I woke up mad at God last week. Not because of all the real problems in the world, but because of the small problem in my little town. The problem is the icy wind coming across the ocean and straight down the neck of my sweatshirt. I know there’re places where it’s really cold, and I shouldn’t be such a pussy, but seriously folks, is there any reason for this frigid weather? I have a great wetsuit and a new surfboard, but something inside me is being a little bitch and won’t go out anymore because it’s too cold. Why am I telling you this? Actually, I’m sorry God, it’s not your fault that I am such a baby. It’s my parent’s fault. They made me the way I am, and they should be blamed for my low tolerance to cold temperatures.
I saw a kid coming out of the water the other day and I asked him how cold it was while I shivered in a jacket and beanie on the beach. He replied that it wasn’t that bad. Little does he know that in the eighties I had to walk two miles uphill in the snow wearing nothing but trunks and a beaver tail wetsuit—stupid kid.