he was using spell and grammar check, a thesaurus and possibly a tutor. Still think he wrote this on his own? Watch this debauchery and then ask yourself again if I'm off base.

  

The human body is approximately sixty percent water. In Slashes, case a good 30% of that liquid is Jack Daniels.

He did not write that damned sentence.

The Very Brief Return Of Nature Boy/ Surf-a-tron 5000

I popped up and turned my board down the line/wave today and it was amazing. I know this is kinda lame considering Larry Bertlemann was cranking cutbacks like a mo-fo in the seventies but this is only the fifth time I've been one a board so suck it.

Surfing rules.

Venice Boardwalk: Dogtown Represent

I love Venice. Venice beach, for those who don't know it, is the Commercial drive of Los Angeles. It's got all the hippies, eateries, overtly gay, drop outs, flunkies, junkies, homeless, eccentric and totally ripping people of all time. It very possibly is the best part of Los Angeles because it pretty much extends a middle finger and a massive F-U to Hollywood. Well done Venice. You are a mad and crazy bastard. 

We headed down for a family walk along the beach because why wouldn't I want to expose my children to this crowd? Venice has a wonderful boardwalk which runs its length and extends north into Santa Monica. Before finding parking (took around forty minutes) I made sure we took a run by Venice Highschool (where Ed Norton drops off Ed Furlong for school in the final scene of American History X and Grease... yeah, John Travolta) and Hank Moody's place (Californication) so that Lisa could see some touristy sights. Alright, I admit... it was all for me. I LOVE YOU DAVID DUCHOVNY!

So back to the boardwalk. 

FREAK SHOW! No, really... there was a freak show. There was some crazy contortionist chick with her foot behind her head in a unitard, a hood and sunglasses. Then there was the pot-head contingent inviting us to take a medical marijuana evaluation where they basically deem everyone needing weed. Yeah, GFY hop head. I work for a living unlike your welfare scamming ass.

There was booth after booth of hand crafted goods. By hand crafted, I mean "made in China" and shipped to Los Angeles and sold as authentically African, Indian, Thai and other.

Then came the good stuff. I hadn't told Lisa but the real reason I wanted to visit Venice was the skatepark. I've longed to see kids ripping massive airs mere feet in front of me. Low and behold, there before me stood the Wunderkind Asher Bradshaw. I'll let his lines speak for their seven year old selves.

 

Watching that kid made me feel old and brittle. I'd bust my hip if I even stepped into that pool and here he is ripping airs. There were plenty of other talented guys there and it definitely looked like it was largely made up of the sponsored skate crowd.

Shortly after, I witnessed an equally impressive display of physical prowess by a couple of aging black dudes who needed to get down and shake their saggy old asses on roller skates. I couldn't really tell if the oldest of the two gentlemen was just warming up or if he was performing his limited funk-masterpiece. I'll let you decide.

On the way back up the boardwalk we stopped to get Miete ice cream and then promptly ran into Tim Robbins. Normally, this would be considered a star sighting but considering I've already seen both him and his now ex-wife, Susan Sarandon in Vancouver it no longer counts. It's much more rare to see a star north of the border and down here, they're a dime a dozen. Sorry Tim.

It really looked like divorce is not treating Tim well. He looked haggered and somewhat bloated. He had a bad dye job on his hair which was somewhat of a blonde color. He reeked of microwaved dinners, six packs of Heineken and resentment that, "that hippie bitch left me and I don't have a damned clue how to cook". Enjoy what ever Swansons has for you along with your new found freedom.

Once back at the car, we thought we better get Miete on the potty before the trip back across town. An accident in the car seat is never nice and never fun to clean up. Miete's pretty good at holding it in but we had been out for quite a while at this point so Lisa pulled out the little plastic potty we have, put the passenger seat forward in the Camry and Miete sat down on the floor. 

A stench filled the car. The proverbial deuce had been dropped. Wow, my kid can really clear out a room. Lisa "bagged" the prize and as we stowed it for storage I watched the neighbor give us an odd look as he made his way to his car. 

Moments later I heard a crunch and a scraping noise. I looked up only when I heard the cry of, "Damnit!" I then saw the neighbor climb out of his Audi and look at his front bumper which he had just smashed in while backing out of his parking space. Obviously, the sight of a three year old taking a dump in the back of a Toyota had really thrown him off his game.

The Worst Sleep Of All Time

Our newest addition has begun teething. With teething comes red cheeks, crying, the odd elevated temperature and a lot less sleep. Last night was pretty bad. She must have been up crying every three hours or so. Added to that was a couple of other events which woke us and further disturbed our sleep.

I thought we had a tremor around midnight. Something which seemed to shake the apartment woke me. In any case, it was not large but when something makes you think the Earth is shaking it takes a while to get back to sleep.

At around three in the morning we were both awoken by a loud bang and then bright white light illuminating the apartment. Something/Someone had hit the transformer box at the nearest intersection and some serious electric sparking and fireworks were taking place. Three large pops and bursts of light turned night into day. This of course was followed by the sound of all things electric dying. The power was out.

Moments later the sound of sirens and flashing lights followed as emergency crews arrived on the scene. Apparently, it was a four car accident and one of the vehicles sheared the transformer box off the sidewalk it was attached to. A new one now stands in its place.

Eireland woke us three more times from the time of these events to when she final woke us for the last time around half past six. We had slept long but in two hour installments and both of us felt hammer smashed.

Waking up to a dark and powerless house was not so much fun. A semi-warm bath and no coffee does not a happy Sunday make especially after such a crap sleep. An hour or so after we got out of bed the power came back on and our day resumed under normal conditions. Two double shot lattes and I'm starting to feel half way normal.

Good times.

Day Of Adventure

Surfing With Dolphins:

I had arranged to meet Dave Vasquez from work and his friend Alex at the Venice Pier at 7:30am for some surfing. I had never met Alex or his wife/girlfriend Shelagh who was to show up with him. I was introduced to him through another friend, Dave Mah(cue Bruce McCulloch's, These Are The Daves I Know) and thus made contact through Facebook. I saw Alex and Shelagh as I was unloading my board and called out but he failed to realize who I was and just passed by on the other side of the street. We introduced ourselves later on the beach and then headed out into the surf.

I'm happy to say paddling out was much easier. I actually managed to stay on my board and paddle confidently. Only when I had to paddle hard up the face of one four foot wave which just started to break as I hit the top did I get bumped off and to the side of my board. Once out past the break I was seated comfortably atop my board for the first time, balance having suddenly kicked in over night. More than likely it was the accumulated experience of falling off my board ten times the previous day I was out and watching how Alex was sitting on his board and rolling with the waves. In either case, I received kudos from Alex who said I looked like I knew what I was doing so I was stoked that at first glance I no longer appeared like the biggest kook in the line.

Catching waves was a different story. My shoulder has kinda packed it in and is in desperate need of a rest having an old rotator cuff injury. I tried for a couple but between the three of us nobody was catching anything.

Dave Vasquez showed up about forty minutes after we had paddled out and it was evident that the surf had grown in size since we had arrived as it took him a solid ten minutes to get out past the wash. I could see him grinning as he kept getting thumped by the larger waves break towards him and then that grin disappear as he ditched his board and dove through a large one to avoid a crushing.

We chatted while sitting on our boards and then I took off for shore shortly thereafter. Just as I was paddling in Alex or Dave called out my name. I turned around and sat up on my board and looked at where Alex was pointing. "Dolphins" he yelled. There was a pod of Dolphins around seventy to a hundred feet from us playing in the surf. Please allow me to repeat that just in case you missed it, I WAS SURFING WITH FRIGGIN' DOLPHINS!


Nature made my day... again.

The Hike:

Woodsy and I decided on hiking and headed south from Los Angeles to the hills above Lake Elsinore which is located in San Juan Capistrano. After a crappy drive in traffic we arrived in the parking lot and headed to the trail head a short distance away.

It was nice hiking in the twenty five degree warmth and the scrubby bushes of the Californian landscape provided shade for the majority of the walk. We didn't really have a plan where we were headed but we knew we wanted exercise and to hike for a couple of hours so we headed in the general direction of, "up".

As always, plenty of conversation was to be had. Topics covering work, surfing, nature, music, movies, women, family and food were discussed. Healthy portions of fart jokes were mixed in. When we reached a certain flat spot near a certain peak... which one I can't say because like I said we had no idea where we were going, we stopped and ate a granola bar after which we turned and headed back down.

On the way, we met a couple riding horses who were accompanied by four dogs. The cowboy having probably listened to us carry on for the last ten minutes looked at us and asked, "Well, have you solved the world's problems yet?"

At some point we diverged from the path we took up and found ourselves lost. We had plenty of water, food and clothing so we didn't sweat it. We knew the general direction we needed to head in so we continued down the trail and then found that it coughed us out on what appeared to be a sandy service road. We followed that road down towards the main street which we could see miles away and came across a ranch or two. Eventually we hit a large house with a foreboding gate around it, topped with barbed wire. There was an expected no trespassing sign which seemed a moot point considering there was nobody else out there. What gave that sign a little more oomph was the manikin head on a pike which had an arrow shot through it. It was semi-comical and semi-worrisome. Was this the Twilight Zone? While all this was happening a restored P51 Mustang was doing barrel rolls in the sky above us.

We continued down the road to where it emptied into a nice cluster of farms. It kind of appeared commune like. Not in the hippie sense but in the David Koresh, Waco sense. "Nice farms" said Adam. "Yeah, we should be fine so long as none of them are weed farms." I retorted. I had seen a documentary on rogue pot farmers in California who took to shooting anyone who happened to stumble on their grow operations and the thought rushed back to my consciousness right about the time I caught a waft of pot smoke from one of the back yards. We made it through without any problems and back to the car safe and sound.


The Recovery:

Our legs and asses were killing us. No, we didn't run across some hillbillies and get "Deliveranced". The extra hour of unplanned hiking really did us in. Neither one of us wanted to cook so pizza, beer and football on the television it was. This morning is to be followed with the same minus the beer and probably minus the pizza for the first half of the game. The jacuzzi might be in order as well.

One of the subjects we discussed on our hike was making the most of any situation. I think we achieved that. I never thought I would see so much nature when I moved to Los Angeles and I would argue that I've seen more here than in Vancouver.

There is definitely a danger of taking what your home town offers for granted.

A Pretty Wicked Morning.

Being raised on the ocean has left me with a life-long tie which I have yet to sever, not that I would ever try. Living in Germany and being land-locked deprived me of the immediate access I have always enjoyed from my youth in Comox through my adult years in Vancouver. I never realized how much I missed it until living away from it and when my awesome wife took me to Dublin for my thirtieth birthday. After not seeing the ocean for over a year the best part of the vacation was a day trip to Howth where I ran to the water and dipped my hands in, pulling them up and smelling the briny water.

It makes perfect sense then that a morning surfing, albeit completely ungracefully and rather ineptly, centered and energized me. The ocean can be fierce and terrify as I mentioned in my last post but it can soothe and calm as well. The two foot waves rolling in sets of two and three were there to greet me this morning almost as if to say, "Here's your reward for coming back after that bitch-slapping I gave you last time. Enjoy."

Now I get why people feel spiritual about the sport of surfing. It's not the slashes and wicked cutbacks (never gonna happen on my board), the hotties on the beach or how great my ass looks in a wetsuit and it sure isn't controlling or kicking nature's ass. Surfing allows you to connect with nature in a way which few other sports allow. You don't just pass through nature when surfing but rather and quite literally immerse yourself in her and the best thing is that nature considers you part of it.

Sound corny?

While I was paddling out past the break today and fighting to keep on my board like a walrus balancing on a railing I looked to my left and saw what only Canadian eyes would perceive as geese flying low over the water. As the birds approached I saw for the first time in my life a Pelican. Actually, not "a" Pelican but seven Pelicans and they chose to fly no more than ten feet from me three feet above the water. The sight was met with the following inner dialogue:

Wow. Pelicans. I don't think I've even seen them in a zoo. I win.

Friends tell me that I will surf amongst Dolphins in Venice and Malibu. Crazy sauce. My bond with the beloved ocean just increased ten fold.

Receiving A Proverbial Ass Kicking.

It's humbling to have your ass handed to you on a silver platter not once, but a couple of dozen times in the space of an hour and a half.

I had no idea that the surf would be as large as it was when I booked my beginners lesson for today. I had watched the wave reports in the last couple of weeks and thought that the surf was generally smaller in the afternoon. Oh boy, WRONG! Those petite one to two foot waves I saw last week would surely reappear and allow me to gracefully glide across them right? Wrong again!

Today when I showed up for my surf lesson I was greeted by a well built ex-highschool football player, Peter and some equally large and powerful four to six foot waves. On approaching the shoreline my mind was flooded with only two words. "Oh" and "shit". There before me lay unending sets of four footers crashing in relatively shallow water with the odd five and six footer thrown in for good measure. The bigger waves were just there to remind you that you were a smart ass for even thinking about surfing at this time of year.

Peter got me started on the beach with some pop ups and paddling drills. The paddling was pretty much to become a moot point as no beginner can really paddle out over huge wash and waves. One thing was for sure, the 4/3 Rip curl suit I bought at Christmas time was well worth the money and kept me more than warm through the entire lesson. Not a frozen digit on my body I was free to flail and get owned by countless waves in complete comfort.

As we headed out into the surf I instantly became aware that this surf was not to be trifled with and deserved much respect and a healthy portion of fear. Everything about the walling up grey waves said, "Don't even think about screwing around" as they bounced off the sandbar and curled over the top only to slam down into the trough created in front of them. The first two completely destroyed me. Peter, laughing piped up with, "I think that's Waves 2 - Kelsey 0."

I started with a couple of knee rides into the beach which was really fun and gave me a sense of how the wave would grab the board and shoot me towards the beach. I then graduated to step ups and then full pop-ups. With help from Peter I caught a number of waves and managed to stand up and ride at least 10 or more. I was chronically over-weighting my back foot which just like in snowboarding causes a loss of steering control and eventually, falling off.

The falling off I could deal with. It seemed like a natural progression of events as a beginner. It was the wading out and staring at a six foot wave which was just about to break over my head that I had a bit of a problem with.

"Toss the board and dive into it quick!" said Peter. Had I the time I would first run for the beach and second asked him, "Are you f*cking serious?"

The six foot wave showed me how serious it was. One must consider the physics in play when it comes to such a wave. Front to back that wave is one and a half to two times as long as it is high. That wave was also breaking in 4 ft of water and most of that water lying beneath it is moving in the same direction as well. So my 5'8" frame standing there in 4 ft of water with a 6 ft wave coming at it was 4'4" shorter than the wave. The volume of water moving at the surface area of my body was approximately 120-144 gallons, each gallon weighing 8 lbs. That's anywhere from 960 - 1152 lbs of water moving at 10 - 15 km/h (ohhh mixing metric and imperial!) and when just the upper portion of the wave lands on you it can be around 400 lbs of water thumping you to the bottom and holding you there for 10 seconds or more. If that's not enough, the additional ride in the washing machine and the board possibly crashing down on your head as you surface really puts the icing on the cake.

I tossed the board and dove through the wave and sorta of popped out the other side. There were other times where it simply owned me and took my for a sommersaulting ride to shore.

I should mention that the $80 lesson was an hour and forty five minutes. I made it an hour and twenty and packed it in knowing there was no way anything good was coming from me staying out there. I would be much better to head home and come back out another day when I had the use of my body.

Was it fun in the end? You bet. Will I do it again? Hellz yeah. In that size of surf? No Ma'am. I'm going to wait for the smaller stuff and have some fun. That was way too much like getting tackled by Ernie Anderson at my first men's rugby practice (I quit rugby soon after).

Dancin' Miete

 In an attempt to stay sane and help Miete burn off some of the two thousand gigawatts of energy she produces daily, Lisa has entered her into dance classes. We both wondered how she would do as the last time we entered into a class it was way too structured and we immediately pulled her.

Every kind of class seems to exist for kids in this city. You want your kid to learn French Cuisine? There's a class for it. You want junior to scuba? Sign him up! We had scouted the classes before even moving down and we are happy to say they are working out nicely.

After the first trial class, which was free, we were directly to a store located not far from where we live but definitely in an area where we probably wouldn't normally stray. We were looking for Daniel's Warehouse on Adams Blvd. in order to find Miete some ballet slippers and tap shoes. The GPS served us well and we found it in the middle of a very Mexican neighbourhood in a pretty tough looking area of Los Angeles. We parked around the corner and entered the store.

"And how can I help you fiiiiiiine people?" sung the very flamboyant Daniel as we walked through the door. Daniel was the gay version of David Cross. Come to think of it, maybe David Cross is gay, doesn't know it and that's why he's so angry. In any case, he was very nice and directed us to the back of the chaotic warehouse where the shoes were kept while holding a conversation on his blue tooth headset which I  must say, made him resemble Janet Jackson.

The back of the warehouse was insane. Huge shelves with open boxes stacked all over them. Shoes were spilling out all over the place. Shoes of every kind. Leotards, dance tights, dresses and the much, much coveted UNITARD! Adam and I would have to come back here to get Unitards for Halloween.

We found here shoes with some help and when we paid for them I nearly crapped. $22.12 for two sets of shoes. Unheard of. Thank you Daniel.

Since then Miete has been tearing it up at dance class and Lisa was able to shoot some footage and I'm posting it here:

Surfin' USA

My quest for surf since my days of getting trapped in a wetsuit in Santa Monica have progressed. I am glad to report that I have since found a great wetsuit and for a decent price.

On referral from Dave Vasquez I went and looked at suits at Rip Curl in Santa Monica. Sure enough, I found an awesome suit for a great price and after trying it and another on and NOT getting trapped or needing rescuing I purchased a brand new 2011 Rip Curl E-Bomb Pro 4/3 full suit:

The price was over a Ben Franklin cheaper than at the Rider Shack and the weather on the day was cooler and thus I made very little Human Soup while trying it on. I don't want to make it sound like I didn't sweat but for the most part there was minimal ballsack bisque created in the nether-region of my new suit.

On check out I spoke with the young twenty something surfer kid working there. He asked where I was from and I told him I had recently relocated to Los Angeles from Vancouver, Canada. It was met with pretty much the same response as I have heard time and again since moving here. NO WAY! Vancouver is awesome and weed is pretty much legal!

Apparently, the rumours of Vansterdam being known for it's herb are true. I have to constantly explain that I don't smoke weed and then immediately follow that with an explanation of why. I've found the best way to relate it is that there is simply no novelty in partaking in something which most Vancouverites can find in their couch cushions.

So, I had found a suit and now simply had to find an actual surf board. Rather than being difficult in locating a board suitable for a beginner it was more a case of it being difficult sifting through the multitude of ads on Craigslist. I received a quick education in board terminology and was off and making calls and sending emails in the hopes of finding a funboard/minimal or longboard in good condition and for a reasonable price. Like my apartment search, the search for a board brought me into contact with some interesting people.

I thought I had hit the motherlode. One Craigslist ad had forty five boards listed in it. This guy must be running a board rental shop or something. I sent him an email regarding a couple of the boards I thought would be most suitable. We arranged a time for me to come by when I called him.

Me: Hi, I'm calling about a couple of the longboards you have listed.

Jeff: Yeah dude. Come on by. I live in Palms in an apartment.

Right away, I figured something would be interesting about this visit. There is no way this guy could have forty plus boards in an apartment.

As I drove up, I knew I had the right place. There was a couple with a pickup unloading three boards and a skinny guy standing there talking. That was Jeff. I walked up and he introduced himself. He concluded his deal with the other couple who were in fact selling him boards. I was starting to get the picture. This guy must buy and sell boards. Maybe a good deal was to be had and maybe it wasn't depending on whether or not he did this as a hobby or as a living. He looked respectable enough so I hoped for the former.

I helped Jeff carry some of the boards up to his apartment and as we entered I instantly knew that this was his means of income. There are few things like being kicked in the face with the smell of man-ass and sweat to tell you that this dude was single, a bum and more than likely remaining both for the rest of his life. There were boards everywhere I looked. Jeff directed my gaze to the couch where a massive oafish figure sat, lumped under a blanket with a serving bowl of cereal held inches under his face.

Jeff: Kelsey, this is my roommate Kenny. Kenny, Kelsey.

Me: Err, hey.

Kenny: grunt *shovels more cereal into his gaping maw*

There were all the signs of flunkie-dom. The lazy roommate wrapped in a blanket eating only that which he could make in under two minutes. The empty and not so empty pizza boxes. The unclean carpet. The water bong perched perfectly in its place in the center of the coffee table its ashes strewn here and there from hookah hits gone by.

The reality: These guys sold boards and probably weed and maybe just maybe Kenny worked at the convenience store on the corner of Palms and National one night a week.

Jeff showed me dozens of boards on his porch alone but none of them were that stellar. Then we entered his room. One thrashed psuedo-futon, a shit-tonne of dirty gonch and socks and a pile... I mean a PILE of boards. This was a serious masturbation station. There was no way in hell anything but the worst of hoodrats would unclothe in this joint. He might as well hang a Jergens sponser banner on the wall. He showed me some pretty shitty planks and one 7'2" funboard which I thought was both a little short and a little over priced for me ($240). It was clear that this guy was making his living selling total shit to noobs for a hefty price.

I cannot begrudge a man for making a living so I told him I would have to think about it and made my exit, glad to finally breathe air free of years of human skin, ash and sharticles. Both Kenny and Jeff will die of breathing their own ass fumes, I'm sure of it.

I came home and hit Craigslist again and emailed three more places. The first place turned out to be the lucky listing and a young guy with a board he no longer used got back to me.

Mark, a young jewish film exec flogged me his board for a great price. He claimed to have no buds that surfed but frankly I think he just didn't like the cold water in winter which is the equivalent to the warmest B.C. water in summer. Fair play. Mazaltov my fine semetic friend. I'm going to surf the living matzo out of this sweet ass kosher plank.

In the end I bought a pretty damn sweet setup for a beginner for a helluva price. I got an almost unmarked 7'10" funboard with a leash and a soft roof carrier (kinda like a removable roof rack thing which you can strap on the car) all for two hundred bucks. The board alone is five hundred new and this has maybe a season's wear on it. The carrier is around a hundred and the leash is around thirty. He also threw in a tonne of wax so I'm good to go once the weather improves. If I had the yalmulka Lisa bought me years ago I would wear it on the virgin ride but it's packed away in Vancouver so alas, I will ride this board as a mere Goyem. LACHEIM!