Catch a wave!

Can we just talk for a second about big-wave surfing?


Not that I got to see it. That whole "work" thingand all. But this past week we had 25-40' waves with the occasional 50-footer.



Fifty foot waves, people.

Think about trying to ride the face of a moving five-story building that is trying to crash down on you the entire time you are harnessing its raw power. I have some serious respect for these guys.


This does not happen every day. Or even every year. There is a surf competition, named in memory of surfer Eddie Aikau, that they can only put on when they have consistent 25'+ waves. The last one was 4 years ago. This is big stuff for surfers.



So we didn't see the 50' waves. Work, remember? But Tuesday night we decided that even if we couldn't see the big ones, we wanted to drive up to the North Shore and check out whatever break we could see in the dark. Besides, there would be less traffic and more parking.





So we did. The Good.Sport and I loaded the pooch into the car and headed up. To see anything, we had to leave the headlights on to shed some light on the waves...but something about the oppressive darkness just makes the waves sound so much...bigger. So much...more powerful.





I am in awe of what happens at the intersection of land and sea, always have been...and even though we didn't see the BIG ones, you could feel something special in the air. Something different. Something more exciting.





It was nearly impossible to take decent photos, what with the need for a slow shutter speed and the whole pesky "moving" aspect of the water, but here's one of The Good.Sport taking it all in.

I'm still glad we went up there. We missed the competition (and the injuries a coworker of mine observed), but we still got to be a part of it in the most indirect way you can possibly imagine.

I hope it happens again. On a Saturday.

:)

Belligerent troglodytes obfuscate.

That, ladies and gentlemen, is what you get when you’re The Second City and you ask the audience for an adjective, a noun, and a verb.

Belligerent troglodytes obfuscate.

And these people must know each other pretty well, because they guessed the words based solely on the pantomime ability of their colleagues.

And no, I wasn’t in Chicago recently.

The Good.Sport and I went on a cruise around the Hawaiian Islands. I don’t really consider myself a “cruiser,” (more about that in a minute) but if you want to see more than one island in a short span of time your options are daily airplane rides and a new hotel each night, or a cruise ship.

And we’re lazy.

And the cruise was 40% off.

And they've hired a subset of The Second City to perform three times a week, right onboard the ship!

So we found ourselves aboard this little boat right here:



for a 7-day jaunt around the Hawaiian Islands. Which Captain Cook called the Sandwich Islands.

Mmmmm…sandwich.

What? It’s almost dinner time.

This here ship stops in Maui, Hilo and Kona on Hawai’i Island (the “Big Island”), and Kaua’i.

I’ll post more on our adventures in a bit, but I wanted to at least give you a bit of an explanation regarding where in the hell I’ve been.

I considered making up a story about how I’m entering the race for “Worst Blogger Ever 2009” but…

…well the stories I have that tell you about people we encountered on the cruise are quite possibly much funnier than anything I could ever potentially make up.

More to come, my gentle readers.

What are YOU thankful for?

Thanksgiving.

A day to reflect on…giving thanks.

(I know, super creative, huh?)

Back in the day, there was a big feast. In second grade this involved pilgrims and “Indians” wearing paper-and-pipe-cleaner costumes and popcorn. There was a skit. It was awesome. I was brand new at the school, having arrived back in my hometown literally weeks before. The skit preparations were underway when I arrived. They had to fit me in somewhere.

It wasn’t awkward at. all.

Really.

“Here, little 7-year-old. You’ll stand…uh…HERE. You know, on the side. Where you won’t be in the way of the kids who already have lines to say and props to demonstrate.”

At least they meant well. I suppose it woulda been worse if they’d said, “You get to be the WHOLE AUDIENCE! YIIPPPEEEE!!!” They tried. I'll give them that.

And the central feature in this skit, at least in my memory all these years later, was what I refer to in my own head as the “miracle of the popcorn.” Because apparently one group or the other figured out how to use heat to raise the kinetic energy of the water particles inside the kernels, changing them to steam, which gradually built up the pressure inside until a gorgeous, fluffy, white piece of popcorn appeared in its place.

That’s not how they explained it to us 7-year-olds, was it.

Anyways someone figured out this MIRACLE and showed it to the other group and they were so entranced by this amazing MIRACLE that they decided the poppers must be pretty alright so they immediately left all their desires to kill each other behind, became instant BFFs, and had a huge dinner together.

I swear that’s how it went down.

Anyways, here we are, at Thanksgiving. The gateway to “The Holidays.” I use the term “The Holidays” because that’s what the season seems to have become. And if major retailers have anything to say about it, “The Holidays” start sometime around early September these days. No matter what The Man wants me to think, Thanksgiving is and always will be the official start of it all. The holiday parties. The present-shopping. The decorating. The card sending. All of it. And people refer to it that way now, as if it’s some magical, mythical time when all logic and normalcy is suspended and everyone eats and drinks themselves silly, spending more money than they have to tackle someone to get gifts for people they barely know who aren’t grateful for them anyway and hanging out with family they only see once a year for various reasons that have to be uncomfortably stuffed away for the duration of whatever events might take place.*

You start out the Wednesday before Thanksgiving blissfully unaware of what is about to come. You're thinking about maybe leaving work early. You're anticipating the good food and the day off. You're going over your cooking strategy in your brain, you know, if you're into that sort thing.

You spend Thanksgiving Day eating, watching TV, relaxing, traveling, doing whatever it is you do.

And then.

And THEN.

ALL HELL BREAKS LOOSE.

Welcome to The Holidays.

(What’s up, Scroogy McScroogerton?)
(Yes, that was me talking to myself.)

And I’m not gonna lie. Some years it doesn’t seem quite as easy to find things to be thankful for. And yes, I’m the jerk that makes everyone at the table name at least one thing. Because I’m gonna be positive goshdarnitITSTHEHOLIDAYS.

So what am I thankful for this year?

Stuffing. And creamed spinach. And OH MY GOD the cranberry sauce.

(Why’s it always gotta be about food, Lady?)
(There I go again)

Moving on.

I am thankful to have not just a job, but a job I actually kinda LIKE. I am thankful that I have to work harder to get in the spirit because it’s still 80+ degrees here during the day and The Holidays are supposed to be cold, dontchaknow. I’m thankful for lots of things.

But mostly the stuffing.

What are you thankful for this Thanksgiving?


*I don’t truly feel this way about the holiday season. But it seems when people talk about The Holidays, the talk comes in the form of a never-ending series of survival strategies. How do I avoid gaining weight over The Holidays? How do I keep my budget under control for The Holidays? How do I handle Great Aunt Polly over The Holidays? Really, people? How about, “Ways you can show the Holiday Spirit over The Holidays”? You know, for example, by not cutting people off for the long-awaited parking spot at Costco that you know someone else got to first but you NEED TO PARK IN THAT SPACE GOSHDARNIT OR THE WORLD WILL END.

How ‘bout that?

An unexpected downside...

Not to be all Negative Nancy, but it can be really hard to live so far away when the people you love need you.

Just saying.

I never really considered the distance when we decided we wanted to ask to move here. I mean sure, I knew it was far. Don’t get me wrong – of course I knew it was a long, expensive flight. But I haven’t lived in The Second City since I was 18 years old. I was back for summers and school breaks, and goodness knows I’ve earned more than my fair share of miles making the trip to and fro, but I’m used to not being there all the time. It’s not foreign to require a plane ride or even a veryveryvery long drive to see the place where it all began and the people who made it happen. “What’s a different kind of plane, a different airport code, a different choice of airlines,” I thought. I mean heck, you don't get fed either way.

It never bothered me until very recently. Turns out that different airport code is actually a way bigger difference than just three little letters.

Random Trivia: NONE of the airports surrounding my previous homes have included the letters H, N, or L. Funny.

It not only takes the better part of two days (given that I lose 4-6 hours in transit, depending on the time zone we’re talking about and whether it’s Standard Time or Daylight Savings Time), but it’s a LOT more expensive AND involves taking leave from my job – which makes the trip difficult for all but the most emergent situations. I’m hard-pressed to be able to find a direct flight. Driving is no longer an option, no matter how proud I am of my bladder of steel or how good The Good.Sport's superhuman staying awake powers might be. So times when I’d normally hop a 2-hour, $200 flight for the weekend (leaving on a Friday after work and coming back Sunday evening) or hop in the car for a scheduled arrival 12 hours later – these are now times when I end up sitting by the phone, sending care packages, and waiting for updates.

Lucky for me, prayers know no distance and have the ability to be at their destination before the FedEx plane even makes it back to Memphis.

It's starting to seep in...

Maybe it’s because of the nature of my husband’s job, where he has coworkers who are locals AND Native Hawaiians, but I don’t feel like THAT much of an outsider here.

Everyone we’ve met has been kind, welcoming, and open. Maybe that’s just the Aloha Spirit (which, by the way, I can FEEL seeping into my pores at an ever-increasing rate).

Or maybe it’s because we admittedly tend to frequent the areas where outsiders are welcome :)

Either way, I’ve never felt anything but friendliness from those around me. Except the tourists from the mainland, some of whom clearly bring their Spirit of choice from home instead of picking up on Aloha.

But there are a few major differences here, all of which are having a positive impact on me.

People here can’t drive. How, you ask, is this POSSIBLY impacting me in a positive manner? Well, people here are also very patient. They have to be, because when everyone around you is driving like they’re either half asleep, on drugs, or just don’t care (and you realize that any combination of the above could be true at any time), you have to be patient.

Because if you’re not patient, you’ll die. A fiery, convoluted mess-of-metal-and-glass kind of death.

It isn’t worth it.

So I have learned (and this will be a surprise to ANY of you who have been in a car with me) to relax behind the wheel.

I know.

I. KNOW.

I let people in now. I mean, I always did, to a point. But now I let them in every time they ask (see below for how THAT works).

I have used my horn only two times since I moved here, and both times my safety and that of my husband and dog were in immediate danger.

I still wave to people who are kind enough to let me in, and I find that I wave a heckuva lot more than I ever did in DC. Because people let me into my desired lane here!

So I am slowly but surely changing my ways.

I still use turn signals when I’m supposed to, which cannot be said for most of the population of the island of Oahu. One thing I have yet to get used to is the local method of indicating that you want to switch lanes. This involves rolling down your window, sticking your hand outside your vehicle, and pointing to where you want to go.

SERIOUSLY?

Really this is the one thing that still (and always WILL) drives me bonkers. I believe in turn signals. I believe God made them for us because he loves us and wants us to be happy and safe from traffic fatalities. I don’t get why people don’t use them. I ESPECIALLY don’t get why people don’t use them when they’re clearly INTERESTED in indicating their desire to join me in my lane. It’s not like they’re just thinking, “Haole in the red car be damned, I’m changing lanes now.” No. They are saying, “Excuse me, I’d like to move in front of you, please!”

I don’t get it and I never will. Flicking a small lever that turns on a blinking light to let me know this is WAY less work than the method most locals employ.

And we all know I’m about doing as little work as possible!

Also the only people in DC who employ this method are rude cab drives who aren’t ASKING, they’re TELLING. So I think that’s part of why it gets under my skin.

But in the Spirit of Aloha, I’m going to try – really TRY – to get over this. I will NOT try to pick it up, mind you. But I'll try not to let it bug me so much. I’m hoping the locals understand the meaning of a turn signal when they see one, otherwise I’m in for a world of trouble.

And today I’ll leave you with a pearl of wisdom donated generously by a local friend of ours.

“If you are worried about someone breaking into your car, leave the doors unlocked. That way when they try your door they'll get in that way and they won’t smash your windows.”

Even the THIEVES here are nice enough to try your door before they smash glass to get at whatever it is you were silly enough to leave inside your vehicle. And people are apparently nice enough to give them the chance to quickly open the door, look for what they want, and walk away without so much as a glass-shattering ruckus.

If that’s not Aloha, I don’t know what is.

Stranger in a strange land...

I have a huge obsession with the new series of Intel commercials.

You know, the ones where they have the guy who invented something super important (of course I can’t remember what it was) walking to get some coffee and everyone swooning over him as he walks by, slow-mo style, with badass music playing in the background. The one they finish with some text that says, “Our rockstars aren’t like your rockstars” or whatever.

Those.

I crack up laughing each and every time. I’m a geek like that. Because in my world, the cool kids aren’t the most fashion-forward, or the funniest, or the most likely to adopt enough kids from around the world to make their own mini-UN. (Not that I have a problem with that, because I don’t, but while I do enjoy a good celebrity gossip session and have won contests with my knowledge on the topic, the people I TRULY admire are not likely to appear in a movie anytime soon).

In my world, the cool kids are the ones that think and act reasonably and are consequently able to accomplish a lot of stuff, all so that our kids and their kids and maybe even THEIR kids will have natural resources, ocean-style, to enjoy someday.

You’d think that thinking and acting reasonably would be something that would be the norm, especially when you’re talking about a lot of people who have managed to secure advanced degrees and jobs in well-known and somewhat-well-respected government agencies.

Yeah I couldn’t even type that with a straight face. I know better.

I know I expect too much from people. I’m surprised a lot by peoples’ behavior, even though the last 8 years of work experience have taught me enough to know better. Certain behaviors are simply unacceptable in a professional setting, as far as I’m concerned. I don’t care who does them or how often I see them, these behaviors will never be ok. But I don’t rule the world. At least, not yet.

What do you know, another completely irrelevant tangent.

Let’s get back to the topic and why I started with the awesome Intel commercials, shall we?

Things here are not like things there.

I’m aware that each region of this great country of ours has its own culture. I’ve lived in the Midwest, the Northeast, the Southeast, and the DC metro area (which is so unique that I’m calling it a region of its own). I’ve spent time in the Deep South and the West, Alaska, and even California (I don’t think I need to explain that this is also its own region – heck I’d even split it into two – a northern and southern). Each place has its unique culture, and that’s one of the things I truly love about traveling inside the US. It never fails to amaze me how one country can have so many different dialects, traditions, ways of doing things. We’re all united because we’re all American, but there’s still so much diversity to be loved and enjoyed that I really couldn’t ever tire of exploring the USA.

And then there is Hawaii.

Now I fully admit that the US came in and took this place over, claiming it for itself. I don’t entirely agree with how the whole thing went down. I’m not gonna argue, because it means I get to live here. But I can TOTALLY see why some locals are still bitter. People here don’t like the idea that they were “discovered” by Captain Cook when their ancestors actually discovered Hawaii thousands of years before, after having paddled an outrigger canoe for 2,000+ miles.

Yeah, you'd want credit for that, too.

Beginning before government involvement, missionaries from the came in and decimated the culture. They pushed the language, the religious traditions, the stories, the way of dressing, and the dancing underground. A few of these outsiders realized the importance of these traditions and allowed some of them to continue, and a few brave souls took it upon themselves to make sure their culture didn’t die out completely. For that I am grateful. Although I gotta wonder if they intended to preserve all of this just so it could be bastardized at the modern luau. I mean I get that most people want to see fire dancing (which is not Hawaiian, by the way) and say they tried poi and call it a day, and for most people the level of culture you get at a luau is just plenty, thank you very much.

But a plastic packet of French salad dressing delivered with my meal doesn’t seem particularly traditional to me. Call me crazy.

Anyways I know I’m not some kind of nouveau defender of Hawaiian culture. I’m not trying to lecture anyone, change history, or become a warrior for a culture I’m just starting to learn about, nor can I rectify the sins of those who were here many generations before my grandmother was a thought in her parents' minds. I’m an outsider. What was done was done well before my arrival and will continue long after my departure. I’ll do my part while I’m here to respect the Hawaiian culture to the best of my ability. Just because other peoples’ kids run crazy through sacred cultural sites doesn’t mean I have to behave in a disrespectful manner.

And yes, I FULLY realize that this was yet ANOTHER tangent. But you're still reading...

Many people I know have said things like, “I can’t wait to come to Hawaii and visit you and get a tour from a local!” I quickly point out that I’m not a local, and I will never, ever be one. I think sometimes people are taken aback, because in most places the word "local" just means "someone who lives there" and is pretty innocuous.

I live here, sure. I call this place home. I feel comfortable here. But I will never. EVER. be a local. And I'm really afraid of giving an impression that I don't get that.

I’ll DOUBLY never be “Hawaiian” in the same way I’ve called myself a “Chicagoan” and a “Virginian.”

So allow me to clarify what I’ve learned with a little lesson. Go go gadget teacher-mode!

“Hawaiian” – this means you have Native Hawaiian blood and is not a term to be trifled with. I get this, completely.

“Local” – if you’re a local, you were born in Hawaii and lived here for most of your life. Even if you’re a haole, you can be a local. I’m not, and never will be, a local. I know that in most places, one can be considered a local once they’ve been there a while and learned the roads, started going to the local watering holes, and picked up a bit of the local slang. Yeah, these locals aren’t like other locals. And somehow, locals can tell if you're from here or not. I haven't figure it out yet but it's kinda cool.

“Haole” (pronounced "howl-eee") – white person. This term is, for the most part, not used maliciously. It’s a statement of fact. I’ve been referred to as, “one of the haole girls” and it was just saying, “She’s with that group over there.” Some do use it as an insult, but I thankfully have not met them yet. People of mixed heritage refer to themselves as “Hapa haole” – half white – all the time. It’s just a term.

So now you’ll know what I mean if I bust these terms out for you at a later date. I’m sure there will be more lessons in the future, but this is all I can think of at the moment.

Anyways I figured if this is blog is going to contain some of my observations about living here, I may as well lay the groundwork! Maybe next time I'll talk a little bit about pidgin and REALLY confuse you :)

Actual observation for now: Starfruit straight off the tree (picked just for you by a Samoan man in a sarong) beat the pants of what you can buy for like eleventy billion dollars a pound on the mainland. Just sayin’.

Seasons...

Who knew Hawaii had seasons? Everyone kept assuring me that winter was indeed cooler and more rainy than summer, but I didn’t believe it. Not one bit. I knew there were times when the hot was hotter in the summer, because those were the nights when it was hard to get to sleep. When I’d hear people who were from here complaining about the heat certain days, I knew it wasn’t in my head.

Last week was one of those weeks. It seemed like the winds just…stopped. The trees didn’t move, the air didn’t move, and I didn’t want to move, either. The heat (usually mid-80s) and humidity (in the neighborhood of 80%) are completely pleasant if there is a breeze. But take that breeze away and you have hot, wet, stagnant air. I hate that feeling of sweating as I step out of the shower, and that’s when you get that here.

In the last week or so, though, it has gotten cool and a little rainy. It doesn’t rain all day (that has happened on precisely one day since I moved here, and there was a tropical storm passing by). It rains on and off throughout the day, and gets sunny in between. And the rain isn’t cold and nasty. It’s light, warm, and very tropical-feeling. I love it.

I grew up in a place with four distinct seasons. Granted sometimes it felt like we would skip fall and go straight to winter, after a 6-week-long summer, but there were changes. Even within the seasons, the weather was variable. I was really nervous about living in a place that is warm all year (but if you talk to me again in February, I bet the nervousness will have turned to joy). Yesterday I was told that the temps will even start getting down into the 60s at night. I almost started jumping for joy! A slightly cooler rainy season is STILL A SEASON!!! Wahooo!!! And, as they say here in Hawaii, no rain = no rainbows. I saw TWO different rainbows just on my way home from work yesterday! I hope I never get blasé about them!!

Little tidbit for life: Always be excited about rainbows.

Speaking of seasons, I completely forgot about Halloween even though it’s a HUGE deal here. It simply does not feel at all like autumn. Palm fronds don’t undergo a color change before dropping to the ground. Good thing, because if you were under that it could hurt. The Weather Channel has been covering the “foliage season” in its forecasts and it seems like I’m watching a recorded loop from last year because I feel very far removed from all that.

I’ve been decidedly un-festive so far, wrinkling my nose at the holiday decorations (granted, seeing a Christmas aisle next to a Halloween aisle at Target may have been a bit excessive in early September).

I bought us tickets for the Sheraton Hawaii Bowl on Christmas Eve – not something we usually do on the holidays (mostly because I refuse to be cold to watch football but I digress). I didn’t realize it was time to start shopping for Thanksgiving until I saw the pallets of canned cranberry sauce (yum!) at the grocery store. What do you mean, soup weather? It’s still summer!! But it seems like even the subtle change in seasons might be enough to get me in the mood. That and the Christmas CD (Cool Yule, people, how can you go wrong with a title like that??) my mom bought me at Costco.

And once I get in the spirit there is no going back. Once it’s on in my house, it’s on. A couple of short weeks from now I think the Christmas season will be in full effect. Be afraid, people. Be very afraid.

The other season to get excited for – SURF SEASON!! I don’t surf, though I do plan to take lessons sometime in the next couple of months. I want to try it out. But the winter brings the big waves to the North Shore of Oahu, which consequently becomes home to some of the biggest surfing competitions in the world! I can’t wait to go check these out. I’m completely in awe of how the pros harness the raw power of the water to make themselves look really, really cool. I also am a fan of the commitment most surfers make to respecting (and conserving) the marine environment.

It still seems weird to be all stoked about watching surfing while getting ready for the Christmas season, but I’ll take it. I’ve become increasingly intolerant of cold weather over the years, so you won’t hear a single complaint out of this lady.

I wonder if I can find some Christmas cards that have a surfing Santa Claus?