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I HEART Hawaii- A good blog I wrote for FokaiDamashii.com

Recently, a friend of mine at Fokai had asked me to do a write up on why I love Hawaii so much, and after chewing on it for a few days, I think I’m ready to spit it out on this piece of paper- wait, no, the keyboard only because I have the handwriting of a ten year old that was raised by koala bears.  You’d think being the Uber-hoale that I am, that I couldn’t get past the high humidity, which causes a condition commonly called swamp-ass.  Swamp-ass requires those afflicted to use multiple wipes per day, just to stop from making a splash when you sit down, that is if you forgot to baby powder the boys that morning.  If for some reason you decide you are just way to cool to visit the bathroom and wipe, you may not wanna walk around too much, or you will become victim to the dreaded “monkey butt”.  It’s not as fun as it sounds.  Your walking rubs the butt cheeks until they are beet red, just like a baboon.  I’m also not the best surfer, the damn lifeguards keep swimming out to save me, and they always end up touching my sunburn.

All that aside, Hawaii has an undeniably special place in my heart.  The laid back nature gives Hawaii a lot of it’s character, it’s a lot slower than LA, but a lot smarter than Vegas, that’s for damn sure.  Most dumb rednecks don’t even know that Hawaii is part of the United States.  What the hell? I guess because they don’t have a NASCAR track out that way.

Sometimes when I’m kickin it there after a fight, I’ll be sweating like a faucet so I’ll grab a shave ice. No I didn’t mean “shaved” ice, I said shave ice.  We’re cruisin’ brah, why we gotta say da kine “s”? The time to use the “s” is when you are getting rid of a bunch of words- “The Ocean Club” becomes “Ocean’s”.  Are you getting a lesson yet haole?  Yes haole, the best word ever. I know it’s supposed to be “foreigner” but we all know it means honkey, which is cool with me, since I’ve become Hawaii’s “Haole Boy” that can scrap.  They always have smoothie shops right next to coffee shops, which is terrible for me because I could just run back and forth all damn day and eventually I’d only be able to fight Akebono, especially if I get a hold of those oatcakes… yuuuuum oatcakes. I could eat those all day. Actually if I was stuck on an island, oh wait, okay if I was stuck on Hawaii, I probably could survive on those for at least 6 years and 30 days. Unless I found a knife and started hunting pigs in the jungle. Okay, let me get back on the subject. Uh, damn what was it, oh yea, Hawaii.

I love watching the tourists be tourists in “Wikes” (Waikiki-the tourist area). The beach are with the statue of Duke Kamamamkakakmamakaeeohee, complete with a fountain underneath so he is forever riding the wave. That’s not his real last name, but he was the original Big Kahuna, and he knows what’s up. People come down to the beaches from all over the world, so it’s not rare to see some hairy chest-ed Europeans playing soccer in their plum-smugglers.  Also there is always some poor pasty 8 year old kid from Germany or London or something who has never seen the sun before, and doesn’t know what the hell sunscreen is, frying to a crisp, so that the skin peels off of his nose straight down to the bone.

THE FOOD. I already mentioned my fondness for oatcakes earlier, but I could probably write a whole flippin article on the food.  There are some BIG people in Hawaii, and I know why, they have the best fat-faced-fried-in-the-pan delicacies a young country boy could ask for. SPAM MUSUBI! All of Hawaii is Spam-tastic, meaning they eat the tasty canned meat for breakfast lunch and dinner, so when in Rome.. EAT EVERYTHING.  They take a piece of seaweed, and wrap it around some rice and of course, the nectar of the gods, Spam. My favorite place to pick up this fat little fritter is 7-11 yes the convenience store.  Sure they have probably been sitting there for the whole week, but are you going to argue with the salty tastiness that is Spam?  Since I’m in the store anyway, I tell the cashier “Hey Auntie, toss me a manapua!” which is a doughy lil delicacy that has either a pork or sweet potato, no PURPLE sweet potato filling- my favorite.  I’m glad I don’t eat like this all the time, because they’d have to wheel me to the ring.

One of the best parts about the island is the fact that it’s teeming with life, and not just all the hot women, wait, was that a woman behind Safeway? Never mind, if you drive out to Kaneohee- I think that’s how you spell it, it’s on the side of the island that it rains more, because god hates those people, but he doesn’t hate them that much because he gave them THE SANDBAR!  First, picture the happiest place on earth, and now multiply it by quabillions. Only then will you understand the beauty that is standing in the middle of the ocean in knee-deep water. There are like turtles, stingrays and things I’d never seen on TV swimming by merrily, I think a bluebird landed on my shoulder, and I think a dolphin popped out of the water and winked at me.  Guys bring grills that stab into the ground, and everyone tailgates, or boatgates, or propellergates, or whatever you wanna call it.  Plus you haven’t lived until you’ve been dragged behind a boat on a rickety intertube, at 60 miles an hour.  Actually you haven’t laughed, until you’ve seen a pro-fighter with platinum teeth being dragged behind a boat and swallowing a gallon of seawater. The homeboys at Brit’s Autobody Shop hooked up that great (?) experience, after Brit himself took me on a speedboat that went about 100 miles per hour, courtesy of some moke dude that thought it was cool to see the Super Brawl Champion cling onto the side of the boat like a Japanese schoolgirl on the tilt-a-whirl.
Yes I must say, there isn’t much that I do not like about Hawaii.  I mean, Oprah comes on twice a day, and rainbows aren’t gay, they’re just cool to look at. Every time I teach a seminar, the people are so cool and easy-going, that I forget these people used to boo me and yell “Die haole!”. Yes, from the dance floors- where you can see two 5’5” Vietnamese twins pop-locking, right next to an equally short and enthusiastic Englishman with a pager on his belt doing the double fist-pump to the beat of the trance music, all the way down to the north shore where you can see somebody moon-walking on a wave as big as a house, Hawaii is the best. Not to mention this is where the shaka was born, and everyone knows your just cruisin’ if you chuck a shaka in their direction- even if you just cut them off on the H-1. Aloha, and Mahalo for reading the whole damn thing.

Jason Mayhem Miller

• 7:54 AM
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