Esoteric Bowl

I’m so not into watching the Olympics. I realize there are some people that actually look forward to watching the pageantry of the opening ceremonies, and there are those that believe the games are a way of celebrating our humanity.

On the micro level of the Olympic games, there are always a handful of compelling stories of personal triumph, amateur athletes that have risen beyond the odds to succeed. But between those heartwarming stories, we increasingly hear more about steroids and illegal drug use, greedy professional athletes participating in the games, partisan judges, Wheaties-box-envy, endorsement injustice, and nasty fans allowing their nationalistic pride to get in the way of sportsmanship.

On the macro level of the Olympic games, the Olympics has become very much like the Christmas holiday; A genuine good idea at it’s core, hijacked by large corporations seeking another way to make profits.

It also feels odd to be having the Olympic games when half the world is at war. There should be a some written rule that prohibits Olympic participation when a country is at war. Seeing how the Olympics is a golden egg for many corporations, and how they would hate to loose out on the profits generated by the games, such a rule prohibiting the games during war-time might actually force corporations to pause and use their political influence to encourage governments to seek peaceful solutions rather than encouraging them into needless conflict. Who knows, we might have fewer wars with such a rule.

Some might read this post and think I’m bitter towards the Olympics because once again I didn’t make the synchronized swimming team. Well, you’re wrong! I’m over it. Really.

I was helping Noel work on his car.

Noel was a neighbor of mine, my friend’s stepfather, and somewhat of an uncle-like figure to me during my adolescence. Noel wasn’t quite old enough to be my father, still at the age where he could remember what being in my shoes was like.

It was always fun to hangout with Noel. He was a professional diver, an occupation that is high on the cool list in the eyes of a young boy. A few times he took me out into Kaneohe Bay, where we dived for coral and split fifty-fifty on the profits. He was also a Sensei at the YBA Judo Club, and I would often spend my Saturdays with him there.

Oftentimes I would lend a hand while Noel worked on various projects at his home. In doing so, he introduced me to the skills of carpentry, plumbing, and landscaping. He had a great deal of patience, never once raising his voice at me in anger. He had a way of encouraging me to try, never making a big deal out of little mistakes, and always finding a little humor in the moment.

So I was helping Noel work on his car. He was underneath the car while I stood closely by handing him various tools.
“Hand me the ratchet,” he said.
“A ratchet? What’s a ratchet?”
He rolled halfway out from under the car and looked up at me and smiled. “It’s a little bit bigger than a mouse shit.”

Perhaps I wanted to be a part of the system, or maybe the thought of getting out of class a little early appealed to me. Whatever the reason, when the teacher told the fourth grade class that the school was looking for students interested in becoming Junior Police Officers, I decided to volunteer.

Yes, I was aware that JPO’s were often teasingly referred to as Jet-Propellered-Oysters and Japanese-Popcorn-Operators, but I didn’t mind. Those were just silly names used by silly and jealous kids that could never become a JPO.

After school, I met with the teacher in charge of the JPO program. She asked me a few questions about myself, and then inquired about my knowledge of the rules of traffic safety. I don’t mind saying that I think I impressed her. She told me that I could be a JPO, and that I should bring a white shirt to school each day. I thanked her about a million times, and assured her that I would be a good JPO.

I couldn’t wait to get home to share the good news. As I walked home, I decided to take a shortcut. I looked both ways before crossing, then ran across the street without using the crosswalk. Halfway across the street a car approached, and the driver of the car was the JPO instructor. Our eyes locked momentarily, and she gave me an awful stare as she drove on by. I knew from the look on her face that my JPO days were over before they would ever begin. Oh well, I thought, who wants to be a Jet-Propellered-Oyster anyway?

Saturday was another beautiful sunny day, so I walked a couple of miles to Waikiki. I don’t visit Waikiki too often, but every now and then it’s fun to explore. Waikiki has changed so much through the years, and that change is forever in constant motion.

There was a time when a handful of hotels surrounded many little shops, several theaters, a smorgasbord of dining experiences, and a number of nightclubs. Now each hotel corporation has their own handful of hotels scattered about. Most of the little shops have been replaced by designer name boutiques, ABC stores occupy every other corner, and all the movie theaters have long since been closed. One can still find a nice restaurant or enjoy the nightlife of a club, although there doesn’t seem to be as many as there once was.

But this is not a sad post about a time and place long forgotten. Like I said, Waikiki is always in the process of change. The makeover will continue with the hope that it will entice vacationers into Waikiki. No matter what the face of Waikiki looks like, the main draw will surely remain the surf, sand, and sun. For me, the best thing about Waikiki has never been the structures, shops, or the beach, but rather all the people that gather there. It’s still a great place to just roam about and people-watch, while playing tourist for a few hours.