Chilling.

Surfers, bodyboarders and standup paddleboarders residing around the Southern California gem Santa Barbara were given a shocking warning, Sunday morning, as authorities issued an alarming note declaring that a monster 17-foot Great White Shark was skirting the coast off El Capitan and hungry.

Michael Domeier, Executive Director of the Marine Conservation Science Institute, breathlessly declared, “She is not your everyday Southern California juvenile; she’s a massive adult that you should avoid.”

Terror immediately rippled through the surf community, with those who had been out in the water sharing stories. One surfer, who had been maybe straddling a Channel Islands’ Twin Pin, responded that he had seen a dorsal fin in the water that very morning “as big as a traffic cone.”

Another, probably astride a Ryan Lovelace, swore he had seen an orca out in the water because it was much too big, in his mind’s eye, to be a shark.

Still a third searched for a silver lining, stating, “I’m more scared of the juvenile curious taste test than the adult who knows that we don’t have much meat on us.”

A classic blunder assuming children are less intelligent than grown-ups.

Domeier quickly splashed water on that theory, responding, “Juvenile white sharks eat fish, stingrays and other sharks. Adult white sharks eat seals, sea lions and porpoise. Adults are more likely to bite a person than a juvenile.”

Ageism goes both ways.

More as the story develops.

Aloha.

But you have certainly seen, by now, the video gone viral of a California math teacher whooping it up like a cartoon Indigenous-American. According to reports, “The math teacher was allegedly trying to teach (her students) SOH-CAH-TOA (acronyms for defining sine, cos, and tan angles using the hypotenuse, adjacent and opposite sides) by using the Native American dance as a device. However, the dance was deemed as racist and insensitive by some online.”

This sort of thing is officially unforgivable and the teacher was immediately put on administrative leave while angry mobs gathered at her virtual door.

Cultural appropriation.

A foul modern sin even worse than talking about Jonah Hill’s body.

And so you can understand the shock, dismay, of a surfer who mistakenly received an invitation to join “The Inertia Fam.”

His welcome missive read thusly:

Aloha!

Thanks for joining the (party) wave! It’s on!

We’ll keep you in the loop with the latest news, exclusive offers, original films, new courses and monumental gatherings to make sure you’re the first to know about the most important updates in surf and outdoors.

As an official welcome, we wanted to share a few of our favorite features since The Inertia’s birth in 2010.

Since the beginning, we’ve approached the natural world and its devoted culture with curiosity, optimism, and respect, and the following features offer a tasty aperitif to give you a better sense of the fam you just joined.

We firmly believe the oceans, mountains, and outdoors are for everyone – best enjoyed together. We’re glad you’re here. Let’s hoot you into a set wave.

The victim, left reeling, could only respond, “‘Aloha’ – really c*nts?”

Textbook inappropriate adoption of the customs, practices, ideas, language, etc. Taking Hawaiian ideals and affixing them to the palest notions of “surf and outdoors.”

Party waves.

It is unclear, at time of writing, if The Inertia has been placed on administrative leave.

More as the story develops.

David Lee Scales has it coming.

Ooooooooooh I don’t get hopping mad much, red in the face, curses bubbling up from deep inside before expectorating out* but on Thursday just past I almost leapt my second coffee table and almost danced with David Lee Scales.

It all happened so quickly.

There we, per the usual, at the finest surf shop San Clemente has to offer, chatting about my pivot from hardened cynic to a bubbling fount of anti-depressive joy (buy here), Jonah Hill being a total pussy, Dave Chappelle delivering a masterpiece etc. when Scales brought up the recent, tragic, surfboard rack fire there in Waikiki and began spouting off on what an abomination Oahu’s crown jewel is.

“I was scared to walk out of my Airbnb because prostitutes were coming up and down the stairs, homeless drug addicts everywhere, big gaudy Chanel stores, blah blah blah it was horrible.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

Waikiki has, truly, been on of my very favorite places on earth for decades now. I love everything about it from its history to its architecture to its high-end shopping to its hotels, tourists, Hawaiiana, Roy Yamaguchi’s Hawaiian fusion fare.

Everything.

I could spend the rest of my days waltzing up and down Kalakaua Avenue, never wanting for nothing, and to hear David Lee besmirch it so set my heart pounding, blood boiling.

(WHOOP numbers forthcoming.)

I dished out a stream of truths, allowing him to escape physical violence as he is just about to have a baby any day now, but, later, wondered what you think about Waikiki.

Abomination or gem?

Be careful how you respond.

Listen here for more on Jonah Hill being a complete pussy.

Also, Punch-Drunk Love is one of the greatest movies ever made.

No?

Continue being careful.

*Upon further reflection, I get hopping mad, red in the face, expectorating etc. often.

Get WHOOPed.

I am back from that beautiful gem in California’s much-maligned Central Valley with a new hunger for our sport of kings. A reinvigorated passion to learn, improve, to be the best surfer in the water not by having the most fun, no never, but, rather, by surfing the best. Opening shoulders during turns, bending at the knees not the waist, etc.

It was at Kelly Slater’s Surf Ranch that I learned, for the first time, that fitness actually enhances surfing. Thigh muscles necessary, a torso that can twist, but how to build the platform and build quick all while measuring progress with WHOOP, the very latest in fitness tracking excellence?

Prison.

If Hollywood has taught me anything, it is that Robert De Niro looked peak best in Cape Fear, Steve McQueen in Papillon, Paul Newman in Cool Hand Luke all lean and well-muscled. They looked like they would have each a fine wrapping cutback and I should attempt to become prison fit like them but how?

Ahhhh, Cousin Danny.

My own flesh and blood is currently serving yet another stint inside after going on yet another bank robbery spree after getting out of prison for going on a bank robbery spree and nearing legendary status.

A stone’s throw from being the most prolific bank robber in United States history.

The book, featuring Cousin Danny’s run, releases this Spring (Blessed are the Bank Robbers: The True Adventures of an Evangelical Outlaw, pre-order here etc.) and you can learn much about how to rob banks for yourself but we had never discussed fitness and so I asked him forthwith.

“How can I get prison fit?”

He responded mercifully quickly.

“10x pushups, 10x squats, ten times. 9x pushups, 9x squats, nine times. 8x pushups, 8x squats, eight times all the way down to one and then back up to ten.”

Visions of pig dogged tube rides danced in my head as marched out to the backyard cedar paneled yoga room, the closest approximation to cement box I currently have, and began.

I finished after 160 pushups, 160 squats, not even 3/10 of the way through the program. Shoulders on fire, especially reconstructed one. Thighs unable to take anymore. Sweating more profusely than after running three miles, than surfing Surf Ranch for an hour plus twenty minutes.

WHOOP strap, never not affixed, registered the strain as a 12.9.

A fine number, more than running three miles, and I felt well on my way to a powerful down carve so went surfing immediately.

I was too tired to do much, barely able to pop to feet, but did do one turn in my short 45 min session that felt powerful-adjacent and I knew I was on the right path.

Hardening up.

The surfing, itself, still did not register as an “activity.”