Oh dang! Lookit HULA!

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One of the upsides of lashing together this site is that it's got me excited about art again.

I stumbled across a David Hockney book last night that pretty much blew the top of my head off. But I'll be honest, not in the same visceral way as the work of HULA (Sean Yoro).

Born in Hawaii and now living in New York, he paints these absolutely stunning murals from a standup paddleboard. I'm drawn to them in the same hard-to-explain way that I'm drawn to Easter Island statues and massive wind turbines on the horizon. With equal parts emotion and introspection and WTF.

I love street art (canal art in this case?). And I love fine art. Usually when those two worlds come together, there's an element of irony or cynicism or smart-assery to it. Not here. HULA's work is just powerful and resonant and beautiful. His studio portraiture work is wonderful too. 

Yes, I realize I'm gushing. But there's nothing I love more than finding things worth gushing over.

You can check out much more of his work on his site. 


5 Reasons To Give Ryan Adams A Try

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Ryan Adams and I go back to his Whiskeytown days (meaning: I started listening to him in 1995, while Ryan, well, he doesn't know who I am). Since going solo in 2000, he's taken a careening run through 27* genres of music over the course of 323* albums (these are estimates, but Ryan's made a lot of music).

He also just released a song-by-song cover of Taylor Swift's entire 1989 album.

Although his albums Heartbreaker and Gold are damn near perfect as they sit, I've built a lot of Ryan Adams playlists over the years; reconfigured super albums based on whatever emotional/spiritual jag I happened to be on at the time. (I do the same thing with Prince, another prolific guy who I'm sure would also hate me for re-sequencing his work, but, alas, another guy who also doesn't know who I am.)

Ryan's a man of many moods. I might suggest this mellow sampler when you're sipping bourbon by a late fall fire, wistfully.

Today is October 1st

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Majestic Citrus Grove, Madison, Wisconsin

Majestic Citrus Grove, Madison, Wisconsin

As fortold, in my neck of the woods many of the docks have already been brought in. These early removals are primarily the work of busy-bodies, non-fisherman, and wakeboarders that don't own wetsuits. Eventually though, things get real. As October shifts into November, it takes a gambler's mettle to leave a dock out for one more day. Things can swing from 70° F to 35° F-ed, overnight. Still though, pulling the dock in early October? These are clearly not my people.

However. My citrus grove is another story entirely. (I should mention that my "citrus grove" is a lime tree (of course) and a lemon tree which are pruned so I can fit 'em into the house for the winter. Rounding out my cocktail farm is the mint which I leave in the ground to fend for itself.) 

But yes. My citrus grove. As soon as nighttime forecasts approach the 40s, the trees have to come inside. This is a non-negotiable indicator of Fall. And this was that week.

Our wonderfully extended summer has come and gone.

Today is October 1st.

Fall is for firepits

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It could be a nesting instinct that kicks in for me, come fall. Or the cooler temperatures. Or just the sudden realization that there was so much more that I had planned for the year. But fall is when I get things done.

Around this time last year, my son and I were working on a northwoods fire pit. Building an ash and white oak bench to go alongside the random stump and stone seating our pit had accumulated over the years. It was the perfect bridge from summer into fall.

This is what fall is for. Fall is for firepits.

THIS IS NOT A SURF FILM

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Those of you that know me know this: Johnny don't surf.

Not that I haven't. And not that I won't again (hopefully soon, I love it). It's just that in my neck of the woods, the only rideable waves are called "wakes."  And the closest we get to surf's up is "snow's down." 

So why am I diving into another surfy post? Because this: Surfers make the best videos. That's just how it is. Or at least they make the most soulful ones.

Trust me, I've at least dabbled in pretty much every solo sport there is: winter, summer, action, silent, hook, bullet, esoteric-stuff-that-white-guys-with-dreadlocks do, you name it.

The point is, my interests tend to careen. And with each new obsession comes hours of youtube time. So it's with absolute certainty that I say no one draws the connections between who they are, and what they do, as well as surfers do. 

The short film "Out of the Black and Into The Blue" is no exception. Of course, the surf footage is spectacular: Ridiculous sets – the likes of which I've never seen. And ridiculous rides – the likes of which I can only imagine in my wildest Spicoli dreams... right before me and Mick wing over to London to jam with the Stones.

But this is not a surf film. 

You can watch it as a surf film, yes. I'm sure director Luke Pilbeam would appreciate it, since that's the film he made.

But once you've watched it, play it again with your eyes closed.

Just listen.

This is a life film. 

Of course, that's the film Luke made too. Surfers just get that kind of thing.

"It's difficult to explain to those who haven't found their calling..."

Props to Luke Pilbeam (Director), Nick Tsang (Music), and Joey Brown (Words).

Stop Sense Making

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Tree forts don't make sense. A compound of tree forts, high in the mountains, overlooking your own massive poured concrete skate bowl, really doesn't make sense. But Foster Huntington just went ahead and did that shit anyway.

You can get his story here, and check out his excellent blog called A Restless Transplant.

But what you should really do is watch the short film below. It's a leisurely look at the year it took for him and his buds to build and settle into Cinder Cone. It's a very well put together piece, documenting a very well put together place.

The whole thing leaves me feeling a little jelly, of course. But what it really does is leaves me thinking about the no-sense-making shit I should get started on myself.

Confessions of a Dr. Bronner's 18-in-1 Almond Soap Huffer

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Confessions of a Dr. Bronner's 18-in-1 Almond Soap Huffer

Few things in the world make me as happy as the smell of Dr. Bronner's 18-in-1 Almond Pure-Castile Soap. We have a long history together, this soap and I. A joyful history. A mostly naked history. Of course, I use the soap for doing dishes too. Although then I'm often clothed.

Put simply, Dr. Bronner's Almond Soap is the greatest smell in the world. (2nd–4th place ribbons go to orange peels, freshly split oak, and rain). I've used a lot of this soap over the years and I've paused every time to breathe in its deliciousness.

One thing I've never done though? 

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Tipsy Tips: How to make grilled pineapple + nutmeg infused rum

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It seems more and more people are getting into high-falutin' infused liquors these days. Myself included. However, over the past year or so I've come to realize that I might actually prefer my infused liquors low-falutin'.

As such, I'm not removing the fruit after a week or two, quadruple-straining the liquor, and serving neat. Instead, I'm leaving everything in the jar indefinitely, including other ingredients (bitters, multiple liquors, whatever feels right), and serving sloppy. Straight from the jar around a campfire, fruit and all.

It's easy to do, gives me a compelling reason to go to farmers' markets, and increases the likelihood of getting invited to bonfires. Here's how, in handy video form:

Go camping! You! Go camping now!

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With Labor Day behind us, my head shifts to camping (car camping, backpacking, float trips, whatever ya got). That's because camping, while an entirely reasonable summer activity, is an entirely kick ass fall activity.

If this video doesn't make you wanna get out there, I don't know what will. Just the sights, sounds and sweetness of camping with no extra filler added nor required.

It's from Hipcamp which is an Airbnb-style concept for finding and reserving campsites. Although I haven't used it yet, the site looks solid. And this video, to me anyway, is damn near perfect. 

Edward Abbey and the sweet and lucid air

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I spent today on the water with family. And friends. And a splash or three of tequila. 

This evening I spent reading Edward Abbey. And now, for whatever reason, I decided it would be a good idea to share. I have a strong suspicion that "whatever reason" = "a splash or three of tequila." But so it goes.

Hat tip to mi amigo Señor West for originally steering me to this quote. 

 

Four plates vs. the conspiracy of stuff

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Four plates vs. the conspiracy of stuff

Several years ago, my family and I were staying in a small cottage, on a small bay, on a small island, on the southernmost edge of the Caribbean Sea.

The cottage had no screens on the windows. No hot water. No super automatic espresso machine with an intuitive user interface and built-in burr grinder. No. Instead, there were mosquito nets for sleeping, a cistern of rainwater for washing, and glasses full of that same rainwater with a squeeze of lime for breakfast drinks. 

The walls of the cottage, pink and blue and green...

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