Rich's Blog

Inertia

2012-01-01T08:44:00.001-10:00

My submission for Bamboo Ridge's December contest:

The old gang all knew about the divorce and the whys behind it. Some were bothered, some weren’t. No one said anything either way. They just nodded, smiled, made nice. And all were confused by the invitation. They’d just assumed that their ritual New Year’s Day brunch would fade away along with the marriage of the couple who threw the celebration each year to commemorate their anniversary.
     “Delia, I don’t think this is a good idea.”
     “Why not?” Delia straightened Oscar’s collar while they stood in the restaurant lobby.
     “We not married no more, so why throw dis party still?”
     “Because it’s tradition.” Oscar shook his head. “Why, what’s bothering you?”
     “Nothing.”
     “Oscar.”
     “Just don’t feel like being here, that’s all.”
     “Well, we’re here already. Everybody’s already at the table, can’t turn back now.”
     “I don’t even like this place.”
     “What? We been coming here for brunch for 40 years. Why you only tell me now you don’t like it?”
     “I nevah like stir the pot.” Oscar peeked around the corner at the old gang gathered around their usual table, talking amongst themselves. No doubt wondering why the heck they were all there, he thought.
     “Delia...” he whined.
     “Come, let’s go.” She grabbed Oscar’s hand and dragged him out into the main dining room area. When their friends saw them walking in, they all stood up wearing huge smiles, arms outstretched.
     Esther and Roland draped leis around their necks. Pikake for Delia, ti leaf for Oscar, just like on their wedding day. Esther used to make the leis every year till arthritis took over, and now her daughters or granddaughters have picked up her slack.
     Tommy, already a bit tipsy from Bloody Mary’s, presented Oscar with the usual case of beer, complete with a huge ribbon and finger holes poked through the awkward wrapping job for easier carrying. His Dolores was on the other side of the table hugging Delia and gushing over her muumuu.
     Robert gave Oscar a firm handshake and a one armed, half-torso hug. He didn’t say anything, but Robert was usually the quiet one, more so since Sonya left him two years earlier.
     After filling their plates at the buffet, they returned to the table where where the men talked about football and golf while they drank like it was a dinner party; the women gossiped and talked fondly of their grand children, sipping their champagne. It was meant to be a celebration, after all. Traditions die hard. Nobody knew how else to pass this day other than the way they always have.
     Somewhere between their second and third passes at the buffet line, Dolores said “Delia, Oscar, even though you’re not married anymore, I’m so happy you still did this.” It was directed to the once and former couple, but intentionally loud enough for all to hear. Oscar smiled uncomfortably, somewhat embarrassed that someone called attention to the ending of the marriage. Delia’s smile was a proud one, a quiet I told you so for Oscar.
     “What else we gonna do? Things change, people come and go, but we still gotta do the brunch.”
     “Yeah, me and Esther didn’t know what we were gonna do this year. We almost wen make plans with her family! Good ting you still have dis, I never like hang out with da in-laws.” Dolores slapped Tommy playfully on the forearm while everyone laughed.
     Roland raised his glass. “Eh. A toast. For all of us. God bless.” Everybody raised their glasses and toasted to something big and heartwarming, even if they didn’t quite know what it was.
     “Pssh. Why are we all pretending? Hah? Like everyting’s fine.” Robert stood up, noticeably drunk. He was so quiet the whole meal, nobody noticed he was downing his cocktails one after the other.
     “Robert, sit down.” Tommy tugged on shirt, but Robert slapped his hand away.
     “Fuck you, I ain’t gon’ sit down! Forty years he wen treat her like shit and we nevah say nothing. Not you, not you, not you, not you,” his accusing finger circling the table. “So what? Now when they finally get divorce, we still pretending?”
     “Robert!”
     “We all know she deserved better. We all know she too good for him. But none of us nevah say nothing. And whenevah I open my mouth, someone tell me to sit down and shut up. Well fuck you, no more. Oscar. You fucka.” he said, this time his eyes gripping Oscar around the neck. “You one piece of shit.” Oscar didn’t say anything, caught in the spotlight of Robert’s rage. Robert turned towards Delia, his gaze softening. “Delia. You one buttahfly till he wen break your wings. We should of run away together when we had da chance. Now look at us.”
     Tommy and Roland began to drag Robert away from the table. “I’m sorry, Delia. I love you,” he said as he was escorted outside. Everyone in the restaurant had long ago stopped what they were doing to watch the unfolding display. Dolores and Esther gathered around Delia, distraught but trying to play it off. Oscar looked down and said nothing. He and Delia held hands under the table.
     “I told you we shouldn’t have done this,” he finally said on the drive home. Delia just looked out the window at the blurred landscape whizzing by.
     “Robert was right. Why we gotta pretend like nothing changed? All different now. Can’t act like it’s not.”
     “Robert was right about you being one piece of shit, too. That’s why you never say shit back to him.” Oscar digested that for awhile.
     “So why you stay fo? Hah? Why you never wen run away with Robert when you guys wen fool around back in da day? Why you put up with my shit?”
     “We never wen fool around. He try to, but I nevah give in to him. He living in one fantasy.”
     “Fine. Whatever. So why you stay?”
     “The same reason for forty years you nevah told me you hated that restaurant.”
     “Hah?”
     “I nevah like stir da pot.”
     Oscar pulled up in front of the house he and Delia owned most of their years together. It’s only been a few weeks since he moved out, but already he felt like a visitor. “I’ll come by tomorrow to take down the Christmas lights.”
     “No bother. Junior gonna be by today, I’ll have him do it.” Delia opened the car door. “Thank you, Oscar. I know you nevah like go. And I’m sorry you had to put up with Robert’s bullshit.”
     “Eh, s’okay. I had it coming.”
     Delia grabbed Oscar’s face. “You one piece of shit but I still love you. You may not deserve it. But I do.” Delia got out of the car. “Same time next year?” she asked, as she closed the door.
     Oscar just nodded, smiled, made nice, as he drove away, leaving a waving Delia behind. He didn’t know what else to do.

-r-

Two Haikus About Pizza

2011-12-08T22:38:00.001-10:00

A good friend posted on Facebook asking for someone to "wax poetic about why pizza is so amazingly good." I offered up the following two haikus, which I wanted to share here:

early memory

grape soda, pepperoni

life changed forever

and then...

cheese, dough, meat (or two!)

baked till melty, tasty, hot

my true love, for realz

-r-

In case you were wondering...

2011-12-08T22:12:00.001-10:00

...how long a reed diffuser lasts...

...apparently it's good for one year and about four and a half months.

So a year and half ago I learn what a reed diffuser is. Today I found out their life span.

Still no idea where the hell it came from though. Seriously... who brought a reed diffuser into my workplace men's room?

Some mysteries answered, some remain.

-r-

Thanksgiving 2011

2011-11-24T08:05:00.001-10:00

A couple of months ago was both my 40th birthday and the 10th anniversary of my father's death. Certainly fodder for soul searching and rumination, and in the months leading up to that shared day I wondered what I'd write about the subject, since early posts here dealt a bit with my dad's death. But as the day drew closer, I was feeling fine, and I didn't really have anything to say on the subject.

What a difference a couple of months make. A lot of changes and turmoil in my personal and work life these last several weeks. I'm currently back in NY visiting the family for Thanksgiving, prepping my childhood home for sale, embracing long held traditions with family who I see far too infrequently.

I've visited my dad's grave a couple of times since I've arrived here, including yesterday. Yesterday was his birthday, he would have been 76. I spoke to him for awhile. Whether or not he hears me, I always talk to him when I'm in town. This time the conversation/monologue felt more natural, casual. I went on longer than usual. Told him about the upcoming festivities, told him the latest goings on with the family. Told him that I loved him and missed him and that I'd be back at least one or two more times before going back to Hawaii. I cried a little when I got back to the car.

This morning I watched the Macy's parade with family. Watching the parade on television goes back to my earliest memories of the holiday, and something I've never failed to do, even after I've moved to Hawaii. The one exception was the year when I actually went to see the parade in person. (While it's an experience I loved, it still doesn't beat watching it at home on TV, in real time). But I'm sitting there and I feel myself getting misty eyed and I start thinking "WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH ME? This is just a frickin' parade!"

And probably nothing was "wrong" per se, but it is an unusually tumultuous period with an unusual mix of emotions going on. Far too many to really quantify them all, but I do know that I am feeling nostalgic, I am feeling sad, and I'm even a little bit scared... or maybe unsure is a better word. Lots of changes going on in all facets of my life, and while I'm generally not adverse to change, all at once and from all sides I think might be a bit overwhelming right now.

And you know, I can't say this is the dominant sentiment in my head right now, but it's the most important: I'm thankful. Thankful for the opportunities I've been given in life (even the ones I've squandered); for the lessons I've learned (and the mistakes I made the enable me to learn further); for the family and friends I have and the love we share (even when actions, events and geography threaten to hinder or cripple that love). Yes indeed, I'm a lucky man. And if I can truly believe that as I do through all the chaos and hardships, then all will be fine in the end.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone! May you be spending it with those you love and/or who love you.

-r-

Sprawl

2011-11-21T15:41:00.001-10:00

When my family first moved to this neighborhood in the summer of 1980, there were two, maybe three bodegas along the main stretch of town, with a couple of Latino eateries and one Latino church, that I recall, and all within a couple of blocks of each other. And our home was a good mile or two away from where the other Latino families lived.

Flash forward over 31 years, and that main stretch is almost wall to wall with Latino merchants of all sorts. The Latino residential area now extends all the way down to where the family house is, making for a diverse mix of ethnicities on a once mostly Caucasian street. And the mall? The food court has three Latin themed eateries. Well, four if you count Taco Bell. So yeah, three it is. But three! Three Latino eateries!! That blows my mind.

This place has changed so much from when I lived here. In so many ways, it's still the same old neighborhood. In so many ways, it isn't. And yet, in the ways that it's different, there's a comfort to be found there. I love seeing so many Latino faces around me. I love seeing not only Puerto Ricans, but also Peruvians, Dominicans and other Latin American cultures represented around here. In some ways, it's more homey and familiar than it was back in the day. That's pretty darn cool.

-r-

Random Thoughts While Traveling II

2011-11-20T19:39:00.001-10:00

As the title suggests, random thoughts I jotted down on my trek from Hawaii to New York a few days ago. Some of these would be perfect for status updates/tweets, but since I don't have access to those services in the air, I save them all up for you until I land and can unload them all at once. Have notebook, will travel.

---

Apparently the words "Please remain seated with your seat belts fastened" has no meaning to like half the passengers on this flight.

---

If Dennis Rodman has a good-looking younger brother, he's sitting two rows in front of me.

---

How long does it feel like you've been on this plane? Okay, now subtract 3 hours. That's how long you've really been on this plane.

---

The rules of time go out the door when you're 30,000 feet in the air. Maybe the cold air just slows everything down to a crawl.

---

You know, in case you didn't hear the captain say "please remain seated with your seat belts fastened," right above your head is a lit up picture of a seat belt being buckled, which should alert you to remain seated with your seatbelts fastened.

---

Whatever section I'm seated in whenever I fly must translate to "oh, yeah, and you guys too, i guess..."

---

You know the section... where by the time the cart gets to you, the food is cold, the drinks are warm, you've fallen asleep or you're not hungry anymore.

---

Thank you, sir, for making me strip down, then stare impatiently while I rush to get dressed again, like a booty call who's overstayed her welcome.

---

Ah, so this is the part of the flight where all the kids start crying at the same time. Got it.

---

Drinking ginger ale makes me feel like I should be wearing a monocle, top hat and spats.

---

Why do the skinny, scrawny ones always take up the most room?

---

I have no concept of time anymore. They stuck me in this big metal box and when I got out, they told me it was night and I was in Detroit and I had to take their word for it.

---

You, sir, have a stellar combover.

---

The phrase "we don't have much time" never sounded more grim than when spoken calmly by an older woman with a mid-western accent.

---

For a city that's home to KISS, Prince and Iggy Pop, Detroit's airport is pretty blah.

---

But then... every airport is blah, huh?

---

-r-

Home

2011-11-20T05:19:00.001-10:00

In the days leading up to my vacation, I was filled with conflicting emotions. I should have been excited to go away, and I was in fact eager to see family and take part in Thanksgiving festivities, but a big part of me didn't want to go. With the chaos and uncertainty going on at home and and at work, a vacation was probably what I needed more than anything, but I couldn't help but feel that I needed to stay behind to tend to these issues.

And now two days into my vacation, staying in the house I grew up in, I have to concede that this is indeed exactly what I needed. I needed a touchstone, I needed thecomforts of something familiar, unchanging, perennial. A place that can make me forget certain things and help me remember others. No matter howmany miles, no matter how many years, this place will always be home.

What's funny, though, is that thisplace I once called home will soon be gone. The house is up for sale. It'stime, though. The house is only occupied for a month or two peryear, cumulative. The taxes and uptake just isn't worth it. I thinkmyself and my siblings knew it was time to unload the house a few years ago. Onlyrecently did my mom also realize that it was time to let it go.

This house, this neighborhood, is likea skin. It fits like a favorite t-shirt or a well-worn pair ofshoes, even if it's not one I regularly wear anymore. It is weird seeing that “ForSale” sign out front. Even if I had the money, I have no interestin buying the place. This place is no longerwhere my heart is. But there's a definite comfort here. Walkinginto my old room, strolling through the backyard or driving aroundthe block... I know every nuance by sense, even if I can't define themall.

I wonder how future visits will be once the house is sold. I imagine that I'll stay at my brother's house, or if the situation warranted, I could even stay at a hotel/motel. But while I'll have a place to stay, I think that I'll have lost that touchstone, that home base whereeverything feels comfortable and I know every crevice, every scent,every sound. Will I feel adrift, untethered? When my world is crazyand unsure, will I be able to find that solace like I have this time, like I have for every visit I've made over the last 20 years sinceleaving home? Time will tell.

-r-

Friendly Fire

2011-10-30T16:33:00.002-10:00

October's almost over, which must mean it's time for my Bamboo Ridge contest submission. With Halloween upon us, I went with a bit of a creepy theme:

Friendly Fire

My first week here, my sister took me kayaking out on Kaneohe Bay. I’d never been in the ocean before. I was terrified at first, but Lisa was in the kayak with me, keeping us steady and on course while I struggled with the mechanics of paddling and balance. I soon got the hang of it though, and fell in love with the ocean, its crystal clear waters and the distance from the rest of the terrestrial world. That same day I saw my first shark, a hammerhead, swimming below us. Mysterious, powerful, sleek, sultry. I should have been freaked out but I wasn’t. I was at peace. I knew I was at home.

Just days before my arrival, Lisa’s husband, Michael, had deployed for the Middle East so she asked me to stay with her for a few months to keep her company. It would be like old times, she told me. Two beautiful young women on their own with an island to explore. The truth was that she needed me there, and she knew I needed a change, too, what with all the shit I’d dealt with, cheating ex-boyfriends, hospital stays, therapy and all. Hawaii was perfect for me, a place to be born again and start anew, baptised in the waters of the Pacific.

A few weeks after his deployment, Lisa found out she was pregnant. Michael’s of course. She wasn’t even sure if she wanted kids or not, a conversation to be had when Michael returned. We sat on her bathroom floor talking about kids and marriage and scary, real world things. And when that got too overwhelming, we started talking about our childhood, the kids in our neighborhood, summers at the lake, first kisses and biking up and down our street till long after the sun went down and the fireflies came out flashing their beacons for all to see.

That afternoon, before she had the time to process her impending motherhood, Lisa got word that Michael was killed in action. Friendly fire. Such an odd phrase. I wondered if it made it easier or harder to know that your killer was someone you knew and trusted.

I was close by her side for the next several months, paddling and navigating while she tried to keep her balance through a funeral and memorials, doctors visits, bureaucrats of all sorts, and a never ending series of emotional ups and downs that just seemed to feed on itself. I cried with her, I supported her, I did all the things sisters are supposed to do for each other when something bad happens. It was like when Skipper got hit by a car in front of our house, or when Charles Bruckner broke up with me right before the junior prom. Just like old times.

We still found time for our sisterly outings, including hikes, dinners, shopping and kayaking excursions. We saw the shark several more times. I named him Harold. Harold Hammerhead. Sometimes he was alone, sometimes he had friends. We were always cautious around them, but I was never afraid, just in awe of their majesty. We enjoyed these outings and moments of bonding while we could. When she got too big and staying in became a more frequent activity, I tended to her hand and foot, cooking, doing all the cleaning and laundry.

I was with Lisa in the delivery room. Thirteen hours of pushing and screaming and I was there holding her hand and mopping her brow through the whole thing. As her sister, it was my pleasure and honor. It’s what we do, right? And several times during her labor, Lisa made a point of telling me how thankful she was to have me there. She was sad and scared of what the future would hold. She didn’t say so but I could tell from her face. She’d had that same look ever since she first learned she was pregnant.

But when the baby came out, something had changed. The second she laid eyes on that thing, covered in blood and afterbirth, screaming like a bat out of Hell, that look of fear disappeared, replaced with a huge beaming smile.

She even named it Michelle after her late husband, instead of naming it after me. You know, her sister who she’d known since forever and who supported her when her stupid jarhead husband got himself killed abandoning her on this rock in the middle of nowhere, her sister who stood by her when she found out she got knocked up because she was too stupid to use birth control even though she wasn’t sure she wanted kids, her sister who even went to fucking lamaze classes with her and gave her foot rubs. Yeah, that sister. Me.

Whatever.

She was still my sister, I still loved her. I supported her decisions even if I didn’t agree with them. I wasn’t going to leave her side. She still needed me.

Over the course of the next few weeks it became clear that life would never be the same again. Sleepless nights, puke, dirty diapers, crying over nothing. That thing was unbearable. Everything circled around its life now. I couldn’t even go out with Lisa if I wanted to because of this parasite.

My therapist said that maybe I was being unfair. Fuck him. My sister promised. It was supposed to be like old times and I see now that because of the little monster it would never be like old times again.

One morning, like many mornings before, I woke up to the the screaming going on and on and on and on. Lisa was oblivious, sound asleep, exhausted from one too many late night feedings. She was snoring right through all the fuss, the poor thing. We couldn’t go on like this. Something needed to change.

Before long, I was out on Kaneohe Bay, leaving the world behind, enjoying the serenity and the solitude. I paddled out several hundred yards till I couldn’t even make out the shapes of people on the shore. The rocking of the ocean was calming, soothing. It had even lulled the kid to sleep. This was her first time to the ocean. Shame she was too young to appreciate all this. Down below I saw Harold and friends patrolling their turf, for now oblivious to the world above. I picked up the little monster and saw for the first time that she had Michael’s eyes. I wondered again whether or not it made it easier to know your killer. Then I wondered what Michael’s killer felt. Or if it was normal to not feel anything at all.

I paddled back, knowing that Lisa would probably be awake soon. I wanted to surprise her with breakfast. If I had time, I’d stop and get a few mangoes from the farmer’s market and brew some coffee for us. Maybe we’d go for a hike later if she was up for it. Or maybe we’d just go to the mall and catch a matinee. The day was young so we could do anything we wanted. Two beautiful sisters with the whole world before them. It would be like old times again.

-r-

Kaniakapupu

2011-10-26T21:34:00.002-10:00

This past weekend we went up to Kaniakapupu. It was the first time I'd been there in several months, and it was just what I needed at just the right time. I'd had a rough few weeks, and retreating into a lush, green landscape is always rejuveniating for me, whether it's a hike in the mountains or a visit to a botanical garden. Kaniakapupu in particular has this unique energy about it. It feels special, magical, sacred.

The area was once the site of Kamehameha III's summer palace, and history tells of a massive party that was held there numbering about 10,000 attendees. All that remains now are some ruins in the midst of a thick forest.

Far more info about Kaniakapupu, its history and sacredness, check out this link here.

And here are some photos I took during this weekend's visit. Enjoy.

-r-

Okay, I'm calling it now...

2011-10-14T17:30:00.000-10:00

...Obama is going to win in 2012. This is not a statement of his job performance to date. This is not an indication of support for his plans moving forward. We can argue those points ad nauseum. This is merely a prediction.

His current opponents are either too far right, too uninformed, too crazy, or all of the above. Huntsman and Paul seem to be the more reasonable of the bunch, but at this stage I don't know that they can bust free from the pack and get into the forefront. I don't feel that any of the GOP candidates can gain the broad, mainstream appeal needed to win the election.

Romney has a good chance of being the nominee but what's going to hurt him is that he doesn't have the full support of the Right, many of whom don't think he's conservative enough. Furthermore, he's flip-flopped his stance on several of the issues through the years, so it will be hard for voters to trust him if they don't know who the real Romney is on any given day. Obama's team has already started leaning on his tendency to flip-flop, as have some of the other GOP candidates.

Christie would have been the only person who could have possibly bested Obama, or at least given him a run for his money. But with him out of the running, he's ruled out as a threat.

And while polls being taken today may not mean much by this time next year, current trends indicate that much of the public feels that the GOP is largely at fault for the logjam in Congress, and that they like Obama's plans for jobs and the economy better than the GOP's.

Wild card: The Occupy Wall Street movement. It's too early to tell whether or not it will have an effect on the election, but if anything, widespread discontent about corporate greed and influence may lean towards Obama's favor.

So lacking any candidate that can get broad, mainstream appeal, and a public relations turnaround on the part of the Republicans, or some other unforeseen factor like a scandal or other event that will reflect poorly on Obama, I predict that he's going to get voted in for a second term. Again, just a prediction.

I wonder what the Vegas odds are looking like right now?

-r-

Dream

2011-10-14T17:00:00.000-10:00

Meant to post this a couple of weeks ago. Fortunately I quickly jotted down what I did remember that same morning. Otherwise, I think this would have been lost to the ether by now.

So I was in a small town somewhere on the mainland. Missouri or Michigan seem to stick out for me, but I can't be sure. I was walking around the town, talking to people, asking about the town and its background. Not quite sure why, but it felt like I was doing research for a book or an article. Everybody I encountered was friendly, but I felt like I was intruding. Not because of anything they said or did, but just the sense that I was prying into their way of life. There was a cute, homey restaurant in town, the kind that serves grits and pancakes and such. The place was empty and I was sitting there with the owner to interview him, gearing up to interview him. He was telling me how he had met with folks from CNN at some point and the experience didn't sit well with him, so I found myself trying to gain his trust, to convince him that I wasn't like CNN and that my motives were different. During our conversation, the empty restaurant filled until it was bustling. I had made a mental note to myself to come back to this restaurant for breakfast the next day because the food looked good.

-r-

Double Whammy Review: Action Comics #1 / Swamp Thing #1

2011-10-06T15:52:00.001-10:00

So to follow up on my earlier post where I talked about DC's relaunch in general, and Animal Man #1 specifically, I wanted to share some passing thoughts about two of the other relaunched titles I've read, namely Action Comics #1 and Swamp Thing #1.

I've never been much of a Superman fan. I appreciate his place in cultural history, and his role in the fictional setting in which he dwells, but I've never followed the character much, and when I have, it wasn't for very long, ultimately never being able to stay interested in the guy for an extended period of time. But the relaunch of Action Comics #1 caught my interest for two reasons. One, it was going to be written by Grant Morrison. He's written some amazing material, the sublime meta-textual conspiracy of The Invisibles immediately comes to mind, and shorter pieces like WE3 or Kill Your Boyfriend certainly have a place up there among his best. His super hero material has been hit or miss for me, though. I enjoyed his run on X-Men, didn't care as much for his Final Crisis (it wasn't bad, just don't doesn't hold up compared to his non-super hero stuff), and can go either way on most of his output for the major publishers. But whenever he comes out with something new, I'm usually at the very least curious to see what he's got up his sleeve. The second hook for me was the concept. This just wasn't a contemporary updating of Superman. This was a retelling of his early years as a rookie, bringing him back to his populist roots as a hero who fought for the common man, taking on corrupt businessmen, slum lords and union busters, sticking up for the weak and the poor, as opposed to fighting cosmic menaces. For years I thought that bringing him back to that grounded level would be an excellent take on the character. And lo and behold, it's being done. So yes, count me in.

Action Comics #1 didn't wow me as much as Animal Man did. It was a good issue, I liked the set-up, I enjoyed the art, and I really dug seeing a somewhat younger hero acting impulsively, even recklessly at times. His heart is always in the right place but he hasn't yet developed his stoic aura of confidence, nor has he yet earned the respect and admiration of the populace he's protecting. The story moves at a decent pace, introducing all the players including favorites like Lois Lane, Jimmy Olsen and Lex Luthor, though it yet remains to be seen how they'll all relate. I did get the sense that this seemed geared more towards people who already knew Superman and his mythos and supporting cast and less towards brand spanking new readers. I felt like I was being shown pieces of the new continuity that should be wowing or intriguing me because I knew how they fit before. But as a somewhat new reader with little attachment to previous Superman stories, it instead felt like I was being thrown a bunch of supporting characters and sub-plots at a rapid fire pace. Not rapid enough that I couldn't follow, because the story is pretty straightforward, but rapid enough that I didn't particularly care for anybody yet, except the protagonist. And even that was more out of curiosity to see how he'll eventually evolve from his youthful, brash self to the more respectable and respectful character most people know today when they think of Superman. I'll be back for at least the next couple of issues, but I'm on the fence on whether this series has me for the long term.

Swamp Thing #1 was a different beast. It skews closer in theme and tone to Animal Man, but it does contain cameos from Superman, Batman and Aquaman, thus tilting this title more towards having a place among the more widely known heroes of his world. Superman has a prominent role a few pages later when he checks in on Alec Holland and asks for his aid. Alec was a man who due to an accident (as is usually the case), became the Swamp Thing (that's the short and sweet version). But it was later revealed that Alec was killed in that accident, and his memories were imbued into the plant life of the swamp where he died, and that plant life took on the form of Swamp Thing. But now Alec is back, and in his mind he currently has the memories of the entity who was the Swamp Thing all those years while he was dead. Got that? A little confusing, yes. It's mostly explained in the story, but I think some previous knowledge of what transpired before would have been helpful. I never followed Swamp Thing regularly, but got the gist of what was going with the character through the years, and this issue pretty much sums up what I already knew, and I get the feeling that it gives a new reader just enough info to go on moving forward, though they'll probably be scratching their heads about what went on before. That may or may not scare off a new reader.

Like it's Vertigo bretheren, Animal Man, this issue does take on a tone of a horror comic, and the story and artwork suit it well. I am curious, and maybe even a bit worried, about how the writer or editors will try to make him fit in with the world around him. Like Animal Man, I Swamp Thing works best existing in his own little corner of the world, with interactions with the Super and Bat men being kept to a minimum or omitted altogether. But the prominent cameos and the conversation with Superman in the first issue have me feeling that this will try to straddle the lines of both being a Vertigo-esque horror comic while still having one foot planted in the super hero realm. Whether or not that will work, we'll see, I suppose. The character apparently did that well for a long time before the Vertigo years. I will say that I did enjoy this more than Action Comics, but not as much as Animal Man. Still a pretty impressive first issue, and I hope that the series can sustain itself for some time.

There's one more book from DC's relaunch that I purchased but have yet to read. I get my comics via mail order, and the shipment arrives once a month, so I've got a few more weeks to wait before I'll receive it, and will share my thoughts at that point.

-r-

Animal Man #1 - A sort of review

2011-10-05T12:30:00.000-10:00

DC Comics has just recently relaunched their entire super hero line, starting every title with a new #1 issue and giving new readers a fresh starting point to begin reading without worrying about being bogged down and confused by previous continuity. So the theory goes. It's made all the major news outlets, and the internet has been abuzz in anticipation of this revamp. As someone who's been reading comics for about 35 years, I've seen several attempts by various publishers to reboot their lines, starting their characters anew, and have found most of them to be lacking, at best, utter failures at worst.

So yes, I was skeptical when I read of DC's plans. It was a daring move for sure, and probably the kick in the butt that the company, and yes, even the industry, needed right now. But DC had fallen so far out of favor with me these last few years, along with super hero comics in general, so no matter how good a reboot this may have turned out to be, it remained a reboot of a super hero line, and I was on the verge of not caring anymore. Yet, curiosity did get the best of me to a small degree and I signed up to get a few titles, either to see what a particular writer that I liked was going to do, or to check out the new direction a character was going in. Two titles I signed on to get were Swamp Thing and Animal Man, both partially out of nostalgia for the glory years of DC's mature-themed Vertigo imprint which gave us Sandman, The Invisibles, Shade the Changing Man, and the aforementioned Swamp Thing and Animal Man. I didn't expect them to be as good as they were under that imprint, but I was still very curious to check them out, and if nothing else, I'd get a peek at what was being done to them today.

As of today, of the four titles I subscribed to I've only had the chance to read one: Animal Man #1. Animal Man, aka Buddy Baker, for those of you who are unfamiliar with him, is a washed-up, C-List (at best) super hero with the power to take on the traits of any animal in his vicinity. He's a true everyman, and is a devoted family man with a wife and two kids who know of his powers (and for that fact, so does the rest of the world), and the novelty of previous incarnations of the character has been how his everyday family life and the life he leads as Animal Man often collide or even co-exist. It sounds like the set-up for a sitcom, perhaps, but he's always been handled as anything but, with his connection to the animal world making for some challenging and thought provoking stories.

So, how does Animal Man #1 hold up? I have to say I was pleasantly surprised, and even a bit stunned, at how good this was. Written by Jeff Lemire, an indy creator that's been on my radar but haven't read, and drawn by Travel Foreman, whose work for Marvel Comics I've enjoyed, surpassed my expectations and made me excited for a comic by DC for the first time in several years. Moreso, I actually want to go back and reread this issue, something I haven't been able to say about a comic by any publisher in quite awhile. This issue turns out to be a perfect introduction (as it should be, but you'd be surprised at how often that isn't the case), giving a new reader everything he needs to know about the character within the first few pages, and if you're someone who has more than a passing familiarity with Animal Man, then the first page alone gives tells you what he's been up to and where his head is at today in a clever way that doesn't bog you down with exposition and stilted dialogue. By the end of the issue, we're left with several questions and an unsettling cliffhanger that has me ready for more.

Even the artwork is well done and perfectly suited to the story and character: from the panel and page layouts to the detailed renderings of scenery and grotesque beasts, the seemingly simplistic, often scratchy, art serves the story well and contributes more than a little to the sense that I'm reading something from Vertigo circa 1990. And I mean that in a good way.

In fact, despite the cliffhanger and the setting, the great thing is that this doesn't play out as just a well done serialized super hero comic. It truly is more of a horror/suspense comic with a smart and mature story (without necessarily being "adult"), that just happens to be taking place in a world populated with super heroes. It more than captured the feeling of the stories that a 19 year old me discovering Animal Man and similar titles back in in the day, yet remaining very contemporary without slavishly bowing to the past. Yes, this take owes much to Grant Morrison's run on the character in the late '80's, but this more than capably stands as its own unique take, a take that also separates it from theme and tone from the other more super heroic titles it shares the racks with. Let's hope it stays that way since Animal Man has always worked best as a character who exists in his own C-List corner of the world.

So I can't say that DC's initiative is a success based on this one series alone. Many of the previews for other series' that I've seen online seemed pretty crappy, to be frank, or at the very least, held no interest for me. The sales numbers ultimately will determine their level of success, whether or not I'm on board. Perhaps I'm not the target audience anyway, which is fine by me. But perhaps I'm one of several audiences they're targeting. And if Animal Man #1 is any indication of how Swamp Thing, and maybe even Action Comics and Wonder Woman actually read, then DC has done something right.

-r-

No Worries

2011-09-25T09:06:00.001-10:00

Here's my latest story contest submission for Bamboo Ridge. Enjoy! I welcome any comments or feedback.

No Worries

We waded in the glassy waters, eyeing the surface for glimpses of blue sheen bobbing in the waves. The wood handles of our hand nets gripped firmly, arms cocked.

“Plenty man o’ wars this year,” I yelled out to no one in particular. I heard dad grunt in agreement from the shore.

“Puni, there’s one,” he barked from his beach chair, neck craning.

“Where?”

“Wha, you blind? There! To your left!” Puni lumbered through the water, scooping the air with his arms as if that would make him move faster. When he got close enough, he netted his prey.

“Big one, ma!” he said, smiling. We walked in to shore together making our way to a pile of rocks about twenty feet in. There we dropped the man o’ war among the dozens of others caught that week. A venomous graveyard of iridescent blue and purple. The ants were eating well.

“You know, you kids are lucky. When me and your uncle Nathan were your age, nobody was out there catching man o’ war for us. We’d just have to take our chances and hope we didn’t get stung.”

“Really?”

“Yep. And we’d get stung all the time. Hurt like hell, too. So be grateful because you got it better than we did.”

“Puni, right there. Stay one other one.” Dad pointed out to some indeterminate spot near where Nathan’s daughters were playing. “Hurry, before somebody get stung.”

Puni looked up at me with a sort of resentful why me? look. I nodded and walked out with him.

“Why doesn’t Grandpa help catch if it’s such a big deal?”

“Grandpa’s old and sick. He paid his dues. This is his time to relax.”

“But you just said he never wen’ catch man o’ wars when you were kids.”

“But that doesn’t mean he never wen’ look out for us. He worked hard, Puni. Always made sure we had food and a roof over our heads.

“There, Puni, right in front of you.” Puni darted out and caught this one, too.

“What you think he’s doing now? He’s looking out for you and your cousins.”

“All he’s doing is being bossy.”

I give him a gentle whack on the back of his head. “Hush. That’s your grandpa. And it’s not easy being the boss.”

Soon I swapped roles with Puni and let him enjoy the surf alongside his uncle and cousins, dad remaining watchful while I hunted. Then after awhile, I relieved dad so he could go nap. It took some convincing, but even he knew he was doing far more than he should. I could almost hear the creaks and groans of his body as he waddled up back toward the house. Gone was the man who would spend every ounce of daylight surfing, diving for tako, teaching the kids how to fish or pick opihi. His body had turned against him, taking his breath, his strength, forcing him to the sidelines to take on the role of lookout, a role he still took on as passionately as fishing or diving. Nobody got stung that day.

Later, as Nathan and I herded the kids back towards the house, we saw dad prepping the grill. “Dad, I thought you were going to take a nap?”

“Nah, someone gotta cook, and you kids were too busy playing.”

“Dad, let me get the grill,” begged Nathan. “I’ll cook, you go rest. Dad tried to shoo him away with his tongs.

“You better back off and leave your father be,” cautioned mom. “You know how he gets with the grill. Always gotta be in charge.” She had just come out with a pan filled with marinating chicken.

“Shush, you. All of you. I’m not dead yet, okay? Nathan, take the pan from your mother, put ‘em right there on the table.” The aluminum pan buckled from the weight of its contents, but Nathan managed to bring it down safely. Mom still prepared food like we had an army, even though the ranks had thinned. Candace was in Vegas and couldn’t fly out to join us. Jojo had to work but he was set to come up the following morning with his girlfriend and her two boys. This was my first summer back at the beach house in five years, and not much had changed, really. It was nothing like the glory years when we were young, and all the aunties and uncles and cousins were around, but the spirit was there still, though maybe a little more tired and beat down. Not dead yet.

Dad started dropping pieces of chicken on the grill, colored deep red from the char siu marinade. The sizzling was like an old song. We all stood around by dad, not saying anything, just watching, listening, sipping our beers. A shared moment of nostalgia mixed with fear, and more than a little guilt as I asked myself why I’d been away from all this for so long. The past, present and future sort of converged there, floating up between us, trying to hide itself amidst the smoke from the grill.

After dinner, dad chased after the kids to clean up their beach toys that they’d left strewn about the property. Puni again griped about dad being bossy, and I gave him another whack, a little harder than the last one. “You listen to your grandpa, and no backtalk.” Meanwhile, mom buzzed about, washing dishes, folding freshly laundered towels, and still somehow managing to bring everybody new beers when they were running low. Dad had already scrubbed the grill and snuck out to refill the propane tank in anticipation of more grilling. Nathan and I tried to rein in mom and dad, get them to just stop moving for at least a few minutes, let us take care of things for a change, but they were always two steps ahead of us, as slippery and stubborn as children. I don’t know how they did it. All these years and I still don’t.

When the kids were bathed and everybody had finally gone to bed, I went outside for a cigarette. I slumped down in a worn and faded wooden chair that had been there at least as long as we had been coming to this beach house, watching the stars and the wisps of smoke spiraling in the moonlight. No screaming kids, no adults chattering. Just trade winds and the hypnotizing lull of the waves coming in. I’d almost drifted off when I heard the screen door slide open and closed, followed by whispers and feet shuffling. I thought it was Puni or one of the other kids sneaking out so I got up, ready to shout them back in, but it was mom and dad. They were doing their best to be quiet, creeping their way across the yard towards the shore. They couldn’t see me. Still, the high school girl in me held my cigarette low.

They dropped their towels on the sand, removed their slippers, and headed for the water. Dad dove right in, mom a little slower, but not far behind. They were splashing around, laughing and swimming. Like children. Like lovers. This was their time, their moment. Nobody to tend to, nobody to bother them. No worries. Their last hurrah for the day. They’d earned it.

-r-

Yes, Virginia, there are Latinos

2011-09-15T12:23:00.000-10:00

For the most part, I grew up in a white world. Though my parents were both born and bred in Puerto Rico, and the language, food and customs were part of my daily life at home, the outside world was white to me. The first eight years of my life I grew up in a predominantly white town on the north shore of Long Island. I only recall two other households of color there: one was a Chinese girl who was adopted by white parents (so yes, technically it was a white household), and then there was a black family that lived in a small house right next door to our small house. You could probably say that our two homes at the end of that narrow street constituted that town's slum.

But this whiteness that I saw wasn't just in my immediate surroundings. Television and movies did show me that it wasn't necessarily just a white world, but it was a black and white world. I'm not talking morality here though. During the 70's I recall many shows that either had white characters or black characters. Very few were brown (far less, if any, were Asian). I remember the sitcom Chico And The Man that co-starred a Latino character. Barney Miller had a Latino cop that worked in their precinct. And I recall Sesame Street having a fairly diverse cast with many of their segments being spoken in Spanish. Rita Moreno and Charo were other prominent celebrities that I remember, but I'm sort of at a loss to remember many others that I knew of at that early stage of my life that showed me that yes, there are in fact Latinos out there in the rest of the world.

Where this dearth of Latinos was particularly prominent to me was in comics and cartoons. I was a huge fan of comics books, and regular readers of this blog know that I still am, though to an increasingly diminished degree. But there were no Latino heroes that I could point to and say "I wanna be like him!" Superfriends, with it's expanded roster including heroes who were Native American, Asian and Black, still lacked Latinos. The diversity was even less so in the printed comics where all I recall were white heroes and a few black ones, including Black Panther and Luke Cage. The only two Latino characters that I know of from the 70's, and I mean prominent characters that had repeated appearances and probably had some sort of following, were El Aguila and White Tiger. Yes, there were likely others, but these seem to be the most known, relatively speaking. Both were C-list characters at best, and neither would support their own series. With most of the adventures of Marvel Comics' characters taking place in Manhattan, I always wondered why almost everybody there with a super power was white. Even at such a young age I felt that the law of averages would mean that there would have to be far more minorities stricken by radioactive accidents or face tragedies that would make them want to turn to a life of heroics. But that wasn't the case back then. Only now, a good 30 to 40 years later are there Latino heroes headlining their own comics.

In fact, you may have read the news that Spider-Man is now half black/half Latino. Yep, Peter Parker has died a heroic death and a new teen, Miles Morales, has stepped forward to take his place. At least in this alternate universe (the "real" Spider-Man we've been reading about since the '60's is still alive and well). Sure there's been some hoopla about this. Spider-Man can only be Peter Parker. Spider-Man is supposed to be white. This is political correctness run amok. This is the fault of Michelle Obama (yes, the outcry has even pointed fingers at our First Lady). Whatever your feelings on this change, I for one am very stoked and only see good things.

Seeing a young teenaged super hero running around doing good things just because it's the right thing to do? A minority who lives in a world that other minorities can identify with? I wonder what my life might have been like if I had a Latino hero to look up to and emulate. Would it have been much different? Maybe, maybe not. I still got a fair amount of inspiration from a white Spider-Man.. But I do think that I would have had a much different outlook on the role and place of Latinos in our society. Instead of being relegated to supporting roles or worse, stereotypes, I would have seen Latino characters taking charge, being in the lead, being heroes. It may sound like a minor thing to some, but to those who haven't been able to identify with a character with similar life experiences and background, it makes a world of difference.

-r-

P.S. - This piece has been percolating in my head for the last couple of days, and coincidentally, I didn't realize until today that it's the beginning of National Hispanic Heritage Month, which made for a serendipitous merging of events. Over the next month I'll try to write some more posts that would fit nicely into the theme of my heritage.

Antonio's New York Pizzeria

2011-09-03T12:00:00.000-10:00

Okay, I usually don't cross post my Yelp! reviews here to the blog, but I was especially proud of this one, my latest, for some reason:

Hi, my name is Richard, and I'm a pizza snob. ("Hi, Richard!") I say this earnestly and unapologetically, and wear the label as a badge of honor. You see, I grew up in New York, home of the best pizza in the country (quiet back there, Chicago), and when that's part of your regular diet for the first 20 years of your life, you can't help but turn your nose up at what passes for pizza in many other parts of the country. Hey, it's just the way I am. I was bred this way.

I first moved to Hawaii way back in A.D 1992. Grunge was king, no one had yet heard of Lewinsky, fanny packs were still popular (though never cool), and AOL hadn't yet taken to sending out those CDs en masse (and if you have no idea what I'm talking about, go back and bury your head in your Nintendo 3DS, because you're making me feel pretty damn old). It was during this more innocent era of the late 20th century that I read some "best of Hawaii" list in one of the local publications, and Pizza Hut was voted the favorite pizza in the island.

Pizza the frickin' Hut was the best this state had to offer??? My god, I was in Hell.

On a couple of visits back to NY, I remember going to our local pizzeria (in NY, pizzerias are as ubiquitous as plate lunch places are over here... every strip mall has one), buying a pie, wrapping the pieces up in foil, freezing it, then packing it in my carry-on luggage to bring back to Hawaii. It was a soggy mess by the time I got back, but I didn't care. That's how badly I missed my precious NY pizza.

Now, it wasn't an utter and complete pizza Hell over here. I did discover a few places that did help scratch my pizza itch, even if they didn't completely wow me. Then I did begin to frequent new (at the time) pizzeria here that, while not NY, proudly touted their Northeast roots in their name. Again, not quite NY, but this was as good as it got over here, and I must say that I was pleased. And yes, I'm sad to say that I came to tolerate Pizza Hut, Domino's and even (gasp!) Little Caesar's. Beggars can't be choosers, after all.

I'd even gone to Antonio's at one point about 10-15 years ago. It didn't leave an impression on me, but I can't say it was because they sucked. I was younger and more foolish, and knowing me, probably in some altered state of mind, so my judgement may have been clouded. The other aforementioned pizzeria with Northeast roots did fine by me in the meantime, so I wasn't crying.

Then on a fluke, while at work and trying to decide what I wanted to eat for lunch, I said to myself, "self, I really want pizza." I went to that brick oven pizza truck in Kalihi only to find out that the wait was about 45 minutes (that's what I get for not calling it in!). I settled for Zippy's that day. But my yearning for pizza was still strong so later in the week I gave Antonio's a call and ordered a mini 9" pizza and a salad. Brought it back to my office, took a bite, and I had a minor epiphany.

"Where have you been all my life, Antonio?" I wondered, even though I darn well knew the place had been there for well over a decade. The crust was thin and crispy, firm and not soggy like is often the case when other places give you a thin crust (or when you try to ship pizza in your luggage for a 12+ hour trip). The toppings were fresh and flavorful. I didn't care for the sauce too much (a little too thick and sweet/tangy for me), but dang, this was pretty darn good. Since then I'd had other varieties of the mini pizza as well as their calzones. I was pleased with all of them.

But the snob in me inevitably kicked back in. This still wasn't the pizza of my youth, the grand exalted food of the gods that nurtured me for years, the cheesy goodness that nothing nowhere could come close to touching (Hey! I said ZIP IT, Chicago!!). No, sadly this still was not quite the New York style pizza I remember. Granted, I was judging them by just from their calzones and mini pizzas, not quite a fair assessment of how a whole large pie would turn out. So with that said, I've promised myself to one day soon order a large pie from them to really dive in and get the full experience. Plus, they've got a bunch of pasta dishes and hot sandwiches that sound and look good, so there's far more for me to sample and hopefully enjoy.

So is the pizza good? Hell yeah. I think if Antonio's pizza and the pizza from that other pizzeria chain with Northeast roots got married and bore hybrid pizza offspring, I'd have that perfect pizza that I've been searching for since I touched down in Honolulu almost twenty years ago. But until those two hook up and have their little mutant kids, I'm good. No more complaints from me. I'm no longer in pizza hell.

-r-

My short story made the news!

2011-09-03T11:07:00.000-10:00

Okay, so that title was a just little hyperbolic. As I've mentioned in earlier posts, from mid/late 2010 into January of this year Bamboo Ridge had an ongoing, monthly short story contest. More accurately, short-short stories containing 100 words or less. I'll be the first to tell you that I'm a very undisciplined writer, so this seemed like a neat little exercise to try out. The minimal word count was small enough to keep me focused, and the parameters challenging enough to test my self-editing skills. Plus the frequency of this contest would let me repeat the process for the next several months. If nothing else, I'd take a stab at it and hopefully have some fun with it.

I entered 4 stories during those 6 or 7 months that the contest ran, and two of them were one of the selected winners for their respective month (there were usually 4 or 5 winners each month). Well, flash forward several months to just last weekend, and I get an email from Bamboo Ridge saying that the Star-Advertiser, our only major metropolitan daily newspaper here on the island, is doing a piece about Bamboo Ridge's upcoming 100th issue, and wanted to speak with some of the past winners of the contest. I was pleasantly surprised to say the least.

We met in Native Books on the lower level of Ward Warehouse. It was a neat experience, getting to meet some of the other writers, most who I've only know by screen names and avatars and their monthly submissions. It was also a treat to meet Eric and Darrell, as well as Lanning, the former being the founders of Bamboo Ridge, and the latter who helps run the operation. Along with the Gary Chun from the Advertiser, we had a nice conversation about our stories and writing process, as well as the magazine itself. There were five of us writers there, along with the 3 from BR, so I don't know how much of what I said will actually make it to print, but I understand that there's a chance one of my winning stories might be printed alongside the piece, space permitting. Fingers crossed that it does get printed. As if I weren't giddy enough for the (very minor) exposure and accolades that posting my stories on their website, and winning, earned me, having my story show up in the state's biggest newspaper is a whole new level of cool.

And I must say that being among the other writers, and sharing encouraging words with each other, was a nice little spark to my creativity, and a reminder that I've got a novel in the works and a dozen other ideas gestating that just aren't writing themselves. So if nothing else, the experience helped nudge this undisciplined writer back into more productive creative waters.

The piece is currently slated to appear in the Sunday, September 11 issue of the paper in their Today section. Unfortunately, the Advertiser's website is only accessible to those with a paid subscription, so unless you're currently a paying customer, you'll have to hunt down the print edition if you want to read it.

Below are the two stories that earned me prizes. The second one, Breadwinners, is likely the one that may see print. I linked to them in an earlier post, but figured that they're short enough that I'll just copy them below. Enjoy!

Changing Lanes

Sif leaned on the rental car’s horn as we came to an abrupt stop behind an old pick-up truck. “Goddammit!” she barked, giving the horn an extra few beeps. “It frickin’ rains and the drivers here don’t know what the hell to do.”

She darted into the next lane and gave the driver of the pick-up a dirty look. He just shook his head and mouthed something that I couldn’t make out. I gave an apologetic wave outside of Sif’s line of sight.

She couldn’t get away from the islands fast enough. I hadn’t yet told her I was staying.

----------

Breadwinners

He and his family have been living in a shelter. Conditions suck, so they’re thinking of moving back to the beach. He’s been out of work for eight months. Laid off. If he gets this job, they hope to get into an apartment soon. His calloused hands were shaking.

Me, I was looking for a second job to get a car for my son.

We chatted some more while we waited. Then my name was called. I stood, patted his shoulder, wished him luck and left.

I’ll tell my wife I didn’t get the job. My son can take TheBus.

-r-

The random things I see outside my workplace

2011-04-28T16:47:00.001-10:00

I want to know the story behind this.

CORRECTION: I need to know the story behind this.

-r-

Communities

2011-04-27T20:07:00.000-10:00

The concept of community has been on my mind these last few days. Mainly because I've begun to realize the importance in my life of two groups that I'm a part of. Several months ago, I joined a group called The Puerto Rican Heritage Society of Hawaii (yes, it's a mouthful). I came across them at a Puerto Rican themed event that they ran last year. Long story short, I asked about the group that put together the event, and then I asked for an application, and have been a member ever since.

It's been neat getting to connect with other Puerto Ricans. Being Puerto Rican, and born and raised in New York, you take for granted that you're surround by Puerto Ricans wherever you turn. Not so here, so any opportunity to see and talk to other Puerto Ricans is welcome. Most of the members have grown up here in Hawaii and are descendents of the original Puerto Ricans who migrated here to work the plantations beginning back in 1901. One member is a native born Puerto Rican who went to school here and is now a permanent resident. There's a retired Puerto Rican couple who lived on the mainland for years and have moved here to be close to their daughter (who's also a member). And then, there's yours truly, born and raised in New York, and also currently a permanent resident. We all have different back-stories, but we all have that common connection that brings us together, and a desire to learn, embrace and share it with the public.

I've also been a semi-regular attendee to the Windward Community College's monthly writing retreat. When I signed up for my first retreat early last year, I was looking for a means to kickstart my creative juices, and it's been successful in doing that. What I didn't expect was to find that most of the group consists of regulars who are there at almost every retreat, some being regular attendees for over 20 years. Furthermore, as you'd probably imagine for a group of people who see each other month after month, many of these folks are friends who sincerely enjoy each others company, and relish the opportunity to talk shop, share their writing-related trials and tribulations, and collaborate together on various outside projects. I'm not a very social person, but the last few retreats I've made a point of extending myself and have met some awesome people. Adding to this experience is a new website that's been set up for the group where we can post our writings from the retreats and share them with the larger group, giving everybody the opportunity to read each others work and offer their feedback. Meanwhile, another member is trying to organize a smaller group to meet weekly, since, in his words, meeting once a month just doesn't scratch that itch as often as he'd like. I had to sign up for that group, naturally.

These groups are filling a hole that I didn't realize was there until recently. Maybe it's a need to connect to something bigger than just myself, be a part of something unanimously shared by others, whether it's an ethnic heritage or a love and talent for writing. Whatever it is, I enjoy it, and it's been fulfilling.

-r-

Five years and still rolling...

2011-04-27T19:46:00.000-10:00

April 27, 2006: I started this blog, unsure of what I was doing or what this would develop into.

April 27, 2011: Five years and some 350 posts later, and I'm still unsure of what I'm doing or what this will, or has developed into.

Is it a personal journal? Comics review site? Rants about politics and other topics? It's sort of become all of the above. And more. And less.

I've thought about focusing on just one particular topic, like maybe chronicling this writer's journey to finish his novel, instead of just being a mish-mash of interests, but didn't think I had enough material on that one (or any) topic to sustain a regular ongoing blog about it. I post infrequently enough as it is, imagine if I had to pare it down to just blogging about one thing only?

I've thought about changing the name of the blog, but anything else I've come up with either sounds pretentious, stupid, or just nowhere near as clever as it sounds in my head. Besides, Rich's Blog really sums up what this is in two words. It's my blog. It can be anything I want it to be, or not be. I can give daily updates, or I can ignore it for months on end. It will still be there. And it will still be my blog.

And though I post in sporadic fits and starts, this blog isn't going to go away anytime soon. It serves a purpose, even if I'm not quite sure what it is.

Oh, and to the five regular readers of this blog... Thank you. :-)

-r-

Mi Abuela

2011-03-31T21:39:00.002-10:00

My maternal grandmother, a.k.a. María, Maruca, abuela, and most commonly, Mamá, passed away on March 28. She was 95 years old. She was my last surviving grandparent. Her husband, my maternal grandfather, passed away 9 years ago, almost to the day.

Papá y Mamá, circa 1980

María. Abuela. Mamá. She lived in Puerto Rico her entire life, and thus I can count on two hands the number of times I've seen her in my 39+ years. Mom's got stories about her, some that frame her in a not-so-flattering light, I'm sorry to say, but she wasn't portrayed as a monster, either. Just as a serious, strict, and religious woman. My few memories of her were of a woman in a different point in her life, and don't line up with mom's (not to say that her accounts aren't true, just that I didn't see the woman that mom grew up with). In fact, my memories of Mamá can be split into two periods: one where she was still relatively young, mobile and alert; and one where she was older, much less sure in her steps, and almost blind. There was no in-between, no slow decline, that I saw.

I visited Puerto Rico with my parents when I was six years old. It was my second time there, and the first visit that I was old enough to remember, my previous visit taking place when I was only one. We stayed with my maternal grandparents most of our visit, and I always remember it as being a warm experience in a simple, yet comfortable household. Plenty for a young boy to do: Lots of chickens to play with, enough land to run around on, and enough curiosities to pique my eager brain. Mom and Dad must have gotten a kick out of seeing me exploring their old stomping grounds, a place unlike anything I'd seen up to that point. My grandfather, Papá took me under his wing, showed me around and taught me how to feed the chickens. He was gracious with his home and love. Mamá was quiet and her movements measured, as I recall, but no less loving. And despite her reputation of being a serious woman, I recall that Dad could always make Mamá laugh, often by teasing her, and she would always respond with a playful slap or a pinch.

I remember one quiet evening (and when you're 6 years old and staying with your grandparents, pretty much all your evenings are quiet) where I was sitting at the dining room table working on a jigsaw puzzle. I'm pretty sure it was a puzzle that belonged to abuela. I think I recall her being into jigsaw puzzles because it helped keep her mind and manual dexterity sharp, as did crocheting, which she did a lot of. I was stuck on figuring out where a particular piece went, and a hand reached down from over my shoulder point out a possible spot to try. It was Mamá. She never sat down, but remained there standing behind me, helping me piece the rest of that puzzle together. When we finished, she clapped and squealed in delight. Little moments like that stick out in my memories of her.

My cousin, caught in Mamá's iron grip

During my two most recent visits to Puerto Rico, one a little shy of being 6 years ago, and the other being about 2 years before that (we were planning on visiting later this year or maybe next... the time between my visits to P.R. are always far too long), Mamá was in much more seriously declined state of health. She could still walk, albeit in a slow, cautious, almost mechanical shuffle. She could still speak, but only in a low whisper. Her eyesight was all but gone, only able to see shadows. She still had her mind, though. And she was still strong. When I first arrived at the house during one of those visits, my mom sat me down next to her and informed her that I was here visiting. She reached out her hand, quite literally a blind person grasping for something unseen, and I took her hand. She smiled, and squeezed. Hard. I wasn't wincing in pain, but the strength in that grip belied the seemingly weak, feeble woman who was seated beside me. Must be all that crocheting she did through the years. I kissed her, and we sat there holding hands for several minutes.

Mamá, caught on camera

During my last visit, I wanted to take a picture of Mamá. The only problem was that she hated having her picture taken. The only way you could get a photo of her was to trick her. Being that she was blind, it wasn't that hard to do. My cousin called out to her and when she looked up, I took my shot. Mamá saw the flash, and immediately knew that she had just been duped. We all laughed at our little prank, and gripped my hand firmly and went for her playful slap and pinch to get me back.

That was 6 years ago. That was the last time I saw Mamá.

We were never close. The infrequence of my visits and the language barrier saw to that. But I can say that there was a bond between us. I know she loved me, and I loved her, too. I of course wish I saw her more while she was alive, but if the memories I shared above, and the others I've still got tucked away in my head are all I have left of her, I'm happy with that.

And though the last time I saw her was 6 years ago, that may not be the last time she saw me.

When it comes to paranormal experiences, I'm what one may call a skeptical believer. I do believe in forces beyond what science or faith can adequately explain, including the possibility that the deceased communicate with the living. I also believe that the vast majority of reported incidents are either faked or a case of mistaken identity, where people believe they experienced something that can be explained another way. I also believe that these incidents, real or otherwise, don't necessarily prove or disprove any religion, belief system or notions of an afterlife. I believe it's something that simply is, and has not been, and cannot be, explained by human knowledge or faith. Just my stance.

With that said... my wife has a friend, who is a practioner of Lomilomi, and who also has certain sensitivities when it comes to seeing and/or sensing spirits. The Saturday after Mamá passed away, I was out running errands while our friend was working on Mica. During their session, she called out Mica's name as if she was surprised by something. She asked Mica to describe her deceased grandmother. Why? Because our friend had seen a woman peering at them through the doorway. Mica described her deceased grandmother but it didn't match who her friend had seen. The person they saw asked if she could come in, but our friend didn't respond, not knowing who this could be.

A few minutes later, Mica offered up the fact that my grandmother had passed earlier in the week. When I got home, Mica asked if I could show them the pictures I had of Mamá. I did. When our friend saw the picture, she teared up and said that was who she saw in the doorway. She said she was young and beautiful and her hair was pinned back, just as Mamá always wore her hair.

As our friend was leaving, she hugged me and apologized if she freaked me out. I wasn't, just told her that I was still digesting this. I'm a skeptical believer, remember, but I believed her. She's certainly no charlatan, and she seemed sincerely moved by her experience. She admitted to being freaked out herself. Furthermore, she had no knowledge about my abuela's passing before she saw her in the doorway.

I'm still not sure what to do with that info. I'm not freaked out. It doesn't shatter or affirm any long standing beliefs of mine. A part of me finds it odd to think that Mamá is still with me, or at least was passing through. But I also find it comforting. Comforting to know that she is out there somewhere, whether just passing through or lingering, and comforting to know that despite the barriers between us through the years, that she still wanted to check in on me.

-r-

Is thing on...?

2011-02-03T19:31:00.002-10:00

So... I just downloaded the Blogger app for my phone, and am testing it out right now.
This is only a test.

(Oh, and having an app that will allow me to post anytime from anywhere in no way guarantees that I'll be posting any more often than I currently do.

But I'd like to think that it will help.)
-r-

Rainy Sundays

2010-12-19T15:59:00.000-10:00

I love a rainy day, so it's no surprise that I've been loving the weather here lately, which started with rain here late last night/early morning, and has lasted all day with out letting up at all. Though it hasn't been torrential here, just steady, it's apparently enough to warrant a flash flood watch for the entire state, and a flash flood warning for three of the islands today. So yes, I do love this weather, but there are certainly unfortunate side effects. I hope everybody fares well in these conditions. The reports say we're going to have wet weather through Tuesday, but no idea if the flash food watch/warning will be extended beyond today. If the damage is widespread, my department may have to pitch in and help Civil Defense and other agencies with relief efforts. Hopefully it doesn't come to that.

My wife and I went out for a drive today so we could get some fresh air and enjoy this rainy weather. There's a lot of ponding going on, especially in the residential areas and side streets, forcing us to take things slowly. The roads here are taking a beating, too, with several new potholes having formed, many of them hidden under murky waters. All of the canals and reservoirs that we saw have risen quite a bit, and saw several homes behind and next to Buzz's Steakhouse in Kailua sitting in a large lake of water while emergency vehicles did what they could to pump it out. Along similar lines, Kapaa Quarry Road, which runs through and alongside Kawainui Marsh, was closed between Mokapu Saddle Road and the junction near the refuse station, forcing us to make a u-turn. Most troubling was the accident we saw on the H-3 freeway, near the Marine Corp. base. It appeared that a single vehicle spun out, possibly bouncing off a rock wall and/or metal railing (purely speculative, but we didn't see any other vehicles with damage). The car had come to rest across two lanes with debris scattered about. It looks like it happened just moments before we came upon it. Fortunately a couple of Marines(?) had pulled over and were helping to direct traffic and tend to the driver (who was still seated in the vehicle, stunned and possibly injured). We had called 911, just in case no one else had (no emergency vehicles were there, and while there were easily a dozen other cars ahead of us, but we couldn't be sure that someone had already called them), and were assured that crews were already on the way.

So what was meant to be a pleasant drive through the area, taking in the rain and wet, foggy weather, turned out to be a drive through huge, muddy puddles, busted roadways, flooded neighborhoods and accident scenes. Not quite the pleasing experience we were hoping for. But we did catch a couple of instances of kids with boogie boards, slip sliding around on the drenched grass and hillsides. They seemed to be having a blast, and it was a fun little topper to an otherwise somber drive. Instead of snow, we get the rainy season, and kids riding their boogie boards down a hill is as heart warming as kids racing their sleds on an icy slope.

And since I'm ending this on a wintry note, we've had our Christmas tree lit up all day. This weather has made for a dark day, and the tree makes things feel cozy.

-r-

Hater's by Nature?

2010-12-16T19:10:00.000-10:00

Are we just haters by nature? Are we wired to seek out something to dislike about others, no matter how silly or petty the gripe? I recently read this piece about how the the foodie movement was out of control. Reading it, you realize that her reasons amount to that she finds them annoying. Similar disdain can be found pointed towards hipsters, as this website shows. Hipsters, as far as I can tell, have been called different things through the decades, but boil down to the cool kids, the alternative crowd. Followers of the grunge scene back in the early '90's would have been called hipsters by today's standards, as would the new wave crowd from the '80's, and so on and so on and so on. Different name, same disdain.

But it seems to me to be an ongoing social pattern. A number of people rally around a subject, belief or activity, and those who aren't part of that scene feel the need to come down on it. Comics readers? Hated (until comic books became box office gold). Computer geeks? Taunted (until people found it wiser to keep them as friends for when they needed advice). It's a natural reaction to look at anything that's outside of the norm, a shift away from the mainstream, with curiosity, and maybe even a bit of fear or apprehension. But then invariably that will evolve into a bitterness, a pettiness, a need to pick on, dismantle, and make fun of the movement and the participants in the movement.

Why is that?

I mean, what's so wrong with foodies? Sure, maybe some foodies can be a bit snobbish about it, but those folks are in the minority. It's about having an appreciation and a passion for food, including its preparation and ingredients. Hipsters? It's the counter-culture, the indie scene, and every generation has them, whatever their look or philosophy. And as far as snobs, you're going to encounter that with aficionados of any medium.

Sports fans have a passion rivaling that of foodies (though easily on par with the fervor of comics fans), but because sports are an accepted part of the mainstream, no amount of yelling at the screen or painting your face and shirtless, doughy torso the colors of your favorite team will earn you the ridicule reserved for society's geeks. Dare to find something that makes you happy that happens to be out of step with the mainstream, that which is new, perhaps strange, and it's an invitation to be put upon by those who don't get it.

Why are people so bothered by what other people are doing? What ever happened to "live and let live?" This country is already exceptionally polarized when it comes to politics, why do we need to find other reasons to hate on each other? Or is it the other way around? Do we by nature find reasons to hate that which is different, and this political climate is a prime example of this? Forget the rational debate and intelligent exchange of ideas. It's apparently easier for many people to ridicule and hate.

Or, as in the aforementioned examples of comic book and computer geeks, maybe these outsider groups need to face years of being ostracized before they become part of the mainstream. Perhaps this hating is part of a process of hazing that groups must endure before they can be accepted. When I was a kid, reading comics or owning a home computer was as good a reason as any to be made fun of. Now both are openly embraced and recognized as being part of the norm.

I've also read of similar behaviors when it comes to immigrant groups. The newest immigrant group into a region is usually put upon by the other groups in the region who have been there longer. Only when a newer immigrant group is introduced does this shift, and the newest group is the one that's put upon while the previous group becomes accepted.

Not saying it's right, and it might even be comparing apples to oranges, but looked at in that broader scope, some of these behaviors start to make sense. Even better would be that we just accept from the get go.

-r-

Oh where have you been, my brown-eyed son?

2010-12-15T17:19:00.000-10:00

Because I'm sure you've all been asking that as of late. Where have I been? The emails and phone calls just won't stop, demanding to know where I am, why I haven't been updating this blog, and why I've forsaken my thousands of loyal readers. Well, there are various reasons, but the short, and most accurate, one would be to say that "life got in the way," with life being comprised of matters both serious and frivolous, none of which I'll really be getting into here.

But that's not to say that I haven't been thinking about this blog, nor, that I haven't been writing in general. Because I have been doing both. As far as the blog goes, I've been giving some thought on what to do with this, why I'm doing this, and if I should continue (cutting to the chase: No answers yet). I don't think I was ever clear with myself on why I even started it. I do know that in part it was an outlet, a soapbox of sorts, letting me put out there some of my thoughts and opinions ranging from comics and pop culture to politics. It also served as a journal where I'd talk about what's been going on in my life. And it's even been a means for me to share a range of pictures, links, oddities and other fun stuff that I've come across. But Facebook has become a means with which to share my daily life, pictures and links with friends and family, and is much more efficient for that sort of activity than a blog. As far as being an outlet for my opinions, who am I to get on a soapbox? Who cares what I think? Just because I can isn't a good enough answer. (If I were a published writer or an industry insider, sure, my opinion might have a little more weight, but really, I'm just an everyday Joe). And as far as my journaling, I have to ask, why and who cares? Especially in this day and age, where people can get fired for what they post on Facebook, or theoretically, twenty years from now, somebody can find an old blog posting and use something in it against me ("I present as evidence, your honor, proof positive that Mr. Melendez here is in fact an unapologetic, comic book reading Liberal!"). I've been careful not to talk about work in detail here, and I don't think there's anything I've posted here that can be used against me, but then, nobody ever thinks that at the time. Hindsight being 20/20 and all that.

Anyway, so that's where I'm at with the blog. Neither here nor there, and no leanings in either direction, either. If there's anybody out there who's been reading my blog, maybe you can share what types of my posts do you like, or what would you like to see more of here.

With that rambling peek into my thought processes out of that way, I can say that while I haven't been blogging, I've still kept an online presence. Facebook has been a constant, though my activity varies from frequent to checking in once every few days. I've joined Yelp, a loose social network of people posting comments and reviews about local establishments, and have contributed a number of reviews of restaurants and other businesses there (reviews, which I admit, may have once seen light here on this very blog). And while one could point back to my early question about why anybody should care about my opinions, at least on Yelp, the point there is to share your opinions.

I've also contributed a few short stories to an ongoing writing contest. Bamboo Ridge, a local literary journal, has been conducting a 100 word short-short story contest every month from July through December. I missed the submission deadlines for July and November, but submitted entries for August, September and October, and I'm happy to report that I was one of the selected winners for the first two of those months! Time will tell if I'll submit something this month or not. It's a good feeling to know that I won twice in a row. And, as my good friend pointed out, I can now use "Award winning writer" as a prefix to my name.

So, I can't tell you when my next blog post will be. It might be later today, for all I know, as these sorts of things tend to spur further activity, or it might be another three, six or twelve months. Hopefully, it won't be that long. And that hope I suppose, proves that I do have a leaning one way or another regarding the fate of this blog. I like having this outlet, I just have to figure out what I want to use it for. Again, any suggestions from you, the readers (however many of you are out there), would be welcome.

-r-

A Million Stories

2010-08-28T16:00:00.001-10:00

We've lived in our new place for just over a month now. Aside from a few surprise encounters with some cane spiders, we've been loving it here for more reasons than I care to get into right now. We hadn't really given much thought to who may have lived here before. Our landlord mentioned some troublesome tenants she had a couple of years ago, but that was it. I may have thought in passing whether our immediate predecessors were military or local, young or old, but nothing more than a surface thought or two about them. We were here now, they weren't, and that was that.

Earlier this week we received a piece of mail from an organization we hadn't heard of before. Assuming it to be junk mail, and not looking at who it was addressed to, we opened it and read the contents. It turns out that it was addressed to an earlier tenant. It was from a children's hospital in California. It was a survey, asking for feedback. Furthermore, it said that it welcomes commentary from former patients, especially in the case of former cancer patients.

A guilty curiosity took a solemn turn. Imaginations started churning. The envelope was addressed to a woman. As the mail came from a children's hospital, the addressee was likely the mother of the patient in question. Single? Married? The hospital was in California. What brought her to Hawaii? Family? Job? Military? Is she back in California today or still in Hawaii? Has she been able to manage the medical bills? And most importantly, how is the child today? Are they still fighting cancer? Has it entered remission? Are they, dare I ask, still alive? We threw away the letter and haven't spoken of it since.

We run into a million people each day, whether at work, during our commutes or the places we frequent and pass through in between. We probably make snap judgments about many of these people. Thug. Bitch. Good looking. Dork. Creepy. But we never know their stories, their troubles, what is occupying their mind. We can curse out the guy who cut us off in traffic, neither knowing or caring that he's rushing to a hospital to see a loved one, or trying to get to work on time so he doesn't get fired, because his family is one paycheck away from being homeless.

A million people, a million stories, that we'll never know.

-r-

The things you see in the men's room

2010-07-30T12:05:00.002-10:00

So just yesterday, this appeared in the men's room at work:

If you don't know what it is, well, that's cool... neither did I at first. I had to look it up online. Anyway, it's called a reed diffuser. It consists of a jar filled with scented liquid (this seems to be a vanilla spice sort of concoction) with reeds sticking out of the top. Apparently, the scented liquid is diffused (ah-HA!) through these reeds, allowing the scent to permeate whatever room it's placed in.

In this case, the men's room at work. It wasn't there on Wednesday. Thursday, I walk into the restroom and immediately notice the smell. I turn the corner, and there it is.

A reed diffuser.

In the men's room.

This begs a number of questions. Firstly, who placed this there and why? It doesn't strike me as something that one of the guys on this floor would bring in, perhaps thinking that the men's room was too drab and this would be a good way to jazz up the place. And the women who work here wouldn't normally enter the men's room, so I don't see how or why they'd have any concerns about how it smelled or was decorated. Perhaps it was the cleaning crew? They come in to the office after hours to clean up the place. I don't see them as the type of group that would leave certain scented accessories around, though I could be wrong.

Furthermore, I checked out the restrooms on our other floors (is that considered OCD type of behavior?), and none have them have received similar decorative enhancements. Apparently, our floor was singled out for some reason. Which gives me the impression that somebody is trying to tell us something. "You stink!" is the first thing that comes to mind.

Weird...

-r-

Makes me want to go out and get a PS3

2010-07-28T19:00:00.013-10:00

I'm a casual video gamer, buying a game every few months (usually used and/or several months after their initial release), and an avid reader of comics, including some in the super hero genre. As far as super heroes go, I've always been much more of a Marvel Comics guy than a DC Comics guy. In fact, just last week I purchased Marvel Ultimate Alliance 2 for the Wii, which I'm enjoying as much as the original, if not more. But this trailer for the upcoming DC Universe Online game for Sony's Playstation 3 caught my interest. I know it's just a cinematic clip, the type that they show before and between actual game play, but man this looks impressive. Check it out:

Video Games | DC Universe Online | Exclusive Who Do You Trust Trailer

XBox 360 | Playstation 3 | Nintendo Wii

If the embedded video above doesn't show properly (it looked like the right hand side was clipped when I did a preview), you can also view it here or here.

-r-

Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home

2010-07-28T18:37:00.000-10:00

There are two things in life I generally dislike. Well, there are more, actually, including drivers who don't use signal lights, liver (and pretty much all innards), the smell of Ben-Gay, boy bands and black jelly beans, but for now, let's just go with these two since they're consistently at the top of my list. Anyway, as I was saying... two things I dislike are hospitals and moving. Hospitals, because, well, they're hospitals. I can't say that I've ever had a pleasant experience in one. I've found them to be sad, depressing, tragic places. Soulless limbos. Receptacles for the dead or dying.

Moving I dislike, because, well, it's moving. And moving just sucks. Packing sucks. Lugging furniture and boxes sucks (especially if there are stairs involved). Cleaning out the old place sucks. Living out of boxes for weeks sucks. The whole process sucks. Usually. Okay, mostly. If not always. But the upside to moving is that one is usually (under ideal circumstances) moving to a better place, whether it's larger, in a nicer area, or considering these tough economic times, cheaper.

We recently moved. Or are just finishing up the process. This was meant to be a smooth move. Instead of having to clear everything out of one place by the end of the month while getting set up in the new one, usually all within the span of a day, weekend or week at the most, we actually had over a month and a half to spread out the move. Sweet deal, huh? Furthermore, the new place was really close to the old one, so moving could be done incrementally, without the need to rent a truck. Pack a couple of boxes here and there. Move a handful of boxes after work or during the weekend. And so it went. For almost two months.

While it was pleasant in theory, eventually it began to feel long and drawn out. I thought on several occasions, "Man, I wish this were over and done with already!" This casual, nonchalant move that we envisioned became, at least in my eyes, this never-ending saga of boxes and dust and sweat and body aches.

But we're finally done. No more lugging boxes or furniture. No more change of address forms or making calls to the utility companies to turn on, shut off or transfer service. All that's left is to have our old landlord do the final walkthrough and give him back the keys. Oh, and unpack. But that's been going smoothly.

>sigh<

I must say, it feels good.

And the new place feels good, too. I mean, it's got a pleasant vibe around it, good energy. We've had two people tell us that, and both Mica and I feel it, too. In fact, when we first got the place, and I started to move in some boxes here and there, I would often take a few minutes to just walk around, or even just stand, taking it all in. It feels nice to be here. It's warm, inviting, soothing, even, and I look forward to having people over for dinner or just hanging out in the near future, once we're settled in more. Plus it's a bigger place with room to spread out and grow into a bit.

Also contributing to this lightness is the fact that there was tons of crap we got rid of during the move. It's amazing how much stuff one can fit into your living space. Even more amazing is how much of that stuff you end up throwing away or donating while packing. Cluttered lives often are cluttered with things that you don't need. Now, with a new uncluttered place, it truly feels like a fresh start.

-r-

Lesson Learned

2010-06-23T18:06:00.000-10:00

I'm sad to say that I've fallen off the healthy eating/healthy living band wagon. But I'm trying to get back on!

Exercise was the first to go. I had been doing so well, exercising every weekday and the occasional weekend, but it seemed that I reached a plateau. I was working out consistently, eating better than I had been in years, but the weight stopped dropping. I tried mixing up my routines even more, including more strenuous activities, but all my body did was maintain its weight. Better maintain, than gain, of course, but I had already lost 25 lbs. and had at least another 25-30 lbs to go to reach my ultimate goal, so in my mind, maintaining just wasn't going to cut it. So I decided to put aside the Wii Fit Plus and switch it up with some aerobic workouts, courtesy of Gilad.

I'd forgotten how intense Gilad's workouts can be. I've got two of his DVDs, and they range from a 30 minute workout, up to 70 minute routines. Last year, before I began exercising on a daily basis, I started with Gilad's 60 minute workout and got my butt kicked. I did the 30 minute routines from that day forward, till I eventually stopped, mostly out of boredom. And as I wasn't weighing myself back then, I didn't know of any positive effects, therefore I didn't have that to motivate me to continue. Well, jump ahead several months, Wii isn't cutting it anymore, so out of confidence, or more likely cockiness, I decide to re-enter the world of Gilad by starting out with his 60 minute workout. I knew I was in much better shape that I was the last time I did the 60 minute one, so I figured that I'd fare pretty well.

Damn, was I wrong. He utterly kicked my butt again, and for some reason it felt like a worse butt-kicking that the first time. My body sore, I took a few days off from working out. And maybe I was intimidated by Gilad, but those few days off led into a week, then a month, and now I'm into my third month without exercising regularly.

The eating healthy thing eventually went out the window, too. I was actually doing pretty well for awhile, but we spent a long weekend in Hilo for Memorial Day weekend, and, being on vacation, I indulged myself more than I usually would. I wasn't out of control, but I knew that I wasn't doing myself any favors, either (I love and miss you, Ken's House of Pancakes!). But that weekend just opened the door. Once back home, I noticed that my portions slowly started to grow again, and I was allowing myself to eat things that I had been trying to stay away from, like fried foods.

The walls came tumbling down last weekend. Mica, coming off of her special diet for her thyroid treatments, felt a need to treat herself, and rightfully so, since she suffered through a week and a half of a no/low iodine diet. So I figured that I could treat myself, too. But for me, it was more than just the one treat. After a weekend of Buffalo chicken wings, Spam katsu musubi, cheese steak sandwiches, Taco Bell, and other foods dark and dangerous, I spent Sunday night clutching my gut. It was as if my body said "ENOUGH!!! You said that you wouldn't eat this crap anymore! For this, you will pay, and you will pay dearly!!!"

On the hand, it was odd because my diet that weekend was sort of my regular diet for several years. I would inhale such goodies and demand more, with no visible repercussions aside from my waistline (and I'm sure my arteries were crying out, too). On the other hand, there's a sort of comfort in knowing that my body can't and won't go back to such a poor diet. It's not that I can't have chicken wings or Taco Bell and other such foods. I just can't, and shouldn't be eating them all the time, nor even for a couple of days.

So since then, I've been trying to squeeze in some exercise in the morning. I haven't gotten back to the full workouts just yet, but some jackknifes and yoga is far better than the nothing I've been practicing as of late. And I've again trying to be more mindful of what I put into my body, and how much. Baby steps on my way to getting back into working out 5 days a week again, and hopefully seeing the pounds continue to drop.

-r-

Party Ain't Live Without the Ice Cream and Cake

2010-06-18T19:19:00.000-10:00

Currently my favorite commercial on the air:

There's a 30 second version of the commercial out there where the dancing dinosaur gets a few seconds more air time, but I couldn't find it online anywhere.

And if you wanted to hear the full version of the song, complete with lyrics:

-r-

Blast from the past

2010-06-14T21:11:00.000-10:00

My brother posted this picture up on his Facebook:

It's a picture of my parents from waaaaay, way back in the day. My brother noted that my mother wasn't wearing a ring, so presumably this was before they got married, which would have to place this sometime before December of 1955. At the latest, they had just turned twenty.

It's both weird and incredibly awesome to see them here so young. I've seen many pictures of my parents from when they were young, some even earlier than this one, but I still get a charge out of seeing them like that. I was amazed that I'd never seen this picture before my brother posted it. He said it was in really crappy condition, but my niece was able to restore it.

Wise ass that I am, I had to comment that she did a good job of restoring mom's mustache, too.

Dad looks like a total punk in this image. Was he pissed off about something, I wonder? Mica observed that I have the same look when I'm pissed off. He's sort of got that look of someone who really doesn't want to be photographed. Though in all fairness, dad never really looked like he wanted to be photographed. Gotta love the handkerchief in the jacket pocket. Back then, people got all dressed up just to go out drinking. Me, I usually can't be bothered to wear long pants.

Where was this taken? How long were they together when this was taken? Were they even engaged yet? Decades removed, a world away. Entire lifetimes ahead of them, and they couldn't possibly have a clue what was in store for them.

My brother says he's going to pick mom's brain for more info about this image. It's so long ago, though, hopefully she can provide some context.

-r-

Ch-ch-ch-changes (with apologies to David Bowie)

2010-06-13T19:03:00.000-10:00

This last week saw two relatively big life changes come our way, with one big change coming up. The first is that we found a new place to live! It's rather close, too. Quite literally in the same complex we live in now, just a bigger unit in a different building. We've been wanting to get a larger place for sometime now, having outgrown our current space a long time ago. We've been looking into purchasing a home, but we knew that realistically, such a purchase would be at least a year or two out, and we needed a bigger place now. We're on good terms with our property manager, and we've asked him to keep us posted if he heard of any openings. We had a few opportunities pop up, but nothing panned out. But this time around, the stars were aligned just right. Today we signed the lease and got our keys, and we'll be moving in over the course of the next month and a half. We'll be holding on to the old place till the end of July. So yeah, we'll be paying rent for two places for a month, but this allows us to take our time with the move. Mica will be undergoing some treatments later this week, so instead of dealing with that while rushing to move in just a couple of weeks, we knew we'd need and want the extra time.

The second big change in our lives was the decision for my business partners, Mica and John, and I to forgo our plans to open a comic book store, and to dissolve our corporation. It wasn't an easy decision to make, but after 6 years of working towards this goal and relatively little to show for it, something had to change. Furthermore, the industry has changed greatly these last 6 years, and it will change even more in the approximately two years (at best) it would take us to get to a point where we'd finally be ready to open. This is an industry that will soon see a fundamental shift in the how the content is delivered, as well as the distribution models used to get the content into the hands of readers. How will a traditionally brick and mortar industry survive in an digital generation? It's not a unique question, for sure. Similar shifts are also being played out in book, music, newspaper and magazine publishing, among other mediums. But comics was the field we chose, and the above factors led to our mutual decision to pack it in and move on.

On top of all this, later this week Mica will undergo radiation treatment for her hyper-thyroid. It sounds scarier than it actually is, but it will hopefully be the end of a long, frustrating period for her. She's lived with the undiagnosed symptoms for about two years, and only in recent months have doctors been able to get a bead on what's been ailing her and how to fix it. After a series of tests and scans and consultations, it was agreed that this would be the best route to go. In a few months, we should know if this "took" and if she'll have some much needed normalcy returned to her life.

So, Hello new apartment. Good-bye Catalyst Comics. Good-bye Mica's illness. Hello to the rest of our lives.

Change can be both exciting and scary. But we feel that only good things can come from these changes we're experiencing now.

-r-

Burgers on the Edge

2010-05-24T18:05:00.004-10:00

This weekend, Mica had a mid-morning appointment down on Kapahulu, and we planned on eating lunch in the area afterwards. Kapahulu, like many other areas of town, are usually not on my radar. I work on the outskirts of downtown, easily managing to avoid the worst of the morning rush hour as experienced on the H-1 and through the surface streets of Honolulu, such as along King Street and Kapiolani Boulevard. Even on the weekends, we tend to avoid town like the plague, doing our best to get in and get out with as little pain as possible. Kapahulu, though, is one of those rare areas of Honolulu that we find can be enjoyable. It's still got traffic up the yazoo, though. Surrounded by local suburbs and with a direct throughline to Waikiki, the shops and restaurants along this street seem to always be busy. This is small town Honolulu, overtaken through the years by the steady drumbeat of time and development.

There were many new eateries along Kapahulu (well, new to folks who only venture down this street once a year or so), many of which we'd read about, or that caught our eye as we drove to Mica's appointment. One such place, Burgers on the Edge, ended up winning our vote.

Located at 890 Kapahulu Avenue, in the relatively new Safeway shopping center, it enjoys a highly trafficked and highly visible spot along the street. The place itself was small, having only a handful of tables inside, yet there was ample seating outside, if you didn't mind being hedged in between the parking lot and busy Kapahulu. The interior was casual, nothing special, reminiscent of many other casual eateries trying to balance old-timey feel with something more contemporary and cool. For comparisons' sake, I much prefer the retro feel of Teddy's Bigger Burgers, or the no-nonsense approach of The Shack, both casual eateries that specialize in burgers.

One of the first things I noticed was the lack of a single, comprehensive menu posted anywhere. There was one menu posted focusing on their beef alternatives (turkey patty, grilled chicken breast and portabello mushroom), there were two video screens that presented a slide show of their specialty items, and then there was a menu posted over their counter, that featured the basic burger types, fixings, sides and beverages, but didn't include their specialty burgers. There was no place that showed everything in one convenient place to facilitate the decision making process, and thus I felt like I was missing out on something.

On the other side of this same coin, they looked to have a pretty expansive menu, including a wide array of toppings and condiments with which to create your own custom creation, along with two types of been patties, non-beef patties, and various special burgers and sandwiches, like The Classic (lettuce, tomato, red relish and pickles), and the Jamaican Me Crazy (jerk seasoning, pickapeppa, lettuce, tomato, mozzarella; name shamelessly borrowed from a Ben & Jerry's flavor of ice cream). We both felt that perhaps it was too much of a menu, being somewhat overwhelming to some (including us), especially when there is no way to see everything in one place. The small space coupled with a quick turnover of customers contributed to a feeling of being rushed.

Between the two of us, we ended up ordering a BLT Burger on a whole wheat bun with bleu cheese added, and a custom burger consisting of a Wagyu beef patty (they describe Wagyu as "'Kobe Style' beef") on a whole wheat bun with lettuce, sun dried tomatoes, bacon, bleu cheese and sauteed onions. First of all, the BLT burger came out with no bleu cheese. A relatively minor oversight, especially since this was an out of the norm request, but while waiting in line to have this fixed, a woman came up behind me to complain that her Thanksgiving on a Bun, which consists of turkey, lettuce, tomato, cranberry relish and gravy, didn't have any cranberry relish on it (something that seems to me to be an integral part of a Thanksgiving themed sandwich). When you've got so many combinations to choose from, accuracy matters, regardless of whether or not the toppings requested are standard. However, they did fix our order with no complaint, pretty quickly, while I watched, and the manager seemed sincerely apologetic.

Secondly, the menu stated in bold letters that all burgers are prepared "rare (pink in the middle)" yet our burgers didn't have any pink at all, being prepared closer to medium well or well done. Also, considering that the burgers were supposedly Kobe style, we didn't really notice any discernible difference between our patties and those made from other grades of beef.

However, the burgers overall, were in fact tasty. That was in no small part due to the toppings. It was both of our feelings that a burger should be carried by the taste and quality of the patty, with the toppings and condiments acting as background singers, so to speak, providing harmony to the main melody of beef, to strain my metaphor. While good overall, we think it relied too heavily on the background vocals. Case in point, the bacon on the BLT burger was actually four slices of an apparently decent grade of thick-cut bacon, breaded with panko flour, and deep fried. It sounds sinfully good (and it was!), but was a bit much as a component of a burger, losing itself among the beef and other toppings. Mica removed most of these from her burger, however we agreed that they tasted good on their own.

On the side, we had an order of onion rings, which were quite good, on par with the good onion rings offered at comparable eateries. You could taste a hint of beer in their batter. We also had an order of sweet potato fries, which I enjoyed quite a bit. They were crispy and remained so throughout the meal. The fries came with a dipping sauce, that was some sort of dill aioli sauce. It wasn't tangy, nor was it zesty or spicy, and was a nice, mellow compliment to the fries, not overpowering nor superfluous at all. Sad to say, but the sides were better done than the burgers themselves.

The service was quite good, though. Aside from the earlier quick fix of their error, employees and the manager could be seen walking around, checking in on customers, making sure everything was fine and dandy. This is of course expected at traditional sit-down restaurants, but virtually unheard of at a casual, take-out place like this.

Would we eat there again (which is a true measure of how good a place is)? I probably would. However, with a printed take-out menu now in our possession, I'd take a few moments to make a more informed decision, would likely order a patty consisting of their ground chuck or even turkey (since the Wagyu wasn't anything special), and would probably get it to go. On a scale of 1 to 5, I'd give Burgers on the Edge 2.5 stars. I do see the potential of having a solid 3 star experience here with the right mix of ingredients, including a patty truly cooked medium as advertised. Is Burgers on the Edge great? Nope, far from it, but they're good, just slightly better than average, and the mixing and matching possibilities make for a somewhat novel experience. However, I have to say that the aforementioned Teddy's and The Shack fare better by sticking to simpler menus and doing them really well. Those two eateries place their emphasis on the burgers and less so on the choices of toppings, and the experience is all the richer for it.

-r-

P.S. - Upon checking out other online reviews of Burgers on the Edge (I checked them out only after I finished writing this post), I see two things that I did not mention, one because I didn't know about it:

1. The price. For two burgers, two sides and two drinks, we paid $27 and change. So yeah, this was fairly pricey, especially considering that this is pretty much a take-out place, with the size and decor to match. While the burgers were priced competitively ranging from $6.99 to $10.99, depending on size and cut of meat (our patties were $7.99 each, not including the toppings), they included a set number of condiments and toppings, and any extras cost $0.99 each, which can add up quickly. As far as the sides go, the onion rings costing $3.99 and the sweet potato fries costing us $4.89. Pricey by some standards, about right by others.

2. Other reviewers mention clipboards where you can check off what you want on a printed menu and turn that in at the counter to place your order (much like Chinese restaurants back in NY). Had I known of that option, or at least seen these clipboards, I could have taken a bit more time with my order and felt less rushed. There was no sign pointing out the clipboards, nor did the clerk at the counter mention them to us.

FTD: Failure To Deliver

2010-05-11T18:40:00.028-10:00

Anyone who knows me well knows that I'm a stickler for customer service. I'm not one of those annoying types who will pelt a customer service agent with ridiculous requests and get upset if I'm met with any resistance. In fact, I'd say that I'm a pretty undemanding customer. What I do expect is courtesy, to have my request met within a reasonable amount of time, and to have any problems addressed fairly and promptly. Sometimes satisfying just one out of the three can turn an otherwise bad encounter into a decent one. Sometimes, it won't.

Take FTD.com, for instance. With Mother's Day approaching, I went ahead and placed an order for an arrangement to be sent to my mom in Puerto Rico. I've done this almost every Mother's Day, and for a few other occasions, for about the last 8 years. While more often than not everything would go smoothly, the last few years would see an increase in problems.

The biggest obstacle to getting non-postal deliveries to my mom is her address. She lives in what was once a rural area, with the vague address based on region and street markers to match. The simple solution, which the florists contracted with FTD never failed to do for the first few years I used them, was to call my mom to verify the address. She'd give them directions, and the delivery would follow shortly thereafter. Mom's happy, I'm happy, end of story.

The last few years had FTD telling me that the address I provided was not valid, despite me telling them that it was, and that they just needed to call the recipient to get directions. That worked most of the time, though there was an instance or two where the flowers arrived later than requested.

This year... this year I placed my order on a Thursday, and requested delivery on Friday (originally I wanted to request delivery on Saturday, to give them a little extra time to play with since it was a busy weekend for them, and because I know my mom is usually at church on Sundays, but the only options were 'Friday' or 'Saturday/Sunday,' with no ability to choose which weekend day, so I chose Friday to play it safe). It was a rather gorgeous Mother's Day arrangement (pictured below) that I knew from the moment I saw it's picture on my screen that it was the one I would order. So I did.

Friday morning, I check my email and saw a message from FTD.com requesting that I call their customer service department because there was a problem with my order. I figured it was just the address thing again, and when I called them, I learned that that was in fact the problem. They asked me to verify my name, which I did, and to verify the recipient's name, which I did. They then asked me to verify the recipient's phone number. Unfortunately I did not have that handy at the time, but I assured the rep that I had included that info with my order and it should be available for her to see in my order's details. She then asked me to verify the recipient's address, and again, I explained that I didn't have it available at the moment but she should be able to see that info on my order.

I was polite the whole time. It wasn't the first time I encountered this problem with them, but it was the first time I was dealing with this agent and I realized that she probably had to deal with hundreds of similar calls in her day.

She again asked about the recipient's address and phone number. I again explained that I didn't have that info handy, but I told her the first few digits of the phone number that I could recall, as well as the first part of the address. She seemed satisfied with that answer, typed something on her end, and then said that the florist didn't know where the recipient was located, and that they tried to call her but there was no answer. I asked them to keep trying, and that if mom didn't answer the phone, to leave a message and she would surely get back to them. She said she'd relay the message to the florist, I was satisfied, end of conversation.

I then called my mom to let her know to expect a delivery soon. I also asked her if she received any phone calls from the florist and she said that she hadn't. Hmmm. Okay, well, I assured her that flowers were on their way, and if she didn't see anything or receive a call by the end of the day, to let me know.

The next morning, she called me to say that she didn't receive a delivery and that nobody called her. So I called FTD again, and went through the whole process of verifying phone numbers and addresses (I was smart and got that info ready ahead of time). The rep said that the address wasn't valid and that the florist tried calling the recipient several times but nobody answered. I assured them that it was valid, and that the recipient told me that nobody has called her. She again verified the info with me to be sure that everything was correct. I asked her when she could expect delivery. She put me on hold while she contacted the florist, and when she came back on she told me that the flowers would be delivered on Monday. Monday? Yes, Monday. Why? Because the delivery truck was already on the road and would not be returning to the florist's till late in the day, and that they would be closed on Sunday, so the earliest they could deliver it would be Monday morning. Okay, fine. I (politely) expressed my disappointment and asked her if I could get some sort of discount because of the (unnecessary) delays. She checked with her supervisor (I presume), and agreed to give me a 10% discount, which I gladly accepted. I called my mom to inform her of the latest, and to expect her delivery on Monday.

Monday rolls around and my mom again calls me. This time I'm thinking it's to tell me that she received the flowers. Nope. She called to tell me that she didn't receive her flowers yet, nor did she receive a call from the florist to get directions. I promptly called FTD, went through the whole verification of info process, again, and asked what was going on. The gentleman checked into my order and told me that the address was not valid and that they called repeatedly but nobody answered. I explained again that yes, it was indeed a valid address, and that the recipient did not receive any calls. I (politely) explained what had been going on the last few days, how in past years a simple call would be placed to my mother, who would then let them know where she was, and that I was disappointed and annoyed by the lack of follow through on the part of FTD (who hadn't informed me of further problems with the delivery after the initial email on Friday) and the florist (who claimed to have called my mom repeatedly, despite my mom telling me that nobody called her). I kindly asked to cancel the order and to be granted a full refund. They obliged. Within a couple of minutes, I received an email confirmation of the canceled order and refund.

A short time later, I went to 1800FLOWERS.com and placed an order. The arrangement (pictured right) wasn't as gorgeous as what I had originally ordered via FTD.com, but it was still quite nice. I submitted my order and went on my merry way.

(Coincidentally, I received an email from FTD, date stamped before my conversation with them where I asked for a full refund, asking me to fill out a survey to describe my shopping experience. Boy, did I let them have it!)

The next morning, which would be today, my mom called to tell me that she still didn't get a delivery (to my mom's credit, she wasn't annoyed and wasn't nagging me about her flowers... she was just keeping me in the loop). I explained to her about the canceled order and the new order, and that she should see something today. Within a half an hour, I received a call from 1800FLOWERS, asking for clarification on the address. First of all, they got points for calling me directly instead of sending a cryptic, automated email about a problem with the order. I acknowledged that the address was odd, but it was in fact a valid one, and that they just needed to call the recipient to verify the delivery location. The representative was agreeable and said he's inform the florist that it was okay to call the recipient (I'd imagine that it's not always okay to do so, and the representative seemed slightly surprised when I gave my approval to call).

Not long after that, my mom called to say that she got her delivery! Yay! Finally!!! She loved the arrangement, thought it was beautiful, and went on to describe the pretty lilies and roses that comprised the bouquet. Lilies? Roses? Well, the arrangement I ordered from 1800FLOWERS did include both lilies and roses, but they were buried along with daisies, carnations and other spring flora. That should have been a flag, but I took it in stride, just happy that she got finally got the flowers, even if it was slightly different that what I saw on the screen. Furthermore, I was happy that she was happy with the arrangement.

Then a few hours later, mom calls again. She tells me that a florist called her to say that they had a delivery for her, and they just needed directions to her place. Was this the same florist? I asked her. Nope, a different one. Some back and forth troubleshooting, and we figured out that the flowers she received earlier in the day was from FTD. Despite me canceling my order a day earlier, they still went ahead and delivered it. My mom even told me (after the fact, which helped cement my theory) that the first delivery person said that they tried calling and calling but that nobody answered. My mom told them that nobody had called her at all, but even she didn't put the pieces together at first. In short, she's going to get two beautiful Mother's Day flower arrangements. I figure that it will make up somewhat for the tardiness.

So while I'm somewhat pleased that the FTD florist finally did get the flowers to my mom, it frustrates me that the left hand wasn't talking to the right hand (namely, FTD apparently didn't relay clearly to the florist that the order was canceled), and that they to the last minute claimed that they tried calling my mom repeatedly, even though she did not receive any calls from them (my mom may be a virtual Luddite, but I'm confident she is savvy enough to be able to tell when she's missed a call). The bottom line was that FTD didn't deliver in a timely way, nor did they keep me abreast of any issues. Meanwhile, 1800FLOWERS did deliver. Quite literally. Were this a one time thing with FTD, I might be a bit more forgiving, but the proverbial writing has been on the wall for the last few years, and I think it's time I abandoned them for another service.

I will be checking my statements, though, to be sure that FTD doesn't charge me for the canceled order.

-r-

Rainy Day Lehua

2010-05-02T19:19:00.000-10:00

Today we had a family barbecue, planned long before we learned that it would rain all day. In fact, there were flash flood warnings for a couple of the islands, including Oahu. We decided to go ahead and still do this, since it was more about getting together with family than it was about having a sunny day. There was a beautiful lehua bush there, that looked particularly nice because of the rain drops dripping off of it. It did end up pouring on us but we still had a great time. The shelter covering our tables and grills was a big help.

Click the below image to see more pics.

Lehua 05022010

-r-

And now for something completely different...

2010-04-29T21:05:00.001-10:00

Following up something heavy with something considerably more lighthearted. George Lucas should include this edit if/when he decides to release another special edition of the Star Wars films.

-r-

Wow. Powerful and relevant

2010-04-29T21:01:00.000-10:00

It's not often a music video makes me go 'wow.' This is one of them. It's the video for Born Free, by M.I.A. Like it or hate it, it definitely prompts a reaction.

By the way, this is NSFW.

M.I.A, Born Free from ROMAIN-GAVRAS on Vimeo.

-r-

How Netflix Changed My Life (or something else overly hyperbolic)

2010-04-28T17:28:00.000-10:00

I wouldn't call myself a movie buff, but I do love a good movie (heck, I love a good story in any medium). We don't go to the theater much because the costs are simply ridiculous plus it seems that movies don't last long in the theaters anymore. I remember once upon a time when I could go check out a movie in the theater a month or two (if not longer) after it's release, but nowadays it seems that we're lucky if the movie sticks around theaters for three weeks. And we lost the last dollar theater here a year or two back.

We can always rent movies, which is fine and dandy, but the two rental places nearest to us are a little bit out of our way (they're not far, per se, but they're not entirely convenient for us, either). We'd go rent something once a month or so; not often enough to get caught up on all the movies we wanted to catch in the theaters but didn't. Furthermore, Blockbuster doesn't exactly have a deep selection of movies, focusing mostly on big films, while independent, foreign, art-house and other non-Hollywood films get the short straw.

Which leaves us with catching movies on cable. We only have basic cable, so watching movies means commercial interruptions, as well as the films being edited for content and time, which always irritates me. And if we didn't know a movie was going to be on, by the time we realized it and changed the channel, we've likely already missed at least the beginning. Other times, we'd be watching a movie but we already had other plans in place, leaving us unable to watch the ending. For every movie in my lifetime that I've watched from beginning to end, I have one that I've only watched parts of on basic cable.

It got to a point where we started keeping a list of movies to watch, whether it was something we missed in the theaters, read or heard about somewhere, or only caught a part of it on television but were intrigued enough to watch more. Because of the limitations of renting discussed above, the list got longer and longer at a pace much quicker than we could catch up.

We'd been toying with the idea of getting a Netflix account for over a year now, but never really took the plunge. The price was decent, and it would certainly be much more convenient, but we hadn't reached a tipping point.

Then we got our Wii. And not long after, we read that streaming of films via Netflix would become available for the Wii. Our ears perked.

I checked out their website and immediately signed up to have them email me when the service went live. All we knew was that it would be in Spring but no firm date was set. After a few weeks, I read that the service went live for existing subscribers who pre-registered. The same article said that going by past launches on PS3 and XBox, it would be about a week before it opened up to everybody. About two weeks passed when I read that it was opened up to all Netflix subscribers, as I waited with baited breath for my email notification.

That notification came last week, and within hours I had signed up. It's a move that I don't regret.

I quickly filled up my queue and set up our first DVD for delivery (The Men Who Stare At Goats, in case you were wondering). I also indicated that I wanted to sign up for the Wii streaming service, which meant that they had to ship us a Wii disc so we could access their site via the Wii. This was Friday night.

Now, while we had to wait for the first DVD as well as our Wii disc to arrive, we were able to stream movies to our computers immediately, which we promptly took advantage of. That first night, I watched an independent film called Primer, which is a smartly done, low-budget flick about time travel. The next day, we streamed Nick & Norah's Infinite Playlist to my laptop, which I connected to our television so we could get that big screen effect. Later, I took some time to watch the animated movie Superman: Doomsday, my geeky curiosity getting the better of me (by the way, it wasn't good... but then, neither were the comics this was based on).

So I signed up on a Friday night, and the two discs arrived Monday. That night we watched the Men Who Stare At Goats, popped it in the mail on Tuesday, and we're already due to get our next film in the mail tomorrow. Gotta love that quick turnaround. Meanwhile, I streamed another indy film last night, The Man from Earth.

So in less than a week, I've managed to watch five movies, with many more waiting in our queue. The cost for our subscription is $8.99 a month, so we've already gotten more than our money's worth on this, and we haven't even passed the free trial period yet.

We're very pleased with the possibilities so far... watching a movie anytime we want, via the Wii in the living anywhere else we can take our laptops, and via the good ol' fashioned DVD player. Having company? No need to run out to Blockbuster to get a film... we can just stream something, and even pick out a movie together, thus avoiding the whole "I already saw that" scenario. Most of all, we're looking forward to catching up on our list.

-r-

New York, New York

2010-04-27T18:32:00.002-10:00

During the Thanksgiving holiday, I went to visit my family out on Long Island and spent some time in the city (as we locals call Manhattan, as well as Queens, Brooklyn and any of the 5 boroughs). It was a great trip, and it was incredible being back with the family for Thanksgiving for the first time in the 17 years since I moved out to Hawaii. You see, for me, Thanksgiving is the best of holidays... it trumps Christmas by far. Why? Because it isn't about gifts or crass commercialism. It's all about being thankful for what you have, and for being with the ones you love. It doesn't get much simpler or much more powerful than that, in my opinion.

Anyway, while there, my best and oldest friend, G, and I got to go check out the Pixies at the Hammerstein Ballroom (it was a stroke of luck, really... I tried to get tickets before my trip, but they were sold out. G was going with a friend, but that friend had to bail out at the last minute, which freed up a ticket for myself). The band reunited for a tour commemorating the 20th anniversary since the release of their album, Doolittle, and I must say that it was a great show, and a great day overall.

So without further ado, here are some pics.

So before the Pixies show, I drove out to Queens to have lunch with G and his lovely wife, J. Then, after lunch we had a few hours to kill until the show, so we checked out the Museum of Modern Art. I'd never been there before, and it blew my mind to see all these world renowned works of art all on display in one place (click on the image for the full gallery):

Museum of Modern Art, 11/23/2009

Then, after the museum, we made our way to the Hammerstein Ballroom for the concert:

The Pixies, Live at Hammerstein Ballroom, NY, 11/23/2009

A few days later, on a whim, my brother, my brother-in-law and my niece decided to go to the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. Believe it or not, it was my first time going to this event, despite having spent the first 20 years of my life in New York:

Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade, 11/26/2009

Hope you enjoyed. With any luck, some "real" blog posts, ones that actually involve some thought and writing something more substantial than a synopsis of a vacation, will be coming soon.

-r-

Happy Blogiversary to Me

2010-04-27T17:17:00.001-10:00

Just realized that today marks 4 years since I started this (much neglected) blog o' mine. Doesn't sound like much, but if this blog were a dog, it would be 29 years old, which is pushing 30, and as we all know, 30 is old.

Thank you for reading (those of you who are), and to the rest of you, you don't know what you've been missing. No, really, you don't.

I hope to make time to get some new posts up soon, including pics from my NY trip back in November that I realized I never shared here, my thoughts on Arizona's new immigration law, and musings on comics. Not that I'll necessarily get to all of those, but I figure if I announce my intentions ahead of time, I'm somewhat obligated to follow through.

-r-

P.S. - My lack of posting hasn't been for lack of trying. I worked for a few days on a lengthy post about my how my comics buying habits have evolved these last few years, touching upon some issues I have with the practices of the major publishers, but I couldn't make it amount to anything worth reading. I mean, even I found it boring. So I scrapped it. I mean, really, is anybody interested in my comics buying habits?

Puerto Rican Day at The Plantation, 4/11/2010

2010-04-11T10:44:00.000-10:00

In a town here called Waipahu is an attraction called Hawaii's Plantation Village. It's a historical museum that tries to recreate what plantation life was like here back in the day, highlighting the various cultures who worked the plantations, while giving us an idea of the living and working conditions that were endured.

Yesterday, Hawaii's Plantation Village had an event that focused on the lives, contributions and legacies of the Puerto Ricans who migrated to Hawaii to work the fields in the early days of the 20th century. It included live music, Puerto Rican foods and other attractions. It was fun and insightful, a neat peek into a part of history.

Plantation Village 04102010

-r-

My ever-growing culinary repertoire

2010-04-05T18:05:00.002-10:00

So my quest to learn how to cook more Puerto Rican foods continues, albeit slowly, but I've come out with some real hits these last few weeks and months. Just this weekend, I whipped out a batch of sopa de gandules (pigeon pea soup), which came out remarkably good for my first time out, no further tweaking needed. My mom didn't make this too often, but it does taste like something that would come out of her kitchen. We also had some ground turkey that we needed to use, so I ended up making them into meatballs and tossing them into the soup. The meatballs were a quick little improvisation, but it worked well. Though next time I'd either make the meatballs smaller, or omit them altogether.

That same day, I made a pot of Cuban black beans. No, not exactly Puerto Rican (the word 'Cuban' being a big hint), but it was something my mom made with some regularity, and Cuban cuisine is very similar to PR, so I took a stab at it. Not to brag, but it was also a success, a definite keeper.

The best part about these two dishes? They were, for the most part, vegetarian. Well, with the exception of the meatballs I tossed into the gandules soup, but that was completely optional, and the soup stands well on its own even without the meat added. And, of course there's the chicken stock I used in both dishes, but that can easily be replaced with vegetable stock or even just water.

The week before, I slapped together a batch of yellow rice to accompany some pasteles that Mica brought home (her boss gets them at a place in town, in the Kalihi area... the name escapes me right now... Angela's Fish Market? Different woman? Is 'fish market' even in the establishment's name?). I've only attempted plain, old yellow rice a handful of times, and have never been very pleased with the outcomes (they were decent enough as rice dishes go, but nothing I could rightfully call 'yellow rice'), but that night everything worked out really well. And while this could have been another vegetarian dish, I opted to toss in some slices of turkey sausage that we had, adding some texture to the rice. This same rice also serves as the base for arroz con salsicha (yellow rice with Vienna sausage), and can also be used with a multitude of other optional add-ins, whether meats, chicken or fish/seafood.

Furthermore, while in the past I lamented the fact that I hadn't yet been able to make a pot of habichuelas (stewed beans) that I was happy with, I've recently turned that around and produced several pots that consistently came out really well. I've even had the chance to experiment with different types of beans and ingredients, such as kidney beans, pinto beans and the aforementioned black beans. I've even made pots of black-eyed peas and split pea soup (haole/gringo versions of my PR style beans, that don't include the usual assortment of Latin spices. These both came out really well, with Mica adopting her own killer version of the pea soup based on my recipe).

Sadly, I didn't think to take any pictures of any of these meals, but at least I was able to jot down the basic recipes. Like my mom, I'm finding that I don't really use any specific measurements, instead relying on my eyes, my nose, and my sense of taste during preparation. It makes it hard to explain to Mica how much of a given ingredient to include, but at least I know what my notes mean.

I can't begin to call myself a decent cook, but I've come a really long way as far as cooking Puerto Rican food goes. It makes me happy to be able to carry the torch, so to speak, and share the foods of my culture with Mica and other family and friends. It may sound corny, but hopefully one day I can share these foods with my own children (forthcoming at some undetermined point in the future) so they can get an understanding and appreciation of where they came from.

-r-

Cake @ Pipeline Cafe, 4/3/2010

2010-04-04T00:00:00.000-10:00

Some photos from tonight's incredible performance:

Cake 04032010

-r-

"The Rage Is Not About Health Care"

2010-03-30T18:32:00.003-10:00

So following up on my recent post about anger, threats and violence being directed towards those who support Obama and/or health care reform... I came across this essay on the New York Times' website that gives a theory on where this rage is coming from. Too tired to give my thoughts on it right now (maybe later?), but it's a good read and definitely food for thought. Check it out here.

-r-

Aiea Loop Trail

2010-03-29T17:46:00.000-10:00

So after my little spider adventure this morning, I took some time to watch some news, have breakfast, and then I headed out for a hike. I took a vacation day, today, just because. I call them "sanity days." A little welcome break for no other reason than to just get away from the office for a day.

I really didn't know what I was going to do with my day until this morning. In the running were going to the beach (which we did yesterday, and was fun and relaxing enough to warrant a return trip), reading (in an attempt to make a dent in my to-read pile), writing, and cleaning (yeah, right... but at least I though about it). I even considered taking the hike up the Makapu'u Lighthouse, but after spending yesterday in the sun and surf, I was itching for the opposite... I wanted to get out into the mountains, walk through a lush, green valley, feeling cool air and rain on my skin while stomping around in the mud.

Enter: Aiea Loop Trail.

Aiea Loop Trail 03292010

(click on the image to see all the pics I took on the trail)

I hadn't done this trail in about 8 years, but I'm glad I returned. On the drive over, I found myself getting excited for the hike and to feel the cool mountain air. Upon starting the hike, I was immediately struck by the smell of eucalyptus, and I was in heaven. As much as I love the sun and sand, I think my heart is most at ease in, and my soul most connected to the valleys and mountains of Hawaii.

The hike took me about 2 hours, and depending on who you believe, I covered a distance of anywhere from 4.5 miles to 10.4 miles. (I have an app on my phone that uses GPS to track the distance you run/walk, which is where I got the higher figure; I have to lean towards the 4.5 to 4.9 mile range, as noted on various websites and on the signage around the park.)

-r-

Happy Monday

2010-03-29T17:15:00.000-10:00

My Monday morning started off with my wife waking me up at 6:00 a.m. to tell me that there was a cane spider in the kitchen. I darted out of bed, and Mica showed me where it was (on the side of the rice cooker, on the counter). I crept towards the front door, grabbed a slipper, crept back towards the kitchen doorway, and with ninja-like speed and precision, I struck the spider three times in the span of a second (the 1st time I actually missed, the 2nd nailed him, and the 3rd was for good measure).

Nothing like a hairy arachnid to trigger a little adrenalin rush to start my day.

For those of you who don't live in Hawaii, or haven't yet had the pleasure of seeing a cane spider, here's what they look like:

Happy Monday, indeed.

The place I lived in when I moved to Hawaii, which is about a mile or so from where we live now, would get the occasional visitor that would sneak in. I was lucky enough to find one during my first month there, hanging out in a closet. It was a pretty large one, and I nearly crapped myself when I realized that the large mass I could make out in the darkness was not only moving, but was a spider. Coming from NY, I've never seen a spider quite so large outside of pet shops or horror movies. This encounter was made all the worse because while I don't mind bugs, snakes, lizards or most other creatures that many think of as gross or scary, spiders freak me out. I think I must have used nearly an entire can of Raid in my efforts to kill the thing.

Then there was one Christmas when we had company over. Early in the party, while we were talking and eating and just enjoying the festivities, my sister taps me on the shoulder and points up towards the vaulted ceiling, where there was a spider right above us. We didn't say anything to anybody else, but we kept our eyes on it for the rest of the evening. Once everybody left, we got into full attack mode, herded the spider into a corner along with a 2nd spider (!!!), managed to knock them down and had them both to fall into a trash bag, and removed them from the premises. On our way out, we saw three more along the side of the building, the recent rains apparently drawing them out into the open.

There were a few other encounters during my few years in that place, none really noteworthy. Not long after, I had moved to urban Honolulu, where I'm happy to say I didn't see a single cane spider. In fact, I didn't see any in either of my two Honolulu addresses, nor during my stint out in Aiea. It was only when I moved back to Kaneohe did the cane spider enter my life again.

We had only lived in this place a couple of days, when I turned on the A/C in the living room, and out popped a small cane spider. I should have taken that as a portent of things to come. We average a sighting every few months, most of them small, and all easily taken out. A week ago I was startled first thing in the morning by a large cane spider in the kitchen wastebasket. Before I could get a slipper, it had already scurried away into a crevice. I gave a quick spray of Raid into the crevice, just in case, hoping that that would be the last we saw of that guy. But I wouldn't be so lucky, as you know, since he reappeared this morning.

The funny thing is that while searching for a picture of a cane spider for this blog post, I read an article that said that it's okay to leave them alone, since they are harmless, are scared of humans, and take care of roaches and other household pests. I'm keeping this fact tucked away in my mind. My gut reaction is to kill them because they're so large and unexpected and unwelcome, but if the benefits of having them around outweigh the initial revulsion and fear, I guess it just comes down to getting used to having them around. I suppose if it stays out of the way, keeps itself hidden except for the occasional late night or early morning when we cross paths and send them running, I may (may) be able to refrain from swatting at them.

But I make no promises.

-r-

Emotions vs. Logic

2010-03-26T12:56:00.000-10:00

There is a very disturbing trend as of late, and those who follow politics, or even just casually read/watch the news have surely noticed it, too. Whether you lean left or right, support or dislike Obama, one has to admit that the level of discussion and debate has gotten quite... um... heated.

Okay, screw it. It's not heated, it's outright harassing, intimidating, and even bat-shit crazy at times. Sure, for months we've been hearing cries of Obama being a Socialist or a Nazi, and even earlier people doubted his place of birth or where his loyalties lie. Whether you subscribe to any of these beliefs or not doesn't matter, really. They're beliefs, opinions, everybody is free to have and share them, and they didn't cross any lines. Just people spouting what they believed.

But in the last few weeks, elected officials have been spat upon, while racial epithets and other hate speech have been shouted at them. Offices of Democrats, and even Republicans, have been vandalized and received threatening phone calls. Posters and slogans abound with references to guns and revolution, making proclamations like "If Brown Can't Stop It, A Browning Can" (referring to newly elected Republican Senator Brown, and a type of gun called a Browning, while the "it" referenced is health care reform), and other militant calls to action.

Really? Are people seriously considering turning to armed violence now? Is the level of hatred and dissatisfaction at such an extreme level?

I have a dear friend who I've known since high school, and as lovely a person as she is, there is one belief that she holds on to that is difficult for me to get my head around. She believes, quite sincerely as far as I can tell, that Obama is Nicolae Carpathia. Nicolae is a fictional character in the Left Behind book series, and he also happens to be the Anti-Christ. Yes, she believes that Obama is the Anti-Christ and will bring about Armageddon. And she's not the only one who believes that, as a quick Google search will reveal.

I disliked Bush greatly. Or more accurately, I disliked his actions and policies as President for a whole slew of reasons which I won't get into here. But I never believed him to be, nor do I know anybody who felt that he was or could be, the Anti-Christ. I didn't even think he was a bad guy so much as he was misguided, or at least had a much different view of what this country was about and how it should operate than I did (and quite honestly, I thought he seemed like a pretty cool fellow and wouldn't have minded tossing back a few beers with him). And while the guy was greatly reviled by about half of the country, I don't recall seeing or hearing such an extreme level of vitriol and bile being aimed at the guy to the point where threats of violence were being phoned in to his supporters and people were talking about taking up arms against the government.

Where's this hate coming from? How did this country get so damn polarized? And not just "I'm right and you're wrong" type of polarized, but the "you're evil and you hate this country, and me and my gun are gonna take it back" type of polarized.

What it seems to me is that a certain set of people, for whatever reasons they have and are entitled to, dislike Obama and his policies. That's fine, everybody's entitled to their opinions. But for some reason, this dislike has built up to outright fear and hatred for many. Fear for the dismantling of this country and its ideals. Hatred for the people who are performing this dismantling. Perhaps for other reasons, too. These feelings of fear and hatred, however, in turn heavily influence their behavior and perceptions of reality to the point where extreme acts are considered sane and appropriate. And that's what I find the most disturbing: that the behaviors and acts being talked about and even committed are in fact considered justified by those who are committing them.

Because once you feel justified in your actions, the sky's the limit.

We've got almost 3 years left in Obama's presidency, and I hate to make such a dire prediction, but if things continue at this... heated... level, somebody will eventually get hurt or killed, whether it's a protester taking out another regular citizen, or someone targeting an elected official. It almost seems inevitable.

-r-

Chili Con Carnival!

2010-03-24T17:50:00.002-10:00

I just learned today that South Park is in its 14th season, and is coming up on its 200th episode.

Wow.

Has it really been that long? Not to over-dramatize my point, but I can remember where I was when saw my first episode (at work, courtesy of a tech-loving co-worker who had a bootlegged copy of one of their episodes... this was when dial-up internet was king, and before you could view all the episodes online.). I remember watching those early episodes, and loving how low-tech and subversive it was, while remaining both smart and hysterical, and even downright childish. I watched it regularly for the first 4 or 5 seasons, then the viewings gradually tapered off. There was a period where the show felt hit or miss for me. When they missed, it just felt like they were just going through the motions. But when they hit, man, they killed it, and I'd find myself laughing so hard I was crying. Nowadays, I'll catch the occasional episode here and there, or peek in for a few minutes while waiting for another program to return from commercial break More often than not, I'm reminded as to why I fell in love with the show in the first place, the hit-or-miss ratio more often swinging towards hits.

I'd be hard pressed to tell you which episode is my favorite, though the one where Cartman gets an anal probe after being abducted by aliens (along with its sort of sequel, when the probe gets reactivated), or when Cartman's hand becomes a famous diva and Ben Affleck falls in love with it are definitely up there. "Taco flavored kisses for my Benny," anybody?

Also among my favorite episodes, or at least my favorite scenes, is this clip, with a guest appearance by Radiohead (remember, this is South Park, so if you're easily offended or grossed out, or still think cartoons should be just for kids, don't click play):

-r-

P.S. - Musings on comics and politics (in separate posts) coming up in the next few days, I hope.

Pali Lookout / Old Pali Road, 3/13/2010

2010-03-13T17:54:00.001-10:00

This morning we went out for dim sum, then met with our financial planner in town. On the way back, on a whim, we stopped off at the Pali Lookout, which neither of us have been to for at least several months. It's been even longer since we took the stroll down the Old Pali Road, which is now mostly overgrown, but still serves as a walking path, while giving people a neat peak at a piece of Honolulu's past, along with the solace and power of nature.

Click on the below image to see the full set of pics. Enjoy!

Pali Lookout / Old Pali Road, 3/13/2010

-r-

Random Thoughts While Visiting

2010-03-09T20:48:00.002-10:00

A few more scribblings from my notebook. These were jotted down while I was actually in New York.

---

This neighborhood has no soul anymore. I was here over a week before I saw a kid just casually riding his bike down the street. Otherwise, I haven't seen any other kids around, whether playing in their yards or in the street, whatever. The school parking lot is full during the weekdays, so presumably there are still kids around, but where they go during off-school hours, I do not know.

But other than just the lack of kids, there's a sense this neighborhood has been spiritually gutted. There are the same number of homes on my street as there was when I last lived here almost 20 years ago, and they for the most part all seem occupied, but there still seems to be a general lack of life around here. Were it cold and wintry, I could almost understand, but it's been downright pleasant out.

---

I'm thinking of my dad's family... so many kids (he was the youngest of 11), so spread out. With a few exceptions, dad didn't see them often, at least not during my lifetime. Angelica was every few months. Dora was probably once a year. And the ones in Puerto Rico were once every 5 years, give or take.

When they got to the point where they started dying, it wasn't uncommon for them to not attend each others funerals, or visit as death drew closer to claiming another sibling. By the time dad's funeral had come around, all his siblings were already gone, except for one, and she herself was too ill to attend, succumbing a few months later.

---

For the record, let me state clearly that I do not regret moving to Hawaii all those years ago. But man, sometimes it just kills me inside being so far away from my family.

-r-

Random Thoughts While Traveling

2010-03-09T20:24:00.001-10:00

While I didn't have internet access during my trip last November, I did bring my notebook and managed to scribble away when I had the itch.

Below are several observations and thoughts I jotted down while in various airports or planes as I made my way to New York. I used to like flying, but the process has become so tedious. The upside? People watching. I sound downright misanthropic at points here, but hey, the tediousness of traveling makes me cranky.

--------------------

A hulking, Fred Gwynne lookalike wearing a t-shirt that says "24 hours in a day, 24 beers in a case. Coincidence?"

A woman with breasts so huge, no bra or shirt could ever hope to possibly contain them properly, thus they tremble like Jell-O with each step she took.

One thought: I don't want to sit next to either of these people.

---

There are the people I see in my day to day life.

There are people I see on TV or in the movies.

And then there are people I see at the airport.

People you see in airports are like no other people in the world.

---

I can't understand humans' need to be first. Why does everybody have to crowd the gate even though their row is nowhere close to being called?

---

Handlebar mustache and a pink shirt. Wow.

---

How many classes of passenger are there First Class, Priority Access, Executive Class, Business Class, Platinum Class.

Oh, the the rest of you cattle can just herd on in.

Eventually.

---

Whenever I fly, it seems that I always end up setting next to the person who can't stop fidgeting, won't stop chatting (even though I'm reading and/or wearing headphones), can't stop getting up to go to the bathroom, or who despite their small to average girth, insist on taking up more room than I do.

---

What's proper protocol for the armrest in the middle? Who gets it and when?

---

Elderly white male: gray suit and dress shirt, hair neatly combed.

Elderly white male's wife: Orange afro with black headband. Like Lucille Ball was the lead in Staying Alive.

The cherry?

Her billowy leopard-print jumpsuit.

---

Flying always leaves my sinuses dried out, my face oily, and me feeling like I need a day or two to recover, like a piece of dried fruit reconstituting itself.

---

I'm gonna need a good stretch when this is over with. And I'm talking more than just a bending over and touching my toes kind of stretch.

---

Bathrooms on airplanes are squeezed in as almost an afterthought, no rhyme or reason to the layout other than it has the requisite components (a (small) toilet, a (small) sink, hand soap, toilet paper, paper towels and a mirror. Some planes even have facial tissues) shoved haphazardly into a 3' x 3' area. Has anybody at Boeing ever tried one of these on for size? Or did they just figure it had what one should expect from a bathroom (sans elbow room), and that was good enough?

Speaking of room... why is it the smaller jets have far more leg room than the larger ones? Why are the 3 hour jaunts designed to be far more comfortable than the 9 hour ones?

A couple of decades ago, I remember at least one airline bragging about how they actually removed an entire row of seats so they could provide more leg room for their passengers.

Cramped as I always am on flights, I can only conclude that a) our ancestors were pygmies, b) the airlines have since taken back that row and claimed another two or three for good measure.

---

My butt's sore, I can only imagine what my breath smells like, and I can feel the oily sheen on my face. At least my sinuses are re-hydrating. And the waitress in this generic, sports-themed bar & grill seems cool enough; and there's this air around her, as if she realizes the absurdity of such a place in an airport, especially situated as it is between a T.G.I.Friday's, a Bennigan's and a Fudruckers. As if there were a difference. What's worse? Not having a choice and knowing it? Or being fed the illusion of choice when they're really all the same thing?

-r-

Hypocrisy as Strategy

2010-03-08T17:58:00.003-10:00

Mitt Romney, former governor of Massachusetts, former Republican Presidential candidate, and possible contender in 2012, has been down on Obama for his plans to reform our nation's health care. Yet, his home state, of which, I must again point out, he was governor, currently has a health care plan very similar to what we've seen in Obama's and the Democrats' proposals. Furthermore, Romney implemented this plan during his term, so it's not like it was something he inherited from an earlier administration.

So you'd think he at least have an inkling of support for at least some provisions of the current plan, right?

Wrong.

In fact, he claims that there is no similarity between his plan enacted in Massachusetts, and the plan currently being battled over in Washington D.C.

"It is the difference between a racehorse and a donkey if you will. They both have four legs," Romney said. "But one works pretty well and the other is not working and would not work at all."

I'm still not clear if he means the domesticated beast of burden is the one that works pretty well, or if he means the domesticated beast exploited for entertainment purposes. But that's neither here nor there. Romney is trying to dodge the subject of the similarities by just flat out saying that there aren't any.

Then, former Alaska Governor and former Republican Vice-Presidential Candidate, and possible future reality television star, Sarah Palin, who has been down on Obama's health care plan for many of the same reasons the rest of the GOP has been, admits that she and her family used to go across the border to Canada to take advantage of their universal health care plan:

“We used to hustle over the border for health care we received in Canada,” she said. “And I think now, isn't that ironic?”

The irony would be behaving like a hypocrite and either not realizing it, or not caring. Romney and Palin, and the majority of the Republicans in office currently (including several who aren't) are sticking to the party line, denouncing anything the current administration says or does without trying to find a middle ground or an ounce of goodness. Whether or not one supports Obama's plans and policies, Romney and Palin have personal experiences which could enrich the debate, offering their thoughts on how health care reform plans could be made better, discussing what works and what doesn't, or why, in substantive terms, Canada's or Massachusetts' plans are so appealing.

Instead, we get the same old rhetoric. Nobody listens or contributes; they just shout and bark, disparage, denigrate and defame, and stall the process any chance they get.

What's worse is that they're getting away with it, and their "talking points" are influencing millions of Americans, who may benefit from reform, but are instead crying out against it because of this self-fulfilling circle of fear and anger being propagated by Republicans and the Tea Party movement.

Thoughtful discourse had left Washington, replaced by petulant children and their special interests, trying to hold on to any shred of power they have, at the sacrifice of the greater good. No, that's not a new development in politics, but it seems to be more and more prevalent today.

-r-

Songs of My Father

2010-03-07T19:32:00.003-10:00

As a child, I always remember my dad being a musical sort of person. Not that he played any instruments, but rather he was seemingly always listening to music, and often singing, whether along with a song, or a capella. Sundays I would often wake up to the sound of Spanish music blasting throughout the house. My dad had a fairly big collection of records, a mix of 78's, 33's, and 45's, though it was the 78's and 33's that got played the most, as I recall. His record player allowed him to stack several records, and it would play them in sequence. When the stack was done playing, dad would just turn the stack over and begin again. This would continue from morning well into the later part of the afternoon.

When I was younger, this was something I just accepted as the norm. I didn't necessarily like the music he played, but I didn't dislike it either. It just was. In my teen aged years, when my tastes leaned towards heavy metal and hard rock, I would respond to the sound of my dad's music by locking myself in my room and playing my own music. My tolerance of the music turned to outright rejection, arguably developing along parallel lines to my personal relationship with dad.

Years later, as I lived on my own far from home, I found that I oddly missed the sounds of my dad's music. Outside of home, Latin music seemed to be only salsa, with loud horn sections and huge bands backing the singer who belted out up-tempo songs. Dad's music was softer, though no less passionate. It was the music of the jibaros, roughly meaning hillbilly's, or mountain folk, of Puerto Rico. This was folk music, often featuring only a single vocalist with a guitar or a cuatro, accompanied by guiros or someone playing congas. It was very sparse, stripped down music, yet filled with heart and emotion.

Dad also had salsa records, and what can best be described as pop music of the time and region, but most of the music dad predated salsa and today's contemporary Latin sounds. Aside from the folk music, he also had records by Puerto Rican crooners and bands who can best be compared to the popular big bands of the mainland U.S. He also seemed to be fond of Mexican mariachi singers, owning several records by such performers, but the vast majority of his collection contained music played by Puerto Rican and Cuban performers, along with some New Yorkers that had roots in the islands.

Chuito. Masa Rivera. Cortijo y su Combo. Ramito. Odilio Gonzalez. Daniel Santos. So many others. Names unknown to me before, but whose identities I'm actively pursuing.

So no, I didn't much appreciate these sounds while I lived at home, but I grew to miss them after I moved away. Furthermore, after I learned dad's cancer was terminal, I think I began to see the music as a connection to him. As we were never very close, nor did we really seem to ever understand each other, the music seemed to be an inroads to either understanding him better, or perhaps at least understanding where he came from, literally and figuratively. So I began to dabble in the Latin music of old, seeking out anthologies, then tracking even down more works by the artists that I liked. It was a start, and it turned me on to a few performers that I enjoy a lot.

Upon my recent visit to New York over the Thanksgiving holiday, I got the itch to start listening to my dad's old records. So I went down to the basement, dug out a bunch, stacked them on his old record player (which I got to work again after some fiddling around), and enjoyed a stroll down memory lane. I couldn't tell you the names of my dad's favorite artists, nor most of what they were singing, but I found a warm, cozy place in that living room, surrounded by dozens of old records and their scratchy serenades.

So it was a very pleasant surprise when my mom told me to take them with me. As in, out of that house and to Hawaii. I wasn't sure that I had heard her correctly or if she was serious, but I had and she was. She never listened to them, she never even touched those records except to move them out of the way while she vacuumed or rearranged furniture. They lay untouched for pretty much all of the 8 years since dad passed away. Plus, since she's been spending most of her time in Puerto Rico, she's started to entertain the idea of selling the NY house, so the less stuff laying around, the better. So yeah, while I was surprised that she was telling me to take the records, I guess it made sense.

In short, I gathered all the records (well, at least all the 33's... the 78's and 45's will wait for another trip), drove to a nearby UPS Store, and had them box and ship them all to Hawaii for me, making sure they took extra precautions to ensure the safe delivery of these irreplaceable relics. These records weren't in pristine condition, and yeah, many of them had scratches, didn't have their original sleeves, or had other imperfections that true collectors would frown upon. Hell, I don't know if these have any collectible value, but there was no way I could get another copy of any of these records today as man of these artists are long forgotten, and the personal memories attached to these make them all the more valuable.

Now that I've got these records here in Hawaii, my next steps are to a) purchase a record player so I can enjoy these sounds; b) find a record player that can convert these records to .mp3's (they exist, just need to find out which one would best serve my needs); and c) continue to do what I can to find out more about these artists.

Perhaps it's something about my psychological make-up, but I find this journey not unlike my love of comic books, or how deeply I got into my music back in high school. There's this need and love of the hunt, the process of cataloging and identifying, a seeking of deeper knowledge and understanding, and holding on to something before it disappears for good.

-r-

Milestone

2010-03-06T21:29:00.001-10:00

As of today, I have lost exactly 20 pounds in just two months and 3 days.

My secret?

Eating right and regular exercise. (Shhh... don't tell).

Boo yah.

50 (-ish) more pounds to go.

-r-

Random (and Morbid) Thought of the Day

2010-03-05T16:20:00.001-10:00

So whenever somebody dies before their time, either by car accident, homicide or other unnatural means, you'll often see family members being interviewed by the news, and telling the reporters that the deceased was such a wonderful person, they were kind and loving, would never hurt a fly, and other similar descriptions that place the deceased in a rather flattering light.

Now, I'm not doubting that they were in fact a good person. But for once, I'd like to see the family member say, "Yeah, he was a rat bastard. Hated the guy. He beat up grandmothers, stole candy from orphans, and slept with my wife. Sure, he was my brother/father/son/nephew/cousin/whatever, but damn, he sure had it coming."

-r-

We really enjoy our Wii

2010-03-01T18:33:00.004-10:00

I love my video games, but I've never been a huge, hardcore gamer. No marathon HALO sessions for me. I've mentioned earlier how I go through these phases with my game play habits. And that's held pretty true for most of the last few months. I hardly touched my PS2 for much of the latter half of 2009, letting it gather dust and cobwebs. I've even considered getting rid of it, and upgrading to a PS3 at some point. The only thing holding me back was the hefty price tag, and the knowledge that I go through those aforementioned phases with playing video games, which makes it hard for me to justify dishing out $400 for what may end up being a large, electronic paperweight.

Mica, on the other hand, had her eye on the Nintendo Wii.

I hesitated, thinking that it was a game system for seniors and kids. A console for the "casual gamer" as the media called them. Even if I was a casual gamer myself, I didn't necessarily want to be grouped in such company. I hesitated even more when I learned that many of the games I'd love to try on the PS3 (or even the PS2, for that fact) weren't available on the Wii. But I eventually relented, knowing that the PS2 was mostly "my" toy, so why not get something that Mica would enjoy? So in the early days of January, I went out and purchased a Wii and a few games and accessories to get us started.

And I have to say that playing with the Wii is the most fun I've had playing video games in a very long time.

The Wii system comes bundled with Wii Sports, a game that includes boxing, tennis, bowling, golf and baseball. Generally, when the disc includes several games, one or two of them are good while the others are duds. I can say that there's not a dud among the bunch here. All of them are fun to play, and my only lament is that I've been having so much fun with some of the other Wii games we've purchased that I don't get to play Wii Sports as much as I'd like.

You've seen the Wii on television or online, or you may even own one yourself or know someone who does. As you probably know, it's mostly motion-based, your onscreen character moving and reacting based on the movements you're making in real life. It's fun, it's intuitive, and it's easy to get into right out of the box. I can easily see the appeal for seniors and kids, but there's much fun to be had for everyone else, including those who are more into games with action, shooting, explosions and some aliens or monsters (or both!).

In addition to Wii Sports, here's a quick rundown of the games we have as of this writing:

Wii Play: I got this game the same day I purchased the console for no other reason than it came with a Wii controller, all for $24.99. If I had to dish out that much for the controller by itself (the console only came with one controller), why not get it with a game? So it's got billiards, air hockey, table tennis, a duck hunting game, as well as a tank battle and cow race (yes, a cow race). All offer some amount of fun, but none really have me wanting to go back for more and more. Fair time wasters, that's all.

Family Game Night 2: This is a simple concept, wrapped up in an interesting and somewhat confusing package. Popular board games reinterpreted for the Wii, including classics like Operation and Connect 4 and Jenga, mixed with less popular (and apparently for a reason) games like Bop-It and PictureKa. Mix it up with the feel of a prime time game show hosted by none other than Mr. (or Mrs.!) Potato Head, and you've got a unique creature here. Another fine time waster, but nothing that has us clamoring for the arrival of Family Game Night 3. In fact, if there were a dud among the games we own, this would be it.

Resident Evil Archives: This was a purchase for yours truly made with some Christmas money I got. I was a huge fan of Resident Evil 4 for the PS2, but was less impressed by a couple of the other RE games I played for the same system, due mostly to odd controls and camera angles. This game is the original Resident Evil game, adapted for the Wii. I've enjoyed this game, though the controls still leave me frustrated. For what it's worth, I think I'm more of a Silent Hill type of guy.

Trivial Pursuit: Okay, I have to admit that we haven't played this game yet, but we're both fans of the classic Trivial Pursuit board game, and couldn't resist owning it for the Wii. We think it will be something to whip out the next time we have people over for dinner.

Madworld: Okay, now here's a game that I wouldn't have expected to see on a system like the Wii. The graphics are reminiscent of Sin City, with stark black and white images and the occasional splatter of red, the red being the blood of those your foes. It's sort of Sin City meets Mad Max meets The Running Man. In a dark future, you are a contestant in a bloody game show of sorts, fighting your way through a ruined cityscape of violent thugs. It's brutal, it's bloody, it's very violent (in fact, the more creative you are in offing your opponents, the more points you get), but gosh darn it, it's fun.

The Conduit: A first person shooter, with so-so graphics, but (so far) an intriguing story, laden with aliens and conspiracies. I always liked first person shooters in theory, but have always found the controls lacking. The Conduit is the first game of this type where the controls are easy to grasp and are very fluid and intuitive.

Endless Ocean: Blue World: This games is relaxing. No guns, no shooting, no opponents, no scores. You are a scuba diver, swimming the world's oceans, viewing fish, photographing them if you wish, and finding artifacts that have found their way to the ocean floor. There is a story draped over this, where you, as part of a dive company, get caught up in finding a long, lost treasure and solving the mystery of the Song of Dragons. But, really, all the fun is in just swimming around and exploring. It may not sound like much fun, but oddly enough, it is, and it's probably the second favorite Wii game that I've played so far.

Wii Fit Plus: This would have to be my favorite Wii game, and it's not even really a game. More accurately, it's part gym, part personal trainer. It includes exercises, including several yoga poses and other exercises that build your strength and balance. It also includes activities and games that also give you an aerobic workout, work on your balance, peripheral vision and breathing. You can string together various routines to customize a workout, along with a virtual personal trainer that walks you through the moves and give you tips and encouragement along the way. Mica and I have been using this regularly since we've purchased it, and in less than 2 months, I've lost about 16 pounds and Mica's lost over 10. Sure, it's fun, but it's also an effective exercise tool. It offers enough of a challenge to really give you a decent workout, allowing you to add routines, or increase the number of reps or sets you perform to maximize your workout, and it also gives you enough variety to mix things up so you're not simply doing the same routines day in and day out, like you might experience with an exercise DVD. This alone has made the purchase of the Wii well worth the price, and there's no sign of us getting bored with this any time soon. We're having too much fun getting into shape, pleasing ourselves with the results of our daily weigh-ins.

And there are also other games that we're looking forward to checking out eventually. There are a number of Mario Brothers games that Mica's looking forward to checking out. Me, I've always been partial to Sonic the Hedgehog, but he's got Wii games available, too. Plus, I've learned that Marvel Ultimate Alliance 2 and Batman: Arkham Asylum are both available for the Wii, too, along with classics like Zelda and other adventure and horror games that we think we'll enjoy.

-r-

Tsunami Day

2010-03-01T17:59:00.001-10:00

So Saturday's tsunami warning came and went without any serious damage. That's not to say that we didn't see any effects. Live shots taken in Hilo showed some serious surges flowing in and out. But we were very fortunate. In 1960, an earthquake in Chile led to a tsunami that caused 61 deaths and widespread damage. Like a geophysicist from the Pacific Tsunami Warning Center said on live television, "I think we dodged a bullet."

It was an interesting day, though. I was stirred from sleep at about 5:00 a.m., as I heard Mica's phone ringing. She had her earplugs in (because I snore and that's the only way I can sleep). Mica never gets calls that early, so I figured that it was either a wrong number, or bad news. By the time I was conscious enough to realize that maybe I should answer it, the ringing had stopped. But before I could turn over and get back to sleep, my own phone started to ring. It was Mica's mother. Bad news, I thought. She told me about the tsunami warning and the earthquake in Chile, and in a matter of minutes, Mica was awake and we were out the door headed to the store.

On the way, we saw a long and unwieldy line at a nearby gas station, our clue that the word had already spread and folks were in full-on preparation mode. Making our way through the super market, we were pleasantly surprised to see people acting calmly and taking it all in stride. No doubt because at that point in the morning we still had a good 5 or 6 hours left before the tsunami's projected landfall. I can only guess what the crowds must have been like later in the morning as supplies had run out and lines were exceptionally long.

(As an aside, I have to confess that that despite all the disaster scenarios and training I'm exposed to because of my job, we've never been able to maintain a disaster kit at home. Fortunately we live in a safe-zone and wouldn't have to evacuate, but we still needed to stock up on water, batteries, and non-perishable foods in case the worst happened).

The early morning was a flurry of phone calls, talking to co-workers to gauge their availability in the event we were activated, and contacting family members, assuring them that we lived in a safe zone and were fine. Once that died down, we just played the waiting game, watching the news and monitoring email and other info outlets to see what the Pacific Tsunami Warning Center and other emergency services had to say about the latest projections.

And when the tsunami did hit, it wasn't quite a whimper, but rather a growl. The conditions were enough to bat around anybody who may have happened to be in the waters at the time (like this guy, who got a Facebook page devoted to his exploits), but not enough to come up onto roadways or residential areas. It was fascinating to watch the ebb and flow on live television, wondering if the next surge would be the one to come on to land and herald the beginnings of a disaster. We were fortunate that it never got to that point.

But while Hawaii and the Pacific lucked out this time, Chile wasn't so fortunate, of course. My thoughts go out to them as they recover from this mess.

-r-

Tsunami Warning

2010-02-27T08:16:00.000-10:00

Well, the state of Hawaii is officially under a tsunami warning. Due to a devastating earthquake in Chile, we're expected to see a tsunami strike the islands. Hilo will be hit around 11:05 a.m., while here on Oahu we should see the wave hit at about 11:19 a.m.

Gas stations are seeing huge lines, as are supermarkets. Was sort of surreal driving through the darkness this morning, hearing the civil defense sirens wailing.

Too early to know how big the waves will be (have heard 1-2 feet up to 12-14 feet), but all we can do is continue to watch and wait to see what happens in other areas between Chile and here.

We're fine, we live outside of the evacuation zones. However, depending how what effects the state sees from the tsunami, I may have to go to work, get the hotline up and running, providing emergency info on shelters and other resources to those who may need it.

More later...

-r-

Important Announcement

2010-02-26T20:02:00.001-10:00

This blog will be going on hiatus for a few months while I... um... yeah. Heh. I guess that's something to announce before one disappears for three months. Sorry I haven't posted in so long. I went on vacation back in November to visit family and friends in NY over the Thanksgiving holiday. I had planned on posting updates while I was there, but quickly learned that I couldn't access the internet from my mom's house, so there went that plan (Sure, I could have blogged using my phone, but I hate typing anything more than just a few sentences using that tiny, virtual keyboard). So I then planned on posting updates when I got back to Hawaii, but I caught some bug during my last days in NY which put me out of commission for awhile. Then once I got healthy and went back to work, I found myself buried and having to catch up on whatever had piled up in my absence. Then came Christmas and New Year's and all the craziness that implies. Next thing I know, it's almost March and I haven't blogged or written in months.

Well, that changes as of this moment.

That's my plan, at least. I've gotten a regular exercise routine down (more on that later), so my next goal is to establish a regular writing routine, which includes working on my stories as well as blogging regularly.

More posts to follow in the coming days.

-r-

Wake-Up Call

2009-11-09T12:38:00.001-10:00

Saturday was to have been a good day. That morning we met with a financial adviser to discuss our current situation and discuss options for retirement and insurance plans. Then that evening, we were to meet up with several friends for a night of karaoke, an outing which seems to be creeping towards an annual event. After our meeting with our adviser, we went to the super market to purchase some items for that night's festivities, including food, paper and plastic goods, a bunch of beer, a bottle of rum, and some Pepsi for mixing.

So that night we got our things together, headed out to Karaoke Hut and started to get our room set-up. Soon, friends started trickling in, bringing their own contributions to the pot, songs were selected, songs were sung, drinks were imbibed, and fun was had by all, it seemed. I remember performing duets on renditions of both Glycerine and La Bamba, and then...

then...

...then I'm at home, waking up to go to the bathroom. I sat up, my head cloudy with sleep and still somewhat buzzed. Mica asked if I was okay, what was I doing, and if there was anything she can get me. I was puzzled by her concern, and mumbled something about just needing to take a piss, and shuffled out to the bathroom. There in the dark, I felt a towel on the floor surrounding the toilet. I didn't know why, but then I somehow had a vague sense that I had thrown up earlier. I don't remember the actual act of throwing up, but the towel, and perhaps an odd taste in my mouth told me that I had. It then occurred to me that I didn't remember coming home and falling asleep. For that fact, I didn't remember the ride home. Shit, I didn't even remember how the night of revelry ended. I shuffled in to the kitchen to look at the time. It was 6:00 a.m.

I shuffled back to the bedroom, while Mica shuffled out to take her turn in the bathroom. "Did I throw up last night?" I asked her.

"Yeah, like three times," she told me.

I went back to our room and sat upon the bed. I was disturbed by this turn of events. Okay, I was freaked-out. Not because I woke up in a strange place, didn't know what happened to my wallet or didn't know if I still had my kidneys (all was accounted for, as far as I knew at that point). I was freaked-out by the notion that I let this happen to myself. That I did this to myself. And it wasn't the first time.

"Do you want to talk about it?" I told Mica that I was disturbed. And I was pissed. That all I could think about was dad. You see, dad was an alcoholic. Sad to say, but I think I knew him drunk more than I knew him sober. Consistently, everyday after a long, hard day at work, he'd come home and proceed to get sloshed. Often, he'd come home already drunk, having stopped off at some watering hole on his way home, or even partaking of more than his fair share of alcohol during the day. He had hidden stashes of whiskey bottles in his car, in the truck he drove during the day, and within the house. This was in addition to the publicly known stashes of beer and whiskey he had in the house. He turned to the hidden stashes so mom wouldn't think he was drinking as much as he was. But she knew it. And he knew she knew. As a result, when I was of age to start experimenting with alcohol, I was always conscious of my dad's issues with alcohol. Sure, I had my binges and weekends spent in a drunken stupor, for the most part contained to my early twenties. But with one exception, while experimenting in my late teens, I never blacked out. I always told myself that I was okay as long as I didn't feel that I needed to drink.

And I never, ever had that need. I could go days, weeks, even months without drinking a drop of anything, and I often did. As I entered my mid to late twenties, while I would have the occasional beer or cocktail, I couldn't even stand the thought of getting drunk, believing that I got all of that out of my system a few years earlier. And during those dry periods, I never craved the stuff. I remember a period of several years when I wouldn't have beer in the house, in part because I told myself that I didn't need the stuff around, and it would only be a treat for when I went out with friends, and in part because there was the specter of my dad looming over my shoulder. I didn't want the temptation, even if I didn't feel tempted by the stuff.

But years passed, and I had relaxed a bit and grew an appreciation for beer. Micro-brews, in particular, but I wouldn't discriminate. I got into the routine of buying beer when we went grocery shopping, trying out new brands and brews each time. When we went to family gatherings, or got together with friends, I'd bring a bunch of beer for myself or to share. But I never drank to get drunk. A six pack would last a week or more in our refrigerator. At most of these gatherings, I would have three, maybe four beers, and I'd be content with my soberness.

During the intervening years, I started to get comfortable with hard liquor, again, too. I started to purchase the occasional bottle of wine to have around the house. I even started to purchase rum. And not just the cheap stuff, but rather rum of the top shelf variety, stuff that the manufacturers claimed came from their select collections. And as I reacquainted myself with hard liquor, at the periphery of my awareness I started to notice a different mindset when I drank these sorts of beverages, a mindset that was full blown at our karaoke outing. In a word, I was ravenous. I could not stop drinking. There was no conscious decision to get fucked up. There was no counter in my head telling me that this was my second, fourth, or eighth drink. I just drank. And I woke up several hours later with no recollection of what happened or how I got there. I can count out about three that I experienced this in the last two years. Minus the blacking out part.

I asked Mica to tell me about last night. I told her where my memory left off, more or less, and she started to fill me in. She told me about how she and one of our friends cleaned up the room, how I was outside saying good-bye to everybody when Mica called me back inside because she couldn't find her keys, so I went back to the room to search for them. She told me I went back in once again to go to the bathroom before we hit the road. She told me how I kept playing with the power windows in our car during the ride home, and how I kept fiddling with the cap on her water bottle. She told me how when we got home, we had both carried our cooler and other items up to our place, how I couldn't walk straight, how she was walking behind me as we headed up the stairs, pushing me forward so I wouldn't fall back. How I got undressed and headed to bed. How I sat up and went to the bathroom to puke. How I came back to bed, then got up once again to puke some more. How after the third time I puked, I came back to bed and fell asleep sitting up, before eventually sliding down to a more horizontal position, where I found myself at 6:00 am. None of which I recalled. I have this hazy recollection of zig-zagging my way through throngs of customers to make my way somewhere, whether to the bathroom or to search for Mica's keys, I don't know. I have the vaguest of recollections of standing outside with my friends, saying good-bye, but to be honest, I think that's tainted with memories of a similar scene taking place outside during last year's karaoke outing.

"Did I do anything stupid?" I asked her. "Do I need to apologize to anybody for anything?" No, she reassured me. She told me that while I was really drunk, I was still polite and fun, goofy even, and didn't get obnoxious or stupid. I had to ask her this several times before I started to believe her. Even now, I keep wondering if I should message my friends to apologize for my drunken state and to find out if there was anything else that I said or did that I should be apologizing for.

"Don't beat yourself up," she also told me. And I've been trying not to, but it's not easy. I keep thinking of dad. While I don't know if he often, or ever, had episodes where he lost chunks of time, I can't help but feel as if I was staring down that same pit of darkness that he faced and gave in to regularly. At thirty-eight years of age, and after numerous experiences with getting drunk, I had gotten to a point when I felt that I couldn't possibly be an alcoholic, that I had drinking under my thumb. That I didn't have a problem because I didn't get drunk regularly, that I didn't feel a need to drink, that I was fine because I didn't do A or B, or because of X, Y and Z. Then I have one night when I was simply ravenous, insatiable, with no memory whatsoever of most of the night, and I wake up scared and humbled.

That morning, I dumped out what little remained of the bottle of rum I consumed the night before. Then I went to our cupboard and refrigerator and disposed of the remnants of another bottle of rum, a bottle of wine and a bottle of vodka that we had. I still have a few beers left. Mica tells me that I'm different when it comes to beer, and I know what she means, because I feel and recognize the difference in my behaviors and habits when I drink beer versus drinking anything else more potent. But then I wonder if that's me still kidding myself, convincing myself that I don't have a problem. I'm not saying that I'm an alcoholic. I'm not saying that I'm not, either. But I do know now that I have a serious problem when I drink anything containing alcohol other than beer. I lose the ability to say 'no.' I lose any sense of control. Ravenous. Insatiable. Spiraling downward.

Why am I being so candid with this embarrassing subject? Why not stick to all the positive, fluffy stuff that goes on in my life? Why not post something about comics or a grainy video of me on Saturday butchering a song? I don't know. Perhaps to serve as a cautionary tale, though that sounds a bit arrogant and narcissistic on my part. Perhaps to give life to this situation, and to make solid the lessons. Maybe because I think to not talk about it would be furthering the cycle of denial that I've been in for years. Or maybe I'm just ranting, thinking out loud. Take what you will from this post.

-r-

Sif and Sammy: After Party

2009-10-30T17:40:00.001-10:00

Here's the next sequence of this story in progress, taking place immediately after the events depicted in this earlier post. This is all still in its rough stages and I anticipate many edits once I get through the whole story. Enjoy.

----------

"She's a bitch."

"Who?"

"Your new friend. Dee." Sif had her cigarette hanging out of her mouth while she scrambled eggs in a bowl. "She's stuck up."

I sipped from a cup of perfectly too-strong coffee (one of the few things that Sif and I agreed on was that coffee, by necessity, had to be extra strong). "Stuck up? What are you talking about? She's super cool, down to earth."

"And what was with her and her friend Lisa or Laura or whatever the fuck her name was, drinking all our beer, eating all our food and smoking all our shit, huh?" Her egg beating got more intense as she spoke.

"I thought her name was Laurie." Tony was sitting across from me, reading the Sunday funnies, for the most part oblivious to our conversation.

"Hey, they offered to chip in but Tony wouldn't take their money. Besides, it was just two people out of a total of, what, nine or ten of us that were here? They ate like birds."

"And smoked like fucking chronics." The pan sizzled as Sif poured the eggs into it.

"It's true, I said they didn't have to pay us."

"Shut the fuck up and go wake up your friends before it's too late."

Tony rolled his eyes and got up from the breakfast nook. "Yes, dear," he sighed giving me a wink. "Yo, guys, up and at 'em!" he shouted from the doorway before returning to his chair.

"Shit, I could have done that, dumb ass."

"Where are you guys headed today?"

"The guys have duty today so we have to drop them off back at the base. Then Sif and me were talking about going to the water park afterwards. You and your friends should come with us." We could see Sif shooting Tony the evil-eye from our periphery but neither of us paid any attention.

"Thanks but Dee's got work today so I was maybe going to meet her on her break."

"Aw, how sweet, Sammy's got a lil' girl friend now!"

"Damn, why you got to be such a bitch?" Tony shot back.

"Get used to it, honey. I'm a New Yorker, we're born like this." She dropped a plate of eggs, bacon and toast in front of each of us.

"She's right. She's was born like this."

"Next time make your own fucking breakfast, dick." Tony and I chuckled. "Are you going to wake your friends up or what?"

"Yo! Guys!" bellowed Tony, louder than before.

Sif grabbed him by his ear, twisting it, making him wince. "Get up from the table, walk into the other room, and wake them up. I'm not telling you again."

"Yes, dear," his eyes rolling as he got up.

"Two weeks and already you're whipped," I joked. Tony smiled and put a finger to his lip, as if to shush me. On his way out of the room, Tony tried to kiss Sif on the neck, but she squirmed away, looking irritated the whole way through their little dance.

"Thanks for breakfast."

"Yeah, no problem. After all that partying, I figured we could all use some real food in our stomachs." Sif sat down in Tony's seat across from me.

"I didn't even know they had a water park here."

"Shit, me neither till Tony told me about it. I guess it's pretty popular here."

"Go figure."

"You should come. It will be fun."

"Thanks, but nah, I need a mellow day today. Running around in the sun and hitting water slides doesn't sound like fun."

"You're frickin' boring, you know that?" She stamped out her cigarette as the guys shuffled in, bleary eyed and disheveled. "Serve yourself, guys. Plates are on the counter, silver ware in the top left drawer."

They all muttered 'thank you's' in turn as they dished out their food and shuffled back out the sliding door to eat in the yard. Tony grabbed his plate and joined them, trying again to kiss Sif on the neck. This time she let him. "Thanks for breakfast, hon. Me and the guys appreciate it."

"You're welcome, babe."

"You're just exuding those maternal instincts today, huh?" Sif casually flipped me the bird while she poured herself a cup of coffee. "I'm serious. You reminded me of your mom just then, serving up the troops."

"You take that back right now, you fucker." She sipped from her cup, sighing in delight. "How's your mom doing?"

"Okay, I guess. I haven't spoken to her in like a couple of weeks.”

“That's shitty. You should call her more often.”

“Yeah, I know. We just always end up fighting. I can only take so much of the crazy.”

“Shit, I hear that. But you're like all she's got now.”

“Yeah, I got it, lay off. She never liked you, so quit playing devil's advocate here,” I snapped. I don't know why this line of questioning got under my skin, but it did. "Sorry. I guess that I get sick of hearing her tell me how I never call enough. Didn't need to hear it from you, too."

"It's cool. I always thought your mom was a cunt, anyway." She took another sip from her coffee. You know who I miss? I miss your dad."

"Yeah, me too."

"He was super cool."

"Yeah."

"Remember when your parents took us camping that summer? Upstate somewhere. What was the name of that town?"

"Copake."
"Copake! Fucking hick town out in the frickin' boonies."

"Heh. That was a good time."

"Yeah, it was." Sif and smiled at each other, holding the look for a few seconds. This was the Sif I liked, the Sif who actually smiled, the Sif who exhibited warmth.

"You going to eat something?" I asked.

"Nah. Maybe I'll grab something on the road later. Had too much crap last night, not much of an appetite now. Stomach's feeling weird."

"Hangover?"

"Maybe. Think I'm losing my touch."

"Perish the thought."

(more to come...)

-r-

Bloodletting

2009-10-20T13:13:00.000-10:00

Today, for the first time in 10 years, I gave blood. I don't know why it's been so long since my last donation. In fact, I didn't quite realize that it had been 10 years until they pulled up my file and had an ancient address listed for me, with my last donation date showing as sometime in July of 1999.

Wow.

I used to give regularly, if not religiously, starting in high school, when we had a blood drive in our gym. Since then, I gave whenever I had the opportunity, which was pretty often since my college and every work place since then had regular blood drives. That continued through my migration to Hawaii, until one of my employers stopped holding regular blood drives. I gave at least a couple of times after that, as I remember taking the bus to the blood bank, but that soon stopped. 1999.

Since then, sad to say, it's been inconvenient for me to give blood. The blood bank is located on a busy road that's plagued by horrible traffic and little parking. Even when I took the bus there, it wasn't a pleasant experience, my mind rationalizing that it wasn't worth it. But I knew it was. I don't have any personal testimonials or know of any loved ones who could provide any tales about how donated blood saved their lives. But I know such stories exist. One just need read the paper or watch the nightly news to hear about tragic accidents or acts of violence that left their victims hospitalized, no doubt having lost a lot of blood.

The nurse who checked me in joking chided me for waiting so long between donations. I humbly and honestly mentioned the convenience factor, knowing full well that it didn't forgive the lapse. She informed me that the Windward Mall holds a blood drive every other Saturday. I'm eligible for my next donation on December 15. I'll be checking in with the mall to find out when their December blood drives are scheduled to be held, and sign up, hopefully making this a regular thing again. It's relatively painless and from check-in to snack time, it took less than 45 minutes. A small price to pay to help someone whose life may depend on it.

(Tried to include a pic of me with black armband covering the entry wound, but for some reason it wouldn't upload. You'll just have to check out my Facebook page, if you really want to see for yourself)

-r-

Sif and Sammy: A story in progress

2009-10-13T17:55:00.001-10:00

Despite a weird bug that's hit me and been playing havoc with my sleep patterns, as well as the demands of my day job (which fortunately seem to be winding down), I've been trying to get back into a regular writing routine by waking up a bit earlier during the week to crank some stuff out while my newly awake mind is still a relative blank slate. Monday was to have been my first day of this new routine, and I started out by reacquainting myself with a piece that I wanted to tackle, a short story featuring two characters, Sif and Sam, that I've grown quite fond of. Not to brag, but I was quite pleased with what I had already written, which of course further inspired me to get this story completed.

Elements of this story have existed in various forms for the better part of 10 years, but it's only been in recent months that the characters and their journey have really clicked for me. A couple of months ago I started pumping out several scenes, piecing together their story, surprising myself with how their personalities developed and where they were taking me.

Here's is a scene I wrote one day not too long ago. I've got a number of scenes that take place before this day already written and I'm getting ready to tackle what comes next. I don't have a title for it yet, not even a working one, so Sif and Sammy will have to do for now. In the meantime, check this out. Feel free to let me know what you think. Enjoy!

----------

We had scarcely arrived at our next home, our new workplace, when Sif declared that she was going out to get some beer and pick up Tony and “the guys.”

“Sif will be back in a jif,” she said, now her trademark closing line. The reality, I knew, was that she'd be gone for at least two hours, giving me some peace and quiet and free reign of a multi-million dollar beach house for a nice chunk of time.

Unlike the other two homes we stayed at, this one actually felt like it was only lived in part time. Furniture was minimal, functional, the decor, a mix of surf culture and memorabilia and early 20^th century art-deco-styled Hawaiiana, was sparse. The house was owned by the CEO of some tech company, a hideaway for he and his girlfriend, or, on occasion, his mother, to relax in, one of the two females possibly accounting for the Hawaiiana, I imagined.

Still, however barely lived in this place was, it was still just another exercise in excess. No less than five bedrooms, plus three others that could be bedrooms (or rented out as their own apartments, as huge as they were). Two huge decks that both looked out towards the ocean. Another that faced the hillside butted up against the property line. Four bathrooms, three of which had Jacuzzis in addition to the showers or baths already contained therein. Did I mention the pool? We're no more than fifty yards from the beach, yet the house has a huge heated and lighted pool shaped like a kidney. With another jacuzzi right next to it. And despite there being no real surf to speak of on this stretch of beach, there's a collection of fifty or so surfboards (I counted fifty-three, but may have counted some twice) peppered throughout the house.

Unnecessary. Redundant. Excessive. Why? What's this human need to amass so much “stuff?” Stuff that is holed away in a home that only sees life for about a month or two a year at best? What's this obsession with having more and bigger and more expensive and name branded and rarefied and fetishizeded? Status? Insecurity? Is this life, just one big pissing contest? Do we never really grow out of high school and the need to wear the hottest brands, and the coolest sneakers, lest we get laughed out of the cool kids clique?

I pondered this, surf art and the smell of the chlorinated pool, and the universe, as I smoked a joint in the backyard, when I'd heard footsteps in the brush behind me. Heavy, booted steps, their thunder muffled by the flora. Someone was walking down the hillside, coming towards the property.

I was sufficiently stoned that my paranoia and instincts for self-preservation were already dulled, so I just sat there waiting to see who would emerge from the wilderness, ready to accept my fate. Then I heard voices. Talking means more than one person. Two? Three? They sounded female. I tapped out my joint hurriedly.

“Should we even be back here?” asked one of the voices.

“It's either this or we walk all the way back up and around.”

“What if somebody's home? What if they have an attack dog?”

“I doubt it. Most of these homes are-” She stopped speaking as soon as she saw me watching them, like an antelope who realizes that she's caught in the gaze of a hunting lion. They were around my age, dirty and sweaty, apparently having hiked for some time and distance. The girl in the front, the lead antelope, had dark, wavy hair pulled back in a pony tail, her skin tanned. Her friend, the girl in the back, was pink like a tourist with her short blond hair covered with a blue ball cap. The lead antelope looked stunned but not scared. Pinky looked more on edge, her hand reaching out for her friend's shoulder.

As we all stood there frozen, staring at each other, I contemplated barking at them to get off of my property, or at least who the fuck they were and what they were doing here. Instead I said “Hi!” and asked them what's up, casually waving as if were neighbors both mowing our respective gardens, not realizing that I was waving with the hand that was holding the joint.

They immediately relaxed and unfroze. “Um, hi,” said the lead antelope, smiling slightly. “Sorry, but can we cut through your yard? We were just hiking the trail along the ridge up there, and thought we could make it down to the beach but instead ended up here.”

“It's cool. There's a path to the beach there through that gate,” I said using my joint hand to point to the side of the house. “Go for it.”

“Hey, thanks, eh!” The lead said, giving away her localness as they turned towards the gate. She and her friend walked a few steps, whispering to each other, when they stopped and turned towards me again. “Hey, sorry, but is it okay if we use your bathroom?”

I smiled. “Sure.” I went to point again, but realized that I didn't know where any of the five bathrooms were off the top of my head. “Follow me,” I said, walking towards the house, and they did, realizing that I wasn't going to eat them. We entered a sliding glass door that entered into one of the larger bedrooms, and there were two doors on either side, one leading out to the rest of the house, and the other, presumably to one of the bathrooms. I was stoned and disoriented from entering the room from a different angle, and wasn't quite sure which way to go. My pointer finger wavered between doorways, and the young women looked at me confused.

“You don't know where your bathroom is?”

“It's a large house.”

“Well, it's got to be one of these doors,” and the lead antelope took one door while Pinky took the other, only to have them both turn back around, realizing that neither lead to a bathroom. The lead antelope looked at me as if angered that I wasn't helping.

I walked towards Pinky's door. “Okay, okay, let's see... that one goes out to the hall, right?” as I made my way out to what was a sort of den with a large screen television, a coffee table, two recliners, and two surfboards perched on either side of the television. I recognized the room, and pointed to the far end of the room. “There it is,” I said, and Pinky shuffled past me. I turned back towards the lead antelope, and she looked at me with an incredulous smile.

“What?” I asked.

“Is this even your house?”

I chuckled. “Nope. I'm just house sitting. I've only been here like an hour.”

“Ohhhh...” She walked to one of the surfboards, inspecting the artist's signature.

“I'm Sam.”

“Oh, I'm sorry! I'm Dee. Denise. Whichever.” She was walking towards me with her hand outstretched. “Thanks for letting us use your bathroom, by the way. Laurie, my friend, has been needing to take a shit for the last mile or so.”

“You know I can hear you guys in here, right?” came Laurie's cry from behind the bathroom door.

“Oh relax, not like he wouldn't have figured it out when you're still in there ten minutes from now.”

“You guys visiting?”

“Well she is. She's on vacation, visiting me from the mainland. I live here.”
“Oh, a local girl?”

“Not quite. Been here like five years. You?”

“Been here about a month. My friend and I moved here to check things out, see where things go. Something different.”

“Wow, you sound like a pretty adventurous guy to pick up and move here 'just to check things out,' as you say,” accentuating my words with finger quotes.

“Nah. My friend's the adventurous one. I tend to just follow along in her path. Keep her out of trouble.”

“Where does your path take you?”

“Pardon?”

“If you weren't following your friend, where would you be going?”

“Good question.” And it was, I wasn't just saying that. I stood there thinking about it, when I caught myself slipping into that too deep cycle of thinking that those who are stoned succumb to. “Want some?” I asked, holding out the half-smoked joint.

She smiled. “Yeah, sure.” We headed back towards the backyard, and lit it up.

Denise, I learned, is a student at the University of Hawaii, earning a Masters of Science at their School of Ocean and Earth Science Techology (SOEST). She lives in Kaneohe, the next town over from where we are, works at a Borders bookstore by night, loves hiking, swimming, hates driving, listens to bands like Granddaddy and Cloud Cult, drinks beer but stays away from hard liquor, burns only on the weekends, has family in Seattle, Alabama, and Texas, but hasn't been back to see them in at least two years. Laurie... Laurie is from Texas, likes to drink, (a lot, Denise adds), never says no to a party, thinks Nickelback and Daughtry are unique and “fresh sounding,” only dates white guys but insists she's not racist, and once got so drunk drinking Jaegermeister that she passed out and woke up on a plane headed to New York with five thousand dollars in her pocket, and a diamond wedding ring on her finger. She still doesn't know how she got there or if she's really married or not.

“I'm hungry,” whined Laurie.

“You should be. You shit out your last day's worth of meals.”

              “Do you have any chips or anything?”
              “I don't know, you can check the kitchen. Otherwise, we brought some burgers and franks that we can cook up. We even have a couple of frozen pizzas and some taquitos and crap like that.”
              Dee's eyes lit up. “Wanna have a barbecue?” Within minutes, we had the grill going, cooking up hamburgers, hot dogs, and some frozen fish we found in a second freezer by the bar. Having found the bar, and seeing it to be fully stocked, Laurie had started going to town while Dee and I passed what was now our second joint back and forth between us while we cooked enough food to feed a school of surfers.

“How are those taquito thingys?” I asked, unwrapping an all meat topping pizza..

She was plucking them off the grill with a pair of tongs, dropping them onto an aluminum tray. “They're all done. You can drop the pizza down right there,” motioning towards a broad empty area on the grill.

“Booyah!” The pizza sizzled as I placed it on the grill, nary a shred of cheese or meat falling into the flames.

Dee closed the grill's lid. “That won't take very long, I don't think.” She inhaled deeply from the quickly diminishing joint. “It's almost done,” she wheezed through gritted teeth, still managing to inhale while doing so.

“It's cool, we've got lots more. We can roll another in a bit.” I took a hit, then exhaled slowly. “Laurie, you want anymore?” Laurie was dancing to some Motown in the den, unable to hear us.

“It's all us then,” said Dee, taking the stubby joint from my fingers. “You want a super,” she asked just before inhaling.

“A super?” I asked, as in Are you for real? She inahaled, and turned the joint around and clamped it gently between her teeth, the ember inside her mouth. She quickly motioned for me to come in closer, and I obliged, my lips pursing around the unlit end, inhaling deeply as she exhaled. Our lips were pressed against each other. I wasn't sure if this is her way of flirting with me or if it was just a good deed from one stoner to another. When I pulled away, she winked, answering my question. I exhaled through a smile.

“Where's the weed?” she asked. “I'll roll us a fat one.”

“Um... in a green duffel bag. In one of those rooms in there.”

“I'll find it.”

“Side pocket!” I called out after her. She gave me a shaka over her shoulder, acknowledging that she heard my last detail.

I slumped into a patio chair beside the grill, heavily stoned, basking in the remaining glow of the day, feeling remarkably content. Laurie mimed the Supremes. She definitely wasn't my type, neither physically or personality wise, but she was cool enough. I'm happy she was having fun while Dee and I connected. Dee. Denise. She swooped in from the mountainside, and turned a crappy set of circumstances into a remarkable day. A few short hours ago, I was ready to fly back home, or at least get away from here. Now I don't want to leave.

“Sam!” Dee was walking briskly out of the house towards me, bag of weed in hand. “A car just pulled up with a bunch of people.”

“Sif,” I said. “My friend's home.” It was five hours after she had left to pick up beer and the guys, and I had all but forgotten about her, enveloped in the haze of weed and the butterflies of getting to know Dee. I walked inside the house briskly, zig-zagging through the house, instinctively knowing the right way to go, despite my earlier confusion, and got to the front door just as she was entering, her entourage in tow. “Hey, where the hell've you been?”

“Do you realize how far Schofield is?” she grunted, dragging in four or five shopping bags, a couple on each arm.

“We stopped for some groceries, too.” Tony pushed passed me, carrying two cases of beer. “Where do you want these, babe?”

“Just bring them out back. Jeez, Sam, you want to help me with these or what?” I quickly stepped into gear, grabbing most of the bags from her, as we headed towards the kitchen.

“Hey, can I help with anything?” Dee was standing in the doorway in front of us.

“Who's this?”

“This is my friend, Denise.”

“Friend? Never heard of her before today.”

“Hey, babe! We got some chick dancing back here!” came Tony's bellow.

“And that would be Laurie. Denise's friend.”

Sif plopped the remaining grocery bags she was holding onto the kitchen counter. “What the fuck is this? I leave for an hour and you throw a fucking party?”

“An hour, Sif? I could have flown back to New York in the time you were gone. Besides, what's it to you if I have some friends over? Not like you ask my permission when you bring over your entourage.”

“Maybe we should go,” said Dee sheepishly.

“Dee, it's all good, stay awhile. I was just caught off guard, that's all.” Sif popped open a beer and tried to hand it to Dee.

Dee looked towards me as if to ask for my approval, before taking the brown bottle in her hand. “Sure, thanks,” she said smiling.

“We're square?.”

“We're square.” They clinked their bottles together. World War III was averted. The universe was at peace, again.

“Babe, something's burning on the grill.”

“Oh shit, the pizza!” Dee and I run towards the backyard, past a still dancing Laurie, out to the backyard to see Tony using the tongs to grasp a crispy black disk of what was once cheese and dough, plucking it from it's fiery death chamber, wondering where to put the smoldering carcass.

“Pizza on the grill, Sammy? What the hell, are you stoned?”

“Whoops,” was all I could say. The blackened pizza crumbled to the ground, leaving Tony holding an empty pair of tongs. Tony's friends were now dancing with Laurie, making like The Four Tops. Dee unsuccessfully tried to stifle a laugh.

“Shit, you guys are stoned.” Dee, displaying puppy dog eyes, held up the baggie. Sif smiled. “Let's get this party started, then.”

And we did.

-r-

YouTube Tuesday

2009-10-13T17:38:00.002-10:00

Despite the title of this post, I don't think YouTube Tuesday's will be a regular themed day here, but I did come across (or was actually forwarded) two videos today that I thought were pretty cool and wanted to share:

The first one, is corporate sponsored, but it's a neat social experiment that was done in Sweden:

Now if we can only find a way to make flossing, scrubbing the bathroom and doing taxes fun, we'd be all set.

Then there's this one. If this doesn't give you chills or make you tear up even a little, then you, my friend, have no soul:

Hope you enjoyed!

-r-

A Taste of Puerto Rico, pt. 2

2009-10-04T14:15:00.001-10:00

As promised, here are some photos of the food we ate at A Taste of Puerto Rico yesterday:

L-R: Fried yellow plantains, beef & cheese empanadilla, banana acapurria, plate of chicken, bacalao salad, arroz con gandules and pastele.

Fried yellow plantains. They're sweet! And a nice balance to all the savory stuff on the menu. I haven't seen this at any other place here on the island.

Acapurria, made with a green banana masa filled with meat and then fried. Sure, it looks like a turd here, but it's really tasty. Another dish I'd never seen here in Hawaii before, outside of my own kitchen.

My plate, consisting of (L-R) arroz con salsicha (yellow rice with Vienna sausage), bifstek with onions (grilled, marinated steak), and habichuelas (stewed beans), which I had served both on top of my rice and on the side.

And finally, their glorious menu. We asked for a take-out menu to bring home, but they were all out, so I did the next best thing and took a picture of the menu they had on display. Check it out, they have malta!

-r-

A Taste of Puerto Rico

2009-10-03T18:40:00.001-10:00

A few months after I first moved to Hawaii, I was pleasantly surprised to learn that there was a history of Puerto Ricans migrating to the islands dating back about a hundred years or so. They came over to work the sugar cane fields, alongside other immigrants to the region. As such, you can find some Puerto Rican food here. Not as ubiquitous as say Chinese food or Korean food, nor of the diversity of going to Puerto Rico, or even several mainland cities, but you can at least find pasteles, gandules rice (arroz con gandules), and sometimes empanadas. On some occasions, you can find cars or vans pulled over on the side of the road, selling these items. And you can even find pasteles in a couple of local-style take-out restaurants. There are even two Puerto Rican take-out places right in Honolulu. But what I've found with all these versions of Puerto Rican staples is that they're a local version of these dishes, evolved and filtered through generations of Hawaiian and plantation culture. They're not bad, per se, and in fact they're pretty good. But... they're not quite right.

(Side story: As I've discussed previously, I've taken a great amount of time recreating arroz con gandules and fine-tuning my recipe to the point where I can say that not only is it good, but it's pretty darn near authentic, if it's not 100% there. I attended a party some years ago and brought a big pot of the rice. Overheard were a few older, local women asking what was in that pot, and when they tasted it, saying aloud "that's not gandules rice!" Our friend pointed out to them that I made it, and that I was Puerto Rican. Needless to say they were surprised. But they were right, in part... it wasn't the gandules rice that they were used to eating.)

So though I've been able to get my fix of PR food at food establishments here and there, I've always felt a little short changed. The two major places in Honolulu are both decent enough, but I'd been hearing a buzz about a place clear across the island in a town called Ewa Beach. From where I live, it's a good 30 to 45 minutes worth of driving, which is probably what's kept me from going sooner. The place: A little restaurant called A Taste of Puerto Rico. The verdict: Holy shit, this place is incredibly good.

The first hint that this would be good was when a friend had told me her husband loved the place and said that "it was like home." Her husband grew up in Puerto Rico, so that's a pretty bold claim. They lived up to it. Easily.

First of all, the menu contained more variety than the other restaurants I've been to here. While those places tend to focus on pasteles, and white or gandules rice, with a few other sides such as empanadas or meat dishes to accompany the aforementioned rice and pasteles. A Taste of Puerto Rico had gandules rice, white rice, and unexpected, arroz con salsicha (yellow rice w/ vienna sausage). Wow. In addition, they had a selection of about 4 different meats, pasteles, empanadas with a variety of fillings (including guava & cheese!), and they even had habichuelas (stewed beans) and accapurrias(!), which is meat encased in a masa of yucca or green banana, then fried. The selections of meat and salad change each day, as well, which is a pleasant change from the other locales with a static menu. Makes me wonder all the more what dishes one can find on other days of the week (and I aim to find out!). As the girl behind the counter lifted each cover, showing us today's selections, I had the hugest smile on my face, not sure where to begin. When I bit down into my first bite of food, I wanted to break down and cry tears of joy.

I can't begin to describe how good the food was. And to echo my friend's husband's statement, this is like home. This took me back to the dishes my mom would make regularly, or even what family in Puerto Rico would cook during one of my visits there. This took me back to the several times my cousins would take me out for a drive and we'd end up at a little hole-in-the-wall with some of the best food one can imagine having. A Taste of Puerto Rico is not a local, filtered version of PR food, nor is it someone's interpretation of the cuisine. This is as authentic as it gets. Seriously. The only thing that makes me happier than the fact that we found this place is knowing that we've got leftovers that I'll be having for dinner very shortly.

I would have taken pictures of the food, but I was too busy, um, eating. Fortunately Mica did take a few photos of our plates, though, so maybe I'll post those later.

And if you're reading this from Hawaii, or happen to visit the islands, please check this place out and give them your business. They're located at 91-2072 Old Fort Weaver Road in Ewa Beach. Their phone number is 681-1100, and they're open every day except Sundays, from 10:30 am till 6:00 pm.

Normally, this would the the type of place that I'd want to keep to myself, but I'd rather announce their existence to the world if it ensures that they get a lot of traffic and stick around for years to come.

And on that note... I've got some leftover arroz con salsicha, bifstek and an empanada calling my name. All this writing about their delicious menu has my stomach growling.

-r-

"Night People" (working title), from the 9/19/09 writing retreat

2009-09-30T20:49:00.000-10:00

    "Farewell," she said.
   I raised an eyebrow. "Farewell? That sounds so... so final."
   She looked away and twirled her hair, her silence telling me everything I needed to know. "Go," she urged. "You're going to miss your train."
   One last hug and off I ran to catch that train. Scared. Excited. Single-minded. I was leaving behind my entire world. I was leaving her. I thought she would understand. It was clear that she didn't.
    I took the stairs two-by-two as I heard the whistle and the doors of the train car slide shut. "Wait!" I called out, hoping to catch the conductor's attention. "Wait!" (It was then, as I was running, that it struck me how cinematic this must look: Running for the last train out of town, a new beginning within my reach.) "Wait!" I called out yet again, running alongside the train. I swore the conductor must have heard me that time as I pounded on the side of his car.
    But my duffel bag got caught on a column, whipping me around and down onto the concrete platform. Wind knocked out of me, I sat there, watching my train leave me behind. Now what? The ticket counters are all closed at this hour. The snack bar is closed. Even the sidewalk performers have packed up and gone home.
   Except, that is, for one: an older male with a newsboy cap working on a portrait, his portable studio set up near the end of the platform. Nobody's sitting for him, he's just painting. With nothing else to do but wait, I dust myself off, casually walk over to him with my undoubtedly bruised legs, making like I belong here, like I didn't just make a huge scene tumbling to the ground while trying to stop an unstoppable force.
    The portrait is of a young girl with braids. His daughter? I wonder. Grandaughter? Around him I see other portraits propped up, leaning against the wall or his beat-up trunk. He paints with a steady, fearless hand. I get the impression that he's been doing this for quite some time. At least he makes it look that way.
    "Want me to paint your portrait, son?" he asks me. "I usually charge twenty dollars, but after your embarrassing display back there, I'll only charge you ten." He didn't laugh or smile or even look up from his painting while he snarked on me. He just kept at his portrait.
    "You saw that, huh?"
    "Saw it, heard it, felt it. That was some ruckus. So portrait or no portrait." His eyes still never looked up.
    "I'll pass. Thanks." I looked around, assessing my surroundings, trying to figure out what to do or where to go. Empty of people and activity, the train station felt vast, and me, suddenly so insignificant.
    "Bathroom is downstairs. Snack bar is down there, too, but they're closed now. But there are a couple of vending machines past the bathrooms, before the pay phone. I just looked at him, not sure where his outburst of information came from. "Sorry, people at this hour always ask."
    "Thanks," I say. "So who are all these folks?" I ask, pointing to the line-up of portraits around him. They almost seemed like his audience. Like me.
    "People whose trains came and they took off before they could pay. Or people I've seen pass through here and wanted to paint. A little of both."
    I nod, still looking around. Should I walk around? Maybe find a comfortable bench and try to fall asleep? Riiiiight. Who knows who'll take advantage of the clean-cut guy from the suburbs asleep at the big city train station. Should I get a cup of coffee somewhere? Make myself stay up till morning, when the trains are running again, and the ticket counters reopen? Sure.
    I feel my cell phone buzz in my pocket. It's a text message. From her. "Good luck," it says.
    I should reply. No, I should call her. Tell her I missed the train, ask her to pick me up so we can spend another night together, prolong the hurt, have another fight or two or three, see who'll cry first or shout something we don't mean. Riiiiight. "Thanks," I text back, punctuated with a smiley. A few seconds later she smiles back.
    I make my way downstairs, coffee on my mind. On the way down, I sidestep a sleeping homeless man who I hurtled on my way up earlier. He's snoring loudly and I'm surprised I didn't hear him till now. At the base of the stairs a group of high school aged kids with faux-hawks, lip rings and distended earlobes hang out, smoking their cigarettes, openly drinking their cheap beer, not caring about adults or authority.
    They watch a drunk couple across the street arguing about an alleged infidelity, though I can't quite tell who cheated on who. An apparent drug dealer skulks in a shadowed corner, watching me and every potential customer who comes into view, while the squeaky wheels of an old woman's shopping cart provides the underlying harmony to all this as she goes from trash can to trash can looking for empties.
    These people aren't around during the day, at least not wearing these faces. These are night people, living without sun, their lives moving to a different soundtrack than most of the world. Like an anti-matter universe of drunkenness and debauchery, secrets and lies, lost hopes and missed opportunities.
    I feel a small pang of fear, realizing that I don't belong here. I find the vending machine that dispenses coffee and make my way back upstairs, again gravitating towards the old man painting portraits of nobody.

(to be continued?)

-r-

Writing Retreat

2009-09-30T20:45:00.000-10:00

On Saturday, September 19, I attended my first writing retreat. I really can't believe that it was my first one. I've been reading mentions of this particular retreat, which takes place monthly, for some years now, but never had the time or the guts to check it out. So this time I finally took the proverbial plunge, and it was a great experience.

Now while I've never been to a retreat before, I had taken part in a couple of meetings of an informal writing group consisting of a few friends with disparate writing specialties (two poets, a song writer, and myself, a fiction writer). It was fun, but it didn't last due to conflicting schedules and all the other usual reasons regular gatherings stop being regular. But that had to be about ten years ago. Since then, I've been living in a writer's vacuum, you might say, as with the exception of one person, I don't really hang out with any writers, 'talking shop' or sharing my work and whatever it is that writers do when we're amongst our own kind.

It's cliche to say that writing is a lonely experience, but for the most part it is. At least the actual act of writing itself is lonely. Nobody can help you fill that page but yourself. But there are so many writing groups and communities out there, both in real time and online, that writers have so many ways to reach out to other writers and be themselves, not having to worry about anybody not understanding where you're coming from or what you're experiencing because they're all writers going through the same things you are. If there was just one thing that I got out of that retreat, it was that. That writing doesn't have to be lonely.

We started out with introductions, then went through a couple of quick writing exercises to flex the mind and get us warmed up. Then she gave us a topic, a theme, for us to use as a launching pad. In this case, she started with a painting called "Night People" and then pointed out about seven other paintings around the room. She had us look at them, take them in, and write. Write whatever the hell we wanted to write, whether it was a critique of the paintings, a story about one (or all) of them, or just running with whatever our gut reaction was upon looking at these paintings. The sky was the limit, and our imaginations were the pilots.

She stopped us after a few minutes, gave us a new prompt that we could incorporate somehow into what we were writing or choose to ignore, then let us continue writing for a few more minutes before she interjected again with something else to chew on. After several more minutes, she stopped us all and let us go wherever we wanted to go on the campus (this was at a community college) to write whatever we wanted to write, whether it was expanding on the current exercise or something else entirely, including works in progress. In an hour we reconvened, broke up into groups of four, read aloud to each other what we had worked on, and commented on each others works using the Elbow technique.

I must say, reading your stuff aloud, whether or not you have an audience, is a great way to work out any kinks in your sentence structure and grammar. And having other people, perfect strangers at that, comment on your work, is priceless. I'll surely be going to future retreats and I already have the October 24th retreat marked on my calendar.

As far as what I wrote? Check out my next post after this one. It's not great, and it's in a pretty raw state, but I figured I'd share it here. For the most part it's untouched from what I wrote and read at the retreat, though I did rephrase some sentences that sounded weird when I read them aloud.

For you writers out there, if you have an opportunity to go to a retreat, I strongly suggest that you try to go. I admit, I was scared to go at first, but once there I quickly realized that there was no ego at this group, it was just about writers being among other writers. It was fun, enlightening and inspiring.

-r-

"Stop me if you've heard this one before..."

2009-09-17T14:01:00.003-10:00

I observed a guy delivering flowers to our office building today, and inevitably, as he walked in, someone said "Oh, are those for me?"

I feel for those guys. I bet they must hear that line like a million times a day, each time spoken like it was original.

-r-

I can see clearly now

2009-09-15T17:50:00.000-10:00

So after waiting a little longer than expected, I finally got my regular contacts, and I have to say that I like them. I'm still getting used to my face without glasses, occassionally motioning to push my absent glasses up on my nose, or attempting to remove them before I go to put in eye drops. Also still getting used to the process of putting them in my eyes in the first place. Some mornings I have no problems at all; other mornings, like today, I struggle for several minutes.

Then sometimes during the course of my day I find myself checking in the mirror to make sure they're still in place, paranoid that they've fallen out somehow without me noticing. But then I see the faint ring of the lenses around my pupils, and I'm momentarily reassured. But it's those same moments when I physically see the lenses that I become acutely aware that I have a clear plastic disc sitting upon each of my eyeballs, and though I washed my hands moments before putting them in my eyes, I remember that I touched a faucet handle that may be contaminated with something or other (perhaps spray from the flushing toilet), or maybe my finger tips have dust from the contact lens case on them, and wait, is that something floating in the solution? I bet the lenses damp surface is prime for collecting dust and microbes in the time it takes to remove them from the solution and get them in my eyes.

There's so much that I envision that can go wrong, if it already hasn't without my knowledge.

>sigh<

Paranoia will destroy ya.

-r-