Transitory

Apparently, the tip of Mauna Kea's 13,796 feet tall volcano mountain will become immersed underwater in 80 million years. I can't even fathom what a million years would feel like, much less 100 years. They say the Big Island sinks one foot every hundred years under the enormous weight of the volcanoes.

So all of the Hawaiian islands have been biding their time on the Pacific plate, while we're presently biding our time over Hayward fault. This is humbling. Saddening, even. Makes my internal snarkiness over annoying trivialities seem like pointless waste of time.

But is it a waste of time? Tiny trivialities annoy me right now. When I'm cut off on the Bay Bridge, my adrenaline level does not register the blessing of time and the big picture.

This recalls the most obvious, bordering on boredom question--why is it so hard to live for the now, when we're striving to live for later?

I mean, why spend the best years of your life avoiding sugar, cigarettes, marijuana, alcohol, random acts of debauchery, McDonalds and white flour? If I reach 80, will I feel that my life had achieved some golden status--having avoided the wonderful misdirection of dangerous vices? What would that Golden Girl Scout feeling be?

Hawai'i will disappear. If humans make it that far--they will be living in intelligent homes, mentally transporting themselves to and fro, and will subsit on a mentally guided menu that can be downloaded and invisibly applied to the blood (or cholorphyll) stream. Should we prepare now the annals of island existence?

If 80 million years is so far off, why does it make me sad? And if the little things don't really matter, why have a flurry of little things put me in a bad mood?

Herbal Bistro

One of my favorite things to do here in the States is go out for brunch. Wake up later on a Saturday or Sunday, get dressed, walk the dog, get the paper, and head out to a small cafe. Going out for brunch was not very common in many of the places I lived abroad--and it was the one thing I really missed about the States.

Now I can consult the Zagat San Francisco for tons of amazing breakfast cafes. Some specialize in cornbread pancakes and others in homemade corned beef hash and eggs. In the past four years, Cappy and I have established a nice rotation of great breakfast restaurants.

Last Saturday however, we inadvertently tried something new. Cappy stumbled upon a "Crêperie" not so near our neighborhood. She rang my cell phone and waved at me from across the street, pointing to the place she was walking into. I was in Long's buying Motrin--left the house with a terrible headache.

So I arrived at the "Crêperie." Cappy was waving at me with a giddy and amused look on her face from a table next to a faux brick wall. There were "Parisian" decorations everywhere. The menu was typed in a Mac II font and turkey-ham was listed in every instance of meat.

There should have been washers and dryers in the back room though--if you know what I mean....

Top 10 Signs That You MAY Be Dining in a Pot Storefront:

1. You're one of two patrons at 10:45 a.m. on a Saturday morning

2. Reggae music is blasting at a Saturday night volume

3. It takes nearly 15 minutes for lukewarm cups of coffee to arrive at your table

4. CASH ONLY signs are enthusiastically posted in more than one place

5. One waiter is visibly straining with his whole body to squeeze oranges for an 8 oz. glass of juice

6. There are half empty bottles of wine standing behind the counter. However, the menu only features non-alcoholic beverages.

7. You feel a sudden and unexplainable craving for beef jerky, pizza, and potato chips

8. The two staff people look like they should be fitting you for fins and a dive belt, not frying your eggs

9. One waiter makes 5 very casual trips back and forth to your table (in the space of three or so minutes...) each time, with a very friendly and mellow smile on his face:

1st trip: The food
2nd trip: Forks
3rd trip: The water you asked for 15 minutes ago
4th trip: One Spoon (!?!)
5th trip: Salt

10. Your paid order ticket goes into a special box in the top drawer of the register

Good times.