Hawaii-atus

I’m supposed to talk about ideal co-stars, topic #41. I’ve been supposed to talk about it for several weeks actually. I completely blew off September. I’ve talked myself into the fact that I did it on purpose. I refuse to write in September, I’ve said on many occasions. Actions speak louder than words, of course, so I had to force myself to stay away from blogging during month number 9. How that lead to nearly abandoning October I’ll never know, other than generally an object at rest tends to stay at rest. In an ongoing effort to become an object in motion that stays in motion, I will now vow to blog daily for the next week. I can make this promise because I am doing what all good series do when they have writers’ block and have no idea what to do with the characters anymore: send them to Hawaii. I am the Brady Bunch for the next seven days. I am sitting in LAX as I write this anticipating touchdown in Honolulu at some ungodly east coast hour that is entirely acceptable in the middle of nowhere. Indeed when I land I expect hot chicks wearing tastefully placed coconuts and rustling grass skirts to greet me with trademark grins and colorful flower strings. They will respectfully pause when I fall to the ground and smooch it because I can’t believe the plane actually found land in the midst of all that blue. I might even kiss the pilots if the door is unlocked and one of them is a woman. I never dreamt I would be going to Hawaii. It has always been a crazy faraway place of volcanic mystery in my mind that makes for great scenery but can’t possibly be real. I mean, how did they find it? And how do they keep finding it? It’s like the only thing on that side of the globe. If you look at a map, honestly, it’s a few little dots and thousands of miles of a really pretty blue color that represents certain death. Boarding the plane, I’m sure I will be slightly comforted by the couple from Ohio in matching Hawaiian shirts. Surely they got those the first time they went and now here they are going again! They trust this craft. They’ve been there and back in a tin can with wings and by golly, it’s perfectly sane to climb aboard with a couple hundred other souls, sit facing the same way and breathe the same stale air for several hours into nothingness. I know it’s a real place, but my only real exposure to this exotic land has been my parents’ honeymoon photos from the mid 60’s and that 5-day stretch when the Brady’s went on vacation and Bobby found the tiki statue. After that, I was petrified of tarantulas crawling the length of me during sleep and I never hung any sort of artwork above my bed. I would also leave a trail of bread crumbs wherever I go. Or Doritoes. Or small sandwiches. The Hawaiian episodes taught me that you can’t mess with the Island gods or you will end up getting kidnapped by Vincent Price. It is only because he passed that I’m somewhat encouraged I won’t fall victim to a similar fate. Can’t speak for his ghost, however, which given the option would probably roam 87 and balmy day in and day out. Well, they called for us….boarding soon. Kiss the kids. I love you all.