“I prefer to think of myself as a surf dilettante.”
“Yeah, Babe; when I get out there on those rollers; when I am shooting the curl, shredding the wave faces; when I am in the fetal position in the Green Room, in the womb of Mother Nature, in the very eye of the ocean’s vortex; stripped of my worldly woes, devoid of my designer… rags, the super bitchin’ sunglasses, the pearls and chains and the Kardashian/Jenner-approved sunscreen made from organic compounds and baby tears… shit, I even forget that some ruffian might break into my Tesla or that my crypto currency might lose ninety-percent of its value; when I am riding the self-same board model that Leonardo DiCaprio threw off a skyscraper in a movie he later walked away from; when I am skimming the liquid energy bundles without even considering how utterly wrecked my hair might get; that’s when… oh, and I forgot, I even forget about where on my custom molded body my next custom Reggie tattoo might go in order to best present me and my… identity to the world; that is when my thoughts turn, Babe, to you.” “So, okay, I get all that. You actually going out or what?” “I am… considering it. The tide is… it is… kind of high. Oh, Babe, I forgot to mention custom vitamin slash mental acumen slash drug therapy.” “No, you must have mentioned it. Time’s wasting here… Babe, Babe-ster; you surfing or what?”
Hey, I actually do have to go. I will get back to the story of why someone who self-identifies as a surf ‘Dilettante’ might actually be best, or at least better, described as a “Kook.”
I can’t remember if I said, “Oh, then, you’re a kook,” and yes, after he got his custom coffee and artisan baked good, I did ask him to describe dilettante. I was thinking about the chocolate.
Real Surfers 