The Island of Oahu Plunges into Darkness!

How’s that for a grabber?

So Friday, day after Christmas, apparently I’m feeling suicidal because I decide to hit up the mall after work. I never do this, as I hate malls, but the Hawaii mall at Ala Moana not only has a cool name, but it has all these outside courtyards, which make it feel less like a mall, it’s huge, and it has a food court full of deliciousness to make you weep or split your tight Ant pants, you know whatever.

Anyway, mall was crowded, but not suicide ideation inducing. I was only there an hour (okay fine, you’re thinking it, Mom, I’ll just say it, I went for the food. I was dying for some food court nasty goodness and I got it). Anyway, bus ride home, I notice bus is going really slowly, but there’s no traffic. I look out the window, no traffic and apparently no lights either. All of Waikiki was dark and by dark I mean pitch dark.

Nobody knows what’s going on, not really, until I roll into my humble abode where I am greeted by the doorman who hands me a glow stick. “Aloha,” he says cheerfully, “our emergency generators are up and running, but this should help you get about your room.” I look down at my hand and then back up at him again. A glow stick, seriously?

“Oh,” he says, “are you over 21.” I sigh and nod. “In that case,” he adds with a grin, “our bar [Cabana Pool Bar, in case you’d like to marvel at a tribute to originality], is offering all its overage guests [he’s still looking at me skeptically], a complimentary alcoholic beverage for the inconvenience.”

Sweet. A black out. A glow stick. And booze. What else do I need? Apparently, dumb tourists. There are a few staying on my floor since it’s post Christmas/pre-New Years and they have to stay somewhere (one of the few hazards of living in a hotel). There’s a Midwestern woman with a twang, and might I add, not dressed particularly attractively, and she’s standing in the hallway with a confounded expression. She holds her hands out to me and asks me if I know how to make it work. The “it” is her glow stick. “You just crack it open and shake it,” I say helpfully and even manage a non-snarky smile. She looks down at her hands again. “Crack it open with what?” Okay, the smile disappears, this is just too rich. “Allow me,” I smile and I crack the lightstick with a saucy little flourish and give it a shake. I hand it back to her, and because I am evil and definitely going to hell when this is all over, I add “it’s magic.”

The glow stick is a poor flash light so I remove my contraband candles from their hiding place (haha, take that Ohana!) and light those suckers. That’s a little better. I open the balcony door and look out upon Waikiki, it’s dark save for the faint glimmer of light from power generators. It’s wild and quiet and there’s no traffic because police have put up barricades. The quiet doesn’t last though as my little rooftop cabana heats up. I don a necklace so I can latch my light stick to it and go investigate.

Aloha man at the desk was mistaken. TWO free drinks! Score! I get myself a drink and make myself friendly, moving around until I find a group of peeps talking about what happened to cause the outage. There are lots of wild theories (explosions, volcanic eruptions, assassination attempts on Obama who’s vacationing here this week). It’s none of these of course, but it’s still fun to think about.

There’s an odd mix of locals and tourists here and apparently one very sad thwarted pub crawl (Sorry, you Punch Bowlers!) that got stalled at our bar since no other bars in the area were serving. It’s all fun and then some clever cool kids take it to the next level finding some pails and stuff and start wailing on them, African drum beat style. This whole scene starts to remind of that Mojito commercial (you know the one, where the bartender is grinding mint leaves with the mortar and pestal, and everyone is grinding to the beat, and then he stops and people are all like WTF). Well it’s like that and people are starting to get rowdy. I hang around a bit longer, hoping someone will get tossed in the pool, but I’m started to get really tired of the pick up line “hey, nice necklace [gesturing to the glow stick], I have one just like it.” When I can no longer fake a laugh at this one, I excuse myself, retire to my balcony with candles and wine (and chocolate fudge poptarts).

Of course, my thoughts went out to President-elect Barack Obama, who had to rough it out in his 9 million dollar, five bedroom, beachfront vacation rental without power for a whole 7 minutes before his personal electric generators kicked on. Really, my heart just broke for him. To his credit, when the police chief himself showed up within ten minutes of the black out with two additional generators, Obama sent him away, told him to go help the Hawaiian people, and announced he was headed to bed (it was 10:30 pm).

I awaken at 5 am because this genius (points thumbs at self) must have flicked the light switches on while power was out, so when the power came on, yeah, my room was suddenly illuminated. Fantastic! I am a genius! I shut them off, went back to bed, and woke up later in the morning to find out that the culprit of the black out was a storm that hit the other side of the island. Apparently, there were flashflood warnings, the serious, legitimate kind, in effect all night. Of course I missed these. It struck me as amazing that a storm that was unseen in Waikiki was so destructive to take out the whole island and 900,000 people (residents and vacationers) lost power overnight. There are still some areas out as of 3pm on Saturday, but the Electric Company hopes to have everyone restored by this evening. Good times.

Please enjoy the pictures of my “magic” flashlight and some pics I snapped of my favorite cabana from my lanai (porch) including a very upset pre-teen by the pool who couldn't score two free drinks because she apparently looked even younger than I did.

Mele Kalikimaka!

Mele Kalikimaka, as they say on the island. This is going to be a short post. It is impossible to be snarky about Christmas in Waikiki. Even if their idea of Santa is a tan barefoot surfer dude who hangs with little brown elves. Waikiki decks out its palm trees in lights and adds extra flames. I don’t know who told Waikiki Christmas is about burning flames, but somebody clearly did. Turn the wrong way and you could ignite yourself.

This morning I set the alarm for 6 am to do virtual Christmas via the webcam with the fam. I watched them open presents while they watched me surreptitiously stuff my face with chocolate fudge poptarts and frosted Hostess chocolate donuts. This was lovely, the internet/web cam technology is a beautiful thing. But then it was time to get down to business. Despite having eaten enough sugar to send the hardiest of pancreases into shock, I slipped on my bikini and lathered myself up with sunscreen and Maui Baby. Maui Baby is the super secret tanning lotion of the islanders (actually, it’s a ridiculous touristy item sold every three feet, but this is how they advertise it). I like it because it smells like chocolate nuts. It’s made from Kona and macadamia nut oil. I’ve actually seen an improvement. The partner who kept asking if I was ill has stopped. I’m not tan, but I’m at least passing for non-tourist at this point.

Mom and Dad sent me an elf hat and in the vein of the movie, “The Christmas Story” triple dog dared me to wear it down to the beach, so of course I did. And then I stopped in front of the Duke statute to wave at Mom on the public web cam. This was all in good fun until people started asking to take pictures with me. As one Kentucky woman cooed over me, “youuuuuuu are just the cutest little Christmas elf eva. Cute as a button. Earl, come over here and take our picture.” Then this Japanese couple wanted one too. This did wonders for my self-esteem, I was getting more photo play than the Duke statute. Eventually, I excused myself, found some beach front property, and baked in the sun for several hours. Later, I returned to the beach and took some sunset pictures. Admittedly, it was a bit of an unorthodox way to spend Christmas, but I highly recommend it.

PS. I have no idea what those little round bunnies are under the tree. But they sure are creepy with their fixed, vacant expressions.

As always, space is limited, more pics are on facebook. Happy Holidays!

Rainy Days

Ripped from the headlines of the Honolulu Star Bulletin, Hawaii's oldest daily newspaper:

"Bad weather again flooded roads, caused sewage spills and even prompted a tornado warning on Kauai...The rains picked up as Mayor Mufi Hannemann, touring flood-damaged areas on Oahu, said it's likely Honolulu suffered more than $2.7 million in damages since Thursday."

(2.7 million is a significant figure, it's the threshold amount that triggers aid from the fine folks at FEMA).

Disclaimer: I am not complaining about the Hawaiian "sunshine" we've been having since Thursday. I know it's freezing at home AND raining. However, I post these pics, taken from my porch (the lanai), just to show the sheer awesomeness of the rain and how cool palm trees look when they're being blown around. That and I was finally able to work into a blog that the Mayor's name is Mufi. Fist pump.

Greasy Daze

When I first started co-op the very first day was an orientation with HR. During this time I learned about the generous nature of the firm, the great benefits, the firm philosophy and oh yes, one final thing…that as newbies, Travis and I would be singing at the holiday party. No pressure or anything.

The theme was “Greasy Daze” and suggested attire included anything from the movie, Grease, which wouldn’t you know it, poodle skirts and greaser outfits were not exactly easy to come by on a tropical island. The holiday party was to be held at the Honolulu Hard Rock Café and it was there under the records of the Big Bopper and Elvis that we would perform “Oh Those Late Trial Nights” set to the sweet sweet strains of “Summer Lovin’.”

Over the next two weeks there were numerous clandestine meetings with the other newbies to practice, and well…we were just awful, I mean really terrible. And then the new associate, Blaine joined us (yes newbie attorneys had to do it too), and even though he wouldn’t cop to acapella experience in his college days, he got us all in tune. It was nothing short of a miracle.

As the party drew near I would see strange things around the office, a cut-out milk shake that was as tall as I was, poodle appliqués, old-fashioned coke glasses, bobby socks left on a desk…the excitement was growing and I could tell we were in for something big...

Well the big day was this Friday and to be honest, despite feeling that our singing would be so atrocious that they would cancel the newbie singing tradition forever and probably ask Travis and I to get back on planes and go home…the party rocked.

In no particular order, the highlights: The firm’s paralegals. They made their own satin poodle skirts and Rydell sweaters with matching pom-poms. Then there was my clean cut officemate, Travis, who with the help of a wig, transformed himself into a pretty passable greaser. Finally, mad props to our partners who also good-naturedly (donned jeans and leather jackets (in the case of the men) and skirts and scarves (in the case of the ladies).

Okay, so maybe our table didn’t do quite so hot at 50’s trivia, considering nobody at our table was over the age of 30 and couldn’t tell you whose nickname was “Mr. Television.” (It’s Milton Berle. But I got all the baseball questions right, such as whose first hit as a Giant was a home run? Oh, I’ll just tell you. Say hey Willie Mays, naturally. Boo-yah!) But at least everyone got these great mix CDs made by the firm featuring such fifty faves as “Wake Up Little Susie,” “Mr. Sandman” and “Great Balls of Fire.”

Then came time for our newbie song and proud to say, I think we may even have outdone Travolta and Olivia Newton John, who let’s face it, cracked on the high notes at the end. Not that we did that. And not that anybody called for an encore. But we had dance movies, baby. And heart.

All snark aside for a moment (a true rarity), I was kinda touched by the camaraderie effort everyone in the firm put into the holiday party. Coming from New England, I think we've all felt the cut back on holiday festivities because of the PC effect. No Christmas trees. No menorahs. Nothing. Out here at least one firm has figured out how to still have some fun...albeit in cuffed jeans and tees. Snark Snark Snark.

Anywho, enjoy the pics, and in case you’re wondering, Travis and his brother actually curled his wig to get it that way (not to embarrass Travis further or anything,but the secretaries in our office were actually squealing in delight when they saw him in all his coiffed glory). As always, runner-up photos, not quite blog-worthy, are on facebook.

Diamond Head

Diamond Head is a large volcanic crater that is believed to have formed over 300,000 years ago during a single eruption. The crater spans approximately 350 acres, its depth greater than its width. Originally called “Le’ahi,” which means “brow of the tuna” or “too damn hard to pronounce” garnered it’s most current name from…who else…gullible British sailors in the 1700’s, who upon sailing around Oahu shores, mistook the calcite crystals embedded in the rock for diamonds. But you won’t hold this against them since they likely all had scurvy.

Along the way you encountered a rather smattering array of exotic birds, volcanic rock, and dumb Japanese tourists. You shouldn’t pick on the Japanese, really. But who else voluntarily hikes up a volcanic crater in high-heeled sandals and Hello Kitty tube tops?

You climb a series of switchbacks which afford gorgeous views of the island and then come a punishing amount of stairs (77 on one flight, then 99 on the next, but who’s counting?) The super fun part is a dark passage through a 225 foot long tunnel which if one has an overactive imagination, one can swear she hears bats (but such is not the case). For those of you who are coming to visit (Da, Petit, John, Lawless, O Town, and Aaron), if you are claustrophic, afraid of small dark places, then maybe we leave you at the cabana that day with no judgment passed.

Eventually you crouch and pop out this crawl space and forget the stairs, the creepy passage way and dumb Japanese tourists because you are standing 761 feet up, the gentle trade winds are hitting you erasing the semi-arid sweat you are covered in and you can see miles and miles of turquoise ocean in front of you and green hills that have pockets of houses spilling down them like lava flow behind you.

You wind around until you can spot the Diamond Head Light House, Koko Head, Waikiki and Chinaman’s Hat (I’m not being un-PC, that’s what it’s called). And at the top of the lookout you find yourself listening to the one person using his cell phone on top of a natural wonder, wrecking everyone’s quiet enjoyment and you know, even before the accent really comes through, that you are standing next to a New Yorker.

Luckily, you are wearing your green Irish Red Sox t-shirt that your dad bought you, and lucky for you, you have a sense of snarkiness that surpasses even this New Yorker’s. So first you thank a higher power for this opportunity, then you wait until he finishes his phone call, and you walk over to him with the biggest friendliest smile you can manage and ask him to take your picture. At first he agrees, and then you can see his eyes moving down over your shirt, and he is immediately annoyed. Smile real pretty for the camera. Then you ask where he’s from, he replies “Manhattan” in a sulky tone, and because you are your father’s daughter, you pause, wait and then ask innocently, “how bout them, Yankees?” Then you retrieve your camera and skedaddle down the mountain before he can throw a battery at you.

(Also, more pics on facebook in Hawaii album, the blog only lets you post 5 per entry).

Of Chess and P00P Decks

Alas, it’s not all fun and games out here, I have to actually log 8-9 hours a day at the office. It’s the first week so it’s too early to tell anything substantive, but it would appear that Hawaiian lawyers don’t take themselves as seriously as Boston lawyers. An example:I am researching the question of whether you treble attorney fees when you treble damages and one of the leading cases on this is “Jankey v. Poop Deck.”

I have a good chuckle about this and remember the Family Guy episode where Peter is called out on a cruise by the Captain for going no. 2 on the poop deck.

Peter: (indignant) “But, it is called a poop deck.”
Captain: “You sir, are disgusting.”
Peter: “And you sir, are misleading.”

So I’m telling the attorney about the cases and when I start talking about Jankey she starts cracking up and making jokes about poop decks. If this is any indication of general office attitude, I think it’s gonna be a great 11 weeks.

For those of you who keep asking me to put a pic of me up, here I am in all my pale glory. This nice fat gay couple took this picture and told me my smile was just “fabulous.”

This week I’m riding home on the bus, reading a book called “The Flanders Pannel,” a book about paintings and chess (it’s more interesting than it sounds, damnit), and there are lots of illustrations of chess notation in it to explain things to people who can’t read chess notation. This woman sitting by me watches me for awhile and then taps me on the shoulder. “You play chess?” I nod. “I’m not very good.” Which is true for those of you who have ever play me. I’m rash and don’t think enough moves ahead. Fun fact: I’ve never beaten my Dad in a chess game. I’m going to wait until he’s very old and dribbly, basically mentally deficient, and then I’m gonna pounce. He’ll still probably be at me, but at least the odds will be more level. The chess woman smiles, “you come play at Waikiki, we play on the beach.” I shake my head politely, “that’s very kind of you” and I add other deferments. But later as I am walking the beach, taking pictures of the sunset you see, I see her, she waves me over and I get to play chess with the natives. I am like the untalented female version of that kid in that movie “Searching for Bobby Fischer” when he finds Laurence Fishburne playing chess in the park. My loss is swift and merciless, but, we’re outside playing chess, and this is very exciting for me, to play chess in Hawaii. I am invited back to play next week. The picture here is of the lady who invited me to play, I figured it would be too touristy to ask someone to take a pic of me while I played. But I’ll get there. And for those of you who haven’t figured out what a huge dork I am (and really, how could you not, all the signs are there) this story should seal the deal.

After chess, I go watch a hula demonstration. They hold a different variation of them each night on the beach at sunset. For tonight’s theme, a young girl wants to marry a guy below her caste (they used to have those back in the day of Kings and Queens in Hawaii) and so she goes to some spirit in the forest and dances for him and the spirit lets her marry beneath her. Yeah, I just butchered that story. Whatever, just look at the picture. It’s a hula girl. Geez.

Lastly, I have to give out a shout out to my Mom, giver of life and maker of macaroni, (and my blog's only true follower. Joyceman and others, I know you're all reading it, giving me a complex). Mom, I hope you're feeling better!

Sunset Stroll

Today I beat the Honolulu traffic home (it rivals Boston, although no one gives anyone the horn or the finger or anything, but people are frowning and that's very un-Hawaiian), grabbed an apple and strolled along the sands of Eden (oh get it, Eve with the apple, ba-zing! Heavy handed imagery, check!).

At least I was careful as I crossed the road, today I nearly caused a little old Hawaiian woman to have a heart attack. I was dashing to the post office during lunch (to mail all of you postcards, no less) and there was no one coming, no cars in sight, and so I tried to cross against the light. I was immediately grabbed by a scrawny woman who pointed to the red blinking "do not walk" sign fearfully. I just looked at her dumbfounded. Everyone around me was looking at me too like I'd just devoured a child alive or something. Oh my, that pale child is crossing against the light! So yes, will obey traffic laws to avoid scandal. For now.

And then I found 5 dollars. Just kidding, I really just wanted to post some more pics.

Aloha!

Aloha!
So here I am in Hawaii doing my first post. After an 18 hour day on Saturday consisting of 3 different airplanes and bad in-flight movies (Mamma Mia, Journey to the Center of the Earth, good god -- Brendan Frasier, what the hell happened to you?), I arrived at the Honolulu International Airport. This confirmed my suspicion that Hawaii was exactly like Jurassic Park, misty and densely populated with ferns. I fervently prayed that one of the large cargo crates would crack open and forth would spring a raptor to devour the parents who thought it would be a good idea to bring a screaming infant on my 7 hour flight from Portland to Honolulu. But alas, no dinos.

That night I stayed in Honolulu, which sad to say, looks a lot like the financial district of Boston. But fear not, dear pilgrims, on Sunday I went over to Waikiki to discover that I live half a block from Waikiki Beach! Baller! See accompanying pictures. The beach was what you'd expect, tans running the gamut from pink and painfully blotchy to perfectly bronzed, the air smelling faintly of sweat and coconut sunscreen. Nobody here wears clothes, bikinis are standard, whether or not you should be wearing one. I went to the grocery store in a bikini with shorts and a tank top and found myself woefully overdressed. Back on the beach boulevard I found tan, wrinkled old men playing chess. The top picture is the beach with Diamond Head (big green mountain) off in the distance, when you get close to it, you can see that it is circled by birds, which I pretend are teradactyls (and this fits in nicely with my Jurassic Park theme).

In other news, today was my second day at the office. I was hideously overdressed yesterday in a suit whereas 90% of the menfolk lawmen were in khakis and aloha print shirts, no joke, pastel flowered shirts. I was getting an assignment from one of the partners today who looked me over and asked, somewhat concerned, if I was feeling alright. "It's just...you're a little pale. Unnaturally so." Or maybe he said "uncommonly so." Regardless, he smiled and changed the subject smoothly. Everybody here is tastefully bronze. I, on the other hand, am translucent. But not for long.

My new favorite past time is to go and sit on the stone breakers at Waikiki beach (second picture) and watch the newbie surfers get wrecked. It never gets old. It's like a bigger, better youtube.

Please do not expect wildly inventive or snarky posts right away, I am jet-lagged and still trying to adjust to Eden. This post is more to establish that I am alive and well in paradise.