ponyponytail

Let's catch up.

2012-02-21T03:39:00.000-08:00

It's been over a year, so let's just cover the basics. Ready... GO.

I went to India! It was awesome. Among lots and lots of other things, I learned a fabulous teaching method for mathematics in early childhood. Note: the teaching method does not include henna and tilaka. :)

I got a new job! It's at India Education Methods, and I'm the director. I love my job for real. It's a lot more fun and exciting than this picture suggests; I just don't wanna post pics of my students without parental permish. You understand.

I got married! His name is Jason Kanda, and he's pretty great.

I'm still doing Aloha Shorts on Hawaii Public Radio. Tune in sometime!

And I'm now a regular volunteer at Kumu Kahua Theatre. Gotta LOVE their dedication to Hawaii's stories and Hawaii's people. The new managing director Donna Blanchard is kind of a rock star.

Methinks that's it in a nutshell. I've got lots of stuff in the works, so it's a good thing we're now up to speed. Oh, and there's my Twitter @ponyponytail, my Instagram @ponyponytail, and my ol' faithful Facebook.

I ruv roo. Chee huu.

I been busy...

2010-06-07T17:17:00.000-07:00

but I'm back now, baby.

OK, OK, I admit it...

2010-01-23T00:33:00.000-08:00

I love "Bad Romance." Love it.

I want to post so badly but I feel totally scattered.. all my. thought.sss.. are com.in.g. in disjointedtalking . pointsand freevers.e.

See? Annoying, right? So I'll stick to bullet points for now, and you can beg me for a full update later. Tcha. Like you even care. Well, screw you!

I'm kidding. You're reading me. I love you.

Eric Yokomori's Houselights and Prolonged Sunlight at Kumu Kahua Theatre is AMAZING. I've seen it twice already, and I have my tickets for a third time. The first time I attended, I watched the play. The second time, I watched the performances and directing choices. (Yeah, I have a theatre degree. So?) The third time, which will be on January 30 -- join me? -- I will watch the audience watching the play. Yeah, it's that meta, and yeah, I'm that kind of nerd.
Fashion week. Fashion week. Fashion week. It's coming. February 11.
I'm doing Aloha Shorts again! I am thrilled/honored/nervous. THANK YOU Sammie Phyllis Craig Jason Cedric et cetera. See you on the 7th!
I finished an audition for "The Princess and the Iso Peanut" just tonight, and I'm still all high from it, and that's probably why I'm feeling scattered. I should go for a run, seriously.
I LOVE EVERYTHING. Except rotten produce. I don't love rotten produce. OH.. WAIT A SEC!
I do love rotten produce, because my worms eat rotten produce. What's that you say? Worms? Yeah, you read correctly. Mama's got worms, and I'm gonna spread this fabulous fertile "vermicast" all over my herb garden and you're gonna beg for a taste of my pesto then, boy. And my tomatoes, and my Thai hot peppers, and.. and.. and...!
I have a pallet of cardboard boxes from work, and I'm going to host a fort-building contest to end all fort-building contests. Summertime. Just. You. Wait.

Goodnight, dear void. I love you, too.

NOTHING in moderation

2010-01-20T01:57:00.000-08:00

... ever.

Christian Self is the bartender in town.

There's Eddie at Bar35 and Pearl.

There's Winnie and Cory and Margot at The Mercury.

There's Erica at Bambu.

There's Wayne at JJ Dolan's (formerly and famously of Murphy's).

There's Lauren at Can's (who famously pours drinks, punches tabs, and sings karaoke all at the same time).

But... there are drink-slingers and there are bartenders, and I like to think of Christian Self as my bartender. And he is exactly that, of course, but not mostly. Mostly, Christian is the mythical libation bearer/inventor/artist to all the good patrons of thirtyninehotel, which holds the distinction of the most beautiful bar in Honolulu. I'm writing as I sit at Christian's white indoor bar on my stool near the door, drinking in the night's delicious tropical cool. The people are pretty but not polished -- very downtown, very tangible. I polished a "Stingray" and am now slowly sipping my way through a "Bitter End." I'm also slaking my thirst for conversation here, blogging between visitors to my perch. Mmmm.

Each drink is a slice, or a squeeze, or a pour, or a draught of cultural anthropology. This is one of the same reasons I love drinking at the Gold Dust Meridian on Hawthorne in Portland. (See my post on that.) Seriously, ask Christian what the drink is made of and where its origins are and why it works and you'll get a pithy and genial history of liquors and society. If I could've put information into my brain this effortlessly in college, maybe it wouldn't have taken 418973947 years to earn my BA. What was that about state-specific memory again?

Ah, whatever. I forget.

I need another drink.

Let's get real... part 2

2010-01-11T02:08:00.000-08:00

Real AWESOME, that is.

OK, picking up where I left off... I'm sitting at Fresh Cafe with my mango iced tea. It's 5:15 PM, and I'm supposed to pick up Firebird Cheyne at 5:30 at Kumu Kahua Theatre, where he's in tech rehearsal for the latest bit of Eric Yokomori theatre madness -- more on that later, it's good stuff. So... Tiffany Tanaka, my hero, feeds me chicken penne pasta salad with fresh spinach and pesto, tops off my iced tea, schedules a meeting with me for Monday (which is technically today.. yeesh, I need to sleep), bids me to break a leg, and I'm off.

I'm convinced I'm going to be late for Cheyne, BUT WAIT! Fresh Cafe is literally four minutes away from Kumu Kahua. Note to Tiffany: My dear, how did you find a space that is perfectly located? Seriously, who is your psychic/fung shui master/investment advisor/fairy godmother? Fresh = magic.

With ten whole extra minutes to spare, I bounded up the old post office steps with glee, a comfortably full belly, and a fresh mango iced tea still beading water onto my hand. I even had time to dally a bit and say hello to all the theatre darlings I love who had been tech-ing this show since early in the morning. I think you must have either done theatre or known intimately someone who has done theatre in order to understand how much time and energy this takes. The theatre space is a crazy wasteland of stacked televisions (part of the set-in-construction), hanging wires, scattered lighting instruments, and an unusually good-looking group of actors and design talent.

I spotted Troy Apostol and locked him into my crosshairs. "You!" I demanded that he say "bastard" with a Filipino accent. He obliged. Why? Well, if you're reading this after March, just check out the Aloha Shorts podcast. It's important to note here that I'm not Filipino, nor can I muster even a weak attempt at a Filipino accent. It's something to do with my having to say "baaas-taarrrrd" some ukubillion times for the piece I read, if you must know.

Cheyne tolerated this, as well as my incessant practicing in the car (read: yelling "baaas-taarrrrd" with the windows down) the whole way to the KIPO studio. I love Cheyne. Note to Cheyne: I love you.

We got to KIPO. The taping was wonderful. I got into a conversation with the show's host and overall brilliant man Cedric Yamanaka that yielded this fortifying thought -- you sell your soul to the man, you punch the clock for some corporation, and in exchange you get to survive and keep making/doing/developing your art. So, booyah. Thank you for the healthcare and bill payments. Phyllis Look gifted me a copy of the Hana Hou magazine Dec/Jan issue. If you know why, you also know what's on page 22, and it's probably because my aunties told you and everyone around you.

Donalyn and Kiana and Weyland and Cheyne were beyond excellent. I did some stuff, too.

After the taping, by some miracle, both Cheyne and I didn't have to re-record anything, which means that we were perfect! Or, we screwed up in places that were simply unfixable. Whatever. So the two of us got to hele on to the Fresh Cafe warehouse -- yes, back to Fresh Cafe -- where Ernie Cruz, Jr. and Barry Flanagan were doing a FREE concert for a teeny tiny group of people, radiant souls all, and there were awa bowls for $5. I told Cheyne to call my mom because clearly I'd died and found the land of milk and honey.

We grabbed a pair of seats and some coffee and some delicious bagel-based pastries (more on those later, yummmm) and snuggled in for the best version of "Guava Jelly" I have ever, ever heard. Is that song supposed to make you teary-eyed? WTF?? And then "Redemption Song," and "Haleakala ku Hanohano" which is my favorite Hapa song of all time, and more, and more, and then Barry covered a song that he said he was sure to screw up but he was glad to screw up and that he screws up on purpose because it makes him more comfortable with screwing up which is after all an inevitability and he likes to be prepared, namely "Simple Twist of Fate" by Bob Dylan.

The thought of this song is enough to break your heart all by itself. And... Barry did the first line twice. That was the extent of the "screw up." And then my heart poured out my ears, it was so good. Barry dropped wisdom right before the song, ruminating on how insanely prolific Dylan is. He compared Dylan to Bukowski in that "[there's so much] that the stuff just pours out of him, like, through him." He said that Allan Ginsberg got to spend a weekend with Dylan and couldn't have a conversation with the man because "it was like looking at someone with the finger of God on his shoulder," the work was so good, and there was so much of it.

Kamuela Kahoano was there, and we had a good chat about art, music, humility, striving, struggling, love, mistakes, and how it's all got to be one thing. Tiffany introduced us all to Candy Diaz, the honey-jazz-voiced woman that engineered the special Sunday night event. It's going to be a weekly awa night, with open mic Sundays alternating with live music Sundays. Join me, won't you?

(Yes, you're reading this correctly, Tiffany was at the warehouse setting up for the garage sale well before it started at 7 AM. She was at the cafe for the entire time I was there, plus the time I was at the KIPO studio, and she stayed to clean up after the concert, which ended at 10:30ish PM. The cafe opens for the day at 7 on Monday morning. Incredible, and the food and drinks are amazing. Is there any wonder I can't stop singing Fresh praises?)

((Every calorie I consumed all day was from Fresh Cafe. Every one.))

In the morning, I'm going to put on a soft-as-whipped-topping purple T-shirt, a way-cooler-than-me Michele Lau zipper skirt, and a big vintage black chain link bracelet, all from the Fresh garage sale, and call it a day.

And THAT, my dear Honolulu, was a grand weekend. Magic.

Let's get real for a second...

2010-01-10T18:19:00.000-08:00

because this week has been UNREAL. Heh heh heh.

OK, quickest of quick updates, because it's technically not over, so it's too early to do an official recap.

Thursday.. An afternoon rehearsal with the fabulously talented and brilliant Sammie Choy for the Aloha Shorts taping on Sunday. I'm one of the actors in a Pinoy voices showcase. Hahahahahaaa. Nighttime: farewell/aloha 'oe/good riddance party for the beautiful Violetta Beretta, who in the words of one SuperCW is "the most gorgeous woman I have ever seen up close." Vraiment!

Friday.. Work/dinner at Fresh Cafe. I LOVE Fresh Cafe. It's like a coffee shop, eatery, mobile office, lounge, concert venue, gallery, heaven. I feel like I'm paying rent on a personal style salon for the price of a bagel sandwich, AND I'm getting a bagel sandwich!

Saturday.. KCC farmers' market, best pizza ever with the most gorgeous tomatoes ever, mozzarella, pesto, and love! A gigantic bag of kale for $3. Seriously, this thing is the size of a pillowcase. Any kale recipes out there? Afternoon: Menchies with Seleena and Ryan S. The fro-yo was delicious, as always, and all the sweeter because of a Savvy Circle deal. An $8 gift certificate for $4? What? WHAT?? Unbelievable. Then, Speakeasy at The Mercury for Violetta's swansong performance in their "Hats Off to the New Year" show. I wore a fascinator from Catwings Couture and an old Betsey dress. Devon Darling spotted it right away. "THAT'S BETSEY" before she even saw my face, probably. Love it. Graham Black's "wear the fox hat" T-shirt and fox puppet combo. Yona's sleek black dress, belted, with tights, on her bicycle. SO chic. And of course, the big cup of Hendrick's that kept me warm all night from one Lady Winnie Pitts. It could've been that, or La Femme Rikita's Fosse-inspired burlesque. Classic and just dead sexy.

Sunday.. Early wake-up to make it to Fresh Cafe's garage sale! I scored big time. Like, I almost feel bad because of all the stuff I scored for two bills in my wallet. I won't tell you what bills they were, but trust. They were totally more than worth it. I'm wearing a skirt from there right now, as I type this. And a bracelet. And a button. And a handbag. And I should probably take something off because I'm clearly wearing too many things that may or may not match because they make me so incredibly happy.

And that brings me here, seated at Fresh Cafe yet again, sucking up free internet access and a mango iced tea. I am psyching myself up for tonight's recording session at KIPO for Aloha Shorts. The show airs Tuesdays at 6:30 PM on 89.3 FM, or you can podcast it, like I do.

Oh man, oh man. Thank you, Honolulu. You've done it again.

No roof, we blew it off.

2009-12-30T06:24:00.000-08:00

The best. Weekend. Ever.

I can't start at the beginning because I've been having this weekend all my life.

I think it was Friday. I stayed up until 4 AM composing a letter to a dear friend I'd wronged and nearly lost during my darkness these past months.

At 4:01 I sent the letter, and like an apparition conjured by my weary exhalation, the charming and painfully literate Sean invited me to tea the next day. I was late for tea. It didn't matter. Fresh from Paris and light as air, Sean reminded me that we are all of us the beautiful and few. Bad decisions make us perfect. There is joy in wrong as there is despair in success.

We headed out to Kane'ohe for Eden-Lee's Boxing Day party. Many beautiful weirdos in the room -- among them the delightful Peggy, Hans, Rob, Chris -- who incandesce.

I snuck into Walter's house while he was away, I played with his cats, and I stole back a book of mine. Laughter.

Next was Fresh Cafe's lovely event "Last Call," and we talked and talked outdoors beneath the glow of tiny white lights.

I jumped a barbed-wire fence. I stared at my city. I visited a remote beach and watched waves and the moon. I stared at that, too. I can't believe I live here, that I've always lived here; I can't believe I ever hated it here.

I didn't sleep, I didn't need to.

I went to work on Sunday, which means I talked fashion with like-minded nerds and frolicked in a playground of luxury and wearable art. I usually enjoy my work anyway, but this day my feet scarcely touched the ground. I used my lunch break to sleep -- always a sign of a great weekend.

Monday morning came sweet and muggy. I drank orange juice. I had a delightful homemade lunch at Jennifer's brand new apartment. Over the final course of warm-from-the-oven banana bread, Jennifer reminded me that we are all of us OK, not just in the end, but right now. She also reminded me to say no.

Onward to Mercury Bar with Ryan and Sean and Winnie that night. Musings on writing and music. A streetside recording session with words in 6/8 time:

by some constellation of my small anomalies
you have envisaged me brighter than most

oh don't shade your eyes, I'll discard this disguise
'cause I can't have my lovers in love with my ghost

Finally, I summoned sleep after three days, in my big white bed, with all my big white pillows and my big white comforter, my filthy exhausted joyful still-dressed self snuggled right down in the middle.

On Tuesday I lunched with Cyrina at Fresh Cafe. I love business with my lady genius. We are working on something so grand I am about to explode.

My father texts me in French to propose the idea of an impromptu family dinner. Dad doesn't speak French, he just texts in French. We waited 40 minutes to be seated, such was the crowd. And so:

"Oh good, we finall..."
"SHUT UP. It's eating time."
"Mmm... chewing noises... Right."
Et cetera.

Bonus points to our sushi chef John John, who participated in our ruckus. And after I left for downtown again, this text from my father: "C'etait une bonne idee."

Hit up the Merc again. Kraken and ginger. Hendrick's and tonic. Winnie and Cory and Margot and me. Musings on Honolulu and the inferiority complex, Al Green, and Topman shirts. Winnie pauses to light a fag on the streetcorner and drop this science on me: "I just didn't go back. I didn't need to move. I was already here."

At my first Kaleidoscope for months and months, I was hugging within seconds of ascending that famous stair, greeted by a beautiful Timo and an effervescent Ryan, feeling so lucky and warm. My wronged friend was there, and brought me to tears with a hug and "it's good, it's good."

Lapwing's set was brutal. I danced, hard, with Jason Tom and Stacy and Thomas and other beauties. Then, the Greetings' mini-session. I am in love with "Bounce." The Jason Tom beatbox throwdown. The Kamuela Kahoano mind-blowing offering, many guest musicians, many instruments, many glowing energies. Then, the epic, the historic, the jam of the year.

For this, present tense.

Kamuela doesn't know what to play for the last song. "Just make it up!" I cry. And so, he makes to do just that. I creep over and whisper, "I want in." He gestures openly to the unmanned microphone. My heart leaps in Morse code, what the fuck did I just say?? Kamuela articulates a chord, Jason Tom is making beatbox/bassbox magic. There are two amazing guitarists, an inventive djembe player, a sparkling bassist, and me, holding a warm microphone. I breathe, I open my voice, and my dancing beauties leap to their feet! I keep singing. There is no one not dancing. The music is raucous and fine. Ryan grabs a second unmanned mic and we intone ooohs in smooth harmony... My last phrase before I put the mic down, "I'm gonna dance now, I hope you don't mind, I just have to dance, I hope you don't mind." Ryan and Kamuela take over on vox. This jam is historic.

We made the roof disappear.

In the ladies' room, adorable praise for our "band":

"Oh! Heh. Thanks, uh, we're not really a band. We were just jamming."
"YOU MADE THAT UP?"
"Well, yes."

After, more love and friends. Handshakes. Entreaties. Manifestos. Invitations. So lucky and warm.

Love. There is no measure.

Goodbye, 2009. I'm ready to take this to '10.

Valentine to Texting

2009-12-15T13:42:00.000-08:00

I find it strange that text is easier for most people nowadays than face-to-face encounters. I love being with a person. Not people, mind you. Rather, a person. Maybe two, but one is preferable. Gesture, expression, posture, diction, tone, pace, timbre -- all this is lost in text messages. Texts seem, by comparison, poor and ungainly. However... I will now contradict myself. Texting is amazingly elegant. It's a strict form, and very brief. One hundred forty characters or less. Under fifty options for symbols and letters. Text is haiku in the modern. You can vary the length of time between messages to convey affection, arrogance, indifference. A semicolon-close-parenthesis combo signifies flirtation, a joke, petulance. A single word in a text can reverberate like an H-bomb in your chest. Add a period to the end of the word and it's like two H-bombs.

The one thing I would absolutely love to get rid of in my entire possession is my phone. It is also the thing I feel I absolutely cannot live without.

Let this be a warning

2009-09-12T08:14:00.000-07:00

... said the magpie to the morning,

Don't let this fading summer pass you by.

I am blogging again. Thanks for reminding me, JK.

Update soon.

haute vie

2009-06-08T18:20:00.000-07:00

As much as I enjoy fashion for art's sake, I simply cannot separate my enjoyment of the work from my enjoyment of the personalities that create it. This is why artists' bios are so important. This is why there are "Director's Notes" in performance programs. And THIS is a quote from Karl Lagerfeld:

In response to the question, "If you could do anything in your life over again, what would it be?" Karl says, "I don't want to do anything over again, ever again. I want only to do what I haven't done. There's no 'again.' There's only the future. I hate the past -- especially my own past."

Now, we can read that statement in the context of the fashion world, where a year is an eternity and from which the phrase "so last season" has been co-opted as a slangy pejorative, or we can read it in the context of the everyday world, where I like to live most days.

One has the ring of a young child bored with her new toy, or an adolescent angry with a troubled high school career.

The other has an exciting tone of adventure and discovery, tempered by the aggregate wisdom of years of mistakes made and lessons learned.

I like 'em both.

New York City dreaming...

2009-02-18T16:52:00.001-08:00

I am craving the hot Brooklyn sunshine in the summer.

I want to walk from the L to Penny Licks and get myself a vegan ice cream cone.

I want to take extra allergy medicine so I can shop at Beacon's Closet without getting a headache.

I want to chew gum with Leah Evans.

I want to sit in the sunlit kitchen of Michelle Williams and drink Rice Dream and chai.

I want to wander among the red brick buildings.

I want to wear dresses with cut-off tights underneath.

I want to meet again "Tony from Queens" and "Little Mika" and listen to their stories on the street.

I want to drink free Patron shots in a cool bar and talk to the hip kids.

I want to loiter on the subway platform and listen to the old ladies.

I want to be in Brooklyn.

We all said hallelujah!

2009-01-15T02:39:00.000-08:00

We don't want answers anyway.

I've been busy, so you get Halloween pics in January. Great friends and a great band made this the best Halloween I've had since about age eight. Also, the best costume I've had since my aunt used to make them from pictures I drew.

I made eight million costumes for this Halloween, to match the amount of parties. Funnnn.

Inspired by my new favorite movie "Les Enfants du Paradis" (thanks, Ross), I was un clown. You can't see the hat in this photo. No matter. It makes another appearance later. The bottom of the big white smock hit high on my thigh. Black thigh-high socks. Teal Mary Jane heels. It was good for dancing. That's Aly in the Tinkerbell costume. Paired with Aaronvb's Peter Pan, my cute-o-meter was off the charts. I wish I had a picture of Zoe, Lauren, and this other girl, who were earth, wind, and fire, respectively. Oh man. Off the charts.

Halloween part deux featured Matt in a bread hat. In the bathroom at Asterisk, we made the hat out of real French bread from the market, twine, and sheer engineering. Other partygoers were taking bites off of his head all night. But Matt wasn't, because gluten makes him unhappy. Which makes this costume even funnier. And more awkward.

Here's my little clown hat, repurposed for Ross' sad harlequin-y get-up. I did his makeup. While that guy has no eyeliner tolerance, fortunately, he has lots of patience. You can't see them in this photo, but there are really long fake eyelashes on him, too.

My surrealist peacock costume was Nadia's favorite, as you can see. Three peacock feathers in a French twist, with giant flowers in the back from Catwings Couture. Thanks, Chelle. The royal blue sequin cardigan was borrowed from Aja. The fishnets were inspired by Rachelle. You could say this was a Cherry Blossom Cabaret dedication costume. The combat boots were the funny part. When I wear flat shoes, I feel like I'm walking uphill.

Keep your eyes on right. Keep your eyes on right ahead. Happy Halloween, boy, was it.

Ev'ry morning, ev'ry evening, ain't we got fun?

2008-10-29T18:36:00.000-07:00

... not much money, oh but honey, ain't we got fun?

God, I love that tune.

I found this lovely tidbit in its Wikipedia article: Of the era in which the song was written, George Orwell writes, it was a time "when people had not yet settled down to a lifetime of unemployment mitigated by endless cups of tea."

What delightful humor! Or, what hollow rejoinder to the post-war economic devastation. Both the song and the comment. Either, I do love me some tea.

I've been thinking on this theme, this living without heed for the banality of everyday existence. Subsistence. Whatever. Paying bills, paying rent, paying for food and water and gasoline. Hating it and paying up anyway. Working for money because the supermarket doesn't accept love. There's another lyric that pops to mind here, Ted Leo's "if you can't afford a broken nose, how can you afford to fight?"

Maybe I've just been partying too hard and spending money I don't have, until just recently. I just got a check from my insurance company that's to cover speech therapy that followed my vocal surgery. It's not the full amount, but it's a fat portion. Thanks, HMSA. I thought I'd have to pony up totally on my own, so it's kind of a windfall. I plan to exploit the temporary financial freedom this check grants me by purchasing Thai takeout for dinner tonight. Wild abandon, that's my way.

Week updates:

The Cherry Blossom Cabaret always puts on a solid show for their bimonthly Speakeasy at Mercury Bar. This month's was a masquerade! Yay. I wore Diane von Furstenburg and cowboy boots. (Note: I'll blog about my weird and fabulous closet sometime soon. A bit embarrassingly, it no longer suits my income level. I built my collection during a richer time. So you could say I was dressed as me in 2004.) Catwings has been turning out these sweet hair candies that have proven damningly collectible. Check the gypsy hand and peacock feather combo! Sigh. What was that about spending money I don't have again?

Fortunately, there was a no-cover-before-10 "Pink Party" at the Loft on Sunday, where I noshed complimentary carrot sticks and mini cupcakes with Angie the Lesbian. Note how much I do love that gypsy hand accessory. It was a benefit for breast cancer awareness. Save the boobies. Also note our matching pink ribbon flair.

I took a few days off of the night scene to do work. What? Yes, work. So that I could afford to buy this beer at Anna Bananna's on Thursday, at the Eyes and Ears show. They're a Denver band that rocked my socks off.

OK, I lied. Ross bought me the beer. I'm destitute. I can't buy myself beer.

Nor can I usually buy myself lunch, but that worked out alright on Saturday afternoon. It was the Obama Bike Rally. Ara and Josh86 put it all together and made Kaka'ako Waterfront Park a democratic punk rock extravaganza. There was barbecuin' and Ross Jackson deejayin' and bands playin'... and the 5-0s trying to shut the event down because we didn't have a permit. Fortunately, they were all for Obama, or all for the BBQ chicken plates Ara made for them, and let us carry on. Which elicited this face from me. Woo.

Did I mention I'd had a job interview that morning at 7 AM? Good gravy, did my hair need a wash. I didn't even get a chance to nap before the Honolulu Theatre for Youth gala fundraiser at the Ko'olau Golf Club ballroom. It was another masquerade, and this time I was a peacock in blue cocktail-length Ralph Lauren. I arrived at the party with one lonely peacock feather in my French twist. Subtle, I thought. Classy. Somehow, though, I departed with seven. There were peacock feathers in all the centerpieces, you see, and there was much impish thievery that night. More feathers kept appearing atop my head, and I felt mysterious gentle forces prodding at my hair, to the sound of receding muffled giggles. Behold, I am a game.

And after that party, a quick drive back into downtown Honolulu for the thirtyninehotel 4 year anniversary fete. I'd pulled out most of the feathers by that time to avoid resembling a citizen of Whoville. The necklace in the picture is from dear Walter, my date for the HTY gala and favorite impulse-buyer. It's made of solid jasper stones and was up for bid at the gala's silent auction. I drunkenly suggested Walter purchase the necklace so we could cut it apart and play a game of marbles. We didn't have anything to cut it apart. Oh well. Thanks, Walter. I wore it to thirtyninehotel to great effect. BTW, I found out that night that it weighs about 15 lbs.

Last night was the Rocky Horror Picture Show at Bar35. I promoted the crap out of that event, hired actors from Manoa Valley Theatre, created decorations and party games, coerced Ross into running the sound. Thank you. Cyrina was my angel of strength and support. Eddie was my bartender of heart, and Kayla my cocktailer of spirit. Thank you, Mike and Ted, my attendees of experience, for calming me down the whole night.

I'll post pictures if anyone ever sends me any. I didn't have a camera. I never have a camera. It's better that way.

I love you.

You're like a rollercoaster

2008-10-14T01:47:00.000-07:00

... it's the most unbelievable ride

I've been biking. Thanks, Ross, for fixing up a bike for me and teaching me to ride it and pestering me endlessly to do so and being really patient with my whining and ass-dragging.

How to ride bikes with Stephanie, as experienced by Ross:

Fix up a bike, because S won't do it herself.
Pester S for several days to ride it, because she won't ride it herself.
Take S to an empty parking lot in the middle of the night, because she won't ride in public in the daytime, and teach her to ride the thing, because she won't teach herself.
Pester S for another ride, because she won't suggest one herself. Include a food destination.
Re-inflate S's tires, adjust her brakes, and oil her chain for her, for guilting purposes, when pestering loses efficacy.
Guilt-pester S for another ride that includes a food destination, but this time do it when she's stressed out and hungry and in need of exercise because of her period. And make her go really, really far this time to maximize "I think I actually enjoy this" revelations.
Sit back and wait, because S now will finally have bicyconfidence.

Tonight's ride, Ross' mansion to Beretania Street to Thai garage (Bangkok Chef), was a beautiful journey at about 7:30 PM. Light traffic, light breeze, moderate pace. Clear sky. I'm getting the hang of finding the appropriate gear. It's not as difficult as driving a standard-transmission car, so that's good. I hit the McCully bridge hard. Yesss. When we got to the food place, I was warm and kind of sweaty, but not winded and I could hold a conversation the whole ride. I'm not in as bad shape as I feared. Whew. Thanks, dance class (The Dance Space). King Street to make it back to Ross' place, where my bike lives. Another beautiful ride, made it over the McCully bridge again even with a belly full of curry and bamboo shoots and rice, but I wussed out on the Metcalf hill and had to walk it over the ultra steep part. One day... one day soon...

I've also been beach-ing. Thank you, Ryan Miyash, for dragging my sorry butt to Waimea Bay and for buying me Matsumoto shave ice and playing awesome car tunes.

Ryan Miyash has a wonderful resolution: GO TO THE BEACH ONCE A WEEK MINIMUM. I think I'd better adopt that. It's a dedicated time to relax -- one simply can't stay all the way stressed out at the beach in Hawai'i, it's just not possible -- and it's a time to appreciate the splendor of living in tropical paradise. Sure, I live here and it's hard work to make it and that's why I can't enjoy Hawai'i as much as the visitors do, but I can make an effort to get out and revel in the beauty a lot more than I have been.

Life's a beach. No, really. There are loudmouth uglies in too-small beachwear, there are cigarette butts, there are jellyfish. But, there is warm sun, clear blue sky, crystal water and weightless oblivion.

Life is also a bike ride. There are ups, there are downs, there are potholes, there are assholes. But there are also cool nights with the city sparkling around you, and you are singing into the wind at 30 miles an hour.

More.

Easiest Miso Soup Ever

2008-10-08T01:35:00.000-07:00

There's a recession. A worldwide economic crisis, even. Yesterday, the Dow sagged below 10,000 and is down another 500 points today. I have both credit card debt and what used to be a large investment portfolio. I work in two industries, education and the arts. I have no full-time job; I teach and write grants for a living. Financially and professionally, this is not a good time.

And so, I'm feeling poor. And feeling poor makes me hungry. And feeling hungry and poor makes me feel pathetic. When I'm feeling poor-hungry-pathetic, I think of soup. This is appropriate for three reasons:

Soup is cheap.
Soup is satisfying.
Soup is comforting.

This means that soup, being cheap-satisfying-comforting, is the functional opposite of poor-hungry-pathetic. And that's a damn good reason for me to think of, and subsequently make, soup.

My favorite soups are the easy soups, and this miso soup version absolutely wins the Lazy Chef award for Simple and Somehow Still Amazing. My grandmother taught me a much more involved version of this soup; I will note these additions in italics.

Fifth-Generation Japanese Lazy College Student Turned Starving Artist-Educator in Worldwide Economic Crisis Miso Soup

Make 8 cups water nice and hot, but not quite boiling.
Dump in 1 packet dashi-no-moto.
Dump in 1/4 cup miso paste, doesn't matter if it's red or white or yellow or whatever. Just use the one you have on hand. Add more to taste. I usually throw in an extra tablespoon or so, 'cause I like it kinda strong.
Slice up some white or yellow onion thin as tissue and throw in half a handful.
Slice up some green onion and throw in half a handful.
Peel daikon and slice thin. Cut into bite-size pieces. Dump in.
Cube a whole brick of tofu and dump it all in. I like the soft kind, but I have to add it close to the end of the cooking process and remember not to stir too much or I end up with soft tofu confetti all up in my otherwise lovely soup.
Boil several araimo (AKA dasheen) for 5 - 10 min. Skins should then peel off easily. Add them to the pot near the end of the cooking process, so they don't dissolve.
Turn the heat down so there isn't any violent bubbling. Gently crack 4 eggs into the soup, laying them in so they stay mostly intact.
When the daikon is translucent and the eggs are cooked through the way you like them, your soup is done.
Garnish with more green onion and some sliced kamaboko too, if that's your thing.

I keep sliced white/yellow onion and sometimes sliced kamaboko in little Ziploc baggies in my fridge. I keep sliced green onion in the freezer. I use them for throwing into saimin and somen salad, but they make miso soup prep almost unnecessary.

Some additions to try:

fresh garlic, crushed and minced
freshly cracked black pepper
cubed carrots
cooked rice, after serving

Grandma's version of this soup is much more ambitious, but it truly makes the soup a meal. I remember requesting this (and only this) for one of the birthday dinners my family threw for me. At the time, I was living in the dorm at UH Manoa, going to college full-time, working two jobs, and rehearsing at the theatre every night. I was starving for food that tasted of the slow comfort of Grandma's house in my childhood. This soup is totally that.

Recession be damned. I'm thrifty-satisfied-comforted.

Nora Stephanie Dinner Salad

2008-10-06T17:16:00.000-07:00

This is a salad, but barely. More accurately, it's a list of things I like to eat raw, mostly, that happen to go well together. Nora and I made it for dinner on our very first night together in her dreamy slice of Berkeley sky she calls an apartment.

Gather together:

greens of any kind (We used mixed baby greens.)
apples, diced (But I might also suggest pear or honeydew.)
seedless grapes, halved
green onion, chopped
white onion, sliced thin as tissue
fresh parsley, torn into bits
French olives
boiled egg, whole or chopped up
walnuts

For the dressing, whisk together:

good, strong mustard
extra virgin olive oil
parmesan cheese, freshly grated
red wine (Or, use balsamic vinegar for a more tangy bite.)
dried oregano
salt and pepper to taste, freshly ground preferred

Alternately, I like to use up the dregs of my Grey Poupon or Boar's Head mustards by making this dressing right in the container. Instead of whisking, I just throw everything in and give the bottle a good shake.

Nora and I walked to the market right down the street from her place and picked out a good red wine, the produce stuffs, a good soft cheese, and a fun artisan bread. Conversation and food, crafted with care and delicious in our mouths, filled the evening. It was both a humble and fantastic opening to an amazing week in the Bay Area.

Mmmm. Thank you, dear Nora.

take a long drive with me, on California One

2008-10-04T20:12:00.000-07:00

... come join the youth and beauty brigade

San Francisco, my loves! I left my heart there.

The Mission!

Clothes Contact: "Vintage by the pound" organized by era and attitude, i.e. "Sexy Secretary," "Golden Girls," "1950s Housewife," "Dynasty." My favorite.
Idol Vintage: Stuff hanging on the walls, from the ceiling, lots of boots and hats, and a special section just for aprons!
Kilowatt: Dive bar. Darts. Beer. Jack and ginger ale. Cash only. Love it.
Pink: No sign, just a pink light outside. Decadent decor. Friendly door guy, who let us in to preview the venue just because we said it was my birthday (it wasn't) and that I'm from Hawai'i (I am). We couldn't stay, but it's on my SF to-do list. Thanks, George.
Beauty Bar: Another for the SF to-do list. Thanks again, George.
Dolores Park: Huge grassy terrace between the Mission and the Castro, featuring the summertime "Fruit Shelf" of sunbathing gays in string bikinis and 2xist undies, with roving Red Bull girls passing out chilled cans of energy. (Hail these girls quickly, before all the sugar-free ones have been taken.)
And tons more vintage shops and cute little restaurants for exploring. Just take a walk up and down Valencia Street. You'll see.

The Castro!

Chow Restaurant: Scrumptious everything, pastas, salads, sandwiches, specialty drinks including a fabulous watermelon mint cooler and a homemade lemonade that's to die for. chowfoodbar.com
Hot Cookie: HOT cookies, and the baked goods aren't bad either.
"Homo Depot": Known only by its festive nickname, this drag queen supply store provides doorknobs and patterned contact paper and lawnmowers and feathers organized by size and shade, et cetera, et cetera.
Martuni's: A curtained back room houses a piano and open mike, with gorgeous vocalist/pianist named Katy Stephan who pulls jazz standards out of her head and does a mean Smiths "Ask" rendition; also excellent dirty gin martinis and friendly-snobby staff.

Downtown!

Bloomingdale's: Obviously.
Jeremy's: Luxury and high-end vintage and consignment! AMAZING. Vintage Chanel jewelry, discount Havaianas flip-flops, consignment last-season Dries Van Noten. Shoe room with everything from Lanvin to Steve Madden. Belt cabinet with Ralph Lauren turquoise jockeying for position with Nine West. You name it. Bargain racks upstairs. Bathrooms available, but you must go through a labyrinth to reach them. jeremys.com
Yerba Buena Gardens: Featuring a giant carousel, a giant waterfall, many other picture-taking opportunities, and a "Learning Garden" where Elliot taught us to steal fresh herbs and tiny, perfect strawberries. Shhh.
Beard Papa: Right across the street from Yerba Buena. Cream puffs need no excuses.
SF Playhouse: I saw a lovely production of "Cabaret" here, featuring the very sexy Norman Muñoz and a fabulously talented ensemble cast that doubled as the orchestra. sfplayhouse.org

Touristland, AKA Ghirardelli Square area!

Ghirardelli Square itself: Concierge desk in the middle of the plaza is perfect -- you ask a question, and the info person gives you a map and puts notes all over it for your reference.
Kara's Cupcakes: All locally-sourced ingredients, all ludicrously delicious cupcakes.
Pier 39: Just down the street from Ghir Square, it's the Waikiki of SF, but the sea lions make the trip worth your while. I counted over 300 fat ones, all barking and snuffling.
Lombard Street: Freaky curvy steep little street that's worth a look, if only to catch the one crazy suburban man as he bombs it full blast with a gleefully shrieking 3-year-old in a running stroller.
Fay Park: The Plan: Grab a take-out lunch and a blanket, perhaps at the nearby Ghirardelli Square restaurants. Definitely include some cupcakes from Kara's. Walk Lombard Street. Proceed to Leavenworth and Chestnut, picnic at Fay Park, where there are roses and grassy patches and arbors and gazebos but no benches or chairs. Hence, the blanket you packed.

And finally, Berkeley!

The Cheeseboard: Pizza! Cheese! Pastry! Breads! Wine! Coop! OMG!!! cheeseboardcollective.coop
Peet's Coffee: Good ol' Peet's.
Gregoire: Best take-out ever. Limited seating on-site. French French French. gregoirerestaurant.com
Andronico's: Not just a market. Awesome produce section, cheese case, olive bar, helpful and knowledgeable staff.
Indian Rock: Gibraltar and Plymouth are no match for this one. Indian Rock is climbable. All the way at the top of Shattuck. Beautiful walk in the morning or early evening.
Yoga Kula: Huge, airy, beautiful studio right on Shattuck. As always, class quality varies by teacher. Pilates and massage also available. yogakula.com
Nora's apartment: Heaven!

I'll be back, Bay Area. And how. And soon.

Mmmbop! baa doo ba dop... ba doo BOP...

2008-09-22T21:02:00.000-07:00

Portland is every twenty-something's dream hometown. No matter how many times I end up in her lovely arms, Portland's endless warmth and candor lull me to comfort. Even after 5 weeks on the road, I was happy to hit this city before heading back to Hawai'i.

9:45 AM, Friday, September 5: touchdown PDX. Katie and I get bacon and waffles at the Original Hotcake and Steak House. Awesome, awesome, awesome. So awesome, in fact, we hit it again the next day after the bachelorette party/bachelor party crashing. Bring your own maple syrup if you need the real thang, but the brown sugar sauce they offer seems just right for the fare, actually.

3:00 PM, same day: MANI-PEDIS!! I am gay for mani-pedis. This particular occasion was also bachelorette pre-gaming, and I've never done anything so overtly girly. We took over the plush back room at Kalista Salon, and the champagne was flowing, the chocolate was passed around, and the "girl talk," oh, my! I've never discussed the intricacies of ... ahem, let's call it bedroom politicking? ... so, ah, luridly? I've reached my social estrogen quota for the year, and I'm still blushing at the memory. Also, it's 2 1/2 weeks later and my pedi is still going strong.

6:00 PM, that evening: dinner at the Mexican place two blocks away, Esparza's Tex Mex. Kitchy decor, excellent wait staff, cheap eats, nothing too special except the fried cactus. Yum, fried cactus. Oh, and tiny, powerful margaritas.

8:00 PM, that night: karaoke mainland-style, at Chopsticks. Yeah, it's the go-up-to-the-mic-in-front-of-everyone variety. I drink three or four gin martinis and have an effing blast. BTW, thanks to Katie for the mind-blowing "MmmBop" rendition.

10:30 PM, even later: assassination time! We blow by Ground Control in downtown Portland and kick our secret agents out for the manhunt. Targets are there: bachelor and revelers. Our secret agents steal their beers and run out to our awaiting getaway vehicle. I would have liked to sneak in a round of alcohol-addled pinball while there, but just couldn't with the mission at stake! Celebratory dozens of Voodoo Doughnuts cap off the wild night. As always, the magic is in the hole.

The rest of the PDX adventure was such a huge blur I can't begin to recount the details. Suffice to say there was an Italian feast for a rehearsal dinner, which was delightful.

And the following night, a beautiful wedding at the Kennedy School in Portland's NE quadrant. Katie and Michael, you've captured the formal/informal thing, absolutely. In the adjoining hotel room, we prepped and primped and playlisted. Good music = good vibes and good lookin' girls.

And of course the dancing, the drinking, the party. (That's the best man lighting up the dancefloor.)

Whew.

Sunday morning was Grandparents' Day, and I spent the brunch hours with my grandfather and aunt in Charbonneau. He regaled me with tales of his new epicurean discoveries: an infamous French-Chinese chef, berry picking in the country, the best time of year for eating in Europe. I was so happy to spend time with them and share a meal together.

Thank you, Portland, for another kick-ass time.

And the road a-winding goes

2008-09-20T02:50:00.000-07:00

... from golden gate to roaring cliffside

and the light is softly low

as our hearts become sweetly untied

I'm back, I'm back, I'm back. I'm back from Boston, Chicago, New York City, more Boston, San Francisco, and Portland, OR.

I missed:

loco mocos,
Zippy's chili,
Waiola's shave ice,
the smell of the ocean,
slack key guitar and the baritone resonance of Hawaiian vowels in major chord progressions,
my car,
throwing shakas at drivers that let me merge, and
speaking Pidgin to other Pidgin-speakers.

I now miss:

using "Yankees suck" as a greeting,
24-hour everything,
vegan/organic/local/grass-fed/free-range whatever at the corner store,
Spike's Junkyard Dogs,
"chowdah" and lobster rolls,
cheap shit at Marc Jacobs stores,
second-hand shops,
girls that dress up for walks in the park,
drunken jam sessions/pickup basketball games/political debates over BBQ grills, all at 3 AM,
big museums,
big carousels,
when the fog rolls in, and
subways.

(I'm deliberately not mentioning friends here. Both lists would be far too long to read if I typed them all here. You understand.)

Overall, I am reminded to be myself, to celebrate the things about me that are of Hawai'i, and to fortify the things about me that are not. To allow myself to cultivate the parts of me that so closely identify with NYC's pace, with Boston's ethic, with San Francisco's personality and pride.

A note to the continent: I'll see you in May. Make room for me.

Coming soon: notes on my travels, finally

No, I won't be seeing you for a long while

2008-08-08T11:31:00.000-07:00

... I hope it's not as long as these country miles.

It's amazingly hard to post while I'm traveling. I'll take a little break from this little blog, and maybe only put up little things here and there whenever I can. No big journal-like narratives, just notes.

Some great things from our adventure in Boston yesterday:

Brattle Street!

Cambridge area, take Red Line to Harvard.
L.A. Burdick (handmade chocolate, cafe w/ pastries and coffee) burdickchocolate.com
Concepts men's boutique (YSL sneakers, Margiela, etc.)
Colonial Drug (rare and specialty fragrances, soaps, mink shaving brushes, etc.)
Brattle Theatre (independent, rare, international films) brattlefilm.org
American Apparel (just in case)
Tealuxe (no cafe sandwiches at this location, but good good tea)

Chinatown!

3 Beach St., 2nd floor, Buddha's Delight (awesome vegetarian Chinese food, on the cheap)

I love this town.

a return to Mookie...

2008-07-20T11:02:00.000-07:00

I love that dog.

I love last night's Oni-Oko-Ori Party! I also love the party website Matt set up at writeboard.com. Additionally, I love writeboard.com.

Again at Matt's borrowed swanky digs in Kane'ohe, a gathering of yummy food and yummy friends. Dog-bathing by Ross kicked off the evening, and rice-burning by Matt. Fresh produce from the Saturday farmer's market at KCC, provided by Karly, colored and flavored our dish of the evening, okonomiyaki! Here's the how:

Okonomiyaki

okonomi = "as you like"
yaki = "grilled"

The base of okonomiyaki is an eggy, cabbagey, pancake batter-like moosh. And really, based on the definition, you can stick anything you want in these lovely pizza-omelet things. We used these ingredients:

For the base: 1 part okonomiyaki mix + 1 part potato starch; lots and lots of eggs; 1/2 head shredded cabbage

Green onion, diced
White onion, diced
Green bell pepper, diced
Tomato, diced
Basil, torn into small pieces
Eggplant, small slices
Natto
Scallops
Bacon
For the toppings: okonomiyaki sauce, bonito flakes, hana ebi, shichimi togarashi

Whisk together about 3 forkfuls of mix/starch and 1 egg, which makes the perfect amount of batter for one 10" pan-sized piece.
Dump a whole bunch of shredded cabbage in there, to desired consistency. That's your blank canvas.
Go nuts with all the other ingredients.
Cook about 3 minutes on each side.
For the bacon, I like to put the slices on the pan first and then pour the batter on top, so the bacon crisps up.

We also made dessert ones:

Bananas, sliced or chunked
Marshmallows, sliced
Chocolate chips
Toppings: maple syrup, kinako

Of course, you leave out the cabbage part of the base for the dessert version. Unless you're Richard, in which case, you might even throw some natto in there for good measure.

Libations? Vodka lemonades. Not a tasty pairing, but an effective one.

Music? Another Matt contribution: pandora.com, custom web-radio based on the "music genomes" of criteria you provide. We put in "Dr. Dre" and all I can say is the resulting playlist was VERY HOT TUB APPROPRIATE.

The Warm Tub was ultra sexy, mostly because it's a cozy one and no one shaved their legs, including Karly and I. Mmm, chafing. Somehow, from there we moved the party into the TV-viewing area where Matt put on "Cube." "Cube" is like "Saw," but more sci-fi. A bunch of people are stuck inside booby-trapped cubes and they try to get out before they get murdered to death. The movie features brain-melting exposition moments like, "I'm a doctor!" and "I'm a cop!" and "We must be here for a reason!" A true art flick, and a perfect nightcap.

(Hopefully I'll learn how to post not-huge photos on here and then can show the world the Ross Jackson as Dr. Frank N. Furter pics from Thursday night's MVT "Rocky Horror Show" adventure. Panties, fishnets, pearls, 16-year-old girls -- all over Ross. Update soon.)

I like big dogs and I cannot lie...

2008-07-14T22:10:00.000-07:00

I love dessert parties, especially when they're with good friends at a beautiful location. This particular dessert party also featured a dog. A big, fuzzy, and ultra-dignified dog named Mookie. (Mookie doesn't even have toys. That's how hardcore Mookie is.)

Dear Matt is house-sitting a gorgeous little place in Kane'ohe, which overlooks the bay with picture windows pointed due east to frame the rising sun. Wow. In this fantastic, cozy place lives Mookie and a lovely kitchen.

We watched kung fu movies courtesy of Ross and the House That Porn Built. Karly made yummy sugar-roasted apples and pears. Richard made jokes. Ross and I made a delicious pumpkin mochi, based on a butter mochi recipe. It's easy as pie.. no wait, easier. Try it yourself.

Pumpkin Mochi

1 can (29 oz) packed pumpkin
1 can (14 oz) sweetened condensed milk
2 blocks butter, melted
4 eggs, beaten
2 t vanilla extract

1 box (10 oz) + 1/4 c mochiko
2 c sugar
2 t baking powder
1-1/2 t pumpkin spice
1/2 t cinnamon

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.
Combine wet ingredients. Use a big bowl, big enough for all the dry stuff too.
Combine dry ingredients.
Add dry ingredient mixture to wet ingredient mixture.
Bake 1 hour.
Let rest, until you can't stand it and need to put some in your mouth.

I absolutely LOVE recipes that are "gather these things, dump them in a bowl, and bake" level of difficulty. This is totally one of 'em.

Karly: I want your baked apples and pears notes.

Karly most often cooks by her senses instead of by science. Smell, feel, watch, taste. Add this, add that. Smell feel watch taste, again. Repeat until everything's just right. I also love recipes like that -- less a codified procedure and more a list of carefully edited suggestions. They're "not-recipes," if you will.

Friends and love and food. Delicious and comforting all around.

Richard's Ultra-Comforting Linguica Rice

2008-07-14T15:11:00.000-07:00

Could not be easier, could not be more Attleboro, MA, suburban Portuguese.

Gather together:

10 cups cooked white rice, leftover rice is fine
2 large linguica, or about 20 oz. total, browned in a pan with rendered fat drained
3 cans Campbell's pork and beans
2 cans tomato paste, use more or less to taste
1 large onion, diced
several cloves fresh garlic, minced
salt and pepper to taste, fresh ground is always best
Tabasco to taste

That's it. I mean, add whatever you like, too. I envision diced green bell peppers at some point. Maybe even a spicier pepper, like a serrano or jalapeno, all minced up with the seeds. Mmmm.

The synthesis:

Dump everything into a huge stew pot on medium heat, except for 1-1/2 cans of pork and beans. The beans like to melt in the cooking process, so pour those in at the last minute so they stay beany. Give them just enough time to come to temperature, that's it.

Stir.

Serve.

Eat.

Or, do what I do: sit down with a towel in your lap and eat it from the pot.

life is a journey

2008-07-10T10:55:00.000-07:00

It was a lovely lazy day yesterday. Nice and simple. Late rise. We wore shorts and T-shirts and rubba slippas in honor of summer vacation. Lunch at W&M on Wai'alae. Running errands, but slowly, enjoying the ways to and fro. Brief shopping expedition. (And when Richard and I shop, we shop.) More errands. Late dinner at Murphy's. Long drive home, then packing packing packing. We're packing Richard up for his upcoming pharmacy school career in Boston. I'm sad about it and strange things are happening to my brain. I couldn't bring myself to help him fold clothes into the moving boxes. It's such a simple thing, and I couldn't do it. It made me too sad. It's silly, and not.

I haven't been posting. Sorry. I've been out of sorts. I'm better now.

To come, soon: Richard's Delicious Comforting Linguica Rice

(He's cooking dinner tonight. Yay!)

T-shirts, cut-offs, and a pair of thongs

2008-06-30T16:25:00.000-07:00

... we've been having fun all summer long

I waited to post about this weekend and now I wish I didn't. So many things happened, so many fabulous things. I will attempt to enumerate, but my dears, please add your thoughts. Or else I will miss too many lovely moments on this little page.

Friday kicked off with a camping expedition to Mokule'ia which featured a vicious bonfire that spat embers at everyone. Andrew Scott fiercely overdrank, to adorable effect. Although I don't generally condone boozing yourself blind, if you're going to do it, take lessons from Andrew. Dan Weaver made bespoke s'mores, toasting marshmallows with his bare fingers, and sustained a water bottle assault barrage from the lovely and incensed Pomai. Matt and Ross wrestled mightily in the sand, shirtless and filthy and not gay. Ara perhaps claimed "Quote of the Night" honors with this gem: "When I'm drunk I turn into a flaming queen." (Actually, Leah gets the real "Quote of the Night" hands down, but we won't discuss that here. Too dirty.)

On to Saturday: we all stayed up way too late and got up way too early. Morning was fantastic. I think Ross and I were the only ones awake to see the early, evanescent, red sparkling edges of the sunrise clouds. Kite-flying and ocean-plunging ensued. Richard still runs like a girl with a kite, even though it was a mean 5-foot shark kite. A hearty brunch at Koa Pancake House in Wahiawa sustained us for the weary journey back to Honolulu civilization.

That afternoon, Mish hosted a darling little get-together for a handful of warm souls. In her cozy corner of the world, we sat amongst her beauty paraphernalia, chatted and giggled, and ate her yummy fresh pico de gallo to our hearts' content.

Mish Moneypenny's Pico de Gallo

MISHNOTE: "Choose the healthiest options because you care about your loved ones."

1 medium onion

2 medium tomatoes, or 3 roma

2 -4 jalapeno or serrano peppers

1/4 c fresh cilantro, finely chopped and crushed

1 lime's worth of juice

salt to taste

Dice everything.
Pour boiled water over the diced onion in a strainer.
Jumble everything together in a container with a cover.
Mish says, "Let marinate in the fridge for at least an hour before serving to experience the awesome that is pico de gallo."

Thanks, my Mishy.

Saturday night was a Next Door night, with Blue Scholars headlining. Richard and Lawyer Chris plied me with liquor until I was uppity and impatient. I am at times not the most festive drunk. I'll have to learn from Andrew Scott. Long story short, the crowd and openers featured way too many camera phones, way too long between acts, way too many people just standing there when the MCs said "dance," way too many shouts out to "screeeeeaaam" and "GET THOSE HANDS UP." Seriously. I was rolling my eyes skyward every ten seconds. Fortunately, Blue Scholars MC Geologic dropped me some wisdom right before he clambered up onstage and grabbed the mic: "Yo, let's have fun, a'right?" Well, color me ashamed. I decided then that even if the crowd was lame, I was gonna listen and appreciate and dance and whatever if I felt like it. The Blue Scholars held it tight and got the place alive. I bounced and sweated like a champ with those masses of badly dressed fatties for the rest of the night. Thanks, Jake the Snake.

Sunday morning: Ryan Miyash's birthday slash Leah's last weekend in HI slash Matt's first weekend back in HI slip 'n' slide bash at my house. Woke up late and still drunk. Richard and I hele'd over to Costco for last-minute food and supplies. Soon after we arrived back at home, Ryan Miyash rolled up and helped us set up our double slip 'n' slide racer and blow-up whale pool with giant sprinkler. Next came Leah and Ross and 10 giant water guns and a million water balloons/grenades. In quick succession, in who knows what order, came Lyle, Jen Tam, Darth Vader Tam, Tommy McCurdy, Tash and Natasha, Chris and Bonnie, Aly, Aaronvb, Dan, Pomai, Mish, Virgi, Aren, and Matt. Potluck insanity with the overflowing food table. Highlights: bacon-wrapped asparagus by Leah and Jen Tam, and cheesecake carrot cake with frosting and toasted coconut and crushed nuts.

Bacon-Wrapped Asparagus a la Leah et Jen Tam

bacon

asparagus

salt and pepper

Preheat oven to 500. Cut the nasty thick dry ends off asparagus spears. Take one asparagus and one strip of bacon. Wrap bacon around asparagus. Repeat until you run out. Salt and pepper to taste. Lay those bad boys out on a foil-lined baking sheet and keep 'em in the oven until the aroma makes you insane for a bite. I might try this with a maple syrup drizzle sometime.

(BONNIE! I want that cheesecake carrot cake recipe. Give it.)

Insanity with the slip 'n' slide. Team Matt and Ross won men's pairs in the style category. Check Ryan's myspace for pics of their awards displayed on their swim shorts crotches. I'm not sure who won the water gun/balloon/grenade war, but there were at least four Mexican standoffs, Reservoir Dogs-style. Water gun in hand, Richard held Aly hostage and used Her Tinyness as a shield. Mish led a pole dancing workshop. Local jokes were told. Pidgin was spoken. Jan ken po occurred. Jen Tam and Mish did manicures on the blankets in the grass. Then we warred again. Then we ate more. Then we said goodbye to most of the townies and went inside for Wii Rock Band action. Then we ate more. Then someone suggested we caravan to Mililani theatres to watch Wall-E. So we did. And then, finally, we all went home. A 12-hour party? Certainly.

OK, this post is infinity scrolling. Thanks, everyone, for the best weekend in years. I definitely let my hair down here, but it was so worth it. Love.

yes, these are a few of my favorite things

2008-06-27T23:32:00.000-07:00

Friends and food.

Last night was a dreamy whirl of domestic goodness. Killing time before picking up Matt from the airport, I read the 'gluten-free girl' blog for hours. As I pored over her recipes and stories, I decided that dammit I was going to cook a gluten-free meal for the lovely and gluten-intolerant Matt.

I made a list and went to the store. I shanghaied Ross' enormous kitchen. I rallied the gorgeousness of Leah and Karly to come by and add to the bliss. Then, we picked up Matt at HNL and ambushed him with a welcome party of cool bean salad, corn chips, miso salmon, steamed veggies, strawberries, and sake. I presented Matt with a jar of creamy peanut butter. He took the hint and obliged by turning out a batch of perfect flourless PB cookies (from a fabulous 'gluten-free girl' recipe).

No wheat flour, just deliciousness. Mmmmm.

Recipes for you, for the stuff I made:

Cool Bean Salad

2 cans black beans

1 can garbanzo beans

1 can cannellini beans

1 small can corn

2 roma or other small tomatoes

3 green onions

1 bell pepper

2 cloves garlic, minced

2 T sugar

olive oil

balsamic vinegar

salt & pepper

Open the cans and drain 'em. Dice the big stuff. Use the oil and vinegar and salt and pepper to taste. Dump everything in a big Tupperware with a lid and shake it. Chill it if you have time.

Good alone as a salad, or with chips like salsa.

Miso Salmon

4 lbs salmon, about 1" thick pieces, cut as big as you are hungry

1 c miso paste

1 T sesame seed

1 T mirin

1/4 c gluten-free soy sauce (or regular, whatever)

1/4 c sugar

grated ginger to taste

green onion, chopped

Dump everything in a big Tupperware with a lid. Moosh it about. Let marinate 20 min. Line a baking pan with foil. Broil marinated salmon on highest rack for 5 - 7 min. Die of happiness when you eat it.

I'm thinking of doing a vegan version of this. Tofu seems obvious. Any other ideas?