Saturday, May 17, 2008

Finally back at the Beach

So today it was hot, and I decided to try going back to the beach. I made a review of mission Beach for Yelp... I thought I would share it here, too.

I almost had to leave you forever, Mission Beach. Your funk, your wide swath of the social fabric, none of it could obliterate the pain. But I went back and we were back, buddied up for madness and fun.

Yeah, bra. You know me. I used to pop in for breakfast. I sometimes had a beer. But me, I come see you to be on your sand and in your water. Back on my hardboard days, by the jetty. Body boarding days? That sweet break in the summer swim zone, in front of Canes.

Now you remember me. Hey, remember when mom took off and lived down by the volleyball nets in that cool little beach house with that new dude? She visited that day with us and I learned to surf? I sure do. I was nine, man. Wow, that was a great day, seeing mom after three months. Thanks, you were a great host.

Remember all the trips to see you with my aunts and uncles and dozens of cousins, sneaking away from Mission Bay Park where they made us stay to come see you so I could play in the waves. Awesome, man. It was worth the spanking, totally!

Remember the girlfriends I took there, all of them needing to have that special "you get to know this place through me" quality. Yeah, of course you do. Even the one who didn't much like you.

In 14 years she only came with me five times. Each time, I made it a point to be in tune, riding and carving to impress her under her skin-shielding encampment, my little pallid Sultana. She liked it, but the beach was just not her thing. You played a good host, though.

I remember she urged me to be in the water whenever possible. I was. She was your biggest cheerleader. Then she was gone. I forgot she urged me to be in your water. I just remembered she didn't like to go with me to see you. I was afraid her spirit would not be with me.

I was wrong, and I finally went to see you today again, ready to ride the waves for the first time since she left me here. The first song on the radio was the one that reminds me of her. "Big Hard Sun." She wanted to let me know she was coming with me.

We've been buds for a long time, bra. You're my homie from the home break. Hell, you are the home break.

You might not be the best surf spot ever, but you have the goods to get me in the water, and there's a boardwalk for me if I want some non-natural beach fun. Not bad, not bad, but a little gawdy. I prefer the sand and waves.

Hey, bud. If I bring a new girl or a pack of friends around, try to do something to score me a fire ring. It gets busy and I can't camp out all day. You understand, man.

And do you think you can bring the broom painter back, the guy who does the sand sweeping designs on the lot surface? That would be keen, even if he sells more Jesus than an immigrant smuggler with a labor service on the side.