24 hours can seem so long at times. It is amazing.


Brutal hours, and missing some swell.

You get variety in my job. You can span all increments of emotion in a matter of minutes, and you can not predict what your mind will recall, nor remember. So everyday, every minute, is full of a certain edginess. In the field or out in the public, you are on alert for an alarm. You are called, and you respond. You use your training, your leaders training, and your crews training to mitigate a situation. You get all forms of emergencies, real; or perceived. In Firecom, you are the start of those emergencies. We take the call, and get the game in motion.

But you never are released from what you know.

Every alarm has something that has caused someone to be at their worst. Hurt or hurting, dead, or dying. Saved or retrieved. Extinguished, or ashes. Your experiences in the field let you in on what the crews are going to be facing when you send them on a call.

So it was a busy -ass Friday.

Yeah, there is humor, and it is a welcome break in the time. The call from Mr. Rodgers at 520 in the AM was one that was good. -

"Fire, what is your emergency?"

"where's my slippers?"

"Excuse me?, What is your emergency?"

"where's my slippers? Where is my sweater?...What am I going to do with out my slippers or my sweater?"

"Do you have an emergency?"

"My slippers are gone, and my sweater is too, what is Mr. Rodgers going to do?...I cant tie my shoes, or button my sweater, if they are lost.."

"Sir, Do you have an actual emergency?"

"Well, yes, and no, I am sorry....Thanks any way"

"OK, sir, and Good Luck"

I really, really meant the good luck part.

There are more, but in writing, humor on the phone loses some of the spontaneity.

Then you got terror, horror, and grief.

T, H, and G never take a holiday. They have one hell of a union. They are paid overtime everyday as far as I am concerned. We had 4 building fires yesterday, and the shift before, a death from fire.

The responsibilities from my end are many, but way different from a company extinguishing a fire.

Memory, though, doesnt rest.

I know what a dead burn victim looks like. It is not a pretty picture, nor is it a fragrant one. So knowing this, and knowing what a crew is coming upon, you are tasked with completing your job, and moving on.

But minds dont cooperate that way.

-remember me? i was that man back in '04 who you found in the hallway; that man that you might have saved if a call had come faster; if you had gotten here faster; if the fire was out faster; you took my body and put it in a plastic bag, and placed me in the yard; you waited with my family; you tried to console them; but there is no consoling somone elses loss; there is only grief; and you get the terror of my moments for your time alive; call it what you will; why?; Why do i come back to you?; .....so you never ever forget...

Then it is gone, gone because you better not dwell, you better suck it the fuck up and go on to the next -

We had a pediatric cardiac arrest, and on the 911 line, you hear the emotion, without hearing it.

So you practically force the alarm to the appropriate company, force them faster, force them to save, force it by your will to happen for the good...

But little faces come back as strong as older ones -

--thought i'd let you go Mr. Fireman? nope. you gotta remember, cause i wont, i am gone, no hands will hold my tears, no sun for my cheeks, no surf to roll in. someone took their eye off me, and i slid into the blue of the pool. sure you came, but you came too late, too late for my mommy, my daddy, and my brothers and sisters, its not your fault, its not anyones fault, but i am still gone, but you wont forget that look of blank blueness you tried to remove from me pulling me from that deep; your efforts, everyones efforts were for the best, but it didnt work this time, but you wont forget what i looked like, will you? no cause its burned into your soul, isnt it?.....

You want to reach through the darkness and make it all better; make it all pono, or righteous, you want the tears to be caught.

Sometimes you just want so badly.

I am thirsty.



Tired but something to look forward to

700 PM HST THU JUL 27 2006

700 PM HST THU JUL 27 2006


Surf along south facing shores will rise to heights of 6 to 10 feet overnight and continue through Friday.

Surf along east facing shores will remain 2 to 4 feet thru Friday.

Surf along west facing shores will rise overnight to heights of 3 to 5 feet and continue through Friday.

Surf along north facing shores will remain 1 to 3 feet thru Friday.

Outlook through Wednesday Aug 2. The first in a series of south swells will continue through Saturday. Another potentially larger south swell is expected to arrive Sunday and continue through Wednesday. Surf from former tropical depression Daniel will impact east facing shores during the next few days but is expected remain below advisory levels of 8 feet.

Surf heights are forecast heights of the face or front of waves. The surf forecast is based on the significant wave height in the zone of maximum refraction. Some waves may be more than twice as high as the significant wave height. Expect to encounter rip currents in or near any surf zone.

Um Um Good.

Campbells soup good.



Tired Pup

Tore up a floor, and ready to fut rubber nickels i can barely see.

Got new tile for the room, and found leaks i did not know i have.

Mai starts high school in the AM

Not afraid to die, only afraid to live.

( on a bizarre side note frikin Mr. Rodgers called 911 last night, at 520 in the bloody morn.)

more on that shitski later, i am crashed.

Aloha all.


**hit it like you like it**

Yes siree, the compound here will get filled up shortly with the sounds of manini (small) feets as well as XL sized ones. Lets see... You gots the ring leader of this clown-show; (Me) then ya gots the ever bodacious and equally confused holder of my heart and the blood that pumps through it - LadyC, (wow laulau, thats 2 so far!)Never to be forgotten, sand-in-my-shorts, Bruddah K (new dad, oldest 'sun'), Miss Maimai (demon child/angel face) normal pain in the okole, Number 2 'sun' (wait he moved, so he doesnt count)"The bear" - You could always come home and help me deal with this smorgasborg of a household, ya know. AuntyR, the stoic calming figure for LadyC to irritate if I am not there.
And the coming crew - K's fiance M, and M's Brother T, then M's daughter K, and Little Mr. Moto, Kaleo James. M & T's Mom, S is coming too.

That'll field a baseball team anywhere.

Hoo Boy.


No sensory overload, but this ought to be a very interesting mid-to-end of the year. It should be equally interesting to see my water, and electrical bills.

Deal with this for 24 'morrow

Best not to forget the animals as well, ya got The dogs, (3) ya gots da cat, (1)- outside gaurdian of the entire block, Fishes, Birds (4), and the dead chinchilla who left before it got really fun, but in whose place came Brownie/Thumperette the floppy eared, seemingly stoned Rabbit.

Oh yay! More home improvement stuff

In the next few days, we (I), will have to get the downstairs master half-bathroom re-done. Tore out the old sink and bought a new vanity and faucet stuffs at home-depot this AM.

"Dear God; I took her highness, Lady C, to home depot today. I managed to not get miffed about the 7,500 changes of a mind in the store. Please grant me safe passage through purgatory.

Big Time Mahalo's - HM

(BTW God/Goddess, i am still apparently, sane)

Yanked the Toilet Out to refinish the walls and re-texture the whole spiel. (thats why there is a picture of wallboard joint compound)- Stuff'll get on everything, and then turn to dust when sanded - Fun for the whole family!!

Hell, other than that, I am cruising, well, except that I gotta soar with eagles right now, in the pinkness that the hotel de hemmorage is lately.




Back- (no, never mind!)

"Ward, I am worried about the Beaver."

Arent we all?

Be good.



Working too %*#@ing much.

Yep. I do.

Cool Art

For all the rice in China, this is really toooo much.

Gimme surf.

Like yesterday.

Or the day before.

Even before da before of the before that.


(and if you ever take a tour, dont frikking EVER take a Tauck Tour, cause the key words would be - inbred, rocks, crawl out from under, speling is teeriffix, and the like)

2 more hours of this.




Aloha (while I still gots some)

Saturday Cartoons

Not meaning to offend, but then again, maybe I am. It aint that I am not good at this 'love' stuff, but more so that its like frustration setting itself into concrete.

Yes, it is offensive

I can remember getting my first idea of what humor is/was in the early days of my existence in front of a TV or a radio. Sometimes even the LP record player had something of comedy playing. Our Ohana (family unit) was pretty open minded for the 60's and 70's I guess. Gram & Gramps were pretty straight laced, but my Pops would come home from a long day an ask my Mom if 'It' (that'd be me) was asleep. Dad has a pretty good sense of humor. Momhawaiianmark is/was still pretty hip for 70+ years. She isn't cool with swearing and the like ... "ooooh! Don't say that, say shoots or fiddlesticks instead" ... But having grown up practically in a locker room, it wasn't to be my forte to be..Ah hum, politically correct 100% of the time.

So how do you handle delicate matters of opinion differences with someone you love? It has occurred (been driven in with a ball-peen hammer) to me that the best way is with a bit of humor, and comedic interpretation. It usually beats screaming your head-off at the top of you lungs till you turn blue in the face by a wide margin. Then again, sometimes just getting yourself upset is a comic exercise in itself.

You know like, say you are gonna kick some soft object to release tension or something, and it is actually some sort of steel thing? Ouch. Or really get revved up and do a bunch of chores around the house, but you splash the comet in your face? Or mix Ajax and bleach, and toxic gases release and fry your nasal and lung areas? Ohh that's a bitch. Jam some yardwork? Not if you hack off the branches and they careen off your skull. Weedwack you shins instead of the grass. Now that is uncomfortable.

Sometimes maybe the confrontation is just a laugh riot in and of itself? How many times is it whatever you were disagreeing about gets forgotten in the length of discourse? Maybe my type of schedule makes that happen more often than not.

It might be good that sometimes folks don't have to deal with my sense of jocularity for 24 hours or more - Absence may actually make the heart grow fonder, eh?

OK, I am done. Too much work, not enough hours in the day to face whatever the gods of stress and indecision want to throw my way.

Pinches of humor in my day make all the crap smell like ginger.




Its a kaleidescope out there.

It all Black & White

Tupperware is an amazing invention. Who was on what when they thought - " Plastic, yeah...and a edge thingy, yeah...and it'll store stuff for like, years...it'll seal itself...whoa..." Hunting for a container in the fridge lead to a discovery of long lost food portions that, well, were a bit old.

Which was appropriate, as I had to go down to the docks today to purchase the container that will bring grandkeiki kaleo James and companies' stuff to their new island home. Amazingly, it is still a pretty cool drive to get down into the heart of the docks here, with nary a mishap, I did my deed, and on the road again within a few hours.

If a metaphor (?) was ever correct, it would have to be a container for me.

Its best for me as a person, to contain that which bubbles up at times; that deep seated anger that manifests itself in situations I cannot abate. So I have to take that tupperware click top, and snap that lid shut tight. Better yet, I must expel all the air out, cause if I dont, it might have enough O2 to re-ignite. It does not matter if in would appear OK to be a bit miffed at a situation. The inherent problem with my own anger is that it gets fueled by itself. So you are right, it doesnt matter. Expressing anger only makes me guilty of losing control.

Containers can control, yeah? You get no spillage if the container is sealed correctly. No smells. No mess. You can move what is contained to another locale if you choose.

You could do that with anger. You could contain it, and move it to another locale and use it for something constructive.

Thats what I try to do.

In packaging, the strength of the holder is dependent on how well made, how dedicated the maker of the container was. How much volume can it hold? Will it break under pressure? Is it flexible enough to take more loading?

Somewhere in Cali is a container that will carry a families worldly goods here.

In August, a container will bring a little guy to the roots of his family.

Contained in my heart and mind is love and knowledge. Secured by passion.

In a seperate space, ferocity and enthusiasim, each seperated, 'cause they just fuel each other if they go unsupervised.

When the containers are opened; the contents spill out amongst the day, I, as owner of the container, be responsible to use a receipe of good taste?


I got zip-locks ready.

Ya know, just in case, like.



Scarred for life* (bonus wave of the day pix)

Janes Addiction got nothing on me.

Scar generator

Jonesing for a real ass-busting, arm weary, surf. Momma nature isnt particularly cooperating, maybe shes revolted by my damn hair abuse. In a few days (August da first) Kaleo James will come to the island. He, M, K, M's Mom, and M's brother T. I think my home will be full, dontcha know? Tomorrow or somewhere thereabouts, I will go purchase the container to ship household items from Cali to Honolulu. Not cheap, not at all. Surfboard purchases will be put on hold. *Sigh*

Besides the wonderful expansion of time and space when you are lucky enough to get envelloped by H20, the consequences of a mistimed surf can leave scars. And scars represent you are alive. And being truly alive, rocks. Physical scars are reminders of life; life being lived, chances being taken. They have a tale behid them; maybe one of great heroics, perhaps (as is usually my case) stoopidity. In aging, they gain in stature, but minimize in size. We forget the pain, but relish in the reliving.

Mental scars are greatly different. They pierce the soul of your being, creating a void where happiness generally lived. Those are never good, maybe for learning, or educating some as to how they do not want to be, or relate to another being on this big blue marble home. Surfing's mental scars can give you doubt; and that will hurt you or worse. Doubt in the line up can make you a hazard to yourself and others. The greater the challenge, the greater the reward, but the dearer the consequence of a mistake.

Mistakes leave impressions. Impressions that shape your outlook. On the day, on life. If I didnt have water to quench my heart and soul, scars of terrible times would take me away, and vanquish me to nothingness. Impressions of love, of desire. Mistakes create smarts. "I wont do that again" is a premium comment in my surfing life.

Each scar reminds me of sights and smells that reverb in the stereo of my warped mindset. I can literally smell the crimson colored blood streaking down the side of my temple from one particularly impressive reef bounce. The looks of beach-goers as I scrambled up the beach to see just what I did this time. The blackness of the hole in the side of my head. Chemical smells of the ER room. (Me and the ER, we got a thing going on) Sometimes I think they pre-print forms just for me.

The scars taken from experience of joy in frolic of Momma Natures arms; are nothing comapred to the scars we level on her. I (we) all could do less scarring of Mom Nature. Matter of fact, less scarring of humanity as a whole could use some additions. It is a small price to pay for the rewards allowed by her greatness.

Lack of surf has made me dry-rot on the brain.

But the scars remain.



Why a bad haircut makes you gay

Ok. So, I for some reason have a tendency to make no claims as a fashionista. And I dont care who cuts my hair. If you get into the archives of my BS, you will find a tale of Angies hair brutality to me. Hair grows back, I figure.

My brother-in-law, the great Francois* (named changed to protect the moronic) is a gay, cross-dressing hairdresser. He used to cut my hair, and did it really well. It never looked, well, 'gay'. But his meth addiction and relative stooopidity got him axed from the home front. Now dont get me in a basket with bigotry, cause it makes no diffrence to me what floats your sexual boat. I am straight, and stooopid as well. But a bad haircut, it just ...for want of a better word, sucks.

This leads up to my encounter with Augusten Burroughs. See, he is a gay writer. He writes kinda half-creepy, half-funny, half-bitchy (thats alotta halfs, no?) But thats not the point. The point is I happened to be in Barnes & Nobles, looking for a CD by Alphonse Muzon, and flipped thru a book titled "Magical Thinking" an a short story on Tele Marketers which was hilarious. So I made a note to pick it up for a easy kine read.


Let me restate that I could give a rats okole (ass) on anyones sex orientation; you aint hurting me or anyone else, who cares?

So I go back to Barnes& Nobles another day to pick up what I figure is a cool read.

With my new - awfully bad, awfully 'gay' friggin' haircut.

Remember, now, I have no idea that Author Burroughs is gay.

So I get the book, and (i guess) sashay to the check out counter.

Of course, the cashier is a overtly gay cashier.

Do you see this coming, or what?

Cuz I sure didnt. Matter of fact I never even put 2+2 together until 'bout and hour ago.

So B & N cashier is sooo friendly he is just yakking up a storm, and me, I am just trying to be like, civil and shit. But he is overly friendly, and making comments like -

"Oh my I just talk tooooooo much, dont I"???

And the like.

'course I am too numbnuts to figure this stuff out until I start reading the book, and ....


Ah shit, man.

Wheres my damn kiddo, or Kaleo to back Gramps up?

Suddenly, I feel like scratching my 'nads.

Just another day in my ozone depleated life.


(books OK, a bit too poor me bitchy for my taste, but funny as hell observant in spaces)

I am getting a flow-bee.

Aloha, once again.


Mrs. Moores Stage

Surf @ Works doorstep


Erin Go, Brah!

In the CD Player

Celtic rock, framed in 1975 psuedo acid jazz funk. Dont get more variety than that. Its all over the board, my muzak-al tastelessness. Good stuff.

Busy as a hooker at a sailors convention at the Pinkness. 'Com tomorrow for a 24. God, this is a busy summer.

Spent a bunch of time with the kiddo today, picking up school clothes and suchness.

Kaleo James and company arrive start of August, and a container from Cali is needed, do I not have a full enough plate? Room for Jell-o, or Mac-pie...Gotcha!



Mrs. Moore wants an extra shot

Mrs. Moore wants and extra shot of vodka in her drink.

She sure does. She wants it, damn it, and she wants it now. Actually, I think she wanted it when she got off the frickin' plane. Perhaps even on the plane, she may have needed even more than a shot. Yeah, she wants that shot of vodka. She is Mrs. Moore, afterall, and she wants her extra shot, because her drink isnt stiff enough for her. Mr. Moore probably isnt, either, for that matter. She is a work, too. All culture and pearls, and high nines on the expense account I am sure. Nanny is watching the kids that ruined her figure, and gave her that little extra weight that she has been trying to rid herself of. Mrs. Moore is pissed. She has a right to be pissed, dont 'cha know? Flying to this god-forsaken island of no-wheres, and being expected by Mr. Moore to endure this ravishing humidity! That shot extra isnt too much to ask for one so maligned? Yes. I will have that extra shot. Even if I have to embarass the shit outta the whole restaurant with my childish behavoir. Screw the other people that have spent their hard earned money to grasp a piece of paradise. I want my godamn extra shot in this weak kneed drink now!

She got it. Decked in finery and jewels, jewels to be misplaced and lost; blame the maid for steling them! I wasnt that drunk! If the shot woulda been in my first fricking drink, I wouldnt have had to make such a scene. The night would have been splendid! Even the gay waiters would have swooned at my impeccable taste and style. Those groveling managers would have ached to have access to my praise. They could have had my kudos.

But they got her wrath. The venom spewed in a thousand other arenas of dining; maybe even in the churches of her own hometown, if she so attends. I doubt it. Work of art, this one. you can only conjur up scenes this wonder has created in her demented drama-driven alcohol fueled rages. Or lack of. She needed that extra shot, damn it.

Shot that made the difference - One shot of Skyy. One mother frickin' shot.

You gotta wonder of people; what makes 'em tick? Timely comments of desire can reap hordes of freebies, service, extras. Just a plain old request, calmly made can gain what you want.

Why throw a fit?

I mean a fit worthy of a 3 year old? In public, in the spotlight of a crowded restaurant?

$6.95 worth of liquor, harbored in a bottle nightly, is your wish.

Damn if I know what posess' some folk - ???

It sure made the night interesting.

Go figure, just more fun happenings at the Jobbo #2.

Wonder what it'd be like to have 3 jobs?

Weekend awaits; Mrs. Moore, it oughta be a long drawn and quartered one

See ya.


You cant make this stuff up

Have a great weekend.

Thought I was joking, eh?


Wont be doing this, Wahhhhh!

Whats in da CD player


You put the 'happy' in my -ness

Got gout?

I do. (did) Does?

No cry for me Argentina, 'cause my diet sucks. But as with all things Hawaiianmark-ish, I gots to have a spiel or spin on it that makes it semi-comatose (original)...

So I garner up a feeling that my ankle to the left-wingish side is a mite purturbed at me; perhaps I landed on it the wrong way from jumping off a terraced wall in the back of the house; coulda been tweeked on a stair climber at the station; maybees yanked a bit too hard on by my surf-leash; or maybe, just perhaps; I eat like shit and drink too much beer.

But I figures that it is just a tweeking of the same area that I tore the ligaments on back in 1996, from a surf incident. Yeah, thats the ticket. So off (yes, I am) I go to work at the pink devil of tourist infestation; (but really they have been behaving like normal humans!) later on after work, it feels a bit worse than earlier, like 10X worse but WTF, I have to go to firecom on the next day, so tough titties said the little kitty, get your ass to bed and wake up refreshed!

Maybe not.

So I carreen my body into bed, and toss, and turn, for like the whole motherbloody-what-did-I-do-to-desrve-this-(no, we wont mention 1982) night long. Racking my stoopid self with indecision to call in sick to firecom, or pop a buncha ibuprofen, or just lay back and deal with it. Indecision won, and I battle until 430 in the AM, when doofus me decided to pop - COSTCO size container ibuprofen! Wheee! Sleep for 15 minutes! Get up and - voila!

It still felt like shit.

So up at 5AM, and waddle my limping sorry ass to the car, go to work. Go for the whole shift in not-as-bad pain, but you know me; why do anything half-ass! When 9turtles in the PM roll around, I can barely walk, much less move, or stand. At least I get to sit for the 911 abuse, I guess.

Of course, I left the Ibuprofen at home. And no one had any at firecom.

Is that like strike number 65? Or near it? Yerrrrrrrrrrr Outttttt!

So another night of ZERO sleep, and by 3AM, I was counting the fricking seconds till I was done with work. Of course, we have an Atomic Clock, which in florescent green large ass numerals, tells us each passing SECOND..... And there is 2 of these demons at firecom, so there is NO GETTING AWAY FROM HOW LONG YOU HAVE TO GO!!!

Ahem. Sorry.

OK. So, the end finally arrives, and all I have to do on a glorious Sunday morning in paradise is - get my sorry ass to ER, cause I am going to kill my leg if I dont get this bastard taken care of.

Ahem. Sorry, again.

But magic of magic, if you want to go to ER, go on a Sunday morning. Not fricking kidding, my whole time there was 1hour and 15minutes. For real. Most of that time was me doing the 'its called "hobbling" ' from that Stephen King movie- Misery; -type walk. Soooooo -
The ER Doc, Dr. Ishida, (any ER Doc that tells you when he first sees you - "If you were planning on surfing, youre screwed" is cool by be) asks the standard questions, and then comes to the question of the day -

"Are you under any stress?"

Hobbler1 - "Hmmm like what kind?"

Doc- "Like work - or home - or financial -or ..."

Hobbler1- "Yep."

So we got that outta the way, and then he asks on diet and stuff.

My diet sucks.

Either I eat a lot at the station, or basically nothing on the other days. So figuring I work a 24hr shift like 10 days a month, that leaves 20 odd days where I eat....

Like shit.

And I do quaff an Ale, or a pint, or a black-n-tan, or maybe a good pilsner, a stout has some fine attributes, then there is the whole range of bitters, a good ...

You get the point? I like a good beer. But combine the lack of a coherent diet, with a day or two of - "eat?" -I got no time to eat -, and squash a few hops and barley down my gullet, the recipe falls short of good.

But modern medicine has come to my rescue, as Indomethacin for the pain (1 to 2 capsules by mouth) WTF was I gonna take it by?.. and Coch-something or other, ( take 2 capsules, then 1 until a total of 6, or diarreha occurs)...

I loved that label, "Here! take this medicine until you shit till your ass is raw!" Thanks Glaxo-Smith-Kline-Arriba! Maybe I can make my own class action law suit.

I will eat better, I will imbibe in moderation, and, fuck it, I will surf my ass off once this mother-$%6^#& is gone.

Just all happiness and joy.

Shine On.

My ankle has a nice shine to it, right now.

And I got 24 tomorrow.

Whoooo hoooo!



Luau Feet

Someone wont be needing swim fins...


Another day of fun and jocularity at Hotelheckage, Thursday feast-o-rama for the vistors proved to be entertaining at best.

"Picking up 6 tickets for Manning, comped per *****"

Stoogeme - "Manning?...We dont seem to have that reservation, could it possibly be under another name?"

"Hmmpf. That is the only name she knows me by"

2nd in party - "maybe Scott? She could have thought Scott was coming"

Large, Overdressed, self-important, way too much hefty cleveage-showing, concierge from another bastion of touristy venue - "Oh no...She only knows me...It has to be there, she reserved them under my name"

Stoogeme- (she coulda put the fricking Arizona Memorial under you dear)..."May I suggest you see Mr. *******? He is the manager on duty right now for this event, he can assist you in a remedy...

Really begining to block out the sun, flagrantly self-absorbed, moronic, fool - "Dont you have ****** *****'s cell number? She should be called right now"

Stoogeme - (WTF I look like a phone book?) "I am sorry Mam, but we dont have access to personal executives cell numbers, if you would step into the office behind me (motions to the "private office" door to the rear) Mr. ****** should be there, and he willgladly assist you"

Flat out, dumb biotch - " Hmmpf...(and takes her party of 6 with her)

Stoogeme- (3 minutes later, while I an my partner are issuing tickets and voucher collecting from other paying customers)

Female becoming more and more closer to God by her incessant self-serving ways - "...Excuse me, he is not there"

Stoogeme- "Mam, I will be with you in a moment"

Idiot- (tapping a size 12 shoe, and juggling way too much flesh for anyone to own) - "excuse me...he is not there"

Stoogeme - (inhale, inhale, breathe, do not release the comment of hell muse) "Ma-DAM, You see that gemtleman in the white shirt? the one walking this way? He is a manager, and he will take you by the hand to Mr. *******, would you please see him along with the rest of your party, so I may service the other 400 people that are standing in this line?.....Mahalo for your kokua"

Pus-faced fool - (trit trot, trit trot; off to see someone of her own low stature)

Other than this clueless dweeb all the paying customers were pretty cool, even the Shiek and his 14 member family came, and he had a bunch a cute Keiki w/ him just plain mid eatern dolls.

Kaleo James would kicked her with a big paw, I am sure.

Wheres my Grandkid backing me up when I need 'em?

Be good,


Be better than good.



Strange bedfellows

You can cick the link to read some history of the family that come to Hoteheckage yearly.

Bahrain probably is a interesting place to live.

They take up numerous floors, as the whole tribe comes. (i mean no insult by that)

They tip well.

They got some strange ways. (Perrier baths, Lobster and Caviar for breakfast, etc...)

They run up one MOFO of a bill. (2 years ago, it 780K, no shit.)

This should be fun.



After surviving 24 hours of nuclear attack from various pyortechnics, I wander home to rest my weary ass.

It wasnt terrible, but it wasnt all that much fluff, either. Many brushfires, many fireworks related damage, and rubbish fires, but all in all, not too bad. No house burnt down, and no kids injured as far as I know. A couple of auto accidents (1 DOA) and a missing Kayaker that was rescued.

It is the kayaker one that makes the day soooo much more fun.

On Oahu, we have a number of Military installations. Well, more like - plenty. Matter of fact, we have more than the government knows what to do with, but thats for another days mind warp. Suffice to say, the Fire Dept. likes to have interagency relations (not that kind, get head outta da gutter, damnit!) that are amicable, and productive.

Yeah, right.

You see, since 9/11 the military doesnt like free access to its bases (understandable) but also wants to inspect everyone who comes thru, (again, understandable) - - you know where this going, dont you? --- but there is a common sense line, dont you think?

Lets say you have an emergency, and you need someones assistance, (say the Fire Department...)And you dont have the know-how to get a person rescued......So you call us, and we go but you dont grant us quick access, and....well this is more of that spiel, and how inane some Government types can be.

We have a buncha lines that are directly tied in to various agencies. Pick 'em up they ring. The converse is true, pick up yours, and ours rings.

You know who picked up this one.

So you acknowledge the callers agency (in this case the Marines) and ask what the situation is - Of course, the Marines have their own lingo-speak, as do we, so it is kinda like foreigners conversing to each other -

"Hay-low Fire? This is Lieutenan Officer ****** from waterfront operations at Carkneeohhee (Kaneohe) base station, we seem to have a sitchuashon here where a K-yakker is missin' and ya'all need to come on over to waterfront operations to assist our Boat in a search for the missing K-Yakker"

And you think my english is bad...

Sooooo I get more information from the officer, and try to get him to make sure that the the staff at the gate know to let the siren balring lights flashing trucks come thru, w/o making them get searched from head to toe, ( i mean we are a fire department, you know) So he assures me that he will. (of course he didnt;whichpisses of the Chief who is going to the incident, because - 1. Life in danger, 2. The absolute absurdity of the whole thing.) Sooooo in getting the info, and getting the guys there, and getting the info out to the guys over the radio...The Police call to say they are going to send their Chopper to assist as well.

Now that means -

Tracking and keeping tabs on - A Chief, a engine company, a ladder company, a rescue company, our helicopter, HPD's helicopter, and dealing with the interagency phone call bureraucratic bullshit as well.


The thing is, at the time, we all work together on our side to make it go smooth. But the looking back at it, makes the absurd parts stand out so strong.

All in all , the party was found about 1 mile from where he lost his "Kay-Yak" and was tired, exhausted, but hey alive is a good thing to be. Especially at night, oh yeah, this was at 8PM, BTW. Dark. High price to pay to watch fireworks, but whadda I know, right?

So its three days of Hotelheckage, and no reason to look forward to a surf, as it forgotten isle of flatness right now.

Patience, grasshopper, patience.



Kaleo James In California

Kaleo James, numero uno Grandson, for me and da Lady C, and why I dont mind working 2 jobs....

Our Mo'opuna



Standard 4 Living

The Hotel Hell's contract is expired; Union is doing its thing, and the Starwood (aka- 'slash 'em & burn 'em) management is doing its thing.

I admit it. I live in paradise. I work 2 jobs to live in paradise. I average perhaps on a bad year, 345 days of work. On a good one, maybe 325. Dont cry for me, I dont deserve the paradise i live in.

If you dont care for unions, organizers and that kind of stuff, beat a hasty retreat now, and if anyone wants to Dooce me, be my guest. I could give a rip. Why? Because I am not the only one that works 2 or 3 jobs to attain a middle class lifestyle; here in the tropics. Many union workers here work 2 or 3 jobs, assist immediate family members w/ financial shit, because we are all Ohana or "family", no matter how much my eldest pisses me off, he still my son. Anyhow, stories go that many older workers in their 70's fear of retirement because of possibly losing health coverage, many work 2 jobs to dream of home ownership, which generally remains a dream for most.

It is a half-a-millon for a 1200 sq. ft. townhouse, in the furthest 'burb, with a drive time to and from work (ON AN ISLAND!!!!!) of 2 hours or more. Thats bullshit. A living wage in Hawaii is 22 bucks and hour, thats a LIVING WAGE Not a living large wage, but a living wage. At the Hotel, I have 24 years here. 24. I earn just over 18 bucks and hour for a 5 hour or 6 hour shift. I work about 1100 hours a year. For that i earn 80 hours of vacation. If I dont work 1000 hours, I earn zilch.

In the fire house, I earn less per hour than the Hotel. Yeah, thats right less per hour. To learn, protect, and sacrifice my ass for the public, I earn less per hour than catering to tourists, and the managers that guide(!?)employees.

Oh, I am on a bitch here, no?

Sure my firehouse schedule is sweet; work 24, off 3 days, work 24. I still earn less per hour.

Which is why I work 2 frikking jobs. Not only that, but cost of living. Cost of residing here is pretty steep. But I get to work 2 jobs. So i can earn a living wage.

Pressures mount, a immigrant family with kids, elders and native Hawaiians, are socially and economically the most disadvantaged. Thereby, being the easiest to abuse. And thats what the managers of any tourist oriented place will do if allowed.
Beacuse they are smart enough to keep 'em down on the farm.

By creating a structural violence, by making the dreams they have inaccessible, by diminishing the expectations they have for ourselves, they make our dreams seem not allowed, not acceptable, or accessible. And they relish in it; only because I speak pretty damn good english minus the pidgin when I have to, do I get away with alotta the shit that i shoudnt. But many are not so adept with language, and the type of verbal judo that can leave management types in a whirl.

Incomes for the Hotels are rising always; there is yes the profit factor to always have, and to increase for the investors.

When you charge 80 bucks for a bottle of wine that cost 6 bucks, you are fooling some, but your fucking with me. How many sensitivitytraining classes do I need to learn of the Aloha spirit? My family goes back to the early 1800's. WTF? If I dont know it now, when the fuck am I going to?

The greatest thing is the people who work for a living wage. They keep me returning; we are all paddling this canoe to some shore to gain for our children and their children something that has been lost in the commercialization of this land -


It cant be bought or sold, it is in you, or it isnt.

I am irritated, and tired, and stoopid as well. I do ignorant things and make snide ass comments at inopportune times. Intending only to do well, I fall and create pain or worse, hurt.

And the road to hell is paved with good intentions.

Not intending to purposefully fuck up, I do. Then the great guilt follows, and what good is that?

Arggggggh, i am rambling.

So sorry.

Have a good 4th of July, stay safe.