Served 

Hey, I called you twice today. Where were you? –Matt

One perk to being my friend is that you get your e-mails answered in front of the entire galaxy (including Gluxnar 7). All of my friends love this. All of them.

TODAY I swam. I swam in the Pacific Ocean for three hours. This is standard and is only notable because it was immediately pretty big out there. Upon realizing this, I ignored life, the undertow and everything and kept swimming. This lead to me getting crushed in sets of four and five.

Repeatedly.

The water was sometimes semi-shallow on a longer break, so at times there was little space to dive under. To deal with these sorts of waves, you must run-swim to meet the wave head-on, dive hard, lie flat on the sand at the bottom, swim forward and hold it there in space for a moment because the back-end/trough is the worst part. Then, there’s a moment where the backwash will near stand you up again. And drape you in seaweed. (Beautiful.) You take a breath–

Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat–

Until you can’t take it anymore. Breath control will eventually get you if the sheer force of the waves does not drive you out. Or a panic factor, if you’re lame like that (C.Sto). At the point of I-wanna-return, you have to repeat some more until the set is done and you can body surf a minor bit of water out of the tug.

An onlooker on the beach told me that she thought I was going to die.

Awesome. (Sorry M.Sto)

While I admit that the water was challenging, I never once felt like I was in trouble. The onlooker’s reaction was probably due to the fact that little girls look even littler with big waves towering about. And because the backwash on those things was strong and long, so I was under for quite a bit.

The web report said the water was "dull with one to two footers." Clearly, the web report lies. I was there from 9AM to 4 PM and saw sets from 4ft and up all day whereas usually 3 is the tops. Come to think of it, I don’t think anyone updates those sites properly. Why do I even look at them? I also read the shark report. This is mostly because there are baby whites spotted beyond the break all summer long. It’s cool though, they know better than to bump and run a J.Sto. (Most babies do.)

TODAY I danced. I entered an impromptu dance contest but I didn’t dance to win.

I danced for props.

I finished in second, but was told that I had more crowd approval than the winner, who only beat me by pulling out an amazing heel stretch. Arguably, this is gymnastics move. Had I known that we were doing gymnastics dancing instead of hip-hop, well, I would have adjusted my freestyle as to serve her properly. All I can say is that my semi-skewed truck driver’s hat and borrowed police shades definitely should have won me the contest before I even stepped in the circle. I don’t mind, though. As usual I came away with respect, street cred, and more respect.

TODAY I drove. I drove a lot. In rush hour traffic. On the way home on the 10, while cruising at the mighty speed of twenty miles per hour, I noticed a white bag dropping from the sky. It fluttered about like a Forrest Gump feather and I knew, I just knew, that the timing would work out: Said trash bag would fly by the open window of my moving car and I would pluck it from the atmosphere like a global superhero.

This sort of thing is CGI-ed into movies because it has to be timed so awesomely. The bag and my car effortlessly met at the correct point in the space-time continuum and, without breaking stride, I gracefully snatched it from the air and checked my rearview to make sure that the person behind was impressed. (He totally was.)

Said bag is made of white plastic and has “Thank You" printed on it seven times in red ink. Let me know if this is your lost bag and I will mail it to you ASAP.

So there you go: If you have contacted me and I have not responded, it is because I am scratched. Bloodshot. Sand ridden.

Alive.

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