Fresh foam for Northcoast shredders M and K, whose boards managed to be shaped and glassed during a particularly unhinged chapter in my life that was the product of the lovely Mrs. HHG frolicking in London for two weeks with her mom.
It's not that singl e parenting is hard the way that coal mining or dairy farming or building a railroad is hard, but here’s the deal: it comes at the expense of every other thing in your life.
Free time? Nope.
Food? Hope you like shoving a cold hotdog-covered-in-applesauce into your mouth while you hover over the sink.
Culture? Only if your idea of culture is falling asleep on the couch four minutes into an old Arrested Development episode, then waking up two hours later because your laptop is burning into your chest with the heat of a thousand suns. And you're drooling.
Free time? Nope.
Food? Hope you like shoving a cold hotdog-covered-in-applesauce into your mouth while you hover over the sink.
Culture? Only if your idea of culture is falling asleep on the couch four minutes into an old Arrested Development episode, then waking up two hours later because your laptop is burning into your chest with the heat of a thousand suns. And you're drooling.
Let's say your life is a balloon ride, and all your wonderful non-parenting pursuits (surfing, making surfboards, gardening, scanning ebay for an exact replica of a shirt an old girlfriend gave you that you wore until it was shredded, enjoying the occasional dram of Ardbeg Uigeadail you’ve managed to hide from your peers for the last month) are sandbags hanging over the rail of the balloon basket. There will come a moment—usually within the first twenty-four hours of single parenting—when first one, then suddenly all of those sandbags must be cut free.
 |
| K's 6'0. |
The remnants of your former life drop unceremoniously to the ground so that the balloon may stay aloft. You don’t really have any control of where you’re going (though, at some point, you’ll probably end up at the pony rides at Howarth Park), but you have momentum and you’re all aboard and as long as you have some instant Mac&Cheese and popsicles you should make it just fine.
Also, for some reason, there's a lot more nudity when your significant other is out of town. You get out of the shower, almost put on pants, then think, nah. I know what you're thinking: doesn’t you walking around the house naked look like a sad, hairy snowman?
To which I reply, no, thank you very much. Snowmen wear ties.
To which I reply, no, thank you very much. Snowmen wear ties.
 |
| M's 5'7 |
Let’s check back in with the surfboards.
From my incomplete family to M and K’s newly completed one: his and her shred sleds in matching green hues with deep, dark, chocolaty cedar stringers.
From my incomplete family to M and K’s newly completed one: his and her shred sleds in matching green hues with deep, dark, chocolaty cedar stringers.
K’s is pure thruster bliss with top-and-bottom resin abstract by Tony Mikus at Almar Glass Works.
M’s 5’7 mini-Simmons features a green resin wrap with Braztafarian resin pinlines.
M and K are our surfy Northcoast version of Sonny and Cher, only with more dreadlocks and natural-fibered clothing.
M and K are our surfy Northcoast version of Sonny and Cher, only with more dreadlocks and natural-fibered clothing.
2 comments:
I'm not usually a thruster fan, but that's one sick looking board. Clean lines on the Simmons, too, as usual. Now we just need the wind to back off.
I used to have a friend named Jamie that looks (sounds) something like you---this was before he had kids and we used to share shaping tips and pondering on life and culture. He did drool back then so I was thinking maybe you were him? Are you him?
P.S. I like the Mini best.
Post a Comment