12.6.98
There is a short gap between my two hellish trips to Maui, which I have completely devoted to the care and nurturing of my husband and our sex life. I'm sure many are thinking "Hellish? Maui? Huh?" Well, we'll just have to say that if you have never worked there, you can't possibly understand what a truly dismal place it can be. Picture all the attitude of Los Angeles on a tropical island with none of the positive attributes of LA. (bitch, bitch, bitch...) There is one nurse on my staff who actually enjoys a trip to Maui, but that is only because she has a love/lust interest, and I assume gets laid there. Otherwise, when the schedules come out, everybody else groans loudly when their name is linked with the place.
I like overtime. I endure.
In a brief moment of lucidity, I picked up my copy of George magazine. Currently, it is the only one that I subscribe to. I've enough other reading to occupy what little bit of time there is. The reason that I read it is because it is a marriage of Vanity Fair and The Economist. There is a completely different picture of JFK Junior in each issue, which is also an incentive ;)
I mention George because of a short article on hate crimes, and a piece of legislation that would make committing a crime against someone because of a physical, cultural or mental attribute illegal. (Hey, that wasn't too bad, eh?) Well, the author used to call Newt Gingrich "boss," and he brought up a very interesting idea. In this great and grand United States, aren't the rights of those who communicate hatred also protected?
Why, of course they are, silly.
Hmmm. The first amendment certainly is a great and broad-reaching instrument, isn't it? In one breath, we say that it ought to be quite illegal to beat the pulp out of a young man who accidentally comes on to you, and leave him to die in the wilds of Wyoming, then in the next, we say that the rights of neo-nazis must also be preserved. That's the way it really is supposed to be. That's what makes america great.
Remember, dears, when the constitution was drafted, and those immortal words "All men are created equal," (a pause to the cause...'All men are created equal' in the Declaration of Independence. However, both documents are pretty much equal in their strength and importance in american history.) were penned, they didn't apply to women, nor did they apply to anyone but lilly white Anglo-Saxon protestants. Gradually, with the passage of time, these others have proven themselves to be "Men" according to the constitutional definition, occasionally by force in the way of an amendment. Take, for instance, women. On August 26, 1920, women were defined as "men" (according to that much-abused phrase mentioned above) when 36 of 48 states said "yeah, it's okay to let women vote."
And this is what makes america great.
Hey, this place is good for a loud-mouth such as myself. In other countries, I would not be allowed to bitch as loudly and freely as I do. In some other countries, I'd be penning something to the effect of "Mine Kampf" or "The Gulag Archipelago" or even "The Prophet."
What sux with America? We suffer beneath a pile of laws that were written when slavery was an accepted and righteous thing, and long before crystal methamphetamine was even a glimmer in the eye of a chemist. Ironic, isn't it? The thing that makes this place fabulous is the same thing which slows us down. Justice is measured more by who has more rights piled on their side of the scale at that moment, rather than by a little thing like logic.
Just a little light thing for you to contemplate while I'm sweating in Maui.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Meanwhile, later that evening...
RR and I were just lounging around watching Louise Brooks flicks on Turner Classic Movies, when the TV started doing funky shit. First, there was this weird computer thing going on, with off the wall characters flashing and dancing on the screen. A little later, the screen went totally grey.
"What the FUCK is that?!?!?!" said RR, jumping to his feet. For emphasis, he said it again, switching on a light. Sure enough, something was awry.
it was raining, through 3 VCRs and our huge Trinatron.
Upstairs, in the kitchen, there was a little water (less than 3 inches.) covering the floor, and creeping its way into the Chinese rug in the dining room. Seems the little pipe thingamajig that connects the hot water to the faucet in the kitchen decided to give up the ghost, and drain its contents. Oh, the joys of home ownership....
Fortunately, sweeping the water out through the mauka door wasn't too much of an effort, though my bare assed dog was slightly freaked out. (BTW, mauka=towards the mountains, and the dog is regaining his hair, thank you.) I fear that the TV and our collection of Betamaxes and VCRs might be trashed. I'm hoping that when the H2O dries, all will be well. If not, christmas is just around the corner, unfortunately. Tomorrow, the adventure will be to decorate the tree, replace the pipey thingie, and get the hell off this island for a few days' decent into hell. Yes, it is that bad to work in Maui. The hotel we use is a rat hole (I have to remember to pack a towel, coffee maker, and a pillow. Caesar's Palace, it aint) The folks on Maui are uniformly bitchy, and turn their backs with the least provocation. Yup, in the almost seven years that I have been with the Blood Bank, the only complaints in my record have come from Maui.
Don't get me wrong, though. Maui is really a great place to go and play. Haleakala is a magical place, and I could die happily after another dinner at Hailemaile General Store. (Actually, the drive up there is worth the effort.) Iao Valley, the site of one of the most valiant fights in the ancient times of the Hawaiians is also absolutely gorgeous to hike through. Hana is, well, Hana. It's the end of the road, and a million miles and a lifetime away from anywhere.
The lesson: Go play in Maui, lay down a couple of bucks at Kea Lani hotel or the Sheraton Maui (fka Ritz-Carlton Kapalua,) rent a Cadillac and as the great goddess Nike sez, "Just Do It."
Another thought. Last night (that was Saturday, Dec. 5) RR and I entertained the ex-boyfriend of his sister. The only difference was that now Robin was now a non-biological woman. What a trip! She was perfectly charming (and no, I did not expect anything different,) though I wonder if she does not compensate for lost time as a man. "The change" occurred at her 37th year (we estimate her age to be mid-fifties) and she has had a string of hideous, abusive relationships. really a shame, cuz she's really a charming, intelligent, and talented individual. Now, she bombs between California and Honolulu doing electrolysis, and looking at property on the North Shore (closer to the beautiful brown-skinned surfies, you know.) I only had to kick RR under the table one time, when he intimated that the German she was dating might "rip her stitches." (Both RR and I have had these experiences with aryans with Huuuuuge cocks.) Good thing he's cute.
I like overtime. I endure.
In a brief moment of lucidity, I picked up my copy of George magazine. Currently, it is the only one that I subscribe to. I've enough other reading to occupy what little bit of time there is. The reason that I read it is because it is a marriage of Vanity Fair and The Economist. There is a completely different picture of JFK Junior in each issue, which is also an incentive ;)
I mention George because of a short article on hate crimes, and a piece of legislation that would make committing a crime against someone because of a physical, cultural or mental attribute illegal. (Hey, that wasn't too bad, eh?) Well, the author used to call Newt Gingrich "boss," and he brought up a very interesting idea. In this great and grand United States, aren't the rights of those who communicate hatred also protected?
Why, of course they are, silly.
Hmmm. The first amendment certainly is a great and broad-reaching instrument, isn't it? In one breath, we say that it ought to be quite illegal to beat the pulp out of a young man who accidentally comes on to you, and leave him to die in the wilds of Wyoming, then in the next, we say that the rights of neo-nazis must also be preserved. That's the way it really is supposed to be. That's what makes america great.
Remember, dears, when the constitution was drafted, and those immortal words "All men are created equal," (a pause to the cause...'All men are created equal' in the Declaration of Independence. However, both documents are pretty much equal in their strength and importance in american history.) were penned, they didn't apply to women, nor did they apply to anyone but lilly white Anglo-Saxon protestants. Gradually, with the passage of time, these others have proven themselves to be "Men" according to the constitutional definition, occasionally by force in the way of an amendment. Take, for instance, women. On August 26, 1920, women were defined as "men" (according to that much-abused phrase mentioned above) when 36 of 48 states said "yeah, it's okay to let women vote."
And this is what makes america great.
Hey, this place is good for a loud-mouth such as myself. In other countries, I would not be allowed to bitch as loudly and freely as I do. In some other countries, I'd be penning something to the effect of "Mine Kampf" or "The Gulag Archipelago" or even "The Prophet."
What sux with America? We suffer beneath a pile of laws that were written when slavery was an accepted and righteous thing, and long before crystal methamphetamine was even a glimmer in the eye of a chemist. Ironic, isn't it? The thing that makes this place fabulous is the same thing which slows us down. Justice is measured more by who has more rights piled on their side of the scale at that moment, rather than by a little thing like logic.
Just a little light thing for you to contemplate while I'm sweating in Maui.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Meanwhile, later that evening...
RR and I were just lounging around watching Louise Brooks flicks on Turner Classic Movies, when the TV started doing funky shit. First, there was this weird computer thing going on, with off the wall characters flashing and dancing on the screen. A little later, the screen went totally grey.
"What the FUCK is that?!?!?!" said RR, jumping to his feet. For emphasis, he said it again, switching on a light. Sure enough, something was awry.
it was raining, through 3 VCRs and our huge Trinatron.
Upstairs, in the kitchen, there was a little water (less than 3 inches.) covering the floor, and creeping its way into the Chinese rug in the dining room. Seems the little pipe thingamajig that connects the hot water to the faucet in the kitchen decided to give up the ghost, and drain its contents. Oh, the joys of home ownership....
Fortunately, sweeping the water out through the mauka door wasn't too much of an effort, though my bare assed dog was slightly freaked out. (BTW, mauka=towards the mountains, and the dog is regaining his hair, thank you.) I fear that the TV and our collection of Betamaxes and VCRs might be trashed. I'm hoping that when the H2O dries, all will be well. If not, christmas is just around the corner, unfortunately. Tomorrow, the adventure will be to decorate the tree, replace the pipey thingie, and get the hell off this island for a few days' decent into hell. Yes, it is that bad to work in Maui. The hotel we use is a rat hole (I have to remember to pack a towel, coffee maker, and a pillow. Caesar's Palace, it aint) The folks on Maui are uniformly bitchy, and turn their backs with the least provocation. Yup, in the almost seven years that I have been with the Blood Bank, the only complaints in my record have come from Maui.
Don't get me wrong, though. Maui is really a great place to go and play. Haleakala is a magical place, and I could die happily after another dinner at Hailemaile General Store. (Actually, the drive up there is worth the effort.) Iao Valley, the site of one of the most valiant fights in the ancient times of the Hawaiians is also absolutely gorgeous to hike through. Hana is, well, Hana. It's the end of the road, and a million miles and a lifetime away from anywhere.
The lesson: Go play in Maui, lay down a couple of bucks at Kea Lani hotel or the Sheraton Maui (fka Ritz-Carlton Kapalua,) rent a Cadillac and as the great goddess Nike sez, "Just Do It."
Another thought. Last night (that was Saturday, Dec. 5) RR and I entertained the ex-boyfriend of his sister. The only difference was that now Robin was now a non-biological woman. What a trip! She was perfectly charming (and no, I did not expect anything different,) though I wonder if she does not compensate for lost time as a man. "The change" occurred at her 37th year (we estimate her age to be mid-fifties) and she has had a string of hideous, abusive relationships. really a shame, cuz she's really a charming, intelligent, and talented individual. Now, she bombs between California and Honolulu doing electrolysis, and looking at property on the North Shore (closer to the beautiful brown-skinned surfies, you know.) I only had to kick RR under the table one time, when he intimated that the German she was dating might "rip her stitches." (Both RR and I have had these experiences with aryans with Huuuuuge cocks.) Good thing he's cute.
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