Once again, it’s that festive time of year when we look back and take stock; a special time when we prepare heartfelt personal resolutions and apply what we’ve learned over the past 12 months. “Happy New Year!” we all will proclaim into the starry night, our pointy little hats precariously tilted over our squinty little eyes. Bully! Hooray for us! We are going to resolve to be better, all of us as a collective. And we’re gonna start as soon as the bartender either gets us a cab or gives us back our car keys.
Then, on January 1, after copious amounts of aspirin, we will get back on the hamster wheel and forget everything. We will be discourteous, uncaring, rude, bawdy, inconsiderate and threatening. Then, when we get out of the car, we will allow our pets to run amok, play our TV and stereos too loud, stumble around half naked, drunk, stoned and cocked.
Of course, nothing is etched in stone—I’m just citing past practices. The human tendency toward disorder and the underlying beast that lurks in most of us. And it’s my hope that my prophecy prevails. The more dysfunctional we become as an island people, the more fun I have drawing the Eh Brah! illustrations. You’ve all stood me in good stead over the years, but I think we can do better! I firmly believe that if we really put our diabolical minds to it, we can become ever more absurd as a society and—while no good will come of it—I can look forward to more “future classics” streaming from my MacBook (with a nod to Wacom and their miraculous digital tablets).
Here are three Eh Brahs! I found particularly “inspiring,” coupled with a little insight and embellishment…
WHEN MOM MELTED DOWN
June 16 gave us all some insight into the parallel universe of motherhood, that finest and highest of callings all-too-often soiled by stupidity. The writer called out a playground Mom who was more W.C Fields than Sally Fields. The best part—for me—was drawing the beer swilling, butt-smoking toddler. Was it right? Hell no! Was it inferred by the writer? Not exactly. Was it funny (to me at least)? Yes. Oscar Wilde once said, “Comedy is tragedy plus time.” I gave it about 10 minutes.
WHY THE ARRIVAL TERMINAL AT THE KAHULUI AIRPORT SHOULD BE PAVED OVER
Every few hours, the big silver shiny thing that goes “whoosh” through the air lands on Maui and disgorges a pack of Mainlanders. They choke the checkout aisles at Costo. They gawk and rubberneck while driving and parking unfamiliar rental cars not unlike Helen Keller piloting a Zamboni. They complain about the prices here and sometimes (quite often, actually) bitch about not getting the kama‘aina discounts. And the ones that are lavished with luxury in “business class” (nee first class) admonish those of us who provide for their destination comforts and loudly proclaim their self importance. You usually find them at tee time on the greens at Wailea. You can’t miss them—the stuff they produce that “doesn’t stink” comes from their heads. So it was with the tale of a fed-up shave-ice server and the ass of a golfer who inspired this September 2 Eh Brah!
THE TERRORIST ATTACK ON MAUI
While there are visible shell holes in the structures surrounding Pearl Harbor from Dec 7, 1941, there are invisible scars to the psyches of the male (and some female) members of the population of Maui from the Great Terror Attack of September 16, 2010. That’s the day the Coward of the County boarded a plane to the Mainland and left the ominous bomb in the Eh Brah! inbox. The Bomb of herpes (or as he put it “the unfun” venereal disease). Who, when and where this act took place was as nebulous as the division between dusk and nightfall, but the tremors were sharply defined and measurable. Somebody infected someone and ‘fessed up after TSA cleared their luggage. Ah, herpes—the gift that keeps on taking.