I remember it as clearly as if it were yesterday—looking out the bus window and spotting this lanky, long-haired guy doing a handstand with his skateboard balanced on his feet, effortlessly walking on his hands. He had this natural flow, like he was dancing with gravity. Reimagining that day, it feels like a scene from a nostalgic super-8 film, with light leaks and fluttering frames. The bus slowly passed by these two free spirits, skateboarding in a parking lot. Both had long hair and an undeniable aura of freedom.
I had been skating since I was around ten years old, but since moving to Santa Barbara, I hadn’t found anyone to skate with. Seeing those two, I made it my mission to meet them.
The long-haired guy’s name was AM. I had seen him around school and decided to approach him. Even without knowing him, I sensed he was a kindred spirit. I was right. We became very close friends and shared countless adventures. He opened up my world, filling it with light and whimsy. He didn’t carry the heavy Midwest cloak I was used to.
AM and his friend DA were known as sponge riders by the surfers because they rode boogie boards. Their skating style reflected the flow and chill vibe of beach life, not the aggressive surfer attitude. They had long hair, wetsuit tan lines, and smiles that could calm a feral cat.
They were the first guys I knew who smoked weed to expand their minds and chill in nature. Back in Wisconsin, the riff-raff I was used to would get stoned, listen to Metallica or Dr. Dre, and lift weights or hang out in someone’s dank basement all day. AM and DA, however, introduced me to a whole new world of music. They played old-school ska and Lee Scratch Perry, sounds that were fresh and vibrant to my ears. I was initially reluctant to fully embrace the reggae dub vibes, but ska music? That, I could get down with.
AM and I became very close friends. Despite our different upbringings and perspectives, we shared a curiosity and an interesting approach to life. He introduced me to healthier eating and the joy of a simpler, more mindful lifestyle. His house was near my stepmother’s daycare, so I spent most weekends there. I’m not sure how his parents put up with me, but they had the patience and grace to welcome me into their home and lives. They were amazing. We even took a trip to NYC together when I was around 20.
The three of us decided to build lowrider bikes from scratch. AM’s dad had a garage with basic tools, so we got some old beach cruisers, found cool parts in lowrider magazines, and got to work. Over three months, we did all the bondo work, sewing, and painting ourselves. Back then, there wasn’t a huge market for lowrider bike parts, and communicating with shops wasn’t as easy or convenient as it is today. Plus, we had to wait for shipping. But when we finally finished, we were thrilled. I wish I could remember what happened to that bike. I suspect I probably destroyed it, like so many other aspects of my past life.
That part of my life always stuck with me. One of the first commercials I directed and wrote, which included dialogue, was inspired by those times.
DA and AM remained integral parts of my life while I was in Santa Barbara. Sometimes DA and I would hang out more, especially as we got more into partying—something that never appealed to AM. Eventually, AM moved up to San Francisco.
We had an amazing group of friends who could hang out for hours or even days without ever getting bored. We’d skate, talk, listen to music, and just live life. It was great, and I remember those days with immense fondness.
When I was back in Santa Barbara this April, I ran into an old mutual friend of AM and me. I asked if he had heard from AM. He hadn’t. I hadn't heard from AM in quite some time either. I had gotten wrapped up in my LA lifestyle, and AM saw right through it. Every friend I’ve spoken to had a weird falling out with him, mentioning that he had some mental health issues and even lived on the streets for a bit. But right now, no one knows where he is, or if he’s even alive.
It’s incredibly sad—he was such a sensitive and beautiful soul. I wish I could have been there for him more. I was so absorbed in my hustle and my life that I lost touch with reality, focusing only on my own perspective. Looking back, I wish I had been more present, less wrapped up in the lifestyle. Even today, I feel the urge to take a break from the BS. I’ve spent half my life hustling and chasing a facade—a lifestyle that reminds me of a Hollywood set. From the front, it looks like an entire NYC street, but from the side, it’s just a flat facade of plywood and paint, designed to fool you into thinking there's depth and substance.
I want the final chapter of the Mister Moyer adventures to be filled with heart and substance. Do you feel the same when looking back at your life? I feel that I was just a character actor in this life of mine, not fully committed to the part as the main character. Hydroplaning through it all, never really touching the surface, just skimming along, getting bounced around in different directions to this day.
Thank you for coming along for the ride.
I have to apologize for a moment—I still don’t think I’m fully back into writing mode. I feel like I’ve just skimmed the surface. But I promise, in the next edition, I’ll reveal how I got the shit kicked out of me by a bunch of SBHS Eastside Chollo gangsters. Stay tuned!
Love & Light, MM
EYE HOLE: I created this. Do you know how I can become a video artist? I would love to get my work into galleries, I have seen worse in reputable museums. If you have experience in this world or have a contact/lead let me know.
That was a great reminiscent piece. I can smell the SoCali salt in the air. Brought back a lot of memories and reminded me of my own crew. We were 10 years before you and it was prog rock served up with early German electro Klaus Shultz and Tangerine Dream. We thought we were so cool drinking imported Dinkelacker bier. We’d save up our money to rebuild VW’s by ordering parts off Hot VW magazine.