One for the boys.
31.7.05
Give And Take.
"I always suspect an artist who is successful before he is dead"
-John Murray Gibbon, 1922
Sometime ago, while i was doing something or other, my psychi changed.
Where it was, it did not stay. That place is a hodge-podge of anger, managed by a moron who while thinking of doing best, is actually creating havoc. Complications aside, the management team went to work on eliminating the cause of employee discourse. As with any alignment shift, there are those in the company rungs that do not care for re-alignment. Those that who for want of a better word, are not team players. What causes this? For the good of the company I say, we pull our gates up, reasses the situation, learn from our mistakes, press on. Determined not to incur the same errors that caused upheaveal before.
Aye, but there is a rub. Chafing more so. Fucking irritating rash that no amount of calamine lotion is going to cure, it seems. 1 that says so little, can reign with such effect. A cancer upon the good of the whole, not satisfied with what is a accomplished, but what is not stands brightly in the Hawaiian sun.
The usual MO would be to rant, rave at this injustice, this slight of the company ability. The company produces, manages and takes care of all responsiblities. Even ones not of the companies care.
But the psychi changed.
For the good?
Or has it become a waste of the company time, to posture against the 1 that defies? Perhaps not. But the mind, my friend, the mind; that computer gear box so squarely on the shoulders, waiting to erupt in spasmodic chaos of hemmoragic account - And then?
Then the bean counters arrive. The beans have been missing. And they count. And they add. And the discrepencies blare at volume 12. What of it? Responsibility.
But the psychi changed.
So you take, you give. And like the tree in the story, you give until you cant give no more - til all you are left to give is a stump, for a tired, beaten, useless moron to rest the backside upon.
Calmness.
Count to 10.
Count it 10 times over.
Repeat.
And be glad, glad that in giving, you have given all.
Even if there is nothing more to give.
Aloha. Stay safe.
-John Murray Gibbon, 1922
Sometime ago, while i was doing something or other, my psychi changed.
Where it was, it did not stay. That place is a hodge-podge of anger, managed by a moron who while thinking of doing best, is actually creating havoc. Complications aside, the management team went to work on eliminating the cause of employee discourse. As with any alignment shift, there are those in the company rungs that do not care for re-alignment. Those that who for want of a better word, are not team players. What causes this? For the good of the company I say, we pull our gates up, reasses the situation, learn from our mistakes, press on. Determined not to incur the same errors that caused upheaveal before.
Aye, but there is a rub. Chafing more so. Fucking irritating rash that no amount of calamine lotion is going to cure, it seems. 1 that says so little, can reign with such effect. A cancer upon the good of the whole, not satisfied with what is a accomplished, but what is not stands brightly in the Hawaiian sun.
The usual MO would be to rant, rave at this injustice, this slight of the company ability. The company produces, manages and takes care of all responsiblities. Even ones not of the companies care.
But the psychi changed.
For the good?
Or has it become a waste of the company time, to posture against the 1 that defies? Perhaps not. But the mind, my friend, the mind; that computer gear box so squarely on the shoulders, waiting to erupt in spasmodic chaos of hemmoragic account - And then?
Then the bean counters arrive. The beans have been missing. And they count. And they add. And the discrepencies blare at volume 12. What of it? Responsibility.
But the psychi changed.
So you take, you give. And like the tree in the story, you give until you cant give no more - til all you are left to give is a stump, for a tired, beaten, useless moron to rest the backside upon.
Calmness.
Count to 10.
Count it 10 times over.
Repeat.
And be glad, glad that in giving, you have given all.
Even if there is nothing more to give.
Aloha. Stay safe.
30.7.05
Simple.
It does not get much more basic than this: Surfshorts, Wax, Towel, Board.
If it gets really complicated, add a jug of water to hose off if there is no water to access after-surf.
Thats it. You can walk to the ocean from anywhere. 10 minutes from my home. I see it from my lanai on the 2nd story.
Simple. And thats me. Having no delusions of granduer, I focus on the main thing - Staying sane. There are times when what goes down around myself, that plan takes some serious review. Mostly, I come up Ace's. ( Or Yo-Eleven on the craps table)...So i stay as palapable as possible, turning thoughts and feelings inward, outward, waterwards. Work is a time consuming necessity, that, for the firehouse, is a privledge. I mean that. Serving people in need at the moment when they are at the worst, is pretty friggin' great. It is intersting as well. Running into a burning building sure has it negatives, but it is a high. No shit. Its stoney killer Buds. Without the drug test. Tending injured people, another high. Not as much of a rush, but pretty damn cool to get paid for it.
As well as the cost of paradise, working 2 jobs kills ya. In the past year so far, I have had probably 8 full days off. I know, I know - I dont want any cheese to go with my "whine" -
It fulfills the saying to me that "work is love made visible"
So I be fulla hella love, baby.
Love. That is a killer. Addicting, consuming, burning, ravishing. Inflated, overated, delicate. Precious, expendable. Usable.
People kill for it, because of it. Work like a dog for it.
Tenderness of touch, the face of a wave as I glide down, just brushing the glistening water. Holding on to a newborn, who just came into the world in the backseat of a Honda. Childs hand, cut, bleeding, shaking, calming with words, and mending with...love. Seeing the dawn blues, greens, yellows break out. Looking seaward, smelling the fresh ocean breeze, cooling rains draping across my face. Wholly grabbing the wrist of a girl prepped to jump from a building, taking the first steps back to life, away from the abyss of depression, holding, really truly holding, and feeling so much empathy and care. Then having it come back to you in the middle of the night. Doing something right.
Damning yourself, 2 weeks later, when she completed the task.
Love. All things generate from it.
It has been an exahusting few days.
Aloha.
If it gets really complicated, add a jug of water to hose off if there is no water to access after-surf.
Thats it. You can walk to the ocean from anywhere. 10 minutes from my home. I see it from my lanai on the 2nd story.
Simple. And thats me. Having no delusions of granduer, I focus on the main thing - Staying sane. There are times when what goes down around myself, that plan takes some serious review. Mostly, I come up Ace's. ( Or Yo-Eleven on the craps table)...So i stay as palapable as possible, turning thoughts and feelings inward, outward, waterwards. Work is a time consuming necessity, that, for the firehouse, is a privledge. I mean that. Serving people in need at the moment when they are at the worst, is pretty friggin' great. It is intersting as well. Running into a burning building sure has it negatives, but it is a high. No shit. Its stoney killer Buds. Without the drug test. Tending injured people, another high. Not as much of a rush, but pretty damn cool to get paid for it.
As well as the cost of paradise, working 2 jobs kills ya. In the past year so far, I have had probably 8 full days off. I know, I know - I dont want any cheese to go with my "whine" -
It fulfills the saying to me that "work is love made visible"
So I be fulla hella love, baby.
Love. That is a killer. Addicting, consuming, burning, ravishing. Inflated, overated, delicate. Precious, expendable. Usable.
People kill for it, because of it. Work like a dog for it.
Tenderness of touch, the face of a wave as I glide down, just brushing the glistening water. Holding on to a newborn, who just came into the world in the backseat of a Honda. Childs hand, cut, bleeding, shaking, calming with words, and mending with...love. Seeing the dawn blues, greens, yellows break out. Looking seaward, smelling the fresh ocean breeze, cooling rains draping across my face. Wholly grabbing the wrist of a girl prepped to jump from a building, taking the first steps back to life, away from the abyss of depression, holding, really truly holding, and feeling so much empathy and care. Then having it come back to you in the middle of the night. Doing something right.
Damning yourself, 2 weeks later, when she completed the task.
Love. All things generate from it.
It has been an exahusting few days.
Aloha.
29.7.05
Outta Context
Once in a while, you run onto people that just make you go, Huh?
When i was in college at the harvard of the midwest, (yes da Hawaiian did leave the islands, only for a grey, flat island) nuff hints. There was a charecter named Magoo. He was blind as a bat. ( Ah the name, boss, the name) But he could with amazing accuracy, throw a frisbee. No iwasnt stoned all the time, and yes he could peg a throw like nobodys business.
But, fuck that, I was meaning in the firehouse.
The Chongy incident.
Specifically.
On my prevoius truck, we had a boy, (yes, boy) who was the epitomy of paranoia. Everyone was infected, Ecery chemical kills, Air is bad, Food, is bad. Friggin nuts.
Now, it isnt so bad that you take precautions, but if it inhibits your ability to do the job, what good are you? Of course the departments guidelines are that you take proper PPE's - )personal protection la do da's) Of course, you attempt to do this, but sometimes....shit happens. you cant be responding to a alarm, and be set and dressed all the time. Shit happens. People puke, croak, and expel bodily fluids that are meant to be inside, all the time. But you TRY to be careful.
Some, tho' take it as religion.
Enter - Chongy. I cant be too specific, but his claim to fame is that at 30, he is a virgin. I mean, dear God, he has got to be packing a load like no one has ever seen. On top of the fact, is he says he dont jerk-off. So of course, he gets MAJOR shit. But he takes it. he has his point, and by shit, he sticks to it.
But then there was THE alarm.
We went to the scene, and it is a half-way house for women coming out of prison. So, as usual, Chongy dresses in full regalia. He has - Goggles, full turnouts, gloves, mask, and Dr's operating gown. I mean this is over kill. I got gloves, my sense of humor, and sleep in my eyes, 'cause it is 430AM. So we go to the paitient. 40+, overweight, complaing of being non-responsive by the satff of the home. So I start speaking with her. Asking a few questions, getting her to speak, but the whole time, she is faced away from me, and Chongy. Finally she turns around, and sees him. She asks - "why the hell is there a Dcotor here?" Unfortunately for Chongy, he tells her that he is with the firedepartment. and wew are just here to help. So I inject that yes, we are here to help, but we all dont overdress.
Ooops.
Oh yes, she took that fact, and RAN. She looks Chongy up and down, she sizes him up. Now I know, this lady is a street wise, coniver.
I was right.
She is answering all my questions, and the MICT's walk in, along with the police, and assorted uniformed.
And she unloads this - right at Chongy, while it was fairly quiet, in a loud booming voice -
" You know, there is a couple of mahu's (pre-op transexuals) in here that would love to fuck you in the ass"
I think everyone there peed their pants.
I cant look at him with out just friggin chuckling, over and over, to myself.
Ah life.
Aloha.
When i was in college at the harvard of the midwest, (yes da Hawaiian did leave the islands, only for a grey, flat island) nuff hints. There was a charecter named Magoo. He was blind as a bat. ( Ah the name, boss, the name) But he could with amazing accuracy, throw a frisbee. No iwasnt stoned all the time, and yes he could peg a throw like nobodys business.
But, fuck that, I was meaning in the firehouse.
The Chongy incident.
Specifically.
On my prevoius truck, we had a boy, (yes, boy) who was the epitomy of paranoia. Everyone was infected, Ecery chemical kills, Air is bad, Food, is bad. Friggin nuts.
Now, it isnt so bad that you take precautions, but if it inhibits your ability to do the job, what good are you? Of course the departments guidelines are that you take proper PPE's - )personal protection la do da's) Of course, you attempt to do this, but sometimes....shit happens. you cant be responding to a alarm, and be set and dressed all the time. Shit happens. People puke, croak, and expel bodily fluids that are meant to be inside, all the time. But you TRY to be careful.
Some, tho' take it as religion.
Enter - Chongy. I cant be too specific, but his claim to fame is that at 30, he is a virgin. I mean, dear God, he has got to be packing a load like no one has ever seen. On top of the fact, is he says he dont jerk-off. So of course, he gets MAJOR shit. But he takes it. he has his point, and by shit, he sticks to it.
But then there was THE alarm.
We went to the scene, and it is a half-way house for women coming out of prison. So, as usual, Chongy dresses in full regalia. He has - Goggles, full turnouts, gloves, mask, and Dr's operating gown. I mean this is over kill. I got gloves, my sense of humor, and sleep in my eyes, 'cause it is 430AM. So we go to the paitient. 40+, overweight, complaing of being non-responsive by the satff of the home. So I start speaking with her. Asking a few questions, getting her to speak, but the whole time, she is faced away from me, and Chongy. Finally she turns around, and sees him. She asks - "why the hell is there a Dcotor here?" Unfortunately for Chongy, he tells her that he is with the firedepartment. and wew are just here to help. So I inject that yes, we are here to help, but we all dont overdress.
Ooops.
Oh yes, she took that fact, and RAN. She looks Chongy up and down, she sizes him up. Now I know, this lady is a street wise, coniver.
I was right.
She is answering all my questions, and the MICT's walk in, along with the police, and assorted uniformed.
And she unloads this - right at Chongy, while it was fairly quiet, in a loud booming voice -
" You know, there is a couple of mahu's (pre-op transexuals) in here that would love to fuck you in the ass"
I think everyone there peed their pants.
I cant look at him with out just friggin chuckling, over and over, to myself.
Ah life.
Aloha.
28.7.05
Day...timer
600AM - Dig out from station - Pau Hana (finshed work)
615AM - Coffee #1
630AM - Maimai to school
645AM - Surf check.
646AM - Flatness (sigh)
700AM - Hardware store
730AM - Coffee #2
745AM- Start more home improvements
800AM - Break stuff, fix, replace.
815AM- IS it time for a beer yet?
900AM- Run to tile place to buy tile
915AM- Get in traffic
1000AM- Start tile
1015 AM - Restart another room to retile it
1100AM - Figure out that all old tile gotta come up
1200Noon - Finally start original tiling of room
100PM - Grab a sandwich
115PM - More coffee
125PM - Finish the original room tile
130PM - Start tiling bathroom counter
145PM - Break tile saw
200PM - Get new tile saw
245PM - finish cutting tile
445PM - Finish installing tile in bathroom
600PM - Finish tile headers, caps, and clean tile
645PM - Go buy cold Heinekens, (altho' i'd rather go to Kona Brewing Co.)
700PM - realize I gotta do this again, tomorrow -
715PM - Cold Beer, Ahhhhhhhhh, Relief.
720PM - Surfcheck - Still gonna be flat tomorrow.
721PM - Life aint THAT bad, even if it is flat.
722PM - Aloha
615AM - Coffee #1
630AM - Maimai to school
645AM - Surf check.
646AM - Flatness (sigh)
700AM - Hardware store
730AM - Coffee #2
745AM- Start more home improvements
800AM - Break stuff, fix, replace.
815AM- IS it time for a beer yet?
900AM- Run to tile place to buy tile
915AM- Get in traffic
1000AM- Start tile
1015 AM - Restart another room to retile it
1100AM - Figure out that all old tile gotta come up
1200Noon - Finally start original tiling of room
100PM - Grab a sandwich
115PM - More coffee
125PM - Finish the original room tile
130PM - Start tiling bathroom counter
145PM - Break tile saw
200PM - Get new tile saw
245PM - finish cutting tile
445PM - Finish installing tile in bathroom
600PM - Finish tile headers, caps, and clean tile
645PM - Go buy cold Heinekens, (altho' i'd rather go to Kona Brewing Co.)
700PM - realize I gotta do this again, tomorrow -
715PM - Cold Beer, Ahhhhhhhhh, Relief.
720PM - Surfcheck - Still gonna be flat tomorrow.
721PM - Life aint THAT bad, even if it is flat.
722PM - Aloha
Summer Fun In The Country
Later today on this same channel,
Just how much SHIT can HM pack into
a glorious, FLAT, Ha-Y-N day?
Stay tuned, this ought to be, (ala Neil Young),
Inneresssing.
27.7.05
Sunset Brushfire Fairytales
Long, long arse day at the 'house. Fun, fun, fun till Daddy takes the T-Bird away...The sunset was nice 'tho.
Aloha,....... dont play with matches!
26.7.05
Flatness On The Horizon
No Surf Today.
Not that I didnt try.
Damn weather patterns to the south ar not cooperating to produce much needed swells, but on the upside, there isnt a better place on earth to wait.
'cept at this friggin' hotel.
Argggh.
Aloha. The gift that keeps on giving.
Pidgin English / Whats the frequency, Kenneth?
Humidity. Heat. Blazing blue skys. Green valleys. Dry grasslands.
"Eh, no make li'dat cuz, pilikia 'bout da wedder, you make ere'boddy huhu"
"Dont complain about the weather, my friend, you will anger everyone"
Pidgin english. Like creole, I guess. A mind melding of hawaiian language, botched english, Japanese, Chinese, and just about anything else you care to throw into the mix. Does not go over well when interviewing for employment. Tourists will interpet you as speaking from Martian based areas. To survive public school in the islands, you better know when and when not to use it. Survival will depend on using it correctly, and at the proper times. You dont want to be ordering in the Kings English at the local manapua stand. (Chinese baked or steamed breads, stuffed with anything from pork or chicken, veggies, domesticated cat. (Just kiding on the cat)
Sometimes in the span of a 24 hour shift at the firehouse, we can go from the slums of Waikiki, to the million dollar homes that grace the "gold coast", right next door. So command of language, sometimes foregin, can be an assest. It can be pretty damn funny 'tho too.
It is an island, and in that, it is common knowledge that you are more than likely related to the person next you. The commanality of that is called Ohana - family. Everybody knows somebody that you know, as well. So secerts, well if you got them, you might not want to share them. 'Cause someone somewhere will know you, see you, and relate that secret to those you may not want to know.
And firemen are the worst. "telephone, telegraph, tellafireman" Like I said before, there are no secrets in the 'house. You fears will be found out, as well as your strengths. In there, somewhere is the reasoning behind this post.
Just had my promotional interview. 10 years in the making. It went well, and spoke the kings english repeatedly. Answered the questions the way they should, and said the shit they wanted to hear.
So i get promoted.
Whoooo. More money. More responsibility. Assignments are next. So I wait. And wait. Chief Killa, one of the gnarliest, coolest, for-the-men&the-public chiefs a guy could want, knows where I want to be assigned. And yeah, I have been doing him favors. I left my home station to come to his to help him out of a bind. And now I drive him, (nuts, mostly) and gofer about. It's one of the jobs I could be assigned. Or back to my home station, driving the back of the Ladder Truck. (best damn postion in the department) Needless to say, where I want to be.
So chances are good that I will get where I deserve/want.
Not so fast, kimosabe.
Fire2, #2, bigdog, hatchet man for #1. Calls and assigns me to........
Alarm Bureau.
Answering 911 calls in the basement.
I mean.....WTF?
And the whole department knows, and unbeliveable to me, almost all the guys on our watch are....pissed.
The assignments arent written in stone, so who knows in the next few days, but the one feeling i got, was damn, I got some respect from the boys, they gave a shit about the draw.
That feels good.
Aloha.
"Eh, no make li'dat cuz, pilikia 'bout da wedder, you make ere'boddy huhu"
"Dont complain about the weather, my friend, you will anger everyone"
Pidgin english. Like creole, I guess. A mind melding of hawaiian language, botched english, Japanese, Chinese, and just about anything else you care to throw into the mix. Does not go over well when interviewing for employment. Tourists will interpet you as speaking from Martian based areas. To survive public school in the islands, you better know when and when not to use it. Survival will depend on using it correctly, and at the proper times. You dont want to be ordering in the Kings English at the local manapua stand. (Chinese baked or steamed breads, stuffed with anything from pork or chicken, veggies, domesticated cat. (Just kiding on the cat)
Sometimes in the span of a 24 hour shift at the firehouse, we can go from the slums of Waikiki, to the million dollar homes that grace the "gold coast", right next door. So command of language, sometimes foregin, can be an assest. It can be pretty damn funny 'tho too.
It is an island, and in that, it is common knowledge that you are more than likely related to the person next you. The commanality of that is called Ohana - family. Everybody knows somebody that you know, as well. So secerts, well if you got them, you might not want to share them. 'Cause someone somewhere will know you, see you, and relate that secret to those you may not want to know.
And firemen are the worst. "telephone, telegraph, tellafireman" Like I said before, there are no secrets in the 'house. You fears will be found out, as well as your strengths. In there, somewhere is the reasoning behind this post.
Just had my promotional interview. 10 years in the making. It went well, and spoke the kings english repeatedly. Answered the questions the way they should, and said the shit they wanted to hear.
So i get promoted.
Whoooo. More money. More responsibility. Assignments are next. So I wait. And wait. Chief Killa, one of the gnarliest, coolest, for-the-men&the-public chiefs a guy could want, knows where I want to be assigned. And yeah, I have been doing him favors. I left my home station to come to his to help him out of a bind. And now I drive him, (nuts, mostly) and gofer about. It's one of the jobs I could be assigned. Or back to my home station, driving the back of the Ladder Truck. (best damn postion in the department) Needless to say, where I want to be.
So chances are good that I will get where I deserve/want.
Not so fast, kimosabe.
Fire2, #2, bigdog, hatchet man for #1. Calls and assigns me to........
Alarm Bureau.
Answering 911 calls in the basement.
I mean.....WTF?
And the whole department knows, and unbeliveable to me, almost all the guys on our watch are....pissed.
The assignments arent written in stone, so who knows in the next few days, but the one feeling i got, was damn, I got some respect from the boys, they gave a shit about the draw.
That feels good.
Aloha.
5 Summer Stories / 1st date / Tutu Wahine / 8-15-2005
First date.
Surf flick.
Still In Love.
Grammar Minnie.
Malasadas.
3660 Waialae Avenue.
Territory Of Hawaii.
Pa'Ula Drive.
Me Ke Aloha Pumehana.
Miss Ya, Tutu Kane.
Aloha.
25.7.05
Rescue = 2 / Fire = 1 / Damn I am tired
A long shift,
or is that shaft,
watertime tomorrow.
10 more hours to go.
or is that shaft,
watertime tomorrow.
10 more hours to go.
24.7.05
Sweetness
Bottom board is single piece of chinese cedar, hand hewn and fininshed in the style of an old 'oio board. Inlaid with mother of pearl inintial up by the nose. The sucker was butter smooth.
Attention Getters
http://www.prayforabby.com/
Grabbing ass. Harmless, harassment. Knowing the things that irk the shit out of you. Black humor. Pranks, jokes, put-downs, set-ups, mockings.
Everyday in the firehouse, someone gets roasted. You wear a thick skin, 'cause none of it is personal. Certain ones get irritated, and you press 'em more. It is part of the life. Living together for 24 hours at a stretch, does things like that. You know more about your crew than your wife, the crew knows more about your life than your wife. Eat, sleep, work. Face whatever is thrown at you. Alot of it is entertaining, funny, boring.
But you will never see men move more quickly when the calls come in for children. "Keiki O ka'aina" - children of the land. Any call for the little ones, feet quicken, steps bound. Your path to the scene - fastest or faster than you should go. No one says a word, cause you dont have to. Before arriving, you hope for it to be nothing - perhaps a mistake, maybe the choking child call was just a cough, or perhaps the call for seizures is a case of fever running its course. But you know not until you arrive. And when you arrive, if the first thing you hear/see is screaming, frantic parents - you move faster than light.
Abby in the link above was a call we went to. She has progress much in the past year, and continues to do so. Her Mom & family are devout christians, and good for them. Whatever your beliefs are, so be it. I got mine, wrapped in a watertight place in my heart. There it stays. If you are the praying type, say one. If not, think good thoughts. If you cant fathom either, peace to you.
Crying never feels good, and everytime, everytime...
Aloha.
Grabbing ass. Harmless, harassment. Knowing the things that irk the shit out of you. Black humor. Pranks, jokes, put-downs, set-ups, mockings.
Everyday in the firehouse, someone gets roasted. You wear a thick skin, 'cause none of it is personal. Certain ones get irritated, and you press 'em more. It is part of the life. Living together for 24 hours at a stretch, does things like that. You know more about your crew than your wife, the crew knows more about your life than your wife. Eat, sleep, work. Face whatever is thrown at you. Alot of it is entertaining, funny, boring.
But you will never see men move more quickly when the calls come in for children. "Keiki O ka'aina" - children of the land. Any call for the little ones, feet quicken, steps bound. Your path to the scene - fastest or faster than you should go. No one says a word, cause you dont have to. Before arriving, you hope for it to be nothing - perhaps a mistake, maybe the choking child call was just a cough, or perhaps the call for seizures is a case of fever running its course. But you know not until you arrive. And when you arrive, if the first thing you hear/see is screaming, frantic parents - you move faster than light.
Abby in the link above was a call we went to. She has progress much in the past year, and continues to do so. Her Mom & family are devout christians, and good for them. Whatever your beliefs are, so be it. I got mine, wrapped in a watertight place in my heart. There it stays. If you are the praying type, say one. If not, think good thoughts. If you cant fathom either, peace to you.
Crying never feels good, and everytime, everytime...
Aloha.
Hula- Hula / Surf Board Riding / Other Subjects
Bunker Speckles wili-wili board (soon to be flick)
"come one come all" poster from the past.
23.7.05
Lawyers / CabDrivers - evolution hasnt gone far - has it?
Ah beer. the great equalizer. Making you think you are Arnold, Peter North, and Jehovah all at once.
Why I hate lawyers.
My 6 best classmates from college are all lawyers. Good guys. Salt o' da earth like that. Help you at the drop of a hat.
But I dealt with Barry. Barry D. Barry D. Edwards. Barry D. Edwards, esquiremyass.
Bit of anger, no?
Long story - short. Barry is a lawyer. Well, Barry thinks he is a lawyer. He even has a license. I got one too, but mine just says i can drive. It seems his enables him to fuck with people for the hell of it. The meat and potatoes of the tale is Barry has a son, and he went to school with my son, problem child #1, not hoodlum, not angel, stuck in purgatory of real world challenge. Anyhow, K ( my son) and his friends partied up with Barry's kid and friends. Herb and beers, whatever, stories true line is yet to be known. It seems that Barry's kid, and some young wahine (woman) were suppose to get together. ( da da da daa dum) but, alas, Barry' kid was cock-blocked by a friend of my sons. Barry's kid didnt get laid. (hey, tough shit)
I guess Barry's kid wasnt too happy, and let the revelers of the night know that. So as it turns out. many hands gathered to ruin Barry's kids evening, along with Barry's X wifes car, which Barry's kid was driving.
Yeah, I know, cut to the chase.
So this Hawaiian finds out about this scene one sunny day. Barry actually calls me up, and says ( in the most influential "i am a big man" voice) Uh, Mr. M, Your son, K, seems to have ruined my wifes car, and assaulted my son, Keegan.
Ok, my day is fucked, let me know more Mr O- so- important- sounding-on- the- phone.
I figure the best way to handle this is like men, we talk it out figure out what the fuck happened, and make amends. In old Hawaii, this was called hooponopono, or, "sit and talk it out like sane people."
But Barry is older school than that. He is like missonary old school. Fuckers came to do good, and did very well, thankyouverymuchyoudumbhawaiians.
So Barry the lawyer, sues HM the fire/surfer ignorant fuck.
HM goes nuts.
Spent a year learning law shit. Seriously. Read everything I could. Nolo Press. saved my ass. Taught me that a lawyer, (sorry all you legals) is nothing. At first, I was intimidated with the task, then, fucking eh, it was a CHALLENGE.
The best is knowing that Barry thought, "ignorant firefighter/hawaiian"...
Oh yeah.
Bring it on, Mr E$q.
Well he did. And I learned the hard way, that fighting a battle when the rules are written by the opponent, is tough.
But Barry did not get my piece of paradise, matter of fact, all said, I lost only my sanity for a year, time, and about $200 bucks. He wanted $5000. Fucker.
The two bills was filing fees and shit I had to do.
Another thing I learned, was lawyers get paid wether they win or lose.
But Barry did not get shit from me.
When the judge read his spiel, and closed it all down, the most satisfying part was him saying TO Barry - " I think if you prepared as well as Mr. M did in his defense, things would have gone differently.
Moral victory was better than no victory at all, I guess.
Still cant stand that fucker, 'tho.
Aloha.
Why I hate lawyers.
My 6 best classmates from college are all lawyers. Good guys. Salt o' da earth like that. Help you at the drop of a hat.
But I dealt with Barry. Barry D. Barry D. Edwards. Barry D. Edwards, esquiremyass.
Bit of anger, no?
Long story - short. Barry is a lawyer. Well, Barry thinks he is a lawyer. He even has a license. I got one too, but mine just says i can drive. It seems his enables him to fuck with people for the hell of it. The meat and potatoes of the tale is Barry has a son, and he went to school with my son, problem child #1, not hoodlum, not angel, stuck in purgatory of real world challenge. Anyhow, K ( my son) and his friends partied up with Barry's kid and friends. Herb and beers, whatever, stories true line is yet to be known. It seems that Barry's kid, and some young wahine (woman) were suppose to get together. ( da da da daa dum) but, alas, Barry' kid was cock-blocked by a friend of my sons. Barry's kid didnt get laid. (hey, tough shit)
I guess Barry's kid wasnt too happy, and let the revelers of the night know that. So as it turns out. many hands gathered to ruin Barry's kids evening, along with Barry's X wifes car, which Barry's kid was driving.
Yeah, I know, cut to the chase.
So this Hawaiian finds out about this scene one sunny day. Barry actually calls me up, and says ( in the most influential "i am a big man" voice) Uh, Mr. M, Your son, K, seems to have ruined my wifes car, and assaulted my son, Keegan.
Ok, my day is fucked, let me know more Mr O- so- important- sounding-on- the- phone.
I figure the best way to handle this is like men, we talk it out figure out what the fuck happened, and make amends. In old Hawaii, this was called hooponopono, or, "sit and talk it out like sane people."
But Barry is older school than that. He is like missonary old school. Fuckers came to do good, and did very well, thankyouverymuchyoudumbhawaiians.
So Barry the lawyer, sues HM the fire/surfer ignorant fuck.
HM goes nuts.
Spent a year learning law shit. Seriously. Read everything I could. Nolo Press. saved my ass. Taught me that a lawyer, (sorry all you legals) is nothing. At first, I was intimidated with the task, then, fucking eh, it was a CHALLENGE.
The best is knowing that Barry thought, "ignorant firefighter/hawaiian"...
Oh yeah.
Bring it on, Mr E$q.
Well he did. And I learned the hard way, that fighting a battle when the rules are written by the opponent, is tough.
But Barry did not get my piece of paradise, matter of fact, all said, I lost only my sanity for a year, time, and about $200 bucks. He wanted $5000. Fucker.
The two bills was filing fees and shit I had to do.
Another thing I learned, was lawyers get paid wether they win or lose.
But Barry did not get shit from me.
When the judge read his spiel, and closed it all down, the most satisfying part was him saying TO Barry - " I think if you prepared as well as Mr. M did in his defense, things would have gone differently.
Moral victory was better than no victory at all, I guess.
Still cant stand that fucker, 'tho.
Aloha.
Primo promo, or how to take multiple choice tests and have cold beers waiting
Surf auction was killer. Great shapes, boards, and assorted misscelania. net up with LG, with that NY accent and pure stoke, it was great. you gotta be commited to move Xthousand miles just to surf. Met neosponge and his crew. Nice folk. Pix, later. Ah - Kona brewing company - cold beers await. I have earned it. Lady C not happy. Oh well. 900 AM had the promo test for FF2/3 fuck if i know why I gotta take the 2 again, being that I just got promoted to a 2. WTF? ---I know Hawaiian style. 1 day off, I am outta here for adult beverages - many - AM surf tomorrow. Jebbediah, i hope there is waves.
22.7.05
Self-Absorbed Prick
Admitting the fact that my attitude can be abrasive as a brillo pad on a pink bottom, is a real hard thing to do.
Now that is over, ruminations, my dear man, ruminations.
Ruminate this, Motherfucker.
There was at one time, a visitor to our island who always stayed at "Hotel Hell". Mr White. He is (was) a interior desinger from San Fran. A genuine, dyed in wool, 3 dollar bill. Queer doesnt begin to describe him. In the words of Freddie Mercury... "bring me another boy, this ones broke!" His adventures in gay debachuery were legendary. His stays were marked by expensive changes to his room, altered menus for his dining pleasures, constant, constant verbal abuse of waithelp, staff, and management. But, (and he found all he could) he spent huge wads of cash. (As well as huge wads of jizz, from the housekeepers tales.) Once, his highness had come in over the holidays (Xmas) and his "personal assistant" - a middle aged, portly lady, had placed the christmas tree in the room for the royals enjoyment. For god knows what reason, he went ape-shit that it was in the wrong location. Fire the lady on the spot. Took her return ticket. (asshole of the year, we have a winner)
As it would go, the staff heard of this lady and her plight. A bunch of do-ggoders and the like collected some coinage and got her a fare home to the mainland. She was stoked, thankful.
Best part to come.
All I could think about was how much a fucker this guy was. I mean, you got $, you got your boy-toy harem. Do what floats your boat, but hacking people up verbally and just for entertainment, WTF? Fantasy of having to deal with this cretin on the fire-side of my life was often thought of - (die motherfucker, die!!!) - Not. but it did cross my mind.
Our station responds to my "hotel hell", so chances are it could happen. Years of this shit went on.
Then, on a sunlit, gorgeous afternoon, the alarm came in - "unresponsive person, Ladder X, 2259 XXXXXX ave" Hotell hell. Off we go. Victim is in the presidential suite. Up, in, gear at the ready.
There, in the fading light of the afternoon was Mr. White, AIDS/HIV victim, breathing his last breaths of this world. His complexion was pock marked with sores, scabs, and pus. He looked, and smelt, like shit.
I couldnt think of how much pain this guy put people through, in his life.
I couldnt feel anger anymore.
After watching him die, I felt a great deal of pity.
Sometimes, you wish for shit, and you really dont want to have it granted.
Aloha.
Now that is over, ruminations, my dear man, ruminations.
Ruminate this, Motherfucker.
There was at one time, a visitor to our island who always stayed at "Hotel Hell". Mr White. He is (was) a interior desinger from San Fran. A genuine, dyed in wool, 3 dollar bill. Queer doesnt begin to describe him. In the words of Freddie Mercury... "bring me another boy, this ones broke!" His adventures in gay debachuery were legendary. His stays were marked by expensive changes to his room, altered menus for his dining pleasures, constant, constant verbal abuse of waithelp, staff, and management. But, (and he found all he could) he spent huge wads of cash. (As well as huge wads of jizz, from the housekeepers tales.) Once, his highness had come in over the holidays (Xmas) and his "personal assistant" - a middle aged, portly lady, had placed the christmas tree in the room for the royals enjoyment. For god knows what reason, he went ape-shit that it was in the wrong location. Fire the lady on the spot. Took her return ticket. (asshole of the year, we have a winner)
As it would go, the staff heard of this lady and her plight. A bunch of do-ggoders and the like collected some coinage and got her a fare home to the mainland. She was stoked, thankful.
Best part to come.
All I could think about was how much a fucker this guy was. I mean, you got $, you got your boy-toy harem. Do what floats your boat, but hacking people up verbally and just for entertainment, WTF? Fantasy of having to deal with this cretin on the fire-side of my life was often thought of - (die motherfucker, die!!!) - Not. but it did cross my mind.
Our station responds to my "hotel hell", so chances are it could happen. Years of this shit went on.
Then, on a sunlit, gorgeous afternoon, the alarm came in - "unresponsive person, Ladder X, 2259 XXXXXX ave" Hotell hell. Off we go. Victim is in the presidential suite. Up, in, gear at the ready.
There, in the fading light of the afternoon was Mr. White, AIDS/HIV victim, breathing his last breaths of this world. His complexion was pock marked with sores, scabs, and pus. He looked, and smelt, like shit.
I couldnt think of how much pain this guy put people through, in his life.
I couldnt feel anger anymore.
After watching him die, I felt a great deal of pity.
Sometimes, you wish for shit, and you really dont want to have it granted.
Aloha.
21.7.05
Green Eyes / Sedated / 1 is Good, 2 is Better / Placidyl 750
My green eyes have caused me more trouble than they are worth. Not only do they not see 20/20, but what others see in them can be, well, distracting. Irrelevant.
What I can see through those eyes can be as amazing as creation, as delicate as flowers. As terrible as your worst imagination. Fine sunrise. The end of a persons exsistence. Copious amounts of blood, gyser like, from wounds given from another. A newborn, whose first touch was mine. Ghosts in the firehouse; walking in, milling about, craving return to either the living, or peace with the dead. Sunsets, moonrise (killer one last night), rains marching down from the Koolau's.
Seeing laughter. Being jealous.
"Whats the green one?"
"You'll like that"
(pops large pill into mouth, swallows with beer)
"You didnt drink more than that beer, did you?"
"6, why?"
"Uh, you probably dont want to know"
"What the fuck do you mean by that?"
"Good night, Mark"
Never ever take a Placidyl (?sp?) 750. Never, well, unless you want to sleep for a day,....or 2.
Green.
The water can be a lucious color of green, sometimes in the early AM, she gets all funky with hues of green, mixing all up with the blue. Evening time, just before sunset, she takes the last light of day, refracts the hell outta it, and puts on a show.
Damn, today has been a long, long, day.
Aloha.
What I can see through those eyes can be as amazing as creation, as delicate as flowers. As terrible as your worst imagination. Fine sunrise. The end of a persons exsistence. Copious amounts of blood, gyser like, from wounds given from another. A newborn, whose first touch was mine. Ghosts in the firehouse; walking in, milling about, craving return to either the living, or peace with the dead. Sunsets, moonrise (killer one last night), rains marching down from the Koolau's.
Seeing laughter. Being jealous.
"Whats the green one?"
"You'll like that"
(pops large pill into mouth, swallows with beer)
"You didnt drink more than that beer, did you?"
"6, why?"
"Uh, you probably dont want to know"
"What the fuck do you mean by that?"
"Good night, Mark"
Never ever take a Placidyl (?sp?) 750. Never, well, unless you want to sleep for a day,....or 2.
Green.
The water can be a lucious color of green, sometimes in the early AM, she gets all funky with hues of green, mixing all up with the blue. Evening time, just before sunset, she takes the last light of day, refracts the hell outta it, and puts on a show.
Damn, today has been a long, long, day.
Aloha.
20.7.05
http://www.hawaiiansurfauction.com/
July 23, 2005 .
Right after the promotional (again) test, for FF2/3, this is where to be.
Well, if you like old boards, old futs, and retards like me that drool over this crap.
Aloha.
July 23, 2005 .
Right after the promotional (again) test, for FF2/3, this is where to be.
Well, if you like old boards, old futs, and retards like me that drool over this crap.
Aloha.
Brushfire Fairytale newspaper pix
What morons do for fun that dont fucking surf.
12 hours, countless tired men, and one pissed off Hawaiian!
Brushfire Fairytales / H2O morning
Thanks to the asshole(s) that decided it would be fun to burn 50 acres on the East Side. now that the meth-heads have burnt up all the brush on the West Side, -----"go east young moron, go east" 12 hours after the start, cool bed, and moi-moi (sleep) time. No one hurt, main thing.
Pix whenever I get around to it.
Surfed dawn patrol at China Walls, 3 to 5 ft hawaiian scale, offshores, stiff 10 to 15 MPH. Calmness once in awhile, mostly fun, rippable lefts. Had some good waves. Surfed surprisingly well after working to friggin hard w/ Lady C at the house. (Oh, the trials and tribulations of interpersonal realtionships) Ships that often pass in the night, but ships whose captains are not on the same damn frequency of late.
Spectacular morning in the water. Dawn creeped in over Koko Head, light up the sky all pinks and blues. Clouds scattered about. Glanced by 2 sting rays, a turtle, and seabird. Wonders of mother ocean. Caught a pair of lined up screamers - all the way to the inside. Long paddle back out to the line up, but worth it, able to nab a couple inside gems that were hollow enuf to give a nice refracted look of the morning from inside the womb.
Aloha.
Pix whenever I get around to it.
Surfed dawn patrol at China Walls, 3 to 5 ft hawaiian scale, offshores, stiff 10 to 15 MPH. Calmness once in awhile, mostly fun, rippable lefts. Had some good waves. Surfed surprisingly well after working to friggin hard w/ Lady C at the house. (Oh, the trials and tribulations of interpersonal realtionships) Ships that often pass in the night, but ships whose captains are not on the same damn frequency of late.
Spectacular morning in the water. Dawn creeped in over Koko Head, light up the sky all pinks and blues. Clouds scattered about. Glanced by 2 sting rays, a turtle, and seabird. Wonders of mother ocean. Caught a pair of lined up screamers - all the way to the inside. Long paddle back out to the line up, but worth it, able to nab a couple inside gems that were hollow enuf to give a nice refracted look of the morning from inside the womb.
Aloha.
17.7.05
Waves Of Consequence / 3 o'clock in the morning courage
Surf. Courage. Consequence.
"3 o'clock in the morning courage" - Stolen from a Dave Parmenter article in Surfer Magazine. Dave is a great shaper, (meaning for non-surf types, he builds works of art that are called surfboards) an amazing writer, and was married to Rell Sunn, one of the most full of aloha women these islands have ever known. Rell was one of the best surfers, ever. Want to know more? Google 'em.
The quote is from the start of a piece on what flows through a surfers mind before the challenge of a new day begins. You already know there will be surf. You know it will be big. You are faced with the reality check of are the balls brassy, big enough? It stays with me to remind me of the need I have in surfing, and in the firehouse to stay strong, be not afraid, go out, conquer.
It simply means something takes alot of balls. Not just man kind balls, but guts. Wahine (women) have it. Ever tried to give birth? Why is it men take on stunts like car racing, sky-diving, surfing, death teasing challenges? We do those things becuse we are not the chosen ones. We will NEVER bring life into this world. We get the fun part, but not the work. Nothing is, or will have the challenge of the birth process. No man has balls big enough. So we go and prove ourselves, that we are equal to this challenge, by taking risks (see we are not afraid, meek woman!) , working to the bone, tempting the fates. All just to try to raise our status to that of the life-givers.
Waves of consequence. You see, surfing is a patient sport. Not everyday is great, perfect, off-shore breeze conditions. True believers stick around for the long run. The shit days. The cold days. The flat days. My good friend SK, he surfs. He is paranoid/hypocondriac. He is a good Joe. He is a bit on the cautious side. For me, I surf with abandon. It is my freedom, my place. I always like to take SK out for something that is a bit out of the comfort zone. Reason? you gotta live. You cant hide on the shoulder, waiting for the easier waves. You just gotta charge. How would you know wether or not you will make a macker wave unless you try?
And you know when they are coming. Years in the water of Mother Ocean preps you. Read the signs, that horizon that seemed 13 miles away, is now looking to be a bit less than around the block. Its coming. Right to you. A blue cobalt badland, millions of gallons of salt water, primed, tired from miles of travel, waiting to explode down the line of the reef your waiting at, timing to explode its energy on or with, you.
Put that fear away boy, 'cause your ass is grass if you dont go. Not only will you get pounded if you are not ready, you wont get shit from the others in the line-up. You better have some guts to put it on the line. Chicken-shits wont be allowed on this playground. If you cant handle the worst thing possible happening to you out there, get on the beach. Surf line-ups can be vicious. Everyone wants to be the top dog in this kennel. Whining pups will be eaten, alive. I have seen local bruddahs physically grab guys, take them out if the water, and tell them "you will not go back out". Localisim? You bet. Safety, thats the important part. Some clown out there in the way is more dangerous to others as well as themselves.
Waves come, you go, you survive the limits pushed. You take from that a bit more of life. The sun shines a bit brighter, the day crisper, the water a tad more refreshing.
Going to the brink. Anyone who surfs, who surfs long enough, has this tale.
Haleiwa. Winter. 10 feet hawaiian style (20 ft+ faces of the waves) Probably the biggest day, gnarliest conditions I have been out in. Dawn on the North Shore. (Not the fucking movie, OK?) The real, living breathing, gonna kick your ass, North Shore. It is an hour drive from my home. Not long by mainland standards, but island style, it is a eternity. 'specially when you know its macking. Get there and it is huge. Haleiwa has an angry, angry current it pulls continually. If you are outta place, so long, adios. I can feel my heart pounding in my chest. I know this is the upper end of my ability. It doesnt help that I ride 9 ft longboards to begin with. But she is sooooo inviting. The rights (my backside) are just cranking, feathering, and hollow tubes of water are spitting with abandon. ( OK - note- surfers are either regular foot - Left foot forward, OR Goofy foot - Right foot forward - I, of course, am a Goofy foot, thereby explainig WTF i mean by backside) So on the coming morning, out to the water I paddle. My fucking chest is bouncing on the deck. I try to breathe, relax, play a tune over and over in my head. The arena is littered with few this morning. Maybe 6 guys out. Small, compact crowd for this perfect of a morning. Converse with the crew out - "sets about 10 minutes apart, bro", "get like, 8 waves in a set, but da last one, whooooo, cuz, she boardering on 'bout 12 feet". Whoooo, is right. That is some frequent, big, killer surf.
Catch a few, pushing 8+. rhythm starts to set in. Comfort zone has been breached, and a new level attained. Strange calmness has invaded the heart - the pounding has subsided to a lite ...pulse. The pulse of my life. The day. The timing of the waves. I pass a few early waves to the bros lines up better, more inside, more on the peak, sharing never felt so good. Hoots around the line-up. I can see the horizon closing. No one else near. This beast, this animal coming, is mine. And it had my name on it. And it was written in Las Vegas neon. The specfics were about 11, 12 feet. Thick. Standing up way outside, inviting me to go. I went. The drop down the face went smooth, lined up 20 feet in fromt of me, nothing but a 2 story building, ready to unfold a crystalline dream of a tube. God, I thought, this is perfect. Perfection, tho' nice, is unattainable.
As soon as I caught my rail trying to draw my line, I knew I was toast. Buttered. This wall of water that 1 second before was calling a oceans siren for me to enter, was now about to take me, my precious board, and all my organs, and give them a taliking to. Really, really, loud.
Down to the bottom, up back over the falls, down again. Time stopped. Calm. Remember - always remain calm. If you panic, you will use your air, and then, ....youre fucked. Capital "F" The leash of my board, I could feel, was stretching to the max. I hoped it held. Eternity raced on. This bastard was not releasing me. Why? Currents, torrents of water, pushed and pulled. Fuck. Dragged. Now, I was being dragged. Fuck. My board has got to be tombstoning now. (meaning - my leash is attached to my ankle, but I am under water, the board stright up on the surface, hence - like a tombstone) Fuckity. Fuck. Fuck. Where the fuck is the surface? grab my leash. follow it. Fuck. I am outta air. Fuck. Dont panic. Fuck. Leash. Surface. Air. Blue. Everywhere at once. Oh shit. Fuck.
I panicked.
I gave up.
Truly, I thought I was dead. I pulled for the surface, I pulled again. I let go of the leash. I pulled to the surface. And again. I gave up. Nothing raced in my mind. Beaten. Beaten, beaten. Foam. Seafoam. Surface. Air. Calm. No waves. Churning water. I was over in the area known as the toilet bowl, a graveyard. I had survived. I did not deserve to.
I panicked.
Audacity. Never will panic again. Waves. Waves of consequence. They give you something that no one, no man, no being can ever take away from you.
Aloha. Peace.
"3 o'clock in the morning courage" - Stolen from a Dave Parmenter article in Surfer Magazine. Dave is a great shaper, (meaning for non-surf types, he builds works of art that are called surfboards) an amazing writer, and was married to Rell Sunn, one of the most full of aloha women these islands have ever known. Rell was one of the best surfers, ever. Want to know more? Google 'em.
The quote is from the start of a piece on what flows through a surfers mind before the challenge of a new day begins. You already know there will be surf. You know it will be big. You are faced with the reality check of are the balls brassy, big enough? It stays with me to remind me of the need I have in surfing, and in the firehouse to stay strong, be not afraid, go out, conquer.
It simply means something takes alot of balls. Not just man kind balls, but guts. Wahine (women) have it. Ever tried to give birth? Why is it men take on stunts like car racing, sky-diving, surfing, death teasing challenges? We do those things becuse we are not the chosen ones. We will NEVER bring life into this world. We get the fun part, but not the work. Nothing is, or will have the challenge of the birth process. No man has balls big enough. So we go and prove ourselves, that we are equal to this challenge, by taking risks (see we are not afraid, meek woman!) , working to the bone, tempting the fates. All just to try to raise our status to that of the life-givers.
Waves of consequence. You see, surfing is a patient sport. Not everyday is great, perfect, off-shore breeze conditions. True believers stick around for the long run. The shit days. The cold days. The flat days. My good friend SK, he surfs. He is paranoid/hypocondriac. He is a good Joe. He is a bit on the cautious side. For me, I surf with abandon. It is my freedom, my place. I always like to take SK out for something that is a bit out of the comfort zone. Reason? you gotta live. You cant hide on the shoulder, waiting for the easier waves. You just gotta charge. How would you know wether or not you will make a macker wave unless you try?
And you know when they are coming. Years in the water of Mother Ocean preps you. Read the signs, that horizon that seemed 13 miles away, is now looking to be a bit less than around the block. Its coming. Right to you. A blue cobalt badland, millions of gallons of salt water, primed, tired from miles of travel, waiting to explode down the line of the reef your waiting at, timing to explode its energy on or with, you.
Put that fear away boy, 'cause your ass is grass if you dont go. Not only will you get pounded if you are not ready, you wont get shit from the others in the line-up. You better have some guts to put it on the line. Chicken-shits wont be allowed on this playground. If you cant handle the worst thing possible happening to you out there, get on the beach. Surf line-ups can be vicious. Everyone wants to be the top dog in this kennel. Whining pups will be eaten, alive. I have seen local bruddahs physically grab guys, take them out if the water, and tell them "you will not go back out". Localisim? You bet. Safety, thats the important part. Some clown out there in the way is more dangerous to others as well as themselves.
Waves come, you go, you survive the limits pushed. You take from that a bit more of life. The sun shines a bit brighter, the day crisper, the water a tad more refreshing.
Going to the brink. Anyone who surfs, who surfs long enough, has this tale.
Haleiwa. Winter. 10 feet hawaiian style (20 ft+ faces of the waves) Probably the biggest day, gnarliest conditions I have been out in. Dawn on the North Shore. (Not the fucking movie, OK?) The real, living breathing, gonna kick your ass, North Shore. It is an hour drive from my home. Not long by mainland standards, but island style, it is a eternity. 'specially when you know its macking. Get there and it is huge. Haleiwa has an angry, angry current it pulls continually. If you are outta place, so long, adios. I can feel my heart pounding in my chest. I know this is the upper end of my ability. It doesnt help that I ride 9 ft longboards to begin with. But she is sooooo inviting. The rights (my backside) are just cranking, feathering, and hollow tubes of water are spitting with abandon. ( OK - note- surfers are either regular foot - Left foot forward, OR Goofy foot - Right foot forward - I, of course, am a Goofy foot, thereby explainig WTF i mean by backside) So on the coming morning, out to the water I paddle. My fucking chest is bouncing on the deck. I try to breathe, relax, play a tune over and over in my head. The arena is littered with few this morning. Maybe 6 guys out. Small, compact crowd for this perfect of a morning. Converse with the crew out - "sets about 10 minutes apart, bro", "get like, 8 waves in a set, but da last one, whooooo, cuz, she boardering on 'bout 12 feet". Whoooo, is right. That is some frequent, big, killer surf.
Catch a few, pushing 8+. rhythm starts to set in. Comfort zone has been breached, and a new level attained. Strange calmness has invaded the heart - the pounding has subsided to a lite ...pulse. The pulse of my life. The day. The timing of the waves. I pass a few early waves to the bros lines up better, more inside, more on the peak, sharing never felt so good. Hoots around the line-up. I can see the horizon closing. No one else near. This beast, this animal coming, is mine. And it had my name on it. And it was written in Las Vegas neon. The specfics were about 11, 12 feet. Thick. Standing up way outside, inviting me to go. I went. The drop down the face went smooth, lined up 20 feet in fromt of me, nothing but a 2 story building, ready to unfold a crystalline dream of a tube. God, I thought, this is perfect. Perfection, tho' nice, is unattainable.
As soon as I caught my rail trying to draw my line, I knew I was toast. Buttered. This wall of water that 1 second before was calling a oceans siren for me to enter, was now about to take me, my precious board, and all my organs, and give them a taliking to. Really, really, loud.
Down to the bottom, up back over the falls, down again. Time stopped. Calm. Remember - always remain calm. If you panic, you will use your air, and then, ....youre fucked. Capital "F" The leash of my board, I could feel, was stretching to the max. I hoped it held. Eternity raced on. This bastard was not releasing me. Why? Currents, torrents of water, pushed and pulled. Fuck. Dragged. Now, I was being dragged. Fuck. My board has got to be tombstoning now. (meaning - my leash is attached to my ankle, but I am under water, the board stright up on the surface, hence - like a tombstone) Fuckity. Fuck. Fuck. Where the fuck is the surface? grab my leash. follow it. Fuck. I am outta air. Fuck. Dont panic. Fuck. Leash. Surface. Air. Blue. Everywhere at once. Oh shit. Fuck.
I panicked.
I gave up.
Truly, I thought I was dead. I pulled for the surface, I pulled again. I let go of the leash. I pulled to the surface. And again. I gave up. Nothing raced in my mind. Beaten. Beaten, beaten. Foam. Seafoam. Surface. Air. Calm. No waves. Churning water. I was over in the area known as the toilet bowl, a graveyard. I had survived. I did not deserve to.
I panicked.
Audacity. Never will panic again. Waves. Waves of consequence. They give you something that no one, no man, no being can ever take away from you.
Aloha. Peace.
16.7.05
Peanutbutter waffles
Used to really dig peanut butter waffles with Maple syrup. Ono (delicious), Sorry if my occasional drop of regular english gets in anyones way of reading the tired drivel here. Try to always put the english equivilent of what the fuck I am trying to say...Sorry if it irritates- like sand in your shorts, per se. (better than sand in the vasaline)
Waffles - who invented that shit? Werent happy with pancakes, were we? Lets put some texture to that food, why not? Kinda wanta know the history on that one. Irrelevant, yeah?
Its late in Aloha land. Quiet at the station so far, and yet along way too go. Back to Hotel Hell on the 'morrow.
There is a bumpage on the buoy readings from the South, gimme some swell mother ocean, been a good bro. Nothing would be finer than some "waves of consequence"... Will delve into the status of that, soon. Much meaning, and 3'oclock in the morning courage will be expressed.
How bad do you want it? What will you give?
Most of all, what to you gain from it?
Aloha, it is a fragrant, humid, starfilled cloudless night.
Peace.
Waffles - who invented that shit? Werent happy with pancakes, were we? Lets put some texture to that food, why not? Kinda wanta know the history on that one. Irrelevant, yeah?
Its late in Aloha land. Quiet at the station so far, and yet along way too go. Back to Hotel Hell on the 'morrow.
There is a bumpage on the buoy readings from the South, gimme some swell mother ocean, been a good bro. Nothing would be finer than some "waves of consequence"... Will delve into the status of that, soon. Much meaning, and 3'oclock in the morning courage will be expressed.
How bad do you want it? What will you give?
Most of all, what to you gain from it?
Aloha, it is a fragrant, humid, starfilled cloudless night.
Peace.
15.7.05
Spare Change / Sensible Shoes
Got in the water for a fast one. Too short, small waves, windy.
Firehouse was all too quiet, bets are on that tomorrow will be cranking - Saturday. Get those running shoes on. Speaking of shoes, time for me t'get some new treads fo' sure. 5 years of running, hiking, volleyball, have the present pair crying for retirement. Sensible shoes, that wear well will be acquired. Which brings up- WTF do I need shoes for anyway? I friggin' hate 'em. First 5 years of grade school, I never ever wore ANY. Beat the shit outta my paws, yeah. but what good Hawaiian doesnt? (insert racicist comment on mental ability of natives here) Good feet double as swim fins, IMHO. The wider the better, the flatter the more kick you get. How the hell do keiki (children) survive now-a-days? Sweet plumeria blossoms, they all have 100 dollar treads on the feet, for what? You dont get to feel the crisp grass on your heels, the hot asphalt burn your phalanges, the fun of going to emergency for a tetnus shot. What fun are they having? And who the hell told tourists to wear shoes at the beach? WTF is up with that? What the hell? You paid to feel the sand, moron!! Auwe! (disgust, amazement) Ok, rant over.
Ran into the local Macy's to pay Dear C's Credit card bill on the way to Hotel Hell this afternoon. Had a intersting exchange 2X in 'bout 2 minutes. First, the line at the checkout was backed up. Oh well. I got extra time and patience available, no big deal. This little Filipino lady/sales clerk calls me over to her section to pay. "Cum ober here yung boy", ( making my cockles warm) "Ewe wanto pay your billll?" "Mai deeeepatment is Polo, ober here, you cum, you pay ober here", "No wait, cum now"... Little old Filipina ladies. How the hell cant you "lub dem"? She was rattling on 1/2 Ilocano 1/2 English. At Hotel Hell, I work with many, MANY filipino workers. Almost all are pretty cool, albeit a skoshi (small) bit on the "not my job" stance. But this sweety made my day. "I werk ober here in POLO, I sell POLO, ewe ask me, I know POLO." ( I didnt have the heart to explain to her that seeing me buy POLO would be the last thing that this earth would see) So I say "Aunty, (term of endearment to any female older than you not related) How you figger, I gonna buy POLO?, No mo' surf shorts, Tshirts, I not going wear 'em!" " Just gotta pay mama's credit card"
So Aunty smiles and with the 3 missing teeth, it was a sight, she did the payment, and as I was leaving she says again - " Eye no Polo, ebreeting, well, maybeeee not ebreeting, but I no Polo!!"
"You go, aunty, you go."
So I am leaving all warm and fuzzy, this Mama Sita making me laugh when I was feeling fairly irritated. Thanks Aunty. So I go out the door, and from behind this young girl says (kind of loud) "Dont be offended, but can I ask you something?"
I mean WTF was going on IN that store?
She proceeds to ask me what my shirt size is, how tall I am, how much I weigh, (183, thankyouverymuch, 185, when wet) 'cause she need to buy a b-day gift for her friend who is about my size. Cute younger girl, but I almost couldnt help but laugh out loud over her thinking I would be offended, I thought she was going to be pissed or something, or mistook me for some asswipe who hurt/abused/dumped/whatever her.
Then for some god-knows-why reason, she tells me her friend has diabetes, is overweight, might be going to Iraq, nineyards and a whole lotta what-the-fuck???? look from me.
Nice 'tho, and my journey into the weekend bizarreness has begun.
Aloha from paradise, where who knows what the hell is coming up next.
Peace. ( and sheeeee nose POLO!)
Firehouse was all too quiet, bets are on that tomorrow will be cranking - Saturday. Get those running shoes on. Speaking of shoes, time for me t'get some new treads fo' sure. 5 years of running, hiking, volleyball, have the present pair crying for retirement. Sensible shoes, that wear well will be acquired. Which brings up- WTF do I need shoes for anyway? I friggin' hate 'em. First 5 years of grade school, I never ever wore ANY. Beat the shit outta my paws, yeah. but what good Hawaiian doesnt? (insert racicist comment on mental ability of natives here) Good feet double as swim fins, IMHO. The wider the better, the flatter the more kick you get. How the hell do keiki (children) survive now-a-days? Sweet plumeria blossoms, they all have 100 dollar treads on the feet, for what? You dont get to feel the crisp grass on your heels, the hot asphalt burn your phalanges, the fun of going to emergency for a tetnus shot. What fun are they having? And who the hell told tourists to wear shoes at the beach? WTF is up with that? What the hell? You paid to feel the sand, moron!! Auwe! (disgust, amazement) Ok, rant over.
Ran into the local Macy's to pay Dear C's Credit card bill on the way to Hotel Hell this afternoon. Had a intersting exchange 2X in 'bout 2 minutes. First, the line at the checkout was backed up. Oh well. I got extra time and patience available, no big deal. This little Filipino lady/sales clerk calls me over to her section to pay. "Cum ober here yung boy", ( making my cockles warm) "Ewe wanto pay your billll?" "Mai deeeepatment is Polo, ober here, you cum, you pay ober here", "No wait, cum now"... Little old Filipina ladies. How the hell cant you "lub dem"? She was rattling on 1/2 Ilocano 1/2 English. At Hotel Hell, I work with many, MANY filipino workers. Almost all are pretty cool, albeit a skoshi (small) bit on the "not my job" stance. But this sweety made my day. "I werk ober here in POLO, I sell POLO, ewe ask me, I know POLO." ( I didnt have the heart to explain to her that seeing me buy POLO would be the last thing that this earth would see) So I say "Aunty, (term of endearment to any female older than you not related) How you figger, I gonna buy POLO?, No mo' surf shorts, Tshirts, I not going wear 'em!" " Just gotta pay mama's credit card"
So Aunty smiles and with the 3 missing teeth, it was a sight, she did the payment, and as I was leaving she says again - " Eye no Polo, ebreeting, well, maybeeee not ebreeting, but I no Polo!!"
"You go, aunty, you go."
So I am leaving all warm and fuzzy, this Mama Sita making me laugh when I was feeling fairly irritated. Thanks Aunty. So I go out the door, and from behind this young girl says (kind of loud) "Dont be offended, but can I ask you something?"
I mean WTF was going on IN that store?
She proceeds to ask me what my shirt size is, how tall I am, how much I weigh, (183, thankyouverymuch, 185, when wet) 'cause she need to buy a b-day gift for her friend who is about my size. Cute younger girl, but I almost couldnt help but laugh out loud over her thinking I would be offended, I thought she was going to be pissed or something, or mistook me for some asswipe who hurt/abused/dumped/whatever her.
Then for some god-knows-why reason, she tells me her friend has diabetes, is overweight, might be going to Iraq, nineyards and a whole lotta what-the-fuck???? look from me.
Nice 'tho, and my journey into the weekend bizarreness has begun.
Aloha from paradise, where who knows what the hell is coming up next.
Peace. ( and sheeeee nose POLO!)
13.7.05
5 Star Hotel.....2 Star guests
So I come to work as usual, every day I have off from the firehouse, to this sanitorium of human decay that is Waikiki. Beautiful, sundrenched, warm and lovely. Coated with the body oils and oilings of millions of mid-western bovines that crawled outta the John Deere, just in time to see the sunset, and quaff a Mai-Tai.
Not.
A 5 star esort such as the pink lady is, regales a clientle that is, say, continental. As in - breakfast. 2 croissants, a cup a Joe, and splash the OJ in ya face, baby.
IE- Cheap rich fucks.
I always forget to genuflect before the almightys that show their fine, impeccable, lack of taste, class, or style. Example - bitch about 13 dollar burgers. WTF? I'd be bitching about the $500 a-night room, meself. But, hey, Fuck 'Em.
Some are great, yes. Nice folks, considerate, thankful. Easy to show Aloha to.
And then there are the demons. Oh dear God, where on earth do these retards come from? What rocky form did they crawl out from under?
More fun.
Not.
A 5 star esort such as the pink lady is, regales a clientle that is, say, continental. As in - breakfast. 2 croissants, a cup a Joe, and splash the OJ in ya face, baby.
IE- Cheap rich fucks.
I always forget to genuflect before the almightys that show their fine, impeccable, lack of taste, class, or style. Example - bitch about 13 dollar burgers. WTF? I'd be bitching about the $500 a-night room, meself. But, hey, Fuck 'Em.
Some are great, yes. Nice folks, considerate, thankful. Easy to show Aloha to.
And then there are the demons. Oh dear God, where on earth do these retards come from? What rocky form did they crawl out from under?
More fun.
Promotional Call
Got the good news this morning, F2 called while I was registering Mai-Mai for 8th grade. Perfect timing. In the cafe, with 200 pre-teens and new teens hollering and gabbing. Usually F2 is the hatchet man. So at first, a deep dark cloud was forming over my head. Most of the time he is the guy that calls to tell you you DIDNT get promoted. I could literally feel my sweat glands open up. As soon as the phone rang, I looked at the caller ID, and did not recognize the #. The he said his spiel, I went from who the hell? to Oh shit its F2, to him saying "I've got good news" in about two thirds of a second. Talk about your rollercoaster. No assignments yet, so wait some more is all I can do.
Back to the station tomorrow, start the cycle again. Worked in the yard all day today , and at Hotel Hell now. Have had 1 day off this month, that being the interview day, and 1 day last month. That was June 3. Surfed a total of about 10 days all the past 2 months. Total bullshit.
Ah, patience. The rewards will come,.........I sure fricking hope so.
Back to the station tomorrow, start the cycle again. Worked in the yard all day today , and at Hotel Hell now. Have had 1 day off this month, that being the interview day, and 1 day last month. That was June 3. Surfed a total of about 10 days all the past 2 months. Total bullshit.
Ah, patience. The rewards will come,.........I sure fricking hope so.
12.7.05
http://www.streetdoc.net/index.php/trackback/1796/NT1VAn14/
Any comments? EMS folk? What do you feel on Fire based EMS care/EMS care take over by Fire? Anyone care? I disagree that we (fire) dont want to do EMS/PTX care. Maybe because of our island "style" its isolation, that I am proud to run w/ EMS - they teach me, i help/assist them. With over 40 stations, we do get there faster than the Ambi's - C & C ambi' s are numbered less than 10 in town....
Any comments? EMS folk? What do you feel on Fire based EMS care/EMS care take over by Fire? Anyone care? I disagree that we (fire) dont want to do EMS/PTX care. Maybe because of our island "style" its isolation, that I am proud to run w/ EMS - they teach me, i help/assist them. With over 40 stations, we do get there faster than the Ambi's - C & C ambi' s are numbered less than 10 in town....
Waterbaby - True Aquarius
Since there has been no time to surf of late, and demands of time are at premium prices, all I can do is write about the stoke of surfing. When Yours truly was a small fish, I was scared shitless of the water. Dont really know why, just was, I guess. Prolly 'cause Grandpa & Dad used to toss my scared ass into the deep water back in small kid time. Nothing abusive, they didnt know I was shittin' bricks.
Used to go to bodysurf alot when small, as well. Sean Paige and I would ride our Scwinns to Sandy Beach at dawn (5 miles 1 way) And check out the sunrise and slam some waves. The change from fear to awe came when Sean & I were out on a rather big day. ( When you're small, I guess anything is a big day) Shittin' bricks on the shore, Sean was pumped to go out. We were all of like 12 y/o. Being my best friend, I told him how scared I was. True friend, he did not belittle me, but rather took it upon himself to make sense of it- The whole thing, the surf, the fear, the stoke, the challenge, the rewards.
He made it clear that fear was good. Only and idiot didnt have fear somewhere buried in a deep seated ganglion in them. That fear was respect. Respect for the ocean, nature, life in the waters, others. The stoke- how good it felt to harness the power of the waves, the whole ocean unfolding on you. The challenge - how success would come only after many failures, but to learn from them, and grow. The rewards - taking from your surf session fleeting glimpses of Gods perfection - his/her way of showing us the beauty in simple, natural highs.
He did all that around 5 in the morning. From that day on - I have been an addict. Certified addict. Nothing - (next to seeing my children come into the world) comes close. Companies use trite comments like "only a surfer knows the feeling" True as it is, is not true. You can not put into words what the experience is like to someone who doesnt participate, so how would you know to speak it? Surfers can talk about it, the sessions the waves, the conditions. But you can never really give it accurate.
It is only you and the wave. No team sport. There are waves and sights and sounds that I can begin to describe. I can try, but wont do it justice. Smells of the ocean in the morning fresh limu (seaweed) salty air, wind, shells, fish...It all just becomes a blur 'cause the focus is waves. Gifts from storms hundreds, thousands of miles away. Waves that began a march to our shores miles ago, now release the travel on our reef, our time, our session of surf. Lucky shit I am to be there.
Altho' recently, aint had time to shit worth a dollar, nor get out into ol' Mother Ocean.
She will wait tho', and take me back into her arms, warm cobalt blue waters, and I will rejoice at the return.
Corny, sorry.
Aloha.
Used to go to bodysurf alot when small, as well. Sean Paige and I would ride our Scwinns to Sandy Beach at dawn (5 miles 1 way) And check out the sunrise and slam some waves. The change from fear to awe came when Sean & I were out on a rather big day. ( When you're small, I guess anything is a big day) Shittin' bricks on the shore, Sean was pumped to go out. We were all of like 12 y/o. Being my best friend, I told him how scared I was. True friend, he did not belittle me, but rather took it upon himself to make sense of it- The whole thing, the surf, the fear, the stoke, the challenge, the rewards.
He made it clear that fear was good. Only and idiot didnt have fear somewhere buried in a deep seated ganglion in them. That fear was respect. Respect for the ocean, nature, life in the waters, others. The stoke- how good it felt to harness the power of the waves, the whole ocean unfolding on you. The challenge - how success would come only after many failures, but to learn from them, and grow. The rewards - taking from your surf session fleeting glimpses of Gods perfection - his/her way of showing us the beauty in simple, natural highs.
He did all that around 5 in the morning. From that day on - I have been an addict. Certified addict. Nothing - (next to seeing my children come into the world) comes close. Companies use trite comments like "only a surfer knows the feeling" True as it is, is not true. You can not put into words what the experience is like to someone who doesnt participate, so how would you know to speak it? Surfers can talk about it, the sessions the waves, the conditions. But you can never really give it accurate.
It is only you and the wave. No team sport. There are waves and sights and sounds that I can begin to describe. I can try, but wont do it justice. Smells of the ocean in the morning fresh limu (seaweed) salty air, wind, shells, fish...It all just becomes a blur 'cause the focus is waves. Gifts from storms hundreds, thousands of miles away. Waves that began a march to our shores miles ago, now release the travel on our reef, our time, our session of surf. Lucky shit I am to be there.
Altho' recently, aint had time to shit worth a dollar, nor get out into ol' Mother Ocean.
She will wait tho', and take me back into her arms, warm cobalt blue waters, and I will rejoice at the return.
Corny, sorry.
Aloha.
Drowning articles
http://www.honoluluadvertiser.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20050712/NEWS/507120332/1001/NEWS
http://starbulletin.com/2005/07/12/news/index7.html
http://starbulletin.com/2005/07/12/news/index7.html
11.7.05
Gotta Surf.
Damn i got to get in the water, brain rot, ya know. Sets in on these long-ass dry spells of mine ( mind).
Damn it is muggy as shit tonight, hope for a more informative post tomorrow, thanks for the comment, Tookong.
Damn.
Damn.
Damn.
(Last negative - I friggin hate ants.)
Positive - My middle son gave the greatest comment a keiki (child) could give a kupuna (elder) -
He said - "My Mom & Dad would never get divorced - they are each others best friend"
Thought that was pretty cool, being that some moronic family asshole was insinuating me & Lady C were splitting.
Yeah, right. I am 46, I have been dating her since 13....... WTF?.....I may be stupid, but I isnt dumb.
Bwahahaha.
Fricking surf.
Damn it is muggy as shit tonight, hope for a more informative post tomorrow, thanks for the comment, Tookong.
Damn.
Damn.
Damn.
(Last negative - I friggin hate ants.)
Positive - My middle son gave the greatest comment a keiki (child) could give a kupuna (elder) -
He said - "My Mom & Dad would never get divorced - they are each others best friend"
Thought that was pretty cool, being that some moronic family asshole was insinuating me & Lady C were splitting.
Yeah, right. I am 46, I have been dating her since 13....... WTF?.....I may be stupid, but I isnt dumb.
Bwahahaha.
Fricking surf.
10.7.05
+++ If this isnt humor I dont know what is +++
http://entertainment.msn.com/music/article.aspx?news=196248
My eclectic taste in music is done 1 better...
I can picture it now redneck-reggae festivals sprouting up all over the God forsaken midwest.
My eclectic taste in music is done 1 better...
I can picture it now redneck-reggae festivals sprouting up all over the God forsaken midwest.
I Do Believe I Need A Surf...My Gills Are Dry
Exhausted. Probably the only word I can use with confidence today. Mentally drained from quite the busy cycle at the firehouse. 2 drownings, promotional interview, home improvement shitski to do, Mai-mai on vacation, K no job, no brain, getting stoned, ....Hrumph! Dear heart C and spaz-o-meter hormones/MENopause testing the intestinal fortitude of this Hawaiian.
Death. Needless death. I cant think of anything more testing on my psychi than the calls we go on where death is needless. In the past decade, I see the images in my minds eye probably too often. The first cardiac call, the Tutu (grandparent) lying on the floor, trying to recall my training, be professional, carry out the task at hand (gee, save a life?) sweating buckets, performing compressions on her frail body, prepping for the AED. Hearing the wails of family. Focusing on my duty. Breaking her ribs with the compressions. Clearing the vomit so the MICT's can intubate her. Shocking her. The jerk of her small frame coming to rest aside my knees. Loading her, assisting the ambulance crew with packaging her into the Ambi.
Then reading the obituary 2 days later.
Decade. Neil Young, greatest hits compilation. All these calls, certain ones, all of them, none of them. Dig a small hole in the grey matter, and plant the images forever. Rise again when you really dont want it. Middle of the night. Driving down the road. Black humor. Darkest black. Purple, it is soooo fucking black. Fire victims. Crispy critters. Cold shit, yeah? Not pretty, not human looking. Vacant, blank stares right into your living soul, blaming you, cursing you, from somewhere you will someday be. Suicide off the bridge of the freeway. 19 years old. Your image is stuck, plastered in the area right behind my right eye. The same eye that your swan dive off onto the hard cold morning concrete had to see. Looking at and caring for your twisted frame, your crushed head, your brain- the reason you jumped- shattered all to bits in the Hawaiian morning. Crimson red of the blood you lost.
Death. Senseless, avoidable, careless death.
Guess I really, really need to go surfing.
Hug your loved ones.
Death. Needless death. I cant think of anything more testing on my psychi than the calls we go on where death is needless. In the past decade, I see the images in my minds eye probably too often. The first cardiac call, the Tutu (grandparent) lying on the floor, trying to recall my training, be professional, carry out the task at hand (gee, save a life?) sweating buckets, performing compressions on her frail body, prepping for the AED. Hearing the wails of family. Focusing on my duty. Breaking her ribs with the compressions. Clearing the vomit so the MICT's can intubate her. Shocking her. The jerk of her small frame coming to rest aside my knees. Loading her, assisting the ambulance crew with packaging her into the Ambi.
Then reading the obituary 2 days later.
Decade. Neil Young, greatest hits compilation. All these calls, certain ones, all of them, none of them. Dig a small hole in the grey matter, and plant the images forever. Rise again when you really dont want it. Middle of the night. Driving down the road. Black humor. Darkest black. Purple, it is soooo fucking black. Fire victims. Crispy critters. Cold shit, yeah? Not pretty, not human looking. Vacant, blank stares right into your living soul, blaming you, cursing you, from somewhere you will someday be. Suicide off the bridge of the freeway. 19 years old. Your image is stuck, plastered in the area right behind my right eye. The same eye that your swan dive off onto the hard cold morning concrete had to see. Looking at and caring for your twisted frame, your crushed head, your brain- the reason you jumped- shattered all to bits in the Hawaiian morning. Crimson red of the blood you lost.
Death. Senseless, avoidable, careless death.
Guess I really, really need to go surfing.
Hug your loved ones.
Interview / 2 drownings out of 3 shifts worked
Interview went well. Seems as tho' everyone felt their interview went well. We sit, and we wait. Phone will ring soon enuf to say yay or nay to a promotion. Did what I could, so nothing else but wait for awhile.
Another drowning yesterday, right around the corner from "spitting caves". This time at the "point" right next to China Walls one of my favorite surf spots. Right at dusk, so light was precious in the beggining. Victim had been down in the water (under) for 10 min. by the time we got there. The crew from HK station got there 5 min before us. So there was a chance, but none of the witness' could give a accurate spot as to where she was last seen.
17 y/o girl from Colorado. Visiting relatives. With friends at the jump off area by the wall at Portlock point. The surf was running about 3-4 ft Hawaiian Scale, ('bout 6-8 foot faces) The jump area she seems to have gone in at is too far in for anyone with knowledge of the spot to have gone in at. The right area would be about 20 yards further out towards the ocean. The wave breaks, and refracts in toward the wall inside that 20 yd area. So if you are trying to scramble up the cliff, (10 ft high) and a wave comes, you are toast. Anyone who has been there before would know this, so all I can guess is that the people she was with were not aware, and that cost her her life.
Part of the rescue problem was the witness' inability to give a consistent location as to where she was last seen. This wasted valuable time spent searching a larger area than absolutely necessary. Traumatic, yes, but assitance could have made a difference, after 10 minutes, this was body recovery only. The helicopter & rescue guys spotted her about 30 yds inside of where she was last seen. 5 ft deep of water, her hair had wrapped around a coral head, and trapped her body on the bottom, causing her more injury after death.
Any loss hurts. The worst is what if, and just maybe. I cant what if myself to death about it. I would go nuts. It is tragic that this happened, the worst is, common sense, and thinking before you act, could have prevented it.
Said it before, and I will say it again -
If you cant handle the worst possible thing that could happen to you out in the ocean, and you doubt your abilities in the conditions that the ocean shows, DONT GO OUT.
Yes, a tragic loss of life, but there was also about 15 others risking their lives to make a hopeful rescue.
Another drowning yesterday, right around the corner from "spitting caves". This time at the "point" right next to China Walls one of my favorite surf spots. Right at dusk, so light was precious in the beggining. Victim had been down in the water (under) for 10 min. by the time we got there. The crew from HK station got there 5 min before us. So there was a chance, but none of the witness' could give a accurate spot as to where she was last seen.
17 y/o girl from Colorado. Visiting relatives. With friends at the jump off area by the wall at Portlock point. The surf was running about 3-4 ft Hawaiian Scale, ('bout 6-8 foot faces) The jump area she seems to have gone in at is too far in for anyone with knowledge of the spot to have gone in at. The right area would be about 20 yards further out towards the ocean. The wave breaks, and refracts in toward the wall inside that 20 yd area. So if you are trying to scramble up the cliff, (10 ft high) and a wave comes, you are toast. Anyone who has been there before would know this, so all I can guess is that the people she was with were not aware, and that cost her her life.
Part of the rescue problem was the witness' inability to give a consistent location as to where she was last seen. This wasted valuable time spent searching a larger area than absolutely necessary. Traumatic, yes, but assitance could have made a difference, after 10 minutes, this was body recovery only. The helicopter & rescue guys spotted her about 30 yds inside of where she was last seen. 5 ft deep of water, her hair had wrapped around a coral head, and trapped her body on the bottom, causing her more injury after death.
Any loss hurts. The worst is what if, and just maybe. I cant what if myself to death about it. I would go nuts. It is tragic that this happened, the worst is, common sense, and thinking before you act, could have prevented it.
Said it before, and I will say it again -
If you cant handle the worst possible thing that could happen to you out in the ocean, and you doubt your abilities in the conditions that the ocean shows, DONT GO OUT.
Yes, a tragic loss of life, but there was also about 15 others risking their lives to make a hopeful rescue.
9.7.05
Interview Finished
I can breathe again. Promo interview pau, (finished) went fairly well not too much rough questions, but stress personified. Time to study again for the next test on July 23. Same day as the surfboard auction. Will post link to surf auction soon.
Thankx again Mom & Dad & crew for the prayers.
Thankx again Mom & Dad & crew for the prayers.
8.7.05
2 hour countdown
2 hours till ineterview.....nervous hawaiian here.
'till after - Peace.
Hope it goes well as i can do.
Thanks for the prayers, Mom!
'till after - Peace.
Hope it goes well as i can do.
Thanks for the prayers, Mom!
6.7.05
Writer Not On Crack...Photographer, ..maybe.
Long shift yesterday. Hiker rescue by Koko Crater, no problems. Couple hours earlier, swimmer in distress off million + homes off HKai & MBay, 29 y/o along with numerous friends jumping into the water off spitting caves. "Spitting Caves" is an area not to be fool hearty with. Large open cavern near deep water drop off into the deep blue Pacific. Lotsa deaths there. Grew up right by the spot. Cliff-jumped when young and stupid. Always on winter time calm water days. Note- its summer, it was rough ocean conditions, and the victim was a visitor from the mainland. This is called a recipe for disaster. The victim jumped into the water from the cliffs, 50ft + drop. If you hit the water wrong, you will get injured. Needless to say he didnt survive the day. His friend tried to jump in to assist him, but could not keep him afloat. He was rescued, about 300 yds down current from where we recovered the friends body.
The young ladies with them, it was sad to hear them wailing and crying. A resident of the homes near-by ( who see this happen way too often) came and graciuosly took the girls to the docks at the Bay. EMS and our guys were standing by in hopes of reviving him. Not to be, he was under for 20 plus minutes by the time we located him and got him to the rescue sled. Water safety guys, (Ryan, & crew) did an awesome job with our water guys to locate and bring him up. 50ft down, 100 plus yards off the cliffs. The guys free dived down to retrieve him, tag teamed him to the surface in some rough open ocean conditions, and took the Jet-Ski to motor him into the docks at the Bay. Chief & I took the rescued friend with our guys to the docks to reunite him with the girls. The sadness continued there, so sad to have victims so young.
Be careful in this paradise ocean, it will bite. If you have ANY doubt, Dont go out.
The pix are a hodge-podge of the golf tourney, Job2 crap (except the Ox Tail soup....whooo yeah!!!) ... Early AM grossness of yourstruly, assorted crap from the hiker rescue.
2 days till promotional interview, study Hawaiian, study!!!!!
4AM structure fire ...no fire, but saw beautiful sunrise sooo positive start to the day....
The young ladies with them, it was sad to hear them wailing and crying. A resident of the homes near-by ( who see this happen way too often) came and graciuosly took the girls to the docks at the Bay. EMS and our guys were standing by in hopes of reviving him. Not to be, he was under for 20 plus minutes by the time we located him and got him to the rescue sled. Water safety guys, (Ryan, & crew) did an awesome job with our water guys to locate and bring him up. 50ft down, 100 plus yards off the cliffs. The guys free dived down to retrieve him, tag teamed him to the surface in some rough open ocean conditions, and took the Jet-Ski to motor him into the docks at the Bay. Chief & I took the rescued friend with our guys to the docks to reunite him with the girls. The sadness continued there, so sad to have victims so young.
Be careful in this paradise ocean, it will bite. If you have ANY doubt, Dont go out.
The pix are a hodge-podge of the golf tourney, Job2 crap (except the Ox Tail soup....whooo yeah!!!) ... Early AM grossness of yourstruly, assorted crap from the hiker rescue.
2 days till promotional interview, study Hawaiian, study!!!!!
4AM structure fire ...no fire, but saw beautiful sunrise sooo positive start to the day....
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