What follows are the results of our very first try at surf photography. When I say "our," I mean my friend, Rob Fatal's first try, since he did all of the actual work, plus it was his idea. The other thing you should know is that this is not an easy thing to do. Rob bought himself some special flippers and was out there trying to be in position but not in the way, treading water with flippers only while holding the camera and getting smacked in the face by the waves. Just saying.
Figure 1 (a)-->
The self unfurling it's larger than life phallic symbol, The Green Rocket.
Figure 1 (b):-->
Kristie and the self heading out into the uninspiring, dumpy beach break of Santa Monica.
Waiting for nothing.
Since losing our Team Philosopher, Sea Monkey, to New York, things have been qualitatively barren. Here we see the self making a choady attempt at waxing poetic for the youth of today.
Kristie's thought bubble: "What a blowhard."
Stop talking and charge it, choad!
Sometimes the self has to choose between pulling back and not getting dumped by a pitching closeout, or to risk a slim chance at happiness. Note the excellent positioning of our cameraman.
"Unencumbered by technique."
The self looks left and prepares to turn into the open face of the soon-to-be closing out wave.
Openly resenting the whitewater, the self wonders why it didn't drag the people down to San Onofre instead.