SURFIN’ SAFARI SUMMER THREE - DAY EIGHTEEN - August 27, 2021

Surfin’ Safari Summer Three Day 17 out at Topanga was disheartening. Seemingly, overmatched by both the waves and surfers, I had been comparing a new me against an older one and mistakenly thought the difference between them was significant to the objective world.

When Maria Segura came to take care of Anna, I went to bed instead of surfing. Then I watched two recorded episodes of ABC’s “Ultimate Surfer.”

Reality shows are not a preferred genre. I did watch Tyra Banks’ Top Model show because never mind. By virtue of living in the middle of Hollywood I was twice chosen to be on reality pilots involving writers, only to be dropped when they learned my age.

So there is that.

“Ultimate Surfer” features six surfer men and six surfer women (Hawaian, Californian, Floridian, and Puerto Rican) and runs them through a bunch of surf- and water-related challenges.

When you watch a televised surfing championship, there is a distant marveling at what is being done on the waves, but it remains a mystery. “Ultimate Surfer,” pulls back that veil, shows moves in slow motion, once and twice, with that Olympic-style commentary that is necessary for sports you only like every four years.

The producers have chosen to drive the non-surfing narrative with soap opera-like interactions between the younguns gathered for the challenge. In this case, it has real bite because these people have known and been tormenting one another in competition for what they think is a very long time (The oldest is 26).

Four of the women paired off “against” each other and this dynamic worked its way into an elimination surf-off. The women are always joined with a man for a challenge and one of the top guy surfers of the bunch, who saw it coming beforehand, was caught in the crossfire and eliminated.

In his exit interview he said, “Man, I cannot believe I got knocked off this thing because of chick drama.” Which he did. It was hilarious.

The competition is taking place at “The Ranch,” which was constructed very far from the beach by the greatest surfer since the big bang, Kelly Slater. There is a pool six football fields-long, and there is an engine on rails that drives an underwater plow that pushes the water into a perfect six-foot wave with barrel.

Have GOT to get one of those.

The challenge is truly engaging because these are surfers on the lip of the big time. They are simply not rich enough to lead the “bum’s life” of a professional waverider. The prize is a spot on the tour and $100,000 to finance the surfer’s taking on the handful of golden ones with boardshort and wetsuit sponsors to lift them along.

My sponsor on Thursday was Masha Tsiklauri who has pledged to visit once a week and be part of the urban support tribe being forged to help us through whatever comes down the pike. Masha is a force of nature. The most capable, results-oriented human being I’ve ever known, there is no obstacle she will not assault with bravado. I’d like to buy a company just to watch her run it. She is beautiful and cosmopolitan and absolute hell on police officers and customs officials.

It was a dry-run and Anna was pleased as punch to have her around. She is, by the way, no longer requiring sedation nor getting upset and agitated anymore. Her lull is the household’s.

As for the surfing at Marina del Rey, it was fabulous and more. The week rest-plus-day-in-bed paid off and my paddle was particularly savage.

Trying techniques learned on “Ultimate Surfer” really took things up a notch and the whole Topanga fiasco was forgotten.

When you take a path, you take a path. When you write about taking a path, you’ve now done something more than take a path. You’ve given it a value and a dimension, a place in time, in a story.

When I suck in winter surfing, I have a grand slam at Denny’s and never-you-mind. When I suck in the summer, it becomes a story, attached to other texts and goings-on, as well as to earlier safaris and, suddenly Topanga, a place I’ve had loads of fun at over the years, becomes Moby Dick.

Well it’s not and, in short, writing has a dangerous way of mythologizing stuff it should not.

Anyway, “Ultimate Surfer” is having a contest with the prize being a stay at Kelly Slater’s wave ranch. Because surfing makes me feel like a kid, I entered, because kids don’t know such contests are impossible to win.

Also had a woman on the beach strand take some photos I am sending to the producers for the casting of “Ultimate Surfer II.”

Just wanna make 'em say it.