But is it really "surfing"?
Or is it something else? Like waterskiing? Or……………………
But is it really "surfing"?
Or is it something else? Like waterskiing? Or……………………
And saving the English language!
The Ultimate Waterman (a competition in New Zealand. Read here!) is, clearly dumb, as is Laird’s hydrofoil surfboard, but I must say, as cynical as I am, it might maybe maybe look cool if he wasn’t wearing three bulletproof vests underneath his teal sweatshirt.
In any case, the Ultimate Waterman is dumb. But the best part of this whole video clip comes at minute 1:17 when Laird says, “Well you know for me when I look at the ultimate waterman…the ultimate waterman is…is…gonna be…uhhhhh humble.” And then he goes on a cackling spree. He cackles like an evil step-mother at the massive irony of using the word “humble” to describe anything he does. And, if I’m going to keep being honest, I love it!
Athletes have been using the word “humble” to describe their super humanity for so long that it has just become a part of the post-event interview process. “Ohhhhh that victory really humbled me…” “It humbles me to win the most valuable player award…” “I’m humbled by being the best…” It is said so often, and so straight faced, that the very word has lost any real meaning. But Laird Hamilton correctly realizes the satirical nature of a man such as himself using a word like “humble” in any context. And it is amazing.
Thank you Laird for being a total dick. You are doing your small part to save the English language from the likes of Russell Wilson and Roger Federer and Sally Pearson. Humble. CackleCackleCackleCackleCackleCackle.
It ain't true, baby!
As a frequent contributor to BeachGrit, I was sickened to find myself associated with the left-wing apologist propaganda posted in the form of Beau Andrews’s recent piece, “White Men Rule the World.”
Oh yes, “White men rule the world,” says the wide-eyed child, half a semester into his first gender studies class and positive he knows it all.
“The books and teachers say I’m bad because of how I was born, never mind that I’ve no real life experience to draw from in order to make an informed judgment. Please, please, I need to know how to atone for the white man’s sins! There’s no one who can better tell everyone how to live than some self-hating, cloistered intellectual type!”
Guess again son. Let me tell you how hard it really is to make it in this world.
“You grew up relatively well off, were told you could do anything, got a good education and most likely, got a decent paying job. “
I’ll have you know that my wife works her fingers to the bone to earn my money. She slaves away in the local courthouse from before dawn ’til four-ish, dedicating her life to putting away the worst that society has to offer, unrepentant criminals who glory in their defiance of the compact we call society.
I can hear you now, “But the system is biased. Mandatory jail time and exorbitant fines for minor offenses only serves to create situations in which people become trapped in the system due to bad luck and lack of financial resources.” Well, then I guess you’d be okay living in a world where forgetting to renew your car insurance or being too busy to replace a lost drivers license is no big deal. Where maniacs driving ten miles over the speed limit on isolated country back roads is just fine and dandy. Where law flouting minorities run rough shod over what makes America great – its ability to enact and apply bureaucratic requirements and consistently punish those who run afoul of them.
“…no one picked on you because of your race, gender or sexuality.”
Mr Andrews has obviously never encountered the racism rampant in our beloved Hawaiian islands. The word haole is dropped without a second thought on a regular occasion, perpetrators completely unaware of the pain that it causes. To be constantly identified and judged based on the color of your skin is an agonizing experience, a daily reminder of your outsider status.
The questions, “How are you enjoying your trip?” and “Where are you visiting from?” spill from smiling mouths, secure in their belief that I must be a tourist interloper. Fleece me and send me home, that’s all they really want to do. Guess what? I live here. Just because I choose to dress in an aloha shirt and khaki shorts doesn’t make me some second class citizen. I’m a human being, I don’t deserve to be judged solely on my skin tone and fashion sense.
Let’s not forget the joy of eating out. All I want is some spicy ahi poke, a piece of fried chicken, and two scoops of white rice without being reminded of my inferior social status. Yet, every time, there’s the fork. The three guys in front of me get chopsticks, the lady behind too. But every time I go to pay, there’s that plastic fucking fork. I know how to use chopsticks, damnit! This is exactly what Bill Cosby meant when he talked about the subtle racism of lowered expectations.
Then there’s being forced to show identification in order to get a kama’aina discount… I can’t even begin to explain how the humiliation eats at your soul.
“…if you are dark skinned, stand with a wider stance, and don’t speak English well (in short, you are Brazilian), then you are likely to be vilified with a religious fervour [sic].”
Oh, how they are vilified! Forced to suckle the sweet teat of government assistance, qualifying for low-cost insurance coverage, being gifted section 8 housing in the finest of neighborhoods; that sure sounds terrible. Meanwhile I sit, an underemployed freelance writer who doesn’t get a dime, ostracized by the very system my wife pays into because we “earn enough to support a family of four.” Everything we have, we earned. We pulled ourselves up by the proverbial bootstraps, fighting our way out of a Southern California beach suburb, only a dream and sheer determination and parents who paid off our student loans to make it possible.
Your domination is under siege, so make the most of it while you can.
My domain is under siege. There was a time when this country was great, when true men ruled the roost and the rest of the world knew to heed our demands or be punished. It was an age when the color of your skin didn’t matter, when anyone could achieve to the utmost of their potential. Life was a sink or swim proposition, the cream rose while the worthless masses supported the great.
We live in an era of excuses, where mollycoddled degenerates bemoan a fate created by their own bad decisions and lack of drive. I say to them, stop looking for a hand out, start looking to your betters. They are the stewards who will lead you to a brighter tomorrow.
And stop blaming my success on the color of my skin. My every day is a struggle and no one could possibly have it any harder than me.
Last year might've been a stinker for KS, but there was that one wave…
Ain’t a lot of surprises at the tour’s ball each year. Held in a cavernous conference centre that recently hosted the world tattoo championships, and overlooking the Gold Coast Highway, the prizes are mostly predetermined.
World champs? Gabs and Stephanie.
Runner-ups? Mick and Tyler.
But who cares when the best surfers in the world are trussed up in their suits and dresses and we get to taste the highlights of a year marked by three remarkable events: Gabriel’s world title, Kelly’s stinker of a year (relative!) and Julian Wilson’s redemption song.
And Kelly’s wave of the year, in his heat of the year against John John Florence? Have you ever seen anything more perfectly ridden or so astutely scored by the judges? Tens, of course.
And Julian’s move of the year?
Watch ’em here! (Or click on the monstrous play button on the photo.)
I enjoy white heterosexual male privilege and if you are reading this, then it is likely that you do too.
Let me guess. You grew up relatively well off, were told you could do anything, got a good education and most likely, got a decent paying job. You might have endured some casual bullying, but no one picked on you because of your race, gender or sexuality.
Similarly, when interviewed for your job, you were probably deemed more competent and reliable candidate because you don’t have a vagina and dark skin. Statistics say that you are probably paid more thanks to this fact. The system is made for you by you, but you fail to realise it, because you have blindly gorge yourself from the trough, nor have you been the one missing out on the good times. You think those dissenters are just screwballs. More so, since you are reading this, you are likely to be a surfer. Therefore, you enjoy white heterosexual male stand-up surfing privilege.
Surfing is a white man’s game. Yes, we had a Brazilian world champion last year, a couple of Hawaiians of indigenous stock, and who can forget Felipe Pomar who won the ISF World Championships in 1965? This leaves the rest, and these fellows are all your archetypical white males.
Yes, you will go to Hawaii and watch indigenous surfers rip. They are still likely to be less well off in life as you. Your slightly above average white kid in Australia or California is more likely than them to get sponsored based upon marketability (Eddie Rothman is right to a degree) and their white privilege.
Afterwards, they are less likely to do as well as their white counterparts. Go anywhere where there are indigenous people who have been colonised, and the results will be the same. Furthermore, if you are dark skinned, stand with a wider stance, and don’t speak English well (in short, you are Brazilian), then you are likely to be vilified with a religious fervour.
The absence of vaginas on the above white world champions means that they don’t have arm chair commentators belittling them for their well-developed upper bodies, or their appearance in a bikini and how unbelievably boring their surfing is. No one calls them lesbians just because they are audacious and assertive. They don’t have to live up to the impossible standard set by others, they set the standard. Collectively, we then pressure those who are not them to try live up to that standard while cutting them down in the process.
Grommet abuse you say? Of course, you were pissed on and thrown down hills while strapped into deck chairs. However, as you grew older and gained the respect of your fellow white heterosexual males, you became one of them, they accepted you until you were the one dishing out the abuse. No one called you dick dragger, cripple or goat boater and burned you for your existential sins. No, you sir, have lived the privileged life.
“So what of it?” You ask. “You are just a self-hating man who can’t surf.” You say.
No my friend, it is great. It means I can do almost anything in the line-up. It means that you, my fellow middle-class white heterosexual male stand-up surfer can do anything you wish to do too. You can paddle around the middle-aged woman on a mal and take the inside. You can drop-in on the gay Brazilian body boarder without anyone flinching. Just ogle that cute girl’s bikini clad arse as she paddles in front of you if you want. After all, it is her fault for wearing such clothing. That trans-gender surfer? Unless it is Westerly Windina (And I am not sure that even then it would matter), no one is likely to tut-tut you. That knee-boarder? Fuck him and his crippling disability, burn him and make him know that he is inferior to you and your virile manliness.
Do as you please my fellow middle-class white heterosexual male stand-up surfers for there are no bleeding heart liberals in the sea. The laws of land do not apply here so while you are at it, purge the seas of all traces of those despicable SUPs. Your domination is under siege, so make the most of it while you can.
Just do not, and I repeat, DO NOT drop-in on your fellow middle-class white heterosexual male stand-up surfer! Because that is against all decency and is not in the spirit of liberty and you will be sent to hell for such abominable behaviour. Just kidding! Prey on the weak and engage in a war of all against all, so that if Thomas Hobbes were still alive, he would make you the basis for the Leviathan, because that is the white male way.