The fanny pack

As we all know, airports are fabulous places to people watch. It can be quite the entertainment experience, really. Such a variety of performers. There's the clueless bumpkin struggling to deal with the sensory overload that comes with being in a "big city" setting (and yes, I use the term "big city" loosely, as this can be found in pretty much any airport based in an area with a population base exceeding 10K). And then, there's the poor mother of 3 trying to reign her offspring into a 20-foot radius (while silently cursing their father who conveniently opted to stay home this trip). Or how about the old couple in the corner yelling at one another about their forgotten prescriptions ("I told you not to foget them!" "I couldn't hear you!" "What?")? My favorite though? The generally nervous traveler constantly checking his watch, looking up at the gate ("don't wanna miss that plane"), who makes sure he is in line to board 20 mins in advance of the preboarders despite holding a ticket for seat #2 (meaning he will be the last to board). He's the same one who stands up immediately after the flight lands, regardless of the fact that on this flight he is all the way in the back.

Today, however, I get the pleasure of seeing something that I haven't seen in awhile: the fanny pack. Now, yes, of course I've see multiple members of the geriatric population sporting such style, but it's been awhile since I've seen a one on an under-65-er. This morning though we have a nice 40ish gentleman fashionista. To make matters worse, its clipped low under his middle-aged "I've been drinking everything alcoholic since 17" belly. In fact I doubt I would have noticed it (doubt I could have) except that when he bent over to get his bag, he had to shift it off to the side so as not to squish certain manparts while bending over the few degrees.

Had I been a little more iPhone sneaky, and had the oh so graceful move presented itself, I would have video'd it for you. That way you could have "enjoyed" the moment from your living room, cube, bus ride or wherever you are as much as I did.

Alright time to board to paradise... C'mon now, don't hate.

iBlog

As many of you know, I started out really wanting to hate the iPhone. Those crazy nutjobs at my previous place of employment were constantly tossing money down the tube and while, yes, many times such tossing greatly benefited me, I didn't always feel right about it. So when the iPhone first came out and the demented duo that runs the place insisted that we all get one, I immediately took the stance of "really, can we be any more frivolous?". Because lets face it: these things weren't cheap in those first couple of years. And, then I used my good girlfriend's when we were on a roadtrip. "Damn it," I thought within 2 mins of holding the revolutionary little device. "This is pretty f*ing cool." And so when I got back to the office on Monday, I had to admit it: I wanted one. Five days later I had one, and about one nanosecond after that, I was hooked (so much so, by the way, that the first place I went after walking out of Nutjob Central for the last time was... yep, you guessed it: AT&T, to get me a new one).

And now, 4 years later, just when I thought my love affair with iSara (yes that's it's registered name) couldn't get any more intense, I found one more way for it to enhance my life: an app to let me blog on the go: BlogWriter. (side note: there really IS an app for everything. I just learned that I could, if I was as sick and sex starved as apparently some iOwners are, take this love affair to the next level and download a personal massager app.... Eww! Really? Really? They're not that expensive ladies, just go buy a real one. Mental note: think twice before borrowing someone else's phone... But I digress...)

Anyway, all this to say: this is my test entry to see how well this will work. If it passes the test, this is going to be quite handy on the upcoming expedition I depart on next week. I hope to document the adventure here so as to satisfy the curious and, yes, slightly jealous minds of friends and family, as well as tame my mother's undeniable fear that I might have been kidnapped, run-over, or bitten by a malaria-ridden mosquito.

Supposedly I can post photos here too. So let's try that now as well. I think I'll choose a Kanoa photo... In case you haven't heard that little family unit of three that I love so much, just became a unit of four. GO TEAM KLAJA!

Alright, here goes nothin'! I guess I just push send to post?

Where do I start?

Oh. My. God. This weekend, I was let in on the secret that apparently 47 million other people have already heard about: Rebecca Black's Friday song. Where do I start? This might not only be the most ridiculous video ever to be made, but also the worst song of 2011 (hell, maybe of the century) so far. WTF? Please (PLEASE!) someone tell me that the 47 million YouTube hits are out of absolute disbelief and appall and not out of admiration.

First of all, who the hell authorized this painful and what I suspect soon-to-be regretful display of bad, bad, bad choices? Her parents have got to be dilusional. The media is no doubt going to rip this poor little girl's heart out, not to mention shred her self image. As if girls don't have enough things going against them in their teen years when it comes to self esteem and peer pressure, this one is about to have it about 1800 times worse. Again, I ask: what kind of parents authorized this blatant exploitation?

The over-the-top video is... hmmm, what's the word... oh yes, stupid. Moronically stupid, actually. Here we have a 13 (YES THIRTEEN) year old, who is not only made up like an underage hooker, but shown cruising around with her "friends" at night. Yes, I repeat again: THIRTEEN. So let's see, by my calculation it seems that this 7th grader is chillin' with sophomores (as I assume they are not driving around without a driver's license)? I don't mean to get all grandma on us here, but I remember what 16 year old boys were wanting with the younger girls when I was that age, and I can guarantee its only heightened to a whole new level in the last 20 years. What used to be just some oh-so-bad, way-too-much-tongue making out is now a hell of a lot more advanced. And, supposedly, according to a personal source of mine (who shall remain nameless) girls are going for it. Oh sweethearts, if you only knew how good it could be -- how waiting just a little longer will give you the power and the confidence to say what you want and how you want it, as well as what you don't want, and actually get the results that you can't even imagine yet at your tender age. But, I digress...

And, wow, the lyrics are absolutely ridiculous. "Yesterday was Thursday, Today is Friday... Tomorrow is Saturday"? Really? Those are really your lyrics? Thank you, lyricist (because I am venturing to guess that little Rebecca didn't write the song), for reminding us the order of the days of the week. I realize that with a 13 year old singing, you can't exactly write a song about the thing higher quality songs tend to elude to: love, sex, and heartache. But, c'mon, you could at least put an ounce more effort into it and come up with something a little better than the f*ing progression of a week. As that wasn't enough, you fill up several measures with a whole hell of a lot of oooh's and ahhh's. Now there's talent; you must be so proud.

Next, since when does a preteen voice dubbed with an auto tuner qualify as musical talent? I would venture to guess that young Rebecca has a decent voice, and probably one that could become quite amazing with the right amount of coaching and instruction. But, what the producers of this song did was just make her sound like a female version of Kermit. How about this for an approach? Teach the girl to sing, and then record HER voice... alone.

Okay, finally, who is the dude in the middle of the track with the rap verse. Please do not tell me its some 30+ year old rapstar like Usher or someone. It'll send me into another tangent.

So, is this what pop music has come to? Moreover, is this what parents will do nowadays to make money? It used to be that they would drag their kids to audition after audition for rather embarrassing (yet completely benign) cereal commercials in hopes their child would be the next childstar. But, since when did dressing your preteen daughter up, pancaking her face with poorly applied makeup, and encouraging her to make a complete fool of herself for 47 MILLION PEOPLE become okay?

Oh Rebecca, darling, I'm so sorry for what you're about to go through. You might consider emancipating from your parents and seeking a real role model....

Travel, travel, travel!

The first half of 2011 is looking pretty darn good for this lucky lady. True, it started off a little rough, but the fun quickly picked back up and in the first 5 months it looks like I will have been quite the traveler. My quick little jetsetting jaunt down to Cabo was just the beginning of what looks to be an exciting 2 months of adventure.

You see, I just got the first of 2 necessary approvals for my very first PATH trip. In May, pending the second said approval, I'll be making my way to both India and Cambodia! And if that wasn't enough, it just so happens to fall directly on the heals of my previously scheduled Kauai trip with Katy. So, I'll go to Hawai'i for 7 days, come home for one night and fly out the next day for Delhi. And, then 6 days in Dehli sends me on to 8 days in Phnom Penh, Cambodia. Now, it just wouldn't be right to go all the way over there, without tacking on a few extra days (ahem, or a week) to explore the region some, right? And, exploring the region is just way more fun with someone else, right? Exactly. So after work time is complete Phnom Penh, my lovely friend Megan will join me to visit Angkor Wat and head over to chill in Thailand for a week....

Its going to be odd being out of the office for four full weeks, and even more odd being away from home for a month straight, but I'm soooo excited! I have been patiently waiting to travel for work (yep, I'm getting better with this whole patience thing), and Cambodia has been on the top of my "Gotta go there" list for quite some time.

Oh yes, 2011 is turning out to be quite fun....

Deep breaths

That breath that passed between them in the dark has almost completely vanished now. For awhile she tried to hold it in her chest, only allowing for shallow breaths. And he attempted to take breaths few and far between to make the supply last. But eventually both had to exhale and eventually both had to seek a new supply.

She wonders less and less what is floating in his mind, no longer tries to imagine his pocketful of secrets and their implications on the dissolve. After all, he chose to go away before most, if not all, were divulged. He chose no to share, not to risk. He chose something other than her.

When he sees her, he worries less and less that she can still see deep inside him, see what he is hiding, what he is willing to go away. It used to fluctuate between making him uncomfortable and exciting him, and the space between them now relieves the anxiety surrounding the fluctuation.

And finally, only occasionally now, deep asleep he tastes her on his lips and the breath he inhales slowly and deeply is familiar and soft. Similarly, only every so often are her dreams full of his color and vivid enough for her to taste and smell and feel him as she used to.

Yes; there are two breaths now, separate in time, rhythm, and most of all space.