Safety Dance

Today was fun. I got to do some of my first Phase 2 stuff. During our first dolphin interaction of the morning at 10am, the head of the training department asked all of us interns if we'd passed our Phase 1 test (which we had) and then told us to grab a cooler for each animal that was doing the interaction. He then took us to the back of the pool where we proceeded to be the "Safety Trainer". Safety trainer is the person who takes control of the dolphins when a trainer needs a moment to work with the guests, to get them into position, or just wants them to focus on the trainer and not the dolphin for a moment, so they send the dolphin across the pool to someone else who plays with them or feeds them. About half-way thru the program, the other two interns had to go to fish class, so I was left alone with the head of the training department, doing A->B's with 25 guests and 4 animals, including the wolphin baby in the water. That was the high point of the day. Other notable points include when I dropped a 75lb wooden platform onto my toe. I probably won't lose my toenail because I spent about half an hour squeezing blood out from under it in order to prevent a pressure buildup that will pop the nail off, so...here's hoping. Despite the plummeting platform, I had a fun day, and I don't have to be at the cookie shop until noon tomorrow, so hurray for sleeping in.

Why is it...?

Why is it that no one is interested in 8pm stealth pastry liberation?

A tale of loss, love, and little else.

Hoss was feeling low. It was three days since Ol' Roy had wandered out of the stable and Hoss just wasn't the same with out Ol' Roy. He'd walked into the nearest saloon and crawled deep into the first bottle of whiskey he could find and had been pickleing hisself drunk ever since then. Ol' Roy had never abandoned him before. Not like this.

Ol' Roy had heard the news thru the feed-trough grapevine. The love of his life was finally back. It'd been years since he'd heard from her, and now she would be passing thru Windy Point which was just 12 miles west. Ol' Roy hadn't had to think twice; he'd slipped his hitchin' post and galloped toward the setting sun.

Tabitha blithly followed the tail of the animal in front of her. The drapery and fanciful embroidery glittered gold in the blistering sun. Tabitha was unimpressed with the endless desert and the scortching sun and the tumbling tumbleweeds. Tabitha was a city lass, accustomed to posh surroundings: paved streets, indoor plumbing, and storm drains. Parasols and wingtips were more scarce in these parts than a gold miner with 32 teeth.

Hoss drunkenly swung his fist at the blurry piano player. The man jumped back while the owner of the saloon deftly scooped Hoss under the armpits and unceremoniously tossed him into the street. The sun had sunk low and night was fast approaching. Hoisting himself to his feet, Hoss staggered into the stable and passed out in the hay.

Ol' Roy ran on into the night, the stars guiding his way. As the night wore on and a rosy hue began to illuminate the horizon behind him, Ol' Roy knew he had to hurry. Only 3 more miles to go, but the sun hearlded the imminent arrival of the love of his life.

Tabitha turned her head and squinted into the rising sun. A cloud of dust was growing in the distance. Shielding her face with her long grey trunk, Tabitha tried to make out the cause of the disturbance, but her vision was not what it once was. After all, elephants could live for many years, and Tabitha was the oldest in her herd.

Instruction manual

Well, in a little less than 4 months, it seems that I will be an uncle. Sugar and spice and everything nice is coming to my brother and his wife, and around about mid-January, I shall forever become Uncle Justin to someone. This is through no choice of my own, but responsibilities are tacked onto this title, the implications of which are far-and-wide-reaching. Perhaps nieces should come with an instruction manual on how to be everything you liked about your uncles while still being a unique and entertaining individual. What will this little lass expect of me? Clearly not much for the first several years of her life, but AFTER that, thank-you-very-much. I didn't volunteer for this, but I'm kind of looking forward to it. It's like practice: "warp your older brother's children while you practice for your own!" or maybe "Niece: like the real thing, but you can send it back." Jeez, what kind of things is this child going to be exposed to from me? I don't know, but I'd like to apologize to Trevor and Kim in advance.

Apparently...

Apparently I'm a professional model now. Today I was dragged away from my area to do a photo shoot for the new website for Sea Life Park and we got to play with a sea lion. Sea lion kisses smell like fish, for those of you who are curious, and getting an extended kiss from one is akin to sticking your head into an aquarium. A very whiskery aquarium. A very whiskery aquarium with sharp teeth. Any way, the point is, I may soon be world famous as "that guy who is doing the sea lion interaction on the Sea Life Park web site". I also got to play with two baby dolphins today, one time it was even in the water with a baby and her mother. Little Adella is a pudge-0. A fat, round, rolly-polly little baby dolphin.

Part 5

For those of you who remember/follow my short story, here is another installment.

I thought about the sleeping pills that I’d been prescribed last year for my insomnia, but decided against it; I’d fall asleep sooner or later. Maybe some exercise would work. I got my shoes on and went looking for my dog. After a brief stop at the neighbor’s house to see if he had seen my absent animal (he had not), I set off toward the park, hoping that my canine compadre could be found there. Walking amongst the greenery, despite the trimmed trees and pampered petunias, my thoughts drifted to my primordial forest of my mind. Why would my subconscious conjure up this verdant delusion every time I fell asleep? What did it have to do with my writing and my ideas? Was there some way I could gain access to this apparently untapped font of ideas while awake? I walked through the park, my mind elsewhere, absently searching for the dog, but no progress was made on either front. I returned home hungry, confused and without my dog.
I reached for the phone to dial the housekeeper’s number, but after a few seconds of ringing on the other end, I was informed that my party could not be reached, but if I cared to, I could leave my name, number and a short message. I did so. No progress. I lay down on the couch to consider my next course of action. The late summer sun was faint and a gentle breeze was wending its way through my living room, and as easily as that, I drifted off to sleep.
Richard Nixon greeted me at the entrance of the Taj Mahal. His dress was slightly askew, and was clearly cut a few sizes too large for his frame. The hors d'oeuvres were ready, but the band need a few more minutes to get the sound set up correctly. The guests were happily intoxicated, but Elton John was swinging gaily on the chandelier and refused to come down. I was about to order Tricky Dick to cut the rope and let Sir Elton crash raucously to the tiles of the ballroom when the phone began to peal stridently next to my head. I groggily dragged myself out of my nonsensical dream and answered the phone with a hearty “Mmmph?”.
“This is Jacob Lewis, Audrey’s husband. I’m calling all her clients to see if she’s been in today.”
“Well Jake, I can tell you that she definitely came through here earlier today before I woke up.”
“So she was there, but you didn’t see her?”
“That’s correct.”
“Thank you for your help.”
“Any time. When you get ahold of her, can you ask her if she’s seen my dog?”
With that, I hung the phone up and sat up on the sofa. Apparently my dreams were not all significant. Exhibit A for the prosecution: Richard Nixon in a muumuu. Well, maybe I could find a story in that some time.
I spent the next four hours trying to cobble together a short story about Richard Nixon in drag reprimanding a swashbuckling Elton John for his buccaneer tactics, but the nonsensical nature was defeating me, and so shortly after one in the morning, I turned off my computer and succumbed to sleep once again.

Champions, cookies, and chimpanzees

My team lead/area supervisor is a champion. The other day we were at work, and a car was coming toward us as we walked down the middle of the road. I automatically went "Caaar!" and we stepped out of the way. As the car passed us, I opened my mouth to say "Game on!" (which is something I've been doing to my roommates since I got here, much to their confusion), when my boss beat me to it. That combined with the fact that he is taller than me and an triathlete wins all kinds of respect with me. He's a nice guy too.

I started working in the cookie shop today, and it smelled nice. The job is far from exciting, but it pays, which is something that my other job is decidedly lacking. I also get fringe benefits, such as eating the "deformed" cookies (i.e. those that have fused to another) and the "burnt" ones (i.e. the ones that are a bit too brown, but still delicious).

Sadly, there have been no chimpanzees. I just felt that the title needed a third word to make it sound neater.

Tiberius

Tiberius the Turtle was discontent. He'd been training for weeks, yet his times had not improved. If he were to be a Competitor in this years Turlympics, he would have to cut at least three seconds off of his time. Rory the Rabbit was watching and critiquing from the sidelines.
"Keep your feet in, the straighter you move, the faster you move."
"You shut your mouth you nap nabbing numbskull!" Tiberius retorted. He was tired of his coach's advice, which he seldom backed up with experience. After all, hadn't Tiberius bested Rory in the recent competition that had been arbitrated by Aesop? What could Rory teach him that he didn't already know? The principles of aerodynamics were on his side. His shell was a miracle of modern engineering, practically designed for high-speed travel but his body refused to removed the required seconds that would get him into the trials. Would training be enough? Perhaps it was time for some pharmaceutical help...

Bus Mojo and Cookies

Over the last 2 days, I have not waited more than 5 minutes for a bus. This isn't particularly impressive until you realize that the bus system in Hawaii is not exactly the type that operates on time. They have a schedule, but it's nothing more than a vague suggestion as to when you should show up at the bus stop. I have waited over an hour for a bus that is supposed to come every 35 minutes only to have one pull in just as I am walking out of range to catch it.

In other news, I now work at a cookie store. That's right, I play with dolphins and bake cookies. I also live in Hawaii. Suck it!

Hurray for life.

Edit: I also got a date tonight. When you're on a roll, you're on a roll...

I like a man who can handle his meat...

Rupert was an expert. He’d been doing this for years and in that time, not once single person had surpassed him in his chosen field. His hands held the knife steady; his strokes where swift and straight. The flesh peeled away from the bone in wafer thin slices and fell into his hand. With deft movements, he cradled the cold meat in his palm and placed it gently in the bun. It was a good day to be a sandwich maker.