Mai Tai(me)s in five hours

Yep, the count down is in the single digits.

Around Four a.m. or so, I should be lugging a suitcase through the snow and into a cab which will then swishhhhh me to O'Hare. At that point, in the wind and sleet and shouts of, "you can't park here..move along!" on some curb outside Terminal Two, I will smoke my final cigarette before I find myself trapped in the airport, airplane, Houston "Fuck you" GWB International, and another plane.

But then...then... I'll step out into the bright morning light. The whisper of salt air and waves of palm trees will great me as I strike a Camel Light (to avid protests of parents) in the land of this The Island of this Man!


That's right, after about twenty years, I will have returned to Hawaii (Doubtful, though, I'll sing and dance, especially with the eleven hour Nicotine Fit ravaging me at this point)

I remember seeing The Don in that exact setting you may have watched above.

I remember meeting a hard Rock Cafe waitress my Grandpa S. and I completely thought was a native Polynesian, and then we all laughed hard when she confessed to being from Wisconsin.

I remember my Uncle M. sneaking me my first Mai Tai at a loua (sp) at the Hilton.

I remember my dad and I taking a drive alone on Maui; we stopped at a smoking volcano and felt the heat from the red glow; we looked out at long plains which ended in mountains; we arrived at our destination, a gallery showing John Lennon's paintings and stood less than 6 feet away from Yoko Ono herself (the gallery owner told us she doesn't like to be approached).

I remember playing on a beach of black stone, running under a small white waterfall.

I remember the one hour van tour that ended up taking a winding, edge of cliff death 6 hours; and the driver taught my two cousins and I that "cuz" is Hawaiian for "dude" because in the end we are all really cousins in some way.

I remember finding the coolest cassette/t-shirt punk store around the corner from the Hard Rock Cafe, and buying a white Dead Kennedys T-shirt (with the Holidays in Cambodia Man icon) I still have it.

I remember standing near a bus stop and watching a leathery tanned man picking up a handful of cast-aside cigerette butts from the ground, then rolling his own out of the left over tobacco.

I remember Moo-moos made me and my cousins giggle (hee hee dresses for FAT people).

So who knows what memories I'll compile this year. Hopefully, loads of photos will follow soon. Some laughs and a tan would be nice. My parents got tickets for the Pro Bowl, so that'll be cool!

Until then, friends, Aloha and Mahalo!

Off to Scotland

I stink.

I slept horribly last night, tossed and turned, awakened covered in cold cold sweat. I sit here typing when I should be scheduling a cab to O'Hare, or finishing packing (the damn lid won't shut!)
I stink.
God knows what evil toxins are creeping out my wet pores right now: coffee, cigarette smoke, second-hand Crack smoke leftover from Friday night? All I know, is it smells like rotting onions sauteed in hobo urine. Lord, help whomever sits next to me on the plane.

I am both excited and terrified about this trip to Edinburgh. I've never been overseas before, really. I've been to Hawaii with my entire mom's side of the family once as a 16 year old, and on a cruise through the East Caribbean with my parents and aunt and uncle, but nothing like this before on my own. Fourteen hour flight...will I get the Air Rage instigated by the inevitable Nicotine Fit and Crying Baby (though I may be the crying baby if I don't get the FULL CAN of soda, bitch!)?

But it will all be worth it to see Fresh get married.

I'm gonna miss Lilly so much. We've only been apart for 8 days (?) at a stretch; however, I'll take comfort that she'll be in good hands with Carrie. Lilly: you play nice!

Okay, let's go sit on that suitcase now.
Probably a bong-load of photos for your viewing pleasure (indifference?) come March!

Bon-frickin'-voyage, y'all!

Mac expands his (pub) horizons

Advice for Fresh
Originally uploaded by Mac(3).

Sorry for the long delay in posts, pics, and what-not, but I've had a lot on my mind. For, you see, I am preparing for a trip to the fair hills and dales of Edinburgh, Scotland.
"But, Mac, that's a long way to go just for a drink," you may say.
Now, true, I am excited to sample a tipple or two of beers born and bred in European soil and vats, but I am going to attend more important of matters and events.
The marriage of Fresh to his lovely lass, The Doctor. That's right; a honest-to-goodness card-carrying PHD Doctor (must I always be the dumbest person in the room? Couldn't marry someone that pops up in this search, huh?).

A few weeks ago, Fresh returned to native land for a weekend of drinking, giggles, and kilted fun, a Stag Party Weekend in his honor. I've waited too long to expound on the weekend of fun in any detail, so I'll let the pictures do the talking for themselves. I had a great time, and enjoyed meeting some of his family and friends (and look forward to seeing them again in Scotland).

I've got my passport (with required shitty photo), my luggage (blue, battered, and heavy), my flight (long and, well, fucking long!), and lodging (right in the heart of Princes Street! The Court Street of Edinburgh! (or something like that)), and my Lilly-sitter all lined up and in order for the most part.

But I haven't a thing to wear! (Combination of bad fashion taste and the dread of actually doing laundry. Ever). Cripes, I'll be the stinky, Fashion Don't Representative of America for two weeks. I shall be pummeled with pint glasses and thrown off the Waverly Bridge or hung from the gallows below the Edinburgh Castle!

Or praised for my "cool, vintage early-90's apparel."

Ah well, pass a bit of the Jameson, and smooth my furrowed brow (and add another church to The List, brother).

Okay, haven't a clue what this post is about.
Later, and more often, I hope.