The knuckles are wonderful places to advertise a
life motto. Which pro surfer has the best?
Many of today’s surf stars wear tattoos. Mick
Fanning sports a family crest, Silvana Lima her 2009 Bells
Bell. Joel Parkinson has the phrase “Life is better in
boardshorts!” on his inner arm and Dane Reynolds the cutest little
anchor over his heart.
These are all wonderful but none appear on the Mt. Olympus
of inspiration.
The knuckles.
Knuckle tattoos are like very smart tweets. Minimal characters
to get maximum hype. Eight single letters, or seven if you happen
to be Kala Alexander. His Wolf Pak does the trick very well but
what about Filipe Toledo’s Wild Free.
Does the young Brazilian seem overly wild or overly free? No?
False advertising maybe?
What about Kanoa Igarahsi’s Cats Meow. Do you like that one?
Taj has Bride Maid. That seems good and Bethany Hamilton has
Beth which is elegantly simple.
If you could recommend knuckle tattoos for the rest of today’s
brightest what would they be?
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Dear Rory: Is Kelly Slater a haole?
By Rory Parker
The noted Rory Parker on racism in paradise!
Get ready to ponder you fun loving
Hawaiian. Is Slates a haole? Think about it, sure he owns land on
the North Shore, multiple Pipe champ and winner of the Eddie.
However, he is from Florida, certainly would not categorize himself
as a local, and owns homes all over the world. Hmm sounds
like…. mahalo you fucking surfer, One Confused Honkey
The dreaded h-word! My eyes! My ears! How could you
do this to me?
I’m fascinated with the term, “haole.” I spend most days playing
with words, pay a lot of attention to how people react to them. And
the h-bomb is gold because of the multiple ways it can applied and
understood.
If you spend some time clicking around the internet you’ll find
plenty of people arguing about the word. Should it have an
‘okina? Does it mean “without breath?” Is it a racial
slur?
At its simplest, colloquial, level it means “white.” Or
caucasian, if the use of color confuses you. And that in itself is
not an insult.
But context is gorgeous and a subtle tone shift can turn it from
descriptor into pure venom.
“Do you know Steve? Haole guy, works at Bubba’s
Burgers?”
versus
“Did I tell you about my new neighbor? That fucking
haole cut down my plumeria tree while I was at work. Says he’s
scared his dog will eat the flowers.”
or
“Some fucking haole up near Princeville built a gate
across the public beach access.”
You can’t help being a haole. But you sure as hell can
avoid being a fucking haole.
Now, I know the rebuttal. “It’s still racist. You
shouldn’t use someone’s skin color as an insult.”
Blah, blah, blah. I hear it a lot. Too often. Usually once
everyone has had a few drinks and every shade of brown has gone
home so all the honkeys can spout off without checking the
room.
Motherfucker, you’re a professional earning well into six
figures. Some teenager shouting an insult from a passing car does
not make you Rosa fucking Parks. A rude waitress is not endemic
racism.
“Yeah, but locals hate white people.”
Since when? How much effort have you put into making local
friends? Oh, you’ve got a few? But they’re the good ones,
right?
Do some locals resent haole transplants? Of course. We’ve
earned it. The white hand has not been
gentle in Hawaii.
Even beyond the outright imperialism, it’s frustrating to grow
up somewhere and watch a bunch of affluent invaders buy up
everything. Price you out of your hometown. Get their greedy mitts
on every shred of available land and refuse to let go.
If you grew up in a LA beach suburb you’ve experienced the
Silicon Valley invasion. Wasn’t fun, was it?
If you move, or travel to, somewhere and find yourself in
constant conflict with its residents you should take a long hard
look at your own behavior. Blaming everyone around you without
trying to assimilate is something a fucking haole
does.
Yes, Slater is a haole. I am a haole. You most likely are too.
It’s nothing to be ashamed of. Nothing to be proud of. It
just is.
Just don’t be a fucking haole. Don’t drive down
Kam Hwy ten miles below the speed limit taking pictures out the
sunroof of your rental. Don’t try to cut in line at the market.
Don’t snake someone’s parking space because you’re in a hurry.
Don’t complain because your food is taking to long. Don’t paddle
out at Rockies and act like you’re in an NSSA explorers heat. Don’t
look for persecution in your every interaction.
Caught in a jam? Stuck in a pickle? Send your life
questions to[email protected].
Due to volume Rory cannot respond to every letter.
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BeachGrit TV: “Tired of being told
NO!”
By Chas Smith
In this latest episode we have the gorgeous
founders of What Youth!
Have you ever left the safety, the comfort, of
a sure thing and launched into the dark unknown? Did you wake each
morning in a cold sweat? Did you wonder if your plans, maybe
hatched during a drunken hour, would actually pan out? Could
actually pan out?
Oh how easy it is to sit on the sideline and snipe. Creating
something though, anything, out of scratch takes all kine moxie. It
takes a strong backbone and a stronger pair of Ray Bans. It takes a
teflon coated spirit. It takes guts.
And here we have two of the three founders of What Youth, Travis
Ferré and Scott Chenoweth looking like the coolest jazz cats on
earth and talking a little about what it feels like to build
something.
What Youth has become a necessary component of our
surf universe. The profiles, direction, art and spirit define
what is coming next rather than what has been. Without it none of
us would have anything to bounce off. They define the borders of
our frontier.
This interview here is not deep but it is fun… or was fun for
me. I got to drink many spicy pineapple margaritas with two of my
favorite people on earth!
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Fab: Tay Steele and his 25th film!
By Chas Smith
Feat. bonus game! Is it Rob or is it Craig?
Did you too come of age in the 1990s? Did
Taylor Steele direct every surf film you knew or cared about? Can
you believe he is on his 25th?
25th!
It is a miracle that a man can make a living doing surf film. An
absolute miracle. But Taylor Steele, our Brent Bolthouse, our Bruce
Weber, our Neville Chamberlin deserves the miracle and now his 25th
and now it is called Proximity.
Oh how retro meets today! How Rob actually and physically surfs
with Ando!
The movie isn’t out yet but come whet your whistle here on a
making of feat. Rob and Ando.
Who is that in the first frame? I dare you to guess!
More importantly, though, is Alejandro. He is featured in this
“Making of…” and shines. He makes me want to see the finished
product.
Is it Rob or is it Craig? Who cares! We all win!
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Warshaw: “Surfing’s biggest Turkey!”
By Derek Rielly
Surfing's most shameful episode!
When I was a kid, sitting at home there in a
gloomy suburb hours from the beach, I’d get my surf kicks via TV.
One day, mid-summer, midday, no parent around to deliver me to the
water, an old Hollywood surf movie called Big Wednesday
came on.
I knew nothing about it. Didn’t know the hype. Didn’t know the
praise (not much) nor the criticism (much). And it swallowed me
completely into the romance of three men growing up, on the beach,
as surfers around Malibu.
The great surf historian, Matt Warshaw, has a totally
different take. Matt regards it as one of the most shameful
episodes, ever, in surfing.
BeachGrit: When I saw this, on TV, as a kid, it painted
the surfer’s life, for me, poignantly, beautifully. Better than
anything before or since. What’s your take? Did John Milius nail it
for you too?
In the surf media, the Big Wednesday built up was like nothing
you’ve ever seen. Cover stories, making-of features, endless gossip
and chatter. This was going to be the one! John Milius gets it! He
surfs! Greenough was onboard, Bud Browne, PT, Ian, Bill Hamilton,
Greg MacGillivray, on and on and on. This movie could not fail! And
it was a piece of shit. Worse than Gidget. Worse
than Ride the Wild Surf. It was a message film. Some
heavy-handed bullshit about friendship, and growing up, and blah
blah.
Fuck you. You crazy!
No, actually the first 20 minutes were good. The party scene.
The part where LeRoy makes that kid at Malibu give his board to
Jan-Michael Vincent, who’s too hung-over to walk. “I’m going to
drown, and all you’re going to find is this shitty board.” That was
a great line. Most every scene with Gary Busy was worth watching.
Did you know he made The Buddy Holly
Storythe same year he made Big
Wednesday?
Got an Academy Award for that one, didn’t
he?
Nominated, but didn’t win.
It was a piece of shit. Worse than Gidget. Worse
than Ride the Wild Surf. It was a message film. Some
heavy-handed bullshit about friendship, and growing up, and blah
blah.
Didn’t the surf media shit on Big Wednesday when it was
released?
They lined up and took turns,
yeah. Surfer called it “mediocre” and
“self-indulgent” and “embarrassing.” And said Jan-Michael Vincent
was horribly miscast as a drunk, which is sad and ironic but also
kind of funny, given that he was on his way to becoming a total
crash and burn alcoholic. Surfing said the only
good thing about Big Wednesday was that it
sucked so hard that Hell would freeze over before Hollywood touched
surfing again.
Paint the narrative arc for me…
Three friends rule the Point, grow up, grow apart. One of the
friends gets punched in the face by another one of the friends.
Vietnam brings comedy and tragedy. There is a lemon next to a pie —
I’m not sure what that means. In the final act, the ultimate big
swell comes, and Gerry Lopez is there, and the three friends
reunite at the Point, Lopez gives LeRoy a knowing smile, and the
friends charge forth. Matt takes a header on the reef, the other
two save him. Back on the beach, there is hugging, and vague
promises to keep in touch. Cut.
Tell me the back story of Big Wednesday.
It’s Lance Carson and so forth, yeah? The Malibu gang?
The party stuff in the beginning came from “No-Pants Mance,” a
great short story written by Denny Aaberg, brother of California
point-surf style king Kemp Aaberg. Lance was the inspiration on
that one, yeah. Denny then wrote the book version of Big
Wednesday, along with John Milius, and apart from the party
stuff I don’t think there was much back story. Mostly just Milius
having a sentimental wank about his days at Malibu. Before he went
full fascist with Red Dawn and Conan
the Barbarian.
Oh, the tragedy of the scene where Matt, now just
slightly over the hill, takes his daughter to see him in a movie
and the crowd quiets during his section and then lights up during
the new hotshot Gerry Lopez part.
Yeah, the backside of the mountain. Tough. Five years later,
it’d be Lopez in the theater looking noble and deflated as Tom
Carroll comes onscreen and drives ‘em wild.
Y’got a favourite scene?
LeRoy during his military physical, playing the nutcase, bumming
cigarettes from the shrink.
Tell you though, I hated, hated, hated Jack. Reminds me
of every teacher, every lifesaver, every cop. Goes to fight yella
man in Vietnam, becomes a lifeguard, a ranger.
Jack actually makes all the right choices, the sane choices, but
yes he is mouthful of castor oil.
Jan-Michael Vincent. God I wanted to be that stud with
his freewheeling harem. How’s he doing these
days?
Drunk, broke, angry, and missing a leg. Don’t watch the video
interview with him from a couple years ago. He was a bastard back
in the day, I’ve heard, but jeez nobody deserves to be in the shape
he’s in. Big Wednesday was Jan Michael Vincent’s
greatest moment. He never looked better, and was still on his way
up.
Were you surprised when the movie became a cult
favourite?
Never underestimate the power of Baby Boomer self-regard. Big
Wednesday was retro when it came out, and ten years later when it
went big as a rental, it was retro-retro. Double-dipped nostalgia.
Boomers wore their VHS machines out playing that turkey, wallowing
in their imagined past. But at the time, yeah, I was surprised.