I Stopped Holding My Breathe a Long Time Ago
From an undisclosed Christian college in the great northeastern state of Pennsylvania:

Dear Mr. Mather:
Thanks you very much for speaking with us regarding the position of Resident Director at __________ College. Those who spoke with you were impressed with your experience and interest in ____________ College. You presented yourself effectively.

I wanted you to know as soon as possible that the College has decided that we will not be offering a position to you at this time. Although this may be a disappointment, we wanted you to have this information now so that you will feel free to pursue other opportunities.

Sincerely,
[Director of Human Resources]

Maybe He Smoked Some of A-Ville's Finest

For my Asheville friends:

http://sportsillustrated.cnn.com/2006/baseball/more/06/26/manager.ejection.ap/index.html?cnn=yes

Sudoku and Hair Cuts Go Together

When I'm home, I get my hair cut by my Mom's barber. Actually, she's not so much a barber as she is a stylist. This stylist's name is Jean and her salon is called Ilima's. (When I was younger, I accidentally called Jean "Ilima" because when Mom said "I'm going to Ilima's for a haircut" I used to think that that was what the stylist's name was). I have been going to Ilima's for the last 4 years for at least two reasons: (1) My Mom decided after 14 years of giving me haircuts that she was no good at it. (2) I failed miserably in my only endeavor to cut my own hair. Also, Jean is really, really nice. She always has something nice to say about our family. In fact, every time I go to Ilima's I am sure to hear these two favorable statements:

(1) "Oh your sister she is so amazing. I still cannot believe that she would clean people's houses during the summer. I mean, what a gal, yeah?"
(2) "Do you have a girl up there yet? ... Oh that's too bad. But how can that be? You have such pretty eyes. I mean, ________ look at his eyes! Gorgeous, yeah?"

This is an Old Hawai'i experience for you.


Anyway, I went to said Ilima's last Friday to get my hair cut by the aforementioned Jean. There are two things which are important to understand here. First, Jean has been cutting hair for over 100 years. Second, Jean has regular customers, most of them older Japanese women, who come in on "their" day during the week for "the usual." By this I mean that certain women come every Monday, certain ones come every Tuesday, etc. etc. and on that day they get the usual - a perm, coloring, a trim, a washing, or whatever. It's kind of a like a city diner, but for hair.

Sometimes the regulars come in on their "off" days to help Jean sweep the shop or to talk story. More often than not, this leads to interesting experiences. For example, during past haircuts at Ilima's I have heard discussions about vertigo, pre-marital sex, and... President Bush being a spy for Texas. This last time led to another gem:

The woman sitting next to me has just had her hair done and is not sitting next to me in one of those chairs where the hair dryer thing or whatever comes from over your head. She is asleep. I am reading the comics. All of a sudden:

"Eh! Hey! Hey you! Hey you boy! Yoohoo! Hey!

"Eh?"

"Hey you! You know dat da kine, da Japanese puzzle they have in da newspaper? You know what I talkin' about?"

"Yeah. Da, um, sudoku puzzles yeah?"

"Yeah dat one. You good at dat or what?"

"Hyeh. No, I'm not. I not smart enough."

"Oh yeah? Yeah... Yeah I can see that yeah. I tried 'em one time too but too hard for me. You know why? They just too hard yeah?"

"Yeah. I have a roommate who likes those kine, but I not smart enough for those."

"Oh yeah? Ho."

She falls back asleep.

Lost in Translation
Living in Hawai'i is often equated with living in paradise. And, as advertised, we have beautiful islands, beautiful people, and beautiful weather. Unfortunately, at least two things stick out as decidedly non-paradise-ish about living in Hawai'i. The first is the cost of living. If you are looking to purchase a 3bedroom/2bath home in Hawai'i, and also happen to be the ruler of a small nation, you should probably be aware that your entire national budget would be used up in the purchase. It makes sense, since we live on just a handful of tiny islands, but land is incredibly expensive here. Also, gas prices in Hawai'i are so high above the national average that even Jan Koller felt small when he filled up his rental car at the local gas station (Shout out! World Cup!) I kid you not: it costs a heck of a lot to live in Hawai'i.

So that's the first thing. The second ugly blot on Hawai''si paradise resumè has to do with the fact that we are bad drivers. We are don't-turn-on-the-blinker bad, get-in-stupid-accidents bad, and don't-obey-basic-rules-of-the-road bad. But the biggest reason why I hate driving in Hawai'i stems from the fact that, in stark contrast to our reputation as a very laid back and hospitable state, drivers in Hawai'i tend to take everything that happens on the road very, very personally. If you cut someone off, whether bruddah, sistah, aunty, or uncle, there is a reasonable chance that you will get more than just stink-eye. At no time was this more clearly demonstrated than, well, yesterday.

Yesterday evening I was driving myself and my two younger brothers to church in our mommy van. To make a highly detailed explanation of the scenario extremely vague and not at all helpful, I turned on to the highway by our house and incurred the wrath of the occupants of a Little Gray Honda. Basically, Little Gray Honda wanted to move over a lane in order to turn into the shopping center by our house. I entered the highway and began to accelerate in this lane, however, because the lane is not your typical acceleration lane which ends after 50 yards or so. Rather, it is its very own lane set aside for people (like me) who are seeking to enter the highway from this particular street (like we were). Confused? Don't be. Basically I am just trying to establish that I was in no way at fault for what happened next.

What happened next was that Little Gray Honda sped up and matched speeds with us so that we were even with one another. The following took place in the span of two seconds:

5:20.34PM - I glance over. I see an extremely angry-looking man in the driver's seat.
5:20.34.4PM - Also, I see a woman. She has chosen to extend the central finger of her right hand toward the heavens in a salute to what she perceives as my deficiency of automobile-driving skill and etiquette. I do not know this woman, but if I could give her a name I would not name her "Joy" or "Harmony." In short, she is not a Proverbs 31 woman.
5:20.34.8PM - Troubled that this woman has, sadly, misinterpreted my decision to even exist in bodily form as a direct insult against the very fabric of her soul, I give her a sheepish grin.
5:20.35PM - My gesture is lost in translation. In retrospect, I can only speculate that she may have misinterpreted my polite smile as a categorically inappropriate, sexually-charged comment about her mother. (This is false).
5:20.35.8PM - As I accelerate ahead and Angry Man begins to slow down, the Maiden of the Little Gray Honda appears to suggest, though I may have mis-read her lips, that I go "Chuck a ewe!"

She must have forgotten that land out here is too expensive for sheep-herding.