FINALLY, A REASON TO GET AWAY FROM THAT VENUS FLY TRAP, SAN ONOFRE. Yesterday, we went to the "Susan Reichtle Soup Kitchen Centre" at Dana Point Harbor. For a paltry fifteen cents they have try-to-be pro surfers doling out ham scramble, day old Long Johns Turkey bacon, and de-caff mud. I'm sitting there shoveling it in when a tow headed surfer, whom I've seen at Salt Creek, approach and ask, "Ain't you TUBESTEAK?" I said, why yes, I am. "I wanna' be a pro rider on the circuit. What's the secrete?" I think, holy smokes you gotta' be kidding. The tow-head is probably 19 and wants to be a pro. I don't answer. I think to myself, be a pro golfer, or a basketball player, or a baseball player, but a pro surfer, get real dude. But I won't hurt the tow-heads ego. I remain silent. Millions are made in professional sports but pro surfer? You go to a second rate party and are introduced as Tow Head, he's a pro surfer. Many years ago, I learned never to piss on other people's dreams. So, I watched go back to his ham scramble chores probably mad at me but how many pro surfers do you know that are making it?
TUBESTEAK/ZUMANATARIUN