This is supposed to be a movie review of The Westsiders, but I'm not sure if I ever got around to that part.

So I come from a generation raised on slasher films and movies about devil children, seasoned with Surfer Magazine and BeachBee bikinis. I still have a copy of the Sassy Magazine issue with Kurt and Courtney on the cover and I have vivid memories of being totally freaked out by Ronald Reagan. Nightmares. The man gave me nightmares that always took place in dark, closed down amusement parks, underneath towering log rides with Old West themes. My generation had a letter and the letter assigned to us was X, which is still cool because, hello, Exene and John Doe, forever in our hearts. Another name for us, slackers. To label is to limit, but slacker has always fit like a glove. I am the slacker version of an overachieving workaholic. So like, I work my ass off but not so secretly dream of not working my ass off and constantly hope I am winning the lottery soon so I can just hang out.

This may affect my dog training. One of my agility pals is preparing for his first International Competition. Like a big deal. People I know from dog shows win spots on the World Team. My peers. Me, I'm super happy because we got a 45 minute agility practice in between rainstorms and still made it downtown in time to see the film festival showing of a movie about surfer drug addicts from my neighborhood. I will tell you this though, it was a damn good practice. All the dogs did some agility, and all the dogs did it well. There were weave poles and jumping and fast start lines. There was no lameness, no crashing, and no running off into the woods. All weave poles all the time, maximum fastness of running and accuracy, and really so much fun. And we did it all well, and, slacker that I am, I consider this an accomplishment and will spend actual brain cels wondering if this counts as accomplishment or not. This is a topic that is on my mind these days.

In my dog agility outfit, I rushed back out in the rain to get to the movies. Versatility of outfits that takes one from dashing about in wet grass to movie premieres out on the town is important to my fashion life. In Santa Cruz, we can go to movies on a Monday before the noon hour, dressed in wet jeans and t-shirts and slip on Vans, and know that there will be many other people wearing the exact same outfit. And that a movie about surfers can be sold out on a Monday morning. This was the second premiere of The Westsiders, and it's about slackers who rise to the top in pro surfing, then explode and fall back to earth hard. It's a documentary, made by a buddy of the subjects. Some of the subjects may have lived on my street at one time and maybe our interactions weren't always so nice. Like the time the pitbull jumped out of the truck and I had to chase it with a board and screamed over the fence something along the lines of, "You F&*king CRACKHEADS Get your Goddamn Pitbull!" Some of the subjects are guys that I've seen around town forever, just didn't know they were giant surfing stars.

If there is ever a dog agility documentary, which I would totally make if I wasn't so slackery, those guys would probably say the same thing. "Like dude, that's totally the chubby knee lady with all those little black RAT dogs!" IF they came to the premiere. And I hope they would. Although the dog agility version, might be a little less raw. The thing is, all the ladies and fellas I know in agility, none of them are super crazy junkies and drinkers, with dark and shady pasts that involve Columbian drug cartels and torturing people in the forest. So far none of my friends have skyrocketed to the top, then fizzled out and come crashing back to earth with broken bones and jail time and crawling into rehab. Maybe I have to dig a little deeper. If I visited Facebook enough, would I find some deeper stories?

I think you might like this movie. Filmicly, it's not the greatest, but if you live in my neighborhood, you might see your house, and you will get to know just why Flea spiraled into such a wreck, leaving the giant junkpile of waverunners and boards and lowriders and garbage to rot in his driveway. And you will see other guys you know from just walking the dogs. And really, can a movie with so much surf footage ever be all that bad? And anyways, good for the guy that made it. Who am I to judge? I could be out taping the next great agility documentary film, but instead I spent the day removing Roombas from the floor because Otterpop is a total ass to anyone that goes near her Roombas now and must be stopped. And then moved potted succulents from one spot to another out the back door. I did a load of laundry. I say, if you can pick up that camera or computer or paintbrush or pen, and drop the succulents or wet boxes from the front porch, even if it comes out a little bit long winded and weakly edited you're coming out ahead.