She was pretty good about the x-rays along with everything else yesterday.
Whenever Madison decides she’s going to be grown-up about something and just deal with it, I am always impressed. Last weekend she took four shots plus the TB shot without fighting us or crying later. Yesterday, she took her trip to the dentist in stride.
The last time we went, she said she was going to handle her business, but panicked when we got into the office. Yesterday, she sat in the chair alone for the first time and assented to take x-rays of her teeth. The lead vest was probably the heaviest blanket she’s ever used.
The camera alone might be enough for me to move to a Droid for the next upgrade.
Since my leg prevented me from doing just about anything last week, I didn’t have time to shop for Lynnette’s Mother’s Day Gift. She was very understanding and other than a few sarcastic comments about me not loving her enough to deal with shopping through the pain, she seemed content to take a rain check. She decided earlier this week that she would like to get a hair cut as her gift. She had not gotten one in some time and felt that perhaps she would be refreshed and somehow motivated to lose weight if she got a new hair cut. This made no sense to me, but I didn’t question it. She deserves a nice hair cut every two years or so.
When she checked in at Regis in Pearlridge, she said it looked like an hour or so. “What do you want to do for an hour?” I asked Madison. “Oh, I think the bouncers are awake now. When we had passed by 808 Bounce earlier that morning (Mad’s appointment was at 8:15), Madison was appalled by the deflated bouncers. “What happened?” she asked. “They aren’t open yet,” I said. “Are they okay?” she asked. “I think so, Mad. I think so,” I said.
Bounce with me, bounce with me.
Madison and I were in 808 Bounce for a long time. Lynnette’s hour came and went with no contact. Madison tried out all of the bouncers in the place and gave each one a name. The Finding Nemo one was the swimming ocean. The fire truck one was “where we go to eat,” (don’t ask). The small one in the corner was the “baby” one, and the large one pictured above was dubbed the “school house.”
I think it’s pretty safe to say that Madison got my $9.95 worth. About an hour in, I had to use the bathroom and told Madison she had to come with me. “Are we coming back?” she asked. I told her that we were. “We have to hurry before they fall back asleep!” She’s awesome.
Let’s just say I could have bought a very nice pair of shoes and a very nice shirt with this hair cut.
Madison was a sweaty mess by the time my phone rang. Lynnette said she had just finished and that she’d meet us among the bouncers. When she popped in, I have to admit that I was impressed. I suppose Lynnette was right, it had been a while since she got a hair cut. And I guess since she was there, she opted for some color in it, too. She told me how much it cost and then tried to justify it, but she lost me when she gave the dollar amount. I’ll put it this other way: it’s a good thing I don’t spend money on hair cuts.
But she does look lovely, even set atop the background of children screaming and bouncing castles and whatnot. Yes, it might have cost a pretty penny, but Lynnette promised me an erotic dance featuring her new hair cut, a Black Widow Costume, and Sister Christian’s “Night Ranger.” A guy can dream, can’t he?
Of course I’m going to be suckered in to buying this one, too.
My brother Paul text messaged my brother Matty and I this morning to remind us that John Mayer’s new album Born and Raised will be released next Tuesday. This is just how my brothers and I roll. We don’t really message each other to remind each other of important things or to profess our brotherly love, we only use mobile communication as a means to point out upcoming and useless pop culture events. Hey, at least we don’t fight.
The first time I saw the cover art I got the impression that it was meant to mimic the southern rock aesthetic of the 60′s and 70′s. This despite the fact that I wasn’t around then, an I can’t really say how I came to that conclusion. But if that’s the look John was going for, then mission completed.
You’d think as a fan of the Cowboys I’d like this look. I do not.
And then John started popping up looking like this (left). I think it’s safe to say that my original opinion was more or less accurate. What does this mean? Will Born and Raised take a marked turn away from the relationship-pop of Battle Studies? One can only hope. Perhaps a more important question is this: If John tried to make a 2012 version of “Freebird,” would that be a good thing? I say yes, even if it sucks, so long as it doesn’t have references to Ambien and/or a thinly-veiled discussion of a failed celebrity relationship. I’m always going to want to buy this album, but I think Matty will first. Then again, he’s super lazy. I’ll probably just end up listening to samples on Amazon and make a decision that way.
In honor of John’s (we’re on a first-name basis) new release, I’ll take a look back at his previous studio efforts and pick a song I like best from each album. Since I have zero musical background, this will be a completely subjective look at John Mayer’s trajectory starting with the singer/songwriter to blues guitar enthusiast to pop icon to pensive lover to what appears to be bluegrass rocker.
Has John’s total body of work made this album more impressive or less impressive?
Room for Squares, 2001. “You heard of John Mayer?” That was the first I heard of John Mayer. My brother Matty (the one with actual musical talent) asked me this question during my senior year of college. I didn’t. But then I went searching and I was thrilled. Clever lyrics (“No Such Thing”), tricky guitar work (“Neon”) and themes I could understand. It’s a pun on the word square, right? Like the actual geometric shape and dorks? Has to be. Why the period table on the CD? Only “Neon” is an element. This makes me want to do research that I will realistically never get to.
I have two favorite songs from the album. The first is “Neon” because of the guitar work and imagery. The other is “St. Patrick’s Day.” I am positive I have written about this before. I love “St. Patrick’s Day” because it sounds like a Christmas song and it’s about insecurity. I don’t know how one comes up with an idea like that, but it’s still the song on the album that speaks the most to me: I don’t know if this is going to work, but it will work until March because I can’t break up with you before then for superficial reasons. I want to stab someone every time I hear “Your Body is a Wonderland.” I want to go to the gas station, purchase $4 worth of gas, pour it into a coke bottle, then light it and myself on fire whenever I hear “No Such Thing.” That rises to $8 worth of gasoline if my brother is the one playing it.
It’s pretty clear he was trying to distance himself from that acoustic guitar.
Heavier Things, 2003. As with baseball, I’m always worried about the sophomore slump for musicians. Psychologically, it makes sense. The success of a debut album creates expectations that didn’t exist for the release of the first album. Whether it’s genuine or not, John Mayer has never seemed to lack for confidence. The album is notable for an overall increase in the scope of sounds when compared to Room for Squares. It wasn’t a clone of his debut album, but I took solace in the fact that John still had some poignant things to say.
My favorite track is the album’s first. John Mayer’s epiphany on “Clarity” articulated thoughts I had in my mind, but lacked the skill to express. I was a year out of college working my first real full-time job. Whenever I listen to “Clarity,” I think about how I’ve had to come to grips with the same problems, “By the time I recognize this moment, this moment will be gone. But I will bend the light, pretend that it somehow lingered on.” I still struggle with appreciating moments as they happen (something I expressed this past weekend). Mayer also sang “Was there a second of time that I looked around? Did I sail through or drop my anchor down?” I don’t know. Neither does John. “This” as he says “won’t last forever” because “it can’t and it’s not supposed to.” I realize that this seems like an over-simplification, but that’s all we’ve got whenever we try to explain the outcome of a process whose mechanics we don’t completely understand or lack the ability to describe. Since I am not an astro-physicist like Daniel Faraday, John’s explanation of time is perfectly acceptable to me. The comfort comes in realizing and accepting (they aren’t the same thing) you can’t do shit about it. Speaking of which…
His masterpiece?
Continuum, 2006. I’ve seen it argued that Continuum is Mayer’s best album. I don’t really have an opinion – other than Battle Studies is the worst. “Waiting for the World to Change” was ubiquitous upon its release. “Vultures” kicks ass. My favorite track, though, is “Slow Dancing in a Burning Room.”
Yes, perhaps it’s the obvious choice. I don’t care. The English dork in me thinks the song is amazing for several reasons. First, the imagery in the title is striking. The idea of two people clinging to each other nearly motionless while the room burns down around them is the perfect metaphor for the relationship described in the song.
“Slow Dancing in a Burning Room” is the specific application of the epiphany Mayer spoke about in general terms in “Clarity.” The first verse, “It’s not a silly little moment, it’s not the storm before the calm. This is the deep and dying breath of this love that we’ve been working on,” is the realization that whatever incident Mayer’s citing isn’t just another blip on what appears to be a tattered relationship – this is it. It’s a point that he makes clear in the chorus, “We’re going down, and you can see it, too. We’re going down, and you know that we’re doomed. My dear, we’re slow dancing in a burning room.” He realizes what this latest episode means for his relationship.
If you’ve ever listened to the song, you might have noticed that John doesn’t sound particularly sad. Some of the words are bitter, true, but it’s not overly angry, either. If anything, his tone is wistful. The tone is his acceptance. He isn’t reacting to the failure of the relationship, only calling a spade a spade. He’s recognized and accepted that his relationship is irreparable. But this isn’t even the source of his angst; his primary irritation seems to come from the fact that his partner hasn’t figured it out yet.
Nice pic, though, John.
Battle Studies, 2009. Despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary, this never happened.
I wrote about the album when I bought it and haven’t picked it up since. Don’t get me wrong, thinking about inter-personal relationships is one of my all-time favorite activities. It’s just that… I don’t know… maybe I wanted John Mayer to do something else? Rock out? Well, whatever it was, I didn’t care for the album and I can only hope that Born and Raised is better (as far as I’m concerned, since my opinion is the only one that counts when I’m loading music onto my phone).
For what it’s worth, here’s the lead single from Born and Raised, “Shadow Days.”
*The family got all dressed up for Dylan’s first birthday party at the Okinawan Center in Waipio. Dylan’s father Ron – Geno’s brother – is a friend from the OLGC days. He and his wife Joee invited our family to the party a couple of weeks ago at Geno’s sushi spectacular. It was nice to see a few guys from high school there, too. I know it’s not true, but it seems like everybody’s got more kids than me. It’s not a competition, just an observation. I don’t know how they do it. There was this one dad with the hiking backpack-looking kid carrier stocked with an infant. He was carrying his older son in one arm, and a plate of food in the other hand. “Oops, sorry,” he said as he bumped into me while trying to get back to his table. “No way,” I said. “That’s impressive.” I meant it.
One of the first things Madison did was get an air brush tattoo. There’s no telling with her, in terms what she’s going to want on at any given birthday party where tattoos are being shot on. She opted for the shooting star that made me think of NBC’s “The More You Know” public service from back in the day. Do they still run that? A modern version of it? Anyway, she selected the star over other images I thought might strike her such as Tinkerbell, flowers, and Optimus Prime. Val showed up a little later and she complimented Madison on such a wise choice. Val also had some kind of animated conversation with Lynnette about something. They were both using hand gestures and making severe faces. I didn’t know what it was about. “Girl stuff,” Lynnette said when I asked her later. “Girl stuff” might be the most intriguing yet terrifying concept ever. Well, Val brought Nick (always good to see) and she arrived with a couple of her friends whom I haven’t seen since probably like the mid 2000s, maybe? They’ve always been really nice and they actually took the time to talk to Madison. Well, they tried to, but Madison was preoccupied with other things…
“Ooh, ooh, baby, baby – won’t you turn your head my way?”
My brother’s “band” In the Meantime was playing the party. Well, two-thirds of them, anyway. The story goes that Geno (drums) had to work, so Marc (left) and Matty had to fly it duo.
When they started playing, Madison perked up and said “I hear Uncle Matty!” Yeah, so did we. They played all their greatest hits – AKA other bands’ greatest hits – and I was teleported back to living in my parents’ house.
“I wanna dance,” Madison said. We walked out to the dance floor while most of the people were still eating. I thought she meant she wanted to dance with me, but um, yeah, no. She just wanted me to be close enough so that she wouldn’t feel alone. Then she started spinning and twisting and doing what looked like some kind of organic combination of ballet, interpretive dance, and battling a demonic possession.
She kept making these pained faces while she “danced.” Val said Mad was just emoting. I don’t know.
“I’m still exercising, dad!”
Madison is growing into something of a master manipulator. Had I not the 28-year age advantage on her, she might be able to snake her way into a whole lot of stuff that would make things more complicated for me. Don’t worry, that time will come – but not yet.
After dancing, Madison reloaded with a bunch of candy from the candy bar. Madison especially loved the sour belts.
Aside: Joee and Ron are cool for many reasons, but newly added to the list is the fact that they offered toothbrushes and toothpaste at the end of their candy bar yesterday. I’m not sure that these items were a hit among the kids, but this dad appreciated them.
Since Madison was filled with sugar, I took her outside to release it. Even when Madison was much younger, the sugar seemed to hit her almost immediately. She’s like the Hulk in a way (The Avengers kicks ass): when I know she’s going to turn into Sugar Rush Madison, I try to take her to wide-open, sparsely populated areas until she becomes Tired/Sweaty/Thirsty Madison.
So the manipulation… After she ran around the courtyard for about ten minutes, I told her it was time to go. Lynnette chimed in as well. “No!” she said, running in the opposite direction. “Play time is over, Mad!” I said. “I’m not playing! I’m exercising!” And then she broke out into this really intense-looking run across the field. Does she know who I am? Does she think that I value exercise? Does she think that if she calls it “exercise” as opposed to “playing,” I’ll be less likely to make her stop? Where does she learn this stuff?
Prom: A Spring Tradition.
*Lynnette and I dropped a salty Madison off at Lynnette’s parents’ house before we headed out to chaperone the prom. By now, Lynnette and look at the prom as something worth doing because:
A) It gives us a reason to dress up.
B) It gives us a reason to buy something to dress up in.
C) Free dinner.
Really, that’s about it. Lynnette and I were noodling on our phones throughout the night and we sat in chairs for the last half-hour of the event. I was yawning through the loud music. I’m old. “Party Rock” got stuck in Lynnette’s head. She sang it the entire way home. Just the part about Party Rock being in the house tonight. Over and over.
We’ll have more pictures coming. The student government brought back that photo booth thing. Last time Lynnette and I only took two pictures with it. Not this time. We got our hypothetical money’s worth.
Lynnette’s favorite part of the night happened on our way home. For whatever reason, I’ve had this craving for the ice cream cone from McDonald’s recently. Just about every time we get home to the intersection of Meheula and Ukuwai, I’ll pull a u-turn so I can go to the McDonald’s. If the line for the drive-thru is too long, I’ll just skip it and go home. Last night, the line wasn’t long at all. I am something like 1-for-6 in ice cream attempts. So last night when the line was short and I pulled up to the intercom and ordered my cone and the lady said “I’m sorry, our ice cream machine is down,” I actually groaned and Lynnette started laughing hysterically. “The gods don’t want you to have ice cream,” she said. I think she’s right.
All she has left to do is use the hashbrown as a spoon to eat her parfait. She's almost there, I think.
*Madison is mostly a reasonable child. Earlier in the week when we informed her when she’d be sleeping over at Lynnette’s parents’ house on Friday night, she replied with a firm “I don’t want to.” I followed my initial statement up with “Mommy and Daddy have to go to dinner on Friday night. We’ll pick you up on Saturday morning, go to breakfast, then go to the beach. Does that sound like a good idea?” She nodded. There was no drama when we dropped her off on Friday afternoon. She calmly kissed Lynnette and I and said goodbye. I think it’s becoming more apparent that she handles things like that better if we tell her in advance and allow her the chance to process it, to know that it’s coming. That way, she doesn’t feel ambushed. I don’t know why I feel like that’s such a revelation, isn’t that most adult human beings, too?
She's at that stage where anything within a five-foot radius of her eyes hurts her eyes.
*I’m sure I could figure it out by scanning through the archives of this very blog, but I’m too lazy. I can’t tell you with any certainty when the last time we went to the beach was. What I am sure of is all the eating this weekend wasn’t conducive to presenting with a toned beach body on Saturday morning. Lynnette and I swore and oath to take only flattering pictures of each other. A few snaps in, both of us realized the only way to do this was to not take pictures of each other entirely. I’ll put it this way: a few weeks ago, I told Lynnette to take one of the straps of her top down and rock it like the one-strap singlet Andre the Giant used to sport. She didn’t get mad. She kind of laughed and said “That’s horrible.” If she and I don’t start doing something about this soon, we’re going to look like The Big Boss Man and the One-Man Gang, respectively (and I guess that would mean Madison would become Slick).
I've titled this picture "The Extremes of the Emotional Spectrum as Related to Arrival at the Shore."
*Lynnette was content to lounge on the sand and work on her tan. Later, she would get into waist-deep water before deciding that was as far as she would go. There’s a metaphor here about advancing age, but I won’t make it considering I’m at the point in my life where any time I’m on base during a softball game, I secretly hope that the batters behind me don’t hit the ball into the gaps because I don’t want to run. Madison – to no one’s surprise – couldn’t wait to get into it. She received some Tinkerbell beach toys for her birthday and she was eager to work them out.
She’s got quite an imagination, but sometimes I worry that she’s got a little too much of her grandmother (my mom) in her. Madison will scoop handfuls of sand up, then drop them on my stomach or back (which ever is facing up at the time) with the following statement, “Look, dad, you’re dirty!” She will then use any number of her buckets to fetch water, then rinse me off. This is kind of like forcing your sons to bathe in a basin outside of the house after baseball games.
Yesterday, Madison’s weird cleaning trip gained a new wrinkle, which I believe was likely influenced by her mother and her mother’s sister Lynie, both of whom could easily be classified as “High Maintenance.” Apparently, the sand is no longer “mud,” but rather some kind of exfoliating body wash. “Here, dad, let me digos you with some special soap,” she said as she massaged sand into my legs. “Um, okay,” I said. I did feel nice.
Madison playing the role of "stomach shield."
*There’s something amazing about watching Madison run off and amuse herself. When we first began bringing her to the beach, she was an uncoordinated toddler who ran from the shore break and ate sand because she would subconsciously suck her thumb after digging and building castles.
She looks so long now. She’s got these long legs and long arms and long hair. She says things that a girl might say like “I like Cars on the TV, but I don’t want it on a shirt – that’s for boys.” My plan of steering her towards man-ish things which I have carefully implemented over the last four years is dead in the water. She spent this morning at my parents’ house watching herself in a mirror while she danced to Madonna’s “Cherish.”
She didn't really want to go in the water, but she was fine with the idea of the water coming to her.
*Because I am the way that I am, I get stuck in my own head thinking about things that don’t matter. This is something I consider fun. I like to run “What if?” scenarios in my head, but over the past four years, they’ve become a lot less fun to play. I can’t trade Madison. I know they’re supposed to be hypothetical, alternate universes like the one at the end of “Lost.” It’s okay if I imagine that Lynnette married someone else and I stayed with my ex-girlfriend and I likely never get a dog. Maybe in that alternate universe I bring my ex-girlfriend to Lynnette’s wedding and I’m dying inside like Tony Rick the entire time and when my girlfriend asks me why I’m drinking so much and being an asshole, I get really defensive and say “What the fuck are you talking about?” before taking another sip of the cheapest hard alcohol Lynnette’s serving at her wedding. This almost happened, after all.
"It is what it is" usually means something negative. Well, not this time.
*But the problem with these games now is that if I try to mentally alter anything after 2002, then there is a real chance Madison never happens, and well, that’s a deal breaker.
Sometimes, Lynnette and I spend the night huddled together in darkness talking about the past, the present, the future, and everything else in between. We often mention those things we wish we had a second chance at, things we wished we handled a little better. Invariably, our conversation leads us to Madison, and when we arrive there, the tone of the entire conversation shifts. I mean, yes, there are somethings wrong with this picture. Lynnette and I could be slimmer, Lynnette’s choice of a Sleeping Beauty towel is an absolute faux pas, and I really wish that guy in the bottom right corner wasn’t there. But this picture is us, and it is what it is: pretty damned incredible.
Just in case you don't speak the language, facial hair means "Don't mess with me."
I spent Friday night doing something I do far to infrequently: hanging out with Geno, one of my best friends. He turned 33 (!) earlier this week and his girlfriend put together dinner at Kats Sushi to celebrate. Based upon what I heard over the course of the night, I believe this might only have been the second of at least three planned parties for Geno. Whatever real number actually is, I’d believe it. We still don’t know why Geno’s liver keeps forgiving him.
Geno is one of my best and oldest friends. We met in the 7th grade. He was into things like heavy metal and girls at a time when all I cared about was baseball. We went to high school together. He did things like play “Nothing Else Matters” by Metallica in a talent show (I was there and it was awesome). I did things like memorize all of questions and answers to the psychology final exam (Geno was there and his grade was therefore awesome).
Happy thirty-third, Geno.
Dinner was awesome. It was Matty, Tanya, Lynnette and I, Geno’s cousins, his brother Ron and Wife Joee, Geno’s brother-in-law Geoff, Jay, Nick, and Shannon – to whom we are all indebted for putting last night together.
Geno showed up 10 minutes late, which is about 10 minutes earlier than expected. Once he did, though, it didn’t take long for the alcohol to start flowing. I participated in the first shot of sake. That was it for me. My body doesn’t like alcohol anymore. It gets mad at me. My brain gets all “What the (&%^*& is this?” and then it sends a signal to my stomach that reads “show him what for.” My stomach them replies with sonar by making those horrible growling/snarling/shifting noises that can only mean one of two things A) I’m super-hungry, or B) I’d better find a toilet. Quick. I am thrilled to report that I have not added Kats Sushi to the list.
Like I said, either the 5th or 6th best day of my life.
The best part about Kats Sushi is that you can just throw your money down for all-you-can-eat and not have to worry about anything. Whenever I go to Kuru Kuru or Genki, I’m always mindful of how many plates are stacked in front of me. I’ve got a running count going in my head estimating about how much the meal is going to cost me as I am eating. This makes it very difficult to enjoy the meal itself. But not last night.
Based on a conservative estimate, I figured that eating 20 pieces of sushi would be the equivalent of an average meal at either of the aforementioned restaurants. Essentially, anything over 20 pieces and I was playing with house money. Let me tell you, daddy got his house money’s worth. There was a point during dinner when I told Lynnette “I’m so full, but I say I have to throw up, don’t let me.” “Why?” she asked. “Because I don’t want to waste the sushi,” I said. To my surprise, she nodded.
Start humming the tune of 98 Degrees' "Invisible Man." Now, start singing the words. Okay, now belt out chorus. That's exactly how I felt, only I was jealous of hamachi kama.
Maybe I shouldn’t have been surprised. Lynnette was into food long before she met me. She was the one who dragged me into the world of sushi in the first place. So when the waitress brought out the hamachi kama as a gift from the chef, Lynnette took one of those breaths that are so sharp that they make an audible sound which could serve as the aural manifestation of lust. She was thrilled that neither Matty nor I had any interest in it. She and Tanya broke that thing down like Janet Jackson and her dancers in the “Rhythm Nation” video.
As you can see, Lynnette was unable to keep her glee in check as she picked at and ate her hamachi. Part of me wanted to “accidentally” knock the hamachi kama off the table so I could hear Lynnette scream, then sit cross-legged on the concrete while she picked off whatever she could like the crabs in that one Planet Earth episode when they came across the whale carcass at the bottom of the ocean. She would have done it, too. She’s nodding her head as she reads this.
I was envious of Lynnette because she made the intelligent decision of wearing a “flowy” dress to dinner. This meant that her stomach would be unimpeded by a belt or pants or anything really. She probably even wore her stretchiest underwear; she is pretty smart after all. I had to wear jeans. I should have just worn pajama pants and suffered the teasing. The comfort would have been worth it.
Sometimes I tell myself things like “You’ll know when you’ve had too much to eat when you can’t sit comfortably because your belt is digging into your intestines.” Well, I don’t know why I bother. You know that scene in Can’t Hardly Wait when the nerdy kid tells his friends that he has a chart to prevent him from imbibing alcohol to the point of becoming drunk? Remember how it gets to the point where he can’t read it, then just flips it away? Well, I do the same thing, only I undo my belt and unbutton my jeans to leave the zipper to fend for himself.
I can't really say Geno was happy about being 33. He didn't cry, though. Uncle has facial hair. He's too tough for that.
And then after all that sushi, Shannon brought the cake out. I am not the kind of person who would ever questions a friend’s sobriety, but would it help you to understand the state he was in at the time if I told you that he was singing “Happy Birthday” along with everyone else? I thought it might. Would it help you to know what kind of shape Shannon was in if I told you that when she held one of the “3″ candles before inserting it into the cake, she became upset that the company who made the candle had printed it backwards – before realizing that the candle was printed identically on both sides? I thought it might. I know what you’re thinking and you’re damned right: good times. Good cake, too, incidentally.
I don't know what was so funny. Probably our idea for "Bah Terdy-Fi."
At some point during dinner (deep into the drinks), someone asked where the party was moving to after sushi. Someone jokingly shouted “Oceans!” Someone else followed that up with “There is no Oceans!”
If you went to the place the Ocean Club was, you’d still be able to get a drink – at some place called “The Standard.” There is a pretty good chance I will never set foot in The Standard. It’s not impossible, but given my lifestyle, it is improbable. The Standard isn’t Oceans any more than Axl Rose and 5 guys is Guns N’ Roses. At least The Standard isn’t trying.
Change is unavoidable. I think for the most part my friends and I have come to terms with the fact that we will never – literally or metaphorically go to the Ocean Club ever again. Some of us are married. Some of us have kids. Some of us live far away. Still. It’s great to know that with us, the context is never as important as the being together.
Once a year, the Waikiki Aquarium waives its admission fee and hosts an event aimed at raising awareness of environmental care. While I am not particularly interested in the Aquarium (you’d think the aquarium in Hawaii would be sprawling, but it isn’t), the word “free” is among my favorite in the English language, right up there with “easy” and others of that ilk.
We parked at an elementary school near Kapiolani Park and caught a shuttle to the aquarium. “We’re going on a field trip!” Madison shouted, right after she shouted “No! I want to sit next to mommy!” and I moved to the seat across from the two.
Moon Jellies: Madison's favorite thing in the aquarium.
My brother Paul came over Friday night and mentioned that Madison appeared to have a tiny attention span. I guess since I live with Madison, I never really notice. Paul’s comments popped into my head as Madison blew through the first few exhibits at the aquarium. While she did stop to look at most of the features, she didn’t stop to take them in until the moon jellyfish tank stopped her dead in her tracks.
I don’t know why Madison loves jellyfish so. I assume that it has something to do with their presence in the film Finding Nemo, and possibly also the ease with they can be drawn. Madison can’t really draw fish yet, but anyone can draw blob and a few squiggly lines and justifiably call it a jellyfish.
Madison called them “moon jellies” as soon as she saw them. When Lynnette noticed that this is exactly what they were called on the actual display, she asked Madison how she knew their name. Madison was coy about it, but Lynnette assumes that Goobi simply remembered from her last visit. Her attention span it terrible, but her memory is pretty amazing.
This was as good as it was going to get.
You know who else likes “free?” Everyone, apparently. Madison and Lynnette have attended this event for the past three years (I missed one because of baseball) and each time, Madison has taken a picture in this little circle display. Well, we had to settle for this. The interior of the aquarium was so crowded that it was actually a little difficult to move around without banging into other people. Those low ceilings didn’t help, either.
I know that every father says this about their children, but Madison is beautiful. There are times when I look at pictures of her (like when she uses her various fake smiles) and I see the Madison I always see. But every once in a while, I look at her face in a picture like this one and kinda, sorta don’t recognize her. She’s growing up so fast. More on this when we get to Henry Kapono. For real, though.
Aside: We ate lunch at Good to Grill on Kapahula right after the aquarium. Madison was making a big deal of eating her lunch, so I was quietly trying to discipline her. As my attention was diverted by Madison’s 325th chew of a single piece of hamburger steak, a voice behind me said “Excuse me.” Lynnette and I turned to look and it was an older woman who had been sitting near our table. I was in a bad mood because of Madison’s stunts, so when the woman started talking, I was admittedly a little irritated. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t mean to interrupt, but I have to tell you that your daughter is so cute!” She went on to say something about Miss Hawaii and about my having to be prepared for future teenaged suitors. “Say thank you, Madison,” Lynnette said. Madison didn’t say anything because she still had that one piece of food in her mouth. She stopped chewing, bugged out her eyes, and threw out a big smile without opening her mouth. The lady laughed. Madison’s eyes shifted over to me, looking for trouble. Damn it. She’s a clown.
Madison broke out this new fake smile for the first time yesterday. Lynnette dubbed it the "I'm tired of smiling" smile.
Lynnette is really good about finding these activities on the weekends that are family-friendly and affordable. She scours the internet, comes up with a plan, tells Madison and I to get ready, and shoves us all in a car. It’s a fine arrangement, really. It reduces the time I have to spend thinking about anything other than my fantasy baseball teams.
I know that I spend an inordinate amount of time portraying Lynnette as a clown, a goofball, and many other things, but I sincerely hope she also comes across as a wonderful mother and wife. She drives me crazy with her nonsense and goat logic sometimes, but the way she handles events like an aquarium visit make me feel like all she really wants is a happy family. We have limited means, and yet, Lynnette has granted me the gift of two people in a queen-sized bed again. She has done this by cruising on the floor next to Madison’s bed until the Goob falls asleep. So really, she’s given me the gift of sleeping in my own bed alone for an hour, then with her for the rest of the night. As an parent will tell you, that’s legit.
Humu!
Madison spotted her friend Humu in the outdoor saltwater tank. It was really great. There’s an area that runs into a corner at a 90-degree angle, and Humu was shuttle-swimming around that corner in the tank. In the picture on the left, Madison followed Humu swimming to Mad’s right. It would then take a hard right at the corner, and swim on until turning around and heading towards Madison again. It did this many times while Madison and I were there. Madison thought it was so cool. She literally followed it to the right, took three steps to the adjacent glass wall and caught up with Humu again, then ran back the to the original pane of glass. Once I figured out what Humu was doing, I told Madison to wait for Humu at one of the panes because she had already plowed into another kid while following Humu back and forth. Madison did not want to leave her friend behind as we went in search of free stuff.
Not exactly setting the world afire with the "Hawaii's Native Species" series of tattoos.
Madison got fresh ink again this weekend, this time on her left forearm. Since the the theme of this entire shindig was environmental awareness, there was a short list of tattoo images. Two of the first we saw were of flowers (the one Madison got) and a slug. No, not the slang term for a spent bullet. An actual slug. It wasn’t a difficult choice for Mad. Just to make it interesting, I tried to Jedi Mind Trick her by saying the following:
Hey, Mad! Do you want a tattoo of this flower? Or how about one of this really super-cool slug right here,wow!
She didn’t bite.
I had C&K songs in my head for the rest of the day as a result.
I think I’ve long established that I’m a moron. Well, in case there was any doubt, I did a little something to continue to make my case for “decidedly unintelligent.” When Lynnette, Madison, and I exited the interior area of the aquarium, there were already a ton of people on the lawn and looking over the outside exhibits. There was music coming on over the PA system. It sounded like C&K. Only in my head, it made more sense that this was simply a recording of a live concert playing over the speakers rather than Henry Kapono actually playing at the Waikiki Aquarium. So we checked out Humu. We checked out the seal. We stood in line for some free swag. And then the music stopped, someone’s voice came over the PA and said “How about a round of applause for Henry Kapono!” I looked at Lynnette. “What?” I said. “I told you he was going to be here!” she said. Maybe she did.
By the time I got to the tiny stage area, he had already wandered backstage. A few minutes later – right after Mad got her tattoo – Kapono reappeared to say hello to a few guests. He was 5 feet away from me. Don’t get me wrong: I wouldn’t classify myself as a big C&K fan. Thanks to my father, I know enough about their music to have spent many nights in the comfort of someone’s garage (sometimes my own, sometimes a friend’s) getting drunk and singing along to “Highway in the Sun” and “Have You Ever Had that Feelin’.” Also, “About You” off of Elua applies to every single romantic relationship I’ve ever been in. Horrible, I know. But yeah, I was able to snag a picture with Henry Kapono. For what it’s worth, he still sounds like Henry Kapono.
Why the hell not:
I know, I know. This is arguably the most well-known and over-played of C&K’s songs. It’s the local version of Vitamin C’s “Graduation.” Because the song rose to popularity before I had established my own personal tastes in music, all I knew about it was that it was really popular and appeared to be a slide show necessity along with 10,000 Maniacs’ “These Are the Days,” and/or Natalie Merchant’s “Kind a Generous.”
C&K have been right about us so far, here's hoping the best is yet to come.
Having never really listened to the lyrics of “Goodtimes Together” outside of that ubiquitous hook (terrible, I know), the song had no meaning for me. And now that I’ve actually forced myself to sit and listen to it, well, it has nothing to do with graduation and slideshows, does it?
It’s about history – both the highs and the lows – and how it plays into the present. It’s being aware enough to understand and appreciate the importance of a moment as it’s happening. It’s about how there are some things in our lives that we never want to let go of. How we don’t have to – as long as we accept that those things, like everything else, are subject to time.
Maybe the best having yet to unfold is mere wishful thinking. Maybe C&K were overly hopeful about that part. Then again, every time I look at Madison, I can’t help but share their optimism.
The 2012 version of Axl Rose features more clothing and less catchers gear than its earlier incarnations.
I watch less television now than at any point in my life with the possible exception of that period immediately after birth during which I couldn’t see. There are several consequences which result from my limited TV viewing, but perhaps the most notable – particularly as it applies to this blog – is my lack of awareness of popular culture.
Most of my time on the internet is spent portraying my wife as a lovable lunatic, enhancing my fantasy baseball team(s), and making snide remarks on other people’s Facebook pages. Sometimes, I’ll wander over to Grantland.com to read about sports and things tangentially related to sports. Once in a while, I’ll read something on the site that has nothing to do with sports. Such was the case with Alex Pappademas’ column regarding the relationship between Lana Del Rey and Axl Rose.
At gunpoint, I'd probably go with One Direction.
Lana Del Rey (left) is a 25-year old singer who became (in)famous due in part to what was widely hailed as an abysmal performance on “Saturday Night Live.” Qualifiers about within the stories tying Del Rey to the 50-year old frontman of GNR; terms like “possibly,” “likely,” and “seemingly,” litter statements attempting to nail down exactly what the hell is going on here. I suppose all that matters is that they’ve been seen together on more than one occasion, and in the world of celebrity tabloiding – and also high school – that means involved.
I don’t care about their relationship, if they’re “doing it,” or what any of it might mean. The reason I decided to write about this at all is because of a section of Pappademas’ column which describes Rose’s iconography:
Of course Del Rey wants us to see her with Axl. Of course Axl fits into Del Rey’s personal pantheon, her carefully curated, Americana-saturated sparklers-and-trailers-and-Coca-Cola fantasy life. She’s drawn to icons and to fadedness. An artist with a less keen aesthetic would just date some rock personality her own age — some idiot who thinks he’s Axl Rose, whoever the 2012 equivalent of the dude from Buckcherry is. Del Rey sought out the genuine article. He’s the Last Unicorn, the last universally recognized rock star. There will never be another Axl — because the culture has changed and no single artist of any kind will ever command the kind of attention Rose did in Guns N’ Roses’ heyday, yes, because we don’t make sacred monsters like him anymore, but also because no record company will ever again pick up the tab for an arc like his, from earth-scorching decadence to obsessive, money-burning studio reclusion. No one will ever pay a public figure to drown himself so many ways — in groupies, in anger, in perfectionism and self-doubt. Neither Del Rey nor any artist her age will ever know what it’s like to walk away from a wreck as spectacular as Guns N’ Roses. Having been Axl is like having been an astronaut.
First thing’s first: this is an awesome paragraph.
In 1991, my world view was shaped almost exclusively by MTV. Guns N' Roses were gods and their stage was Mount Olympus.
Admittedly, I was too young to appreciate (or even be aware of) GNR’s rise to prominence in the late 80s, and only slightly better equipped to grasp their conquering of the world in 1991. I was 11 and in middle school, but I knew enough to understand that Guns N’ Roses was something like the biggest band in the world.
The part of Pappademas’ article that caught me was his underlying argument that a large part of what made Axl Rose Axl Rose had more to do with context than any of his own personal talents or quirks. Pappademas first declares Rose as the last of his kind with a concession – yes, becausewe don’t make sacred monsters like him anymore - which is a nod to change in the way our society consumes music. It is the following point, though, that is more profound. No one will ever indulge any other musician the way Axl was. It’s true. We will likely never again bear witness to 7-minute music videoes with production values to rival movies and feature sprawling cathedrals which transform into rundown churches in the middle of nowhere. Dolphins in tanks and all that. A popular story is that David Geffen demanded Use Your Illusions to be a double-album because he thought the band might disintegrate (read: die) before he could milk as much money out of them as possible. GNR lived the debauched rock and roll lifestyle not only because they became popular, but also as Pappademas states, because they were allowed to.
The third and second-to-last sentences of the paragraph are the money: there will never be a musician like Axl Rose again because the conditions that created him no longer exist. That logic runs counter to the way many people – myself included – instinctually believe greatness is spawned. When people say There will never be another Michael Jordan, what they mean is that his singular combination of physical skills and intangibles – those things which made him Michael Jordan – are his and his alone. For people who believe such comparisons necessary, Kobe Bryant is often pointed to as the closest thing we’ve got to MJ. Still, Kobe’s greatness, like Michael’s, is due to his own intrinsic abilities as opposed to climate or context or circumstance.
I’m not dying for the next GNR or something approximate. Don’t get me wrong, it would be nice, but it isn’t necessary. I guess it saddens me to think that there never will be a band to set the world on fire, extinguish the flames with steady streams of piss, then pass out on the ashes – not for a lack of talent, but because simply because it isn’t 1991 anymore.
We took part in the Easter Festivities at the Town Center. There were a bunch of games for children. You know Madison was down. Picture Diary time.
Madison was a little drowsy when we got to the Town Center. It was probably a combination of the medication, her illness, and the inability to get a good night's rest because she is intermittently awakened by her father's snoring at any and all hours of the night/morning. You know what Mad? That's the price you pay if you wanna cruise my bed. Sorry about that. The first thing Madison did was get some fresh ink on her right arm. She went with the flower probably because the sample was pink. That really is her new favorite color. When she announced last year that purple was her favorite color I was okay with it primarily because it wasn't pink. Well, that didn't last long.
I think it's games like this one that lead Madison to incorrectly assume that fishing is easy. In her mind, fishing is essentially holding onto a pole for a few seconds before there is a tug. When there is a tug, you tug back and receive a bag of candy for your troubles. Obviously, this bears very little resemblance to real fishing. That's probably why she lost interest after 20 seconds when we took her fishing in Kaneohe. It's like that one time Geno was trying to explain how difficult it was to spearfish and Brett cut him off with something like "How hard is it? The fish are dumb. Can a fish get a 1200 on the SAT? No. Just aim and boom! It's dead!" When Madison tried pulling on her fishing rod, she wasn't tall or strong enough to get the bag over the tarp. That's when Coach Phil stepped in. He would be around all day.
Most of the games cost $1 to play, but the Easter Egg "Hunt" was free. The hunt was really just a plastic swimming pool filled with shredded paper which I assume were the remains of late-night hotel TV receipts. Two birds with one stone. Good job, guy who put this game together. So like I was saying, the kids had to search through the shredded paper for eggs. It wasn't a traditional Easter Egg Hunt, but that was fine because I didn't have the energy for a traditional Easter Egg Hunt.
Initially, I stressed the importance of succeeding at this game because I thought they were giving away Coke as prizes. Lynnette pointed to the cardboard box of mini-stuffed animals and told me that wasn't the case. This immediately decreased my intensity and I alerted Madison to the change of plans with "Don't worry about it, just throw it." The ring toss onto the soda bottles always looks like it should be easy, but it never is - and that's at a legitimate carnival. Today, the bottles stood in a plastic swimming pool and were spaced unevenly. There were obvious gaps at random places. Mad didn't hit one, even though she had been given a staggering 15 rings. Also, you'll notice that she's a full two feet in front of the demarcation line. But she pulled an 0-15 on the game, which was somehow better than the performance of my fantasy baseball team today. "Looks like it's just you and me, Goob - until October," Lynnette said. "What does that mean?" I asked. "We're going to lose you to the Mets from this point on right?" she replied. "I don't even have my MLB.TV this season," I countered. "But you're still going to use other machinations to find your Mets, right?" she counter-countered. "Yeah," I said.
Coming off a rough performance at the ring toss, I was worried that rings and tosses had gotten into Madison's head. I was afraid that she'd gotten the yips and not be able to handle any ringing, tossing, or ring tossing. She quashed my fears my immediately nailing a ring on the purple and yellow star. She went on to hit on a couple more. Coach Phil was happy, but Coach Phil was still also worried about Madison's lack of footwork. But Coach Phil didn't say anything because Madison was having a good time. Not making pointing out these problems and suggesting adjustments is very difficult for Coach Phil. For whatever reason, regular Phil could give a shit about anything, but Coach Phil is psychotic about getting a good stride out towards the plate to help get that shoulder around and create some extra velocity.
Coach Phil couldn't help himself this time. Before Madison threw the first ball, I told her to step and throw. She looked at me with a face that said "Dad, I don't know any swears yet, but if I did, I would direct the choicest ones at you right now." I was so taken aback by her Lynnette-esque laser beams that I backed off with both hands raised, palms facing out. She nailed one of the lower bottles with her first throw. I think I threw my hands up and growled my approval, but no photographic or video evidence of this outburst exists. Thank God. She knocked over the remaining bottle with her second toss. I was so happy. I love my daughter and I love anything resembling anything having to do with baseball. If somehow Madison finds her way into softball, watch out. Coach Phil might lock regular Phil in an iron mask and shove him in a dungeon until Jeremy Irons finds him.
By far the best game of the day was the Nerf Gun Shot. The organizers of the event hand lined a few empty soda cans on a table. I don't know why - maybe because it was for kids - but I thought that the bullet would leave the gun at a slower-than-usual rate. But when Madison pulled the trigger for the first time, we heard the bullet hit the can before we saw anything. You can see, the bullet's already out of the gun. Lynnette didn't even have time to get our set up. Madison seemed to genuinely enjoy this game, and I think it's because she could actually pull the trigger. We don't have Nerf guns in the house because Lynnette is an adult, so the only guns Madison knows are water guns. The problem with those, though, is that the strength of the stream is often dictate by the pressure created by the finger on the trigger. Madison has tiny hands. She never really gets much on her water gun shots. But she was an assassin with the Nerf Gun. Perhaps it will be worth incurring Lynnette's wrath to pick up two pistols for Abby Hunt 2012.
That's her fake smile. It's the one I hope to see in her Winterball and Prom pictures. You know, if she can sneak out of the shackles chained to the wall in the garage.
I wish I could say that Madison is such a competitor that she played all of those games just to challenge herself. I think we all know that's not true. The truth is she was indifferent about the games when we got there (they weren't really set up yet, I don't blame her). Once she figured out that candy was being passed around for participation, she enrolled in an Award Tour of games. "Wollypops, Mom," she said. Yes, Madison.
Aside: In addition to celebrating Easter tomorrow, Madison and I will celebrate our birthdays. Madison will turn 4. Supposedly, this means she will sleep in her own room. Though I suspect the only reason she’s agreed is because she assumes that Lynnette and I – or at least Lynnette will move over with her. We’ll see. Madison has been looking forward to her birthday since mid-March. Thursday night, she and I had the following exchange as we walked into Target:
Madison: I’m gonna get a girl toy for my birthday. Daddy, do you want a boy toy?
(Lynnette chuckles)
Philip: (in a grunt/growl) I’m not your boytoy.
(Lynnette scoffs)
The take-away: Lynnette’s sense of humor most closely aligns to a soon-to-be 4-year old.
I found out about the semi that had overturned and spilled its load on the freeway as school ended yesterday. The KHON website posted a photo from what appeared to be a traffic camera. The time stamp read 2:07 pm. The site also mentioned that the three right lanes of the H1 Ewa-bound were closed as a result. I left school at three o’clock and headed in the direction of the airport. The hope was that since the truck had beached itself near Aiea High School, I wouldn’t have to merge as I would have from Moanalua. I realize that my experience was not unique. In fact, I was stuck in traffic for two hours and I have talked to people who were mired even longer. But I ran the gamut of emotions while idling in traffic yesterday. No joke.
If I took video of it, it would look exactly the same.
I left Kalihi with a quarter-tank of gas and 44% battery life on my phone. I thought that both would easily get me home. I was wrong.
Like I said, I took the airport exit at Middle Street and was flying. The thing about that particular stretch of road, though, is that it’s straight. I saw the brake lights and the rows of cars long before I had to start slowing down. It wasn’t one of those tricky turn-the-corner surprises that are a signature of Hawaii’s roads (because so few of them are straight lines). When my right foot began to depress the brake, I let out a loud and drawn-out f-bomb. I knew it was likely to happen, but still. The Mets are likely to lose all season, but I won’t like that, either.
Silver Lining #1: Catching up with my social networking. With the freeway quickly transforming itself into a parking lot, I turned to my phone for distraction (which, I suppose, is exactly why you aren’t supposed to use your phone in the car. It makes so much sense in theory.) I was able to Instagram a pictures of my plight as well as make a few comments about the traffic on Facebook. Question for another day: How did I ever make it through traffic without a smartphone?
Traffic was so bad that cars were driving on other cars - backwards! - trying to get through.
Silver lining #2: Spending two hours in traffic allows for a deeper-than-usual exploration of one’s music files. I had no idea how long I’d be stuck, so I used my phone sparingly, relying primarily on my iTunes playlist for entertainment.
You ever feel like your iPod gets into moods and strings together five love songs, or plays metal songs back-to-back, or plays a bunch of songs by the same artist in a row? Even if you have it on shuffle? That’s kind of what happened to me yesterday right around the Arizona Memorial exit. My phone starting pumping out 90′s alternative rock.
When “Would” by Alice in Chains started playing, I was hot and cranky. I started singing along. The verses – Jerry Cantrell) are pretty low-imact, but once it gets to the chorus (Into the flood again…), Layne Staley (rest in peace) really starts belting it out. So, if you can imagine my droning, monotone voice screaming and off-key doing this:
then you have a pretty good visualization of what many fellow drivers were treated to yesterday. Of course, they couldn’t hear me, but I’m sure the head jerks, hand motions, and spittle flying out of my mouth got the general point across. Because that’s the downside to being able to explore one’s musical library in traffic: everything’s moving slowly enough so people can actually see you pretending to be a rock god for more than a fleeting moment.
I believe that this would be an example of what my students refer to as "Rahning um hahd."
The drama began a little after I passed Radford High School. My gaslight went on. I could still see some room between the needle and the E level, so I actually said “No worry, booleh” out loud and flashed at shaka at myself. Getting caught doing this by someone I knew would actually have been slightly more embarrassing than getting caught screaming along to a song. Anyway, the traffic was slow going, and the needle was flirting with E.
So I cheated. I got into the diamond lane and hoped that I wouldn’t get caught. You have to understand, I have the worst luck with things like this. I defy all the wrong odds. I knew that I would get through it faster if I had just gotten into the diamond as soon as it slowed down, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it.
But the needle was making out with E at this point.
I got all the way over and started shouting things at the cars in front of me like “It’s a fucking truck!” My personal favorite was “If you turn your head sideways, it looks just like a truck always fucking does!” Yes, if you need to know, I’ve been in the situation where I’ve really had to drop a deuce on the way home many times before, but this was different. I would have stalled out on the freeway in the middle of an already obscene traffic jam, and I would have had to drop a deuce eventually, anyway. It was nearing that time of day.I was panicked.
Once I made it through the stoppage, I hit the gas and let out an epic “Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!” I was more excited than this pitcher after winning the game:
I made it to Costco while the needle was engaged in heavy petting with E. It cost me $52 and change to fill my tank. I made it worth my while by picking up and immediately inhaling a turkey wrap. I’m not going to lie, I was squeezing. My adrenaline was still running as I violently chewed my post-lunch/pre-dinner meal.
We hit up the First Hawaiian Auto Show yesterday for the second year in a row. I figured the likeliest scenario was that the convention center would be filled with mostly the same cars I wrote about last year, I’d have to come up with another way to write about it. We’ll see how that works out.
Oh, the irony. We had a simple plan: Go to bank. Pick up Auto Show coupons. Eat at Kuru Kuru. Go to Auto Show. About halfway down the H2, Lynnette said "Oh, yeah, I need a safety check." "Like right now?" I asked. "No. But some time today. " She waited until the last day of the month to pick up her safety check. She went into damage control mode with "At least I remembered to renew my registration." Those words should form a statement, but when she said them, her voice trailed off at the end, reflecting a question. So we took care of that first, hence the first picture of a car on the day that we were going to the Auto Show is of our own at the Aiea 76. Phenomenal.
On the way to Kuru Kuru, Madison kept insisting that she wasn't hungry because she had "just eaten a breakfast bar." She did, though. I replied to her with "Okay, fine, you don't have to eat, mommy and daddy will." I meant it, too. More cap space to spend on myself, you know? Well, I guess Madison forgot about her hunger strike because as soon as we were seated, she saw the cantaloupe on the conveyer and informed us of her intentions not to opt out of lunch. Two Chawan Mushis later, I turned to her and said "I thought you weren't hungry? I thought you didn't want to eat lunch?" She smiled and lowered the piece of cantaloupe. "I'm still hungry right now," she said. Shocker.
I guess I have simple dreams. Of all the cars I saw yesterday, the VW Jetta is the one I wanted to take home. I guess since I am not a man of means, I don't really look at the cars that I could only afford if I sold my organs on the black market. I've been a fan of the Jetta since the mid-90s version. It was boxy, then VW went and ruined it by making them rounder. Well, the Jetta's got some of those old angles back. While it isn't exactly the same as the old red one I wanted (with Optimus Prime's voice as an alarm: "Warning, Human, you are too close to this automobile."), it is a nice modern update with a reasonable price tag. I like the white, too. Madison liked it so much that she held Honey with her teeth so she could give it two thumbs up. Thumbs up not pictured.
Holding on to the title of "Lynnette's Dream Car" for the second year in a row is the Lexus RX. No real surprise there. Lynnette has always been a very motivated person. She was a great student in high school, she plowed through college and nursing school - and reminds me that she has two degrees (one more than me) to prove it. Part of what makes her such a go-getter is the fact that she doesn't become complacent in the same way that I do. She started out at Kapiolani, wanted something different and faced the challenge of starting over head-on. She hooked up with me and now no longer has the desire to ever do so again. She keeps moving, you know? Well, the Lexus RX might be Lynnette's Everest. The last mountain she has left to climb. If you think I am being melodramatic about this, consider the following information. "Babe," I said. "If I ever had a massive amount of money, one of the first things I'd do is buy you an RX." "Oh,' she replied. "That's the sweetest thing anyone's ever said to me."
Last year, Madison fell in love with a small number of cars and didn't want to leave them or share them with any other show-goers. It was the opposite this year. She wanted to go inside of EVERY car on the floor. As you can see in this picture above, she spent most of the afternoon barking out commands very much like Peyton Manning running a two-minute drill. "I wanna go inside dat car!" she'd shout. She had a fondness for vans and the larger SUVs that she could move about freely in. She loves the Odyssey and the Sienna, though I don't think we'll ever purchase either. I think we'd have to be up to a minimum of three children before I'd even consider a van, and I don't think that's going to happen, either. It's highly likely that I am incapable of producing male offspring - my college roommate Derek claimed as much in a theory, capping off his argument with "Phil, you're the most feminine, emotional guy I know." - and there's no way I take the chance of living out my years on the planet Earth with four females with Higa/Pascua genetics.
Lynnette explained to me that It appeared that Madison's chief concern regarding the cars she entered was whether or not she could put the seatbelt on by herself. This might seem like an odd consideration, but I think I understand where it stems from. Madison has sat in the back seat of cars her entire life, first in the carrier, and now in the carseat. Sometimes, though, if I am washing the cars and I need to move one a few yards away, I'll let her sit in the front with me. You should see her face. She props herself up on the edge of the passenger seat and her head is on a swivel. She's got this huge smile and she's looking out the windows like she's seeing everything for the first time. The last time we did it, she tried to convince me to let her put the car in drive. I'm never going to be able to give Madison everything she wants. But while she's young and while I can, I will give her every small moment of awesomeness possible.
Lynnette choose to pull out her modeling school moves on the Bentley this year. I don't know what you'd call Madison's look. "Unimpressed," maybe? Anyway, this is a way better shot than Lynnette's work with the Maserati last year.
And now on to the awards!
Not even Madison wanted to hop inside.
Car Most Likely the Result of a Nissan Cube and a Smart Car Having Sex: The Mitsubishi i. I’m all for electric vehicles, but this one didn’t do anything for me. It was small, lacked any kind of physical presence, and didn’t look enough like “regular car” in the same way that the Nissan Leaf does. I mean, it wouldn’t be so bad if every car looked similar. But if you’re driving the i and you’re at a stoplight and like a 2002 black Mazda Protege 5 pulls up next to you, you’re going to feel pretty bad about it, aren’t you? I saw a smart car parked in the Gyutaku lot two weeks ago and its plates read “NOLAFF.” Eesh. The i does, however, boast the number 112 in the same place on the sticker where other cars have the numbers like 19 and 26. So there is that. And that’s about it.
I can't remember if I saw this in an Arnold movie or in the Dr. Pepper 10 commercial.
Car That Reminded Me Most of a Movie: This Jeep. I know that most of the luxury cars get the most press at these kinds of shows, and I thought that this Jeep – tricked out with the cargo netting and overhead intake – was a huge middle finger at those cars. This Jeep is the kind of vehicle you take into hostile territory to find alien species that are tearing up elite military units. This is vehicle that Alan Grant and company should have been touring in in Jurassic Park instead of those garish Mercedes SUVs. It’s obviously not for me, though. I think we’ve long established that I am not a man’s man (and I’m not a ladies man, either, which begs the question “What’s the in-between?”) I guess in the way that Lynnette dreams of being obscenely wealthy and driving around in a Bentley, I dream of flying around in a Jeep like this with a whole container of weapons and power tools in the back - all of which I can use with world-class expertise. Which of those two scenarios is more likely?
I know this is going to sound crazy, but I miss when Madison adored Cars.
Car That Reminded Madison Most of a Movie: VW Bus, AKA Fillmore. Last summer Madison was all about Cars. She doesn’t even talk about it anymore. She’s made the inevitable transition to the Disney Princesses and left McQueen and Mater behind. This could be indicative of a larger problem: she’s rejecting man-ish things. She still loves to play sports games with me, but there’s no denying it now, she’s a little girl. Society and popular culture caught her, and now there’s nothing getting the entire family dressed up in orange and blue for Opening Day can do about it. But damn it, we’re still dressing up in orange and blue on Opening Day!
Of course Lynnette liked it, it didn't make any sense.
Car That Best Served as a Metaphor for Everything My Wife Stands For: The Convertible Nissan Murano. Lynnette doesn’t even like the regular Murano. But when she saw this roofless version in Retro Pacific Ocean Blue (or something like that, right?) she was all about it. “I like it!” she said. “Why?” I asked. “I just do!” she said. Of course she did. It was the least practical car we were allowed to touch. The price point was $55,000. The interior is beige (because that’ll keep when you roll with the top down). It is a two-door. It’s ugly. But somehow when Lynnette added all of those negatives together, she came out with a positive. I like to believe she imagines herself cruising past Sandy’s turning heads and breaking necks. When I see myself driving this car, I get birdshit in my hair because I’m stuck in traffic under the Middle Street overpass.
It's too good a deal to pass up.
Car That We’ll Probably End Up Purchasing Next Despite Everything Else We’ve Seen and What We Want: Toyota Corolla S. Toyota brought a fully-loaded Corolla S to the show: 6-speaker audio system, in-dash navigation, bluetooth, USB ports, and moonroof. And it costs less than $22,000. That’s about $2,000 more than the base trim Ford Focus that features such amenities as a pack of matches and a stack of old newspaper in lieu of a heater. What it comes down to is you could buy a Nissan Murano Convertible or one fully-loaded Toyota Corolla S in blue and another in white and still have $10,000 left over to paint the white one orange. There’s no fighting your destiny.
I was envious of Lynnette because she made the intelligent decision of wearing a “flowy” dress to dinner. This meant that her stomach would be unimpeded by a belt or pants or anything really. She probably even wore her stretchiest underwear; she is pretty smart after all. I had to wear jeans. I should have just worn pajama pants and suffered the teasing. The comfort would have been worth it.
