Surf Daily

Reflections on Not Surfing and Being Californian

I was almost a Californian, you know.

I moved to the Bay Area in 2006, or, more accurately, stumbled off of an Amtrak and ended up staying.  Let's not front.  I didn't come here to ruin your party, I just sort of wound up here.  San Francisco tends to take people like me and either kill them or fix them, and it seems to have mostly fixed me, at least insofar as I've been here for 5 years and I'm not living on the streets or dead.  If you want more details, ask me.  There's parts of my life that I don't openly share online but you can probably fill in the blanks.

I'll never be from here.  I guess the only reason I mind is because I've never really been from anywhere.  I grew up outside of Chicago and my family moved downtown (at my behest) when I started high school.  From that point forward I was always a suburban kid wishing he'd grown up in the city.  Now, out in California, I "rep" my (312) area code, as if I'd actually grown up in Chicago, proper, hoping nobody uncovers my dirty secret.

I don't speak Northern Cities Shifted English, and not for lack of trying either.  There was a period where I tried to alter my speech to sound more like The Mayor, and ended up just sounding like a moron instead.  Sometimes I'm angry at my teachers for educating me in proper Midwestern Non-Regional Diction, because not only do I feel like I'm from nowhere, but I sound like it, too.

Back in 1985 my dad was offered a job as the head of Mergers and Acquisitions at a large health-care company on the west coast.  The package would have included relocation to Santa Monica.  I would have been 2 years old and grown up in Southern California.  As far as I can tell, the "native" cutoff is somewhere around 4 or 5.  If you've never had a day of schooling in another state, you can pass yourself off as from here.  My dad opted out of taking the job and the company ended up in very hot water later.  He made a good move, as his position would probably have been eliminated.

Sometimes I think wistfully, though, of what it would have been like if I'd actually been from "here".  Not "here" as in San Francisco, of course.  Even people from other parts of California can not be from here.  I have discovered, in fact, that San Francisco is possibly one of the most difficult places to be "from".  I'm not even going to try.  But I'd certainly like to be from California.

So, back to surfing.

Surfing is really difficult to learn when you didn't grow up doing it.  I notice now that when I picked it up in 2009, I fell into a pattern that a lot of other adult late-comers to surfing do: I went overboard with the identity aspect.  I started blogging about it, spent all my time hanging out on surf-related websites, changed my speech, my clothes, and my attitude.  None of this has made me a better surfer.  It's actually more of the same nonsense that's plagued me for years: I'm trying to pretend like I'm from somewhere and have grown up doing something.

These days I basically don't surf at all.  When I started, I could rely on the fact that my doting boyfriend was unemployed and could drive, which meant I could get out to the beach basically any morning and flop around for a few hours.  In fact, we were doing that so much that I pretty much lost my job due to neglect.  Life was good and I even figured out the basics.  Another thing that used to reliably get me out there is my Xtracycle, but it has been banished from our second-floor apartment.  It's too big and too heavy.  It lives in storage.

Lately, my thrust has been on getting a place to stay in the Sunset.  For a while, I had access to a friend's garage, but he moved the rest of his family in and my gear had to go.  An attempt at securing an apartment yesterday fell through.  I'm still looking and, even more horrifyingly, I'm going to start driving lessons at the ripe young age of 27.

I'm committed to the sport.  I really really want to be good at it.  It makes me very happy.  But I have to admit to feeling like a damn fool when I've spent a few years putting on airs and don't even get wet more than once a month.  The emperor has no clothes.  Perhaps it's time to shed the act.

I'll never be from here.  I'll always sound like a fool when I try to talk surf.  No, I don't know if it was good or bad out there.  No, I don't need to blog incessantly about whether I managed to half-assedly catch a wave.  That doesn't mean I'm shutting this one down, by the way.  It is important, as always, that I support the Peoples Socialist Libyan Arab Jamahiriyah and its Guardian of the Revolution, Muammar El-Ghadafi, by continuing to pay for this domain.  But don't be surprised if there's a lot less whiny surf content.

I'll see you out there, though.  Eventually.  Just another guy in a black (actually gray) suit trying to mind his own business and not look like an idiot.

You were right, Chris.

The Three Asshole Rule

Among my associates you will frequently hear this "rule":

If, as go about your day, you run into an asshole, then damn. What an asshole.
If you run into a second asshole, well shoot.  Guy's an asshole.
If you run into a third asshole, you are the asshole.

This rule is very appropriate when surfing, especially when you're a kook like me.  I tend to assume that if I wind up in someone's way, or if they wind up in mine, it is probably my fault.  There is occasionally reasonable doubt, but after the second or third time it's occurred, I am pretty sure that the common denominator is me.

Today was one of those days.  The waves were nice at Ocean Beach and people were doing nice things on them, but I just kept seeming to get dumped inside and then I would be right in someone's way as I paddled out.  The strong current didn't help, as I would move from a safe spot to the impact zone without even realizing it.  I can count at least two takeoffs that other people had to abort due to me.  After the last one, I kooked out and rode some wash all the way to shore.

I decided I would give it one more shot, and paddle out again.  I promptly tripped over a submerged rock and cut the shit out of my foot and had to end the session.  I guess God wanted to make sure I didn't have to run into that third asshole.

One Year of Surf - Looking Back

A little over a year ago (last Sunday was the actual anniversary), I had brunch at Universal Cafe and then went up to the beautiful little town of Bolinas (it doesn't exist; don't try to find it) on the invitation of my dear friend Josh, himself the subject of an exciting and titillating bromance that began on IRC way back when and has yet to be consummated with Ice, largely due to my abstinence from booze.  Alas.

Since then, I've managed to break a Softop (that happened in the first couple of weeks, actually), sprain an ankle, cut myself in a few places, get water in every sinus, get sand where sand does not belong and, as of some point a couple of weeks ago, actually start riding waves in earnest.  I'm a shitty surfer who still needs to learn what to do once he's standing up on a board ("turning" has been suggested), and is also still learning when to shut up in the lineup (as it turns out, not everybody wants to be my friend), but I'm totally hooked.

I don't really look like a surfer, and my participation in "surf culture" amounts to occasionally listening to Sublime.  Being an active member of Stoke Report doesn't count, since the Surf Gods in Orange County have yet to deign that GNU/Linux and Brunch are part of the scene.  However I'm definitely a surfer, which I can qualify by the fact that I went nearly 9 months without really a single stand-up ride and enjoyed every minute of it.  Few would submit to such punishment.  My home beach is OB.  'Nuff said.

I lost my job back in May, which has been great for surfing.  Some would argue that I lost my job because of surfing, though there were other factors involved.  Really.  I swear.  Every morning that I can, I strap a board (currently a 7'6" but looking to shorten up) to my Xtracycle (named "Momma") and pedal out to the beach, flail for two hours or so, and pedal home.  I'm looking for a job in earnest, but I suspect my next board will have one of these signs printed on the bottom:

I wanna thank everyone, particularly Josh and the Stoke Report family, who have helped foster this new pastime of mine.  My partner Jon really deserves the prize, since he's had to tolerate as well as clean up after my obsession, and I keep making promises to do stuff for him that I break because the waves are firing.  Or because it's morning.  Or just because.  I'll be back in four hours, I swear!

Surf has been great for my health, my self-image, my stamina, and my happiness.  It's also caused me to spend a lot more time outside than I used to.  Sorry, IRC friends!  I swear, I still find your lives fascinating.  However, the beach is calling, and I can always read the scrollback.  If I ever get around to it.

Bill Hicks - Summertime

Could you imagine that?  Livin' at the beach?

Thoughts on Stoke Report

God knows there's been enough debate lately on Stoke Report about who's behaving appropriately and who belongs where. People have to do a double-take when a bot regurgitates a bunch of it; its nonsensical prattle looks so familiar to the battle-fatigued. Today we were alerted to the fact that we're now the subject of a (somewhat scathing) blurb in this month's SURFER, the relevant parts of which I'll quote below:

On the other side of the spectrum were the Stoke Reporters–equally as, well, stoked as the Saffas, but completely lacking in skill and etiquette.  Stoke Report is a regional website that encourages Bay Area surfers to upload real-time, user-generated surf reports via their cell phones.  The result is a Twitter-esque stream of claiming from tech-savvy kooks who see Ocean Beach as a free ski resort (slowest surfer in front has right of way).  They stroll up to the dunes, take a photo, and upload it for all the desk-bound world to see, along with feel-good claims like "Sloat is going OFF right now! Get down here dude!!!"

Needless to say, the Stoke Reporters' sense of naïve entitlement is not sitting well with the aforementioned ex-con, old-school locals.  The more patient among these detractors have attempted to educate the Stoke Reporters in the complexities of surf culture via polite posts on the site's message board.  "The search is part of the fun!  Even Surfline doesn't condone spot-specific real-time reports!"  No matter how gentle and reasonable the persuasion, all detractors have been permanently banned from Stoke Report.  As a result, the natives are getting restless.  The most prolific Stoke Reporters have reportedly been identified, and the next step seems to be a more physical brand of offline, parking-lot persuasion.

Yikes! I'll avoid responding in kind; Lewis Samuels (the BSNYC of surf) is a fairly trollish writer (which is why I enjoy his work), and it would behoove me to not try to argue with him, despite the fact that he's gotten a few things wrong. Stoke Reporters typically post after-the-fact reports (not really "real-time"), and the ongoing fight between locals and reporters is, for the most part, over reporting on a handful of more sensitive spots. Most of us don't really have a dog in this fight, though now that our precious little site has gotten some (un?)deserved notoriety, it's worth it to at least share my thoughts on the matter.

I'm pretty new to surfing myself. A lot of people on SR are. There's a fundamental culture clash when a bunch of new people join an existing activity or scene, and this is particularly heightened in a city like San Francisco, whose demographics have changed pretty dramatically over the last few decades. A lot of the guys out in the avenues who surf look like the type of San Franciscan who has, for the most part, decamped to the suburbs: white, working class, Irish... Your typical Stoke Reporter is more likely to be part of the new guard of dot-com yuppies who populate the northeast corner of town, where Priuses and iPhones hold court. I might as well be the poster child for outsider-newcomer-SF-surfer: I'm not only a Jewish dot-com yuppie; I'm also a homo! For your typical, embattled Sunset District holdout, I'd probably sit right up on the grudge list next to Asians, Google, and onshores.

Needless to say, I try to practice respect. Most of us do. Samuels has painted us with a broad brush, but I'm inclined to forgive him, given that the incessant flagellation over the reporting issue has engulfed the site, and almost everyone (including myself) has at some point engaged in the debate. You'd be hard-pressed not to conclude that we're collectively advocating the inclusion of "Report on Any Break at Any Time" in the Universal Declaration of Human Rights. I'm of the belief that it's actually a handful of people pushing this. Likewise, a few locals have insisted on debating the opposite, to the extent that the site is nearly ruined by the constant back-and-forth over something that, for the most part, regular users don't care about, except that it go away. Things have escalated to the degree that physical threats have been made. A close friend of mine, who turned me on to surfing last year and has progressed enough in the sport that he's hitting some of the more sensitive spots in SF, has felt compelled to delete his account due to fears of stepping on the wrong toes. This is fucked.

I honestly don't know if the site will survive this drama. I'll be bummed if it goes away. Stoke Report has not only introduced me to a whole slew of people whom I now call my friends; it's also kept me going on the days when I'm "desk-bound" (as Samuels would put it) and allows me to share the joy of participation in a truly sublime activity. Some days when I paddle out I am practically overcome with gratitude for how lucky I am. I'd hate to slink into the mire of paranoia and fear that seems poised to grip our hardy clan of iPhone-wielding kooks with graduate degrees (as one commenter so kindly described us). I'll continue practicing the same brand of healthy respect that I've practiced thus far. Not only will I not report on a place like Fort Point, I won't even surf it (at least not yet)! I can barely negotiate the lineup, let alone handle the waves when they come in. I stay away, as I ought to, and stick to the places where I belong, based on my abilities. Those places include Bolinas, the Princeton Jetty (when it's not too crowded), Cowell's (I think the only thing disqualifying one from Cowell's is being too skilled), and even Ocean Beach when it's small and manageable. I will also practice good ethics in the lineup, not be a dickish wave hog, and send good vibes wherever possible. One thing I won't do, however, is be cowed into staying home, or not being who I am, because a bunch of people resent newcomers on their turf. I'm here, I'm queer, I use Linux, and I'm going to surf (poorly) whether you like it or not. I'd appreciate the only beatings that come my way be from the ocean.

Cause to be #Stoked

So, I won a surfboard last night.

Wait, let me back up.  I won a gift certificate for a custom-shaped surfboard last night.

Let me back up further.  I won said gift certificate after spending four hours with some of my friends from StokeReport and other awesome, stoked people at a fun little bar in the Outer Sunset, while we listened to dub and watched surf videos.  I also won two front-row tickets to a pre-season Giants game on Sunday, and an oversized t-shirt from Aqua.

Pretty fucking rad, no?

Listen, I'm a piss-poor surfer.  And "surf culture" is still an alien and frightening thing for me, especially insofar as it is (regrettably) tinged with homophobia, but I am thoroughly stoked to be part of a community of geeky surf pals, with whom I can definitely have a good time, whether we're bobbing around in the water or laughing at a bar (and mind you, I don't drink, so it's not alcohol talking when I say I enjoy their company).

Ever since I started surfing just last year, I've had these nebulous dreams of riding a custom-shaped shortboard, ripping it for all to see with an air of nonchalance and a tight, gray wetsuit that emphasizes all my good parts.  That's not going to happen any time soon, however.  In particular, I really never planned on getting a custom shape... not for years, easily.  I don't deserve it!  I'm not worthy!  I'd probably break it!  I wouldn't even know what I want!  I can barely ride a longboard!

Winning one changes all that.  James from Las Olas Surfboards has graciously donated a board every month, for god-knows-how-long, to be raffled off at Wet Wednesdays to benefit some charity or another (this month's charity was the Edgewood Center for Children and Families; check them out, they are rad).  James is an artist.  The boards are usually pretty, short, and highly-technical.  One of those would be wasted on me.  This week he switched it up and donated a gift certificate.

I've already told him I'm going for something in the "Funboard" range.  A notch shorter than what I'm riding right now, which is a pop-out epoxy board (made by Bic of all people), lovingly handed down from Josh.  It will be made of polyurethane and glass for that delightful "this looks so tasty I could almost eat it" look.  It will probably be white.  And it will be the gayest goddamn board that's ever been shaped.  This I can say with certainty.

I know one other gay surfer.  I know him because he had the balls to slap an HRC sticker on the bottom of his board and, when that wasn't being direct enough, supplemented it with a big ol' rainbow sticker.  We are now gay surf pals who go paddle into waves and stuff, while being gay.  Criminy.  I plan to one-up him by splattering the following text on the deck of my board:

HEYYYYYYYYYYYYYY

I may have to truncate a few Ys, depending on the length of the board, but that's more or less what I'm going for.

My board will be fun.  It will be pretty.  It will be downright fucking fabulous, and because I won it, I'm going to ride that motherfucker like I stole it.  Every day that I can.

I am really stoked to have won this board.  I look forward to seeing it and taking a goofy picture with myself holding it, for all blogosphere to see.  AYHSMB

Sunday at Bolinas

Things started off doubled-up, crumbly, and confused around 8:30, with a strong rising tide which made for a very trying slog from Wharf Rd. to the "Groin". Anyone trying to paddle out that side of the sign was rapidly dispatched to the channel. The "Patch" was working pretty well if you could get out. That dude with the hat was ripping it on his log. You guys know who I'm talking about. Caught a few fun and short rides commensurate with my mediocre surfing ability and cashed in my chips around quarter past 10. First pic is from before.

via stokereport.com

 

 

Fair conditions at Bolinas

Softop City @ Bo. Played around in the "groin" and got sent into the channel; tried my hand at the "patch" and spent most of my time catching short rides on the inside before a lull finally came and I made it out. All that energy from this monster swell has been making it break everywhere at once, and fast. Not too big, though. Lotta first-timers, couples, and groms.

via stokereport.com

Clear the Roads, Here I Come?

I've been alive since I last posted (on new years) but "busy", by some stretch of the word.  One thing I haven't been able to do much is surf, and my lack of automobile (or license, or ability to drive) is really starting to grate on me.

It's been a point of personal pride (and no small amount of self-satisfaction) that I've never had a driver's license, but the fact of the matter is that surfing requires driving.  At least it does for me at this point.  I have an Xtracycle that's well capable of hauling a longboard, and has on a few occasions, but that does me no good if Ocean Beach is unsurfable.  Though I'm a fan of Trial by Fire in principle, I also value my life, and it would frankly be irresponsible for me to go out there the way it's been the last few weeks.

My last journey to Ocean Beach left me stranded in a rip current, until local legend "Angry Guy" paddled out and gave me some moral support.  Since then, it's either been bigger, pooier, or both.  I eagerly await the day that conditions there are manageable for a newcomer again, but it'll be a while.  In the meantime, I depend on the goodwill of friends to drive me places... friends who also have lives, busy schedules, and the works.  I've ended up feeling like a wet blanket with my plaintive SMSes and tweets to people begging them to take me out in the morning.

So, it's time to learn to drive then.  Perhaps part of becoming an adult for me (I hope 26 counts as adult) is abandoning my lifelong objection to operating an automobile.  Some of that objection has been rooted in politics, but I reckon that more of it is just plain fear; operating a motor vehicle frankly vexes the shit out of me.  I'm afraid I'll hurt somebody else or myself.  That same kind of fear, however, hasn't kept me from taking a surfboard out in the water, a board which could easily turn into a projectile; it's just given me some idea of my limits (for the most part) and how to behave within them.  Can I take the same attitude towards learning to drive?

I have these affectations of learning to drive on a stick-shift, despite its increasing irrelevance as a common transmission.  Half of my friends are trying to talk me out of this idea; the other half think it's fantastic, and concur with me that learning on a stick in SF will enable me to drive just about anywhere.  I already have a fairly nuanced understanding of traffic, being a daily urban cyclist, though I'll have to start ignoring the impulse to run any red when there's no cross traffic (this even bites me as a passenger in a car!).  This "operating a car" stuff, however, is quite foreign to me.  During my brief abortive attempt at learning to drive when I was a teenager, I kept finding myself turning onto sidewalks and whatnot.  Would throwing a manual transmission in the mix be better or worse for me?  My fantasy is that it will finally click for me what's going on "under the hood" (which it has not in the past), and I'll grok driving at last.  My worry is I'll end up so preoccupied with not stalling out that I'll drive over a 3-year-old.

In any case, don't be surprised if you spot me behind the wheels of a car some time this year.  I've made it a 2010 resolution.  But stay out of the road if you know what's good for you :)

Perfect beginner session at Bolinas

Surfing is a tough thing to learn because:

• There's crowds
• It can easily get too big/heavy
• You're not going to catch every wave

I sometimes have a rough time when I'm out learning to surf (I started in August) because I can't just rudely try to take off on every wave, particularly when 95% of my attempts end in wipeout, bodyboarding, or some other form of failure.  I also don't know when the next one's coming and if I'll be able to get it.  It also doesn't help that I'm overly self-conscious, and like to pretend I know what I'm doing around other people.  All of this nonsense is in my head, and most of it is stuff any beginning surfer would have to deal with, too.

The Universe was particularly kind to me this morning.  I arrived at Bolinas with my friend Jeremy (the one who got his hand sliced up the last time we went out), and there was a small crowd of salty locals (we counted 14-ish) catching next-to-no waves.  Real friendly folks.  I love the vibe there.

An occasional wave would come in and the lucky guy who happened to be in the right spot would catch a ride for a few seconds, but people were for the most part just bobbing around sharing fish tales about whatever monster barrel they ostensibly caught last Friday.  Typical banter :)  After a while, most of them got tired/bored and went in, which is right when a couple of solid sets started to come delivering nice, shoulder-high, rideable waves.

I got to take one after another after another, with noone around to worry about taking off on/dropping in on, and I was free to fail each time and go back for another.  I'm still working on my pop-ups (also my "stay-the-fuck-up-after-having-popped-up"s) and it can be really frustrating to have to wait another 15 minutes just to fail again.  Today I could just keep trying.  I can't say I'm much closer to having it down, but I got some of the best practice I've gotten in weeks.  Everything was so gentle, too, and I was giggling like a little kid every time I took a dip in the drink.

I left grinning from ear to ear.

SURF RELATED CONTENT

The Jetty this AM was right up my alley.  Met @lkilpatrick and @traceykthompson for the first time (thanks for the ride, Tracey!)

Caught 3, stood up on none.  Can't complain, got wet, totally stoked.  I just need to do this every morning for a while, and then it will hopefully be second nature.  Next year's resolution is to learn to drive so I can GTFO of town whenever I need to surf something small.  Admittely, it's fun loading up the bike to go to OB, but much less fun when I realize I'm way underequipped for conditions.  Baby steps.

Lovely picture of conditions this AM, taken by Luke:

 

Link to Original (twitpic)