Why do folks dance with death as such?

I’ve not seen Heavy Water. I didn’t even read Longtom’s review so as to not dilute the potency of my first viewing, whenever that may be in the states.

But I’m getting older. Four days ago, I shredded the ligaments in my foot at the skatepark. For these reasons and others, mortality has been on my mind.

I’m no hero in the water, but I have been known to supplement a lack of skill with an extra dose of bravery (stupidity). Our own limits are relative, but I’ve found mine the only way one can, and thus I’ve had a few closeups with the Maker.

Apart from the love for my son, a more-complicated-but-pretty-good-after-all-we’ve-been-through love for my lady and that for a handful of others, death is the only thing I’d regard as certain. I know… groundbreaking prose.

Not taking into account the natural byproduct of years of drug addiction and alcohol abuse, involving much eye-covering, mono-vision-producing vehicular operation and too-many-but-evidently-just-the-right-amount-of “Gee, hope this next line doesn’t stop my heart” moments, I’ve smelled death’s breath thrice…

The backseat of a car doing unintended 70mph donuts on a highway in Georgia. We teetered atop a slope that led down into a dense forest of stubborn trees. Mid-spin, while getting in an impact-ready position, this sense of not being alone came over me and with it a feeling that, while the odds were good I’d be maimed, I’d still be… you know… fine. Maybe it was God. Maybe it was denial. Maybe it was another piece of my consciousness that was speaking to me from a parallel universe.

Puerto Escondido. May. 2010. Took off on the first wave of a double-overhead+ set, got one of the waves of my life then kicked out to realize it was just the opening act. Having yielded to local custom, I was without leash. Detonation. Then another. Another. I was trapped in some whirlpool rip. Another. My fingertips tingled from lack of oxygen. Another. I thought of my mom. Another. I wondered why I just thought of my mom. Another. I was spared.

Salina Cruz. Point break. April. 2014. Took off on the first wave (why?) of a large, long-period set, did some awkward wiggly shit with my body that was supposed to be surfing until I deservedly fell. Detonation. Another. I was being river-swept 30 feet from the beach. Another. Another. My leash got tangled with some guy spouting French panic-speak who came out of nowhere. Another, now entangled with French panic guy. I recall being leashless in Puerto years before. Another, without my board. Another. Wet terra firma. Dry terra firma. I sit and think about how my wife’s father drowned and that under no circumstances should she have to go through that twice.

So why? Why do folks dance with death as such? I don’t inquire with even the faintest undertone of heroics. Eddie Aikau. Firemen. Good teachers. Hospice workers. Chas’ tolerance for scorn. These are examples of heroism.

But surfing? Not heroic.

Brave? Sure.

Irrational? Often.

Heroic? No.

I inquire with the curiosity of one trying to understand the mind of cat, or why anyone would own a cat.

To a degree, I understand my own drive. I’m a dormant-volcano-of-a-drug-addict with self-destructive tendencies. For me, chaos can provide a sense of balance. Pretty cut and dry.

But what’s your excuse? How close have you come? Have you ever actually died before?

(Apparently, this guy did.)

Do you carry a death wish in the lockbox of your mind? Are you all just addicts of varying degrees of functionality? Were you dropped as babies?

I was.

Do you sniff out extreme sensory experiences like that bear with my food that one time in Yosemite? Do you so yearn for the salinity content of the womb that you’re subconsciously trying to find a way back in? Must you feel the whiskers of death to hear the purr of life? Do you want me to stop making shitty cat analogies?

After recently taking the piss out of others with balls bigger than mine, all in the name of flexing my miserable wit and a quick escape from self-loathing, I’d like to pivot and devote this entire paragraph to paying tribute to the bravery, courage and incomprehensible drive of each and every (gender-inclusive) aquatic astronaut out there who voluntarily stares into the great wide open. Who is contractually-obligated to paddle out. Who does it for nothing. Who does it when nobody’s watching. Who interprets and redefines the limits of possibility. Who strokes into uncertain destiny at the behest of your compulsion and the whim of Mother Ocean. This entire paragraph goes out every single one of you… except Keala Kennelly.

Kidding. She was out at Puerto that day in May 2010, was super cordial in the lineup and took off on waves I wouldn’t look at even if I had an over-sized scrotum full of every Big Wave Tour surfer’s testicles.

No thanks. I like living.

Somewhat.

Much respect, you fucking loons.

An entire generation turned off surfing and maybe even two!

When was the last time you were on a proper family vacation and by “proper” I mean Chevy Chase-style “National Lampoon’s Vacation” family vacation? Oh it’s been far, far too long for me but a notice this morning made we want to rush out, pack the station wagon, toss Russ and Audrey in the backseat and head off to Wallyworld. I mean Universal Orlando Resort’s newest surf-themed budget hotel “The Endless Summer Resort – Surfside Inn.”

First, a question about licensing. Do you think Universal must pay a licensing fee to the Bruce Brown family in order to use the name “Endless Summer” or is just a phrase in the parlance?

And now on to the meat and potatoes. “The Endless Summer Resort – Surfside Inn”… introduces extra affordability to your Universal vacation, with the lowest rates of any Universal Orlando Resort™ hotel. The feeling here is relaxed and easy, with a fun surf vibe woven throughout. In addition to sunny, beach-themed rooms, Surfside Inn and Suites features spacious, two-bedroom suites that sleep six, making it the perfect spot for families of any size to base their Universal Orlando Resort™ vacation. A sister hotel, Dockside Inn and Suites, will open in March 2020. Both hotels will be part of Universal’s Endless Summer Resort, a vibrant and sunny retreat.

Would you like to know what thrills me about this new extra affordable family hotel? It is going to turn an entire generation off of surfing. Imagine being a young child and brought to the extra affordable suite with six other people, cheap surf-themed finishes falling apart, Russ and Audrey kicking you underneath a cheap surf-themed comforter. Imagine going into the lobby and seeing this brown “wave” crashing into your living nightmare:

Imagine walking up after a long, hot day in Orlando, Florida… Orlando, Florida… to this melange:

Yeah. An entire generation turned off and maybe even two entire generations. Mark my words, between wave tanks featuring brain-eating amoeba and surf-themed budget resorts you and I will be the last few standing.

To us!

The mad genius behind Purps, KS Wave Co., Outerknown etc. admits to paying $250,000 to USC for son.

A month and a half ago we all watched as the college admissions scandal rocking the rich and powerful crashed right into our surf world. Well, sort of into our surf world. One-time surf-esque entrepreneur Mossimo Giannulli, husband of Aunt Becky, was implicated and it was good enough for a BeachGrit headline. But in all seriousness, no one has considered Mossimo a surf-ish brand for two decades.

Today, though, Kelly Slater his very self is caught up in the snares via his longtime business partner Jeff Bizzack and let us head straight to Bloomberg without pausing.

The college admissions scandal that has rocked academia expanded as authorities charged yet another parent in the case.

Jeffrey Bizzack, 59, of Solana Beach, California, will admit to paying $50,000 to the University of Southern California and $200,000 to the scam’s mastermind, college counselor William “Rick” Singer, to get his son into USC, according to the Justice Department.

In July 2017, Singer asked Bizzack for biographical information about his son that prosecutors said was for a phony athletic profile. Later that month, Bizzack emailed Singer his son’s academic transcripts, which were forwarded to Laura Janke, the former USC assistant soccer coach, prosecutors said.

Janke then created a fabricated volleyball profile for the son and sent it to Singer, who forwarded it to “the senior associate athletic director at USC,” according to the government. She has pleaded guilty in the case.

Bizzack’s son received conditional admission to USC as a student athlete in November 2017. In December, at Singer’s direction, Bizzack made a $50,000 payment to USC’s Galen Center, a sports facility, according to the U.S. He also made a number payments totaling $200,000 to a purported charitable foundation Singer ran, the government said. In March 2018, prosecutors said, Bizzack’s son was formally accepted to the school, according to court documents.

Bizzack faces a prison term of 18 to 24 months, but prosecutors agreed to recommend a nine-month sentence and a fine of $75,000. Bizzack’s willingness to plead guilty may have led to the recommendation of less time.

Now, you may still be scratching your head with scrunched up, confused eyes saying, “Kelly Slater’s longtime business partner Jeff Bizzack?” All for good reason. Mr. Bizzack prefers remaining in the shadows, pulling the levers. In 2017 Kelly told Tracks magazine…

“Jeff Bizzack. He’s been my partner in everything I’ve done in the past few years… I’ve been the face of it but Jeff is just the bones and structure of everything that we’ve done.”

The mad genius behind Purps, KS Wave Co., Outerknown etc.

Anyhow, going to prison over all this feels very extreme. Which parent doesn’t want the world for their children or do you disagree? Are you a died-in-the-wool communist who cheers any rich and powerful tumble from grace? Are you the sort who calls for the guillotine at the very sight of wealthy grift?

Well that’s rude.