More companies to follow with mass sackings! It's
the surf industry apocalypse!
Who knew that October 2016 would be the end of the surf
industry? The reaping? The inquisition? The end?
It’s a total apocalypse, baby!
Rumors are flowing fast and furious about brands taking the
guillotine to their entire rosters! Surfers on 220,000 a year
waking up and being on 000,000 a year.
It started, apparently, with Volcom chop chop chopping and then
spread like a Reign of Terror across the industry. Three separate
sources tell me every brand you know and love is included in the
whispers (except Salty Crew).
Voices frayed. Hearts fluttering.
And oh! The horror! The end! The end of a nearly two decade run
where young boys with just enough skill could earn six figure
salaries and buy homes and lease Lexi.
But it’s over.
An official(ly rumored) wrap.
But are you sad? Will you go to bed broken-hearted for the local
legend who lost his paying surf gig or do you say good
riddance?
This being BeachGrit, home of the anti-depressive, I
say ummmmm hoorah! Smart money men all say the time to jump into a
market is when it flounders. Are you a young surfer with big
sponsorship dreams? Keep them alive! Don’t fear the bear! Guess
what Uncle Warren Buffett is investing in?
Do you think the shaka is overused? Is it foolhardy
to attempt?
Dear Rory,
Is the ‘Shaka’ overused? It really seems that every photo of
every kook, pro, board shaper, artist, musician, 5 year old or 50
year old has a Shaka in it. Whether they are in Hawaii, San
Clemente, Mt Hood, NYC, Maine or Florida, there is a Shaka. Fuck I
am sick of them, never had a use for them and felt odd if I ever
used one. Not from Hawaii, not a Hawaiian. What is the history of
the Shaka anyways?
Shaka Hatin’ Haole Boy
Dear Rory says: Yep, the shaka can be pretty goony.
Especially when you’re posing for a photo. It’s like Japanese
people always throwing out the split finger “peace” sign. What’s up
with that? Looks so awkward and lame.
A few years ago, when the in-laws came to visit, they got
hammered on vodka and asked me to teach them how to throw a proper
shaka. If I were a kind man I’d’ve said, “You just don’t. It looks
stupid. Like a transplant trying to talk pidgin you just end up
demonstrating how clueless you are.”
“Ho, brah! We go dakine holo holo! Shootz!”
But I’m not a kind man, so I explained how there are many
different types of shakas. Like the myriad bows within various
Asian cultures.
Of course, certain Asian cultures discourage Westerners trying
to bow. In Thailand I was told I shouldn’t even attempt it. It was
more likely I’d come across as disrespectful than friendly.
I explained to the family that the proper pronunciation of shaka
is in fact, shuh- CAW. Like a crow. Your hand
should be displayed palm forward, and lifted above your head. The
further you extend your hand above your head, the more respect you
are showing.
I find myself throwing shakas when someone lets me merge into
traffic, or if I see a friend driving past. Just something I
unintentionally picked up. Like
saying manini and shootz. Probably
doesn’t make me look super rad, but I don’t really do it on
purpose.
It was an amusing week. A lucid crew would’ve figured out fairly
quickly I was fucking with them. But they were hammering down two
handles of the aforemention booze every single day for the duration
of their stay. I was relatively impressed they were able to remain
upright and ambulatory, but their critical thinking skills were
sorely lacking.
“Shuh- CAW, guys!”
“Shuh- CAW!”
Like any mannerism, it only works if it’s a unconscious thing. I
find myself throwing shakas when someone lets me merge into
traffic, or if I see a friend driving past. Just something I
unintentionally picked up. Like saying manini and
shootz. Probably doesn’t make me look super rad,
but I don’t really do it on purpose.
As far as the history of the shaka… I have no fucking clue. The
story they tell tourists is that it means “hand your net loosely.”
Supposedly has something to do with laying nets for crabs.
But I don’t think that’s really true. Hawaiian cultural
immersion attempts typically fall pretty flat. Like going to the
Polynesian Cultural Center and realizing the majority of its staff
are Mormon transplant college students whose religion tried damn
hard to destroy the very culture they now exploit for profit.
But as to its origins, the prevailing local lore is that it
originated with Hamana Kalili of Laie, who lost the middle three
fingers on his right hand during an accident at the old Kahuku
Sugar Mill.
Kalili’s grandnephew Vonn Logan, who works for Brigham Young
University-Hawaii’s Department of Continuing Education, explained
that Kalili’s job was to feed sugar cane into the rollers, which
would squeeze out the juice. He lost his fingers when his hand got
caught in the rollers, Logan said. Because he could no longer work
in the mill, he became a security guard on the sugar train that
used to travel between Sunset Beach and Kaaawa.
“One of his jobs was to keep all the kids off the train,”
Logan said. “All the kids would try to jump the train to ride from
town to town. So they started signaling each other. Since (Kalili)
lost his fingers, the perfect signal was what we have now as the
‘shaka sign.’ That’s how you signaled the way was clear.”
I think the problem with the shaka comes down to the fact that,
while it’s cool to appreciate a foreign culture, it’s downright
foolhardy to attempt to emulate it. We are who we are, and you
don’t make it into adulthood without being served a hefty pile of
indoctrination. Damn hard to break those habits. Takes a hell of a
lot longer than a typical vacation to go native.
And, like the internet’s weeaboo population has demonstrated
time and again, being infatuated with a culture does not make you a
part of it.
Caught in a jam? Stuck in a pickle? Send your life questions
to [email protected]. Due to volume Rory cannot respond to
every letter.
And it was written for you by an Emmy winning
composer!
Theme songs are essential to any truly glorious
person, place or thing. What would Rocky be without his “Rocky
Balboa” brilliantly composed by Bill Conti? Could Indiana Jones
ride a horse or fight Nazi’s with such aplomb sans the eternal John
Williams?
Who’s the black private dick that’s a sex machine to all the
chicks? Shaft! But you certainly wouldn’t know it without Isaac
Hayes’ seminal work.
And now your very own BeachGrit has a theme song too
composed especially for us, for you, by an Emmy-award winning
artist named Ric Markmann.
It’s true!
Ric is a prolific and much sought after film and television
composer, having written songs for Wedding Crashers, The Cove, Hot
Pursuit, Sound City, The Art of Getting By, The Blindside,
Conspiracy among many others. Read
his IMDB here!
Yet he is also a surfer. Like you! Like me!
Oh when we were first introduced my mind raced at the
possibilities. Soared even. All other surf websites could all
wallow in their various pointlessness.
The Inertia writers could, for example, keep
listening to Kenny Loggins while tickling each other and giggling
in zipped together sleeping bags high on some hillock and I don’t
mean “high” like drugs. I mean “high” like far away from the
ocean.
Stab’s team could play Robin Thicke’s Blurred
Lines on repeat, jamming away to a work exactly as original as
their own.
We, on the other hand, would mean something because we, we
alone, would have HAND-CRAFTED THEMATIC MUSIC! Like The Pink
Panther! Like Dora the Explorer!
Would you like to listen?
It is called Arms for Battle and Ric says, “It feels hopeful and
gloomy at the same time.”
Just like our mascot Cryin’ Jordy!
Stare into his eyes, listen to the music and feel your spirit
soar/crash!
Oh…and don’t worry! This ain’t the end! Ric is the official
BeachGrit Composer and he will set some wonderful moments
in surf history to song. Wouldn’t Bobby Martinez’s “Fucking Tennis
Tour” rant sound better against an operatic score?
What about Kolohe Andino flipping off the judges at the Hurley
Pro backdropped by a subtle mournful violin solo?
Which moments would you like to hear? Let us and our wonderful
composer know!
The World Surf League finds their scapegoat for an
embarrassing day!
Have you had enough of the Humbling at
Hossegor yet? Yesterday’s two heat, and two heat only,
beginning to the Quiksilver France Pro? That forced two world
champions into the losers ledger?
I haven’t!
Much of the commentary class was under the general impression
that commissioner Kieren Perrow should not have called the contest
on but also extended him a fair amount of grace. Still, people
wondered why?
Why call it on only to call it off two measly heats later even
if things were weird?
This morning the World Surf League found their scapegoat,
throwing all blame at the just turned 23 year-old from Santa
Barbara, California.
In a hastily penned press release the office of WSL CEO Paul
Speaker declared:
Blame Conner.
When WSL officials were debating whether to run the
Quiksilver Pro Tuesday morning at Hossegor, Conner Coffin stroked
into this wave at Culs Nus. Coincidence or not, the event was
called on a few minutes later. Unfortunately the conditions didn’t
hold. Less than 30 minutes later the lineup was out of control,
with a rising swell and dropping tide tearing things
apart.
Do you think they will slap the young regular foot with a fine?
Will he be suspended for baiting his superiors into a regrettable
decision? Will he be kicked off tour entirely?
Is VP of WSL communications Dave Prodan in a French cowboy bar
right now singing the song In My Country There is a
Problem except exchanging Conner’s name?
In my country there is problem and that problem is the
Conner. He take everybody heat and he never give it back
[Chorus 2:] Throw the Conner down the well (repeat line) So
my WSL can be free (repeat line) You must grab him by his horns
(repeat line) Then we have a big party (repeat line)
[Verse 3:] If you see the Conner coming You must be careful
of his teeth. You must grab him by his money And I tell you what to
do
It defines the power struggle between the Young
Prince, the Golden Child and The Big Man!
Surf contest shorts don’t usually get the crowd
hollerin’. A wipeout here, tube-ride there, maybe
some kind of brazen Filipe Toledo air, and all cut to a generic
guitar track. Enough to wet the tongue, not enough to emancipate
real emotion.
Want to see something that radiates?
This thirty-second promo by the director and surfer Luke
Farquhar, for Fox Sports, is perfect in its ability to define the
power struggle between the Young Prince (whose fans adore his
caterwauling over judging decisions that don’t swing his way),
The Golden Child (who only enjoys
revealing himself on his own terms) and The Big Man (the Adonis-Christ
figure.)
The script, also written by the director, is painfully delivered
by…uh… me, channelling, I hoped, Jacques Brel but sounding more
like a dumb Australian murdering la langue d’amour.
Watch!
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Jon Pyzel and Matt Biolos by
@theneedforshutterspeed/Step Bros