Tag Archives: serenity

3 out of 5 Dentists Recommend Hawaii

State FlagOver a month ago, I had lost a tooth.  I didn’t misplace it or do shady transactions with a meth addict.  It was thanks to a busted filling and an infection, resulting in my tooths removal from his gummy home.  Goodbye molar.  You will be surely missed.

I never understood why we only have two sets of teeth.  In a biological sense I do.  But a serious toothache can lead to a slew of health risks, possibly death.

So why do sharks have an endless surplus of teeth?  Besides using driftwood as toothpicks, all they do is eat and grow teeth.  Mako and I found a humpback carcass near the sandbar, wanna come?  Nah, just gonna swim around and grow teeth.  Sharks are show-offs. Continue reading 3 out of 5 Dentists Recommend Hawaii

White Noise

Photo Credit: SoundcloudI’ve been downloading mashups from Soundcloud for years now. Covering the majority of genres of popular music and songs, it is unequivocally my favorite form of discovering new tunes. Consider the arresting vocals of John Lennon layered with the rugged riffs from Rage Against The Machine. Or Reggae inspired covers of Tupac with Disco paced bass lines. With an extensive amount of professional and amateur Djs, they’ve offered me the ability to fall in love with the songs I’ve always admired all over again.

Beyond the surface of the audible intent, the creativity and expression of it’s proclaimed mixers is to be marveled. When the earbuds are plugged in and the Playlist set to SoundCloud, a one block walk for groceries Continue reading White Noise

The Times They Are a-Changin’

A conversation with a friend, lead to tears of laughter. I’ll tell you why. Facebook chat was on the fritz with this friends computer. Or so I thought. Through back on forth wall posts and comments, doing my best to help, it was discovered the culprit was not Facebook or the computer. It was the computer illiterate female user. I added “female” in hopes of a more empathetic understanding but bigotry is one of my little side talents.

In the midst of social media, where wall posts, IMs, Tweets, texts, sexts and Words With Friends are the norm for communication, I decides to “call” her. I know, weird.  Who the hell makes calls? One step closer to the big crescendo. I walk her through, finding the “Go Online” link. She finds it. All is good.

Crack open a brewsky and fire up the hibachi, Houston we have lift off. She’s ecstatic, and sending many thank yous my way. I gracefully send my sarcasm, carefully wrapped with a honi honi (kiss kiss), and conclude the phone call saying, Good it’s working, I’m going to hang up the phone and jump on Facebook Chat.
Tears of laughter.
Today, I communicated with at least 15 different people from the cushions of my home. None of them were on the phone. Okay…one of them was my mom. The times are changing, leaving Alexander Graham Bell, to turn in his grave. This is the world we live in today. Drowning in technology, swimming against pixel-ized acronyms. omg. lol. wtf. hijklmonp. Facebooking at opposite ends of the couch. Or the bar. Or in bed, lying side by side and giggling as if you tied someones shoelaces together.

Humor me. Leave a comment here, or share this on FB and Twitter. If you’re 29 going on 13, slap it on your Myspace. Whatever you do, don’t call me on my phone. That would be utterly ridiculous.

Love Hate

waiksnight

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.

12 Years New

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.

Orange Moon

orange moon

Returning to my home of all homes, there are many things that will always remain constant. Besides the ever growing ohana, the chickens that crow at two o’clock in the morning, the extremely vocal cows, the harmonious stray dog chorus and a town that goes silent at sundown. Surrounded by pasture lands, macadamia nut farms, and reformed sugar cane fields that now serve up silky smooth robust ka’u coffee beans and the hide and go seek pakalolo patch, this home of all homes is blanketed by a crisp night sky, littered with millions of unvisited stars

and an abnormally bright white moon.

The white moon is no more. Well, at least for now. Peles thick sulfuric dioxide, a.k.a. VOG, partnered with our trademark trade winds, now sufficate the lower half of Hawaii. Yup, choke choking. That makes complete sense if you speak pidgin. For the past week and half, I’ve been speaking hoarse “Ka’u” Pidgin under an orange moon. Very creepish, when you add in the pitch black surroundings of country nightfall. Also, unwanted random sounds seem to amplify themselves. Yeah, dakine sounds that make you tweak your neck saying “what the fuck was that!” in your head over and over.

This orange tainted moon made me realize I’m still scared shitless of the dark. And I’m not talking about not having the living room light on at night. I’m speaking of the blackness in between the forest of mac nut trees, and dirt roads that lead to more blackness. If you see me in Ka’u, I’ll be the one winding up the battery-less flashlight at 7pm. Ready for the orange moon.