Yeah, I’m supposed to write a post outlining my music project. I’m also supposed to write a fictional piece for IMF. Both ain’t anywhere near ready to be rolled out with yet.
Because today was a sunny day and I live a 20 minute walk from one of the top ten beaches in the nation. Same with last weekend and the weekend before that. Ever read that Steve Sailer VDARE post about his theory that Hawaii is a land of the Lotus Eaters where in order for someone to accomplish something they have to leave the sun-kissed laid-back land of “Ainokea” for the big cities of the mainland?
All fucking true. This is a place where at work “lunch break” is a state of mind rather than a set time in which you hurriedly eat food and get back to your desk. A place where you invite a total stranger on the beach to jam on the uke and have a couple beers (happened Memorial Day). A place where clocks go to waste. Hence, near everything I try to start gets pushed back to oblivion. As for blogging… dude… why would I do something that gets me pissed off at the world when I can go to the beach and see loads of scantily clad 20-somethings?
On that note, let me get to the damn point of this post, in which a mildly amusing story is shared. Anyways, Friday night for me is “pau hana Friday”, even though I work most Saturdays. Because I can’t really drink alcohol without wicked hangovers that make me shit useless, I drink kava, the traditional mind-altering beverage of the Pacific Islands. It’s an acquired taste, to say the least. Think of sucking down a gritty mud puddle with Novocaine mixed into it, and you have the flavor of straight kava. The effects ain’t too impressive for most, since you retain complete mental clarity the whole time, you simply get very relaxed and mildly euphoric. All you want to do is sit someplace nice and quiet and either play a little music or engage in light chit-chat. Think the opposite of an energy drink. I can tell you, it’s one of the best things you can drink if you’re all sore after a day of work, all the tension just flies out of your muscles. Of course, I’ve gotten to the point where I can drink enough of it to get to that point, as I enjoy taste. For most people, they gag immediately.
Anyways, I was little short on powder for the night, and there’s really only one place you can get the stuff in my town, a health food store run by some weird splinter group of the Hare Krishnas. Anyways, it’s always reasonably well stocked, but I don’t go there much, I’m not the sort of person who goes to stores that not only have a “no smoking” sign outside their door but a “no meat on the premises” sign.
So I go in and attempt to find the kava, and I notice that the store manager is shadowing me as I walk around the store. I think it’s a bit odd since I’m dressed in fairly respectable work clothes. As I walk down the aisle, two elderly hippie ladies stop their conversation and watch me as I go by, silent. I round the corner and nearly bump into an underfed and overtattooed Asian girl who jumps out of my way like I’m a leper.
By this point I’m slightly weirded out, so I go and fill a bag with kava and make my way out of the store (the clerk who rang me up at least was polite). As I’m pulling out of the parking lot, I look in the rear view mirror and realize what hat I’m wearing that day; my rusticated leather bushranger.
Hah, I can be a massive asshole without even realizing it!
P.S. Their kava was shitty and weak bulk Fijian powder, so I guess they had some revenge on me.
P.S.S. Plastic Beach sounds awesome when you’re zonked on kava.
P.S.S.S. I do believe that this is the first time that Steve Sailer and the Gorillaz have been invoked in a single post.