Please, Encinitas City Council, just show a modicum of humor and style and keep the surfing Madonna

We are a one-man wolf pack, Torn Slatterns and Nugget Ranchers

It could turn out this Weiner guy is the most aptly named politician since Indianapolis mayor, Harry Baals.

This Weiner guy is the most aptly named politician since Frank Schmuck ran for sheriff in Arizona.

NY Rep. Anthony Weiner has come out and admitted he took and sent the pictures of his junk to a woman. Let’s all give thanks Rep. Barney did not take a picture of his Frank.

And you don’t even want to know what picture New Hampshire congressman Dick Swett sent.

Sarah Palin is taking heat for a butchered description of Paul Revere’s ride in Boston. To be fair, Palin was off when she stated Revere posted; “The British are coming” on facebook and twitter.

Republican Rick Santorum is running for president. Santorum is an old Latin word that means: wasting our time.

Sarah Palin is taking heat for a butchered description of Paul Revere’s ride in Boston saying Revere was warning the British. Yeah, instead of yelling; “The British are coming,” he yelled; “You guys are coming. You guys are coming.”

Come on, folks, seriously? With all that’s going on, two wars, bad economy and presidential candidates, all you want to talk about is Rep. Anthony Weiner sending pictures of his junk? Just kidding, I can’t get enough of it either.

It happened again, this time Sara Palin sent a picture of a penis. Oh, wait sorry, I guess Sarah sent a picture of her ex- son-in-law, Levi Johnston’s face. My mistake.

Since you asked:
There is a fascinating tribal aspect to beach culture which I am gaining insight thanks to stand up paddle board surfing. Sure, in Chicago we went to the beach, we swam, we played in the sand. 


But in places like California, Florida and Hawaii there is a real lifestyle and community surrounding the beaches. My first glimpse of it was when Ann Caroline signed up for lifeguard camp in Solana Beach. Well, that camp will be boring after a couple of hours, let alone two weeks, I thought.

Oh, hell no. Not only did they learn about lifesaving techniques and first aid, they learned about the critters in the ocean, the different ways to catch them, how to surf, kayak, skim board, boogey board, sail, paddle, row.

Even the sand castles were an art form. They used tubes, garden hoses and tennis balls and other household products to create these vast engineering structures that used water to turn wheels and open draw bridges.

And interestingly, the beach culture is not all about money. Sure, rich folks live on the ocean, but a surfer who lives out of his van can be a citizen of high standing if he respects others and the ocean. In fact, there is somewhat of a reverse snobbery when it comes to beach culture and money. A guy who is a waiter at age 52 who forsakes having a family and a career to surf is held in the highest regard.

Beach culture extends to the nightlife and campfires, cooking, singing and story telling and, yes, drinking. Clothes, hair, slang, sex, it is all-inclusive.

Granted, local beaches are territorial and outsiders are not suffered well, mocked and in some cases physically threatened, often by testosterone-crazy young surfers. Believe me, young surfers don’t hide their contempt for middle-age stand up paddle boarders. Two douche bag lifeguards from La Jolla cove tried to knock me off my board with the wake from their skiff. (I stayed up and then asked them if they took turns driving each other with their sexy red shorts and their little cute boat)

But generally if respect is given it will be returned.

Generally speaking, surfers really are the most narrow minded sports participants I have ever met. Self-appointed expert cyclists are the biggest douche bags, followed closely by self-appointed expert kayakers. (As with all of these sports, the athletes who are really good don’t cop the snotty attitude, it is the pompous weekend warriors who are obnoxious)

But even the snottiest road cyclist doesn’t refuse to acknowledge other types of cycling exist, like mountain biking. Short board surfers hate old-guy long board surfers. Long board surfers hate little Nazi short board surfers. Local surfers hate visiting surfers. Hell, a professional surfer in La Jolla, Emery Kauanui, was beat up and killed by members of his own Bird Rock Bandits surf gang who hated him and were jealous of him for being so good and successful.

And they all hate stand up paddle board surfers. For a sport that you think would be full of Zen and bliss, there sure is a lot of testosterone-fueled stupidity and anger.

But, as in most sports, the majority of the surfers are cool.

Now, when it comes to Kayakers, however . . .