Awake from your slumber, cretins of drawn breath complaints. Arouse your suspicions and widen your eyes. Set your jaw amongst the tumbling tides of terrible twerkers. For it is now when the rubber strikes the anvil on the hallowed hulls. The mayhem awaits the unworried mind.
I had three recent mornings at San Onofre to bring the surfy quotient of this non-surfing surf blog up, tipping the scales slightly. Add to that a renewed interest by one "Other Gustav" with watery-esque images of his own and all of a sudden this thing is humming like a dilapidated Subaru cv joint. Even Lentini has upped his usual ante with a vision of that massive Armenian's rad style. And what are we supposed to do, pine for the past our whole lives? Yes, I suppose we are. I mean, the world prolly woulda been a better place had we all just started Scrambling instead of driving.
All this to say salt is in the air. It remains to be seen how the flood gates of a million boards sold in calmer times will pollute the water with joy or sorrow. My knees are seemingly on the mend (while the back is stiff, the ankle still janky) (and that old war wound still gurgles, spitting blood and puss at awkward moments.)
The surfing season is here. It could be your last. Enjoy your stay mortals. Enjoy your stay.
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