Hawaii Five-O! Being in Oahu, a child of the 80s, and subject to the constant onslaught of Lost theoreticians, a common inhabitant of The Internets, I’m constantly pricked by subtle reminders of television: Ferraris in Waikiki evoking Magnum, P.I., the pork-belly lava cliffs of Makapu‘u no-longer tread by Jack and Kate on a trip around the Island, and the North Shore and freeways, unable to speak for themselves find voice in every single guidebook we’ve brought. I’m unsure how to react to the assumption of the writers about their readers—not only familiar with Hawaii Five-O, but television being the zenith of common experience.
Speaking of bellies, mine is now well sunburnt from our trip to Diamond Head. Learned to surf! Yeah!
We rented surfboards from the very excellent Kimo’s Surf Hut in Kailua, and tomorrow we’re renting road bikes from The Bike Shop for a ride north, counterclockwise around the windward coast to Kaena Point. To pair with The Bike Shop, there’s also The Bus (warning: site crashes Safari).
The in-jokes have multiplied, variously contributed to via card games with Melody and Red Stripe and hypoglycemic drives to Waikiki. We found a better organic food store, their proprietor referring to The Other Place as having “old” items on the shelves, and “not so nice” produce. We concurred, and pillaged their stock of Aloe for The Sunburn before heading back to the ranch for dinner interleaved with episodes of Top Gear and Project Runway. Typographically speaking, Bravo’s interstitials were kind of pleasing, not unlike the Pepsi Slurpee I also had yesterday. Guilty pleasures, indeed.
I miss my track bike.