Much like the CD packaging itself, the website is all in French. But by using a popular search engine interpreter tool, I can provide some of the following information to you. For example, how does La Puce Qui R'nifle describe its own CD? Thusly: "The album of the chip? It's 64 pages of crafts, surprises and happiness. If you buy it, you'll almost need to come see us. And that we know very well that it makes you think most of you healthy." The website has previews of some tracks, although it seems possible that they will not work in all countries. The band has this to say about it: "By switching at the border between elegance (for us) and annoying (to you), some of the tracks on which you will click with your mouse will not be producing any music. This is not the fault of your manicured mammal, do not hold it against him: only basely commercial. If you want to listen with delight, buy our album which will be yours." I was actually glad to read this, because I was about to rain unholy hell down upon my manicured mammal. As near as I can tell, if you want to buy a copy you can e-mail the band (link provided on the website) and they will be happy to supply you directly. The cost is 30 chf (which is about $30). While this seems pretty clear to the non-French speaker, the translator does suggest you may be purchasing "Your slippers." You may want to verify that you are buying a CD and not paying for the rights to continue wearing your house shoes. I also suspect that if you read French, it will all make more sense.
As alluded to in the last post, C and I took a five day trip to the North Shore of Oahu. I had never really given that much thought to Hawaii, but it turns out it is easy to get to from Anchorage. And in January, you are pretty much ready to go somewhere where the sun shines. We flew into Honolulu, picked up a rental car, and drove up to a condo north of Haleiwa. Honestly, the trip was pretty uneventful, and does not lend itself to interesting prose. We went for some runs, we went for some walks, we did a little snorkeling, we ate pie. And we saw a sad looking hispanic man, presumed to be from Mexico. He was wearing the national uniform: blue jeans, long sleeve button shirt, work boots. He was sitting in a beach park with a small radio, tape, or CD player that was blasting out banda tunes (a regional music from Sinaloa). At his feet, a brown paper bag held two rapidly warming tall boys. He stared out to sea. On a beach that millions (or at least many thousands) pay good money to come and visit, he looked home sick and very much like he would have rather been many miles further east with friends and family.
We sought out wild life. The final count included a few sea turtles (all out in the water), humpback whales (well off the coast, but breaching impressively even from a distance), one cockroach (small), one cockroach (large), chickens (feral), birds (white), reef fish (colorful), and a rat (dead).
And, being on the North Shore, we watched surfers ply the waters. The surf was impressive. My experience on the beach is pretty limited. Growing up, I can remember one beach vacation to North Carolina, and a trip or two to the ocean in Los Angeles. As an adult, there haven't been that many more trips to salt water. The point being, I do not have much of a frame of reference for waves and surf. But this stuff was big, it roared, and it pounded. Given the chance, I suppose I would be happy to spend a year in Hawaii trying to learn how to safely play in it.
But now, to let the pictures do the talking:
This isn't that great a picture, but I include it now as a hair reference. To anyone who is wondering if my hair has grown back out, it has--a little. I spent most of the photographed hours of the trip with a hat on, so for hair this is about as good a picture as you'll get. The picture was taken while out on a walk down the shore.
I wasn't there alone. C agreed to come! Another day, another walk.
When we weren't out walking or eating pie, we would sometimes sit in the sand and watch the sunset. Here was a picture of us in the lovely low light of evening. Of course, as you can tell by looking over C's shoulder, we weren't the only couple out at the end of the day:
It is not really clear whether we captured a moment of romance or if we should be providing this picture to the local police as evidence of broad shoulder aliens that have come to earth to engulf and subsume petite blondes.
Of course, you do not sit on the beach to watch the sunset without actually seeing a sunset, made all the more fun by the crashing surf. And speaking of surf, the locals don't waste their time on their duffs admiring it. They get out and play with it:
Not to be outdone, C and I did make our way out into the water too. Here is C waiting for the next set to roll in:
And here I am, making it look easy:
Now that wave may not look as impressive as those shown further above, but a close look at my face shows unequivocally that these are hardcore conditions:
Yup, that face screams "epic"! Or is it just the face of a desert raised kid who is trying not to drown in the equivalent of the kiddie pool? Let's not over analyze it.