If you're not sure what I'm referring to from the title, then I'm sure your mind is racing to whatever it is that you love to do. Whatever gets you stoked. It could be watching ESPN's top ten, or eating a favorite dish, or even reading, you square. Of course after all, it's hip to be square. You would have to be cool to read my blog. The "time to be had" which is greatest to me is a day at the beach.
I have always gone to the beach ever since I was a little kid. My mom would pack me and my brother, sister, cousins, and friends up in our Dodge Van, and we would make our way out to the beach it seemed like everyday during the summer. The excitement of building sand castles and running from crashing waves, along with the agony of washing sand out of crevasses on your body you were not sure even existed always seemed like a joy to me. As my childhood progressed, my activities at the beach grew and diversified.
Between 8th and 9th grade, my best friend Eric invited me to go up to Ventura with him, stay at his aunt Gale's house, and go to a week long surf camp. The idea at the time seemed like it would just be another fun week of childhood. I was not expecting that it would've been one of the best and most memorable weeks of my youth.
The week started off with a private lesson from the middle aged surf hippie, JP. He took about five of us out and got us standing in only a few tries. He was one of the instructors of the camp, which ended up having close to 50 students in it. Alf and JP ran the camp, which included not only surfing, but tons of beach games and fun.
I was hooked from then on. Every opportunity Eric and I got, we would beg and plead with our parents to take us to the beach. That summer alone I was at the beach 3-5 days a week. We didn't have a surf board, but body surfing became the new sport for him and I. The years to follow, we finally got drivers license's and cars, and dropped the parents from the routine, but not entirely. A few years in a row we camped with my family at Sycamore Canyon State Park, which is a beach a little north of Zuma State Beach and south of Point Hueneme on the California coast.
As the teenage mischief years set in, Eric and I found ourselves making weekend trips up to Gail's, drinking booze and chasing girls around illegal bond fires on the Ventura coast. There were many nights that we would see the fluorescence's of dead plankton washing up on shore.
The last real beach trip I was involved in was when my dad and brother came out to Myrtle Beach to play some golf. My girlfriend came along, and we of course had to go to the beach. It made me realize what I like to do at the beach now. Of course I still like to go splash around in the water, or play catch with the football, or frisbee. But I really like sitting with the one's I love and drinking an ice cold brew.
I love the beach. Everything about it. From trying to find a parking spot on the PCH. Or playing tackle football with your baseball team. Trying to hit on women with a buddy. Sitting on rock cliff above crashing waves and watching the sunset. The night time when the moon's light only gives away the white wash of the wave and nothing else. Tricking Bloom into sitting into a giant hole that you covered up with a towel. Or hitting up the Malibu line with Ash Cash and getting walloped by sets to close together. I miss all of that, and hopefully when I'm finally done playing army, I can live as a beach bum for a time, not shave or cut my hair, and eat food only from Duke's or Corrales. Hang loose bro. Nah hung over bro.
I have always gone to the beach ever since I was a little kid. My mom would pack me and my brother, sister, cousins, and friends up in our Dodge Van, and we would make our way out to the beach it seemed like everyday during the summer. The excitement of building sand castles and running from crashing waves, along with the agony of washing sand out of crevasses on your body you were not sure even existed always seemed like a joy to me. As my childhood progressed, my activities at the beach grew and diversified.
Between 8th and 9th grade, my best friend Eric invited me to go up to Ventura with him, stay at his aunt Gale's house, and go to a week long surf camp. The idea at the time seemed like it would just be another fun week of childhood. I was not expecting that it would've been one of the best and most memorable weeks of my youth.
The week started off with a private lesson from the middle aged surf hippie, JP. He took about five of us out and got us standing in only a few tries. He was one of the instructors of the camp, which ended up having close to 50 students in it. Alf and JP ran the camp, which included not only surfing, but tons of beach games and fun.
I was hooked from then on. Every opportunity Eric and I got, we would beg and plead with our parents to take us to the beach. That summer alone I was at the beach 3-5 days a week. We didn't have a surf board, but body surfing became the new sport for him and I. The years to follow, we finally got drivers license's and cars, and dropped the parents from the routine, but not entirely. A few years in a row we camped with my family at Sycamore Canyon State Park, which is a beach a little north of Zuma State Beach and south of Point Hueneme on the California coast.
As the teenage mischief years set in, Eric and I found ourselves making weekend trips up to Gail's, drinking booze and chasing girls around illegal bond fires on the Ventura coast. There were many nights that we would see the fluorescence's of dead plankton washing up on shore.
The last real beach trip I was involved in was when my dad and brother came out to Myrtle Beach to play some golf. My girlfriend came along, and we of course had to go to the beach. It made me realize what I like to do at the beach now. Of course I still like to go splash around in the water, or play catch with the football, or frisbee. But I really like sitting with the one's I love and drinking an ice cold brew.
I love the beach. Everything about it. From trying to find a parking spot on the PCH. Or playing tackle football with your baseball team. Trying to hit on women with a buddy. Sitting on rock cliff above crashing waves and watching the sunset. The night time when the moon's light only gives away the white wash of the wave and nothing else. Tricking Bloom into sitting into a giant hole that you covered up with a towel. Or hitting up the Malibu line with Ash Cash and getting walloped by sets to close together. I miss all of that, and hopefully when I'm finally done playing army, I can live as a beach bum for a time, not shave or cut my hair, and eat food only from Duke's or Corrales. Hang loose bro. Nah hung over bro.
finally I get a little recognition.
ReplyDeletei think i want to meet the pre-army Jeff someday
dude u totally forgot to mention how conveniant it is to drop a duece in the sand and not get hit by the lady chasing u away with the broom lol...man i cant wait to be able to do that shit again with u and that week was pretty unreal...o ya don't worry, i'm gonna get u back for that fuckin trick u pulled!! it was a legit one though, i'll give u that
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