It used to be that surfers, in most places, paid homage to the single greatest force of their own sacred haven: the ocean. With her currents always wavering and her massive self an expansive place of solitude, reverie and risk, the sport was about nature; not man. Not fashion and not hair do's. Seriously?
Surfer Magazine never caught my attention as script which ever really notated the true life of a surfer- and now, looming through the mags pages is well, stupid. I feel stupid reading the thing. Those who pay heed to the sport as a way of life don't have the cash flow to support Tom's shoes. They wear flip flops. Attire consists of the most limited drapery of what's most readily available, be it clean...or not. You're going to the beach. Have you been to a beach? There's water. Quite a bit of it, actually. Duds will only suffer under the rays of the sun, bleaching fancy swag. Sweet kicks prove more frustrating than sweet. Have you tried to walk, or even run, on the sand, in close-toed shoes of any kind? It's hard. Then, there's the nature of the beach itself. It's messy. Very messy. And then, you gotta kick off your sweet $70 Vans in order to get in the water. You gotta relieve yourself of your awesome new aqua T-shirt from Hollister which showcases some stick figure on a board, trailing through a tunnel, on a board. Really?
The lack of fashion passion, is for a surfer, not a thing to be trifled with, nor is fashion what most of us want to read about in a magazine whose purpose is to take on a few surfing journeys. But then, I try and actually read the articles and it's like navigating my way through a disjointed acid trip. The beginning sentences are framed in a way that brings me to a place of horror. The frame in which the first part of the sentence is encased appears to be similar to that of some hostage release letter. It's blocky and ugly and takes my mind away from the point of the story, and now I'm so angry about having to navigate my way through advertisements, acid-trip colors, logos blocked by giant neon green pot leaves, I'm not even interested in reading the damn article.
So why read it, then? Great question. I suppose I could shut my trap and leave well enough alone, but the fact that the mass population, say....like kids in land-locked Oklahoma might be reading about the sport through the eyes of some pompous money-ridden mag makes me sad. This is not what surfing is about and I still stand firm by my belief, that crapola like this is not the basis upon which sea-faring athletes base their love. And I guess that's my point, really.
For those who stand strong in their love of the sport, one single thing remains true. Respect. Lots of kids spend plenty of time just staring off in to space when at the beach. The immensity of the ocean is not something most of us believe we can "overpower." That surfers respect their limits...most of the time...is something which holds to true to the honor one feels when on a board and totally at the liberty of the sea's own navigation. The most handsome, saucy and brilliant surfers will tell you they respect her limits. Being on a board, in the middle of nowhere, is prayer to lots of folks. Having the honor of gliding over the seas and under the greatest open sky is an honor; it's church to these sorts of folks.
So, I guess I'll lay off on the reading of pretty much any hip awesome surfing mag and stick to the stories about kids (now old guys) who worked 3 jobs in summer in order to buy their first board and then grew to discover the smallness of their own ego the first time they were swallowed up by the changing tide, only to fall in love with a piece of nature.
Surfer Magazine never caught my attention as script which ever really notated the true life of a surfer- and now, looming through the mags pages is well, stupid. I feel stupid reading the thing. Those who pay heed to the sport as a way of life don't have the cash flow to support Tom's shoes. They wear flip flops. Attire consists of the most limited drapery of what's most readily available, be it clean...or not. You're going to the beach. Have you been to a beach? There's water. Quite a bit of it, actually. Duds will only suffer under the rays of the sun, bleaching fancy swag. Sweet kicks prove more frustrating than sweet. Have you tried to walk, or even run, on the sand, in close-toed shoes of any kind? It's hard. Then, there's the nature of the beach itself. It's messy. Very messy. And then, you gotta kick off your sweet $70 Vans in order to get in the water. You gotta relieve yourself of your awesome new aqua T-shirt from Hollister which showcases some stick figure on a board, trailing through a tunnel, on a board. Really?
The lack of fashion passion, is for a surfer, not a thing to be trifled with, nor is fashion what most of us want to read about in a magazine whose purpose is to take on a few surfing journeys. But then, I try and actually read the articles and it's like navigating my way through a disjointed acid trip. The beginning sentences are framed in a way that brings me to a place of horror. The frame in which the first part of the sentence is encased appears to be similar to that of some hostage release letter. It's blocky and ugly and takes my mind away from the point of the story, and now I'm so angry about having to navigate my way through advertisements, acid-trip colors, logos blocked by giant neon green pot leaves, I'm not even interested in reading the damn article.
So why read it, then? Great question. I suppose I could shut my trap and leave well enough alone, but the fact that the mass population, say....like kids in land-locked Oklahoma might be reading about the sport through the eyes of some pompous money-ridden mag makes me sad. This is not what surfing is about and I still stand firm by my belief, that crapola like this is not the basis upon which sea-faring athletes base their love. And I guess that's my point, really.
For those who stand strong in their love of the sport, one single thing remains true. Respect. Lots of kids spend plenty of time just staring off in to space when at the beach. The immensity of the ocean is not something most of us believe we can "overpower." That surfers respect their limits...most of the time...is something which holds to true to the honor one feels when on a board and totally at the liberty of the sea's own navigation. The most handsome, saucy and brilliant surfers will tell you they respect her limits. Being on a board, in the middle of nowhere, is prayer to lots of folks. Having the honor of gliding over the seas and under the greatest open sky is an honor; it's church to these sorts of folks.
So, I guess I'll lay off on the reading of pretty much any hip awesome surfing mag and stick to the stories about kids (now old guys) who worked 3 jobs in summer in order to buy their first board and then grew to discover the smallness of their own ego the first time they were swallowed up by the changing tide, only to fall in love with a piece of nature.
