Pump Fake

I thought maybe there'd be some energy headed our way, but that turned out to be a pump fake. I heard Porto was the only place firing. So, at SaMo, waves were a no go, but I went anyway because it's been three weeks dry. I had to try on my wetsuit to see if it still fit. The result? Barely.

Speaking of Bears... 41!

How can you not cheer for a team coached by a man named Lovie?

Not futbol... FOOTBALL!

No surf again this weekend. Flat, windy, COLD. 1-3 feet I'd do if the weather reports didn't mention the words "WIND CHILL."

Sheee-it. I didn't think I'd ever hear those two words in Southern California. I thought I'd gotten enough of them in my time in Chicago (which is the most wonderful city in the world except for those two words "WIND CHILL").

And I'm sorry, but when WIND CHILL goes to negative numbers, I don't even think booties help. No surfing in those conditions unless it's head high with perfect shape. So, I stayed in and watched the morning political shows and went on to watch...

Da Bears. Goin' to da NFC Championship.

I still fondly remember the rap of '85:

We are the Bears shufflin' crew
Shufflin' on down, doin' it for you!
We're so bad, you know we're good,
Blowin' your mind like we knew we would!

Ah... memories.

Sans Surf... so Soccer!

I don't know why I've been so enchanted with David Beckham and his wife for the past few years. Maybe because they are bourgeois royalty and I'm fascinated that the world is fascinated by them. Maybe because Victoria Beckham seems vulnerable under all her posturing bluster. Maybe because Beckham is such a beautiful man with such a sissy voice.

Anyway, I'm weirdly excited that Becks and Posh are headed to L.A.

(Nigh going on two weeks sans surf for me.)