Chinese CatFish, Terminal Birds and IPhones
I’m fond of islands. I like Hawaii. I’m waiting for my plane to leave and I’m clearly on island time. If you are truly on island time are flights ever truly delayed? In Indonesia they call this waiting around “Jam Karet” or rubber time. They’ve got something similar on many islands. Not on Brittan or Japan but on other islands, hot islands; Caribbean islands, Greek islands, and of course the 11,000+ islands of the Indonesian archipelago. There as here, time is stretchy, unpredictable, can scrunch and elongate. Time is fluid like waves or weather systems. Buses (or planes) arrive when they arrive and depart sometime after. Appointments happen around the time they are scheduled…or not.
Of course, rubber time has its consequences. This morning I long-board surfed on small waves. Little rollers frothed in one after another and I caught them using my last opportunity to practice tippy-toeing up and down the board. At that time in the morning the beach and break is quiet. All the good surfers are on the beach, shaka reclining and renting boards to us tourists. They are drinking coffee and nodding super cool nods like only true surfer dudes living on island time are capable of for extended periods of time. I did my best short-term “I’m a cool dude from California” and rented my board with as much nonchalance and surfer-ness as possible. Thankfully they were cool, or perhaps it was just too early, to even make me feel not cool. This was cool.
I ended my session out off “the wall” at 7:30 sharp so I could pack my bags, shower, and meet my pre-arranged taxi to get me to the airport precisely on time to make my plane home. The surf wasn’t really up yet but it was getting better and I would have loved to have stayed longer. I made my taxi but my flight is now in the liquid jaws of island time. Making this plane has changed from an event recognizable as a point on the clock to a process characterized by an as of yet undefined period of time. So I shifted my gears as tempers started getting hot around me. I’m embracing island time, rubber time and just waiting it out, grooving on the process...bra.
I’ve found myself a hunker-spot at a nearly empty gate nearby. Two huge flat-panel TV’s are ensconced on the walls and tuned to CNN. Occasional announcements echo though the bright cathedral like glass hull of the terminal. Sparrows wheel and knife through thin air-conditioned air of the terminal sky. Hawaiian music floats through the air just out of reach. It is nearly rainy season here in Hawaii and outside the air drips with heat. Sliding doors breathe open and shut as passengers inhale and exhale through them. Heading in one direction people visibly wilt, readjust their heavy carry-on's and slow as the heat covers them. Those who are inhaled jerk erect as if they’ve been resuscitated after a light afternoon nap on a couch via the touch of a cool hand.
Through the glass and frames I can see my fellow passengers at the adjacent gate impatiently settled in and shuffling. They are waiting for the departure event. Many are reading, listening to music or eating. A couple treks into the terminal area near me, drop their backpacks and spread out their fast food. Three birds land near them and begin hopping excitedly around the periphery waiting for scraps.
On the television I learn there is a problem with Chinese fish. Chinese fish? I love Chinese Fish! I ate fish everyday here in Hawaii. I feel fine. Am I? I listen more intently.
Turns out the television is doing its usual rhythmic teasing. Sound-bite mythmaking. The truth is squeezed in between the alarmist editorializing. Some Chinese farms use medication keep the fish healthy, but the FDA is concerned about “possible harmful effects” on humans after “years of consumption”. Possible effects? Years of consumption? Who eats catfish anyway!
This is a ridiculous story. It is non-news. Fast on facts slow on truth. It is why I can’t watch the news. Our country is racked by obesity, heart disease, ADHD, diabetes and a host of other dietary controllable ailments but catfish get the headlines, feed the fear, and fan the worry flame. If we swapped out potentially tainted catfish for McDonalds, hormone-laced beef, and super-sized drinks, I’d bet, after years of consumption, we would be a thinner, healthier, smarter, funnier AND even a better looking America.
The story finally ends with a tease of their next story, the IPhone. Now here is a story I can sink my teeth into and wave the red, white and blue about. The IPhone is something to celebrate. We need products and devices to drive back the tyranny and dangers lurking out there in the world. Besides I love gadgets and especially cool techie gadgets. But before I can get on to the revelry I learn during one of the commercials about a heretofore unbeknownst to me medical ailment called RLS, Restless Leg Syndrome. Hummm…I think there might be a remedy called EXERCISE that might cure that one but I’m not sure. I feel fine. Am I?
Finally the commentators are back and I learn all about the IPhone. Honestly, I’ve already heard all about it. I’ve read everything, the blogs, forums, articles, reviews, previews and advertisement…I covet this device. I want to be the first in my family to own one but I know my brother Steve and my nephew Taylor are going to beat me to it. I’ve got a sinking, hollow, jealous anxiety seeping into my island time attitude. My treo is flashing that I have a new text message. I couldn’t care less.
By tomorrow my phone will be a dinosaur, not a single person will be sick from tainted Chinese catfish, I’ll no longer be on island time and these birds will still be darting around the terminal sky.
Of course, rubber time has its consequences. This morning I long-board surfed on small waves. Little rollers frothed in one after another and I caught them using my last opportunity to practice tippy-toeing up and down the board. At that time in the morning the beach and break is quiet. All the good surfers are on the beach, shaka reclining and renting boards to us tourists. They are drinking coffee and nodding super cool nods like only true surfer dudes living on island time are capable of for extended periods of time. I did my best short-term “I’m a cool dude from California” and rented my board with as much nonchalance and surfer-ness as possible. Thankfully they were cool, or perhaps it was just too early, to even make me feel not cool. This was cool.
I ended my session out off “the wall” at 7:30 sharp so I could pack my bags, shower, and meet my pre-arranged taxi to get me to the airport precisely on time to make my plane home. The surf wasn’t really up yet but it was getting better and I would have loved to have stayed longer. I made my taxi but my flight is now in the liquid jaws of island time. Making this plane has changed from an event recognizable as a point on the clock to a process characterized by an as of yet undefined period of time. So I shifted my gears as tempers started getting hot around me. I’m embracing island time, rubber time and just waiting it out, grooving on the process...bra.
I’ve found myself a hunker-spot at a nearly empty gate nearby. Two huge flat-panel TV’s are ensconced on the walls and tuned to CNN. Occasional announcements echo though the bright cathedral like glass hull of the terminal. Sparrows wheel and knife through thin air-conditioned air of the terminal sky. Hawaiian music floats through the air just out of reach. It is nearly rainy season here in Hawaii and outside the air drips with heat. Sliding doors breathe open and shut as passengers inhale and exhale through them. Heading in one direction people visibly wilt, readjust their heavy carry-on's and slow as the heat covers them. Those who are inhaled jerk erect as if they’ve been resuscitated after a light afternoon nap on a couch via the touch of a cool hand.
Through the glass and frames I can see my fellow passengers at the adjacent gate impatiently settled in and shuffling. They are waiting for the departure event. Many are reading, listening to music or eating. A couple treks into the terminal area near me, drop their backpacks and spread out their fast food. Three birds land near them and begin hopping excitedly around the periphery waiting for scraps.
On the television I learn there is a problem with Chinese fish. Chinese fish? I love Chinese Fish! I ate fish everyday here in Hawaii. I feel fine. Am I? I listen more intently.
Turns out the television is doing its usual rhythmic teasing. Sound-bite mythmaking. The truth is squeezed in between the alarmist editorializing. Some Chinese farms use medication keep the fish healthy, but the FDA is concerned about “possible harmful effects” on humans after “years of consumption”. Possible effects? Years of consumption? Who eats catfish anyway!
This is a ridiculous story. It is non-news. Fast on facts slow on truth. It is why I can’t watch the news. Our country is racked by obesity, heart disease, ADHD, diabetes and a host of other dietary controllable ailments but catfish get the headlines, feed the fear, and fan the worry flame. If we swapped out potentially tainted catfish for McDonalds, hormone-laced beef, and super-sized drinks, I’d bet, after years of consumption, we would be a thinner, healthier, smarter, funnier AND even a better looking America.
The story finally ends with a tease of their next story, the IPhone. Now here is a story I can sink my teeth into and wave the red, white and blue about. The IPhone is something to celebrate. We need products and devices to drive back the tyranny and dangers lurking out there in the world. Besides I love gadgets and especially cool techie gadgets. But before I can get on to the revelry I learn during one of the commercials about a heretofore unbeknownst to me medical ailment called RLS, Restless Leg Syndrome. Hummm…I think there might be a remedy called EXERCISE that might cure that one but I’m not sure. I feel fine. Am I?
Finally the commentators are back and I learn all about the IPhone. Honestly, I’ve already heard all about it. I’ve read everything, the blogs, forums, articles, reviews, previews and advertisement…I covet this device. I want to be the first in my family to own one but I know my brother Steve and my nephew Taylor are going to beat me to it. I’ve got a sinking, hollow, jealous anxiety seeping into my island time attitude. My treo is flashing that I have a new text message. I couldn’t care less.
By tomorrow my phone will be a dinosaur, not a single person will be sick from tainted Chinese catfish, I’ll no longer be on island time and these birds will still be darting around the terminal sky.
posted by wigdawg at
4:45 PM
1 Comments:
I hope that wasn't my text message flashing on your treo, bra'.
;)
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