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Surfs Up, Joker's Under

6/26/2017

I am rapidly approaching that age when the invitations to weddings are significantly outnumbered by the announcements of memorial services and that is why I was surprised that the news of the passing of Adam West, the actor who portrayed Batman in the 60’s, hit me much harder than I had expected. Just before my sixth birthday, the Batman series premiered on ABC and the way I looked at the world changed forever. For me, I think Batman not only defined my understanding of the differences between right and wrong, but also soon gave me my first glimpse behind the curtain into the crazy world of Hollywood.
We lived directly across the street from the Redondo Beach State Park and that morning started off just like any other morning, with a bowl of oatmeal before I set off on my short walk to school. As I headed out the front door, I noticed that the beach parking lot was filled with large trucks and long white trailers and as I got closer, I was able to recognize the 20th Century Fox Television logo emblazoned on them. I decided at that point that school could wait and went in for a closer look. I walked through the parking lot with all kinds of strange looking people and equipment bustling around me until I got to the edge of the cliff and looked down to the beach. Parked down at the bottom of the beach ramp was the Batmobile. That was the first time I made the conscious decision to ditch school.
As I walked down to the beach, I was amazed to find that the production company had transformed the beach into someplace they were calling “Gotham Point” and they added a façade to the old snack bar proclaiming it to be some beachside nightclub named “Hang Five”. There was even a green haired Hollywood version of a surf band pretending to play instruments. The beach was scattered with film cameras, power cables and lighting equipment. I just roamed around the entire set and none of the actors or crew seemed to be too concerned that an eight year old boy in a polka dot shirt was hanging out listening to every word of their conversations.
I spent most of the day sitting in the sand behind a director’s chair with the name Cesar Romero printed on the back support canvas. Mr. Romero portrayed one of my favorite villains in the series, “The Joker”. He had been a movie romantic lead back in the thirties and forties and he seemed to take great delight in telling war stories from the golden age of Hollywood and I hung on every word. After a while, Yvonne Craig emerged from her dressing room, wearing a one piece bathing suit with a see-through mesh across her more than ample cleavage and took her seat with script in hand. She was preparing for her next scene as Batgirl’s alter ego, Barbara Gordon. Just as Cesar was finishing up a story about what a bitch Joan Crawford could be, he glanced over and noticed the provocative suit that Ms. Craig was wearing. Without missing a beat, he said something I’ll never forget, “Good God Woman! This is a kid’s show, cover those damn things up”. Everyone burst into laughter, but if you ever get a chance to see the actual episode, you will notice that there is a black bat-shaped bow covering the aforementioned area.
Rest in peace Mr. West. Although I was absolutely terrified the first time we met on the beach, I will always remember the down to earth grace you showed to me some forty years later, when I introduced you to my son at the Austin Comic-Con. You will always be The One True Batdude to me.

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What I Did on My Summer Vacation

5/23/2017

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Pop always had a way of finding a business angle to justify social events, religious affiliation and family vacations. One summer, he was speculating on some land just east of Porterville, California with a private section of the Kern River running right through the center of it. He convinced the landowner that he needed to perform an onsite survey in order to determine the viability of building a resort development on the land, although I believe that his actual intent was to locate a free private campsite on the river. Pop rented a motor home, loaded the motorcycles into the company pickup truck and the whole damn family headed north for a holiday weekend adventure.
When we finally arrived at the property, we were met by the caretaker, who unlocked the gate and led us to a clearing next to a calm section of the river. We quickly setup camp and then convinced Pop to drive my brother Jimmy, cousin Danny and myself upriver a couple of miles in the pickup and drop us off so we could take a leisurely float in our inner tubes back down to the campsite. Eventually, we came upon a nice sandy spot to launch our tubes, so we waived goodbye to Pop and proceeded down river. At first, the river was calm and slow moving, so we popped open the beers we had secretly snatched from Pop’s cooler and gently floated along. Little by little, the speed of the current began to increase and eventually we ran into some light rapids. Although this was a little uncomfortable, it was still a lot of fun. That was until we tumbled over our first waterfall.
Although it was only about five foot tall and had a pretty deep pool at the bottom of it, all three of us lost our tubes in the fall. At that point, I think everyone decided that it was a good idea to start heading for shore, but that was easier said than done because the current had ramped up to a fever pace. It wasn’t until we saw our tubes disappear out of sight just a few hundred yards ahead of us that this effort took on a whole new sense of urgency. Danny was the first one to make it to shore and he quickly grabbed my hand to pull me in, but when I grabbed for Jimmy’s hand, his fingers slipped right through mine and in a few seconds he was gone. Both sides of the river were covered in very dense vegetation so we were forced to crawl on our hands and knees through shallow waterways as if we were in a scene from Swiss Family Robinson. At one point, we came across a small pool and floating in the center, we saw a large sombrero. Now I’m not sure if there was anything actually attached to that sombrero, but I can tell you that it sat completely stationary in the center of that pond and never moved.
Eventually, we made it back to the dirt road and started heading barefoot back to camp. Luckily, Pop, who had started to become concerned when after several hours we hadn’t shown back up at camp, pulled up in the pickup truck. After we explained what had happened, he dropped us off at the motor home to get on our motorcycles and search for Jimmy, while he drove to the nearest payphone to alert the authorities. After hours of searching, Danny decided to get off his bike, walk out onto a small rock jetty and that’s where he spotted Jimmy, sitting on a rock in the middle of the river, just ten feet away from a fifty foot waterfall. The crazy part is that later on that day, one of the rescue workers told us that the jetty that Danny had found was the only point on either side of the river where it was possible to see Jimmy’s position. He also informed us that we were camping on the most dangerous part of the river and that so far that year over fifty people had drowned there. The fire/rescue team was able to fire a line from one side of the river to the other in order to bring Jimmy back to safety, with little more than a very nasty sunburn.
It’s like I always say Dude, “Don’t go chasing waterfalls. Please stick to the rivers and the lakes that you’re used to.”

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Dancin' in the Rain

4/17/2017

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Imagine yourself at your favorite local watering hole at 1:30am. The band is finishing up its last set and there’s no possible way your drunk ass is getting laid tonight. As the band starts playing one of your favorite dance tunes, you can’t seem to stop yourself from flailing about the dance floor doing something that resembles a cross between the funky chicken and an epileptic seizure. Soon, you begin to feel that your mind is no longer in charge and it’s as if the dance itself has taken control. The beauty is that you just don’t care because all your inhibitions have melted away and you feel as if you are one with each beat of the music. That constant chatter in your head is almost non-existent and you find yourself, if only for a short time, living absolutely in the present moment.
One of the first times I can remember experiencing this feeling was back in ’87. That was the summer just before I headed to Paradise. There was a two-day Dead show at Laguna Seca raceway (located just a little east of Monterey, CA) that consisted of three sets. It was during the infamous “Sunrise Set” with the sun just peaking over the top of the stage, a light drizzle coming down and The Dead playing “Box of Rain”. At that moment, while dancing barefoot in the mud, I realized for the first time in my life that it is my responsibility and mine alone to make the most of every day this life affords me, no matter what the circumstances might be.
It wasn’t until many years later that I was led (some might say kicking and screaming) to a practice that would finally allow me to experience this feeling time and time again. It is sometimes referred to as Ecstatic Dance or Movement Meditation and although it comes in many flavors, the one I prefer is called 5Rhythms. 5Rhythms is a movement meditation practice devised by Gabrielle Roth in the late 1970s. It draws from indigenous and world traditions using tenets of shamanistic, ecstatic, mystical and eastern philosophy. It also draws from Gestalt therapy, the human potential movement and transpersonal psychology. Fundamental to the practice is the idea that everything is energy, and moves in waves, patterns and rhythms.
Roth described the practice as a soul journey and said that by moving the body, releasing the heart, and freeing the mind, one can connect to the essence of the soul, the source of inspiration in which an individual has unlimited possibility and potential. The practice of the five rhythms is said to put the body in motion in order to still the mind. The five rhythms (in order) are flowing, staccato, chaos, lyrical, and stillness. The five rhythms, when danced in sequence, are known as a "Wave”. While the practice is transformative and can be therapeutic, Gabrielle Roth did not describe 5Rhythms as a form of dance therapy. However, many therapists have used the 5Rhythms to support their therapeutic practice.
I have tried many different forms of meditation in my life, but I always felt like I just couldn’t get there from here. I guess the movement factor is what seems to force me to get out of my head much more effectively than just closing my eyes and thinking about it.
Keep Dancin’ in the Rain, Dude!

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Night Bouldering

3/9/2017

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My high school offered only a very limited sports program, basically parking lot volleyball and ping pong, but I was fortunate to attend this school because it had one of the most comprehensive outdoor education programs any California school system had ever attempted. The program was created by a teacher named Carl Zeek, a former National Park Ranger, who made it his life’s goal to share his love of the natural world with as many young people as possible. The program consisted of four basic disciplines. In the summer, we would concentrate on backpacking and mountaineering in places like San Gorgonio, San Jacinto and the High Sierras. In the late fall and early winter, our focus would turn to cross-country skiing in the Mammoth Lakes area and in the springtime, we went rock climbing in Yosemite National Park or in my personal favorite, Joshua Tree National Monument.
Joshua Tree is a large expanse of desert land located just outside of Palm Springs. At first glance, the landscape appears to be desolate and barren, consisting of large piles of boulders and littered with its namesake Joshua trees. Upon closer examination, you begin to realize that you are in the middle of an extremely diverse ecosystem teeming with life at every turn. The piled boulders appear to be out of place. It’s as if some prehistoric race of giants gently stacked them one upon the other in order to create some sort of massive Zen garden.
After a long day of rock climbing on one of these weekend field trips, without telling anyone, I and a couple buddies of mine decided that it would be a good idea to boulder to the top of a huge pile of rocks, smoke a joint, drink a beer and watch the sunset. Bouldering is basically free climbing without the aid of ropes or any equipment other than your hands and a good pair of climbing shoes. Most people don’t realize that this is actually the most dangerous style of rock climbing due to the simple fact that if you slip, there is nothing to break your fall.
On the way up, we realized that the route we had chosen was much more difficult than we had anticipated, but we didn’t let that deter us as we shimmied up thirty plus foot chimneys and jumped across five-foot crevasses between boulders. Eventually, we made it to the summit where we all sat down, cracked open our beers and passed around a joint. The California sunset over Mount San Jacinto was absolutely awe inspiring and after we finished up our beers, we decided it was time to head back to camp. As we got up to start our descent, all three of us simultaneously realized that we had neglected to consider one very important variable in planning our expedition. This was a no moon night and Joshua Tree has virtually no light pollution so after the sunset, the desert was pitch black. The visibility was almost nil and the only light came from the stars and the distant flicker of our campsite fire. The temperature was starting to drop and we had no other alternative than to descend into the darkness.
Imagine jumping from one boulder to another without being able to accurately judge the distance between the two or attempting to make your way down a chimney without being able to see the bottom. We were all absolutely terrified, but by slowly negotiating each horrific turn and working to assist one another through each step, we were able to make it back to the desert floor safely, without much more than a couple of scrapes and bruises. What started out as a thirty to forty-five minute ascension would eventually turn out to be a three to four-hour descent.
It’s like I always say, “Don’t go up there Dude, if you’re not sure how your gonna get back down”.

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Hot Tub Bubble Bath Party

2/15/2017

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Back in the late eighties, when I first arrived at Paradise Lakes, it was a much different club than the one you know and love today. Phase III didn’t exist and all of the club’s activities were located down by the lake. At that time, the amenities included three tennis courts, two sand volleyball courts, clubhouse, lakeside tiki bar, swimming pool, a covered hot tub and a steam room. Someone had posted a peculiar sign at the entrance to the steam room that listed all of Florida’s “Blue Laws” that concerned sexuality. I guess it was intended to strike fear into the hearts of fornicators, but on more than one occasion, I opened that door only to witness many unsavory criminal types involved in various forms of illegal activity.

By day, the clubhouse was a full service restaurant serving breakfast through dinner seven days a week and at night,it was transformed into a full blown nightclub with a DJ and disco lighted dance floor. The three bars were the main clubhouse bar, the patio bar and the infamous tiki bar that was ruled with an iron fist by bartenders Dee and Kathy. They always poured a mean drink, but were quick to cut you off if you started to act the fool.

One of the most popular activities at the old club was the Sunday night hot tub bubble bath party. Legend has it that this strange bubble phenomenon was discovered completely by accident. The story goes that after a long night of partying, an adventurous couple snuck back into the club area long after the nightclub had closed with the intent of taking a king sized bubble bath. After dumping a box of Mister Bubble into the hot tub, they quickly realized that this was no ordinary bubble bath.

What made the old hot tub special was that it was surrounded by a wooden bench and topped off by a twenty-foot high gazebo. That design created an interesting effect and the bubbles formed in a cylindrical shape and rose all the way to the top of the gazebo. The next morning, the breakfast crew arrived to find the entire pool area inundated with bubbles. As for the couple, they were nowhere to be found and rumor has it they were never heard from again.

Through meticulous experimentation, we eventually discovered the perfect Mister Bubble to hot water recipe and the Sunday night hot tub bubble bath party was born. The bubbles would perfectly fill the gazebo all the way to its pointed peak and remain like that all night long. From the outside, all you could see in the wooden gazebo were bubbles. Guests would have to dig their way into the hot tub and then they would disappear. In fact, once you were in, you couldn’t even see the person seated next to you. I’ll never forget the time I heard a man’s voice call out, “Honey? Is that you?”, followed by another male voice emphatically answering, “No”. Every Sunday night I would hear all kinds of crazy sounds coming from that hot tub and I’m sure plenty of folks have their own stories of what actually went on inside there, but I never heard anyone complain that it was anything but good clean fun.

It’s like I always say: If you find yourself in a hot tub, covered in bubbles and you don’t know exactly where your girlfriend is,
“Keep Your Hands to Yourself Dude”

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Hitchhikers' Guide

1/7/2017

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Back in the day, some of my adventurous friends and I banded together to enjoy a holiday weekend on the mighty Kern river. We set out on our journey in two old hand-me-down vehicles, one of which never made it out of Orange County. However, we didn’t allow that little setback to weaken our resolve. We all piled into the second vehicle, an old Ford Country Squire station wagon with genuine imitation wood paneling, and continued our odyssey. That station wagon made it all the way to a little truck stop just outside of Bakersfield before giving out. So there we were. Nine young travelers stuck at a Flying J in the middle of nowhere.
My buddies decided to continue the quest by hitting the northbound on ramp and hitchin’ a ride the rest of the way to Lake Isabella. At this point, I was pretty much over it and told them I figured that they would have a better chance of catching a ride with eight hitchers as opposed to nine and that I was going to head back south to L.A. I sat on that ramp for quite a while, watching one redneck truck driver after the next pass by this long-haired-hippy-type without much more than a disgusted glance. After a few hours, this old tanker truck finally pulled over. I jumped up on the step, opened the door and was greeted by a young Native American dude who said, “Where you headed pal?” and I replied, “L.A. sir.” He just smiled and said, “I’m going right past there, jump on in”.
Right off the bat, he warned me, “That door handle on your side doesn’t work, so if you need to get out, just roll down the window and use the outside handle”. As we headed down the highway, I asked him what he was hauling in the tank and he told me it was crude oil. I said, “Well, at least it’s not something flammable like gasoline.” to which he replied, “Not true my friend. If this truck were to catch on fire, you and I would be nothing more than a wet spot in the road.” With that revelation, I offered to smoke a joint I had with him. He said, “I’d like to, but I’ve been driving for over 72 hours now and that would just put me to sleep.” He then showed me the two log books he was running to keep from getting caught and offered me a couple of bennies.
Between Bakersfield and Los Angeles, there is a portion of I-5 known as the Grapevine. The Grapevine is a treacherous 40-mile stretch of winding road with one of the steepest grades in the interstate highway system. So there we were; chugging up the incline in the far right lane at about 5 MPH in low gear when another truck pulled up on our left hand side and the driver screamed out his passenger window, “YOU’RE ON FIRE!”
Luckily, we were right next to a “watering hole”, a place to pull off the highway and refill the radiator. The truck driver pulled over as quickly as possible and jumped out of the truck. Unfortunately, in the heat of the moment, I completely forgot what the truck driver had told me about the door handle. In what probably was only a minute or two but seemed like forever, I pulled vigorously on the handle while my short life flashed before my eyes. As I watched other truck drivers heroically running with buckets of water towards the truck, I finally remembered what the truck driver had told me, rolled down the window, pulled the handle and jumped out.
It turned out that a mop used to wipe down the stainless steel tank was stored too close to the smoke stack and the heat generated by driving up that steep incline in low gear had set it on fire. What I learned that day is that sometimes it is better to stay the course and follow through with your original plan. It’s like I always say,
“Just Dance in the Rain, Dude”

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Birth of The Boyz

8/29/2016

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It all began at the weekly Monday morning management meeting. Randee, a former owner of Paradise Lakes, started off the meeting with the news that she and Fred had been out to a brand new nightclub on Treasure Island called Blueberry Hill. She described the nightclub’s 50’s theme and then told us that after every set of dance music, members of the wait staff would jump up on the piano-shaped stage and perform a lip sync routine. Fred liked the idea so much that he invited the DJ to come out to Club Fred on the following Thursday night and audition for the show on ladies’ night. We had been looking for some sort of unique entertainment for ladies’ night and everyone in the manager’s meeting agreed that this just might be it.
That afternoon, I called Jimmy the DJ (that’s as good a name as any, since I don’t remember the dude’s name). He said that he couldn’t do the show by himself and asked if I could put together a couple of folks to join in. I told Jimmy that I knew just the right dudes for the job (Anthony and me, of course) and we scheduled our first rehearsal for noon on the day of the show. Jimmy showed up with a whole trunk full of costumes and a bunch of instrument props for us to play with. We ran through each of the acts a couple of times and after an hour or so, we were ready for our big debut.
To our astonishment, the show was a pretty big hit, but I really think that had more to do with the fact that the crowd enjoyed watching Anthony and I make asses of ourselves and less to do with the quality of our lip syncing skills. After the show, Anthony and I helped Jimmy pack up his stuff and then the two of us sat down to have a cocktail and discuss what the hell had just happened. We agreed that this gig was a whole bunch of fun and I think it was Anthony that said, “You know, we don’t really need Jimmy”.
The next morning, I was in Fred’s office convincing him that we could do the show on our own and as soon as I had secured his approval, I was on the phone to Jimmy to break the bad news. The last thing I remember Jimmy saying to me was something to the effect of “just remember you’re hiring Boyz to do a man’s job” and that’s how The Boyz were born. That week, we really had to scramble to put together enough props and costumes to pull off the first show, but somehow we did it. We recruited DJ LeeBee, who in addition to handling the DJ duties, pulled off a most astonishing Chuck Berry performance including the infamous Duck Walk.
After that first show, we received an amazing outpouring of support from the community. Folks donated old instruments, made custom costumes and the maintenance department built props for us and even a brand new stage for us to perform on. Soon we had stolen every act we could from Blueberry Hill and we had to start coming up with acts of our own. Keep in mind that this was way before shows like Lip Sync Battle were on the air, so we found ourselves attending late night drag shows in Ybor City just to dig up new material. The weekly Boyz show went on for about five years with several different characters joining the cast. We even had a part time drag queen in the show for a while. At one point, I had to leave the show to go back home and spend some time with my ailing father, but Anthony brought in Mark and the show never missed a beat.
Over the years, we went on to do many reunion shows (even one at Caliente) and that gave us the opportunity to bring in many of our friends such as DJ Jesse, DJ X-Ray, Marky Mark, Rick Noriega, JermDog, Steve-O and Juan is the Loneliest Number. Make sure to check out my next couple of articles as they are being written by two of my favorite dudes in the world, Mark and Anthony. This is a rare opportunity to get a glimpse into their own personal perspective on The Boyz Show.
Don’t Miss It Dude!

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Why Do You Think They Call It Wali-Ball

7/29/2016

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I’m not saying that we invented water volleyball or even that we were the first resort to play it, but I will say that we played at least a small part in water volleyball surpassing beach volleyball as arguably the most popular sport in nudism. In case you are not aware of this, the main pool at Paradise, when seen from above, forms the shape of a gigantic “P”. Besides being a great aerial advertisement for the club, the bottom part also functions as a perfectly rectangle shaped pool for water volleyball.
In the beginning, it was all just fun and games. Nobody really kept score and they just made up the rules as they went along. I can still hear Mo speaking in a thick Moroccan accent telling me, “That’s not a real sport. That’s just a game for children and old dudes”. What I don’t think Mo realized at the time is that we had a whole bunch of old dudes that were ready, willing and able to act like children at the drop of a hat. The beauty (and the downfall) of the game was that if you had the ability to stand in one place for about an hour or so and at least fairly decent eye/hand coordination, you could be a water volleyball superstar. That is what made it so appealing to old dudes that had been highly competitive for most of their lives, but were starting to see their physical prowess begin to wane.
My mistake was not anticipating just how serious those dudes were going to take the game. I’ll never forget the day that I was walking out to the pool area to make my usual rounds of passing out drink chips, when I was confronted by an angry mob that resembled something from an old Frankenstein movie. It seems that there was a hotly contested dispute over whether or not a ball that hits the edge of the pool is in bounds or not.
I attempted to explain that water volleyball was just a fun activity for the tourists to enjoy and if they wanted to play a serious game they should head on over to the sand volleyball courts. That didn’t go over too well and just as the crowd began lighting up their torches and sharpening their pitchforks, my assistant, Bob, stepped out in front of me and in a way only a Canadian can, said, “Listen here now, fellas, I got an idea that just might fix this dilemma”. Bob went on to explain that he would put together a list of all the currently known rules and schedule a meeting where folks could make suggestions for additional rules and then vote on each one of them. He would then compile all those rules into a tidy little booklet to be distributed among the players. That was the break I was looking for, so I turned to Bob and said, “you’re in charge dude”.
We eventually had to put up a net and move the game to the indoor pool that was originally designed for water aerobics just to keep the players from terrorizing the tourists who would unknowingly stumble into the lions’ den just looking for a fun game to play. From there it progressed to league play, tournaments, and eventually the yearly event known as SplashFest. Nudism has never been the same.
Let me share with you the one thing that I believe I learned from this whole experience: Never underestimate the power of an old dude with a ball in his hand and a drink chip in his pocket.

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The Legend of the Legend

6/29/2016

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Throughout the years, the nudist music scene has seen many a disc spinner come and go. Some were good, some were hacks and one was just an outright con man, but one name that stands out above all the rest is DJ Jesse, aka The Legend. For years, Jesse set the standard for playing just the right mix to keep the naked folks dancing until 2 AM and he had the intestinal fortitude needed to play "that strokin’ song” just one more time. What most folks don’t know about Jesse is the fact that he has a really weird side. Let me explain.
One day while hanging out by the pool, Jesse struck up a conversation with an old friend and while catching up, the conversation turned to the topic (as it often does) of erectile dysfunction. The man told how he had gotten a second lease on his sex life after his doctor had prescribed a drug for him that had just come out on the market. This was quite a few years prior to the advent of “the little blue pill” so the only way to administer this new miracle drug was through an injection directly into the old “Magic Johnson”. In an effort to share his good fortune, the man asked Jesse if he’d like to give the drug a try. A lesser man would have been deterred by this prospect, but not our hero and although he didn’t actually suffer from erectile dysfunction, he just figured it might be fun having an erection that lasts more than four hours.
Since he and his wife didn’t have any pressing business on the agenda that evening, they decided to give it a whirl. After getting over the initial shock of the injection, they got down to business. According to Jesse, “they tried every position in the Kama Sutra and even came up with a few of their own”, but no matter what they tried, Jesse’s soldier remained at full attention.
After several hours of this, their joy turned to concern. Jesse figured a soak in the hot tub might help his little buddy settle down, so he carefully wrapped himself in a towel and they headed down to the clubhouse. Luckily, it was late and there were very few other patrons around to notice that he was breaking nudist etiquette by flaunting a stiffy in the pool area. He sat in the hot tub until almost every part of his body had shriveled except for the one he had hoped to shrivel. By this time, an aching pain had started to set in that intensified with every hour that passed.
When they got back home, they tried everything they could think of from ice packs to calling his mother but nothing seemed to help Mr. Happy relax. In desperation, his wife even tried laughing at it and calling it rude names, but it just seemed to stare back at her in defiance. By this time, about nineteen hours had passed and throbbing annoyance had turned to excruciating pain.
At that point, the couple decided that it was probably time to take Jesse to the emergency room and fess up to what they had done, but prior to doing so, they decided to consult an old set of medical encyclopedias (this was before Al Gore invented the internet) to try and determine what sort of treatment would be necessary. They read about a medical condition known as Priapism which restricts blood flow to and from the penis. As Jesse read on, he discovered that the only known cure for this condition was something called aspiration, which involves slicing the penis open and draining the blood. As soon as Jesse read that, "Little Jesse" made an about face and immediately returned to silent flaccidity. Like some wise dude once said, “Never Take Erectile Dysfunction Medication Unless You Actually Suffer from Erectile Dysfunction”

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Ernest Goes to Nudist Camp

5/29/2016

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Have I ever told you the story about the time I ended up in the Paradise Lakes hot tub with Ron Jeremy, Ernest P. Worrell and an Asian dude named Michael? I know that sounds like the opening to a bad joke, but I swear this is exactly how I remember it. At the end of a long holiday weekend after I had pulled a long DJ shift, I decided to wind down the evening with a soak in the hot tub before heading home. To my surprise, all three of these dudes were in the hot tub together. I had seen them in the club earlier that night, but I figured they’d be long gone to some private party before I got off work.
When I stepped into the hot tub, I was greeted by my good friend and longtime Paradise resident, Michael. I’m pretty sure Michael was not the name his mama gave him, but I think at some point he had decided it was just easier to go by something all of us Florida rednecks could easily pronounce. He told me that he'd like to introduce me to his new friends, but I just replied: "I think everyone here knows who these dudes are.” Michael went on to say that he had a question he liked to put out there when meeting new people. What was your most embarrassing moment in life?
Michael then turned to me and said: "Why don't you start us off, Wali?” I had never been asked that question before, but the funny thing was that I knew exactly what story I was going to tell. It was a sad little story about a first date at a drive-in movie, wearing white linen pants and a sneaked fart gone horribly wrong, let’s just say there was never a second date. Up next was Jim Varney who told a story about one morning during the filming of the Beverly Hillbillies movie, he and his buddy Buck woke up in an unfamiliar hacienda somewhere south of the border and had no idea how they had got there. When it came around to Ron Jeremy's turn, it seemed as if couldn't decide just which juicy story he was going to tell, but eventually he offered up a precautionary tale of an on-set disaster involving a well-known female porn star and a poorly installed hanging love swing.
When it came back around to Michael, he told a story I will never forget. He started off his story by explaining that he had grown up the son of a poor rice farmer. He went on to describe how he had lived in a one-room house that his father had built by hand with his parents, younger siblings and his grandmother. During the rainy season every year, their little house flooded and the whole family was forced to take to the roof until the water receded. In fact, this was such a common occurrence that his father built a ladder in the center of the room that led to a trap door out onto the roof. Being the oldest son, it was his responsibility to make sure that the other children and his grandmother got up the ladder and onto the roof safely. One by one, he helped the children and then his grandmother onto the ladder. As soon as she was safely on the ladder, he followed right behind her. He said “It was then that I looked up and I saw my grandmother’s vagina in all its glory.” When we heard that, we all fell about the place laughing, but Michael stopped us with a very serious look on his face and said “No, that wasn’t the embarrassing part. My most embarrassing moment was when I looked a second time.”

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About Wali,
The Grateful Dude

In my formative years, I was lucky enough to attend an amazing high school modeled after the freedom school from the Billie Jack films. The curriculum included outdoor education, pottery and organic farming and emphasized values like creativity, self awareness and a strong sense of community. I spent several summers traveling from show to show with The Grateful Dead and found that not only could I beat the crap out of a plastic bucket in a drum circle, I was also quite the imported beer salesman. My early career started off in the eighties driving limousine for posers, drug dealers and wannabe rock stars in Los Angeles. In the late eighties, I was introduced to the former owner of Paradise Lakes Nudist Resort who had just seduced and proposed to my roommate while she was on vacation in Florida. Fred took me aside one afternoon and told me, “I like you, kid and since I’m taking your roommate and I’m pretty sure you can’t afford this beach rental on your own, why not come on out to Florida? I’ll find you a place to stay, give you a job and you’ll be surrounded by naked women”. So I loaded up my truck and moved to Paradise. Lakes, that is. Swimmin’ pools. Porno stars. (insert banjo solo here).

I wake up every morning (well almost every morning) knowing that today is a wonderful gift to be unwrapped and explored. I believe that every day is filled with limitless possibilities and endless abundance. I’m convinced that our true purpose in life is to interact with our fellow beings and give witness to this amazing universe that surrounds us.

If you are searching for miracles in life, you need go no farther than your backyard to realize that we are living in the midst of the greatest miracle of all.

Surfs Up, Joker's Under

What I Did on My Summer Vacation

Dancin' in the Rain

Night Bouldering

Hot Tub Bubble Bath Party

Hitchhikers' Guide

Birth of The Boyz

Why Do You Think They Call It Wali-Ball

The Legend of the Legend

Ernest Goes to Nudist Camp

About Wali,
The Grateful Dude

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About Wali, The Grateful Dude

Archives

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About Wali,
The Grateful Dude