Ho! Despite my best efforts to self-implode overseas, I have returned to the C48 with many observations and reflections about the bucholic Hawaiian Islands.
In my chronicles, I have tried to maintain consistancy but given my crude notes and even more baffling recorded memos on my almighty cell phone talky box it's all a crapshoot at this point. Here goes.
Flight departs Knoxvegas to Atlanta...travelling with the rents and other family so I am nervous about getting an eye opener at the early flight. The point is moot, bar closed at McGhee Tyson and the regional flight literally mocks you with the lack of beverage service. Arrival at Hartsfield(a layer of Faustian Hell akin to O'Hare, the lowest pit of betrayer's ice) is also too early to get good and tucked, but traveling back in a week's time will allow me to scout out potential bars to dull the the boredom during layovers.
Flying to Salt Lake City begins the trip in earnest...Delta offers drink service in first class, but showing self-control I decide to wait. After all I am traveling back several time zones and who wants to travel to the State of Mormon needing beverages only to find 3.2% misery. Feh.
Delta flight to Kahului Maui. Now we're cooking with gas. Cocktails are gratis in first class, and the Lord gets his drink going in full force. After loudly informing everyone in first and business class that Jack Daniels is a traitor's drink, I settle into Woodford Reserve minis. Drink by drink, brick by brick I build a wall of strength to keep the sober wolves at bay. Honestly, homos, why are you up with the elite if you aren't going to booze it up? Five drinks later and some pretty pills, I am sloshed and staring out my window at miles and miles of blue. Damn, that's thirsty work. I get number six on the tray when the pilot announces gleefully we'll be setting down early due to a healthy tailwind. Great news for 99.9% of the passengers, bad news for the Lord as he quaffs his bourbon on the rocks. By the way, straight drinks rather than mixed cocktails or beer is the only practical way to booze on the plane, lest you spend time in line for the head. I prefer the front end of drinking rather than spending all day pissing in a glorified chemical crapper.
After landing and settling into the first of my two digs,
The Lord realizes he needs to acclimate to his new surroundings and the heat. So hydration will be the watchword of the day. That lasts 20 minutes and two bottled waters. So I am off to the grocer, whereupon I find that Hawaii's liberal liquor laws allow booze to be purchased with such staples as rice, pop tarts, and various stewed meats. Ok, that's more of a Turkish thing.
Around 9:51 AM local time, I decide that I would like to find some literal Maui Wowie to make the trip complete. Alas, where to search? Who is trustworthy? What are the rules here?
10:17 AM local time-Maui Wowie obtained. Here, quite easily in fact:
The coincidence is palpable. If you are asked for the time, the locals are holding. Just sayin'
Tuesday night, the Lord and his few cousins and cousines that consume the brew are out and about. We have some Longboard Lagers at a local Sportspage Bar on South Kihei Hwy and I noticed something. The folk of Maui love tacos. There were three separate joints within earshot of the bar. Maui Taco, Tortillas of Maui, Taco Up Your Ass in Maui(a franchise with origins in Taco Up Your Ass, Buenos Aires Argentina). Who knew?
Wednesday, after moving my accomodations to the Grand Wailea in Makena
This place fucking rocks. Huge bill to pay, but totally worth it to ditch the sober folk. They have thirteen pools, including the always splendid swim-up bar. The primary restaurant and bar is Humukumu's. Actually the name consists of 30 plus characters, an anomaly in a phonetic alphabet of limited consonants and stunted vowels. The bar is literally an aquarium, salt water of course and surrounded by fountains with terracota dolphins and semi-naked islander gods and goddesses. Some native fish in there as well, but I might have hallucinated that part. The Maui Wowie is strong with this one, some scarred fart in a samurai helmet once said.
Spectacular open air eatery...and of course, the sun sets
just so...the pools and fountains become sublime examples of simple majesty.
The real kicker is that my bar tab was transferred to the table(thus becoming the always sought after cadged drink) when the father and mother of the groom picked up the tab. Scallops for appetizers, spiny lobster(still in season) and a filet tartar set the night off wonderfully. Wine from Oregon, more whiskey...damn, this place truly is God's own backyard. I swore I could have seen fireworks. Oh, right there were...
Granted, I am so torched at this point I thought Nagumo's carrier's were at it again, and that Commander Genda himself was leading Zeke's to strafe my vacation. Not so, but fireworks are closely regulated here so offshore boats are the preferred platform. It was really spectacular and when combined with the scantily clad women, a real delight...till I passed out on the beach and try as I might could not get to my high dollar room. Fuck. Where is the concierge when you need him? No doubt fucking the Phillipino maid in a closet/conjecture-editorial license/
The wedding itself was Thursday morning and the hammer of Thor was pounding in my skull. Surprisingly I did not hurl in Makena Cove nor on the Road to Hana, but I did seek to defile this blog's prominent Hawaiian friend by micturating on just about everything. Oh yeah, drank some weak ass champagne that was lukewarm after the service. Sorry for the low mention, but the Lord despises that merde'
That evening, we made the long ass drive to Lahaina on the northern end of Maui for a proper Luau. At first, I was skeptical but soon even I was convinced this was the place to be. At nearly a hundred bucks a head these fackers pile in 6-800 people a night and rake in the dough, with gratis drinks to a point. Culture, wickedness, lust, and pagan idolatry all rolled into one. Sumbitches over there never heard "thou shalt make no graven image" memo that's for sure.
Let's get to the tits shall we?
There are quite possibly only two other sets of breasts in the world more splendid than what I saw that night, and have decided that coconut bras should be brought to the mainland. More on that when I see how that turns out. Seriously though, I highly recommend this luau. Fine swine, steak, and other local cuisine that will really do the trick.
On the way back, we passed some po-po setting up a roadblock. Good thing I wasn't driving. Flat beer and Mai Tai's still will get you in heap big trouble.
Friday we hopped by helo over to Oahu...very Magnum PI-ish. On a serious note, the trip to Pearl Harbor demands the utmost in respect so no drinking reviews there. Just solemnity and sense of greater honor to those that will never sip a beer on this earth again.
The Missouri was impressive though, a fine example of the killpower we drunk Americans can produce. Only the nation of misfits and boozers can make 16/50's and CIWS towers.
The next time someone smarts off about being able to drink enough to float a battleship, tell them to piss up a rope.
After Pearl, we headed into Honolulu proper and took in some of the local fare and sights. Goethe tells us that where there is much light there is also much shadow. Truth. It's a big town, and some parts are quite hideous and slummy. Even in paradise, there are the dregs.
Now, world famous Waikiki Beach is another equation entirely. Dior, Gucci, Armani shops all along a main drag that is only feet away from some of the most gorgeous, if crowded beaches in the free world.
Then of course, there is also the little fact of meeting my future wife...hold fast sublime creature, daddy will return for you one day.
Holy shit. Holy f'n shit. By the way, this was a very important moment in my 35 winters. Trust me, it was.
I can't really recommend drinking on the cheap in Waikiki...it's not going to happen. Even the token beers and drinks I had at The Cheesecake Factory required a bank note.
To wrap up, finally my drunk ass gets back to the Kahului airport and I am ready to depart...having a couple of hours before boarding I of course get tanked in the bar like any decent red-blooded American. The Slav they had behind the bar offered me another Longboard and mentioned their special of shots for 3 bucks with the purchase of a beer. Clearly he was a little confused when I asked if it was well drinks only. He gestures vaguely to everything and I proceed to clobber his Knob Creek bottle. Big time. Well done Ivan, no doubt your boss has canned your shit by now, but you put my ass on the plane in fine fettle. So much so that I had one drink on the plane before passing out. In first class, the attendent pretty much tucks you in...or I assume so, since my drink was gone and the tray table was up.
Anyway, more of the same boozing on the way over repeated itself on the trip home...and the scouting at Hartsfield paid off at a Sam Adams themed bar. Flat broke at this point, put two imperial pints later I am ready to get back to Knoxvegas.
Whew. Blogging it was more tiring than actually living it. To all the readers(all six of you) get your ass over to Hawaii or I'll kick you in the shins. And so, the sun sets on this tale.
Saturday was a lazy affair of nothingness and couch recovery. 
I received several calls from KRTI and others trying to lure me out to another early day of drunkenness but I slept through most of them and ignored the rest until I was ready to go. Upon my late arrival at the bar I discover KRTI has already been “slowed down” and we have to go to another bar. Great shots! We indulged. We misbehaved. We were generally lewd and I somehow stumbled home without serious injury.
Sunday Feast was a wash. We had planned to cook an enormous feast of steaks, hang by the pool at the penthouse, and drink like fishes. Instead we welcomed Lord von Lord back from Hawaii and took it rather easy. A few beers at Tags, some shots at the bar, and called it a weekend.
Later I end up meeting King Randall The Insufferable downtown at our local spot. We were joined by a few of the usual suspects and before long we are already using “the mic” to start trouble. When I say “the mic” I am referring to our imaginary microphone styled in the 1970s era – the long, skinny kind most people would associate with Bob Barker of Price is Right fame
Ours is similar but we modeled ours after Memphis wrestling announcing legend Lance “Banana Nose” Russell seen here with longtime color announcer / weatherman Dave Brown
Okay, so ours is really just a couple of clear, plastic straws with a cocktail stirrer attached at the top. I regret not having a photo of this technologically advanced instrument to share with you. We almost always follow the wrestling genre of conversation by invoking past “rasslin” legends and all the show-talk that goes with it. We find it hilarious, our neighbors….that’s probably a different story. The volume goes up as the drinks go down. We recruited the “Human Buzz Saw” to participate and she did not disappoint. At 5’2”, 95 lbs this girl is an attack force of verbal smack talk – and that’s just any day without drinking or being prodded to act up. She was all revved up Thursday and we had a blast, even bringing other tables into the fray for the first time. We should have started a Battle Royale of Drinking right there on the spot but apparently that has been set in motion for a completely separate event on its own. I can’t wait. Trinken!!
Cons
