The Mother of all Sum-Ups

Holy crap, it's been a month since I posted.  Ugh. *sigh* *chugs beer* *burp* *sighs again*  (I remember Leffe) *deep sigh*

Really though, to all of the faithful Cameronomiconistas Cameronomichronologists Cameronomists Cameronauts¹ readers out there, I'd like to apologize.  I should not have taken this long to write again.  But I realized this morning while driving back from town (with several buckets of slop rolling around in the back and my trusty potato rake riding shotgun) that the sheer bulk of what I'd like to write about is so intimidating that I just can't write about it.  I can't.  It's too much.  It'd be a book, and at this point, it would be a bad one that no one would read (except maybe those WonderBrains who green lit the Magic 8-ball movie... *sigh* *chugs another beer*). So instead, so I can get on with my normal evenings again, and can start writing about things that are happening now instead of in some inexact "then", I'm going to totally rock you with a sum-up.

ROCK! *throws adding machine in the creek*

(FYI: It's still going to be way to crazy long)



OK.....  Let's see...  I see my last post was just after Flag Day.  That explains a lot.  I've got a weird relationship with Flag Day.  Throws everything out of kilter for a bit.  Anyone else get that? I didn't think so.  Anyway, I guess you could say that for a couple of weeks there, I was just kinda reeling around mostly unaware of anything.  Ameena came out to visit again, with her boyfriend who I thought was named Ka-Lel (I really thought that's what he introduced himself as), but I was later informed that his name is actually Hillel, which may or may not make more sense.  All I know was that for the few hours we spent together I successfully refrained from (nearly) shouting, even though I wanted to every time he spoke, "Son of Jor-El, kneel before Zod!"  In retrospect. I'm quite glad I never said it aloud, although I'm sure Hillel must think I'm a very cheery person what with all of that grinning I was doing.

Shortly after that, TheMatt showed up.  Knowledge of his arrival inspired me to finish the shower here at the yurt before he got here.

For those of you on the mainland, I know what you're thinking.  You're thinking "If that's all it took, why didn't you take the day to finish the shower before?"  Good point.  But let me fill you in on the Cameron 3-step Weight Loss Plan:
Step 1: Live 600+ feet from your toilet, shower, fridge, stove, etc.
Step 2: Make sure there's at least a 40-foot drop down to a river and then back up again between where you live and where you shower, use the toilet, cook, etc.
Step 3: Watch the pounds melt away.

It's like magic.

For those of you in Hilo, I also know what you're thinking.  You're thinking "You've always had a shower: it's called 'going outside.'"  Good point.  But since the neighbors presented me with that petition to quit running around naked in the rain no matter how much weight I'd claimed I'd lost, I kinda had to give up on that one.

So I finished the shower.  Hot water and everything.  I, of course, celebrated by having a beer in it.  Because, as a reportedly wise man once said to a guy I once knew, who happened to repeat it to another guy I once knew, at a time I happened to be within eavesdropping distance in a very interesting bar in some faraway place: "You can't drink a beer in the pool, but you can drink a beer in the shower."  I have no idea what that means, but I've lived my life by those words, and I reveled in them when the shower was finally built.

Anyway, shower done and ready (toilet was done months ago - I'd reached my target weight), TheMatt arrived.

For the record *cough*, TheMatt is the third person to visit me here.  *throat clearing* He was also
the *ahem* *real cough* *coughing fit* (sorry, I'm just now getting over a cold) *chugs beer*.  As I was saying, he was also the second person to visit me....13 months earlier!  That's right...  I can count the visits I've had in the 16 (or so) months I've been here on 3/5ths of my left hand (and that's the boring one).  The point? I've been busy, of course.  What with all the running around naked, neighborhood petitions, potato-rake sharpening and such, I frankly haven't made enough time for visitors.  Sorry about that.  I've made a note of adding "create more visitor time" to my to-do list.  I'll get around to it sometime.

At any rate, TheMatt came out to visit.  We had  a good time.  Last time he was out, we saw some sights, did some general touristy stuff, we put him to work planting pineapples on the farm for an afternoon, and beyond that, we mostly bobbed along calmly in the ocean snorkeling.  It was good times.  This visit, though, we took it in a completely different direction.  He'll probably never be back.

First we went body-boarding at Honoli'i.  The waves were relatively average, with very calm waters and the occasional good set rolling in.  In my mind, it was a nice, low-key kinda day.  Good for teaching a newbie.  TheMatt, in all of his graciousness, claimed to have a good time.  In retrospect, I think he felt like it was the least pleasurable thing he'd ever experienced in the ocean (and this coming just two days after having [understandably] the proverbial snot scared out of him by a sea snake while snorkeling on Oahu).  We were out there for a couple of hours, and while I think he enjoyed the new experience (mostly enjoyed the merits that he'd survived it), I think it kinda beat him up a bit.

So the next day, we went to Waipio Valley, which is a very pristine and beautiful place about an hour north of here.  I'd never been before, and it's been on my list of places to see for a while, so we went.  We knew that we couldn't drive in (that was part of the appeal - not super touristy) because the road in was so steep.  If you don't have a vehicle with 4WD-LO, you can't get in.  It's that simple.  Sounded appealing.  We got to the parking area, and when a say "parking area" I mean "neighborhood street where the road falls off of the hill."

  At the point where the road dives, there was a little shack that doubles as a ranger station on the left side of the road, and an interpretive center (Annie, be proud, if you've read this far) on the right.  We went to the interpretive center first, on the sole reason that it had a bathroom (we'd had a lot of coffee with breakfast).  My thoughts are that they made the pathways to and from the toilets and subsidiary informational signs especially steep to dissuade people from making the trek down to the valley floor.  Good thinking on their part, I must say.  Upon a less-determined person, the ploy may have worked.  But since I had just received what may be perhaps the most important and applicable restroom wisdom ever² (see image below), I was undaunted, and we chose to descend.

I realize at this point I'm starting to wander off from my "sum-up" intent, and I've got to rein it in a bit.  But first I've got to tell you this bit:
Before going in, I insisted we stop at the "ranger station" on the other side of the road.  The nice lady there said "Are you Samson?"  Ummm..... No.  So I said, "Ummm..... No."  Turns out that the Ranger, a very lovely woman named Tisha, was making a joke about my Missing Delilah t-shirt I was wearing (because that's the shirt I always wear if I think I'm getting my picture taken).  I had to respect that.  Good reference, and way better than the line I usually use to explain it³.

Back to the sum up:
We walked down the hill.  And what a hill.  I know people always complain about walking uphill, but this place really gives you a good appreciation for a good downhill as well.  Sure, the uphill kicks your butt on the way out, but the butt-kicking the downhill gives you quietly messes you up for over a week.  This road is a 25% grade for about a mile.  EVIL.
Anyway, once down, we saw the island's tallest waterfall (1600'), a nice hidden waterfall after a hike along the rocky shore (about a half a mile each way), a river, a beach, and a really stellar looking woman in a bikini (presumably not always there).  After that, we walked (with many breaks) out again. After 3.25 heart attacks, 4 Academy-worthy performances (2 each, acting like we weren't as tired as we were for pretty women descending as we were ascending) and about 5 gallons of water, we made it to the top, and logically decided we needed a steak dinner.  We turned right out of Honoka'a, and headed to Waimea, home and headquarters of the Parker Ranch, the biggest privately owned cattle ranch in the U.S.  If you don't count walking into Waipio, this was mistake #1.

Somehow, by some weird twist of fate, every steak house in Waimea was either closed until dinner, closed permanently, had changed names, or had relocated halfway across the island but still had it's Waimea address online.  Strangest thing I'd ever seen.    Eventually an executive decision was made to go to the Pakini Grill, which had mysteriously taken over the address of a listed steakhouse, and was chosen because:
A) it had the word "grill" in it's name
and
B) it had a sign out front that said "Voted best in the world....by my mom."

Who could resist that?

Normally we could, that's who, but we were tired, sweaty, hungry, frustrated, and in need of beer.  So we went in.

They had one single steak on the menu, and they were asking some astronomical amount of dollars for it.  Obviously cashing in on the recent lack of steakhouses in Waimea.  By a serious stroke of good luck, though, we were there for Happy Hour, and had 50% off of drinks and selected appetizers.  We had the largest beers they could legally offer, and an order of wontons and an order of Tinono.

A word on Tinono:  Neither of us had had it before, and from that point on, we feel sorry for anyone who's never had it.  It's amazing.  You know that part in the bible where Moses and the former slaves are wandering around the desert forever, and God sends manna down to all of them? Yeah, well, tinono is kinda like that, only with pork and onions, and all kinda of other non-kosher kinds of things, but it is the well-spring of life, and if you have the means, you should have some now.  And then again later. It's that good.

So after some consideration, and the decision to not order  a fourth round of Tinono, we drove to Hilo to find a steak there.  We had a nice long talk on the way, about life, the universe, and everything, and the sum-up version is quite Sobchakian: "Say what you will about Great Magnetism, at least it's an ethos!"

We finally found a steak in Hilo where most steaks are hiding these days: in a seafood restaurant.

A day or two later, TheMatt and I also went to South Point with Kaleo, which was an interesting drive, a pretty location (although thoroughly covered in litter by tourists, which was disheartening, but there were also no trash cans/rubbish bins available, and that was also disheartening).  After dealing with my depression, we walked somewhere between three and four miles through the desert (yes, a desert adjacent to the ocean - come visit if you don't believe me :p ) to one of the few green sand beaches on the planet.  The thought of it makes me thirsty and dejected. *chugs beer*  *sigh*

After the proper ratio of visit to travel time (1:10,000), we walked back.

Then we took TheMatt to CostCo and the airport in Kona, as one does.

(hang on, it's almost over) *chugs beer*


For the 3rd and 4th of July, I participated fully in a neighborhood tradition of an Imu.  Sure, the imu part is just the cooking, but it's kinda become synonymous with the whole party involved.  I was hoping to write heaps and heaps about this, and I'm sure sometime I will, but right now it's just kinda getting in the way.  But the basic idea is this.  On the evening of the 3rd, people get together at Steve's place and do the food prep.  This is really interesting, and all but requires the consumption of beer.  You prepare all of the meats and veggies that will be cooked the next day.  The next morning, you go to Gordie and Flavia's place around 5:30 and start the fire.  Rocks are added to retain heat.  Once the fire is good (around 7:30) you remove the burning wood, cover the rocks and embers with banana stumps, and then add the food.  You cover all of this with banana leaves, then a tarp, and then bury the thing.  The magic time from then is "3:30!!!!!"  The food is uncovered, and consumed with as much beer as you can handle (or not, your choice).  Tis good times all the way around.

To give an idea of scope, this year we cooked 6 chickens, 2 pork tenderloins, 2 pork butts, 1 turkey, 1 ham, some lamb, yams, sweet potatoes, pumpkins, and sweet corn, amongst all of the other dishes that people brought.  Someday I'll do a proper write-up of it.  I really intended to.  Things (and time) just got in the way.  Sorry about that. *sigh* *chugs beer*

So those are the highlights of what's been happening.  June and July are crazy months.

Thanks for the attentiveness, trusty Cameronomiconos Cameronimiçois Cameronologists¹ readers.  I'll write less more often.  Or at least I'll try to.  Threaten me with your potato rakes if I don't.  Works every time.

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¹ Ok...  if there's any interest in giving yourselves a name, lemme know in the comments.  Otherwise, I'll start getting creative.  *evil grin* *chugs beer*

² I'll admit it, I'm a total addict to public bathroom graffiti.  I've never contributed, because I don't think I have the wisdom yet, but I like to think that when I'm in my 60's I'll always have a Sharpie in my pocket, I'll walk into every public restroom I see, and I'll pass along all that I've learned.

³ While the explanations have varied over the years, and also depend on the assumptions of the inquisitor, for the straight-up "What does your shirt mean?" question, I've recently started replying "It's a protest against my favorite porn star's retirement."  That usually stops the questions.