Where your fav writer gets tubed, is served bad
salsa and worries about John John's future.
Yesterday was Saturday. Today is Sunday. The
contest is, once again, on hold. The surf is, once again, very fun.
Just small, by North Shore standards.
Which didn’t keep me from getting one of the better tube slides
of my life yesterday. Surfed another out of the way patch. Was
explaining the spot to a friend.
“You want to take off behind the section, do your bottom turn,
then wait for it to hit the shallow spot inside, bend toward you
and grow.”
Always easier said than done. Always run the risk of running
your mouth about your supposed knowledge, then getting totally
skunked and looking like Mr Big Mouth Barney 5000.
So I was gratified when I found a gem of a nugget mid-session.
Set the line, only a minor tuck to fit, saw that lip well out in
front. Shamelessly no-claim claimed when I got spat out. Not that I
actually got spat out. But I’m a normal human, it was
plenty good to give me a memory I’ll hang onto for a while.
The sun reappeared this morning.
Stereotypical idyllic Hawaii weather. Trades are barely blowing,
mobs are currently making their way up H2. Course set to clog the
roads, litter the beaches with buffoonery. Spray-on sunscreen
hanging in the air, filling your nose and torturing your taste
buds. How hard it is to rub stuff on your ass? Not very.
Happy Hour at Luibueno’s is still a scene. Enjoyed a good
margarita and some okay tacos. Solid by Oahu standards. Sub par by
mine.
Their salsa is garbage. Fucking pitiful. Shameful tomato
blah.
“We’ve got spicier if you want it,” the waitress said.
“I do want. I do.”
She handed me a bottle of Tapatio. I struggled to resist
throwing it back in her face. Not her fault, she’s just works
there.
They pack you in tight. I kept elbowing the guy sitting behind
me in the spine. Sorry, buddy. Sorry, buddy.
I eavesdropped on their conversation, because I do that. And
because they were speaking very loudly. You had to near shout to
make yourself heard. Still, though, they were being a bit over the
top. Which is how I know all about the boards they ordered, their
sponsors, plans for filming.
Thing is, I don’t know who the fuck they were. Didn’t look
familiar at all.
It reminded me of the assholes in LA who’d have loud
conversations in the lineup about how much they were making on real
estate deals. Show off type shit. Look how big I am.
Probably should dial it back a bit. Doesn’t fly too well in a
place that puts a strange premium on humility. Don’t make big body,
dude.
Signs for John John are everywhere. Outside Haleiwa Joe’s. Spray
painted across the barriers outside the skatepark. Nailed to
telephone poles and soaped onto car windows.
Poor kid. That shit would put me in a panic. He’s done amazing
things, sure to have a long awesome career.
But the problem with accomplishments, there comes a moment you
have to go, “Okay, what next?”
The answer is difficult enough when you’re a typical
slob. But how the fuck do you improve when you’re already on
top?
If you’re Filipe and Gabby, you dance!
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