Blue Monday: the shequel

Local she-redder Caroline's new stick.
Insane resinwork from the talented hands of Ms. Leslie Anderson: artist, animal rescuer, and occasional wearer of respiration mask.
Five Finboxed War Pony. Cedar stringer. Rocker. Pulled, foiled, gloss-and-polished.
My three-year-old daughter's purple princess shoes. Leslie's tapered laps. Caroline's stoked pickup. Lots of good lady energy swirling around this stick.

Swirly Tuesdays

As committed, sober HHG fans will note, the Tuesday before St. Patrick's Day is always Swirly Tuesday, where I showcase a stirring representative of Leslie's resinwork. In addition, I fling wide open the doors of HHGs SPAM filter, and invite all to take a peek. Enjoy.
Today's featured swirl is Spencer's 7'2" bat-tail egg.
And our first featured SPAM comes from someone whose linguistic authority appears somewhat deficient, though clearly their Romantic spirit is fully intact. Here's the first line:
Best ladies looking reciprocation in the utility of men USA. True-hearted sex.
This notion is followed by some true gems, but perhaps it can best be summed up by the following line:
I tenderness to acouter in peculiar clothes and come undertake online as a cam maiden when I'm not being a granny.
Onto the swirl!
Clear deck, cedar stringer, five boxes for maximum shred capacity.
My next favorite SPAM comes from someone with a greater command of the language, and wins award for Highest Word Count. It's also surf-specific, sent to us by someone in the employ of Point Break Bar on West 45th Street in the Big Apple. It starts:
I am a surfer and found a "real surfer bar" in Point Break NYC.
Strange, yet compelling. Later in the paragraph the author claims,
I'm kinda jealous ;OPIt's {sic} filled with surfers, people who like surfers, people who like the beach and people who don't want to live close to town.
Losing me.
And when I spill a full tray of shots onto myself, the bartender so kindly remakes them for me?
It is signed Davis Miller.
A cursory search of the Googles reveals that the Point Break Bar has chosen to forego a website in preference to an uber-classy Twitter account rife with Lady Ga-Ga references, free beer specials, and, most damning, exclamation points.
If you have a moment, you might choose to send a message to @PointBreakNYC asking them why they're douches.
Back to the swirl!
Finally, I'll close the HHG SPAM filter with this lean missive sent by an anonymous SPAMer just this morning:
Hello. And Bye.
I'm a sucker for brief, muscular prose. And, right now, dry reislings.

Giant Shoulders

Sometimes it takes an entire village to do an important thing, like raise a child, or battle zombies, or hire samurai to defend itself from thieves.
Bringing a surfboard to life is not that dissimilar--often its design is a collaboration between surfer and shaper, between past and present, wave and waverider. The builder draws from a lineage of specialists, coaxes that knowledge and experience into a form and, if lucky, gets to contribute a stitch or two to the ever-evolving tapestry of surfboard making.
This 9'7" single fin log is a product of such an effort. Although only four hands ever touched this board during its creation, it is the result of the work of many, none the least of Mr. G. Cooper, whose guidance was as generous as it was mind-blowingly cool.
His old partner in crime, Ms. L. Anderson, then had her way with it, showing us kids how it's done.
The board is for The New Guy, journeyman surfer and Econoline van enthusiast, who recently arrived on our tiny stretch of coast with a lofty set of log riding ideals and the skills to back them up. He had a board order in before the silverware was even unpacked.
He, too, will stand on the shoulders of the traditional longboard surfers that preceded him, drawing idea and inspiration, perhaps tickling their ears as he dangles ten toes over.
And the rest of us, we will begin to make out a faint murmer of voices, a shifting of bodies in their seats, a shout or two of surprise from the kids. More voices will be added until, amidst the din, someone else paddles out into the lineup, spins, and strokes into a rising pulse of energy . They will stand and track their hand along the green face of the wave, their fingers making trails of diamonds that will linger for a moment, then fade into the distance.