Troubling.
Yesterday found me in quite a state. There I was, in Munich’s perfectly utilitarian flughafen, lightly jet-lagged and tragically without sunglasses. I had, hours earlier, lost my favorite pair of Garrett Leight’s at ballet rehearsal along with my wig and hat. Those were later found, in a pile, just in time for a fine performance, but sunglasses gone and no time to acquire new before flight.
What to do?
Duty free sunglass shopping is rife with potential impulse disaster. With display Tom Fords featuring bent arms that slip right off the bridge of nose or garish Guccis that feel right in the moment but do not reflect the personal brand outdoors.
Well, as luck, or fate, would have it, I stumbled upon a pair of Le Specs while almost falling into that classic Ray Ban Wayfarer trap. They were inexpensive but stylish-adjacent, did not broadcast anything good nor bad and would do perfectly for the quest I was about to undertake.
The German male’s lower leg has haunted me, you see, since it had been discovered as the perfect tool in measuring wave height. Kept me up at night. For decades upon decades, our kind has stumbled over the most basic task. How big are the swells we ride? Shall me gauge in Hawaiian? Meters? Stathams? The World Surf League’s forecasting tool Surfline has made matters that much worse by introducing utter absurdity into what should be neatly scientific.
But then German Sebastian Steudtner broke the official world record for “largest wave ever” and a crack team of scientists stumbled upon the German male’s lower leg as the perfect calibrating tool.
I lay awake in bed, fevered, pondering, tossing and turning, unable to sleep. If the holy grail of wave measurement is hiding in plain sight, in Germany, what else might be there?
After six days, I could take no more, bid my beautiful family auf wiedersehen and booked travel to Deutschland for this most important crusade. And, now, with sunglasses, I am ready to see great and concealed truths that will allow our beloved surfing to reach heretofore unknown states of bliss.
Outside of Germany, things are bad, for our surf industry, and getting worse. In wild protest over its state, and possible lack of waves at the G-Land Pro, a Florida man walked into a local surf shop and made a mess on the floor.
According to the Treasure Island Police Department, Gary Peter Bush, 69, walked into the Surf Style shop, located at 10701 Gulf Blvd., exposed his genitalia and proceeded to defecate on the floor near the dressing room.
Witnesses told police Bush wiped himself with a shirt belonging to the store, creating a biohazard out of the top.
Bush was arrested later in the day after being recognized by the store manager.
According to the arrest report, Bush told officers, “I was at the store earlier to get clothes. I returned to the store to get more clothes. I bought an outfit.”
Troubling.
My next stop, anyhow, shall be the Black Forest where fables spring from the ground.
