Two days ago, I threw up a little interview I
made with
the shaper Matt Biolos in San Clemente. There’s
something about stealing a man’s thoughts over the breakfast
counter that brings immediacy and a candour you don’t get when you
sit ‘em under a bank of tungsten lights.
On that very same day, I went to see Dino Andino, the one-time
successful pro surfer and pops of Kolohe Andino, who lives a short
drive away.
I had enough memory of the card of my little Canon G10 to record
a few minutes of his thoughts. Would Dino, therefore, allow me to
make an interview with him about his son?
There were things I wondered: what doesn’t Dino like
about Brother’s surfing? How is their father-son
relationship?
I imagined the house to be something extravagant, on the gaudy
side of decorative and loaded with labour-saving devices that would
virtually eliminate the housemaid, but with a garden that required
half of Latin America to maintain.
What I discovered was a pretty, and welcoming, Californian-style
bungalow. Dino, as ever, was a generous host, pointing out the
various features of the house and the section where the noted Ho
family, Mason, Coco and Michael, stay every summer.
This interview is a tight edit of a somewhat rambling, but
illuminating, conversation.
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Candid: In Defence of Chris Ward
By Rory Parker
Wait, is this a classic bait and switch?
The wife and I have an arrangement where, when
we’re at that point all couples eventually reach, when you’re both
totally sick of arguing but still super angry at each other and
neither is willing to concede defeat, that we’re allowed to hit
each other.
It adds up to a nice little smack, but can’t cause any real
damage (a worry for me since I’m, literally, twice my wife’s size
and love her very, very much). It always works for calming us both
down. You get the catharsis of delivering a blow, and receive one
of your own to remind you that it hurts.
It’s a rarely invoked situation, and comes with a few rules.
You must stand feet together, facing each other.
No twisting at the waist or reaching past your shoulder to wind
up.
Fingertips only. No striking with palms allowed.
Aim for cheek only.
It adds up to a nice little smack, but can’t cause any real
damage (a worry for me since I’m, literally, twice my wife’s size
and love her very, very much). It always works for calming us both
down. You get the catharsis of delivering a blow, and receive one
of your own to remind you that it hurts.
I’m not recommending this for other couples. Far from it.
We’ve got a very unique take on how to build a successful
relationship and while what we do has worked for a decade and a
half I suspect it’d be a bit much for normal people.
Shot by Kai Neville, edited by Dane, himself, it’s
three-and-a-half minutes of pure splendor.
I suspect that Dane and Courtney have a weird relationship,
something along the lines of the wife and me. I think you need to,
if you’re going to meet young and stick together for the
duration.
People change a lot over the years, to assume the person you
fell in love with will remain in stasis for the rest of their life
is naive. And when you’re both creative people, you’ve gotta make
allowances for the neuroses that generate that type of
personality.
Did you know that we both have French Bulldogs?
Ours is named Mr. Eugene Victor Debs. He’s pure fucking awesome,
though no where near calm enough to pose for adorable pictures.
And he won’t take a shit if someone is watching him.
Which I understand. I’ve had to explain to my wife, on multiple
occasions, that I feel the same way.
Like, at the very least don’t make eye contact, honey.
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Redemption: Social Media Saves Wardo?
By Chas Smith
…oh, the power of Facebook!
Ain’t 2015 the most wonderful time to be alive?
We have it all! World leaders who unite to stop global warming,
proud men and women gather together to decry religious intolerance
and social medias to keep in touch with our thousands and thousands
of friends!
Yesterday we reported on the very public apparent disintegration
of Chris Ward’s marriage. There were pictures of his wife with a
bruised face, maybe hacked Instagram accounts and Facebook
harangues.
Oh the pain of living in glass houses. This might have been kept
a private matter but in 2015 everything gets pushed to the public
sphere.
An impossible tidal wave! So bad for relationships maybe.
But today we see the flipside, we see the loving caresses of a
public rushing in and trying to help, providing advice, even
shoulders to cry on! So good for relationships maybe! Social medias
can act as therapists couches without the exorbitant financial
cost. They can be personal Oprah Winfreys. So totally American!
Chris Ward took to his Facebook, you see, as a result of a
public outpouring and wrote:
“Im really sorry for the post I did last night I may have
said something that caused a big blowout. I wasn’t intentionally
trying to bash anyone I was just letting out my emotions I haven’t
got anyone to really talk to that will listen. Yep you can say it
was foolish to post my first thoughts and I let my emotions get the
better of me but Im as real as it gets I may have over reacted and
sorry to my my friends and Michele Marie Ward for making such
accusations Maybe i got the wrong empression but this guy should
have never been that close to your face. But if i had not gone
there i would have saw nothing. Ill stay home next time its
healthy. Then we can trade off. ONLY GOOD VIBES TO EVERYONE THANKS
FOR BEING CONCERNED everyone goes thought stuff like this in life
thats just LIFE gotta grow up and handle STAY Strong especially the
ones you love the most PEACE!!!!!”
A marriage perhaps saved because a wound was made public? What
if it was allowed to fester in the dark night of privacy? Might it
have blown out in some other way?
Michele Ward might be a little tougher to convince, however.
But look, just eight weeks ago.
There is still the matter of a hacked Wikipedia page….oh
hacking!
What a bother you are! And the bruised face. What was that
about? And the little gay hipster? Why so close?
But in this day and age it was the good vibes of the concerned
that shone brightest of all.
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Inspired: BeachGrit’s Xmas Gift Guide!
By Rory Parker
What do you buy the godless heathen? A Kendo
practice sword and The History of Surfing!
We don’t celebrate Christmas in my house. The
wife and I are godless heathens, so dedicating a day to some Jewish
kid’s birth doesn’t make much sense. And we’ve got no children, so
we don’t have to submit to pageantry just so our little one fits in
with his peers.
Plus, Christmas trees are insane fucking fire hazards. Seriously, I
can’t believe people merrily co-exist with a sap filled firebomb
for weeks each year.
We do celebrate Chronica which, despite appearances, is
not a portmanteau of Christmas and Hanukkah. It’s a
non-denominational way to obliquely threaten your nearest and
dearest.
I’ll write more about it in the near future. Most likely on a
day, like today, that I don’t have any good ideas.
Yesterday I saw that The Inertia ran a “gifts for surfers”
article and realized, “Hey, that’s not a bad idea.”
Tons of people are probably searching that term, why not steal the
idea, and a few clicks along with it? And maybe Mr Rielly can set
up an Amazon affiliate account so we can monetize the thing.
A knife:Knives are both useful
and dangerous, which makes them the ultimate gift for pretty much
everyone. Whether you need to slice some cheese, open a beer, or
stab a pesky hobo, if you’ve got a trusty blade on you you’re
a-okay.
I’m a big fan of both Kershaw and Spyderco brand knives. Their
mid range offerings are sturdy, affordable, and set up for neat-o
one handed opening.
I’ve got, literally, a drawer jam packed with knives, though my
favorite, and the one I carry most often, is the Kershaw
Blur. It’s heavy duty, and the sweet SpeedSafe tech
means it’s basically a switchblade, while skirting laws that make
switchblades illegal.
Don’t expect the cops to know that, though. It’ll still get you
ticketed, and if you’re black in America, it’ll get you shot.
Mfused Vapor Oil:I’ve got
a bunch of these things rattling around my house right
now, and I really dig ’em. As far as drug use goes, it
makes me feel like I’m in the future. My vape pen thing plugs into
my computer to charge, then these viscous black tubes screw into
the top.
It’s like I’m doing some weird future drug out of Robocop or
something. All the new terms for smoking weed really feed into that
too.
I’m not “taking a bong hit” anymore, I’m “vaping oil.”
There’s a bunch of different types, variously for pain, or
providing different highs, though I can’t really tell the
difference. Marijuana culture has long been resembling wine dorks
with its evaluation of the drug’s effects, unless you’re really
into it I think it’s pretty much all the same. Make no mistake,
though. Even if you’re a daily smoker, like me, these guys will
leave you on the floor retarded.
Kendo practice swords: Nothing says “Merry Christmas”
as much as getting shit-can wasted on high octane eggnog and
bashing the hell out of your friends with a set of martial arts practice swords.
They won’t break bones, but they definitely leave bruises, and will
raise a welt faster than your drunken stepfather the day after
grades come home.
Cressi Freedive fins: Dealing
with flat spells ain’t so bad once you realize that there’s a whole
‘nother world lurking below the surface. Tons of cool shit to see,
to kill, to eat.
The only problem, freediving ranks up there with golf and
snowboarding as a sport mostly enjoyed by privileged white people
with money to burn. So the gear is all ridiculously overpriced, and
separating the useful from the merely cool-looking takes a ton of
time and money.
Even though I’m a total gear whore when it comes to diving,
my plastic Cressis are the fins I use most
often. They’re durable, cheap-ish, and work really
well. People will tell you that you can’t dive deep with them, but
I’ve never had a problem.
The History of Surfing by Matt Warshaw: I went
totally digital with my reading material a few years back, and over
the course of various moves, threw away almost every book and
magazine I owned.
Why lug around a library when you can pirate pretty much
everything ever written?
The action is sheer brilliance but those
commercials? Like, gag!
I have watched almost every heat of this year’s
Pipeline Masters because it has been so great and also coincided
perfectly with my two-year-old’s school/nanny schedule.
Indescribable joy has filled my heart!
Except.
When the action ends. It is in these brief windows that my soul
is cringes for I know I am going to be served one of four things,
each worse than the last!
Billabong, the event’s title sponsor, throws up a commercial
that looks like it cost $12.00 and made in 30 minutes.
Jingle-jangly hipster guitar, crossed out words, black n’
white…damn it all! Is this the Pipline Masters 2011? Why Billabong?
Why so MarineLayer?
But Billabong is the best in class. Next comes a Point
Break trailer. Fine enough the first time, aside from tacky
voiceover talking about extreme athletes. But I’ve seen lots of
different trailers for the film, most better than the one playing
between WSL heats. Why can’t they mix it up? Why do we have to
watch the same exact one 300 times a day?
But I dream of Point Break when I see Shane Dorian
looking gloomily out his window, fondling a picture of his family.
Qalo? An action sport medical grade silicon wedding ring available
exclusively at Jack’s surf shop? The spot has so much gravitas the
viewer might think it is for something meaningful. A silicon
wedding band that costs $19? Who in the world thought that would be
a good idea?
But I would go buy a Qalo silicon wedding ring and wear it every
day if I never had to watch Nathan Florence talk about his Vans
slippahs again. “I wear them here and here and here. Not here. And
here and here. But never in the house.” His voice was not made to
be used. And his ankles, thick and bold, wonderful for bucking chop
in massive waves, were not made to be shown.
The action comes back and I thrill again but am left to wonder.
This is the WSL’s super bowl and it is living up to its billing.
You Can’t Script This™! So many contenders! So fun! But there is no
way Qalo is paying for their ad, Billabong and Vans are sponsors
and so their spots don’t count which leaves Point Break.
After this whole year, after Paul Speaker going to New York and
touting geo-tagging and NFL and blah blah blah, Point
Break is the only paying customer. A movie with a Christmas
release that is trying to appeal to the same exact market as
professional surfing. A complete one off. Samsung who?
Is the World Surf League truly a financially viable property
outside the 29 million Brazilians who tune in each day
(READ ABOUT THEM HERE)? Yeah?
It is? Really? Qalo?