"So I throw my beer in Mick Jagger's face..."

Sorry, I just like that sentence. I think it's the most satisfying sentence I've written on this blog.

Though it's not strictly true. And I haven't written it yet.

Read on.

Actually, this post is about women vs. surf culture, or so I see it.

And women win.

As it turns out, all it takes to shake up the Mafia-like ultramale macho surf culture (NYC version) is one woman who's not afraid to speak up.

No one's done that, as far as I know, until today.

No one spoke up last June (post of June 30, 2007) when Tim Hill threatened to have me beaten up in front of a crowd of surfers on the boardwalk.

Not one person said a thing this past Labor Day weekend Saturday when another of the brotherhood (the one I'd have least expected) punched me and knocked me down on the beach.

On Labor Day, at the end-of-summer party, with everyone hanging out and having a good time, the same guy, out of nowhere, threw a cake in my face.

Another surfer, one I don't know, someone I have literally said six words to in my entire life ("What kind of surfboard is that?") and who apparently hates me out of loyalty to Tim and the brothers, helped him to escape by distracting me, pretending to me concerned about getting me cleaned up. I knew something was up when this guy was suddenly paying attention to me after glaring at me with hate earlier in the evening.

His girlfriend, a 20-something young woman who's just joined the group this summer and has been warmly received, was genuinely concerned and came in the bathroom to check up on me.

A conversation earlier that evening along with others this summer had confirmed that this is a young woman of formidable intelligence.

I was kind of in shock but I think I expressed a sort of weary resignation, like, What can you expect from these guys, this is how they think it's OK to treat women, that is those who aren't young and hot, those who don't fit in the Surf Mafia. And this woman was more than smart enough to know she'd not always be young and hot (she is, believe me I've heard them drool over how she looks in a bikini).

I wiped the frosting out of my hair, along with some that she'd gotten on herself, and she went out to join the others.

But the next thing I heard was her voice raised so loud and clear that for a moment no one could hear anything else.

"Get your HANDS off me!"

She was yelling at her boyfriend and I saw he had grabbed her tightly by her arm, as if he were trying to force her to go somewhere or do something.

What follows I don't remember verbatim, but they are clearly having a fight and she is not going to shut up and be nice so we all can just go back to drinking and smoking pot.

"You don't do that to a woman, ever. You don't hit her, you don't throw things at her. It's not funny. It's not right."

In any other context in life, think about it: do these things even need to be said to adults!

She is angry not only about his putting his hands on her that way, but about what was done to me and even more than nobody is willing to stand up to the guys who did it and say it was wrong. Because of the stupid macho surf culture no one will. Because the asshole who did this can surf. Because they've all taken the Mafia oath of loyalty to each other and hostility to outsiders. Because the only women they recognize are those 1) surf aggressively/well 2) are "hot" 3) have a sexual connection to a cult member 4) in exceptional cases a family or close friend connection may be substituted for a sexual connection, i.e. Tim's cousin who is none of 1-3).

Right now this woman is angry enough to say what no one else will, and what I can't because there is no one who would support me. Or wasn't.

But you know what? One voice is enough, if that voice belongs to a group member. By the very logic of the Mafia surf culture, they HAVE to listen.

By that same logic, I know that this woman must, ultimately, of course, choose her boyfriend over me and solidarity with women in general, or she will be expelled from the group. That's not in her interest. Have I mentioned that her boyfriend bears an uncanny resemblance to Mick Jagger---the young Mick Jagger?

But in that moment she's not thinking about her own longterm best interest.

She's changed the rules, and I want to take the moment and run with it.

So I throw my beer in Mick Jagger's face.

Then his hands are on me. He's grabbing me, trying to pull me towards the staircase that leads downstairs to the street.

I can count on the fingers of one hand the times a man has put his hands on me with intention of inflicting harm, and just this past weekend I've added two more fingers.

Mick's trying to physically throw me out, so I yell at him as loud as his girlfriend did: "GET YOUR HANDS OFF ME!"

And now another woman's raising her voice: "NO FIGHTING at my party!" She's not a surfer. She could give a crap about the Mafia. She's a friend of the guy whose house this is. I met and talked with her at the last party. She tells Mick he's the one who'll have to leave, not me. She doesn't care if he's Mick Jagger in the flesh, he's outta there. And he is.

And after that it's quiet. Half the partygoers have disappeared. The rest of us continue what we were doing.

Later on, rumor has it, the woman tracked down the guy who threw the cake and slapped him.

Afterwards, I think back on the conversation I had with her roommate about the macho-ness of surf culture and its hostility to women. I think there are more people who think about such things than just me. I wish we could talk more and do something.

I think of the possibilities of even one raised female voice.

Before this shit happened, I was going to post about what a good summer this was. And it was, wonderful---literally, full of wonders. Full of music and roadtrips, new friends and reconnections with some I haven't seen in many years. To be tacky and cliched, joy and heartbreak (yes). Probably the only thing wrong with this summer is it turned out to be (judging by the events of this Labor Day weekend) about one weekend too long.