Surf's Up!(Brief Article)

They say that moments before your death, your life flashes before your eyes. I'm here to tell you that this is not strictly true. I went to Hawaii because I wanted to learn how to surf. After living in Los Angeles for almost 14 years--most of them spent just steps from the surf--I've always wanted to be one of those wet-suited guys fast- trotting along the beach, long boards under their arms, heading out to catch the "killer waves" or "awesome breaks" or "unreal curls" or whatever it is those guys are talking about.

Now I know. It's the incredible feeling of standing on a nine-foot piece of curved fiber glass, wind in your face and riding a foaming mass of water as it races to land. I mean, I guess that's what they're talking about, anyway, because my experience was slightly different.

I spent my time paddling. Did anyone ever tell you that's mainly what surfing is about--paddling furiously against the current until your arms hang loosely off your shoulders like empty shirt sleeves? That and gulping seawater. Exhausted from paddling, you frantically try to position a slippery, unwieldy board to "catch" a giant wave, which if you're lucky enough to do will toss you into the air nanoseconds after you hoist yourself into a lame-looking half-crouch. "Good Vibrations," the Beach Boys thrumming in your head? Nope. "Wipe Out," a la the Surfaris. Or in my case, the part in the movie where you think, "This is where I die." And as another rolling wave crested into my face, pounding all breath out of me and replacing it with salt-water foam, I suddenly flashed on... my life.

Except, I flashed on this:

A year or two ago, during a casting session for a new television series that I was producing, I ran into a former high-school classmate. I had just stepped out to refill my coffee, and there she was--still ravishing, sitting with a dozen or so other actresses, ready to audition for me, my partner and our casting staff.

"Hey!" I shouted.

"Hey!" she shouted back.