Here’s some nonsense from the intern log I had to write for NYU:
I have sand in my car. In the cup holders and the back seat. I have sand in my sheets, though I just washed them. I have sand on my bedroom floor and in my backpack. The ports of my computer are jammed with sand. There is sand in all of the pockets, of all of my clothes. In my ears, in my eyes. I’m sure there’s sand in my sinuses.
I arrived at LAX for the first time on a Sunday, around lunchtime. I procured my criminally overpriced rental car and managed to find my way to the 405 South: what seems to be, upon initial inspection, the most unstable freeway in the continental United States. The weird, grated concrete feels a lot less safe when driving a borrowed Ford Focus between hurried Californians hurtling along at completely unreasonable speeds.
With a sigh of relief, I pulled off the freeway into San Clemente. There were literally surfboards everywhere. I saw an old Porsche with a board strapped to the roof and fell in love a little bit.
I found my house a block from the pier, and in turn, waves. My roommate’s friends became my new acquaintances, all of whom had to be informed that I’m interning at Surfer, and almost all of them said something like,
“So wait… there’s Surfer and Surfing… which one? I don’t know the difference. Which one do you work for?”
“What’s the difference?”
It’s kind of astonishing that in an area so densely populated with surfers, nobody seems to know the difference between the sport’s two biggest magazines.
My life here revolves around surfing. A friend called me while I was at a competition, on a Saturday. I had surfed, I think, the three days prior and was, at that point, sitting in the sun (which has been rare through June) and watching other people surf. She said, “Surfing, surfing, surfing. It’s so much surfing stuff with you!” I laughed, but I thought, Well, yeah. Isn’t that the point? I want to work in this industry because I love it so much. It’s what I read, what I watch, what I do in my spare time. And I love that I can soak in it here. And that is why sand has literally invaded everything I own. Or rent.