Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Monday, February 25, 2008
Step Aerobics
In my quest to lose 30 pounds in a month (I'm kidding), I went to a step aerobics class this weekend instead of subjecting myself to urban runoff. I was cocky at the beginning because I instantly remembered how to do a grapevine. It was somewhere during the "revolving door straddle turn diagonal kick combo" that I decided just to hop up and down in a sort of frenetic jitterbug.
Monday, February 18, 2008
The Leash is Cursed
Saturday morning didn't appeal as I looked out at Home Break. I heard someone say the Porto jetty was overhead, so I decided to wander out there. Not to surf! Just to watch!
As I pulled up in the parking lot, I saw a lot of rolling water with set waves walling up. With no one on them, the waves looked deceptively makeable and small until a particularly big wave would roll through and erase any doubt that this was THE OCEAN.
A couple of guys were gabbing behind me in the parking lot. As I was lacing up my running shoes, one of them kept talking about how he'd go out if he had a leash and "I'm going to go home and get a leash."
I turned to him and asked him what length. 8-foot, 9? "Here, take mine." The back of my car seems to have collected a couple of neatly coiled longboard leashes because I dislike using them so much. "I'm pretty sure this is the 9-foot one."
"No, I can't take your leash."
I shrugged, thrust the thing at him. "No worries."
He thanked me as I jogged off toward the jetty. (The jetty was a great show, by the way. Better shape there, but a harrowing drop that closed out quickly if you weren't in the right spot. A few spongers in the mix just screeeeeeming along the face with amazing speed. But that's not the point of this story.)
I jogged back and marveled at the handful of people who were scattered out at different "peaks." I couldn't imagine what they were thinking. If I were out there... I wouldn't be out there.
From my vantage point on the bike path, I could see a big set on the horizon. Paddle!!! The shortboarder who had been flirting with the line made it. Then I saw a longboarder further down the shore paddling hard to get outside this thing. Uh-oh. This was an eerily familiar sight.
He was not in a good spot. Big wave, lots of water, and he's not going to make it over. So he turtled at the only moment you could in this situation. I couldn't see him, but I knew what was happening because it happened to me. Turtling, he was getting sucked up and over. That board was broken. As sure as I knew mine was snapped when I was underwater, I was equally sure his gone. I looked for him in the whitewater after the wave broke and started to get a little panicky because he wasn't showing up. Finally, I saw his black outline amid all the white. And then I saw something skittering toward shore. Half a board.
So I continued walking back to the parking lot. (I supposed I had stopped because those waves had stopped time.) As I got closer, I saw the surfer with the broken board walking with his friend. The surfer was the guy to whom I gave my leash!
I felt awful. Sorta. He might not have gone in if I hadn't given him my leash right there. He might have gone home for his leash and realized that going out in that water was not rational. Then again, he might have gone home for his leash and gone out anyway. He was making quite a lot of talk with his friend about doing so.
One thing I am certain of, the leash is cursed.
As I pulled up in the parking lot, I saw a lot of rolling water with set waves walling up. With no one on them, the waves looked deceptively makeable and small until a particularly big wave would roll through and erase any doubt that this was THE OCEAN.
A couple of guys were gabbing behind me in the parking lot. As I was lacing up my running shoes, one of them kept talking about how he'd go out if he had a leash and "I'm going to go home and get a leash."
I turned to him and asked him what length. 8-foot, 9? "Here, take mine." The back of my car seems to have collected a couple of neatly coiled longboard leashes because I dislike using them so much. "I'm pretty sure this is the 9-foot one."
"No, I can't take your leash."
I shrugged, thrust the thing at him. "No worries."
He thanked me as I jogged off toward the jetty. (The jetty was a great show, by the way. Better shape there, but a harrowing drop that closed out quickly if you weren't in the right spot. A few spongers in the mix just screeeeeeming along the face with amazing speed. But that's not the point of this story.)
I jogged back and marveled at the handful of people who were scattered out at different "peaks." I couldn't imagine what they were thinking. If I were out there... I wouldn't be out there.
From my vantage point on the bike path, I could see a big set on the horizon. Paddle!!! The shortboarder who had been flirting with the line made it. Then I saw a longboarder further down the shore paddling hard to get outside this thing. Uh-oh. This was an eerily familiar sight.
He was not in a good spot. Big wave, lots of water, and he's not going to make it over. So he turtled at the only moment you could in this situation. I couldn't see him, but I knew what was happening because it happened to me. Turtling, he was getting sucked up and over. That board was broken. As sure as I knew mine was snapped when I was underwater, I was equally sure his gone. I looked for him in the whitewater after the wave broke and started to get a little panicky because he wasn't showing up. Finally, I saw his black outline amid all the white. And then I saw something skittering toward shore. Half a board.
So I continued walking back to the parking lot. (I supposed I had stopped because those waves had stopped time.) As I got closer, I saw the surfer with the broken board walking with his friend. The surfer was the guy to whom I gave my leash!
I felt awful. Sorta. He might not have gone in if I hadn't given him my leash right there. He might have gone home for his leash and realized that going out in that water was not rational. Then again, he might have gone home for his leash and gone out anyway. He was making quite a lot of talk with his friend about doing so.
One thing I am certain of, the leash is cursed.
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
Friday, February 08, 2008
Awesome!
I have been watching the Rotten Tomatoes for our film and for Fool's Gold and seeing that, in quantifying something unquantifiable, Rolling Stone had it right:
"That generous half star rating I tacked onto to this comedy abomination is all for Paris Hilton. [...] You've been warned. But it's still better than Fool's Gold."
Our film is just as bad or maybe even slightly BETTER than Fool's Gold which was made for 10 times as much money.
Just looking on the bright side!
"That generous half star rating I tacked onto to this comedy abomination is all for Paris Hilton. [...] You've been warned. But it's still better than Fool's Gold."
Our film is just as bad or maybe even slightly BETTER than Fool's Gold which was made for 10 times as much money.
Just looking on the bright side!
Friday, February 01, 2008
Demon Dog
The boy has the loudest quiet dog in the world. In preparation of our married life, we've started divvying up the household chores and walking Demon Dog in the morning hours comes under my purview because, theoretically, I have long shed my natural bitter morning 'tude for the joys of surfing.
However, I have not surfed before work on a weekday for a very VERY long time - ever since the movie filmed last year. Sorry for the plug:
Anyway, this morning, I did not want to leave the warm bed. Otis The Dog is not a dog who whines nor does he make much vocal noise at all. Instead, the bubbah shakes his head, thwapping his ears so it sounds like a tiny helicopter stalling out over and over again. He also stretches. This in and of itself is fine, but when combined with claws grasping into carpet for leverage for his downward-facing-dog position, I find the prolonged stretch to be as annoying as fingernails on a chalkboard. He does not whine or growl or bark but sheee-it... passive-aggressive much?
The worst thing about morning duty, really, is knowing there was a time I would have willingly hopped out of bed to get dunked in freezing ocean water. Shivering bleary-eyed under blue skies this morning and waiting for the bubbah to take a dump, I started thinking about surfing for some reason and I missed it.
Demon Dog and Puppet: "we are going outside now... we are going outside now... we are going outside now..."
However, I have not surfed before work on a weekday for a very VERY long time - ever since the movie filmed last year. Sorry for the plug:
Anyway, this morning, I did not want to leave the warm bed. Otis The Dog is not a dog who whines nor does he make much vocal noise at all. Instead, the bubbah shakes his head, thwapping his ears so it sounds like a tiny helicopter stalling out over and over again. He also stretches. This in and of itself is fine, but when combined with claws grasping into carpet for leverage for his downward-facing-dog position, I find the prolonged stretch to be as annoying as fingernails on a chalkboard. He does not whine or growl or bark but sheee-it... passive-aggressive much?
The worst thing about morning duty, really, is knowing there was a time I would have willingly hopped out of bed to get dunked in freezing ocean water. Shivering bleary-eyed under blue skies this morning and waiting for the bubbah to take a dump, I started thinking about surfing for some reason and I missed it.
Demon Dog and Puppet: "we are going outside now... we are going outside now... we are going outside now..."
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