It was Andy Warhol, I believe, who said everyone on earth will have 15 minutes of fame. This is true, and truer today than yesterday. Today we have Contour and Ion and GoPro cameras. Any surfer can strap one on and film himself shredding his local beachbreak. He can put the GoPro on his head, using a headband, and he will look like a Teletubby but he will also capture his own POV angle in the barrel. Or he can set up a Soloshot tripod on the beach, with any camera on top, and attach a sensor to his arm. The Soloshot will follow him as he crawls down the line. His girlfriend can lounge, unbothered, and acquire a beautiful tan — not the nose bridge, shoulder sunburn of a beach filmer.
He can wave his hand in front of his Contour or Ion or GoPro after he feels that he has done something sick and, when downloading the footage to his computer, can use Highlight Hunter to find all his banger clips up to eight times faster than if he searched for them himself. He can edit these bangers using his Apple iMovie (if he is tacky) or Final Cut Pro (if he is a nerd). He can get free music from downloads.nl and put it all together and make a film. He can name his film Suckin' It in Detention.
He can upload Suckin' It in Detention to YouTube and push it out through Twitter or Facebook. He can watch his views and likes grow, grow, grow and he can have his 15 minutes of fame. His 15 minutes of self-made fame.
His girlfriend, with the beautiful tan, will be impressed but he might ditch her for the hot 18-year-old who followed him on Instagram and sent him the message, "@sanclementeshredder Your so hot!" He will find out later that she uses all of the same technology to achieve her own 15 minutes of fame on RedTube. It will upset him.
He will decry the horror of his newfound illustriousness and end up in a gutter drinking Popov straight from the plastic bottle. A child using the new GoPro Wi-Fi combo kit will ollie over him and capture his look of despair. Fame is a heavy cross. —Chas Smith