3.12.99
A brief pause before dying. Kona was an unbelievable trip, and I'm soo tired now, I can't begin to describe it. Lots of 16 hour days, nights in rented hotel rooms, too much time spent with old friends making wala'au on the beach. The trip itself was uneventful, aside from recreating an old friendship with a person I thought I would never see again. Fate has a funny way of playing its cards, though, and I'm pleased that I was able to be on the receiving end of a good hand this time.
I'll start with a little story about my bud, Ryan. You know, its kind of funny--we've known each other for nearly ten years, on and off, and we never exchanged phone numbers. Last week, we rectified that little oversight.
Ryan's a neat guy. Life has given him some strange shakes, but he seems to pass them through with a devil may care attitude. He's the kind of guy that life always seems to do right by for some reason. A survivor. A cute survivor J. At first, I didn't recognise him; he had gained so much weight (it looks good, though.) I guess that I've had changes in appearances too, but not as drastic as he. When I saw him first, I noticed that he was kind of hanging on a tree at a place in Keauhou where I often go to mellow out after a long day of work. He said, "You don't recognize me, do you?" I have to admit…I didn't. "I'm Ryan," he said. Then it clicked. He had been going to the gym, and had probably gained 30 or so pounds of well-marbled boeuf. There was a little tummy too, proof that he hadn't been going to the gym as often as he probably should have been.
I started laughing. A conversation that I had with Derek several months ago came to mind. Derek said, "When you see Ryan again, mention my name. He will tell you that he and I used to be boyfriends, and also he will say to not believe a word that I say about that period in our lives."
When Ryan asked why I was laughing uncontrollably, I said that I had a conversation with Derek several months ago, in which he had come up. Ryan instantly said (and I quote) "Derek and I used to be boyfriends, you know." That made me laugh again. He continued, "What did he tell you about that? You can't believe a word he says about me." How very ironic that Derek should be able to predict exactly what he would say to me.
For the next several hours, we sat and discussed the various things that we had been doing since our last meeting, talking of friends that we knew of, and the loves that had come and gone from our lives. Quite a nice evening, all in all. I phoned him the next day at work, but that meeting was not to come to pass.
Now, having had the first decent nights' sleep in a week, I am energized for next week's adventure in Kauai. I am scheduled to go to Hilo the week after, so all in all, it should be a month fraught with terror and excitement. Being off-island three times in a month is rather an extraordinary event, and certainly one that does not occur frequently. May is promising to be an adventuresome month also, with a five day Maui endurance trip. I'm going to ask for it, not because I like Maui (I loathe working there) but for the obscene amount of overtime, and the fact that my close friend from work promised that if I went, he would also. There's also a rumour of single rooms for that trip…somehow I can't envision that for all staff members, though I am senior enough to warrant private accommodations when they are available.
Didn't I mention that? It's true…when we travel off-island to work, we are paired with a roommate. It works out OK for most, because I am rarely in my room after work, preferring to be eating dinner and drinking cocktails. Usually, by the time that I come in to bed, my roomie is safely snoring away. Since I am the senior staff member on most trips, I am granted the favour of a single room. I also have a good relationship with my secretary, so I can pick and chose my roommates without much difficulty or hurt feelings. She knows, for instance that I can't sleep with one guy because he farts in his sleep (loudly enough to wake me, I might add) and another fellow tends to snore loudly.
The things that I tolerate are minor in comparison to the benefit of travel. I've often thought the coolest job in the world was that of flight attendant. Glamour, decent pay, and the prospect of waking up in a different place each morning. A friend of mine flies for one of the airlines that service the myriad of islands in the south Pacific. Hearing his tales only reinforce my fantasy of being a FA.
I could never do it, meaning being a flight attendant. To do that requires immense flexibility, and that is a thing that I can't muster at this middle of my life. I have a position right now that commands the respect of most everybody in the organization. My performance evaluations make it look as though I walk on water frequently, and I do make a decent wage, considering the alternatives.
It has just started raining again, and I am tired of writing now. There is much that I want to tell you, but the interest in pulling out my little stenographer's notebook and deciphering my bad handwriting doesn’t appeal to me right now. Perhaps later on, I'll tell the unique stories about Kona and the cute Hawaiian boys that live there, or another story about friendship that I just dreamed up while I was sitting and watching the waves at Keauhou. Maybe you'll even get to see the plans that I've come up with for this journal…it's going to be way cool, if I can pull the knowledge together to do it.
Right here, right now, that has to wait, for I am listening to an album from my youthful times, one that had a quite profound influence on my life for some stupid reason. It's Meat Loaf's Bat out of Hell, now available on CD. I leave you with a thought from Two out of Three Aint Bad:
I'll start with a little story about my bud, Ryan. You know, its kind of funny--we've known each other for nearly ten years, on and off, and we never exchanged phone numbers. Last week, we rectified that little oversight.
Ryan's a neat guy. Life has given him some strange shakes, but he seems to pass them through with a devil may care attitude. He's the kind of guy that life always seems to do right by for some reason. A survivor. A cute survivor J. At first, I didn't recognise him; he had gained so much weight (it looks good, though.) I guess that I've had changes in appearances too, but not as drastic as he. When I saw him first, I noticed that he was kind of hanging on a tree at a place in Keauhou where I often go to mellow out after a long day of work. He said, "You don't recognize me, do you?" I have to admit…I didn't. "I'm Ryan," he said. Then it clicked. He had been going to the gym, and had probably gained 30 or so pounds of well-marbled boeuf. There was a little tummy too, proof that he hadn't been going to the gym as often as he probably should have been.
I started laughing. A conversation that I had with Derek several months ago came to mind. Derek said, "When you see Ryan again, mention my name. He will tell you that he and I used to be boyfriends, and also he will say to not believe a word that I say about that period in our lives."
When Ryan asked why I was laughing uncontrollably, I said that I had a conversation with Derek several months ago, in which he had come up. Ryan instantly said (and I quote) "Derek and I used to be boyfriends, you know." That made me laugh again. He continued, "What did he tell you about that? You can't believe a word he says about me." How very ironic that Derek should be able to predict exactly what he would say to me.
For the next several hours, we sat and discussed the various things that we had been doing since our last meeting, talking of friends that we knew of, and the loves that had come and gone from our lives. Quite a nice evening, all in all. I phoned him the next day at work, but that meeting was not to come to pass.
Now, having had the first decent nights' sleep in a week, I am energized for next week's adventure in Kauai. I am scheduled to go to Hilo the week after, so all in all, it should be a month fraught with terror and excitement. Being off-island three times in a month is rather an extraordinary event, and certainly one that does not occur frequently. May is promising to be an adventuresome month also, with a five day Maui endurance trip. I'm going to ask for it, not because I like Maui (I loathe working there) but for the obscene amount of overtime, and the fact that my close friend from work promised that if I went, he would also. There's also a rumour of single rooms for that trip…somehow I can't envision that for all staff members, though I am senior enough to warrant private accommodations when they are available.
Didn't I mention that? It's true…when we travel off-island to work, we are paired with a roommate. It works out OK for most, because I am rarely in my room after work, preferring to be eating dinner and drinking cocktails. Usually, by the time that I come in to bed, my roomie is safely snoring away. Since I am the senior staff member on most trips, I am granted the favour of a single room. I also have a good relationship with my secretary, so I can pick and chose my roommates without much difficulty or hurt feelings. She knows, for instance that I can't sleep with one guy because he farts in his sleep (loudly enough to wake me, I might add) and another fellow tends to snore loudly.
The things that I tolerate are minor in comparison to the benefit of travel. I've often thought the coolest job in the world was that of flight attendant. Glamour, decent pay, and the prospect of waking up in a different place each morning. A friend of mine flies for one of the airlines that service the myriad of islands in the south Pacific. Hearing his tales only reinforce my fantasy of being a FA.
I could never do it, meaning being a flight attendant. To do that requires immense flexibility, and that is a thing that I can't muster at this middle of my life. I have a position right now that commands the respect of most everybody in the organization. My performance evaluations make it look as though I walk on water frequently, and I do make a decent wage, considering the alternatives.
It has just started raining again, and I am tired of writing now. There is much that I want to tell you, but the interest in pulling out my little stenographer's notebook and deciphering my bad handwriting doesn’t appeal to me right now. Perhaps later on, I'll tell the unique stories about Kona and the cute Hawaiian boys that live there, or another story about friendship that I just dreamed up while I was sitting and watching the waves at Keauhou. Maybe you'll even get to see the plans that I've come up with for this journal…it's going to be way cool, if I can pull the knowledge together to do it.
Right here, right now, that has to wait, for I am listening to an album from my youthful times, one that had a quite profound influence on my life for some stupid reason. It's Meat Loaf's Bat out of Hell, now available on CD. I leave you with a thought from Two out of Three Aint Bad:
You'll never find your gold on a sandy beach.
You'll never drill for oil on a city street
I know you're looking for a ruby in a mountain of rocks,
But there aint no Coupe de Ville hiding at the bottom of a Cracker Jack box.
-Meat Loaf (c. 1977)
<< Home