Annals Of Envy–Daddy Don’t Surf: So I’d love to learn how to surf. I even have a buddy down in Miami who has a little surf shack in Costa Rica. But I’m stuck at home, sleeping in 3-hour stretches, and dodging the golden shower little Jamie tries to bestow on anyone who dares change his diaper. And here’s the e-mail I get from a college friend who’s living it up as a surgeon out in California:

“I scrambled out of the OR at 4pm Friday to catch a sunset session at Pacifica, just 10 miles north of Mavericks at Half Moon Bay. Took the old Alfa Romeo Guilia with the board racked and ready (the same car that came to your farm 15 years ago with a bike rack), and tooled down the PCH (Hghwy1) to the beach. Unloaded and leashed a 9’4″ deep red Stewart hydrohull longboard and stormed through the beach break to the outer set. The water was warm (59 degrees) and calm and the set waves a magic chest high and cleeann. Pelicans above and sea otters below, rolling in the water. Sunset on the horizon, after which a cool, blue moonlit sheen set on the water.”

You’re killing me, man. I trust it didn’t take an, err, rush job in the OR to hit the beach on time…



“Hmmm, I’m pretty sure I got that last clamp out before closing up…”