Let the purists have their sub six-foot fishes and supra nine-foot longboards and single malt scotches and American Kennel Club approved Pomeranians.
I’ve been on an unpure, anti-fundamental, mudblood, blend bender lately and I’m fucking stoked. Just shaped a 6’9 full-volumed, deep-and-wide swallow-tailed, beak-nosed, down-railed keel finner and I’m calling the thing a fish.
8’2 shovel-nosed pinched 50/50 railed blended concave to belly bottomed single fin? Log.
For what is shaping—or surfing, itself—without the blend? Flats and curves. Convexes and concaves. Ideologies. Styles. Geographies. Pulled apart and mashed back together in a lurid waterbased alchemy that defies language altogether.
My current favorite blends:
7’0. Longboardy. Shortboardy. Carvey. Skatey. Roundy-flatty. Smallish wave. Largish wave.
For what is shaping—or surfing, itself—without the blend? Flats and curves. Convexes and concaves. Ideologies. Styles. Geographies. Pulled apart and mashed back together in a lurid waterbased alchemy that defies language altogether.
My current favorite blends:
7’0. Longboardy. Shortboardy. Carvey. Skatey. Roundy-flatty. Smallish wave. Largish wave.
Clear.
If this were mine, I’d ride it all over the goddamn place. But it’s not, and it’s headed to The Surf Shop. If you live near there, you should buy it.
Great King St. Artist’s Blend. This stuff is the real deal, and the best scotch expression you will ever find for under $40. Pour it into a glass, add a drop or two of water, let it sit tight for ten minutes, then get your mind blown as wave after wave of salt, toffee, vanilla, chocolate-covered orange, then hot pepper get together and do it with your tongue. A blend.
Ben. Nobody knows what the hell kind of dog he is, and he’s not to be trusted in the house alone, but he’s a good guy. The girls jump on him all damn day and he never asks for anything in return other than maybe nosing the garbage when you’re not looking. Thank God nobody in the house is still in diapers.
