Aloha Rapa Nui my winged fruit monkeys,
OK, so I have fulfilled either a royal command or my destiny. I walked next door to the Royal Hawaiian (one extremely bad ass hotel) and had a Mai Tai as mandated by Catherine Hardy before I left. Actually, after I told her I was coming to Hawaii, she grabbed the calendar out of my hands and wrote in the names of bars I had to go to and what to order and maybe something about food, but that’s not important. The Mai Tai was spectacular as was the setting. Very old school. My mom told me she had be there in the (19)70’s and wondered if it was still there. Yes, Beatrice, there is a ________.
Did I mention the 5 people (well, maybe 4 people and a dog) having loud squeaky drunk sex in the water not too far from my room at about 5 this morning? I was hoping for a great white shark to swoop down upon them, but I guess that’s Australia.
Ballard shows 59 degrees and frogs falling from the sky. Honolulu is 70 something, might be raining. Was that lightning? Could be the 2nd Mai Tai and the 6 pack of local brew.
Did I mention cultural diversity? Ever? OK, I mean, I’ve been in the music business for 30 years. How much more diverse does it need to be? Did I actually get my Samurai swords and cut a swath through the Koreans at Han Woo Ri? Have I ever unleashed stores of nerve gas on hippies at Folklife? Do photos exist of me plowing down slow moving tourists at Bumbershoot in a stolen Gator?
NO, NO and NO again!
So why should I want to blemish this perfect record and annihilate the throng amassed around the pool?
They might call it “Free Entertainment” as you drown in overpriced fruity iced slushy drinks and salt-petered fries and tuna of questionable parentage, but I still call it a fucking drum circle! Granted, I’m in Waikiki and they are playing “Hawaiian” music to an enthusiastic (drooling drunk and semi-captive) audience, but still, they could’ve asked first. Let me opt-out. Bungee cord me to a dolphin for 3 hours.
Never mind. It’s Sunday. The dolphins have a better union than I do.
Let’s see. Subtract 3 hours, Daylight Savings time, and 2 more beers…maybe another 2 hours of this shit. Maybe the painkillers I found secreted in the pineapple lamp on my writing desk will kick in and I won’t be reduced to a proto-babbling state before dinner.
So I complain….
Actually, I think I’m going to lose this argument/debate/diatribe. At times, I feel like a martyr for you, my beloved readers, taking the whippings and stonings and aural assaults in your place. But, for the most part, I love what I do (although, for the above mentioned most part, I am surrounded by fucking idiots), I do love my job. I love my family (when I get a chance to see them), I love my friends (when they have to endure my boorish company) and I love my life (ANXIETY aside).
So, I’ve got the beginnings of a spectacular tan, my blood sugar is the lowest it’s been in a year, I’m in what was a paradise until 150 years ago and I have the unmitigated gall to bitch.
Please find it in your hearts to forgive me. After his botched impeachment, President Clinton was asked, “In your heart, sir, can you forgive and forget?”
His reply was thus,” I believe any person who asks for forgiveness has to be prepared to give it.”
I admire the man. He got a blowjob and the country was subjugated to one of the most horrendous wastes of time, money, energy and politics we’ve ever had to face. And for what!?
Sorry, I digress.
My point was that maybe, hopefully, I get to experience these adventures, these farcical scenes of backstage at the theatre of the absurd, to spare you having to go through them yourselves. I have learned in my many years of recording and live sound that the best way not to make a big mistake is to actually make it in the first place. You will not do it again. My good friend Richard Donin was once asked by a student teacher for advice. He told her to give him $1. She was perplexed, but gave him the dollar and asked why. Richard answered her original question and then informed her that the only way you really learn a lesson is to pay for it. If you have a scholarship or your parents pay for your college education, you won’t retain as much as the person who has to work 2 jobs to keep him/herself in school. He gave her the dollar back (the first one’s on the house).
Does this make sense? Have I lost you and my mind?
Because those fake fucking Rastas playing for helpless hopeless senseless clueless hatless shoeless tourists just played “Margaritaville” and every bit of goodwill, good vibrations, good tidings, good morning Vietnam, good on ya mate, good golly miss molly….Well, gloves off and prepare to defend yourselves!
Tomorrow, another island and whatever détente I can muster.