Monday, December 11, 2006

Crip Rigs

Spent the weekend in Pupukea - Ken had arranged to have the surf house for the opening of the Triple Crown again, and so I fled the city for the North Shore as soon as I was finished with work Friday. I even sold my U2 tickets - when it came down to it, I realized I'd rather be hanging out with the boys in the country than at a concert of a band I never listened to.

So. Friday night, and I wasn't so sure I'd made the right choice. I was exhausted after a long week, while the boys were all feeling quite irie. Which - fine. But it also looked like it was going to be bring your new boyfriend /trick / lover week which - not so fine. In fact - gross [especially given the fact that I didn't have one to bring and was entering the holiday season quite single]. Friday was still a good balance of couples and singles. I wasn't sure what was going to happen Saturday.

Lucky for me [but sadly for some of the others, but since it's my blog I'll be sticking with lucky for me] some of the tricks turned out to be batshit crazy. Friday the cute ethnobotanist from Maui announced that he heard a voice calling him to be an ali`i. I struggled to hold my tongue. He let on that he heard the voice after smoking DMT, doing some acid, expanding his mind with mushrooms, and topping it with a balloon of nitrous to fully open the gates and allow his consciousness to enter into the cosmic dimensions.

I tried to give him the benefit of the doubt, as even with all that he was more coherent than some of my friends. But when he told us that he had teleported here and that he was the living manifestation of Quetzlcoatl that I gave up and went to bed. The others suffered his madness the rest of the night before one of them snapped, put him in the car, and drove him back to town.

And while I don't believe for a second that he was able to teleport to other places and dimensions, I can't explain where the take-out Chinese food came from the next morning. It was sitting there on the counter, half-eaten, and a good fifty miles from the nearest late-night Chinese restaurant.

It was a beautiful morning. I woke up feeling refreshed, and - with Quetzlcoatl gone - got to catch up with the guys. Tom and Steve are back for the season, and Tom introduced me to a wealth of new music. Too much, actually - my brain wasn't able to retain any of the band names. I'll hit him up later for some "best of" recommendations.

The contest was off. Jake and Ken went to surf at Hale`iwa. I was happy to chill with my book. Later I went with Tom and Steve to Waimea for a swim in the rapidly growing surf.

Saturday night was still looking like it was going to be new-couple night, even without Quetzlcoatl - but we still had some drama ahead. This came in the form of a hard-drinking Californian who was madly in love with ---, and walked in and announced that they were engaged as of that morning.

It was a bit embarassing when he came into the house, because apparently we had all met him before ... and had all forgotten him. The conversations went something like this:
Hi. I'm Michael
I'm JR. And we've met before.
Oh, I'm sorry. I don't remember.
So you forgot when we met?
Yeah. Sorry. Where was it?
I was at Kurt's birthday party.
The one with the porn stars?
I remember the porn stars.
You really don't remember meeting me?
Did we sleep together?
Well then. No. I really don't remember. Sorry.
and then:
Hi. I'm Tom
We've met
I'm sorry. I don't remember ...
... and repeat, with Steve and Doug.

I'd say poor guy, but he wore out his welcome. I walked him to the store [he was scared of the dark? or just not allowed to go out alone? I wasn't sure], where I learned that he was on the Board of Surfrider [and yet he knew nothing about Surfrider's policies. I lost a bit of respect for him for the lying, but even more for being so lame about it. If you read this: don't lie about surfing to a surfer, dude], and that he was a millionaire.

When he announced the last ... oh, I'm a millionaire ... he hit a speed bump and went flying face first into the pavement. We were walking, mind you. Slowly. He fell twice more on the walk to the store. I resolved to slap --- when we got back to the house and demand that he give back the ring under the threat that, as a brother, I would bust up any wedding ceremony between the two before it ever finished.

He was ahead of me. JR tried to leave that night, but the same speed bump that caught him on foot caught him in the car, and he ended up in the ditch and not the highway. --- drove him back in the morning.

And then the fake drama was pau and the surf was up!!! We wandered to Pipeline and caught about eight heats of the first round. Ken was tougher, and stayed most of the day. The waves were stunning - I'll look around on You Tube for some clips.

We were sitting near where the surfers entered the waves, so we got some great candid views. Going in I was all about Kelly Slater (left) - I'd seen him surf in other years and he really is among the greats. Other guys are tough, but I've never seen anyone integrate with the water like he does. Think Rudolf Nureyev, only on water. And I'm not gushing just because he's hot. He's that good.

But there was plenty of eye candy on the beach, including one muscled blond thing who kept distracting me from watching the contest. I didn't realize until he slipped on a jersey that he was Mick Fanning (left) - the Australian superfreak who's ranked number two in the world. Ken had heard some stories about how he tends to end up naked when drunk [I go to all the wrong parties], and Tom found this article in Surfer Magazine where he talked about posing nude for the Australian Sportbook [Why not, he's quoted as saying, I've got a pretty crip rig].

Note: Google has been no help. I want a copy of that Australian Sportbook, whatever the hell it is! Someone? Anyone? I'll love you forever if you find me a copy! If he keeps it up the Superfreak might replace Ian Roberts (left) as my favorite Aussie sports star. I know I've got this reputation for not liking blonds, but seriously. I'm equal opportunity.

Hunks aside, the day belonged to local boy Jamie O'Brien (left). He and Kelly Slater were in the same heat. Kelly had the grace, but it was Jamie's backyard wave and he rode it inside out. He was like one of those skate punks you see at the park, constantly airborn and doing fancy tricks for the crowd. Kelly would give a classic, picture-perfect ride. Jamie would follow with a muscular shot through the tube and then follow it with a 360 backflip off the lip of the wave. A few times they took off on the same wave, one taking the front and the other shooting out the backdoor just before it would close out.

It was a beautiful match-up - easily the best I have ever seen.

The rest of the weekend was pleasant. I saw Alessia at Starbucks; we made peace and I apologized for threatening to have her and everyone she knew deported. I pulled a fat girl out of the surf at Waimea while her parents looked on, completely oblivious to the fact that she was close to drowning [and also oblivious to the fact that the lifeguard's announcement that this is not Disneyland and most of you should not be in the water was directed at people like them]. I read a lot, laid around in the sun, and overall feel quite refreshed and ready to tackle a new week.

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