You fucking rock. You filled out my survey and you guys told me
stuff. Really deep shit, too—like, you hike naked and you love it when
I swear. I think I am in love with each and every one of you.
If what you say is correct, 52.9 percent of you are female. Most are
single, having “avoided marriage diligently and successfully,” and
ranging in age from 22 to 60 years old, or as one of you put,
“somewhere between busy being born and busy dyin’.” Also, many of you
say you’re too old for me but damn, you look good for your age!—which,
on average, is 35.
You’re across the board on a couple of things—namely, your
astrological and Chinese signs—due in no small part to some of you
either refusing to answer “on the grounds that astrology is
ridiculous,” or claiming that you were born in the year of “Moo Goo Gai
But what’s endearing to me is some of the cool stuff you do for a
living, as well as the really cool stuff you’d like to do. Accountants
want to be philosophers. Lawyers long to be artists. Artists want to be
musicians. Salespeople yearn to be firemen, investigative reporters,
novelists, dancers, world travelers, 24/7 stoners and lazy muthafuckas.
Meanwhile, actors are giving up radio voice-over to be jewelry
designers. Others are shunning “bartending with stripper fantasies
unfulfilled” to be estheticians. It just brings a tear to my eye.
You love everything about Maui, especially when you’re horseback
riding, smoking cigarettes, surfing, drinking cold Coronas and cruising
with the dogs—and that’s just the girls!
Back in the yard, the manlier of you are wishing on the moon,
singing, cooking, reading, walking on the beach alone, and “writing
music, eating fried chicken, drinking bourbon and masturbating.” Nice.
When it comes to vices, weed seems to come up a lot. Well, that and
Maui wowie, paka lolo, Mary Jane, buds and “writing music, eating fried
chicken, drinking bourbon and masturbating” again.
You LOVE watching Lost and the Daily Show.
You listen to everything, from Kathleen Battle to the Black-Eyed Peas,
Erasure to kiho’alu, bluegrass to booty shakin’, and reggae, reggae,
Your literary and cinematic tastes are just as varied. From The Dance of the Dissident Daughter to Secrets of the I Ching, you women are mostly reading as a means of cultural exploration and self-discovery. Oh, the guys are, too, what with Sex, Drugs and Cocoa Puffs, Blinding Light and your new cell phone manual.
Most of you aren’t going out that much—one night a week, on
average—but more women are drinking at home or on the beach, while the
guys are racking up “30 or so” Cuervo Gold shots in “hell” every week.
But what’s curious to me is while Patron and Jagermeister are the shots
you prefer, they’re also the same shots you will never have again since
that one time when you were 16 or went to that Cinco de Mayo thing in
’98. And most of you have had a lot of sex but aren’t right now.
Speaking of sex, the girls love Colin Farrell, Johnny
Knoxville and Angelina Jolie, while the guys—I don’t think they
understood the question. It’s which celebrity would you most like to
have sex with, not which hedonistic heathen who has a column in MTW—which
most of you have been reading since the beginning, so thank you. And
apparently, I’ll be hanging out in Kihei a lot more.
Now let’s get to the part about ME.
You like me, for the most part—at least, those of you who filled out
the survey. I really do appreciate your very kind words; that you can
relate to some of my experiences, that you’re living vicariously
through me, that you like my honesty (and yes, it is all true) and that
you find this column “usually entertaining… when it isn’t, at least
As for your grievances—I, too, would like more Jen stories, would
love to write for your town, believe alcohol is lame (largely), realize
I may be perceived as “calling out for love/help,” that I can be silly
and that I am triggering “a flashback to one of those evil lingering
hangovers, the kind that creeps up on you and no amount of Ibuprofen,
coffee or junk food can keep at bay—once, I thought I could actually
smell the tequila.” And you overwhelmingly think I’m crazy for thinking
David Letterman is hot.
Still, I’m your kind of girl. And we should totally hang out.
A horrifying lot of you have no idea who Anthony Pignataro is—um,
he’s the editor of this paper and my direct supervisor. A large number
of you believe he is a
tyrant, although you appear to be confused as to why: “If by Anthony
Pignataro you mean Jessica Alba and by cigar-chomping bully you mean
delightfully delicious, then yes, I do.” And apparently, the rest of
you think he’s “kinda cute in the pictures, maybe boyish,” “a darling
huggy-bear of a guy,” “a closeted Republican” and a “nice ol’ school
fart.” Either way, you think a cigar-chomping bully is “better than an
We have a lot in common, you and I. Nice to meet you. MTW