friday

it’s Friday morning and the kettle in the kitchenette down the hall is gurgling to boiling point as the coils on the espresso machine heat up, dubcast #16 is coming through my PC speaker strained but it sort of sets the mood for what is a Friday desk day.

JB and I made the morning migration to the coast, hoping against all odds that the minimal buoy readings and high tide would still allow for some rideable conditions. our hopes were dashed as soon as we ascended the wooden steps and looked out over the unusually calm north Atlantic.

so it was back to bed at six hoping for another hour and half of sleep. the little one inside B’s belly was kicking me awake each time my eyes closed, perhaps reminding me that soon sleep will be erratic at best but mostly short.

the ride in to work was mostly uneventful. I peeped Babylon in his big white van at the stop sign about a block in front of me as I was cruising the wrong way on the one way. I slowed to a crawl hoping that he’d turn onto North Street before I was at shouting distance. don’t feel like no Babylon bandulu ginalship so early on a peaceful morning.

recommended readings for this morning:

Safe to Sea

the estyonage

"everybody wants to raid the barn, nobody wants to plant the corn." anthony B

Lawmang's wisdom

when trying to decide whether to head out or not D$ says to me,

"onshore is the new offshore. get out there."

life is great when you keep it simple

good relationships

good food

wholeheartedly immersing yourself into your passions

one

got up at 4:45 and called the buoys. 3' @ 8 seconds and wind dead. I already had my things ready -just hit the ON button on the kettle to heat water for coffee and packed the stuff in the car. within ten minutes from sound sleep I was heading East towards secret sandbar plain sight to see if she was doing her magic. my hope what that she'd be firing like a debutant drag queen on the eve of the pride parade. however, hopes were tempered by the fact that high tide was only 3 hours away and small kine swells love less water. either way the drive was good and the coffee better.

on the boardwalk mosquitoes were dive bombing from sights unseen. I think they breed in the reeds that cover the dunes. and at dusk they appear like small squadrons and attack the warmest flesh they can find. so after a quick scan of the glassy conditions I run back down the steps and pull on my 3:2 and decide on the fish sans leash. I sprint down the trail between the dunes and as I crest I see a small set detonating on plain sight number 7's. I put down the fish and run back for 3 fins. this time I'll use a leash on 'er as the last time I did this dance she broke her nose - mostly cosmetic but it took Blacks the better part of a day to fix 'er back up.

all in all the waves were less than stellar but then that is just a small part of the equation. there was a crew of black ducks making a ruckus a peak down from number 7's. screaming seagulls swung overhead sounding angry but maybe I just don't understand seagull. to the east red faced headlands with large foreheads look out towards the mighty Atlantic. and I, alone amongst this backdrop, not a soul to share it with and yet not lonely in the least. it is on these quiet mornings that I can identify and remember what is of value and what is not. hope you saw the sunrise too.

sunday

early bird went hungry this morning. solitary drive keepin an eye out for deer in the headlights -coffee in hand to sharpen vision. at the coast the fog still thick and milky. a southwest wind pushing through the fog with surprising stealth and the high tide making a dribbling weak mess out of secret sandbar plain sight number sevens.

alone on the boardwalk I admire the handsome Atlantic. her sands slowly gaining momentum in the less turbulent summer months as if we were on different clocks. in winter we swimmers get fat for warmth and perhaps from less movement while she slims, spitting her sands out with each long period swell that rocks her skirts. the icy cold brine like a tonic for making beaches turn to stone for months only to magically appear sandy in August.

standing there I relish sleep and so after looking over the dunes and admiring the sword thin grasses swaying at ten knots I got back in the car drove home peacefully. no music in the car for over a year now -a fact that seems to escape my attention but also provides solitude on drives to visit Maritime shores.

now I will turn my attention to other matters. bacon sizzling and later back yard shenanigans and if I'm motivated a run around the peninsula to see what Sunday people do with mid-days.

evenin edit:

got a call from Picaso 'round mid day -says he's gonna take a gander. I catch a ride and we score low tide grinders with two others at secret sandbar plain sight number seventeens. a surfy day after all.

bike polo, nike and tommy hillfiger

the other day I was taking a stroll and passed by the road hockey/basketball courts next to the fire station in the north end where a small group of BMI challenged hipsters were clumsily trying to play bike polo. when a trend hits the eastern most coast of north America we can safely assume that it's hit a critical mass and will be soon co-opted by the giant clothing franchises and whatnots.

nothing against tight pants and people who spend a majority of their time planning their eccentric outer appearances to look as if they weren't even trying to look that way only to sneer at their fellow city dwellers with scorn and hubris. but really, at some point someone's gotta call bullshit.

I'm not calling bullshit on the game of bike polo -in fact if I ever felt inclined to participate in a team sport, competition is not one of my strengths, I would consider bike polo. but would I wear a hipster uniform and starve myself to look a certain way on the court? probably not.

the Halifax hipster scene is in full swing now -even though often the north end hipsters are unidentifiable from the south end college crowd purchased their look at the mall.

I know this is sounding like a rant by some middle aged guy feeling bitter about getting older. sure.

but remember one thing you radical hipsters -actually more than one thing so I'll bullet:

-if yer gonna ride fixed with no front brake then at least clip in to your pedals somehow cause otherwise your gonna get bucked like a drunken cowboy at an underground hipster rodeo

-raise the seat on your bike and not only will you look more "stylish" without trying but your bike will also be more efficient and fun to ride

-riding a fixie doesn't make your 'core' score go up. who gives a shit if your riding a fixed wheel. every toddler on a tricycle is riding fixed and they don't front

-a bike is a bike.

-there's only one Gonz

"if you're gonna do a nose wheelie, fuckin do a nose wheelie bro."




-

in the face of drink and smoke I run

these are no longer disthymic times. the clouds have lifted and with them the figurative fog has given way to sunshine. a cold northeast wind still blows and the ocean is lake calm with lucky low tide sandbar sessions here and there but mostly smooth silky surfaces on the horizon. is it spring or strain of will that lifts the greys to lighter hues? I can’t say but one thing is certain, one step in front of the other gets me somewheres.

each day I try and try to remember. eleven years ago I asked skinny Rob to stop his Santeria for a moment and use his tattoo machine to etch a simple statement on my calf. “will transcends fear” I said to him proudly, displaying a mix of symbols, some as old as three thousand years. what did I know about transcendence and wills and waning idealism's in the face of drink and smoke so thick that for years I would not escape the fog?

what do I know now? nothing more than there is only one step in front of the other. legacy? that’s for sculptors or perhaps scientists. written words are no longer a path to remembrance for futures. written words are like so much dirt, so many opinions loosed upon us with disregard for thought or person or creed or even crude human decency. Burroughs knew it in his drug addled middle years as he led his ragged troop of beats into oblivion and shitty parenting –unwittingly (or perhaps not so much) outliving them all by decades.

surf? it is transcendental but we can’t write about that now can we. oh no. if you’re not producing you ain’t shit mister. “sit down and shut up.”

I grabbed a number ticket from the red dispenser and sat in the stale waiting room. H1N1 signs and sanitizing stations every 12 inches like sentries. who are the swine anyway? is it not we who are ruining it for we?

“again sir I will not ask you again. sit down and shut up.”

so now I run. at first from fear and, lookin behind my shoulder knee jerk reactions, left over from those early sleepless nights in Isnotu. could I blame it on my Tia? she took me at a tender age to see the old soothsayer in his dark dank home to see if he’d cure me through shitless scare tactics out of sucking my thumb again. after the celebration with the superman piñata I slept less and less until 13 years after she didn’t come that night I lost it completely and then it got foggy.

surf? not to be underestimated in terms of power to reconnect those synapses loosed from the ether. like it or not we are beasts with intrinsic needs. we can philosophise our ways out of thinking we’re not needy but sooner or later the thin veneer that is our vanity vanishes and then what?

I run. for ego and self image and I can’t say it’s not a draw. I run from what I would be doing otherwise. sloth or time wasting.

I said it before and I dare say it again. I have these muscles and tendons and bones. and well honed they can move me through space with the grace and fluidity of any wild animal. fail for just one day to use them and I forgo the greatest gift I’ve been given. the gift of self propulsion. some praise our ability to think. but how amazing is it to ride the swells upon the ocean and then forget?

I run to surf.

surf? because you can.

whys and how comes

I never said I wasn’t doin it anymore. just that I wouldn’t be doin it as much. because doing mostly happens on my feet, outside, away from these keys. in the interim since the last post I’ve received a small heap of whys and how comes and yer kinddin’s and assorted other whatnots. there have also been a healthy number of encouraging and complimentary cues from friends in flesh and virtual too. thank you all.

today is Canada day and we have a day off of work. I’ve been working, however lightly and haphazardly, since before seven am on various virtual projects. the irony of this keyboard for me is that somehow I’ve learned to use it and the inteweb in ways that some find useful. so it is that I spend so many hours sitting in a Western pose developing a weak core and perhaps other less than glamorous ailments. so to balance this life I get up at four in morn to surf small kine waves and arrive at work tired as a dog but clear of mind. things don’t make sense but the experiences that I remember are the hardest ones to come by. now I have to go for a run.

read the Esteyonage today it good for you.