$15.95 has never been better spent. Unless it was spent on Apple stock in 1980.
In this age of advancement, this dayglo online wonderland, this 2015 when Michael J. Fox went into the future future and saw flying cars and his artificially boobied mama, the most prog thing is….is….is….
A printed, thick and glossy six times yearly reader-supported magazine that that costs $15.95 and is too big to carry, comfortably, in hand-held Louis Vuitton airplane luggage.
Is the Surfer’s Journal.
The most recent issue, 24.1, features an almost perfect picture of Dion Agius firmly glued to a Southeast Asian wave on its cover and is filled with stories that fire the brain. Like, Jamie Brisick’s exceptional piece on Peter Schroff. Or Thomas Campbell nailing Morocco. Or Chad Smith’s stroll with Raimana Van Bastolaer.
It is exceptional because it feels on the very cutting edge of popular culture without being self-aware. It tells stories that are important and rich without being preachy. It is neither corporate nor anti-corporate. It is just good. Just really really good. And I honestly don’t know how. It should be boring but it is more prog than anything in surf media and maybe anything in media media. Sit with the most recent issue for a few minutes and I dare you to disagree. It is curated perfectly and if I wore a hat, I would tip it toward editor-in–chief Scott Hulet.
Maybe I’m officially ancient. Or maybe quality is not an act. It is a habit. Aristotle said that and he is 2399 today. The truth never rusts, baby.