Water, Water Everywhere And Not A Drop To Drink

November is what I like to call “Birthday Month.” Not only is my birthday (favorite day of the year, duh) this month, but so are the birthdays of several of my favorite people. Mom, I’m looking at you. The moniker is made even more appropriate (and relevant) by the fact that Water, Water will also be a year old on November 12^th.

B.M. seems like the perfect time to get a little eccentric, so I’ve come up with this experiment. It’s based on a crackpot theory I have that surfers can recognize other surfers. I think it’s partly due to instinct, partly to keen observational skills (probably honed by constant lineup vigilance). RVCA hat, toned triceps, deeper base tan than most New Yorkers, less-than-perfect hair: pretty solid indicators. Nothing infallible, however. This is where instinct comes in. We have a vibe. Or maybe it’s a pheromone. Liable to be imperceptible to other species, it signals our presence to those in the know. Much like how bees are genetically capable of sniffing out fear, surfers are genetically built to ID other surfers. I am the best ever analogy creator. Anyway, that’s my theory. So here’s the fun part: I’m going to put it to the test.

For the next month, every time I see someone who my gut tells me is a surfer [within the confines of New York City] I am going to ask. I’m also going to ask if I can take his photo, so that I can post it here for you (all four of you) and maybe–just maybe–it can be like a game. You tell me if you agree with my assessment, and I’ll tell you whether your surfer radar is better than mine. I might rub it in your face if it’s not. But wait… shit. If your radar’s off, that kind of disproves my hypothesis. Whatever, let the creeping on innocent, Billabong-wearing strangers begin!