This Week In Not Surfing

1. Surfing is a Sissy Macho Goon Parade of Hugs and Recrimination, Needless Politicking and Shallow Posturing. There is a tremendous amount of unintentional art in that. There are maddeningly few moments of self-deprecation. There is, a mosquito bite or two below the surface, an incredible crew of inspirational, well-meaning people stewing about in the cesspool of this culture. It Doesn't Not Work serves not only to remind me of how much I don't know about surfboard shaping and hydrodynamic design but also operates as an annual gang-shame of my more conspiratorial instincts. I'm not sure what the preceding sentences mean exactly, but I liked writing them.

2. On that tip, I did not attend this year's Fish Fry as I was distracted by my children and setting up IDNW. It is a classic moment of "I wish I'd taken the time to do that."

3. And so I haven't surfed in an even longer while. My left knee now feels funny when I bend it for too long. My right ankle taunts me daily. My hamstrings feel like new guitar strings. And I haven't practiced Tai Chi in forever. And I have a gym membership that is far too expensive.

4. There is an old adagial equation: Tragedy + Time = Comedy. I'm pretty sure the secret to happiness is hidden in the maths here. Where the definition of Tragedy is given sliding scale structure and where the accounting of Time is truly miserly. The idea is to get that Comedy as close to that Tragedy as possible. And since the only way to get anything right is to practice, make the T1 to C a daily algorithm, where dire drama becomes a constant companion, necessitating the manipulation of temporal understanding to force that salve of perspective. Granted, your friends and family will look at you like you're crazy as you sob over that burnt toast, but pretty soon they'll think you're amazing as you barf out fits of laughter as you break the pencil tip! If you can get that muscle memory hair trigger going, you may just make it through this after all.