One for the boys.
31.7.05
Give And Take.
"I always suspect an artist who is successful before he is dead"
-John Murray Gibbon, 1922
Sometime ago, while i was doing something or other, my psychi changed.
Where it was, it did not stay. That place is a hodge-podge of anger, managed by a moron who while thinking of doing best, is actually creating havoc. Complications aside, the management team went to work on eliminating the cause of employee discourse. As with any alignment shift, there are those in the company rungs that do not care for re-alignment. Those that who for want of a better word, are not team players. What causes this? For the good of the company I say, we pull our gates up, reasses the situation, learn from our mistakes, press on. Determined not to incur the same errors that caused upheaveal before.
Aye, but there is a rub. Chafing more so. Fucking irritating rash that no amount of calamine lotion is going to cure, it seems. 1 that says so little, can reign with such effect. A cancer upon the good of the whole, not satisfied with what is a accomplished, but what is not stands brightly in the Hawaiian sun.
The usual MO would be to rant, rave at this injustice, this slight of the company ability. The company produces, manages and takes care of all responsiblities. Even ones not of the companies care.
But the psychi changed.
For the good?
Or has it become a waste of the company time, to posture against the 1 that defies? Perhaps not. But the mind, my friend, the mind; that computer gear box so squarely on the shoulders, waiting to erupt in spasmodic chaos of hemmoragic account - And then?
Then the bean counters arrive. The beans have been missing. And they count. And they add. And the discrepencies blare at volume 12. What of it? Responsibility.
But the psychi changed.
So you take, you give. And like the tree in the story, you give until you cant give no more - til all you are left to give is a stump, for a tired, beaten, useless moron to rest the backside upon.
Calmness.
Count to 10.
Count it 10 times over.
Repeat.
And be glad, glad that in giving, you have given all.
Even if there is nothing more to give.
Aloha. Stay safe.
-John Murray Gibbon, 1922
Sometime ago, while i was doing something or other, my psychi changed.
Where it was, it did not stay. That place is a hodge-podge of anger, managed by a moron who while thinking of doing best, is actually creating havoc. Complications aside, the management team went to work on eliminating the cause of employee discourse. As with any alignment shift, there are those in the company rungs that do not care for re-alignment. Those that who for want of a better word, are not team players. What causes this? For the good of the company I say, we pull our gates up, reasses the situation, learn from our mistakes, press on. Determined not to incur the same errors that caused upheaveal before.
Aye, but there is a rub. Chafing more so. Fucking irritating rash that no amount of calamine lotion is going to cure, it seems. 1 that says so little, can reign with such effect. A cancer upon the good of the whole, not satisfied with what is a accomplished, but what is not stands brightly in the Hawaiian sun.
The usual MO would be to rant, rave at this injustice, this slight of the company ability. The company produces, manages and takes care of all responsiblities. Even ones not of the companies care.
But the psychi changed.
For the good?
Or has it become a waste of the company time, to posture against the 1 that defies? Perhaps not. But the mind, my friend, the mind; that computer gear box so squarely on the shoulders, waiting to erupt in spasmodic chaos of hemmoragic account - And then?
Then the bean counters arrive. The beans have been missing. And they count. And they add. And the discrepencies blare at volume 12. What of it? Responsibility.
But the psychi changed.
So you take, you give. And like the tree in the story, you give until you cant give no more - til all you are left to give is a stump, for a tired, beaten, useless moron to rest the backside upon.
Calmness.
Count to 10.
Count it 10 times over.
Repeat.
And be glad, glad that in giving, you have given all.
Even if there is nothing more to give.
Aloha. Stay safe.
30.7.05
Simple.
It does not get much more basic than this: Surfshorts, Wax, Towel, Board.
If it gets really complicated, add a jug of water to hose off if there is no water to access after-surf.
Thats it. You can walk to the ocean from anywhere. 10 minutes from my home. I see it from my lanai on the 2nd story.
Simple. And thats me. Having no delusions of granduer, I focus on the main thing - Staying sane. There are times when what goes down around myself, that plan takes some serious review. Mostly, I come up Ace's. ( Or Yo-Eleven on the craps table)...So i stay as palapable as possible, turning thoughts and feelings inward, outward, waterwards. Work is a time consuming necessity, that, for the firehouse, is a privledge. I mean that. Serving people in need at the moment when they are at the worst, is pretty friggin' great. It is intersting as well. Running into a burning building sure has it negatives, but it is a high. No shit. Its stoney killer Buds. Without the drug test. Tending injured people, another high. Not as much of a rush, but pretty damn cool to get paid for it.
As well as the cost of paradise, working 2 jobs kills ya. In the past year so far, I have had probably 8 full days off. I know, I know - I dont want any cheese to go with my "whine" -
It fulfills the saying to me that "work is love made visible"
So I be fulla hella love, baby.
Love. That is a killer. Addicting, consuming, burning, ravishing. Inflated, overated, delicate. Precious, expendable. Usable.
People kill for it, because of it. Work like a dog for it.
Tenderness of touch, the face of a wave as I glide down, just brushing the glistening water. Holding on to a newborn, who just came into the world in the backseat of a Honda. Childs hand, cut, bleeding, shaking, calming with words, and mending with...love. Seeing the dawn blues, greens, yellows break out. Looking seaward, smelling the fresh ocean breeze, cooling rains draping across my face. Wholly grabbing the wrist of a girl prepped to jump from a building, taking the first steps back to life, away from the abyss of depression, holding, really truly holding, and feeling so much empathy and care. Then having it come back to you in the middle of the night. Doing something right.
Damning yourself, 2 weeks later, when she completed the task.
Love. All things generate from it.
It has been an exahusting few days.
Aloha.
If it gets really complicated, add a jug of water to hose off if there is no water to access after-surf.
Thats it. You can walk to the ocean from anywhere. 10 minutes from my home. I see it from my lanai on the 2nd story.
Simple. And thats me. Having no delusions of granduer, I focus on the main thing - Staying sane. There are times when what goes down around myself, that plan takes some serious review. Mostly, I come up Ace's. ( Or Yo-Eleven on the craps table)...So i stay as palapable as possible, turning thoughts and feelings inward, outward, waterwards. Work is a time consuming necessity, that, for the firehouse, is a privledge. I mean that. Serving people in need at the moment when they are at the worst, is pretty friggin' great. It is intersting as well. Running into a burning building sure has it negatives, but it is a high. No shit. Its stoney killer Buds. Without the drug test. Tending injured people, another high. Not as much of a rush, but pretty damn cool to get paid for it.
As well as the cost of paradise, working 2 jobs kills ya. In the past year so far, I have had probably 8 full days off. I know, I know - I dont want any cheese to go with my "whine" -
It fulfills the saying to me that "work is love made visible"
So I be fulla hella love, baby.
Love. That is a killer. Addicting, consuming, burning, ravishing. Inflated, overated, delicate. Precious, expendable. Usable.
People kill for it, because of it. Work like a dog for it.
Tenderness of touch, the face of a wave as I glide down, just brushing the glistening water. Holding on to a newborn, who just came into the world in the backseat of a Honda. Childs hand, cut, bleeding, shaking, calming with words, and mending with...love. Seeing the dawn blues, greens, yellows break out. Looking seaward, smelling the fresh ocean breeze, cooling rains draping across my face. Wholly grabbing the wrist of a girl prepped to jump from a building, taking the first steps back to life, away from the abyss of depression, holding, really truly holding, and feeling so much empathy and care. Then having it come back to you in the middle of the night. Doing something right.
Damning yourself, 2 weeks later, when she completed the task.
Love. All things generate from it.
It has been an exahusting few days.
Aloha.
29.7.05
Outta Context
Once in a while, you run onto people that just make you go, Huh?
When i was in college at the harvard of the midwest, (yes da Hawaiian did leave the islands, only for a grey, flat island) nuff hints. There was a charecter named Magoo. He was blind as a bat. ( Ah the name, boss, the name) But he could with amazing accuracy, throw a frisbee. No iwasnt stoned all the time, and yes he could peg a throw like nobodys business.
But, fuck that, I was meaning in the firehouse.
The Chongy incident.
Specifically.
On my prevoius truck, we had a boy, (yes, boy) who was the epitomy of paranoia. Everyone was infected, Ecery chemical kills, Air is bad, Food, is bad. Friggin nuts.
Now, it isnt so bad that you take precautions, but if it inhibits your ability to do the job, what good are you? Of course the departments guidelines are that you take proper PPE's - )personal protection la do da's) Of course, you attempt to do this, but sometimes....shit happens. you cant be responding to a alarm, and be set and dressed all the time. Shit happens. People puke, croak, and expel bodily fluids that are meant to be inside, all the time. But you TRY to be careful.
Some, tho' take it as religion.
Enter - Chongy. I cant be too specific, but his claim to fame is that at 30, he is a virgin. I mean, dear God, he has got to be packing a load like no one has ever seen. On top of the fact, is he says he dont jerk-off. So of course, he gets MAJOR shit. But he takes it. he has his point, and by shit, he sticks to it.
But then there was THE alarm.
We went to the scene, and it is a half-way house for women coming out of prison. So, as usual, Chongy dresses in full regalia. He has - Goggles, full turnouts, gloves, mask, and Dr's operating gown. I mean this is over kill. I got gloves, my sense of humor, and sleep in my eyes, 'cause it is 430AM. So we go to the paitient. 40+, overweight, complaing of being non-responsive by the satff of the home. So I start speaking with her. Asking a few questions, getting her to speak, but the whole time, she is faced away from me, and Chongy. Finally she turns around, and sees him. She asks - "why the hell is there a Dcotor here?" Unfortunately for Chongy, he tells her that he is with the firedepartment. and wew are just here to help. So I inject that yes, we are here to help, but we all dont overdress.
Ooops.
Oh yes, she took that fact, and RAN. She looks Chongy up and down, she sizes him up. Now I know, this lady is a street wise, coniver.
I was right.
She is answering all my questions, and the MICT's walk in, along with the police, and assorted uniformed.
And she unloads this - right at Chongy, while it was fairly quiet, in a loud booming voice -
" You know, there is a couple of mahu's (pre-op transexuals) in here that would love to fuck you in the ass"
I think everyone there peed their pants.
I cant look at him with out just friggin chuckling, over and over, to myself.
Ah life.
Aloha.
When i was in college at the harvard of the midwest, (yes da Hawaiian did leave the islands, only for a grey, flat island) nuff hints. There was a charecter named Magoo. He was blind as a bat. ( Ah the name, boss, the name) But he could with amazing accuracy, throw a frisbee. No iwasnt stoned all the time, and yes he could peg a throw like nobodys business.
But, fuck that, I was meaning in the firehouse.
The Chongy incident.
Specifically.
On my prevoius truck, we had a boy, (yes, boy) who was the epitomy of paranoia. Everyone was infected, Ecery chemical kills, Air is bad, Food, is bad. Friggin nuts.
Now, it isnt so bad that you take precautions, but if it inhibits your ability to do the job, what good are you? Of course the departments guidelines are that you take proper PPE's - )personal protection la do da's) Of course, you attempt to do this, but sometimes....shit happens. you cant be responding to a alarm, and be set and dressed all the time. Shit happens. People puke, croak, and expel bodily fluids that are meant to be inside, all the time. But you TRY to be careful.
Some, tho' take it as religion.
Enter - Chongy. I cant be too specific, but his claim to fame is that at 30, he is a virgin. I mean, dear God, he has got to be packing a load like no one has ever seen. On top of the fact, is he says he dont jerk-off. So of course, he gets MAJOR shit. But he takes it. he has his point, and by shit, he sticks to it.
But then there was THE alarm.
We went to the scene, and it is a half-way house for women coming out of prison. So, as usual, Chongy dresses in full regalia. He has - Goggles, full turnouts, gloves, mask, and Dr's operating gown. I mean this is over kill. I got gloves, my sense of humor, and sleep in my eyes, 'cause it is 430AM. So we go to the paitient. 40+, overweight, complaing of being non-responsive by the satff of the home. So I start speaking with her. Asking a few questions, getting her to speak, but the whole time, she is faced away from me, and Chongy. Finally she turns around, and sees him. She asks - "why the hell is there a Dcotor here?" Unfortunately for Chongy, he tells her that he is with the firedepartment. and wew are just here to help. So I inject that yes, we are here to help, but we all dont overdress.
Ooops.
Oh yes, she took that fact, and RAN. She looks Chongy up and down, she sizes him up. Now I know, this lady is a street wise, coniver.
I was right.
She is answering all my questions, and the MICT's walk in, along with the police, and assorted uniformed.
And she unloads this - right at Chongy, while it was fairly quiet, in a loud booming voice -
" You know, there is a couple of mahu's (pre-op transexuals) in here that would love to fuck you in the ass"
I think everyone there peed their pants.
I cant look at him with out just friggin chuckling, over and over, to myself.
Ah life.
Aloha.
28.7.05
Day...timer
600AM - Dig out from station - Pau Hana (finshed work)
615AM - Coffee #1
630AM - Maimai to school
645AM - Surf check.
646AM - Flatness (sigh)
700AM - Hardware store
730AM - Coffee #2
745AM- Start more home improvements
800AM - Break stuff, fix, replace.
815AM- IS it time for a beer yet?
900AM- Run to tile place to buy tile
915AM- Get in traffic
1000AM- Start tile
1015 AM - Restart another room to retile it
1100AM - Figure out that all old tile gotta come up
1200Noon - Finally start original tiling of room
100PM - Grab a sandwich
115PM - More coffee
125PM - Finish the original room tile
130PM - Start tiling bathroom counter
145PM - Break tile saw
200PM - Get new tile saw
245PM - finish cutting tile
445PM - Finish installing tile in bathroom
600PM - Finish tile headers, caps, and clean tile
645PM - Go buy cold Heinekens, (altho' i'd rather go to Kona Brewing Co.)
700PM - realize I gotta do this again, tomorrow -
715PM - Cold Beer, Ahhhhhhhhh, Relief.
720PM - Surfcheck - Still gonna be flat tomorrow.
721PM - Life aint THAT bad, even if it is flat.
722PM - Aloha
615AM - Coffee #1
630AM - Maimai to school
645AM - Surf check.
646AM - Flatness (sigh)
700AM - Hardware store
730AM - Coffee #2
745AM- Start more home improvements
800AM - Break stuff, fix, replace.
815AM- IS it time for a beer yet?
900AM- Run to tile place to buy tile
915AM- Get in traffic
1000AM- Start tile
1015 AM - Restart another room to retile it
1100AM - Figure out that all old tile gotta come up
1200Noon - Finally start original tiling of room
100PM - Grab a sandwich
115PM - More coffee
125PM - Finish the original room tile
130PM - Start tiling bathroom counter
145PM - Break tile saw
200PM - Get new tile saw
245PM - finish cutting tile
445PM - Finish installing tile in bathroom
600PM - Finish tile headers, caps, and clean tile
645PM - Go buy cold Heinekens, (altho' i'd rather go to Kona Brewing Co.)
700PM - realize I gotta do this again, tomorrow -
715PM - Cold Beer, Ahhhhhhhhh, Relief.
720PM - Surfcheck - Still gonna be flat tomorrow.
721PM - Life aint THAT bad, even if it is flat.
722PM - Aloha
Summer Fun In The Country
Later today on this same channel,
Just how much SHIT can HM pack into
a glorious, FLAT, Ha-Y-N day?
Stay tuned, this ought to be, (ala Neil Young),
Inneresssing.
27.7.05
Sunset Brushfire Fairytales
Long, long arse day at the 'house. Fun, fun, fun till Daddy takes the T-Bird away...The sunset was nice 'tho.
Aloha,....... dont play with matches!
26.7.05
Flatness On The Horizon
No Surf Today.
Not that I didnt try.
Damn weather patterns to the south ar not cooperating to produce much needed swells, but on the upside, there isnt a better place on earth to wait.
'cept at this friggin' hotel.
Argggh.
Aloha. The gift that keeps on giving.
Pidgin English / Whats the frequency, Kenneth?
Humidity. Heat. Blazing blue skys. Green valleys. Dry grasslands.
"Eh, no make li'dat cuz, pilikia 'bout da wedder, you make ere'boddy huhu"
"Dont complain about the weather, my friend, you will anger everyone"
Pidgin english. Like creole, I guess. A mind melding of hawaiian language, botched english, Japanese, Chinese, and just about anything else you care to throw into the mix. Does not go over well when interviewing for employment. Tourists will interpet you as speaking from Martian based areas. To survive public school in the islands, you better know when and when not to use it. Survival will depend on using it correctly, and at the proper times. You dont want to be ordering in the Kings English at the local manapua stand. (Chinese baked or steamed breads, stuffed with anything from pork or chicken, veggies, domesticated cat. (Just kiding on the cat)
Sometimes in the span of a 24 hour shift at the firehouse, we can go from the slums of Waikiki, to the million dollar homes that grace the "gold coast", right next door. So command of language, sometimes foregin, can be an assest. It can be pretty damn funny 'tho too.
It is an island, and in that, it is common knowledge that you are more than likely related to the person next you. The commanality of that is called Ohana - family. Everybody knows somebody that you know, as well. So secerts, well if you got them, you might not want to share them. 'Cause someone somewhere will know you, see you, and relate that secret to those you may not want to know.
And firemen are the worst. "telephone, telegraph, tellafireman" Like I said before, there are no secrets in the 'house. You fears will be found out, as well as your strengths. In there, somewhere is the reasoning behind this post.
Just had my promotional interview. 10 years in the making. It went well, and spoke the kings english repeatedly. Answered the questions the way they should, and said the shit they wanted to hear.
So i get promoted.
Whoooo. More money. More responsibility. Assignments are next. So I wait. And wait. Chief Killa, one of the gnarliest, coolest, for-the-men&the-public chiefs a guy could want, knows where I want to be assigned. And yeah, I have been doing him favors. I left my home station to come to his to help him out of a bind. And now I drive him, (nuts, mostly) and gofer about. It's one of the jobs I could be assigned. Or back to my home station, driving the back of the Ladder Truck. (best damn postion in the department) Needless to say, where I want to be.
So chances are good that I will get where I deserve/want.
Not so fast, kimosabe.
Fire2, #2, bigdog, hatchet man for #1. Calls and assigns me to........
Alarm Bureau.
Answering 911 calls in the basement.
I mean.....WTF?
And the whole department knows, and unbeliveable to me, almost all the guys on our watch are....pissed.
The assignments arent written in stone, so who knows in the next few days, but the one feeling i got, was damn, I got some respect from the boys, they gave a shit about the draw.
That feels good.
Aloha.
"Eh, no make li'dat cuz, pilikia 'bout da wedder, you make ere'boddy huhu"
"Dont complain about the weather, my friend, you will anger everyone"
Pidgin english. Like creole, I guess. A mind melding of hawaiian language, botched english, Japanese, Chinese, and just about anything else you care to throw into the mix. Does not go over well when interviewing for employment. Tourists will interpet you as speaking from Martian based areas. To survive public school in the islands, you better know when and when not to use it. Survival will depend on using it correctly, and at the proper times. You dont want to be ordering in the Kings English at the local manapua stand. (Chinese baked or steamed breads, stuffed with anything from pork or chicken, veggies, domesticated cat. (Just kiding on the cat)
Sometimes in the span of a 24 hour shift at the firehouse, we can go from the slums of Waikiki, to the million dollar homes that grace the "gold coast", right next door. So command of language, sometimes foregin, can be an assest. It can be pretty damn funny 'tho too.
It is an island, and in that, it is common knowledge that you are more than likely related to the person next you. The commanality of that is called Ohana - family. Everybody knows somebody that you know, as well. So secerts, well if you got them, you might not want to share them. 'Cause someone somewhere will know you, see you, and relate that secret to those you may not want to know.
And firemen are the worst. "telephone, telegraph, tellafireman" Like I said before, there are no secrets in the 'house. You fears will be found out, as well as your strengths. In there, somewhere is the reasoning behind this post.
Just had my promotional interview. 10 years in the making. It went well, and spoke the kings english repeatedly. Answered the questions the way they should, and said the shit they wanted to hear.
So i get promoted.
Whoooo. More money. More responsibility. Assignments are next. So I wait. And wait. Chief Killa, one of the gnarliest, coolest, for-the-men&the-public chiefs a guy could want, knows where I want to be assigned. And yeah, I have been doing him favors. I left my home station to come to his to help him out of a bind. And now I drive him, (nuts, mostly) and gofer about. It's one of the jobs I could be assigned. Or back to my home station, driving the back of the Ladder Truck. (best damn postion in the department) Needless to say, where I want to be.
So chances are good that I will get where I deserve/want.
Not so fast, kimosabe.
Fire2, #2, bigdog, hatchet man for #1. Calls and assigns me to........
Alarm Bureau.
Answering 911 calls in the basement.
I mean.....WTF?
And the whole department knows, and unbeliveable to me, almost all the guys on our watch are....pissed.
The assignments arent written in stone, so who knows in the next few days, but the one feeling i got, was damn, I got some respect from the boys, they gave a shit about the draw.
That feels good.
Aloha.
5 Summer Stories / 1st date / Tutu Wahine / 8-15-2005
First date.
Surf flick.
Still In Love.
Grammar Minnie.
Malasadas.
3660 Waialae Avenue.
Territory Of Hawaii.
Pa'Ula Drive.
Me Ke Aloha Pumehana.
Miss Ya, Tutu Kane.
Aloha.
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