Curse of the Bambino

So my friends all came into town for the holidays and, of course, they wanted to go surfing last Saturday. I heard the forecast was looking good, but I haven't checked buoys since I came to terms with the fact that I won't be getting wet for awhile. Gee (on a homecoming from LA) swung by my house, said howdy to Nico, and borrowed my quad. I'd be lying if I said it didn't sting a teeny weeny bit, but--I swear to you--one huff of baby smell makes my temporary land-loving ways beyond bearable. He's awesome.

Anyway, I'd actually forgotten that all my chums had gone out when my phone rang in the early afternoon. It was Gee...

"Dude, I have no idea what happened," he said. "The forecast said 5 feet at 10 seconds, but I haven't experienced waves that big in a long time. It was hairy!"

He told me about how there were some macking waves to be had, but also a lot of closeouts that made the prospect of throwing your juevos over the edge a little sketchy. Between all of my friends on this Thanksgiving surf reunion, only one wave was ridden--and that was if you added all their failed rides together.

I was actually cradling the phone between my shoulder and ear when he called, because I was rocking Nico in my arms as I watched a college football game. I looked down at the infant, who was sliding in and out of dreamland, and imagined that he had somehow influenced the elements from the magical unconscious place.

Winter has made its wet, windy presence known now, and I can't think of a better time to have a bambino and be an Oregon surfer.

Pylon - Working Is No Problem