This Week In Not Surfing

I am absolutely convinced that in a few years they'll tell us that, in fact, smoking tobacco every now and again is really actually very quite good for a majority of the population. Something magical it does for lymphatic circulation and dandruff.

I am also certain that somehow, some way, this unprecedented and hazardous obsession with being fit past forty will be a cornerstone of the "hey remember when" genre of giggles in future conversations. Someone is going to realize, I hope, that being a slightly dumpy - less prone to taking death defying chances - simply happy to enjoy an aging camaraderie - sort of elderly bon vivant is really the way to go. We'll even enjoy a catchy pop song that will forever change our attitudes. It's all about that pace, 'bout that pace, mo' feeble.

It is the time of year when you are dragged far from the beach if you are person like me. The kids want to pick apples. No, pumpkins! Aren't the leaves beautiful this time of year? Oh, how Fall is my favorite season! That crisp air! Bah, humbug. Not only did I not surf this week, but everyone I know did and sent me photos proving it. Well all you lucky jerks, I ate some great pizza, drank some great wine, had some good conversations and jumped on a trampoline.

Fascination. Fascist Nation. Fascination. Fascist Nation.  Hmmmm. Never thought of it like that.

There is this place down the street, Mr. Piña, that will give you a free juice from their juice bar if you buy more that twenty dollars of groceries. That gets dangerously addicting. Twenty dollar kale/lime/pineapple juices and a cupboard stocked with potato chips.

And finally, this surf film has knocked that old cruddy Chanel surf film off my Ten Best Surf Films Of The Last Ten Days list:



(The only question, really, is if all these bassy girls are looking for rather more trebly men.)