The World Surf League’s J-Bay competition is on
the boil, presented by Corona, and do you think Corona will try to
Mexicanize South Africa? Burritos in the competitor’s tent?
Sombreros on the beach?
Oh I hope so. It would be the grandest surf competition since
Barra de las Cruz. Professional surfing really does need to return
to mainland Mexico but in the meantime, how good is rum?
The alcohol is made from sugarcane byproducts and distilled in
oak barrels and adds the essential kick to cocktails from the
daiquiri to the piña colada.
Cuba is very famous for rum, though they call it ron. Australia
is, inexplicably, famous for it too. And let’s watch a spot from
Bundaberg Rum as they immortalize the J-Bay competition from two
years ago. The grandest surf competition since Barra de la
Cruz.
Mexican beer, rum, ron, whatever. I can’t wait for J-Bay. And is
this the year that Julian Wilson, currently hovering at world
number 8, wins it all?
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Clip: Jared Mell in Costa Rica!
By Derek Rielly
The Californian retro-ish stud glitters at a
Central American righthander.
For obvious reasons, I’ve never courted professional
surfers as pals. I’ve seen it up close and it ain’t real
pretty.
The rules of engagement include an absence of criticism, always
walking a step or two behind lest you shadow the star, watching as
pretty girls totally bypass you for your otherwise unattractive
famous pal, compulsory airport pickups, having to drop all work and
personal commitments when pal has an en-route to South
Africa/LA/Fiji or wherever layover and so forth.
I think there was a time when Andy Irons fluttered, briefly,
through my life, but his inherent insecurity gave him a lovability
I haven’t seen or noticed since.
The surfer in this clip, Jared Mell, who divides time between
Los Angeles and Bali, I first met in Bali.
This was some years ago and I’d been employed by Insight to
drive a jetski and whip Jared (and Kai Otton and Warren Smith) into
waves for a clever advertising campaign. On his way from
California, however, Jared had become gravely ill from a virus he’d
picked up in Central America and throughout the entire week
couldn’t speak or he could speak, but in a mangled drawl.
A pro surfer who couldn’t complete a cohesive sentence was
hardly news to me. I just thought he was another retard.
It wasn’t until the following year that I discovered he is
a boy who is bright as a button and as funny as a lark. And his
surfing, riding surfboards first designed in the nineteen
seventies, I’ve always found attractive.
Today, his masters at Banks sent me this three-minute clip of
Jared surfing in Costa Rica. I don’t believe it will change the
world.
But as surfing in waves we can all relate to, or would like to
relate to, it works.
"...who is just antagonizing the FUCK out of
everyone!"
We live in the golden age of surf journalism,
and I certainly don’t need to remind you, but we live in the golden
age of surf radio too. It is totally true and where would we be
without the glorious podcast? We’d be sad is where. Especially
Occy. He’d be sad and sitting alone in his closet with an unplugged
microphone and list of anecdotes that no one would ever hear.
But we do have many podcasts and we know Occy’s stories and the
world is right.
One of my favorites is Ain’t That Swell with
Jed Smith and Vaughn Dead. The two have been at it as long as
anyone and have a wonderfully light rapport, easy-listening yet
still bawdy voices and a command over the subject matter.
In their latest episode, featuring guest Danny Johnson from
Surfing World, there was a segment called Under or Over wherein the
three discussed if certain topics were under performing or over
performing.
Surf journos
turning on each other was brought up and Vaughn
declared it “under performing” saying, “Who fucking cares, mate?
Arrrrgh!”
Jed added, “This is the thing. This is what makes it worth
ripping into other surf journalist because at the same time who
fucking cares?”
Then Vaughn said, “Let’s rattle off a few examples of what we’re
talking about.”
Jed picked up the thread and declared, “Alright so we had
Charlie Smith vs. The Inertia, Charlie Smith vs. Stab
magazine…”
Vaughn interjected, “He’s on a fucking roll!”
While Jed continued, “Charlie Smith vs. Mick Fanning, who
admittedly isn’t a journalist. Who else has Chas taken on?”
And then either Vaughn or guest Danny Johnson (forgive me… the
lack of visuals is the downside of a podcast) yelled, “Everyone!
Well he did an episode of Surf Splendor during the week but uh he
just seems like he is that little creature who is just antagonizing
the FUCK out of everyone just desperate for a response and when he
gets it it’s a little victory to Chas but I think everyone else
just seems to be terrified of him. That’s how it feels. People just
have their fingers crossed, please don’t talk about me, please
don’t have a go at me, I don’t want to get involved in this shit
and… I don’t know. I don’t know whether people are intentionally
flagging him because they can’t be fucked or whether they’re too
scared or what’s going on but, yeah he’s going after everyone, man
and… I guess he said it best himself. He’s lobbing grenades and
he’s not getting any thrown back at him because either a) they’re
scared or b) they don’t give one flying fuck but I have a feeling
it’s a bit of both.”
Such a wonderful exchange but if I may add my two cents. The
general tone of the discussion (listen below around the 28 minute
mark) is that surf journalism is absurd and that throwing stones,
or grenades as it were, is pointless and dumb. I whole-heartedly
agree with one caveat. Having dabbled in war journalism, political
journalism and fashion journalism enough I can say that those are
utterly absurd too. No more and no less absurd than surf
journalism.
Which is why I do what I do. Surf journalism, as absurd and
pointless as it is, is also much more fun. The stories are fun, the
the excesses are fun, the rumors are fun and the “fights” are
fun.
We really do have differences of opinions. I think The
Inertia is a giant piece of shit. I think Stab is
embarrassingly derivative. And I write about these two, any anyone
else in my way, because it’s fun. Why are they too chicken to
respond? Vaughn/Danny thinks they’re either scared or don’t
give a flying fuck.
I know they’re scared and that is why I’ll continue to lob my
grenades.
We’re all yellow journalists, after all. I’m just Hearst looking
for my Pulitzer.
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The other half: Kelly Slater in
Cannes!
By Chas Smith
The world's greatest surfer living the world's
greatest life!
Donald J. Trump gave a speech yesterday to a
mob of blue collar midwestern corn farmers where he said, “So,
somebody said, ‘Why did you appoint a rich person to be in charge
of the economy?’ … I said, ‘because that’s the kind of thinking we
want.’ And I love all people, rich or poor. But in those particular
positions, I just don’t want a poor person. Does that make sense?
Does that make sense?”
It does make sense and I feel the same way about the best surfer
to have ever lived, Robert Kelly Slater.
Just think if Kelly, being the greatest surfer to have ever
lived, was poor or struggling. Just think if he had, like, a pretty
ok condo in Cocoa Beach and a plaque commemorating his achievements
on the wall of his local Hooters.
That would be a compete disaster because if the 11 x world champ
could only make it into a condo and Hooters what hope would there
be for me? For you?
Thankfully Kelly is spending his weeks between Fiji and South
Africa rubbing shoulders with 200 other notables at a private
French chateau. Let’s peek in on his Instagram!
Amongst 200 people at a private estate on a hillside above
the French Riviera listening to #EddieVedder and #GlenHansard just
after sunset on the #SummerSolstice2017 is a pretty good way to
spend an evening, I’d say. Sounds more like a hypothetical (and a
run-on sentence) than my past few hours. We were supposed to go see
#ChakaKhan just before that but I think that would’ve officially
been overload. Thanks, gentlemen. #ShakaCannes!
In reality I picked up a primary job, in the sense that it will
be my main form of income. Turns out BeachGrit can’t compete
with bees.
That’s right folks, I’ve taken up the practice of live bee
rescue, or ethical excavation if you’re into
illiteration. It’s a wonderful job and Derek wants me to tell
you about it.
I have a friend, Jeff (who’s been
mentioned here), that singlehandedly runs and
operates a bee excavation service. It is called Bee Removal and functions
primarily in the San Diego region. It’s one of the only services in
the region that doesn’t kill the bees, which, if you haven’t heard,
is a problem for the future of the world and also hungry
bears.
And the bees? They’re credible creatures. Allow me to share
some knowledge from my first days of work:
Swarms of bees are (mostly) not
dangerous. If you see a mass of bees moving in a
certain direction, it’s because they’re migrating to a new home.
Because they have nothing to protect at this time, they
have no reason to attack you. However, if you witness a swarm
approach your home and focus around a roof, tree, etc., call
an excavator immediately. This is the best way to avoid an
infestation.
Bees have particular jobs. There are scout
bees, whose job it is to locate potential homes. There are forager
bees, whose job is to collect pollen. There are worker bees, whose
job it is to build and maintain the hive. There are drones, whose
job it is to impregnate the Queen. The Queen’s job, of course, is
to lay the eggs (up to 1,000 per day).
Male bees are essentially sperm
donors. The males, also known as drones, have but one
job and that is to fuck. I don’t know how bees fuck, but I imagine
it’s something of a gangbang with the honey-lubed
Queen acting as a receptacle. Once they’ve delivered their seed,
the males are kicked out of the hive and left to die.
Bees are mostly non-confrontational and easily
manipulated. My boss often goes into hives wearing nothing
more than a vail (hat with a protective face covering). No gloves,
no suit, nada. This speaks both to his and the bees’ general
tranquility. Further, it’s incredibly easy to transport
bees to a cardboard box (for eventual drop-off to a
beekeeper). All you gotta do is find the Queen (easier said
than done), toss her in the box, and watch them flock to her. If
you can’t find her, no worries, just toss the bees into the box
with your hand, or guide them with a smoker. You are the General
and they are your little soldiers!
Killing bees doesn’t do shit. If you’ve got a
bee problem, never call an exterminator. They’ll kill the the
fuckers with a lethal spray and plug the entryway, but that only
works for so long. Because the exterminators fail to remove the
honeycomb, another bee colony will smell the honey and find
another way to reach it. In order to truly rid yourself of the
infestation, someone needs to remove the the hive and clean the
area thoroughly by hand.
And that’s after just two days! Imagine what I’ll learn in a
week…
This job is built for me with its flexible hours,
dynamic office space, and solid earning potential. That
said, I haven’t been stung yet, so who knows how I’ll feel after an
encounter with an aggressive hive.
I’m just happy to be learning every day and utilizing of those
would-be-lounging hours.
BeachGrit is fun but can lead a man to idle. Bees give
me reason to wake up at dawn and return home sweaty and
exhausted.
Is this what being a man feels like?
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Jon Pyzel and Matt Biolos by
@theneedforshutterspeed/Step Bros