IMR: Entries: 2002: February: 19 — Tuesday, February 19, 2002

Surfacing The long weekend felt like my last hope for beating the "New Year's" blahs.   Enjoying a chilly day at the beach. Katie's "mad face." Like mine, says Jen. High school canoe race at Magic Island. An exhausting and ache-filled late finish. Salsa Hawaii performs at Ala Moana. Salsa dancing is also a great workout. Local duo "Flavor'z" attempts a tune. Katie makes a friend at the park. An innocent looking laundry basket? Voila! Katie revels in her smallness. Just how small is our darling Katie? Small enough for a Xerox paper box! Local band geeks gather again at UH. Katie and grandma play catch. We take in the French Horn trials. The first of three students from Kalani. The accompanist is put to the test. Smiles after a satisfying performance. I mean, hell. I feel as if I haven't had a single, full well day since 2002 began. At least, there's no doubt in my mind that someone in the house has been sick every single day since Jan. 1. The way bacteria and bugs have been circulating among us, our apartment felt like a government bioterrorism testing laboratory. And when Katie brought pink eye — yes, folks, pink eye — home with her, it wasn't long before all three of us looked like extras from an "Evil Dead" sequel. It was almost too gross to be funny. The last straw, last week, was fortunately just the run-of-the-mill flu, apparently a strain that's been making the rounds in this city for two months. I say "fortunately" because at times, I thought I was on the brink of death. I'd lie there, sprawled out and sweating on the hallway carpet with my feet up on the toilet lid, imagining spectacular scenarios involving massive organ failure. Or spontaneous combustion. In either case, my unexpected passing would result in a giant medical lawsuit that would set my family up for life. I didn't help things by insisting on going to work (where most of my coworkers had already battled with the bug). I ended up nearly crawling home early on Tuesday. And when I came in, against all reason, on Wednesday, I was so out of it, I was worse than useless. I made a handful of ridiculous mistakes, including accidentally taping over one of the über-important archive tapes from our organization's semi-annual board meeting. The tapes we always go back to whenever there's a high-level dispute over who said what, or what was passed and what wasn't. I had set our office up for its very own Watergate scandal. I stayed home for two days after that, thereby setting an all-time personal record for sick time taken in a year — and it's still February. Wednesday night, I had a fever of at least 103 degrees (as measured by a thermometer placed only under my arm). Lying there in bed, I felt like I was glowing, like some hyper-radioactive fuel rod from a nuclear reactor. But instead of chugging Tylenol or jumping in the shower, I just winced and whimpered and rode it out. And man, when that fever broke, it felt incredible. Like that post-puke sensation, but without the cold tile floor or porcelain echo. I imagined whole armies of flu germs screaming for mercy, or mourning the millions of their comrades now lying dead and dying inside my system. "So that's how a fever works," I said to Jen in wonderment, as she sat flabbergasted that I didn't haul my ass to an emergency room. "The human body in self-cleaning oven mode." Sure enough, from that day on, I felt progressively better. Soon, I felt as good as I did before I came down with the flu. And as President's Day weekend arrived, I began to think I just might finally be out of the doldrums I've been in since early January. Whether entirely physical or partially mental, I definitely sensed the "funk fog" lifting. Like I told mom on Saturday, I think I'm finally ready to deal with 2002. Bring it on, baby. It's definitely been a weird month for Jen. As February got underway, she felt the call of the home fires stronger than ever, and successfully talked her way out of her full-time position at Macy's, switching to a weekends-only slot so she could stay at home during the week with Katie. She, too, felt her exclusive "Katie Days" were slipping away, and looked forward to their time together. Then, of course, Katie got sick. Then she got sick. Then I got sick. Lather, rinse, repeat, in assorted combinations. It was a big house of sick, and she was the only one thinking straight. No small feat, given that she's also six months pregnant and weary and woozy as it is. And through it all, she and I struggled with sorting out our new schedules, and preparing ourselves for the tectonic shift in our household income and expenses. (Though Jen's paychecks essentially covered Katie's tuition, they did bring a little extra margin of comfort that we'd now have to do without.) And just as I was about to celebrate President's Day weekend as the End of the Weird Era, Jen went into work Saturday to be told that it would be her last day for the forseeable future. Too many workers, not enough money. Jen had just moved herself into the lowest tier with her 16-hour work week, so she was furloughed (not technically, but essentially, fired). But so were five other people in her department alone, including the guy who had considered himself lucky to inherit Jen's old full-time slot. The personnel reduction was statewide, apparently — a surprise, but not really, for most employees. We didn't waste any time scratching our heads, though. The very next day, and Monday too, we made the rounds, Jen picking up and filling out job applications while I kept Katie out of her hair. Not one place was hiring, sadly, but we went home satisfied that we'd pretty much done all we could. With the baby due in three months, and with us having already mulled over the shortlived weekend-only move, at worst Jen's maternity leave has started a little early. To top it all off, a long-pondered possibility was finally realized yesterday. After much calendar studying and meticulous ticket pricing, and more than a few wrenching pangs of homesickness for Jen, it was decided that her parents will be coming to visit in June. (This rather than Jen and Katie going up to Florida late this month, or everyone just taking a pass until next year.) I'll take care of the travel, using my obscenely inflated collection of airline miles, and they'll cover accommodations at the Hale Koa Hotel. And they'll be able to see Katie again (the desire that started this whole ball rolling in the first place), and meet Katie's little brother at the same time. The only questions that remain are whether they'll get here before or after the baby is born, and whether they'll be in "Hawaiian vacation" mode, or "helping the new parents" babysitting mode. The latter would be nice, but I'm not holding my breath. On Sunday, Jen and I joined mom at the UH Music Building for a little picnic. Like last year, she was there to support the Kalani High School kids who were there for the annual "Solo and Ensembles" trials. She set up a picnic table in the courtyard to provide snacks and drinks to band kids who were taking turns performing before judges for critiques and medals. We all just relaxed on the big tarp she'd put out on the grass, playing catch with Katie, and watching kids and their expensive instruments come and go. I studied the cliques, the parents, the befuddled boyfriends and girlfriends standing off to the side, and imagined little band dramas between them. It brought me back to the peak of my family's "band geek days," when Todd was a first-class clarinet player and mom was a first-string booster for Kaimuki High School. Though it's probably an illusion, I liked thinking that band kids haven't changed as much as other high school groups over the years — for better or for worse. We got a taste of the music, as well. Jen, Katie and mom disappeared at one point to take in a trumpet performance, at which the student played a highly recognizable tune that we ended up calling "The Napoleon's Bakery Song." Then mom and I (and Katie, for a little while) took in three french horn performances, all by female students. "No sissy reeds for my Katie," I said at one point. "She's either brass, or even better, percussion." Sure enough, we polled her as we headed home, and even though she didn't see one all day, she still picked "drums" as her favorite musical instrument. Finally, a historic development: we've changed our minds on the name of our soon-to-be-born son. Now, my stubbornness on baby names is legendary... at least in my own mind. I'll tell the story of "The Contract" — in which Katie's name was set two years before she was born, only 17 months after Jen and I started dating — to anyone who will listen. Jen lobbied hard, day after day, for Lauren, but I wouldn't hear of it. I'd known since I was ten years old that my first daughter would be named Katherine. I just knew. So when we found out baby number two was going to be a boy, we didn't hesitate to tell everyone his name was going to be Iain. Believe it or not, the name also predates conception. We picked out Iain at least four years ago. (It was even a question on Katie's first birthday quiz.) And unlike Katherine, Jen and I both liked the name a lot. Obviously, not just the sound, but specifically the look of the traditional spelling, that classy (we thought) second "I" that has all but disappeared in modern times. But the whole world was against us. Without exception, every relative, friend, coworker, and even random stranger scrunched their noses at our Iain. It looks weird, they said. No one will know how to pronounce it, they said. All the other kids will make fun of him... somehow, they said. My mom either couldn't or wouldn't learn how to spell it correctly, often referring to "Iian." Of course, they all loved Ian. Simple and short, and it sounds the same, they said. Never mind that it was also... you know, common. So, while on the surface remained steadfast on Iain, we started floating an alternative. A "What If?" And boy, if folks didn't jump for it like it was a lifeboat on the Titanic. The enthusiasm people had for our second choice was so strong, it was clear most of them just wanted to save us from that second "I." Nonetheless, a unanimous vote is a unanimous vote, and sometime earlier this month, we made the switch: Zachary. Almost everyone breathed a sigh of relief. (William, though, famously remarked that choosing between Iain and Zachary was like choosing between the gas chamber or the electric chair.) And now we could finally turn our attention back toward what we thought would prove to be the real challenge: his Hawaiian and Japanese middle names. If Jen had her way, his full name would be Zachary Masaharu Kapono Ozawa. Not surprisingly, I'm not fond of either middle name — she heard the Japanese name on Iron Chef, for one, and Kapono is overused, like John or Michael on the Mainland. We've since respectfully asked my grandmother to come up with the Japanese name... but I guess the battle for kona inoa Hawaii wages on.

Comments Feh. Those are lousy excuses not to name your son Iain. If you were to name him Moon Unit or ESPN, yeah, you might want to consider how other kids are going to treat him. But Iain looks pretty self-explanatory to me. What kind of adult would come up with an excuse that they wouldn't know how to pronounce that name? —NemesisVex (February 20, 2002 3:44 AM) AHEM! *Everyone* hated "Iain"? Hrmph. *Stomps off* —Joleychic (February 20, 2002 6:21 AM) Well, I know for sure that I'm not naming my son after myself. I've seen my name misspelled more times than I care to remember, and I don't want to put him through that either. I'm giving him a nice simple name that at least conforms to "I before E except after C." Sorry to hear that Iain didn't hit...though I have to admit, Zack Ozawa does have a ring to it. —Keith (February 20, 2002 8:07 AM) Eh Ryan, did you know that Zachary is kinda faddish? According to U.S. Government statistics, "Zachary" is the 17th most popular name for boys for 2001 (Ian is #80), and even more popular in 2000 (#15). I don't know if you're trying to avoid fads, but just be aware that Zak/Zach/Zacky Farms may have a few other friends with the same name. —Lani (February 20, 2002 9:09 AM) True, Lani. I actually study those lists religiously. (Zachary used to be number 12 for all of the '90s. Katherine was number 8, to my chagrin, but my longtime affection for the name won out.) Seventeenth doesn't bother me, though, just the top ten. Or maybe it's just truly trendy names like Austin and Dakota? I think region has a lot to do with it, too. I don't know any Zacharys here, but I know of at least four baby Alyssas. —Ryan (February 20, 2002 10:35 AM) I like the name Iain. Zachary's nice too though. I just may have to steal your contract idea.. I want my son (if and when I have a son, that is) to be named Malakai, but my bf isn't buying it. Hey, if you ever get well, gimme a holler so we can do lunch again sometime. I'm still jobless so anytime is good :) —Lisa (February 20, 2002 10:52 PM) Ryan, if you and Jen REALLY prefer Iain, don't let other people put you off the name. It's a great name! I like the 'Greek column' look of the capital "I". The visual is very noble and upstanding. And it blends very nicely with 'Ozawa'...probably better than Zachary. And, anyway, who cares if people occasionally spell it incorrectly? You could always use the standard spelling casually and keep the classic spelling for all the documents. —Susan B. (February 25, 2002 8:24 AM) I too say do whatever you and Jen prefer. Screw trying to make everyone else happy. I'm expecting twins (due end of June but actual delivery expected no later than first week in June) and we're having one heck of a time choosing names (we're having a boy and a girl). Initially we shared some of our choices with family...and listened to them complain about every choice. Now we don't even bounce ideas off of them-they'll find out the babies names when they arrive and its too late to change them! Jessica ps. I like Iain too--and considered it myself, but hubby isn't a fan...those boy names are tough. —Jessica (February 25, 2002 8:49 AM) Ryan, Choosing a name can be difficult, but we should consider the person having to live with an unusual choice. For myself, there isn't a single time that someone has corectly known how to spell my last name. It does become tired repeating the spelling over and over and over again. As for Iain, although interesting, I would never have known how to pronounce it, and if someone spelled it out for me knowing the name was pronounced Ian, I would have said "Excuse me! Could you please repeat that?" I think you've made the right choice now, and that your son will be happier in the long run, not having to explain his names spelling or pronunciation over again throughout his life. I do enjoy your writings, and feel a little of the voyeur. Thanks! —PeterD (February 26, 2002 1:45 PM) I was going to name my son Ian (but God had other plans). It's a great name, but Zachary is pretty cool, too! Best of luck to you! —hez (February 27, 2002 11:05 AM) Heh ... I'm laughing because Zachary was the controversial name in my family (for my sister's son. I at least talked her out of spelling his nickname "Zack" as "Zach" (I started calling my son Nick "Nich" and the ongoing laughter helped persuade her).). As the owner of a difficult to spell AND pronounce last name, I could feel your son's (future) pain with Iain! ("Aye-ayne? What kind of name IS that?") —Susan (April 11, 2002 3:13 PM) E kala mai! Comments have been disabled due to overwhelming abuse by spammers. Please click through to any of the video hosting services linked above to leave a public response, or feel free to send an e-mail. Mahalo! < February 08 · February · March 09 > © 1997-2008 Ryan Kawailani Ozawa · E-Mail: imr@lightfantastic.org · Created: 13 November 1997 · Last Modified: 14 January 2008