Here's my costume!
When I tried this on last week I think I sort of startled The Good Man...:)
Here's my costume!
When I tried this on last week I think I sort of startled The Good Man...:)
Bit hard to tell from the photo, but if you look, you can see a school of bright yellow fish schooling around there in the crystal blue waters.
I'll just say this: WHOA!
Lava rock means not a lot of sandy beaches. But it sure is pretty.
For my New Mexico friends, parts of Kona I have seen so far (the non-ocean part) reminds me of The Valley of Fire in New Mexico. Black, stark, and really beautiful.
Humid. Obscenely so. But warm.
The morning vog (volcanic fog) has moved on and it promises to be a gorgeous day.
I'm aware that since I'm in "airplane mode" that by the time I actually manage to get this posted, I'll no longer be ON a plane, simply working my new six-day life as an island girl.
That said, as of right now, the moment my fingers fly across the keys of my battered MacBook, I have a lot of thoughts about this exceedingly westbound plane.
First. Looking out the window is boring.
We're flying so freaking high that all I can see are clouds. And I know that if I didn't see clouds, I'd see only ocean. A lot of ocean.
I think I'd rather see clouds. If I consider the vast miles of ocean, and me up here in a sardine can with wings, I might go a little buggy. Since this here flight is due to last some five hours, that's a LOT of spare time in which to go buggy.
So I'll refrain.
When did the airlines start cheaping out so much? Remember when you'd receive packets of snacks for no charge? And headphones too so you could watch the movie as you slide down the window shade and try to imagine the patchwork quilty American Midwest below your feet instead of vast chilly salty waters?
Remember when you didn’t have to have a credit card so you could check your luggage?
Remember when the flight attendants and crew were actually nice?
Remember when people used to dress up to travel?
Ah. Memories of a bygone era.
My white-haired Irish grandmother in a fur collared overcoat and perfect lipstick descending the metal stairs from a plane parked outside the Albuquerque International Airport. Impossibly glamorous to a sun browned hick kid from the desert.
It left a lasting impression.
On to the next thoughts…I get it that I'm going to a tourist destination. Sure. But the abject marketing of product at every turn is a bit more than I can take.
Sure, money makes the world go round. But it's also what got my ass elevated to 35,000 feet. I've paid my dues already. Haven't I?
As they play this "Hawai'ian Skies" video highlighting all the charms of my destination, they keep pausing to play Hawaiian Airlines ads. I give. You got me. I'm here. You have my money. I don't. Quit marketing to me!
Oh no, but there's a Hilo Hattie coupon on my food tray, an on-flight magazine chock-a-block full of "Buy this! See this! Do this! Only this many dollars!"
Dude. Mr. Jones took most of my money. I'm doin' what I can already!
When I sat down, there was this young punk looking kid at the other end of the row. Like straight outta Compton-wannabe-ville. You know the type. Hat turned, thick gold-plated zirconium bling, chest bowed out fussin' and fumin'.
I thought "oh geez…five hours with this?"
Until across the aisle plopped down a mom and a dad.
How hard must it be to represent when mommy and daddy just bought you a turkey sandwich so little Johnny won't be hungry?
Click, click…what next?
Here's a thought. If you are *going* to Hawaii and while on the plane you are wearing a tee shirt that *says* Hawaii…then I'm pretty sure you are a tourist.
I'm just sayin'.
The guy pulling this stunt is huge and sort of angry looking. So I won't say.
But I'll think it. Ooooh I'll think it real good.
One woman is also already wearing coconut smelling lotion or sunscreen or something. She smells like the swimming pool at the Dunes in Vegas, and not in a good way (The Dunes, RIP, you were a fabulous schlocky hotel).
Can ya wait to get there to put that crap on? Evidently no.
I read a pretty interesting article in the in flight magazine about a guy who grows avocados in Hawaii. Evidently these local avocados are delightful.
The article mentioned that your traditional California Hass avocado is about 8% fat and the Hawaiian avocado is more like 25% fat.
The grower said, "it's like eating butter."
Where can I sign up?
Evidently most groceries in Hawaii ship in California Hass. You can't get the local stuff (it's looked down upon, oddly).
Maybe there will be a farmer's market nearby? The grower mentioned in the article lives near where I’m headed.
Journey to a Good Avocado.
Now THAT is worth the trip.
Hawaiian words. Will I be expected to know them and use them?
Will I be branded a moron for not knowing the vernacular?
Mele Kaliki Maka is about my limit. Thanks Bing for putting that one into my brain. I imagine saying Merry Christmas to the locals won't put me in any good stead.
Mahalo. I can probably work that one.
But what about aloha? When does one use that? It's sort of a one size fits all word. Is there ever a wrong time to use it? Will I whip out an aloha and get frowny eyes in return?
Is it like when the pimply web designer at work tries to talk Spanish to the girl who makes espresso drinks? She tolerates him mangling her native tongue because, why bother correcting him, really.
What's the right way not to insult locals? To attempt the language or to refrain?
It is to wonder.
Well. I'm only two hours into this flight. Not even half way. My right leg is already bouncing and I'm itching to stand.
Have I mentioned I actually dislike flights that go more than a couple hours? When I went to New York, I was so worried about my buggy feelings that I packed an art project to keep me busy. Worked pretty well, actually. My seat mate wasn't too impressed with my cross-stitch craftsmanship, but what's a cranky businessman got to do with it?
I brought along a book. After hearing, well, EVERYONE talking about this young adult series "Twilight", I thought I'd give it a whirl.
I'm a veteran of the "young adult" genre, Harry Potter, Pullman's "His Dark Materials" series (from which the movie "The Golden Compass" was born), and more.
All the ladies of about my age range are twittering about "Twilight". A vampire love story, I believe.
It's a thick tome, some 481 pages. I thought that would be sufficient to fascinate me for five hours.
And if that worked, I wouldn't be writing this, now would I?
I have to pee.
Man I hate peeing on an airplane.
I can hold it for three hours or I can just cowboy up and get 'er done.
Not the most erudite way to end this missive.
Ah well. I'll try to be a little classier when I descend from this plane in Honolulu, channeling my Irish grandma and pretending I'm actually a grownup.
Mahalo, aloha and Mele Kaliki Maka to everyone!
This just in…I have wrongly accused the coconut smelling woman. Turns out it's the soap in the bathroom. Great…now the whole plane smells like the swimming pool at the Dunes. Ugh.
Who the heck is this Dow Jones fella and why does he keep taking all my money?
That there is my actual hand putting my actual absentee ballot into the actual mailbox.
I will be in Hawaii for Election Day, or rather will be traveling home from Hawaii, so I won't really be able to keep an eye on the results.
Either way, it will be newsworthy.
But there you have it. I voted.
Now it's your turn.
I won't tussle over your opinion versus mine. All I ask is that you make your opinion known.
Tony Hillerman passed on Sunday.
A good man, a good New Mexican and a terrific crafter of stories leaves behind a profound body of work.
He will be missed.
Photo and story source.
From the quotable NewMexiKen.
Regarding the Obama rally held in Albuquerque last night:
"If 40,000 people were at the Obama rally, while it lasted the rally was the 7th largest city in the state of New Mexico."
Yes, oh yes, the miracles of modern engineering.
I'm just astounded to be living in these times of overwhelming progress.
I mean LOOK at this…a breakthrough!
They are now able to take the humble Hershey's kiss.
And fill plum to bursting with gooey CARAMEL!
(sorry for the bad iPhone photo, but this is an actual kiss actually consumed by me in my kitchen last night!)
Who is the glorious person that created this process and how soon may I slap a hug on 'em!
God bless the chocolate engineers!
For you, my friend, since we share a sick sense of humor about flaming squirrels.
I bring you…raccoons that can't be tased.
"Raccoon unfazed by cop's Taser during wild chase"
Best line of the article:
"'While unlocking the back door, the suspect (karen's note: suspect = a raccoon!) ran at Officer Ek,' the police report says."
And so the officer fired his taser like a rock star from "Cops"
Only the tase didn't phase the "suspect", and
he it took off.
he it didn't burst into flames.
Whuttre YOU looking at?
Yeah, I just said that. Okay, maybe not actually Carlsbad, but near Carlsbad.
For a while back in the day (also called "the college years") my folks lived in Carlsbad. Meaning I spent holidays and summers there.
Have ya'll been to Carlsbad? No, not the caverns, those aren't actually in town. Actual Carlsbad. Where are my southeastern New Mexico people? You know what I'm talkin' about.
So with those dull days in mind, while my mom resided in fabulous downtown Carlsbad, she sought to find ways to get OUT of Carlsbad.
One of the places she took me, one hot summer day, was a location called Sitting Bull Falls. Yes, in the middle of the desert, a glorious oasis with an 130 foot waterfall.
What got me waxing about such a wonderful (cooooool) place?
Well, first, it's been a hard day. Bleary eyed I scanned the Las Cruces Sun News and followed *this* link.
To my surprise, I found a nice write up about Sitting Bull Falls! Nestled deep in the Lincoln National Forest, it's a beautiful and surprising destination in the, uh, middle of no-frickin'-where.
(When you are a NM kinda person, the corner of no-frickin'-where and BFE is a party destination!).
So on this bleary, sad, hard day, I went to Sitting Bull Falls in my mind.
I remembered a really good day. A break from the oppressive heat. Natural beauty. And relaxing. It was a nice mental vacation.
I sort of doubt I'll ever be back that way again in person...so the best I can do is go to Sitting Bull Falls in my mind.
You know, over the years I've heard many a grownup yell and throw things at the television when a commercial came on using a song that meant something to them "back in the day".
Let's be clear, advertisers are sluts. They'll use any jingle, tune or icon imagery if they think it will sell.
Oh, yes, the howls over The Beatles "Revolution" being used to sell Nikes.
The Rolling Stones "Start me up" for Microsoft and "Satisfaction" for Snickers.
Carly Simon's "Anticipation" used to sell ketchup.
And Bob Seger's "Like a Rock" used for Chevy Trucks. To name but a few.
I always agreed and smiled mirthfully while my older friends lamented the demise of their meaningful music.
Until just a few days ago. Yes, a few days ago, I saw this commercial.
And suddenly I was yelling and throwing things at the television.
They have abducted The Fixx!
"Saved by Zero", an iconic song (at least to ME), is now used to shill freaking Toyota cars and trucks at "amazing zero percent financing".
I had to cleanse my senses by watching the original, sort of nonsensical video.
(YouTube says this one can't be embedded, so here's the link.)
Ok, I get it. I'm in that "key" 35-50 demographic where they *hope* we have jobs, responsibilities, and the wherewithal to finance a new Toyota automobile.
But come ON!
It is, for me, a loooooong leap from my New Wave cool "we're not going to be like you" days in high school to tooling around town in a sensible Prius.
And. They. Won't. Stop. Playing. That. Ad.
Especially during post-season baseball.
I have to wonder, in twenty years, which current modern pop songs will be used to shill products?
The one about the stripper? (Ray J's "Sexy Can I")?
The one about the stripper (Flo Rida's "Low")?
Or the one about the stripper (T-Pain's "I'm in love with a stripper")?
Ah well, I can rest easy knowing that in 2028, these young whippersnappers will be hollering and throwing things at the television.
"Hey you kids, get off my lawn!"
I can foresee the future!
Or I should be able to, anyway, if this article is true:
Rejection Fosters Intuition
Shoot, I've racked up enough rejection over a lifetime I should get to work right now on accurately predicting lotto numbers!
Another one bites the dust.
After nearly 40 years, Rolling Stone magazine is whittling down its trademark size. It will now look like every other magazine on the stands.
When I was 15, I had a subscription to Rolling Stone (thanks to the kindness of my mom, thanks mom!). I read it cover to cover every month, drinking in the journalism, the hot, hot interviews and the hip quality of it all.
I stopped subscribing when they went from newspaper print style to glossy pages. It wasn't the paper, it was the quality of the product. Rotten.
So to be fair I haven't read Rolling Stone in a good long while. But now, this nail in the coffin.
The magazine that was so subversive, so out there, so of-the-now is, at its heart, just another corporate owned mass-produced media product.
We've come a long way since RS 1:
I believe in life it's always important to have something you are looking forward to. Something that helps get your heinie out of bed in the morning so you can slog through another day.
A reason to prevail.
It can be just about anything. Heck, some folks are looking to the weekend. Others to seeing their kids at the end of the day. Everyday stuff is good, no doubt, but I'm talking the big stuff. The "ohmygoshIcanhardlywait" kind of stuff.
For me this year, it was about the wedding. Yeah, that was a doozy. A real big something to look forward to, and man did it deliver.
I remember walking on the beach with my fresh-out-of-the-package husband on the evening after our morning wedding, and I said to him "you know, we need to find something new to look forward to."
He told me to shush up and enjoy our wedding day, and I did. Soon enough, though, he was saying it too, "we need a new something to look forward to."
Well, we got one. Yup. Two weeks. Hawaii.
Bam! (said with all the Emeril flair I can muster)
I have never been and it's almost like a fairy tale to this New Mexico kid to even think about going.
Sure, yeah, economic crisis, yipes, and all of that. But hey, I'm doing MY part for the economy.
The weather in the Bay Area is starting to turn decidedly frosty. The usually standoffish Feline has taken to cuddling *right* on up with her heat-producing humans. Blankets have come out of closets.
And in just two weeks, I'll be where it's 80 degrees and in an island state of mind.
And I'll come back just in time to start my new job at a new company.
All that added up…not a terrible "something to look forward to."
The holiday season has begun.
How do I know?
The appearance of unnaturally colored cookies.
Apologies to The Good Man and the Great Mom-in-Law who are kinder souls than me and would be horrified to know I giggled at the thought of a flaming squirrel.
These photos come from newspapers and a couple blogs all around the world. I've direct linked them so I'd imagine I'll soon be asked to take them down...but for now, behold......
Just proving I am still shallow despite deep thinking earlier this week...:)
BRIDGEPORT, Conn. - A Connecticut judge has given the brush-off to a blonde woman's lawsuit claiming L'Oreal Inc. ruined her social life when she accidentally dyed her hair brunette with one of its products.
Charlotte Feeney of Stratford says she can never return to her natural blonde hue, a shock that left her so traumatized she needed anti-depressants.
She says she suffered headaches and anxiety, missed the attention that blondes receive and had to stay home and wear hats most of the time.
A Superior Court judge dismissed Feeney's 2005 lawsuit Monday, saying she never proved her allegation that L'Oreal put brown hair dye in a box labeled as blonde. The company also had disputed the claim.
Feeney referred questions on Wednesday to her attorney, David Laudano, who has declined to comment.
Um...she can "never return" to her, um, "natural" blond color?
Cuz, uh, it doesn't grow out of her head that way? Naturally?
Me thinks bimbo tried to carve out some dollars by doing an 'at home' dye job and jacked it up!
And home-squirrel had to wear hats most of the time? Wha? Because her widdle hairs were brown?
My naturally brown locks have scored me plenty of attention.
Miss Feeney, if you can't work it being a brunette, then you're doing it wrong.
That the word "maverick" was originally coined to apply to cattle that didn't have a brand? Meaning they technically didn't belong to anyone.
Is the heavy campaign usage a mis-application of the word? Oh I think so. Oh yes I very much do.
So does Terrellita Maverick. See, her ancestor, Samuel Augustus Maverick was a guy who "…was more interested in keeping track of the land he owned than the livestock on it…unbranded cattle, then, were called 'Maverick’s.'"
Ms. Maverick isn't buying it when John McCain uses the word to describe himself.
"'He’s a Republican,' she said. 'He’s branded.'"
Next time McCain or Palin uses that word. Remember: cow.
Image "Boo Moo" by Nick Piliero
1. The good news is the word maverick didn't crop up in last night's debate.
2. One might think after the last two posts that I am an Obama supporter. I'm not. Call me undecided. A lot. And call me disappointed. As in where can I park a protest vote?
3. Political posts two days in a row. TGM might faint!
ABQJournal columnist Thelma Domenici on the topic of political conversations:
"Every party to the conversation must be willing and able to listen long enough to hear what the other person is saying. No one should have an agenda ready with which to interrupt. It's the interruptions that cause those emery board conversations that grate upon us so."
Um hmm. Try having a political conversation with my dear (departed) rightward leaning father.
If only Thelma lived in my house back then....feh, he probably wouldn't have listened to her either! :)
Mine? Well let's see.
The Dodgers advanced to the NLCS (round two of the playoffs). Brutal.
Woke up today to the news that the global markets are a mess. Again.
My own company's stock took another major dive.
Our intracompany HR system laid an egg, and I cannot deliver performance reviews today (It would have been a little good news to my weary and battered team).
And my socially, environmentally and economically conscious mode of transportation failed me today. Early this morning CalTrain danced with a semi truck. Minor injuries only and it happened far away from me. But that meant as I arrived at the station this morning, I got the news, "trains delayed indefinitely".
*sigh* Not an auspicious start to the week.
Guess "someone has a case of the Mondays!"
Remember how I pondered a couple days ago if I was, perhaps, too attached to my pet?
Today I read this article and think, maybe I'm doin' all right:
Florida Man Punches Shark To Save His Terrier
Says pet owner Greg LeNoir:
"...We have no children. Jake became our child. When I saw the shark engulf him, I thought, `This can’t be the end.’"
Poor pupular is doing fine after some extensive vet work.
And I thought scrunching over to the very edge of the bed to allow room for a spread eagle sleeping cat was a sacrifice.
Greg LeNoir, you win.
Observed today in my work's cafeteria:
Arrogant mid-level exec guy says to one of the cafeteria employees, "Would you help me, I have special request."
"Sure," she answered brightly. Poor poppet, she thought he'd have a rational request.
Seems he "needed" a dry cappuccino. And there is only ONE person employed by our cafeteria who makes it correctly (to his rarified tastes, I'm sure).
The ONE person just happened to be the same woman who was running the cash register.
At lunch rush.
A scramble ensued to swap out the person at the register, while the woman shook her head, decided this wasn't a battle worth fighting, and went off to make a dry cappuccino.
While about fifteen of us stood there waiting.
Sort of an add-on to the post entitled "Is it the air up there?."
To the post entitled "Strange Days Indeed"
I have one additional mind-boggler to add.
I heard an ad on the radio today telling me that Tina Tuner is launching a new concert tour.
The woman is almost 69 years old, ferchrissakes, and she still looks better on her worst day than I do on my best.
But that's not the mind boggler.
Her tour is sponsored by....and I'm not making this up.....Amway.
Tonight, 9:00 East/6:00 West, the Vice Presidential debate.
Palin v Biden
Oh I'm there.
With this handy study guide:
Debate Drinking Game
Due to having a rather austere father, I am not one of those folks with deep, fond memories of the parade of pets I owned and raised as I grew up.
The Good Man is this way. Both of his parents are avid animal people and so he has a whole lifetime of pets he can speak about in loving tones. It makes me sort of jealous.
I have one childhood pet. A white cat obtained when I was about twelve.
She was a good pet, truly. Her name was Yoda and she was very tolerant of me (and that's saying a lot for a cat). She had a fantastic personality, full of charm and easy to love. She would come when you called her name and was nutso over turkey meat.
Poor little feline breathed her last while I was away studying at NMSU.
In the span of my adult life, post-Yoda, I'd never owned another pet. Which is weird, because I'm a lover of fuzzies and usually form close bonds with the pets belonging to my friends.
My best friend is owner to my goddog and a finicky godcat and I love 'em like they are my own. But they aren't my own. And they live in Las Cruces, so that doesn't help!
So imagine my delight when I began dating The Good Man almost three years ago and he had not one but TWO felines to keep his life interesting.
One charming old man marmalade and one batty, toddler-esque black and white.
Sadly, the marmie gave over to kidney issues soon after TGM and I started seeing each other, but I at least had the chance to love that orange kitty. He was a good man.
Which leaves us now with the batty cat. She's the one who charms our lives these days.
This is only the second pet I've ever personally owned. And I am here to confess:
I love that cat.
In fact, that's the genesis of this post. I have one of those screensavers that plucks images from my photo library and displays them onscreen. As I was on the phone earlier today dealing with another cranky business client, this photo flashed on my screen and held there for a bit too long.
And I stared at that g'damn cat and felt so much love in my heart. Like…over love. Too much love. WAY too much love for such a cute furry obnoxious, middle of the night meowing cuz she's hungry kind of animal.
Am I the only pet owner who has ever wondered…am I a little *too* attached to my pet?