A little rub and Kolohe loses juju to John John!

“Mick a bully! John a chronic liar!”

And John John steals Kolohe's JuJu! Find out how! It's faintly interesting!

You might’ve noticed that we stopped posting #tournotes over the past few months.

What can I say?

The magic and romance had gone and that gorgeous something that defined Peter King’s behind-the-scenes mini-documentaries had descended into a series of predictable tropes.

This post-Portugal episode, built around locker room trash talk, looks at the viewer challengingly. The dialogue is spirited and faintly interesting.

Between Kolohe Andino and Mick Fanning,

Kolohe: Mick takes all my waves. Bullies me. 

Mick: He deserves it. He’s a pest. 

Between Kolohe and John John .

John: (How do you spell Kolohe?) C-H-L-O-E! You should ride that board a little more. Get used to it a little more. 

Kolohe: I’m pretty sure you fell three times out there. 

Between John’s coach Ross Williams and John John.

John: Ross is so flamboyant I don’t need to put colour in my boards. 

Ross: (When John claims to’ve beaten Ross in a game) Chronic liar. Right here.

John John rubs Kolohe’s board.

John: I took the good juju out of his board right there. Now I have it. 

And so forth.

It ain’t Floyd Mayweather (“When I retire, I’ll get Ricky Hatton to wash my clothes and cut my lawn and buckle my shoes. Ricky Hatton ain’t nothing but a fat man. I’m going to punch him in his beer belly. He ain’t good enough to be my sparring partner”) but it ain’t bad.

Murder a couple of minutes of your life.

Watch here. 


Stab: This week in bad-vertorial!

Part 2 in an apparently ongoing series!

Help! Last week Venice-adjacent’s other online “surf” magazine Stab did an advertorial post on Julian Wilson and Oakley that was so horrible it invented the term “badvertorial.” I totally thought it was a one off and fake.

Firstly, I couldn’t believe that even the most cash starved Sam McIntosh, recently divorced from daddy SurfStitch, would lower himself directly to bald-faced aggressive hideous advertorial. Like, isn’t that partially why the SurfStitch x Stab marriage failed in the first place? Besides nefarious financial moves by the principles? Because the people smell a rat when they smell one? Or was Stab already cheating with The Inertia?

Secondly, I couldn’t believe that Oakley would listen to the pitch and agree to a series featuring bald-faced aggressive hideous advertorial. What was it like in the room? “We’re going to ‘feature’ your riders though your ‘lens.’ Get it? Brilliant!”

And wow. Brilliant, I guess, if your aim is to make internet advertising a farce.

I don’t want to be doing this. Really I don’t but come on… when Ethan Ewing stars in the second of an apparent series then… I have to. So let’s enjoy!

C’mon, you like the fact that glass appears with dots but you can see through the ocean? Polarised lenses can underwhelm and Oakley (a fine and long-term financial partner of Stab’s) have addressed this challenge head on. We’ll let them take the stage to talk through their new tech:

What do you look for in a good pair of shades? Surely more than frame and function. Oakley’s new PRIZM technology features ultra precise colour tuning, for any environment, which… we’ll let them explain: “by fine-tuning individual wavelengths of colour, PRIZM sharpens visual acuity to reveal nuances that would be missed by the naked eye.”

And, Ethan Ewing, is a Stab favourite. Despite his difficult time as a rookie on the world tour this year, we love his strong lines and Andy Irons-esque lip jive. And, to highlight this gent’s skill we have a before and after image treatment from him at Snapper photographed by Andrew Shields.

And, when adopting the PRIZM tech, Stab goes straight for the Latch for maximum effect. Don’t matter if you’ve got a skinny head, biggish beak, high bridge, fat head, whatevs, the Latch is rounded and forgiving but more importantly works on the sand at Gnaraloo Station or the rooftop bar at the Fairmont Hotel in Beverly Hills.

This is better than the last.


Music: Surf’s most perfect group!

Would you like your shaft cranked? Me too!

I apologize for this day’s silence. Derek and I both had meetings with our publishers. He in Sydney. Me in Los Angeles. We have books coming out, you know, important books and so we had important meetings filled with talk of Pulitzer and things.

You suffered in the short term. In the long term we will each sell you our books and your soul will be filled to overflowing but today you were left hungry.

I was hungry, driving home from Los Angeles, and stopped by a San Juan Capistrano restaurant for food and punched the following into my phone while I waited for it to come.

I am accidentally in restaurant for lunch and it is playing deep cut Eddie Vedder and I want to deep cut my wrists but ordered a third whiskey soda instead.

Some very obscure discordant thing that had neither “tune” nor “chorus” nor “music.”

Eddie Vedder.

Is he the most famous surfing musician? I think yes. Right? I mean, Jack Johnson but let’s all be real honest about the sort of music Jack Johnson plays. So Eddie Vedder.

And I’m sure he is a fine person and, though I was a Nirvana fan, think that his and Pearl Jam’s contribution to the great American songbook is substantial.

What is the great American songbook again?

Kelly Slater, anyhow, had Eddie Vedder play the headline at Surf Ranch Future Classic. And Eddie Vedder will play even more events now that Kelly is retiring and so he is the de facto surf troubadour but if we could pick what musician/group would define surf?

I ain’t talking musicians who surf here either. I don’t want anyone to surf except me and you. Especially not musicians.

I’m just talking musicians that actually capture “surf” the best.

So who?

I’ll go first.

NSYNC.

Your turn.


Whenever it's a damn drizzly October in my soul, I imagine riding this artist's water colour of a Kelly Slater wave pool! As submitted to the Palm Beach County in application docs.

2019 Opening for Slater’s Florida Pool!

First dirt to be shucked next year!

Earlier today, while I was wrapped up in cuckold dreams and Chas was negotiating terms for his book Surfing and Cocaine: A Love Story with a Los Angeles publisher, Kelly Slater announced the imminent construction of a wave pool in Palm Beach County, Florida.

The WSL is gonna build the 600-metre long tank on 79 acres at an inland industrial park off the Beeline Highway in north-western Palm Beach County. It’ll have a 3000-square metre surf club, a 1500-square metre training centre and room for 160 cars.

According to the WSL’s zoning application, “The project, named Surf Ranch Florida, will be proposing to construct a world-class, man-made surfing lake which will provide consistent waves and a safe environment for public recreational and competition purposes.”

And,

“It is anticipated that one to two events may be held on a yearly basis attracting up to 60,000 people. The events would be planned to be held in the summer, providing for an opportunity to aid in tourism and fill hotel rooms in a typically slower time of the year.”

The WSL says the project will create 307 jobs and $45 million in economic impact during construction and 236  jobs after the build.

Slater, obvs, is thrilled.

“Now I can move back home now and surf as much as I want!”

https://www.instagram.com/p/Bat1TuYgbvu/?hl=en&taken-by=kellyslater

The tank’s gonna have a gorgeous neighbour too.

The WSL’s multi-billionaire owner, Mr Dirk Ziff, lives a short drive away on Sea Acres Way in North Palm Beach.

Last year, the nearby Ziff family compound (“The epitome of opulence”) and the sixth-most expensive house in all of America (thirty bedrooms, fifty shitters), was listed last year at $195 million. It was reduced by thirty mill this year for a quick sale.

An easy thirty mill hit.

And people are curious how long Ziff is gonna keep bankrolling surfing?

 Buy the house here. 

And take a little drone tour here.

9490 Bent Grass Court, Delray Beach, FL 33446 from Luxury Real Estate South Florida on Vimeo.

 


Surfing mag staffers prepare attack on Surfer with ass-tainted cake.

Fierce: More Great Surf Mag Stunts!

Surf mags turn on surf mags! It's elegant, graceful and entertaining!

A few days ago, Bez Buckley revived the ancient art of gags between surf mags with a brightly executed sledgehammer attack on The Inertia, and of which we’ve had terrific fun with.

Here, and here too.

Cuckolding, which Bez called his brilliant hack, is an activity I’m familiar with. One older surf writer, who was otherwise very kind to me, cuckolded me twice.

The first cuck I caught with my own eyes. The girl, whom I was courting, was found mounted atop the bathroom sink of the women’s toilet at a Jan Juc bar, breasts loosed from blouse with one being enthusiastically fed into his mouth. The second cuck was revealed via a dramatic post-fact description from the girl and included the words ‘unutterable ecstasy’. The writer failed on his third cuck and I was so thrilled I married the woman.

The ancient, and surprisingly arousing art of cuckoldry aside, Bez’s gag reminded me of other great inter surf mag gags.

Wait.

Actually it didn’t.

It reminded the BeachGrit reader Preston of other great surf mag gags and the owner of the comment suggested placing a call to the surf historian Matt Warshaw.

Which I did.

Warshaw reminded me of two fabulous moments, reprinted below from the Encyclopedia of Surfing, which you can subscribe to for a few shekels a month or if you complain loudly enough, for whatever pennies you can muster.

#1. First-place prank, surf industry division. Surfing mag was tanking in 1969. Missed pub dates, advertisers jumping ship, newly bought by a company headquartered in Sparta, Illinois. The mag was published out of New York—30 years before that was cool. SURFER meanwhile had just hired intellectual stoner-poet-jokerman Drew Kampion as editor. Drew, today, is an energetic ruralist up here in Washington state, a lover of Whitman and God and environmental causes. But he used to have a mean streak, and was competitive as hell, and Surfing was a gently lofted softball for Drew to clobber into the next time zone.

He got out an oversized padded envelope. Inside the envelope, neat and tidy, he put a plastic-protected sheath of reject Ron Stoner transparencies, shot at Hammond’s two years earlier. On top of the photos he added a single-page prose-poem titled “The Inner Tubes of Hammond’s Reef.” One passage read:

Sleepy village / Silent sea / Silver tubes and solitude / Waiting for the soul in me / Will my board and I travel thee?

A little further along:

My good Karma was really working today / Karma waves / Karma days / Karma brain in purple haze / I’ll always cherish these days.

One more:

A wave approaches beckoning to all my skill / I, a surfer, an artist of the sea, am drawn to its hollow bosom / Breast of the sea / That comes to me / Whose fingers are like snow / Takes me into her womb / Revealing secrets I must know!

On top of the slides and the text, Kampion placed a cover letter, introducing himself as writer and photographer Dru Anderson, along with an author photo.

Surfing bit. Hook, link, sinker. The article ran in the July issue, five pages, without so much as a comma change. On the contributor’s section at the front of the mag, Dru Anderson was introduced as a writer who “gets away from traditional form.” The author photo shows a young man, smiling broadly, with tousled brown hair. Handsome devil. It’s SURFER founder John Severson. They didn’t know what it was, but the surf overlords of Sparta felt a hot breath of laughter on their necks.

#2 A week after I left the SURFER house during my last visit to the North Shore, this would have been in the mid-‘90s, the guys woke up to find a nice pink box of donuts on the front porch. A young photog kissing up? Something like that. Nobody asked questions, and a half-hour later the box was empty. On the front porch the next morning there was a photo of Surfing mag’s North Shore crew, lined up in a row, bent over, donuts wedged in their butt cracks, with the pink box laying open in the foreground. “Hope you enjoyed the donuts!” or something like that, written on the photo. Steve Hawk told me the story, and I was delighted. Hawk was too, even though he ate a donut. Solid prank, and Steve’s a guy who gives credit where its due. But for him it also it was like, Yeah, I ate a glazed donut that was in Skip Snead’s ass—and it was totally delicious. But you, Skip, had to go in and wash sticky glazed sugar out of your crack. Winning by losing.

Or the other way around. Or both.

(Subscribe to the EOS here!)