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Holoholo%20Girl
‘If you don’t like me, I’m gonna make you hate me’

March 31, 2005





My religion consists of a humble admiration of the illimitable superior spirit who reveals himself in the slight details we are able to perceive with our frail and feeble mind.



- Albert Einstein







I don’t feel like I did a hell of a lot this past week. But I guess I have higher expectations for myself. It’s your fault, you know.



Last Saturday, I cavorted with most of my favorite creative people at the Art Lounge in Makawao. There was live music, fantastic sushi from Dr. Fedwell’s Catering, a fashion show by designer Steph Vorpahl and wall-to-wall art by local artists and photographers. I marveled at the many talents of my lovely friends.



“What has 46 pairs of breasts and 12 bras?” asked one.



What?



“A party upcountry,” she said.



The next night, Sasha and I checked out Margaret Cho at the Maui Arts & Cultural Center in Kahului. BJ had wanted to come along, too, but as she was babysitting her 10-year-old nephew, she didn’t think it would be appropriate. I scoffed but as Cho launched into a discourse about anal sex, I silently praised my friend on her intuitive prowess. Cho was uproariously funny, as usual, as well as characteristically sassy and empowered. I loved her.



“If you don’t like me,” she said, “I’m gonna make you HATE me.”



Can I get that in a T-shirt?



The opening comedian Bruce Daniels was hilarious, too. Especially when he was talking about the “type” of guys he’s into. I had to agree with him when he said, “It’s a really big buffet and I’m just really hungry.”



Can I get a hallelujah? And a T-shirt? Thanks.



The Easy roused Monday regulars at the Hard Rock Cafe in Lahaina. And we—Kim, Trin, Bodhi and I—were there to witness the happy nods and impassioned grooving of their good music. Of course, we were also there to consume many alcoholic beverages.



On Thursday, I did my first radio show with AZD and G-Money on local hip-hop/R&B station Da Jam, 98.3 FM. It was in the morning so that was kinda rough but da guys were nice so hopefully they didn’t let me embarrass myself too much. You know, more than normal.



Later that night, BJ and I went to Cafe Marc Aurel for live jazz. Local celebs Gene Argel and Shiro Mori are known for playing only the best in jazz and blues-tinged music. But the stunner was when Argel’s “little fellow” Makana—17-year-old bassist for hardcore metal band Corpsef*#ker—took the mic and belted out some of the smoothest jazz vocals I’ve heard in awhile.



The next night I was back in action as the annual Gomega Fest pumped Hapa’s in Kihei full of eclectic music lovers. Vince Esquire, The Easy, Gomega, Otis, Hev B and Desmond D performed, with crowd-revving MC battles between sets. A good and proper local music fest. With booze!



But all week I had been looking forward to Saturday. It would have been the one full day I could stay home at the Moroccan Bayou and finally read from the steadily increasing stack of books by my bed and maybe even see those Netflix movies I’ve had for months. And it was raining in Wailuku so really, there was no reason to go out and do anything. Unless maybe if I wanted an Irish Coffee. So Sasha and I went to Idini’s. And since we were already out, we decided to go to the SandBar, too.



All I had wanted to do on Easter Sunday was eat a lot of chocolate bunnies. That and maybe have sex. But unlike other holidays like Passover and National Secretary’s Day, there was no sex or chocolate. Still, I had a nice time.



I did the traditional Easter Sunday brunch thing—as in, my high school friend Heather and I drank Coors Light and rum ‘n cokes on the balcony of her Wailea resort room, hypocritically dishing about how fat all the bitchy cheerleaders were at our 10-year reunion, while her kid slept. When he woke abruptly from our cackling, I did what every good aunty does upon first meeting her young, impressionable nephew: I taught him how to open a beer for aunty.



Later that afternoon, I joined Bodhi in Lahaina for a little din-din at Hecocks before the big blowout goodbye party for Cooper at Gaby’s. And although the pizzeria was packed with inked delights, I pooped out early and called it a night.



I was all about seeing Willie K. play at Hapa’s on Monday. It’s been awhile—too long—since I saw his Hawaiian rawk geniusness. But the multitude of shell lei wearing, “Elaine”-dancing, stupidly smiling mulleeteers on the dance floor threw giggling BJ, Heather and caustic me waaay off our bar stools. We’re not snobs. We’re just mean. MTW