Spider Attack: How I Lost my Sunglasses, and Almost my Life

Le just left Kona today. She came in for a lovely visit. We went around the island--from here to Volcanoes National Park, to Hilo, then Wimea, Hapuna Beach, and then back home. We did a lot. But lets skip forward to our horseback ride to Kealakekua Bay.

We went on a fantastic trailride with a dude named Bones. Awesome views of the water, nice horses, etc.

But lets go to the point where I lost my sunglasses. It was about halfway down a long path overlooking the bay and some ancient Hawaiian foot path/highway, when I rode through a spider web. In fact, the spider web landed all over my face, and as it did I saw a huge spider coming down out of the tree. This was the largest spider I'd ever seen outside of a zoo--perhaps about four inches across, yellow and black, huge body, skinny legs.

It landed on my shoulder and started crawling around. It was about this time that I--a rather large, somewhat burly, typically unflappable man--started screaming. No, it wasn't a loud, long, feminine shriek. It was more me yelling in a panicked, high-pitched voice, "Get it off me! Get it off me! There's a fuckin spider on me! Fuck! Fuck! Oh Fuck! Get it off!" I let go of the reins and started flapping my arms around, and tried hitting the spider off me. I succeeded in knocking my sunglasses off. I thought the spider was gone, but there he was on my leg. He'd crawled down my torso to my legs and seemed to be crawling back up. I kept hitting at him, and he finally fell to the saddle, and then jumped off the horse. I figured I'd saved myself from certain death. I could only imagine the humongous fangs that thing had and he was so close to planting them in my flesh.

I took the reins back, and noticed my sunglasses were gone. I told Bones about the huge spider.

"Oh that? That's a good spider. They won't hurt ya'. They just crawl around on ya'. 'Bout only thing on this island that'll hurt ya' is a brown recluse. That'll kill ya'."

And that was that. Bones is a man's man--the type of guy that makes the Marlboro Man look like a devotee of Queer Eye for the Straight Guy (coincidentally, my brother is one, but that's just a side note). I feel like such a schmuck.

Not only that, but I need new sunglasses. Goddamnit.

The 'Three' Key

Okay, today the keyboard works a little better. Now, only the 'three' key doesn't work. I guess I can live without the 'three' key. Maybe I'll get a new keyboard at some point, but $65 for the 'three' key? And that's the price of a used one on eBay. Granted, it's also the 'pound' key, but when do you really need that? For tic-tac-toe? That's it, right?

Check this out: 1. That's right, the 1 key works. And I can also put in a tilde. Watch this: ~. That's right. A fucking tilde. Thank the Lord! I've got tilde access!

Black Friday is coming up. I plan on buying a DVD Recorder from Costco for about $85. If I can find a DVD burner for cheap (external), I'll buy that too.

Last night I went to the beach (before I fucked up my keyboard). It was the Old Airport State Park. Guess what it used to be...Give up? It was the old airport. The parking lot is the old landing strip, and coincidentally one of the longest parking lots I've ever seen. It's a mile long and about an eighth of a mile wide. That'd make a good drag strip.

I was discriminated against today. Hawaiians. Many are ignorant, racist motherfuckers. I went to pay for an oil change at the Midas. A native woman walked in. The guy behind the counter (the manager of all people) was native. I'd been standing there at the counter for 10 minutes waiting to pay. I had my credit card out and was obviously THERE to pay. The woman walked up to the counter and pulled out HER credit card. After about another 5 minutes, the manager walked over and let HER pay first, completely ignoring me. He then went back to his little desk, dicked around a couple of minutes, then came back and treated me like I had JUST walked in--like he hadn't even seen me standing there. "Oh, are you here to pick up the BMW?" BMW? What? Are you on crack? There wasn't even a BMW in the goddamn parking lot. I understand that Hawaii has a huge ice problem. Case in point.

Fixed keyboard? Not quite.

This is curious. This morning, my keyboard appears to work. Only two keys this morning aren't working: the one and the three key. It's strange, because the ` and the 2 keys work.

Should I still buy a new keyboard? Nah. Although, every so often, when I start typing real1ly fas1t, a 'one' is inserted in a weird plac1e (see?). Still, no exclamation points, by the way. But if I real1ly need access to these two numbers, I COULD just turn on the num luck key and do it that way.

Damn. Maybe I still do need a new keyboard. Though I COULD just hook up an external USB keyboard, right? That might be an idea. And a monitor with DV input, and then just use the iBook like a Mac Mini while I'm at home. But then I have to buy a monitor and another keyboard.

Shit. I hate spilling coffee on expensi1ve things. I'm such a moron.

Fucking broken keybord.

Tip: Don't pour coffee on your keybord. You'll notice I don't utilice lot of letter. No backspace. No 's' or 'a' or numbers or the firt letter of cunt (tht time it orked). I did by accident. No double-u. I knock coffee off counter onto keybord. Only couple drop. Big-time fucked. Fuck me...No ekclemition point. No eks key.

God dmmit Thi fucking piece of hit ht the fuck cn I do ith lptop ith no Goddmn keybord?

Not kidding nd fuck you for thinking I m.

Hello, I'm Johnny Cash.

Man, wouldn't it be great if I were able to say that and mean it?

I went to the Club and worked out a bit this evening. Usually, on Sundays, I go across the street and get some Vietnamese takeout from Ba'Le. Today, I went and got some Jamba juice and walked around a bit. And then a funny thought struck me: "This isn't so different from Old Pasadena." Old Pasadena is a really nice shopping area with an okay night life and fair amounts of culture. There's at least one theatre, movie theaters, restaurants. But the Kona Coast Shopping Center had all of this (minus the theaters, night life, and culture).

There was the requisite Starbucks. Also, there was the Vietnamese place (and what's any place without a Vietnamese place?), Blockbuster Video (which really fulfills the function a movie theater does), Ross (a poor excuse for a department store, but STILL a department store), KTA (it's not Gelson's, but it's a pretty nice grocery store), Jamba Juice, and a couple of other places. Tourists are wondering about intermingled with the people that live here. Come on. Did I not just describe Old Pasadena? You may have to use your imagination a little, and perhaps even a little stoned, but it'll all start to make sense.

I've decided to write a proposal to present to the city council about changing the name from Kona Coast Shopping Center to Old Pasadena II. I think it's pretty promising, and should give me the exposure I need to enter local politics. For the large number of Southern Californians that live here, I imagine it will make them all feel more at home. All it needs is at least one super-trendy bar and a sushi place close by that's open until 4:30 AM, and we're set. I'll never have to move back to Pasadena.

Le is coming out to visit on Thursday. Yes, Thanksgiving. It's my favorite holiday. I hate Christmas, because I dislike Christianity, Christians, Christmas trees, Christmas music, and Kenny G (who seems to always have some sort of shitty Christmas CD out). Easter? It's okay because there's a lot of candy, but then what? Eggs? Come on. Passover? No. It's kind of like Chanukah for me, except it's only one day. And what's my deal with Chanukah? For me, it's an eight day reminder of how Jewish I'm not, and how I've never been Bar Mitzvahed and I'll resent my parents forever for not preparing me for it like every other Jew on Earth. Also, my apartment always stinks after I make latkes. That pretty much leaves Thanksgiving and the 4th of July. I used to like the 4th of July, too, but the Republicans have turned it into American Ultra-Patriatism Day.

So Thanksgiving. Turkey lurkey doo and a turkey lurkey dap. I eat that turkey then I take a nap.

I'm going to see Good Night, and Good Luck at the Aloha Theatre on Wednesday. I'm pretty psyched. It looks like a cool movie, and it's only $6. If I could convince them I'm 60 or above, the movie's ony $5. Any ideas?

I just watched Matrix Revolutions today...Yeah...The first movie was fine. I don't think they had to ruin it with sequals. Actually, the second movie was ultra-bizarre. The third one wasn't too bad.

Yeah...so that's that.

I've done nothing worthwhile over the last week. Nothing. At. All.

I made chocolate covered macadamia nuts today. I accidentally spilled about five pounds of melted chocolate on the floor, and then accidentally stepped in it; that's the only almost worth mentioning. Don't worry, though--I didn't eat it.

The Green Eyesore

The Green Eyesore still sits outside. The Green Eyesore is my 1984 Ford Bronco II 4X4. It's the V-6 with a weber racing carb. And it doesn't run. The car has now been parked in its place long enough for some intrepid spider to build a respectable web. Rather large and scary looking, actually.

I told my brother about the Green Eyesore. He asked what it needs to get it running. I told him a miracle. He said, "What does it need most to make it better?" I told him it needs to be rolled down a hill. It's true. I could just push the sumbitch across the highway and through the brush. It might even fall in the ocean. How lucky would that be?

I don't have a bicycle out here. My bicycle is sitting in my friend's garage in Arcadia. Technically, she lives in San Gabriel, but she literally lives right next to the "Welcome to Arcadia" sign. It's odd. I think that when I go back to visit or move, I'm going to take that sign and move it to the other side of her house. I'll increase the value of her home for her, because I'm a good friend.

So I need a job. It's coming to the point where I've got to stop dilly-dallying. I stopped at Starbucks about a week ago to get an application. As I walked across the parking lot, I stopped. I thought, "Goddamnit, I spent six years in school. I may be broke, and I may NEED a part time job, but I went to school just so I wouldn't HAVE to get a part time job at the Starbucks." I turned around and left without getting the app. It's weird. I feel I'm going back in time a bit. While friends move further into their careers, and get close to graduating from their graduate programs, I can't see myself looking for a part-time job. Not at Starbucks, at least. My mother says, "You need a job. You need the benefits, and you get free coffee, and they have good stock options." That's true. I need the benefits, and they do have good stock options. But I drink fresh Kona or Kauai coffee every day. Starbucks is lousy. Their lattes are okay, but that's about it. Their coffee tastes burnt, and I don't like those sugary crappacino bullshit iced drinks.

My dislike of their product, though, doesn't mean I don't need a job, unfortunately. Damn.

Not that I'm living TOO lavishly. I go out for a meal perhaps once or twice a week. I get a tank of gas about once every week and a half. My big expense is insurance. And since I quit my job, I have to pay my full premium--a whopping $330 per month. In about two months, I'll be eligible for a conversion so it'll go down to hopefully closer to $100 per month. There's my cell phone, too, but that's not too bad. And I prepaid my entire gym membership for the next year. Also my old car insurance. I haven't even switched it over to the Bronco yet, which is stupid. Even though the Bronco isn't running, I still am paying insurance on the Saab that I no longer even own (so as not to have a gap in coverage). All well. I guess I'll do that tomorrow. Maybe I can afford to be the poor unemployed writer for another month.

I want chicken. I want liver. Meow mix, meow mix, please deliver.

Today I was somewhat upset with myself. I went to bed really early last night--around 10:30 PM. I was so tired, I couldn't think straight. I set my alarm for 5:30 AM (yes, I set my alarm every single day). Not only did I wake up at 5:30 AM, but I felt refreshed and mostly rested when I woke up. I lay there thinking, "I'll think about what I'm going to do today. I've got so much time--the WHOLE day ahead of me! The sun's not even up yet! I can close my eyes for another couple of minutes first..." And then it was 10:00 AM. I ended up sleeping almost 12 hours. Christ on a crutch.

It was a somewhat eventful night, though. It was a few of the "things that go bump in the night." Around 2 AM, I heard what sounded like an animal on the roof loose its footing, and then roll down, fall through the air, and hit the ground. It was a cat, because I heard it give a surprised, "MRrrrrreeerrr!!" It would have been funnier, but the crash was loud enough for me to be afraid that it had fallen through the ceiling. So I was up and around my apartment looking for any holes in the ceiling. My bedroom has an area that's open to the outside, but separated by reinforced screens. There's also an area like this in the kitchen. I was afraid that the cat had fallen through that.

And then, around 4, I heard some animal get caught on my front porch. My front porch is protected by a screen door. I have no idea how it got in there, but whatever it is sound like it was lost. I suddenly heard a bunch of thumping and banging. Perhaps there were two of them, and whatever they were (cats, rats, dogs, supernatural beasts) were fighting, and then it stopped. Goddamn it, it was right outside the front door. I was glad I locked the door (you know, in case they were supernatural beasts with the capability of opening doors).

I was excited today because I found brownies. I was told, "Ryan, there might be some frozen Digiorno pizzas in the upright freezer in your pantry." Yay! I never really looked in that freezer. Why not? It's there. I could use it. It is, after all, in my apartment. But I looked, and there's like four Digiorno pizzas. FOUR! And...what's this? Oh my...Today must be my lucky day...FREAKIN' BROWNIES STILL IN THE PAN IN A ZIPLOCK BAG!!. I yanked them out and went trallopping around. "Look," I exclaimed. "Brownies!"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Where'd you find that?"

"In the freezer. Why?"

"Uh...You might not want to eat that..."

"Why? Are they old? Oh wait..." I could tell from the look on her face as she quickly grabbed them and looked at them. "They're pot brownies, huh?"

"Uh...Maybe. Might want to go ahead and put these back in the fridge at the very bottom where you found them."

Now I want brownies, goddamnit. Not pot brownies. I want regular brownies! I love brownies. My stomach growls for brownies. I want to get high off the chocolatey goodness, and not anything else. Why do I want brownies so bad? I live in a goddamn chocolate factory. I can eat as much chocolate as I want. But brownies...brownies are different.

I went to the beach today. Hopuna. It was nice. Relaxing. Kind of boring. All well. Lazy Sunday.

I've reached a time in my life where chocolate doesn't have the same effect on me as it used to. I have a ten pound bar of chocolate not five feet from where I sit, and i don't know what to do with it. The idea of eating it is laughable. I don't even want it. I was going to send it to my mother, but you can buy the broken chunks of the ten pound Ghiradelli chocolate bars (just like this one) at Trader Joe's in the bins near the front. Why not send her something a bit more exotic. My bills are pretty exotic.

Props to voting against the Props

Schwarzenegger lost on all of his ballot initiatives, thank God. When first elected, I was still in New Mexico and considered him a novelty. I didn't give a damn. Then I moved to California, and still didn't give a damn. I though it was odd to pull up a page like the California Office of Real Estate Appraiser's web page, and there's his picture at the top. Also, when I worked for the IRS and we'd receive a state document, it'd have a copy of his name and sigature in the header. I found it odd.

But then I started paying some attention to the idiotic things he said and did. I'll start with the latest action: The special election cost California taxpayers $250,000,000. Look at all those zeroes. It's funny that one of the ballot initiatives was supposed to restrain spending. I wonder what we could have done with an extra $250,000,000 sitting around? And Schwarzenegger really wanted this election to happy. Thanks, Arnie! Wish I could have been there to vote against you, but you know how it is...

What else? I believe he said some xenophobic things about our Mexican brothers who came in the country via illegal means. He basically said the borders needed to be sealed, and there's no room in California for immigrants. Yeah, this is what the Austrian-born, talking-with-an-accent motherfucker said. What a dumbfuck. I believe someone in his cabinet pointed out that he also is an immigrant, so he later apologized. He mispoke, and meant something totally different.

He fucked around with the nurse's union. It's just not wise to piss off a nurse. My sister-in-law is a nurse, and I pissed her off once; she tried to beat the shit out of me and will never allow me in their house as long as I live (well, the last part of that is a stretch of the truth, but not much). That was just ONE nurse--my brother's wife (the poor guy--HE has to live with that thing and SLEEP next to it; I'd prefer slashing my wrists with a cheese grater). I imagine that the nurse's union is like my sister-in-law times 5,000 or so. I hate her, and I'm sure I'd especially hate to deal with 5,000 of her. Blah.

And did you see Terminator 3? What the fuck was that? It was terrible compared to the first two.

I don't even know who the governor of Hawaii is. Some republican, I think. Doesn't matter, though. This state is so backwards, I can't even begin to care. It's my year-long vacation. Why should I worry about politics (unless Hawaii secedes from the union like Canada tried to)?

What island you from? 'What' ain't no island I ever heard of. Do they speak English on 'what'?

I went snorkeling today at the Place of Refuge, which is about 20 or so minutes south of here. I've been snorkeling a few times now, and I notice a huge problem with touristos is that they can't LOOK at something. They have to touch it. And not fish, or coral, or anything that banal. They have to touch and fuck with the endangered turtles. Signs everywhere proclaim that this is a federal offense, and you risk a huge fine, jail, and chemical castration for fucking with the turtles.

Today, I saw a family snorkeling around. This little turtle floats gracefully to the surface to get some air, and the family starts chasing it because they want to touch it. I yelled at them, "Hey!" The mom stuck her head out of the water and gave me the same wierd look that all tourists do--the "Why are you interrupting our vacation?" look--and I told her, "It's a federal offense to touch the turtles." She looked at me skeptically (always the skeptical look), and said, "Yeah? I didn't know that." I told her it was indeed highly illegal and she and her family face a huge fine if they're caught. "Really?" Now it seemed to sort of sink in--like maybe I'm not kidding, and maybe they should interrupt their vacation to heed this advice. I told her to open her eyes and look at the signs plastered everywhere, and then I swam away because I don't think I'd be able to handle it if I watched them continue to fuck with the endangered turtle.

I can see the turtles just fine with they're swimming fifteen to twenty feet away from me. Why do people have to touch them? So they can go home and beat off to the fact that they have fucked with something that's actually endangered? Won't their Republican friends be so happy for them?

My friend, we'll say her name is Lamb Tabernacle, told me my kickboxing instructor from Pasadena and his girlfriend were in town this weekend. Lamb told them I lived here, too, so we should meet up. She emailed me their phone numbers. I called them and they told me the hotel they were at. They said it'd be cool to meet for dinner, and I agreed. So I called back yesterday evening and my kickboxing instructor, who we'll call The Hun, said, "Swing by the hotel and we'll go in the Jacuzzi, and then out to dinner." Sweet deal. Okay. Where is your hotel? "Hold on." And he passed the phone to his girlfriend. I asked where their resort was, and she said that from the airport, it's two minutes away to the north. Hmm. Two minutes. Ain't nothin' that's two minutes to the north. The closest resort north of the airport is about 30 minutes. Maybe ten minutes SOUTH of the airport? No, definitely north. Okay. Then she said it was on the 58. Hmm. I don't recall driving on a highway 58. Suspicious, I finally asked, "WHICH airport are you near?"

She said, "The Lihue Airport. We're right here."

"What island are you on?"

"Kauai."

"Shit. I'm on Big Island. You're nowhere NEAR here!"

And so I didn't get to go out to dinner tonight with the Hun and his girl. I thank Lamb for this.

Nothing Like Charlie and the Chocolate Factory

I've been called Willy Wonka (as well as asshole, fuckhead, shitface, and dumbfuck). I was recently asked if the chocolate factory that I work and live at is anything like from the movie Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. The answer is a huge, "No." It is nothing like Willy Wonka's factory.

In real life, the Oompa Loompas are extraordinarily hostile. Some have drug problems. Some are alcoholics. Few even show up to work on time. And if you ask them to do something, they get all bent out of shape. And their songs suck.

For instance, I played my little flute (the one that summons the Oompa Loompas), and asked, "Oompa Loompas, I accidentally spilled some chocolate on the floor. Will you clean it up please?" They sang me a song about how white people think they run the world, and how the Oompa Loompas will rise up and save the earth from the white people by savagely killing them all. Sure, they cleaned up the chocolate, but it took them a long time to do it. And I really could have done without the song.

And sometimes, when they're not being very original, they'll sing some song they think I haven't heard, and then claim it's their own--an original Oompa Loompa creation. I asked them to make a batch of chocolate, and they started singing a Beach Boys song. They thought they were being wise, but I said, "Uh...You're singing about California girls, and we're in Hawaii. And it's not even like I'm going to the beach today." So to make up for it, they sang me the theme song to Family Ties (the 80s television show). This did not make up for it, and I got a little upset. I called them all dumbass Oompa Loompa motherfuckers. That may not have been wise. All day today they made rude gestures, and I found obvious clues that they were planning to harm me (such as the shards of glass on top of my sandwich at lunch time, the stick of dynamite in the toilet, and the propane tanks they'd emptied into my apartment in the hopes that I'd light something). I'm afraid to go to sleep tonight.

We keep them on, though, because they're cheap labor and we can take the Oompa Loompa exemption on the 1120 Corporate Income Tax Return.

It's somewhat tough living in such a small town. I don't even live in the small town. I live in a suburb of Kailua-Kona, which in itself qualifies as a village in any other state. I'm amazed that they have their own radio stations, but you can hear radio stations in Maui. It doesn't matter, though, because they're all shit. They all play shitty music--either Hawaiian, commercial-laden mainstream alternative, or country. Some Hawaiian music is okay (not good, just barely tolerable). All the announcers are even bouncier and more annoying than on the mainland. And country--well, country just sucks no matter where you are. 88.1 apparently is Honolulu's NPR station. You can hear through the static just enough to know that it's an NPR station that you won't ever be able to listen to unless you fly to another fucking island.

I made macadamia nut butter today. I don't have a blender, and I really wanted to grind up some mac nuts so I could coat a fish fillet in it (rather than breading the fillet) and saute. I used my coffee grinder. And after a few seconds, I had slightly-coffee tasting macadamia nut butter. I'm kind of proud of myself, actually.

I have access to so many mac nuts. I must have eaten a pound of mac nuts today--just because I could. On the mainland, that's unheard of. It's so expensive to do that, but here, we use it in the candies and I end up eating them all the godamn time. I mean, I had enough to make mac nut butter and still have at least two pounds left laying around my kitchen. And if I finish the 2 pounds? I go get more. It's almost sickening.

UPDATE: Retirement in Hawaii

It's wierd. As things happen to me, I think, "Hey, this would be great to write on my blog." And then I don't, and I write about mundane things. It's strange, actually. I see gorgeous things, and fill my time with interesting activities. Then I end up writing blogs about a piece of fruit I ate, or going to Safeway, or the wierd police cars.

But damn. I really can't get over the police cars. Hawaii County really seems to be nothing more than a corrupt Eastern European post-Communist country when you get down to it. Here, the cops are paid a hefty driving allowance to drive their own personal cars. There's some Mustangs (including a Saleen S281), Xterras, 4Runners, a fuckin' Toyota Sequoya, and even a Honda Accord. These aren't police cars. And then yesterday, I saw a shiny newish black C5 corvette idle by the restaurant I was eating at--top off, clean, polished, chrome aftermarket exhaust pipes. It was pointed out as an undercover cop; my lunch companion saw the driver was wearing a cop uniform. My point is that in these smaller, poor Eastern European countries, I imagine these ex-KGB and state security officials driving around in whatever car they want. The State pays for it, and they get to keep it. How is this different? And so few cops in so much space probably with little or no oversight, it's ripe for payoffs and paying for protection.

It sure gets dark here at night. There's no streetlights where I am. If I open my front door during a new moon and look out the front door, I cannot see a thing. Nothing. It's silent. And it's the same whether I close my eyes or keep them open. It's so trippy.

I've been making candy. Today, I made 250 pounds of chocolate covered coffee. I've just been learning. Those who I promised candy, you'll be getting it soon. It's a somewhat arduous task. They're made in 125 pound batches, and take two to two and a half hours. It's loud, and I wear a lab coat and gloves. By the end of the day, my lab coat was covered in crusted chocolate.

A strange problem is that this chocolate is all around me. The thrill has drained out of me in terms of eating this chocolate. It's always there. But yesterday was Halloween. I was reveling over eating a fun-size Twix bar. "Mmmm! Twix! I love Twix!" It's odd that 50 cents worth of candy provides more enjoyment to me now than candy that is $20 or $30 a pound.

My phone is still broken, and the new one hasn't arrived. I've been too lazy to check the messages (nobody usually calls anyway, so what's the point?). So why am I telling you this? You probably had no intention of calling me anyway, prick.