Sunday, May 29, 2005
Hawaii Five Oh What a Time (part 3)
Monday morning at 5:00, I had many cups of coffee by the shark pond that is actually part of the lobby but still outside. Again, outside is in and inside is out. There is also a pond with enormous rays gliding around like humongous flying filets with eyes and pointy tails. There are other ponds with those cartoon-colored fish, severely thyroidal starfish, urchins and anemones. There are other things I couldn't identify but were vaguely recognizable from the Japanese menu. The sharks, I should explain, are baby hammerheads. Interesting but not threatening. Toy hammers, if you will. I never saw them nail anything.
Later I go for a massage. Terrific spa with every contraption for self-absorbment you'd expect. Wonderful massage from Jackie, a native with fingers of steel that are at the same time soothing as silk. Not quite like having your ass rubbed by The Terminator but not like a $200 whore either. Not that I'd know anything about that. This is followed by a scented steam bath and a 360 degree needle shower. It only sounds painful. It's actually highly reminiscent of Woody Allen's Orgasmatron. I float out of that place. Later we have brunch in the open but covered dining room. Yup, inside but you're outside. Birds even come in and steal crumbs from time to time. I'm beginning to notice that many Japanese girls are lightening their hair, making them look very exotic. I find them very pretty in either color. I find the Japanese very interesting people in every respect and it is my finest wish that they lose the raw fish and seaweed habit. I do notice this particular group at brunch is chowing down on an American breakfast buffet. Hard. Hope is alive and it's name is bacon.
Cathy and I drive into town and I get my glasses fixed. The doctor will take no money. Is this an alternate universe? Later we sit by the lagoon, people watching, and then go off with Mic and Robert for a long walk around all four lagoons. I contemplate rhymes for lagoon besides goon, moon and maroon. Somehow I only come up with baboon, cartoon, typhoon, balloon, cocoon and spoon. I put my notebook away. This is a rhyme scheme I will not be harvesting. It's the cliche' aversion thing.
We have dinner at Roy's which is located right there on the golf course of this resort. Robert and Mic do a critique and it gets very high grades. I loved the food. That's all I need. Robert and I discuss the problem of fleeting inspiration. He had noticed me writing a song at various parts of the day in my little notebook. I told him I have to keep it with me for moments when inspiration strikes. He said he has a problem remembering when he is inspired by some menu theme. I learned the hard way to do this. My co-writer Kathy Feeney says once you lose a lyric because you can't write it down, it just blows off into the wind for somebody else to catch. I hate to lose a verse like that as I did not long ago during Shavasana. It didn't drift off on the wind. It melted into my yoga mat. Hard as I try, I can't wring that sucker out.
Tuesday my 5:20am coffee is shattered with the extremely noisy babble of mothers and their babies who are demanding their attention. Four mothers talking without listening. Each have that flat-toned practiced patter reserved for scripts they've recited many times about nothing important. They talk of things that would stereotype them: goats milk, fat free vs. low fat, nannies, sleep cycles, diaper rash. Is it deja vu or are they reciting a scene from Sex and the City? Their tone is smooth but grating so that my morning bliss is molested like sandpaper on cheese. The babies scream to be noticed. The moms' tone doesn't change when the subject changes. There's no emotion, no true interest, no empathy in this tone. It's a tone that just wails, "I'm a young, well off mother. This is my life. You know the drill." But sometimes I think I hear an anger in that tone. Sometimes I think I hear a little desperation, a little resentment. Sometimes the underlying tones seem to be saying, "This is all that unquenchable motherhood urge got for me. This is all that I am and it's not the way I thought it would be. It's not enough. Mother's Day doesn't mean shit. Just leave me alone and let me sleep." But maybe that's just my guy perception. Because the babies are still screaming. Naturally I start a lyric about this. But it's too depressing to see the light of day.
Something uplifting tomorrow; Diamondhead!
posted by Bud @ 7:30 AM
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