Hawaiianmark Surf Page: August 2009

30.8.09

Chinese Food Express

The alley was dark, non-descript, and putrid. By the look of it, it had been home to more than one nights rest to some form of life; maybe a few. Bordered by not one, but two extensively ornate fences, both of which had been erected at a time when fences kept things out, and not in. Now it kept what was in from getting out. If it got out, it might be a situation. A situation that would make news. News was not welcome to this tong this congregation of immigrants bent on self policing, self rule.

The tong's Gai-lo ran the place with a fist. A fist of iron? No, the fist was clad in servitude; servitude to debt. Surely there was a place where cigarette smoke was banished to the breeze, this was not that place.

When you enter, you enter under many eyes watch; eyes that did not believe the sights you see; eyes that cursed your being. You were not welcome. Your money, ah, yes, was. Your money will leave you. Your money will remain. That is assured. But you must enter, first. "Fuk Yuk Lin requested this" was the entry code.

No answer.

A jibberish of Mandarin-Cantonese-and-poor-as-fuck imitation of Pidgin English rattled off behind the very old, very secure door. Recognized though, was the definite du ni la mo du ni ga se fut expression of disgust that another gambler had arrived.

"No; I dont have worms in my ass" escapes your lips; more a fuck you than a snide comeback.

Door opens.

"You go this way" No shit Sherlock, er, Charlie. "Oh, you come back, Mr. Big Winner, eh?"

Well, duh. You cant have a derlict gambling addiction without a gambling venue, can you now? Far from it, you can have one, you can have a damn evil one. Ask the old filipino men just jonesing as bad as a heroin addict for the first football parlay sheets to come out emblazoned with the fictional "for amusement only" across the top of the weekly parlay sheets. You know that well, since after showing some prowess in actually beating enough point spreads that the old manong men were paying you for picks. Lucarative side job; wagers to be made, others to be lost. Eh. What the fuck.

No alter to vice would be complete without proper sacrifice. The tong made damn sure you had the scars to prove it; not only sick with OD on MSG, they made the walk of yours complete with a dragging leg; proof positive to any you met that you were a tool. At least you arent a cat. Then you'd be food. Shit, you fuck up again at the tables, you may be food.

Through 3 more damn doors, through that damn stink-ass kitchen, back up (again) some bizarre staircase, and into the "Casino" No wonder the Police never get here. Fucking GPS cant find this shit. What the hell would they do if some "player" coded? Damn. Maybe better not to know what is in the Kung-Pao Chicken. The 'cashier' will grant drug; drug green, please. Easily consumed playing chips, brought to by the requsite go-fer, a spiked hair, 20 something triad wannabe. He'll be dead in a year; splatterd across the freeway racing the first rice burning dumbass he came across. Fast money, fast death. At least he stayed in one piece.

"Ah yeah, you back to take more of our (distinction definte on OUR) money, eh Big Winner?"

You are sooooo fucked.

The dealer slaps out the cards; the other players barely acknowledge your arrival. Why? Gimme. Gimme syndrome. Gimme cards. Gimme money. Gimme, gimme, gimme. Metaphore for life in the world today. I Want; you want, we all want.

To the left a chain smoking, 300 pound woman of perfect hair, a damaged clothes. What the hell? Right; another female, 60-ish, frail and smoking a harsh blend of filipino extract of tobacco. What a fucking riot it would be to hear the complaints of the vigilante non-smokers of the world would be here.

More Chinese take-out, coming up!

As the single up-turn of weak grin creases your lips, you think of the irony of that scene - some self-righteous douche-bag complaining to "security" - Security that would eject the douche right out the window without a blink.

Cards - peek-a-boo, you pull two Kings (no splitting allowed, house fucking rules)to the dealers 9.

Left, stands. "You up, motherfucker" That shit wont get 'em tips, but they dont care, you will lose. "Stand, Fucker", right back. Right, hits. Stands.

Of course, the dealer pulls a 6.

And another.

Sweeps the chips away.

And the night begins.

*all BS - I made this stuff up driving to work today.

26.8.09

Sedan Delivery

1st School Time Nap

I guess there will come a time when things and occurencies (SP?) will fall the way they should but for now I'll glady take a surf and a kid pick - up from school, cutting grass with Kekoa with hand shears, over anything that remotely resembles this thing called life.

Be good.

Aloha.

20.8.09

Canned mushrooms.

Just say....

Noh.

*Inside joke,... seasoning.

Wait, wait....go away.

The waiter that irritates me the most has been in rare form of late. "El Turd-O", or close enough for horseshoes has become his moniker from me. Somehow, after 27 years of this stuff you would assume my hide would be a bit thicker to twits.

But alas, it has not.

Business at the pink has been busy enough; but not like it was in the past. The management has gotten rid of most of the oldtimers, and replaced them with some real gems of humanity. Dont get me wrong; most are OK, but some are....just so bloody self-centered. You know how most of the youth is today? It is sad to see them so uncaring for themselves as participants in this world. It truly is all about 'me'.

And the "Turd" is mega-man in me-ness.

14.8.09

I've got cookies as big as my head

KJ (international grommet of mystery) at LAX w/ huge-a-mongus cookie comped by Aunty Maimai.

Full Moon Cookie

Dont you just wish? Wouldn't a cookie right now just hit the spot? Shits and giggles; if you had one, I betcha you'd grind it right off. Milk, added bonus. I probably would.

So the first weeks of school gone past, the kids are going and I am losing my aforementioned mind as always. It is amazing to me to watch not only KJ, but Kiana, and Mai switch gears (for Mai and Kiana) to school mode. For KJ, it now is the start of a long educational journey, so his switch has not been off yet. That may be the greatest undestatement of the times. Senior year for Mai. 18 next month. Grade 4 for Kiana, and pre-school for KJ. Kekoa gets to cruise at home, wondering where the hell his accomplises went. Terrible 2's not holding him back on his enthusiasim for destruction.

The queen o' the abode is now at ******** Air, and thank god. Anymore time in the brig with the youth offenders woulda been not so aloha. Marry her, fly free. Oh wait, I did, but no time to yet.

Found out that my cholesterol level has basically a little more than tripled (FUCK!) in the past year. So changed my eating habits, which were not so bad, but something fucked me up to the point of another gout attack in June. Problem was, the thin never went away for over a month, so I finally went to the Doc, and she says 'whoa tiger; you be farquared, dude' ... sorta. So did some X-Rays and found out that the good old right ankle has degenrative arthritis. Wonderful. Thats allright tho' cause maybe I'll get my head out of my ass and get back to running afew miles vs. not. I guess you can not depend on surf to keep the boogie man away.

That lack of flex in the ankle hasnt made for a too inspired person in myself.

But as things go, it aint bad, just .... a hassle.

Off to the bullshit that is the hell hole of bullshit egotisim, falsefaced, crappaola...The Pink.

Aloha.