It is raining, and my roofs got a hole in it and I might drown.
I said - "My roofs got a hole in it and I might drown"
Ah yes, songs from small kid time.
My roof does have a hole, tho'.
A couple of 'em. One over the stove. Another by the lua (toilet).
I found that this morning, while prepping numero two. Nothing like water on the back of your head, first thing in the AM. So tarps up, young stallion! In the rain! With the wind howling! Yahoo! (as Lady C would say - "yes, You ARE...") 8 AM and I am soaked. Never mind that in the past 2 weeks, I have had the roofer dudes come by a estimate from 3K to 8K to re-roof. Yesterday, my bro from the firehouse was suppose to come by, but never showed, maybe tomorrow, when I am submerged. His 2nd job is running a roofing company, so maybe a deal, who knows?
Until then, bucket brigade.....aten-hut! Make that numerous pots and pans brigade.
Lady C wants to put new doors on the upstairs remodel to do list.
iloveyouiloveyouiloveyouiloveyouiloveyouiloveyouYOUDRIVEMENUTSiloveyou
My list was () this close to pau (finished). More paper needed for list, I say!
No more 6 hour shifts at Hotel de pink-o-hell-hole!!
Now they are *8*........!!!!!
And my cell rang at noon, my Chief needs to meet with me about some "complaint" made by a caller...........
I cant imagine who they mean............Not that I know who.....But he will be there tomorrow...to face the tunes....with a lyric like -
"My roofs got a hole in it, and I might drown..."
I am going down smiling, for sure. Something for the 'permanent record'.
Aloha.
*snickers*
Aloha.
*means it...this time*
30.9.05
28.9.05
Workin' Fool
---911 line rings---
"Fire - What is your emergency?"
cell phone caller - "There is a fire here, by the building"
HM- "Where are you located? And what is burning?"
CPC - "On Manoa Road, by the gas station"..."Its burning...the building"
HM- "Where on Manoa Road?, What is the nearest address?, WHAT exactly is burning?"
CPC- "Manoa Road, by the gas station, next to that little shop...It is burning..the outside"
HM-"OK, what is burning?...The building?..If so, what is the nearest addres that you can see?...What is the shops name?...Anything so I can know where to send the crews"
CPC- "We are across the street at an apartment,...It.."
HM - "WHAT is the address of the apartment?"
CPC - "I dont know --(speaks to another person, hands him the phone) ...pull up over there...(2nd person) "Hey-who? ...ewe knead twoo git here now, dee fire, it is gwowing up de wall"
HM- (in muted disbelief that I have gone from a moron, to a person that cant speak english) - "WHAT IS THE NEAREST ADDRESS?...AND WHAT IS BURNING??????"
CPC - "De addd-ress? It wooks wike it is twooo-wine-foa"
HM - "294?"
CPC- "No, twooo-wniety-foa"
HM- "OK, 2, NINETY-four?"
CPC- "Eye twink sew"
HM- "2-ninety four, Manoa Road, right?"
CPC - " No,....Eat."
HM - "Eat?"
CPC- "Yah, Eat."
HM - "Eat?...Eat what?"
CPC- "...Eat Manoa Road"
HM - "You mean EAST?...294 East Manoa Road?"
CPC- " Yah, Eat Manoas Road"
HM- (the callers are RIGHT IN FRONT OF THE MANOA FIRE STATION...2 houses away..) "You are right next to the FIRE station!!....Why did...."
CPC - (original caller)..."Oh, we didnt want to wake them, it is 3AM, you know, and...."
HM - (losing it completely) "You are right next to the fucking fire station, and something is burning, and between you and the other imbicile on the phone, cant give an address to where the bloody fire is, what in Gods name where you thinking???????"
CPC- "We didnt want to bother the station.....and...."
HM- *click*
Dispatch the companies, it ends up being a bench in front of a store, at a bus stop that was burning.
I am going to get in sooooooo much trouble for this one......
Other than that, I got another tale to tell.....sheesh.
Aloha.
"Fire - What is your emergency?"
cell phone caller - "There is a fire here, by the building"
HM- "Where are you located? And what is burning?"
CPC - "On Manoa Road, by the gas station"..."Its burning...the building"
HM- "Where on Manoa Road?, What is the nearest address?, WHAT exactly is burning?"
CPC- "Manoa Road, by the gas station, next to that little shop...It is burning..the outside"
HM-"OK, what is burning?...The building?..If so, what is the nearest addres that you can see?...What is the shops name?...Anything so I can know where to send the crews"
CPC- "We are across the street at an apartment,...It.."
HM - "WHAT is the address of the apartment?"
CPC - "I dont know --(speaks to another person, hands him the phone) ...pull up over there...(2nd person) "Hey-who? ...ewe knead twoo git here now, dee fire, it is gwowing up de wall"
HM- (in muted disbelief that I have gone from a moron, to a person that cant speak english) - "WHAT IS THE NEAREST ADDRESS?...AND WHAT IS BURNING??????"
CPC - "De addd-ress? It wooks wike it is twooo-wine-foa"
HM - "294?"
CPC- "No, twooo-wniety-foa"
HM- "OK, 2, NINETY-four?"
CPC- "Eye twink sew"
HM- "2-ninety four, Manoa Road, right?"
CPC - " No,....Eat."
HM - "Eat?"
CPC- "Yah, Eat."
HM - "Eat?...Eat what?"
CPC- "...Eat Manoa Road"
HM - "You mean EAST?...294 East Manoa Road?"
CPC- " Yah, Eat Manoas Road"
HM- (the callers are RIGHT IN FRONT OF THE MANOA FIRE STATION...2 houses away..) "You are right next to the FIRE station!!....Why did...."
CPC - (original caller)..."Oh, we didnt want to wake them, it is 3AM, you know, and...."
HM - (losing it completely) "You are right next to the fucking fire station, and something is burning, and between you and the other imbicile on the phone, cant give an address to where the bloody fire is, what in Gods name where you thinking???????"
CPC- "We didnt want to bother the station.....and...."
HM- *click*
Dispatch the companies, it ends up being a bench in front of a store, at a bus stop that was burning.
I am going to get in sooooooo much trouble for this one......
Other than that, I got another tale to tell.....sheesh.
Aloha.
24.9.05
Mulligatawny
Huh?
Fair warning - graphic discriptions ahead, sorry.
Just a fairness disclaimer to anyone launched from gasguy's blog - No. - Its a joke.
It is what it is, a stream of my fertile minds mush of what I do, what I think, and such. Click away, anytime, and aloha.
There are things we all do that give cause to what was done.
Huh, again?
Shit happens, 'cause of shit you do. Karma. Justice. Bad/Good luck.
Bad shit happens to good people, and vice-versa. In the line of work I have, I have really great satisfaction days. When every call is minor, every save happens, and no one dies. People, in my work, die all the time. Sometimes, we rescue them, from incredibly stupid moves they have made. Hopefully, they recover to see ... "hey, that was dumb! Maybe I shouldnt do that/attempt that again!" So not knowing what any readers pre-work thoughts are like, I open my mush to you.
I work a 24 hour shift. Coffee starts every day. And a cigarette. (I know, I tried to do it to get Lady C to quit, and fucked myself up) Take the anti-smoke rant elsewhere, Thanks! First impressions on a bad day - what are you up against? Did the family have a fucker of a day yesterday? Did the Hotel De Hell job crimp my attitude into a foil ball? Yes to both?
Well I better get OVER it, 'cause that shit dont matter squat to the public.
And they pay me to help them.
We clean, we fix, we drill. We cook for the guys in the 'house. We teach the public CPR. We inspect buildings, business'.
We bandage, aid, and assist invalids. We clean up fuel. We clean up oil.
By God, we even put out fires!
And we clean up and try to put back together ... people.
So i try to have a fairly decent attitude before going to the 'house. Mine, and others lives depend on it.
I have only myself, and these words to support my toxic mush that comes from the things I see. I leave Lady C out of it, for the most part, 'cause it isnt the most pleasant subject when your time is limited together. But at times, I talk shit with her.
Mostly, it sits in a package, stuffed in a corner, brought out only to remember why I do what I do.
The first time I performed CPR on a Gramma, and I broke almost all her ribs, now there is a sound you wont hear everyday. So much so, that it doesnt. And that is doing CPR correctly. But that sound, is planted. There are other times, as well, that the sound comes back, and it reminds me to train as hard as possible to be the best I can at the task.
A crispy critter is what we affectionately call burned corpses. Not nice, but black humor is what it is. It is Black. This isnt a playground, and recess is not in session. The job is to put out a fire, and if the deceased, could have been saved, probably would have been. Sometimes we lose. What would your feelings be if you steeped into their chest, and did not know it? Trying to extinguish the flames, the ones that took his life? What would you do if that same boot knocked open the contents of his brain, and scattered them all over the same boot? And you didnt know it, till overhauling the room? Would you feel guilty? Foolish? Uncaring? Pack it away in the package in the back, please.
The child is blue. There is froth coming from the mouth. There is no time for personal protective equipment. Do you let the child die? Really. Do you? Because according to procedures, you wont be covered for injury, if you dont use city issued protective devices at a call. So in that split second, do you risk getting anything from AIDS to HEP A, B, C or what other disease? Or do you grab the child, cradle them in your arms, cover the mouth, suck out the disgusting mix of puke, mucus, and what else, and start CPR? If the child lives, what? If you get sick? What then?
What do you do in a split second?
Where do you put that fear, that extended feeling of helping?
Pack it up, and stow it away.
Part of the head is one way, and the neck is facing the other. And the coagulating blood is forming a large blue-black mass of color. It is Thick. Stick your gloved hand in there, and feel for a pulse. None? Come back later, after the morgue guys pick up the victim, and clean the body parts, and brain matter, up. Box the feelings up.
I am sorry if it disgusts, any readers.
The boxing up permits me to do my job a step at a time. I have to, segment the stuff away, so that I can help those at the immediate time. 'Cause I aint good for shit, if my ass isnt on straight.
So I go surf, wash all the shit off.
Go to work.
Have a cup of coffee.
A cig.
Look at the sun shine.
Smile.
And thank God, the universe, my kids, my Lady C...
That they all have faith in me, and I them.
Really.
Aloha.
Fair warning - graphic discriptions ahead, sorry.
Just a fairness disclaimer to anyone launched from gasguy's blog - No. - Its a joke.
It is what it is, a stream of my fertile minds mush of what I do, what I think, and such. Click away, anytime, and aloha.
There are things we all do that give cause to what was done.
Huh, again?
Shit happens, 'cause of shit you do. Karma. Justice. Bad/Good luck.
Bad shit happens to good people, and vice-versa. In the line of work I have, I have really great satisfaction days. When every call is minor, every save happens, and no one dies. People, in my work, die all the time. Sometimes, we rescue them, from incredibly stupid moves they have made. Hopefully, they recover to see ... "hey, that was dumb! Maybe I shouldnt do that/attempt that again!" So not knowing what any readers pre-work thoughts are like, I open my mush to you.
I work a 24 hour shift. Coffee starts every day. And a cigarette. (I know, I tried to do it to get Lady C to quit, and fucked myself up) Take the anti-smoke rant elsewhere, Thanks! First impressions on a bad day - what are you up against? Did the family have a fucker of a day yesterday? Did the Hotel De Hell job crimp my attitude into a foil ball? Yes to both?
Well I better get OVER it, 'cause that shit dont matter squat to the public.
And they pay me to help them.
We clean, we fix, we drill. We cook for the guys in the 'house. We teach the public CPR. We inspect buildings, business'.
We bandage, aid, and assist invalids. We clean up fuel. We clean up oil.
By God, we even put out fires!
And we clean up and try to put back together ... people.
So i try to have a fairly decent attitude before going to the 'house. Mine, and others lives depend on it.
I have only myself, and these words to support my toxic mush that comes from the things I see. I leave Lady C out of it, for the most part, 'cause it isnt the most pleasant subject when your time is limited together. But at times, I talk shit with her.
Mostly, it sits in a package, stuffed in a corner, brought out only to remember why I do what I do.
The first time I performed CPR on a Gramma, and I broke almost all her ribs, now there is a sound you wont hear everyday. So much so, that it doesnt. And that is doing CPR correctly. But that sound, is planted. There are other times, as well, that the sound comes back, and it reminds me to train as hard as possible to be the best I can at the task.
A crispy critter is what we affectionately call burned corpses. Not nice, but black humor is what it is. It is Black. This isnt a playground, and recess is not in session. The job is to put out a fire, and if the deceased, could have been saved, probably would have been. Sometimes we lose. What would your feelings be if you steeped into their chest, and did not know it? Trying to extinguish the flames, the ones that took his life? What would you do if that same boot knocked open the contents of his brain, and scattered them all over the same boot? And you didnt know it, till overhauling the room? Would you feel guilty? Foolish? Uncaring? Pack it away in the package in the back, please.
The child is blue. There is froth coming from the mouth. There is no time for personal protective equipment. Do you let the child die? Really. Do you? Because according to procedures, you wont be covered for injury, if you dont use city issued protective devices at a call. So in that split second, do you risk getting anything from AIDS to HEP A, B, C or what other disease? Or do you grab the child, cradle them in your arms, cover the mouth, suck out the disgusting mix of puke, mucus, and what else, and start CPR? If the child lives, what? If you get sick? What then?
What do you do in a split second?
Where do you put that fear, that extended feeling of helping?
Pack it up, and stow it away.
Part of the head is one way, and the neck is facing the other. And the coagulating blood is forming a large blue-black mass of color. It is Thick. Stick your gloved hand in there, and feel for a pulse. None? Come back later, after the morgue guys pick up the victim, and clean the body parts, and brain matter, up. Box the feelings up.
I am sorry if it disgusts, any readers.
The boxing up permits me to do my job a step at a time. I have to, segment the stuff away, so that I can help those at the immediate time. 'Cause I aint good for shit, if my ass isnt on straight.
So I go surf, wash all the shit off.
Go to work.
Have a cup of coffee.
A cig.
Look at the sun shine.
Smile.
And thank God, the universe, my kids, my Lady C...
That they all have faith in me, and I them.
Really.
Aloha.
21.9.05
Conspiracy Theory / Lady C on to Maui
For the facts -
Surfed AM.
Worked on the remodel for 4 hours, got the last touches to go, but accomplished plenty.
Paid some bills.
Left the wash to do itself.
Gawked at my fine plumbing work......and saw it leak.
Plumbing has it in for me, I swear.
Work now and forever, Arggggggghhhhhh.
November, where are you?
+ , ++++ , +++ .
Lady C mounts the 35 minute flight to Maui for a funeral tomorrow, no warm body for me to yank covers off of.
Is it November, yet?
Aloha.
Surfed AM.
Worked on the remodel for 4 hours, got the last touches to go, but accomplished plenty.
Paid some bills.
Left the wash to do itself.
Gawked at my fine plumbing work......and saw it leak.
Plumbing has it in for me, I swear.
Work now and forever, Arggggggghhhhhh.
November, where are you?
+ , ++++ , +++ .
Lady C mounts the 35 minute flight to Maui for a funeral tomorrow, no warm body for me to yank covers off of.
Is it November, yet?
Aloha.
Stubborn
Firstly, there was some enjoyable surf this AM @ Full Point. Thankx to Hurricane Jova, who will hopefully, keep her path North-ish, but keep pumping some swell. So far. so good. Humid weather ahead.
Nuclear accident, and the scenario behind it.
Probably more or less comes from the fact that I have too few days off. Eldest son, was supposed to take the HFD entrance exam, and everyone was pulling for a good result. The test comes around once every 3 years or so, and the numbers are like this - 4000 test takers, for 120 or so job openings. Competition, yep.
So my 1 day off since hell froze over last, was a surf fest, followed by the eldest being, well, a DICK. I probably work around 325-345 days a year. Usually, if I do take a day off, it is to do some sort of home stuffs, but hey, thats my kuleana (responsibility) So I really appreciate a non-bullshit day when I am off.
But lets back-track.
So son "K" was supposed to take the HFD test. I had a day off. K decides to be a dick. This is wrapped around by the fact that his GF, M, and her daughter, K, are living here now, too. Now K doesnt feel too great on expressing his frustrations at times. This, combined with a problem of lying, or stretching the truth, has dire consequence when the old defication hits the occilator.
Confused, yet?
Ratchet up the fact that I have been exceedingly patient with K and his small BS, but you are now the owner of 2 mouths to help feed, provide for, and answer to.
Yo, bro, it is time to be a Man.
Now focus our attetion to the need to ho'oponopono, (or talk things over with refrain) This can be accomplished by speaking together, working differences out. But it takes all parties to open up to it.
Instead of taking down the facade, K amps up the level of DICKism to new heights. I remain calm, keeping head about me, and not doing much but trying, in vain, to get common sense through the thickness of brain matter.
Shit, it didnt work for,... well, shit.
DICKism goes full bore, and I still stand firm within the storm, as does Lady C, and GF, M.
2 days of this crap-fest.
On the third day, all calm has said its final Aloha, and reverted to pure, unadulterated, unfiltered, pissed-off-as-shit-Me.
I work too damn much, to deal with this BS, and I let him know it.
At about 15 on the volume scale, and the dial goes only to 10.
But he is stubborn as a mule, so nothing got heard.
And Double DICKism went on display.
- so the dust settles, and he is sent packing, to wherever he wants to get his shit together at.
And per as usual, I feel like shit for blowing the few gaskets I have left in my head.
One thing is for sure, this time, he better sure as heck, Get It.
I am too damn old for this shit, I have too full a plate, and I love this whole clan way more than anyone can fathom.
Rules.
Responsibility.
Questions, answers.
We are here for each other, not for ourselves, but sometime, you gotta give the self up for the team.
Aloha.
Nuclear accident, and the scenario behind it.
Probably more or less comes from the fact that I have too few days off. Eldest son, was supposed to take the HFD entrance exam, and everyone was pulling for a good result. The test comes around once every 3 years or so, and the numbers are like this - 4000 test takers, for 120 or so job openings. Competition, yep.
So my 1 day off since hell froze over last, was a surf fest, followed by the eldest being, well, a DICK. I probably work around 325-345 days a year. Usually, if I do take a day off, it is to do some sort of home stuffs, but hey, thats my kuleana (responsibility) So I really appreciate a non-bullshit day when I am off.
But lets back-track.
So son "K" was supposed to take the HFD test. I had a day off. K decides to be a dick. This is wrapped around by the fact that his GF, M, and her daughter, K, are living here now, too. Now K doesnt feel too great on expressing his frustrations at times. This, combined with a problem of lying, or stretching the truth, has dire consequence when the old defication hits the occilator.
Confused, yet?
Ratchet up the fact that I have been exceedingly patient with K and his small BS, but you are now the owner of 2 mouths to help feed, provide for, and answer to.
Yo, bro, it is time to be a Man.
Now focus our attetion to the need to ho'oponopono, (or talk things over with refrain) This can be accomplished by speaking together, working differences out. But it takes all parties to open up to it.
Instead of taking down the facade, K amps up the level of DICKism to new heights. I remain calm, keeping head about me, and not doing much but trying, in vain, to get common sense through the thickness of brain matter.
Shit, it didnt work for,... well, shit.
DICKism goes full bore, and I still stand firm within the storm, as does Lady C, and GF, M.
2 days of this crap-fest.
On the third day, all calm has said its final Aloha, and reverted to pure, unadulterated, unfiltered, pissed-off-as-shit-Me.
I work too damn much, to deal with this BS, and I let him know it.
At about 15 on the volume scale, and the dial goes only to 10.
But he is stubborn as a mule, so nothing got heard.
And Double DICKism went on display.
- so the dust settles, and he is sent packing, to wherever he wants to get his shit together at.
And per as usual, I feel like shit for blowing the few gaskets I have left in my head.
One thing is for sure, this time, he better sure as heck, Get It.
I am too damn old for this shit, I have too full a plate, and I love this whole clan way more than anyone can fathom.
Rules.
Responsibility.
Questions, answers.
We are here for each other, not for ourselves, but sometime, you gotta give the self up for the team.
Aloha.
20.9.05
Surf News, Work News, Good News, Bad News, All the noose thats fit to print...
Surf will pick up thanks to Hurricane Jova off to the east.
Nuclear meltdown with eldest, suffice to say, hum-dinger and no winners, everybody loses.
Sun came up again, today.
I am at Hotel De Hell-i-fino, for another shaft-ola of a day.
Almost finished with the up-stairs remodel, actuallt did plumbing, and nothing leaked, first time through.
(Usually it is a fifteen rounder, and the leak wins)
There are not enough hours in the day...
Aloha.
Peace.
Nuclear meltdown with eldest, suffice to say, hum-dinger and no winners, everybody loses.
Sun came up again, today.
I am at Hotel De Hell-i-fino, for another shaft-ola of a day.
Almost finished with the up-stairs remodel, actuallt did plumbing, and nothing leaked, first time through.
(Usually it is a fifteen rounder, and the leak wins)
There are not enough hours in the day...
Aloha.
Peace.
17.9.05
In Case Of Emergency Break Glass
There are shards everywhere.
Who is gonna clean up this mess?
Drama-rama-lama & the beat.
Who, indeed.
Back to basic insanity, the inmates are running loose in the field, and no one thought to mow the lawn.
Not drunk.
Auwe!
Aloha.
Who is gonna clean up this mess?
Drama-rama-lama & the beat.
Who, indeed.
Back to basic insanity, the inmates are running loose in the field, and no one thought to mow the lawn.
Not drunk.
Auwe!
Aloha.
16.9.05
NEIL.
Neil Young Interview - 45 minutes well spent.
Get 23:00 minutes of the interview - It Is It.
Album cuts on da web site (whole album)
Aloha.
Get 23:00 minutes of the interview - It Is It.
Album cuts on da web site (whole album)
Aloha.
14.9.05
Where they came from
Click the link above to see where the waves came from.
Teahupoo
(cho- po)
Tahiti.
If you ever want a surf nightmare, here it is.
Serious, serious stuff.
But sooooooooooooooooo fine.
If only my 'nads were bigger.
Aloha
Teahupoo
(cho- po)
Tahiti.
If you ever want a surf nightmare, here it is.
Serious, serious stuff.
But sooooooooooooooooo fine.
If only my 'nads were bigger.
Aloha
Surfed Out
Yes I had a day off.
My arms are toast. I gotta work a 24 tomorrow.
So what.
I am stoked.
I had a 3 hour surf fest, not where I wanted because everyone and their mom were on it. So I relegated myself to a spot known as Pillars, and paddled to another spot known as Siltys - like the silt. In between, paddled around to another spot by the name of Terrors, and wondered around the Moanalua Bay like a dog in heat.
Caught a ton of waves. Nothing earth shattering, but enuf to make me smile.
I must have paddled a couple of miles. 'Cause I got knots where knots never have been.
Nose salt water drainage.
I am a happy pup.
A L O H A ...
My arms are toast. I gotta work a 24 tomorrow.
So what.
I am stoked.
I had a 3 hour surf fest, not where I wanted because everyone and their mom were on it. So I relegated myself to a spot known as Pillars, and paddled to another spot known as Siltys - like the silt. In between, paddled around to another spot by the name of Terrors, and wondered around the Moanalua Bay like a dog in heat.
Caught a ton of waves. Nothing earth shattering, but enuf to make me smile.
I must have paddled a couple of miles. 'Cause I got knots where knots never have been.
Nose salt water drainage.
I am a happy pup.
A L O H A ...
13.9.05
Surf Surf Surf And More...Surf
The swell forecasted is showing from out in fromt of Hotel De Hell.
Oh boy, tomorrow is going to ROCK!!!!
Forgive me if the next bunch a posts are all wet......
This monkey is going to be in Heaven....
And I am OFF from both jobs 'morrow.
Karma has come around for the hopeless.....
Plenty and plenty more....ALOHA!
Oh boy, tomorrow is going to ROCK!!!!
Forgive me if the next bunch a posts are all wet......
This monkey is going to be in Heaven....
And I am OFF from both jobs 'morrow.
Karma has come around for the hopeless.....
Plenty and plenty more....ALOHA!
1,2,3........Surf!
Joy of joys, I got a surf in. The much hyped southy didnt really show its merit yet. Too high a tide for the forerunners to feel the bottom, and give up the goods.
But the packages that got to be opened before the tide killed it where worth while, for sure. Ended up in the water for about 3 hours, nicely pruned, and posted the photos with water dripping out the snozzola.
Drove by 3 favorite spots before finally settling on an obscure spot, by the name of Rice Bowls. Named because the wave warps and curves like a bowl, hence the name. The wave itself is pretty good, and the lack of crowd made it all the more worthwhile.
Northshore had its first real swell of the winter season set foot on the shores today - solid 6 feet hawaiian style (10ft + faces) Had planned on going to the country, but after slopping $50 buckolas of petrol in the truck, couldnt see the expense, being I had to work at the hotel anyways. I know it isnt long by mainland standards, but a 90 mile round trip wasnt on the menu. Altho' after seeing the pix from my friends website, maybe it woulda been.
There is always another day.
The waves were pretty well manicured this morning. Winds started off fairly light, and Diamond Head blocked most of the wind that was blaring down the valleys. So out into the ocean blue - I find it more and more healing as I age along with the soil. ( now thats is a weird one) I always do the same actions before I go in the water. Make the sign of the cross, ask whoever to keep me safe, and let me see the eyes of my Lady C, K, Bear, and da Maimai. Habit. Kinda like dipping in the holy water, so to speak. Tom Blake once said that the ocean is his religion, and that his church is "the blessed church of the open sky" I really like that quote. Getting that first taste of salt water is invigorating in itself.
I swear, it is like it just washes all the bullshit off of me. Maybe it is just because of the simplicity of the entire surf-dance. It is a board, shorts, and me. Pretty refined, I guess. I dont think I can put into words what that first moment is like. Maybe it is like a orgasm. Or maybe like pulling out a thorn, you know how the release, or relief?...(wink, wink)
OK, sexual innuendos aside, it feels pretty damn good.
Refreshed.
Thats the ticket. The best part is it stays with me the whole day. I kinda skitter along, all stoked about the waves, getting some excercise. Maybe a burnt nose to boot. Happy, happy, joy, joy.
I gotta bottle that, and stash it for the long, hard days.
I am a lucky man, truly blessed.
Stoked!
Aloha.
But the packages that got to be opened before the tide killed it where worth while, for sure. Ended up in the water for about 3 hours, nicely pruned, and posted the photos with water dripping out the snozzola.
Drove by 3 favorite spots before finally settling on an obscure spot, by the name of Rice Bowls. Named because the wave warps and curves like a bowl, hence the name. The wave itself is pretty good, and the lack of crowd made it all the more worthwhile.
Northshore had its first real swell of the winter season set foot on the shores today - solid 6 feet hawaiian style (10ft + faces) Had planned on going to the country, but after slopping $50 buckolas of petrol in the truck, couldnt see the expense, being I had to work at the hotel anyways. I know it isnt long by mainland standards, but a 90 mile round trip wasnt on the menu. Altho' after seeing the pix from my friends website, maybe it woulda been.
There is always another day.
The waves were pretty well manicured this morning. Winds started off fairly light, and Diamond Head blocked most of the wind that was blaring down the valleys. So out into the ocean blue - I find it more and more healing as I age along with the soil. ( now thats is a weird one) I always do the same actions before I go in the water. Make the sign of the cross, ask whoever to keep me safe, and let me see the eyes of my Lady C, K, Bear, and da Maimai. Habit. Kinda like dipping in the holy water, so to speak. Tom Blake once said that the ocean is his religion, and that his church is "the blessed church of the open sky" I really like that quote. Getting that first taste of salt water is invigorating in itself.
I swear, it is like it just washes all the bullshit off of me. Maybe it is just because of the simplicity of the entire surf-dance. It is a board, shorts, and me. Pretty refined, I guess. I dont think I can put into words what that first moment is like. Maybe it is like a orgasm. Or maybe like pulling out a thorn, you know how the release, or relief?...(wink, wink)
OK, sexual innuendos aside, it feels pretty damn good.
Refreshed.
Thats the ticket. The best part is it stays with me the whole day. I kinda skitter along, all stoked about the waves, getting some excercise. Maybe a burnt nose to boot. Happy, happy, joy, joy.
I gotta bottle that, and stash it for the long, hard days.
I am a lucky man, truly blessed.
Stoked!
Aloha.
12.9.05
The 14 Y/O & The 1000 Y/O Man...
It may sound corny, but this is my favorite pix of me and the Maimai - I will always protect, and she will ALWAYS get into the monkeys arse.
She is 14 today...I am 1000 years old
The resident terror of the isles turns 14 today, and I get to work. Hotel de Hell. Welcome to Monday in the tropics.
I will now put the whine over here on the side, right next to the cheese between my ears.
'Cause I have no reason to complain.
My little blonde version of the entire cosmos turns 14 today, (summer re-runs, doncha know) and the grey hairs on my head seem to be using miracle grow. Not too mention the absurd amount of grinding going on down in my opu (stomach.) The little lady was such a surprise 14 years ago. All I know is as with all my children, I wish them nothing but happiness and success, and apparently this is achieved by owning an Ipod.
Why do I spoil them?
(grins.)
Tired. 24 at FCC is killing my sleep patterns, not like I have any patterns to anything.
Reorganize the brain, love ya Maimai, Lady C, K, Bear, M, and tykelette K.
Inspiration maybe tomorrow.
Aloha.
I will now put the whine over here on the side, right next to the cheese between my ears.
'Cause I have no reason to complain.
My little blonde version of the entire cosmos turns 14 today, (summer re-runs, doncha know) and the grey hairs on my head seem to be using miracle grow. Not too mention the absurd amount of grinding going on down in my opu (stomach.) The little lady was such a surprise 14 years ago. All I know is as with all my children, I wish them nothing but happiness and success, and apparently this is achieved by owning an Ipod.
Why do I spoil them?
(grins.)
Tired. 24 at FCC is killing my sleep patterns, not like I have any patterns to anything.
Reorganize the brain, love ya Maimai, Lady C, K, Bear, M, and tykelette K.
Inspiration maybe tomorrow.
Aloha.
9.9.05
Three Hundred and Forty-three
In a few days my daughter will turn 14. The day after 9/11. For her, for my family, for anyone - bare with me if the following words migrate to the realm of non-sense.
We did not create the hate that day, the hate that festered in a religions confused minds. We were only called to duty, a daily duty, one that never sleeps. There wont be any daughters turning 14 for many of my calling. They wont grab-ass in the firehouse with those who they did for many a time. The alarm will ring, the trucks will pull out of the station, and they will ride along, only in spirit.
The turnouts they wore, will hang unfilled, in the locker.
Because of a misguided hate.
We see the best people in their worst moments. There were 50,000 worst moments that day. Not counting the fears, the mind staggering awe of those on the ground. Those at the tube. We who were not there to catch you as you fell. Serving is a great high. Helping the public is a great high.
Hate. Pure evil. Surrounded in a cloak of religious dementia.
Spoon fed lunatics, filled with propaganda; access to the almighty dollar, willing to die.
Die they did.
I can only imagine the nirvana they inhabit now. It has to suck pretty bad, knowing how pissed the brothers of the firehouse must be. Pissed off firemen, 343 of them. Not quite the 700 virgins your religious pontiffs said would be waiting, I bet.
We still go to work. For you guys. For your families. For the public.
Because there is no greater conquest than not quitting. You fucked with us, your demons of hate, focused on our world, our way of life. You will not succeed in your attempts to weakens us. In your hate you have only united us. You wanted us to quit.
Losers.
Your next attempt, we will come to the aid of those innocents you have targeted. You will take some of our loved ones.
They were Loved.
And there, lies the difference between you, and us.
They are still LOVED.
Your hate, has damned you for all time. Your names will not be spoken in hushed tones of gratitude. Not even by your own kind. Because you failed.
You failed, losers.
It didn't work. You didn't accomplish anything but creating heroes out of people who already were.
To their families.
To there fellow firemen.
To the public.
I will not hate you.
I will not let that fungus grow, multiply, and infect my soul.
I have a job to do.
It is the greatest, most unglamorous job in the world.
And it is mine.
Unlike yours, to spread hate, mistrust and violence.
I will spread courage, compassion, and care.
In the days ahead, I will reflect, pay homage, and pray.
I will pray for the guys.
I will pray they are having a cold beer in heaven.
That they are watching over us all.
You lost.
God Bless FDNY, and the families, friends, co-workers of the 343.
Peace.
Aloha.
We did not create the hate that day, the hate that festered in a religions confused minds. We were only called to duty, a daily duty, one that never sleeps. There wont be any daughters turning 14 for many of my calling. They wont grab-ass in the firehouse with those who they did for many a time. The alarm will ring, the trucks will pull out of the station, and they will ride along, only in spirit.
The turnouts they wore, will hang unfilled, in the locker.
Because of a misguided hate.
We see the best people in their worst moments. There were 50,000 worst moments that day. Not counting the fears, the mind staggering awe of those on the ground. Those at the tube. We who were not there to catch you as you fell. Serving is a great high. Helping the public is a great high.
Hate. Pure evil. Surrounded in a cloak of religious dementia.
Spoon fed lunatics, filled with propaganda; access to the almighty dollar, willing to die.
Die they did.
I can only imagine the nirvana they inhabit now. It has to suck pretty bad, knowing how pissed the brothers of the firehouse must be. Pissed off firemen, 343 of them. Not quite the 700 virgins your religious pontiffs said would be waiting, I bet.
We still go to work. For you guys. For your families. For the public.
Because there is no greater conquest than not quitting. You fucked with us, your demons of hate, focused on our world, our way of life. You will not succeed in your attempts to weakens us. In your hate you have only united us. You wanted us to quit.
Losers.
Your next attempt, we will come to the aid of those innocents you have targeted. You will take some of our loved ones.
They were Loved.
And there, lies the difference between you, and us.
They are still LOVED.
Your hate, has damned you for all time. Your names will not be spoken in hushed tones of gratitude. Not even by your own kind. Because you failed.
You failed, losers.
It didn't work. You didn't accomplish anything but creating heroes out of people who already were.
To their families.
To there fellow firemen.
To the public.
I will not hate you.
I will not let that fungus grow, multiply, and infect my soul.
I have a job to do.
It is the greatest, most unglamorous job in the world.
And it is mine.
Unlike yours, to spread hate, mistrust and violence.
I will spread courage, compassion, and care.
In the days ahead, I will reflect, pay homage, and pray.
I will pray for the guys.
I will pray they are having a cold beer in heaven.
That they are watching over us all.
You lost.
God Bless FDNY, and the families, friends, co-workers of the 343.
Peace.
Aloha.
8.9.05
Surf Report, Surviving 24 hours, Hotel de Hell
Incoming news says we will get one more banger of a swell from the south soon. Tahiti will pound out some serious surf around Tavarua, & the rest of the prime spots. Teahupoo (cho-po) will get behemoths. Photogs will be having a field day with the pristine waters.
I will be a pig in shit.
Survived 24 at the firehouse, many calls. Little sleep. 3 days to work at Hotel Hell and do it again. Cant wait for Vegas in November. When you work 325+ days a year, time off is gold.
When the hell was my last day off? I have no idea. Oh well.
Now that the arrogant, loutish, demanding fans of the University of Southern California have left, the place is its normal asylum. The inmates have regained control. What a bunch of maroons. The moron, not the color of the team, for sure. I think I have never seen a more spend-free, asshole bunch in 23 years at the Pink Lady. No, we are booked, sorry, are not answers they hear on a regular basis. South-California dweebs in the flesh. No wonder they surf like shit.
Ok, rant is over.
Sorry 'bout that.
The call for the lady in the vent was interesting. Apparently, this female had gone on the roof of one of the larger malls in Honolulu. There happened to be workers up there. They asked her what she was doing, she was authorized to work on the exhaust vents. Somebody with a brain alerted security, and they confronted her, only to have her jump up and down on a grate over the vents. I guess that is where the common sense ends here. She broke through the grate, and fell 10 ft down the exhaust shaft. I took the call in Alarm Bureau. The first thing the caller said was that he was with the mall security, and that a lady was stuck in one of the exhaust vents.
Which means - A rescue company, a ladder company, and a Chief. Confined space rescue is the correct term. She is talking at this point. The troops gain access, start to devise a plan. She slides in further down, to a point of restriction 16" wide. So the rescue guys start in on figuring a way to her, and she starts chanting of some sort. The guys couldn't figure out the language, or the reason, she at this point had ceased all sensible communication.
So 5 hours later, they have torn apart the exhaust vents, and pulled her out, unconscious.
2 days later, she died.
This one gets filed under WTF?
What could besides drugs, psychological condition, have possessed someone to do such an inane act?
Go figure.
Aloha.
I will be a pig in shit.
Survived 24 at the firehouse, many calls. Little sleep. 3 days to work at Hotel Hell and do it again. Cant wait for Vegas in November. When you work 325+ days a year, time off is gold.
When the hell was my last day off? I have no idea. Oh well.
Now that the arrogant, loutish, demanding fans of the University of Southern California have left, the place is its normal asylum. The inmates have regained control. What a bunch of maroons. The moron, not the color of the team, for sure. I think I have never seen a more spend-free, asshole bunch in 23 years at the Pink Lady. No, we are booked, sorry, are not answers they hear on a regular basis. South-California dweebs in the flesh. No wonder they surf like shit.
Ok, rant is over.
Sorry 'bout that.
The call for the lady in the vent was interesting. Apparently, this female had gone on the roof of one of the larger malls in Honolulu. There happened to be workers up there. They asked her what she was doing, she was authorized to work on the exhaust vents. Somebody with a brain alerted security, and they confronted her, only to have her jump up and down on a grate over the vents. I guess that is where the common sense ends here. She broke through the grate, and fell 10 ft down the exhaust shaft. I took the call in Alarm Bureau. The first thing the caller said was that he was with the mall security, and that a lady was stuck in one of the exhaust vents.
Which means - A rescue company, a ladder company, and a Chief. Confined space rescue is the correct term. She is talking at this point. The troops gain access, start to devise a plan. She slides in further down, to a point of restriction 16" wide. So the rescue guys start in on figuring a way to her, and she starts chanting of some sort. The guys couldn't figure out the language, or the reason, she at this point had ceased all sensible communication.
So 5 hours later, they have torn apart the exhaust vents, and pulled her out, unconscious.
2 days later, she died.
This one gets filed under WTF?
What could besides drugs, psychological condition, have possessed someone to do such an inane act?
Go figure.
Aloha.
6.9.05
Laundry Mat
I really enjoy doing the laundry. With as dysfunctional a crew as is my crew, the clothes pile up. Towels, girl-changes-a-clothes-cause-she's-13, work clothes, rags, etc.
But it is in the doing of the laundry where I find some solace. (along with assorted change, dollar tips, miscellaneous trash) We have maybe four hampers at various locales around the hale (home, pronounced 'Ha-lay') It is a golden egg find most of the time, to get all the wash rounded up. How clothes can be removed in one area, and migrate on their own to another, is a feat in its own right. Then again, there is no crew like MY crew.
Girlie things; find their way into my hamper, along with Lady C's stuff. Now, Lady C is no size 2. So being that there is only one other femme fatale in the home, the smallish panties, arent mine, so hmmmmm?, whose could they be? Maimai & her attire, seem to part ways in a myriad of places. Sometimes, I think they leave without her knowing. Then again, at 13, what happens 2 seconds ago is along time gone.
Back to the joy of wash.
Once the gear is gathered, the fun starts. Procuring a basket to haul the tonnage is in itself, a expedition of Lewis & Clark realms. First I gotta find one that isn't STILL FULL from the last wash batch. Once that treasure has been discovered, moving right along to - heavy stuff first, little light stuff second. Towels and jeans, as well as floor rugs, mats, jackets. In they go. The many different stages of remodels in my home has placed the washer right outside my masterbedroom door. Seriously. Because the first addition was the back patio (lanai) back in the day, it is now enclosed, to make my TV/Computer/ Masterbed area. But the washer, she stayed. Not like she had a choice. So all the needs are right there, above the washer. Dump the clothes, wash-a wash-a wash-a.
Pau (finished) with that, the next is drag that load, and since it is the heavy stuff, hang 'em on the solar dryer.
It is in the hanging that a good deal of meditation takes place for me. I get to look out to a volcanic crater to my right, and the trail that leads to its apex. I recall the hikes with my kids. the runs up there to take in the beauty of my home, my islands. I can even get a quick surf check, if the south shores are happening. Even a peek to the East side waves, if there is action out that side. So in the hanging, I remember good things, good times. The next door neighbor has a huge shower tree. It has thousands of tiny leaves, that fall all year long. They get into the wash basket, creating a pattern of sorts. I guess that pattern reflects in the hanging, 'cause I always tend to hang the stuff the same. towels in the back, jeans and other heavies in the front.
The tedious task of laundry has become a necessary evil, but the task has opened up a time to reflect, a time to take in that which matters.
But the dryer hates me.
The dryer sits on the complete other end of the house. In the garage. Where. of course, it is in charge of electrical consumption. And master and commander of lint. Hider of socks. It likes to take a load, toss it around for a while, and buzz that it has finished the job. The sucker never finishes the job. It laughs its little dryer laugh, when I open it up to find the items half-done. So i reset the dial, and after another billion kilowatts, it produces well toasted clothes. Almost crispy. I have taken this thing apart, fiddled with this and that, and it just does its own thing. Bastard.
Folding is like zen Buddhism. Especially when the day is short, the nights long, and I have managed to again, leave the wax in my surf shorts, thereby leaving wax all over everything. I have ruined more surf shorts that way. You'd think I would learn. Hrumph. Towels get the fold-a-rama sequence. All the same way, the same size. Except, of course, the beach towels. Because the are the size of a King Bed sheet, they take about a hour to figure out what way to fold. Then of course, the Maimai uses it to dry after a bath. Arggggh. How can a 100 lb girl need a towel the size of Texas to dry? A calmness can occur when folding, the state of enlightenment almost achieved. Then reality hits, and I gotta get done, packed up and off to work.
I guess I am lucky, for the one thing about this routine I love is that in my Laundry Mat, I don't discriminate between whites and colors, everybody goes in together. And damn, if they don't get along well. Clean as a whistle, waiting for me to do it all over again.
Back to the firehouse tomorrow, 3 days of Hotel Hell has raw edges around my brain, surf missed by a smidgen, but there is more on the way.
Accomplishments are small, but the point of view, large.
Hope everybody has had a great Labor Day weekend, and prayers out to the N.O. families.
Aloha.
But it is in the doing of the laundry where I find some solace. (along with assorted change, dollar tips, miscellaneous trash) We have maybe four hampers at various locales around the hale (home, pronounced 'Ha-lay') It is a golden egg find most of the time, to get all the wash rounded up. How clothes can be removed in one area, and migrate on their own to another, is a feat in its own right. Then again, there is no crew like MY crew.
Girlie things; find their way into my hamper, along with Lady C's stuff. Now, Lady C is no size 2. So being that there is only one other femme fatale in the home, the smallish panties, arent mine, so hmmmmm?, whose could they be? Maimai & her attire, seem to part ways in a myriad of places. Sometimes, I think they leave without her knowing. Then again, at 13, what happens 2 seconds ago is along time gone.
Back to the joy of wash.
Once the gear is gathered, the fun starts. Procuring a basket to haul the tonnage is in itself, a expedition of Lewis & Clark realms. First I gotta find one that isn't STILL FULL from the last wash batch. Once that treasure has been discovered, moving right along to - heavy stuff first, little light stuff second. Towels and jeans, as well as floor rugs, mats, jackets. In they go. The many different stages of remodels in my home has placed the washer right outside my masterbedroom door. Seriously. Because the first addition was the back patio (lanai) back in the day, it is now enclosed, to make my TV/Computer/ Masterbed area. But the washer, she stayed. Not like she had a choice. So all the needs are right there, above the washer. Dump the clothes, wash-a wash-a wash-a.
Pau (finished) with that, the next is drag that load, and since it is the heavy stuff, hang 'em on the solar dryer.
It is in the hanging that a good deal of meditation takes place for me. I get to look out to a volcanic crater to my right, and the trail that leads to its apex. I recall the hikes with my kids. the runs up there to take in the beauty of my home, my islands. I can even get a quick surf check, if the south shores are happening. Even a peek to the East side waves, if there is action out that side. So in the hanging, I remember good things, good times. The next door neighbor has a huge shower tree. It has thousands of tiny leaves, that fall all year long. They get into the wash basket, creating a pattern of sorts. I guess that pattern reflects in the hanging, 'cause I always tend to hang the stuff the same. towels in the back, jeans and other heavies in the front.
The tedious task of laundry has become a necessary evil, but the task has opened up a time to reflect, a time to take in that which matters.
But the dryer hates me.
The dryer sits on the complete other end of the house. In the garage. Where. of course, it is in charge of electrical consumption. And master and commander of lint. Hider of socks. It likes to take a load, toss it around for a while, and buzz that it has finished the job. The sucker never finishes the job. It laughs its little dryer laugh, when I open it up to find the items half-done. So i reset the dial, and after another billion kilowatts, it produces well toasted clothes. Almost crispy. I have taken this thing apart, fiddled with this and that, and it just does its own thing. Bastard.
Folding is like zen Buddhism. Especially when the day is short, the nights long, and I have managed to again, leave the wax in my surf shorts, thereby leaving wax all over everything. I have ruined more surf shorts that way. You'd think I would learn. Hrumph. Towels get the fold-a-rama sequence. All the same way, the same size. Except, of course, the beach towels. Because the are the size of a King Bed sheet, they take about a hour to figure out what way to fold. Then of course, the Maimai uses it to dry after a bath. Arggggh. How can a 100 lb girl need a towel the size of Texas to dry? A calmness can occur when folding, the state of enlightenment almost achieved. Then reality hits, and I gotta get done, packed up and off to work.
I guess I am lucky, for the one thing about this routine I love is that in my Laundry Mat, I don't discriminate between whites and colors, everybody goes in together. And damn, if they don't get along well. Clean as a whistle, waiting for me to do it all over again.
Back to the firehouse tomorrow, 3 days of Hotel Hell has raw edges around my brain, surf missed by a smidgen, but there is more on the way.
Accomplishments are small, but the point of view, large.
Hope everybody has had a great Labor Day weekend, and prayers out to the N.O. families.
Aloha.
4.9.05
Stuffed Cabbage
So - we march on. Together, unified, or seperate, alone, disheveled. We march on. I dont feel a need to reguritate the news. You can see it any of a million ways. A million views. Opinions are like....and yeah, I, you, and everybody else got one. The live link below may give a more hands-on approach to the scene if you are so inclined.
Lets not play the blame game. Common sense, normal outrage lays it where it belongs. Nuff' said on that. Here is for anyones perusal, the bureaucratic BULLSHIT that I faced yesterday at the Alarm Bureau, a.k.a. firehouse.
Bare with me, folks, it will all come out, with out bleach.
We had a bunch of alarms, yesterday. The facts are, and will forever be, logged in the good old mass of goo atop my head. The call for a brush fire comes in. The crews go, and see that it is in an area virtually inaccessible to the guys (girls, too). The crews need more manpower, so we send them. the Chief in charge of the situation he asks for some assistance from the military, who in our last big fire finally came around to help, after 3 (sound familiar?) days. So our job, down at Alarm Bureau, is to get the wheels turning. So we call. We call the colonels, the generals, the grunts.
"parapharse" - yada yada yada yada yada is all I (we) hear.
Our chief, via the radio, is understandbly, pissed. You can hear it in his transmissions. So the gang bust ass all day in the hawaiian sun, cutting down the fire, protecting endangered specis of plants, animals. All the time wary of the fire going over the ridge, down the valley, to the MILITARY AMMO DEPOT on the other sdie, in Lualualei. (sorry all my ancestors knew about were vowels, 12 letter language does that to the words)
And they do the job. They get it under control by early night fall. Chief thanks the crews, everybody off to bed.
All we (HFD) were needing, was a another chopper to assist with water drops. Kill the fire, help the boys.
Never came, needless to say.
And you know what comes around, well, yes indeed, it goes around.
So night time turns to later in the night time. About 9PM. Cell phone caller. "Fire - what is your emergency?"
"I am up on Kolekole pass, up above the brushfire today, and we are missing 2 soldiers from a hike today"
-"OK - let me get some information"........
So let me nutshell this operation.
It seems that 2 soldiers got disoriented, and lost on the trails above the westside. This is on military land. We really have to jump thru hoops to access, get coordinated with the soldier guys. (thanks again, Al-queda!) Terror levels, you know, all the red tape you need, thanks! Our Air1, it is the pilots call to decide to fly or not at night. He outranks the Fire Chief, on this call. We lost 2 pilots in recues back in 1996-7 in the span of 6 months. So his word, is the end word. So while we make calls, get people on the same page, all kinds a shit breaks loose, saturday, 3 day weekend, the natives are restless)
Air 1, he says...No.
Of course, life safety in question, he would go. But these guys were safe, via a dying cell, and hunkered down for the evening. The military Fire Department, the SAY they are going to go, and will let us know what is up. (we are seperate from the Fed Fire, BTW) So far, so good?
Morning light comes, we get called, they NEVER went, they waited for light, so that we HAVE to go.
These are the same bureaucrats that couldnt spare a chopper for a couple of hours to protect the bombs and shit they store here. So we bust ass, for the red tape line.
I get home late, miss a hug, a surf, and generally, tired.
But - (and I got a big 'un) - -
It seems like a good view of all the BS that surrounds the whole shit-fest in Da Big Easy.
No one has the balls to say DO IT. Do IT Now!
Spineless, pencil pushing, dweebs.
No one has/had the balls big enough to put OTHERS before SELF to get the damn job done.
Blame 'em all if ya like.
I say what if just one of 'em had some friggin gonads, and put the job on the line, and got the shit moving?
Hero?
Or fool?
Feel free to disagree.
.....Aloha....
Promise to tell 'the lady stuck in the exhaust vent' alarm next time.......
Surf Is Up, BTW. (ahhh, some good)
Lets not play the blame game. Common sense, normal outrage lays it where it belongs. Nuff' said on that. Here is for anyones perusal, the bureaucratic BULLSHIT that I faced yesterday at the Alarm Bureau, a.k.a. firehouse.
Bare with me, folks, it will all come out, with out bleach.
We had a bunch of alarms, yesterday. The facts are, and will forever be, logged in the good old mass of goo atop my head. The call for a brush fire comes in. The crews go, and see that it is in an area virtually inaccessible to the guys (girls, too). The crews need more manpower, so we send them. the Chief in charge of the situation he asks for some assistance from the military, who in our last big fire finally came around to help, after 3 (sound familiar?) days. So our job, down at Alarm Bureau, is to get the wheels turning. So we call. We call the colonels, the generals, the grunts.
"parapharse" - yada yada yada yada yada is all I (we) hear.
Our chief, via the radio, is understandbly, pissed. You can hear it in his transmissions. So the gang bust ass all day in the hawaiian sun, cutting down the fire, protecting endangered specis of plants, animals. All the time wary of the fire going over the ridge, down the valley, to the MILITARY AMMO DEPOT on the other sdie, in Lualualei. (sorry all my ancestors knew about were vowels, 12 letter language does that to the words)
And they do the job. They get it under control by early night fall. Chief thanks the crews, everybody off to bed.
All we (HFD) were needing, was a another chopper to assist with water drops. Kill the fire, help the boys.
Never came, needless to say.
And you know what comes around, well, yes indeed, it goes around.
So night time turns to later in the night time. About 9PM. Cell phone caller. "Fire - what is your emergency?"
"I am up on Kolekole pass, up above the brushfire today, and we are missing 2 soldiers from a hike today"
-"OK - let me get some information"........
So let me nutshell this operation.
It seems that 2 soldiers got disoriented, and lost on the trails above the westside. This is on military land. We really have to jump thru hoops to access, get coordinated with the soldier guys. (thanks again, Al-queda!) Terror levels, you know, all the red tape you need, thanks! Our Air1, it is the pilots call to decide to fly or not at night. He outranks the Fire Chief, on this call. We lost 2 pilots in recues back in 1996-7 in the span of 6 months. So his word, is the end word. So while we make calls, get people on the same page, all kinds a shit breaks loose, saturday, 3 day weekend, the natives are restless)
Air 1, he says...No.
Of course, life safety in question, he would go. But these guys were safe, via a dying cell, and hunkered down for the evening. The military Fire Department, the SAY they are going to go, and will let us know what is up. (we are seperate from the Fed Fire, BTW) So far, so good?
Morning light comes, we get called, they NEVER went, they waited for light, so that we HAVE to go.
These are the same bureaucrats that couldnt spare a chopper for a couple of hours to protect the bombs and shit they store here. So we bust ass, for the red tape line.
I get home late, miss a hug, a surf, and generally, tired.
But - (and I got a big 'un) - -
It seems like a good view of all the BS that surrounds the whole shit-fest in Da Big Easy.
No one has the balls to say DO IT. Do IT Now!
Spineless, pencil pushing, dweebs.
No one has/had the balls big enough to put OTHERS before SELF to get the damn job done.
Blame 'em all if ya like.
I say what if just one of 'em had some friggin gonads, and put the job on the line, and got the shit moving?
Hero?
Or fool?
Feel free to disagree.
.....Aloha....
Promise to tell 'the lady stuck in the exhaust vent' alarm next time.......
Surf Is Up, BTW. (ahhh, some good)
New Orleans Live BLOG
Click da link for a Live Blog from Da Big Easy.
Best out to all suffering.
More later, good stuffs, innaressing stuffs, stuffs & more stuffs.
But I really gotta moi-moi (sleep!)
Best out to all suffering.
More later, good stuffs, innaressing stuffs, stuffs & more stuffs.
But I really gotta moi-moi (sleep!)
2.9.05
Prayers & Aid & $$$ to Da Big Easy / AM Surf-O-Rama
Before I indulge in a self serving of stoke about this mornings surf, drop some change to the redcross if you can. They are good folks. I dropped a coin or two, so whatever is available, do it. If you cant spare a cent, try to organize some collection or something. Hope we all know we are in this situation together, as one, as 1 country.
AM surf session at China Walls - got in the water at 745AM. Dropped off the MaiMai at school, lotta hugs and kisses. Surf was looking pretty good. Only 2 others out. Had a great fun 3 hour session. Of course now I am back at Hotel Hell, busy as shit, as USC is in town for the opening game with UH. It is madness here now. Tons of USC drunks, and families, and crowds. Oh well.
Aloha.
It is just tooo damn busy, back to the HFD real job 'morrow.
AM surf session at China Walls - got in the water at 745AM. Dropped off the MaiMai at school, lotta hugs and kisses. Surf was looking pretty good. Only 2 others out. Had a great fun 3 hour session. Of course now I am back at Hotel Hell, busy as shit, as USC is in town for the opening game with UH. It is madness here now. Tons of USC drunks, and families, and crowds. Oh well.
Aloha.
It is just tooo damn busy, back to the HFD real job 'morrow.
1.9.05
~ * 13 * ~
Overaught adjectives and run on sentences aside, I'll try to keep it short, sweet, and to the point.
For crying out loud, what happened to my little girl?
There was communication, there used to be warm fuzzies going back and forth. I guess this too, shall pass. Like bad poi, or stale beer, its gotta end some time.
Soon, please.
The fact is, I try to be understanding of the ins-outs of teenage angst. Sure I cant relate to it, but I can say "been there." Not as a 13 y/o female, but around 'em, yeah. The Mai-Mai is a sweet as they come, and thoughtful, caring young lady. To have her just defy myself, and my instructions, well, it hurts. Really. It physically, hurts. Headaches not withstanding, I could do without it. Part of me says 'a good licking' would solve the problem, but I know it wont. So I don't. Yelling will just amplify the lack of control, that, I do. Common sense is proving useless, since I cant be there 24/7 to make sure it prevails.
Pass already, please?
The blatant lies are nagging at my heart, to think the raggamuffin that she was, is turning into the pre-adult I dread. Sure enough, the BS detector has to be on and in working fashion. Time and infinite patience will be required to wait it out I imagine.
You just want them to be safe, Yeah?
I know she will come around, but the days seem so long, the moments of happiness so fleeting, that it crushes my heart to be angered at her. She will be fine, I know. I have faith in our family, that as team, as a unit, all challenges will be overcome. They don't put instructions on this in the Dad guidebook. I looked all through the sucker, twice, and couldn't fine a thing on it.
The part in the guide book about giving in to Lady C on all accounts, I think someone added after it was published, 'tho.
Hey, I still got Humor!
Peace, prayers out to Katrina's victims.
Aloha.
For crying out loud, what happened to my little girl?
There was communication, there used to be warm fuzzies going back and forth. I guess this too, shall pass. Like bad poi, or stale beer, its gotta end some time.
Soon, please.
The fact is, I try to be understanding of the ins-outs of teenage angst. Sure I cant relate to it, but I can say "been there." Not as a 13 y/o female, but around 'em, yeah. The Mai-Mai is a sweet as they come, and thoughtful, caring young lady. To have her just defy myself, and my instructions, well, it hurts. Really. It physically, hurts. Headaches not withstanding, I could do without it. Part of me says 'a good licking' would solve the problem, but I know it wont. So I don't. Yelling will just amplify the lack of control, that, I do. Common sense is proving useless, since I cant be there 24/7 to make sure it prevails.
Pass already, please?
The blatant lies are nagging at my heart, to think the raggamuffin that she was, is turning into the pre-adult I dread. Sure enough, the BS detector has to be on and in working fashion. Time and infinite patience will be required to wait it out I imagine.
You just want them to be safe, Yeah?
I know she will come around, but the days seem so long, the moments of happiness so fleeting, that it crushes my heart to be angered at her. She will be fine, I know. I have faith in our family, that as team, as a unit, all challenges will be overcome. They don't put instructions on this in the Dad guidebook. I looked all through the sucker, twice, and couldn't fine a thing on it.
The part in the guide book about giving in to Lady C on all accounts, I think someone added after it was published, 'tho.
Hey, I still got Humor!
Peace, prayers out to Katrina's victims.
Aloha.
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