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CHRIMAS HODBOE had another glorious Saturday, which means so did everyone on the 10am, 12pm, and 2pm tours. The La Jolla Ecological Preserve was cold and cloudy and still considered perfect because of CHRIMAS HODBOE. CHRIMAS HODBOE doesn’t always use gravity, but when he does he makes it feel cheap.

CHRIMAS HODBOE took two seconds to think about crime on Saturday and guess what happened? Crime rate was zero for the next two hours, for the entire world. CHRIMAS HODBOE is unaffected by paradox. In fact, CHRIMAS HODBOE created paradox, and almonds. You’re welcome nerds.

Tsunamis and tigers have been known to run from CHRIMAS HODBOE.

Speaking of tigers, let’s talk about ligers. Ligers are real. They are the product of a male lion, a female tiger and CHRIMAS HODBOE. Big cats have a growth inhibitor gene that keeps them from reaching unsustainable size in the wild. This gene was placed in the female genome of lions and in the male genome of tigers by CHRIMAS HODBOE. Ligers are born without growth inhibitor genes and are thus able to reach heights of 14 ft. and weigh over 900 lbs. They are giants while tigons (products of male tigers and female lions and not CHRIMAS HODBOE) are dwarves. CHRIMAS HODBOE does not like dwarves. Unless they carry an axe and have a red beard longer than they are tall.

Here’s a quick guide to success:

In 1981, every bestselling book was written by CHRIMAS HODBOE. Each book was gifted to the “author” in a nightmare. This is the nightmare they all had:

The rusted metal door of the storage unit glistened with moisture from the dissipating fog of the late night. Weak light shone on the chipped paint of the stenciled number 42 above the door. Each step towards the door sent a muffled echo through the empty rows of storage units. He looked at the key in his hand. It was the only thing left in his father’s house. Each click of it sliding slowly into the lock quickened his heartbeat. The sound of the bolt disengaging felt like the judgement of a gavel cracking down. With sweaty palms he pushed the roll-down door of the unit up, the stillness of the night destroyed by the noise of the door retracting.

He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but the floor to ceiling hoard of odds and ends wasn’t it. The pale light of the moon, only barely increased by the lone lamp at the far end of the corridor, bathed stacked boxes and pieces of old and rotten furniture. Loose articles of clothing could be seen randomly placed among the containers. An old blender perched precariously on an end table, filled with dirty and yellowed golf balls. As he stepped closer, a powerful mustiness and sickly sweet smell assaulted him.

He reached up and pulled down a faded pencil box and opened it. Lisa Frank stickers and pencils threatened to spill out. He put the box down beside him and pulled on the end table. For the next hour, he rummaged through the assortment of items. It seemed like anything and everything was collected without any rhyme or reason as to why. He found baseball cards crumpled up next to lawn darts. A bust of some roman philosopher rested on a decrepit nightstand next to a glass jar filled with dimes. He pulled all these things out and into the corridor. With each new worthless piece of crap he removed, a hole in the hoard became bigger and his pulse quickened.

An incredible urgency swept through him as he made his way deeper into the trove of junk. Faster and faster he removed the items. He was almost throwing things as he pawed his way into his father’s collection. He flung a huge mesh bag of wine bottle corks out of the mass, revealing a desk at head height. He could see through the hole in the junk the desk made. It was empty and dark beyond it. Climbing up, his excitement continued to build. Something more had to be behind there, something worth hiding behind all this shit.

Pulling his head and shoulders through, his hands grabbed hold of a metal pipe running down from the ceiling and elbowing off into the darkness. He struggled to squeeze through the opening, the skin of his protruding belly folding over painfully as he wormed his way in. Holding onto the pipe, he finally pulled the rest of his body through the opening, his legs reaching down to find the floor. His heart hammered in his chest. The sickly odor hung heavily over him. The light from outside was but a small beam shining past his face. He stepped forward, groping along the wall of junk.

Inching his way deeper into the dark unit, the hairs stood up on the back of his neck. Closer and closer he made his way to the light shining through. A noise from within stopped him cold. The sound of metal dragging reached his ears from directly across him. A rasping croak rang out and immobilized him in fear. A torrent of chains being snapped taut sang loudly as a white face thrust into the light in front of him. He stumbled back, scrambling on the damp concrete floor and stared in horror at the gaping mouth and waxy face writhing in the light. Clumps of stringy hair on it’s balding head hung wetly against it’s face. Bulging eyes with milky cataracts sought blindly for him. The gasping croak raised in pitch and intensity, spilling out from the missing spaces of brown teeth in an enormous mouth. Clawed hands strained against thick chains as it pleaded in a cracked and rough voice, “Feed me.”

Each “author” woke up after having this dream, ate a pancake without syrup and sat down at an Underwood No. 5 typewriter and wrote Jumanji, Cujo, Red Dragon, Djinn, and The One Minute Manager. Again, you’re welcome bookworms.

CHRIMAS HODBOE rarely eats pancakes. Osmosis was invented by CHRIMAS HODBOE as his preferred method of reading.

Goodreads Book Giveaway

The Dark Roast by Thomas Uriah Jarboe

The Dark Roast

by Thomas Uriah Jarboe

Giveaway ends December 03, 2013.

See the giveaway details
at Goodreads.

Enter to win



The power of a sentence, of a single word, of an omission, can rock the foundations of your world and leave you stumbling on shifting sand, unsure of where you stand. Something I noticed from something I wrote and from what I didn’t write. It bolstered the old axiom, “Choose your words carefully,” as you never know what someone will take from them. It is the intentional fallacy: once these words leave my fingertips, they are no longer mine. I only hope their new owners feel moved by them. That is what I want to do with my writing. I want to move people the way I’ve been moved. I want my words to engage and encompass and pull someone into a world completely free of the one in which we live. I want to create a moment of escape where the stresses and the issues of life are gone for a time. I want to tell a story that grips the reader and holds them hostage for a length of time. I want my words to matter in the ways that I want them to matter. Those near and dear will always take something away from my words, and I have to understand that it may not be what I had in mind. Intent and content are often misaligned. So for those that know me, I’m sorry ahead of time, I’m just trying to reach those not already mine.


CHRIMAS HODBOE is at the helm. Prepare to have your mind hole shattered and scattered to the four corners of The Universe. Just ask Kristy Mincey. She knows; she’s had a taste. If you don’t know who she is, look her up. And pay your water bill while you’re at it.

I would say that I digress, but I don’t. Ever. Even though I invented that word.

Who is CHRIMAS HODBOE? Picture The Most Interesting Man in the World. Now burn that picture. CHRIMAS HODBOE can’t be compared to anything or anyone that has ever existed, not even The Predator. You think Danny Glover stands a chance against CHRIMAS HODBOE? You’re insane, commit yourself.

CHRIMAS HODBOE is one name, two people, and infinite power. You already know about Thomas (the Duke) Jarboe. And he mentioned Christopher (Son of Hod) Hodson in the last post. Also, be careful peeing in the wind. CHRIMAS HODBOE has a plan, it’s world-changing. In fact, it’ll save the world at the precise moment of its doom. We’re talking apocalypse reversal. Not prevention because nothing can stop the apocalypse from coming, except CHRIMAS HODBOE.

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The meaning of life is to obtain 90 minutes of guided kayaking through the La Jolla Ecological Preserve with CHRIMAS HODBOE. Also, CHRIMAS HODBOE is within 437.6 miles of your location at all times.

Fact: Chuck Norris ruled The Universe until CHRIMAS HODBOE decided he shouldn’t. I can’t be bothered with the tedium of running it, so I handed over the reins to the spirit of Douglas Adams, he reigns in my stead.

Super Fact: Everest is the product of Lincoln logs, 30 minutes of spare time and CHRIMAS HODBOE. You’re welcome earth.

Another Fact: CHRIMAS HODBOE created aliens and radio. You’re welcome.

Check this out:

“Hey man, you know where I can—”
“I’m more than a man.”
“I…I…I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”
“Two and one half blocks west, on the north side of the street.”
“It’s the yogurt shop where you can find cake batter flavored frozen yogurt.”
“How did you know that’s what I was looking for?”
“What should I get my girlfriend for her birthday?”
“What she wants most isn’t a material object. She’s waiting for you to be fully committed. When she looks at you, she sees hesitation. She wants to know you’re in it for the long haul. Go to craigslist, search for one-bedroom apartments within a nine mile radius of Vons. Pick three and print out the listings. Give her that. And a pair of gloves.”

After this conversation, the guy did as he was instructed. He and his girlfriend are now engaged and the gloves prevented her from getting frostbite when their car broke down in Alaska. CHRIMAS HODBOE cares, CHRIMAS HODBOE slays dragons.

You want gold? Here’s how you get it:

Step 1 – Find at least fifteen bearded gnomes. Capture them by using candy traps. Shave those beards.
Step 2 – Braid those beards into a lasso. Soak finished lasso in a bucket of your sweat for three days. Let the lasso dry in the heat of the sun during an eclipse. Now it’s magical.
Step 3 – While riding a one-horned bull, use your new magical lasso to capture a unicorn.
Step 4 – Milk the unicorn.
Step 5 – Find a rainbow that terminates at the base of a clover patch. You’ll find Darby the leprechaun there. Tell him I sent you and offer him a swig of your unicorn milk. Make sure it’s at precisely 39 degrees F. He’ll be pissed if it isn’t.
Step 6 – Once Darby passes out, grab him by his left ankle and hold him upside down. Four golden coins will fall out. Take two, don’t be greedy.
Step 7 – Get CHRIMAS HODBOE tattooed onto the back of your neck. If you don’t, your gold will disappear.

You’re welcome, again.

It was a pleasure meeting you.


Gone Kayaking

I’d like to tell you about my Saturday. It was one of those days that come along and make you feel good to be alive. It was one of those days that make you glad to be doing what you do for a living. It was one of those days that make you happy to know the people that you do. So here it is, my Saturday:

6:00 a.m. my alarm sounds from across the room. I think about whether or not I’m going to ride my bike to work. Deciding against it, I hit the snooze.

6:10 a.m. my alarm sounds from across the room. I think about whether or not I’m going to get up in the next ten minutes. Deciding against it, I hit the snooze.

6:20 a.m. my alarm sounds from across the room. I think about whether or not I’m going to get up in the next ten minutes. Deciding I better, I turn off the alarm. And stare at the popcorn ceiling above my head for the next ten minutes. Getting ready for work is simple; I put on a pair of boardshorts, a tank top and a hat. Now I’m ready.

My drive to work is quick and beautiful. I live uphill from the beach so the drive down offers a stunning view of the wide open ocean and the white sandy beaches of La Jolla Shores. The northern facing limestone cliff face stands out boldly and the water in front of Devil’s Slide looks like a lake.

7:00 a.m. I clock in at Everyday California. Chris Hodson is already there. We started at the company at the same time and used to work the same shift all the time. We’re often buddied up for tours and will spend the whole day taking out tours and moving boats. He’s an ex-army, long-haired Washingtonian with a sense of humor almost as twisted as my own. He is, unfortunately, sick today.

To open, we move boats. Quite a few of them. We load up the back of the truck with eleven orange or ivory 12 ft. 75 lb. kayaks and tie them down tight. The whole time we’re just shooting the shit, talking about a range of topics from welding winery wine tanks to tipping cows and how shitty our tips have been lately. Early morning work with early morning minds wandering through the last vestiges of sleep, the dreamscape of it all settles warmly in my chest while the sand begins to make it’s way onto my body.

It gets everywhere, the sand. I’ve long since stopped caring and have moved past accepting it to embracing it. I take it with me everywhere I go, depositing bits of La Jolla across San Diego.

8:15 a.m. people arrive to check in for their 9:00 a.m. tour. We have to hustle now. Twenty guests have come from all over to paddle a kayak with the Son of Hod and the Duke of Diego. They need wetsuits and they need lifejackets and helmets. Some of them need their hand held a little bit. They need a smiling face and confident attitude to reassure them that they’re going to be safe, that they’re in good hands, that they’re going to have a good time.

8:45 a.m. the Son of Hod finishes getting everyone geared up and ready to head to the beach. I take the first load of boats down to the boat launch. We’re not the only kayak tour company on the street; two other trucks with different colored kayaks pull out behind me, forming a sort of kayak convoy. We all stop at the end of the street, waiting for 9:00 a.m. to tick by. The San Diego Lifeguards make the rules and for whatever reason, they say we can’t be on the beach before 9:00 a.m. At 8:57 a.m. I crane my head around, looking for a red truck on the beach. The coast is clear. Time to deposit the boats.

9:10 a.m. our tour is finally on the water. The surf is almost non-existent. The wind is likewise absent. The visibility is close to 30 ft. In short, it’s an amazing day; perfect you could say. We paddle south towards the seven sea caves, taking a pit stop in front of Dr. Suess’s old house. Below us, hundreds of Leopard Sharks swim along the bottom, perfectly visible. The oohs and the ahhs never get old. The joy and astonishment bring a genuine smile to my face every time. I look over at the Son of Hod, his smile says the same despite being sick.

9:35 a.m. we hit the caves. Cameras are gathering memories and I’m putting my fins on. The Clam awaits. It’s not really a cave, The Clam; it doesn’t terminate. In truth, it’s a small cavern that empties out into a small cove. Regardless of what you call it, it is beautiful inside. The ceiling is about fifteen feet high and the water has eroded shelves that enable Sea Lions to hangout and relax. I swim two kayaks in at a time, watching the swell and stabilizing them so they can take in the amazing surroundings. Little baby Sea Lions look curiously at everybody I swim in, as if I trained them to do so. Hodson will tell you he did.

10:07 a.m as if on cue, The Son of Hod asks me what time it is. Everytime he does, it’s seven after. This is probably the tenth time. It’s starting to creep me out. He tells everyone it’s one of his superpowers. His other one is breathholding. We demonstrate this by diving down 30 ft. to the bottom of the kelp forest to gather sand from the ocean floor. Sinus cavities filled with seawater are a small price to pay for the smiles on the little kids’ faces. They call us mermaids and we correct them: we’re mermen.

10:20 a.m. we head in, the tour is done. No waves means no kayak surfing, but everyone had a fantastic time. Chrimas Hodboe is born on the walk back. He’s too big for this blog post, he deserves his own, he’ll take the stage for the next one. He’s full of shenanigans. In fact, he invented them.

10:45 a.m. we start the whole process over again for the 11:00 a.m. tour. Rinse and repeat.

3:10 p.m. Tommy Two Guns walks into the shop. “We’re goin’ clammin’. You comin’?” he asks in his thick Long Island accent. I tell him I’m not sure if I’m off yet. I check with my boss Brian. I’m good to go. I’ve never been clammin’ before and I tell Tommy. “Don’t worry about it. It’s easy, come on,” he says. We head out to his Toyota FJ Cruiser. “We gotta pick up Hageman first, hop in,” he says.

3:15 p.m. Chris Hageman gets in and asks me if I want a beer. I graciously accept and sit in the back and enjoy the show. We’re going to the Silver Strand beach just off of Coronado. The twenty-five minute drive is the best part. Tommy Two Guns and Hageman continue their day-long conversation. It’s like the odd couple. Tommy is a retired NYPD cop. Hageman, well in truth I don’t really know what he does. He surfs, he’s a got a new house up in Encinitas that he’s been working on for a while and he used to work at Everyday California. His controlled tone and attitude are an interesting contrast to Tommy’s New York style. Their conversation spirals through a multitude of subjects, with points being made that are sometimes acknowledged by the other and often argued over. Occasionally my input is asked for in support for some point one is trying to make.

3:40 p.m. we park in the lot by the stretch of beach we’re going to be clammin’ on. I get a quick lesson on how to find a clam and am handed a couple of manure rakes and a bucket. New guy carries the gear. We’re each allowed ten clams, according to our fishing license. We spend the next hour stabbing our manure rakes into the sand in ankle-deep water. When the rake hits a clam, it feels like you hit solid concrete. You reach down and dig up the clam. It is incredibly simple. And weirdly fun.

5:30 p.m. we arrive back at the shop. The boys are finishing up, moving all the boats back inside. I fell asleep on the ride back and Tommy and Hageman gently chide me for it. Before my nap, Tommy went over how to steam the clams and how to make clam chowder. It was a long list of instructions, to which Hageman said, “You get all that Duke? Can you remember that essay Tommy just told you?” I smiled and assured him I did while he and Tommy argued over whether or not to add bacon to the broth.

5:45 p.m. the closing crew and myself walk down the street to Jeff’s Burgers to get a bite to eat. Kayaking all day and moving boats will wipe you out. Food is an immediate concern once you’re done. The camaraderie of the group over a shared bite talking about the shared work of the day is special. Respect flows easily from each person and the small silences as everyone eats says it all. We’re a team. We work together and get shit done. We bring people out on the ocean and give them experiences they will never forget. And then we eat. And then we talk. And we laugh.

6:20 p.m. I head home, stopping off at the grocery store to get supplies. A tall pot, bacon, corn, whipping cream, butter, white wine, yukon potatoes, celery, a white onion and some sourdough loaves leave with me.

7:00 p.m. I start steaming the clams. Sierra comes over and offers to be my kitchen assistant. I overcook the clams. The chowder comes together mostly as planned. It takes longer than I thought it would and the clams are extremely chewy. But it’s good. And I went with Hageman’s advice and added bacon. It was a good call.

It started early. I moved some boats. I kayaked all day. I dug up some clams. I made clam chowder. I spent most of my day in the ocean. Ten years ago I never would have imagined that this Saturday would be a typical day for me. My life has had a strange and twisted route. I’m in a good place now. And I’m excited for the things to come. If you made it this far, I’m thankful. I probably would’ve stopped reading this post early on. I’ll try not to do this too often, but I felt the need to share a beautiful day. I hope you have your own.

-the Duke

Press Releases

Public Relations Manager, my newest hat for Everyday California. To be honest, I have absolutely no clue how to do that job. I’ve read a little bit about it and I’m still confused on what I need to actually do. So far, I’ve figured out that I need to come up with relevant press releases that will hopefully grab a journalist’s attention and pique their professional curiosity enough to write an article based on the release. Without getting too long-winded about it, here’s my first attempt:


Kayaking with Grey Whales

50 ft. 40 ton Grey Whales begin their annual migration south, passing by Everyday California Kayakers

La Jolla, Oct. 15, 2013 — Grey Whales provide kayakers with Everyday California once-in-a-lifetime opportunities when leaving the waters of the Arctic and heading south to the lagoons of Mexico. Each year beginning in October Grey Whales depart their feeding grounds, swimming through the waters just off the coast of San Diego on their way to their breeding grounds. Everyday California guides groups of people out past the La Jolla Ecological Reserve in tandem kayaks to watch this spectacular event. The natural boat launch in La Jolla provides a unique and safe place for kayaks to enter the open waters of the Pacific Ocean.

Mike Samer, one of the owners of Everyday California, said, “Being able to see a Grey Whale, an animal as big as a city bus, breach the water next to your kayak is one of those unforgettable moments you’ll talk about for the rest of your life. It’s like nothing you’ve ever done.” The experience begins November 15th and runs until the middle of March. The annual migration is the largest migration of any mammal. The average grey whale will travel the distance to the moon and back during its lifetime. And with population growth at record highs, Grey Whale sightings are becoming more and more frequent. For more information on Grey Whales, visit the Birch Aquarium website at

Besides whales, Everyday California kayakers interact with Sea Lions, Harbor Seals and Common Dolphins as well. The bottom-feeding Grey Whale stirs up the nutrient-rich waters, attracting large pods of dolphins and birds such as the California Brown Pelican, the Western Gull and the Brandt’s Cormorant. This interspecies mingling creates amazing interactions for people to take part in and witness.

About Everyday California

The essence of Everyday California is based on our love of the California Dream and the ocean. Avid watermen and women are the backbone of our action water sports company. We specialize in guided kayak tours of the La Jolla Ecological Reserve, creating memorable experiences and sharing the dream. Our new clothing line embodies these ideals and expressions. Welcome to Everyday California, it’s a State of Mind.

# # #


Duke Jarboe, PR Manager/Writer/Tour Guide  
Everyday California
7472 La Jolla Blvd, CA 92037
(Office) 858.454.6195 (Cell) 619.459.2715
email: twitter @teamedca

I did plenty of research on how to write press releases and I tried my best to follow the format and style, but I’m still unsure of what I wrote. It feels wooden and boring, but most of the press releases I read were. The how-to’s placed a huge emphasis on keeping it minimal and straightforward but that the first sentence and the headline need to hook a prospective journalist. I read this release and I find the content interesting but boring, but I am my harshest critic. What do you think? If you were a journalist, would this make you want to learn more and maybe spend your time writing about it? Let me know what you think in the comments section below. Thanks for reading!

-the Duke


I’m sure almost everyone who reads this has heard the song “Thrift Shop” by Macklemore. Many of you probably know the lyrics and sing along when it plays on the radio. It’s catchy, fun, and has a good message. It also launched a popular underground rapper from Seattle into superstardom. It was the hook that pulled me and many others into Macklemore’s powerful album The Heist.

The quality of the music behind the album is stunning. An instrumental track featuring The Teaching sucks you into a deep and rich musical experience that is complex and encompassing. The whole album features extremely talented musicians and singers from Seattle. And the lyrics laid over this awesome music redefine what hip hop is.

Gay rights, consumerism, relapse and alcoholism, and the analysis of superficiality are just a few of the issues and themes explored. But the freshness of the music and the originality of the message aren’t the most amazing thing about the album. The most inspiring and motivating aspect of The Heist is that it was independently produced. No record label put their mitts on it. There was no million dollar marketing campaign behind it. And because of that, it remained pure. It is the sole creation of the artists, unpolluted by capitalistic ideals. And it’s beyond amazing. The process is a huge paradigm shift for the music industry.

For me, it’s a motivating success story. I’m independent of an editor, an agent, a giant publishing house. There’s many tools and resources I’m not able to take advantage of because of that, but I am able to retain complete creative freedom. My story, my way. I listen to The Heist and I hear that sentiment and I feel inspired. If you haven’t listened to the whole album, I highly recommend that you do. It might inspire you.

Comic Book Project

So I’m writing a script for a comic book. I don’t have a working title for it, I initially was using Solaris and then my buddy Josh Ortega quickly informed me that this was a title for a movie with George Clooney. I haven’t seen the movie, I doubt it has much in common with what I’m writing, but now I’ll have to come up with a new title. I’m usually pretty good at doing this, but I’m having a hard time with this one. I put up a page on here with the very, very short exercise that prompted the comic book idea. I would love any suggestions.

The main character is named Erik Kalldron, and his superpowers are gained from an accident with a plasma collector on the surface of the sun. The story takes place in our not too distant future. This is a future where Space Tourism is flourishing and the Space Industry in general is almost like a new wild west. There are no laws in space, only corporate policy. Some of the themes I hope to explore: Corporate-run governments, Indentured servitude gained from United States college graduates mired in student loan debt, Imperialism, Inequality, Justice, Revenge, etc.

I’m very excited about it and I hope it comes to fruition. I have a wonderful few first pages that I really like, at least for now. I have this horrible hatred for most of what I write and it is nice to not feel that way on a project. The Dark Roast pulls me down that negative hole often; I hate the first half. I can’t even read it. When I try, I want to set it on fire and delete it from Amazon. It’s crazy.

Anyway, that’s all for now. Have a good day everyone and don’t die!


-the duke