September 24th, 2003


Talking Story.


I've been back for several days now, but it didn't hit me 'til yesterday. I was walking to Sizzler for lunch with some coworkers, and I noticed how much colder LA felt. And colorless, like an old, faded comic book.

I missed Hawaii.

I missed the vibrantly pink girly drinks with names like Lava Flow and Hawaiian Leg Spreader. I missed the ridiculously sweet and juicy slices of pineapple. I missed coming across an ABC Store every ten feet. I missed the overhyped plate lunches. I missed hearing that dead, ukulele-playing, fat dude singing "Over The Rainbow." And - strangest of all - I actually missed the humidity.

It's different over there, the humidity. Not quite the sweltering, clingy sweatbath that I've normally experienced in other tropical places - more like a very warm, very constant hug. Sitting there in my climate-controlled office, the cool dryness felt empty and kinda sad. Missing humidity? I've obviously lost my fucking mind.


Our female friends are shopping whores, damn them all. Here's Rog and me sitting on our asses at a Crazy Shirts outlet while the girls go crazy over shirts. Our female friends are also shaved ice whores. Oh alright, so am I. We must've hit at least three shaved iced joints; and although Matsumoto's is easily the most famous, their shaved ice was our least favorite.


Some of the best eats in Oahu were found on the side of the road. I'm not referring to flattened housepets, of course, but the fruit stands and shrimp trucks of North Shore. The photo on the left is us trying to order the hot & spicy shrimp plate. They'd run out and forced us to eat garlic-laden shrimp scampi instead, which was not the same. On the right pic is the fruit stand where I ate my first two starfruit. Bob, the guy standing next to me and the coconut, bought them for me.

Bob's a local and is easily one of the nicest, most laid-back people I've ever met. One should never go to Hawaii without hanging with a local. Aside from being a source of infinite Hawaiian knowledge and trivia, they can hook you up with everything on that island: from 50% discounts on hotels to 20% discounts at restaurants. Bob even scored us massive discounts at ABC stores. Thing is, none of us knew or even met Bob until he drove all the way to the hotel lobby to check us in: he was a friend of a friend.


These are just a couple of pics of the group mopeding around Diamond Head - pissing off all the locals in the process - and hanging out on the porch in front of our hotel (That's Rog in the back, vogue-ing. And that's me on the railing, not grabbing my genitals.).


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