Friday, October 04, 2002
Well some of you may have noticed my reticence yesterday. I mean, I did my little dillio for Meesh's birthday, and I cut and pasted the reply from Cap'n Crunch's first mate off of my e-mail. Yes, that was an actual e-mail from crunch headquarters. I know it's kind of a bite off of Jerry Seinfeld's fake letter books, but shit, sue me. Yeah, for all the cash that comes piling in every day off of this website. I'm fucking swimming in it, seriously. Well besides that I had mass work to do, and I was a little tired cuz I did some partying the night before.
You see it must be that birthday time of year, because it was my buddy Gabe's birthday on the 2nd, and a bunch of us went to the Hard Rock Café in Honolulu for dranks and boogying and various debaucherous activity. I tried to limit the beer consumption, which I did a pretty good job of, but I still had that lag in my step most of the day yesterday. That little electric feeling of exhaustion that seemed to kick in around 1 pm and was like a ghost, calling me to mi casa y mi cama y el sueno.
Anyhoo, it was pretty fun. There's so much I could say, so many angles I thought of taking on the description end of it as I stumbled around the collection of rock memorabilia. I really dig Hard Rock cafes the world over for all the cool crap hanging on the walls. The Honolulu one has a big "woody" - not a penis, mind you, but one of those beach boy station wagons with the fake wood lining. (is it fake, I don't know, whatever) hanging over the bar, which is in the center of the restaurant. Theres a dance floor off to one side, etcetera. As I was perusing the rocker history I noticed a framed set-up with little pieces of paper with the scribbled signatures of all three members of Nirvana, underneath a copy of that rolling stones cover they were on with kurt wearing the "Corporate magazines still suck" t-shirt. In my semi-drunken stupor, I was picturing kurt kicking back within feet of where I stood, possibly coming off or on a heroin binge, gazing at the walls like a dog at a bone, wondering where the hell the pizza was. I know Nirvana played Hawaii, at Pink's Garage, way back in the day, before my island life began.
So where was I, oh hard rock, gyeah. So we basically hung out and then I bailed after closing a little before 2 am. The rest of the crew headed for Ocean Club and more of the sauce and romper stomper. Not violence but the bumpin and shakin style.
Anyway, I stumbled to my vehicle, and who should I see waiting for me but my rabbit buddy Harvey, leaning against my car with a forty ounce of Coqui 900 in between his furry little paws.
"wassup buddy?" He had a twitch in his whiskers that could only spell trouble.
"what's the haps Harv, I'm heading home man. Beat and tired and gotta work in the manana."
"Fuk that you punk, we're going to the fukn Wave. There's a bottle of Cuervo there with our name on it." The giant bunny took a long swig of malt liquor and stared me in the eyes. It was like one of those scenes out of the old west. Mano a mano. The rock versus macho man savage, good versus evil in a classic battle of wits, strength, agility, and intestinal fortitude.
It was pretty fucked and unexpected, because usually Harvey is my ride home in these circumstances, but it looked like tonite that was out of the question. He was on the prowl and wanted some crew to drank some brew.
"Dude it's not gonna happen, Harv, I'm outtie like Ferdinand Capowtey." I said. I was tizired and needed slizneep.
"Punk ass bitch." With that, Harvey chugged the last of the bottle, threw it in a rage against the wall of a nearby church, screamed a high pitched squeal that was completely undecipherable, and hopped away into the night, his long ears flopping around in a drunken sway.