Working through the holidays...

It would start like any other task-driven day, and in 24 hours the Christmas rush would be through. Working at the firehouse on Christmas day is a juxtaposition of sorts; joyous season of carolers and gifts, happiness wished to all. One-hundred and eighty degrees opposite would be the alarms called for medical emergencies, auto accidents, fires. You do your job, and you are happy to do it. Merriment comes in odd forms in the house, you are bummed to be away from home, but the families usually flock to the feast cooked by a staff of 10 grumpy men, (women, too) and the Chiefs see fit to abate all drills and inspections, leaving the gang to while away the hours contemplating ways to call in sick without being too obvious.

Most holidays the families come by. The kids get to ogle the fire trucks, rampage the station, and create an atmosphere of “damn kids” with a touch of jealousy at youthful exuberance. We start cooking the dinner early, as you never know when the alarms will come, and when the grinds will get eaten. By the time lunch rolls around, dinner time is set for early afternoon. It is against the rules for the kids to slide down the pole, (punishable by 10 shifts suspension with out pay) so of course, we let them do it. With a relative air of safety surrounding them.

It’s a bit depressing at times, since you know in the realm of the odds, that someone out there in the public isn’t going to have too great a Christmas. You hope to go zero for alarms today of all days, since that would make your day a gift. Chances are none to good for that, as most days are multi-alarmed.

When the alarm sounded over the speakers for a auto-accident with persons pinned inside, all jocularity ceases, and action springs forth in multiple layers of speed. Coming upon the scene you adjust to the sight of downed powerlines, twisted metal and frantic by-standers. Safety for the crew first, you scan the area for tell tale signs of live powerlines, ejected passengers, secondary incidents caused from the crash. A car, twisted into the shape of the folds in the letter “A”, rests on side with powerlines draped over it. Sparks are jumping from the ripped edges of the higher lines, and cascading sparks and showers of electricity. Live lines are touching the vehicles remains.

The highest lines on the electrical poles are the ones flowing the most juice. These are from there. Bad situation has become much, much worse. Gathering equipment, fielding orders, launching into response mode. Approach of the scene reveals that first off, the driver is indeed, DOA. The passenger from sounds, is in agonizing pain. The Captain of the crew, realizing the potential of the lines injuring, or possibly killing his crew, orders them to cautiously approach the wreckage. Upon assessment, it is clear nothing can be done to extricate the victims until the power is off. The passenger continues to scream in pain. All you can do is from outside the radius of live charge is try to assess her injuries. And keep her from going into shock; with out patient contact. Not an easy task. A few minutes of time creep by at pace of ice-shelf movement. In asking questions through the shattered glass, it is apparent that leg injuries are of major problems for this young lady. Possible trauma to her chest area, and head as well. The power finally off, you spring into attack mode at freeing the person. It is obvious that multiple fractures of her femur are present. Ambulance unit sets a IV line and meds given. The courage of this young girl in the time past, is simply short of amazing. Freed of the vehicle, she is whisked away to treatment and hopefully recovery.

You return to the firehouse, reload, and take a look at the loved ones around you with a clearer, brighter light.

The families leave, you clean the station. Your day is closing out, sans excercise, as the day has been long enough for that to be aborted. Secure the station, turn out the lights. Shit, shower, shave and shine. Trudge the 3 stories up to the dorm, and pull out the well worn sheets and blanket. Read something, anything. Check out some surf magazines. Pull the plug on the reading light; head to the pillow. Hope to high heaven old Chongy doesnt have one of his frickin' snore fests tonight.

The drone of the air conditioning unit is broken by the audible screech of another alarm. "Co-response for a sick person" comes over the now irritating speakers, and for the 9,357th time, you head to the pole; sliding down to the rig, and squirming into the turn-outs yet again. It is 4AM. Red, yellow and strobe sensations of light blaze thru the night. Your mind is a mist of over eating, scene repeating, cautious wonder. The address is fairly close by, so you better get right quick. The call caould be anything from someone with a headache, to a full-blown cardiac arrest. Dont forget that a large percentage of the islands population are TB positive, Hep-C positive, and a array of other maladies that you have to protect yourself from.

Because the City doesnt, if you dont first.

Thats a bitch, cause you want to jump right into the foray of blood and mangled parts. Jump off the cliff into the materials oozing with toxic matter. Why? Because thats what you do best. You help people in need. In the world of lawyers, guns and money, (sorry Warren Zevon) Deep pockets wont open for avoidable injuries. So you relegate yourself to the knowledge that I will sacrifice my life for my fellow firefighting brother and sister, but damn if I end up with a virus that could have been avoided.

Your crew pulls up to the scene. It is a old, in various states of dis-repair, home. Someones home. It has what was once a gorgeous lanai (patio), steps, and over-grown garden. Kids played here, for sure. The home is dark. The only light appears to come from a back room, far to the rear of the property.

"Hello? Fire Department! Hello?" you call out. The front door is guarded by a screen ripped and blowing in the humid, (for winter, anyways) night. Peering in, you see a maze of cardboard boxes, stacked over-flowing with various amounts of trash, keepsakes and...stuff undetermined. It is truly a maze to walk through, carrying oxygen medical bag and your 90 pounds of turnout gear on your back. The opening for the "path" is less than 36 inches wide. More like 24. The aroma of urine, mold and rotting food is strong.

The light from a bedroom in the rear seeks your eyes from below the doors edge. Opening the door, a naked lady, perhaps 80 plus years old, shivers. "I just need a blanket or a sweater, dear" Empathy knows no maximum in this. Your mind tries as it may to comprehend how the situation came to this - Grandma, to someone, in a home alone, literally wasting away to dust. Minds of men and mankind are not built to fathom these sights. Not at 4 in the morning, on Christmas Day. You push all that into that box stashed deep in your brain marked "WTF? - DONT OPEN" and do your job. You ask her history, her allergies, her medicines. You take her blood pressure, her O2 readings. You get a pulse reading, and temperature. "I am sorry to make you come here so late" For crying out loud, can I just take you and hold you, and make this all go away? She is in amazingly good health. It is the mind that is failing.

She doesnt know the year, the day or the time. She thinks my Captain is her son. She asks where the dogs have gone, and if Lani is home from work. Answers we dont know.

We gently take her to the ambulance, as no gurney can fit these tight spaces. Holding her is easier than my children. She weighs nothing more than the thick air surrounding us. We load her into the ambulance, we adjust the rails of the gurney. Pulling another warmed blanket over her frailness, she whispers "Thank You, Mahalo for your help, eh?" "Take care, Aunty" is all that can be mouthed.

Paper work is traded, the ambulance departs. We secure her home, knowing with the deepest sadness, that she wont be returning. The powers that be, they will know she cant fend or defend herself. The protectors of our elderly will find a place safe for her.

It is 5 AM.

In the coming weeks, actions will take place at the address. Someone will clean up. Someone will sell. Someone will buy. The will more than likely tear that old home down. I'll pass by it more than likely quite often, not knowing exactly what to feel.

Witness to life; wondering why.



Closing the door on 2007

Here is a toast to 2008.

Blessings to you all.



Mele Kalikimaka All.

Best wishes out to the whole big blue marble we all reside on.

It is so damn busy and hectic I could just barf.

I'll leave that to Kaleo and crew.

From all of us in the middle of the sea to all of you out there -



Echoes, silence, patience & grace.

Weakend by the lack of a strong foundation the house splits amongst the weight.

When the time at hand never moves into the alarm clocks ringing zone, sleep is for naught.

It is funny, how when the inevitable lies in wait, the mind reposes itself to a snails exsistence.

Wonder, yes, wonderment can entice the being to levels of pleasure unknown to those who do not empathize.

It is a long way to one twenty three. I wonder if I will attend.

Dreams in your head, dreams in your mind, dreams of happiness, prosperity, and togetherness. Fodder by the wayside, as time, silence, and deriliction of duty encompass the day.

Aside the problems created, I cringe.

No warm touch, no loving gaze, no connections to be made. Best to leave that telephone disconnected; as the answering machine has adjourned to a remorseful fax.


Love made visible.

Kahil, you write, but they do not listen.

My ears are shut.


Whispers that command attention

It isnt often that you come within inches of dying. The proverbial distance between ones index finger and thumb can well be miles apart; yet closer than nano-science. When time and space are obliterated in the infinity of the ocean, you can guess that the most relevant thing is air. Relevant perchance in a way only because of need, the organs may demand it, but you want it. There lies the lines drawn between needs and wants. When you start out in the journey of being a surfer, your first tenative steps into the malstorm that awaits you, are best taken in amazed awe. 'Cause that Mother Ocean demands some serious pay back. Watches and time pieces keep time. Seconds, moments, minutes, hours, days. Erased they are, in the clutches of a hold-down under the wet wilderness.

It would start out like any other situation, just another bad decision in a lifetime of ill-thought out moves. Not as noticible or reprehensible as some may have been. Just a mis-judgement. Missed. As in got away? Or just unrealized accomplishment? More so the latter, since every wave ridden gives impermanace a place of mass in ones archive of, well, stuff you done. You get to set the rewind button on when you like, and relish every turn, droplet of water, sea breeze.

Decisions. Yes, or No? Go or Not? In seconds time, you are playing the dance of a thousand songs, yet the band is waiting for your chord.

The mass of water that was heading in my direction was not the largest mass of liquid gold I had witnessed. Yet, it forbode its intent by giving me no chance to out run it, harness it, or avoid it. It just came. Like it was the cell door closing in a jail, or the final stamp of an "F" grade on a term paper. All your preperation for naught, young souljah. A mass of already broked foam; not ridable, as my selection of placement was revealed to be moronic. As with most deer frozen in the head-lights, I laid prone to the pummeling ahead.

Already not in the best of mind sets for really any surf-session, tempting the fate of a North Shore winter, with its unforgiving crowds, lunatics, and general skull duggery, I trudged off to the miracle that winter waves hold.

And was punished appropriately.

Dark, man it was so fucking dark. I knew that darkness was coming. Even through the blazing whiteness of the already broken foam, I knew what laid ahead. Already having murmurred to the self - "I gonna fucking die" but without the faith in the saying, since it has been said to the self a million times. The first part of dark was just grazing of grey, the second go round impacted the dark into my skull.

Clucthed onto, my body spun over, and tumbled without reason. The paws that enveloped my soul were not gentle wisps of graciousness, but unrelenting demonic paws.

You know not to panic. Because panic uses air, and air is a precious commodity at times of mornonic moves and ill-thought out decisions. When you have no idea which way is up, or which way is down. What the hell is sideways, anyhow? It became clear that the extent of this was not going to measured in liters of air consumed, but rather in the amount of time it would take the miniscule brain that i own to realize "hey, bro, you be screwed" . Infinty is a concept to insert here. Infinity times a few 10's. What part of the reef waited to caress (by tearing of flesh) me? Remember the first thought? The way you looked sitting on the corner in first grade? How dumb it was to drive Unk's car at 100MPH + in San Fran? The taste of love?

Where in the hell am I going? It is endless. Brush of sand. A tug of the leash and then release. The leash to your board has broken. Fuck. It will get dinged, and then you gotta fix...What the fuck am I worried about the damn board for? Not panic, fucking out right fear is rising up, directly up, from my fucking balls. It is traversing my spine, waxing up to my shoulders, crusing past my cerebellum, and planting its unwanted flag directly over my conquerd soul.

Fear, the last great enemy before sheer panic.

The gaping hole of my mouth quits its sewer door trap. Water begins to descend to my lungs, and the breech of the waters edge does nothing to stop the puke from ousting itself from my being.

Survival, or a mere quitters revenge?

I'll never know.

After the washing was done, and the panic alighted. I drained the gallonage from my sinus' and headed to work.

And wait for another day.


Mental Sumo

Social security records indicate that somehow the man provided for many on an income just hovering above poverty. The man made extra money working side jobs in construction. He took 2nd jobs. There are X number of days in a year. There are innumerable responsibilities in being. In just being. In X number of days those dependent on the man, had needs of time and attention; these need tending to, as does an open wound. If X days are what they are, and X days are needed to be allocated, what of the needs of the man? Open wounds need tending. There are only X number of days though, are there not?

X days turn into X years; and X years into X decades. You can multiply that by the length of ones manhood and still have zero.

Shuffle. Rewind. Accelerate. One can not imagine what one does not dream. In the grey matter of the mind, one accomplishes all things. Imagination can not be diluted. Reason is, once you are imaginative, you remain that way for life. You will cultivate that whether you want to or not. It is the DNA of your soul. The man will see faces in electrical outlets; letters in the building of walls; grace in the action of an athlete. Victory will equate greatness; losing commensurate with unprepared ness. Quitting, the death of the man itself.

By example, love is personified in the neglecting of self for others. Love of self, not a mental masturbation, but self ego building, can not exist in true love, can it? Sacrificial lamb? Perhaps. Stupid lemming? More likely. Love. Damn that’s some sweet drug shit, no? Common sense will never, ever hold a candle to Love. Get all those endorphins moving about like they are frying in a goddamn microwave, and fuckifiknow what may happen.

Gabba Gabba Hey; I wanna be sedated.

Thanks to The Ramones, that turn-stile saying will waltz the man’s cranium for ever. Take that, Wayne Newton.

It certainly would be fitting to explode in a cavalcade of wondrous anger. Fuck, that would feel so good. The accompanying stroke wouldn’t look so good on the mans permanent record, now would it? We all know how imperative it is to keep that permanent record clean, eh? Don’t want that shit to come back and bite you in the arse, do you?

Assuming of course, assuming you have an ass, and just aren’t one. Many associates or relatives of the man may feel bent on the term ‘Major Ass’ as an indication of the high ass standard he has obtained. High ass standards are not just handed out on the fly-by, no, they are hard earned endearments of ass-holery; not bestowed on the meek ass’ but only to Major Ass.

Ramble on, the time is now to sing my song.

Not only did Led Zeppelin steal the blues from the African Americans, and infuse it with rock, they stole major portions of the mans brain matter and high decibel listening capabilities. The song most certainly does NOT remain the same. It can not. See, the song must change, the song must evolve, because the man must. More DNA. Stop learning, stop growing, stop caring, you just as soon be gone. When you have the same tune playing over and over on the radio, you change the channel.

And you tune it in to a stronger, better station.

Those X days. The man never took off for want of self, not many times anyway. Those few forays into lazy days were better served by spending it in pursuit of youthful learning experience.

Ah, but the youth never sees that, do they?

As is just, the man must imagine so. Surly by repetition, the sacrifice will be enough to show what true love, what true manhood means. Truly? Then again, what does that man really, really know? When in question of self, of self motivation, it is perhaps with great sorrow that one must acknowledge that it was in self-interest. How better to be viewed then as a martyr? Yeah, them martyrs get all the chicks. I guess except if they are married or celibate. That’s the ticket. Where does the man sign up for crucifixion?

Is there a waiting list? Or does the man need to stand in line?

It isn’t a rant, it just a ramble.



March 7th, 1911 - November 11, 1985.

Aia a pa'i 'ia ka maka, ha'i 'ia kupuna nana 'oe.

E noho iho i ke opu weuweu, mai ho'oki 'eki 'e.

He lawai'a no ke kai papa 'u, he pokole ke aho; he lawai 'a no kekai hohonu he loa aho.

Assured I have shamed you, I love and miss you so.



For The Uncorked One...

I get my PSA done on time, all the time.

With A Touch Of Grey

My Doctor is female.

Moon river has a whole new meaning (think Chevy Chase here)



Just when you think it cant...

...get any worse, it does.

We ended up spending exactly 30 hours inn Las Vegas. My son fucked up our trip by being an asshole at home. So I had to purchase an emergency one way trip home for me and her. $910 bucks. Lady C got picked for the extra search after we boarded. More stress. Then a passenger got sick on the flight, needed a return to LAX. Our 6 hour flight home turned into a 11 and a half hour marathon.

I will not speak to my eldest son again.

I hold grudges.

I may be wrong in doing so, but right now, I dont fucking care.

A Royal Flush

I got a Royal Flush, worth a thousand.

And people were nice.

We went to the PinBall Hall Of Fame, wandered around, saw my HS graduating class for a moment or two.

Pinball Nostalgia

My cell phone is permanently a part of Bininons Casino's facade, as after I knew we had to go, I had had it with the bad news it always brings.

Was supposed to meet up with Little Kenny and his wife, but left. I am so sorry, K.

Was supposed to have 5 days ...

almost got 2.

Lady C

My grandkids and all are OK, and thats great. But I will be in a funk for sometime; knowing full well that I will probably never get to enjoy this life for sometime to come.

Back to 345 days of work.

Back to the grind.

Doubt I'll be back in the water soon, as I just cant do it.

Now it is just non-stop animosity between her and I, since ...I really dont know why.

Shit happens.

and thats how it goes.



A few more work days...

...and we are outta here for Vegas.




Thank You, Neil.

Chrome Dreams II.

Neil Young's new album.

Thank you. Thank you very very much.

Spend 18 minutes and listen to "Ordinary People"

Well worth it.



A Morning Surf 4 Papa

Got up at the crack o' dawn and there was no wind. Having that inbred surf-meter beating beyween my ears, I tip-toed my ever sandy brain out the door.

Trying desperately not to awaken any or all that were resting.

(Hey! I'm thinking about all the beauty sleep you all are getting)

Loaded up the truck, (which I actually remember how to drive) an headed for the old default surf spot.

Ver glad I did. Nice and clean, and what a way to start my day; long as they are, nothing but nothing beats getting in the water for a surf to rejuvenate your stretched soul.


Of course, now I am working Da Pink.


The Surf Lesson.

So Mr. Surf Rat got his first surf lesson today.

Lucky me. 24 hours of Firecom yesterday just about murdered me.

And now, that ever-loving Pinkness.



Air Show

Team Kolohe went to the Blue Angels Air show in Kaneohe Marine Base.

Kaleo loves his airplanes.

Blue Speed
Amazing Grace
Mai, Kiana, and Mai's Friend
Grammy and Joe Cool
Chow Time
Akoni Bear and Joe
HFD Tank-top on Mr. Moto.

Of course I was working, so pffft, I couldnt go.
I am so beat/worn out/exhausted I could just shit.



Surf. and once more, surf.

A 2 day, 3 session, surf-a-rama.

Kekoa 'Keeks' Kahananui...

No worries, it was a great 2 day sessions, and now work, and more tomorrow....

Saltwater dreams.

Oh, but there are no saltwater dreams at the pink tonight. No sir. "warm comforting connections" - The managerial BS tag line - is out the freaking window tonight. Never in 25+ years have I seen such incompetence from the top. Amazing. Party of 28 - nothing but complaints. Understaffed, over burdened cooks. Oh man, its a cluster-fuck.

La do da do dey, baby!



50th & Hilo & Us Guys.

Dad, Mom, and Kaleo
The Hiker/Biker
Trail Head
Waipio Valley
"I got some land here for youse"
Waimea Stop sign
Da house from Da Road
Big Doggie
Da Home
Welcoming commitee
"Here, Papa, Dis flight!"
Mr. Traveler-GQ

We made it, and made it special for 2 really cool people who hang-out together for 50 years.

And Stanford (Dads alma mater) just beat the evil empire that USC.......was.




Off to Hilo

Kaleo and I are off to Hilo, Big Island for Gram Gramps 50th wedding annivesary/house blessing.

See ya.



It isn't called "Aloha" for nothing...

No, it is not.

And sometimes you really need to dig very deep into your own soul to find some. Sometimes, you can not find it; even if you were born with it. At what point do you abandon Aloha/Love? At what point does Aloha mean good-bye? Does the arrival of its meaning of farewell gain use? Aloha means alot. Where is the line in the sand with ohana aloha? (famliy love) At which destination in lifes journey do you squander all that you have spoken, all that you have shown by example?

No matter if paradise, the Ua (rain) must fall.

How much can your Aloha withstand?

000,3 liab; grub, yrebbor.

Yeah, thats fucked. I deliab him.

...and that is where Aloha fills the emptiness.

The hole is large; but the aloha will be larger.




..was the liscense plate of the asshole that almost hit me on the way to PinkHell today.

Pissed; ranted. Called HPD. Made a report. It isnt the fact that he was a Samoan, but the fact that he acted sooooooo Sole like a typical Samoan - acting all tuff and shit.

Should be interesting when HPD pulls up to his door.

I guess Pink will be easy tonight.


Hope Alan got off the Strike. Best to ya man.




Today was unyielding. Kaleo is a bundle of exposed wiring; all charges going a 220 Volts. We watched a bee do his pollenation dance between flowers. "No, you cant step on the Bee, it will sting you" Which of course made him follow the Bee for 10 minutes, trying to step on him. Damn kiddo. And FWIW, I fuckin' hate My Space. I better stop with that rant, cause noone wants 10 pages of me cursing.


What else? Ah. Yeah. The old pink monster is raising her evil head again, with staff, guests, and assorted cretins exposing ever inventive ways to drive me lolo.

"Hello, This is Mrs. Gene Paskow in Room 1201, and I would like to order the following - - - "

Lets discuss, shall we?

1st - You are ordering room service. Fine dining at its fastest, right? Thats what you want, thats what I want. In other words - Lets make this a sexual quickie, and get you off the phone! The longer you take, the longer it takes.

2nd - I got your room, its on the phone. Dont make me get all looped and call you back at 4AM cause you were a asshole. Thankyouverymuch.

3rd - Mr, Mrs, Miss, Ms, Dr, Preacher, bakers son...It dont get that fancy in the basement! Thank you for your wonderful introduction, but Pshaw! Just be nice and we all leave with our sanity, Kay?

4th - Lets not get all demanding on the order, OK? I write the orders, not the songs, Barry. The waiters will be informed of bad attitudes; what looks fancy may just be EXTRA fancy, capish?

Thank You.

And on the subject of waiters - (whom I have the absolute joy of cashing out every night I aint at the firehouse) Maybe you were shitty, and thats why you got stiffed. Some of you have no clue on how the system works - You kiss the guests ass, and if that doesnt work, kill 'em with kindness. Then be fast and attentive. Bingo. Money!

And you, management - Ha! Lets not staff anyone, so all around everyones pissed! Goooooooooooood thinking there, suits! Tie a bit tight again?


But Kaleo and Kekoa were good guys, and Mai got me to take her ass to school in the morn, and trafic was OK, and there is some surf, and I am almost outta here.....

Take Care -




..more days to a vacation respit.

..more days for anyone else to plan to get to Vegas.

..more days till yet again, I will be wandering the haunts of casinos dashed dreams.

..more days of work!

..more days to save the kala I have been saving on gas to fund my fun.

..more days.


...and you are all more than welcome to join in a respit of your own, ya know.


Good Morning!

Hey bro, we all gotta wake up on Mondays.

On a unrealted note - Thanks OJ! You are an asshole sociopath!


(I'll be working OJ, something you dont understand)



When you get a ice-cream headache, you stick your tounge to the roof of your mouth.

It goes away.

When you have headaches of normal variety, you stick your tounge in the salt water.

They dont go away, but the feel a whole lot wetter.

Some pretty good waves today. 3 Hours, no body damage. It is a good thing, Martha.



God Bless - F D N Y



No Can Forget.


Since May 27th, I have had 1 or 2 days sans work.

Also -

Been frustrated as a monkey-fuck with a persons behavoir, and lack of. Thats all I will say since Zillarage took all the good words.

Layed down the Moped.

Had my Dad go for heart stuffs, all good and all healed.

Found out that the garnishes arent always on the plate, above-board, or admitted to. (and you thought I was pissed with behavior? HA!)

Kaleo got his puppy shots round 2 , today.

Had another Grandson.

Not surfed enough.

Lost my mind.

Found it, under the heading of - "dumb ass"

Mai tuns 16 day after tomorrow.

Wondered out loud enough for God to hear - "..it wasnt my damn apple!"

Had many nights of little or no sleep.

Dove for squid once.*

Read a book before work, since I had time to kill since I wasnt gonna wait in hells home anymore, at Barnes N Nobles.

Thats screwed up ya know, really.

Got 1 fucking hair cut.

Answered too many stupid questions.

Gave 2 many bullshit answers.

and figured out that after soooo much crap, I cant say fuck it enough.

No take that back, I can.

Just have to say it underwater.


* its a double entendre. Not good.

Shoots then; back to pink-ness.


New moon, dark night.

Funk. Riddim and blues. Its a new morning, Gloria, take out the trash and hem the fences the damn cows are in the neighbors fields again.

There is a dark veil clouding the vision now; it comes up from the depths. Wrenching a nut, and turning a screw. Drilling the concrete unyielding. Somehow nothing is created from all of loves labor - How can that be? The fortitude of the forbidden city's wall! Ah yeah! That once was soft and tender is solidified in reigns of the elixir stubborn. You will always pay the piper. When you step up to the rail, no matter if you bet 1 or a hundred, you will pay the odds. The "vig". The math.

It is a gamble, no? Everything one does, is a game of chance. Even the non-bettor. No? You dont bet, you dont stand a ...chance... of a win. So you gambled against chance. What of your life investment? What will you turn to in the moment of calling? Will you look back and say - damn! that was sweet! Or will in be with deep dark remorse of what joys and happiness you missed. Or ruined.

Not? Of course not. If you change the subject matter every time faced with reality harsh lighting, you never face forward, do you? To the rear evil realistic thinking! Irregardless of consequence, forge on in unthinking expenditure of time, money, and heart.

Fuck the money, it is that fuckin heart... ..

Really why trample that? What did the heart do to you? When did the heart curse you? When? It did not. The brain, yeah. The voice, yeah. Even the hands. But that heart ever dedicated, ever wholesome, never did. That heart is not perfection, but dwells in perfect love, love of the other.


Many more than one heart can bear. Isnt that why you unite? To stand together?

That be together; mingled. Joined. United. Copulated, and dancing in that lovely bliss of after.


Remember after?


After the rain, the odor lingers. Linger in the after. After the sun comes the shade. The cool after.

You can stand together, you can stand alone, but you will never stand behind.

Neither shall I.




Room w/ A view, Neosponge Photo.

Lugging my big old back-pack of bills. Mosying around on 5HP and teaspoons of petrol. Walking Chumpster to the Marina. It starts raining more often now. Another wonderful football season starts. Throw rocks in the water. Papaya for breakfast. Slicing SPAM and frying it with a egg over medium.

What exactly was that on the ground near the intersection of Kalanianaole Highway and Kilauea?

And Crash Test Dummies lyrics.

I know that you don't love me
I know you hate my guts
I know the nasty things you say
About me, to those sluts

Well, maybe I'm a weasel
Maybe I'm a liar
Maybe I'm a skinny punk
Who couldn't change a tire

I'm laying down and I'm playing dead
I ain't fetchin' no stick, no way, baby

I've always been this pasty
I've always been this shape
I'm just a teensy-weensy thing
Passed on by itsy-bitsy apes

I'm laying down and I'm playing dead
I ain't fetchin' no stick, no way, baby

You know that you could train me
You know I'd sit and beg
But you think I'm just a dirty dog
That tried to hump that pretty leg

I'm laying down and I'm playing dead
I ain't fetchin' no stick, no way, baby




Bruddahs in arms

Sooooo good. Lucky me 2 days of righteous enough surf. Even tho' there is a multitude of merde going down all around meself, I can be sanctified by the wash of the ocean.

Yep, it was that good.

Back to our regularly scheduled doofusing.



Sunshine back in the house

Maile's sunshine the cat is back, no worse for the wear, my wallet a bit lighter...and thankful for the efforts of a certain Honey.



Sinfest Sunday

I am.

Why people suck.

We have this really cool cat. Sunshine, the orange tabby(?) who crusies out doors. She used to be indoors, but one day she decided that she wanted out. 7 years later, she owns our block. She basically never leaves the loop, always in our driveway, or roaming to some of the neighbors digs for some free chow. Sunshine even would start out going on walks w/ me and the Champy, along with Sadie the dog. She always got distracted before too long by a leaf or lizard or a fart in the breeze. In the mornings, and when I arrive home at night from job2, she will be at the front door, asking for some (more) food. She has a dish and water bowl at our house, and a few of the neighbors, as well. Sunshine wrestles w/ Sadie the dog, and will atagonize Lucy, the pygmi pig. She always gets just 'tough' enough with Sadie, and never with Champy or any other little ones, no matter what extremity they may pull on.

Sunshine has her own little world. She seems smart enough to be able to lie in our front gutter, and when you drive up, will not move; until the last minute, walking ever so slowly out of harms way. She also loves to sleep on top of my recently washed and waxed truck. Leaving many wonderful paw prints and hair for the winds and rain to wash off. Many gifts of her hunts are left in the yard. She leaves just enough food in her dish to attract the pigeons, and when the mood strikes her, the hunt is on. Needless to say the rat problem of out doors, is nil. Mice know better than to hang around. Lizards; arent too bright.

So I am on duty last night. Fridays are always busy, and a semi-full moon brings out the lunatics, (yours truly included) so a busy entertaining day was had. I fell alsleep for my turn at 4 hours around 1100PM (thats 2300 for you miltary folks keeping track; inside joke, sorry)

At 125AM Lady C calls, and is hysterical; almost.

Some fucker shot Sunshine w/ a BB gun and entered through her neck and is lodged near her lungs and heart. A pneumo-thorax injury the vet tells me. A thousand dollars deposit asked for and gotten to see if she can survive the night and into today. A crying, grief filled daughter. A complete and total breakdown of my faith in mankind (or youthkind) on my part. No one on our block would do something this horrid. No one. And we exsist on a Loop. No reason to go in our out, unless you are going home, or visiting. No one delivers after 900PM, and Maile saw her at the door at 9-930, she heard some noise around 10, and the desperate cries from Sunshine at 1030. Lady C came home from her job, to rush her to the only 24 hour vet open.

Some skater-punk types were in the area the night before Lady C tells me. Sunshine crusies out in the street gutter. Related?

I'll be finding out.

I guarantee it.

The cutest thing about all of it was Maile writing on the calendar that sits fronting the computer -

"Sunshine will get better"

In that little teen girl stylee of handwriting, you know all young, believing, and full of innocence?

Honey P. Sunshine - say a prayer for your kin, OK?

'Cause mankind is fucked.



Murphy, # 2.

I went for a surf today, so that cancels out all BS for a moment.

Ok, thats long enough.

During the last couple of shifts, the brushfires have been cranking. On Sundays 24 hours, we had one that ended up going for a week, and it started on our shift. It burned a total of 7,000 acres, and was a bitch to control. When I am working, multi-tasking is the name of the game. Lots of it. I get off on doing more than one thing at a time; so I slide right along transmitting, sending alarms, doing the public service thing, and in general trying to be a productive contributing member of our crew.

I played a lot of football, and Dadhawaiianmark is still a longtime coach for all my life, so ....thats kinda where it lurks from.

Anyhow, during this huge ass brushfire, we get another one, going on at the other side of the island, along with a missing set of teenagers visiting from the mainland, and numerous medical calls.

There is terminology that is used for transmitting over the radios and shit, but for the most part, you understand it; then its all good.

That is except for one very anal-retentive Chief. In the midst of all this shit going down, and having 10 or 12 channels working with crews at the fires, the rescue, the medicals, along with companies going to and from others areas since they have to provide coverage when situations like these occur, this loon calls up to complain that -

"Stop using "standing by" It is suppose to be "This is Control"....It has been in the procedures for 7 years and you need to stop this now"

Well, fuck you too.

It may not make sense, but this was the highpoint of assholery; we were doing a bang-up job with all the shit going down, and this Maroooooon has nothing better to do than critcize something as lame as this. I was fucking pissed as ever I have been in the department. My captain was pissed, and he is 10 times more mellow than me. I am a high strung lunatic, he is human valium.

Next shift, he e-mails our Chief and complains more.

Well fuck you two times more.

In a moment of child-like behavior, I was gonna call in sick just because - Because of this doofus. But that would harm our crew, and that i wont do.

He is still a fuck-tard.

But the surf was pretty good today, so be it.




Usually I am a pretty patient person. Usually. Thing is, of late it seems that the majority of humanity has been aiming various slings and barbs (pointy kine, not boobs kine) at me. Because of this inconsiderate attention being paid to my niceness, I have revolted. Yeah, no more Mr. Nice Kanaka.

Oh but, what prey tell, has led you down this evil infested road of woe, beachdog?
Ya just had to ask, eh?

In a effort to lessen the depletion of the ozone, I bought a Moped a month or so back. That and I was tired as fuck of paying 3 something and a left nut for gas; it was a good intended plan. Of course this was met with visions of insurance policy cash-ins by ol’ whats her name, but … Ha! I never paid the premiums, so there! Not really, but WTF, I can act tough over the type written bravado here, I guess. It goes pretty well, and for all intensive purposes, saves some coin for Vegas, maybe. No, not Baby, …Maybe. Anyways, I ride and get from job1 to job2 without any problems or major nuclear disasters….until the other night going home from job2. It rains here in paradise; for real. It does. At night once in awhile. Like the other night. I am minding my own business, riding along at my 45 MPH (a billion KPH for you metrically challenged) - and the rain is pelting me in a unforgiving way. Now, just a island primer for those who haven’t had the pleasure of visiting my little space of happiness over here; raining doesn’t mean rain all the time. Matter of fact, rain is passing like in seconds. It can come down pretty hard, and then voila!, sunshine. Or in this case, the dark of night. Anywhooose, piloting this death ship, I am just about 1 mile from the warmth of well, something, when some unseen evilness grabs the damn moped, and throws my already tired ass to the ground.

Being that I am pretty experienced in falling; I fall with all the grace of a wounded mullet. And splay out all over the wet and increasingly hard asphalt. I am just glad it was 1130 at night (that’s 2330 for you psycho-military types) and no much traffic was on the highway. Bounding back up from my latest encounter with mother earth, I check that no spurts are coming from places that usually don’t, and hop on the mechanical nightmare, and restart and off to home. Being too tired to check the moped for injury, I enter to a sleeping home. Shower off the various items of road attached to small dings in my leg and foot, and off to bed.

In the morning, I find that the death metal is fine, and ready to take me to good old job1. Job1 being the good old Firehouse. Good old, fire. Yep. And its raining, again. So off I goes, at 0530 AM. (that’s 530 AM…Dick, ain’t I?) I end up at a intersection, waiting like you are suppose to, when the bloody light is red. Crackheads seem to follow me around in life, BTW. Crackhead Bob was behind me, apparently. Crackhead Bob did not see the light, I guess. When Crackhead Bob started the pressing of brakes, Crackhead Bob was pretty fucking close to ….good old dumb ass, me. Crackhead Bobs squealing wheels created a forceful explosion of…..well almost shit. That’s cause Bob slid out, and slammed into the guardrail. Being the good guy, I called 911 for him. Fucktard. Once my heart started beating a rate less than Pi R Squared, (cause Pies R round) – I went off to work. Firehouse was the calmest part of my day 24 hours of fun, fun, fun. The thing is, after 24 hours, I gotta ride back home. Only had one almost this time. I mean WTF? Jesus Christmas, who the hell did I piss the hell off? After a month a riding this thing, I thought most of the ‘tards would avoid me.

Of course, that is just 2 of 3 days in this adventure.




Got up to the sound of majito's tweeter-ing out side the window. No one was up yet. Came home after work yesterday at the pink acrerage about half-past the monkeys ass. Some asshole in a old beater car almost ran old moped-boy off the road 'cause they were not paying attention. If looks could kill. (well, it was dark, so that doesnt really apply, do it?)

Fed up with the usual amounts of horseshit that has been occurring, I went to the ocean.

Sprinting for my surf shorts, wax, and board; I made it out in record time. Almost record, sorta kinda fast - like. Of course the wind is howling this morning. But the sun is out, winking and teasing around the clouds and such. Blasting some blood curdling music to get my ass awake, I plowed down a coffee, and headed to the old oceanic realm for MY senses.

Senseless. Thats me. Pulling into the parking lot, afetr being tail gated by some moron, the waves were not all that bad. Sure it was not stellar, but it beat listening to eternal drivel from the leader of the obstinate ones. (???) Ha. Anyways, after doing the rounds of picking up litter, and grabbing a few recyclables, its wax on, and out to the water.

A bunch of grommets (small kine kid surf rats) had come by way of Moms vehicle. It just made my brain fart rubber nickles and all. There is no stoke as fresh and true as a little grommets. You got about 50 pounds soaking wet all revved up and ready to whack lips and carve rails on a board that weighs less than the Sunday paper. Shorts are about a size zippo. The rats fished out into the sea, and proceeded to tear it up. I got a ring side seat, while stretching the old body out a bit.

Surfed for a good couple hours and had a real good session.

And now its back to the grinder, life revolves on, and around, but never through.

Shoots; Aloha.


Zap, and you are all good to go.

Dadhawaiianmark had his heart stuffs done. 2 hours, through the artery and to the heart, zap the offending connection that was causing the mis-firings, and bang, kick you out and get back to Honoka'a. No shit. In and Out burger got nothin' on Dr. Shen.

He comes back tomorrow to Coach his team in a scrimmage in Waialua.

My Dad kicks ass.

(of course, this doesnt sit well with all members, but T.S.!!)

Mahalo's for the good wishes, and positives thoughtin's.



Storms, earthquakes, and Dad to O'ahu for heart stuffs

Like the plate aint full enough...Dad and Momhawaiianmark are on the aeroplane for O'ahu right now for heart stuffs for Dad tomorrow AM.

Kisses and Honihoni me
Kaleo & Kiana

At least the troops will be here for the Big Kahuna......


No Worries...4 now.

Up and at 'em. Its all good, but always alert, Iniki had some surprises.

1992 Path Of Iniki

Out the door to look for something surfable.