"I'm watching you violate what you allegedly stand for!"

I understand surf beef as natively and intuitively as I understand anything in this world. Limited resource meets grumpy local meets VAL and what’s not to get? Easy, peasy, Japanesey (or “lemon squeezey” if you happen to be a modern youth). High level celebrity feuds confound me though and especially when periphery folk come chiming in where there is no clear motivation for so doing.

Like all the celebrities who piled onto Tyson Beckford/Kim Kardashian for body shaming/being homophobic. It’s one thing for the principals to throw odd punches. Quite another for onlookers to weigh in heavily, opinionatedly, at scale and, speaking of Taylor Swift, our very own World Surf League President of Content, Media, Studios, Commentators, Buttered Popcorn, Etc. came swinging in on a dispute she has with a man named Scooter Braun.

Now, as far as I can tell Scooter Braun is a manager who represents or represented Kanye West, Justin Bieber etc. He somehow gained control of Taylor Swift’s back catalogue and she wrote an angry missive on Tumblr (the “lemon squeezey” Instagram) declaring, “I learned about Scooter Braun’s purchase of my masters as it was announced to the world. All I could think about was the incessant, manipulative bullying I’ve received at his hands for years.”

Well, the periphery folk came chiming in per the norm. Musicians Halsey, Katy Perry, Iggy Izalea, “actress” Heidi Montag and others formed up Team Taylor and filled Twitter etc. with many pro-Swift rants. Team Scooter includes Justin Bieber, Demi Lovato and the World Surf League’s President of Content, Media, Studios, ’89 World Championship Trophies, Formaldehyde, Etc.

According to Elle Magazine… “Erik Logan, the former president of the Oprah Winfrey Network and a board member of Big Machine, wrote a scathing letter to Swift on Twitter that he has since deleted. In the message, he said, “For someone who draws such power from being the ‘voice’ and against all the things you talk about, I’m watching you violate what you allegedly stand for. You’re the real bully.”

Whoa.

Is Taylor Swift a “real bully?’

If you met her in a dark alley would you cower and cry?

Would she steal your lunch money then call you a triggering word (maybe Starbucks Lover)?

As you well know, I’m Team ELo so assume she is a “real bully” and am only struggling with what sort. Physical, emotional, monetary.

Which do you think?

More as this important story develops.

(Read deleted Tweets here!)

A war brews in Central California!

It’s Sunday morning in America, time to slowly peruse what’s happening in our world and take stock. India is playing England right now in the Cricket World Cup and up 71 runs. Europe is burning up with a massive fever. The Center for Disease Control has warned that a new fecal parasite can live in swimming pools and swimming pool-esque bodies of water for days and, speaking of, Ventura locals are enraged by the World Surf League for culturally appropriating the name “surf rodeo” for the upcoming Freshwater Pro.

Oh have you not been served the World Surf League’s Instagram advertisement multiple times? Well, it reads, “The rodeo is riding back into WSL Surf Ranch for the summer’s biggest showdown. Get stoked for the #FreshwaterPro brought to you by @outerknown. Get tickets through the link in our bio etc.

Nothing caught my eye, except that I imagine the brave World Surf League copywriters meant “summer’s biggest hoedown” instead of “summer’s biggest showdown” in keeping with the rodeo/ranch theme.

Ventura locals saw something else and jumped into the comments to let the World Surf League know that the Surf Rodeo™ is a local, longstanding tradition. Ventuckyco penned, “@kellyslater you participated in one of our @surfrodeo events in 2000 to help raise $ for charity as we do every year. We know you’re a competitor and like to be the best at everything you attempt. Now let’s see you be original and creative on your own event, name, format and theme.” Instadutchie added, “Uhhh nah… #Ventural #SurfRodeo is the biggest, but the 805 will let you roll second place if you’d like?”

Etc.

And let’s learn about the original Surf Rodeo™ quickly at surfrodeo.org.

Surf Rodeo started as a passion project for Ventura entrepreneur, John Drury, lovingly known as JD to most of the Ventura community. Drury’s mission for Surf Rodeo was to bring the highly competitive, cut-throat, serious atmosphere of today’s surf competitions back to its relaxed roots, where fun always comes first. “We try and remind ourselves we are all out for the same thing, to just have fun,” said John Drury, founder of Surf Rodeo. “Let’s laugh at ourselves a little and bring us together through music and surfing.”

Like the Surf Ranch event there is music, games, fun and country-western branding.

Unlike the Surf Ranch event it takes place at a saltwater ocean beach.

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!