INTRUDER IN THE SURF

An Accounting

2012-01-28T15:13:00.000-08:00

Okay, folks. This is the bill for the surgery. I paid the anesthesiologist $700 on the day of the surgery. I still hadn't gotten all of the money transferred into bank account by that day, so there was a last-minute mad scramble to make sure we could get the surgery paid for. I don't use credit cards, but I know others who do. I have written a check to cover the $2606 that was charged to the card. My mom covered the surgeon's flat $1000 fee (which is for the surgery, all office visits, supplies, etc.).

The surgery was, in fact, done by The Shit. I saw him on Monday morning and was instantly won over. We discussed the injury, his take on the surgery and his philosophy about practicing orthopedic medicine. He had no intention of charging me for that office visit. Had I decided not to seek treatment from him, he would have been fine with that. He simply wanted to give me one last option before I made my decision. Before we were done talking, my decision was completely solidified.

When he sent me home, he told me not to eat lunch. There was the possibility that they'd do surgery as early as that evening. I assured him that I don't eat that much, so I was fine with his admonition. His office was going to be looking for the best place to do the surgery as well as shopping for the best price. I was to do nothing until I heard from them. So, I went home, trying to ignore the kitchen. And, as is typical when someone tells you not to do something, your brain decides it must do that thing. I thought I was going to starve to death for the rest of the afternoon. My brain was begging me to eat something. I finally called his office to find out if I could eat already. When his office manager returned my call a little later, the first thing she said was something like, "Go eat!"

I got a call later in the day. The rest is a blur. Surgery would be the following day, but I had to run and get a physical right then. Can you be in Culver City in 15 minutes? We found a doctor who will do the physical. Again with the mad scramble? In a word, yes.

On Tuesday, the day of the surgery, I was busily trying to finish the video for the kid's Mission Project. Do we all do mission projects in the fourth grade? I know I did. I barely know how to use the iMovie software, but the kid wanted to do a video to accompany his report and that's what we did. (What was wrong with doing a model, son?) I wanted to get it done before surgery since it was due at the end of the week. I didn't think I'd be feeling too good in the days following the surgery. Leaving it until after the surgery was not an option. I got it finished with about an hour to spare, even after agreeing to be at the surgical center about an hour earlier than we'd initially planned.

Now, four days out of surgery, the ankle feels pretty good. I'm in a big, honkin' boot and I'm not allowed to put any weight on the ankle/foot at all. The doctor has sent texts or called each day to check on me. I just knew he wouldn't send one today. I mean, it's Saturday. I'm kind of assuming it's his day off. Guess what? I still got a text today asking how I'm doing. I informed him that if today is, in fact, a day off and if he was sending me a text while in the presence of his family, he was to give his cell to one of his little girls and direct her to lock it away until Monday!!

The doctor says he intends for me to be back in the water in six weeks. That seems a bit soon, but he's the expert. I trust him and I believe in him.

In the meantime, I sit with my foot up. I see him again early next month. I do believe he said something about starting to walk on it about two weeks after surgery. That doesn't sound fun or even painless. But if that's what he says I should do, I'll do it.

New Hardware

2012-01-26T20:57:00.000-08:00

My Thank You to Everyone

2012-01-22T21:41:00.000-08:00

I said, in all seriousness on Facebook, that I will get a tattoo on that ankle which says something like, "Sponsored by and with love." I already have a tattoo on the ankle. Obviously, surgery will ruin it. (And that's sad since it's my tattoo with dolphins and a shark(fin) in the ocean.) Well, I'm going to have to do something once that tattoo is cut up. So, I think I shall cover it and do one that remembers all of you and how much love you've shared during this episode.

I see the specialist tomorrow morning. I'll report in once I get his take on the injury.

Cue the Tears!! And . . . Action!!

2012-01-21T08:13:00.000-08:00

Where to begin? Do I start with waking up this morning to find that a friend had started a fundraising effort to help me pay for medical care? That immediately had me sitting in this very chair trying to squeeze back tears that would eventually come all day long as people donated to my cause. Do I start with having to brave the Harbor-UCLA Hospital (i.e., the County) on Friday?

Where to begin?

I'll begin at the beginning. I broke the leg/ankle on Tuesday. I did not immediately go to the doctor. Why? Well, as is typical of moms, I didn't want to disrupt my child's world. He was finally testing for the next level in tae kwon do. We all thought he'd never get past this stage in his progress. He seemed to be stuck at the blue belt level. So now that he was finally ready to move on to the next level, there was no way I was going to mess that up. Being the crazy woman that I am, I'd decided that I might not have broken anything, that perhaps it was simply a bad sprain. I limped to his test on a cane, the one I used through the early part of my knee replacement recovery.

On Wednesday, I limped into work, still on the cane. Since I work at a small company where everyone's participation counts, I wanted to make sure there was nothing pressing that needed my attention. Of course, my boss said, "Why are you here?" My answer? "Because I'm loyal." If this was a big company, I would have called and told them I'd screwed up my ankle and wouldn't be in. But this place is different. I like it there. I know my work is important. I just felt like I needed to make an appearance, if only to let them know I needed to see a doctor.

Since I'm uninsured, friends told me to try the Venice Family Clinic. Well, they informed me that I lived outside of their area of care and sent me over to an urgent care facility. At urgent care, you pay for every service delivered. You pay right then and there. At the behest of a friend, I got an x-ray. Guess what it found? Well, you've seen the x-ray; you already know what's there. The urgent care folks put me in a splint ($125), gave me crutches ($35) and said I could see their orthopedist the next day. So, let's see . . . it was $95 to see the urgent care doctor, $95 for the x-ray and then more money for the splint and crutches.

I return the following day to see the orthopedist ($175). He said right then and there that I needed surgery. Well, that had me and my mom in tears since, as I said, I'm uninsured. This is where the drama begins. The orthopedist's office spent the day trying to figure out how I could get surgery for a price that we might be able to afford. They eventually called me and said that if I could pay cash, it could be done for $4800 at a surgical center as an out-patient procedure. Well, that's still more money than any of us could afford. And I did need a second opinion.

You know, I've lived in L.A. my whole life (other than my years in college and short time living in Europe). The idea of seeking treatment from the County has always been a scary one. We all hear the stories, especially those of us in communities of color. And on two occasions, I took friends to the County for their appointments. The first friend and I waited something like 12 hours to be seen by a doctor. This was in 1992. The second friend and I waited five hours before she gave up. And she had an appointment! This was in 2010. I did not want to go to the County for treatment. In my mind, especially as someone's mother, I could not afford to spend days at a time at a County facility waiting for treatment.

But I really had no other choice once presented with the reality of my situation. On Friday, my mom took the child to school. I went down to the ER at Harbor-UCLA. This is the County hospital with an orthopedic residency program. Well, I was seen within 15 minutes of my arrival. Then I had to wait. Believe it or not, it wasn't a bad wait. At one point, a nurse came into my area and apologized for having to be there, but explained that they had four computers and the one in my area of the ER was the only one that was working. Seriously, State of California? This is what the folks who work at the County facilities have to deal with. Anyway, that same nurse came back shortly, realized I needed to see an orthopedist and made an appointment for me to see one later in the afternoon. They told me to go on home and come back later. I wasn't there that morning for more than an hour. It was not a bad experience.

So, we return that afternoon for my appointment. Remember, this is not a situation where you just go to see the doctor, like you would if you had insurance. I had to report to Patient Registration, then go to Urgent Care, then go to have x-rays taken, then go back to Urgent Care before finally being sent upstairs to see the orthopedist. By that point, I'd been there for several hours. I was tired. My foot was full of fluid. I'd been crutching all over that damn hospital. And it was getting late.

Finally, I'm called in to see the orthopedist. And he isn't nice at all. He makes no eye contact. He says something about me needing surgery and simply walks off talking to the resident who'll also be helping him with me. Well, I'm not cool with doctors who have shitty bedside manners. I don't like that at all. I'm not sure how it happened, but I eventually started talking to both him and the resident. Within a few minutes, the orthopedist was looking at me when he spoke. He and I eventually had one another laughing. This is the kind of doctor I can handle. That holier than thou bullshit? No. Anyway, before they even did anything, he announced that I'd need surgery and needed to be back there on Monday morning. He also said they were going to drain the joint/foot, shoot up the joint with Lidocaine and reset the bones.

#@$!%&! At that point, I was ready to leave. Why? Well, during the midst of County experience, a friend contacted me, saying he'd sent a picture of my x-ray to the doctor who'd rebuilt his feet and that this doctor, a man I keep referring to as "The Shit", wanted to talk to me. During that day, I had, in fact, talked to that doctor. My friend had told him of my situation and the doctor nonetheless wanted to see me on Monday morning in his office. What really stuck with me were my friends words: "Don't do anything rash." I took this to mean, "Don't let the County get hold of you before you see The Shit!" So, when the County orthopedist said he was going to reset the bones I balked.

Finally, I told them that I might not be back to them for surgery, thinking that they'd not waste their precious time on me. Wrong! The resident politely explained that it didn't matter who was going to handle my medical care in the end, but those bones needed to be reset immediately. Fuck me!! I knew I was in for it. I didn't know what resetting bones entailed; I knew it was not going to be pretty.

They drained the joint/foot with a big needle. That wasn't nice. Then, they shot up the joint with Lidocaine. Finally, they put me in a cast that was still wet and malleable . . . and commenced to twisting the hell out of my foot and leg, applying pressure at the sites of the broken bones. The resident told me this particular form of torture would only last about two minutes. Several minutes later, he and the gigantic orthopedist, a dude who looked like he could play pro football, were still pushing and twisting. Me: "You said two minutes!!!!!!" Resident: "I meant give or take five minutes!" This was not the worst pain I've ever felt. It didn't generate any tears. Had the resetting of the bones taken longer, it might have. Still, as I've said throughout this injury, I haven't taken any prescription pain meds because this really hasn't hurt much. The worst pain I've ever felt in my life was during the first few weeks after the knee replacement. That pain was constant. That pain was mind-altering and life-altering. The pain from this ankle/leg break never reached that level, so I haven't taken any serious drugs for it.

I left the County with an appointment to return on Tuesday. They'd wanted me to return on Monday, but that's the day I'm to see The Shit and I wasn't going to miss that appointment. At the same time, as one who has little money and no insurance, I wasn't going to dismiss the County as an option either.

When I went to bed on Friday night, I was torn. The County would cost me little or nothing. They would put two screws and a plate in the ankle to fix it. This is essentially what the first orthopedist was talking about. But I was hesitant. Why? Well, I know from prior experience that when you wreck a joint, there's always the possibility of ligament damage. The first orthopedist said nothing about this and neither did the County's doctors. The Shit was the only doctor to make reference to this. And that made me realize that if I went with the County, they would fix me, but they would do the minimum. That's all they can do. They are not there to fix athletes. They are there to fix people who don't have the insurance or the money to get medical care. Yes, the County would cost me virtually nothing. I appreciated that. However, I have no intention of slowing down. I want to keep kicking ass. I want my ankle to be able to withstand the punishment I will certainly give it.

By the time I woke up on Saturday, I'd decided my only choice was the specialist I'd see on Monday. I was willing to do whatever I needed to do to be under his care. This could not be about money. For me, this was (and always has been) a quality of life issue. I'd decided I would sell all but one of my surfboards if I had to. I'd sell my big red car if I had to. I'd told myself that if the doctor was willing to work with me financially, I'd find a way to pay him.

And then I signed on to Facebook. That's when the tears began. My dear friend in England had begun a fundraising campaign to help me get money for treatment. Guess what? I cried pretty much the whole day. It seemed like every time I looked up, someone else was putting money into my PayPal account. I've said before that I do cry; I'm not an overly emotional person though. I often get a little teary-eyed about things. It's rare that I just have a good cry. Well, today was the day of many good cries. I awoke thinking I had no way to pay this doctor anything and worrying how I would and could make this happen. Now? I can write him a check for close to $1000 right off the bat. I have no words for this. Many of these people only know me through the computer. Some don't even know me at all. People nevertheless came out of their pockets to help me. (And, of course, I'm starting to cry again as I type this!!!)

The friend who hooked me up with the specialist I'll see on Monday told me to give him (the doctor) shit for surfing an SUP. I already got that ball rolling yesterday with a few pointed texts telling him never to drop in on me and calling him "Sweeper Man". What will greet him on Monday? A statement written on my cast: "I do blame Laird!!!!"

Thanks, everybody. I love you!!

Update: It's now Sunday. I will be giving the doctor more than $1000. It's just astounding. I really don't know how to thank everyone. But the one thing I will be is forever thankful. And I will never take this ankle for granted. I never knew a body part could make someone emotional and sentimental, but I assure you this ankle will do just that.

Update of the update: Oh, man!!! I'll be able to put over $2000 toward my medical care now!!!! The surf, skate and friends community are something else!!!

If I Wrecked Waves as Well as I Wreck Joints . . .

2012-01-20T10:46:00.000-08:00

By the time I die, I will be totally bionic. I'm certain of it. First it was the titanium knee. Now it's the ankle with the plate and the screws. And don't even get me started on how sexy all of these scars will be . . . not.

Oh well, you live your life like you mean it and you're going to end up at the orthopedist more than a few times, right?

A Tale of Two Ankles

2012-01-18T22:17:00.001-08:00

Two broken bones and counting. Do I hear torn ligaments? Going once? Going twice?

Actually, we don't know the extent of the damage yet. I do know that my status as part of the 99% is showing. I have no insurance and I've got to pay for this shit out-of-pocket. Yes, I have a job, but I don't work full-time there yet (and may actually be out of this job now).

Do I want to discuss how this happened? No. I will just say that it was a bar fight and "you should see the other guy!"

In other news, there is none. I am now on the DL for at least two months. (sigh) I see the orthopedist tomorrow to find out more.

Does it hurt? Yes. Am I taking pain meds? No. The pain from this is nowhere near the pain I felt during the knee replacement. I refused the pain med prescription when it was offered for this injury. I won't fill it, so why even bother to let the doctor write the prescription?

Don't forget me, Mother Ocean. I'll be back soon enough.

Now It's the John Bonham Kick

2012-01-14T21:48:00.001-08:00

You know, I have my moments. And I tend to have them publicly. My "moments" are generally musical moments—although I have been known, of late, to politely invite people who were all up in my business without an invitation to, essentially, shut the fuck up and be gone. That's a bit new for me since I dislike confrontation. I was recently described by a friend as being so laid back that I don't need any drugs. I'm in a state of mellow about 98% of the time. Still, as I get older, I get less willing to put up with other folks' stupid BS. This is how the STFU moments occur.

Digression is a horrible thing!

Anyway, as I was saying, I have my moments. We all remember the James Brown moments. They resulted in a James Brown-themed surfboard. Late last year, in a different internet location, I was all about the damn cowbell. People still allude to cowbell when sending me messages. I now can hear a cowbell in songs without even having to listen for it. My ears immediately perk up whenever I hear a cowbell quietly keeping the beat in a song, let alone when the cowbell is singing out loudly and clearly.

My most recent moment isn't a new one. It's just that I've now fixated on the drummer and his drumming. Did I mention I'm going to be taking drum lessons this year? Why?

Well, why not?

Anyway, it's all about Bonham these days. I don't think he's the best drummer in the world. He wasn't even the best drummer in rock and roll. Still, he was just loud enough while being just subtle enough to make already brilliant songs, and equally brilliant vocals, soar. That's the only way I can describe it. When I hear Led Zeppelin, I feel like I'm soaring. Hell, I feel like they're soaring. And I've never tired of their music. I've been listening to them for decades. I suppose I will listen to them for a few more decades if I'm lucky.

What? You want to talk about surfing? Hmmm, well, I have been surfing . . . and matting . . . and skating my ramp just about every day. I must say that my frontside turns are pretty damn impressive, especially when one considers that I had a complete and total fear of the frontside just a couple of months ago. Now I'm simply working up the nerve to grind that coping. The turns are solid. Malba was right when he said I'm better going frontside than I am backside. My backside turns are now a mess, so I'm working on them too. Either way, skating is becoming more enjoyable. I'm falling less these days. I managed not to hit the ground at all when I last visited a skatepark. Yes, I did skate while I was there!

I've been drug-free and soaring all day. Now it's your turn!!

I Got Scared Just Watching the Video! I Can't Fathom Actually Being There!

2012-01-13T17:24:00.000-08:00

Check out Mpora Gear

Kelp Dusting with RS

2012-01-07T20:42:00.000-08:00

I don't heart hyped swells and over-crowded breaks. I find that as I become older on land, and more experienced in the water, my need for peace and quiet increases. I don't want to share waves with 20 of my new best friends.

I do enjoy getting far enough out of the city to find a wave or two that isn't under surveillance.

My favorite mat spot has no cam. If you want to truly know the conditions from one day to the next, you have to drive up there and see them for yourself. Each and every day.

So, for two straight days, while most surfers in L.A. were frenetically invading the city's most convenient point breaks, acting as if they'd never seen waves before and would never see waves again, I headed for one of the last places where I can usually surf in peace.

It was there that, much to my amazement, I spotted someone else on a mat, someone whom I didn't know.

Well, he and I braved the small crowd at this spot for two days, snagging what we could and sharing waves with each whenever it was possible.

RS, I'm glad to have finally met you! I thought we'd probably run into one another some day. Thanks for letting me steal "kelp dusting". I don't know what it means, but I love this phrase!!

2012-01-04T22:46:00.000-08:00

All is Quiet on New Year's Day

2012-01-02T11:49:00.000-08:00

It's a shame that a camera couldn't do this vision justice. As we headed down to San O yesterday to meet friends, we drove through more fog than I've seen in a long time. I dislike fog and the tricks it plays on my mind.

Somewhere in Orange County, right around Laguna, I think, the sun appeared. A big, yellow orb sat right there in front of us, its light burning through the fog while glorious rays emanated from it. This is probably what the religious among us believe they'll see before they ascend to heaven.

I'm just glad I witnessed this—on the first day of what has to be a better year than that last one.

Oh, the surf wasn't half bad either.

2011—The Year in Pictures

2011-12-31T22:19:00.000-08:00

January

February

March

April

May

June (1)

June (2)

July

August

September

October

November

December

(No wonder I never have time to skate. Obviously, water time takes precedence. And from the looks of it, I'm always in the water!)

Bring on 2012!! The only good thing I have to say about 2011 is that I was able to spend an inordinate amount of time in the water. Other than that, 2011 was a virtually useless year in my life. With that said, being here to experience it and subsequently complain about it was better than the alternative.

I continue to believe in the power of salt water!

Meanwhile, Over in the Social Media World

2011-12-30T14:49:00.000-08:00

His wall:

Him: Still sooo good! Saw a crazy person on a flying mattresss on head high+ bombs. She looked like she was having the most fun.

Me: Magic carpet ride, baby!!

My wall:

Him: You looked like you were having the most fun this morning! Bombs on mat!

Me: I know one of them was so long that I didn't think I'd ever make it back out to the lineup! And look who's talking about catching bombs. All of your waves were at least head high!

Him: You were gone for so long that i began to worry and skipped beyond the rescue phase and transitioned to recovery mode....recover the mat so that i could ride it!

Me: AHAHAHAHAHAHA! You would actually leave my lifeless body out there to wash up on Boneyards while you got hold of a free mat? AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

Him: Well...that would have been a cruel. I would have at least anchored your lifeless body to the seaweed for later recovery. If you had shown some sign of life, i would have tied you on my board and then anchored it to the seaweed for later recovery.

I'll Take One of Each!

2011-12-26T22:05:00.000-08:00

Oh, how I love this place (Rip City Skates)!

God Bless Us All, Every One . . . Including RuPaul

2011-12-26T00:42:00.000-08:00

Best Christmas surf ever!!

Actually, I'd never surfed on Christmas day before. In order to make it happen, I got permission from the boss. I'm speaking of my child, of course. Christmas is all about him really. I'm not religious, therefore Soul Brother #2 is the actual reason for the season in my house. I've always tried to let Christmas be his day. Little kids deserve that. But he's not so little anymore. He now understands that a family works best when everyone is happy. I let him know I'd be especially happy if Santa brought waves and sent me to them this year. Well, when he and I discussed this a few days ago, he told me to go surf: "It's your day too, Mom." Then that little handsome face gave me that smile that is going to just kill the ladies in a few years.

Traditionally, Christmas is a day when I prepare a rather large breakfast. My mom did this for decades. Now that her "kitchen is closed," I do the breakfast . . . even though I normally don't eat breakfast. I was not going to go against tradition just to surf. That would have thrown the earth off its axis. All I could do was hope the tide was right for a midday session.

Thank you, Santa.

There's nothing like driving to the beach in an ugly Christmas sweater (ten bucks on eBay), shorts and Vans while behind the wheel of a big red '65 station wagon. Merry Christmas to me!!

Question of the day: when did I start surfing switch like I know what I'm doing? Today was a first in that respect. I've dabbled with surfing switch here and there. I had a successful switch stance wave a few weeks ago. It was only the one wave though. And I hadn't tried it again since then. Until today.

And it seemed rather easy.

I'm thinking that my newfound ability to surf switch is an outgrowth of my skateboarding. Fakies force you to become comfortable with having your back foot be your front foot. What is really cracking me up is that I'm surfing switch on a hull. It's not like hulls are as stable as a normal surfboard. Nevertheless, my longboard hull is the board I'm always on when I decide to turn and face a wave that's behind me.

Not only did I surf on Christmas day, but I met RuPaul when I got out of the water. He and his boyfriend were walking up the beach. There's a concrete platform you must climb up in order to get to the stairs that take you back up to your car. I was already on the platform. He and his man walked up while I was standing there. It's a small platform and you have to be careful. I always have to lean my board up against it, climb up it and then carefully bring the board up so I can head up the stairs. Since the platform is rather small, you can't grab your board while someone else is on the platform or even close to the platform. That's why I told them to go ahead of me. Well, RuPaul's man wanted to help me with my board. I appreciated it, but I told him I could get it myself. (I was fearful that he'd not realize you can't bang a surfboard against concrete or rocks, so I preferred to get it myself.) He was insistent though. In the meantime, RuPaul is standing there trying to figure out how to get on the platform without messing up his suit. Yes, he was in men's clothes. Finally, RuPaul asked me to give him a hand and pull him onto the platform. I was happy to oblige. Then, RuPaul's boyfriend carefully lifted my board up to me and off we all went.

He is simply fabulous!

This was a Christmas for the books. Thanks for the waves and warm weather, Mother Nature. Thanks for being such a great kid, Soul Brother #2. Thanks for being a sweetheart, RuPaul.

That is all.

Actually, that is enough!

When a Grown Ass Man Yells "Outside" With Fear in His Voice, You Pay Attention!

2011-12-23T01:11:00.001-08:00

I rarely hear people yell "Outside!" anymore. One of the reasons, I think, is because I no longer surf with beginning surfers. (We would all start yelling "Outside!" as soon as we saw a bump on the horizon, a bump that would eventually show itself to be only a chest high wave. Now I'm sitting here laughing about how waves of that size used to scare so many of us who started surfing at the same time. We would be scratching, slowly and awkwardly, for the horizon as if a big slab was about to bear down on us.) I also don't surf breaks with nasty set waves. If a wave doesn't show me any shape while rearing up to take out the entire lineup, I'm not going to paddle out.

Anyway, I was at the end of my session today. I'd elected to take the mat out at this spot after having surfed it on a board on Tuesday. I had an inkling that there would be a crowd today. I also figured there might be a little more energy in the water. The mat, then, was my weapon of choice; it actually gives me more freedom when surfing in a crowd. I can often take waves that others can't. I can also move over into the kelp while the board surfers do their best to steer clear of it.

The waves definitely had size today. Unfortunately, as the tide drained out quickly, the shape took a hit. After an hour and a half, I'd recognized I was ready to call it a day. I was simply waiting for the wave that would take me in.

Then I heard a guy scream something out. He only said it once, but it caught my attention because there was no hint of machismo in his tone. None.

"OUT-SIDE!!"

I'm lying there on the mat, thinking about the tone of this guy's voice. At the home break, the locals will often jokingly yell "Outside!" to make newbies and non-locals nervous. Their tones, however, never betray anything more than mischief.

But this guy's tone was different. I was thinking, "Damn. Why is he screaming like a little bitch?" Yes, we chicks sometimes think and talk that way too.

So, I'm there on the mat, not moving, lost in thought. Then it hit me, he wasn't kidding. I looked up and saw something marching in.

Fuck!!

What's interesting about my sessions on the mat is that my thought processes speed up. On a surfboard, I normally don't have a lot of choices about how to handle a big set wave that's rolling through with others behind it. I know I'm probably going to take a beating. I know I'm too far inside. I know I'm not going to make it over one of them. I just know there's going to be some hell to pay before that set is over.

On the mat, however, my choices are varied. It's not necessarily a given that you're going to get worked. So, I'm looking at this wave and I'm thinking quickly. In my mind, I'm deciding whether I can make it over that wave and what will happen with the others behind it. I quickly realize I can't make it over. I immediately have to determine whether I should duck dive it (and the subsequent waves), try to catch it or throw caution to the wind and belly it in no matter what happens.

I sized up the wave. It was big. I'm not sure how big. As they say, when you're on a mat, every wave is overhead. Nonetheless, it was at least head high, if not bigger. And it was going to close out. That was certain. But would it close out on me?

Not today!

After much indecision (all 1.3 seconds' worth of indecision), I recognized that the wave would break just in front of me if I stayed where I was. My best bet, then, was to kick out to meet it . . . and drop in.

That was the best decision I made all day. The wave swept me up, closed out, bounced me around and, eventually, pushed me almost all the way to shore. I stayed on the mat the entire time. The whitewater made steering difficult. Nevertheless, I stayed on the mat and I stayed with the mat.

Prana is talking about being in a mat meet holding pattern. I'm ready, Prana. Let's do this!

If Television Looked More Like This, the World Would be a Better (and Funnier) Place!

2011-12-21T08:35:00.000-08:00

Don't Mind Me—I'm Just Sitting Here Quietly, Not Saying a Word

2011-12-19T22:40:00.000-08:00

Okay, I am saying a word or two here and there. But for the most part, I'm calling 2011. I'm done. Over it. Ready to move on, not looking back. I've got nothing more to say at this point of the year.

Usually, right around Christmas, I become anxious for the current year to be over. It really doesn't matter whether I've had a good year or a bad year. December usually sees me ready to move on. Because 2011 wasn't the best of years, I'm more than ready to ring in January with some expensive champagne and a smile.

As I've told Pranaglider and others, I'm just trying to get through the rest of 2011 without committing a felony!

No, I'm not kidding.

Instead of becoming one of the many overly aggressive assholes who lose their minds at this time of the year, I choose instead to simply remain quiet. I don't spend much money because I don't have much money. Therefore, I don't run around trying to buy gifts for everyone I know. I can't do it, so I don't worry about it. The kid is covered. Everyone else gets a hug. (Granted, I'm a hugger by nature; I hug people all the time. Still, my hugs are genuine and freely given.)

The waves of 2011 were fine by me. I realize that we've had years when the waves were much better. I don't judge waves in that way though. As long as there is something I can surf, either on a board or on a mat, I'm satisfied. 2011, then, was as fine a surf year as any other.

I'm looking ahead to 2012 now.

Surfing.

Matting.

Skating.

Drumming.

Writing.

I have little interest in Christmas. I find the requisite amount of cheer to keep the child happy, and I doubt that I've succeeded in even doing that this year.

(Deep breath)

I do believe 2011 will be better.

Best Surf Crew Ever!!

2011-12-11T23:35:00.000-08:00

I needed some help tightening and repairing the surface of my skate ramp. I asked the crew for help.

And help arrived . . . to repair and to skate.

Thanks, men!!

The "Don't Say I Never Gave You the Gift of James Brown" Dance Party

2011-12-06T22:40:00.000-08:00

My Pride and Joy

2011-12-06T21:00:00.001-08:00

Making the Best of a Closed Out Situation

2011-12-04T08:50:00.000-08:00

First, surf mats rule. In case you didn't know that, I thought I'd repeat it. When the conditions are obviously less than satisfactory, I can get on the mat and thoroughly enjoy myself, if only for a short time.

As you can see, the wave is both small and closed out. That's always a joy. (sigh) Not really. But there are times when I insist on getting wet regardless of the conditions. This was one of them. And I had the presence of mind to take a mat and a board. The thing about the mat is that when the conditions stink, you know you're still going to enjoy yourself. I'm not sure why that is. When you're on a board in those same conditions, it's often difficult to find the fun in the situation. I suppose this is one of the reasons why it would behoove watermen and waterwomen to have mats in their quivers. I'm at the point, now, where I can't imagine life without a surf mat.

I'm still not 100%, but I'm getting there. As I sit here typing, one ear is kind of closed up. There's no dizziness connected with it though. I think it's the the bug, or whatever virus/infection/plague I caught, putting up one last fight to hang on. It's too late though. The grapefruit seed extract already got down to business days ago.

I love pelicans.

They make me smile.

As do waves with shape. And hickory smoke-flavored pistachio nuts. And custom wetsuits. And the big red beast of a station wagon parked outside.

I'm now waiting for a call, hoping my friend will say The Place Which Shall Remain Nameless is breaking. That is my winter spot. Judging from the water temperature, it's now winter!

Pray for surf!

Coming Up for Air

2011-12-01T17:07:00.000-08:00

I've been seriously under the weather for the last two weeks. That's atypical for me. Normally, I feel kind of superhero-like. By that, I mean I generally feel great. But a few weeks ago, I could feel this weird pressure above my eyes. That was accompanied by sniffles.

Well, whatever that was soon morphed into a full-blown sinus ailment of pretty epic proportions. I did start the neti pot soon after the symptoms came upon me. Still, that odd feeling in my forehead is what laid me low. If I wasn't light-headed, I was having dizzy spells. And the sore throat was so bad that one of my friends was concerned that I might have strep.

Anyway, I ended up taking a week off from surfing and, as of tomorrow, two weeks off from serious skating. Obviously, Kryptonite was somewhere in this house. I felt like ass for what seemed like forever.

Sinusitis? Sinus infection? Who knows?

I'm finally back among the living because of homeopathy. I have no health insurance, therefore I am not free to visit the doctor when I'm ill. In the long run, the doctor was unimportant; I have no intention of taking antibiotics unless I'm seriously ill. What good would a visit to my physician have done me?

The nasty sore throat was cured by, believe it or not, cayenne pepper. Gargling with it does the trick. If you happen to accidentally drink some of that liquid, that's even better. My sore throat was gone for good within a day of gargling with cayenne pepper.

Unfortunately, I continued to have the dizziness, fatigue and runny nose—neti pot be damned.

Back to the drawing board to find out how to handle that. Then I happened upon three words: grapefruit seed extract. WTF? Then one of my friends mentioned those words. Then another friend mentioned those words! To make a long story short, I got some homeopathic nasal spray with grapefruit seed extract. Eureka!! I just got the stuff yesterday. I woke up this morning feeling almost like myself. That weird heaviness in my head was gone, as was the dizziness, fatigue, lightheadedness and constant runny nose.

I am, literally, now coming up for air. Finally!!

By the way, as others have said, the wind blows!

2011-11-25T14:51:00.000-08:00

Thank you, Steiny.

2011-11-24T23:20:00.001-08:00

Led Zeppelin Thank You

2011-11-24T07:52:00.000-08:00

2011-11-21T20:46:00.000-08:00

Amendment I

Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances.

2011-11-21T06:33:00.001-08:00

2011-11-20T22:44:00.000-08:00

If I Coveted Money as Much as I Dodge Barrels, I'd be a Rich Woman

2011-11-16T07:12:00.000-08:00

In other news, I ask this question: Why is it that everyone wants to talk about the stoke from surfing, but no one wants to talk about the stoke killers? I continue to posit the theory that we surfers happily turn a blind eye to the elephant in the room—polluted water. You bring up that topic, wait for a response and the reply is silence. But guess what? I'm not going to stop talking about it. I'm not going to throw my hands up, glad that I can enjoy the ocean before it's too late. Is that what you're doing? Shame.on.you. I talk about polluted water a bit here.

Yet Another Skateboard Quiver Addition

2011-11-09T21:04:00.000-08:00

On Greenough's Birthday, You Ride Your Mat!

2011-11-08T19:23:00.000-08:00

The home break closeouts are actually quite enjoyable on a mat. My 4GF 5GF worked quite nicely, helping me to get on the shoulders before they folded over on themselves.

George Greenough is 70 years old.

And he still rides a mat.

Therefore, he's still in the ocean at a time when he probably would have had to stop surfing a standard surfboard—not that Greenough spent much time on a surfboard. But I'd bet it would have been hard to ride a spoon at 70 too.

The mat doesn't discriminate based on age. The mat, in fact, doesn't discriminate at all. If you don't already have one in your quiver, shame on you.

In mats we trust.

2011 Girls Combi Pool Classic at Vans Pt. 1

2011-11-06T06:59:00.000-08:00

I'm there under the Rockstar Energy poster. Do you see me?

Those chicks ripped the roof off the Vans skatepark all day long!!

My mind was blown once I saw the women practicing. But once the pro finals got under way, oh.my.god!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I'd never seen women throw it down that hard for that long.

Consider me a proud Auntie!! There were a bunch of us there—women who skated as kids and then seriously returned to it after having their own kids. Some of the crew, in fact, didn't start skating until they were grown. But we all skate. One of our crew was even in the contest!! (Go, Mom!!!)

Chicks rip!! Watch and learn!

This Photo Makes Me Smile

2011-11-03T20:45:00.000-07:00

"But having said that when some crazy tweeker is up in my grill that sucka's goin down"

2011-11-01T16:05:00.000-07:00

Prana said that. So I stole it.

He said that in response to the piece I just wrote for Josh's site.

There was an incident at the home break this weekend. You've seen the show Bully Beatdown? I find that show somewhat interesting in a good-triumphs-over-evil way, but it ultimately leaves me shaking my head even further about how horrible television is these days.

Wait? What was I talking about? Digression is a horrible thing!

The bully, if you want to call him that, took a beating. I don't enjoy violence for violence's sake. Most of the time, I think people should leave each other the fuck alone. (Yes, I actually have to use the f-word when I'm stating my opinion about how humans should interact with one another.) However, in cases where people seem unable to mind their manners, so to speak, a good ass kicking is sometimes in order.

I'm not a staunch believer in turning the other cheek. There are times when you can't be Gandhi. And since none of us is leading a nation of millions out of colonialism, most of us aren't trying to lead by example when faced with a situation that is going to turn violent. I don't want to see people fight. I don't like to see people fight. The only thing for which I'll throw down, at this point in my life, is my child.

But if you're attacked or see someone else being attacked, you act. Don't just stand there if you know you can help (even if that means running away to call the police or something). Don't just stand there!

The crew didn't just stand there. They delivered a bully beatdown on a tweaker who, having already crossed more than one line in the sand (and I'm being figurative, not literal), became a danger. He deserved it. And I think he got off easy. He was allowed to walk away. Granted, the police came and arrested him, but he is lucky he still had most of his health.

Localism is not always a four-letter word.

Who Needs Fashion When You Can Just Surf in Costume?

2011-10-29T17:49:00.000-07:00

In a Prolonged Holding Pattern

2011-10-26T07:10:00.000-07:00

My mom had spinal surgery last week, so I haven't surfed and have barely skated. Right now, it's all about Soul Grandmother #1. I may get a chance to surf on Thursday, but I'm not counting on it.

For now, I remain in a holding pattern, hoping upon hope that I can paddle out sooner rather than later.

Pray

for

Surf!

I Need to Hit the Local Skatepark More Often!!

2011-10-21T18:59:00.000-07:00

I have no idea who this shirtless man is. But he insisted on having his picture taken with me, so I assented if only to keep him from standing there staring at me with his mouth agape. Cos, you know, I shred so hard that it leaves men speechless.

He tried to tell me about his years of skating, saying something about Venice and some dogs or some such mess. Who knows?

Anyway, I took the picture and sent him on his way!

(Note: I almost died when I realized who the man with the beard was. Seriously. I just about had a heart attack right there in the middle of that skatepark.)

MF, you will find him here.

I Wish I Could Rock an Afro

2011-10-21T10:28:00.000-07:00

I would sit out there in the lineup trying not to get it wet. The thing would be regal. And perfect. And round. Then I'd pair it with my Red, Black and Green Liberation Wetsuit.

Then I'd dare someone to say that black people don't surf.

Or get in the water.

Or swim.

Or love Led Zeppelin.

In my next life, I'm rockin' a big ass afro.

That's a promise.

Home Break Closeouts—The Gift that Keeps on Giving

2011-10-16T21:23:00.001-07:00

My New Life as a Surfer Who Skates

2011-10-12T06:17:00.000-07:00

Here is another one I wrote for Josh's site.

If someone had told me, as recently as six months ago, that there would be a point in time when I’d be riding a skateboard as much as I ride my surfboard, I would have laughed and used some pointed words—words that Spongebob and Patrick humorously refer to as “sentence enhancers”.

But I digress.

My life as a surfer who skates, as opposed to a skater who surfs, began in earnest about a month or two ago. My son quietly let me know that he wanted to start riding a skateboard. Mind you, this boy couldn’t even stand on a board, let alone push to get it going or kick to make it turn. So, I hooked up with a couple of pros to teach him some basics. And while they were at it, I figured they could teach me a thing or two or 20 as well.

The last few months have seen me at the skatepark on a regular basis. Days that would normally involve me packing my car with a surfboard and surf gear became days that involved me packing my car with a child and skate gear. Instead of checking the surf forecasts all day every day, I now spend time looking for skateparks that would be suit me and my little skater.

Surfing will always be my first love. And I don’t aspire to drop into a 12 foot pool, crush the deathbox and then subsequently fly out over the coping with an audible roar. I’ll leave that to the younger skaters, the ones with the more malleable bones. What I do want from skating, specifically from my visits to skateparks, is to be able to flow . . . as one does on a wave. Mind you, I always thought skateparks were for ripping and shredding. But now that I skate at these places, I realize that a skatepark can present you with opportunities to feel like you’re riding a wave (albeit a concrete one).

I don’t know that I’ll ever be a full-fledged skater. I’m too old and too enamored of the ocean to put skating ahead of surfing. I do, nonetheless, feel a certain affinity for the glide of the skateboard even if it isn’t quite the same as that we find in the ocean. My new definition of a perfect day? It would have to be one where I surf in the morning and skate in the afternoon . . . without falling . . . on my (insert sentence enhancer here).

First It Was James Brown. Now It's Cowbell!

2011-10-08T22:17:00.000-07:00

Remember when I was in my James Brown phase? I even had a James Brown-themed board made. That phase lasted a good one or two years. I've yet to truly outgrow it. I simply ran out of
JB music to discover.

Well, I was all about the cowbell over the last few days. Chicago. War. Hugh Masakela. Grand Funk Railroad. Tone Loc. The Beatles. Jimmy Hendrix. Santana. The James Gang. Stevie Wonder. Slave. Def Leppard. Funkadelic. Mountain. And, finally, to end it all . . . Blue Oyster Cult (with a nod to Will Ferrell and Christopher Walken).

At one point, one of my friends suggested that Walken's picture be removed from a faux motivational poster, one related to more cowbell, of course, and that my image should replace it.

Voila!! I warned people that when I hear cowbell in my head, I'm liable to break out in a spontaneous dance party for one.

You can never have enough cowbell!

My Most Recent Blog Post for My Friend's Site

2011-10-04T05:43:00.000-07:00

I've been doing some writing for a site in England of late. Josh, who initially was a guest blogger and has now become a friend, enlisted me to help out with his site. I wrote this post the other night when I was at a loss for what to talk about in my blog post. Josh thinks this is one of my better blog posts, and I agree.

SURF WHERE YOU LIVE—LIVE WHERE YOU SURF

I came up with this title because it looks probable, at least with the U.S. economy barely improving and the job situation seemingly worsening, that I will never make a surf trip. Ever. California and Hawaii share an ocean. They are separated by a plane ride of only a few hours. The plane ticket, while not exactly affordable, doesn’t cost an arm and a leg.

Nevertheless, I will be surfing the beaches that are within driving distance of my home. While others talk about going to far away exotic locales in search of surf, I quietly go about the business of appreciating the surf that’s right in front of me . . . mainly because I have no choice but to do so.

This is not a post about gloom and doom. Woe is not me. One of the things I love about surfing is that the whole point of what we surfers do is to ride waves. No one ever said our goal was to ride the best waves or the biggest waves, the waves in the warmest water or the waves in the bluest ocean.

As Gerry Lopez once said, “Surf is where you find it.”

I am, apparently, a truly local surfer. In other words, I live in Southern California. I surf in Southern California exclusively. Thankfully, California is such a large state with such varied geography that making a day trip to spots like San Onofre and Rincon feels like one has gone on vacation.

Some years ago, one of my surf friends returned from a trip to Hawaii and was talking about the place for days after his return. I, as usual, asked him how it was and what it was like. At that point in my life, I still believed I was financially capable of making a surf trip happen. (As it turns out, I was mistaken.) I was a bit taken aback by his response. Most people talk of their surf expeditions in glowing terms, advising the listener to take a trip to the same place. What did my friend have to say to me when I mentioned my interest in going? “Don’t go. It will fuck with your head.”

He went on to explain that surfing in a tropical climate, with its warm water and beautiful scenery, had ruined him. When he returned to Los Angeles, he was not amused by the cold water and the less than perfect waves.

I’ve never forgotten his warning.

So, I keep it all in perspective. A wave is a wave is a wave is a wave. As long as there is something to surf, I’m happy. If I never manage to leave my little part of the world to surf, so be it. The fact that I can paddle out almost every day reminds me that I’m living a life that makes me happy. And I don’t need a surf trip for that.

The "Why the Hell Not Have a Dance Party?" Dance Party

2011-10-03T20:25:00.000-07:00

Introducing Masa to the Mat

2011-10-03T18:45:00.000-07:00

We had only one degree of separation at the most and we seemed to travel in neighboring skater circles. Word came down the pike that Masa was curious about surf mats. He wanted to get out in the water on one.

I, of course, jumped all over that, sending him the message that we could take the mat out when he was ready.

Last weekend, he was ready!

I kept him in the whitewater. That turned out to be a prudent move. At one point, I asked how well he swam. Let's just say he won't be going leashless any time soon. Anyway, he tried the mat, smiled a great deal, lost a fin at one point and generally had a wonderful time. I was happy to be of assistance to a fellow skater, a dedicated one. Masa is as nice as everyone said he is. His English is a little spotty at times. And I speak no Japanese, so there were times when I was using some senseless sign language to try and express myself. We will be doing this again though.

Stay tuned for the second episode of "Introducing Masa to the Mat".

I See Your "Stairway to Heaven" and Raise You This Gem!

2011-09-26T22:03:00.000-07:00

I've been done with "Stairway to Heaven" since 19(year inaudible due to hand over mouth in an effort not to give away one's age). I truly hate that song.

On Friday, a friend and I went to see Cheap Trick at the Greek. I was never a big fan. I had no teenage crushes on any of those guys and their music was nothing more than music to me. It was never part of the soundtrack to my teen years. (Neither was that damn "Stairway to Heaven".)

We were talking about music on the way to the concert. For some reason, people are always surprised to learn that I'm a serious Zeppelin fan. I'm always asked what my favorite Zeppelin song is. When I say "Ten Years Gone," I'm usually met with a blank stare or silence. This is not one of the songs that got consistent and irritatingly constant airplay over the years. This is, however, a true masterpiece. When my friend asked me to sing it to her in the hopes that she would recognize the song, I passed. For one, I can't sing. At all. Second, you have to really know Led Zeppelin to know this song.

If I never hear "Stairway to Heaven" again, I won't be upset in the least. I know which songs display the true genius of this band.

My Butt is the Reason God Invented Ice Packs

2011-09-25T07:33:00.000-07:00

@#$&! skateparks!!! I always said I wouldn't go to skateparks with all of those damn little kids and have some little kid knock me down. Well, guess what? I was at the skatepark. You know the rest. I didn't get knocked down so much as I had to decide whether to take a slam or slam this kid (and use him as my landing pad). Being a mom, I opted for the former. My tailbone is cursing me as I type. It's not broken, just unhappy.

Yesterday, Malba was teaching me how to carve a corner. I loved that. At some point, he said we would do the "big lap" around this skatepark. You have to generate a lot of speed to make it happen. He skates with me the entire way, reminding me of what I need to do at the different transitions and banks before sending me up and over some coping. Well, you really have to haul ass to get over that coping. And we were hauling. He'd already verbally warned everyone to clear out for a bit. And then this little kid, the one with the selective hearing, bailed his skateboard right in front of us when we were going Mach 5. Stupid estrogen! A mom will sacrifice herself rather than mow down a child. I also didn't want to kill Malba. So I took the slam, a hard one.

I stayed on the ground for a bit trying to decide whether I was hurt or just hurting. My tailbone was not amused at all. Broken? Fractured? Nah. I was alive and relatively well. I got up quickly once I realized I was just hurting.

Next time though, someone's little tubby kid may have to be sacrificed. He will bounce. Kids always do. Old ass grown-ups do not.

(No, I'm not going to stop skating. Slams come with the territory!)

Working with Your Titanium Knee . . . on a Surfboard

2011-09-21T06:14:00.000-07:00

This session was nothing special. Somehow it was both flat and closed out at the home break. No, I'm not joking. Not much was going on in the water, but when something would roll through every so often, it would meander through slowly and then fold over all at once near the shore. Those aren't the best conditions.

I really didn't care. I wanted to surf. I've been skating a lot and working a little. Both have kept me out of the water.

So, I paddled out. The picture shows me on my first wave. It appears that I'm crouching with both legs when, in fact, one leg is bent and the other—the one with the titanium joint—is resting on the board. I don't know where I came up with this position. However, it works for me. The replaced knee is allowed to take a breather while my other leg does the bulk of the work in keeping my body low. This is truly significant, if only to show that you learn to work with your prosthetic joint. Not long after my return to surfing after the knee replacement surgery, I worried about not being able to get and stay low on the board. Eventually, I let the concerns go. I was so relieved to be surfing again that I stopped sweating the small stuff.

Well, it appears that I've slowly begun to figure out what works. If I'm ever paying enough attention to notice a small tube that might present itself in front of me, I now know how to, in essence, assume the position. Of course, I seem never to notice the little barrels. I've seen more than a few shots of me looking down the line and totally oblivious to the fact that a lip was throwing right behind me. This is the story of my life. That lip is always where I'm not looking!!

Alright! I've done my knee replacement pep talk for today. You can still surf after a knee replacement. Really. You can do it. Do be scared. There's no way to talk you out of the fear. Just know that the future holds many wonderful things once you have your joint replaced.

Make the drop, eyes wide open.

4th Annual Cosmic Stinkbug Expression Session

2011-09-19T06:32:00.000-07:00

This is such a wonderful event. It's fun, yes, but it's for charity. The cool thing is that the money raised is anonymously given to a family in need, one that is dealing with cancer. The money that is raised is literally handed to an unknowing family that has been chosen ahead of time. The family chosen this year is one where the dad has late stage cancer. The mom is working her butt off to keep it all together financially and emotionally. I think the kids are in high school. What I was told was that after all was said and done, someone would go to their home and present them with the money, not telling them exactly who it was from. Those making the delivery were given a fictional name to use if they were asked about the money. In fact, it is the kids from last year's family who are going to make the delivery. The folks who run this event don't want any attention. They don't expect any appreciation. They simply want to help and move on.

I hadn't known all of these details before I traveled north for the event. I almost didn't go, mainly because my cash is tight right now. But I knew the organizer really wanted me to come, and he wanted me there on my mat. As much as I wanted to stay home, something was telling me I needed to go to this. Obviously, I'm glad I went, especially after I heard the backstory. And the pictures don't even begin to show the hilarity of it all!

"You Look Like My Third Wife . . . and I've Only Been Married Twice"

2011-09-16T18:36:00.000-07:00

This is what a man said to me as I was quickly throwing on my fins. He was working hard to get my attention. I, on the other hand, was racing to make it out to the lineup before being spotted by the lifeguard.

It was a race I would not win.

I heard his voice over his truck's loudspeaker before I'd even gotten my hair wet. You pick your battles. This was one in which I was certain to go down in defeat, ignominiously forced out of the water and made to stand in the corner with the "Dunce" cap.

So I turned around, took a small wave and got right back out.

I expected a lecture. I did not receive one. Instead, it was suggested that I take my mat up the beach a way. The lifeguard tower there was empty.

I did not argue. Instead, I gave him the answer the first guy probably wanted to hear from me.

"I love you."

And off I went. North. Where the lifeguards weren't.

One Split Session = Stoke to the Nth Degree

2011-09-15T20:23:00.000-07:00

All it takes is a nice wave, a quiet break, good friends, a mat, a hull and a good attitude to make the morning complete. And complete it was.

For the first time in over a year, I got back on my seven foot hull (aka Carrot). I wasn't even sure if I would get a wave, what with the length of the board and me usually surfing boards that are two feet longer. Well, I did get a wave, one that reminded me of how magical hulls are.

I'm determined to spend as much time as possible on this board during the late fall and winter. I will take it to The Place Which Shall Remain Nameless, hoping upon hope that the kelp decides to take up residence at another beach, preferably one that people aren't trying to surf.

I think I'm now truly in a race against time and age. Whatever I'm going to do, on my shorter boards, has to be done now. I'm still strong. I'm still relatively quick. The time is now.

Besides, I am just plain tired of carrying longboards to spots that require a long walk between the car and the break. Yeah, I said it!! The break we hit today takes some work to get to. I took a longboard the first time I surfed it on a board. After that, I took the eight foot mid-sized board. Today? The seven foot hull was the call, especially since I was also carrying a mat and a pair of fins. Since this is a wave whose shape is reliably wonderful, the hull is a safe bet there.

Anyway, we started the session on mats. As usual, we found a wave that held up and delivered. But as the tide came up, I got tired of how hard I had to work to get into the waves. That's when I switched to Carrot. The ride is amazing. It almost feels like you're floating. I don't know. This board makes me feel like I'm very light on my feet. I like that.

Two Mediocre Sessions = Still Stoked

2011-09-13T20:05:00.000-07:00

Session #1: Point break mat session. The tide came up quickly. By the time I got in the water, the spot was shutting down and the backwash wasn't doing the waves any favors. Score: One wave in about 45 minutes.

Session #2: Beach break surf session. There was too much SW in the water for this break, therefore it was closed out . . . as usual. Score: Two waves in about 30 minutes.

It was one of those cases where I was still glad to get wet since I had to be at work before the morning was up. The spots I chose just weren't working. And that's okay. I managed to surf two different surfcraft at two different breaks during a two hour period. I'd rather do that than stay dry.

Please join me in praying for well-shaped surf with a decent tide . . . amen.

And Down He Goes!

2011-09-12T05:39:00.000-07:00

Thank god the kid's slam wasn't as catastrophic as the one in the picture. He was able to get up and skate it off. (I'm not sure if he was more angry about hitting the deck or more angry at me for making him get back on the board when he got up.) Still, he was not amused in the least. We'd had our lessons—he always goes first, and then I bat cleanup. I, of course, fell while in the pool . . . again. I don't know if the kid fell during his lesson. He tends to be on the skittish side, so he's overly cautious and just plain fearful. I know Tuma had to give him a lecture about falls, about how you will fall when skateboarding, about how they won't all be bad, but some will and you just have to keep on keepin' on when that happens.

Once we were done, I was ready to go. There was more skating to be done later in the day at a park that is much less frenetic. The child, though, wanted to stay and skate. I managed to take two more tumbles during that part of our session. At one point, we split up. I could see his little (okay, big) head and that was all. At one point, I saw someone get too close to him. Well, it wouldn't have been too close to the rest of us. For a beginning skater, it was too close for comfort. I guess there was some confusion about who should go. I realized I was no longer seeing that big head. When I got over to where he was, he was on the ground in tears. The guy who'd made him nervous by getting too close was there first. I was there next. We both were telling him to get up. I needed to determine if something was broken. My kid didn't want to budge. He was perfectly happy lying on the ground in a puddle of tears. And I get that. My kid is no daredevil. He's not used to hitting the ground with some force.

In the end, I made him get up. I also made him, after much stern coaxing, get back on his board. Only then would I let him leave the skatepark. We saw one of my friends after we left. The kid was sulking. She, a skater, asked him what happened. Then she explained to him, with just the right amount of drama in her voice, that he'd gotten his first hipper, told him she knew it hurt and generally made him know that she felt his pain. Of course, it wasn't until the mention of a stop at Randy's Donuts, while we were in the car, that the person in the backseat perked up and stopped feeling sorry for himself.

There were two surprises yesterday. First, Soul Brother #2 stated that he may want to surf if only because the falls off the surfboard aren't as painful of those off of a skateboard. ("What was that? Did he once again mention the possibility of wanting to surf? Is this really my child talking?") Second, I was to meet some friends later in the day at a skatepark in Orange County. The kid made it clear he was coming with me. And, much to my surprise, we were there for hours. He is still learning to skate. He still feels self-conscious about his skills, but he charges in his own inimitable way. That slam didn't stop him from hitting another skatepark. He did what he was comfortable doing. I think he learned quite a bit from watching others. He's still got a way to go. I'm proud of him though. He's not been pushed into skating and he's not being pushed to continue. (I constantly ask if he still wants to skate.)

If he's still skating a few years from now, he's going to shred. And I'll be happy to drop him off at the skatepark to let him do his thing without his mom there for support (as I'm sure he will neither want it nor need it by that time).

On Lockdown . . . Again!

2011-09-08T21:45:00.001-07:00

It's only temporary. I spent this week chained to a desk. I got laid off from my cool outdoor job a few weeks ago. Now, I've gotten another cool job, but I had to do training for the last three days. There was no opportunity to surf. I was in the office learning the responsibilities of my position. Thankfully, this job is mellow too. It does not involve being chained to a desk on a regular basis. In fact, I won't even be chained to my office. Much of my job involves going to another site to get work done. I would also have to do other things away from the office. That all suits me just fine.

When I showed up for training on the first day, I had on jeans, but I did also put on shoes. I hate shoes. I wore them on the first day out of respect. Well, I wore them for half of the first day. During the lunch break, I went home . . . and put on my flip flops. I've worn flip flops each day since then! Gotta love that!

I will surf tomorrow. I don't care if it's flat. I don't care if it's choppy. I need to get wet!!

And, no, I don't miss that bohunk of a swell.

But it's like having bad sex. You do it because it's better than nothing, and then you realize it really isn't.*

2011-09-04T16:11:00.000-07:00

Such has been my relationship with this swell. Seriously. I can think of no other way to describe how much quality time I seem to be wasting on it.

Dear Worst Best Epic Swell of Summer 2011,

I've tasted your forbidden fruit—your muscular shoulders, your strong currents and all that has me hyperventilating and licking my lips at the very sight of you. Yes, I'm a trollop. My head was easily turned by word of your arrival. I'd yet to spy your wares, and I already wanted a piece of you.

Well, you and I are through, Worst Best Epic Swell of Summer 2011. It's obvious to me that you've been hitting the gym; you seemed to be the total package: good looks, a beautiful physique, et al. But now that I've spent some time with you, I realize I need more from a relationship. Something is missing. Therefore, this thing we've got, or don't got (as you would say), must come to an end. Our two day stand left me wanting nothing more to do with you.

It's not you. It's me. There are others, male and female, who appreciate you for what you are. I will keep waiting for Mr. Right, being more open to the waves that come my way on a regular basis. They may not have your looks, but they're loyal. They may have a few wrinkles, scars, warts and the like. Still, they deliver . . . all the time.

I'm quitting you, dude. No, don't look back. It's more painful that way. I'll be fine. Really, I will. You're not the only game in town, you know.

Surfsis

*That was a Steiny-style blog post title. I'd made the statement in a comment on a friend's blog, then decided I needed to steal it for my own blog!

In This Episode, Our Heroes Take a Skate Lesson From Tuma

2011-09-03T20:18:00.000-07:00

Malba couldn't fit us in this week, so I arranged a lesson with Tuma. Folks had told me to get in touch with him for lessons, telling me he's great. They were right. And he's in L.A., which helps immensely.

As you can see from the first photo, it didn't take long for Soul Brother #2 to warm up to Tuma.

Soul Brother #2, if he stays with it, will skate well if only because he's got the right people telling him the right things to do. (God help us all if I were to try to teach him anything about skating!)

Much to our shared chagrin, Tuma made us get in the pool!!! I was not thrilled as I wasn't sure how to get in and was certain I'd never be able to climb out. I'm happy to report that I easily ran into the pool and was easily able—thanks to all of that surfing power—to pull myself up and out of the pool. News flash!! I didn't fall at all today. I always fall at skateparks, often while I'm innocently rolling slowly from one place to another. Today, the only part of me that touched the concrete was my feet.

Soul Brother #2 quietly screamed the entire time Tuma had him in the pool. This is only his second lesson, his second time at a skatepark and some dude has him pumping/doing fakies in the pool. Youngblood was not amused! I, however, laughed at my child and his ineffectual attempt to feign serious fear. Tuma would not let him escape.

Well, now I can say I've skated the Venice Skatepark. I swore I'd never skate that park. Ever. The place is completely frenetic and chaotic after a certain hour. Thankfully, the park was relatively quiet when we met Tuma there for our lesson.

I was happy to spend my Saturday on a skateboard rather than a surfboard. I still think this is a messy swell. I'm not going to spend too much time chasing it or letting it chase me. I'm going down south tomorrow for a mat meet. If the waves are like they were last year, I'll get in the water and take some punishment that will be well worth the waves I get. If the swell is bigger than last year, I'm staying on the shore and relaxing in the sun as I watch truly skilled mat riders throw themselves over the ledge.

I hear the swell is slowing down. That's fine with me. I'd like to see some civilized waves back in these parts!

This Swell? Over It!

2011-09-02T19:37:00.000-07:00

When I was in the water on Wednesday, the forerunners were coming through. I didn't like what I was seeing—walls with few shoulders, waves bouncing off the rock wall and coming right back at us diagonally. I said to someone that this was not going to be the best of swells. The energy is just too much for most of our breaks. Couple that with way too many people rushing to the beach to get a part of it. Two plus 20,000 will get you . . . ?

I looked around a bit yesterday, hoping my L.A. mat spot would show some decent, shapely waves with minimal crowd. Well, it did just that. As I watched, I was thinking it didn't look bad at all, and wondered how that break had escaped those massive sets that were showing everywhere else.

Ooops! Spoke too soon!!

Here come the sets!

Wow!!

Whoa!!!

Turning to my companion, "That just wiped out the lineup, didn't it?"

The response was a nod and a chuckle.

The tweeners were beautiful. I loved the looks of those shoulders. I was certainly tempted. But the more I watched, the more I knew I would either be going elsewhere or going home. I get no thrill from catching a big closeout. I don't find getting worked within an inch of my life all that entertaining either.

For me, it's all about shape. Size matters . . . not in the least for me most of the time. I'd rather take a three foot wave with a shoulder than a seven foot closeout. Mind you, I will ride a seven foot wave. I'm not afraid of a wave of that size if the ride is worthwhile. (Yes, I know there were waves with shape to be found at spots with 10,000 of my new best friends sitting shoulder to shoulder in the water.)

This swell? Too much and too many. Too much energy. Too much tide. Too many people. Too many closeouts. I elected to ride the mat through this mess. I knew a surfboard would not make me happy during a swell like this one.

I got the mat on a few bombs, both yesterday and today. I didn't stay out long though. The waves just weren't worth it.

I did get a toot from the lifeguard today. She even motioned me to get out of the water. Do you know what I did? (I'm sure you do.) I looked right at her, turned around and went back out to the lineup. If she wanted me out of the water, she was going to have to come and get me. I never once lost my mat. I was never in danger of drowning. I was just out there trying to get a piece of that swell. I knew she couldn't come after me as there were way too many people in the water that she needed to watch. Many of those people were running into one another. And you're trying to get me out of the water? Yeah, right!!

I'm going to have to give this swell a grade of D+ (and I'm being generous by giving it the +). Granted, this is my subjective assessment of the swell. So don't mind me and my criticisms.

Tomorrow? Soul Brother #2 and I head to the skatepark for our second lesson! Woot!

All Skated Out

2011-08-30T21:37:00.000-07:00

I have not done this much skateboarding in years. Soul Brother #2 and I have skated and skated and skated since seeing Malba on Saturday. The child is still gun shy about going to a skatepark. He fears the critical gazes and comments from those who would make fun of him for being a newbie who can barely skate. But let me tell you this kid has come a long way since Saturday. The little boy who couldn't stand on a board on his own is now kicking and pushing, practicing turns and generally looking comfortable on a skateboard.

He's made it clear that he wants to practice. We tried to get our skate on in front of the house. That didn't work because the sidewalk is too uneven and bumpy. (I won't let him skate in the street since we are not off the beaten path.) Since he won't go to the skatepark yet, I was trying to figure out where we can get our skate on without having to worry about the surface and traffic. That's when I remembered a large concrete opening at the home break. I'm not sure what that space is used for. It's wide open, yet barricaded from cars. This, then, has become our skate spot of choice. We can freely skate and practice there without worrying about much of anything except the John Deere-like riding mowers spewing grass cuttings everywhere.

We've skated there two days in a row. Today, we went straight there after I picked him up from school with lunch and a change of clothes (since he wears a uniform). We do a little talking, do a little skating, rinse and repeat. And now, my legs are on fire from having skated so much. This evening, I talked to Tuma about lessons simply because Malba is so far away. There will be days when he won't want to meet us halfway and I can guarantee there will be days when I won't want to brave traffic just for a lesson. Now I've found someone whom I believe Soul Brother #2 will warm up to as quickly as he did to Malba.

Today was one of those days when I surfed in the morning and skated in the afternoon. My legs are unhappily still attached to my body. They hurt. Malba told me to work on tic tacs (tick tacks?) and I've done that. He told me to do 30 consecutive kickturns on the ramp. I've done that too. My skating is improving by leaps and bounds if only because someone has told me things I can do to improve.

I suppose we will keep doing the skate lesson thing for awhile. It's helping my child's confidence and it's bringing my skill level up quite rapidly.

Pray for surf and uncrowded skateparks.

Mother/Son Skate Date!

2011-08-27T19:46:00.000-07:00

Micke Alba. Soul Brother #2. Duarte Skatepark. Hot as hell.

It's well known by my friends and family that I skate. I was forbidden to skate as a kid. However, when I could get away with it, I did. I had skateboards hidden in the closet in my room. Often, when my parents were off doing who knows what, I would sneak a skate or two in. I even found an empty pool within a few miles of my house. I skated that too.

I didn't skate much after that. The pool was off-limits once I told a few folks at my high school. They let the cat out of the bag. The place was overrun by skaters, even though the pool was in a black neighborhood, and was eventually made unskateable by the owners of the property.

Mind you, I was still sneaking around to skate. (Aren't teenagers normally sneaking around to have sex?) I got caught a few times and finally stopped skating. Then I went off to college. I didn't skate there either . . . until my senior year. I don't even remember what set me off. All I knew was I wanted to skate. And skate I did. Then I graduated. I stopped skating once again.

Fast forward a couple of decades to find our heroine once again drawn to skating. By that point, I was surfing. The surfing, of course, sent me right back to skateboarding. But before I could truly get my skate on, I learned that my left knee was so riddled with osteoarthritis that it would have to be replaced with a joint made of titanium and plastic. The knee replacement, and the spectre of never surfing again, trumped any thoughts I had about skating. My concern was whether the joint would work well enough to allow me to surf.

Then something amazing happened: I got the knee replaced and decided that life was too short not to skate. Period. I decided I would skate to the best of my abilities given the fact that I had a knee with limited flexion. I had a miniramp built in the backyard. I found a group of women who skated. I made my first visits to skateparks. (I've only been to, I think, three skateparks in my entire life!)

That brings us to the present.

I met Malba awhile back while at an informal session at the home of one of the women in the skater chicks group. He'd been invited to give lessons to anyone who was interested. I'd spent about 15 minutes with him and was completely impressed by the way he does his teaching thing. So, I decided I'd try to hook up with him at a later date for my own lesson.

In the meantime, I realized my kid had been quietly talking about skating. There were little comments here and there. I didn't immediately catch on that he was expressing a serious interest in it. Thankfully, I pay attention to what he says. Before I called Malba, I asked Soul Brother #2 if he wanted to take a lesson from Malba. Wasn't I shocked when the kid said yes? Now, this was especially surprising to me because my child is self-conscious about certain things. As the day for the lesson approached, I could tell he was getting nervous. He was worried that people might laugh at him because he couldn't skate. Mind you, this kid hadn't been on a skateboard at all. My hope was that his will to learn would trump his fears. I was also counting on Malba to put the kid at ease.

Today was the day that my child became a skater. He didn't even know how to stand on a board before Malba got hold of him. He looked truly unhappy at the beginning of the lesson. But by the time we left, he was truly stoked!! (He came home and practiced outside on four different occasions! He's hooked!!)

I wore my favorite pair of Vans with my favorite pair of socks from when I was still a competitive cyclist.

Soul Brother #2 and I split the lesson—he got the first half and I got the second. Micke had me working on tic tacs going up a slight incline. Learning to do that maneuver from a standing start, while going up an incline, will help me learn to generate speed around a skatepark without pushing. We also worked on some other things. Of course, I can't leave a skatepark without taking a good slam. (No, there's no picture of that.)

I think it's safe to say, even after only one session, that I'm now the mother of a skater. The child's got it bad. Malba gives homework. Again, the child went outside four times to practice. FOUR TIMES. He's now talking about when we can to go the skatepark, more lessons with Malba, etc.

August 27, 2011—the day "Mommy's Little Skater" was born.

Paid the Cost to Be the Boss

2011-08-24T22:31:00.000-07:00

Look at me!
Know what you see?
You see a bad mutha.

If you've never heard this song, which is on the soundtrack of a blaxploitation film that I never saw, you haven't lived. I once sent the link to this video to a white friend on Facebook, urging him to tap into his "bad mutha" as he struggled to survive working at that horrible fashion house where we met. By the time I'd finally quit, I was trying to hold my bad mutha in check, hoping it wouldn't escape and get the revolution under way with a few pointed words, a dangerous head tilt and a massive afro sporting a Black Power afro comb perched precariously near the top of that perfect sphere.

A bad mutha is a bad mutha. It has nothing to do with skin color. That term transcends race, geography, gender or what have you.

Sometimes I feel like a bad mutha in the water. It's not often since that state of mind takes way too much energy. I need it in a crowd. Then again, I shy away from breaks with crowds large enough to bring out my bad mutha.

Cos you know what? My bad mutha doesn't surf as well as I do.

That bad mutha stuff isn't me. I know folks who don't know how to be anything but a bad mutha. You've got to befriend them if you can. Because.

The bad mutha doesn't step to friends.

However, the bad mutha will have your back when you need him.her.it.

In other news, it's been relatively flat.

That's a four-letter word, you know. You can quote me.

Under My Thumb

2011-08-21T20:15:00.000-07:00

Once again, a random blog post title just popped into my head. I'm not a huge Stones fan. I don't hear Stones songs in my head very often. (Now, Howlin' Wolf and Bad Company are a different story.) I run hot and cold with the Stones. For every song I like, there are about 10 others I don't.

No, I have no reasonable explanation for the fact that I'm blathering on about The Rolling Stones.

Onward and laterallyward or whatever.

Much like those who split their time between the summer home and the winter home or between the West Coast and the East Coast, I've been giving my divided attention to mats one day and surfboards the next. Or whatever.

I'm drunk on the mat Kool-Aid, the taste having grown on me since my first sip. I don't even remember when I started drinking the surf Kool-Aid. I do remember it was many decades ago, long before surfing became fashionable . . . literally.

And to think I always thought people were staring at me because black women are a bit of an aberration in a surf lineup.

Wrong.

They're staring at the purple Kool-Aid mustache!

And the Award for Grace and Style Goes to . . .

2011-08-14T23:47:00.000-07:00

Proof That I Still Surf Boards

2011-08-13T21:26:00.001-07:00

I've been matting a lot of late. But I've gotten on my board too. Now that summer is upon us and the lineups in L.A. are so bloody crowded, I've been forced to beat a hasty retreat to spots I don't normally frequent. These spots, as it turns out, have some damn good waves. And when I'm presented with a damn good wave, particularly if it's a right (cos Lord knows this goofy foot lives for going left), I think of my mat first. Mats are great fun. That, of course, is the thing that keeps you on the mat. However, when you get the mat on a wave with a decent shoulder, mats turn into serious, mind-blowing business. You needn't take my word for it. Other mat riders know. George Greenough knows. There's no law that says everyone in the water must know . . . that . . . one's relationship to the wave, to the very ocean itself, is more intimate on a mat.

With that said, I still surf. My most recent sessions have been ones that saw me hike into a spot, with my fellow matter/surfer TT, with fins, a mat and a board. In those cases, my sessions were split between the mat and the board. Alas, I've yet to see a good left during these sessions. Point breaks that go right seem to be the theme for the summer of 2011.

There's a mat meet tomorrow. I will take a board. And I probably won't surf it. Unless. I see a good left. A really good left. A really good almost empty left. Yeah. Summertime. Weekend. Not.gonna.happen.

Mat Stoke . . .

2011-08-09T18:40:00.000-07:00

is the gift that keeps on giving!

Speaking of Jobs

2011-08-08T17:51:00.000-07:00

My Companion Piece to Steiny's Post

2011-08-06T18:05:00.000-07:00

It's time to face the facts. There is no middle class. We all know it, but refuse to believe it because doing so is much too painful. But if you look at the state of this country, the truth is undeniable. I blame neither the Republicans nor the Democrats. Instead I blame the Republicans AND the Democrats. They got us into this mess. They refuse to get us out. Perhaps they fucked up so badly for so long that they no longer care to do the right thing. They have their money. They have their status. They have all they need and want. We, the American people without means, are unimportant. There are no lobbyists representing us . . . even though, when you think about it, the people we've elected should, in fact, be our lobbyists, right?

I like Steiny's post. It speaks volumes because it speaks the truth. Thank you, my friend, for posting that. This is my response:

Yes, Do Blame Laird

2011-08-06T06:05:00.001-07:00

That's what I was doing as I was sitting there.

Seriously, that's too much man for my taste. Does any one person need that much testosterone in one body? He resembles a side of beef that can walk, talk and SUP.

If you could see my face, you'd know I was not amused.

Blame.

Laird.

Talking Surf Mats, the BSA and Life with Jeff Ho

2011-07-31T16:33:00.000-07:00

After today's session—one that was mediocre at best due to the gutlessness of the waves and kookiness of the crowd—I went over to water plants that local photographer Randy Wright planted in an effort to beautify this spot. As it so happens, Randy was sitting nearby on the rocks with Jeff Ho and someone else.

Jeff Ho!

That's skating royalty, boys and girls. That's our history, kids.

As I approached, Randy introduced us and happily exclaimed, "Mary rides a surf mat . . . like George Greenough!!" Well, I wish I could ride it like Greenough does, but I knew what he meant.

I exchanged a few words with them about the mat. Ho asked me what the mats were made and we talked for a bit. I decided it was best to get a mat from the car to show him.

So I did!!

I sat down and talked with Jeff Ho!!!

I'm holding his dog while he examines my mat.

Talking about stuff the Beach Boys wouldn't have understood.

I will be in touch with Ho again. We exchanged contact information. If possible, I'd like to do an interview with him for Liquid Salt. He also mentioned some kind of fundraising event related, I think, to cancer awareness. His wife was recently diagnosed with cancer, one that is in its late stages. I also know that there is a community effort, and this has nothing to do with our talk this morning, to help them with medical bills. You can check that out here.

In other news, I have no other news.

As you were.

Saltwater Smackdown!!

2011-07-28T22:35:00.000-07:00

Close . . .

but no cigar!!

Once again, I had no idea I was that close to getting a small barrel. Those home break closeouts are crafty little buggers. I was concentrating on not losing the board. I never did get a good look at that wave, so I was totally unaware that I was almost in there. Almost. And then, as is typical at the home break, the saltwater curtain came down all at once. There would be no curtain calls or standing ovations. Instead, I made the swim to shore to retrieve my board.

Some day, I will actually be looking at the wave when it does that nice little barreling thing. Some day. But not today!!

Cyrus Sutton, Wayne Lynch, Surf Mats and Perspective

2011-07-27T16:16:00.000-07:00

I Am Not a Beach Boys Fan

2011-07-26T22:30:00.000-07:00

I loved the Beach Boys when I was a kid. The stuff about which they sang was so different from the life I was living. I suppose I was captivated by the idea of the beach, the sun and surfing even then. The Beach Boys were the closest I would get to any of that for a long, long time.

As the years progressed, I got tired of the group. They were too happy-go-lucky for my taste. That life of which they sang was seemingly too good to be true. I've lived a relatively easy life, but I still couldn't relate to the Beach Boys at all. Perhaps, in all truthfulness, they were just too stereotypically white. Of course, I've since learned that the surfers of that era didn't like the Beach Boys either.

This song is one I love. Perhaps it's the hint of melancholy in both the melody and lyrics.

I've been in a bit of a funk of late. This song, for whatever reason, makes me feel better. Whenever I hear "uninspired/drenched and tired," I feel like they actually get it. Life isn't about "having fun all summer long". It's also about making difficult choices and trying to survive. I hear that in this song.

I'll just keep playing it until I feel good about the world again.

A Mat Session in Pictures

2011-07-22T14:18:00.001-07:00

In 2008, I talked about my first session on a surf mat. We'd even gotten pictures of that fateful day. I remember laughing as hard as I've ever laughed in my life. I also remember feeling completely lost and being thoroughly confused since I don't think I'd ever seen one ridden other than on YouTube.

The mat doesn't confuse me as much as it used to. I can't say that I've mastered it. I will say that I know how to ride it now. You learn something new with each session. What's been even more helpful is that the community of mat riders is now making a concerted effort to get together in the water. More experienced mat riders don't hesitate to pass on their knowledge. There isn't much in the way of competition since there isn't much about which to be competitive. There are no contests. There are no magazine spreads. There is no sponsorship. You get a mat. You ride the mat. You smile and laugh a lot!! There is no pressure when you ride a mat. You leave your ego on the sand, in the car, at home, wherever. You know that when you paddle out on a mat, people are going to stare. People make cracks about pool toys. People ask you what the hell you're on. Every once in awhile, someone will mention George Greenough or tell you how cool it is to see a mat in the lineup. Those instances are rare though. Mats are curiosities. I am happy to let them stay that way.

First, you inflate the mat.

Then, you kick and paddle out to the lineup.

One a good day, you'll catch the first wave you go for.

You spy photographer Randy Wright making the beach a better place for everyone.

You learn how to apply the brakes before heading into the rocks.

If you're lucky, a shoulder will present itself, allowing you to floor it.

After the session, since the mat and fins aren't heavy, you are easily able to pick up trash on the beach. (I also snagged a cool rock and cool seashell too.)

The End

Beware of Badlanders Bearing Red Sharpies!

2011-07-22T06:12:00.000-07:00

Malba decided he wanted me to change my foot placement on the board. So, out came the red Sharpie. He asked for permission to draw on the top of my board before he did it. So now my skating has gone back a few steps as I try to get accustomed to the new placement of my feet. It feels wrong, but I figure it will eventually become second nature. Eventually. Won't it?

Wanna Try a Mat?

2011-07-20T18:18:00.000-07:00

Now is the time!! There's a sale over at 4th Gear Flyer. I'd jump on that if I were you!

From now until the end of September, all the high-end 4GF models (Standard, Tracker, Fatty, Vespa, XL and UDT) will be on sale for $165.

In addition, we'll be sending all new mats out with "hot waxed" decks. Everyone who has tried the soaked/wax deck has liked it, so why not? It takes us about 20 minutes to do the procedure, and it saves the mat rider the hassle of doing it themselves. (Details on the waxed decks are here.)

There is one proviso that goes with these lower prices...

Currently, delivery times are slower than in recent years. Our goal has always been to get mats out within 2-3 days after receiving the order...and for the most part, we've achieved that. But our fabric supplier was in the path of one of the tornadoes that swept through the mid-west this past May, so the flow of fabric to our shop has been intermittent. And, we have family obligations up in Oregon that require me to spend time up there this summer.

So, orders will now take 3-4 weeks from the time they are received until the time they are shipped. (Delivery times after shipping will remain 2-3 days in the US, and 7-14 days foreign. US shipping is free, and foreign shipping is $25.)

These turn-around times may change for the better some time in September, but for now, you should count on a delay. We hope the new, lower prices will help make up for the inconvenience.

Thanks,

PG

I Often Suffer in Silence

2011-07-18T06:16:00.000-07:00

See, this is why I can easily switch between the mat and the surfboards. I was all about the mat last week, wasn't I? Mat this. Mat that. My mat sessions were providing more stoke than I'd experienced in a long time. But, as we all know, all good things must come to an end. And all of that good matting came to an end on Friday. The break was crowded. The waves were backing off. The mat was petulant. And I couldn't catch #$!@. Yet I stayed, waiting for things to come together. Well, they didn't and I got out of the water totally frustrated and silently cursing that session. What does that mean?

It means I'm ready to switch back to a surfboard. The mats can stay dry for a bit while I get my surf on . . . until my boards piss me off, sending me right back to the mats.

I also suffer for my skating. You know what I realize about myself? Here I am, 48 years old with a prosthetic knee and no health insurance . . . but I still have little fear of falling. I say I don't want to fall. I do my best not to fall. I cannot knee slide (as the new knee lacks the range of motion for a knee slide). Still, I'm willing to give certain things a try. And, well, that resulted in me hitting the deck twice yesterday when I was hanging with my group of female skaters. One slam probably would have seen some bodily injury had Micke Alba not been spotting me (as I was learning to drop in). As it was, I fell on my butt. Since I have a good amount of padding back there, the only thing I bruised was a tiny bit of my ego—which made me go back to the top of that ramp and try it again. I have no idea what I did on the other fall. I was up. Then I was down. On my butt. Again. The natural padding did its job. Again.

In a couple of hours, I will grab a pig and look for surf. I've enjoyed the points of late. I actually prefer the beach breaks during the summer though. They're wide open and spacious. There's room for all of us at the beach breaks. When it's only the points and reefs working, it gets a bit crowded. Okay, it gets damn crowded. In fact, this last burst of good surf had the points so crowded that those of us who regularly surf RPB went elsewhere. Even though we know that break and love that break, there were just too many bodies in the water for us to enjoy that break. So, I headed up north to surf that mat. Others headed north as well. We ended up all over the top part of L.A. County. Thankfully, we're back to normal summer weather and waves. The beach breaks are plentiful. There's now room to just spread out and surf. That's the way I like it.

The Art for Which I Suffer

2011-07-14T05:42:00.000-07:00

Photo by Ken Samuels

I Suffer for My Art

2011-07-10T19:28:00.000-07:00

Not really art. I'm not artistic. I am good with words, but I'm not sure one can call that art. I did suffer for my mat though. When I emerged from the water after today's session, I was a bit battered and bleeding in several places. Since I've never been on a surf trip and don't foresee going on one any time soon, I'll have to assume that this is the closest I'll get to being bounced off a reef. The rocks at the spot where I rode the mat were covered with something sharp. And I wasn't paying attention to the fact that the tide had gone down . . . a lot. So, as I cruised in, my uncovered legs (since I was in a springsuit) scraped along those rocks. Ouch! #@#$%&! By the time I stood up, it was too late. There was blood running from my right knee and my left ankle. Lesson learned. And I'm no wimp. I'm going right back out tomorrow. I'll be in a fullsuit though. I wasn't quite warm enough in the "Liberation" wetsuit that I had been saving for just the proper occasion.

I decided to head away from the popular L.A. breaks. I'm just tired of the crowds, the insanity, the kookiness and all that summer brings to the beach. I'm not putting people down. I think everyone should enjoy the beach. I just don't think I have to enjoy it with them. So, I got on the road. I met up with two other mat riders for a session, one which saw an inquiry to another surfer about his Mini Simmons turn into him asking, "Are you Surfsister?" Doh!

The spot we chose wasn't overly crowded. We all got waves. We all got good waves. It was certainly worth the drive. In fact, I'm returning to the scene of the crime tomorrow. Today, just as we were leaving, a fourth mat rider showed up. He would later say that the waves got even better. Apparently, he stayed in for something like seven hours!! My goodness!! I don't have that kind of stamina. I was happy with two and a half hours. Then again, I was freezing in the springsuit by the time I got out. I'll be in a fullsuit tomorrow. And, no, I won't be in the water for seven hours.

In Greenough We Trust!

Tyler 8'6" Mini Zeke For Sale

2011-07-08T12:48:00.000-07:00

My buddy Neil needs to sell this beautiful board. It's in excellent condition. If you want a Tyler at a decent (for a Tyler board) price, you'd better jump on this! If interested, call him at 323 252 1107.

This Still Isn't a Skating Blog

2011-07-05T19:45:00.000-07:00

I just can't believe what I'm seeing. D-Face had Ozzie and the crew throwing it down at Ridiculous. D-Face is a true genius. This is brilliant!

Just Skate

2011-07-03T13:56:00.000-07:00

The Proper Occasion

2011-07-01T18:05:00.000-07:00

The revolution will not be brought to you by Xerox in four parts without commercial interruptions.

The revolution will not give your mouth sex appeal.

NBC will not be able to predict the winner at 8:32 on report from 29 districts.

There will be no pictures of Whitney Young being run out of Harlem on a rail with a brand new process.

There will be no slow motion or still life of Roy Wilkins strolling through Watts in a red, black and green "Liberation" jumpsuit that he has been saving for just the proper occasion.

Green Acres, Beverly Hillbillies and Hooterville Junction will no longer be so damn relevant and women will not care if Dick finally got down with Jane on Search for Tomorrow because black people will be in the streets looking for a brighter day.

The revolution will not go better with Coke. The revolution will not fight germs that may cause bad breath. The revolution will put you in the driver's seat.

The revolution will be no rerun, brothers. The revolution . . . will be live.

Roy Wilkins would never have worn red, black and green. Ever.

But I will sport my red, black and green "Liberation" wetsuit whenever the proper occasion presents itself. Summertime surf seems as proper an occasion as any.

Power to the people!

Mat Meet? There Was No Mat Meet Yesterday!

2011-06-27T12:04:00.000-07:00

The Mat Signal

2011-06-23T19:30:00.000-07:00

Prana came up with it. I've now decided it's time to light up the sky with it. If you ride a mat, you know what this means. If not, this post is not meant for your eyes and will self-destruct in 60 seconds.

Pig Roast

2011-06-19T22:26:00.000-07:00

Mike Black at Surf a Pig brought the tribe together at San O on Saturday. There were no invitations or specific directions relating to time and specific place. You just got there when you got there. Then you looked for . . . pigs.

It wasn't hard to find our group. Pigs were everywhere. I brought two. I left the Cooperfish Flexpig on the car since there were already a bunch of them leaning up against the palapa. Of course, I had to have the loudest pig in the bunch. You can see my board from a mile away. I wanted to bring three pigs, but decided to leave one at home since I had to coordinate bringing the spouse, the child, the dog and food for all of us (which isn't easy since we don't eat the same things). As it turns out, our little day trip went off without a hitch. We enjoyed ourselves and the other folks at the pig roast. The highlights of my day were bookending my surf session with mat sessions, talking to Jim Phillips (who told me the winner of the very first U.S. professional surf contest was a black guy named Billy Johnson), having Gene Cooper paddle up to me while I was on my mat and ask if I wanted to trade surf craft and being able to share the day with another mat rider. By the time we got back to L.A., we were all tired, but happy to have spent a great day at San O with the tribe.

Art in the Streets

2011-06-17T22:31:00.001-07:00

This exhibition is at the Geffen Contemporary, which is a part of the Museum of Contemporary Art. I saw it yesterday. It's so good that I was hoping Soul Brother #2's swim teacher would cancel today's lesson, thereby allowing me to take him to see it. Alas, he ended up swimming. I will be taking him to see this next week. I may go see this exhibition a couple of times before it leaves. I loved everything about it. The fact that it had some surf-themed art was simply icing on the cake. If you live in or near L.A., make a point to go see this!

48

2011-06-14T23:59:00.000-07:00

Two score and eight years ago, I meandered into this world. And guess what? I'm still here!

That is all.

When Pigs Fly!

2011-06-13T19:56:00.001-07:00

Remind me of this photo the next time you hear me use that expression when talking about something that will never happen.

These Are My Kings of Comedy

2011-06-10T21:03:00.000-07:00

These two always made me laugh out loud. I remember listening to "Earache My Eye" on KMET in the mornings as I got ready for school. I loved Cheech & Chong. (I loved KMET too!) For some reason, this song popped into my head of late. Soul Brother #2 and I just watched the video three times, both of us laughing happily. On the third go-round, I stopped the video to explain the reference to actors wearing brown contacts to appear Latino. I still remember the uproar from the Latino community when Robby Benson was cast as the lead in a movie about Chicano gangs.

Cheech & Chong were one of the few things I enjoyed about growing up in the 70's. Okay, I will admit I also loved Vans and OP shorts. And KMET. And KDAY. And playing AYSO soccer. And G&S Fibreflex skateboards. Still, Cheech & Chong, in my mind, were one of the best things about the 70's. This video will show you why that is.

Dry-Docked and Making the Rounds

2011-06-07T20:44:00.000-07:00

I headed down to San Diego yesterday to pick up my new Salted pig. I think I love San Diego. It's hard to know for sure since I'm never down there for long. Guess what I did the last time I visited San Diego? Drove down to meet Alan to pick up a board and then immediately drove back to L.A. I've got to flip that script and actually hang out down there.

The board is now sitting in the living room in a board bag that belongs to Jim Phillips. Gene Cooper loaned it to me when I got my Flexpig. My intention was to return it to Phillips while I was down in San Diego. But when we realized my Salted pig wouldn't fit in the bag I'd brought, I ended up taking the new pig back up to L.A. in Phillips' bag. And it's not like this is some beautiful bag that's made of steel. It's ripped, dirty, thinning and basically being held together by a few wisps of material. For whatever reason, that bag seems to want to live at my house for the time being. And I'm okay with that. Still, I have every intention of making sure Jim Phillips gets his bag back.

While I was in San Diego, I traded texts with my friend Andrea. I'd already sent a message to Cher. Unfortunately, there was no way I could actually try to see people. Although we'd arranged for grandma to pick up the kid at school, we still had to rush back to L.A. in order to beat the horrendous traffic that brings the freeways to a stop after a certain hour.

I did, however, make time for one stop. J.P. and I have known one another through our blogs for years. I'd been down to Moonlight on one occasion—to pick up a board, yes—and he wasn't there. I was intent on finally meeting him and seeing the surf shop. When I walked in, I was looking right at him! J.P. is cool! You need to shop at Surfy Surfy today, tomorrow and forever!

There will be no surfing for me until next week. I've once again gone under the needle. I spent part of Sunday getting some art added to the tattoo I got in November. Does it hurt more if it's done on a spot that's all muscle? I don't ever remember tattoos hurting this much. As far as I'm concerned, no more ink. Although I endured the pain and am happy with what I got, I really have better things to do than to sit around being tortured with a needle. Of course, there's not anything else I want in terms of a tattoo. So maybe I am really done.

My Porcine Beauty

2011-06-03T22:10:00.000-07:00

"All resin panels and pinlines, custom built fin.
Dimensions: 9' X 21 7/8" X 16 3/4" X 15 3/4" X 3 1/8"
Handshape, glass, colorwork, fin, sand and polish by me. Special thanks to Nick Mirandon for the advice and look over the shoulder!"

Thank you for the kick ass board, Alan/Salted Surfcraft!

No, I didn't take the pictures. Our grass doesn't look like that and it never will. Now, if you ever see a picture of a board on half dead grass, that will be your clue that I was the photographer.

The Ramp Gets Resurfaced with the Scent of Bacon in the Air

2011-06-02T17:35:00.001-07:00

I cannot believe I've finally gotten a serious surface on my ramp. And don't think it was easy. First, I had to find someone who had the expertise to work with Ramp Armor or Skatelite. Then, I had to figure out which of the two guys would (1) do the best job, (2) actually follow through with the job and (3) not piss me off. I finally went with Jim Bell and Aura Skateboarding Company. I just got a sense that he had it together more than the other guy. I also knew he'd built a bunch of ramps and bowls throughout Southern California. I won't even go into the details about the delays because, frankly, they weren't as bad as I thought they were. In my mind, I'd given him a deposit and it took almost a year and a half for that stupid Ramp Armor to come in and for him to finally put it on the ramp. Actually, we were delayed about a month. And when you're working with a contractor of any sort, that's not that bad in the grand scheme of things. The long and short of it is that Jim did what he said he was going to do. He and Shawn, his helper, did an excellent job. They're also nice guys. And I now have a faster, quieter ramp to skate over the summer (as well as throughout next week when I will be dry-docked because of some new ink).

Oink!

Oink!

There's a new pig on the way. It's the one I've been waiting for, the one I specially ordered, the one my shaper friend has turned into a labor of blood, sweat and tears. We've flipped the script a bit on this one. No D fin. I have two such honkers in my quiver. I don't need one more. This fin will be glassed on nevertheless. We talked of doing the pickup on Sunday. But I'm going to get inked in the morning and he's got to be somewhere in the afternoon. So, I will have to figure out another day when I can head south for my porcine beauty.

In other news, I saw Prince in concert last Sunday. I went with the "I've got nothing better to do" attitude that is typical of me when I agree to express an interest in something in which I have no interest. The joke was on me though. That concert was fantastic!! That tiny little man can bring it. I do not find him attractive. I don't love his voice. I don't particularly like his music. But there I was, throwing my hands in the air, clapping, dancing and having a wonderful time. Had that not been his last night in L.A., I would have gone back to see him again even though I'm still not a fan. Live music performed well is a beautiful thing. Remember I said that!

More Gil Scott-Heron Because He Truly Mattered

2011-05-29T16:33:00.000-07:00

Damn! Another Prophet is Gone

2011-05-27T22:00:00.000-07:00

R.I.P Gil Scott-Heron

BlueGillin'

2011-05-25T06:05:00.000-07:00

Let's see, as of yesterday, I'd ridden four different surf craft over the last six days. On Thursday, I rode the mat. On Friday, I was on my Almond 8 footer. By Sunday, I'd decided that the longboard hull was the call for that break. It was also my board of choice on Monday.

By Tuesday (today), I was ready for something different. It was a day for BlueGillin'.

It was a time for two little twin keels that barely help the surfer steer.

This board is something else. Part alaia. Part, a very small part, traditional surfboard. It is unlike anything else in my quiver or anything I've tried ever tried to surf.

Much to my delight, even though I hadn't surfed it for months, this was my best Blue Gill session ever. Yes, I still fell, dreads flying every which way and feet up in the air. I also seem to have found the sweet spot. The hardest thing I found with surfing this board is trying to find a way to stay low. Because of the titanium joint and my limited range of motion, I cannot crouch. Still, I knew I could figure out a way to keep my center of gravity closer to the water.

And I did.

The new problem, now, is trying not to run people over. I've not mastered the steering yet. And even though the place wasn't crowded, I still managed to get the KM working. (Alan, Clayfin and Whiff will know what this means.) Somehow, even though I tried to stay away from people, they couldn't stay away from me.

As usual, I have proof of the powers of my magnetic personality—as well as proof that I've finally figured out how to hold my body in an effort to stay low while not bending the knee in a way that's uncomfortable.

This would have been a nice, long wave (in Blue Gill terms) had I not had to end the ride because this guy decided he needed to paddle into my line. I barely averted a head-on collision. Remember, steering this thing is still on my list of "Things to Learn" (as opposed to my list of "Things to Learn to do Well," which includes stuff like staying on the nose of my longboards, learning the mechanical ins and outs of my classic car and minimizing the number of falls I take while on my skateboard).

Oh well. He was apologetic. And I wasn't mad. I just always find it interesting that people manage to invade my personal space on days when a place isn't crowded. I try to give others their space. I'd like to think we can all have a peak to ourselves.

But I know where I live. L.A. is a crowded place . . . even in the water.

I need to ride this board more. And I will do so, especially since summer is coming.

Now with more Blue Gill-styled bottom turns!

Surfing Hullow Days

2011-05-23T18:45:00.000-07:00

As the picture shows, our recent swell is now just about gone. I got, I think, four days of it.

I look forward to the warmer waters of summer. I continue to wax poetic about my winter custom wetsuit. Nevertheless, I'm ready to get into my spring/summer custom fullsuit—you know, the light blue one with the god awful pink and yellow accents. That's going to turn some heads! That's not why I got it, of course. I'm simply tired of black—not black people, but black wetsuits.

Now I'm trying to decide what to do for my next winter fullsuit. I wanted to put a Japanese rising sun on the torso of the suit, but that's proven to be a bit much for a wetsuit. So, I'm forced to figure out how I want my next fullsuit to look. Don't say "polka dots". It's already been done. By Worm.

Pray for more swell.

And, by the way, did anyone else get left behind after the Rapture or am I writing this to an audience of one—myself? (I knew they wouldn't take me up there!)

How I Roll

2011-05-16T18:49:00.000-07:00

TG bonzer speed egg. 4th Gear Flyer mat. Viper fins.

And a pink leash.

My Most Recent Article

2011-05-13T11:39:00.000-07:00

Here's another one I wrote for The Inertia. Now I just need to get some more interviews going for Liquid Salt and I'll be back to my old—as in pre-horrible job that stole my creativity and joy—self.

An Open Letter to the Powers That Be

Dearest Republicans, Democrats, Independents, Libertarians, et al:

You know the situation is dire when I start writing letters to you politicos in Washington, but write this letter I must. I will get straight to the point. What, in God’s name, is going on with you people? (Yeah, I said the dreaded “you people” and I’m not taking it back until I get some answers.) Don’t you realize that millions of people are out of work, that those folks are now burdened with a great deal of idle time?

No, I’m not telling you something you already know. Dammit, I’m a surfer. And I’m mad as hell!

Have you seen the lineups lately? Well, have you?

Winter sessions now look just like summer sessions—except, of course, for the fullsuits, hoods and shivering. There were as many people in the lineups in December, and now April, as there were in July. A national unemployment rate of 9% is bad enough. California’s unemployment rate is at 12%! Some of us are, in fact, surf bums. We’re fine not working—or working odd jobs that allow us more time to surf. Recession, boon . . . none of that matters to us. We are happy to work as little as possible so that we can surf as much as possible. We do not, however, feel like it is necessary to bring others into the fold, particularly when those others are party crashers rather than invited guests.

It is time for all of you to right all that is wrong with the economy. Housing starts? Get them started. One doesn’t realize how many construction workers surf until you see all of the pick-up trucks in the parking spots that once went to those of us who were considered slackers by all of you in the full-time working world. And, really, those people who spend their days sitting behind desks aren’t cut out to spend too much time in the sun. Think of them as part-time vampires who can only take so many UV rays before it gets real ugly real fast!

You politicians are tasked with running this country. Instead of allowing it to run itself into the ground—what with the almost certain extinction of the middle class and the ever burgeoning ranks of the poor—get to work getting everyone else back to work. Running the country properly can’t be that difficult. It’s your job. Be glad you even have jobs since there are so many who don’t. Many of them are in the water with the rest of us. I feel for them. They don’t belong there every day. Surfing full-time should be a lifestyle choice, not a necessity. Besides, it would be nice to get a wave to myself again. I’m just sayin’.

Yours Truly,

Surfsis

Bringing Style Back to a Point Break Near You

2011-05-09T16:45:00.000-07:00

Yes, they were all taken during today's session. Thank you for asking!

Pretty impressive, don't you think?

In other news, something with pincers got hold of my foot when I was coming out of the water after my session. Being the calm, cool, collected sista girl that I am, I let out a yell that surprised even me. And I kept yelling when the thing wouldn't let go of my foot. So here I am, holding my board in one hand and standing on one foot while violently shaking the other foot underwater in an effort to get whatever it was to let go of me. Oh, don't forget I was still screaming while all of that was going on. Then, it struck me that even though it felt like something had me in its claws, I might, in fact, be feeling the beginning of the pain from a stingray bite. Then I started screaming harder. LOL! I'm cracking myself up just repeating this. Well, whatever it was eventually released me. What happened next? I started laughing as loudly as I'd been screaming! I examined my foot. There was a tiny red mark. The sea creature hadn't even broken the skin. Since we'd all seen lobster and crab carcasses all over the beach, as well as in the water, I'm going to assume one of those crustaceans wanted to let me know who the true locals are. Message received!!

Happy Mother's Day, Sweetie!!

2011-05-08T00:00:00.000-07:00

FEBRUARY 1967

Wasn't she fierce? Talk about style!! When I was a kid, I had to endure men practically prostrating themselves at my mother's feet. I'm totally serious. When we'd walk down the street, heads would turn, compliments were spoken, mouths would be agape. It was constant. She could, and did, turn some heads. I remember often standing next to her and rolling my eyes as yet another man would stop us to tell her how beautiful she was. I laugh about it now, but I wasn't laughing then. I remember once telling some man to let go of my mother's hand or I was going to tell my father. I think my mom was happily shocked to hear me say that (if only because I was terribly shy as a child, probably damn near mute).

My mom is 80 now, and proud of it. She always says she never expected to live this long. She's made it clear that she's shooting for 100. That's just fine by me. Our relationship is so unlike that of most mothers and daughters. We actually like spending time together even though my tendencies—to eschew careers, to get inked, to wear non-traditional hairstyles—drive her to distraction. She's the best mom I could ever have. I knew she completely understood her one and only child when she said, ever so long ago, "Mary doesn't just march to the beat of a different drummer. She marches to the beat of a drummer that no one else hears." That is probably the best description I've ever heard about myself.

Happy Mother's Day, Mom!! Thank you for being such a wonderful role model in both life and in motherhood.

Spring? I'm Over It!

2011-05-06T20:24:00.000-07:00

On more than one occasion today, I turned to my friend and said, "We need a good swell." We really do, you know. The waves of spring leave so much to be desired. Even though I'll happily surf almost anything, I'm not afraid to admit that my patience is wearing thin.

But such is the life of a surfer in Southern California during the spring. The virtue of patience, one which many of us exhibit daily at this time of the year, will surely help us all get into heaven. At least that's my story, and I'm sticking to it.

I've not got much to say. I haven't much felt like blogging even though there are things I could talk about. For instance, the regulator at our break has decided I should be on a shortboard. The fact that I'm 47 years old with a knee that won't bend quickly and a body weight that would almost classify me in the Clydesdale class in a long distance footrace has not dissuaded him of this belief. Yes, I am, if nothing else, powerful . . . for a girl. My shoulders and arms are proof of that. My legs, which could never squeeze into a bona fide pair of "skinny" jeans, were the source of the majority of my power when I was younger. I've never been one to use a lot of finesse since I could normally get a physical task done with the female equivalent of brute strength. I do not believe, however, that this means I should be on a shortboard. I'm happy to ride my longboards and mid-length boards. I've got nothing to prove. In other words, just because I might be physically able to ride a shortboard doesn't mean that I want to do so or should do so.

We need a good swell. And sunshine. And relatively empty lineups. And a few lefts for yours truly.