The Aloha Cult

(47) The Aloha Cult

What is it about Hawaii that drives so many otherwise normal Americans mad? It’s not a state. It’s a state of mind. Otherwise normal people who visit always seem to want to stay. And many of them do.

Pinapples. Hulas. Superb weather. What more can you ask? Sand, surf, starry nights.

The undersigned has played the ukulele for 59 years. It does not lure the player to the islands. Especially since it really ISN’T a Hawaiian musical instrument. It was invented by a Portuguese guy.

Women in scanty clothing gyrating to pleasant music? You can see that on MTV any day. (See “Going To The Dogs” posted earlier this month.)

It’s not any of that, is it?

Medium Bear, a closet gay from New York’s Long Island found comfort there. So did CC, an African American from New Jersey who has never been known to play the ‘uke, but who speaks and probably can sing in a wonderful basso. Aside from his membership in The Cult, he’s normal.

The spouse – an Empress wannabe originally from Northern China loved it and wants to live there fell in love immediately on landing.

It’s a cult. Like the Baath Party, or as it is known in the United States, the Republicans. Or the Trekkies.

It used to be pretty diverse. Japanese, Chinese, Black, White. Pacific Islanders, Mormons, you name it.

Then, one day, they all realized that diversity was not the same as unity and everyone started fighting. But gently, most of the time.

The “Native Hawiians” and the rest of the population kind of squared off, and when the bell sounded, came out fighting.

Howlee mainland entertainer Arthur Godfrey once said “A kid can’t get into much trouble if he has a ‘uke in his hand.” That may have been true in 1945, but it ain’t true now. A ‘uke in the right hands can be a deadly weapon. Listen to some of the music and you’ll surely agree.

Hard to understand people falling in love with a place that you can circle in 90 minutes and that has no winter.

Aloha.

I'm Wes Richards. My opinions are my own, but you're welcome to them.™

©wjr 2006