Boia 18

Dia de São Jorge, Pixinguinha, Cerveja e vadiagem, ou seja, dia de Bóia!
Precisamos de boas desculpas para nos reunir e tratar de coisas realmente importantes.
Quem mais enfiaria (opa!) Sonny Liston, Vinicius e Toquinho, Greg Noll, Kelly Slater, Taylor Steele, Mar sem Fim, Albee Layer, Kolohe Andino, Jadson André e Italo Ferreira num Podcast ?
Julio Adler e João Valente, fazem apurada degustação de assuntos salgados e caros aos que ainda guardam alguma areia nos pés e pitadas de sal na sobrancelha.
Bóia 18 servido.



E agora tambem aqui em tudo quanto é plataforma!




Lista de assuntos e links do Bóia,

O Poetinha e Toquinho tocando Chorando pra Pixinguinha



VIVALDI E PIXINGUINHA -Radamés Gnattali e Camerata Carioca 



Dicionário da história social do samba

Link para a editora

Brazil All Over Now

Cassius Clay x Sony Liston





The OG Hawaiian-Brazilian rivalry

Ain't That Swell Podcast

Taylor Steele e a Tempestade

View this post on Instagram

Up and down ⚡️

A post shared by Italo Ferreira (@italoferreira) on Mar 17, 2019 at 4:03pm PDT

Link para a reportagem sobre o Mar sem Fim nos Açores

21 Days com kolohe e Jadson




Opiniated Passion



Morning of the Earth: Simple Ben



Letra da Música

Simple Ben

John J. Francis

Walkin' on a dusty road in the countryside of ease
I heard a song driftin' on the gently blowin' breeze
Sunshine through the Autumn, sweet snow to the Spri-ing
Corn by the water of an old mill stream, and you give me all, you give me all
A barrow pushed by a little man came rollin' from the west
He sang a song as he stepped along until we drew abreast
Well hello there my friend, I see you're on the road here just like me
Why don't we stop and rest a while and I'll boil a pot of tea
Just give me sunshine through the Autumn, sweet snow to the Spri-ing
Corn by the water of an old mill stream, and you give me all, you give me all
He said his name was Simple Ben but not what I'd believe
Christened by the way he thought and not the way he lived
I've seen the best and worst that we have here on our earth
And finally decided on the things that I get worth
Just give me sunshine through the Autumn, sweet snow to the Spri-ing
Corn by the water of an old mill stream, and you give me all, you give me all
I asked if he had seen the great jets fly across the sky
He said he'd seen the smallest bird learnin' how to fly
Have you seen the bridges stretched across the bays
I've seen the smallest fish alive dyin' in the haze
Have you seen the massive buildin's reached towards the sun
I've seen the fields of barronness from the work that man has done
What about the dams and weirs that feed the countryside
I've seen the brownness of the grass when the dams and weirs run -
Just give me sunshine through the Autumn, sweet snow to the Spri-ing
Corn by the water of an old mill stream, and you give me all, you give me all
What about the fertile lands where nothin' once would grow
I've seen the lands

Um curva pelo touro (1964)

Fazemos assim:
As meninas não gritam e os meninos ficam quietinhos, no fundo da sala, prestando atenção na aula.
Tio 'Da Bull' ensina que sapo de fora não chia ou muito riso pouco sizo, dependendo da atenção do leitor.
300 anos antes da C.O.B.R.E.L.O.A (confraria dos bigui raiders aposentados e simpatizantes) inventarem Maresias, Jet skis e a camera digital, eu dizia, naquele pedacinho de costa onde consiste o milagre das sete milhas (algo em torno dos 11,265407958 metros, queiram crer, caríssimos leitores) em Oahu, a rapaziada partia pra dentro sem muito estardalhaço, como sempre fez Rodrigo Resende onde quer que fosse - no braço.
Os bons velhinhos, Noll, Grigg, Galanto, Stang, estão todos na faixa dos 70.
Galanto, menos conhecido deles, tomava conta da loja do Greg Noll no North Shore e shapeava armas para caçar eefantes brancos.
Grigg, todos sabem, obviamente, foi o surfista que deixou toda comunidade de queixo caído quando, sem surfar no North Shore por dois anos inteiros (terminava seu curso de oceanografia em La Jolla) venceu incrivelmente o Duke Contest em Sunset clássico - justamente no dia que Herbie Fletcher, pai dos garotos que tanto aparecem na revista, mal conseguia andar de tão chapado de LSD que estava.
Stang, faltam-me palavras, ou melhor: Waimea e não falamos mais disso.
Esse pedacinho de filme aqui embaixo é do Blue Surfari, filmeco do Milton Blair (não perguntem quem é) que comprei no Ebay dum camarada que coleciona velharias e as vende por módicas 10 Verdinhas - vale por ter as valiosas camêras do Ron Church, Jim Freeman e, brincadeira, diria o Canhotinha, Bud Browne.
Noll escreveu assim [ In a twenty-five-foot wave at Waimea, the shoulder drops off. The wave I caught at Outside Pipeline that day walled up twenty-five-feet high about half a mile in front of me. It broke to the left, so I was riding with my back to the wave, goofyfoot, and it was a god-awful uneasy feeling. Instead of getting smaller as I rode it, the sonofabitch grew on me. It got bigger and bigger, and I started going faster and faster, until I was absolutely locked into it. I felt like I was on a spaceship racing into a void. At first, I could hear my board chattering across the face of the wave in a constant rhythm. As my speed increased, the chattering noise became less frequent. Suddenly there was no noise. For about fifteen or twenty feet, I was airborne. Then I literally was blown off my board.]
Esse dia ficou famoso pela foto/ícone do Greg Noll na praia, prancha ao lado, sozinho com seus demônios antes de enfrentar o outside reef de Pipeline (como bem lembrou nosso fiel leitor Paulo Ganso, local full blast do P5).