LIFE

A screen grab taken from the intro of a podcast I'm workin' on called LIFE. Presented by le BOOGIE. Clip and link up soon!

WIZARD SMOKE

Something amazing I found here.

BEN PLAYER

Second issue, 71 Mag.

SUNDAY

Today I woke up and went for a bodysurf with my bro, thought of a name for a new movie I'll be working on soon (deets up in the next month) watched Godzilla. Nymeyer called and we tested a pole cam in average waves and a car. Finished it off with a longneck.   Today was a good day.

NEMOS' DAY

James Nymeyer doing one of the better reverses I've seen him do at Aus Pipe yesterday. Check a few more grabs from the day on fluidzone here.   

BACK TO IT

After 6 months not filming I borrowed a Panasonic P2 setup and went down the coast to Nugs only to fall asleep cause of the glare.   I woke up and Thom was killing it!   Click here to check out the new Fluidzone Phil Gallaghers' running for the whole sequence.

JUST LIVIN, MAN

Brad Jackson goin' nuts.

BULLSHIT AND PARTY AND BULLSHIT

I moved to Gwandalan a couple weeks ago and turned into an alcoholic without a job and license.

LONESOME SOLDIER

Eli Beach. This guy turned up everywhere by himself on a particular swell down the coast last winter.

SAME OL'

Pipe, BP and a massive rev.

WORLD CHAMP TWO THOUSAND AND FUCKIN FOUR

Kingy gettin all crazy at home years ago. Thanks for the foots Gordo.

TUBE RIDES

Sean at home.

CHRIS WILSON

Wilso. A man with love for Biggie, Chains and Pits.

THE GOLD COAST SUCKS

And Surfers Paradise will steal your soul! My girl prior to getting eaten by blue bottles.   The first photos of the year with my trusty Canon 400D.

NOTHING

A review by Mike McKiernen for LeBoogie

Confessions are rarely painless, but right now I harbor little remorse. Attending bodyboarding film premieres has never been an impassioned pastime of mine. I have developed a tolerance to unwarranted hype and from my experience, the audience is often too wary to sweep me into a state of panting enthusiasm.

That pea-hearted justification is indirectly to blame for my uncomfortably sunburnt face and the reason I am speed eating my banana muffin dinner whilst driving. The movie is scheduled to start momentarily and I am still a frustrating distance from the venue.

Tonight however, I intend to remove all apathy from my system. Upon my arrival, three young ladies greet me at the door and politely issue me a ticket. Impressive tans, and teeth. Their arresting beauty is like an ass massage before my colon detox.

Rob is in good spirits after a prosperous opening night in his home town earlier in the week, wandering with reassuring nonchalance. He wears I Am None, top and bottoms. It is not the summer range but still culturally appropriate. The ensemble is adorned warmly with a debonair overcoat, and a beer - maybe his third, rests leisurely in his hand.

The bar is to the right of the makeshift theatre, and it is gravely lacking character. Chairs are arranged in an informal fashion, beneath a large projector screen which remains lifeless until the guests assume their seats. Tonight's attendance, I am told, is comparatively unflattering to Monday's screening. Amoungst the faces is a suave Garth Mcgregor who looks less threatening, yet still very unapproachable minus the facial hair.

The lights are dimmed fashionably late. A film by...........Robert Sherwood. Alex Bunting is applying sunscreen. Clouds are moving very fast. James Nymeyer is smoking?

On my left, Dallas is maybe discussing the merits of the film with its creator. Their conversation is muffled by the deafening wail of Thom Yorke. Dallas nods. Rob smiles.

Pierre and Amaury surf extremely well. The south coast is kind to them, so they spit in gravity's face. Their is a brief pause of uncomfortable nothingness between chapters, creating an opportune moment of silence to shout out personal jokes and behave with exaggerated fervor.

At a brisk twenty five minutes in length, some will be left unsatisfied. Optimists will be revitalized. As the credits roll, the majority of critique is directed at Rob's inexperience, but most are happy to shrug this off as an invaluable learning curve. An impression has been stamped, and emerging talent duly noted.

A small contingent migrate to the leagues club ten minutes across town. In the confusingly themed bistro, schnitzel and noodles are ordered. The service is gauche and the food forgettable. Conversation evolves fluently from virgin film making to the art of deflowering the purest of females.

Wade Masters, star of chapter six, recalls a nostalgic evening in the company of a fair maiden.

"That feels really good, but I think I'm going to pee." he mimics.

"No honey. That's an orgasm." 


Click here to order a copy of Nothing.

THE POINT

Most days like the one above it will go unridden and not looked at. Free from groms and the Cavesy Boys.