That was the year that was
Advertiser Staff
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Illustration by Jon Orque • The Honolulu Advertiser
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When the Island Life staff decided to take one final look at 2003, we couldn't say goodbye to the old year without giving it our own final reviews.
Looking back, we found there's always something left in reporters' notebooks they just couldn't fit into the story when it printed.
- The loss of a son hits home.
- A chance to answer what defines style.
- A reader shows the true meaning of aloha.
From us to you, here are a few thoughts and memories our staffers couldn't leave on the cutting room floor, starting with pop culture writer Mike Tsai's reflections:
The penguin says Yo
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It started on a Tuesday morning last month when I called the Washington Post Writers Group to see if Pulitzer-winning cartoonist Berkeley Breathed might possibly consent to a short interview about his new "Opus" cartoon.
"Sorry," the media relations contact person said. "Berkeley isn't doing interviews. But ..."
But?
"But he might be able to put you in touch with Opus."
As a reporter, you talk to all kinds of people. In my relatively short career, I've interviewed artists, rock stars, pig farmers, Hollywood directors, rodeo clowns, a murderer, A-, B- and C-list celebs aplenty ...
But Opus? The cartoon penguin from "Bloom County" and "Outland?"
Cool!
After a couple of e-mail exchanges, I did indeed hook up with Bill the Cat's former presidential running mate — although the name on the e-mail account said Berkeley Breathed for some reason.
Regardless, Opus gave surprisingly candid answers to my questions about why he quit eight years ago (Breathed had a sex change), why he was coming back (gambling debts) and what Bill has been up to (modeling thong diapers for Baby Gap).
For someone who came of age in the '80s, interviewing Opus was pretty nifty stuff.
Almost as cool as my next day's assignment, interviewing André of the 1980s film "My Dinner with André." The whole film consisted of two real-life people — Andre Gregory and Wallace Shawn — having a conversation (albeit a brilliantly scripted one) over dinner.
I remember watching it in high school, when it first started running on cable TV. Unfortunately, it ran ona pay station my family didn't get, and my eyes went goofy from the scrambled images. Even then, I felt like I was watching something cool and important and great.
Not only was Gregory not a jerk (unlike some icons of our adolescence), he is every bit as interesting and engaging as he is on screen.
Of course, I had to brag via e-mail to my friends that afternoon.
"Opus and André?" one friend wrote back. "You suck!"
Ah, ain't it the truth?
Michael Tsai is The Advertiser's pop culture writer.
• • •
Segundo segues into celebrity
Those fleeting 15 minutes of fame everyone talks about? How long it actually lasts depends on what you make of it.
Jordan Segundo turned his 15 minutes — as Hawai'i's first on-camera "American Idol" contestant last February — into a cottage industry.
So he didn't win. He didn't lose, either.
He bounded back by being busy, visible and hopeful.
The Honolulu Symphony Orchestra was one of the first to tap him for a concert, the first of many community gigs.
He graduated from Farrington High School this year as a celebrity. He had become Hawai'i's Idol. Gov. Linda Lingle proclaimed a Jordan Segundo Day amid his Farrington peers.
During the year, he sang the national anthem at volleyball and football games.
He quit his part-time job at Jamba Juice for an on-camera reporter's slot at KHON-2, the Fox affiliate.
He appeared on a host of local shows. Aston's Full Moon Concerts. Perry & Price's Hanohano Room. The Okinawan festival (no, he's part Filipino). The 50th State Fair. Honolulu City Lights.
He inspired youngsters to become bookworms in reading festivities at public libraries.
He's been on the program for both Brunch on the Beach and Sunset on the Beach, not only singing for his Hawai'i fans but embracing visitors, too.
He started work on his first solo album, due shortly.
He maintained his identity and integrity, not succumbing to copycat makeovers.
He rubbed elbows with Kenny Loggins, who told him not to be dismayed with harsh putdowns early in his life.
So what if acerbic judge Simon Cowell called him "a fish on a slab"?
Jordan has crammed a lifetime of memories into his 15 minutes, and still is counting.
That's some fish.
— Wayne Harada, Advertiser entertainment writer
• • •
How reporting can be powerful
A friend cut out a comic strip for me about how reporters start their day at work.
The clipping showed a reporter covering his eyes with one hand and throwing a dart with the other. He was blindly aiming for a board that read, "Today I am an expert in:" Under that heading were targets of more than two dozen categories including politics, bioengineering, vinegar, explosives, septic tanks and liposuction.
What a perfect representation of 2003 for me. The past year has opened me up to the most diverse story subjects yet.
I rang in the New Year preparing to make a temporary move from the features section to the city desk. It was probably one of the scariest, but greatest learning experiences. I wrote about everything from escaped convicts, striking nurses and shark attacks to crime rates, court cases, jellyfish and Salvinia molesta invasions.
By mid-year I returned to Island Life, picking up where I left off with feel-good stories; topics such as dolled-up toy dogs, dorm room decorating and a cook's tour of Chinatown.
But one of my most memorable interviews this year was with a young woman whose father died in a car accident. As she described her dad, I got sick to my stomach linking the similarities to my relationship with my father, whom I worship beyond words.
By the end of the interview, I was crying silently with her. I felt awful for her loss, and at the same time, I admired her for her strength and her willingness to share her most intimate memories with a complete stranger.
As she wept, she thanked me for helping her father's legacy live on. And I was reminded of how powerful reporting can be.
— Zenaida Serrano Espanol, Advertiser staff writer
• • •
Stylishness is very personal
The two questions I'm asked most often are how we choose the people to profile in "Just My Style," and what the criteria are to merit a profile.
There's no easy answer. Style is not something quantifiable. It can't be measured scientifically or graded on a curve.
The fact is, it's easier to define what style is not.
Style has little or nothing to do with money. Bucks can't buy you style, no matter how much you spend.
It's not about designer duds. You may possess the most exquisite Armani suit, Chanel gown or Jil Sander pants, yet ruin the look by not knowing how to pull it all together.
Style is not about following trends. It's about setting them.
Style is about originality, whimsy, a sense of humor, resourcefulness and a creative, enthusiastic and energetic approach to the daily question, "What am I going to wear?"
Style is about manners, thoughtfulness and taking into consideration the appropriateness of what you are wearing in relation to those around you, whether it's at a black-tie event in a hotel ballroom or a dinner party at a friend's apartment. It's about honoring a hostess by putting effort into how you look.
So how do I select people for "Just My Style"? It's really quite simple: I keep my eyes open everywhere I go — malls, supermarkets, bus stops, health clubs, gala fund-raisers, farmers' markets, art openings or hula classes — looking for that certain something that is an indicator of true style.
I also believe that style, like architecture, contributes to a sense of place. So the tutu in the lauhala hat with feather lei that matches her lovely mu'umu'u may end up on our pages, as may the teenager who shops at Savers and achieves a Chloe Sevigny-like chic with a surfer-girl edge.
— Paula Rath, Advertiser staff writer
• • •
A mother's crisis touched me deeply
It took a few days for it to click.
Daniel Levey was missing on a mountain. The 19-year-old University of Oregon student had called his mother, telling her he was on his way back from hiking a Nu'uanu summit.
All the parents I knew were talking about it. Agonizing about how cell phones can be a burden as well as a blessing. Kids turn them off. They run out of juice. How scared we all are when that lifeline is cut.
As a mother of two teenage sons, my heart ached for his mother. I know what it's like to send teens out into the world and the shallow breaths I take until they are home, safe in their beds. I know what dangers his parents imagined as hours ticked by, late into the night. We've all tasted that steely flavor of fear.
Then came the moment at Boy Scout camp. People were talking about joining the search for Daniel just as the news reports came. His body had been found on a ledge after a 15-story fall.
"He went to Punahou, you know," someone said.
Suddenly I felt the realization like a stone dropping into a body cavity I didn't even know existed — a cold, dark, heavy stone.
Oh, dear heaven, no. Not that Daniel. Not the Daniel I'd interviewed about his Orthodox Jewish faith in 2002.
That interesting, articulate Daniel whose mother let us take a Hanukkah picture in her Hawai'i Kai home.
Daniel would never come home.
As a religion writer, I had been casting around for an angle on a story about people suffering through crises of faith. I took a deep breath and called his mother, Joyce. Would she be willing to talk about Daniel? About how tragedies like hers stretch one's spiritual boundaries?
She graciously agreed.
After a long and powerful conversation, she told me: "Go home and hug your kids."
So I did. That night, I went home, my arms crawled up those tall, tree-like structures (at nearly 6 feet each, I call them the "hulking masses") and hugged them hard. They looked at me as if I were crazy. "That's from Joyce," I told them.
Hers was the hardest story I wrote this year, but the one I learned the most from. She's been through the worst experience a woman can have, losing her son. Yet she remains a woman of faith — questioning, yes; profoundly sad, of course.
But she's proof that life and love and faith go on, even when you think they can't.
— Mary Kaye Ritz, Advertiser religion and ethics writer
• • •
Cruising the stress boat
By far, the assignment that brought me the most comments — and the most stress — in 2003 was a cruise aboard the Norwegian Star. My Norwegian Star diary is still on The Advertiser Web site in the Special Projects section, and recently friends said they are using my work as their bible to prepare for their own cruise.
This is great to hear, of course, and I'm not going to tell you I didn't have a good time. But did I enjoy the relaxing cruise that I wish for all of you?
Well ...
Along with the laptop computer, notebooks, reference works and itinerary, I pack a little something extra on every work trip I take: worry.
The first day aboard the Norwegian Star, my biggest concern was getting my e-mail account set up so I could file reports daily. It took three trips to the Internet Café to find the man I needed to talk to. And then a sinking feeling in the pit of the stomach: My computer wasn't set up for wireless access.
There was no way for me to write offline. I had to go online live and get my report done each day in just over 10 minutes in order not to exceed my 100-minute budget for the trip.
Stress!!!
The second day, when the captain announced we wouldn't be going to Fanning Island because of a mechanical problem, I shot out of the deck chair where I was relaxing after a spa treatment and ran out in my bathrobe to find someone to tell me what was up so I could file a report.
While everyone else was shrugging and turning back to their umbrella drinks, I was on the cell phone with the news desk.
I ate in restaurants I didn't care about, visited art sales and shops that didn't interest me, interrupted people at play to get comments, walked the length of the ship more times than I can count and never sat down for more than an hour.
But I also got to tag along with some VIPs on a tour of the bridge that was way cool. (Was it the dolphins, the 200-degree view or the very cute officers we liked best? We'll never tell.)
So now you'll know why I've got that distracted look in my eye and a notebook cemented to my hand the next time you pass by me on a trip.
— Wanda Adams, Advertiser food/books/travel editor
• • •
The day I got a taste of real aloha
Occasionally, readers invite me to their homes to show me the proper way to prepare something I may have written about in one of my reviews. They want me to taste the authentic flavors they have enjoyed for generations. They want me to smell their exotic spice blends.
This summer, I was invited by Leilani, a longtime reader of my restaurant reviews, to her family home. I arrived with a sack of freshly picked lychee fruit.
The food in the house was overflowing, bountiful homemade foods brought forth by each treasured guest; juicy kalua pig, simmering stewpots of pork adobo, mountains of fried rice, oodles of noodles, sushi, smoky huli-huli chicken, chewy-sweet mochi, and sumptuous coconut, lilikoi and passion fruit creations. As I looked around, something else caught my eye.
The late afternoon sunlight illuminated Leilani's tears. She smiled and motioned for me to sit beside her.
She thanked me for bringing her and her husband, Sam, a lot of joy over the years. She then added, "Ono kahi 'ao lu'au ke aloha pu," which literally means, "a little taro green is delicious when love is present."
The Hawaiian phrase was beautiful, but when I tried to repeat it, I fumbled.
We both laughed. Hard. Then Leilani translated, "The plainest food is delicious when accompanied by love."
I was enchanted by the way she spoke such beautiful Hawaiian. Her gift of language inspired me. I again attempted to repeat her words, and with a straight face she said, "Perhaps you should stick to English, my dear," which ignited a fit of laughter ... for her.
The next 20 minutes were hilarious as I tried to form gorgeous sounds just as she had, but with little success. It felt like we had become the Hawaiian version of "Who's on first." When we finally caught our breath, Leilani looked me in the eye and thanked me profusely for snapping her out of her depression.
She then asked her grandson and nephew to play "Hanalei Moon," and she began to dance the hula. Her movements were hypnotic and emotional, as if the goddess of hula lived inside of her. She invited all the guests to join her in this beautiful moment. We formed a circle around Leilani.
A month earlier, Leilani had lost her beloved husband of 53 years, Sam. This was his birthday party. That explained why she was so sad earlier in the evening. The song she had danced to, "Hanalei Moon," was one of Sam's favorites. With this hula, she shared something priceless, the living memory of 53 years of wedded joy.
Later, when I was ready to leave, Leilani's son approached and thanked me for making his mom laugh as he hadn't seen in a very long time. I was touched at how these people had cared, fed and accepted me. I began the day almost a complete stranger. I mentioned this to my host and thanked him for making my day special.
He humbly shrugged, as if this were just the way it is done in his family, and with the same captivating twinkle in his eye that his mother had while dancing, he responded, "One never knows the gifts a stranger brings."
As I walked down the road to my car, I knew I had been the one who had been given a gift: a taste of true aloha.
— Matthew Gray, Advertiser restaurant critic
• • •
Ever try looking for love with thousands of people watching?
As a relationships writer, I've had to ask people intimate questions about their love lives.
And they spill it. Sometimes to the point that even I can't believe they're saying it when they know I'm writing it down. Infidelity, virginity, Christianity, sexuality — readers in 2003 talked about it all.
The Readers' Choice Award probably would have to go to Kelly Komoda, the Waikiki teacher who won the online poll to be Hawai'i's Bachelor in a dating game we wrote about in the spring.
While he didn't make a love connection, he made a connection with readers, who identified with the universal quest of looking for love.
In the Island Life section, we looked at the "Bachelor" series as a bit of harmless fun. It was a way to add humor to the paper, and to give readers a chance to interact online as they followed the story of Komoda going on weeks of dates. In mirroring a fad on television, it presented a snapshot of culture in Hawai'i. The game was more popular than we expected. It made for record hits on our Web site (more than 1.7 million). But like thousands of readers who followed the game, Hawai'i's Bachelor is still single and looking.
— Tanya Bricking Leach, Advertiser relationships writer
• • •
The fun and not-so-fun of interviewing rockers
Basically, Art Alexakis was a nice guy for the 20 minutes or so before I reminded him his band's latest CD was a flop.
The Everclear lead singer and I had been sharing stories long-distance, days before the July 4 Bayfest Bash. He told me about his normal life of power-waxing the deck of his home, scooping dog poop and sharing his daughter Anna's appreciation of Avril Lavigne, Jack Johnson and Good Charlotte. I advised him on how he might use his celebrity to wrangle free tickets to a sold-out Johnson concert at the Pipeline Cafe.
Then I asked him if he was disappointed that Everclear's latest CD didn't "get where he wanted it to" sales-wise.
"Don't put words in my mouth!" snapped Alexakis. "I didn't say
'... didn't get where I wanted it to.' I just said I wasn't happy with the way it was worked. If it was worked as well as it should have been and it sold a hundred copies, I'd be totally happy with it. Do you understand the difference?"
Uh, yeah. Do you understand the question?
Alexakis hung up soon after, leaving me wondering if I'd misunderstood his comment of, "Oh, it's done atrociously," uttered only 15 minutes earlier to describe the CD's poor sales. Everclear broke up a few months later. Of course, I blame myself.
Alexakis was the worst it got for me this year while interviewing visiting celebrity musicians. Not that 2003 was exactly a scintillating year for the art of the long-distance phoner, or for that matter, visiting celebrity musicians to our town.
Revisiting 2002 stories, I discovered a nicely diverse lineup of interviews that included No Doubt, Laurie Anderson, A.F.I., Pink, Natalie Merchant and two of my all-time musical heroes, David Byrne and B.B. King.
This year? Let's just say I now know more than I need to about former teen queen Tiffany's post-Playboy-layout male following, Lisa Loeb's upcoming Food Network cooking show with boyfriend Dweezil Zappa, and Ashanti's — um — thoughts on her creative process. I was also snubbed by 50 Cent and Steely Dan.
Still, 2003 wasn't all bad.
Hawai'i-raised singer/songwriter Jack Johnson proved over several chats that a musician could score national celebrity and a couple of million-plus selling CDs within two years, yet remain an uncomplicated, all-around nice guy who still couldn't believe he actually sat in a room learning how to play a Neil Young song with the master himself. Legendary rock producer Bob Rock (Metallica, Bon Jovi, Motley Crue) dished about his longtime Maui residency and scaring the heck out of musicians recording at his Ha'iku studio with Valley Isle ghost stories.
Sum 41 drummer "Stevo" Jocz offered altogether entertaining road stories detailing the Canadian pop-punk trio's attempts to ween themselves off of bad hallucenogenics, groupies, nights out with DMX and Tommy Lee, and getting drunk in New Orleans.
— Derek Paiva, Advertiser entertainment writer
