Since I’m graduated and unemployed (as of June 18), I
think a lot about career prospects. At first, I was thinking that I
wanted to work in showbiz or media or something, but now I have my
heart set on a new calling: the action sports industry (e.g., surf
and skate companies).

I like sports. I like climbing trees best. I am so good. You do
not believe me, but I am.
I was with my friend Vince.

For my last column, I wanted to tackle the most dangerous game
of all … the female. Even if my editors had let me use the words
“dame,” “broad” or “bird” in a
column (they hadn’t, I’d tried every week), I still
wouldn’t have published most of my theories concerning women
in the event I chose to run for public office in the future.

This column is about the surf road trip, a rite like
circumcision in Judaism, baptism in Christianity, or paddling in
fraternities.
On tourist trips, one admires the architecture, takes pictures
of monuments and buys souvenirs.

Changes. On the cusp of graduation, change is expected. But in
my 22-and-one-quarter years of life, I’ve found that
ceremonies are faux “life markers.” Adulthood
isn’t served in a neat ceremony and reception with cake and
punch.

Reconciling the lessons learned in team sports with real world
experience has been my pet project ever since I was, like, 5.
Theoretically, playing American Youth Soccer Organization soccer
is supposed to initiate us to functioning within a group, thus
preparing us for society.

Though the notion of paintballing seems contrary to my innate
surfer “aloha,” truth is, sometimes you got to drop
some “˜bows (elbows) to get your own.

I’m not a role model. Just because I can dunk a
basketball doesn’t mean I should raise your kid. ““
“Sir” Charles Barkley
We live in the era of the sports superstar as a social icon.

In the hallways of my high school, they used to hang
inspirational posters in a feeble attempt to make us forget we went
to an all-guy school.

Spring is here! Through the harsh SoCal winter, we have lain
dormant in our cocoons of excess clothing. Now, like the proverbial
caterpillar, our time has come to bloom into butterflies (like the
ones tattooed on the small of our backs).