Archive for March, 2012

People Be Crazy

Wednesday, March 28th, 2012

Remember how I once asserted that Canadians aren’t funny? (You aren’t. I’m sorry. We all know it’s true. Some of you even chimed in to agree. Have you ever seen Ryan Reynolds do stand-up? I haven’t either, but word on the street is that it’s atrocious.)

Meanwhile, in  my experience, ALL Brits are funny. I don’t know how you do it. It’s almost suspicious. HOW CAN AN ENTIRE NATION BE WITTY??? WHAT ARE YOU UP TO AND WHERE CAN I GET SOME???????

With that in mind, I’m starting to develop a theory that it’s because you’re also crazy. (And I already have multiple sources of that in my life, so no need to share yours.)

Granted, some of you are probably crazy in a ‘fun’ way, like drinking too much and deciding to swim the Channel in a ballgown and Scream mask, or maybe more in the vein of that eccentric and erratic behavior you seem so unilaterally prone to in your later years, but some of you are just straight up crazy.

You know who you are.

In case you’d like a photo to go with your loco.

For those who aren’t now squirming a little, as a case in point, and Exhibit B (right after Exhibit A: Braco) as to why I can’t – despite the plethora, if not downright landslide, of material available here on Maui – go down the road of mocking New Age/”healer” insanity as fodder for the blog is a man named David Icke.

If you haven’t ever heard of him, he’s:

a) speaking from 10am to 10pm here on Maui in a couple days. It’s a budget $39 for the event, billed as “Remember Who You Are.” I’m pretty sure I know who I am or at least can recall most of the time when/if prompted, but I thought maybe I could slog through 12 hours in exchange for (hopefully) days of hilarious post material until I learned…

b) this guy apparently believes we are lizards. As in actually lizards. At least some of us. Let me back up and serve it to you slow: David Icke proclaims that a reptilian race from outer space have genetically manipulated humans (and not just any humans: all the Queens of England. Ever. Barack Obama. The George Bushes Junior and Senior. Probably Oprah, although I haven’t read that specifically.) and are dominating earth. Oh, and they live in the moon, which is actually hollow and their space lab.

Didn’t I see this in a movie called Men in Black?

For those of you that are thinking “Finally! The truth comes out!” but can’t make it to Maui by Saturday, you’ll be happy to hear he’s also booked Wembley Stadium in October.

Of course he has, because…

c) He’s British.

Now before I get too far into slam dunking my sneakily revealed and not quite the title  “Brits Be Crazy” point, and in what may seem like a bit of an unnatural juxtaposition, let me tell you that I’ve got a new opportunity with respect to including links in the occasional post, and I could not for the life of me find a truly seamless way to do this. Thus, and in the simplest of terms,  if you are a funny (duh), non-insane (or insane. I doubt they’ll judge if you’ve got the cash) Brit in need of a new dining set or bureau, go to The Furniture Market if you’re so inclined.

In other news, maybe it isn’t fair to conclude that y’all are ALL crazy just because David Icke is one of your homegrown products, but when have I ever been all that fair in my conclusions?

Seriously though: lizard people? Really?

This goes hand in hand with my cardinal New Age rule: the minute someone mentions Atlantis or Lemuria/Mu to me as if these were actual places, I stop listening. I will consider a wide array of wackiness like astral travel, past lives, ghosts, poltergeists, and ESP. However, and I don’t know why exactly, but I draw a hard line at ancient lost (fictional) continents.

Now I have two hard lines: ancient lost (fictional) continents and reptilian alien world leaders.

Thus, I will not be anteing up $39 to listen to what are no doubt twelve excruciating hours of inane babble, but happily I don’t have to in order to mock the crap out of this. The internet and mauitime have graciously handed me a few choice wackadoo quotes, such as this one about his new book, REMEMBER WHO YOU ARE: “The key is in the title. To breach the perceptual walls of the Saturn-Moon Matrix and bring an end to mass human enslavement, we need to awaken to our true identity.”

Saturn-Moon huh???

Does this have to do with choosing the red pill or the blue pill?

Then there’s this: “In the Atlantean period there were many energies being used and information and knowledge being used which were, for particular reasons of safety, withdrawn, shall we say, to prevent complete catastrophe, to prevent total destruction of your planet,” which I honestly stopped reading when I got to the words “Atlantean period.” He had me at Atlantis. You know the cardinal rule. Let me know if you think I missed something useful…

And lastly – and I  cannot bring myself to quote any further having read this gem in its entirety – “Hitler’s Europe Yes, welcome to Hitler’s Europe… Come on, human race – for our children’s sake if not our own. This is wakey, wakey time.”

Out of context, this is obviously a weak quote. I’m not picking on him for that. Where I am flinching at is “wakey, wakey.” Obviously I am a woman of many pet peeves, one of them being adults talking baby talk to other adults. Nothing sends nauseated chills down my spine like a man talking to me like I’m an infant. And, sadly, they do it more than you would honestly believe. It must be something about my smallness. Although 5’6″, I am often described as “tiny,” “little” and most recently “child-sized.” The last was in reference to a child’s ukulele, and it may not be as off as I wish it were, as it turns out this child’s ukulele is an appropriate size for me.

But I digress… (as I do in almost every post)

My point is that I am still in semi-desperate need of regular blog fodder, but as I keep insisting – despite my apparent actions – mocking gurus and New Age zealots and freaks on the street isn’t it. First off, I don’t have twelve hours to spare in order to learn about how lizards are ruling the world, and that kind of stuff gives me nightmares anyway. Secondarily, I really do hate to be mean. I do. Even in the spirit of humor, I always feel like kind of a jerk and I pray that they never find the post and get their feelings hurt.

I don’t do much praying – that part is a lie – but I will confess it’s a lot of work to sort out whether or not I can tell someone about the blog because I may or may not have mocked them in it. This is a lot of pressure on my short term memory and runs me the risk of getting beaten up in a bar. And did I mention I’m child-sized???

It’s better if I just find something where I can fly under the radar. The last thing I need is some kind of reptilian heat on my ass. I’ve got enough trouble with the Grays to last me all month…


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If you gaze long into an abyss…

Tuesday, March 27th, 2012

…the abyss will gaze back into you.

Nietzsche said that. I’m not sure what he was talking about except that it probably had to do with having an existential crisis, because that’s pretty much all he talked about. Or maybe he was suggesting that abysses have a consciousness? Makes one wonder what he thought about trees falling in forests when no one is there to hear them.

Meanwhile, this quote has absolutely nothing to do with Braco except for the fact that it was the only quote I could think of that had anything to do with gazing.

So when I left you yesterday, you were enjoying the Thank You Braco video and hopefully not listening too closely to the lyrics of that song. Whenever someone really butchers something official in English – especially a “rock star” – don’t you find yourself wondering if they didn’t have ONE American acquaintance who could have weighed in on the proper use of our language? How about a Brit or a Kiwi? Surely there’s a friendly Canadian or South African who would have helped simply because they could. The mind boggles…

But I digress. We watched the movie and our MC – and again, fortune has smiled on you as I found an actual photo of her. If you thought I was exaggerating about amphetamines raised to the power of cocaine, then you just don’t know how serious I take my guru journalism efforts – was shortly back on stage all giant grins and juiced up enthusiasm.

I'm no doctor, but I'm pretty sure there's a prescription that could help with that.


So anyway, the deliriously happy lady on the left side of the screen here suddenly became as grave as she could muster, told us the big moment had finally come, and Braco was ushered into the room.

I have to admit I missed this part.

Something about the photo montage and the ridiculous song had spiraled me straight into what can best be described as a mild state of hysteria. Or maybe enthusiasm IS contagious and I was simply under the influence of whatever is wrong with this lady? At any rate, in an effort to calm myself, I averted my gaze and thought about pizza.

My fearless companion, however, kept his eyes on the prize and later informed me that a horde of ushers flanked Braco and led him up to the front of the room. A few seconds later, I opened my eyes and saw Braco – in all his long flowing hair and skin tight jeans glory -standing on top of the table there in front of us…and died laughing.

It wasn’t just laughter, either. It was one of those explosive snorts that then dissolves into hysterical laughter. It was bad.


I know, I know. That was terrible of me. I felt really awful. I did! I tried to cover for it by crouching down and pretending to be seized by a coughing fit, and I think that worked because I wasn’t asked to leave.


No comment.

It wasn’t that it was soooo hilarious to find him standing on the table, it was just that I hadn’t seen how he’d actually gotten up there, and my mind filled in with an image of him hauling himself up rather gracelessly. I kind of imagined him clambering all arms and knees and then maybe struggling a bit to right himself. And then I noticed the aforementioned super tight gray jeans and wondered how they’d fared in the rear end seam region and it was all just too much.

It turns out he had a staircase, but I didn’t know that part until it was all over.

Anyway, after a hard self-talking to, I got it together and got down to some gazing.

Now let me preface by saying that about 30  minutes prior to this exact moment, I had stopped in a McDonalds and ordered a large iced coffee. Turns out a large iced coffee at McDonalds comes in a gallon bucket. And there was a significant dose of super sweet syrup in it, too. Now I have a small (8oz or less) cup of coffee once in a while, but not enough to fill a child’s wading pool. And I almost never eat sugar. So put it together and I’m not sure if what happened next might just be explained by the 16,000 milligrams of caffeine and cup of corn syrup now coursing through my veins, or whether Braco is a verified spiritual phenomenon, but I’m sure you’re wishing I’d just stop talking and tell you what I saw, so here goes nothing:

I stared at him for a while and I started to feel a little woozy. He was wearing a white shirt and they had to spotlights shining on him from below and between the bright light, the white shirt, and the white screen behind him, well, everything else kind of faded out of my vision. It was kind of like he was floating there disembodied. I wondered – briefly – if maybe he really was some kind of otherworldly being.

Braco gazing

He's a bit (a lot) less spectre-like in person.

This photo – thank you Internets! – captures the scene well.

So anyway, my head was swimming a bit and I was trying to be serious and stay open and eventually my turn came and he gazed at me for 45 excruciatingly long seconds  (I thought they said more than 30 seconds was dangerous?) and I smiled a little because I felt self-conscious, but he did not smile back, which in turn made me even more self-conscious. He made his rounds with his little staring contest – it’s safe to say he was victor over us all – and then he stepped down off the table and that was that.

Well, that wasn’t that. There was some arm twisting by Lady Enthusiasm and a few people shared their experience and this one woman who’d been following him for weeks had this awesome thing to say about how ou shouldn’t go to work or be with your families because being there following Braco around the globe was MUCH more important (I’m pretty sure she attends all the gazing sessions held each day. I wonder if they offer a package deal for that?)  and then it was over and I left was wondering if something had actually “happened” or if I’d just had too much coffee and whether or not I would need two bathroom stops or three on the ride back.

As for whether Braco is the real deal or not, well, I don’t know. I’ll probably never know.

I got a terrible flu a week later and it hung around for a month, but I’m all better now. I’m not sure whether to blame him or thank him for that one. The rest of my life is usually pretty good and that’s the case right now. Braco or good karma or dumb luck? Beats me.

Nonetheless, my Braco experience convinced me of one thing: as much as I would love – kill for. Consider that a threat – a regular thematic thrust to this blog so that I had something comical to say on a consistent basis, going and seeing these guru types ain’t it. Remind me to tell you about the lizard people and you’ll have no choice but to agree that I am making a sound and sane choice. Mocking people is fun, but not when it takes up your whole day.


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Let’s Talk About Braco

Monday, March 26th, 2012
He exists.
That much I can verify without hesitation.As for the rest of the claims? Well. Um. I’m going to have to go with a solid “I don’t know.”

I’ve taken this time – a month plus. One shouldn’t rush philosophical inquiry – to reflect on the age-old question: is it a mystical experience or is it caffeine?

We made it to Braco. We returned to Lahaina a second time and found a small line of people waiting to get in. It was high hilarity…in theory. When we were actually sitting there in this weird room that kind of reminded me of church with a small group of maybe 25 people, I started to feel self-conscious.

“What are we doing here?” I hissed at Jason, just before bursting into nervous laughter. What WERE we doing there? Well, mocking a Croatian guru with our mere presence, that’s what. And I felt kind of guilty about it, if you must know. Who am I to say he doesn’t heal with his gaze? Well, a rational sane person, for one, but that’s beside the point.

Anyway, the thing got started with a spastic woman going on and on about the wonderment that is Braco. She had one of those toothy horsey grins and a vibe I can only describe as hyperactive on speed. If enthusiasm really were contagious, I would be Richard Simmons right now.

She tried her best to pump us up with stories of the famous people you’ve never heard of and their devotion to Braco. There was the prince of some Azikstan or the like who shows up whenever the going gets rough. There was the Croatian rock star whose fame had rendered him bummed out on life.  He came to gaze with Braco and everything turned around. He was so impressed, he wrote an entire album – in English. Bad call – entitled “Thank you, Braco” which apparently was some kind of political risk (is Braco illegal in Croatia?) or maybe just career suicide. Either way, our overly excited hostess stressed that there was grave danger and serious peril involved, and I am going to take her word for it.

At some point, we were told the tale of the Midwestern lady who came and gazed with him all day long for days on end and then decided to make it her life’s mission to bring him to Indianapolis. It was around this time that I started to get scared that maybe he’d put some kind of spell on me and I, too, would be seized by a compulsion to serve him.
Then came the movie and my fears were put to rest.
The movie.
Oh, the movie.
It was, I think, a celebration of Braco ‘s existence or maybe the story of his life or perhaps it was just a long Levis commercial. Judging from the prevalence of tight-fitting, acid washed offerings, I’m leaning toward the latter.
Regardless, it was a photo montage and kind of embarrassing. If one of you ever makes such a thing featuring me and I’m alive to see it, I will never speak to you again. Or in the first place.
Meanwhile, and don’t get too excited, but I just saved you $7 AND made this commentary a lot more relevant. Feast your eyes on the exact movie I’m talking about and keep your expectations low. You won’t be disappointed:


Now, they recommend you don’t look at Braco for more than 30 seconds at a time. Or maybe it was three minutes? Either way, it’s probably not wise to blog about him for more than 600 characters  AND include a video, so I am going to spare your embryos and your virility and save the second half of this adventure for tomorrow.

I know what you’re thinking, “Lies! All lies!” but watch and wait. I may just surprise you.

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Proof of Life

Friday, March 16th, 2012

I am still totally swamped but equally hanging in.

Here I am in my super discount ($33 and free shipping once I added on these tacky sunglasses that I ultimately returned…so $3.85 shipping) REI gay pride hammock that I absolutely LOVE.
Hammocks rule.


I promise to tell you about my Braco experience soon. I have had nothing but ill health – my shoulder is currently out of joint or something like that: something that hurts. And I’ve had a cough since February 22nd. – but the jury is still out as to whether he is specifically to blame.

I suppose it’s fair to say I was not spontaneously healed…but I imagine that’s also stating the obvious.

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Craigslist Anonymous

Thursday, March 15th, 2012

Is there a 12-step program for Craigslist, because I may need to join.

I’d been doing all right. Only looking at my Craigslist Plus alerts once or twice a day, but a couple of weeks ago I moved into a new place and had some new needs. It started out small, but like any addiction, the whole thing just kind of snuck up on and got away from me…

Now don’t get me wrong. Craigslist – at least here on Maui – is one of the truly great inventions of our time. I have furnished an entire home almost exclusively through it. I have met a wide variety of people: bought a rug from a legit mansion and walked out of what looked like a meth house with nothing because the people scared the crap out of me.

I’ve met people moving to Colorado, London, Arizona, Maryland, Australia, South Carolina, California, Oahu, Tokyo, and Thailand and I have a little piece of each of them here in my house. All of that is fine.

What’s out of my control is my burgeoning obsession with the weird and bizarre. Like the “free” section. I have yet to jump on any of these fabulous offers, but I sure do enjoy some of them.

Like this guy who apparently does not realize that a large bag of shredded paper = trash.


Or this person who apparently has a desire to see if there really is someone so desperate that they would drive even ten feet for this monstrosity and actually plans to allow that misguided, probably legally insane, soul in their home.
Seriously, if you told me there was a dead body inside this thing I would not be surprised. It would also help explain the odd location of the most egregious stain.


And who wouldn’t want a broke down trampoline?


Mark, it’s called the dump. It’s in Pu’unene. It wants your trampoline. Take it there now.

However, my greatest joy comes from the occasional outraged individual who writes a response to some of this madness. It almost makes me want to start posting ads for ridiculous free things just to see if I could get someone to play.

These are some of my all-time favorites, which showed up after about a month’s worth (at least) of these cassette tape postings kept appearing.


And then a few days later…


This ad I wish I had not seen, because now I am battling a compulsion to go over to this person’s house, lay on the floor, and cover myself in kittens.

I need a cat like I need a hole in the head, but the part of me that loves kittens has no interest in niggling details such as that. It just wants to party with kittens.

There ain’t no party like a kitten party, cause a kitten party don’t stop.




Ah, Craigslist. If loving you is wrong, I don’t want to be right

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