SeeYa

The boards, kicking it after working out in the water.

Video from Sunset Beach, of Boneyards, and Backyards.
View from the shower behind the house, where I scrubbed.

I was stuck in the Foodland Parking lot waiting for a friend to drop off a car he was selling. Sitting in the rain, the waves blown out, I was able to scout the many hundreds of boys who decided this was the day to go get more meat and beer for the house. Yippee. That's why they call it Dudeland I guess. It's the only supermarket on the North Shore, and many a dude walk in and out. It's nice.

I didn't want to talk to any of them. I don't think they might say anything I want to hear. Surfer Dudes Galore. The tan muscles and floppy hair from a short distance were enough for me.

These pictures are of the next leg of the Triple Crown set up at Sunset beach, a block from our house. Me, catching a wave. Drew, the artist, in red; a nice kid in front of his work.

Another sunset behind Paul's house. It's crazy, they happen, like, every day.

Making Fun of Surfers

These pictures are of Ian Walsh and Jordy Smith, whom I shared dead baby jokes with and made fun of. I didn't know who they really were. (http://www.surfermag.com/features/onlineexclusives/starsanddollars2007/Who Deserves The Most Money?
SURFER's Opinion Poll
After multiple amateur world titles, a very strong showing in Hawaii, plus several cage-rattling appearances on the World Tour as a wildcard, it’s now rumored that Jordy Smith is poised to sign one of the largest contracts ever offered to a rookie in the history of professional surfing. If the conjecture surrounding the deal is correct, it’s possible that soon, Jordy could be one of the highest-paid surfers in the world—besides, of course, Kelly Slater.)

I made fun of Ian for shipping his stationary bike over from Maui for the duration of the Triple Crown. Jordy is shown here with his "g-string" - his shoelace belt creeping up actually.

All good, I suppose. I had one girl in hysterics as I poked fun at Ian and his workout girliness for having this stationary bike upstairs in the bathroom. He was such a sarcastic mo fo, it was good to communicate with another of my kind.

Then last night we ran into Fred Patacchia

and we got into a conversation about Budweiser, mostly because he and another pro-guy were on their way to the Budweiser party at Turtle Bay. Here he is surfing.

I said, "Have you tried Budlight Lime? It's disgusting. It tastes like soap."

Fred replied, "What kind of soap? Like Dove, or Dawn?"

After consideration I replied, "Like Dawn. Lemon Dawn."

"At least you can do the dishes and get drunk at the same time," he said.

We agreed that it's best never to do anything sober, or with lime, involving Bud. He had a strange look on his face though.

As Janna and I were driving away, she said, "You know, that guy is a pro and he's sponsored by Budweiser."

This racks up a solid handful of pros I've keenly been unaware of and made fun of to their face, either about their sponsor, or their clothing, whatever. I told Janna to have me shut my mouth in the next circumstance like this we might face, but she thanked me instead for shaving down the egos of these promiscuous pros who dog girls and get to surf empty breaks around the world, leading their tough pedestal lives (as she summed up), even if I just get the chance for a moment.

That's cool.

Monday Morning

Most people are up and out to work, but here on the North Shore that consists of getting up and watching the waves. I'm actually not quite sure what we're looking for here for so long. I only need about 7 to 10 minutes to check the scene beyond our yard, but the dudes in the houses to the left and right of us will go and look out at the ocean for sometimes half an hour. I suppose sets do come in and out like that, but they don't really differ from the first set I witness. I glance out the window, and yup, the four dudes that were there a while ago are still looking.

Anyway, I have it in my heart that at the end of these three weeks I will have improved my surf capabilities. I can't get any worse, since I've been pummeled and caught on the lips of waves and my arms are exhausted. I'm trying to work up the energy to head over to Hale'iwa, about 10 miles west of here to join Paul's girl Janna in a yoga class. Sitting here on this laptop is just so easy though. Perhaps I can take a stretch by myself a little later. I'm good at weaseling out of things I know I need to do for my body.

Injury Report

Perhaps I shouldn't jinx myself by writing a title like that. Not many injuries to report quite yet, just little annoying ones, like hip bruises and rib calluses from the surfboard, feet cuts and shoulder aches. I wake up and they annoy me though, and I just woke up.

I don't know why I keep swallowing so much water. I've been pounded on the head by sets before and lost in the washing machine of waves, but this time around I seem to get caught with my mouth open. Salt water in the belly is upsetting. Mixed with coffee and chocolate - breakfast of champions.

Looking out at the waves again today and the people staring at the waves, and every morning so far it's nice because it feels like we're in this together. There goes another cat riding his bike through the grass in the yard in front of me to stare a the ocean. He must be 50.

I suppose my generation will be the first to support the old women in the water. I haven't seen any over 40, ever. If I have to move here and practice for the next 7 years so I can be in the water at 40 and not get pounded, well, then, I do what I have to do to keep pushing the female sex to the next level.

Oahu North Shore

It's been some time since I've blogged, or done anything really. Per the request of my friend Paul who I'm crashing with for the next three weeks, I will be writing every day while I'm here on Oahu, North Shore, getting ready for the season of snow, surfing every day, and tanning my butt. Things are looking good so far, the mere 30 hours I've been here.



You see, I used to be a really good writer, or so Paul thinks. I wrote him 9 page letters from Africa and emails years ago that he told me changed his writing. That's not so hard when he used to write me letters that were much like Jack Handy's, from SNL. Yeah. I'm still out of practice, but he really believes in my once polished craft, so I'll humor him and write again, just for the sake of writing.



I'm sitting here at his desk looking out at the waves. This is what it looks like:



In the morning, people line up at the back of their houses and stare out at the ocean, like we're all at some giant surf camp, and the day is beginning again. To the left and right they saunter down their yards to the beach with board in hand, and go out and slide the ocean all day. There's no work up here, though there is a Starbucks. That, Foodland, and a place called Ted's which serves MahiMahi sandwiches which gave me the most incredible gas while in the water yesterday, are the only establishments within a few miles. Of course, I wouldn't be outraged if there was a Starbucks in the Sarhara by now. They're everywhere and oh so yummy. So my fellow campers and I surf. They surf all day every day. At this time I'm mostly paddling around and trying not to get knocked up by the ocean. In three weeks time I pray that I can report my skills will be much better.



I'm off to go stare at the ocean with my cohorts now. Blog One Day Two Out my brothers and sisters.