Pet Cobra

The Surf Report for Friday, June 28: For Life

Regular readers will recall that a few days ago, I was kvetching about my lack of enthusiasm - stoke, if you will - for surfing. A couple of days ago I received an email from a fellow surfer that I wanted to share.

Hi.
I don't' know why I'm writing this but somehow landed on your blog via the
surfing the surfing thing. Anyway I couldn't help but notice your entry on
losing the feeling.
A couple of years ago I enjoyed my 50th birthday trip to the islands off
northern Sumatra... No not the Mentawais, but north, the Telos, Hinakos and
breaks on Nias.
Throughout the trip a video camera was present and I suffered acute
'performance anxiety'... Worried about every turn, just too much angst for a
holiday. One of my mates said 'Micko, what are you worrying about... Why do
you surf anyway...?' My answer..." Fun.."... "Exactly" was his reply.

It's all about fun, and sometimes, as you get older about loss, too.
It doesn't get easier, but for me just one good turn, or moment in an
otherwise crappy session can make or break a surf... They provide that link
to the days when I could do it all the time.
The joy also comes from just being out there. Here in Victoria, Australia, a
lot of the spots look exactly the same from the water as they did 35 years
ago. If I don't look at my wrinkly old hands I might still be 16 years old..

My non surfing friends wonder why I bother...my answer is that it's a gift.
Once you can do it you are placed in a priviliged group able to witness the
rare and wonderful sights privy only to those comfortable in the area where
the waves break. I think even if I could barely paddle out, I'd still do it,
just to be there.
Sorry for interrupting your day, and sticking my nose in, but it sounded as
though you needed a lift.

...and the next day he sent me a followup:

What I’d meant to say as well was the the reason for the trip was tinged by a promise a mate and I made to each other when we were driving through southern France in 1978... “Micko, when we turn fifty we’ve got to get our picture taken coming out of a barrel”
Twenty six years later...

The words and the image were in my head this morning as I paddled out. The surf was flat, I ate shit on the only two waves that were even ridable, but still, the warm water, the stillness in the air, it was a gift. So to Micko, a heartfelt "thanks, mate".

Pot, Say Hello To Tertera

Some irony, so delicious it ought to be served at Ruth's Chris: the other day we're driving up Encinitas Blvd., past the stripmall where local migrant workers gather to be picked up by the white folk to be paid shit-on-the-dollar for backbreaking work. And wouldn't you know, there were a bunch of Concerned Real Americans carrying signs with slogans that really show what this country is all about: "Go Back To Mexico And Leave The Jobs To Us", "Illegals Are Illegal", "Patriots Don't Hire Ilegals (sic)". Yes, the Patriots were out in force, protesting undocumented workers and the burden on society that they create.

Upon further examination (we were at a stoplight, making such scrutiny possible), I noticed something interesting about our local, hard-working, not-a-burden-on-society Minutemen. Not one of them looked younger than 70.

Snippet

"Now, do you think this guy is homeless? Or is he just rockin' the look?"

"That's going in the blog."

Mac Daddy

Today I take my first step into a larger world. For today we venture forth to the Apple Store, there to buy a MacBook Pro.

Beth and I have both been using our work laptops for personal stuff - I know! Who DOES such a thing? I feel dirty! - but for numerous reasons (chief among them - Dells purchased by the company on the cheap are, as expected, slow crashprone pieces of shit and draw viruses like this guy). As I'm now a Paid Professional Blogger (got my first ads up on DadCentric - I've officially Sold Out!), I'm told that I can write it off. (Wait - if I write stuff about surfing on DadCentric...does that mean I can write off a new surfboard purchase? Must investigate.)

Anyway, Mac People, soon I will be one of you. No longer will I count myself among the ranks of the Plain-Bellied Sneetches. When I get my Star-Belly, I'll send you pics, via the thing's built-in webcam.

Moving Inland

Some of you may recall that this site used to be a surfing blog; not so much these days, it seems.

I could probably come up with a number of excuses as to why - saving the surfing stuff for a book I'm working on (sorta true), trying to come up with more interesting stuff to talk about (eh, ok, sure), focusing on DadCentric (yeah, not so much). But the real reason...well, had a bit of an epiphany this past Sunday.

The folks were in town, and we all went down to Homebreak. The family remained ashore while I, breaking an oath I'd made to myself a few months ago, paddled out on the longboard. I'd had a string of piss-poor sessions - either the conditions sucked, or I did - and it seemed time to put the Hogfish on hold and take the Hollingsworth out and actually catch and ride a few waves, which, if I recall, is kinda the point of the whole thing. So out I paddled, into knee-high crossed up slop. And caught nothing. Not one goddamn wave. Adding insult to injury was the other guy, riding a softboard and managing to snag a few weak rollers. And so it was that I found myself bobbing in the nice warm water, and as I often do, started muttering aloud to no one.

"I'm so fucking shit of this shit. What a fucking waste of time."

I paddled back in, and to add further insult, noticed that the small bubble in the glass on the underside of the board - my first custom, the board that I'd hoped to keep pristine and pass along to the kid one day - had morphed into a full-blown buckle, the fiberglass separating from the board in an eight-inch ripple. Great.

Sports fans, I gotta tell ya - I'm burned out. I'd thought that getting the new board, with it's idiosyncrasies, would be just the thing to get me back on the surfing horse, give me a challenge and make it fun again. But it's become work, effort, with very few rewards. The fun is gone. More than that, I wonder if I'm clinging to something that I should have let go of years ago. I'm no longer the skinny beach bum I was in my twenties. Back then, I was in the water every day, and it showed - I may not have been a great surfer, but I was at least a competent one. Now...now I'm a kook. I rail against people who tell me I need to grow up, but is there some truth to that?

I don't know. I see guys twice my age doing things on a board that I can't. People who don't surf can't grasp the hold the sport has on those who do. It's not about keeping you young - it's about a special joy, a secret, that's simultaneously shared by a few million surfers around the world, yet is as deeply personal and ingrained as one's own DNA. I'm hoping that I can figure out a way to recapture that.

Brainfarts

I've been given the task of dismantling the kid's crib, pulling it apart and stashing it in the garage, a labor that fills me with the dread that Hercules (or, if you like, Heracles) must've felt when crazy ol' uncle Eurystheus handed him his to-do list. For many reasons, not the least of which is that it's one more mile marker on the kid's life journey, one more tangible reminder that every day he's growing up, which is not a bad thing, and away, which is. So in the spirit of procrastination, I will write. Here's what's been on my mind as of late:

• The local radio "alternative" radio stations have been all-request, all-the-time this weekend. Highpoint: sitting in freeway traffic, silently cursing Ridley Scott for saying 1982 that in 8 years from now we'd all be driving flying cars, and Pink Floyd's "Fearless" came on. Surprise (Floyd on 94.9?) and delight. Lowpoint: people, do we really need to request Sublime? Really?
• Superman Returns. Liked it. A lot, actually. Even the annoying kid.
• My cheese consumption. I've been eating a lot of cheese lately. In fact, I've had some sort of cheese every day for the past two weeks. Say - that's a fantastic idea for a book! I will eat a different cheese every day for a year, and share my experience with the world. Tomorrow - American, individually wrapped. Weds. - American cheese, block form. Thursday - Colby. You'd buy that, wouldn't you? Hello?
• Nada Surf wrote what I consider to be one of the absolute worse songs of all time - "Popular". They also wrote my favorite song of the moment - "Always Love".
• We need a new computer - right now we are using our work laptops, which is never desirable. Went to the Apple Store the other day and test drove a MacBook Pro. I actually licked the screen.
• It's about 80 degrees in the house - we're in the middle of some sort of heat wave, and we don't have A/C - and I am only sweating out of one armpit. Should I have the other one examined? Or should I consider this good fortune, in that my deodorant expenditures may now be halved?

Ok. Gotta go. The crib calls. Have a happy 4th, and don't burn any flags or stick M-80's up any cats' asses, you Godless heathen Commie punk bastards.