Many Things Going On...

Really...can anyone relate?!?

Of course you can. If you've been alive for the last month, 'change'--the moniker greatly overused for the last 24 months, is actually coming true. There have been a lot of changes. For one thing--with all the problems that this country is in, it's nice to see that the President feels comfortable in taking some time off to party with Stevie Wonder. I wish I had the time. Well, I did get to go back to Hawaii for a week. But of course, I don't have my own jumbo jet or tricked out helicopter, so I guess he still trumps me. Ah well, I'm not in a race with him.

Speaking of Hawaii, I did get a chance to lay out in the sun for awhile.Got some color back to my face. Which is a good thing. tend to 'white out' when I don't get a lot of sun. It's not uncommon for most people. It just doesn't look right on me. Fo' real. So much so that my wise-cracking niece or nephew take sarcastic pleasure in voicing their opinion. Hmm...opininated sarcasm~wonder where they get that from?

In those brief moments of enjoying the beautiful sands and calm, clear waters of Ko Olina, Cove 2, I was able to reset some buttons in my life. There aren't a lot of times that people get a chance to do that. Some people call it 'alone time'; others take sabbaticals; whatever your preference, I suggest you take some time off to reset yourself.

I have this neighbor~she lives next door. Her name is Carmella. I ran into her one afternoon coming up the stairs and helped her carry this baby in a stroller that she was pulling up the first flight. She was pleasant. Welcomed me to the building, and told me that I looked like the baby's physical therapist. 'He's black and dominican-you look just like him,' she said.

Wow. Okay. I usually get filipino or mexican.

I've seen her a few more times since. Each time, walking up the steps with the baby who's therapist I resemble. "Did I tell you that you look like his therapist?" she says.

Yes, maam I say. (Rolling my eyes on the inside) I brush it off as her friendly awkward banter. She doesn't know me and she's trying to make convesation, I think. That's nice.

So I get home tonight and see a UPS note on my door. I fumble with my bag, mail, groceries and my bundled up body to get in. I notice as I get in the door that the note says that Carmela accepted the package.

That's sweet. It's almost 7:45pm, and I don't know if she's already sleeping. So I close the door behind me and settle in for the night. Maybe I'll see her in the morning on the stairs. If not, I'll get it after work tomorrow, is what i'm thinking.

I'm in the middle of CSI:Las Vegas. The new one with Cowboy Curtis. I haven't invested any energy into his character, but Catherine Willows (Marge Helgenberger) is my favoite person...I love her snarky smile. I'm jealous. It's a smile I'm trying to master. My doorbell rings.

Hard.
RING, RING, RING, RING!!

What the hell!?! That better not be that South Korean grandma, or I swear...(see previous blog for the joke)

Oh no, it's not Cha--but it is Carmela...in her Bronx version mu'u...and she looks completely annoyed.

Uh, Hi, I say.

"So what, you don't want your package?! You're not gonna come get it?! Next time I won't accept it for you then!," she spits out. She said it all in one breath. I was surprised that she had the lung capacity for that much air at one time. She also said it in a tone as if I'd taken her away from her Fashion meetings or from teaching her make-up application classes.(Obvious sarcasm) At this point, I wasn't sure whether I should cuss her out, ignore and politely thank her and get the box, or slingshot Goliath in the forehead. I chose option 2.

The oddest thing about the scene is that she stared at me as if I owed her. Seriously, as if I was supposed to pull out my wallet and give her something. A tip, perhap. I ended up stuttering some weird apology for not picking it up from her earlier (to which she gave me a stern, disapproving look) and carried the box out of her doorway. I felt harrassed and caught off guard and like I was just scolded like a chile. So I did all that I could do--I shot her a Marge smile.

I got some satisfaction out of that.

I don't plan on getting much delivered to my doorstep for a little while. Bitch will probably have UPS take it back. I wonder if Barack has to worry about this sort of shit?
Damn it...beat again.

Pulling A Rabbit Out Of The Kitty Cat

I had surgery on my eye. Not recently, but historically. I actually had a cornea replaced. It's one thing to have to go through surgery . It's another to have to be awake and SEE the surgery performed. To me, that's treacherous. But corneal transplant is still considered relatively common. It's treated as an outpatient surgery that doesn't require a night in the hospital. This is considered "non-invasive surgery". That's a good thing. The surgeon didn't put anything in my body cavity besides a healthier perspective and respect for the medical profession.

What is the definition of "invasive surgery?" Invasive surgery involves making an incision in the patient's body and inserting instruments or other medical devices into it. By definition, this type of surgery is much more serious. The recovery time is usually a little longer than non-invasive surgery because it usually requires at least an overnight stay in a hospital. Also, surgeries that require the opening of the body lend greater possibilities of infection, rejection of implants, or other post-operative complications. In the end, invasive surgeries from a financial standpoint is much costlier. So it's the trend for the healthcare industry and medical profession to encourage alternative, innovative methods of performing surgeries that have the least potential for post-op complications, promote quicker recovery time, and, in the end, is much more cost effective.

click and read:http://www.cnn.com/2009/HEALTH/02/03/kidney.vagina.surgery/index.html

I cannot imagine puling a major organ out of an existing orifice. Can you? Thinking about it makes me quesy. What organ would you choose to pull out of your Whoo-Haa? What if you don't have a Whoo-Haa--where's the organ coming through?

I really have nothing else to add, after you read it. Except, well...the title to this blog says it all. It's fascinating that our healthcare system is continually looking for cheaper ways to perform invasive surgery. Cause that's what it all boils down to in the end..the cost.

I'm trying to think now what organ is close to the buttock...? Hmmm....

People Are Off

I'm on the plane waiting to take off from Newark, New Jersey - making my not-so-surprise trek back to the islands. And the 7 dwarves are with me on the flight!

Yes, they have left the Enchanted Forest and are too, now frequent fliers. Apparently they are on vacation.

Who knew?

Behind me sat Stinky. Boy he fits his moniker to a T. He smells like a block of Brie fermenting in a can of sardines. So potent is his stench, that I'm surprised he hasn't been arrested and charged with armed-pit robbery. Stink bastard!!

Next to him sat Dull Dwarf. Her sense of smell has been compromised for so many years, that her odiferous senses have slowed. But it's heightened her other senses. Particularly her ability to speak--in a shrieking whine. I think the term is 'high-pitched shrill.' The likes of which only can be discerned and deciphered by baby porpoise', gnats' and any woman from Long Island.

They sat together the entire flight and complained. The water was too warm. The plane was too slow. The airline waitress was a bitch. The pilot was a dumb ass. These dwarves were very ornery. Nothing like a long flight with unsatisfied halflings.

In front of me sat Sneezy. So cute and quiet, however rife with allergies that rivaled a classromm of non-peanut eating preschoolers. She was the living, breathing, walking plague. I thought this could potentially turn into a Code yellow haz-mat situation. I haven't seen that much phlegm and goo since they pulled Carol Anne out of the closet. Sneezy was at least polite. She covered her mouth prior to every unleashing of germs. But she still was biologically lethal.

Politeness, however, isn't the testimony of Effie the effiminate Dwarf. He's rude, but he thinks he's a Diva (as if it's cute for a white-haired 60+ year old saggy bottom man calling himself a Diva is cute). Ahem.

Everyone on the plane is somewhat agitated, having already logged in an hour and a half waiting for clearance to fly. Everyone is on edge. But Diva - I mean Effie, doesn't give a shit. Effie is on his knee's leaning over the back of his chair facing his girlfriend in the row behind him, cracking his gum and making comments about others around him in spanish.

Effie is a bitch.

His girlfriend - a slight woman with a strong latin accent, is someone who is purely ornamental in life. She's the reason prenuptial agreements were created. She's gorgeous to look at...eye candy so sugary sweet it'll give your vision diabetes. Her one flaw (or perhaps her one talent) would be that her knee's can touch her nose while sitting. I'm not kidding. She's doing it right now. She's bendy--Bendy Dwarf. And Bendy's been around.

Across the aisle from Stinky is the most unusual character I've seen yet. Suspicious Dwarf. Perhaps you've seen this one on a flight. Suspicious is very sneeky looking. The only reason why I say that she's sneeky is because she only looks at people through the corners or top portion of her eyes. Sort of like those teachers who wear their glasses low on the bridge of their nose so that they can look over them while throwing you a disapproving glance. That's Suspicious. She became more ominous as the plane ride continued because she would look arond, reach into her shoe, and look around again. Real 'i'm-not-a-terrorist-so-stop-looking-at-me-while-I-ominously-reach-for-my-shoe' cagey like. I kept my eye on her the entire way to the islands, and even flexed my big body in her direction as if to say, 'Don't mess with this damn plane while I'm on it, woman or you will get hurt.'

I have my fits of bravery once in a while.

The last and least Dwarf that I identified on the flight was none other than Dopey. Yes, Dopey, with the ears that could glide us into the ocean should the wings or engine give out. His ears were so big, that I sear it had its own gravitational pull. The worst thing about Dopey's ears, is that I could see the hairs in his ear from my seat--and he always rubbed the back of it and put that finger up to his nose. Yes, that's what I said. Dopey sniffed his ear funk throughout the flight.

Besides my Captain America glances that I shot to Suspicious, I was on a flight that was to be remembered, and begging to be memorialized in a blog. It is at the point that we landed, that I could sigh in relief that we made it safely, and where I could exclaim out loud while stretching, 'People Are Off!'

Effie snickered in my direction.

I soooo wanted to kick his ass.

And No (A'ole)...

I will not stop using 'haole.' Would you dare ask another native peoples to stop using their language?

Oh wait-you already have.

How can I forget that you feast on hypocritically telling others how they should live, all the while plotting and scheming to overthrow their way of life. Let me consult the Native Americans, the Iraqi people, or the African-American.

You are a hypocrite when you push your lifestyle of fantasy and decadence in your commercials of the 'good life.' But never reveal the underbelly of its oppressive seediness it leaves behind, until it reveals itself in the end when it is too late.

You will not tell me that in the land of the free and the home of the brave, the land of freedom of speech and choice~that I cannot use my own language to describe you.

No, I will not 'teach' you or try to persuade you as to why its not a bad word. Go find out for yourself. You stress how much education one should have--an honorable deed on the surface.But I think this is yet another way for you to divide and alienate people--another shadow of classism. If education is so important, then educate yourself (!!) on native peoples of this world. Open your mind and discover the richness of cultures outside of your own. If you are so free as you proclaim (and are amongst peoples who aren't), then use your freedoms to learn rather than using it to suppress. What is your problem?

You will not make me to feel ashamed of speaking my language. I don't care what you say. You created nigger. You created chink. You created gook. You created kyke. You created faggot. You created jap. You bastardized good words in return, like pineapple and gay. And now you want to try and stop Hawaiians from using their words. For the record, haole is not like any of these words you created.

Hypocrite. Hewa!

You get offended because 'haole' represents a word that appropriately applies to you. You were a foreigner to us when you arrived. The word denotes many things:

1. You are no native to this 'aina. This pisses you off becaus eyou then cannot lay claim to this 'aina. Justice is not on your side. You realize that what you did to the Native Americans and the Eskimos cannot so easily be accomplished here. Your precedents is known, thus you cannot use the same tricks because your game has been uncovered and revealed;

2. You don't have the support of any (if not all) rational thinking people who have been colonized. You cannot so easily make us your enemy because most reasonable thinking people understand that to kill a language is to kill a people~that would be an outward appearing declaration of war against unarmed individuals~and we know you are al about appearances;

3. Vanity-pure and simple. 'Haole' is a word you didn't come up with. It's meaning is purposeful, apparent and powerful, and this angers you. You realize that as much as you tried to erase the Hawaiian culture and replace it with your homogonized version complete with how you 'saved the heathens from hell,' you couldn't.

We have thrived and have become educated under you watchful eye. All you have done is awakened a cunning native thathas alays been present, just dulled and sleeping.

You have awoken the Hawaiian Warrior within. Armed with your education and generations of maa. A'ole, haole. You do not win. You tried to kill us off by killing our language before. There is nothing new under the sun.

So why would you think that we'd be so slothful as to forget. You think that people's forget? You do, don't you? A'ole - YOU always forget. That's why you always recycle the same tactics. There is nothing new under the sun.

We remember. And we thrive.

So a'ole haole. As the native peoples of every country in every culture have somehow continued to grow and live, so will we. The nazi's couldn't kill the Jews. Neither could the Japanese exterminate the Okinawans.

Hawaiians will continue to teach and nourish our keiki with our Hawaiian-ness.And no haole, foreign or domestic, will hunder us.

Pre-conditioned, Post-Arrival

Hawaii has been in the forefront in many respects when it come to tourism. Specifically, American tourism. From the earliest of my memories, hearing stories of how the steam ships would entice the haole to our shores with our fragrant pua and alluring wahine curves ~ the power of the haole currency has been a source of Hawaiii economy (notice I didn't say Hawaiian) and the poison of Hawai'i's Kanaka Maoli.

From a child I was told that my paternal grandfather - a full-blooded maka'ainana- believed the full potential of his existence (through the eyes of the Hawaiian slave owner) was to be either a taxi driver or a bell hop at the all haole hotels in Waikiki. I in turn was raised by parents who were conditioned into believing that the best and brightest hawaiians were those that towed the line - conformed to the haole identity of little houses with white picket fences. The American dream of opportunity was reserved for only attainable if you knew the right people, or if you didn't rock the boattoo much. On the contrary-if you accepted and took the blue pill and assimilated to the haole's plan of what was best for you, things wouldn't be so bad. You might make it.

The American dream in my hale wasn't one of success and riches. It was a story of servitude and submimssion, It was a dream that epitomized the original glass ceiling. You could see that the sky truly was limitless. However the glass roof was as thick as a full-grown banyan tree and hovered closely above the heads of the kanaka maoli.

As I sit on this aircraft making my pilgrimage back to my home, the place where the iwi of my ohana feed the aina, I think these thoughts. As I return to the place of my formative years where I learned to become a Hawaiian-American man. This place where I understood an first realized that my potential, despite the years of pre-conditioning to 'kick back and no make waves but go with the flow', is only truly stifled if I accept the limits that the haole-fied per-conditioned elders of my past espoused.

I finally realize that as a full-grown Hawaiian man, it is my duty to all other kanaka maoli of my koko to reject the thoughts that dare tell me that I am less then others. I will remind myself that I come from a lineage of hard working, industrous explorers.

The koko that runs through these veins bears the weight of warriors, kings, scholars and poets. I will not conform to any haole telling me that I am not Hawaiian because I speak up for myself. On the contrary, I am a coward from birth if I don't speak up. Kanaka maoli have lasted thus far in spite of every carnal attack from the idealisms and colonial thinking of every non-hawaiian that has occupied these islands who said that Hawaiians are lazy and stupid. I reject that! Devil, I rebuke you and your lies! And you are the stupid one if you think in this day and age, your same lame tactics will work on all of us. Hawaiians have traversed the previously uncharted Pacific seas to conduct world-class expeditions. All without the modern marvels and comforts of modern day nautical technolog And unlike the haole tactic of subversively undermine, assimilate, negate, then conquer--the warriors settled dispute more honorably. Combat. You knew where you stood. The were confrontational when it was warranted. If you were wrong, you were confronted. In today's vernacular, they 'kept it real'.

There are many traditions that have been lost. So much more that have been altered or changed to suit each generation. But there has always been one constant idealism from the first haole visitor. It has been the insidious idea that Hawaiians were put on this earth to serve. (In retrospect and looking at world history, this is common to the haole 'overthrow' mentality.) When I use the term 'serve,' I refer to the type of service that haole defines as 'the one with the big stick makes the rules--he who has the most things wins.' I was not put on this earth as a Hawaiian man to serve no one and nothing, but the purpose of God. To Him alone is my total submission given. I relinqush all my personal authority to Him. And if within this endeavor it becomes my conscious obligation and heavenly call to serve man as unto Him (and I know that it is in many respects), this I will eagerly and with my entire being do.

However-

I no longer will buy into the small lying voice that has always visited me, whispering that if I want to be a 'good hawaiian' or a 'better christian hawaiian' that I am to always choose the smaller portion of life's makana because of antiquated lies and thoughts that told me from small kid days that that's all that I could have. That that's all that I was worth. I reject that thinking from today on. I am embued by Ke Akua and strengthened by the rich heritage of ali'i, farmers, sailors, kahu, business men and women and a line of sojourners stretching back to the cradle of civilization. Kanaka Maoli - don't believe the lies of them that say you are not worthy. That malciously steal your kindness and create spears out of your ho'okupu and generous na'au to use against you. This is not my cry or a call to physically arm yourself against a physical opponent. Although the devil takes many guises.

Rather, this is a clarion call to rise up out of your apathetic slumber to take your place as the modern-day Hawaiian warrrior, to reflect the legacy of proud, goodly people, wise to the wiles of those who only see you as poor, dumb or subserviant. Rise up and kulia i ka nu'u. Look to the promise of the next rising sun for strength in mind, and remain steadfast. E'o, ka lahui.

Llewellyn

Llewellyn was a very quiet kid. I remember that about him like it was yesterday. Oddly enough, I don't remember much about his character or personality. He was the same age as me and we were both in the same class for 5th and 6th grade in Elementary school. He was small. He always had short hair, and I think one of his parents was in the military. I think that's what brought them him to the islands. I think he had a younger brother. The only thing I really can recall when thinking on what kind of person he was, is that he was very quiet, and soft-spoken and I think he had an accent. I dont remember his last name.

But I remember him every so often. I see him in my memory, just standing and smiling. He has a pair of brown shorts and he has an oversized backpack. Barely able to hold it up, as he has skinny legs and a thin frame, his short curly hair shiny from some hair product. I remember he was a really nice kid, and he always had a wide smile.

Thing is, about 17 years ago, I had been searching around the internet and discovered that Llewellyn had died. I recall hearing somehow that he had been hurt in an accident. The details are sketchy, but in the end it doesn't really matter. He hasn't been alive for a long time now.

I don't know why I think about him. I never really knew him besides the little I can recall now. But I do think about him. And when I do, I wonder what kind of person he would be today? What kind of life would he have led? Why wasn't he able to make it to his 20th high school reunion? Many of the 'what could have been' questions come to mind.

How many Llewellyn's do you know? Those individuals that you may not have known well, but passed way too soon. So early, that the loss is not felt because of a personal relationship, but because Innocence is the real victim. And that loss is hard to comprehend and tough to get over.

I hope that wherever his parents are, they know that even after these many years, there are people who remember their son. And that the memory of their son is a good one.

Around, Around (Crescendo)

Kieffer and I were headed to IKEA and he put in a mixed CD he made. I hate to admit that there are things that I don't like to be taught. One of them is hearing about new music from other people. Especially Kieffer. Mainly because I'm ridiculously competitive about irrelevant things. One of which is hearing about the newest music from Kieffer, that also turns out to be really good music.


I like to surprise people with new music and I like the feeling of sharing great songs or sweet melodies with fantastic lyrics to people I love. I like to see their reactions, especially if they like it too. And I love it when people are able to feel the emotions and experience the music in its fullness--music has a way of reaching into souls. It is something that is such a strange but beautiful phenomenon. You can hear a song and within a few notes remember some of the worst moments of your life. Or hear the beginnings of a tune and taste the first cotton candy you had as a child; hear the 'i like you too' from your first crush; the smell of rotten eggs from the last day of school egg fights; or relive the first dance at your first dance that no adults were at. All of our senses are stirred and come alive at the stirring sounds of music.


I love that music provides this to everyone. And so that's why I feel like I'm in friendly competition with Keiffer when it comes to new music. He likes to one-up me every chance he can, and I find great fun in doing the same.


That's why I was pleasantly surprised when he popped in his CD and pressed play. I was overwhelmed with what I heard. What I heard is the song to the right, K'Jon singing 'On The Ocean.' Take a listen.

(Pause)


K'Jon is a Detroit native who's songs and style can be characterized as Soul/Hip-Hop/R&B. The song to the right transported me to a point of my trip when I was in Hawaii in September. Where the Sand met the Ocean, and the Ocean ended in the Horizon. This song doesn't take me to an exact spot on the islands, though. Moreso, it transports me to a time in my mind that I haven't been to, but sounds familiar. Hearing the melody and allowing the blending of the percussions and his voice wash over me, this song makes me feel - resolute. Yep, resolute is how I feel. I honestly didn't know the right word to describe the emotion that this song gave me, but I realize the more I hear it, I feel 'convinced, satisfied'. The way the song ebbs and flows easily and the way the crescendo of the cymbals punctuates the high-notes, creates a mood that is oh, so wonderful.

As we were driving, I told him that if I died..err..when I died, (i'm not a pessimist, i'm a realist), i'd really like to have this song be my 'swan song'. It'd be a perfect ending to a not so perfect life. but it would be a song that would leave my loved ones with something hopeful. In my eyes and what I believe, this life is the ocean meeting the horizon--you may not see what's beyond, but surely you must know that there is something beyond the horizon. I believe that beyond my horizon , where the ocean meets the sun, so will I. And that gives me hope, which is why I am filled with so much hope listening to this song.

I hope you enjoy it.

Aaliyah Was Right...

If at first you don't succeed, dust yourself off and try again. You can dust it off and try again, try again...

And so it goes.

I was browsing articles as I do, and I came across this one. This is a classic!

http://news.yahoo.com/s/afp/20090205/od_afp/skoreamotoringoffbeat_20090205024852

771 times! I think of all the times I've given up. All the times I tried to jump that hurdle in Junior high in m baggie jeans when I was an overweight teen, awkward and a mess. Forced to participate in track, even with a note and the inappropriate clothing. That damn gym teacher made me jump the hurdle. And I kept falling because I couldn't lift my back leg. And after the 4th time of falling in a ball of dust and a puddle of shame, the spawn of the devil (aka P.E. Teacher) begrudgingly and in visible disgust waved me off like I was flies at a picnic. At Orchard beach. In mid-July on a hot Bronx afternoon. I hope you get the picture.

771 times! What have you done in your life that's tested your stamina and strengthened your perseverance? She did this on a regular basis too! I know I would have probably given up. I can't even be consistent enough to take out the trash daily. Don't ask. I can't even commit to a toothpaste. (It's whatevers on sale.) I thought of the countless number of times I've gotten so frustrated trying to pay my Optimum cable bill and had to redial again and again to get some human interaction. I usually stopped after 4 representatives, then sent my payment in five checks as a way of paying them back for making me wait so long. (Vindictive, right?!?) I don't see myself having that much patience. But that much time given to accomplishing a goal is true dedication. That's fortitude. That is medal worthy!

I love the portion of the article that describes the 68-year old woman as seeking her license because "Cha sells food and household items door to door at apartment complexes, carrying the items in a handcart, but wants to get a car for her business."

Okay.

I think for a few obvious reasons, there should be a time in which someone sane and, frankly, sick of seeing her in the Driving Office, will need to make an executive decision on this matter. After all, let's examine the facts:

*She's 68-years old. No one in America, at 68, is either looking for a license, or trying to keep a job. And if they are, they are in public office running for the next term or just got laid off from puttng in good hours at their job for 30+ years that they lost to outsourcing to India or the Phillipines, and now is trying to fight 4 other 68-year olds for that last job handing out smiley stickers at the Wal-Mart door.

*She sells food and household items DOOR TO DOOR. I live in the Bronx. Anyone trying to come to my door, no matter what time of day, will be greeted by a bat and a very pissed off voice filled with faux rage and uncertain hesitance. And the last thing I want to hear on the other side of my door is a foreigner with an accent trying to sell me batteries or DVD's. I get enough of that on the 6 train. Of course, they may be running for office, but still. A bat will be in hand if you came knocking.

*She's averaged "scores of 30-50 whereas the pass mark is 60 out of 100." At some point, I would hope that short-term memory would kick into long-term memory. Or hopefully the odds of relevant memorization would occur. Say, around the 418 mark. And if for some unfortunate reason this doesn't happen, especially in this case, it may be because A) You're 68, or B) You're already working too hard going from door to door each day with a cart on your back, and it's probably best that you take a break, or stop taking the test?!?

Hmmm. Just my humble observation and opinion. However in the final analysis, I am not a dream killer, and don't want to be the bearer of discouragement. To that, I say 'Go for it, Cha! You can do it, and as long as you have the opportunity and tenacity, I wish you the best.'

But all I'm saying is, if you do finally pass the test on chance # 772, I don't want to be on the road when you have your wares in tow.

That's all I'm saying about it.