Nineties punk-lite singer litters famous Hawaiian beach. Pays ultimate price!
The North Shore of today is going to become one of those places immortalized, dissected, and condemned in a New York Times Sunday Edition Op-Ed by someone who frequently updates their Linked In profile just as how pre-9/11 Manhattan is currently talked about. Countless people will lament about personal run-ins with the Hawaiian “bigs”, the best surfers, ice heads, and the occasional celebrity.
It’s impossible to spend any amount of time on the North Shore and not have a run in with someone who has starred in a movie or something. Those interactions will be the most boring story you leave the North Shore with because they’re often the most boring people on the plant. But if you’re the type that fantasizes about taking a selfie with Taylor Swift or Josh Hutcherson than you’re probably boring too. A short trip down the Kam Highway to Foodland to fetch some food could turn into a 36-hour bender in town with weird Burning Man fire dancers and a barbeque at Sandys wedged somewhere in between, or it could mean running into a famed musician.
You can tell a lot about a person based off of how they act on the beach. Those with metal detectors are usually hermits collecting misplaced treasures in hopes of one day buying a Real Doll, while those that wear gym shorts and basketball jerseys have probably never read a book in their life.
One time, I was walking towards Velzyland after a session out at Backyards. The waves were about four-foot Hawaiian and the wave, known as Freddyland, situated between the two spots was barely breaking. It’s a great spot for anyone who isn’t ready for some of the real surf breaks on the North Shore. I walked towards the Phantoms channel where a large group of my friends had been sitting. They were chatting and pointing at a long-haired man wearing a lanyard necklace and homemade tank top. It was Eddie Vedder sitting with his family.
Old Eddie had been renting out the house up the block from where my apartment was as he was working on his ukulele album. As I walked up to my where my friends were sitting, a neighbours of mine, originally from some middle-of-the-country suburban hellhole, began yelling in her newly acquired pidgin accent about how Eddie Vedder had been throwing orange peels on the beach. I wished I could have seen Eddie’s face as a transplant from the mainland patronized him for throwing his orange peels on the beach.
Eventually Eddie paddled out to surf a wave that wasn’t really breaking. A one-foot set came through and the lead singer of Pearl Jam paddled as deep as he could and stood up on the wave. He didn’t pump and he didn’t need to pump. He was Eddie Vedder.
Somewhere, a gentleman sweeping the beaches is listening to Better Man as he stockpiles lost jewlery in hopes of one day purchasing a Real Doll.