Kona

that’s right ladies and gents, due to factors completely under my control I will cease doing this blog on a daily basis. . . .however, there may be periodic updates, errata and/or et cetera. . .

Well, it had to happen.  Someone got busted for Snackin’ on Snoopy.

 That’s right. Here. In Hawaii.

I personally was not involved, but I heard it went down something like this: guy wanted to play a little round of golf with his beloved dog, staff tells hims “no doggie-nuggets on the green,” man is forced to leave pooch near clubhouse, workers wander by and eye fine piece of puppy chow,  dog agrees to go with,  workers make puppy páte.  

A simple tragedy and one that could have been diverted if the owner had just told the workers to “Sit! Stay!”  

The sad story reminded me of  the time I went to Chinaman’s Hat with my brother.  It was a beautiful day, the clouds were no where to be seen, the water was serene and clear, the delicious smell of BBQ wafted over the beach. . . .we made our way to the shore, nodding with a knowing smile at two men  slow roasting a fat, succulent pig on a spit. . .which just happened to have a nice set of paws and A JUICY DEWCLAW!   Ppbbbt! Ppbbt! Ahhhhh! Man?! A dog?!?

Yes. I dog. My brother confirmed it.  How?  I never asked.

Now, far be it from me to not to comment on the cherished traditions of another culture. . . I have to say that I fail to see how this can become accepted culinary practice.  We all know what questionable hygiene practices dogs have,  and I have often found them licking various regional areas and digging up things they shouldn’t (cat box anyone?).  I just can’t imagine that such  culinary carousing makes for a tasty meat. . . .and yet I wonder. What does Fido taste like? It is better fried or BBQ’d ? And more importantly, can I fit my neighbors annoying lap dog into this traditional smoker?  

(It’s portable—a fine feature when running from the ASPCA.)

Designers! It’s Aloha Friday!. . . Make it work.

I’m sure all of you out there in the real world are as tickled pink as I am to hear that the government has just announced that all of us—you, me and Toonces-the-Driving-Cat—will now all be classified as “farmers” by the federal government.

That’s right. You heard me. Government Bail Out Check!   

In an effort to stimulate our private economic regions,  the federal government has seen fit to return some of the hard earned cash that we have dumped into Washington over the years.  How much? Not enough to make a real difference, but enough to buy me a shiny new PS3,  the equivalent of an endless supply of government-subsidized technological crack. I am a junky and I need it bad.

Sounds great, yeah? Until you find out the moolah ain’t coming until June.  Those damn good fer nuthin’ fed-e-ral know it alls don’t know squat ’bout raisin’ no pigs. . .Pigs don’t play PS3 in June! 

Who knows if the money will help the economy anyway? The only fromula I remember from Economics 101 is: 

       +            =     

With all of the recent economic new, I thought I would weigh in with my liberal arts educated opinions about the whole credit debacle. . . . .It would seem, from reading the papers, that we are experiencing what economic experts refer to in technical terms as a “pooch screw,” an economic situation in which people are willing to pay way too much. . .for everything. 

Especially housing.

Anyone who has turned on the TV and come across ”Flip This Old Bob Villa”   knows that housing prices were going through a ridiculous bubble recently.  There were people on the show who would buy a house for, like, $3.50, add a little turf in the front yard,  some bland paint in the kitchen, and then “flip it” for roughly $82,000,000 to a couple with 12 kids working at Burger King.   I mean, it was insane.  

Who financed all these mortgages, anyway, Benny Hill?

 Hmm. . .I wonder. . . .you think the show will be picked up next season after the housing market tanks?   Doubtful, yeah?  Unless they change the format. . .maybe something like, ”Spin My Credit” or “Rotate My Escrow.”

In the meantime, we can all rest easy that this will never, ever, happen again.

No-mentum. What is it? Where is it from? Why is it here? And more importantly, where is it going?. . . .Actually, nowhere.  That’s right.  It’s “Tuesday,” the second day of the work week and my motivation is scraping the bottom of the barrel.  I got no “juice,” no verve, no-mentum.  Those of you who know me realize that I have had this problem for quite some time.  Some may even argue that it really doesn’t matter what day it is. . . . . 

Be that as it may, I actually think that I have some proof that Tuesdays have siphoned off the creative juices of the best artists for centuries. For instance, did you know that Shakespeare never wrote on Tuesday because that was the day when  had to trim his Bard?   And that Knight Rider, arguably the best show on television, was actually cancelled on a Friday, but that the decision to cancel the show had actually been made on Wednesday, which just happens to be the day after Tuesday? Did you know any of that? Did you?

I didn’t think so. 

 It takes someone with a lot of time and copious amounts of no-mentum to look up pertinent, little-known facts.

So, with that being said, I can safely say that I hold myself in good company when I proclaim. . .

“Tuesday?! Whachu’ talkin bout KITT?”

What is going on with the writer’s strike? Has anyone figured out exactly what’s happening here? Who knows. . .but I have to say that this is effecting my viewing habits. When I deign to dip down into the lower depths of the cable channels, I am shocked by the meagre fare. Not that this is anything new, I just cant believe that the TV execs are considering a pay bump for the highly polished crapola that is on television. Of course, when you consider that most has to be sniffed by the execs  before it has any chance of reaching the air. . . . still. Can’t we do better?

Cheers!
Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert. They are actually funnier without the over-written tripe they’ve been shelling out recently. . .especially Stewart. His natural gifts blossom when he isn’t saddled with the trite political rants that his viewers expect and crave. I know the formula:

Politics=Cool^Revenue    but good politics don’t necessarily mean good entertainment.

Jeers!
There is way to much of the Making-An-American-Super-Idol-Ass-Of-Yourself-As-Your-Big-Brother-Races-Nanny 911-For-Survivor-Apprenticeship-Season-8! hype. If I have to see one more retard (and I use this terrible word in the most heinous way) dressed in vaguely trendy clothes, primp their hair and mug for the camera and chirp about how “wonderful and smart and cool” they think they are and how “totally crappy and fake and lame” the other guy is, I am seriously going to. . .change the channel.

It’s funny to think that a few years ago on CNN I watched as an entertainment reporter and an studio executive remark how the “reality” concept had lost steam. Right.

So, with all of that in mind, I say let’s put our heads together and come up with a really great “reality” concept! We could make millions!*

*(but not off residuals, which constitute a 3.5% gross of the electronic means conveyed through non-traditional media wherein the “viewer”, that’s you, agree to pay us, the “company,” to shaft the writer, or “hack,” out of a non-binding fiduciary amount to be determined at a later date after taking into account 1. inflation, 2.  C.O.L.A.  3. global mean temperature as dictated by  ”Al Gore” and  4. the feelings of our dog ”Sparky”)

Its Aloha Friday once again and I am ready to Aloha the hell out of here. . .It has been a long week here in internet land, filled with arcane techie news, sustained economic woes and reams and reams of useless celebrity information. Yes! Life in the modern age is a ‘manny splendo-red thing. . .’

Come to think of it, the only thing I want to offer you all out there in the electronic jungle is a bit of advice. Dont, under ANY circumstances. . .

I forgot what I was going to say.. . .hmmm. . . . . tough one. That’s the way things have been rolling for me today.   Some days you wake up with hair and other days. . .well, you wake up being Carl.

So, my question for today is: When Friday rolls around, who do you turn into?

It would appear that I have one reader! Thank you kind sir!  I do appreciate your loyalty and willingness to respond to this silliness. 

 Unlike some writer out there in the blogoshpere, I do want to hear from my readers!  

 Let me explain the exclamation point. . . .whilst ambling around on the “Internets” with my faithful guide and companion “Al Gore,”   I came across a rather whimsical and interesting blog.    It happened to be on one of the links that I highlighted last week, a Mr. Lord-Whimsy, and pertained to what form of personal government you would create given the chance.    The ideas that were posted were the usual feel good ideas that one would expect from mediocre aesthetes and wannabe artists—communes and shires and free states. Oh my!  Lord Whimsy was particularly pleased with his own organic creation.

I decided to add a little fun into the mix. I submitted a post.  It was 5 minutes before I left the office and I will reveal it to you, in all of its harried ugliness. (I, for one, have nothing to hide.)

Wot, wot? Nary a mention of Empire, the cause célèbre of countless generations?  Think back to the days of yore. . .No petty nationalisms, no bickering about personal identity or self worth, not a whit about politics from those in the cultured classes—which has to be the most shameful social blemish of our times, this obsession with power and influence over our fellow man.  Lest we forget, the greatest flowerings of culture occur when the state is at its weakest. Empires are notoriously weak and it was that gorgeous behemoth of bureaucratic and aristocratic ineptitude, after all, that laid the foundations of our modern world.  And so I say let us bring back the Empire! Let Empire strike back at the dying star of obscurity and thrust its loins once more to the fore of government! Surely tis’ a fine idea m’Lord?

And it was! But it was filtered and never posted. Dissssssed! I was a shocked and dismayed. Really. I couldn’t finish my usual  7-Eleven donut this morning. . .Now, I can understand erecting a digital shrine to your own ego, but not making it clear at the outset that dissenting opinions will be ignored is a bit disingenuous, don’t you think? In the words of Eric Cartman “&%*@ hippies!” or I might add “*&#&% Hippies-Who-Now-Make-A-Decent-Living-But-Still-Think-They-Are-Cultured-Because-They-Find-Asinine-Things-”Marvelous”!

So dear readers, I ask you, what was my mistake? What was my crime? Perhaps I lacked that hackneyed self-conscious insouciance that is the hallmark of all provincials? Did I somehow upstage the brilliant blogger with my keen Star Wars reference and faux urbanity? Was it the penetrating truth  underlying the apparently verbose response?  Who knows and more importantly, who cares.

But there is one thing I do want you to know, dear reader. Your posts will never be edited. I firmly believe in freedom of expression, and not just the convenient kind that happens to run concurrent with my taste. Everyone is welcome.

I hereby banish you Lord Whimsy from my kingdom, and all other pretenders to the “cultural” throne. 

Mullet madness anyone?

I’m not sure whether you all heard it or not.  It wasn’t something that was widely published in the newspapers but it sure did catch my eye last week. It turns out that the brother of Dog the Bounty Hunter of “mullet tears” fame  got nailed for. . .ahem.  . .doing something naked in his car at the Bank of Hawaii parking lot at Ala Moana.  Yeah, you heard me.  Mullet tears.

Anyway, it seems aforementioned brother was scared of being caught and like a frightened, uh fugitive, tried to flee in his truck, almost hitting the security guard who was investigating the incident and generally “making a”.  When arrested by the police some time later, he claimed that he was changing his clothes, like most people do after going to the beach.  Sure. A legitimate excuse. The only problem?  Everyone knows that the waves in the Ala Moana Parking Garage are 1-2 foot at best and NO self respecting surfer would be found dead on such flat conditions.  (In all fairness, however, there were rumors that there was a pumping little shore break next to the sliding doors in front of the Sears Automotive Center.) 

Changing?! In a parking lot?! Even if that was the case, why run? It’s not like your going to ever be on national television again.  I say, be a man! get over the embarrassment of doing something stupid and just roll with it. 

Not OVER it.

“Oh mullet tears,

rolling through the years. . .”  (feel free to finish the verse or put it to music)

I went to Kaka’ako the other day. . . .It was a cool evening, a few people were out surfing and Diamond Head looked golden-green in the fading light. Actually, there were quite a few people at the park, which seems to be getting more and more crowded each time I go.  It was packed. People playing cards, tourists running for a photograph before the next bus leaves, children zooming around on bicycles.

And people fishing.

Always fishing. Young. Old. Tall. Fat. You name it, they are there, casting their rods to the sea in the hopes of catching. . . .what? Nothing, as far as I can tell. I spend a fair amount of time sitting on the sea wall over there, soaking in the salty breeze and watching the sun dip low, and I have never, I repeat, NEVER seen anyone catch anything.  (Except once. Right after that other time. Before that guy got a bucket full of  moi.)  Seriously though, the chances of catching a fish there are about as high as TV ratings for Manimal.

 I know fishing is all about the journey, the experience of sitting outside, soaking in the fresh air and spending relaxing quality time with those around you, but I also recall a little something called ‘fish’.  You’re supposed to catch them, not stare wistfully at the water, wishing they were there.   Call me crazy, but when I fish, I like to catch.  Or I go somewhere else and try again.  I’m not sure that sitting around and waiting is really a valuable spiritual exercise.  Too many things in life are billed that way.  When there’s no end in sight, someone is always there to say. . .’it’s the journey that is important’. . .hogwash, everyone likes to get somewhere and if people are really that sold on the experience of futility, then I say let them have at it.

I got places to be.