Jack and wife in Waikiki.
When Jack London tossed himself into the Hawaiian rush of surf culture in 1907, he could not have known that one day, in the same way that he brought a significant portion of fame to the writing profession, his own words would help elevate the surf world to lucrative heights. Here are a few famous surfers that plot the rise of style and cash in the scene...
A current Mark Richards' contest winner follows the legend's wounded flightpath.
Soar Over Sea: Mark Richards' is known by the title "the wounded seagull," because of his tall frame, and unusual style of making bottom turns and cutbacks with his arms splayed out awkwardly behind his back. And like Kelly Slater, Richards was hooked in with the grunge scene that emerged in the late 1980s, even helping Pear Jam's Eddie Vedder work on setlists.
Hits the Big Time: An important date in sufing history is the one where a surf bum becomes a millionaire. In 1989 Tom Carroll signed a five-year million-dollar contract with Quiksilver become the first surfer in history worth seven figures. Miki Dora predicted it and any economist worth beans would have known the inevitability, and now you can buy into surf culture in a multitude of shops down on Yonge St. in Toronto, or smack dab right in the middle of the Prairies, even though only about one per cent of these shoppers (or less) will ever truely have the opportunity or capability to actually surf. Concerned oldschoolers write whole essays about the "kookocracy" that's taking over, wrestling surf industry time of day away from the hardcores like Miki, who just want to surf, and giving it to suburbanites with cashflow. Here's an article from Transworld Surf by Vaughn Dead about Tom Carroll.
Coupland covers quite a bit of ground in the film, talking about dropping out of university, parents who still don't understand his crazy ideas (though the rest of the world seems to), road tripping, collecting random crap, and working as an unheeded ideas person at a marketing company. Oh ya, he reclaims an old suburban home in B.C. to paint it all white and dress it up in manic nationalistic creativity -- a good excuse for a party -- before tearing it down by the end. There are even clips inserted from genuine educational films produced by the National Film Board of Canada, and a reenacted personal flashback from a relationship breakdown (and moment of inspiration) along the Trans-Canada Highway.
And as the movie is winding down, Douggie tells a story about his father almost getting decimated by a water spout on the West Coast, and clutching for dear life to the root of a giant tree. In a country where very few people actually reside, and much of the landscape still seems as wild and ferocious as ever, Coupland points to a shared passion for the natural resource of water as a phenomenon that is to be expected. As well, he predicts the conservation (hoarding?) of water will be the key to Canada's affluence in the coming decades.
You just might get shivers watching old and staged grainy clips, and stunning multi-coloured fly-bys. This movie should prove to you at least two things: one, you can seem totally insane and still complete amazingly mindblowing shit, and two, just like your aboriginal buddies living up on the reserve (or maybe that's where you're reading this from...) a connection to water is ingrained in Canadians.
Human electronic waves: Well the bloodwork's good anyways. Probing the Canadian health care system.
The parkade would make a rad backdrop for a photo of some dude just launching off of it, we decided.
Everyone I meet, and even the most established of institutions, love waves...
I'm told the underground rap scene is huge in Saskatoon. Apparently it's totally pimped out and blingin' in its degredation too.
I just love the way my camera phone distorts things at night.
Ozzy is the proud town drunk who apparently lives under a bridge... I even partied with him there... What was he thinking about here? I asked. Getting wrecked, he said. Oh Ozzy.
Mmmmm.... coffee...
Wheeeee!!!!!!!!!!!!! I'm on the handlebars of Ozzy's bike (or one he stole???), freaking out, and that's my buddie Eddie in the background swigging rum n' coke (sweetest kid) trying to keep up.
All sorts of travellers just pass through Saskatoon: natives bussing to and from the north, punks just fucking around with squeegees, and hippies living off the B.C. vibe that even permeates out here... you don't even have to sing in tune to rock out on guitar...
FRACTAL WAVES HAVE A MEMORY.................... 
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