Well, I can’t talk shit about hippies any more. Not even the religious ones. This morning, walking along the Haiku road on the way to the community center to catch the bus, I was picked up by a Jesus hippie who offered me a ride. People hitchhike here a lot, but I don’t, because I’m not used to it, and I don’t mind walking: it’s exercise! But I’m not gonna turn down a ride if someone offers. As soon as I sat down I saw a JESUS SAVES hat on the floor of his car and knew I was in for a spiel. He told me about a great beach called Makena where the water is beautiful aquamarine blue like in the Mediterranean and the shorebreak is dangerous, but if you know how to handle yourself in the ocean it’s a paradise for bodysurfing. He dropped me off right by the Green Banana Internet Cafe where I was going to speak with the owner, and sure enough, right before he let me go he made his “pitch,” which went something like, “Bro, I’ve just gotta tell ya that people have done a really awful job of misrepresenting God, this God is great, he isn’t trying to make you feel bad or scare you, he’s love,” and then he wished me a beautiful day. Whatever, no big deal. I don’t hate religious people, I was just raised with an antipathy towards religion that I still have, from seeing all the harm and evil that it’s done, and the way it’s twisted and abused in the service of evil by so many hypocritical evil bastards, and I’m happy where I am, with my mild semi mystical form of pantheistic spirituality. So, I’m cool on the religion, bro, but thanks for the ride, all the same!
Then I met Dean, the owner of Green Banana, who told me Paia is a “very transient” place and he may need to hire someone new soon. He also said he has the same shirt I was wearing (the “For Good Luck Rub My Tummy” one, Urban Outfitters I think) and, get this, told me I have “the perfect porn star name.” I said, “Well, if I can’t get a job in a restaurant or cafe, I suppose there’s always that to fall back on.”
Speaking of colorful bananas, they grow decorative pink bananas (and pineapples) here on the Islands. Decorative meaning you don’t eat them.
Our dogs, Ilio and Nikita (Russian must have the opposite gender endings from Spanish and the Romance languages, because Ilio is the female and Nikita is her son) are pitbulls, a breed that has earned itself much ink and controversy. When I told my Mom that today she said, “Oh, I don’t like pitbulls, I don’t trust them.” But Elio and Nikita illustrate both sides of that controversy. Ilio accepted me right away (especially after I fed her some turkey leavins from my own plate) and lets me pet her and shows no aggression, while Nikita, who is notoriously shy and mistrustful of any new people in his orbit, runs away if I come near, and growled in his throat when I once tried to pet him. He seems to be accepting me nonetheless in his antisocial way, and K. says he’s usually much WORSE around strangers than he has been to me.
There’s no lack of food at the house, that’s for sure. I mostly eat the leftovers of the food Cousin buys, and I’m still eating better than I did in Portland.
The image above is a mermaid sculpture I took a photo of in Lahaina a few days ago, really lovely - I told Cousin he should buy it for one of his houses.
