I think it would be really cool if there is such a thing as Bigfoot. Because that would mean that there has to be more than one of them. I hope there’s a whole passel of Bigfoots. (Bigfeet? Bigfeets?) Anyway, I can see them all chinchilla chillin’ around the crusty campsite crib after a hard day of crunching through the woods, leaving big Bigfoot footprints in the muck. Roasting up a big ol’ buffalo or giraffe or whatever Bigfeets eat, belting back bevies of bosky Bigfootbräu and yukking it up about how big Bigfoot footprints freak out all those little hairless dudes running around the forests looking for them.
But then I read some scientist somewhere debunking the whole Bigfoot thing by saying that the human mind is hardwired to perceive human forms regardless of whether they really exist or not and that all the sightings have probably been bears walking on their hind legs or whatever and some sort of correlation to the instances of people seeing religious figures in pizza crusts and the like.
Which really bums me out on several levels, not the least of which being the realization that this scientist dude is being paid to think about why I think about Bigfeets. And all this time I’ve been doing it for free. What a rip-off. If only my guidance counselor in high school had sat me down and said, “Dude, forget all that other stuff. You can get paid to think about Bigfoot. And if you’re really good, you can make major bucks thinking about why other people think about it.”
I’d be set. Probably even have some time left over to squeeze in a surf or two.
Because, even without remuneration, I’m willing to see all kinds of things that aren’t really there — like waves. I’ve been looking at the IOP my whole life and have repeatedly seen surf when you know darn good and well there isn’t any. Take last Sunday, for instance. Was that surf or did we all just paddle out into some really frothy wind? I know Wiggs and Dano and all those boys had a time, but they’re kiteboarders and therefore already of questionable judgment. I hate the wind. It musses up my comb-over.
Monday after work was slightly better. The wind had a strange angle to it that almost made the troughs and the wave faces glassy. But man, was it still windy. I decided not to paddle against it for a while, looked at my watch and the rip took me down two blocks in less than five minutes. Yessiree, there’s nothing better than walking back down the beach for five blocks with a 30 mph wind blowing sand into your teeth. Plus, I forgot to wear my Doc’s Pro Plugs, and without them I feel like the cover of my favorite King Crimson album.
But I still think I saw waves.
Might as well get used to it, though. Because those SW slop chop sessions are about all we get, and it looks as though there is another one on the way for this weekend. And I’ll take that over flat any day. Plus it will keep the kite crew off the streets for another week. If those guys get bored, no telling what will happen.
And, on another bright note, Vinnie never goes walking in the woods; which is good, because the Bigfeet would probably capture him and make him their King. That would go completely to his head and he’d be lording it over us forever. Plus, poor Mrs. Vinnie would probably get stuck cleaning up all the broken furniture after the big Bigfoot coronation party.
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