Since moving to San Clemente a year ago with his family, Filipe Toledo has set in motion a series of events that will, eventually, change the biological distribution of the famous surf town. For the better!
Without splitting hairs about recent results, the Brazilian storm is here to stay. People can be as upset as they like about that – all that fun-loving talent dominating competitive surfing… it’s terrible.
But for mainland USA, given its woeful prospects on the WSL (yes, yes, they’re better than NZ’s – we are though, a small nation of chokers, but what’s your excuse after coasting along so smugly on the back of one Robert Kelly Slater as though he’d never grow old?), the Brazilian Storm is a golden opportunity.
Why? It seems like most of them now live in California. It’s an opportunity of a lifetime for America. Americans should be encouraging the Brazilians to move there.
I don’t mean cashed up Brazzos injecting cash into a stagnant US economy. Or, lifting the average IQ of both countries. No, no, it’s an investment in the future of American surfing. And, if it’s like what Pacific Island immigration has done for New Zealand in rugby (a terrible sport), or Kiwis moving to Australia to play rugby league (a slightly different, slightly less terrible sport), it’ll do wonders for US surfing.
Nor is it completely an alien concept to America. American dominance in the nuclear and space age was partly on the back of German scientists being enticed to move to America. You’ve also accepted Jordy Smith.
These guys have chosen the US and in particular, California, for multiple reasons, reasons that I don’t have the pleasure of knowing.
One could however assume that the US is a good central place to base a world title campaign (it’s the centre of the world – the WSL is based there), prospects are better than Brazil, it has reasonable surf and it’s always sunny in California (or so the television tells me).
Many of them have moved their families there. They’re in it for the long haul. They’re likely to stick around, become residents, maybe even citizens. They’ll attract more Brazilian talent to US shores and, unless their most juvenile of critics are right (that they’re all gay), and/or they hate children, then they’re likely to breed.
These kids will be naturalised Americans, or at least semi-American and, if they inherit their fathers’ talent, they’ll possibly surf for America. If not their children surfing for the US, then the grandchildren will.
Critics would say, Brazilians would be too proud to surf for the US. They forget though how quick the early Brazilians forgot about Portugal, a very great nation at the time. No, the US will grow on them; consume them, until they wave that flag every Fourth of July.
Yes, it may be a stretch to say that Toledo’s future children will be better than Toledo (but he’s better than his father – a good start), but these kids, if they’re as good, or better will reinvigorate US surfing.
It won’t be a scene of apathetic and tastefully derelict looking white kids gazing at their shoes, riding mid-length retro inspired craft or asymmetric boards. Nor will it be harassed little white jocks pressured by their parents to compete when they really just want to be like the above.
No, it’ll be zippy little kids with tans, competing fiercely, inspiring each other to be better and winning everything in sight – America will again be top of the surfing world.
And it’s an opportunity that I’d be capitalising on.
Say you had a billion dollars. How would…you… spend it?
I woke up this morning to an oddly strong desire to pickle a bunch of veggies. I’m not sure where it came from. I like pickled stuff, but I don’t love it. Maybe I’ve got some sort of vitamin deficiency.
Whatever the cause there’s currently eight quart jars containing various ratios of asparagus, green beans, garlic and sweet onions slowly cooling on my kitchen counter.
My mind wanders and as I was waiting for my mixture of vinegar, water, sugar and salt to come to a boil I started thinking about The Magic Christian. It’s a novel by Terry Southern, the guy who wrote the screenplays for Barbarella and Easy Rider.
The upshot is that a crazy billionaire uses his fortune play elaborate mean-spirited pranks on the unsuspecting world he inhabits. It was made into a not very good movie starring Peter Sellers and Ringo Starr. You can watch it here.
I’ve never understood why actual billionaires don’t do something similar. It can’t be because of moral restraint. You don’t build an empire by caring about other people.
I’ve put a lot of thought into my evil plans. Not that I really think I’ll be a billionaire, but stranger things have happened. I fired my cleaning lady last week for being lazy, not something I’d’ve ever expected to need, or want, to do.
But she did a terrible job and taught me a lesson about hiring white people. No work ethic.
Maybe my idea for an app will take off. It’s called Meet Market and it’s an anonymous location based “dating” service. You log in and it uses your phone’s GPS to broadcast your location to other users looking for a no strings attached hookup. Then other users can search you out. It’s like a treasure hunt, where the treasure is an overweight married man lurking in a public toilet waiting to suck off whichever unkempt pervert finds him first, or fourth, or whatever. I’m not in the passing judgment business, I’m in the facilitating public indecency business.
Here’s what I’ll do when the cash comes in.
Become a supervillian
A person could really wreak some havoc with one of those flying water jet pack deals. Find any gathering that takes place near water, then come roaring in blasting unsuspecting citizens with your water hand cannons, then zipping away when your fun is done. Sure, it’d be felony level assault on multiple people, but once you’re in the billion club you’re above petty considerations like the law. Look at James Pflueger, he killed seven people and got off more or less scot-free. (Click here.)
Sink a Yacht
Buying your way into a high end regatta, then playing bumper cars off the line, what could be more fun? It’s all the goodness that comes with crashing stuff, mixed with ruining rich peoples’ good time.
Get in car accidents
Don’t you just hate it when someone is inconsiderate to you in traffic? Don’t you wish you could just put the pedal to the floor and smash right into them? Or when some asshole in a rental speeds around you to steal a parking spot, wouldn’t it be great to totally bludgeon their ride, laugh in their face, and give your lawyer a call to let him know you’ve “done it again”? If I were a billionaire I could live that dream.
Give scumbags 10K
The funny thing about ten thousand dollars, it’s enough to ruin your life, but not enough to really improve it. What’s it really get you? A few months breathing room on rent? A down payment on an inexpensive car? A year of health insurance? It will buy a lot of drugs, though.
There’s a public toilet in the middle of Kapaa that’s the hangout for our local shit bags. They do their thing, smoke their meth, beat each other with pieces of driftwood and hunks of coral, no doubt talk about all the cool stuff they’ll do when they’re billionaires. I think it would be fun to cruise down every once in a while and hand one of the losers a nice thick stack of hundreds. Just to see what would happen. Nothing good, that’s for sure.
Build low-income housing
I recently learned that George Lucas already stole this idea (click here), but I’m sticking with it anyway. Wouldn’t it be nice to buy up large tracts of land in affluent areas and fill it with poor people? Like, I could solve the Kaka’ako homeless problems by relocating everyone to their nice new digs in Hawaii Kai and Kailua! And anyone who has a problem with it can be painted as a hateful asshole, even though I’m obviously not planning on living anywhere near my own philanthropic endeavors.
Maybe I could do a gofundme. I wonder if enough chumps would be willing to kick me down some dough?
And what an opinion it is, coming from someone who was a pro in the seventies (signature model board, full-page ads etc) and who appears to watch every single heat in every single major surfing event, QS and CT, who shaped his life around one perfect Caribbean wave and whose style of graphic design is still widely imitated.
For the last six months, David and I’ve been back-and-forthing about WSL logos. He was vocal about how bad the current one was (I was nonplussed but didn’t hate it with the same vehemence) and I said, how about you design one?
I was expecting, eventually, maybe half a dozen. This morning he sent me 151 versions of the logo. Some are playful, some are hard-edged, most a mix of both. Watch a movie of ’em after the interview.
And Carson’s reasoning behind it all?
BeachGrit: You lit up on the original WSL logo. What didn’t you like about it?
Carson: It has no soul. The logo just doesn’t represent the sport very well. It’s pedestrian, unoriginal, forgettable, safe, gentrified and corporate. All things surfing is NOT, at least to me. The zillions of people worldwide, intrigued for decades, who might have felt surfing is unique, are now being shown, no, it’s not. The essence of surfing, the surfing experience, what people feel about it are all belied by this mindless little logo.
Do you see people clamouring for tee shirts with it? Stickering their cars, walls, friends, bikes or computers with it? …nooo. It has no particular intrigue nor design unique to surfing.
Surfing’s been an integral part of my life for over 40 years, and it’s disappointing to see the lack of imagination, spark, inventiveness and cultural awareness. I would have liked to see a logo and branding truer to the sport, its history and future, as well as the unique individuals involved with it all.
I think many others would love to have been excited about the new WSL logo, which is just the weak ASP logo with new letters. World Sleeping League. World Snoring League, World Sunning League, whatever. it’s just a huge missed opportunity to send a message about the sport globally. That it…is… unique and…does… have different ways of doing things other sports don’t.
With the shark media-fest worldwide after Mick’s encounter, millions of people for the first time saw anything related to the WSL. Snd what did they see? A generic little round corporate logo.. similar to countless other logos.
“Oh thats surfing? I thought they were more, ah, different? Free-spirited? rebellious, or something.”
BeachGrit: From a technical point of view, what’s wrong with the logo?
Carson: Nothing is given any importance. All lines are the same width and it’s by far the most common logo, or button, shape in the world, a circle. And those lines. What are those? Rays of sunshine? Lightning? A button someone found on the computer? They’re given as much importance as the wave. Or the letters or the border of the circle. It’s forgettable and evokes no emotion or flavour of the activity it is supposed to represent. Mechanically, I’m sure its perfect, same width to all the lines, correct spelling, perfect circle. But is it surfing? It feels more like a student’s first try on illustrator.
BeachGrit: What about the broadcast graphics?
Carson: The broadcast in that first year of WSL was a bit of a trainwreck. Every possible bad TV graphic cliche was used and overused apparently because someone knew how to use them. Transparent, 3-D flying logos, huge metal letters, complete with rivets and beveled edges, clanking down on the sea over Tahiti or France or wherever, sometimes flying up and swirling from the depths of the ocean. Very silly suff. Luckily, they’ve toned it down this season.
And the boxes with scores and smiling surfers? And fake wind blowing fake flags?Very hard to read. The whole thing looked, and looks, like surfing is trying to follow football, soccer, badminton, lawn bowling,cricket, rugby and other sports that have adopted a certain look for on screen “graphics”.
Having said that, this year they did clean it up a bit and it’s less offensive. But still adrift somewhere in the Walmart, professional wrestling and Las Vegas worlds of broadcast design.
BeachGrit: Why did you apply for a gig as creative director at the WSL recently? And what was their response?
Carson: Given my experience and background in art direction and design, in motion graphics and all things related, along with a life long passion for surfing, it seemed like a great fit to me. It also seemed like a great challenge, combining two of my great passions. Design and surfing. I’m positive I could have helped notch up the overall level of all the design and communication related aspects of the WSL. I actually applied three separate times but I never heard a single thing back. Not a word. It’s common practice in the real and business and corporate worlds to let applicants know you have, at very least, received their application. And then, to let them know, either thanks or no thanks.
BeachGrit: I don’t know anyone who consumes as much pro surfing as you and who holds such strong opinions. What excites you at the moment, pro surfing-wise?
Carson: Dane Reynolds, Filipe and John John’s level of surfing. I finally kinda understand what all the mad crazy world soccer fans feel with their sport. I’m a bit obsessed when a WSL event is on and often watch every single heat and stress over bad decisions by judges or competitors or mother nature.
But, to be clear, the current state for watching pro surfing has never been better: live, slo-mo, instant replays, it’s never been better. No question. I usually root for the underdogs or wildcards. I enjoy the drama, personal and professional, rooting for the underdogs, watching surfing at a level I could only dream about, checking out new equipment and waves, the ads and commercials, all of it really. I enjoy all the various subplots and personalities. For example, Kelly is at a fascinating point in his career. It’s too late for him to go out on top, so how does he exit? Like CJ? Like Jordan? All sports have top athletes who just don’t know when to leave. It’s gotta be really difficult and many, or most, of the very best stay too long..
BeachGrit: How about surfing in general?
Carson: There are two times during my day-to-day life when I feel totally in the moment. Surfing and when I’m deeply involved in a design project.
I so often pull out of waves and people tell me I was smiling or I hoot when I realise a great wave is lining up in front of me or I see someone elses as I’m paddling out. Or even for a great empty wave. And those that know me personally would never imagine I’m a hooting kinda guy.
It really is that indescribable thing. I take it all in: that first jump into the water, the sunsets, the wind changes, the smells and sounds, the views. I’m never anywhere it the world where I couldn’t tell you if the wind is offshore wherever the nearest beach might be. And you can always keep learning, experimenting, new experiences, new equipment, new challenges.
Sometimes in graphic design interviews people ask me, what are you working on now, and I say, my cutback.
BeachGrit: What just kills you about pro surfing?
Carson: One, the whole idea that they called off a pro contest because the surf got too big and perfect, that’s still mind-blowing to me.
Two, I just watched a heat from HB and the top in-form surfer of the event just completed a crazy air in ridiculous, deplorable conditions. He got a 2.5. The one commentator, the teddy bear big guy one who took the mike away from the world champ, was in disbelief saying it must have been a mistake, can’t be right, had to at least be a four he said. His co-announcer replied, as any good company man would, well, the judges have seen him do that just so many times, so he got scored low.
What? Judge the difficulty of the move please. Very few of the WSL top 34 could have pulled that move and none of the judges could even dream about making that move or what goes into completing it.
And, by the way, who are these mysterious people ,not allowed to talk to the press or explain any of their decisions, kept far away from all media and public, making these life-changing decisions as they hide away in the dark behind security guards and iPads? Oops, sorry, Samsung imitation iPads.
Three, overhyped Californian surfers who never quite deliver. California hasn’t had a world-class, game-changing surfer since Dane Reynolds. And the best surfers in San Clemente are all Brazilans.
Four, I love the pride and passion of the Brazilians and am surprised by the racism and hate toward Brasilians. Primarily, it seems, by Australians if Stab is to be believed.
Five, the way pro surfing swept Andy Irons’ death under the carpet. It missed a huge opportunity to help educate the youth of the world, of all ages, and the dangers and dumbness of some drugs.
Seven, claims. Stop ’em. Should be penalized for them. Watch John John finish a ride. No claim needed, the surfing speaks for itself. Kelly had a great idea – make the surfers pay for any claim that doesn’t then score in the excellent range!
Judges are human. There is no doubt claiming has helped a surfer or three through a heat and, more recently, has kept some from advancing. Even Adriano rarely does them. Kolohe’s ranked 30th in the world and his are the worst ever. Doubled handed “give me the money ” ones and just yesterday, half-way through his ride, claiming each individual manoeuvre. A new low for claim land.
BeachGrit: Now tell me all about your house overlooking the best wave in the Caribbean?
Carson: Well. I’m a lucky man. I jump off my front yard, have a few paddles and am in the line up. no drift. No cold water. Often I’m the only one out. The wave is a long, high-performance righthander with a little bit of everything. I can tell from my porch when the first ridable wave of a new swell comes down the point. Sometimes I’m already out waiting for it, thanks to Surfline and Magic Seaweed. I never tire of watching the offshore lines of any swell or mindsurfing if it’s tiny and still perfect. I can see the point from my bed, can’t sleep if it’s big or a new swell is arriving. It’s truly,and literally, a dream set up. I bought the house 17 years ago sight unseen. I only knew of its location. I’ve never had buyer’s remorse.
…with the one, the only, the incredible Steve Sherman…
It’s abundantly clear that without the photographer Steve Sherman backstage at a surfing event, the results will be vulgar, anarchic, hopeless. We might sentimentalise the low-fi photo but the results, on close inspection, are often clumsy and ignorant.
What could be more depressing than having such a tight collection of surfing greats and none of those wonderful behind-the-scenes moments are stolen?
At the recent Vans US Open of Surfing, the San Diego photographer Steve Sherman penetrated everything, and everywhere.
His photos, I believe, have a commercial, contemporary theatre.
And is trapped, fate unknown, thereby raising profound question: whose domain is it?
Yesterday on idyllic Pawley Island, in beautifully progressive South Carolina, a seven-foot alligator was seen casually riding waves, frolicking in the water’s balmy August warmth.
According to The Daily Mail, “Police officers who were called to the scene followed the amateur four-legged surfer for two hours as it unhurriedly made its way a mile up the shore.”
(Most likely) the gator took a few lefts on the inside sandbar, favoring his left hand approach in the small, glassy peelers. Then he took a look at a couple corners outside, made his way up the coast slowly, patiently waiting for sets.
Basically, enjoying a Monday afternoon bodywomp!
And fuck if South Carolinians aren’t harsh on outsiders picking off peaks! A pack of “professional gator trappers” (imagine! The life!) eventually got close enough to lasso it and drag it from the water. Like fucking coastal cowboys!
Now, alligators are for me perhaps the only animals scarier than sharks. Being from Florida, I’ve witnessed attacks from both. Sharks are quick, their attacks chaotic bursts from below. But alligators are monsters. They are scrappier, uglier, and just as fast on land as in the water. They can torque off an appendage with one dramatic twist.
But part of me thinks, That poor reptilian man-eater! Literally dragged from the water! The fucker commenced “about 20 Death Rolls” before trappers got a good handle on him, taped his trapped-door of a chomper shut, and dragged him away.
What do you think? Should the beast have been allowed to cruise the coast, sliding summer shorepound as he made his way north?