Et Tu, Las Vegas?

KILEAUEA - NICE JOB I never promised a trilogy even though Maui deserves as much. But couldn't I find the time to at least say "we were there"? Here's the scoop - it was a keyboard deficiency that stood in the way. But like writing a eulogy and you have to force yourself to not make it about yourself, my fingers all have boners right at this moment, thanks to Amazon.

So we're up in the air with 330 other flyers, it's about 3am, the drink cart brings a gin and tonic to this weary traveler. Add ambien, eyes closed vomiting, my darling yelling, "help. help", a seat-side consultation with a young military doctor using a portable ultrasound that showed my beating heart, eventually landing on the island halfway from here to Japan and, thankfully already joking about the aforementioned, and there's my opening.

You already know first impression of the masses of the splendor, the glory, the Holy Shit aspect of Maui. So why repeat all that - I'm here to tell you what it's like scurrying with youngsters, pretending your numb left arm is like a sore back and eating some mighty fine fish. One of our first tastes was crabmeat eggs benedict. Whoa! But even more significant was the proliferation of Big Swell, a kickass IPA. Just a little bit everyday but never a disappointment.

The deal with the beach was contingent upon a canvas covered chaise because old radiated skin needs no more UVA or UVB damage. But there always was the Tiki Bar featuring a $6 cocktail and they were always good. Is luxuriating in Maui contingent on alcohol? No. Same as pleasure is not dependent on orgasm, but damn the release influences your evaluation.

There might be a back story here wrapped around your lover spending beaucoup time with her best friend in a hallowed place. If you've ever felt diminished, capacity-wise, watching the person you love more than life cavort with her amigo can be enervating. Like the difference between a man and a woman (vas deferens) guys pop while ladies shop and Lahaina is a great pop place. Moose's pleasured us with Castaway, the IPA in a 26 oz.glass at 10 am that will steer your nebula towards Gotham. Krakatoa didn't shiver as much as I did with the 3rd sip.

So maybe a word is necessary here about Hula Pie. The concierge at out hotel gave us a coupon for Duke's which is located in the highest-end complex we'd traversed to date. Good mai-tais, great food and the end featured this hula pie made with macadamian nut ice cream. We were all stuffed so we took a taste and put our forks down waiting for the check. Except I couldn't take that such a delicious treat would go uneaten so I basically devoured it with 6 eyes staring at me like I was a ravenous lesbo at a carpet sale. Then I said "is everybody geeked 'cause I'm putting my fork in my mouth then forking the hula pie?" and they said "no" but I'm still thinking that was it, and in spite of that, I devoured the rest of that hula pie anyway.

Some mention of the numb arm condition that intruded our Maui interlude. Spoiler alert: it was probably just a pinched nerve but let's take it from the first morning wake-up. The mere mention of it after the "help, help" false stroke event on the flight stoked the flames of "see a doctor" so I wrangled a compromise to just get a massage in the spa. Melissa the masseuse found the focal point and pressed deeply causing fireworks in my eyes from the pain but, alas, didn't fix the problem. I started gulping Advils and managed chemically assisted sleep thru the night but the rascal stayed with me for the entire 10 days. I acquiesed the day we got home and went to the ER to get checked for coronary or stoke, which fortunately were ruled out. I practically sold my soul to get the hell out of the ER and it's cast of characters, including a screaming woman guarded by security guys, a doctor who said he lived in Maui for 15 years and said alcohol was at the root of my numb arm (??) and the billing boss who came across like a cashier at the $.99 store.

What would be a fitting close to this rambling tale - here's a clue . . . good PSA number, eff the biopsy, hallelujah!