Tokyo Damage Report



WED 6/29


Up at 4:30 and if that was not bad enough, already by 6 am the first fuckup occurred-the oakland-bound bus`s driver forgot some luggage, so MY bus had to detour to hand over the misplaced luggage. But by 9 I am on a plane with what has to be the lowest average passenger IQ of any plane I’ve been on – all full of fat white families wearing hawaiian shirts they bought for the occasion, and "WOOGOO SPRING BREAKKK!!!"- type army guys.

At Honolulu airport the rediculousness continues. Aloha airlines (the connecting inter-island flight) tells me my suitcase is too heavy, even though it was totally fine with United.. . . meanwhile my crappy Australian-made watch has decided to have the alarm go off every five minutes. BEEPBEEPBEEP so I have to scrounge up a cardboard box and put half my stuff in it, and then seal it with twine and like 20 stickers that say LUGGAGE on it. BEEPBEEPBEEP

We are all given little forms to certify that we are not bringing in harmful agricultural stuff like, christ, I dunno, frogs or potatoes or diseased lima beans. But I don’t know who to give my form to. The ladies at the checkin counter say I will get in big trouble if I don’t get it to the proper authorities, but have no idea where they are. BEEPBEEPBEEP oh shit BEEPBEEPBEEP. After going to the luggage area, the x-ray security guards, the information counter (which sends me back to the checkin counter) and then getting lost so I have to go through the x-ray machine again to get back in, finally I find the Agriculture Inspectors and give them the now crumpled, sweat-soaked form. "Oh, that? You can just throw it out, you don’t need it." BEEPBEEPBEEP

Finally get to Lihue airport, pick up my battered cardboard box, just in time to miss the shuttle bus to the car rental store. Jesus. BEEPBEEPBEEP Eventually get to the car rental, and the lady spends like 5 minutes trying to talk me into buying a more expensive car, but I stick with the subcompact. Finally she relents and I go out to the parking lot, only to find that there ARE no subcompacts left. The parking lot worker just says, "eh, whatever. Just take one of the sedans, it’s the same price."



So now I am trying to drive this big car, with no map and no insurance, with one hand, and trying to fix my watch with the other, after only sleeping 3 hours last night, and about 10 pounds of body waste loudly demanding to be let out of my colon. Probably the only reason I did not crash is that the Kauai speed limit is 35 MPH.


Luckily it is easy to find my hotel. Check in and then immidiately head out to this beach which my guidebook says is peaceful, uncrowded, and quiet. It is like 3:30 at this point and will be dark in a few hours. The only problem is, the beach is on a TOTALLY UNMARKED ROAD. Hawaiian beaches tend to fall into 2 categories – tourist beaches packed with louts and yelling kids, and local beaches which are hidden through an ingenious combination of mirrors, roadblocks and camoflauge netting, on roads not shown on any maps, and my guidebook’s directions are totally useless.

Finally find a NOTHER beach which is tiny and crescent shaped and really adorable: ROCK QUARRY beach. I have a little drink and walk around it, listening to obscure misfits songs, feeling the stress pour off of me like shoooop. this then becomes the template for the whole trip.

I am looking at this struggling, upside-down crab on the beach and some 12 year old girl in a bikini silently comes up next to me, looking at the crab too. Her mom yells loud enough for the hwole beach to hear, "CHRISTINE!!! GET AWAY FROM THERE!!!!" I don’t know if she meant me or the crab. Probably both. Bitch. Way to make me feel like Michael Jackson.

But mostly the beach was good fun. Then I head back to Kapa’a (the town where the hotel is) and go to this famous vegan hippy restaurant called BLOSSOMING LOTUS. This is one of the few useful things my guidebook said.

Anyway blossoming lotus was rad – they serve a huge enchilada in the shape of a dessert. Even the black bean sauce and veggie sour cream look like chocolate and vanilla sauce!!

Go back to my hotel thinking, god, it was a totally stressful day but at least I can go to sleep finally. Wrong. It’s not over!! The hotel’s airconditioning is not working. It is too hot to sleep. Normally, since it is the tropics, I would just open the window instead. But they thoughtfully put me in the room closest to the main road, so the car noise is loud. This is even more retarded, considering there is almost no customers! Plenty of rooms available, but since I did not pay the extra $50 A NIGHT for a ocean view, I am next to the road. I call the manager and explain to him about the aircon. He comes over and presses buttons. And presses buttons, and presses buttons, with a look of intense concentration on his face, accomplishing nothing. I, meanwhile, am incredibly tired, stressed, and want to sleep more than anytime in my life. I try explaining to him, "OK, you see how cool it is outside on the balcony? And, my room? The room, with, the , like, airconditioning? Is actually hotter than outside? Um, and, like, this is why I have, a problem? Man? Sir?" eventually he says, "well, all the rooms are like this. Just leave the air conditioning on all day tomorrow while you are gone and it should be fine." And leaves.


Go to sleep with the windows open and earplugs in.

THURS 6/30

Anyway today is my BIG HIKE DAY . Go up Kanalau trail in Napali park. It is all rain and mud and climbing between exposed tree-roots and up dry riverbeds full of slippery big huge hard rocks. I am there for 11 1/2 hours!!

The trail goes up one cliff, then a stunning view, then down the cliff, wading across a fairly big (to me) river and thence to a tiny beach. The beach has rad caves in it that are made of some kind of fake-looking stone. Like some masons took huge rocks and cemented them together. But it is all natural. This one cave, had a rock the size of a volkswagen bug suspended in the ceiling, and it is under this rock I took my nap. Try it.

A weird thing about hawaiian rainforests – almost no birds. Eerie. on the other hand, not a lot of leeches huge spiders bitey snakes or other monsters.

After the beach one CAN go on up a wonderful not-too-steep trail to a huge gorgeous waterfall. Which I did and loved every second. The waterfall trail seems to present one with a new type of plant at every turn. A bamboo glade followed by a flower glade followed by. Etc. and the waterfall itself is like 200 feet tall, but equally impressive is the cliff face it goes down. Tiny white storks all flying around to cliffside nests, and the floor of the valley is this perfect half-pipe 400 feet wide and irridescent green. Fucking amazing. The trail goes copmletely all the way to the base of the falls and people were swimming in it!!!!

Hikers here are pretty rude. Don’t know if it is just exhaustion, or what, but most of my "Hello"s were greeted with nothing more than a grunt. Fuck you too, pal.

Oh, and my camera broke and not only that but it had to go delete all the pictures of the waterfall I walked 4 hours to see.



To someone like me, going less than 50 causes physical pain. And here I am on an island where people like to drive UNDER the speed limit. I figure, well, at least that means they drive safely, right? Well, no. some redneck in a huge white pickup makes a left hand turn right in front of me with no fucking warning at all, forcing me to swerve into the oncoming-traffic lane to avoid hitting him. I later find out this is totally common here. It seems the guiding principle of Kauai traffic is,


Stuck behind a one-man traffic jam for 40 minutes. If it was a REAL traffic jam, then ok, or if the roads were curvy enough to justify driving 29 MPH for half an hour, also ok. But the roads here are JUST curvy enough to make passing impossible, and wouldn’t you know it, the ONLY time you will see a car in the opposing lane is when there is a rare moment of long-and-straight pavement. It’s like they are waiting for me to come. All the time here I see some jackoff with a line of 10 or 12 cars lined up behind him, who is totally oblivious and driving 20 MPH. This is considered polite, I guess, to force everyone to drive YOUR speed, while you are all, “doo dee doo dee doo,. . .doo dee doo. .. oooh, what a puffy cloud!” But it is rude to honk or try to pass. In days to come I will learn to just pull over when I am stuck behind such a douchebag, wait for him to leave, and then proceed really slowly so I don’t have to catch up to him again, and just enjoy the scenery.

Some jive-ass with a pickup truck had a bumper sticker saying “SLOW DOWN, THIS AIN’T THE MAINLAND.” To which I quickly pasted another sticker, “TURN LEFT INTO ONCOMING TRAFFIC ALL THE TIME, THIS AIN’T THE MAINLAND.” Making this a mainlanders-vs.-natives issue is lame for several reasons. Not least of which is, Kauai’I is the ONLY island where natives drive like this. Even natives from the big island are like, “you rednecks are crazy.” Second of all, when you have like 10 cars piled up behind you . . . what are the odds that they are ALL tourists? Sorry, but when people tailgate like that, that means THEY ARE DISSATISFIED. Third, even though I am a bad white person foreigner and a tourist to boot, when someone is tailing me, even if it is just one person, I pull the fuck over. Thus making me even more mellow than the natives. Now, even if you are a xenophobic polynesian redneck who has no use for logic or morality, at least you should speed the fuck up, if only to make ME look bad.



Drive back with the radio playing sinatra. Hawaiian radio is a trip – every other station plays nothing but reggae or some kind of local genre called JAHWAIAN, regae/ukelele pop about fucking. But ocassionally you can find some stations playing cool shit. last night there was a 3 hour show about ufos giving crystal skulls to the mayan empire.


Drink a little vodka and take a bath. All the hotel tubs on this island are like shallow as hell , maybe only 6 inches of water before the drain. Is this just a hawaiian thing? Rediculous!!!


I have no idea where this state got the reputation for “bikinis and stuff.” Not to be too mean, but there is a reason why the Muumuu was invented by Polynesian people and not, say, Japanese or Sweedes. Plus most natives here, sorry, but they have huge square heads and that is not my deal.

The clerk at my hotel is a lady who looks identical to half-filipino Metallica guitarist Kirk Hammet. Thus it is a little scary that she is the only cute native woman I have seen here. anyway, half of me wants to just bend her her over the fax machine and the other half wants to yell at her for fucking up the black album. I was not expecting this when I came to hawaii, I will tell you that much.


. The lonely planet books are generally good but the one for hawaii is honestly pretty crap. The directions-to-things suck, the hotel prices are totally outdated, and a lot of the stuff they say is awesome is just meh.



With a name like "secret beach" you’d figure that it would be packed with a million tourists, but in fact it is deserted, long (good for hiking) beautiful cliff views and big old waves, and shady trees. Everything you want in a beach. All day- 9 hours – drinking reading napping hiking and swimming. Drink 1 1/2 cups of vodka mixed with like 2 cups of root beer- my new favorite. Not because I have a problem with alcohol. Because I have a problem with sunscreen. Sunscreen is, let’s face it, basically jizz. So I need to get kind of drunk in order to deal with rubbing it all over me. But with my body all covered in it, I can go swimming in the sea for the first time in basically my whole adult life. I stay in for over 4 hours! Waves are weird – if you catch them RIGHT when they break, they will clobber you, but even a big 4 foot wave – if you catch it a few feet before it breaks – will just bat at you ineffectually like a kitten, and leave you bobbing happily up and down. Weird.

I stay till around sunset. The clouds here are odd – sometimes they are just dark- almost blackish grey. But not raining! And the black clouds will be RIGHT NEXT TO a similar-size puffy happy white cloud. Huh?

Anyway I got home and discovered that in my haste to get into the ocean I had not put sunscreen all over my whole back. So parts are totally fine and other parts are a patchwork of bright lobster red scar tissue. Basically I have a Jackson Pollack painting back there. I am totally exhausted , in pain, and got a horrible burrito. Which is worse, I don’t know.

SAT 7/2

MOALEPE TRAIL. This ruled. The first copule of miles are super sweet – an excellent steepness-to-panoramic view ratio (i.e. not very / a lot!). but the last 2 miles are just crap-flat, hot, no shade and nothing to look at. I figure, well, this must be because there is a huge payoff vista at the end. No. damn.

Then I go back to blossoming lotus and assuage my aches with this FUCKING AWESOME dish – tofu and risotto and beets and mushrooms in this insane mint coconut sauce – all these weird flavors that you would not think go together, but somehow they totally do.

Probably the best part of today was, sitting on a oceanfront cliff waiting for the restaurant to open, just watching the waves. Plus, I saw a sea turtle kicking it out there!

Other best part – taking a huge and vengeful dump right next to the hiking trail.


Hotels in hawaii blow massive, asymmetrical Down’s Syndrome dicks.

They have so many customers they can afford to treat you like crap, so they do. It’s all like, "Yeah, there is a 3 night minimum, and you have to pay in advance over the phone. .. before you have even seen the hotel. Also we need a polaroid of you with a dick in your ass for our files." Plus, half the places I phoned are B&Bs that don’t even answer the fucking phone!! I phone again and again and can’t even ASK about booking a room, so I have to always go with the one place that actually picks up, regardless of how lame it is.

Case in point – the hotel in the west side. The staff only works from 10 until noon most days. If you need help during the other 22 hours you are out of luck. Huh?? Plus, no air-conditioning, and during the three days I was there, housekeeping did not show up even once (despite having a big envelope on the table soliciting tips!!!) and – the best of all — in the bathroom, in the little basket of complimentary microscopic shampoos etc. .. . a half-used bottle of lotion. So now everytime I go to the toilet I have to imagine about the previous customer, who they were, and what they rubbed it on, and what kind of sick satisfaction they got out of it. Eeuchhh.


It is ironic that replacing the shit which one has at home (house and car) costs a fucking mint, whereas the stuff that is unique to hawaii (hikes and tropical beaches) are totally fucking free. You would think that this goes against capitalism! I mean, no one says, "Yeah, I am going to Hawaii for the rental cars ! I will pay anything, man, because you just can’t get those anywhere else!" fucked UP.

SUN 7/3


Spend the first half of the day in my room still sunburned, tired, and feeling shitty. Plus it turns out that the beach I most wanted to see on the west side is a) full of bikers and b) accessable only by 4wd. Also, the lady at the hotel said that tourists get beaten up and robbed on the remote trails. Great! When I get to the supermarket, I see why. Aside from the Polynesian features, the locals look like something out of Deliverance. But with ukeleles instead of banjos. Ba-ba-BA-bum-bum-bum-bum-bum-bummmmm. And don’t be calling me predjudiced either. There’s hella working-class latinos in San Francisco that have been kept down by the Man, but they manage to have some fucking dignity. Even FOB Salvadorian gangstas don’t play cutoff sweatpants 24-7, for crying out loud.

But eventually I get a pizza at this joint in kalauea called BRICK OVEN PIZZA where the walls are covered with these Outsider Art murals of a pizza-maker (always pictured in a superman suit with a checkered Italian tablecloth as a cape, and a nearly-invisible-but-never-forgotten pencil moustache) doing Herculean deeds on a planet where everything is made entirely out of pizza. The pizza is fucking awesome as shit. I mean it is just basically god. I eat it and instantly feel totally fucking awesome. I would not say that the pizza is better than sex, but it is definitely better than sex with any of Fred Durst’s partners. COMBINED.


So, I drive to Waimea Canyon (the main attraction of west side) and take the first trail I come across. . . . which happens to lead directly to the bottom of it! Seeing as how it is a big canyon and I only have 4 hours of sunlight left, I take off at a jog. 2.25 miles, down a fucking steep trail, IN EXACTLY ONE HOUR TO THE MINUTE. I am so stoked. Even more stoked when I fail to get mugged.

The trail reminds me of a videogame, because there are discrete levels to it, each harder than the last.

For instance, it begins pretty level.

Then, when it gets steep, they have actual wooden stairs. I think, "oh, how thoughtful, Mr. Ranger Man! This must be one of those really easy, beginner-type canyon trails."

Next level – steep, no stairs.

Next level – suddenly it goes all FUCKED UP- not only steep but totally eroded. Either you can walk on tiny pebbles at a 45 degree angle that will most assuredly make you fall, or you can walk down a firm trail NEXT to the rocks — which is in a crevasse only as wide as your ankle and 2 feet deep. Take your pick.

Next level– this basically looks like Mars. The trail becomes suddenly 100 feet wide of spongy red soil in gentle mounds. Not so hard but weiiiiird.

Next level – finally TREES!!!! Shade at last. But – uh oh – tree roots stick above the soil and trip you at every turn.

Next level – trail vanishes and now you are going down a dry creek bed, hopping from rock to rock and hoping you don’t fall and break your leg.

Next level– trail still a ankle-destroying mass of exposed roots and rocks, but now they got waist high grass in the mix. . and you can’t even SEE the roots and rocks to avoid them.

Next level – finally the river! Not only that, but the riverbank is pretty much covered with these adorable baby frogs the size of your fucking pinky fingernail.

So it is a rediculous trail, and I have no idea how I did it in an hour. But as hazardous as it was, at least it was not in japan. In japan, they would have given the entire taxpayer budget to some mafia contractor to completely cover the entire canyon-side in concrete, for "erosion control."

Drive back in the twilight, feeling totally butch. Tomorrow is the 4th of july, so the locals celebrate Independence Day with a police roadblock and car-by-car ID checks. God bless America! Jesus, the West Side IS really thugged-out. Also, after that, I see a slow motherfucker getting tailgated by a guy in a hurry. And the slow motherfucker is totally indifferent. But this is not a case of "laid-back native vs. bad evil white mainlander who does not belong here" — the tailgating guy is AN AMBULANCE WITH THE LIGHTS FLASHING. And STILL the hawaiian does not pull the fuck over. JESUS, WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH THESE PEOPLE???? Finally the ambulance person hits the siren, and then like 30 seconds later the hawaiian pulls over. Thanks a lot, jerk. Hope it was your mom that needed to go to the hospital. That would be ironic, huh. And now Mom is all brain-damaged because the ambulance could not get to her in time.

MON 7/4

Get up at 5 AM to beat the traffic, and out to the canyon with no problems at all!! Go to the most remote, northern part of it. The trail is INSANE. Like, so steep they have you climbing up 10 feet of almost vertical mud, all trying to hold on to roots to avoid death.

At the end is this vista point which is literally a point – the peak of a tiny tiny mountain so narrow I am afraid I will fall off. But you get a wonderful view of the Napali coast valleys! After that you can go 0.75 miles to the World’s Highest Swamp, but my legs are shot from yesterday’s hike and I just go back. On my way back I see tourists starting the trail wearing all white clothes and taking like little kids, and go, "jesus, people."

Vacations are supposed to be relaxing but all this running about has me worn out. My legs are just totally fucking shot from hiking the canyon yesterday. Go back to the hotel to do laundry-but they do not sell soap. Go to get the sexual pizza- but it is closed Mondays. Need to phone hotels in the Big Island to make reservations, but there is only one phone in my current hotel and it is forbidden to make inter-island calls. Also, my back still hurts to hell. I discover that the "sunburn medication" I have been using for the past 2 days is NOT supposed to cure anything, only provide pain relief. Which is weird because that was the ONLY medication that the store was selling. You would think they would give the customer a choice between "pain relief" and "shit that actually cures you" but, again, uh-uh. Plus, the dickheads at the hotel have put me in the room which is absolutely closest to the neighboring "At-Risk-Youth-Rec-Center" where delinquents are hella setting off July 4th fireworks nonstop.

The west side can suck my left one.

Eventually, I steel my resolve, and go to a steakhouse and eat some teriyaki steak that kicks almost as much ass as the pizza did. All cutting it really tiny and then mixing it up with luscious melty baked potatoes, until it becomes almost like a stew, which sounds totally gross I know but acutally was sweet.

TUES 7/5

Drive back to the east side hotel I was staying at before. They are surprised to see me again! Buy more vodka and some utterly necessary baby spinach and go straight to Secret Beach to de-stress.

I am there 11 hours.

Sleep, drink, read, swim, watch the surf, and hike.

And kick ass.

Lots of ass.

11 hours.


Worth noting that all the other tourists on the beach – on the whole island, actually – are either families or copules. Kind of gets to me a little – but not too much, because the people are so very square, they have nothing I want. Also, despite the huge japanese/ polynesian population here, it is utterly rare to see white guys with asian women. Weird but a relief. Also weird – no african-americans. Like, not only less than the mainland, but less than fucking Tokyo.

Here is another weird thing about the tourists – I see a LOT of married couples where one spouse weighs roughly 3 times as much as the other. I have a hard time imagining that someone would voluntairly marry someone who could suffocate them in their sleep on their honeymoon. So, I figure right after they get married one partner just baloons. SURPRISE, HONEY!!! And a lot of these couples are not even old. My age. I never considered it before, but now I think about it, jesus, I cannot even begin to imagine how much that must suck to be the thin one. Like, you are now trapped in a marriage with someone you are no longer attracted to. And you are not allowed to fuck around. And if you even dare bring up their newfound attraction to 50-gallon drums of pudding, then you are a cruel, unloving, and shallow person and it is YOUR fault the marriage is now on the rocks. YOU are somehow the horrible betrayer. And if you have kids, you are like double-triple fucked. If it was me, I would definitely not have the guts to say, "Um, dude, you don’t look like the girl I married anymore, and I am just shallow enough to divorce you because of your weight." No way. Probably I would retaliate in the most passive-aggresive manner possible, by matching her pound-for-pound in a race to heart disease. Like, " Hey Honey, you know what would be really fun–, let’s stand in front of a mirror naked together. Oh, no reason. Shits and giggles. !!" jesus, what a nightmare.

WED 7/6

Pretty damn tired from being in the sun all day yesterday. So today I just go to Rock Quarry Beach. Seeing as how it is my last day in kauai’, I wanted to go back to the beach I went to on my first day.

But unlike the first day, today I arrive in the morning, and it is packed with hella 20-year-olds of both sexes, frolicking in skimpy beach-gear. Bah!!!

So here I am, looking at the waves and the perfect blue sky, and brooding. Worse, brooding ABOUT THE BROODING. You can see where this is going. I guess I am a little lonely after a week with no human contact. It used to take a month, but whatever. Guess I am getting congenial in my old age.

Anyway, back to the frolicking youths, Far from making me horny, they make me feel old and ugly and kind of Mr. Burns-like.

So, that being the case, logically you would think that being around old people would make me feel youthful and spry. But NO. being around old people makes me disgusted at their fat pale shrivelled bodies and how dare they remind me of my impending senescence??

So, since old/ fat people remind me of death / fatness, you think I would love being around young attractive people. But NO. (see above). So, not only am I always pissed off, but also I am not even logical about it. Don’t know which is worse. I think the explanation is — I do not like my own body , therefore I come up with the most negative interpretation of everyone I see.

But, among all the 20-year-olds that bum me out, there is one exception. Some girl who is wearing a shirt and gym-shorts instead of a bikini, and who is methodically jogging up and down, instead of showing off and going "whooo!!!". All her friends are blonde bikini babes but she is the lone pony-tail-and-glasses asian exchange student. Then she very seriously and methodically makes a hard, heavy sphere out of sand. It must weigh like 10 pounds. She tosses it to some of the guys in her group, they barely can catch it. I am captivated by her. I want to tell her she is the most beautiful woman on the whole beach. All with dark skin and broad shoulders and body-image issues and heavy balls. As I leave the beach, I go up to the ball. I am just looking at it and admiring it. the second I leave, she runs out of the forest where she was sitting. Not to run TO me, but to run and PROTECT HER BALL. She grabs it defensively, and runs back to the forest with it, putting it down at the edge and then inscribing a series of concentric circles in the sand around it, no doubt some kind of Harry Potter magical wards to fend off horrible old ugly people like me. Jesus. Is there any gesture so small that women can’t misinterpret it and be offended by it??


My plan is to go to the big island today. The flight from Kauaii goes to honolulu airport, where I have a 2 hour layover before going to the big island.

This gives me 2 hours to worry, as I have not yet booked a hotel, a rental car, or even opened the travel guide for the big island. Turns out the hotels on the big island fall into 2 categories — $400-a-night monstrosities, or cheap B&Bs which amount to an old couple who have at most 2 spare rooms in their house. Good luck getting one of those on short notice. The good snorkel spots you have to take a kayak or helicopter to. Also, all the good beaches require 4WD cars, and the guidebook is full of warnings that they are so hot and shade-free that you shouldn’t even bother going there during midday. Even ruling out bad beaches, snorkeling madness, and hotel crap, that still leaves like 101 things left to try to do/see on a 7 day vacation, and no way to decide which of those things are cool or not. Jesus, who needs the pressure??? With an hour before my plane leaves, I decide FUCK THIS. I do NOT want to pay $300 for a hotel. I do NOT want to tear-ass all over this huge island being like, OMG I only have 4 days and 13 hours left and I still have to do 40 things. I want to go back to Kauai’I and spend every day on the same exact beach relaxing and having fun, and who gives a fuck if this is not productive or adventurous. I am definitely freaking out at this point, but not yelling or getting hysterical. Yet.

So I ask one of the dudes at the Aloha counter to book me on a flight going back. The dude looks at me like I said, "I would like you to book me on a nonstop flight directly up your Mom’s fat dried-out wrinkled up slutty pussy." He starts right in calling me "sir" in this really sarcastic voice, the way service industry people do when they are being dickish. "well, SIR, I will have to make some calls, SIR. Wait over there in the corner, SIR." This clown looks like a polynesian Roger Waters. The little moustache and baggy eyes and thinning hair with the little flip on top. Except he is short, fat, and brown. Maybe he is more of an Oompa-Loompa with a huge archive of child porn. I don’t know what the fuck his problem was. There were 4 guys on duty, with basically nothing else to do, so it was not like my request was a burden to them. Maybe he just found out that the 8 year old boy in the chatroom was an FBI agent and went to work pissed on the job. Shit if I know.

Anyway, he tells me that it will cost an extra $90, plus they won’t send my luggage, SIR. Then he thrusts at me half my new ticket – the half without the information on it in plain english. The half that just has a bunch of code on it which only airport employees can read. I don’t want to fight with the guy so I just take it and leave. I go outside into this courtyard to destress, and walk around the grass trying to figure out the ticket. It says "ALH459 762005 PXHCCCHCC 720". Ah , I bet 720 is the boarding time. Ok, so I will just chill here until then. So at exactly 720 I show up at the terminal only see the plane taxiing down the runway. apparently the boarding time was 6:50, and the plane LEFT at 7/20. so, no luggage and no plane, and where the hell am I supposed to stay tonight??

Luckily Honolulu is a fairly big airport so there is an airport hotel, and they have steak dinners! So I do that and then go to bed early. In fact I am not as pissed as you would think. Every time in my entire stinking life that I go to the airport I was always super worried that something will go horribly wrong and I will miss my plane or lose my luggage. So it is actually kind of a relief to have it finally happen. Also, the ex-guitar player from Korn was on tv talking about how he found jesus, and he is recording a song about how 50 cent is a bad christian. The channel? CNN.


Up early. Front desk clerk was a total whore. Not like "good morning" or "how are you" or nothing. She was all, "Name? Room number?" Don’t try to be all army-guy about it. bitch, you’re not my gym teacher! You’re a hairspray addict who lives in a trailer and your kids fled to the mainland and won’t return your phone calls.

Anyway. Back at the airport, I have a really nice Aloha employee who refunds the $90 that the Oompa Loompa dude docked me, and sends me on my way with a smile. On the airplane I am sitting next to a young white lady, and she starts talking to me all friendly. I have not had a real conversation in so long that I almost jump out of my skin: "Who, ME? Er, ah, uh, Ted Kazinski, at your service."

I just totally spaz out, but she keeps talking to me in this patient way until I calm down, which I thought was really kind. She is some kind of new age, Stressed-out single mom on vacation alone for her birthday. Gives me her phone number. Uh-oh. I can sympathize with the plight of the stressed-out, but still it is important HOW you say it. Like, she explained her situation as, "Yeah, I am doing a lot of self-work right now. Trying to get centered," which leaves me a little cold. But if she would have said, "My fucking boss is such a prick, owes me loot, I’ll fucking smack his balls with a tire-iron," then she would have my full sympathy. Like my Mama said, it’s not what you say but how you say it.

Anyway it was nice to talk to someone. At the airport, my luggage is not here yet. So, no luggage, no place to stay, and no plan. But for some reason I am totally happy. Happy to be back, and happy that I finally made up my fucking mind exactly what kind of vacation I really want-the kind where I do exactly nothing!!

Then I go to Safeway, where my euphoria continues. This is the funnest safeway trip ever. Unlike hotels and beaches, with safeway I actually know what I am getting, where it is, and they always have what I fucking want. I am the master! Buy like 20 cans of soup.

After that, return to the airport to pick up luggage. I have to circle the departure building 3 times – 5 minutes each time-before I find the spot where I am allowed to park. Each time I go round, I get in trouble with a different mustachioed, shades-wearing security guard. In the end, though, my suitcases are there. They are returned to me by a nice lady, and then at the paid-parking lot, another nice lady waives my fee because I was there only 10 minutes.

In fact, throught this whole airport ordeal, I would say 90% of the people who were nice were women, and 90% of the total dicks were men.

Then I go back to the coral reef inn, where they are even more surprised to see me show up for the third time! The nice obese grandma gives me a beachfront room at a 33% discount. Rock on!! The size of this fucking room is like a house, BUT instead of a tub they have a shower even smaller than ones in japan. Huh? Still, awesome.

Plus the grandma is totally fun to hang out with. She gets kind of chatty later in the evening and says off-the-wall stuff about gay people and smutty rock lyrics.


What Hawaii lacks in useful signs (to the good beaches, trail-heads and the like), it more than makes up for in totally bizarre and unhelpful signs. For instance,


In a cemetary: "NO DUMPING."

In the middle of a rainforest full of chest-high grass: "HELICOPTER LANDING ZONE"

At a trail head: "DANGEROUS: BEACH ACCESS." Right next to: "DANGEROUS: NO BEACH ACCESS."

FRI 7/8

So now I gave up on trying to see and do everything, i can finally relax, sleep in, watch bad american tv, and concentrate on what vacations are really about : drinking.

For instance, today i make a significant scientific discovery – I discover that spinning around and around in the ocean while drunk is the best thing ever. The clouds and cliffs blur nicely.

SAT 7/9

Pretty much the exact same thing as yesterday, but more fun. Now I am spinning drinking AND freestyling about zebras running shit on the savanas.

SUN 7/10

Back to Secret Beach again. Drunk by 10 am, and in the middle of a insanely detailed freestyle rhyme about me and Condi Rice having a sex battle to decide the future of America’s foreign policy. I am walking down the beach and actually singing out loud stuff like, "condoleeza, with my dick I please ya," when along comes the white girl from the plane and totally catches me. "hey steven!" Doh! in contrast to my totally shy nervous act the first time we met, this time I am totally the opposite: "What’s up?? I was just in the middle of a freestyle about Condi Rice. What can I do you for?" thank you, alcohol!

tues 7/12

go do this hike on the north side. Okolehau trail. It’s a fairly short hike to a good panoramic 360 degree hilltop view ? but today it is rainy. meh. i tried. at least i hella fell down in mud a lot. way better is the bird refuge next door to the hill hike. good stuff. after that i go to secret beach and there is some asshole up the hill on a backhoe or some construction equipment that makes the "back-up beep" like serioulsy all day long. bet you ten bucks he is working alone, too. why can’t those motherfuckers have a button to turn them shits off? anyway, drink, read, swim, and today’s special theme is sitting down on shore, in front of waves as they break, and wrestling with them. I would not recommend trying this sober. Also it helps if you make kung-fu noises.

Back to the hotel, pack, get my last fix of bad american tv, and that is it.

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