Standin’ at the crossroads

Last weekend I went to the annual HITESOL (“high tee-sol”, the Hawaii chapter of Teachers of English to Speakers of Other Languages) conference, mainly to attend the jobs panel. Talk about a wake-up call. Sitting there amongst the other under-employed, we listened to reps from some of the major language programs in town recite the same bleak litany: $18/hr (classroom time, but what about prep?); no benefits; chance of part-time work available (dependent upon enrollment); send in your resume, we’ll keep it on file. The gathering felt like a transitionary, “back to work” program for the down-on-their-luck. It’s times like these that the reality of your situation sharpens into focus right quick. The epiphanic moment.

Plainly put, Honolulu suffers from a glut of ESL teachers. And it’s not hard to understand why: for reasons that may seem obvious (upon first consideration), not everyone who comes here in pursuit of a degree returns to their point of origin (myself included). You’d think this would make for an employer’s market, but with so many teachers shuttling from job-to-job with one eye constantly on the lookout for any opportunity, the labor pool is in such a state of flux that long-term planning is all but futile. (Just yesterday I was asked if I’ll be available to teach this July. Get back to me June 30th…)

There are a few coveted full-time teaching positions here, but snagging them often boils down to networking, being in the right place at the right time, and plain ol’ dumb luck, leading to one all-important question: is it really worth it? Do I love teaching so much that I’d be willing to chase down a few hours here and there for far less money than I could earn waiting tables or schlepping suitcases?

Of course I’m being facetious, but at some point — if you’re lucky — you reach a crossroads where it becomes necessary to choose which it is you’ll nurture: your passion or your pocketbook. The truly fortunate among us somehow manage both, while economic reality and family responsibility force others to worry about getting food on the table first. No dishonor in that. At the moment, however, I find myself in a curious position somewhere in between — about to face unemployment, yet due to that very fact, free to determine the arch and trajectory of my next endeavor. And while I still have a bit of wiggle room before things become dire (which is itself relative), I need to be honest and ask myself if full-time teaching is where my talents and interests truly lie. I’ve known some fantastic teachers over the years; I just don’t think I’m one of them. As I’m fond of telling people, I’m not very efficient when it comes to putting a class together: whether it’s a warm-up activity or an entire lesson, I spend way more time on preparation than is feasible and in the end I’m rarely satisfied with the result. That’s no way to go through life, especially if you have a chance to do something about it.

Don’t get me wrong: I really do love the creative challenge and interaction that teaching presents. That said — and in the interest of full disclosure — I should mention that I’ve been teaching on a reduced schedule over the past several years. (The balance of my time going towards tech / curriculum / admin duties.) Having the luxury of time to invest in developing a single class each term has been wonderful. However, I’m afraid that full-time teaching would result in more harried preparation, stress, and reduced overall-enjoyment on my part, which would surely manifest itself in the classroom. I had a taste of this recently and it wasn’t ideal, let me tell you.

One option would be to continue on to a Ph.D. Not too long ago, Brian landed a sweet job in Nagoya, Japan (with a much more favorable salary-to-teaching hours ratio than you could ever secure with an M.A.). My hat’s off to him, but I don’t think I could pursue another degree at this point in time in good faith. (I’m having a hard enough time as it is finishing up my current program.) The original plan four years ago was to return to Japan and teach at the university level, but now I’d have to reexamine any motivation for wanting to do so. A lot of people, it seems, end up teaching English under the oddest of circumstances — again, myself included — and accrue a kind of momentum that becomes harder to shake off the longer you stay in the profession.

Plus — and I hate to say this — I’ve just eclipsed the maximum “preferred age” for most university teaching positions in Japan (I won’t go into detail about why that is… We’re talking about Japan, after all). But I’m not going to use that as an excuse to feel sorry for myself. I don’t think I’d actually be very happy teaching in Japan; even at the university level, contracts tend to be short-term so there’s always going to be anxiety over where the next opportunity for work will be. And, the last I heard, I’m not the only one with a career in this marriage.

(As an aside, I was recently asked to return to Kurume — as an ALT [assistant language teacher] at a senior high school, no less; I had to think carefully about how to tactfully turn down the invitation. I’m not saying I’m above that kind of work anymore, but it wouldn’t be long before I’d be pulling my hair out trying to re-direct such a misguided approach to English-language education from within. No, I think I can be much more effective from outside the system.)

After the jobs session had wrapped up, I changed back into my cycling togs and started for home with a lot on my mind. I thought a ride up and around the Tantalus / Round Top loop might do me some good so I dropped off my stuff at the apartment and filled up on water before heading back out.

Right where the road forks, at Baker Park, there was a group of kids playing touch football. It was really weird because as I rolled past, settling in for the climb ahead, the ball was snapped yet not one among them said a word; all I heard was the skiffing of bare feet on the drying grass. It was a great sound, full of promise and good memories. Just what I needed.

Ninja Protectors!

Hey, I’m throwing in the copyright infringement flag… Anybody listening? I didn’t think so, but hear me out all the same.

The other day I was reading that “Rain” (Korean pop phenom… whatever) is going to be starring in an upcoming film entitled Ninja Assassin. Well I’m here to assert that this film is little more than a thinly veiled re-make of an earlier cult classic — the definitive work of the genre! Check the record, buddy: Ninja Protectors! was shot 25 years ago and has just been taken out of the vault for remastering and re-release as a special, “silver anniversary” collector edition. See for yourself:

My people will be calling.

(larger version on Google Video)

Beyond blending in

I’ve seen photos of people wearing experimental, electro-flexible plasma “clothing” that projects the scene directly to the rear, giving the (near) illusion of looking right through the wearer, but the technology has yet to be perfected. While an interesting proof-of-concept, I’m more impressed by the trompe-l’œil work of artist Desiree Palman. You really have to look two or three times at some of her photos to find the human hidden within. (And there really is one, too!)

Who doesn’t have days when this ability would be welcome relief?

Dabbling in tabs

I’ve really been enjoying having my guitar back (the Tokai that Todd mailed me recently). It’s also been fun looking up guitar tabs on the Web — mainly for intro licks that get me to sit down and practice for a few minutes. Man, gone are the days (for the most part) of plunking down big bucks for pricey sheet music. I still have a whole boxful at Dad’s house — but only those titles that made it past the culling: the others I flogged years ago at Logo’s Books in Santa Cruz to scrounge up some cash.

(Trivia: first sheet music I ever purchased was U2’s Joshua Tree; bought at Crow’s Nest music in Naperville, July 1989. I remember coming home and trying to work out a D chord on the back porch of our house. It seemed unlikely I’d ever train my fingers to automatically configure themselves in that position and I wondered how in the hell anyone could simultaneously sing and concentrate on finger placement. It was one of the more deflating moments in my life with music.)

Anyway, some of the easy licks I’ve “de-coded” are the opening chords/intros to the Doobie Bros’ “Long Train Runnin’” and “Rockin’ Down the Highway”, INXS’ “New Sensation”, “Paranoid” by Black Sabbath, and, the crown jewel so far, Matt “Guitar” Murphy’s intro to “Sweet Home Chicago” from The Blues Brothers. (I have to say, though, that when I try to replicate what Matt’s doing in the film it doesn’t sound right at all, but I like the fact that I’ll have to work at it a bit more.) Just having fun, that’s all.

What’s surprising is that most of these riffs are fairly straightforward, which is a bit anticlimactic. I mean, it still takes a lot of practice to get them down well, but the notation is not rocket science by any means. I guess it’s just weird in some way to be able to “get inside” or crack musical referents that have a strong personal association. Don’t get wrong: it’s great — and way cool — but also a touch disillusioning.

I remember a story Lyle Larson once told when I was taking his courses on Twain and Hemingway at SMC. He was relating the time someone showed him how to play the basic melody of Beethoven’s “Moonlight” Sonata on the piano. For years he’d held that piece in such high esteem that it crushed him to learn how just about anyone could pick it up in a few minutes. Ever since, he’s heard the song with somewhat jaded ears, having lost some of the reverence and awe he held before, which is sad, really. Maybe some things are better left a mystery. Either that or I’ll just go back to Steely Dan, which is always a challenge…

Pack your grip / takin’ you on a trip!

For the past couple of weeks I haven’t been able to stop listening to Heatwave’s “The Groove Line” (extended version). It’s a kick-ass jam, plain and simple. I “re-discovered” the song while listening to one of Marie’s Phat Trax compilation CDs and haven’t been able to get it out of my head since. (Not a bad thing, by the way.)

At first I couldn’t figure out why the song resonated so strongly, then I got the reference: in the finale episode of Freaks & Geeks, “Groove Line” is spinning on the turntable when it’s Nick’s turn in the dance contest. (Remember I’d watched the entire series over winter break.) This thread of the storyline works particularly well, I think, as Nick, rejected by his father and ex-girlfriend, turns his back on rock ‘n roll and finds release and acceptance in the discotheque (previously anathema to his group of close friends). Though it’s obvious Nick is in denial, big time, there’s a redemptive quality to the act of surrendering to something once despised, allowing oneself a certain vulnerability in exchange for the bliss of forgiveness.

That’s a bit over the top, I know. But Nick’s dance scene in the club (which cuts to the Dungeons & Dragons game in progress at Sam’s house) has a very fin de siècle feel to it, tying right in to the finale’s overall “end-of-an-era” tone: time to let go of past labels, conceptions, and associations; new days and possibilities lie before us. I guess that’s what I get when I listen to “Groove Line”. The song just radiates optimism.

Leave your worries behind…

Good-bye P-House

On Sunday, February 17, Birmingham’s grand dame —the Parliament House hotel — was demolished to make way for the future. Opening its doors for the first time during the strife of mid-60’s “Bombingham” Alabama, the Parliament House represented new hope and became the hip hang-out spot. Anybody who was anybody passing through town stayed at the P-House, myself included.

My connection to the place can be traced directly to Case, who worked there for a time as night auditor while attending UAB in the early ’90s. Because of the hotel’s toll-free 800 line, Case and I spent many a late-night hour on the phone together. So yeah, I have a bit of a soft spot for the old gal.

(Case, what the hell is going on here? First they sink the Deyo and now the P-House exists only on Google Earth’s outdated satellite photos. Talk about erasing your past…)

(History of the hotel)
(Parliament House demolition photos)
(local news story)
(implosion video)
(Birmingham library digital collection)
(photo of Casey working at the P-House)

Hawaii loves a local boy

Hawaii held its Democratic caucus last night and news reports site a turnout of over 37,000 participants (compared to 4,000 and 1,200 for the previous two caucuses, respectively). So many showed up that voters were forced to indicate their candidate of choice on blank slips of paper — first writing down all names, then crossing out those that did not make the cut. Senator Dan Inouye says he can’t recall people getting this excited about a political matter since the 1959 referendum on statehood.

(Obama — who went to high school not far from where we live — won handily.)

Spring is here!

Only in its third year, the Amgen Tour of California has already become the unofficial harbinger of spring (in my book, at least). I have to admit not being able to muster much enthusiasm for the race in 2006 (too early in the season, too short, too local, etc.) but I’m starting to come around. The field this year has quite a few heavy hitters, including the return of The Lion King: Mario Cipollini, coming out of retirement at age 40!

Now, I don’t follow professional road racing year-round. I prefer to ease in beginning with the Tour of California and slowly build up through the spring classics, leading up to the Tour de France in July. (By the end of the third week, though, I’m left feeling pretty spent — all those nights of getting up at 1 and 2 in-the-morning to watch live coverage… but I wouldn’t have it any other way!) Thus, it’s always a bit of a surprise come February when I’m faced with all the changes that have taken place in the off season. This year the re-shuffling is crazier than usual.

First, Cipo is cycling again? (Who saw that one coming? I sure didn’t. Does this mean we’ll see the return of the zebra suit?) And there’s a bunch of new teams I never heard of before, plus some old stalwarts that have disappeared: Discovery, gone; T-Mobile, now Team High Road. (I won’t say I’ll miss those pink jerseys, but they certainly were iconic.)

With Discovery’s disbanding, Johan Bruyneel has now gone over (defected?) to Astana. Astana! Remember Vino and and the doping accusations that forced the team to abandon the Tour de France last year? And Johan’s taken Levi and Alberto with him. Things are so discombobulated that Astana’s website is johanbruyneel.com, where there are photos of Johan still wearing a Discovery shirt. (Discovery’s old fansite, The Paceline, now seems totally lost at sea. With the tagline “The official fan club of Lance Armstrong and the Discovery Channel Pro Cycling Team”, I think it’s past time to abandon ship.)

What may take even more time getting used to is seeing George (Hincapie) riding for the former T-Mobile squad. At least Tom Boonen is still wearing his trusty blue Quick Step kit, which is a reassurance.

The Police come to Honolulu

Concert ticket (plus surcharges): $114
Concert t-shirt: $35
Beer: $7 x ?
Chance to see The Police in concert for the first (and most likely last) time in my life?: a hell of a lot!

Last Saturday Adam and I went to The Police concert here in Honolulu. I almost didn’t go because of the absurd price of tickets, but we don’t get many big name acts out here so you take what you can get; and besides, it’s The Police! I never saw them back in their heyday and I simply couldn’t justify not seeing them. Sting said the last time they played the Blaisdell was back in 1981. (They toured here in ‘84 in support of Synchronicity, but I’ll bet they played Aloha Stadium for that one.) Plus, Honolulu is the final stop for this reunion tour that’s been on the road since last May.

(On a side note: Adam and I were both trying to remember the last big-time concert we’d each been to. The nearest I can remember is perhaps the H.O.R.D.E. Festival at the Shoreline Amphitheater in ‘97 or ‘98? I remember seeing Ben Folds Five, the highlight for me.)

The boys have all grown older (which was true of the crowd, as well) and the songs were a bit mellower, but their musicianship was still tight as ever. Plus, the Blaisdell Center only seats about 10,000, so there really wasn’t a bad seat in the house. Adam and I sat through the first half but spent much of the second hour on our feet, circling around the mid-level walkway. The cool thing there is we were able to walk right behind the stage, with the band maybe 20 yards away. (Can you imagine getting to check out Stewart Copeland’s drumming from that proximity? Hello!…) The security detail wasn’t down for loitering so we had to maintain a slow, measured shuffle, making at least 4 or 5 circumnavigations in the process.

Here’s the set list:

Message in a Bottle
Synchronicity II
Walking On The Moon
Voices Inside My Head
When The World Is Running Down
Don’t Stand So Close To Me
Driven To Tears
Hole In My Life
Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic
Wrapped Around Your Finger
De Do Do Do De Da Da Da
Invisible Sun
Can’t Stand Losing You
Roxanne
King Of Pain
So Lonely
Every Breath You Take
Next To You

Of note:

Fiction Plane (the opening act, featuring Sting’s son), were pretty good. The guy sounds just like his father, though I don’t know how much he’s trying to work that angle. Another Julian Lennon? He probably hates that criticism.

Ann, I was thinking of you often during the night. You and The Police will always go hand-in-hand in my mind (even though I developed my own relationship with their music years later).

And yes, during “Walking on the Moon” I sang as much of the lyrics to “Bussing in the Lounge” as I could remember. (John, I would have tipped a beer in your honor but I got a little ahead of myself when moving to let my neighbor pass by, accidentally knocking over the reserve I had stashed under my seat. I was thinking of you all the same.)

None of the t-shirts featured images of the band members today.

Though recording devices of any type were strictly prohibited, I’ll bet half the audience at any given time were staring at their cell phones instead of the stage. (While a good proportion of the remainder took in the jumbotron rather than squinted to see Sting…) For the time being, there are still quite a few videos posted on YouTube from the show that we saw. Just do a search for police concert honolulu.

(Honolulu Advertiser concert review)

(KameraKozo’s photos from the concert)

Leviathans in love

Before I forget, I want to mention the short trip Yumi and I recently took to Maui with Yumi’s mother. (It was my first time to visit one of the outer islands in the four years that I’ve lived here, if you can believe that.) I wasn’t expecting much — I mean, Hawaii is Hawaii, right? — but a short 25-minute plane ride away and it really did feel like we were off on vacation. Or at the very least, off O’ahu.

The weather was fantastic and Haleakala even more spectacular. But what I want to comment upon is the crazy amount of whales we saw there. The humpbacks have returned in droves to their winter mating grounds and, by all appearances, are having a ball. I didn’t realize that whale watching could be done — satisfyingly so, at that — from the beach! Even while driving (though I don’t advised it) you can see whales breaching, slapping, and leaping right out of the ocean. I’ve never seen anything like it.

The topper came when Yumi and I went snorkeling maybe 75-100 meters off the Kaanapali coast. (The water is so clear and scenery so inviting that you find yourself pretty far offshore before you know it.) Yumi’s mother chose to stay on the beach but I had both room keys/cards in my suit. I was thinking she might want to go back to the room so Yumi and I swam in to shore to give her one of the cards. As we pulled ourselves out of the surf several enthusiastic onlookers dashed over to ask about the whale.

“What?”

“Look.” They pointed out to sea.

We turned and caught sight of — I kid you not — a massive whale gracefully arching back down into the water right about where we must have been swimming. Yumi’s mother said it looked like the whale was right on top of us.

I couldn’t believe it. After an entire day of mounting giddiness brought on by glimpses of whales cavorting on the horizon, something that large swims right by us and we don’t even notice? How the hell did that happen? We saw sea turtles, sure, but no whale. I was brimming with excitement and frustration at the same time.

The next day we went swimming again but were not able to recreate our near-encounter. (No matter: the snorkeling alone is out of this world.) What we did discover, however, is that you can actually hear whales singing, popping, laughing, and communicating with each other! Yumi picked up on this first as she wasn’t using a snorkel. (I couldn’t hear much as the sound of my own breathing blocked most external sound.) But sure enough, when I held my breath under water, the eerie yet playful sonic traffic of whale pods scattered offshore was clearly discernible. I can’t even begin to describe how cool it was to eavesdrop on this other world where we were but distant witnesses.

I’m now determined to return to Maui each and every winter and bob on the surface until that whale glides past me once more.

Unless I get eaten by a shark first

(photos from the trip)