Inside the Grind House
Most weeks at Stab, like most offices, pass in an aimless wandering. There is nothing quite as inexorable as an office, plodding away, plodding away, all over the place, till at last it reaches some kind of deadline.
Turn off your music player and listen to the office workers, pre-deadline, crowded around the one marine ply bench. We hear complaints of excruciating hangovers, hunger, the need for a coffee and of the terrible state of current surfing conditions. One member uses the preview function on his laptop to display a gallery of recent surf shots of himself. Another recites a conversation he’d taken the previous afternoon with a Hawaiian hit man-enforcer-warrior, whatever you want to call someone who you just don’t wanna drop-in on, who, lucidly, explained the specialness of john John Florence.
“John fully engages with whoever he is talking to,” he said. “There’s not one person here who doesn’t like him.”
Interesting! But, vibrating lips don’t create a magazine.
And, so, there comes a point when phones have to be lifted, numbers chased, numbers called, voice messages left, texts sent, photos submitted, fashion shoots commissioned, photos colour-corrected, pages laid out, words proofed, photos captioned and much inter-continental back and forthing until…
…well, here it is…
Shane Dorian, the best big-wave surfer in the world if you take Makua Rothman out of the mix (Hawaiian royalty!), loves to ice wild animals. And we admire this kink ‘cause he don’t stroll into the supermarket to buy his steaks. And we asked what it’s like when an animal is winged and is dying in your arms and decency demands you put the beast out of its misery.
“I have had that look when they know it’s all over,” says Shane, adding, “Every single animal I’ve killed I’ve felt remorse for them. I feel sad. That feeling has never gone away from me and I hope it never does.”
Jamie O’Brien discusses getting old. Like 30! “I’m fucken halfway to 60,” he says.
Taj talks about how cruel the world tour was in the days of yore. “The guys were such pricks,” he says.
John John’s filmer Blake Kueny lights up about the biopic Done. “My goal was to show that John is the best surfer in the world. Anything else to fill that story was an afterthought.”
And, away from Hawaii, in Iceland, we discover that wizened little brute Dion Agius wiggling his obscene stump in waves decorated with large icebergs.
“An iceberg the size of a truck would come out and just get stuck on the sand, right where you’re surfing, and all of a sudden a little left would start breaking off it. It was the craziest shit ever. I snapped a fin out on an iceberg racing down the line. You’d be doing little turns and you’d see a little iceberg in the wave and it would crumble a little section and you’d go up and jam it, right next to the thing. The weirdest shit!”
Is there more?
Is the Pope an apologist for priests whose jam is juvenile hot dog?
Is Gabriel Medina the best thing to come out of Brazil since Sergio Mendes and Brasil 66?
In this copy of Stab we also deliver seduction (Sage Erickson!), manipulation (of camera dials!), weird humour (Courtney Jaedtke) and unforeseen violence (Greyson Fletcher eats ass!).
Come with us as we explore the limited of innocence!
(Oh, and you can totally buy the digital copy of this issue online!)