Fear the Crab

My fourth year of participation in the AUW charity softball tournament saw better success than last year, as the UH System Darksiders won its third championship in four years. If I had to peg one reason for the turnaround, it was the effort of our outfielders taking away the opposing teams’ big hitters.
Continued ~

I’m not sure if I’ve mentioned this, but I have been using a titanium spork at work to assist in the consumption of comestibles. I first heard about this thing via ThinkGeek and felt that it would serve me well in The Office environment. In a stroke of pure genius and total lack of work on my part, I managed to secure myself a titanium spork as a gift (along with a squishy bowl set, which I also use at The Office).

I use the spork practically every day. I pack a home lunch and drop that utility-ous utensil in the box, give it a quick spritz of dish soap to rinse off after lunch, and bring it home for a proper scrub at night. It’s very handy.

Sometimes I don’t bring lunch from home. I still bring my lunch box, because it has my squishy bowls and I use them for my breakfast of championship oatmeal. Those days that I don’t bring home lunch, I generally try to find something to eat from places around The Office, and in a passing fit of environmentalism, I opt out of the plastic forks in favor of my metallic culinary weapon.

Such was the case yesterday. Since I had to go to the bank, I stopped by a plate lunch place (located in the Biomedical Building… relevant?) and secured me some herb-roasted chicken. As mentioned, I took no utensils and resolved to use the spork. I’m doing my part to reduce my carbon footprint! Despite the fact that the lunch came in a styrofoam container and that my feet are kinda small.

Fast forward past a fantastic serving of fowl, and the rest of the day is frapturously dull. So dull that I can make up words like frapturous, because it rhymes with craptastic.

I go home, open up my lunch box so that I can wash my bits, and I realize that I FUCKING LEFT THE SPORK IN THE PLATE LUNCH CONTAINER. The container that I threw out in the large garbage cans outside The Office building, that I now distinctly remember having no other such garbage so as to land directly at the bottom. The bottom of which undoubtedly has filled up since I dumped my container after lunch and only realized the spork was missing after dinner.

I figure, well hey, it’s only nine (8.99) dollars, plus shipping and handling. Yeah, it was a gift, but shift happens sometimes. On the other hand, it was 9 freakin’ dollars (plus s&h) and it was a freakin’ gift! Shift!

As if I didn’t have anything better to do, I stayed up late fretting about it.

This early morning I arrive at work, and it’s raining. I have my raincoat and lunchbox (sans spork) and I’m splashing through puddles as I make my way from the parking structure to The Office. I arrive at the building and stop at the garbage can. The garbage can that I threw away my food in. The garbage can that has been filled with other food containers since I left yesterday.

It’s still dark, as it is not yet time for the sun to wake. And it’s raining. Hard. I peek into the can (it has no lid) and see that yes, it is now halfway full. As I suspected, yes, there are food containers, likely filled with leftovers that invariably attract my #1 nemesis (see tags for a clue). And yes, I can see the corner of the container that I threw out from where I stand, pale white styrofoam gleaming in the baleful orange glow of outdoor hallway lights.

Huh. You know, I could reach in there and get it. The can, can be considered halfway empty, right? And the spork was a gift, right? So what if there are dozens of other plates and containers in the way. So what if I have to navigate past all that rotten food and who-knows-what in open bags. So what if, assuming I do pull out the container I used, there is another “occupant” inside when I open it.

I stand there, over the garbage can, pondering my decision. I stand there in my black raincoat, large hood over my head, backpack on my shoulders, lunch box in my hand. I stand there in the dark, rain and wind falling around me, utterly alone since no one with any semblance of sensibility is up at this forsaken hour.

“Lo, how the mighty have fallen,” a witness might think. “Lo, how the dying throes of a weakened economy force State employees to forage for food.” Well, fuck it. I dropped my lunch box to the ground, and dove into that can with as much courage as I could muster.

Apparently it wasn’t much courage, because I ended up just sticking one sleeve-rolled-up arm in there and tugged at the barest piece of styrofoam real estate with my thumb and forefinger. My other fingers were trying as hard as possible to stay away from the germ-ridden filth. My chin was parked on my shoulder blade in an attempt to avoid possible backsplash from.. well, anything.

But it was okay! And my hand was already making the OK sign! I pulled out that lunch container, gave it a quick shake to dislodge any residue, and popped the lid open before my rational mind could interrupt.

Voila! Spork! Disregarding any previous attempts to remain sanitized, I snatched my precious out from the grasp of day-old rice and chicken fat, and dumped the container back into the can. I went inside The Office to the break room sink and gave it a quick rubbing down with dish soap and water, then I microwaved a mug of water and dropped the business end of the spork into it, where it has been soaking since I started this post.

I think maybe it’s okay now. It’s time for oatmeal, and I’m hungry.

One year after the events in this post, the UH Systems Darksiders took the field once again for the AUW softball tournament.  Almost the same rules as last year, with three-inning games, 10-run mercy rule, and 20-minute time limit.  This year, all teams were required to field a minimum of two women.  Some of us believe our team was responsible for this rule change, since last year we only had one woman, and she didn’t play all the games.

Maile came with me this year.  I think she’s my good luck charm.  At the stadium, we found a sticker on her jacket, with a number the same as on my team shirt.  We don’t know where she picked it up from as it was on her back, but we thought it was a strange and rather interesting coincidence.

Played against HCC in our first game. We won after three innings by a small margin, perhaps no more than a couple of runs.

Played against UH Manoa in the second.  This was another game won after three innings, but the we had to play from behind and rally in our last at-bat.  I was particularly lucky in this one; at bat, with two outs and runners on first and third, I lined to the third baseman.  I figured I was done, but the ball squirted out of his glove, I reached on an error, and the winning run scored.

Played against WCC in our third game.  This was a brutal game that lasted the full twenty minutes.  Thankfully we were ahead by a few runs at that point, but this game was another lucky break since we were on the field trying to stop their contact hitters.

Single!

Our three straight wins put us in the championship game.  Unlike last year, we would only need to beat the opposing team once to secure the victory.

Our opponent from the loser’s bracket was our first match-up, HCC.  They did what we did last year; fought their way through to earn a spot in the last game.  They definitely were looking for the upset, but did they have the legs?

We lost the first game on a controversial call.  Bottom of the third, down by one, two outs, bases loaded, I was up to bat.  I hit a weak grounder to the shortstop, and out of the corner of my eye I could see that the fielder wanted to get the force at second, but the baseman wasn’t there.  I hoped that delay would ensure that I beat out the throw.  It did!  My foot fell on the base, followed by the ball in the glove.

Unfortunately, the umpire didn’t see it that way.  I think he was just trying to make things interesting.  Besides, I had made a few mistakes whilst playing first (couldn’t stop some errant throws on the force-outs), and I think those undoubtedly put us in that position in the first place, so there was no reason to argue the call.  We had one more game.

Our team woke up in the second game.  We gave up four runs in the top of the first and only managed to score one during our at-bat.  However, in the second, our defense made no mistakes, and our bats came alive to score nine.  That’s how it would end after three as we held on and got the last remaining outs to secure the win.

Final game

As a team, we’re now back-to-back champions.  I heard through the grapevine that a lot of teams this year were pretty sore about losing to us, and had stepped up their practices to keep pace.  Now that we’ve won our second tournament, I’m pretty certain all the other teams will be gunning for us.

Or they’ll change the rules again.

Champions

From the MetaFilter: an old web site regarding Traffic Waves, the seemingly-inevitable occurrence of traffic congestion and possible suggestions for easing it.  I think it is a tremendously interesting read, and I might try to implement its practices in my own commutes.

I don’t know how well this will improve the traffic situation here, much less the attitudes of “everybody else,” but perhaps it will at least make me feel a bit better about being stuck in the daily ritual of bottlenecked bog-nostifications.

For anyone here with even a passing interest in professional sports, the impetus to choose a franchise to root for can sometimes involve complex mathematical calculations. Hawai`i is not the only state without a professional team, but unlike states on the continent, neighboring teams aren’t a simple stone’s throw away.

I think many people here do follow certain teams based on proximity. California can be considered the “closest” neighbor, and by consequence a number of professional teams in that state have been “adopted” by Hawai`i locals. I know a telephone book’s worth of people who cheer for the NFL’s Oakland Raiders, and an equal number for the San Francisco 49ers. The Los Angeles Lakers in basketball is always a popular choice.

Baseball seems to have a more widespread audience here. I’m not sure if it’s a result of the long history of little league baseball in Hawai`i, with its tradition of borrowing professional names like Cubs, Reds, and Pirates. It seems likely that you might have some kids who would turn to the professional teams for inspiration. However, I played little league, and I didn’t find myself cheering for my team’s professional counterparts.

I’m sure popular culture goes a long way in attracting the fair-weather fans. I’ve seen many Yankees and Red Sox hats being flaunted about. Basketball jerseys from the Spurs, Suns, Cavaliers, and Heat are worn both on and off the court. Football apparel from the Eagles and Patriots seem quite popular.

I haven’t mentioned the possibility that people who move to Hawai`i from other states bring their favorite teams with them. The sheer number of transplants from military assignments alone is enough to bring a diversity of die-hard fans, and it is only added to by the amount of people who come to the islands for their own personal reasons.

I was asked why I chose the teams that I follow, and with one exception, my choices were made by video games:

~ Tampa Bay Buccaneers: I’ve liked this football team since they wore the creamsicle colors and were the laughing stock of the league. For those two reasons, I chose them when I started to play Tecmo Super Bowl III, because I liked whooping ass against the stronger teams. The Bucs have since strengthened my commitment with a Super Bowl win.

~ Detroit Red Wings: There aren’t a lot of hockey fans in the islands, and I won’t go into the many theories as to why this is so. Despite the lack of media coverage here, I’ve liked the Red Wings because of their long history as one of the Original Six. Their logo and simple color scheme of red and white is probably the cleanest and most recognizable in the sporting world. My appreciation for them was solidified in part by NHL 2K, where it became VERY easy to distinguish the many players on the ice. I’m quite happy that they’ve just won their 11th Stanley Cup.

~ Seattle Mariners: The only team I cheer for NOT decided by video games. I started to follow the Mariners from my college days at Puget Sound in Tacoma, and Seattle was the state favorite. I entered into the mix with players like Ken Griffey Jr, Randy Johnson, and the iconic Jay Buhner. I had long hair at the time, and it was always a joke that I would attend one of the games on “Buhner Buzz-Cut” days to get it all shaved off.

Represent!

There have been a rash of murder-suicides here, and by rash I mean maybe two or three in the short 5-month span of 2008. This is what the media would have me say, perhaps illustrating a growing problem in the islands concerning domestic violence. Whether or not that is a responsible statement from the press is a different subject altogether, since it’s difficult to label the two murder-suicides as a reflection of a disturbing trend in family relationships.

Instead, I have been contemplating the community reaction to such events. It is interesting to see how one family’s hardships garner a greater response than another’s. One of the recent families affected by a murder-suicide has received a tremendous amount of help and support from the local community, including monetary donations from restaurants and funds set up for the orphaned children. There has been extensive media coverage, typed and tubed, about the aftermath and everything going on.

Yet I know of two families similarly affected that have received nothing. Only a brief report describing the crime itself made print, survivors listed, and cursory interviews with neighbors. One family lost the father, not to murder-suicide, but straight murder, and the three kids got no help (the mother died of cancer, I believe). The other family was an actual murder-suicide, and the orphaned child has Down syndrome, and he got no help.

Why the discrepancy? It’s nice to know that of the two latter families, the kids are doing all right and making their way through the world, despite the pain. Yet what is the deciding factor in whether or not the community helps to support the displaced?

I was recently made aware of an allegation that someone advised the first family to contact the press about the situation. Perhaps that prompted the media to consider it a worthwhile story to pursue, and as the story was aired, the sympathies of the community were drawn to the grief the family was going through. If this was the case, is the decision to notify the press a matter of familial pride? Is it a matter of how the family prioritizes its needs?

Consider that in the case of the first family, it could be said that the relatives have no problem in saying, “We need help. This was a tragedy and the kids will have a hard time taking care of themselves, so please give us your support.” Whereas in the other family, relatives have taken the position of, “This is a tragic affair that we don’t need to dwell on, that we don’t need other people to know about. Let us move on and do our best to work things out.” One is a position of internal solidarity, the other is of reaching out and asking for help from complete strangers.

I’m not inclined to say that either position is the right one. I’m sure there are benefits and detriments to either, and it is up to each individual who reads about these things to decide which path to follow; that of actively helping the affected, or doing nothing. It is also impossible to expect people to be consistent in their dealings with tragedy. I’d find it hard to believe anyone could afford to give $5300.00 to every single needy family, when there are so many out there that require assistance. So it stands to reason that a generous donation of support is given when one can afford the time or resources, to whomever happens to be the focus of attention at that time.

I just find the dichotomy intriguing. What causes one person to tell all, versus another that keeps quiet? I am finding the moments where some receive help whilst others don’t to be a case of the former being squeaky wheels. Perhaps the latter consider themselves the standing nail, who do not wish any kind of hammer to fall, even if that hammer were made of money.

Or maybe the simile of a hammer striking down hard is a bit too reminiscent of the horrible events that preceded.

I have noticed a disturbing trend amongst the fund-raising groups scattered across the island, particularly the small informal organizations like community sports teams or private dance troupes. The trend seems to center around camping out at a busy intersection, stand on the medians and corners with hand-held fishing nets, and literally beg for cash.

If I remember correctly, this method of fund-raising started with firefighters in California. I don’t remember the exact details, but because it’s a firefighter organization raising money for something other than their own personal pockets, I can get behind it and would willingly donate. On Oahu, the Hawaii Food Bank holds an annual drive-by where you can hand-off small cans of food or cash into their waiting nets.

Now it appears as though everyone and their mothers (literally) are hitting the streets soliciting money. If you’re stopped at a red light, these beggars will troll the lines of cars hoping to see a window roll down and a wad of greenbacks come tumbling out. Sometimes they give you looks as they pass by you and get nothing in return.

Meanwhile you have more of the group on the sides, holding signs that ask you to support their team or troupe. Okay, fine, at least I know who’s getting this money, but now I don’t know what the money is for! Do they have to buy new uniforms? Are they taking a trip to national competition in someplace like Colorado? Or is it, like the case of one local little league baseball team, to help pay for the parents of the players to fly to a tournament?!

Even if I’m made aware of what the money is for, why the hell should I give my hard-earned cash over to some bloke who’s not even working for it? All they’re doing is standing on the side of the road, begging for a handout! At least some homeless dudes might offer to “work for food” (though lately even some of the homeless have turned to outright begging). I’d better see some kids on the side doing some cartwheels or performing some kind of dance routine. Put on a show, sing some songs, do something to earn this money.

There are still groups who do the time-honored traditions of candy-vending or car washes. These groups earn a little less of my ire, but there are still areas where I wish they’d put in a little more effort. I’ve had kids and some adults come to my door and just ask if I want to buy some chili tickets. Okay… thanks for telling me who you are, first, and what this is for. I usually turn away these vendors, even if I really really wanted what they were selling. I’d rather wait and give the money to someone who deserves it.

The amount of consideration I give to a fund-raising offer is a direct result of the amount of effort said fund-raising group is willing to put into the sale. I’ve bought sweet breads, discount cards, chili tickets, and candy from well-spoken representatives because they bothered to sell me the goods. They told me who they were, what they were selling, what the money was for, and how much it was.

I’ve been through the work of fund-raising. I’ve had to go door-to-door and vend my fair share of huli-huli chicken, chocolate-covered almonds, M&Ms, and Zippy’s chili. I’ve had to raise money for little league baseball uniforms, intermediate band trips, elementary school JPO trips, and karate dojo activities. I would sell maybe 1 item per every 10 houses, but at each one I would introduce myself and state what I was selling and why.

It was hard, yeah, and I would have rather been playing in the street than going door-to-door, but motherfucker I worked. The least some of these groups could do is the same.

There are days when, despite the plethora of activity occurring within, I do not feel like noting anything here. Which seems rather strange, given the fact that I am writing about things here, and I will continue to elaborate on the day’s activity. Perhaps then, this is not such a day.

* * *

I mowed the lawn, using a fancy walk-behind gas-powered mower. It is fancy because the wheels adjust independently to their own heights, enabling me to lower, raise, or angle the blades for customized cutting. The mower has a gas pedal of sorts, more like a lever near the handlebars, which I have to hold down if I want the engine to continue running. I suppose it’s more like a safety feature, turning the mower off if I let go of it. There’s also a small lever that spins the front wheels, helping me push the mower along.

Despite the fanciness, I still needed to push the darn thing around the lawn. The grass grows unevenly, with thick patches on one side and dry areas on another. I think the dry side gets too much sun, while the lush side falls into shadow later in the day since it’s closer to the house. I finished off the lawn with the weed-whacker, trimming the edges and taking care of the areas the mower couldn’t reach.

One important lesson I learned; make sure the bag is properly attached. And the end of my mowing adventure, the bag was noticeably empty. I first thought that I really didn’t cut any grass, but it turned out that all the cuttings went into my shoes. The bag itself was just sitting on top of the frame, pretending to be a State worker.

* * *

A big dumpster arrived on Friday. It is for the old rotten, termite-eaten fence that was replaced by a composite material. So naturally, Maile and I took this opportunity to get rid of a few other things. One desk, one dresser, and one table were tossed in, all of which suffered from wood rot and termites. Some old broken weights literally covered in rust, including a nautilus-type home-gym system, went on top of the furniture. You know, to keep it down.

We wanted to dump more things, but then we realized that we might not have any room leftover for the old fence. I suppose stopping there was a good thing, because afterward I felt very itchy. Likely all the splinters, dust, rust, and insect droppings were doing a macarena on my skin.

A proper shower was in order. Given the earlier sun exposure, I promptly took a two-hour nap.

* * *

Maile and I finished the evening with dinner at Hy’s Steak House. Tasted the escargot for starters, dove into a prime rib and garlic steak, and topped it all off with the cherries jubilee ice cream flambe for dessert. Frickin’ awesome, I tell ya.

Afterward we stopped by Macy’s to take advantage of the wedding gift cards we collected. We looked for curtains, but couldn’t find any. Does Macy’s not carry curtains? I find it hard to believe that Hawaii’s flagship Macy’s store does not stock what a simple online search displays.

Granted, we may have just missed them. We wandered the bed and bath section, where we thought curtains would be, but we could only find shower curtains. So instead we bought some picture frames for the living room, since Maile wanted a coherent theme. Perhaps I’ll take a picture of the area, when everything’s complete.

Or maybe I’ll just wait for another blousey day.

This morning I happened upon a full-page color newspaper ad for the new subdivision developing in Pokai Bay. The pictures on that web site show some beautiful single-family homes with spacious interiors, surrounded by lush green grass and clear skies. The newspaper ad featured “EXTRA LARGE back yards!” to appeal to those families with kids, or anyone who likes to run around. The subdivision is away from the noise and hustle-bustle of downtown, but only “minutes” away from the “blossoming second city” of Kapolei. Homes start in the low $400,000 range, which considering the market around here, is pretty good.

Here’s the catch: Pokai Bay is in Waianae. There is only one road from Waianae to anyplace else, and “minutes away from Kapolei” is true, if you consider a 20-minute commute as quick, not to mention that you have to pass through Nanakuli, another large area. And if the distance weren’t bad enough, any small accident on that single road will tie up traffic for hours, and heaven help you if it’s during rush hour.

Another “gotcha” is the specific location of this subdivision. I feel I can only do it justice with this image, direct from the web site itself:

The black-and-white area to the right of the map is the Pokai Bay subdivision. On the flank are other homes, and there’s an elementary school in the corner (I taught remedial reading for one year at that school!). On the left is Waianae Mall, a little strip mall housed in big blocky buildings.

What’s key is the little area, half out of frame, near the bottom. Those silos and storage tanks. What is that?

It’s the Waianae Wastewater Treatment plant. Let me tell you, after working in the vicinity for one school year, the smell literally becomes a part of your DNA. The only thing that can save you from a nose-full of the dregs of humanity is if there’s a good wind that day blowing out to sea.

Aw, but then if that happens, your quick jaunt to the beach is ruined. Even then, you’re not missing much. The water there has some of the filthiest muck I’ve ever regretted wading in. It’s not a pleasant experience to be frolicking amongst the empty potato chip bags and used condoms. No, seriously.

The ad has the title, “You must see it… to believe it!” and I think that’s about the only thing that’s really true. Of course, you have to physically be there to see it; pictures on a pretty page aren’t going to cut it. I seriously doubt this development will attract anyone from town, despite the price. Pity the poor fools on the continent who receive this ad or chance upon the television commercial; many go forth and buy without setting foot once on the property, just because of the “allure” of owning a home in Hawai`i.

Speaking of trapping insects, Maile and I purchased some plants of the Nepenthes family, aka pitcher plants. We figured since our house has a few ant nests around the perimeter, we can watch the balance of nature at work with some carnivorous creations.

Nepenthes Red Dragon

This is the Red Dragon, a hybrid of the thorelli and truncata families. It’s supposed to be a hardy plant well-adapted to the environment around my house. We’ll see how well those big pitchers handle the tiny ants.

Nepenthes bicalcarata

The second plant is the bicalcarata, an interesting little thing that almost looks like it has two fangs on the upper lid. Rather than making with the stabby-stabby, it’s thought that the two prongs generate the nectar that attracts insects, which crawl onto the fangs and fall into the pitcher.

What’s interesting is that those Wikipedia articles list the two plants as endangered or threatened. The garden store where we bought ours grows their own plants, so perhaps the label is only applicable for plants in the wild.