Mavericks, for all you gremmies out there, is the location and namesake of one of the most famous/infamous big wave contests in like, the whole entire history of mankind, bro'. Every winter, surfers from all over the world head for the San Mateo Coast and wait (and wait, and wait, and wait) for the big ones to start rolling in. This year was a total bust, but TSG managed to catch a couple of waves just before the final horn sounded.
In the photo above you see the "Virtual Mavericks" display at the County History Museum, where we found ourselves on Sunday afternoon. It appears to be some kind-of-Wii-kind-of-thing[sic] with custom graphics that mimic the the sights and sounds off Pillar Point. As you can see, the tube is like, tubulating, man, it's all ready to go. No wetsuits needed for these waves, just crank up the body english and ride the wild (?) surf!
(link to video in case of playback difficulties: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K5xItEqD-z0)
Now if that wasn't enough, TSG has gone deep into the archives to provide another little treat. This artifact features a pre-yawn Dave surfing poem. Not only that, but it has an early treatise on sisterhood written by a future district court judge. All of this cool stuff makes one wonder: like how much awesomeness can one blogpost hold, dude?
6 comments:
Jam packed indeed.
Although a harsh grader might be tempted to ding the author for rhyming "wave" with . . . "wave," all is more than forgiven for rhyming "weird" with "smeared!" That made my day.
Who knew Kim was so lyrical? If we'd known THAT back in the day, we could have invited her to pen a Baja lyric or two (her writing seems up to (down to?) that level of play.
I am wracking my recollections, but I just don't recall knowing that you surfed. Boogie boards come to mind, for some reason.
Truth be told, I have stood up on a surfboard and caught a wave. Or maybe two. I think it must have been ten years ago. The work/fun/frustration coefficient was not optimal though, so I went back to boogie boarding/body surfing/avoiding stingrays as my main ocean frolicking activities.
God, this makes me realize that I haven't been in the ocean for at least 5 years. That is a serious issue that needs to remedied ASAP. It ain't gonna happen in NorCal, though--I need some tasty waves, but they gotta be WARM tasty waves. Maybe I need a week on the Big Island.
Yeah, and who knows...if we had somehow arranged a collaboration with Ms McLane, what could've been? She could have been the next Patti Smith...or even the next Patty Smythe. Either way it would've been way cool.
That's getting pretty bizarre when one thinks of someone's life path taking them down the road to Patti Smith or . . . a Federal judge.
Now there's a fine concept for a song . . . .
Hey, by the way, who drew that surfer dude that accompanies the poem? And what, exactly, was the publication vehicle? Was this a specific class project (say, for Mrs. Clifford's poetry class)?
The document in question is a prose collection from my 8th or 9th grade creative writing class in John Muir Jr. High. I have no idea who to credit for the surfer illustration.
The 15-page mimeographed compilation contains a couple of contributions by the inimitable Syril Astrahan, of all people. In one of them she confesses to being a "boy watcher".
Huh. How . . . "ironic," I think, is the word I'm looking for, though that's actually quite inadequate to the task of expressing, in a single word, my immediate reaction to "boywatching."
Another "huh;" I'm mildly surprised that the surfing poem was never offered up, as is (even), as BB lyrical material. Perhaps a simple casualty of a never-look-back song-writing ethic.
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