Living the Beach Life.

So I was at the beach all day yesterday so I didn't write anything. You can call it a lame excuse, but I'd call it a much needed diversion. I surfed a bit, became a sand person, had a delicious chocolate shake and sandwich, and used up an entire tank of gas in between my house and Assateague Island State Park. So all in all it was pretty friggin sweet. And yes, that is technical jargon.

To make it up to you, my readers I am posting a clip and a picture. Here you go:

This kid is real. Not a muppet, puppet, or a zombie.

It was me.

Shark Surfing

Sure, you've heard of surfers having run ins with sharks. You've seen their mangled legs and huge scars. You've heard the horror stories. But there are always some surfers that manage to stay above the shark infested fray. Instead of surfing each day against the odds, in a wait to become bait (shark bait, not jail bait), some surfers have decided to harness the shark for better surfing. No longer is he foe, but a willing friend. Together, the shark gives the surfer a good ride, and the shark gets a nice meal.
In this article from the Sun, you can find out more about this man's successful shark surf.

Shark surfing hopes to become to be a lasting new sport, and if this man's ride was any indication, the future looks bright. Shark surfing hopes to open up entirely new markets and new demographics. For those who live near the ocean, but have infrequent, or paltry waves, a quick shark tow could prove the catalyst for another surf haven. For those who like sharks, or extreme thrill seeking, this is a great opportunity for them as well. And, the basic tools needed for shark surfing are basic.

Here's a shark surfer's kit:

2-10 pounds of bloody meat
1 decent salt water fishing pole
1 surfboard
1 crazy daredevil who laughs in the face of death

After getting past the breaks, the surfer must cast his line out with the meat in hopes of catching a shark. Once the shark latches on, the surfer must then position himself to ride, as if he were riding the Pipeline, all the while holding the rod steadily. After a sufficiently exhilarating ride, the surfer must then drop the pole or cut the line and surf back to shore. Piece of cake.

The call of the ocean

I was listening to Hawaiian music in the shower this morning. The sound of the ukulele and the amazing vocal range of an almost 800 pound man named Israel Kamakawiwo'ole filled me with a longing for the ocean. The tropics. The beach. The surf. 

Part of this longing has to come from the fact that it is getting colder in Utah. That, and as it gets colder, the trees shed their leaves and I can see more of the barren desert that surrounds me. I get this feeling of distance from the sea. I almost believe it is gone. There is only a vast sea of brown earth. Oh sure, there are multiple shades of brown, but it's still brown.

I hate to see my surfboards idly leaning against the wall with nothing to do but hope. They were meant to ride the waves. I was meant to ride the waves. 

The ocean has always inspired men. It beckons like an unconquerable expanse. It is truly the last frontier, regardless of all of man's peregrinations and circumnavigations. We know very little about it. It's mystique and seemingly endless grip on the horizon fills the soul with wonder and contemplation. You can allow your mind to slip into an infinite blue that has no master. It liberates me. It is somehow home.

Well, I guess there's only one way to solve this problem. Ditch Utah. Go to the coast. Marry a mermaid. Live underwater with clownfish and sea turtles. And surf.

Thinking about retirement

I took a test yesterday that measures your calender age versus your "actual age." It calculates how fast you are aging based on your eating habits, exercise habits, hereditary diseases, etc. And, guess what? I'm 8 years younger than the calender says! And, if that's the case, I just got my license to drive a car. But, on another note, that means it'll take me eight more years than the rest of you to hit middle age. Here's a link to the test.

Even though I now know how young I still am, I still can't keep myself from thinking about retirement. And, quite frankly I don't really want to retire. All the men on both sides of my family have pretty much worked up until their dying day. It'd almost be nice to be able to mark it on a Calender so I know when work will officially be over (at least in mortality). But, I can think of certain work impoverished situations that I certainly would not mind.

I would love to live in a cozy cottage overlooking the central California coast. I would have a computer, some pens, paper, surfboards, a garden, and a great kitchen. I could wake up and catch some waves, veg out on the beach a little bit with my special someone, then come back home and write while looking out on the water. Then I could split time with my garden and pull up a bunch of summer squashes, cherry tomatoes, and cucumbers and head back to my awesome kitchen and whip something delicious up. That, to me, would be ideal. I would feel accomplishment in writing, and yet still be relaxed and flexible enough to enjoy my twilight years. However, what it would have to imply is that I am good at writing, and that could be easily debated. But, jumping back to this dream scenario, I don't think it would have to be the central California coast. It could be Cape Cod, or the South Shore area of Massachusetts. It could even be Nova Scotia. Who knows? I think you get the point.

Trying to be as pragmatic as possible, what is your retirement scenario? Talk amongst yourselves.

The Brazo-Austra-American Connection

There are three countries that I put in the same category. We're like blood brothers. 

Brazil, Australia, and the United States (Pictures in order - BR, AU, US).

You can agree or disagree, but the people in these places share a lot of similarities, as do their histories. All three were colonized by European powers. All three were exploited by those same powers. All of those countries were made what they are today by waves of immigration from all over the world. All of them also have vast untamed stretches of country. From the Amazon in northern Brazil, to the Yukon in Alaska, to the Northern Territory in Australia. Another cool fact is that all of the countries have great surfing, surfers, and beach communities. All three have vast mineral resources, mining operations, and stable economies. They all have beautiful people. And, another similarity is that all three countries share my love.

Invites Around the World

Today I would like to leave you all with a list of places I have been invited to visit. I will put them in order first by number of invites, and then by desire to visit. What I ask of you, well, all I ask of you is where you think I would be best spending my time. Here they are:

1. Brazil (over 10 invites)

2. Hawaii (3 invites)

3. Australia (1 invite)

4. England (1 invite)


Desire to go:

1. Brazil

2. Australia

3. Hawaii

4. England

So I'd like to go to Brazil because I've been promising some friends down there I'd visit soon. That's an understatement. Every year I tell them I'll visit, but something comes up, and I don't have the money. With Australia, I've always wanted to go and I've loved Koalas, Crocodile Dundee, the aborigines and the outback since I was a little kid.


That, and it would be a prime surf venue. However, the invite was for Perth, and I don't know if the surfing is quite as good as the gold coast, but it has to be better than most of California. Oh, and Brazil is a good surf destination too. Hawaii of course then goes without saying. It has the best big waves in the world, and great surfing. My invites have come from missionary buddies, friends and family.

But it all comes down to cost. Right now I'm saving up for a car (because my last one was destroyed by a metrosexual. I let him and another friend borrow it while I surfed it up in San Diego. Long story.) I don't know if I'll have the necessary funds after the car purchase to go anywhere that isn't stateside, but I hold out hope. If I go on a trip with the company I work for now it could be a tax write off. That's a thought. And I didn't address England, but I'm more interested in the other three. And, don't worry I'm not really putting the decision on you, the reader's proverbial laps, but a nice comment or two of advice would be nice.

I killed a baby giraffe.

So of course I hunted and killed many exotic animals at the wild animal park. And my favorite one to kill was a baby giraffe. It's mom kept making hawing noises and hitting me with her hooves, but I got the shot off. I'm mounting it on my wall.

In other news I went surfing this morning. I went to Huntington Beach. It was overcast and sprinkling from time to time. The surf was horrible. There were no consistent sets; it was very choppy and two "do-gooders" almost ran off with my surfboard and bag while I was out carving what pipe I could find. However, the water temperature was good. 61 degrees. I loved it. The temperature that is. I'm betting tomorrow will be better as we head towards Big Sur and ride some stuff on the central California coast. We'll stop by Morro Bay, Cayucos, and maybe San Simeon.



A little word to the wise for romantics: Don't wait for people. If your boyfriend says he's going away for two years, kiss him goodbye and look elsewhere. There are too many good eggs in this basket we call earth to waste your life away waiting for a nice speckled brown egg to come back to hatch and roost with you. It's stupid. Even if you do "wait for him, " which to me is absolute BS, you will probably go out with other guys, have other relationships and live your life. So, don't look at me funny when I think you're a complete moron for dumping your boyfriend, saying no to James Bond and trying to get back together with this guy who's been away for two years. First, it's stupid. Second, you broke up for no good reason. Second again, you broke two hearts at least. Third, you don't even know if the guy you waited for is the same one you are trying to get back with. And fourth, you are a different person too. Don't cut yourself short. There are always more fish in the sea and life is worth living. Don't wait. Carpe Diem! But at the same time, if you do wait and it doesn't work out...c'est la vie. You can't always get what you want, but if you try some time, you get what you need. I heard that somewhere before....

Running to nowhere

For those of you who truly know me, or even for those who only know me superficially, you may be well aware that I absolutely love cardio. Yes. Running is soooo fun. I love it. And, for those of you who actually nodded your heads in agreement, Thou knowest me not. Running for the sake of running has never really inspired me to do it consistently or in any real way. However, if I were to find an attractive running partner I might be obliged to take up the practice. But, bear in mind that whoever asks me to run with them is basically saying: "Let's date. I am into you."


Not all cardio however, is pointless. One example is ultimate frisbee. It is a game that you can win. You can interact with friends. You can jump, run routes, high five, give 'good games' to people. Ah yes. Ultimate. But, following the same logic, soccer, baseball (to an extent), basketball, surfing, football and other games are meaningful and get that heart going in a good way. All of them involve running (yes even surfing-you can run to the edge of the water). So why then just run? Well some of you might say that you can 'just run' by yourself and it's harder to organize a game of anything. Excuses, excuses. Running sucks by itself. If someone wants to run with me, that's one thing, but by myself I'd rather eat sand or shuck corn. Part of it could be because I have a bum knee that aches for days after any sort of substantial long distance running. Nah.

Australia the Beautiful

While I was visiting the San Diego Zoo, I came upon a shocking sight. I'm sure you've all seen pigeons. They all live in big cities of America, are relatives of doves, but are about as dirty as rats (if not more so). In fact, they are called rats of the sky. Now, it caught me by surprise when I saw what pigeons look like in Australia:



All I could do was be envious. Man, why don't we get cool pigeons that don't smell like trash and look like something found between the cheeks of an elephant?



But, if that were all, I think I could cope. But they've got Koalas down there. They spend 20 hours of their day sleeping and the other 4 eating or cohabiting with other Koalas. Oh to be a Koala! We could keep them as pets. All we'd have to do is give them eucalyptus and they could babysit the kids while we go out for the day, or the weekend.



Oh, and then there are the Australian beaches and women. And the surfing....just let me go there. I'll renounce my citizenship (not really). But live wouldn't be half bad if I were Crocodile Dundee.

Wazzup Dude? How are you?

The ways we communicate are many and intricate. From town to town, county to county, state to state, or nation to nation there are variations in inflection, nasality, dialect, and language. For the purpose of this post I'd like to address a some what common trend. You may see it as a bad thing, or a good thing, or you may not care either way.

The simple fact is, wherever you go in the United States, you run into a preponderance of colloquialisms, slang, and mumbling. Personally I find myself more drawn to the mumbling (It is the perfect way to say something offensive without anyone really perceiving it except your closest mumble-translating friends). But, the far greater concern is not the mumblers, although perhaps we should enunciate more clearly.

The real problem is everyone who overuses the following words: stuff, things, dude, yeah, sweet, cool, crap, ya know, like, etc. Rarely, if ever does anyone truly use any of those words correctly in day-to-day speech. What it could represent is a dumbing down of the American-english vulgate. Or, perhaps the spread of MTV and surfer culture has made a massive juggernaut movement. I happen to be part of the surfer culture, but, contrary to what you might think, not all are sun-crisped air heads. In fact most are not. But, even though they may have MBAs or be CEOs and lawyers...they still love to use the words brah, dude, whoa, wazzup, gnarly and the like. This lingo has its proper time and place in my opinion. On the beach, at the board shop, on a surf trip, in the ocean, at the X games, etc. But, this language has made its way into Universities and the workplace and places that one might have thought could be safe, or even immune.

However, what helps it gain momentum is instant messenging, text messaging, and the ever-growing need to be cool and maintain a "I'm smart, but I don't need to use good grammar or complicated language to communicate." With the information age, it becomes easier to talk to one another in a variety of ways, but we also tend to communicate in the most base and easy way. Why? It's less time consuming. It's much easier to send a text that says "Wazup bro? R U goin 2nite to that thing?" than "Hey Tom, how are you? Are you going to the Maroon 5 concert?" And, some might think the second form makes you sound like a pompous dork. Why should we need to punctuate? Who cares about grammar? I got the point across didn't I? Yes. Yes you did, but I can't say I could vote for you for public office, or feel comfortable about sending my kids to a school where you teach. I doubt there is much we can do about the trend...unless we decide that we want to take the time to speak and write well without being ashamed of it.

The cool kids with the sweet lingo don't get the important jobs that go places or change the world. The stubborn people who like books, reading, writing, and public speaking get them. Talk amongst yourselves.