Skip to main content

Can you spell beaurocracy?

Once in a blue moon. By one definition, a blue moon is the second full moon in a calendar month. It didn't look very blue to me tonight, but I shot a picture of it anyway.
I watched the annual Scripps National Spelling Bee tonight. Now that's entertainment! Really! I mean it! It's actually great to see these smart kids getting treated like star athletes or rock stars. They are amazing and make me feel hopeful for the future of humankind. As I watched these 12 and 13 year old kids spelling words like zoilus, paronomasia and schuhplattler, I just kept thinking they should post some fine print at the bottom of the screen imploring fans, "Don't try this at home. These are trained professionals." I was on the edge of my seat. Seriously! (By the way, spell-check highlighted each of those words above. See? They're too hard for spell check. Seriously!)
Today was screamin' busy at the winery. I think it was a record sales day with over $5000 in gross sales at the retail store. I probably packed a dozen boxes for shipping. Sheesh! The good news is that I learned today that I am eligible to participate in the group health insurance plan there. No one at the winery told me this. I had to inquire. I had heard that Hawaii state law mandated companies to offer insurance to employees who work more than 19 hours per week. Since I typically work 22 hours, I thought I'd ask. It paid off. "Oh. I guess you do qualify." Sheesh again! I've qualified for months. The bad news is that they only offer Kaiser. I'll have to think about that. I already have a good allergy doctor that I would have to change if I made the switch.
Speaking of the state of Hawaii, you won't believe this one. A representative from the state called Ron the other day to tell him that they had not received his audit results and other paperwork and would have to suspend his business license. (Hawaii, by the way, is the only state that has required him to be audited, complete a litany of paperwork and pay an exorbitant fee to obtain a business license here.) When Ron told the man on the phone that he had delivery confirmation that the packet had been received and signed for at the state offices, the guy did a pathetic back peddle and replied with a simple, "Oh. Sorry. We've been having trouble with our mail." So this numskull was ready to put Ron out of business without hesitation and for no good reason. It's just lucky Ron trusts no one; certainly not the state nor the postal service. I wonder how many other poor saps were rendered without a license for their businesses and deprived of a living just because they neglected to get delivery confirmation and their paperwork was lost in the vast wasteland of the state of Hawaii's mailroom?
Here's another true story. The other morning, while driving along the highway to Hilo, I passed giant brush cutting machines being operated along both sides of the road. The big, orange whackers were well off the road on the shoulders and their operators were doing a fine job. Cars were passing with no problem, safely and easily. Even so, there was a county pickup truck there with his flashers on at the sight. There was actually a guy sitting inside the cab. Apparently, that was his job; to sit there with the flashers on and move the pickup as the machines made their way along. Also parked on both sides of the roadway were two Hawaii County police officers. Again, they just sat there. It seemed to me that the cops should have better things to do than escort brush cutters along the highway. A couple of well placed orange cones could have done the jobs of the guy in the pickup and the cops combined. My neighbor had noticed it too. She mentioned it to me this morning when I saw her out walking. "Did you happen to drive to town yesterday?.... Did you see that guy just sitting there in his pickup truck watching the machines? I want that job," she said. Me too. Shoots. No sore feet with that one. I could catch up on my reading, too. Plus, I'll bet that guy gets killer benefits. The state of Hawaii has more government employees than any other state in the nation, by a long shot. Guess they've gotta find something for them all to do.
A hui hou. Aloha.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Fruity booty

It was a long drive from Glenwood to the northern tip of the island -- three hours -- so for sustenance, we stopped at Baker Tom's for malasadas on the way. My pal Kathy and I were headed to Kapa'au for a hike, one we'd read about in the local newspaper. The couple who run Baker Tom's (not sure if the husband is actually Tom or not) are delightful, with enduring stamina. They're as old as radio, yet they're always on duty, ready to serve behind the counter, as they have for many years, frying, baking, brewing and smiling, there in Papaikou , gateway to the Hamakua Coast. The malasadas are enormous, cheap and delicious, the coffee OK, the tourists all happy to have discovered this place, buzzing with sugar and caffeine. They make a killer pumpkin cheesecake at Baker Tom's, too. It's always a pleasant stop. Ahapua'a . It's a Hawaiian land division, usually a strip or wedge, stretching from mountain to sea. Hawaiians lived in villages wit

Born and bred

The creature stared at me, wide-eyed through the florescent glare, Saran Wrap stretched tight across its broad back. Alone in the seafood cooler, he was the only one of his kind, there among the farmed, color-added Atlantic salmon and mud-flavored tilapia, perched on a blue foam tray, legs tucked 'round him like a comfy kitten. He didn't blink. He was dead, red, cooked and chilled, ready to eat. Such a find is rare in the City Market fish department in Gunnison, Colorado. What if nobody takes him home? I thought. This beautiful animal will have died needlessly, ripped from his home, family and friends (Dory, Nemo, Crush and Gill?) only to be tossed in the trash when his expiration date came and went. I lifted him for closer inspection, checked that date, felt the heft of him, scanned his surface for cracks and blemishes. The creature was perfect. I lowered him back into the cooler, nodded farewell, turned to walk away, took one step, and stopped. Shoppers strolled past, stud

Small town observations

Every day at noon, a siren blares from atop the city government building in Gunnison. Each time I hear it, I want to shout, “Yabba dabba doo!” even though it’s nowhere near happy hour. I’ve blurted this once or twice, only to elicit blank stares in response. Am I that old? Doesn’t anyone remember the The Flintstones? I hear that horn and imagine Fred sliding down the long neck of his gravel-quarry dino-dozer (which, thanks to Jurassic Park and the miracle of Google we all recognize now as riojasaurus). Quitting time! Fred flees, his fleet feet slapping toward a rack o’ ribs and a night of good times with Wilma, Barney, Betty and Dino. That’s Dino the dino, pronounced Deeno the dyno. Think that’s delusional? Another day, walking downtown near the source of the noontime wale, it struck me, a revelation it was, that the ramp up to full blast sounds just like the introduction to Gershwin’s Rhapsody in Blue, only this is a mega-air-raid, civil-defense siren solo rather than a clarinet, whic