Noseblocks always
seem like a great idea--they're crafty, look bitchin, and offer some protection in ding-prone locations. About halfway through the process, however, I start thinking about the stuff I could be doing during the time it takes me to shape a noseblock: Eating. Parenting. Adding an addition to my house. Surfing through Central and South America. Going on tour with Phish (does Phish still tour? Are they even still a band? Christ, I'm out of touch...).
Rich Harbour claims it takes him a day to add nose and tailblocks. For me, this latest block was a full on cross-continental effort. Here's glimpse into the 11-step proces:
1. Fly to Connecticut for the holidays with the family and enough sweet, sweet sleep-inducing Benadryl to sedate an invading Mongol army.
2. Discover, way too late, that for roughly 40% of children, sweet, sweet sleep-inducing Benadryl actually causes unsweet, unsweet mania and hyperactivity. Oops!
3. Contemplate airplane defenestration.
4. Arrive. Open Zinfandel. Head to my pop's wood shop and poke around for some rad bits and pieces. 5. Have him cut 'em. Dude's still got it!
6. Transport wood back home to Northern California, and glue up.
7. Cut off nose of a freshly-shaped surfboard. This step does not leave a margin for error, but does make me breathe erratically.
8. Spend a ridiculous amount of time making sure the cut lines up perfectly with the block
9. Resin-glue that mofo in place and tape.
10. Turn on power sander. After a series of frustrations, miracles, euphorias, sandpapers, invectives, muscle relaxants, prayers, beers, existential questions, and increasing self doubts, stand back and admire.
11. Puffed with pride, invite lovely spouse to gaze wonderingly upon your creation, to which she will respond, after the briefest of expressionless glances, "your dog threw up on the couch again."
There you have it!
