Stab magazine's owner hurt feelings! Makes demands!
The Chinese say that this is the year of the rooster and they might be right seeing as I sure have been cock-a-doodle-doing a lot of existential nonsense lately. About why we do what we do. About the greater point. About meaning. About doubt and regret.
I suppose it comes from being buried in writing a book. This second one was absolutely gut-wrenching. Every single minute of every single day. I sat in front of the computer and felt death blowing in my ear, whispering sweet nothings. I thought cocaine plus surfing was going to be stupid and funny, a logical extension of my entire “career.” Instead I had to dig into my own soul, every single minute of every single day, and sit with that empty wind.
At the end of it all I came to believe that truth means something, or at least transparency. That this damned surf world has been too cloistered, secretive, afraid for too long and the only way for new life to grow is if we open the windows.
And in that vein, I want to have more stupid transparent fun with Stab magazine right now. It’s co-founder Sam McIntosh has spent the last few years quietly and secretly telling the brands that dare advertise on BeachGrit that they are locked out of the vast SurfStitch empire pre-collapse and various projects post-collapse.
Most recently he called a partner and told him that their relationship was going to be strained/ended if I wasn’t “put on a leash.”
Well Sam, I warned you and don’t be such a goddamn pussy.
You don’t like me making fun of your bad advertorial? Don’t make bad advertorial. You don’t like when I henpeck this or that? Hit back. Punch me right in the mouth. You’ve gone and hired our entire staff. I’m sure one of them can make BeachGrit look like the barely limping along junk show that it is.
Here’s the real truth, though. If we’re all transparent, if we’re all honest, it’s all more fun.
We’ll toss barbs, the people will laugh, light and air flood the stale room and surfing, or at least surf media, might be great again. This is what we need, what the brands need, what our god-forsaken culture needs.
But if you are not willing to man up than shut the fuck up. Once and for all.