I'm addicted to porn!

No, not really. But wouldn't that be funny is MTV made a show called "MTV true life - I'm addicted to porn!"?

I fancy myself as a thinking man. With that said, I may display the proclivity to over think things. Many years ago, I wasn't able to stare at a wall without being inundated with a plethora of meaningless thoughts. Only a couple of years ago
I started playing Goalie and taking pucks to they head. I have never thought clearer. I can stare at a wall all day and not think of a single thing. This frees up my brain to think about only important things. While this might seem like a gift from the heaven's, it is actual quite burdensome. My elevated thinking abilities have put added pressures on myself to save the world and its dwindling competancy. Curing cancer, figuring out why Tara Reed is famous (is a bad boob job and poor acting skills enough these day?!?! I know they are obligatory traits for porn but mainstream movies?), and new ways to scam Wal-Mart are some of my daily musings.

Yesterday I discovered something so bizarre that it was a challenge to wrap my 7 3/4 inch head around it. Last night I thought I would mix it up a bit. Typically, when I get a sweet tooth, I stammer out to the vending machine and purchase a Sierra Mist. It's not the best soda in the world but it's definetly not the worst. It's close proximity and effervescent flavor keep bringing me back. In an effort to take the monotony out of soda monogamy, I thought I would switch it up. I knew exactly the soda, HAWAIIAN PUNCH!

HAWAIIAN PUNCH!, for those of you that have never consumed it or have forgotten it entirely, is a magical little concoction. For one, it's lack of carbonation may be one reason why it may have slipped under the soda radar but makes little sense because of its molecular imperviousness to agitation via vending machine handling. An enigma of sorts, HAWAIIAN PUNCH! contains only %5 juice and was originally intended to be an ice cream topping since its conception in 1934.

So last night Phil, Colette and I went in search of aforementioned HAWAIIAN PUNCH! It seemed about as easy as finding gay people in San Fransisco. Not true. After 4 different stops, (7-Eleven, Foodland, ABC store, and Whaler's Village - you should all be ashamed of yourselves) we had called it a night. Can you believe we couldn't find HAWAIIAN PUNCH! in Hawaii!??!? Even irony got a chuckle out of this one. Completed dejected that we had not found HAWAIIAN PUNCH! on our Harold and Kumar-esque journey, we resorted to pineapple juice iinstead.

G

Jesus may love you but everyone else thinks your FUCKING ANNOYING!

So I am just sitting on my ass this morning because it is Saturday afternoon. I truly envy the motivated. With that said, I couldn't even muster the motivation to put on pants or a shirt.

The Wings were on and as long as I have a heart rate and working eyeballs I consider myself prepared enough to enjoy the game. Midway through the 3^rd period, the Wings were really starting to run away with it. Not but 10 seconds after the Wings scored their 4^th goal I heard a knock at the half-propped door. I reluctantly turn my head slightly to the left to see two older people at the door that I did not recognize. We politely exchange greeting pleasantries but in my head I am thinking, "Who the fuck is this? Not only are they interrupting my Wings but "The Dude" would not be happy with these jokers infringing on the Sabbath." I sit comfortably perched from my couch laden in only checkered boxer and a stupid grin. I don't saunter to the door simply because the Wings had scored and I was most definitely sporting wood.

The couple goes onto identify themselves self as my neighbor. I think to myself, "shit, what did the dog do or is this more repercussion from my St.Patty's day vomit fest (see picture)?

They ask if they can talk to me about the violence that has been happening around here of late. "Like around the apartment complex?" I semi-sarcastically and semi-obliviously retort. Keep in mind that we are balls deep in the NHL playoffs right now, and my information receptors are at maximum capacity. A black-Jewish-double amputee-polio ridden-transvestite could be elected president but, unless there was message posted underneath the ice at JLA or Nick Lidstrom directed the message to me personally on TV, I'd have no idea. "No," she said, "around the world there have been more bombings and all the school shootings." I guess I hadn't noticed but I immediately get excited thinking there may have been a school shooting at my school while I was gone on Friday and that would definitely mean a long weekend. Even I'm not that insensitive. "Oh, really," was the best benign phrase I could formulate. She went on to say that they wanted to share a bible verse with me and asked if that would be ok if they could step in and talk about "the good lord." They might as well have pulled the fire alarm. I got that hair-raising my skin is too tight from overlong sun exposure feeling. In an exchange that amounted to a little more then a few words, I shifted from "slightly annoyed" to "clearly perturbed." She asked, "Why?" I damn near couldn't believe my ears! I respectfully declined their intrusive request in my home and she had the audacity to ask "why!?!?" Completely and utterly in auricular disbelief, I simply responded, "I'm not into that kind of thing."

George Carlin coined the phrase/idea that "religion is imaginary friends for adults," and that religion is "the all time champion of false promises and exaggerated claims." I see religion as a pyramid scheme but in this scheme you have a intangible object as the absolute pinnacle or desired object. There are people or prophets that convey the message to the masses in effort to convince them to join. Just like the childhood game "telephone," messages can to construed and altered. The only people that can verify if all this supreme being and heaven and hell stuff are all dead. Clever by design indeed.

But why the intense recruitment? Why can't we agree that religion is "your" thing and not "our" thing. I believe that the recruitment process is a validation process. I liken it to that social phenomenon when you've got a group of people hanging out and you don't want to be the only person that is blitzkrieg drunk.

I guess what I am trying to say is that lets separate the bible/god/current happenings thing. If that neighbor came over and said, "let's talk about world violence and what we can do." I'd pour us a couple drinks and talk about the next nation that we, as a country, could oppress. I am, however, reticent to engage in conversations that involve the g-word. I have found that people get offended when you refer to there beliefs as "a fucking joke." It always seems that when someone of intense religious conviction gets pissed off they ends up bitching on TV, at an intersection with a megaphone, writing a strongly worded newspaper directed missive or fire bombing an embassy. They always sight the bible in their ramblings but I believe line for line this month's Playboy advisor has more sound advice then the bible.

But I digress. I was civil to the people that came to my door just like I have always been.

I figure if there is a God, I might as well be civil to his dubious minions

G.Hohn

Editor's Note: The Wings went on to win the game 4-1 and grasp complete control of the serious heading into game 6 Monday night.

Loose ended musing that needs confirmation - Is it just me or as Diane Keaton ages, and her eyes sink further and further into her sullen head, does she look more and more like BeetleJuice?!?!

Crazy ass white people

I'm not sure John L. Sullivan's proclamation was meant to extend to the small pacific islands known as Hawaii when he penned the "manifest destiny" document back in 1839. Seriously, we (us, you, me, them) has/have wronged a plethora of people from our east-to-west quest for more land and natural resources to exploit. I think we can all agree that that giant incestuous breeding ground affectionately referred to as "Texas" was a bad idea. Even though I personally wasn't consulted, we continued to wrong people/places on our westward march. The Japanese-American interment camps, any superfund sight, and let's of course not forget the Native Americas, as if they would ever let you forget about the diseased blankets. But come on, the Native Americans are easy fodder. They invented both the hammock and alcoholism. Not to be outdone by their third, and subsequently last contribution to society, an unrelenting sense of racial entitlement. Seriously, sorry about the blankets, sorry about the land, sorry about "Windtalkers" (although technically Nicholas Cage wronged you guys because he couldn't "act" himself out of a wet paper sack, he does, however, offend us Caucasian folk too, so I believe we are even on that one) but for fuck's sake ... GET A JOB!

But I digress. There is a different feeling while living on an island. I not sure the European explorers took that into account when they infiltrated the Hawaiian Islands. The pseudo intellectual types will tell you, "yeah dumbass, you live on an island of course it's different." While agree with that statement to some degree, I also firmly believe that it is something you must feel. The six day drunken retreat that the nuclear family types call a vacation doesn't qualify. Instead, it all starts with your mind. They 6 hour plane ride over a vast ocean when you know you are MOVING to an island that is only 60% the size of Rhode Island. The 10 mile radius I spend 95% of my time. In fact, the 22 mile drive to Lahiana feels like an epic road trip complete with rest stops and potty breaks. Context is everything.

I have to give mad street cred to the Hawiian's though. They want you here just about as much as you want herpes on your cock. Unlike herpes, tourists pay for their food, rent and surfboards. I'm not teaching next year simply because I want your money too. They are very nice and will continue to be nice because there is money in it. As soon as the money is gone then bye bye "aloha spirit"

I have been threatened to have my ass kicked in the 9 months I have been here more then any other part of my life. My demeanor has not changed. I am still the ego-maniacal self absorbed crass prick that you have all grown to love. Yet, it seems that fellow transplanted white folk sometimes don't understand me here. I have been tossed out of a liquor store, threatened to have my ass kicked for accidentally stepping on some guys towel at a hot tub, and had a 12 year-old girl threaten to have her father come in and beat on me. I try to take it all in stride though. I think the liquor store guy was made because he realized he is a loser and works at a liquor store. The guy at the hot tub was simply jealous because I had a 3 entrée Panda Express plate in hand. And the 12 year old? Hell, she is 12 years old. Who knows?

I'm not Hawaiian, nor do I pretend to be but it doesn't mean that I don't deal with my share of island bullshit. Every morning I try to come up with a good reason why I shouldn't lodge a shell snuggly in my brain before being tortured through another work week. The tragedy of the situation is I think of several reasons why I should yet can't afford a gun so make that plan come to fruition. Imagine the back and fourth debate that was going on inside my huge melon, yet peanut sized brain. Make decent money teaching, attending mandatory after school meetings, dealing devil spawn children with complex mental and emotional issues or make comparable money passing out towels, spritzing celebrities and indulging in every opportunity to undress supple underage girls behind my tinted sunglasses. You figure it out.