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Battleship row on Dec. 7, 1941.

No disrespect, sport fans, but the Super Bowl up close was something Sam Clemens did not have to confront when long ago leaving Frisco for the Sandwich Islands.

He was lucky. The bowery of old may have been rough but surely not lumbered with hordes and barricades where moving (luggage being the problem preventing walking) two blocks to a hotel took an hour.

All the police in the world (seemed like) were on protective duty along with firepersons and gate guards and handlers of bomb sniffing (one looked much like RCA’s mascot Nipper) dogs.

What a joy it was, along with finding a sandwich, cookie and water to drink cost close to $40. The room cost going to levels where room labeled std should have included multiple courtesans for a really-really good time.

Some (more than a few, I imagine) readers will know of the Bunny performing for the fantastic Bowel Bowel half-time. Were I from Puerto Rico I might have felt shy of saying so after the performance.

Walking about through mid-field shrubbery while carrying an ovoid ball and speaking naughty phrases didn’t seem, at least to me, either all that musical or requiring an excess of talent. But then, leaning toward Herr Mozart as do, any view I have on things popular should not be trusted.

The Philadelphia Mummers (who I expect most readers to not remember) were garish in performance, but not otherwise vulgar. But I suppose it is a good thing, perhaps even prudent, to know and be forewarned of the contents of a bad bunny’s mind. Could come in handy when considering Hasen in the diet.

In any case I suppose I should be happy that paying stupidly excessive prices for everything was my small way of making the half-time I little bit more possible for all. I may question the result, but cheerily (about that I lie) did my small part.

For folk keen on advocating affordability pray and petition that we need not level things so much that the costs of contract bomb sniffing isn’t passed to your local motel or bar and grill.

Affordability is a wonderful notion until we’re all on the hook for making mangos affordable in Nome or cheaper electricity in Honolulu.

Beats me how a master affordability plan can be accomplished, but I’m sure my understanding has zilch to do with it. Any case, hooray for all the superb bowels out there. Many happy flushings to you!

When Sam left for the Sandwich Islands things were much different. He went by sail in an era when a ship might top 100 rather than 2,000 aboard, and other than the perpetual human kind, no rats in the bilges, either.

Those of you closely familiar with the Great Lakes know our inland seas develop waves of particular form. Along those lines, the Atlantic is known for sharp waves that provide a good smack to anything in the way. Cruise ships, as example, mostly avoid the North Atlantic so as not to be battered.

But in any case the Caribbean has better weather and far nicer beaches than Labrador. The Pacific, from what I’ve read and now observed, is marked by large swells of water.

Not that I’ve spent hours staring at the water, I’ve seen not a single dolphin (etc.) or other ship until near harbor. The Atlantic seems far busier in comparison. Trolling is not allowed off the appealing fantail, or anywhere else for that matter.

If we he-man beans, as some in sincerity say, are the noblest work of God, I’m inclined to think God could have done better or we beans are not keeping up our end.

Ports able to accept passengers in numbers are monotonously ugly, our fault, not God`s. Whether in Mexico, San Francisco or Honolulu the pattern of tall waterfront dwellings makes places look much the same but with different clock or time settings. I can’t escape the feeling it’s all so much the same, unappealing and utilitarian ugly.

The Twin Ports, Two Harbors and etc. have more authenticity in general than do the important, major, much talked about destination ports. Of course, nothing new in that. How many nice little working towns became tourist draws selling the same sorts of sweatshirts, candles and gore-met meals in counterfeit settings?

A thing I didn’t expect was confrontation with indigenous Hawaiian culture’s stance on multiple marriage. At least for some in the culture (and I assume to the great displeasure of those adhering to the Handmaid Tale) the practice was upheld as an independent native right and a way of, so to speak, spread wealth and status.

I’m not a hundred percent sure, but seems indigenous females of rank were also in a position to share. Seems more than a bit odd to hear multiple marriage held as a societal benefit.

Anyway, the practice among U.S. peoples wasn’t limited to Puritans, who turned out to be far from aggressive about the practice. Several religions are advocates, some using social services as a stealth way to support spouse 2, , or 4. And true enough, multiple marriage isn’t geared to a single family income making it (as seen by some) eligible for compassionate aid.

Wonder how that will work out.

Not wanting to remain snarky, I have to say it’s a strange sensation to stand places that took direct fire on Dec. 7, 1941.

Luke field, alongside Battleship Row where the Arizona rests and the Missouri is moored, has a control tower that was almost completed before the attack. You can today go atop the tower for an overview of events that feel much more real and relevant when standing where bombs, shells and shrapnel fell with random, sometimes accidental, result.

A young tour guide in the outfit of a Japanese pilot struck me as more hopeful than anything I might have imagined. Think, a moment, what that single thing says of American tolerance and forgiveness.
On an active base where ID was required a respectful portrayal of an enemy combatant makes me smile with humble gratitude.