IMR: Entries: 2002: March: 09 — Saturday, March 09, 2002

March, Already You know you're in trouble when your dad nags you to update your online journal.   An overdue visit to the photo studio. Katie and her favorite mall attraction. Counting koi is harder than you'd think. Mall fish don't have the most exciting lives. First trip to the Waikiki Aquarium in years. The monk seal exhibit: nicer, but smaller. My aquarium fish were never this bright. I have no idea what this creature is. Dad's shindig at Washington Place. The Yamanashi club marks 80 years. Lt. Governor Mazie makes the rounds. Katie yuks it up for the camera. Fixin' a deluxe Play-Doh breakfast. Cats excel at getting in the way. Katie flies a kite at the park. Katie and grandma own the skies. A windy day makes launches a snap. And we only used a tenth of the cord. Katie's post-popsicle blue tongue. You are getting very sleepy... Or when your once diary disdaining wife is suddenly updating her site more often than you are. Or, when after three weeks, instead of having three weeks worth of news to cover, you find you're unable to even remember what's been going on for the last two days. (In fact, you remember your dreams better than you remember your real life.) And though I hate to admit it, most of the blame (this time) belongs to sleep. Specifically, my newfound addiction to large quantities of it. With work now entering the "red zone" — fewer than 50 days to our annual conference in Kuala Lumpur — I'm leaving for the office at 7 a.m., and if I come home at 7 p.m., I jokingly call it a "half day." More often than not, Katie's well on her way to dreamland when I walk in the door. I get my dinner from the fridge. And while I'm hardly hauling bricks all day, I'm still drained well before I go home. I've passed out before 8 p.m. a couple of times already, and now the evening news definitively marks my bedtime. Considering that I'm usually just getting into my geekly stride when Letterman comes on, this surrender to fatigue is pretty drastic. On the other hand, it feels great. Now when I compare the way I feel after I've finished some personal project to the way I feel after eight hours of sleep... well, the bed wins every time. That infamous, Type A, wife-annoying part of my brain that usually keeps me buzzing just looking for something to do is clearly out of the office. If I've somehow found 40 minutes to kill, well... I'm spending it unconscious. I am a little worried, though. This newfound affection for sleep pretty much coincides with my finally going on the high blood pressure medication my neurologist had been pushing on me since December. I definitely feel clearer and brighter during the day, and my mild but almost weekly 48-hour headaches have gone away. But the new sharpness I experience while the sun is up seems to be inversely proportional to the level of energy I have at night. I feel like I've been nudged a little closer to "normal," and I'm not sure I like it. When I was a kid, I had no idea school portraits were such a scam. They're almost as bad as those "Who's Who of Kids" books. The basic setup is pretty simple: take the photos in advance, wave the free "oh so cute" proofs in front of parents, then hit 'em up with titanic print prices. (Most places have wised up to the digital age, too, and put watermarks or cheesy stamps on the miniature proofs to keep you from scanning them at high resolution and making your own portraits.) Basically, once you've seen your child's beautiful face has already been committed to film, you're defenseless against the order form. If you get the order form. Last week (or was it the week before?), in fact, marked the long overdue end of a convoluted school photo fiasco that began last year. In December, Pearl City-based studio George Dean by LifeTouch (apparently the local affiliate of a national franchise) showed up at Katie's preschool. (They said we were informed in advance, but I don't remember. Then again, at that school, handwritten scrawls photocopied onto half-sheets of recycled paper qualified as news bulletins.) The shutter was snapping all day, and hundreds of smiles were snared. At that point, we were told that there'd be one make-up day in a couple of weeks for kids who missed the photo shoot, and that after that, we'd all get order forms. In the mean time, we did get the proofs, and quickly shared them with grandparents on both ends of the country. We were practically aching to give them our money. We were happily sucked into the school photo scam. But we never got an order form. We waited, we checked Katie's little cubbyhole every day, and we even asked the office now and then (getting only shrugs in return). The delay wasn't helped by the fact that Jen's parents had been clamoring for some updated studio photos of Katie for months before George Dean showed up. We were well into February before we wised up and called George Dean directly. While we'd missed the school group order period, they still had the negatives on file, and were happy to take our order directly. It was then we were told that we would have to pay $18 per "sheet" — be it one 8-by-10, two 5-by-7s, four 3-by-5s, and so on. After we tallied what our respective parents had wanted, we were looking at a whopping ninety dollars for essentially seven photographs. Since we didn't have that kind of cash lying around (nor an interest in driving out to Pearl City), we gave Jen's parents the studio's number to place a credit card order by phone. But, because Jen's parents made the mistake of disclosing that they were Katie's grandparents, George Dean & Co. — wisely, I suppose — refused to sell the pictures to them. Parents only, you see. So Jen's parents dropped a check in the mail to us. Meanwhile, though, I got fed up. That weekend I dragged everyone to the Sears Portrait Studio. I wanted to see just how overpriced they were. And lo and behold, it turned out LifeTouch made Sears look like a bargain — no small feat, that was. Even with the "sitting fee," for ninety bucks we would walk away with three times the pictures, and our choice of any mix of six poses (instead of the one we got with George). To top it all off, we'd get our prints in three weeks, instead of the standard "four to six" delay George would have had. We had Katie's pictures taken that day. Six poses, with different backgrounds and props, and thanks to a photographer with an almost frighteningly powerful sense of cute, we actually got a handful of non-hammy, non-silly grins out of our daughter. Half an hour later, we put $76 on Visa, and walked out knowing we'd end up with more prints than we'd know what to do with. We get them this Wednesday. And I'm not the only one eager to see them. Jen has found another mommy friend. Ever since Tina and her big, bouncing family moved out and down the street a couple of years ago, there wasn't anyone in our building that we knew very well. We small-talked with everyone, of course, but even the families with kids would come and go too quickly for us to really get to know them. Nine months ago, though, one of our neighbors had a baby. And this thrilled Katie to no end. Any time we spotted them in the parking lot, or caught them in the elevator, Katie would fawn over their baby daughter and Jen and the baby's mother would break into mommy talk. It got to the point where we got to know them fairly well. The dad was a graduate student at UH, the mom had a biology degree, and they moved here from Washington State. Ridiculously, though, we never formally introduced ourselves, so while they knew Katie's name and we learned the baby's name (Celeste), we never knew the couples' names — and they didn't know ours. Very quickly we found ourselves in what I called an "office hallway friendship" — familiar and casual but nameless to the point of absurdity. I did ask them their names one morning, but promptly forgot. From that point on, we were doubly screwed. I'd used up my one shot, and Jen was too shy. In fact, Jen and I assigned them names in order to facilitate our own coversations about them: Jennifer and Shawn. Some weeks ago, though, a joint trip to the park was proposed one night in the elevator. There was no escaping it. Jen braved the awkward silence and asked, "I'm sorry, what are your names?" Nicole and Martin (and baby Celeste). I rushed into the apartment to write their names down. Finally, the friendship was complete. Now, Jen, Katie, Nicole and Celeste hang out at least two or three times a week. They go to the park, to the new Makiki swimming pool, and to the Waikiki Aquarium. Both Katie and Celeste — although three years apart — get along pretty well. (Celeste, at nine months, doesn't talk, but good god she's already walking.) And Jen and Nicole, both stay-at-home moms, are glad for the adult company. Last weekend, the whole lot of us went to the Waikiki Aquarium. Nicole had a membership (both she and her husband are science grads with an ocean bent) that got all of us in for free. It was the first time I'd been down there since... well, probably before high school. That's at least ten years ago. I'm happy to say the place has obviously been renovated a few times, and it looks great. Though, it's still way, way too small to be Hawaii's main aquarium (especially since Baltimore, of all places, could build a $21.3 million, seven-story marine palace). My childhood memories are of dank, musty, mostly concrete halls and leaking tanks. Now it's clean and comfortable, and nothing distracts from the beautiful creatures housed there. Like the Honolulu Academy of Arts, the facility also now has wireless headsets, allowing you to tour exhibits at your leisure, but still hear information about what you're seeing at every tank. Inside, one of the most visible stars was the giant shark tank. But even the smaller gems — like their world-famous chambered nautiluses (or nautili). Outside, I noticed that the monk seal pool was reduced to maybe a third of its original size, the space reclaimed to increase both the indoor exhibits and to add a more diverse "tidal pool" area. The outdoors portion of the aquarium, in fact, was quite sharp, featuring larger tanks and a grassy lawn (and a small stage) that no doubt hosts small concerts and receptions. It was on that lawn that we ended up spending most of our time, with me blowing bubbles and Katie and Celeste chasing them (and each other) around. In a couple of hours, we'd seen pretty much all there was to see. We left mostly happy, but I couldn't help feeling somewhat unsatisfied, and bummed that Cayetano's dream of building a first-rate aquarium had ultimately died along with a vast majority of his other ambitious — but sometimes ridiculous — "think big" fantasies. My father's side of the family comes from the Yamanashi prefecture in Japan. I am so out of touch with my paternal family history, I didn't really know that until this year. And that's only because my dad somehow found himself named the president of the Yamanashi Kyoyukai Friendship Club, and asked me to throw together a quick website for it. I should feel special. While thousands of Japanese workers came to Hawaii to work on the sugar plantations, not many came from Yamanashi, which was further north than most prefectures with Hawaii ties. Of course, that means the "friendship club" is smaller than most, explaining perhaps its... uneven activity level over the years. Of course, my dad — a perennial overachiever as well as a proud nisei — doesn't do anything small, so while he didn't ask for the role of leader, he's filled it with a vengence. He's been writing a regular newsletter, personally mailing each one out. He commissioned an official logo from my cousin Mark, the kickass graphic designer, which is now available embroidered on polo shirts and caps. He's got long-term plans to build an official relationship with the people of Yamanashi. And he set down a year-long events calendar aimed at breathing a little life back into the club. Earlier this month, the club celebrated its 80th anniversary at Washington Place, the governor's residence, featuring live music, a fancy spread (from L'Uraku Restaurant), and special guests First Lady Vicky Cayetano and Lieutenant Governor Mazie Hirono. A bit much, perhaps, but... well, as Jen said to me, "I can see where you get it." It was impressive. But also, I realized, humbling. I was surrounded by elders, like my grandmother, who made incredible sacrifices to make a life for their families in Hawaii. And here I was, only sansei (third generation), but still about as steeped in Japanese history and culture as a Big Mac. Mark's wife Leilani, surprised that I spoke only tourist-level Japanese, summed it up best that night when she asked me in playful pidgin, "Ho, what kine Japanee you?" I'm glad, then, that dad asked me to pitch in, even though (as I had to disclaim throughout the evening) it really wasn't all that much work. I quickly told him I wanted to help more. I definitely inherited his tendency to bite off just a little more than he can chew, but of all the little obsessions I spend energy on, the least I can do is contribute to something a little closer to home. I don't think I'll be asked to serve on the board any time soon, though. Among the great and simple pleasures of life I've recently shared with my daughter is flying a kite. While it might've been more fitting to make our own little kite out of chopsticks and tissue paper, I have to admit we were pretty happy with the one we bought: a fancy, complicated bi-plane with runners, propellers, and a spiral wire tail. (It took me considerably longer to put it together than it took me to build Katie's tricycle.) It was bigger than Katie. Heck, it was almost as big as my mom. We took it down to the park by my mom's house, and as soon as we got there it was almost harder to keep it on the ground than it was to fly. The wind was, if anything, too strong, causing the kite to swerve and swoop so erratically it dive-bombed me several times (and crashed fairly often, too). We only let out maybe a hundred yards of cord, but that was more than mind-blowingly high for Katie. And she insisted — insisted, in that barking, scrunched-face, willful way of four year olds — on flying it by herself, so we had to tie the cord around her waist and stand back as far as we could yet remain close enough to grab her if she'd gotten airborne. Fortunately, she held on, and had a blast, and I had a blast too. It was probably the high point of my month, actually, and I'm perfectly fine with that.

Comments Ryan! That creature is a cuttlefish! —Lani Teshima (March 17, 2002 9:18 AM) FYI: Just thought you might like to know that though the aquarium's small, Hawaii has one of the leading Cuttlefish and Nautilus research centers in the world! I think the tidepool exhibit is pretty neato too. Did you all get to touch the sea creatures? —sea monster (March 18, 2002 5:13 PM) Repeat after me: sleep is not overrated, sleep is not overrated, sleep is not overrated ... (this coming from a person who drinks so much Diet Coke, his Circadian Cycle has whittled down to a mere five hours of sleep.) —NemesisVex (March 18, 2002 8:53 PM) Cuttlefish rock! —Aaron (March 21, 2002 10:31 AM) Hey now--watch it with the baltimore thing :) We happen to have a very nice harbor area and a beautiful aquarium--I think you're just jealous :) —Jessica (March 22, 2002 7:22 AM) Howzit Ryan. Yeah, I know Yamanashi...Yumiko and I have hiked many a mountain up and down that valley. A friend of ours who raises Labradors has a place in Nirasaki and over the years since we moved to Japan, we make a point of hitting the area regularly. There are some pictures on my home page from our most recent anniversary which partly come from that area. —Bruce (April 9, 2002 3:55 AM) Cuttlefish are yummy. ;) —Joey (May 1, 2002 8:59 PM) I've been searching the web looking for complaints about "Lifetouch" school portraits and their unfair business practices. I recently went through my own trial with the way they hard-sell these pictures. I'm trying to get my son's school to drop them. Would you allow me to share your experience with other parents at our school? Thanks, Daniel Touey, Philadelphia —dan touey (May 20, 2004 4:26 AM) What you have to remember is that $18.00 per sheet is fair. I charge closer to $45.00 per sheet. And while Walmart may charge as little as $5.00, they don't come to your school, or have to give the kickbacks to the schools or the PTA in yearbook stuff or whatever. If you don't like the price, take your own closed eyed pictures of your incoperative children. Or don't buy them. They provide a service, and if someone else can do it better...in america, they will. —-Bobby (April 10, 2006 5:07 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 19 · March · March 16 > © 1997-2008 Ryan Kawailani Ozawa · E-Mail: imr@lightfantastic.org · Created: 13 November 1997 · Last Modified: 14 January 2008