I heard Bob as if out of nowhere. Salvation to my ears.
“Sun is shining/ The weather is sweet now/ Make you want to move your dancing feet.”
The reggae wafted down the cliff from a grungy, friendly-looking back patio on the 6600 block of DP, where spliff smoke rose above the people lining the cliff fence.
Bob’s melody was a welcome relief. For the past hour I had been chasing little shorebreak swells near the beach access while a group of drunken fools howled obscene stuff through a megaphone at us. Those fucking I.V. bros.
I.V. bros are a special breed. They’ve got all the tendencies of normal brociety, but they’re even more ignorant, callous and stupid than the rest.
It’s not just their strict regimen of playing Snappa by 9 a.m. and brofighting by 3 a.m., or their innate ability to break other peoples’ valuables and smash anything made out of glass in the most inconvenient of places. What makes me hate DP bros so much is that they can’t stop themselves from throwing large, often usable pieces of furniture and other household goods off of balconies.
The “thudsplitcrack! ‘Yaaaa Bro!’” coming from shore almost made me lose my shit. A big wooden dresser tumbled down from the 6600 block of DP and onto the beach. Sharks, dolphins and crabs do not eat abandoned waste, you filthy polluters. Someone with a heart and a sense of respect for the environment actually picks all of that shit up and disposes of it properly.
I hate those miserable polluting bastards.
It had started as a quick, in between class sesh. The sun wasn’t shining, but to me the weather was sweet — like home in Northern California. Brisk and foggy. I was grateful that at least a few levelheaded people had chosen not to take a speedy, techno-infused trip down Taaka road to blackout alley at midday.
A lull, and then a wave came.
“To the rescue, here I am.”
Being in the water listening to Bob triggered a memory of Bull Bay — an area 10 miles east of Kingston, Jamaica. I stayed there once for a day and a night as I passed through the country. Bull Bay is without a doubt a rough place, and thinking of my time there quickly had me brooding on the stark contrasts between here and Jamaica: standards of living, American wastefulness, what we consider a tough day.
“Want you to know just if you can/Where I stand, know, know, know, where I stand”
We throw away clothing, food and materials at an unhealthy, disgustingly vain rate. If it’s at Costco, it will always be available, we assume.
The world is sick. The privileged members of brociety living all around me don’t know how lucky they are.
“So to the rescue, to the rescue, to the rescue/ Awake from your sleep and slumber/ Today could be your lucky number/ Sun is shining and the weather is sweet.”
Daily Nexus surf columnist Elliott Rosenfeld might be upset when he finds out that one of the sports eds threw a shitty desk off his balcony last weekend just to see what would happen.