The hour is a splinter past midnight and the year is just 2012. Neon, phosphorescently crowned princesses sway and twirl on the grass. Their consorts come and go on cruisers. I’m nursing Tuis and sobering up, but I don’t mind. I’m buzzing on strangers who behave like friends, friends who have begun to constitute a family, and the fact that the ocean’s fewer than 100 meters away. For once, New Year’s Eve is devoid of wind that bites my goose pimpled thighs, too-high heels, and emotionally self-destructive affairs. I’m dancing in someone’s front yard and I care not who’s watching.
Water, Water Everywhere And Not A Drop To Drink
Hijinks On The High Seas… And Beyond
Just in cases you were wondering…
An admittedly narrow, contrived, and especially absurd glimpse of what’s happening in Australia at the moment:
SMH: Three seriously ill after eating death cap mushrooms
Don’t worry, there’s also a lot of this:
Christmas at Snapper. Photo: Luke Sorensen/Goldcoast.com.au
…and this.
2011
In Other People’s Words:
*
Disclaimer: I don’t believe in New Year’s resolutions.
Resolutions for the…
Predictable: Surf more. Stop procrastinating. Get organized. Keep in touch. Exercise. More.
Bi-polar: Escape comfort zone. Be less reckless.
Uninitiated: Take more drugs. Have more sex.
Boxing Day: Kirra’s Mean Right Hook
Thanks to Cyclone Fina, the Gold Coast picked up some major swell over the holly days. Check out my current home break on Dec. 26th:
Id, Ego, and Superego.
Chasing interviews, hunting cheap [enough] flights, drinking coffee, checking the surf, trying to feel out the future while remaining “noncommittal.” Or untethered. Avoiding [additional] credit card debt. Making coffee. Serving coffee. Drinking coffee. Thinking about surfing. Checking the surf. Eating massive bikkies for lunch. Skyping my mom. Pitching editors. Thinking about not thinking about boys. Boy. Thinking about surfing. Surfing. Eating mango/vodka smoothies for dinner. Facebooking. Thinking about flying. Dreaming about sharks. Missing Scotland. Prematurely dreading leaving Australia. Thinking about “home.” Surfing. Charging flights to my Amex. Frequent flier miles. Working to pay off my Amex. Funneling money into social life (beer/Mexican food/bus fare/body wash) instead. Drinking coffee. Re-pitching editors. Accruing interest. Starring/ignoring emails with the subject line “Your Student Loans.” Absolutely refusing to think about boys. Boy. Wearing sunscreen. Failing to reapply sunscreen. Working. Surfing. Editing. Skyping. Coffee. Harassing editors. Stalking sources. Calling legends. Leaving voicemails. Texting legends. Answering the question, “Who are you?” (Posed by legends.) Drinking coffee. Formulating hypotheses. Digging up statistics. Checking the surf. Tweeting. Transcribing. Surfing. Breaking down and thinking about boys. Boy. For 10 seconds. Eating wedges for dinner. Sleeping. Just a little. Devising a plan. Tossing said plan out the window.
Such is life.
Church.
Sunday morning at BR. Finally, a break in the “devil wind.” I manage to drag myself out of bed before dead high, even though I worked until a few hours ago. Every other stir-crazy surfer in the vicinity has the same idea. Some of them wear spring suits and tops, but they seem superfluous. (As usual.) Knee-high and pretty clean. We’ll take it.
Sunday morning at BR. Another lull in the horrendous wind that’s been blowing without fail for days. It pushes with such mighty force that it creates a wind swell on the creek. This morning, it is still. I manage to drag myself out of bed before dead high, even though I watched tele until a few hours ago. At first the sun seems benevolent, but after an hour, we realize that it’s got bite. Tan lines appear on already tanned, sunscreened skin. In 60 minutes or less. The water is cool and green. Which is better than cold and brown. Last week, the water was so brown, you couldn’t see your feet dangling below you. In an area that MSW calls “lonely and sharky,” this was not comforting. It didn’t help that sharks were apparently snapping birds from the sea’s surface in Byron. Today, thankfully, I can see my feet. There is a mini swell. Four foot. The sand’s not perfect. The crowd’s not perfect. Not perfect. But close. There are about 20 guys (and girls) in the lineup, which feels like a lot at a spot I’ve heard described as “still relatively undiscovered.” They’re all clumped at the one peak. I have much better luck down the beach with the other people who aren’t really interested in fighting over waves. I inevitably kook out once or twice: blow a takeoff, botch a turn. Fouls aside, I get some of the better waves I’ve had in a while. It’s amazing what surfing more months of the year does for your surfing. Anyway, clear-ish water, fun-sized waves, like-minded people.
Where would you rather be on a Sunday morning?
Swoon: Taj’s Fiji Vignette 3/3
This is like the video version of an ice cream sunday. Or something less wholesome (but equally as delicious).
Vodpod videos no longer available.
Fiji Vignette 3/3, posted with vodpod
(Wind + Bike) + Board = ¿
Every time I come back from a surf (or finish work, or exit the post office) I am astonished that no one’s made off with this gem.
The other day, I put it out there into the ether (uhh… I tweeted it) that riding your bike in the wind, while grasping a surfboard, is damn near impossible. Unless you’re a trained circus performer. My friend JoAnne responded, “Fins first!” JoAnne, you are a genius. This seems like a fairly obvious strategy, at least to try, but it’s always the obvious that’s overlooked. Think about it: why the hell would flipping the board over make it any less awkward or more streamlined? If anything, I imagine you’re thinking, those pesky fins would collide with your handlebars and make an even bigger mess! Not so. For whatever reason, not so. I like to think this is one of those invaluable pieces of information that is passed on from one generation of bike-riding surfer to another, only in times of need. And then everyone just smugly rides their bikes to the beach, to the wonder of the unenlightened, saying nada about their completely evident (yet untapped) tactics, until some poor and frustrated soul says, “Fact: Unless you’re a carny, riding a bike while holding a surfboard is nearly impossible in the wind.” If you know one of these people, please just pass this along to them. But definitely don’t share it with someone who hasn’t earned it by asking for help.
Water, Water Everywhere And Not A Drop To Drink 