Launching

My plane came in Sunday around 5 pm. I flew first class because Sober hottie was supposed to fly with me and her dogs - and she demanded first class. So nuts. Anyway, our Client wanted one of us to stay with him, last minute and I told her I had family commitments. She was happy to stay. If she eclipses me with her seductive sobriety, so be it. I had to take a break, albeit the first class ticket stayed in place and I flew with a seat in the front of the plane and a– better than attitude – haha. When I got to N’s house after an interesting Uber from LAX with the driver who told me he doesn’t stress in LA traffic because he used to disassemble road bombs when he served in Iraq, and surviving that surpasses any stress anywhere – I opened N’s door to DZ launching himself naked into my arms. Popso! He grabbed my hand, took me outside and told me to put his yellow converse sneakers on. I tied them up and he launched off like a rocket again, proceeding to stamp around in the water of his kiddie pool, while spraying me with the hose. Yes! Popso is back. I ate (drenched in wet clothes) homemade chicken parm by my chef son N , got picked up by S and slept in the car on the way home to our west Malibu trailer home.

I have been mostly sleeping and eating since. So burnt out. I managed a hike up Leo Carrillo yesterday under late June gloom skies. The trail has been widened and trimmed for the summer. No more hanging mustard seed flower stalks or purple sage bending over or sugarbush and chaparral edging out on to the trail. They have all been buzzed down. It is kinda sad but a preventative fire measure. I still saw the occasional mariposa lily and multiple lizard friends, greeting me on the way up to the precipice.

Happy summer, D!

Hello, fattie, greenie, blackie and longtail! Happy to be back!

The surf was down and crumbly, yesterday and the day before. I missed the swell of the decade - but took a chance on the Colony this morning in the low tide and it was a surprising, glassy 2 to 3 plus with only a few dudes in the water. All the recent big swells probably satiated most of the surfers – so I was grateful to be out there on a modest, uncrowded day to get my surf legs back. The wind was down. The water was warm. I saw some dolphins feeding just twenty yards beyond the lineup with a few launching clear out of the water. Pelicans and seagulls were swooping and diving for the baitfish. It was a real wild sea word show. I got a few nice rights during my 40 minute, old-man session and rode a sweet left all the way to the beach. I felt so grateful and serene by my car, getting out of my wetsuit. I high-fived to a couple of other dudes that came out of the water and walked past to their cars. I put and olive green shorts and was pulling my blue t-shirt over my head when a purple prius skidded in to the spot in front of my car. A young, maybe early 20’s Black kid jumped out like he was amped up to the hilt. He was wearing baggy blue jeans, a black hoody and a San Francisco Giants ball cap. he was not there to surf. I nodded to him with neutrality and said, “Hey what’s up?.”

“I see you lookin’ at me you White mothafucka,”he said. “I see your White ass. Ya know in 20 years this whole neighborhood, gonna be Black. You hear me mothafucka?”

I took a few deep breaths. He was beyond humoring or negotiating with.

“Okay,” I said. “I’m not ah…I mean I don’t care, whatever you wanna say.”

He launched into another threatening tirade.

“I say what I wanna say. You getting’ defensive with me? I’m a Black man from San Francisco. I’m dangerous, you hear me?”

I got behind the drivers seat as he started to march up to my car. His mouth was moving fast and angry. I didn’t even wanna hear the words. I started my car and drove away as I saw him walk fast towards another surfer, changing by his car. I felt so bad for him – but I gotta say, my instincts told me if I stayed there to reason with him…well, it sucks but I feared for my life, which made me even more sad as I merged onto the PCH to drive to the Santa Monica farmers market. It was a beyond rude awakening with so many connotations; a rageful Black man by a surf break on a road with beach front mansion after mansion after mansion. I don’t know what the fuck. I couldn’t even begin to figure it out. I just kept breathing and feeling sad and drove to the market where I bought farmer fresh, peaches and nectarines and zucchini and avocados and arugula and cucumbers and lettuce and carrots and …so much beautiful produce to bring home for our friend’s 4^th of July party.

Ugh. If only I was more angry and less sensitive. I coulda imagined beating the shit out of the intrusive, rude unhinged Black man invading my favorite surf spot and tell him to never come back. Well…none of those variations worked. I made a farm fresh lunch and watched some FIFA soccer match where both teams were fully integrated: Black, White, Brown - and playing together in unison, with teammates jumping on each other and hugging and kissing after one scored a goal. I watched and smiled even though the smile was still sad because there was nothing else I coulda done today to fix the bizarre, infuriated and ugly encounter at the Colony. I will surf there tomorrow morning. There probably will be talk from the other surfers that were accosted. I will not launch into any personal tirade or opinion. I’ll just keep my mouth shut and my sad smile on and do my best to launch into a nice wave.