February passed, and there was much rejoicing

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February is like Connecticut, or Georgia, or middle school. They’re not destinations, more like bridges on the road to something better. As the worst month on the calendar finally disappears in the rearview mirror, I’m left pondering what 59 days of surfbriety have taught me.

Surfing is as stressful as it is relaxing. As with any addiction that makes you feel good, the more you do it the more you need it. When I see the waves now, I’m not stressed. I used to see waves and freak out. “Oh shit, wind is switching offshore. I gotta go drop the kids off with someone, grab my stuff, put my suit on, and get out there. And it’s getting dark. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!”

It’s all surfing. When you don’t ride a wave for a while, you begin to realize that riding a wave is riding a wave. Man + board + wave = surfing. Crap wave, good wave, doesn’t matter. For every wave there is a board that will ride it. Sometimes, just a weird board makes it fun. I’ve kinda always known this, but now I know it know it.

Virginia has (s)no(w) waves that are world class. Blizzards only hit here once a decade, but I’ll be on it the next time it happens. Okay, maybe I just wanted an excuse to post more snow wave pics.
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Experimentation is cool. Try something new. Find a new way to look at something old. Get out of your comfort zone. Create something.

Blogging is a full-time job. This is especially true when you’re typing everything in the Notes app on an iPhone. My computer died, and I can’t afford a new one. Every once in a while, I get ahold of K’s laptop. Notice the recent blogscaping, including a fancy new header courtesy of my son and some neat widgets along the right side.

Dr. Pepper is older than Coke. I almost never consume soft drinks, and this is random, but I was surprised to hear it. Not only has The Doc been around longer (1885 compared to Coke’s 1886) but it tastes way better. Coke’s dominance goes to show the importance of marketing. Probably didn’t help Dr. Pepper that it was originally named after the Texas town in which it created, Waco. “Gimme a Waco” doesn’t have the ring of “Gimme a Coke.”

Most weaves are not made of real hair. Again, this is neither hair nor there, but lots of the girls in my civics class have weaves. Many opt for Kanekalon braids, a synthetic fiber similar to doll hair. On the way down the hall for lunch, I like to pick their braids brains about fake hair. They point out the various types of weaves as well as the female teachers wearing wigs. Fascinating stuff.

Writing is fun. I am enjoying this. If anything has started to replace surfing in my life, it’s writing. Ever since procrastinating and whipping out last-second papers in high school, I’ve been best when staring down a deadline. Now there’s the pressure of people who tell me they’re looking forward to the next installment.

Roger Daltry’s question of “Who are you?” has no easy answer. Other than an Intro to Psych class I took in community college (and got an A in on the basis of a behavior modification project that I fabricated an hour before it was due), I know nothing about Psychology. I started poking around inside my brain and on the Internet to ask the question, “Who am I?” Pretty soon I realized I’m putting too much thought into it. The answer, if there is one, will spill onto this web page in the coming months. Sorry Rog.

I can live without riding waves. I haven’t had the shakes. I haven’t been grouchy. I haven’t cussed out my boss. I haven’t killed anybody, at least not that I know of. I can absolutely survive without riding waves. Another thing I’ve learned, I don’t want to.

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