Television Skyby Shane Snow

When I was a kid, I daydreamed about finding a magic lamp on the beach. I lived in the extremely landlocked Idaho, which unfortunately meant that I never got to see a beach before they were all out of magic lamps. Also, daydreaming is pretty much the only activity you can do as a 5-year-old in Idaho. Unless it was winter, in which case you could throw iceballs at cars, but I digress…

For my first wish, I planned on wishing for the obligatory one million more wishes. Then, for my second wish I decided that I wanted a swimming pool full of green jell-o.

That’s right! And what kid doesn’t want to dive headfirst into dessert? Or what adult for that matter? Come on, guys. There’s nothing I’d like better than to do a cannonball into 1,000 cubic feet of jigglers, even to this day.

Well, yesterday I realized that to some degree my childhood wish has been fulfilled. Not the whole swimming pool part, but the whole regularly smearing yourself in dessert thing.

You see, my wife works at this store called Lush, where they sell all sorts of soap and beauty products made from things like leaves, hemp, mud, jasmine, coal, chocolate, and so on. Consequently, our apartment smells like rose hips and lemongrass mixed with dirt, and I am forced to shower with an assortment of items that look like clods of hardened clay.

The clincher, however, and the thing that makes me hold my tongue about all this hemp soap nonsense, is the shampoo my wife makes me use. Its main ingredient is coconut, and I’ve seriously eaten some of it and it tastes pretty decent. In fact, it looks almost exactly like German Chocolate frosting.

Now if anyone needed motivation to shower on a regular basis, it would probably be me. However, with my new frosting/shampoo, I can shower in delicious cakey heaven. And I do so at LEAST three times a week.

My 5-year-old self would be proud.

That’s right, everybody! My latest website has emerged from it’s giant, expensive, computerized womb (aka my Macbook Pro), and it’s ready for YOU!

What you can expect to find at Scordit.com:

The powers of shameless bragging and longingful wishing
Scordit lets you create a personal profile and then “score” things that you’ve bought, received, or otherwise gotten, and then show them off to your friends and the rest of the world. It’s pretty addicting. Not a big spender? Down on your luck? Still in school and eating Ramen Noodles? That’s ok! At scordit you can also “wish” things that you come across that are cool, and then people can GET THEM FOR YOU when it’s your birthday/whatever. Also, it helps you not forget all the cool things that you always say “I’d love to have that” about when you’re online and browsing around. P.S. I’m not sure that “longingful” is a word, but either way…

Cool gadgets of all sizes and varieties
Not only do your scores and wishes go up on scordit.com, but everyone else’s do too. When you wish for other people’s scores, those items get bumped up until they make it to the top of the category pages, and eventually the home page. So you can come back all the time and check out the neat and/or crazy stuff that’s popular these days!

All your friends, once you invite them and add them!
Yep, just like everywhere else you can add friends. Once you add someone, you can see their scores and wishes in your “friends” tab, which is a cool way to keep on what your friends are getting or what you could possibly get them if you’re ever in the market for a gift. Or it could give you fuel to make fun of your friends, which everyone loves! “You wished for a pink leopard guitar strap?! Lol!” (Only you wouldn’t say “lol”, you’d actually laugh. Unless you’re a nerd…)

Anyway please check out the site, sign up, and tell all your friends! I’ve been working on this site for over 6 months and I need all the help I can get to get things rolling! Enjoy!

This is a guest comic drawn by my wife. I would like to say that it’s entirely inacurrate, but I think to be truthful I’d have to say it’s slightly embellished. Ok, maybe it’s not at all. Enjoy!

(And no, K hasn’t changed her last name to Snow yet.)

(OK this is just a comic. Don’t freak out, people!)

This is it. I have nothing to write about. I racked my brain for hours today and came up with zero. Zip. Zilch.

What the crap is “zilch”? Is that even a word? Do people say that?

Anyway so I really just racked my brain for like 3 minutes and came up with nothing. I’m feeling pretty lazy, tired, and uninspired.

Maybe someone can suggest a topic for next week’s blog post? Anyone?

P.S. While you’re at it, you should visit my friend Jason’s comic at http://www.jasongrover.net/sf/ - it’s awesome

It’s happened to me before, but only with weed. If that’s not an opening line that gets your attention, then you’re probably one of those guys who never laughs at a comedy club and just stares the comic in the eye until he/she stutters out the butchered punch line of a final hasty joke and scurries away in fear.

What’s happened to me before is I’ve been offered drugs because I have long hair. And it’s not like they warn you about in middle school where someone offers you drugs for peer pressure’s sake. No sir. No one’s offering me drugs out of the goodness of their heart. These aren’t the share types - they’re the scary types. And they just want money.

It always happens to me when I’m down in Waikiki, and my theory is that it’s because Waikiki is rich people territory, and all the dealers are hoping to land some good sales. I don’t exactly look rich (see any of the facebook pics of me in cutoff shorts in every pic), but somehow they always pick me out anyway. My friend Brennan Divett recently blogged about how he always gets mistakenly pegged as a druggie because of his hair, and I’m about 95% sure this is why I keep getting all the offers. My hair these days is looking pretty long and pretty haggard. But I think that’s a stupid reason to offer me drugs.

By the way, I’ve never done a drug in my life. I hear they’re bad for you. Anyway, back to the story…

So yesterday I was in Waikiki picking up K from her job at Lush, when it happened again. Now Lush is kind of a magnet for hippies (and druggies), because it’s all about hand made, vegetarian soaps and crap like that. Well, I was in there waiting for K and this dude comes up to me and asks me something real quite-like. I don’t really understand what he’s trying to tell me until he shows me the bag of weed in his hand. The rest of the conversation went as follows:

Me: Oh no, sorry, man. I’m clean.

Drug Dealer: Oh. Haha. You sure you don’t smoke the herb?

Me: Yeah man, sorry. Why do you ask?

DD: Well you look like it.

Me: Umm…. nope! Never have.

DD: How bout some oxies? Or some babies? You want some babies? Eh? Eh?

At this point I burst out laughing for some reason. The guy took this as a good sign and decided to set a date for the drop:

DD: All right man! So just meet me here at the same time on Wednesday and I’ll bring the… you know… good stuff!

Me: Oh, no wait! I don’t do whatever those things are either.

DD: Whatever man I know you do!

Me: No, seriously, I don’t even know what those are. Isn’t Oxy like that stuff you use in the laundry?

DD: Oh c’mon man! I gotta make a living somehow.

Me: Well sorry. Good luck though.

The guy then proceeded to tell me how his grandmother on the Big Island grows the stuff and he has to sell it. Which is pretty messed up and I think was actually a bunch of crap, cuz he looked just like an extreme stoner.

So anyway, that’s the first time I’ve been offered hard drugs because of my hair. If that isn’t profiling, I don’t know what is. I just hope cops don’t assume the same thing.

And no, Mom, I’m not going to cut my hair.

I’m tired of hearing the word “crisis” all the time. I would be happy if I never heard that word again. In fact, I’d go as far as saying I’d rather die than hear the word “crisis” again. I think I’d even go a little farther and say that if any of you ever say the word “crisis” in front of me, I’ll stop being your friend. Forever.

The current economic problems that are happening right now have become the ultimate excuse and the ultimate ploy. All at once. It makes me throw up a little in my mouth every time I see a commercial that uses the current “crisis” to encourage you to pay for something you probably don’t need. Mostly because EVERY commercial is playing this same game.

For example, I turned on the TV the other day to see the CEO of Dominos getting into some crappy Geo Metro while saying “Our nation’s in crisis. So I’m gonna give you a bailout now!” He then proceeds to deliver pizzas for $5 and say the word “crisis” about twenty more times. Now I’m never a man to turn down cheap pizza, but seriously. Who do you think you’re kidding Mr. CEO?

I even see commercials for other television shows that use the “crisis” as a ploy to get you to watch it. “Our nation’s in crisis. Watch Desperate Housewives, Tuesdays at 10.” I mean what the CRAP? Everybody’s jumped on this bandwagon by now, and it’s meaningless to me anymore.

People who don’t have something to sell can still leverage the “crisis” to their advantage. Customers, for example, are always trying to wheedle me into lowering prices for my web design services by referencing the “crisis.” Nice try, but this isn’t Dominos. I haven’t got any margin to play with, and I don’t even own a car - not even a Geo Metro - so tough rocks, buddy.  School children are consistently telling their teachers the economic “crisis” is to blame for their incomplete homework, and criminals are getting away clean because they’ve learned to drop their own little “crisis” sob story on the cops.

“No, officer, I didn’t mean to steal this car. The global economic crisis made me do it. You have a family, don’t you, officer?”

“Ah yes, things are tough on everyone. Well, I’ll just have to let you go with a warning, ok?”

Well… all this talk of “crisis” is starting to make me ill, and I have something to say to everyone: There is no “crisis.” You want to know what a real crisis is? Zombies. Eating Wall Street. That’s a crisis. $5 pizza and get out of homework free cards is not a crisis - it’s a jackpot. And as dumb as people are, they won’t be too dumb for long, and some of these awesome perks will be going away quickly. My advice? Buy up some property while it’s cheap, stock up on Dominos hot n steamies, and buckle down for when the zombies come (aka the real crisis). Or at least just shut up and start talking about something else for a change!

I’m writing this post on behalf of Shane, who normally writes something every Wednesday on this so called “blog” that people may or may not continue to read after being baffled every week by whether it’s supposed to be funny or just weird. Anyway I am sad to say that Shane has recently suffered from a bad case of death. This is not an April Fool’s hoax.

In related news, Nyquil is the best stuff ever. It helps you feel silly when you should be feeling like crap. Not unlike other controlled substances I’ve heard of. Shane took some (Nyquil) before writing this post… I mean… erm… before dying, and he recommends it anytime you feel death coming on.

Next week the specter of Shane may be back to write something witty, clever, and atrocious. Until then, happy April 1!

- A very good friend of Shane’s (who is dead)

The sky looked like it had been crying. That didn’t seem to stop the throng of locals from paddling out past the reef until they became specs on the watery horizon, waiting patiently like sharks for a good wave. I was at Ala Moana Beach Park, wishing I had brought a sweater, feeling like the ultimate wuss for being cold in Hawaii. And feeling like the penultimate wuss for not owning a surfboard.

A husky man with a shiny dome for a head sat in deep concentration at one of the tables behind the lifeguard station. Ala Moana is a well-known bum haven in Honolulu, but all the bums I ever saw were always asleep, so I didn’t immediately realize that the man was homeless himself. He was working with a needle and thread, muttering quietly to himself in a rather content manner as I approached. The piece of cloth he was stitching appeared to be a shard of an old dress or woman’s coat - fuchsia with sequins.  The man was sewing little accessories onto the cloth with what appeared to be great purpose.

His coat was what tipped off the bum-radar. Although the muttering should have cued me in also. It was an old military jacket with several pieces of thick pink rope sewn in random spots, the collar worn with years of abuse.

I had to speak in order to get his attention, even though I was standing over him, “What are you making?” I asked.

The man looked surprised, then worried, then confused, and then emotionless again all in about a half second, “Oh I’m just working on some stuff,” he replied, returning to his piece of cloth. His accent confirmed my suspician that he was African and not American of Afrian descent. Although his voice hinted at being in the states for a long time, he still had the hearty tone of a true child of Africa.

After some prodding, the man opened up, telling me that unlike most bums (my word, not his), he liked to keep busy and work on projects during the day. He was homeless, but had a mission to sew.

“It’s good to be busy. I’m pretty good at sewing, too,” he confided.

I couldn’t determine exactly what it was he was sewing, and he seemed to either not want to tell me or to not really know himself. He did, however, tell me about his jacket, “As you can see I made some modifications to my jacket. It’s a used one from the Salvation Army, but I spruced it up with these here,” he pointed to the pink rope. “And I added some pockets, too, because they never put pockets where I want them.”

I didn’t want to bother him too long, being busy and all, but I did want to know his name before I made my way up the damp hill to my apartment. When I asked his name, his eyes got wide, and he looked around nervously.

“I… uh… uh…” he sighed a sigh that said I can’t think of a good fake name and I guess you’re probably not a threat, “My name’s Abraham.”

“My name’s Shane, and it’s great to meet you Abraham. Good luck on your work!” I waved as I turned to leave.

Abraham relaxed, looking like he’d just been acquitted from trial. Realizing that I was just some kid and not a cop or con man, he cracked what looked like the ancestor of a smile and called, “You have a good day!”

And I concluded that while the stigma exists that bums are entirely indolent, that stigma is wrong. Many bums do work, just in their own way or in the only way they know how. How can society tell them they can’t do that if they want to? Abraham looked surprisingly happy to me. Happier than a lot of rich people I know.