Lush to lush you baybee
June 2, 2005Pacific Harbour, Fiji.
7:24 pm.
Ok, now that the hack has taken her turn, can we get back to my literary mumbo jumbo? It’s not like I am popping open Photoshop and Quark to try and lay this blog out in a simple, yet sophisticated, lots of white space, sans serif font kind of fashion.
I mean easy peasy lemon squeezy; lets try not to step on giant big toes capiche?
My favourite name for a font? Bitchin’Camaro. You can see it in your head if you try.
Did you know you get to name a font if you create it? Is that wicked? If my boxy, big ass, all cap handwriting ever became a font I would name it Tingerini. The chicks would use it, but the guys would be indifferent.
I am six beers in and just cracked a bottle of Penfolds Chardonnay to ease the night into transition. So you get the on the cusp Jason. The freaky deaky Jason. The Jason that is referring to himself in the third person, like Mike Tyson, or even better, Saddam Hussein.
I will refrain from talking about yesterday’s trip to Yanuca, as Steph handled it wonderfully. I will add that certain feelings are rooted here in Fiji that will remain etched in the cranial concrete.
Dairy milk chocolate bars for instance. They have been Steph’s (and mine, like I could not eat anything bad for me that was in the fridge) chocolate fix as it is pretty darn good chocolate. The waterfall is another of course, but that is grand in scale and something I will never see again. Another Fiji feeling, a cacophonic one, is the sound of waves lapping against the Yanuca Island shore, then receding through a bumpy blanket of snapped off, washed up pieces of coral. It clicks and snaps, like dry wood in a fast bonfire. It was remarkable and something that I closed my eyes and listened to for about four laps to ensure I was hearing just that, so it would jump into the mix before the concrete set.
It’s there now, and it is cast, with I heart Yanuca etched in the top corner with a baby finger.
Today was wonderfully typical as I set out around 10:00 am to add the pictures to the blog, send a blast e-mail for more attention, seek a Sony store in Melbourne to find our camera cord, and ensure Steph’s choice of airport hotel was cheap enough. I accomplished all missions, including bowing down to Steph’s airport hotel selection.
Nothing remarkable happened except there was this guy in a grey shirt with too short grey shorts. He had an almost mullet and he was short, with a hardened, Kanicki from Grease, pock marked face. He came into the bakery while I was sipping my very strong coffee and eating a pear muffin. I was on the Internet and he strolled in and stared at me like I was sitting in his seat. He growled at the delicately gay server something about AOL not working in the other Internet location. He then focused his squirrelly Export A Green look at me and asked me curtly if I was going to be long. Being the manic submissive type, I replied with an almost gay “I’m almost done!!” and let him storm off.
His Camaro would not have been Bitchin’.
Anyway, after all my online crud was done he was behind me in line at the grocery store. He bought a pack of Benson and Hedges, explaining to the woman in line next to him that he was going to quit soon. He said it in that hacky, make a motor sound with your mouth, kind of drawl and it made me a little sick. I did crave the smoke; especially since they sell them in singles at the grocery store, but man did I not want this fuck’s life, with his feathery hair and Napoleon attitude. I wanted to cuff him and then toss him into the fake pond in the middle of this little shopping arcade, letting the Koi gnaw his nicotine stained fingers down to the nubs.
He was a greasy weasel. He knew it.
I returned and Steph and Hud were frolicking in the pool. We chilled for a bit and then made our way to the beach at around 2:30. I lollygagged in the ocean, relishing in the temperature and the fat free buoyancy of salt water. Hud pushed his truck through the biggest sand box in the South Pacific. Steph joined me in the ocean for a bit and we held each other and kissed. We then sat on the shore next to Hud and stared at Beqa Island, watching the waves and listening to the Jet Ski rental dudes circle and pounce.
Around 4:30 we went to the posh restaurant for dinner, further stabbing our budget to death. Steph had fettuccine with fresh prawns and salsa Verde, I had a thin crust pizza with smoked ham and pineapple, Hud had the chicken fingers and fries with his regular side Caesar. It was pretty awesome, especially when you add three icy beers and a really balmy wind to the occasion.
We dropped by the resort next door on the way home as they were having their weekly lovo and we wanted to say hi to anyone we had met in the last couple of days on our day trips. I had three more beers as Steph suffered through one, and Hud winged around the pool balls. A local man tried to teach Hud how to play, but after a couple of tries, Hud told him that he could play by himself.
We walked home in the dark, Hud on my shoulders, passing people in the dark and saying Bula.
Home waited silently. We opened the door and it opened its comfortable arms to us.
Hud was zonked so sleep came easy for him.
Steph and I are going to play Trivial Pursuit again.
I think I will try this time.
Love to all,
J.
posted by Jason @ 2:56 PM
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