Two days ago, four became five. Yesterday, five became a dozen. The wedding party arrived along with Nadia, the maid of honor, the flower girl, Chris, Garth, Thien, Kat and Alex. Tomorrow at 8 am we’re scrambling down to the beach to see our friends get married. Stoked.
Beau and I cycled from Kailua to Waimea Bay, rode back with David and Krissy before meeting up with the new arrivals and spending the evening on a sailing canoe.
Fact: diving off a sailing canoe with friends is the best way to spend an evening. Thanks to the chi.mp folks for their generosity! We met up at the Outrigger Canoe Club near Diamond Head and promptly forgot djchall on the beach. We turned around, picked him and one other straggler up before heading out into the Waikiki harbor. From the boat we could see all of Waikiki stretched out along the coast, patches of sunshine and rainstorms alternating down the coast. We saw rainbows, watched the sunset, got caught in a couple rain showers, dove to the bottom, did backflips and cannonballs, drank beer and basically just had an awesome time. Later, after sushi we hosted everyone at our house, then moved the party to the beach. Night swimming FTW!
I am seriously behind on my music consumption. Toof and Dan’s unread postings in my feed reader are stacking up, I’m a week late (and counting) delivering a mixtape for July, and mainly just enjoying large quantities of doing nothing on the island.
I’m itching to remix Frank Turner:
release hack. It’s small tiny and cool and open-source and a little disruptive and hopefully useful.
Also, Obama is here tomorrow!
Edit: Someone wants to buy my art. Woot!
Feeling particularly lonely today.
Floaters, third-culture kids, sojourners. David Brooks’ op-ed yesterday describes in succinct detail why Barack Obama’s status as all of these appeals to me.
(via Plexifilm + Simon Wistow)
Hawaii Five-O! Being in Oahu, a child of the 80s, and subject to the constant onslaught of Lost theoreticians, a common inhabitant of The Internets, I’m constantly pricked by subtle reminders of television: Ferraris in Waikiki evoking Magnum, P.I., the pork-belly lava cliffs of Makapu‘u no-longer tread by Jack and Kate on a trip around the Island, and the North Shore and freeways, unable to speak for themselves find voice in every single guidebook we’ve brought. I’m unsure how to react to the assumption of the writers about their readers—not only familiar with Hawaii Five-O, but television being the zenith of common experience.
Speaking of bellies, mine is now well sunburnt from our trip to Diamond Head. Learned to surf! Yeah!
We rented surfboards from the very excellent Kimo’s Surf Hut in Kailua, and tomorrow we’re renting road bikes from The Bike Shop for a ride north, counterclockwise around the windward coast to Kaena Point. To pair with The Bike Shop, there’s also The Bus (warning: site crashes Safari).
I wish you could rent diesel or hybrid cars on the island. I also wish there was a diesel series hybrid car with all-wheel drive that got a million MPG. And while we’re at it, world peace and a pony.
The in-jokes have multiplied, variously contributed to via card games with Melody and Red Stripe and hypoglycemic drives to Waikiki. We found a better organic food store, their proprietor referring to The Other Place as having “old” items on the shelves, and “not so nice” produce. We concurred, and pillaged their stock of Aloe for The Sunburn before heading back to the ranch for dinner interleaved with episodes of Top Gear and Project Runway. Typographically speaking, Bravo’s interstitials were kind of pleasing, not unlike the Pepsi Slurpee I also had yesterday. Guilty pleasures, indeed.
I miss my track bike.