18 Immutable Laws Of Man

I wish I’d had the opportunity and inclination to compile and arrange these myself. Be that as it may, this list magically appeared in my Facebook feed. So there you go.

1 . Law of Mechanical Repair: After your hands become coated with grease, your nose will begin to itch, and you'll have to pee.

  

2. Law of Gravity: Any tool, nut, bolt, screw, when dropped, will roll to the least accessible place in the universe.

     

3. Law of Probability: The probability of being watched is directly proportional to the stupidity of your act.

4. Law of Random Numbers: If you dial a wrong number, you never get a busy signal; someone always answers.

     

5. Variation Law: If you change lines (or traffic lanes), the one you were in will always move faster than the one you are in now.

  

6. Law of the Bath: When the body is fully immersed in water, the telephone will ring.

  

7. Law of Close Encounters: The probability of meeting someone you know INCREASES dramatically when you are with someone you don't want to be seen with.

8. Law of the Result: When you try to prove to someone that a machine won't work, IT WILL!!!

     

9. Law of Biomechanics: The severity of the itch is inversely proportional to the  reach.

10. Law of the Theaters & Sports Arenas: At any event, the people whose seats are farthest from the aisle, always arrive last.  They are the ones who will leave their seats several times to go for food, beer, or the toilet, and who leave early before the performance or the game is over.  The folks in the aisle seats come early, never move once, have long gangly legs or big bellies, and stay to the bitter end of the performance. The aisle people, also, are very surly folk.

     

11. The Coffee Law: As soon as you sit down to a cup of hot coffee, your boss will ask you to do something that will last until the coffee is cold.

     

12. Murphy's Law of Lockers: If there are only two people in a locker room, they will have adjacent lockers.

     

13. Law of Physical Surfaces: The chances of an open-faced jelly sandwich landing face down on a floor are directly correlated to the newness and cost of the carpet or rug.

14. Law of Logical Argument: Anything is possible IF you don't know what you are talking about.

     

15. Law of Physical Appearance: If the clothes fit, they're ugly.

     

16. Law of Public Speaking: A closed mouth gathers no feet.

     

17. Law of Commercial Marketing Strategy: As soon as you find a product that you really like, they will stop making it, OR the store will stop selling it.

     

18. Doctors' Law: If you don't feel well, make an appointment to go to the doctor. By the time you get there, you'll feel better. But don't make an appointment, and you'll stay sick.

You’re welcome!

Keyless Has Left Me Clueless

(Reminder: in case you forgot, I drive a 2016 Toyota Prius Hybrid. It’s keyless, with push button start and touch-lock/open driver’s door.)

On my most recent visit to family in California’s East Bay Area, I rented a 2017 Hyundai Accent from Hertz. Nice car, very comfy, good get-up-and-go. Except that ... it had a key.

“What’s wrong with that?” you may ask. I refer you to the reminder above.

The first time I drove the car was an adventure. I slipped into the driver’s seat, reached forward to start the car ... and couldn’t find the start button.

Forehead slap. I forgot I had to use the key. So I had to unbuckle my seat belt, arch my back, and squeeze my hand into my tight jeans pocket to retrieve the key ring with the key and remote. Then I had to find the ignition, which wasn’t in plain sight, on the steering column, step on the brake, aim the key, stick it in, and turn it.

How many steps is that? Five, right? Or is it six? Anyway, with my Prius, I just step on the brake and press the start button. The car even tells me what to do on its dashboard screen

At our destination, I had to lock the car, so I touched the driver’s-side door handle (my Prius has three small ridges on the door handle to touch-unlock the door).

Forehead slap. I had to dig out the remote and key from my pocket again.

Later, I tried to unlock the car by just opening the door like I do on my Prius (just grab the handle and the door unlocks). Nope. Need the key or remote, which I had to dig out of my pocket again.

(I should clarify that the automatic features on my Prius only work when the special remote is close by, like in my pocket.)

The final frustrating moment came when I had to open the trunk. After fruitless groping for the latch with my arms full, I had to put bags back in the shopping cart and dig out the key ring, discover there was no trunk opener on the remote, and open the trunk with the key.

Frustrating indeed.

Upshot? The convenience of a keyless car has made me lazy and reminded me of what I used to do without even thinking (or complaining about it.

But then, that’s why they invented blogs, right? So I can grumble.

Bellagio Valet Parking Fee

Well, okay, I learned something quite rudely when I stopped over in February at the Bellagio to gaze in awe at their seasonal Conservatory floral display.

They charged me a valet parking fee, the first I ever had to pay at a Las Vegas hotel or casino.

Thirteen bucks. Thirteen bucks that I could have spent on a light lunch in their hotel.

Instituted in January 2016, valet parking charges are collected at the Aria, Bellagio, Circus Circus, Delano, Excalibur, Luxon, MGM Grand, Mandalay Bay, the Mirage, Monte Carlo, New York New York, and Vdara. Even overnight guests have to ante-up. Even self-parkers.

I didn't find out until this February's Super Bowl vacation because I didn't get to Las Vegas in 2016.

*Mumble grumble*

Jabber Jabber Yadda Yadda

Jabber Jabber Doo

Dateline Honolulu: Nov. 22, 2016

If I thought being in the Economy Cabin with a lot of children on my flight from Honolulu to Oakland was annoying, my flight back home rivaled that in a different way.

A 50-something "I love to talk continuously" fellow sat in front of me in the First-Class cabin. He was in seat 1-H. (Bulkhead) and I was in 2-H, right behind him.

The acoustics of the seating, ceiling, overhead storage compartment and the timbre of his voice ensured that every word he said was over-amplified and clear as a bell. It started as the plane backed out of the gate.

It wasn't until two hours later, after completion of the brunch, that he reclined his seat and shut his eyes—for about five minutes, before the woman next to him asked him a question. It was very apparent that they knew each other; maybe they were going to Honolulu on company business. Anyway, that reignited his talking engines.

He talked about: 

• Business strategy, how to prepare for meetings, and other perhaps-confidential information that I could have recorded if I were in corporate espionage.
• Advice to his seat mate after she gets to hotel and checks in: "Go across the street and get your Ricola at ABC, it's the best."
• His arthroscopic gall bladder surgery—three small incisions and all that. His declaration: "My first organ to lose. Less I have to take with me when I die."
• His mom's strange habits at the dinner table and how it annoyed the family
• Being a self-declared social butterfly who likes the trite "meeting people" habit.
• Not liking being wrong when he was younger.
• And on and on, ad infinitum, ad nauseum, yadda yadda yadda. 

I have no music, videos or movies downloaded on my iPad to watch and block out his voice. I usually stream them. I don't like to listen to the airline's music or watch their videos or movies either. Plus I can't find my noise-canceling earphones (where did the wife hide them anyway?) so I tried using the airline's padded earphones. Unfortunately, all that did was cancel out the ambient jet noise, making his voice much clearer.

Sometimes, Jabber-Jabber-Doo wins out.

Jabber Jabber Too!

Dateline Honolulu: Wednesday, Feb. 1, 2017

Do I have the words "Keep on talking, I love it" on my forehead? An irritating jabber-on experience happened again, while I was at the gate waiting for my flight from Honolulu to Las Vegas.

A dozen seats to my left sat a guy in I'd say his late 30s, who talked nonstop from the moment I sat myself down at 9:15 a.m. until a little after 11. 

The targets of his discourse were two elderly guys (one in a wheelchair) across the aisle, who were listening semi-intently, dozing off at times, nodding disinterestedly every now and then, and basically trapped.

He went on and on, smoothly transitioning from one unrelated topic to another. And his voice was hard to ignore—slightly hoarse, slightly voluminous, and blah blah blah.

I think the guy and his audience were friends. Thank goodness, he went to the toilet around 11 a.m., and when he returned, sat next to his friends so he could speak in a softer voice.

That's two flights in a row for me. Aren't I the lucky one?

Waking Up ...

... is so very hard to do.

When I was younger (way, way younger), I was probably like you when YOU were way, way younger. We didn't want to go to bed early, primarily because we weren't sleepy.

And then, we didn't want to wake up in the morning because we were still sleepy and "needed" a few more minutes, or a couple of hours, of additional shut-eye.

Hence the conundrum of younger days: Why did we have to go to sleep when we weren't sleepy, and wake up when we were? No good answer to that one.

But now I'm older, and my problem is that I fall asleep too early, and wake up too early. Waking up is a pain, but not falling back to sleep is even worse.

I never used to be able to nap, try as I might. These days, however, an afternoon nap isn't so hard. The body cells and droopy eyes demand it, actually, so I just give in.

Waking up is so very hard to do.

The Unopenable Raisinets Box

Have you ever bought a box of Raisinets at the movie theater?

Did you have problems opening it in the dark?

The frigging boxes are shrink-wrapped and in reality, hermetically sealed. You can't open them without a knife, or a set of sharp teeth that can gnaw through the cellophane wrap. If you get the cellophane to peel off, it creates static electricity and clings to your fingers.

Then you have to find the little perforated hole and open it up that way. What a humbug. They should sell them in reusable plastic containers.

I'd stop buying Raisinets at the movies, but they're tasty and I always rationalize that the raisins make them a healthy snack.

Rap's Hawaii (1982)

I recently re-watched the DVD of Rap Reiplinger's Emmy winning TV special hosted by his Hawaiian-Chinese-Portuguese-Japanese-Puerto Rican-Spanish-et al old man.

The old man (Reiplinger) introduces comedy segments that describe Hawaii locals and their particular dialect, idiosyncrasies and humor.

Although Reiplinger made his career in comedy, he was a troubled young man, dying in 1983 of cocaine-related problems.

Tragedy often boosts a personality's fame, and the same could be said of Reiplinger's so-called "legendary status." Today, fans consider him a comedic genius. I never did, still don't, and probably never will.

I have to say that when I first watched this program 'way back when, I didn't think it was very funny (except for the one called "Room Service," and a few references to frugality). After re-watching, my opinion hasn't changed.

People may say I'm being sacrilegious, but what the hell. I don't think he was a genius, and in general, he wasn't very funny.

Local Honolulu Fails

Recently, I’ve encountered a number of shopping fails in Honolulu. The culprits: KFC and Safeway.

One afternoon, the wife wasn’t in the mood to cook dinner, so she asked us what we wanted to get. My BIL said he wanted KFC spicy wings, so I decided to follow suit—more or less. I didn’t feel like the wings, and I was tiring a bit of their dinner box, so I went online to see what else was in the offing.

Many years ago, when the advertising agency I worked for did KFC’s public relations, I helped launch their chicken sandwiches. Hey, I thought, maybe I’ll have one of those.

Their website pictured different sandwiches than I was familiar with, but that’s to be expected. One of the sandwiches that caught my eye was the “Double-Double Sandwich.” So I set my mouth on that one. Either that, or Chicken Nuggets.

When the wife returned, she’d gotten me a 3-piece box. The KFC she went to (Beretania and McCully) didn’t offer the Double-Double or the nuggets.

Damn. Fail!

Then, a week or so later, I wanted to get some stuff at the local Safeway. I wasn’t in the mood for a longer drive, so I went to the Manoa Safeway, about a mile from the house.

I needed a small cup (personal-serving size) of plain, unflavored yogurt. No such luck. Despite displaying a plethora of yogurt products, the only plain yogurt they offered came in 32-ounce tubs.

Fail! See?

To make matters worse, I needed individual artificial sweeteners—a small box to tide me over until I could buy an inordinate supply at Costco. Nope. They had zero Splenda or anything decent, only the pink one that’s full of cyclamates.

Fail!
 

To make matters even worse, I needed maple syrup. We’d run out and I had to use some of that Log Cabin colored corn syrup that was hiding in the back of the fridge. Log Cabin, Aunt Jemima and the rest of those “pancake sweeteners” have no maple syrup in them. Did you know that? Just caramel-coloring and corn syrup.

Well, you guessed it. No small refrigerator-door size bottles of maple syrup. Only those big plastic jugs that take up half the top shelf in the fridge. I bought one anyway, and transferred the contents into three small Tazo iced tea bottles that fit nicely in the refrigerator door.

Fails galore, right? Well I fooled them, da dirdy ratz.
 

King Street Bike Lane Boondoggle User Numbers

 

I read in Tuesday's newspaper that the latest survey by the City and County of Honolulu's Department of Transportation shows that an estimated 700 bicyclists use the King Street Bike Lane on business days.

Let's assume those are 700 unique bikers, not 350 in the morning and 350 in the afternoon.

Before the bike lane was opened in August 2014 at a cost of $100,000.00, the DOT estimated fewer than 400 bicyclists used the same route to get to and from downtown Honolulu.

Therefore, the new bike lane now benefits only 300 more commuters (an increase over nearly 2½ years) at an approximate cost to taxpayers of $333.33 per additional user. That's money you and I gave the city so the 700 bikers could breeze along nicely while we now have to deal with heavier afternoon pau hana (after-work) traffic.

I was hoping to see thousands making use of the bike lane every morning and every afternoon to make it worthwhile. But that hasn’t happened.

And, the city is planning to install bike lanes on South Street, the Ala Wai, and McCully Street soon. I wonder if they’ll make them as wide as the King Street one? I do know street parking will be severely curtailed and possibly eliminated when the new lanes go in.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, the King Street Bike Lane is a boondoggle that wasted taxpayer money to benefit just a few of our fellow citizens, and it aggravates the hell out of afternoon drivers heading out of town on King Street.

 

But nobody in power seems to be listening, or to care.

 

 

What's Wrong With This Ad?

 

While waiting for the wife to be called into the doctor's office one day, I busied myself by picking up the December 2014 issue of Bon Appetit magazine, figuring maybe I could find an easy recipe that I could make.

As soon as I turned the front cover, the above promotional ad by Bravo exploded in my face.

You do know what the pun in the ad is all about, don't you? "Who the fork will win?" Frankly, I've used that phrase myself, more than once. But ...

I was shocked to see it employed in a supposedly classy magazine like Bon Appetit, especially to promote a competition to find the best new restaurant. I'm also surprised that Bravo would let their advertising people come up with a horrible, vulgar ad like this, and even more surprised that it would pass Bravo's management scrutiny.

Nobody enjoys a pun more than I do, but ... not when it's to emulate a disgusting phrase in a magazine read by nice people like me.

Wait … Where Are My Grits?

You know how sometimes you think about food while lying in bed in the morning, your stomach grumbling and making “hurry up” noises?

That happened to me this morning. I was reflecting on some great shrimp and grits I had at the House of Blues in Los Angeles, and remembered that I had some grits in the cupboard.

Hmmm … what if I took out some bacon, cut ‘em into lardons, crisped them up in the pan, and mixed them in with some grits? Yeah, that’s the ticket.

I thought about it for a while; every minute that passed convinced me that it’s what I was going to make for breakfast – with buttery scrambled eggs, freshly squeezed orange juice, and a steaming mug of Peet’s coffee. My mouth was already watering.

Eventually I couldn’t stand it any longer and jumped out of bed, brushed my teeth, splashed cold water on my face, and ran to the kitchen. You know what? I couldn’t find the grits. I swear I had some saved in a jar. But no, no grits.

Well, kill that fantasy (it was nice, real nice, while it lasted).

You know what? I think the wife dumped it to make room for her big ol’ bags of flour. The naughty girl.

Coffee Klutz

My single-cup Hamilton Beach “The Scoop” coffee maker has served me well for about a year now without a mishap … until Sunday morning.

To use it, just scoop coffee grounds into the handled strainer, insert it in the proper place, add water to the well, and press the start button. Of course, you can’t forget to put your coffee cup under the drip hole.

But before doing that, I always prepare my coffee mug with sweetener and creamer, because I’m lazy and would rather have the drip action incorporate them into the coffee. That way, I don’t have to stir it myself. Lazy, y’know.

So anyway, I did just that, and was going to close the scooper/filter lid, when my left arm bumped the protruding handle, sending coffee grounds cascading onto the shelf, the floor, and into my coffee cup. (insert 15 seconds of blasphemous cursing here).

I had to clean up and start over again. Good thing I didn’t have my eggs on the stove yet.

Okay … coffee made, breakfast made, everything’s ready at the table … plate, juice, coffee, Sunday newspaper.

I think my right arm was jealous that the left arm’s earlier action caused a lot of activity in the kitchen. It wanted equal time and knocked my full coffee cup over, creating a mocha-hued splash puddle on the table, the floor, and my lap. (insert 30 seconds of blasphemous cursing here).

Shaking her head unbelievingly, the wife (bless her heart), shooed me out of there and cleaned up the mess for me.

I may swear off morning coffee forever.

 

Two Disappointing Recent Movies

As you may be aware, I shut down my “Shhh! The Movie’s Starting” blog a week ago. What it’s done is given me an opportunity to watch movies once again for just the pure enjoyment of it, instead of pausing occasionally to take notes and jot down some wonderful prose that sneaked into my mind.

When the hobby became work, it was time to retire the avocation.

It gave me a chance to watch recent movies with no ulterior motive in mind … just to enjoy. Instead of looking for something good to write about, I can now take a broader view and peer more deeply into their shortcomings. And I’m not so happy with what I’ve found.

Last week, I watched two comedies that I thought would entertain me and have me falling off the chair in laughter. Well, that didn’t work, they weren’t as pleasant and funny as I thought they would be. To wit:

Tammy (2014): With a cast that features Susan Sarandon, Kathy Bates, Allison Janney, Dan Aykroyd, Toni Collette and Sandra Oh, one would think the film has a lot going for it. The problem is the lead – Melissa McCarthy – plays her usual foul-mouthed, “I gotta compensate for being grossly overweight,” character. She’s not lovable in the least. And everybody is dropping f-bombs all over the place. No, not fart bombs, the other f-bomb (although farts would have been funnier than McCarthy’s rantings).

I love Susan Sarandon, but playing an alcoholic, foul-mouthed, anti-societal, gray-haired grandmother is a far cry from  her classics – Thelma and Louise, and Bull Durham. The other star-names are mere supporting cast members propping up the foul-mouthed leads.

We’re the Millers (2013): Jason Sudekis is not a bad actor. Neither is Jennifer Aniston (at least she’s gotten out of the romantic comedy rut). Their supporting cast is okay – Will Pouter is sufficiently weird, Emma Roberts is cute. The rest of the characters are just kind of squeezed in where the producers thought they should be. Pretty lame.

The plot is pretty simple and stupid. But the worst part? The f-bombs. Lots and lots of them.

I can just imagine a younger audience laughing at these two movies. I can just imagine an older audience laughing AT these two movies.

I do want to watch more recent movies, so I won’t let my HBO subscription lapse. But as you may have noticed in my movie blog, I seem to like the older movies on Turner Classic Movies.

Am I a crusty old curmudgeon, or what?

The Insomniac Bird from Hell

On the night we arrived at my son's home in Fremont, California, about 30 minutes before the midnight hour, we were just a bit pooped, to say the least, after a 5-hour-plus flight from Honolulu.

Of course, it was only 8:30 p.m. in Hawaii, so it wasn't going to be easy to just shower and fall asleep. In fact, by the time I got unpacked, showered, and settled into bed, it was 1 a.m. I crossword-puzzled for about 15 minutes, then turned off the light, lay my head upon my pillow,  pulled the covers up to my neck, and closed my eyes.

They popped right open again because it was at that very moment  that a bird started singing. At first, I thought it was seven or eight different birds, all singing different songs. But wait. I thought birds slept at night. Then, listening carefully, I realized it was just one bird ... ONE bird ... making all that racket.

It had to be a Northern Mockingbird (Mimus polyglottos).

I would have gone out to take a picture of that obnoxious, rude and inconsiderate bird, but remember, it was really dark outside. In fact, I thought of shooting it with a BB gun, but even THAT wouldn't have worked. In the dark, I probably would have shot out somebody's window.

So I did the only thing I could do – I listened to that damned bird from hell until 3 a.m., when I mercifully fell asleep. My daughter-in-law said she heard it when she headed out to work the next morning at about 6 a.m. The bird was singing all night long. Apparently, according to a naturalist's blog I read the next day, it was defending its territory ... no matter that it was night, when he should have been sleeping.

I thought about waking the wife so she could share the cacophony, but ... a tired, unhappy wife at 3 a.m. makes for a tired, unhappy life for at least the next couple of days.

King Street Bike Lane Boondoggle Update

View from the Driver's Seat:
King Street at Rush Hour, Bumper to Bumper Traffic
Caused by the Boondoggle Bike Lane Off to the Left

See that? That’s King Street during the afternoon drive from downtown to where I turn left for home. Bumper to bumper all the way. Accident ahead? No. Pedestrians crossing? No. Bicyclists? Definitely no. The boondoggle bike lane? YES.

The last time I totaled up the number of bike riders I’ve seen in the $100,000.00 King Street bike lane, I think it was 11 or so. I hadn’t seen any since then because I’ve gone on a couple of trips and can’t remember the exact number, so let’s be fair and add a few. Let’s say I’ve seen 15. Fair enough?

Yesterday, I had the opportunity (?) to drive along King Street around 5 p.m. during the afternoon rush hour. I saw 15 bikers coming and going in the lane, so that should bring my total sightings up to 30.

Let’s see now, $100,000.00 cost, 30 bikers.

That brings the total cost per rider (according to my eyes) to $3,333.33. Still very expensive. Where are the hundreds of riders predicted by the bike lane supporters?

This is supposed to be a test project. In my humble opinion, our Mayor failed the test. Give us back the bike lane for our cars. Please?

JFK Experience

... As in "Just Fuhgeddaboudit, Kiddo."

While driving along the Las Vegas Strip, heading back downtown from a buying expedition at Fry's Electronics, I saw this mock-up of President John F. Kennedy's Air Force One. I tried to take a photo from the car, but that didn't work out.

When I got back to my hotel room, I Googled it on my iPad and discovered there was an exhibition of JFK stuff at the Tropicana Hotel and Casino.

The memorabilia, which includes two Presidential limos, a number of Jacqueline Kennedy's formal gowns, and oodles and oodles of JFK's campaign ribbons and buttons. Is a small portion of presidential enthusiast Jim Warlick's collection.

The next day, I went to the Tropicana, took a picture of Air Force One, then headed inside to find the exhibit. I figured it was in the same place where I had seen "The Human Body" and "Titanic" exhibitions several years ago. Without thinking much of it, I began my long trudge.

Now, the day before, and earlier that same day, I'd done a lot of walking, and by the time I found the place, I must have walked at least a quarter mile in my search. My feet hurt, and my legs, hips and lower back were killing me. Not only that, there's a long stairway to negotiate before you get to the entrance.

So I get there, and the guy sitting at the entrance table tells me I have to buy my ticket at the "Show Tickets" booth 'way back where I'd started from. I ask the price. It's $24.95, or $19.95 for local residents (whom we call "kamaaina" in Hawaii) and seniors (like me).

What if, I offer, I just give him $25 (forget the senior price). Would he let me in? He just smiled faintly. I told him if I have to walk back to get a ticket, I'm not coming back. Didn't faze him in the least. I took a peek inside and saw how sparse the exhibit looked, turned on my sore heels, and went back the way I came.

Then I played a deuces-wild poker slot at the Tropicana casino and won $50. Poetic justice, no?

I kid you not.

Wash, Rinse, Repeat

This is not about shampoo. It's about reading a book.

I just finished reading Night Light by Terri Blackstock, the second book in her Restoration Series.

But when I went to post it in my Book Boogie blog, I discovered I'd already reviewed it nearly four years ago. Hell, no wonder some parts sounded so familiar. And here I thought I was so insightful because I could almost anticipate what was going to happen next.

This has happened to me twice before, but luckily I figured it out early, before committing fingers to keyboard.

Nobody likes wasting a perfectly good, well-written book review, so I tried to see if the situation could be salvaged. Maybe I could surreptitiously replace the old one with the new? Maybe I could delete the old and post the new? Surely, there's something I could do.

So I re-read the old one, and wouldn't you know it, it was better than the one I'd just written. Consequently I did what any other self-respecting writer/blogger would do.

I trashed the new one. Damn, that hurt.

King Street Bike Lane Revisited

Remember when I posted this picture on Nov. 25th and said I sure hoped I'd see a lot of bikers using the new bike lane?

I saw a couple recently. One 'way down the way during the afternoon rush hour traffic, and one crossing in front of me at a stop light as we were going to a local restaurant to have dinner. And that last one continued riding on the sidewalk, not the bike lane; but I'll count him anyway.

Yippee. That's $100,000 (what it cost), divided by 2. So far, $50,000 per biker in my eyes.

Like I said back then, a whole lotta bikers have to use the grand experiment for it to be successful.

Expensive Bike Lane

Late last year, the City and County of Honolu, in their all-knowing wisdom, decided to install the "King Street Cycle Track," removing the left lane from automobile traffic and parking, and blocking it off for use by bicyclers.

They're progressing, and the green lane is moving inexorably from downtown Honolulu to the Moiliili area of town (a two-mile stretch).

How much will it cost? $100,000. Not much by current purchasing standards, but still a hefty sum when you consider the inconvenience to drivers during rush hour.

Already the deleted lane has resulted in heavier traffic in the remaining lanes. How do I know this? Because I'm been there at various hours of the day.

All I can say is, I hope to see that lane full of bicyclists, the only way I consider the cost and inconvenience to ME as worthwhile.

So ... get out your damned bikes and ride to town.

Hawaii Sets a Record … Again

First, some statistics:

• Hawaii’s population: 1,404,054 (July 1, 2013, US Census Bureau)
• Eligible voters (age 18+): 79.1% (1,110,606)
• Registered voters: 706,890
• Percent of residents 18+ registered to vote: 63%
• Voter turnout on Nov. 4, 2014: 369,554 (52.3%), the lowest voter turnout percentage ever, since statehood in 1959.

Now, what it means:

• About a third (32.9%) of the eligible voters (age 18+) in Hawaii voted.
• A mere one-fourth (26.3%) of Hawaii’s population made decisions that affect the entire state.

This is disgusting, and it’s getting worse.

What did that mean for the governor’s race? The final results:

• Democrat David Ige (our first governor with a very noticeable Hawaii accent): 181,065 votes (49.45%)
• Republican Duke Aiona: 135,742 votes (37.08%)
• Independent Mufi Hannemann: 42,925 votes (11.72%)
• Libertarian Jeff David: 6,393 votes (1.75%)

Now, what THIS means is that David Ige was elected by a mere 16.3% of Hawaii’s 1,110,606 eligible voters. It’s like picking six adults in Hawaii at random, and appointing one to vote; the candidate s/he chooses wins the governorship. Are the other five of you going to be happy with that? I think not.

The solution? I don’t know … better candidates? (We certainly could benefit from that.) More competition? (We really need a strong two-party system in Hawaii.) Fewer nasty negative ads? (Good luck with that one.) Online voting? (But why make it so easy?) Distribution of a “give a damn” vaccine? (Hey, don’t laugh, it might work.) I don’t know.

But it’s enough to make one give up and not vote anymore. Now THAT’S something to think about before the next election in two years. It will be 50 years since I first voted in 1966. Perhaps it’s a good time to quit.