Archive for October, 2011

October 29, 2011

One difference between Karen Holt’s Kauai and  mine, is she  didn’t have to deal with millions of tons of  Japanese debris descending on us. Hope you remember Karen. She’s one of my favorite characters and the major narrator of my larcenous, licentious and litigious piece of humorous fiction, THE SCAM.

Like our own wonderful novelist, JILL MARIE LANDIS, I, too, hope to have a book signing party at Tahiti Nui. She’ll be there tomorrow between 3 and 5 p.m. Can’t wait to read MAI TAI ONE ON. Darling title, can’t wait to read it. Meet you there.

Until then, however, something has come up. An interesting fellow by the name of Mitchel Tyranny has written  a  letter to the Garden island Forum cheerfully heralding the demise of  the state of Hawaii.

“Could be,” wrote Mitchel, “that the whole state of Hawaii’ll need to be evacuated. Sad about that.”

Actually he didn’t sound  sad at all, so I phoned him-he’s in Colorado- and asked him to come to Kauai and discuss the issue.

I started the conversation- it was my five bucks, after all- introduced myself. “Mitchel,” I said, “your letter interests me. I’ll send you a ticket to Kauai, if you’ll come to my party and talk to us.”

“Who us?”

“Friends on Kauai.”

“Kauai. Hawaii. The mongrel state.”

“Mongrel state? I have a puppy, Boots, who’s part Pit bull.  Don’t think she’s a mongrel, but if you object to her presence I’ll lock her up.”

“What color your friends?” his voice sneered.

“Human colored. Most of them. Do you have a preference?”

“Yeah. All white. No browns, blacks, or yellows.”

“Done,” I said.  “Tickets at the airport. A car’ll be  waiting.”

I busied myself in preparation and when he arrived, met him at the gate. An ordinary looking skin head, overweight and snappily attired in brown shirt and storm boots, he barged through the gates. “Jap car. Hate Jap cars.”

“It was all I could afford. Forgive me.” He sneered for real.

I graciously invited him in and seated him on the couch. My  friends, as much as they loved me, sat at the table or in plastic chairs I’d borrowed for the occasion. He looked them up and down. They looked him back. No one spoke.

“German beer? Weiner schnitzel?”

“No cross? No flag? Where’s your patriotism?” He slurped the beer straight from the bottle. Bit the weenie.

I got right to the point. The vehicle waiting to get him out of here was warming up. “Are you really so happy to see Hawaii, the fish, everything sbout this lovely island go down the tube?”

“Damn right. Sooner the better,” he began to drool.  “Mongrels. The lot of you.”

“Even the fish?” I handed him another beer. This one sweetly laced.

“Seen one. Seen’em all.”

“If we have to evacuate, where’ll we go?” All eyes at the party were on this man.

“We got places for you to go.”

“Pleasant places, I hope.”

If you like ovens,” he giggled and fell off the couch.

The friendly blues, who’d taken human form for the occasion, levitated him to the space shuttle.

They shook their heads. “There’s always hope, ”  they sighed.

I turned Boots lose and fed her the last of the schnitzle.


October 25, 2011

I’ve seen Kauai through my own eyes for over forty years but my humorous novel, The SCAM, will be seen through the eyes of a character I love and created, Karen Holt, she and her whole clan, in the hip 60’s. This column-you call it a blog-will take us back and bring us forward to today.

Today, driving to metropolitan Lihue, I see more cars than there were on the island when I arrived.

My husband, Bill,  was the Engineering Department Head for McBryde Sugar, a wholly owned subsidiary of Alexander and Baldwin, Big Five, lots of land and MATSON navigation; sugar was King then, actually the managers were Kings and department heads and their wives Lords and Ladies of the land. It was a wonderful life. We lived in some beautiful homes, one on the Spouting Horn Road-millionaire’s row-overlooking Kukuiula Harbor, where we kept our boat, and across the street from land we leased where we kept our horses. Our last abode, a lava rock  mansion up the Alexander Dam Road where, behind us all the way to Hanalei, there was no other habitation, was delightfully secluded.  Up there I rode my leopard appoloosa, Beauregard, followed by the dogs and my  black American Show Shetland stallion Flash’s Fanfare Sensation. Flashy darted along, no halter, no line, a free soul who, at the ripe old age of 40, sometimes led the way.

Our canine companions were two  Great Pyrenees and an odd assortment -sometimes two , sometimes three- of mixed bred size and shape. They fit in.

I did not. I was, and still am, sometimes, the one everybody loves to hate. In my lifetime of travels I’ve been the one everybody loved to love and the one everybody loved to hate and, truthfully, I  can’t tell you what role I liked the best.

Remember, I’d blown into Kauai from  big city Honolulu where I wrote a column for the Honolulu Star Bulletin/Advertiser,  some small local magazines, and acted with the only professional theater group in Hawaii, the Magic Ring Theater at the Hilton Hawaiian Village. I was also a noisy Peacenik, an early environmentalist, and a rabid Letter to the Editor writer. I’ve kept what I call the Bettejo Page, an entire Letter to the Editor section of the Honolulu Advertiser with a guest commentary about over-development signed by Mrs. William Dux. A picture of me-2X6- with a blurb about my column and a cartoon showing a lady  holding back a million junked cars has a caption that still reads “Beauty and the Beast”. The head of my long diatribe reads “Where To Go When All’s  Gone?”

My writing and outspoken personality went over on Kauai like a tsunami at a beach party.

Poor Bill, he was constantly bombarded at work with, “Do you know what she did?” Which, by the way, most of the time I didn’t.

I once had a neighbor drop in for coffee and regale me with his hour-long diatribe of what people were saying about me. My response, as I spilled hot coffee in his lap, “…and I hope they believe every word of it. Then they’ll stay away which is exactly what I want them to do.”

They did.

October 16, 2011

There was an ad  break between MIZ TEEFARTY’S  interview  and my next guest, Follow DaFellow.  Merck Sharp and Dohme were pushing a new headache powder called Zipozeen. Fierce headaches being the syndrome of the week. Pour a teaspoon of the stuff in a glass of water, add a dollop of sugar and drink. Has a distinct apple/orange/pineapple flavor. I drink it several times a day. Seems the more I drink, the more I want to drink-that’s good-but the headaches are gone. Only one side effect,  but I wear darling slimmed down incontinence panties from Drake. Their ad-a cutie bottom, rounded out and swinging- follows Merck’s. Our sales crew is the greatest. Our models straight out of Victoria’s secret. Thanks guys and dolls.

Follow DaFella’s timing was perfect. He made an entrance. Handsome hunk, I must admit. Very Arian. Nordic. Blond crew, jade green eyes-probably contacts- he was about as casual as they come. Designer  jeans, thongs, pedicured toes, bare brown feet, and an aloha shirt to vomit for.

“Aloha,” I played along. Purely extemporaneous, I’d not been prepped.

“Aaaa-low-ha,” he sang. He grinned a big, white 60K implant drop dead grin and plunked in the chair like it was a pool of water. I  expected a splash. “Love your jewelry,” he said. “Can’t hang too much gold around your neck in these times. Try these.” He handed me a pair of earrings so heavy I was afraid when I removed the ones I wore and put them on, my lobes would stretch to my shoulders. “Ahhh,” he said, “that’s better. We love our chattel. Nothing too good for those of the other sex. Mothers of the world. Cooks. Cleaners. Good fellowship Christians.”

“Even though I am a professional and hold a job I am that,” I smiled the faintest. Chattel me, hunky, and I’ll be doing penance and counting beads for a week.

“One thing about the Family, we are flexible. Unlike many of others we must learn to be friendly fellows with. We’re not into the racial thing. Jesus certainly doesn’t care what color your skin is.”

“Understandable. You come from that exotic backwoods blue state.  Hawaii? Lots of brown skins in that puddle of fish.”

“A wide variety of religions, too. Budhists. Mormons. Hindus. Not to worry. We’re working on it. Have to be practical, though. Getting elected is the number one priority, Can’t do a thing for Jesus if we aren’t in office. Have a few  key men planted and a Jesus camp to die for.”

“Or in.” You know how I love to tease.

“If it doesn’t take. We don’t  make a scene. Ovens smoke. And stink. Trades blow in. Blow out.”

I thought I’d cut this short. “And what would you tell the masses on this magnificent red map?”

“Tell them to remember ‘Greed is a virtue’. Poverty is a sin. And when God speaks directly to you, as it did to my cousin- once removed- Abraham Vereide, you listen.”

I signaled the camerman to cut.

October 14, 2011

Miz Bulimia USA strolled across the set-ignoring the Uber, just as he had ignored her-like a model with large phony boobs on a cat walk. Her gorgeous mop of auburn hair flowed down her shoulders and  wisped into her deep brown eyes. She had a gorgeous tan. Perhaps a little too tan? Thinking of people of color. Sorry.  I mean it’s winter. How does one get and keep a tan like that? Must ask.

She made me feel fat. Okay, I’m born again. A good Christian but not quite as humble and submissive as I should be. A little too much Palin in me, I guess. Love to hunt and shoot the bare. That’s a laugh line. Fortunately I chose among the wide variety offered on  market a religion that teaches, preaches and practices forgiveness. I’d nearly worn my string of beads out.

Miz Eat-it-up-throw-it-up, understand she actually has a vomitarium in her mansion in the Hamptons, slouched gracefully in the arm-chair and crossed her long slender legs. My, dear, I could almost see up the lagoon.

“Darling, Rhoda” I gushed. “Beautiful as ever. How do you keep your figure?”

“Exercise. Exercise. Exercise. Proper diet. And, fortunately, I’m barren. My husbands & I adopt and raise the lost and abandoned -of every color-as all good Christians should.”

“Of course. The really really black one from that funny country in Africa-or was it Australia- is so precocious and special.”


“And you. You have such a lovely tan. However do you keep it?”

“It’s my natural color. Year in. Year out.”

“Dark skin in the woodpile?” I dared to tease.

“My great grandmother’s roots are none of your business. I am here as a one precentor. THE one precentor. Taxes, not paying any, is our main objective. The economic structure of this wonderful land must remain the most successful economic system the world has ever known. Pure capitalism.  My husband and I sell vast quantities of the best and healthiest condiments-at the best prices-to the military to nourish our brave young troops. Otherwise how could they eat the slop some others in this country would feed them? It is our hope that those we must deal with remember that.”

“I’m sure they will,”  Oh my, I did touch a nerve. Might’s well hit another. “Didn’t see you in church last Sunday.”

“Of course not. Our church is of the ivy coated tall spire variety. Church of England.  Our God is the same. Our covenants differ.”

You can say that again. “Have you anything more you’d like to say to our vast audience? Your beauty, grace and candor entertains us.”

“I’m sure it does. Life styles of the elite has always  entertained the masses.”

“Bread and circus.” She tossed her hair. Switched legs and crossed ankles. My nose awakened. “What is that heavenly scent?” She out-sniffed me. “Is there anything else you might relate to the multitude who love you?”

“Yes. Be brave. Be loyal. Be happy in your work. It’s money like mine that keeps you going. I’m hiring grooms and gardeners now.”

She rose with no further ado and vanished from the screen. My cameramen knew the ropes. I wiggled and rolled my eyes.

The uber Nazi, Tea Party, Fellowship Gang
October 13, 2011

It has come to me, as if in a dream, that in 2012, when Newt Gingrich is elected Republican President of the United States, he will have a coalition of the uber Nazi, Tea Party, Christian Fellowship fellows. It will be a most difficult group to pull and hang together but, with reason and sanity working for and with them, a political, economic and religious group will evolve.

So, I moved to the future and put myself in the picture.

It’s 2012. I, as a convert and Fox media talking head and right-wing columnist, interviewed the most prominent members of the faction. I spoke first with the Uber. At length-or for as long as the  master race’s new leader’s mind  held focus-we talked. I queried. He answered.

“Uber Meister, seig heil, I’m honored,” I said. He looked down his prominent proboscis and squinted.  He looked as grandly groomed and polished as a portly bald, brown-shirted Nazi mit Adolf Hitler mustache could look from the shoulders up. His jaws waggled imperiously. He was a sight all patriotic Americans seated, squatting, kneeling before their twinkling shrines welcomed into their humble abodes.  “Now that you have at last come into power what will be your first move?”

“To rid America of all people of color. This is a white Christian nation, held too long in the hands of  racial and religious inferiors.”

I nodded, overwhelmed by the power in his voice, the venom in his eyes. “When will that begin?”

“Immediately. We’re rounding up now. Dead of night stuff. You know,” I nodded. I’d done my home work. Secret files and all. “They will leave peacefully or like cattle in a boxcar.”

I put my hand to my heart, sighed, and raised my right hand in salute.  “You do-did-that so well last time. Free at last. Free at last, thank God almighty, we are free at last.”

“You quote me. Words of wisdom are never lost.”

“Our ousted leader and his family…” I held my breath.

His mouth twitched.

“…and Jews?”

“Those that don’t convert. And many who do,” his eyes narrowed.

“…and then…”

“..down the line. I’ve a list. Useless space hogging seniors. Females who can’t reproduce.  Cripples. Handicapped. Egg heads. Trouble makers. Useless dregs.”

Overcome by the splendor of the moment I exploded with words. Also, it was a moment in which to secure my place in this worthy order. “…Torch light parades. Tinkly sounds of windows breaking. Book burnings. I just love book burnings. Haven’t missed one. Weiner schnitzle on a stick. My children love it.”

He reached over and patted my knee. “How many do you have?”

“Four. All boys. They were born with M24’s in their hand-thanks be to God and all  the good German male sperm donors-.and one on the way…”

“A girl this time,” he gruffed.  “We need breeders. You are a fine example of pure Arian blood.” He ruffled my blonde perfumed head. Gazed fondly into my Prussian blue eyes.

“I’m interviewing Tea Party leader next.”

“You are wise.”

When the slender Tea Party female entered, he brushed past her without a glance. My stock in the future rose.