Water, Water Everywhere And Not A Drop To Drink

Magazine hunting in New York City is kind of like looking for a hooker in Amsterdam (I would imagine): There’s a huge abundance and the variety seems endless, but you still may not be able to find exactly the one you desire.

Scouring for surf magazines is a game of pure chance. You’ll probably see Surfing at a newsstand here or there. You may find a SURFER at Barnes and Noble–likely the one at Union Square; maybe not the one on 86th. I think they order five copies and if everyone else in the neighborhood beats you there, you’re shit out of luck. The Surfer’s Journal, The Surfer’s Path, Australia’s Surfing World. All potential scores.

Yesterday, I braved the crazies and crowds at Union Square in search of copies of Transworld and UK Esquire. And look, when I say “braved,” I’m not being dramatic like this weekend, when I was hit by a car. I mean I had to wade through swarms of dazed and socially retarded people. One of them walked up to me, stared me down (at a distance of about 12 inches), and said:

“Nice legs.”

I kept walking. But anyway, I put some effort into getting those magazines. I couldn’t find Esquire but I did pick up Transworld. Annnd I also happened to stumble across Huck and Wavelength. !!! I snapped them up and hightailed it out of that God-forsaken tourist hub.

Every once in a while, you hit it big. Totally worth the weirdness.