Tuesday, January 21, 2020

Maui in 3 Acts

     Act 1:  Maui has a couple of different sides. Visiting Maui typically involves staying in a hotel, when someone else cleans your room, makes your bed and then you lay by the pool/beach while eating food someone else made. When I tell people my daughter lives on Maui, they usually gush and say, “Oh, she’s so lucky!” I remind them (because I’m me) that it’s not all rainbows and unicorns, she works, and you know what she does after she’s done working? She drives home, stops at a store to get some food, cooks, cleans and then maybe does some laundry. You know what she does the next day? The. Same. Thing. Sure, it’s beautiful and there are beach and waterfall days and fruit can be easily foraged. But unless you’re a member of the wealthy elite (more on that later), life on Maui isn’t quite as pretty as those lovely beaches and waterfalls.  One thing that took me aback this visit were all of the abandoned cars on the North (non touristy) side. Brother Ed said there seems to be five distinct stages of abandonment. Stage 1: The car is abandoned in an unusual spot, where you typically wouldn’t park a car but left parked anywhere for a while and your car could be mistaken as abandoned. Stage 2: Tires are removed. Stage 3: Windows smashed in, anything of value on the inside removed. Stage 4: The mechanical guts are stripped and the car is graffitied. Stage 5: Car is torched. Ed and I walked down to Jaws the other day, looked over the bluff and found an abandoned car in the middle of the dirt road on the way back - that wasn’t there 15 minutes ago when we walked the same road. We marveled at the efficiency of that particular abandonment. Those blighted cars are everywhere on this side of the island and it’s crazy.
Just up the road from my daughter’s house. Looks like Stage 3 to me. 

     Act 2: Ed asked if I wanted to plant a legacy tree on their property on Maui, pretty much everyone else in the family already had chosen one and put it in the ground. He has a go to nursery he buys the fruit trees from. When he first went there, he was looking at a dwarf mango tree, the owner of the nursery said, “I have some larger trees, but they are a bit more expensive.” Then he paused, looked my brother up and down and went on to say, “But you look like a member of the wealthy elite, you should take the bigger tree.” Note - my brother looks and dresses like me. We do not resemble members of that class and we had more than a few chuckles about their exchange. But thinking about it, it makes perfect sense. He lives on Maui, is in his early 60’s, doesn’t work and is a haole. That screams wealthy elite, even if you dress like us. A caveat to the legacy tree challenge: there were only two days left in my trip. This is an important decision. I want to ensure that whatever I choose grows and flourishes and provides tasty fruit for years to come. I surveyed the grounds to see what everyone else had planted, which narrowed my options.
     My first choice was to go for sexy. Rambutan is one of my favorite fruits, I thought that would leave a pleasant memory (and taste) in everyone’s mouth. But a legacy tree? Don’t get fooled by looks, folks. Just because that fruit is so pretty and tastes oh so sweet doesn’t mean you want to put those roots in the ground - do the dance, think about the long term match. Is it in the right growing zone? How about the amount of water/sun it needs and how big will it eventually grow - will it block your or someone else’s views? I’ve backed off rambutan and am leaning towards soursop, but want to do my research a bit more. Ed and Celine were trying to bully me into making a decision before I leave, but I can always come back and do it right. Just jumping in the deep end after the good looking fruit tree doesn’t always end well. I’ll come back at the end of the year if I’m short on miles to get to the next status level to plant whatever I decide is both sexy and smart. ‘Cause that’s what we all really want, right?
     Act 3: Ed and Celine. This is the only reason I came to Maui for - family, my brother and daughter - and it’s been a blast. Some people in our lives have tried to domesticate us, and let me tell you, all who have made the efforts have failed miserably. We are more than okay with that. Ed and I would be playing Words With Friends next to each other and he’d say, “I’m interested in herpetology these days.” I look at him and go right to WWF. He’d just played ‘snakey’. I’d snort and say, “Well done!” I make sure to slip in the same type of non sequiturs when we’re playing like, “I think I’m going to the lavatory now.” Not the type of thing I’d ever say, so he looks at his WWF, nods and says, “Good play.” We had a few adult conversations about finances, 5 -10 year plans, what we wanted our lives to look like, but mostly it wasn’t serious at all. There’s just too much wilderness in us and when left unsupervised, it’s a ridiculously funny non-stop show. We relived memories, looked at old pictures, laughed, poked, planned, competed for bed space, laughed, fact checked each other ruthlessly, sang goofy songs, made meals and then laughed and laughed and laughed some more. Straight up silliness, just the way we like it, without any real adults modulating our feral nature. Looking forward to more frequent visits in the near future wherever, whenever. But particularly in off season travel time, because I’m still a Taylor.
Not too far from Pukalani Superette, welcome to upcountry

Wednesday, January 15, 2020

The master closet

     We Taylors are a competitive lot. At one point, Gwyne said to me, “You know, everything in life isn’t a competition.” I said, “Ohhhh. That attitude explains why you’ve been losing so much.” We both had a good laugh over that exchange. I’m in Maui now, visiting my brother who has a house here and my daughter, who has been living here for 10 years. He has two renters living in his 3 bedroom/2 bath house, which leaves Ed and I to share the master bedroom. And master closet. One of us will sleep on the master bed, the other will sleep on a folding mattress in the master closet, based on a mutually agreed upon competition held during the day. There are no friendly challenges because they are ALL deadly serious, but they are also filled with uproarious laughter and fun, as is pretty much the entire day. My laugh lines are getting a serious work out, ‘cause that’s how we roll.  The first night’s challenge came about organically -  we were talking about real estate and business cycles. He knows real estate, and I know business cycles. We decided on the first challenge to be based on real estate prices in Boulder, Colorado, where he owns a few homes and has lived for 30+ years. Advantage Ed? Not so fast there, buckaroo. He argued prices always went up, I said they were cyclical and said that if he checked, he’d see that in 2008, prices went down. We bickered a bit about the terms. Does a plateau count as a decline? No, the median prices have to dip. As we negotiated the terms of the challenge and finally came to a mutually agreeable conclusion, he did the research. Dip the prices did, and I had a fabulous sleep, blissfully thrashing around on the master bed, thank you very much. Ed enjoyed the master closet. I enjoyed his humiliation as he closed the door to the closet.
     Yesterday’s challenge was geographical - we found a site that had outlines of 197 countries in the world and we had 20 minutes to correctly identify as many of them as we could. The exchanges, or steam of consciousness, were absolutely hilarious. Kenya, Kenya, where are you Kenya? I’d adopt an African accent (which I do fairly well), “Please my Kenyan brothers and sisters, help me, guide me and take me to your ancestral home - YES, I knew you would! Ed would be muttering to himself at the same time and saying things like, “Really? C’mon, I don’t know where St. Lucia is. Is that a real country? AHHHHHH!” I plowed through the Middle Eastern Countries as they popped up, Iran, Kuwait, Iraq, UAE, Yemen, Oman and Qatar, as-slalam alaykum my friends and Ed killed it in South America. We both struggled in Africa and the Caribbean and we swore loudly whenever we incorrectly guessed where some of the countries were located. I lost due to a technicality, I accidentally closed my page on my iPad and lost my progress once, we regrouped for the second start and agreed if I dorked it up again, I would be relegated to the closet. And yes, I dorked it up again. It’s so serious, but it’s also so unbelievably fun.
     The first day was all about a visit to my daughter’s house, meeting her cat and picking up the pickled papaya (coco) she made me, then planning out the day’s food tour through Wailuku. I’m not here to do all the Maui things, I’m here to visit them, so they made all the decisions about what we did. We started off at a woodworking exhibition in the Maui Arts and Cultural Center that featured 25 pieces, each one was unbelievably beautiful. Then we started gathering food for lunch, Celine knows her way around the best places to get great food in Maui. They took me to a Foodland where they have a semblance of a live fish market and fresh ogo, seaweed that perfectly sets off a type of Poke, onwards to another old time Poke market and then we passed an Okazuya, a Japanese delicatessen where we picked up a few more treats. We enjoyed our picnic at a Korean pagoda, and wrapped the day up with a hike and a swim in a FRIGID waterfall/river and then dinner. And many, many more laughs.
     Todays gig is simple - a timed Words With Friends game using a chess clock, we haven’t decided the time each competitor will get, we’re still negotiating terms. Winner gets the bed, loser gets...the master closet. But the games in the next few days promise to be more serious. This is an 8 night trip. Taylors don’t like ties. One of us has to win. Ed suggested reviving a version of a game his sons played when they were here, jumping off a cliff into a river, swimming to shore, building a tower of 10 balanced stones and then swimming back to a pre-determined log in the river. The first to touch the log after completing the task(s) wins. This shit’s about to get real. The score is 1 - 1. And btw, the master closet last night was surprisingly comfortable...and Ed enjoyed my humiliation as I closed the door to the closet. :)

Wednesday, December 25, 2019

Alan A. Taylor (see #4)

      I listen to a lot of podcasts, on a very wide variety of subjects. Some are mundane behavioral economics stuff, some profane; I like the witty and irreverent podcasts that educate and provide a laugh, but I’ll give any recommendation a listen. One I listened to recently on my old person morning walk was titled, 'Things we learned in 2019' by a consultant named Tom Whitwell at Fluxx, it was a Planet Money podcast. He’s been making a list of 52 factoids since 2014, one for each week in a year. Some made me laugh uproariously, some made me think, others shocked me. Here's a few of my random favorites, the hyperlink takes you to the research just to show you this shit isn’t made up, the only thing original in this blog are my comments in parenthesis. 
  1. 28% of people like the smell of (their own) urine after eating asparagus.[Rolf Degen] (I had to listen to that twice to make sure I heard that right. Guess I’m in the 72% that doesn’t sniff their pee.)
  2. Advertisers place a single brown pixel on a bright background in a mobile ad. It looks like dust, so users try to wipe it off. That registers as a click, and the user is taken to the homepage. [Lauren Johnson] (Okay, that’s evil. Extraordinarily clever, but still evil.)
  3. Peppa Pig tattoos are big in China. [Kenrick Davis] (I have no tattoos, but I’d consider a temporary Peppa Pig tat to freak my wife out.)
  4. Using a middle initial makes people think you’re clever. [Wijnand A. P. Van Tilburg & Eric R. Igou] (Hey Wijnand A. P. And Eric R.  - I get it! - Alan A. Taylor)
    Alan A. Taylor on the right. Gwyne, about to be freaked out by my Peppa Pig  tramp stamp tat on the left.
  5. 54 percent of Chinese born after 1995 chose “influencer” as their most desired occupation. [Charlie Gu] (I take this as meaning they want to be beautiful, get free things and not work. A large fraction of that 54% will not end up being influencers, so I hope they have a good back up plan.)
  6. In the UK, marriages between couples over 65 have risen 46% over the last decade. [Cassie Werber] (Hip hip hurrah for hope! My parents once met two 90+ year olds who were celebrating their 5th wedding anniversary. That's one of the best stories I ever heard.) 
  7. In a mixed-gender group, when women talk 25% of the time or less, it’s seen as being “equally balanced”. If women talk 25–50% of the time, they’re seen as “dominating the conversation” [Caitlin Moran] (Note to men: shut the fuck up.)
  8. A Dutch bike manufacturer reduced shipping damage by 70–80% by printing a flatscreen TV on their boxes. [May Bulman] (I want my next bike shipped in a box that says it’s plate glass. And I’m a serial bicycle buyer and seller.)
  9. Every day, WhatsApp handles twice as many messages as the entire global SMS system — around 40bn messages [Benedict Evans] (I love WhatsApp. I got my family on it and communication is so much easier and that’s the best way in the world to get in touch with me. But I react to that ping like a rat being run through a maze.)
  10. The web is less than 8,000 days old. [Danny Quick] (8,000 days seems like a smaller number than almost 22 years, but still. So much, so far, so fast. I used to have to talk to people. I’m glad that’s over with.)
  11. Amazon customers spend an average of $529 a year. Amazon Prime customers spend $1,340. [David Holmes] (We have Prime. Amazon owns us.)

Friday, December 20, 2019

Kwajalein - 7th tour

     I was traveling in Vietnam sometime in April/May looking for a warm weather winter get away for Gwyne and I when an e-mail popped up asking if I'd consider going to Kwajalein and helping out for few months. Gwyne gave me the okay and this four months turned into seven, but that's the way these gigs almost always work. I briefly considered staying a full year for the tax break, but 'please stay' just can't compete with 'please come home.' It was wonderful to see old friends who I've known for 50+ years and good friends I worked with in Afghanistan. I'm glad I came. I’m also glad I’m leaving. The world is such a big, interesting place. I didn't find the right warm weather place to escape winter last year, so I'm ready to go back and start exploring again. At least that’s the story I’m selling Gwyne.
     It was also fantastic to reconnect with my Marshallese friends. There are very few Marshallese who work on Kwajalein who don’t know me, and that seemed to be a problem for some people. There was a view that I favored Marshallese employees or that they could come to me and I would magically make their troubles go away. Not at all true and my boss knew that. Then one of the three Kwajalein Senators went to her to attempt to get an employment decision reversed. She politely and professionally said all the right things to him, employment actions are confidential and we're contractually obligated to follow all local laws and regulations. He paused and said something that didn't help the perception. At all. When he realized he wasn't getting the result he wanted from her, he abruptly said, "Where's Alan?" Again, not helpful at all.
Same same...but different
     But it didn’t stop there. A few in the upper echelons of management wanted to know why the Marshallese came to me instead of their respective managers.  I listened. I tried to be patient. I failed, and patience is one of my strong suits. Because bluntness is too, I said, “They come to me because they've gone to their managers and they're not getting the answers/resolution they are looking for. I speak Marshallese. I work in Employee Relations. This is not complicated.” I was in fine fettle. When you are a few days away from retirement (again), and you have zero f**** left to give, it's so much easier to speak freely. They said the Marshallese see me as their savior, that I can help them get out of trouble. I said now, now, that's a bit too much, even for me. Like I said, I was feeling cheekier than usual that day. They asked why our conversations had to be in Marshallese and I replied they don't, but most people feel more comfortable talking in their first language. And then remember, I was in fine fettle and feeling very cheeky, I delivered the next line with an absolutely straight face as I stood and was halfway out the door. It's (mostly) not true, but I said, “Well, sometimes we talk about you in Marshallese.  That way you won't know what we’re saying.” I waited for a moment to see their expression, which included a dropped jaw. As you may imagine, it was just the reaction I was going for. 

Friday, November 29, 2019

Triggers

     We all have triggers in life, moments that can revive memories, sometimes good, sometimes not so good. I had two chuckle worthy memories that were triggered a few days ago. I was video chatting with my younger brother Andy on WhatsApp, laughing about our past foibles. Then I went to have lunch at the Pacific Dining Room (PDR). Those were the two triggers and they're related. Here are the memories.
     After I graduated High School on Kwajalein, I didn't know what I wanted to do. I still don't, although I’ve sure ferreted out a bunch of things I don't want to do. In order to avoid adulting, I worked construction for Martin Zachary with a bunch of Hawaiians. Everyone called me Haole boy and that was okay, because that's obviously what I was. Chige Sakamoto was my boss. Chige was Japanese/Hawaiian, he had a wispy mustache, wore green tinted aviator style glasses and always, always wore a white V-neck t-shirt. Chige seemed to take particular pleasure in barking out orders to me which, without variation began with, "Haole boy, COME!"  I was a General Laborer and if you're a General Laborer, you get all the shit jobs and that was okay too, that's just where I was in life. The job paid an hourly rate of $4.50/hour (Chige said I was overpaid), came with a room in the Pacific Bachelor's Quarters (PBQ) which included about 5 roommates and a meal card. That meal card entitled me to three square meals a day. The room at the PBQ ended up being a storage space for my road bike, I moved back in with my parents because well, it was more inviting than living with 5 roommates. That's right, I was a boomerang kid before it was a thing. I set up a fruit dehydrator on the roof of the house. It was a simple affair, a raised wooden box, wire mesh bottom and plexiglass cover to keep the flies and other vermin at bay. It also sat in 4 bowls of water - that was the only way I could keep the ants out. I shamelessly liberated a lot of apples and papayas every day to dry; papaya spears took about 3 - 4 days to dry, apples shriveled up in a day and those who know me well know just how shameless I can be. Andy and I shared a room, and I always had a huge bowl of dried apples sitting on my dresser.  I came back one day and it was empty. Andy said he had a few handfuls. Then he had some more. There's no denying they were quite tasty. Maybe he took a break, maybe not, but he had some more. At that point, the bowl was less than half full, and it was a really big bowl. A few more handfuls, because he was hungry and they were fantastic. He decided he was past the point of no return. He finished the entire bowl, which probably represented 30 apples. Don't judge, we Taylor's have fast metabolisms. We laugh about it today, but I wasn't a happy camper when I came home from work looking for a fruit snack.
     Working construction doing all the shit jobs that Chige liked to give me helped me burn a lot of calories and I ate a lot of food. One day at lunch, they had teriyaki steak - I piled it on, about 4 pieces and cut into it, put it in my mouth, started to chew and then spit it out. Chige laughed so hard he nearly spit his food out. Because I was Haole boy and I was overpaid, but also because it was just funny. Chige slapped his hand down on the table and yelled, “What, Haole boy, you no like liver?” When you are expecting the taste of teriyaki steak and get liver, well, not one of my favorite food memories.
     I had lunch at the PDR a few days ago. The menu at the PDR is mind numbingly boring. The food isn't that bad, it's just repetitive. Taco Tuesday is inexorably followed by Wings Wednesday (full disclosure: I like both). But when I went into the PDR that day there was something new on the menu - Teriyaki Steak. I laughed so hard when I saw that, I snorted. I don't remember them having signs above the food back in the 70's and 80's, maybe I just didn't look. Entirely possible. But now I'm older and sometimes wiser. I looked at the sign, then looked at the meat.  You can bet your bottom dollar I looked at the sign again before asking for a piece, then laughed and laughed some more, all at myself but hey, laughter is good.
Herna Jibwa, - every time she sees me she says, “Hello Alan Taylor!”

Thursday, November 14, 2019

Food feels

     The tastes, textures and smells of certain food can transport you right back to the place and setting of when and where you had that memorable food/meal. Does for me at least. Like the first time I had durian. I took a trip from Sumatra to the Riau Islands on a Pelni Line vessel, deck class. A few of us bought a durian and a deckhand opened it for us. If you’ve had durian, you either love it or hate it - there is no in between. I loved it. Whenever I eat durian, I’m right back there, sleeping on the deck on that ill planned trip. Sometimes the memories are wonderful, other times not so much. 'Cause food can be emotional like that.
     I’ve got LOTS of good food feels from when we lived on Saipan. We lived in a village where we were part of the community. Whenever there was some work to be done, we’d do our part which would almost always end with a communal meal. Red rice, which is colored with achiote, but the flavor comes from the bacon drippings mixed in with the rice. Barbecue cooked over tangantangan wood. Kelaguen, which is partially cooked meat, usually chicken and then the added lemon finishes cooking the meat with the acidity. Add some fresh grated coconut and spices and you get...happiness. Lechon (roasted pig) for the bigger occasions. Coco, which is pickled mango/papaya/cucumber. Whatever fruit was in season was mostly in abundance, except after a typhoon. I can eat any one of those items and be instantly transported back to Saipan in my very fertile mind. Perhaps you have noticed there aren’t any Chamorro restaurants in your neighborhood. Mine either, so I don’t get those happy food feels often.
     I had to go to Hawaii to get an MRI on my knee in a very tight window of time and contacted a few old friends, one of whom told me about an event he was going to an event called Off the Eaten Path: Chamorro Cuisine with some hoity toity chef from Guam. Messaged my daughter who lives on Maui. Wanna go gorge on Chamorro food? Anyone who has met my daughter knows the answer. Boom! We're in! Serendipity. Family. Good friends. A couple of wicked smart professors who were riotously witty and irreverent - my kind of people. Good food which brought ALL the good food feels and many good memories back.


     I did have two unusual food memories on Saipan though. Once, I was served a bowl of soup with a cows hoof in it. The soup was just broth, I don’t recall any vegetables or anything else than the big old cow’s hoof in the bowl. And there are sometimes when you just can’t say no. I sipped the broth, I nibbled on the hoof and pretended to like it. But I didn’t.
      My most amusing Saipan food experience? My landlord called me over to eat which happened pretty every time he saw me, but that’s Chamorro culture. He had a bowl of much more palatable soup, vegetables, some kind of meat and it was really good. He watched me for a while with a wry grin on his face. Then he asked how I liked it. I said it was really good and then he laughed and said, “That’s Marianas Fruit Dove and... it’s endangered!” But his response sounded soooooooo much better in a Chamorro accent. 

Friday, November 1, 2019

Detours

     If you had told me 40 years ago I’d be with an ex-Mormon with 4 children, I would have been excited. But I would have tried - very hard - to hide my excitement as I casually suggested a wager against that scenario. You never want to appear to too excited to make a bet you are nearly certain of winning so you try to control your emotions until the bet is consummated. I'd have offered whatever odds you thought reasonable. 100 to 1? Sure. I would have bet big too, because I like a flutter now and again when the odds are overwhelmingly in my favor. Because I have no game, she stalked me. She was a pretty good stalker for an ex-Mormon without, I presume, much stalking experience and now I'm with that ex-Mormon with 4 kids. Didn't expect that detour.
    Some of the biggest detours in life have nothing to do with you. Like this one. My dad went to an interview with the MITRE Corporation down in DC when we were living in Florham Park, NJ in the late 60's. The interview went swimmingly and then they went to lunch. He knew he was going to get an offer, the job was his. Back in the 60's, it was okay to have a tipple along with whatever you were noshing on and they all had something to drink at the restaurant. My dad gave one of the interviewers a ride back to the workplace in his rental car and on the way back, he kicked something underneath the drivers seat. He picked it up, and it was an empty bottle of gin. As he was holding the bottle by the neck, he looked at his potential boss and said, "What the hell is this?" The interviewer looked at the bottle, looked at my dad, raised his eyebrows and then looked straight ahead. And just like that, the job was not his. I talked to my dad the other day and asked him about this, he said if he was the hiring manager, he would have made the same decision. And to whoever drank that bottle of gin, left it in the rental car and to whatever employee that didn't clean the car I say thank you.
     That's right, my dad didn't get that job and we didn't end up moving to the DC area. He moved our family back to Kwajalein in the Marshall Islands a few years later. And just like that, my trajectory was changed. My life has taken all kinds of  unexpected twists and turns, some of them wonderful and serendipitous, some of them tragic. But here's a shout out to my Mom and Dad who had the courage to move to Kwajalein with two small kids in 1964 for the first time and thanks to Gwyne for stalking me...on Kwajalein.