Cocoa

Somewhere around fifteen years ago a young man moved into a house with his brother. The idea was to share the rent. The brother, inspired by this exciting new development, decided that this house needed a dog. The brother went to someone who bred Chow Chows on a farm, and bought a puppy for a modest discount – for there were no breeding papers.

The puppy was well under twelve inches total from her chocolate nose to her poopy little tail. Her fur was softer than any plush toy ever made, and was the warm color of Coco Butter. Her ears pointed forward with unending curiosity and her eyes were like little dark, honest glass buttons, framed by unusually long eyelashes set deep into her furry face.

The man’s nephew named the puppy Cocoa.

A point needs to be made here that the man hated the name “Cocoa” because it reminded him of the German Shepherd Husky the neighbors had where he grew up. That dog barked all night, would knock over anyone in his orbit and nip whenever he had a chance. That dog was generally, all in all, a pretty damned unpleasant experience. No, to the man, this little fur ball should carry the name Bernadette. He didn’t know why, but to him, she looked like a “Bernadette.” But the man kept the name Cocoa because he loved his nephew dearly, and enjoyed the pride the nephew felt for giving the pooch her name.

As luck would have it, in a swirl of chaos, the brother moved out nearly as fast as he moved in - which was often the brother’s way. The man found himself standing in the living room of this house, looking down at this creamy little poof happily panting at his feet. Cocoa would now be his.

Very quickly the man found out that to have a puppy as a house mate was not an easy endeavor – especially when gone from the house for fourteen hours a day. Countless times the man would return home exhausted in the a.m. hours to find shredded shoes or a completely destroyed couch or the vast expanse of the white tiled living room floor peppered with tiny sooty paw prints…which ultimately led the man, often heaving with rage, to one completely blackened puppy looking up at him happily, as if trying to say, “Look! I found the fireplace!” The puppy would watch half-guiltily as the man swore a blue streak while the precious hours meant for sleep were spent mopping and cleaning and throwing destroyed items away. But the man never thought of giving Cocoa up. Not even once. For the man had fallen in love with the animal. In fact, they both found that they needed each other. Many more hours meant for sleep were spent wrestling around, playing tug of war, and conducting general human/canine mayhem. "Cocoa" wasn't such a bad name afterall. Fate had brought the two together for better and worse. It became the man’s resolve to keep them together no matter what fate had in store next.

When the time came for the man to move he faced quite a dilemma. He could only afford to rent bachelor style apartments where there was no room for animals of any kind. Over the next few years, with the help of his girlfriend, the man managed to convince landlords that the dog would only be spending nights in the apartment, during the day the dog would be elsewhere. What kind of dog? Oh, you know…not really sure…mixed breed, maybe…who knows? With some effective fudging, the landlords usually agreed.

And where did Cocoa go during the day? Over to the girlfriend’s house. Now, never in the girlfriend’s life had she been allowed to have a pet. Her father had refused all of those years because he had too many heartbreaking memories of dogs from his own childhood that had been poisoned by enemies back on the rough streets of Taizhong. So Cocoa’s arrival was something very new to that household. Every day, the man would drop Cocoa off at the girlfriend’s house, where she would play in the small backyard, chase possums that would skitter across the fence, and be fed dried squid and cupped handfuls of sweetened coffee by the girlfriend’s father. Within the flutter of a heartbeat, Cocoa became not just the man’s dog, but the family’s dog as well.

Soon, the man and the girlfriend got married and the man moved into an even bigger house with her and her family. Daily, even more relatives would come over to visit the grandparents, and ultimately, dote on Cocoa.

On car trips, Cocoa now had to sit in the back seat. Before, she was ever the unqualified co-pilot. At drive-thrus Cocoa would give the window attendant a sound piece of her mind. At least until the bag of food was handed over. But now the wife sat shotgun, and Cocoa happily sat in the backseat, leaning against the grain of every corner the car took. The three took several small road trips. To the beach. To the snow. And Cocoa was glad to be on board for anything.

Cocoa grew fast. Her poofy fur turned into a royal lion’s mane. However her eyes remained kind and her nose adopted the long angles that belonged to a golden retriever. Suspicions started to be raised that maybe this dog wasn’t a purebred after all. But it didn’t matter. Because honestly, who is a purebred these days? And who’d want to be, for that matter?

Sometimes the wife would crouch in front of Cocoa while she slept, and would playfully press her paws to see how much Cocoa would endure before withdrawing them into her chest. Giggles would erupt. Cocoa sometimes would get up and leave in a sleepy huff, but would always come back later for a good scratch she knew was owed to her.

Cocoa genuinely enjoyed the company of all but three people on this entire planet. They know who they are. She had only drawn blood from one other animal – a beagle whose owner encouraged it to stick its head through Cocoa's fence to “make a new friend.” The beagle lost a bite-shaped portion of its ear. Cocoa instantly regretted the instinct that overcame her. The beagle instantly regretted listening to its master.

Cocoa was untrained and strong. On walks, she would pull and dart from side to side as if she were dodging bullets. And when she found a good place to sniff, she’d throw all her weight against the leash in the most infuriating fashion, and would not budge until what was sniffed was sufficiently snuffed.

And then there were baths. Many groomers flat out refused to groom Cocoa just for the plain fact that she was a Chow. This left the burdon of cleanliness to the man. Baths were sudsy wrestling sessions. When Cocoa finally would succumb, she'd often take tiny subtle steps further and further away from the hose, just to see how far she could get. After a well-fought bath, Cocoa would find the dirtiest spot in the yard, flop on her back and roll around- all the while groaning as deep as she could from the back of her throat, as if trying her best to show the man that any bath could easily be undone.

A few years passed and the family grew. The man and his wife had a baby girl. And then another. Cocoa found herself now riding in the back part of a station wagon- behind the back seats. But as any dog knows, it doesn’t matter how you get to the park, just as long as you get to the park.

Although the two kids took significant focus away from the now middle-aged fur ball, there were plenty of family members to go around. It was always a treat when the wife’s father would take Cocoa out for a brisk morning walk. The first born baby girl was fascinated by Cocoa, who must have resembled to her a large walking stuffed animal. So much so that first born’s first word was “Cocoa.”

The timing was slightly off for Cocoa’s relationship with the children. By the time they were old enough to play all rough-and-tumble, Cocoa wasn’t very interested. Sleep became the priority, no matter how hard the second born girl playfully yelled at her to obey. However, it must be said that she never turned down a good childish scratch or two or three or four treats. Or five treats.

Cocoa had only been to the emergency room twice. Once, for inhaling a foxtail up her nose. The other…for gas. The wife's sister saw her stretching in an odd fashion out in the yard after a big meal and became convinced she must have swallowed some nails. After a barium flow, the X-ray showed an empty pocket in her intestines. The E.R. vet pointed at it with his pen and flatly said, "Gas." Other than that, Cocoa was generally in fantastic health.

But as Cocoa grew older she was progressively diagnosed with Vestibular Disease – which made her head tilt to such a degree she couldn’t walk straight , OCD- yeah OCD, Hypothyroidism, chronic watery eyes, chronic Otitis – which means ear infections – warts, occasional surprise bouts of extreme diarrhea, Canine Eczema and Arthritis. The one-time puppy was growing into a blend of Howard Hughes and Betty Davis after her ninth stroke.

Fifteen birthdays. Fifteen years of friendship. Fifteen years worth of declaring with eager yelps that the man had come home from work. And during that fifteenth year, Cocoa’s strong frame started to betray her. The Arthritis became stronger. Cocoa grimaced when sitting down or getting up- with each task taking minutes instead of seconds. The medicine progressed from a daily pill to a bi-weekly shot in the leg to nothing…because nothing more could help. Her senses grew thick with the fog of old age- so dulled that she would sleep through squadrons of unforgiving summertime flies laying eggs around her moist eyes. All Cocoa knew was that she liked to eat. But everything else came and went with the moment. Her eyes grew milky with cataracts. Her hearing totally gone. Her bones jutted out underneath her skin. Her weight dropped from 70 pounds to 38 pounds. The days were growing too long and too tough for the old dog…

Over thanksgiving weekend each member of the family paid Cocoa a special visit, each giving her the most delectable of treats: fried chicken, french fries… And each giving her a good scratch and a most sincere, “Good Dog.” In fact, the man found himself remarking that never had he seen an animal gain such affection from so many people like Cocoa had.

On December 1st, the man and his wife arose from bed with a direct purpose for that day. After breakfast, the two girls each gave the old dog a hug, and were taken to school. The man pulled six sausage patties from the wrapping and cooked them fresh. And the man and his wife took Cocoa to the park. Because it doesn’t matter how you get to the park…

The morning was spent walking along the grass, sniffing as much as possible, and enjoying the sausage patties. At one point a woman came by with a great fluffy dog. She took a look at Cocoa and stopped in her tracks.

“WOW what kind of dog is that?”

“Chow…mixed…we think.”

“Mine, too! How old?”

“Fifteen.”

“Wow, I hope my dog is lucky enough to live to fifteen! Well, I hope your dog lives for a long time! Bye!”

The man and his wife helped Cocoa along the grass of the park as she struggled to sniff and walk and keep her balance. She’d stop every now and then, maybe out of exhaustion, maybe to let the sun warm her bones. After some time they found a good shady spot where two woodpeckers were working hard on a palm tree, and Cocoa enjoyed all but the last sausage patty.

Later, while the wife went to get the doctor, Cocoa ate the last sausage patty in the back of the station wagon in the parking lot of the animal hospital. The man made a promise that Cocoa would never have to be afraid of a moment like this, so they were going to stay right there in the car and the doctor would have to come out to her. And as the man watched Cocoa eat the last bit of sausage, he felt tight with how much he loved her. This was an animal that he used to hold in the crook of his arm. She fit so perfectly when she was small. And now, she was old. And she lay in his arms once more.

The next few moments were ones that only the man, his wife, and their dog could share. Words would serve so poorly…

After the man threw Cocoa’s harness away in the nearby dumpster he looked down at the dog's name on the I.D. tag that he decided to keep. "Cocoa." It became the perfect name for her. He jammed the I.D. tag into his pocket and got into the car. As he and his wife drove off, he felt something he didn’t expect. Happiness. Because he knew that Cocoa had something that any animal in this world is very lucky to get: a LIFE. And really, she had that.

Cocoa Dodge lived. Is there any sweeter thought?

BITTER PINEAPPLE

So we are back from Hawaii. Exit Funtopia. Enter...sigh...wherever. I feel a bit like Woody Allen in Annie Hall in that scene where he's failing horribly at recreating a "spontaneous moment" involving runaway lobsters...Yesterday I actually made my wife go out and buy me a pineapple at Pavillions. All they had was a Del Monte Pineapple. And it is bitter.

Dare I even attempt a homemade Mai Tai?

I'm sitting here in my office, lips puckered and determined to finish my zip lock bag of punishment for trying to keep the Aloha alive within. I should just accept the fact that I'm not in Hawaii any longer.

But on the bright side today was Charlie Dodge's first day of the third grade. New shoes. New lunchbox. New teacher. Charlie was very upbeat this morning, humming while brushing her teeth, and constantly worried that her parents were going to make her late for her first day. By the way, Charlie actually lost a tooth while in the air traveling back home from Oahu...how many kids can put that on their resume?

Chase was able to sleep in late this morning. She begins year two of preschool next week. This year Chase moves on to the "older classroom." I'm not exactly sure what that means but if it is anything like the mob, she will now be receiving "tributes" from the younger class members.

So now Fall is officially upon us. Do they call it "Fall" because that's what happens to your cheerfulness after a summer vacation (And the studio audience goes "AWWWWWW.")

So now I must return back to this so called "pineapple."

Mahalo.

Aloha Oahu

Alright...remember how I said we were going to do nothing but relax? Boy did we veer away from that first thing in the morning. Manoa Falls had been haunting us since we got here. We had planned on hiking it early on, but kept bumping it back. So we decided to do it today. Simple easy hike, right? That's what all the books said. That's what all the folks who recommended it to me said. "Just know you might get a little muddy." Hmmm.

Now, I dunno what is wrong with us. Really, it must be something that's wrong with us. Because this was supposed to be a moderate hike to a lovely waterfall. Instead it turned into a jungle slog. Honestly, from the moment we passed a sign that read "Hike at your own risk...the waters and mud may contain spiracolibacusblahblahblah..." I felt Tiffany clench. I didn't see it. It's not something you could see. But I knew. It's almost like a "force" that she emits outward that wraps around your soul. I know she wanted to just turn and run...screaming out of the jungle with the hope that the very sound waves could stave off the germs until she could get to the nearest Lysol bath. But Tiffany was such a good sport. She just shot me a look and said in a very pleasant, even tone throughout the hike, "Okay...don't touch anything." I have to admit, I was saying it a lot, too.

UP we went. But don't let this photo...taken near the parking lot...fool you. THIS HIKE WAS A HUMP IN THE JUNGLE!!! Everyone forgot to tell us that small detail. UP UP UP. And not just quaint little switchbacks in a sun drenched crater like we had at Diamond head. There were parts where the upward trail was nothing more than piles of rocks slicked with mud, jungle dew and what I'm sure Tiffany imagined as pure death. Pushing Charlie up with one hand and pulling Chase up with another wrought such a sweat from me that I was pretty certain "Manoa Falls" was a reference to how much sweat one produces while conducting this trudge. We were speechless. Stuttering and slobbering with exhaustion.

And then a tiny little dog passed us. And then a family with a toddler passed us. And then a woman with a cane passed us coming back down. And then the group that started out the same time as we did passed us on their way back down. I was so shamed I wouldn't have been surprised had a person in a wheelchair popped a wheelie off of some muddy ledge and flipped us the double bird.

But we made it. And we looked. There were cables that kept us about twenty feet from the actual body of water with a sign explaining why being due to "A rock avalanche that happened in 2002." And we took our photo. Aren't we fit to be keen?

And then we came down. Careful steps, of course. I was nagging everyone not to slip...take their time...be careful...I even told the wife it would be bad if she slipped and twisted her ankle because it would suck to wait for help in this steamy, muddy jungle. Even though I don't think I came off smug, in hindsight it might have come off as a "Careful, little lady." type thing.

For what happened?

About two minutes from completing the hike...already past the most treacherous of rocky obstacles...I totally ate shit, landed on my ass, and took Chase to her ass along with me. Chase, thank goodness, was totally fine- if not a little miffed. From that point on she wanted to hold Mommy's hand. But in the process I managed to maybe hyper extend my big toe or something. Anyway...now I'm hobbling. It's not purple or anything...but it hurts and I'm lame in every definition and cultural utilage of the word.

So we hosed off all the infested mud and lunched and took it easy poolside...WHAT WE SHOULD HAVE BEEN DOING FROM THE MOMENT WE WOKE UP. Charlie really really really wanted one last stab at the beach...this time with the boogey board. I acquiesced. We loped over to the beach and had a bitchin' time. Charlie even caught a wave on the board and rode it to the shore. We body surfed...we played in the waves. And I had my phone in this waterproof pouch that "THE NAVY SEALS USE" to keep my cellphone in. Well, I guess playing in Waikiki waves is more rigorous that doing whatever Navy SEALS do...because the pouch flooded and my sad little phone is over. OVER! If anyone is trying to call me, call my wife.

But a lovely seaside dinner at the Hula Cafe made me quickly forget my toe and my stupid little phone. And I thought to myself. Damn. I haven't even left but I feel the pull to come back. Soon.

So we arrive back to Los Angeles Tuesday. Lucky you. We've missed you all and look forword to repeating stories of our experiences over and over and over again until you all start rolling your eyes while finishing our stories for us.

Mahalo.

105.1 K-I-N-E...The Hawaiian Station...a blowhole under renovation.

Cousins,

Today was the day we invaded Hanauma Bay. Figuring the girls were having too much fun, I decided to wake them up at 6am this morning. What that meant for me was...I had to wake up at 5:30. I set a wake up call...then asked for a reminder call fifteen minutes later...then set my phone...and guess what...I managed to rise out of bed in time.

Tiffany prodded and poked the kidlins awake...she should have used a chair and bullwhip...have any of you ever seen Chase at 6am? Courage is what it takes to wake her up at that hour. While the wife stirred the young ones, I sluffed down the block to McDonald's. We needed food "on the go." So I got a "Local Breakfast." This was three slices of Portuguese sausage, two slices of SPAM, scrambled eggs and rice. Now that's McEating.

We gobbled in the wee morning as I drove us to Hanauma Bay. Why so early? Because this joint is popular...and once the parking lot fills, that's it...no mas entrar.

Now if you like colorful, stripey unbashful creatures of the semi-deep, this place is the place for you. It dwarfs what we've seen earlier. But Daddy paid the price for this adventure...IN BLOOD!

As I was hauling Chase along on her LOOKIE BOARD, the coral reef suddenly became very shallow...I tried to float over it, but SCCCRRAAAPPPEEE! I lost a chunk of skin on my knee. This was the kind of wound that didn't bleed right away...but once it did...well, let's put it this way cousins...I went through two McDonald's napkins. Of course I handled it cool as a cucumber, I only cried for ten minutes. Chase watched me with great disgust as I dialed 911 on my cellphone and sobbed for an emergency Mai Tai.

While at Hanauma Bay I just kept imagining what it must have been like to just live there a long time ago...could it ever get boring? With such beauty, and treacherous coral? I don't think so. And even if things did get a little dreary there was always an angry Polynesian King to keep you on your toes.

The water at the shore was so easy and calm. Both Chase and Charlie spent a big chunk of the time just playing in about a foot of water...while the bravest of fish swam up and around them.

We boogeyed on out of Hanauma Bay right as it hit capacity, and it was the right moment to split. During last snorkeling outing Charlie and I made before we left, we actually kept bumping into other snorkelers. Nobody has any peripheral vision, thus aqua-apologies ensue.

Then lunch at this place called Kona Brewing Company. Why am I mentioning this? Oh nothing, it's just where you get the best local brewed beer on the island, that's all. No big deal. Even the wife got into the boozing spirit. She actually finished a glass of beer. I tried to use pressure to get her to drink more, but as usual, she didn't buckle.

We tried to check out the Halona Blowhole afterwards...but our attempts were thwarted...there was a sign that said it was under refurbishment. How you refurbish a blowhole, I don't know. Many different pictures pop into my head but they're all R rated. Eh, maybe they were just talking about the parking lot...

As we were cruising around we had the local tunes cranked. 105.1 plays nothing but Hawaiian tunes and music from local artists. It might be the most loathed station by the locals. But this tourist loves it! It's just perfect for the sights, the water, and the top down.

Getting the convertible was a smart choice, even though we are all getting cooked like four ballpark wieners.

But absorbing this place is a lot more pleasant when you can soak in the sun and sights with the wind in your hair...instead of being cramped in a ford focus.
For dinner we went to a place recommended to us by more than one person, THE SIDESTREET INN. It's a Karaoke Bar, Cigar Bar and Restaurant. It's described as the place where all the best chefs on the island go to nosh after hours. And let me tell you...

Korean short ribs, pork fried rice with bits of bacon, fried pork chops, calamari steak strips. It was GOOOOD EATIN'.

On the television U of H was battling it out with UCLA in some Hawaiian Invitational for Women's Volleyball. The Sidestreet Inn became electrified as U of H battled back from what was an expected loss, then came within striking distance to even it out so many times. But UCLA ultimately put the Wahini Warriors to bed. I'm sure some of the locals wondered why this white guy with a sunburn was rooting so hard for U of H to win.


At dinner, Charlie had two Sprites, so I had to take the keys from her and drive back to the hotel.


Tomorrow is our last day before we leave this place, (When Chase made this realization yesterday she actually started to sob.) So we plan to do what everyone tells you to do while you're in Hawaii - after their long list of sights to see and whatnot - and that is...chill. It's just going to be us and the beach and maybe a waterfall. But we are going to do our best to stretch the day out as long as we can.


Mahalo.

Noni

Cousins,

Nothing says "Hawaii" like having breakfast at a joint called "Cheeseburger in Paradise" and watching the first possession of USC football over a breakfast cheeseburger (what made it breakfast was an egg on top.) FIGHT ON! Although it was hard to pull away from the gridiron...I knew that if I stayed this day would be on the list of things Charlie could hold against me in the future. Thus, after USC's first touchdown, we skeedaddled to the Pearl Harbor Memorial.

Near the parking lot of the Memorial there is a sign that says no large cameras, backpacks, camera bags, purses, diaper bags and strollers are allowed.

Before you actually make it out to the Memorial you watch this pretty effective 22 minute movie talking about the "Day that will live in Infamy." A lot of it I never knew about. I also didn't know they had actual footage of the U.S.S. Arizona exploding. It was pretty violent. There was even a shot of a dead body bobbing in the water. Chase was totally oblivious. Charlie told me afterward it was scary. Then we went out to the Memorial.

After that we bopped op to the Punchbowl Crater, but not being of the ilk to see who's buried in there, we looked at the skyline and left.

In the evening we took a short little cruise up the side of the island to watch the sun set. But the setting sun wasn't the most stunning thing about this experience. This was.

I don't even need to talk about it. The picture speaks for itself. And by the way, Charlie took this photo.

After dinner (we had dinner on the boat) Chase had lots of fun sitting at the very front, with the wind whipping in her face, pretending that she was the Captain who was trying not to crash the boat.

Satisfaction. If I knew how to say it in a hundred different languages I'd say it a hundred times.

Mahalo.

LIFE IS A BEACH...

Cousins,

I'm nursing a Tazo Lotus Green Tea "a decaffeinated tea with the subtle essence of lotus blossoms" and have slathered my body with Banana Boat After Sun gel. I am spent. We all are spent. We all are...actually, slathered in After Sun gel. We are the carcasses that "FUN" has left behind in it's fearsome, fun-filled wake...

Today we broke in our snorkel gear, which we rented from Snorkel Bobs - "If you can't say you wished you rented from Snorkel Bob instead...it's probably because you've drowned." I think that's their motto...but I'm really bad at paraphrasing. Today we hit two spots, Ko Olina and Kuilima Cove.

Ko Olina was a very pleasant little nook of a place just perfect for Charlie to get used to all the snorkel stuff on her face and feet. Now, we could only use a waterproof camera for this day, and it's not digital, so we don't have the exact pictures ready, but I've found others that will help you get the picture. Thank you.

This is what Ko Olina looks like. Just nothing less that a dollop of the good life. Charlie donned all her gear and was ready, and after choking a few times, started to get the hang of things.

Now, it must be pointed out right here and now that Charlie had taken swimming lessons earlier this summer for the sole purpose of being able to go snorkeling. So this was again a very proud moment for Mom and Dad. She took the whole experience with ease. Never panicked or freaked out...even when her snorkel filled with water...which it did many times. In fact, the very first outing at Ko Olina where I took her very far out...I could swear I heard singing. And the song was familiar. Charlie was bobbing in the ocean for the first time, snorkel adorned, and was humming what I could swear was "Tequila," punctuating it occasionally with a high pitched "OOOOOOO" whenever a tropical fish swam by.

Chase...did not snorkel. We rented for her what is called a "Lookie Board." It's a boogie board with a plastic portal to see into the water.

Now, naturally, the waves at Ko Olina weren't that big. In fact, there were no waves at all - which is what made it so perfect for everyone to start off with. But I'm sure if Chase knew this maneuver was a possibility she'd force me to make it happen.

I myself have not snorkeled for about ten years or so, and had forgotten the odd sense of claustrophobia you can experience while floating around with a mask on that prevents any peripheral vision...but I quickly acclimated and felt very accomplished after my first dive.

Tiffany was the biggest snorkeling question mark of all. For some reason Tiffany has been prone to getting sea sick of late. While whale watching in Monterey last year she was the greenest I'd ever seen her in all the time I've known her. So visions of Tiffany releasing huge plumes of violent underwater vomit, thus causing a swarm of stupid frenzied tropical fish who thought it was a free meal...hundreds darting in and out of this aqua puke cloud and my poor wife in the middle of it...well, that scenario has come to my mind more than once. But, alas! It was all for nothing. Tiffany rocked Ko Olina like a pro.

Okay, I know I know...we weren't jet skiing. But it's 11:53pm and every muscle in my body is calling me a total jerk right now...to my face.

After Ko Olina we tackled the North Shore for some shrimp trucks and Matsumoto's. The shrimp truck we ate at was called MACKY's and claimed to have won the 2005 "Battle of the North Shore Shrimp Trucks." Nuff said, right? Time to eat!
After we yum yummed we hit Matsumoto's, which I have to say is like the PINK'S HOT DOGS of Oahu. Big line. All the books, by the way, said the line moved at a crisp pace, so no big deal. That line was so long and so slow that we had time for two different "pee emergencies" where one of us had to get in the car to whisk one of the girls to a store that allowed us to use their restroom...TWICE. When we finally did get it, both Tiffany and Chase were not impressed at all. Charlie and myself enjoyed our respective shaved ice, but we didn't feel that it opened our minds to a whole new meaning of life. The ice was fluffier...the flavors were wider in variety. The rest is just because you have to if you are at the North Shore...I think. Maybe I'm wrong.

After shaved ice it was time to terrorize some more fish, so we went to Kuilima Cove. This is what Kuilima Cove looks like.

That was precisely what we were looking out at. Brilliance. The waves were friskier here. And the swells really tried their best to pull you out as far as they could, but the sights were top notch. I myself had a run in with a sea turtle. Our conversation went like this:

Me: Oh! Damn! A SEA TURTLE!!!

Sea Turtle: Christ.

And the sea turtle swam away. It was a moment. But other than sea turtles we saw puffer fish and tangs and...just watch Finding Nemo...most of those guys, but not CGI.

So now I must lie down. We invaded the waters of Oahu, and are claiming victory. But be warned...there will be more action.

Mahalo.

Happy Birthday Charlie Dodge!!!

08-28-08 was Charlie's 8th Birthday. So what did we do? We let her experience a little PINEAPPLE EXPRESS! And let me tell you, she went for a ride...

I don't know what any of you might have been thinking, but I'm referring to that charming little choo choo train that chugs around two miles of Pineapple crops at the Dole Pineapple Plantation. Hmmm, Pineapple. Interesting factokalu (Hawaiian Fact) #1:

PINEAPPLES AREN'T HAWAIIAN. That's right. They're Brazilian. Legend has it that they found their way to the islands via a Spanish shipwreck. But the mix of the fresh ocean breeze and the reddish volcanic-mixed soil made Pineapples really kick some serious ass around these parts. Good for them!

We also tackled the world's largest maze, and were supposed to find the hidden markers that had little shapes you could stencil onto your ticket. At first Chase tried to just take off on a path all her own, completely uncaring that she could instantly lose us. She felt she knew where to go.

But after twenty minutes both kids started to panic we were making them "hike" again, so we all four resolved to give up. In Chase's words, "I didn't ask to do this Daddy. I didn't ask to do this..."


While lost in the maze, aside from fearing that whatever we touched might take us directly to Lord Voldemort, we did happen to run into the largest snail I've ever seen in my life. I told the kids not to make eye contact, for I was certain it was carrying a firearm.

After sampling from chilly Pineapple ice cream in Pineapple Juice we Pineappled our Pineapples out of there... to take on the Polynesian Cultural Center.

The layout affords visitors to experience a "village" from each of the Polynesian Islands...and the entire place is run by BYU. Factokalu #2:

Seventy percent of the employees at the PCC are current BYU students. What?

Activities were abundant. Demonstrations rotund. And it was really cool to experience the wide swath of Polynesian Cultures all in one gulp. The only odd thing was that every cultural presentation, which was thoroughly comprehensive with history and politics and social structure, was totally devoid - I mean no evidence whatsoever - of any historical religious markings whatsoever. I wonder why...

This was a picture that Charlie took with her own Camera when she and Chase went off on their own for a craft activity. Tiffany and I found this on her camera later.

The girls were officially worn to a nub. And we hadn't even tackled the Luau yet!

We Luaued at the PCC. The show was something straight out of a time warp from the Catskills. Some guy who called himself "Uncle Benny" pops up onstage while we are all jawing wildly at roast pig and poi and he proceeds with Ukelele backed impersonations of everyone from Elvis to Tiny Tim to Louis Armstrong. In between his shtick some underage Hula Dancers would perform and then he'd shoo them offstage with lots of overplayed saccharin, "Ahh Cousins, doesn't Hawaii just grow the cutest kids?"

But then, at the very end of the show...I mean the last two minutes...Uncle Benny hauls into this wild, satanic inspired Ukelele performance that would put any professional guitarist to shame. He had voodoo in his fingers. He turned into a Ukelele Jimmy Hendrix, playing wicked and fast and accurate, then doing the same thing behind his head, then under his leg, then with his teeth. The guy was a Ukelele miracle. Which left me thoroughly disoriented and chewing on my sleeve. It was like watching that funny vendor at a baseball game with the vacant look in his eyes suddenly cold cock a few fans out of the way to get to the field and then hit a homer. Why hadn't he done this from the beginning? Wouldn't everyone rather see Uncle Benny go up there and tear it up instead of baring the brunt of bad impressions and outdated cheese whiz? Uncle Benny, you can do so much more!

After the Luau the girls looked like two prisoners of war on a long march: delirious, exhausted, practically beginning for the fun to stop. But we hadn't even gotten to the show yet!

The show was called HORIZONS and was all about all the various island cultures and their dancing and yelling...by the way, that's what I appreciate most about the island cultures...they love to yell...and I don't mean HEY EARL CAN YOU PASS ME THE GODDAMN SALT? I mean, they yell as if they are linemen in the NFL. HHOOOOOORAAAAR!!! Wild eyed. Tongue waggling. Honest and insane. I love it. I've resolved to do it more in my day to day life. I think it will be a noticeable change for the better.

So yes, stomping and yelling and hip swanking and hula dancing...and all the while both girls' heads were lolling on their shoulders with their eyes stuttering back into their respective, exhausted sockets. Tiffany and I would exchange glances that essentially said, "Look, so sweet, they've had such a great day they can't take any more...our little angels." Then we would vigorously shake them awake. "HEY! HEY! YOU'RE GONNA MISS IT! FIRE! FIRE! YOU CAN'T MISS THE FIRE! IT'S FIRE! HEY! WAKE UP! FOCUS!

True to their spirit, Charlie and Chase came-to just long enough to see all the fire action. And nobody left the show feeling burned.

ALOHA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

So I'm lying in the hotel room with the girls - Chase in one bed with me and Charlie snuggling with Tiffany in the other. Aloha time is 11:25 but my computer's flipping me the double bird in the lower right hand corner by saying 2:25am. My head is spinning. My calves ache. I have an ice headache from chomping on hotel ice. Because who knows what kind of "poku poku" the hotel water will wreak on my intestines - so I stick with the ice from the machine - ice which I've convinced myself is of course double charcoal filtered...of course. Even though I'm exhausted I am thinking about today.

But let's start with last night. Best flight I've ever had in my life. Smooth. Pleasant. Wonderful. I love Hawaiian Airlines. Mahalo. Charlie ended up having about an hour long conversation with a woman who from the sound of it is a literal world traveler. At one point Charlie whips out one of her favorite stuffed animals she brought along with her and told the woman all about it. Next thing you know, the woman pulls out of her backpack her own set of stuffed animals she says she brings with her wherever she goes. It was a delightful moment to eavesdrop on.

We get in and are instantly pooped, but grab some room service anyway. The only reason why room service is noteworthy is because we ordered a hamburger patty topped with a fried egg on a bed of gravy smothered spam fried rice. The name for it escapes me. But boy oh boy, food of the heavens!

This morning's mission, attack Diamond Head. We hiked. You didn't read wrong, we hiked. Now, I don't know how many of you are familiar with Diamond Head. But it's a long dead volcano with a hiking path that leads you to a view of the island unequalled anywhere. So you drive right into the crater, get out of your car, and start hoofing it up this cement path. But soon enough, this cement path turns into what I believe is simply a path of uneven, swirling carved lava. No single step was the same all the way up. And most importantly, NO SHADE. Anywhere. And because you are inside the crater, very little ocean breeze. Sweat is what we did. Huge dribbles of sweat. In my eyes. I was heaving for breath so bad I was inhaling sweat through my nose. And the sunblock slash bug repellent I slathered my forehead with was now melting into my eyes. But even I found that comical to the point where the searing pain of my orbs just made me chuckle.

So the path leads the unfortunate souls up the inside lip of the volcano to these old lookout batteries that were used in World War II. But it's a long one, filled with switchbacks galore, complimented with three different sets of stairs, each with about three hundred thousand or so steps, more or less. On one set of steps Chase took one look and just said, "No. You are going to carry me." I would have refused but she made it to that point without much resistance (although I did have to give her a few "Kapus" on the way up for whining.) Thus I agreed to carry her up the set of stairs. There were 99 steps on that set of stairs. 99. That's NINETY NINE STEPS carrying my four year old in my arms. To her credit she did take three of those steps on her own. So 96 STEPS CARRYING MY DAUGHTER. When I got to the top I lost all sense of communication. A woman at the top who was coming back down saw me and remarked, "That was incredible." I would have loved to have thanked her with a smile but that would have just released a flood of flying drool and hot breath, so I grimaced in pained gratitude.

Following the stairs was a cave with the width to accommodate one and a half people. The cave was over a hundred yards or so...and it was low. "Claustrophobes" beware! But we finally wound up a rickety old metallic staircase and BOOM we were right in the lookout battery. And the breeze came and kissed us all hello. Actually it was more like making out with me because I was gasping so hard with such a wide open mouth. We crawled out of the lookout to an even higher point which was wonderful, and I have to say, WORTH IT. And I appreciated the rich irony of watching some tourists from Japan looking out through the bunker out into the ocean, and thinking that it wasn't but a mouthful of years earlier some American G.I.'s, eyes agape, were on the lookout out for the Japanese, ready to sound the alarm.

I wondered if ever there was ever a conversation between two bored G.I.'s, late one night during the war, "Hey Earl, you know what I think? Years from now there are gonna be tourists that will climb up here and stand here right where we're spitting and farting and telling dirty jokes. And I bet...I bet some of the tourists are even going to be the Japanese! That's right! Because one day the Japanese are gonna be our allies. AND...and...one day we are gonna pay four dollars for coffee and phones will be smaller that this here ammo box...NO THEY WILL YOU WATCH AND SEE...and we'll have something called a TIVO- No no...it's English.. and we just won't be able to live without it!"

I must admit the hike down was much faster, and more entertaining. Watching all the beet-faced people walking past us on their way up, huffing with extreme trepidation. So much doubt in their faces about whether they will even make it to the top. You could read it on everyone's expressions, "I FLEW ALL THIS WAY TO THIS DAMN ISLAND AND EVEN THOUGH I'M ABOUT TO STROKE OUT I AIN'T SLOWING DOWN!"

Charlie was a champ the whole time. Maybe because she was having fun, or maybe because she saw what would happen had she decided to get whiny (cite: CHASE-KAPU in earlier paragraph.)

Rewarding ourselves with shaved Ice we then kind of found our way into the ALA MOANA mega mall by accident, had lunch, then passed out in the hotel room for a nappy nap.

Upon waking up the Dodge Four tackled the beach. Charlie victoriously swam out into the waves by herself...practically making her father raise the tide to dangersous levels all by himself with tears of pride. This act made Chase all the more daring, wading in pre-tty deep with Mom, until a little sassy Waikiki wave just came and took her out. That was it for her. Game over. Case closed. Chase doesn't like waves anymore. "They're salty"...says she... No more going into the water...


At least until tomorrow.

Mahalo.