Vertigo

We went surfing today. The waves pummeled us like nobody's business. The reports offered sixty five degree weather and six to eight foot waves. Ideal conditions, if a little bigger than I'm used to. The routine of getting our boards, towels, water jugs, and a burrito beforehand went perfectly. Then we hit the water. It was freezing. Everyone but the two of us were outfitted in wetsuits. The waves were sizing down but still monstrous (relatively). The break was two hundred yards off shore and we had to fight through four or five sets of powerful waves and whitewash to get out there.

I never completely made it. For one, I'm a terrible paddler. Just pushing out that first time took a lot out of me. Right before I got to the calm area where everyone else was sitting, a monster crashed on top of me and swept me nearly all the way back to shore. Unable to keep my board underwater for duck dives, incapable of turtling, I resorted to just fighting my way back out, inch by inch -- my board out of control every time a big wave hit. After spending more time upside down and underwater than right side up, I gave in. I managed to ride one little guy in, mostly balancing on my knees, and then collapsed on the beach. A few moments later, I saw my friend emerge from the chaos too.

We were both spent. Total time spent in the water? Maybe twenty minutes. My friend is a far better and sturdier surfer that I, and it relieved me to see that even he had given up. Both of our heads pounded from headaches and ear pressure. I figured my board had maybe hit me on a tumble, but since we were both suffering from the same symptoms, maybe it was a combination of cold and sea sickness. Or maybe so much saltwater flew into my ears that I just lost all equilibrium. Our climb back up the cliff sapped our remained energy reserves.

After recovering our senses, we retreated to the jacuzzi -- I took two Motrin -- and listened to some small boys marvel over Angry Birds on the iPad. We're officially over the hill.

For this experience, I passed up getting a tattoo yesterday. Despite having grand plans with two of my friends to get tatted together, I had to prioritize surfing. Tattoos and salt water don't mix. I promised that I'd show up for moral support though. One of my friends was getting his very first tattoo and I was so excited to be there.

Instead I overslept and reached them only after the deed was done. Friend failure. Huge. My lame excuse is that I was woken up by this, a four year old swinging a fuzzy flower in my face three hours after I went to bed. After reading some Calvin & Hobbes together, and watching a bit of Netflix before she left, I passed out and missed my vibrating phone alarm. (Sidenote: This precocious child selected a 1939 movie to watch, Shirley Temple's The Little Princess. Her biggest concern: "When she turns into a princess, she'll get to dance right?")

Now I'm hardly a reliable friend but I'm not flaky. If I say I'll be somewhere, I'm be there. This time though, I wasn't. And missing your friend's first tattoo is probably worse than missing their wedding or graduation or acting debut or something. Getting a tattoo is permanent and an irrepleaceable experience. If you aren't there when it's inked, you'll never be in that story, that moment.

At first I wanted to beg forgiveness. But then I realized that I really shouldn't be forgiven. I'd never let my friend hear the end of it if they failed to show up for my tattoo appointment. So instead, I'll just share his disappointed text to me: "The open wound on my arm is nothing compared to the open wound on my heart."

Touché.

My friend Henry is getting married tomorrow. We met at a pre-prom introduction outside Jamba Juice -- then called Juice Club. It was me and my blind date and him and his girlfriend, who was my date's best friend. That girlfriend was Henry's first one ever. Tomorrow, fifteen years later, I'll be standing by him when he says "I do" to his very last.

In that decade and a half, we went to college together, lived in three different cities together, and have kept each other's secrets by mutually abiding to a Cold War nuclear armament philosophy. "If you have ammo, I'll get more ammo. If you ever fire, I'll fire too." So far so good.

Fundamentally we're very different people. He's a risk taker and a big picture kind of guy, with nerves of steel. I'm a conservative fuddy-duddy and always honed in on details that make me chirp, "No no, that won't work!" Despite that, we've made fine complementary colors.

I've never been a groomsman before. I'm hoping to have good posture.