An audible disarray of hundreds of pairs of slippers, sneakers, and heels shuffle while mobile devices utter their faint and recognizable chimes. The hot Hawaiian breeze is infused with senseless chatter. The people, many. The line, long. And the solar beast in the sky is having a bake fest. Note to self, bring a fucking umbrella. Because it’s not raining. Continue reading Godzilla 2014
Amongst peaceful scenic views, there is disharmony in my ears. And it’s very loud. I battle this boom of dramatic whining, with my imaginary mp3 player. I fucking forgot to pack my Zune, so I have to pretend jam to Aerosmith with my air guitar. And with no earbuds to plug my human sonar, I am tossed in the mecca of dramaville, without a life vest.
Thank goodness for blogs.
“Issues” are wherever you take them. People that jump ship and ditch locations in hopes of a better situation, have yet to understand that. But for some reason, Big Island inhabitants believe it’s cooler if you have more. And it’s way cool to share issues to anyone and everyone, AND their pet goat. It’s like they hoard an inventory of “one up” stories of struggles, ready at their disposal. Because if you’re miserable, then it’s cool. No, choice. Continue reading Choice
Life is truly amazing. It hands you certain individuals that totally blows you away. I’m talking about people that do things that absolutely stand out from the crowd. The Philanthropist. Mr. or Mrs Aloha. The Extreme Optimist. The Happy Drunk. The Comic. And the ever loving individual that provokes the common response; what did you just say? Example…
a: Which came first, the chicken or the egg?
b: You’re stupid. I’m not falling for those trick questions. Chickens don’t lay eggs.
a: What did you just say?
b: What? Chickens don’t lay eggs.
a: (in sarcastic tone) Oh mighty genius, please oh please humble me in your wisdom and tell me what lays the eggs.
b: It’s the hen that lays the eggs…right?
a: Yes, the hen lays the eggs. *sigh* And a hen is what animal?
b. I dunno? Aren’t hens, hens? Stop it you’re confusing me.
a: (with pistol hand gesture, pointed at temple with firing thumb and recoil) Shit, it’s too late for that. You confused yourself a long time ago. A hen is a female chicken. Holy fuckballs.
b. Sorry blonde moment!!
a: Your life is a blonde moment.
You must treasure those special moments of mild retarded-ness, that magically blossoms in front of you. Even ones that involves hens. Or is it a chicken?
Please note, I have nothing against retards. Or blondes.
The setting, Waikiki. The time, 6:30pm. The surf conditions, consistent 2-4ft, light to no wind, and a bright ass full moon. Forget the towering hotels, the eloquently dressed tourists in their matching $7.00 aloha shirt and surf shorts, the jamming sounds of Fiji under a 35 foot movie screen and completely forget the cash cow of the State of Hawaii. Tonight, it was all about the surf. Night surf. People think I’m crazy that I announce to go night surfing. But those who’ve experienced the “surfing blind” or to “surf using the Force” method, knows at
times it can rival a solid mid-day session.
Sometimes you’ll find yourself in a situation, wishing you had a camera. I would have gave my left nut for a waterproof one that had night vision video capability. Of course, I would process the images and video then ask for my left nut back. Sorry, I’m stingy with my nuts. But I’ll do my best, to paint a picture with words. Be cautious with my random brush strokes. You might lose a nut.
I recruited many. Only one made it. And she’s a six foot ninja. I tell her, we’ll be surfing blind tonight. Then I’ll surf with both my eyes closed, she says. Completely fearless. I could utter condition quality all day. But non-ocean people wouldn’t understand. Here is my best attempt. Factor in wind speed, tide height, wave size, consistency, ambient city and moon lighting, and crowd numbers. When all of these are “in tune” and working in your favor, you’ve got a condition surfers call “EPIC”. This is the Love.
There is a universal law of balance, although undesirable, that stands as a necessity so that karma can still have a 9 to 5. I refer to the overcrowded beach breaks. The artificial “Aloha Spirit”, that is so artificial, quotation marks are a must. The over commercialized one mile stretch of touristy deals that suit your fancy and high priced after sun aloe lotion. The random repugnant piss smell, thanks to the houseless inhabitants. Finally, a beach that screams “If you don’t replace my sand every five years, I’m going to fucking disappear.” Sure, acknowledgement of my opinionated statements are by choice. They are definitely pessimistic. But there’s is a fine line between turning a blind eye, and seeing what something is for what it is. And it is what it is.
Waikiki. Hawaii’s bankroll, sitting on crying ‘aina that delivers virtuous recreation in it’s tranquil overcrowded waters. Love hate.
The One Hundred Twenty Inch Project
I took it upon myself, to FINALLY fix up a twelve year old, 10’0″ longboard that has been collecting dust. Poor girl had dings up the ying yang and hasn’t been ridden in years. This baby has been to hell and back. She got her center skeg, box included, ripped out. Twice. Flew off the back off a truck, going uphill. And stored in the most redonkulous of places. A UH apartment, someones pool shed, and a strip clubs dressing room.
Items Used: adhesive remover; spray paint; putty knife; bondo putty; sandpaper; 1 pack Camel non menthols (not shown).
Stripping off old wax was easy. Taking off years of gunk from duct tape was a bitch to do.
Caution: The adhesive remover I used was professional grade and cut through duct tape residue like butter. But it burns through fiberglass so wipe it off quickly. Also do not get it on your skin because it hurts like a MOTHERBITCH!!
I patched the dings with Bondo Putty instead of SolarRez. Trust me it works. Then sanded the putty when it hardened.
I used all colors of paint at my disposal. I ended up going with this blue variant. It’s actually engine enamel. Able to withstand up to 400 degrees Fahrenheit. Just in case barreling Lava comes my way.
I still need a creative design to spray, that I’m satisfied with, for the top of the board. But there she is. More or less, fully restored. 10 hours of elbow grease or an hour per foot. In all of her sexy ass blue.