My native language is Foul
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you know who’s been busy?
death. first she took MCA, then goober, junior seau, the ORIGINAL barnabas collins, and maurice sendak just yesterday. she also took home greg ham from the band ‘men at work,’ dick clark (thought he’d live forever,) and the dude that invented red bull.
i remember reading maurice sendak books when i was little. everyone goes on and on about “where the wild things are,” and with good reason, but i enjoyed “night kitchen” and the little bear books far more. “higgetly piggetly pop,” the story about a mop eating sheep dog getting to break into showbusiness. i used to hide in the library when i was little, mostly because i hated my teachers. i remember wanting to make a suit out of dough like mickey did in night kitchen, and resenting my chef father because he wasn’t a baker and i couldn’t sneak into the kitchen to make myself an airplane out of cake batter. just like theodor geisel’s books, i will have those books for my children, because they shape imagination and teach us to find our own way in the world by dreaming big.
i remember the first time i’d ever heard the beastie boys. i was sent home from school for fighting and i used to go to a school at the top of a very steep hill roughly 3 miles from the city bus stop. there just happened to be a car full of juvenile delinquents cutting out from the high school up the street zipping by when they saw me wandering pathetically by the side of the road, so they stopped to give me a ride down the hill. “brass monkey” was playing. you have to remember that at the time, i was a little nerd kid with little knowledge of the outside world, a sad product of private school and institutionalization, current holder of the spelling bee trophy and while i was WAY too fucking smart for my own good, i still listened to the music i heard on the radio.
i thought huey lewis was cool. yeesh.
anyway, i get in the car and see a really pretty girl with a mohawk. “you can sit on my lap,” she tells this little kid, “we’ll give you a ride to the bus stop.” she was haole, hair bleached out with bright green eyeshadow. i remember thinking she looked like a hot cockatoo.
a guy in the front passenger seat leans back and hands me a 7up. then brass monkey. they all sing along.
“what is this?” i ask. sexy parrot tells me, “beastie boys!”
i sit at my bus stop, drinking a 7up and thinking how i wish i was cooler. the bus comes, and i think about how nerdy i am. i stop at the mall near my house to change buses and realise the car full of older kids had cut school, totally against the rules, yet did something kind and compassionate for a little kid they didn’t even know. it was possible to be bad and kind at the same time.
i walked into the mall and shoplifted ‘licensed to ill.’ then i also stole the ‘pretty in pink’ soundtrack for my brother (he liked the psychedelic furs,) proving that i could be bad and do something good at the same time.
so adam yauch helped me embrace the dichotomy of man, as pertaining to little boys sent home for punching mike in his stupid face for telling me i’m too poor to hang out with the other kids.
also—i can appreciate that you want to show respect for your fallen hero. i get that. we all will miss whatever music the man would’ve made and the world is that less bright for the loss of that one star. but when you walk into a bar with a jukebox, i need to impress upon you the sad fact that you are not original. if you show up at 7pm and do it, you might be the first to play ‘paul revere.’ if you show up and do it at 1am, you are just being an asshole. by this time, every other lip-synching dickbag in the bar has played it before you walked in, and i now officially hate you. never heard the song, ‘egg man’ or listened to ‘shadrach?’ no one ever heard the song ‘root down?’ why does no one put 50 cents in the machine to hear ‘the maestro?’ i’d do it, but i can’t leave the door if there’s no one for me to throw out, it has to be an emergency. stop torturing the people in your favorite watering hole with a continuing flow of the same fucking beastie boys songs. sounds like a mixtape made by an autistic DJ with only ‘solid gold hits’ in his milk crate. have some fucking compassion.
feels good to get that out. -
i would like to take this time to apologize for a few things on behalf of my race
i’ve been lying in bed miserably ill (i like to pretend i’ve been poisoned by haters, but i know it ain’t true) and i’ve had a lot of time to go online and look at stuff (but not porn. i think any repetitive motion would make me throw up more. hah!)
so while on youtube, i noticed a trend that is really fucking annoying—anyone can play the ukulele, and they post it online to the irritation of others.
first off, white folks, there’s no fucking letter “Y” in the word “ukulele.” the first syllable is pronounced “ook.” some people are morons.
second, while my people (hawaiians) did not invent the damned thing (blame the portugese, they did it,) our king, Kalakaua, is the one that made it so frickin popular. he’s also why we have hula and even the spoken hawaiian language. americans made it illegal to speak hawaiian after they stole the country from us. so one could say that the uke (that word, it’s kinda okay to pronounce it with a “Y”) is a really crappy measure of vengeance.
don’t misunderstand me—in the right hands, it sounds great. i have many fond memories of hanging out with my friends booboo and bradley while on deployment to the middle east, singing and playing the ukulele every night. when i travel, i get the opposite of homesick by playing “hene hene kou aka,” sung by braddah iz. near as i can tell, it’s a song about going on a date around waikiki, but my hawaiian isn’t that great. better than yours, though, so no fair teasing.
that being said, there are a lot of people out there that think they are good at playing the ukulele. they are wrong. very, very, very wrong. the reason for it’s popularity is that it is extremely simple to learn to play it: there are only four strings, you can tune it with the phrase (i fucking kid you not) “my dog has fleas,” and it has a very mellow sound to it. even though, just because you can play chords with it, does not make you a great (or even okay) uke player. it’s like schroeder from the peanuts comics—it might be an easy to play toy piano, but he’s amazing with it. all these ding dongs on youtube…not so much. so i’m sorry we popularized such an annoying item, but now quit it.
another thing that’s entirely our fault—surfing. not sorry for that. all those surfers out there that think they’re cooler than others, that’s your haole fault. hawaiian surfers just get into a lot of fights, and drink too much. they don’t really rub other people’s nose in it that they can surf. that’s how a lot of us get chicks, so why would we try and make it elitist?
i’d also like to apologize for poi. i heard another person complaining about poi the other day. guess what color? not brown. the person, not the poi. i don’t think i’d eat brown poi. poi’s supposed to be purple.
to be fair to poi, what you eat at the tourist “luaus” is not the correct way to eat poi. the poi you eat is fresh, usually steamed and pounded that day. you have to let it sit for a couple of days before it tastes like anything.
look—i hate, and i mean fucking HATE cabbage. just the smell of it makes me instantly lose my appetite. i can’t understand the appeal of coleslaw and for real? FUCK corned beef and cabbage. it’s like someone ruined perfectly good corned beef.
but i love sauerkraut.
i don’t eat hot dogs with out sauerkraut. think of poi like sauerkraut. it has to sort of ferment a tiny bit before you can eat it. if it’s fresh, you mix it with milk and it becomes a high-octane baby tranquilizer. you can’t put them to sleep faster with a baseball bat. and when i was a kid, i liked eating poi mixed with coconut milk and honey. i used to make shakes with poi and milk and coconut ice cream, and that HAD to be fresh poi. but you don’t eat it by itself when it is fresh. you just don’t.
to make amends for my culture’s transgressions, i now give you one of the greatest ukulele songs,sung by israel kamakawiwoole, henehene kou aka. entirely done with the tiny little guitar, even the drumming is done on the back of the instrument. -
i can hear fireworks
every friday and saturday, there’s a short fireworks display done by hilton on the beach at waikiki. i can kind of see it from my apartment and when i take a nap before i have to go work the door at big kahuna bar, it is my alarm clock. the fireworks don’t start until it is totally dark though, and being that the sun goes down around 745 and it doesn’t get really dark until almost 830, it is becoming a very unreliable way of waking me up.
sure is nice to watch, though. -
happy earth day, peeps. this is a beach down the road from my house in kona. as you can see, earth day is in full swing there, all the time.
also, i wish i had some eggs over easy to go with this oatmeal. ugh. oatmeal on earth day. sounds un-patriotic or something. -
Girls I miss, for various reasons.
Sabrina (Switzerland)
Kat (Haole County)
Cinnamon Amsterdam (California)
A lot of women in Hawaii are just the worst. Few can hold a conversation and most are constantly high. I couldn’t get a date to watch Aida in January! Verdi! Are you fucking kidding me? It’s sad. I went to one of my best friends’ wedding by myself, because a very inconsiderate woman told me two days before that she was going to a Ziggy Marley concert on that day. She’d bought her ticket weeks before, but only told me then.
I miss having conversations and doing fun things (not involving alcohol) and I miss learning about the other people we share the world with firsthand. Curiousity should be fostered, not culled, and the need within us to connect should also be held up as a high standard.
Otherwise, what the fuck are you doing here?
Looking at you, Kardashians, and shaking my head. -
The mind wanders when you’re making stuff.
i recently received the majority of my leather-making equipment from my house in Kona (i’m on a different island, in my apartment in Honolulu right now.) i have no idea how i started this, or even why, but it is coming along nicely. as with every first one i make, it teaches me how to make another, better one, in less time.
i wanted it to look like a section of bamboo. it took a bit of doing, but i am pretty happy with how it turned out. i don’t even know really what it is, other than some kind of container. i guess it could be a purse, and i have a thin leather strap that fits through the tube on the top of it. i could also put a metal bar with screw threads on it and fit it to the back of a bicycle as a small kit bag.
as soon as i finish, i’m making another, better one.
whadja think? -
damn you, brain.
you know in “The Wrath of Khan,” when Khan puts those worm-things in Chekov and Terell’s helmets? they crawl in their ears and cause them excruciating agony? i think i have one of those things eating my brain now.
or i’m really fucking hungover. fuck you, booze. -
Really tired? No, just lazy.
This is how lazy I am: I am fucking freezing. (Yeah, whatever. You choose to live there, enjoy the snow, retard.) As cold as I am, I won’t stand up to turn off the ceiling fan until I absolutely HAVE TO pee.
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break the language barrier—i’m some kind of freak.
i’ve been watching the entire season 1 of Game of Thrones. i’m on disc 5 as i type this, and i’ve come to a conclusion: there’s something seriously wrong with me. i already speak a bunch of different languages, but after watching the last four discs, i’ve begun to understand the made up Dothraki language. it’s sort of weird. i have no idea why, but it is beginning to make sense to me. also, i think my talents have been wasted on the backwards-monkey politics of the Army. i see the sense in a lot of the political maneuvering on the series. i think i would have done quite well in such a time. plus, i know kung fu. fuck your armor, i can kick your helmet off, even with your head still inside it.
and my neighbor is cooking something that smells like baked gym sock with braised fart sauce.
whoah, those Dothraki are super-rapey.
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