The Hawaii Diaries -- Day Five (slowly getting there)

Playful dolphins off the snorkel boat 


Turtle love at Kapaluu 


Needle fish 


Kapaluu 


Afternoon snorkeling at Kapaluu 

Tuesday, November 23, 2004

This was the best day so far – snorkel, snorkel, snorkel. Who knew all that cool stuff was under the water? I guess I did know, but you don’t really think about it much until you are checking it out.

In the morning, we went out on the Pacific Dream Cruise. (I don't know that it was such a dream, but it was only $39 for all three of us because of our timeshare discount.) When we got there, it was only the three of us and one other guy on a sort of old beat up trimaran that could have held 50 people! Word was that an ocean liner that was supposed to have come in didn't, so business was slow. All the better for us, and we embarked on our essentially private cruise. We had a crew of three to our four, with Captain Kahani (pronounced Connie), First Mate Jordan and crew woman Astrid.

Kahani was just a little guy, but he was competent. I wondered right off why his tatoos were being removed and why he had taken out all five of his earrings, of which only the holes remained in his right ear. Given that observation, Mom later learned that his goal was to become a captain of a private yacht for $100,000 a year or so, but his tattoos were hindering him, so he was spending some $10,000 to get them removed.

Jordan, who was perhaps the most tan person I had ever seen, was a single mom but she was dating a guy who came from Leadville, Colorado. We didn’t learn that much about Astrid, other than that she was young and blonde and came from Hilo.

Chatting with Dutch, the other guy on the cruise, I learned he hailed from Holland, hence his name. His real name was Arthur and he didn’t really speak Dutch any longer. He was attractive, in his late 50s. I learned that he was actually half-owner of the company that owned Pacific Dream Cruises (or so he said) and had shown up on a secret scouting mission. He told me not to tell anyone, so I didn’t, although I pondered warning the crew. He wasn’t that happy with the state of the boat, which was 30 years old and needed painting.

The night before had been rainy and storms were predicted all day long. The morning opened cloudy and a bit cool, but rain didn’t seem imminent. The stormy weather from the night before had made the water a little rough, so we had to search for a place where we could moor up. After checking out one harbor, we went to another. Captain Kahani decided it was too rough there as well, but we did see a pod of spinner dolphins and that was so cool. They just swim up to the boats, check them out and hang out a little. They really are so social and seem to enjoy saying hi and swimming along with you for a bit. I wished we could get out and swim with them.

We ended up going back to the first harbor and tying up. Now it was time to jump in, a prospect I hadn’t really given much consideration to. The only time I had ever snorkeled before was at a snorkel park around Playa del Carmen and that was pretty easy peasy – like snorkeling for retards in a super giant manmade aquarium – awesome, but not really occuring in nature.

Still, I strapped on my mask, snorkel and fins and jumped into the water. Looking down, it was pretty much a watery wonderland – with all sorts of colorful fish swimming around. Jacks, also known as Chubs, hovered near the boat like stray dogs, hoping for some cast-off food (which they got, by the way). There were surgeon fish – deep black with a few marked white stripes – an irridescent blue-green fish the Hawaiian name of which I can’t remember. I saw one parrot fish way down there, and also a moray eel at one point. Lots of bright yellow fish, black and yellow and white angler fish with a big fin hanging over their snouts. It was cool to see all the life just there beneath the waves, something you never consider but that is always going on.

We snorkeled, ate lunch (hamburgers and hot dogs and grilled pineapple – the water slide didn’t work to Dutch’s sort-of secret dismay but the gas grill did) and then Mom and I got in for some more snorkeling. When I first got in, I looked below me to see a squadron of divers about 25 feet down, which was kind of cool to see. I was going diving on Thursday and it was fun to check out what they were doing.

Finally, I moved on, swimming and floating about the cove. I was out there for a long time, but everyone on the boat seemed relaxed and not worried about me so I just kept swimming. At one point, I looked up and everyone was standing on one side of the boat peering out and I knew they were seeing something cool that I was missing, but I couldn’t get back in time to see it. Turns out that was a whale and I was mad I missed it.

Anyway, I was still snorkeing away, absorbed in my own little world, when I saw a lot of commotion at the boat. I started swimming back and I heard a woman screaming in a very frenzied voice: “help her, help her, help my sister!”

At that point, I decided I had better get back in case they needed help or just needed to get on our way. When I got back, everyone was working hard to pull up a scuba diver, who seemed to be passed out because they were having a tough time getting her up. I wondered if the woman was breathing because you could tell she wasn’t awake. But things were chaotic and I just waited to get the information later.

Turns out, something had malfunctioned with her tank and she had inhaled a lot of water. After that, she panicked and grabbed her sister’s regulator but that didn’t help. She came up fast, never a great thing, and was disoriented and choking when she got to the surface. She just so happened to surface right at our boat, which was lucky (or providential, as my Dad said) for her, because she needed immediate help. She was alert enough to ask, but she passed out fairly quickly and started turning blue, according to Mom and Dad.

They got her up on the boat and on her left side so she could lay and let the bubbles, which happen when you surface too quickly, pass out of her system. She threw up a lot of salt water, but finally she was awake and breathing again. Very shaken, but likely okay. One boat, from Jack’s Diving Locker, took her and her husband back to shore because that boat’s divers weren’t in the water yet and it was a faster boat than our 30-year-old catamaran. Her boat, Kona Honu Divers, got all their people back on board before finally taking off.

Ultimately, everyone was okay, but it was both exciting and somewhat traumatic. Mom didn’t want me to stick with my plans to go diving on Thursday, but I was resolute because I had always wanted to try scuba diving and the chance doesn’t come up that often. Dad and I agreed that using the law of statistics – the “lightening strikes” rule, I like to call it – I was unlikely to run into trouble.

After that, we cleaned up and went on in. Dutch never told them who he was, but even though he said he was unhappy with the condition of the boat, he had to be impressed by the way Captain Kahani and the crew handled the emergency because Kahani stayed calm and in charge the whole way.

I so loved snorkeling that mom agreed to go with me to Kapaluu, the nearby snorkel beach, in the afternoon. Kapaluu is like one really really big aquarium and you can swim forever without it ever getting too deep. Actually, I wish I had spent more time there while we were in Kona.

Some of the pictures above are from Kapaluu, including the turtles, which is my favorite picture from the whole trip. It was so cool to just be snorkeling along and then run smack into these two turtles. (I was actually given a tip by a fellow snorkeler, but Mom and Dad both saw turtles here no problem.)

After snorkeling, Mom and I indulged in Mai Tais and I have to say, those babies are strong!

For dinner, we went back to Huggo’s. The meal was great, but the coolest part was looking over the balcony into the cove. We could see a moray eel (which Mom called "the creature," and we got sort of obsessed with watching it) sliding from tidal pool to tidal pool, hunting, and there were also herds of crabs (my own biological term), scuttling sideways along the rocks.

The Hawaii Diaries - Day Four (hooray! the pictures are here!)

Hapuna State Beach 


I don't know where I took this, maybe at the Hilton, but I think it's a really cool picture. 


The pool at the Waikoloa Hilton 


Mom and Dad on the bridge over the pool at the Hilton 


Mom and Dad at Huggo's later that night 

Monday, November 22

Unfortunately, two days have gone by before I’ve had a moment to sit down and write this so my memory of this day is not as fresh as it otherwise would have been. So, what did we do on Monday? Hmmm….

Oh, part of my memory blockage results from the fact that on this morning we finally went to the time share presentation. The presentation, given by a guy named Mike Ireland, was actually interesting, it’s just when we get into the closing and Dad gives his objections, that the whole thing gets unpleasant. Dad, a former salesman, loves to argue and somehow still believes that he can convince people of his way of thinking. It’s my opinion that the more you argue, the less chance you have to convince anyone of anything because they just get more angry and more stubborn. Let me add that this view doesn't mean I don't argue -- oh no, I do. And my efforts are to as little avail as anyone else's.

So we started down that process, but it came to a fairly abrupt end because I got annoyed feeling that Dad was being rude. Also, Mike just wrapped it up because I don’t think he really wanted to argue that much either. Dad also told Mike up front that we were just here for the discount so I think Mike didn’t feel that inclined to push.

In any case, once the whole time share thing and discounts were taken care of, things were much more relaxed. Our plans were finally … finally! … made and now we could just relax and enjoy.

That afternoon we drove a fairly long way to go to a big sandy beach with actual waves. Although I didn’t really like the drive (didn’t want to be in a car at all at any time), it was a cool thing to do because we got to see more of the island, which is actually a pretty barren place, mostly covered in black lava and shrubbery, with an occasional resort of golf course thrown in here or there. Besides checking out that beach – at the Hapuna State Beach Resort – we also saw a bit of the hotel there, the Hapuna Prince. Supposedly that hotel also has a golf course, although we didn’t see it. I wouldn’t want to be up at that part of the island because it’s pretty remote. Down where we are, we have great access to Kailua-Kona, which is an actual town, and I like having that.

That day we also checked out the Waikoloa Hilton, which is like the Disneyland of hotels. It’s huge, and a boat or a lightrail takes you from the initial lobby over to the mammoth pool. At the pool, which of course sits next to the rocky coastline, there’s a waterfall, waterslide and hanging rope bridge. It’s all quite elaborate. We were going to get a drink there, but the bartender was overwhelmed with making frozen drinks for thirsty and demanding tourists (such as ourselves) and Dad got impatient so we departed. Patience is not a virtue any of us possess, although I’m sure each one of us is convinced that we ourselves are much more patient than any of the others.

In any case, we got back into the Chevy Impala rent-a-car and headed back to our place. That night, we actually got cleaned up and went out to dinner at a place in K-K called Michelangelo’s. We went because we had a card to get a 20% discount on food and the restaurant was on the coastline. So we had italian food (Dad Italian sausage and peppers, Mom chicken parm, me spaghetti and meatballs) and it was lovely and actually quite a deal.

We then went to a place called Huggo’s for drinks, which also is right on the water. Huggo’s seemed like quite the place to be, although Dad didn’t like the music much (slow and piano bar-ish) and Mom had wanted to dance and that wasn’t happening. So we had yet another drink and then went home. (Too many drinks for Paige, Dad enjoyed pointing out.) We didn’t stick around Huggo’s that long, but the menu looked great and the setting was amazing so we resolved to come back another night.

The Hawaii Diaries - Day Three

swimming at the Sheraton 


Just before the 19th hole 


waves splashing on the beach while Dad walks to the tee 


Kona Ocean course 

Sunday, November 21, 2004

This day started early. We had a 7 am tee time, which required checking in at 6:40 am. What was I thinking when I said I was willing to play golf early? I can’t even speak at this hour, much less hit a golf ball. But at least it would be quiet and still outside, and not so hot. Plus, we would get done early and be able to spend the rest of the day at the beach or the fabulous Sheraton pool.

Turns out, none of us slept well in anticipation of the early tee time. But once I got to the golf course, which was unbelievably beautiful and luxurious, I didn’t really care what time it was. The fairways were like carpets and the greens were fast and perfect; there were scarcely even any bare patches on them. Several holes butted up against the black lava coast line; in some cases, we had to hit over frozen bubbling lava. On hole seven, waves splashed up next to the tee box, spraying you a bit during your back swing.

Again, I’m really not a good golfer, but I had a great time. I could have gone in after 18, eaten lunch and come back out and played another 18. I took out my driver and hit plenty of good drives with it, only needing a mulligan one or two times. I cleared the lava no problem on the one hole where I had to get over some stuff. And very best of all, I chipped it in from about 25 yards on the 18th hole. What a way to finish up!

After lunch, Mom and I went over to the beautiful Sheraton pool and just hung out, while Dad stayed at the unit and took a nap. I think besides usually being tired, the jet lag has been hard for him to overcome, but he woke up from his nap quite perky.

I made dinner that night – salmon with mango salsa and broiled t-bone steak with rosemary and salsa fresca. Roasted green beans and potatoes and Hawaiian sweet bread rolls (which taste like Gramma A’s bread—for those of us who have had it—only maybe a little moister and softer. Very yummy.) Hawaiian coconut ice cream with chocolate syrup for dessert. That was delicious too, although the coconut ice cream didn’t really taste like the coconutty things we are used to on the mainland.

We talked about going out to the Kona Brew Pub to hear some music, but ended up staying in to watch Desperate Housewives. I have to say, TV fan that I am, it was worth staying in for. Thoroughly enjoyable. I could complain right now that vacationing with the parents makes one a homebody, but frankly, I think I’m the one that wants to stay home. They seem more than willing to go out, but I so love to cook, and I figure it saves money, that I’m just as happy being here once the sun goes down. That doesn’t speak well for any potential social life I might ever have again, but I think once you get past a certain age, you would rather get up, get out and get back. I’d rather spend my days being active and my nights at home, than my nights out and my days sleeping. I do sort of miss my party days, but this way is probably healthier.

After dinner, I took a not-so-hot tub (not cold either, but it could have been a little hotter) in the tub next to our unit. That was a relaxing thing to do right before bed, plus the Hawaiian sky was amazing. Big clear stars and a bright moon in a partly cloudy sky. I looked up and saw a genie riding on a magic carpet in the clouds. I looked down and saw my skin covered with silver beads as the hot tub jets shut off. I breathed in the alone time and thought about my life, about which I am often prone to anxiety. And I felt fully aware of the true value of being in the present moment and absolutely nowhere else.

The Hawaii Diaries - Day Two

Kona sunset 


Sheraton lobby 


Keahou sunset 


Mauna Loa pool 

Saturday, November 20

Everyone was up early; Dad at 4:30 am, which is bad because it meant an early bed time and a sleepy day. But the jet lag is hard to overcome.

I actually managed to start the day with an hour of fairly rigorous yoga on my own. This was the only normal form of exercise I got while in Hawaii, other than golf and snorkeling. I found a hip-hop station on the radio and did a lot of sun saluations, adding some extra lunges here and there, and doing some floor poses. I fantasized about becoming an ashtanga yoga teacher in Hawaii. I would write my novel in the afternoons, sitting on my flower bedecked patio overlooking the golf course. Or maybe I would become a golf pro instead. Too bad I am utterly horrible at golf. But I digress.

We ate breakfast on the patio or the lanai as Mom calls it. Our view was of hole number two of the Kona Country Club golf course. It was fun watching foursomes come by and tee off. Unlike us, most people could hit a decent tee shot without taking a mulligan. Dad said people were already coming through at 6:15 am.

I’m no morning person, but as I get older I’ve noticed that I don’t mind getting up early as much as I used to. On the other hand, I said I wouldn’t mind playing golf early and now I was stuck checking in for a round at 6:40 am the next day.

In the distance, we could see the Pacific Ocean. What is sort of crazy about Hawaii is how small it is compared to the huge ocean surrounding it. It’s amazing planes flying in the dark can even find the tiny island chain. One degree off course and you’d end up in Japan.

After breakfast, and my yoga, and everyone cleaning up and various wheeling and dealing by my dad, we ventured into town. Dad had been told that if we sat through a timeshare presentation, we could get deals on various activities around Kona, so he was figuring that out with the concierge while Mom and I got organized.

The day was bright and sunny, with clouds clinging to the top of the nearby volcanic mountain range. Little beachy shops lined the main thoroughfare and small waves crashed on black-lava beaches. By 10:30 am, people already were frolicking in the surf. I wanted to be one of them.

The downer of the morning was that we found a woman in town who also sold timeshare presentations. In exchange, you got even better deals on various activities than we could get through Bebe at our complex, particularly a small airplane ride to see the volcano and waterfalls, but also on golf, snorkeling and other stuff. It seemed worth checking out.

Paulette, Ms. Timeshare, clearly had smoked a little too much Maui Wowie in her day. Fingers bedecked with every sort of jeweled ring, she explained everything in detail at least five times. She spoke in a business-like voice, but couldn’t remember anything we told her. Common sense eluded her. It took her three separate phone calls to rebook our golf reservation and she had to ask us at least three times how many rounds of golf we wanted to play. (Three people, three rounds. This is not brain surgery.) After about five minutes of Paulette, Mom and I wandered into the nearby ABC Shop and started buying touristy things like snorkel shoes, underwater cameras and small packs of macademia nuts.

After a while, we checked back to see if Dad was done, and he wasn’t. Paulette was explaining something for possibly the tenth time. She was getting more annoying by the moment. I am not helpful in situations like this. I have no patience anyway, and less patience for people who process information too slowly. I just wanted Paulette to make an appointment to see the time-share presentation, book our golf reservation at a discount and get on with it. But it was not to be that easy.

After an hour of so with Paulette, our negotiating was finally done. Everyone wanted a fruity drink anyway, but at that point we desperately needed one. Paulette was exhausting. At one point, Dad wanted to just bail her altogether, partly because he felt badly that he had to cancel his similar contract for a timeshare presentation with Bebe, the nice concierge at our place, but by now we were too far into the whole thing to bail. I convinced him to stick with it since we were about 80% there by this time, and we proceeded on.

Activity plans finally in hand, we went to Bubba Gump Shrimp Co. for lunch. A chain, the restaurant sits right on the shore. We sat at a table with waves crashing below us, and the sun beating on our backs. Finally, parents with chi-chis in hand, and me with a really big margarita, we were in Hawaii.

That afternoon, Mom and I fell asleep by our unit’s little pool. When we got up, I wanted to go on a walk, and Mom came with me.

Mom and I went walking around sunset. We went to the nearby docks and saw the sun descend into the vast ocean under a pink, red and orange sky. Locals and guys in their mid-thirties who long ago should have moved to the mainland and gotten a real job (or who are maybe smarter than the rest of us because what's so great about the mainland anyway?) were washing their boats and finishing up their day with tourists before heading off to the local watering hole. We randomly came upon the birthplace of King Kameahmea III, which was located in an overgrown tropical garden. Apparently no one was too concerned with the legacy of King Kameahea, just stuck back there as it was behind the dive shop parking lot.

On the way back to our place, Mom and I checked the giant new Sheraton resort that had just been built nearby. We went up to explore it and found an open lobby overlooking lava-flowed beaches. A giant, endless pool filled up the middle of the hotel, with waterfalls, a good long water slide and even a beach leading into the pool. I knew where I was going to spend my time when I wasn’t on the golf course, the snorkel boat or the beach. The pool was huge and the hotel was uncrowded. Who would notice that I wasn’t a guest?

The Hawaii Diaries - Day One

Below is part one of the long-awaited chronicles of our trip to Hawaii (yes, I know everyone has been waiting for this with bated breath). Unfortunately, this is the most boring part -- it's just about the long long long flight to get there -- but you've gotta start somewhere. Happy reading!

Friday, November 19

After eight long months of waiting, my parents and I were finally on our way to Hawaii. Although I had never been there and I had always wanted to go, self-absorbed as usual, I hadn’t even really anticipated the trip, being too worried about whether my recent decision to become self-employed was going to work out or whether life as I knew it had come to a complete halt. But now the day was here, although far too early, and I was happy to be going.

It took about 0.05 seconds for anxiety, everyone’s regular travel companion, to appear. At about 5:45 am my mother appeared in the stairwell, bleary-eyed, cup of coffee in hand.

“Can we leave at 7 am instead of 7:30? I couldn’t sleep and I’m worried because we don’t know the toll road that well and we’ve never used that parking lot …”

“Sure, Mom,” I said. It was way too early to even talk.

7 am rolled around, and both parents were already in a bit of panic mode. The plane was taking off at 10:20. We only had 3 hours and 20 minutes to get to the airport, park, take a shuttle, check bags, which most certainly were going to get lost, and make our plane. Since it took about an hour to get to the airport, that left two hours and twenty minutes for everything else to go wrong.

Turns out, I had to admit the extra time did come in handy. The skycap at Denver International simply could not comprehend that I too was going from Denver to Kona and not getting off in Los Angeles. He checked two of our bags only to LA, so after holding up the check-in line, which grew longer and longer behind us, we had to go to a special agent to fix his error. By now, even I, probably the most experienced flyer among us, felt that if our bags all made it to Kona it would be a minor miracle.

Even with that little mishap, we arrived at our gate with time to kill and everyone ready for breakfast. We ate, waited at the gate and boarded without incident – except the McDonald’s counter worker not understanding my mother’s dire need for coffee.

The plane from Denver to LA took off right on time and we landed early. First leg completed. We had two hours to kill so we drank beers in a microbrewery in the United Airlines terminal.


By the time we finally got on the plane, of course, some gadget on the pilot’s console was broken and we ended up sitting on the tarmac for an hour. The guy next to me, who had a beer belly and a penchant for Coors Light, kept asking “Are we there yet?” in a loud voice, ostensibly to entertain his son. I was pretty sure he was doing it specifically to annoy me, because clearly the entire world revolves around me.

After what seemed like an eternity, we finally pushed away from the gate. We were on our way!

The plane ride was long – 5 hours and 15 minutes – and often bumpy. We had ravioli for dinner (not bad) and the movie was King Arthur (extremely bad). By the time we landed in Kona, it felt like I had done nothing else in my entire life besides travel to Hawaii.

But getting off the plane, 80 degree weather and humidity greeted us. The sweet scent of orchid leis wafted in the air and tank-top-wearing, sunburned people were everywhere, meeting friends and family. And best of all, all six pieces of our luggage, golf clubs and all, arrived intact. It all boded well for what was to come.

It was pitch black outside and we couldn’t really see a thing, except the flowers on the trees around the airport. It’s strange to arrive somewhere you have never been and have no idea what it looks like. Didn’t matter. After five minutes, I was ready to stay on forever.

The rest of the evening – it was about 8 pm in Hawaii by the time we rented our car and got it packed up – was spent checking in and getting groceries. We ended up with a perfectly sweet, two-bedroom (no pull-out couch in the living room for me! And my own bathroom!) unit in a flower-splashed area. Dinner was healthy -- some Maui potato chips and Coronas. It was 2 am for all of us and we were way tired. But tomorrow we were going to see where we actually were, what the golf course looked like and where the beach was. Sleep came easy.

New blog feature

Just a brief notice to the few of you who are regular readers: I just added a feature, to be found on the right, under the links to other blogs, that allows you to subscribe to the blog by e-mail. This means that you will be sent all new posts by e-mail and you won't have to come to the blog via the web to see what I'm blathering on about now.

Garden State

Natalie Portman and Zach Braff in Garden State.

I went to see Zach Braff's Garden State this evening at the Boulder Theatre (same place I saw the Warren Miller ski movie just a couple of weeks ago). I got there late, but just in time for the start of the film, which was only $6. And I was welcomed with veggie chili or chicken gumbo and an open bar. What could be better in a movie theatre! And even though I've heard nothing but great things about the movie, I was surprised by how much I enjoyed it.

Braff's much-heralded indie film reminded me of Sofia Coppola's Lost in Translation. Both are talky, slow and intimate. Garden State is hilarious, random and moving; Lost in Translation is quiet, lonely and subtly romantic. Both movies are intimate portraits of just a few characters. They both admit that life is random, but full of fate and mystery -- the "infinite abyss" as Braff calls it. They both recognize the shallowness of glamour and fame, and how much more valuable it is to find real love and a sense of place, no matter where one may actually be.

As human beings (or maybe just as Americans) we are all self-involved enough to believe that our one, single life is important. These small movies make the most of that belief. Our lives, our loves and our choices matter, according to these filmmakers. When we leave the theatre, no matter how boring and routine our day was, we believe in our innate greatness and beauty. We believe that magic might lurk around the next corner: we might go to a doctor's appointment or take an anonymous business trip to Tokyo and find the love of our life. We might suddenly decide to let go of lives that weren't going in desired directions and bravely pursue our real dreams. And we might find that we were wearing our real dreams all along like Dorothy's ruby slippers; we need only click our heels to realize that we were always standing in them in the first place.

The wonder of "small" movies such as Garden State and Lost in Translation is their ability to distill simple truths into broad statements about humanity. Natalie Portman's Sam in Garden State chatters like a valley girl; but she buries her umpteenth dead hamster with wisdom beyond her years. She's able to shed tears for Zach Braff's Large with ease, something Large wishes he could do. He falls in love with her open heart and spontaneous nature; she falls in love with his vulnerability and honesty. They are strangers who instantly know each other, not unlike Scarlett Johanssen and Bill Murray in Lost in Translation. Neither movie uses sex to make its point, and that's what makes them both so romantic and delicate.

Both movies explore the notion that there is someone for everyone. And after you watch them, you remember that some people immediately feel like home, while others never do. It's that feeling that makes you believe in fate and destiny, in soul mates and karma. That some people should get married one week after meeting and others should finally break up already. And it's that feeling, rare as it is, that gives life depth and light and hope.

The wonders of travel

Boulder, Colo., behind my parents' house, around 10 am on Monday, Nov. 29


Keahou Bay, Kona, Hawaii, at sunset

Just a few days ago, I was standing on this dock, watching the sun fall into the turquoise ocean. Today, I am watching snow fall on a town blanketed in white. While I do love 80-degree weather, snow has its own charms. And I've flown a ton in my life, but it still amazes me that you can be in one place and then in another practically in the blink of an eye.

All I know is that the skiing is gonna be good this year ...

Bush Taps Gutierrez for Commerce

Bush has made another cabinet choice, and it is another minority with a very interesting background. Kellogg CEO Carlos Gutierrez, who will become Commerce Secretary, succeeding Don Evans, was born in Cuba. His family fled the country when he was only six years old, and he began his career with Kellogg's in Mexico City.

One person commented that regardless of Condoleeza Rice's background, she supports an untenable war and therefore she should not be supported. I agree that the war in Iraq (but not in Afghanistan, which I wish had happened as soon as the Taliban showed up) is untenable and unwinnable and I completely understand not supporting Rice as a result. (and I'm so happy anyone is willing to comment!) Still, I have to say that I really appreciate Bush's picks for these top positions. If he puts a gay person in a cabinet role, then we'll really be getting somewhere, but that seems unlikely considering the administration's ridiculous position on gay marriage.

Following is the Wall Street Journal's early posting on Gutierrez. Also, watch this space because postings and pics from our trip to Kona, Hawaii are coming soon ...

Bush Taps Kellogg CEO
As Commerce Secretary

A WALL STREET JOURNAL ONLINE NEWS ROUNDUP
November 29, 2004 11:26 a.m.

WASHINGTON -- President Bush on Monday nominated Cuban native Carlos Gutierrez, who has been chief executive officer of Kellogg Co., to head the Commerce Department.

If confirmed by the Senate, Mr. Gutierrez would succeed Commerce Secretary Donald Evans, a Texas confidant of Mr. Bush's, who announced his resignation shortly after the Nov. 2 election.

The president announced his selection at the White House, calling Mr. Gutierrez "a visionary executive" and "one of America's most respected business leaders."

"We never imagined that this country would give me this great opportunity," Mr. Gutierrez told Bush. "I believe passionately in your leadership and the direction you've set."

Mr. Gutierrez was born in Cuba and his family fled the country in 1960 when he was 6 years old.

He is known as a charismatic and approachable executive, widely admired in business circles for reviving a flagging company.

Mr. Gutierrez joined Kellogg in 1975, beginning his career in Mexico City as a sales and marketing trainee for the Battle Creek, Mich., cereal giant.

Mr. Gutierrez subsequently held a number of jobs at headquarters and ran Kellogg's Canadian and Asian Pacific operations before being named president and then chairman and CEO.

He took over four years ago when Kellogg's cereal sales were sagging and soon acquired Keebler Foods to diversify and boost profits. He also put together an international top management team, which includes an Indonesian, an Italian and two Australians, as well as Americans.

Mr. Gutierrez is the first new member of Mr. Bush's economics team for his second term. Mr. Bush's chief economics adviser, Stephen Friedman, announced last week that he is leaving. Other changes also are anticipated.

Condie

Condoleeza Rice

I’m not necessarily a big fan of Condoleeza Rice, mainly because she seems like a robot that has been programmed to do the Bush Administration’s wishes. I wonder about her personal life, which I assume she does not have, and I’m concerned that she doesn’t actually appear to have any emotions whatsoever.

That said, I’m suprisingly pleased about her nomination to the position of Secretary of State. With Colin Powell paving the way for African-Americans, it’s a further indication that race and gender barriers are falling at the highest levels. Granted, Condie is really a white Republican man trapped in a black woman’s body, but that’s okay. In fact, that’s probably how it should be. Judge a person by his or her values, work, accomplishments, skills and talents. By his or her words and actions and how he or she spends her time. It’s by those measures, and her clear loyalty, that Bush is giving Condie this promotion. Her race and her gender haven’t even come into question.

I don’t agree with her politics, but I admire her ambition, drive, loyalty and unbelievable work ethic. And I salute her for breaking all sorts of barriers, and doing it with grace and style.

Even though I was highly disappointed that Powell ended up agreeing to be the administration’s salesman on Iraq, delivering a false bill of goods to the U.N., and damaging his credibility in the process, I’m a bit sad to see him go. I saw him speak publicly before he became Secretary of State and he was amazing. Frank and funny, off-the-cuff and relaxed – he was born to speak before people. He’s a natural pitchman, and at his best, he could probably convince anyone to do anything (except perhaps delegates at the U.N.). Powell has been a role model for many, and I think in his post-Administration role he can rebuild hs image. Before he joined the Administration, Powell was doing a lot of valuable foundation and charitable work. To that he should return, and the world will benefit from it.

In the meantime, the Bush Administration has to be commended. It’s first two appointments are very high-profile minorities. And that’s definitely a good thing.

Our Hero

CU WR Ron Monteilh runs in a 64-yard pass to win the game in the last five seconds


Fans storm the field to congratulate him

All right, I'm not really a big football fan, but I enjoy a good game as much as anyone. By chance today I ended up at the CU game, and it turned out to be one of the team's biggest games in years.

"I don't remember being part of a team that won one like this," said embattled Buffs coach Gary Barnett, according to the AP, who ranked the victory up there with Colorado's 62-36 thrashing of Nebraska three years ago.

This fall, I've had a knack of ending up in the right place during some major sports happenings. Specifically, I was in New York City when the Yankees lost to the Boston Red Sox. Then I was in New England during the entire week that the Sox finally won the World Series.

Even though I'm not really a Sox fan or part of that community (really I'm more of a Cards fan by genetic and geographic disposition), it was cool to experience Sox fandom at the best time in modern history. Sports teams bring communities together and there's something about being a part of that energy that feels comforting, fulfilling.

Boulder is a relatively smallish town, and what I love about it is that most people who live here do so by choice. They are usually passionate about this place. They love -- and I mean really love -- the mountains, the lifestyle and all the activities that come along with living nestled up to the Rockies. On Friday night I went to Warren Miller's 1001th extreme ski movie, Impact. The Boulder Theatre--an old, funky place right off the Pearl Street mall--was packed with fans.

Honestly, Warren Miller has been making these ski films since 1949. I saw several of them way back in high school. They don't consist of much more than some seriously whacked-out skiing set to music. On Friday, I greeted almost every new scene with a "holy s&%t," and I felt a little nauseous watching people stand at the tops of mountains, peering down steep cliffs, preparing to shush on down.

Sitting next to me were a group of nine-year-olds. Not too far away were their parents. Everyone from college kids to yuppies to ski bums (OK, these are all sort of the same people) filled the hall, cheering wildly. They all just wanted to see some good skiing and get psyched to hit the hill themselves. That crazy love of skiing, just strapping on boards and going downhill in the snow, is surprisingly addictive.

Hometown football is the same. Saturday's game was an epic football battle, with the score going back and forth and back and forth until CU finally wrapped it up in the last five seconds with a perfectly thrown pass. Thousands of people came together to cheer their warriors on. I didn't even know what CU's record was going into the game, but I was on my feet with everyone else in the fourth quarter. The marching band played, and the cheerleaders danced. Students stood shirtless in freezing weather and screamed wildly for their team. Those same students stormed the field to congratulate the young players, taking down the goalposts in the process.

On most levels, it was just a stupid football game. But on a larger level, a football game is a unifying event. And feeling connected is important, more important than I think people realize. It's one big reason I came back to Boulder, my home town. I wanted to feel, once again, that I was part of a community united by passion and love. Growing up here, I felt that people were involved in their lives -- their entire lives -- and they lived them with balance. I didn't know anyone consumed by work. What's more, I didn't know anyone who was consumed by fear of losing that work, and therefore working all the more, chasing their tails in an endless cycle. I don't remember being surrounded by people who lived in fear; I remember being surrounded by people who were engaged. And I felt like a solid part of it all.

It's not the event that connects us that's important--whether it be football or skiing, an election or a wedding--but the reminder that we are all connected.

That didn't take long

White House counsel Alberto Gonzales, Bush's nominee for Attorney General

The White House announced this afternoon that Alberto Gonzales will be Bush's nominee to the post of Attorney General. The move elevates Gonzales, already the highest-placed Hispanic in the administration, to a much more public job.

Illustrating how much Senate Democrats disliked Ashcroft, Sen. Charles Schumer (D-N.Y.) said : "We will have to review his record very carefully, but I can tell you already he's a better candidate than John Ashcroft," according to the Associated Press.

The good news is that Bush is continuing to acknowledge that running a multicultural country requires nominating multicultural officials. But Gonzales is a close Bush confidant, having worked side-by-side with him in the White House (think Josh and Toby in The West Wing) so it's unlikely he's going to operate independently.

Gonzales' job will be to push through judicial nominations, work to renew expiring portions of the Patriot Act, and to fight terror and protect our borders (a tricky task for a Latino from Texas) here at home. In many ways, Gonzales will have a much easier job than did Ashcroft: with 54 Republicans in the Senate, he has the majority on his side. But the trick with the Senate is that any one member can put an indefinite and anonymous hold on any thing he or she wants, including nominations. A 60-member supermajority can overturn that hold, but it's rarely invoked.

Gonzales has an interesting background - he was one of eight children and his parents were poor immigrants. He's been working for George Bush for more than ten years, and was one of Bush's key counsels way back in the Texas Governor's Mansion. So cronyism prevails once more in the Bush White House (OK, in all White Houses really. OK, in all places of business).

Let's see what happens next ...

Ding Dong, the witch is dead

Ashcroft testifies before Congress in 2003

Well, he's not really a witch, but Attorney General John Ashcroft has resigned. That's either wonderful news, because it means someone more reasonable and less crazily conservative will get that job (probably shouldn't count on that from the Bush administration). Or it's terrible news because someone even more conservative and worse, more competent, will get the job.

Ashcroft was at least partly responsible for the gem known as The Patriot Act, which gives the government permission to electronically snoop wherever it wants to. He was a big proponent of sweeping everyone who looked Arabic into prison and keeping them there for months with very little indication of wrongdoing. He also was personally offended by the bare breast of a statue that stood behind him during Justice Department briefings, spending thousands on a drape to cover her appalling Greek nudity.

The fact that Ashcroft even won the post was surprising, considering that he wasn't a popular member of the Senate and he wasn't even that well-liked in his home state, Missouri. He lost his bid for reelection to a dead man, Gov. Mel Carnahan, who died tragically in a small plane crash with other members of his family just weeks before the 2000 election.

According to CNN and the New York Times, possible candidates to replace him are Rudy Giuliani, former New York Mayor, Marc Racicot, former Bush campaign manager, and Alberto Gonzales, White House counsel. The most-favored candidate is former assistant AG Larry Thompson. Thompson just took a lucrative post at Pepsi, so why would he come back unless a) he really believes he owes the country his public service or, more likely, b) his ego likes the idea of being on the news every other day. And who would blame him? Ego makes the world go round. Or at least places like Washington, New York and Los Angeles.

President Bush recently joked with Thompson during a celebration of the anniversary of the Patriot Act in Buffalo: "We miss you over there. Don't get too comfortable up here."

The administration is supposed to announce a successor fairly soon, indicating that he (or she) has been lined up for a while. It was well-known that Ashcroft was going to resign, since neither he nor Bush apparently was happy with Ashcroft in the job. Ashcroft was too controversial and polarizing for even Bush.

Thompson wouldn't arrive with a squeaky clean record. According to the Times: "Mr. Thompson, who has been a visiting professor at the University of Georgia law school and a senior fellow at the Brookings Institution in Washington, came under scrutiny in 2002 when a conservative public interest group, Judicial Watch, filed a lawsuit that accused Mr. Thompson of helping artificially inflate the stock of the Providian Financial Corporation when he was a director there. Mr. Thompson, who made at least $1 million from the sale of his stock, denied any wrongdoing. "

If Martha Stewart does it, she goes to jail. If administration officials do it, they get promoted.

In any case, this is an opportunity for the Bush Administration to install an AG that understands both the need to fight terrorism and the need to preserve the American people's constitutionally-given rights to make their own decisions about how they exercise their civil liberties. I wish I had more faith that this is an opportunity that will be taken.

Boulder: Lovely views, hideous shoes

multi-colored Crocs

Whenever I tell people I’m from Boulder, the following questions are asked immediately: Who killed Jon Benet? (like I, or the Boulder Police Department, knows the answer to this) Was Mork and Mindy’s house really located in Boulder? (yes, on Pine Street. We used to take tourists by there) Do you ski? (duh)

What no one asks is why people in Boulder insist on wearing such horrible footwear.

A common phenomenon here is the destruction of a perfectly good outfit by the selection of absolutely horrid shoes. For example, a woman will be wearing a black skirt, black tights, cute purple or pink jacket and then these hideous chunky black shoes from 1970. Birkenstocks are still worn with everything, Tevas are the shoe of choice for all outfits from workaday wear to Sunday best and heels almost never happen. No self-respecting Manolo Blahnik or Jimmy Choo would be caught dead here.

Other trends have made their way to Boulder. Many a woman can be seen sitting in a bar, sipping her Cosmopolitan or Mojito and sporting her low-rise flare jeans with her thong showing and half her ass hanging out. This isn’t really a good thing, but at least it shows some fashion consciousness. Those off-the-shoulder Britney Spears shirts are still popular as are the reborn ponchos from the 70s. (There has been much debate among my friends and me as to whether these ponchos are cute. I say yes, although with my bust line, I’m smart enough to steer clear because I would look like I was wearing a tent. But I have other friends who are completely opposed. Any thoughts on the poncho trend out there?)

Somehow all these trends and more are supported in ultra-liberal Boulder, but the designer shoe, the pointy toe, the stiletto heel – absolutely not. Nowhere to be found.

The latest shoe craze in Boulder can be seen above. Known as the Croc, these shoes go for about $30 a pair and are worn with all outfits in all places. They are sort of the “emperor wears no clothes” of shoes. Meaning that no one has told the hordes of people sporting Crocs that they are the most hideous piece of attire to greet footwear since the Birkenstock arrived. (Don’t get me wrong, I wore Birks too, but I eventually had to admit that big, suede-ish, foot-flappy shoes aren’t the most attractive or feminine. Still, they were great when I was seeing Dead shows and wearing jean shorts with long underwear, another look happily buried in the early 90s.)

Here’s a blurb about Crocs from the summithut.com web site:

"The popular Beach ™ model was the first shoe introduced under the Crocs brand Footwear label and has been a major part of the footwear industry's evolution towards comfort. It's made from a patented closed-cell resin, not hot and uncomfortable plastic or rubber. It features an orthotic foot bed, multiple ventilation ports, a slip-resistant sole, and weighs only ounces! Stand on your feet all day without pain! The functionality and price make it a great choice for people who love comfortable shoes. They come in six sizes and twelve colors that make them a fun fashion statement for young and old alike, with or without socks. You'll need a couple of pairs to match every outfit! Try a pair in any color and we bet you'll be hooked!"

OK, let me interpret some of the key phrases there: “People who love comfortable shoes” means those who don’t mind that they are the ugliest things ever to enter your closet; and “you’ll need a couple of pairs to match every outfit” or really just one pair that doesn’t match any outfit because these shoes do not match anything that should be worn by a reasonable human being.

You know, what’s going to happen now is there is going to be a blog-generated run on these stupid shoes and soon the entire country will be wearing Crocs. Women in Manhattan will trade in their Choos for Crocs. Chic bars will be filled with women sporting sea green rubber clogs. Visiting French diplomats will take home red and yellow mini-versions for their kids, and that’s who should really be wearing these shows, the French. They would look great paired with pink and green satin jackets with non-sensical English phrases printed all over them.

While the shoes are ineluctably bad, don’t even get me started on the hairstyles here in Boulder … let’s just say the longer and rattier the dreadlocks the better for much of the population. I am certain entire small-animal populations are residing in people’s hair. And if the rats and squirrels lose their way, there’s plenty of room leftover for them in the Crocs.

Oprah for President

Oprah in Africa

When the Boston Red Sox won the pennant for the first time since 1918, I was sure it indicated that a new world order was upon us. Fascism is dead! I declared. For surely, the Yankees and their endless winning streak are the closest thing to fascism besides the Bush Administration that anyone has seen lately.

And when the exit polls started coming back with the positive news—Kerry is trending ahead!—Democrats spirits were palpably lifted, the liberal media started sounding a little giddy, and Hollywood rejoiced.

Alas, alack, it was not to be.

Those swing-state voters—whether by paper, by touch screen, or by hanging chad—let us down once again. And so it is to be four more years of Bush, four more years in which the Bush-Cheney-Rumsfeld political operation runs our country like their own personal multi-national corporation, four more years in which we send our sons and daughters to die for lies, to search for weapons that aren’t there, to make the world safe so Bush’s Saudi allies and Cheney’s domestic interests can plunder Iraq for their own economic ends.

To that I say: Hilary in 08. Or Obama. Or, God willing, Oprah. (At least she would give us cars, but she is far too smart to bother with all that.) Or someone we’ve yet to get to know. But give us a leader who cares about the welfare of the people, who guides us with light and not with self-interest, who truly wants to make the entire country a better place to live, not just the neighborhoods where he and his father’s cronies reside.

Does such a leader exist in this world? Does the society we’ve created allow such a person to rise to the top of our political system? Or are we the victim or our own skewed values? People driven by bottomless greed and an insatiable need for power end up running the country and its powerful corporations because no one else has the energy to do it. People who are fueled by love and the need to help others are teaching school, running non-profits and foundations, going abroad to help the world’s neediest. The people who should be running the country, the people filled with true inner wisdom and spiritual guidance are doing other things because they couldn’t or wouldn’t survive the process we’ve installed.

So we have no one to blame but ourselves for the situation we find ourselves in today. We let fear guide us all the way to Iraq, and fear direct our hands in the voting booths. We let fear choose our paths in life, pick who we marry, keep us in jobs laden with drudgery and disrespect. Perhaps if we let our lives be guided by love and faith, our leaders can be guided in those ways as well. Until then, we’ll have to make do with what we’ve got, somehow hope that women, gays, and minorities (basically anyone non-male, non-white and non-straight) will have any rights by the end of this term, and we’ll have to cross our fingers that the entire Supreme Court doesn’t keel over between now and 2008.

Improvements coming soon

My wonderful friends--and they shall be named: Kate Amaral, Joyce Dillon Reinecke and Tina Haskell Summers--got me a digital camera for my birthday so look here for actual pictures of personal activities sometime in the very near future. (Read: when I figure out how the hell to use the camera) I only wish I had it with me during all my recent travels because there were so many great moments and so few photos taken. But I am going to Hawaii for Thanksgiving so at least I'll have it for that.

Exiled in Newport

I just got back from a two and a half week tour of the East Coast and I’m sure there’s one million things I could write about that whole journey if I really put my mind to it.

However, the first thing that stands out is this: when you turn 35 and go to weddings, you are exiled to the single-person outback table. As one of perhaps three single women at a beautiful wedding in Newport, R.I., I was a bit distressed to learn that I had been placed at the “single and cool couples who are friends of the groom” table. Moreover, upon hearing of this slight, I was informed not to worry because my table would be adjacent to the people I really wanted to sit with, people who heretofore should be referred to as “people I know.” But my table was clear on the other side of the room, nowhere near to the so-called people I know. So I was forced to strike up a lovely conversation with the charming, single man sitting next to me. See how those married people scheme?

Still, I did feel a bit like I had been sold a bill of goods, like I had been placed at the leftover table (“Where should we put these people? No one will go anywhere with them, who on earth would want to sit next to them”) and then spun like the situation was actually great because I would be able to meet this plethora of available men, ignoring the implications when it became clear that one of the two of them was a self-proclaimed cheerleader living in San Francisco.

That is fine, I suppose, but I place it up there with other discriminations that occur when you are single. For example, when you and another couple visit your married friends, you always get the couch because you are the only person who fits there. Nevermind that there are no blinds and no heat, the couch is yours because well, there’s really no place else for you to sleep. So, if you want to visit friends with dignity, find a partner because otherwise it’s the couch or the blow-up mattress from Target for you.

At weddings, you might as well stamp a big S on your forward and approach single men by saying “hello, you are probably gay, but I am single and I was wondering if you wanted to hook up and then possibly get married and have children. I’m crossing the threshhold of available fertility, you see.” I’m sure that would drive any potential single man away screaming, but at least it would put out there what everyone thinks already. Plus I wonder why women, as soon as they have the slightest notion that marriage is anywhere in their future, immediately banish from their mind forever what it was like to be single. Nevermind the horrible indignities they suffered attending weddings as a single woman themselves; no, now they are all grown up and married and isn’t every single woman just dying to catch a bouquet? When my 25-year-old sister got married first of the three of us (something I always knew would happen because she had the boy thing handled from a very early age) I of course caught the bouquet. My cohort and fellow garter belt catcher: Jackson, my 7-year-old cousin. So that’s how that goes.

On second thought, if I ever get married – an opportunity that my uncle and my grandmother already clearly closed for me several years ago, because they both got married as teenagers and were grandparents in their mid-thirties – I too will banish from my mind all the horrors of singledom and I will gleefully hand over the couch to anyone left who may still be single. Ha ha! I will think, sucker! You still have your freedom and independence, but you have to sleep on the g.d. couch.

On third thought, maybe these single-person indignities are really married people’s way of getting a moment of revenge on people who were smart enough to stay single and forego all this couplehood silliness. Hmmm, that’s a whole other way of looking at the situation I hadn’t really thought of.The one salvation of the Newport wedding: no throwing of the bouquet. Thank god me and the two other single women did not have to stand with the six-year-olds and fight for the bouquet. Especially because I’m the shortest of the three and I didn’t have a shot in hell.