“Beans, beans! The magical fruit! The more you eat, the more you toot! The more you toot, the better you feel. Beans, beans! The magical meal!”
Hope and pray as I may, I have yet to be abducted by aliens. Most geeks might agree that being beamed up would be something of a Nerd Rapture—a blessing, probes or no. I mean really, no matter how excruciating the experiments (if that’s indeed what they do) might be, the experience would totally be worth it. Heck, it’d be worth resigning myself to a life of muttering about Grays, and leaving zany messages about the cover ups and conspiracies that abound, for the editors of a local alt. weekly (OK, that doesn’t really happen to us, but I’d welcome it).
My biggest disappointment regarding extraterrestrials is the lack of sighting stories from around the 808. Everything I hear is always secondhand (or tentacle)—vague musings about unusual lights over Hana Bay, or strange, electronic noises heard by crater campers. This is frustrating because growing up, I loosely held some North Shore notion that many folks believe Maui to be a magical vortex of intergalactic energy; somehow tied to the Great Pyramids and other gobbledy gook. Sounds like good column fodder to me, but like a mirage it disappears upon closer inspection.
Lately, it seems I’m racking up a slew of articles that paint me as some hard-hearted skeptic. Maybe I am, but I’m an unwilling one, if at all. I’d really like to be Mulder, but inevitably end up as Scully.
Regarding a previous installment of Kula Kid (“Windows to the Soul,”) I got less flack than expected over my criticism of Braco, the gaze-master mystic from Croatia. I figured Braco sympathizers were too pissed to comment at all, though one woman (pretending to be two) did. She accused me of closed-mindedly “darkening hearts and destroying the planet,” because my own experience informed me that this “guru” is a ruse.
Rambling about how I’d thwarted others’ blessings from this supposed super-powered super child reborn of Atlantis (uh, Aquaman?), the angry woman testified of her own “healed ulcer,” and of being miraculously ridded of her oppressive “fear of ovarian cancer.” She further asserted that when my youth and (presumably) beauty are gone, I’ll return to Braco, wondering what I missed. She missed the fact that when I saw Braco, I still had tubes hanging from my arm, connected to a catheter inserted up my arm and into my heart’s right atrium. Why? Real cancer.
OK. So that lady might have had a point, but only in that people gain healing and satisfaction by meditating to their great googley moogley of choice (and if that be from Braco, more power to ya). I myself can’t deny that whist killing leuk, I was blessed with prayers and good vibes from hundreds of friends, family members and strangers. It might be as unquantifiable as UFOs, but gosh darnit if I didn’t get better faster than the speed of light.
I also recently discovered that famed, as seen on TV cryptozoologist, Loren Coleman, read my April Fools’ article, wherein I’d referenced his book The Field Guide of Bigfoot and Other Mystery Primates (1999). I’d sided with linguists in that the myth of menehune might be Hawaii’s first hoax (as the word’s low-of-stature meaning was lost in translation; missionaries interpreting it literally, and natives rolling with the joke), as there’s no record of menehune lore prior to Western contact in the islands. On cryptomundo.com, I was bashed for too-readily discrediting the existence of Hawaii’s famed moonlit magicians.
Whatever. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: I’d love to believe that there are real Bracos in the world—just like I’d love to be abducted by aliens or spock one menehune. Sure it’s wild, but why not? Unfortunately, the proof is in the pudding and I’m still waiting for snack time.
P.S. Mahalo to my Wailuku homie David Ivey, who co-coined this column’s title (it is like “whirled peas!”), while we waited for our late dates at the MACC.
Anu Yagi welcomes public comments, and will be hanging out at mauifeed.com/kulakid. You can also follow her on Twitter at