Aloha, Maui!

Here I am on the islands! Oh, Maui, how I love thy semi-tropical climate, and persistent rainbows, and continuous breeze! It was certainly worth the white-knuckled terror of the flight. But I’m just being a big ol’ drama queen now. As a matter of fact I’m in danger of becoming one of those people who doesn’t bat a lash about getting on an airplane. It’s only the takeoff and descent that suck, the entire middle part is fine, and even soothing, especially since I had earplugs in this time. Coming down on Maui was the only turbulent part – it’s windy here! Anthony met me by the baggage claim conveyor and wreathed me in a green tea leaf lai that he made along with a tuberose one, creamy white colored and fragrant of vanilla and honey. It made me want to quote aloud lines from Shakespeare. (I’m finishing “Wuthering Heights” finally and I think it’s influencing my writing style.)

Cousin Anthony (who I will henceforth refer to simply as “Cousin”) took me to his and J’s “project house” this morning (photo above) to get new smoke alarms installed for the people coming over to look at, and hopefully buy the house. It’s been on the market almost 2 years now, and the asking price is down to $1.8 million from well above $2 million. It has a steep paved driveway and exquisite decoration and a pool and three floors, the top two both with wide spacious patios sporting breathtaking panorama views of the town and lush foliage below, and beyond them the glowing azure ocean stretching to the horizon.

Afterwards Cousin took us to the only restaurant in town serving breakfast at 10:30 a.m. where he said he’d had such a bad experience last time that under TIP on the check he wrote “Find a new job,” but he gave it another chance for my sake, and he had florentine eggs benedict (florentine basically means “spinach”) and I had a stack of golden buttermilk pancakes with fresh strawberries, and everything was fine, the server was attentive, in fact almost overly servile, I thought, but Cousin is imperious and impatient in demanding compliance from people, whether it’s restaurant servers, the agent who has failed to sell their house so far, or the people in front of him on the road who purposely block him from driving as fast as he’d like in his giant F350 white pickup truck. (So big that he took up two parking spaces when we went to the restaurant.) We stopped and chatted with a couple exuberant older Hawaiian ladies who run an art gallery and are planning a Victor/Victoria themed party for a mutual friend.

Then we went to Secret Beach, which was clothing-optional, and Cousin lounged naked in the HOT sun (it's between 60 and 90 all the time here), while I body surfed and got too much sun (my head is turning bright lobster red – I put “Green Ice” aloe gel on it). He pointed to one house and said “That’s David Bowie and Iman’s house,” then pointed to another on the hill above us and said “That’s Sharon Stone’s house.” Bowie’s house has its own little point or spit of land jutting out onto the water, landscaped all the way up so people can’t climb into their yard and it’s semi-private while being also directly in view of a public beach – with naked people. Sharon Stone’s house looks like cheesecake – same color and consistency. Cousin thinks the water here is cold and was only in it for a few minutes, but I spent a solid hour or two body-surfing the waves, and the water is heaven to me - exactly what I dreamed of and longed for the whole time I kept trying to swim in those glacial 40-degree lakes in Glacier Park last summer. Cousin finally called me ashore after J warned him on the phone not to let me stay in the water too long or my scalp might burn. On the walk back from the beach to the parking lot I felt like a sensitive, pale water creature burning myself on hot coals. The soles of my feet felt soft as the underbelly of a reptile, scalded by hot rocks as I walked along barefoot.

Back at Hohani Place, Cousin had a nap while I organized and put away everything in my room, then took a dip in the pool. He has corned beef simmering in a pot on the stove for tomorrow night’s dinnner. They have a friendly, skinny, tan, blonde Russian girl roommate named K. who goes to a community college nearby, studying to be an IT person. She warned me not to go anywhere without suntan lotion, a rule I failed to observe today, but I didn’t know we’d be hitting the beach when we left. I did my regular exercise regimen this morning, then also did a 15-minute run on the exercise bike with the Resistance set to 7. It’s easy to sweat here with the high humidity. Cousin started to play “Brideshead Revisited” but I said “Let’s save that for another night” because I just can’t watch that movie without a commitment to fully experience it, such is the bond I’ve formed with it. I just read Benji is going to make a movie about the Beatniks next with Jesse Eisenberg from Adventureland. He’s going to play Lucien Carr, a less-well-known figure from the Beats’ early days who nonetheless played an integral role in bringing them together. So I have that and Bright Star to look forward to. Well, I’ve got to go try on some diaphanous gowns Cousin laid on my bed in preparation for our upcoming parties. Looks like I’ll be doing drag before San Francisco after all!

Cousin told me the first night that he and J both walk around the house naked from time to time. K. does, too, occasionally. That's how it goes here! Being the shy thing I am, I’ll probably keep my underwear on at least.

Bohemian Grove / PX90 / Rahm Emanuel / Adventureland

I had two drinks – but only two – at Biddy’s with Kirk last night. David Clayton, M.D., author of “The Healthy Guide to Unhealthy Living,” says one or two drinks a night is actually good for you, whether it’s a glass of red wine, a bottle of beer or a shot of scotch – they’re all more or less equal, although red wine does contain some antioxidants not found in other liquors. Kirk is still going strong with his New World Order theories and the apocalyptic mentality of the incurably paranoid. Kirk is an absolute nut, but he does have his entertainment value. I’m not saying there isn’t any truth to them, but there have been people predicting various sorts of apocalypses for centuries now – it’s not exactly a new thing. My view is that everything is cyclical. There will always be evil in the world and there will always be good, every so often evil gets the upper hand, but good always seems to bring it back down again eventually. Empires never last, although it’s true the Roman one lasted quite a while – but still only the blink of an eye on the vast stage of world history. Kirk told me about the Bohemian Grove, some weird pagan party in the woods of California where all the most powerful people in the world secretly meet and there are gay orgies held there and apparently there’s footage of Richard Milhaus Nixon disparaging the “goddamned faggots prancing around the redwoods” somewhere on YouTube. I should check it out but somehow the subject doesn’t command my attention enough. Kirk thinks President Obama and his right-hand man Rahm Emanuel may be gay lovers, that Obama is bi and that’s part of why he’s so into Lincoln. He theorizes that’s why Michelle Obama is so “manly.” I don’t exactly think she’s manly. She’s big boned, certainly not petite, but “manly” to me is a butch dyke with a mustache and flannels. Michelle has a somewhat androgynous body, and I’ve always found people with androgynous bodies among the most attractive people around. Ziggy Stardust, anyone?

A woman at the Hat Party told me about the PX90 diet/workout program, which operates on the theory of “muscle confusion.” Athletes use it a lot. She said that no matter how much you exercise, you eventually hit a wall where you can’t go any further, the best you can do is maintain. But with the PX90, you continually rotate different areas of your body for workout, meaning you never hit that wall, because your body never settles into a groove of knowing what to expect, so you can just keep going, getting in better and better shape. I’ll have to check that out if pilates reaches what economists refer to as “the law of diminishing returns.”

Unfortunately most of the Hat Party footage is just too dark to be of much use, I think. I’ll have to break the news to Pat gently. Although I might be able to salvage some of it through the magic of post-production.

I caught a press screening of "Adventureland" this morning - the new movie by the director of "Superbad." It was really quite good. Heterosexuals are so cute.

Do I write with a quill of poison? Nay, my friend, my pen is equal parts poison, magic and gold. It just depends which one you deserve....and on the mercurial mood of the tiger.