MORE SENSELESS ACTS OF BLOGGERY

Indeed, there is a beach here. It looks like this.





That’s not the view from my hotel room. That looks like this.



Which isn’t as scenic, I admit. On the other hand, I imagine zooming in on the top floor and seeing Jack Lord standing there smirking.

So that’s cool. And it almost makes up for the fact that they film the remake of Hawaii Five-O right here in the hotel. Not every episode. But a few – Hilton Hawaiian Village is a “production partner” with the show, apparently. Which explains the Hawaii Five-0 t-shirt booth by the pool bar.

FUN FACT: Somewhere in that surf, about 15 yards from the shoreline, is my very first wedding ring.

No, really. The first time I came here was in January 1998. I’d been married for ten months. Went for a swim in the ocean and the ring slipped right off my finger. The water was just deep enough that I couldn’t just reach down and feel around for it. Called my wife and confessed. She thought it was hilarious.

As far as I know, it’s still there – assuming it wasn’t found by snorkelers or eaten by sea turtles or something.

Okay. We’re done here. Back to Hong Kong I go.

Wrapped around yr finger,

This is dF

Liveblogging from the Hilton Hawaiian Village on Waikiki Beach. I’ve been here for 36 hours and haven’t slept for any of them. And I didn’t sleep the preceding 18 hours before that. And I’m not sleeping now thanks to three different luaus playing jazz singalong versions of Adult Contemporary hits led by Steve Perry impersonators below my balcony.

Also, it’s windy and rainy. And lunch nearly killed me.

So I’m a little pricklier than usual.

I’ve been to the Hilton Hawaiian Village before – they have a telephones-related event here every year, and somewhere between 1998 and 2003, I stayed in this resort annually. I stopped due to budgetary/commercial reasons, but someone struck a deal with someone and here I am again.

In many respects, the resort is just as I remember it – the beach and the layout, of course, but also the myriad overpriced boutiques and restaurants in the complex. And, of course, the Epic Boobs girls wandering around modeling beachwear.

Another thing that hasn't changed – it’s a very depressing place.

At least to me. There’s something about resorts that bugs me. Maybe it’s because I read too many Carl Hiaasen novels, or because American food just does something to release the wrong chemicals in my brain. But there’s an intensely unlikeable vibe about tourist resorts – a weird juxtaposition of serene tropical Pacific beauty and commercially driven artifice populated by people I have next to nothing in common with apart from immediate geographical location, all soundtracked to popular inoffensive taste with a modicum of local flavor thrown in for effect. And, as hinted at earlier, the food is a hit-and-miss proposition. (And even when it’s good, there’s often too much of it.)

Mind you, I don’t feel this way all the time when I’m here. Just when I’m jet-lagged. The rest of the time I’m too busy to notice. I’ll probably feel better after a good night’s sleep.

Whenever that’s going to be. I have two more nights to go. And the jazz band has now switched to John F***ing Mayer.

Please kill me.

Wide awake,

This is dF