¡Dios Mío!: Kana's Money-Making Machine

As bloggers I'm sure y'all are familiar with that phenomenon in which a thought occurs to you, and then just keeps banging around in your brain with no particular plan or purpose, looking for something to connect to. Until someone springs up and cries out, "Oh, if only there was someone who could tell me a really good single-syllable synonym for immoral!" (louche), or "Is there anyone in the house who knows what that part of the brain is that's sort of seahorse-shaped?" (hippocampus) these thoughts just bounce gently from wall to wall in your brainpan, waiting to be applied.

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I've had this sure-fire concept for a little open-air beach concession stand for about two years now; it's just bouncing around in here, waiting for the venture-capitalist of my dreams to come along and sweep me off my patent-pending. I'm going to write it down here, and see if that will help me get a little peace in my headspace. Picture this:

I wanna go back, to my little grass shack...

A little pentagonal open-air stand, counters surround; tall, hip-high stools on two sides. There's a central electrically-wired column inside to support a cold drinks case, a mini fridge, a shelf-display freezer, and a small TV. Oh, and to hold up the roof. Behind-the-counter space is one-man width, between column and counters. One of the counters is a flip-up, for the server to get into the stand; another has the register, another two are for customers. The fifth is a grill.

A picture's worth however many
words were just in that paragraph

It has a little whirring electric fan, a crackling FM radio, and dried palm fronds over the tin on the roof overhang. The freezer is stocked with chocolate-dipped bananas, popsicles, and ice-cream-on-a-stick products. The grill turns out kebabs, corndogs, and hotdog-on-a-stick. All the drinks come in the classic Coke bottle shape. You begin to see the overall, phallic theme to the wares of ¡Dios Mío!, sí?

Built right off the sidewalk at the beach, it's the weekend and after-school hotspot for the junior high/high school/community college beachgoing set. Everybody else gathers under the palm trees nearby, to watch the young and beautiful gobbling frozen bananas and hotdog-on-a-stick. It's called "¡Dios Mío!", and it'll be a huge hit. It's not just for pervy old men anymore, either; whether you're a cougar, an elderly swinger couple, or just a suspicious parent, there's room for everyone under the trees around ¡Dios Mío! We'll set up picnic tables over there, and a server will wander over every so often to see if you want to order anything...for anybody...*wink*

And the beautiful people come out to flirt with each other, be admired and occasionally get bought a soft drink.

We could have ads on the local radio stations, like:

Youth is no longer wasted on the young; come on down for a Coke float and to fan yourself and murmur, "¡Dios Mío!" Open 4 to 11 pm weeknights, 10am to midnight on weekends.

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This is the kind of stuff that I while my winter months away coming up with...what do you think, guys? Would you patronize my concession stand? Would you tip? Or would you be down at the PTA, trying to get a petition signed to close me down for inciting lewd and licentious behavior? :P

Autumn In Alaska: Even Freddie Would Say That's Mercurial

"Fall is here and all I have to say is; fuck Fall. Fall? I hate the Fall. What bullshit. Oh, the leaves change color...they change color for two days; then a big wind comes and you got nothing but sticks for the rest of the year. You never have a proper fall coat, nothing you wear is right. You wake up it's sunny out, you put a coat on. You go out, you're sweating like a pig, you take it off then it's cold...it's bullshit." -- Lewis Black, The White Album

Achievement unlocked: Autumn

 Hooray Fall! I love love LOVE the Fall. We don't do that season in Hawaii; so, as far as I'm concerned, I bought the upgrade. Three seasons now, eh, what what? But the temperature is kind of...well, I guess "mercurial" is the only truly applicable word there. A little too on-the-nose for those who know what a thermometer is, but I'll just have to try to own it; hells, I'll make it the post title. No one backs Baby Kana into a corner!

Now, I totally got the whole layering memo -- but that's just inadequate to what Alaska is dishing out right now, and what my newly less-insulated body can take. To truly be dressed appropriately for this weather, I need to be allowed to work in just a bra, but also come equipped with a light tank top, with another light tee top over that, followed by a medium sweater or shrug, a light jacket and then a medium one -- because that's easy and convenient, right? The bra must be a padded pushup with the inserts taken out so that I can jam coldpacks or handwarmers in there as needed. This place is hard.

Am I going to die?



Yes. Yes I am.

A lot of it has to do with my office-aka-"library suite" which has a bank of almost-floor-to-ceiling windows that would be more appropriate to a bikini barista* (Google that. I'm not kidding, it's a real thing) which can generate an amazing greenhouse effect, coupled with the Stacks, the back room where all of the hardcopy is stored. And that room is horrifically cold. I don't mean reallyreallyreally cold, like a freezer; it's the literally the kind of cold from a horror flick, a subtle creeping clammy chill, usually associated less with fluorescent lights or rotating shelving and more with crypts and the presence of evil spirits. I frequently find myself going "OOH ooh ooh ooh, AHH ahh ahh ahh, CH ch ch ch ..."

Seriously. Who else gets a suspense soundtrack at work? OTHER THAN THE MURDERER RIGHT BEHIND ME.

 My desk is in the sweet spot right in front of the door to the Stacks, facing the bank of windows. A meteorologist could work full time reporting from underneath my chair on the cold and warm fronts occuring at my station, it's nutso.



I wouldn’t be at all surprised if, due to established

meteorological physics, I ended up sporting one of those

individualized Eeyore clouds right above my desk



And the world outside the windows doesn't help either...I dare you, find a way to dress office-formal in the 40-degree morning for the 80-degree afternoon that becomes 90-something in my office greenhouse. Yesterday I wore wool dress slacks. It was reasonable! I could barely see the lock that morning because of how thickly my breath clouded the air as I tried to open the car door. 

My office was in the mid-nineties by 3pm.

And because the temperature gauge is in my area, the rest of the building was being refrigerated by the central AC. So everyone who passed through my area was either bitching about how hot it was in here or how cold it was out there, all with a vaguely accusing tone. Meanwhile I'm trying not to move in any way, because once I start to sweat I'm awash, and was therefore trying to avoid that first drop from beading. I self-soothed with images of forcing them to trade pants with me. I'm in the top 5 for slimmest people in my building, so it was pretty cheering.

It would barely even fit their fat heads

This all just supports my major theory that Fall is not intended to be experienced from an office. To a Hawaii chick, it seems like it should be ruled a month-long holiday full of berry picking, long walks in the woods, baking, shuffling through leaves, etc. Like most of life, I think Fall is most optimally experienced under a quilt, by a window, with a drink, a book and a cat. Fall's drink is cider. We aren't cleared for full-on hot cocoa until mid-October, when the snow starts to stick. Because, you know, Halloween's a Winter holiday. T_T;

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* I guess I did ask to work in my bra.../regret/