One Particular Harbor

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This is the view from my place at the bar of the Kona Inn, located on Alii Drive in downtown Kailua-Kona, Hawaii. Five short hours flight from LAX and easily world’s away. You can sit there and sip what is simply the best Mai Tai anywhere on earth, watch the waves lap against the sea wall, have a fish sandwich and breathe. Sometimes the feeling that comes from your time at the bar here will last with you long after your return to wherever you come from. That’s not been the case for me this year and I’m finding myself burnt, crispy, two short weeks after my return. Obviously there’s plenty to be concerned about: money’s tight, gigs have been few and far between all year, idiots keep getting in the way of progress blathering on like blood thirsty hyenas and making just about as much sense and summer is slipping away into fall. If you know me… oy, that last one is like the scene in “Airplane” when the stewardess is going on about all the problems the aircraft is facing to a non-plussed reaction from the passengers until she mentions they’re out of coffee and then all hell breaks loose. Come to think of it, that might be “Airplane 2.” Whichever, you get my point.

So, on this Friday afternoon, while I watch these strange moisture-filled pillows roll into the West Valley, I’m going to ignore the fact that no one is returning emails or calls today, that the neighbors are off on their fifth vacation of the summer, that I’m low on tequila, that I can’t use my sprinklers except on Monday and Thursday and I’m going to start Happy Hour… right now. Hey, it is 5:00 Central time. And it’s past Happy Hour in New York… don’t get me started on Europe… it might actually be coming around to Happy Hour all over again at the Date Line… one way or the other, the office is now closed, the bar is open. Drink up me hearties, yo ho!

And for our soundtrack this afternoon:

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