Even though...

Even though I spent the evening in the even-more-landlocked-than-my-neighborhood environs of Corona, it was a wonderful night. And even though I didn't get to sleep until 1:30-ish, I still got up and surfed. Even though I didn't quite make it for the dawn patrol, it was still glassy and the crowd was light. Even though the waves weren't epic, I had way more fun rides than I could ever have expected. And even though I'm heading out into the 100-degree heat to go clean my garage, and it's still only halfway through Saturday, this still counts as a really great weekend.

I am smiling.

Movement

Adios little purse. It was a good place to land for a while, but it's time to move on with a more focused direction and to a new location. I will miss the salt air, the sound of the foghorns in the morning, and riding a bike along the shoreline in the quieter months. My residency at the beach has ended for now, but my relationship with the sea will endure, and there will be more mornings spent walking across crisp, cool sand and paddling across silky-smooth water. The anticipation as a set approaches is a timeless thing, and the allure of those intimate moments wrapped in the embrace of the wave is unending.

Right now though, I am looking forward to a simpler life in a new place, and to coming home.

Nipples of Fire

Today was the first day I've surfed in about a month, and the first time in 3 or 4 years that I paddled out in trunks only. The waves weren't much, but the temps felt like the proverbial bathwater. I'd forgotten how liberating it is to be out in trunks in warm water, feeling free and unencumbered by a neoprene straitjacket. I'd also forgotten the exquisite joy of nipple rash, and the zing you get afterward in the shower when soap and hot water rush to the synapses the same way that lemon juice loves a paper cut. All day, rushing from task to task, the reminder of the morning's waves was right there, and with every tender rub against the inside of my shirt, I was reminded that it's a special treat to be a surfer.

DC Redux

I forgot to post after finishing Deepak Chopra's "The Seven Spiritual Laws of Success."

In an earlier post, titled "The Tao of Dean Martin," I questioned whether Chopra was providing original insights or simply regurgitating fortune cookie wisdom. Perhaps I shouldn't be too judgmental since I generally prefer fortune cookies to most forms of spirituality, but I was not impressed. While there were some worthwhile sentiments, I came away from that book feeling like it was a watered-down, easily-accessible version of genuine spirituality and self-reflection.

So I'll leave a question for DC and/or the universe to try to answer, as it's one I've been struggling with of late:

What should you do when the high road keeps taking you someplace you don't want to go, but the low road is just too low?

The late, great Douglas Adams, who knew a thing our two about Life, the Universe, and Everything, and who I suspect might have been able to offer Mr. Chopra some fresh insights on spirituality, probably would have offered me the absurdly cryptic answer "42." That answer, it turns out, is about as practically applicable to me as I found Chopra's book to be. So from now on, when faced with a difficult choice, I'll imagine Douglas Adams and Dean Martin are in the room with me, looking over my shoulder, and I'll do my best to make them proud. For now though, I'm not too worried about impressing Deepak Chopra.

4 x 1

"Independence" Day has a whole new meaning this year, and it's not exactly what I'd hoped for.

If Apple invented it, it would be called iRony

This morning one of our tech guys was in my office. We were discussing the social networking phenomenon and the sometimes tricky divisions between the personal and professional with regards to online persona. The we talked about how resourceful people - and search engines - have become these days, and how all sorts of seemingly personal data can be pulled out of the ether and into the real world.

A few minutes later, I got a call from my bank telling me there had been some suspicious activity on my online account. It seems someone had cracked my account and was browsing through my transaction history. Luckily they seem to have caught it before any serious damage was done. My account has been frozen and a new one opened, and my extremely humble balance is still intact. But the sense of violation remains, and doubts about what else they may have accessed will linger for a while.

As much as I love the online world, every once in a while something like this happens that makes me want to go back to the stone age, back when we used phones with cords, when we actually went to the bank, and when wireless meant radio.

Then again, I'm blogging these thoughts, so...

Sick

The only thing that's more of a bummer than being sick over the weekend, is being sick over a three-day weekend. That, and being sick over a three day weekend...while trying to make big decisions...while being broke.

OK, maybe the sick thing isn't that big a deal.