I resist bringing my computer anywhere with a beach, on principal, so now I have to use my keyboard as a time machine to travel back to Maui. After observing “the house of the rising sun” from Kona, we hopped a commuter plane over to Maui to sight see and check out Morrissey.

Coming from the sublime peace that is the Four Seasons, the chaos, faux falls, black swan in the pond and general mayhem of The Westin provided a sense of mild anxiety. I imagined this is what Cornel Kurtz would feel like if he was kidnapped and taken to a water park.

Fortunately we had a purpose. We had a show to get to and tickets to buy. When I’d been on the mainland, my enthusiasm for marketing, Maui and Morrissey, led to this:

(photo Extra Fancy)

The officially unofficial, Mauissey t-shirt. Designed and rendered at a kiosk in the mall, we three intrepid Morrissey fans donned our matching t’s and crossed the island to get to the show. We arrived without tickets and headed straight for the box office. The seating chart appeared to include the orchestra, AKA the pit, so I gingerly asked if there were any of “those” tickets available. She studied her own seating chart and said, “You know there’s no seats?” Standing straight as arrows, we yelled “YES!” in unison. “You’ll have to stand the entire time…” We laid down the cash and miraculously, first time ever, we bought pit tickets, at face value, the night of the show.

(photo Big Kahuna)

We scored some of Moz’s vegetarian curry in the courtyard, and immediately we were catching looks, some smiles and some outright jealousy. The Mauissey shirts were a hit.  We munched at our table and were approached by two moles. By moles I don’t mean incredibly pale subway dwellers, I mean legit infiltrators. This “couple” from “Seattle” claimed to have been “given” the tickets by Morrissey. As we rolled our eyes, they asked the most mole-ish ridiculous questions, “Is he any good?” No, we’re all wearing matching t-shirts because he sucks. Sheesh, these moles wouldn’t give up. We politely told them to enjoy the show and made our way into the venue, where I could bathe in admiration of our shirts.

(photo Extra Fancy)

We had conveniently managed to miss Kristeen Young. This night was just perfect. With the backdrop and the intro video playing I normally get super giddy and euphoric. However, with minimal security, a low stage, and all the good luck thus far, I began plotting my leap onto the stage to hug Morrissey. I’ve seen many friends be pulled off the stage, with a stunned ephemeral smile after hugging the man, and as my next birthday will be one of consequence, I determined this was my best opportunity.

However, I was so frickin’ excited, I tried too early, the third or fourth song in fact. Further, I am way too polite, asking a woman to move over because I wanted to hop the rail, and asking the man next to her if he’d mind if I used his shoulder to get up. While I was busy blatantly laying out my strategy, the security guard behind me, of whom I was unaware, readied himself. Kahuna was filming on his i-phone as I vaulted halfway onto the stage and I was bear hugged by the waiting security guard in an aloha shirt. He was more werewolf than human, using his fingernails and scraping through 2 t-shirts drawing blood. Morrissey’s security guard pushed down on my shoulders from the stage and the werewolf gouged my back.

Once I’d been pulled to the ground the security guard insisted I leave. I put my hands in the prayer position and tried to explain “It’s part of the show, please don’t. ” That’s all I could say, and I repeated it in ernest as my eyes filled with tears. Noting the situation Morrissey’s security guard flashed the werewolf  with his flashlight and told him “It’s OK. She’s OK.”  (Thank you lovely tall Englishman!) I was so relieved not to be kicked out, but I hadn’t been manhandled like that since I has thrown headfirst into a wall on Varick in New York City. I was shook. Unable to dance or enjoy myself I just kind of bopped along with the songs, feeling the werewolf’s glowering stare. Extra Fancy and Kahuna tried to rally me and explained where I’d gone wrong, but the damage was done.

Finally the werewolf left the pit, presumably to go feast on some other happy fans  I relaxed enough to sing along, dance, enjoy the comradery of the pit, and although it wasn’t the hug I’d hoped for I settled for a hand squeeze.

(photo Big Kahuna)

All in all a great night, although upon returning to the Westin I was disappointed in my terrible planning, and offended by the werewolf, checking out the bloody marks in the hotel room bathroom as I prepared for bed.

After such an amazing show, I woke up singing, fully recovered from the werewolf trauma, we headed to breakfast.

Noting the number of kids, and vibes of mania surrounding the pool, Kahuna and Extra Fancy were quick with their “Maui Revealed” guide book and got us on the road to adventure immediately. We began on a search for a two tiered tide pool, say that one a few times.

We ended up here, but Hawaiians have the right idea and a chair was waiting:

We rested for a few, and then climbed back up the ravine to find our destination. Referring to the guide book, it said thing like, “There will be three trails, take the one on the left that has dirt-bike tracks.” This might seem simple, but what if the trails are all overgrown?

It was well worth every step.

Kahuna and Extra Fancy are fearless and were immediately in the tide pool, floating around.

I walked around shooting the wildlife, and investigating to make sure that it was safe.

Then Extra Fancy, ever the wise-ass, said, “You should get over it and get in already, so it’s not another missed opportunity, like Morrissey.” Ouch, right?! So I jumped in and doggy paddled around with her. My dad’s always asking why there’s no pictures of me and my friends on the blog, just my friends. So this one’s for you pops!

After the tide pool we climbed a long way back to the car, which offered a chance to take pictures of the amazing indigenous plants that grow along the road. This is when we encountered Maui’s famed graffiti artist “Finger Paints”. Apparently “Finger Paints” is none too fond of the guide book:

The next stop on our adventure was to the blowhole. FInger Paints had been there too, this guy really gets up!

We scrambled down to what might have been our final resting place if not for the warnings of Finger Paints, where there was a woman standing right next to the blowhole singing as her poor husband filmed her. She kept yelling, “Did you get it?” I think I could see him trying to figure out how he could capitalize on the moment, making her death look like an accident. Here’s Extra and Kahuna behind the massive spray of the blowhole:

We rested well that night, had another breakfast at the Westin and then flew back to Kona on a prop plane. I was completely terrified and could’ve chipped a tooth, my jaw was clenched so tight. Here’re my fearless intrepid travel partners and once I knew we were landing, the incredible view from the plane.

Glad to be alive.

Mahalo!

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