Revealed: Nate Tyler hates boobs!

Finger painted ones!

I have never met anyone who hated curry. It is a staple from India to Thailand to Japan and very sought after in New York City.

But Nate Tyler hates curry.

Why?

The smell of curry reminds me of finger-painted boobs. My dad is a hippie and when I was young we would regularly travel to festivals and fairs in Oregon. There was everything that you’d expect from hippie fairs. Music, arts and crafts, expressions of free love and finger-painted boobs. Topless women would wander around with saggy boobs and swirls of paint, rushing and whirling toward unattractive nipples. And everyone was eating curry. I loathed the sight of those finger-painted boobs and now I loathe anything to do with curry.

Oh. I would hate curry too.


A dour looking young Kelly accepts defeat.

Victory: Hamilton wings Slater!

There is a new most popular kid in town!

Who is the most popular surfer in the world as measured through the fine, though imperfect, lens of social media?

Wrong!

Kelly is certainly very popular and the most popular man but the most popular person, as revealed by Transworld Business, is Kauai’s Bethany Hamilton!

Let’s look at the stats!

Beth has 4.3 million followers across platforms with an average engagement of around 17,000 fans per post.

Kelly wins Instagram (how could you not follow him? He’s a brilliant artist!) but Beth wastes him across Pintrest, Facebook, Twitter and GoGoInflight with her fans liking, commenting, not swearing… engaging so very often!

And does this surprise you? Surfing is, after all, still fairly to very misogynistic. Maybe it is changing? Maybe it is becoming more open, more even? Let’s hope!

While we’re at it, who do you follow on the socials?

Or do you not give two shits?


Watch: Kelly Slater Sing Like An Angel!

Get filled with the soft notes of Kelly Slater!

Do you remember the hoopla, justified in my opinion, surrounding Kelly Slater’s art show in Venice Beach last week? The multimedia exhibition was an examination of the prevailing stench coming from the US Federal election and featured the work of artists Bruce Reynolds, Kevin Ancell and Todd Glaser.

Kelly, of course, believes that big business and government are poisoned by the machinations of unseen evilThe show was called “Apolitical Process: a vision by Kelly Slater” and was, he says, “an artistic journey through the chaotic and sometimes inflammatory 2016 election cycle. It is our aim to explore and expose the underlying truth, hypocrisy, danger, motivations, misinformation and effects of this process.”

Apolitical also pointed out the cruelty of keeping killer whales in captivity.

The noted broadcaster David Lee Scales attended the event for BeachGrit but found his gaze more on Kelly’s Gucci sneakers than the exhibition.

“The vast majority of the exhibit was Bruce Reynolds’ work; which was very uninteresting to me. It’s an attempt at a political statement, a commentary on the absurdity of the 2016 presidential campaign in the US. The works are essentially sculptures, made of found items with a lot cultural touchstones and corporate brand references. I don’t get it. I wasn’t provoked. It just simply didn’t compel me… Kelly arrived midway through the evening and was swarmed with fans trying to get iPhone photos. His silly shoes were the highlight of the evening for me.”

Unfortunately, Mr Scales missed the highlight of the show, which was Kelly’s extended version of the Bob Marley standard One Love. Fortunately, for you, me, the great movie director Michael Oblowitz snatched the jam on his phone. 

And you can watch here!

 


Is it love? True love?

Modern: Firewire’s pro-gay stance!

Finally but finally the surf world begins to celebrate diversity!

A very brilliant friend of mine told me recently about a Pulitzer-worthy short story he once wrote titled After Hours.

In it, the doors of the surf shop were shut for the day and the surfboards were free to speak with each other. Oh the fun! What do you imagine Matt Biolos’s Round Nose Fish would say to Channel Islands’ Rocket 9? Or Kelly Slater’s Sci-Fi to Darren Handley’s Skeleton Key?

So much to ponder.

But one thing is most certain. After the boards were done chatting with each other about various this and thats, about what Gorkin is up to or if anyone’s volume has increased substantially, they would gather around the Firewire Potato-nator, eyes wide, mouths wet and beg for stories from last night’s party.

And oh the stories that Firewire could tell! Stories detailing true love! Tales of wonderful passion!

A happy ending? It certainly looks that way.

It certainly looks that way.


The Strangest Ever Man in Surf!

Jamie O'Brien once had the strangest man ever in surf as his agent. Come and meet!

I dug out an old machine yesterday and it has reams and reams and reams of half-finished writing bits, lost interviews, buried personalities, flotsam and jetsam.

And this.

Jamie O’Brien once had the strangest man to ever dance through this surf world as his agent. I spent lots of time with him and could never quite decide if he was an untethered genius or disturbed giant. Just like Ignatius J. Reilly.

He confused absolutely anyone he came across. Confounded them. And yet he made Jamie into a surf personality. Like or hate, Jamie has succeeded far above what was rightfully his.

Anyone who came across this man in this surf world has stories. If you do tell it to me in the comments!

Here is one of mine recording the first time we met.

The orange Australian is wedged, semi-comfortably, between table and un-upholstered bench, in a private dining suite. His girth necessitates an economy of movement. Chopsticks held in hand, brought to mouth. Champagne flute, held in other, brought to mouth. There is a sort of general stillness, except for the hands and the mouth.

“And mate. Don’t go fucken telling me for one fucken minute that digi-cammo would not sell. Look. Parkour requires both dexterity and the ability to get lost in a crowd. The whole fucken art was started to allude fucken autoritarian figures. It, like digi-cammo, is born out of functionality, not some sort of bull fucken shit fashion bourgeoisie mentality.”

A double extra-large Spike Lee dressed as Mars Blackman peers, menacingly, from a well-washed black t-shirt.

“But parkour is uncool.” I retort. He snorts and grabs for a delicate piece of Kobe beef.

It is thus how I meet Andrew Long. I am jet-lagged from a longer than expected flight from Sydney to Tokyo. I always had the two cities close. Maybe it is because I heard stories of Japanese designs on Australia during WWII and figured Sydney to be the target. Baz Luhrmann corrected me later in the epic Australia.

The private dining suite is located at the topmost floor of a Ginza high-rise. It’s lacquered black sliding door opens periodically and a demure Japanese boy enters with either more entrees or more drinks. Sake, sushi, Dom Perignon. The entire meal is on the hotel. Last time Andrew ate here a cockroach was found in his soba.

“The fucken surf industry is not even smart enough to fucken know that the surfers on the tour cannot move product. Best case scenario, a surfer who rides for a brand wins. Nobody will buy more of that brand thanks to the victory. Worst case scenario, a surfer who rides for a brand loses and everybody stops buying that brand thanks to perceived fucken taint.”

The lacquered black sliding door opens again and a nonplussed manager is standing with another bottle of Dom Perignon. Andrew keeps talking, spitting little fishlets out of his orange mouth.

“The fucken surf industry…blah blah blah.”