Sunday II

Just slashed my finger open while cleaning the cuisinart blade. Cleaning is dangerous.

It's raining hard. Perfect timing. My poor garden was dying. Luckily the rains held until after the Hui Wa`a Championships yesterday.

And ... we missed scoring by two seconds. As usual, we were two seconds behind the next canoe. There have been so many two-second Sundays this year; if any one of them had gone differently we'd be in.

This time, though, it was a B Team that beat us. Imua. They haven't been scoring at all all season, and suddenly there they were at the finish. I asked where they came from ... and it turns out they moved their B Team up for this race. 'Cause it wasn't enough to win their division, right?

But Windward Kai beat us solidly yesterday, by ten seconds. In the end we tied with them and Manu Kai for third. It's cool that they're going to States, and fair. But ahhh we were so close.

Cleaning Day

I'm not leaving the studio until it's clean.

I don't know how this happens. I did a deep cleaning at the beginning of the season, and you'd think it would have lasted. But not in an old house in the tropics, not with three cats, not with me living there.

I had a decent weekend, so I feel alright in sacrificing a Sunday - my first free on in months. I actually turned off the alarm and slept in.

Until all of 8:30 am. Damn circadian rhythms.

Egypt Redux

I realized today that I never got around to posting my photos from Egypt. Now they're up!

And once again time has tempered my memories. Looking at my photos there's a certain amount of "wow ... I was there!"

Ah, but that hassle. I'd still like to see Alexandria, Siwa, and the desert Oases ... but not so badly that I would go back to Cairo to get there. Maybe if N. was there it the city would be more interesting, and less grating. Or maybe if they had a revolution and through off their mafia-style dictatorship.

The Sinai, on the other hand, I would go back to gladly and without hesitation.

iFold

Enough already. I give up. I want an iPhone.

But I'm already feeling behind the curve, because I just browsed the website and I have no idea what they're talking about. I have basic questions (real basic, like: how does it work? how much will it cost?) that I can't even answer.

So frakkin' geezer already. I need someone to hold my hand and walk me through this.

Last Week of Regatta Season

Kamehameha Men's Novice A: Lucas, Aka, Mark, Joe, Adam (open), MC

Not in Pic: Scott, Eli

Two more days until the Hui Wa`a Championships ... and we're in a three-way run to place for States. Beach Boys and Kamamalahoe are in; the third spot could go to us, Windward Kai, or Manu O Ke Kai. Everything is coming down to the wire on Saturday.

Of course we're going to get our asses creamed if we actually make it to States, so it'll be a mixed blessing.

I emailed the above pic to some friends; in return D__ sent me this from a hula they did at Kalani Honua ...

... and I'm keeping it as Exhibit A for the Defense next time someone tries to tell me that O`ahu is ruined and that Puna is the "Real Hawai`i."

Speaking Softly

I got the best compliment this morning. It's time for our Neighborhood Board to elect officers, and Mrs. ___ is lining up votes to get me in. I'm being rather passive about it. I've got my issues (or rather, one singular issue: I want my bike paths!), but I have no interest in all the inside political games. The Board is a classic example of how the people with least power (us) will fight the most viciously over it.

But tonight I'm ready to be a punk. I even dressed up nice to mitigate the impact. I'm tired of the Chair letting the meetings wander all over the place, and I'm tired of devoting an hour each meeting listening to the Divas getting run-downs from the police on every Joe who stubs their toe in Kapi`olani Park.

So. I let Mrs. ___ know that I'd be calling points of order every time the Divas get us off track. Oh you do that, she said. Your good at that. You speak so softly and nicely, no one realizes until after that you were making fun of them.

Troll Kitten

I was seconds away from drifting off to a well-earned deep sleep when I heard the sounds of bones being chewed, coming from under my bed.

My studio has been a kill-zone for the past couple months. Grasshopper, my sweet little girl kitty has gotten out of control. Usually it's just lizards and tree frogs. She brings them in, lets them loose, and then plays catch-and-release until they die. Most dry out, and so all I have to clean up is a mummified husk. Some ... ahem ... plump up and ripen in the heat.

Last night it was birds. Three, by my count. I had already found one corpse by the computer, and thought that was it. But at a few minutes to midnight I realized that she had kept a few on reserve for late-night snacking. I peeled back the corner of my futon, looked down, and it was feathers and bones and drops of blood everywhere.

I'll start calling her Gollum. She's so sweet when daddy's looking, and so blood-thirsty when he's not.