Hawaiian Reeves

Hawaiian would like to say to his few but loyal fans, “Let’s do a makeover!”

For several weeks now, I have been fielding requests about how I might improve my little bit of web fiefdom, and I have, for the most part, resisted them. Actually, let’s just be honest… nothing around here has changed at all. So rather than face accusations of being a cheertator, I have decided to let you, my public, help shape the future of all things Hawaiian. So please, give me comments. Tell me what you’d like to see and read. Tell me what you hate and what you love. Tell me, or else you’ll all be sentenced to an indefinite future of intermittent updates about reality TV on Bravo. And there’s a possibility that this horrific harlequin background could remain an official Hawaiian hallmark forever. So really, seriously, take a stand for change, and leave it on here as a comment. That way, all of you can feed off of each other and bash me. (And hopefully I won’t have to hear the same thing twice.)

So why am I all of a sudden so open to change, you’re probably asking yourself. I could blame it on my advancing age or on some form of dementia brought on by the recent cross-country drive, but really, it’s all because of something I saw at the gym today. (And for those of you who’ve heard my “From a distance, I thought he was incredibly hot, but then I got right next to him and realized that he was a wearing a ‘Special Olympics’ hat for a reason” story, you know there’s quite a bit that happens to me at the gym.)

So anyway, I’m in there, happily lifting something heavy for the first time in weeks and there’s this kid who’s all over the place, inside the gym, with a jump rope. And he’s using it right next to the rack of weighted barbells. I mean he’s like 20 years old and inside the gym of an elite private university, which means that someone thought he was at least reasonably intelligent at some point, and he’s jumping rope in a clearly defined walkway right next to racks of weights that people are obviously trying to use. I’ve basically only seen lesbians do something this blatantly disruptive in a gym before, but as far as I could tell this manchild didn’t suffer from any of the emotional issues with men that usually lead to such bad behavior. Something was clearly wrong with him, however, because he spent at least twenty minutes doing this. And the entire time, he was doing it with a rope that was too short which meant that he was constantly hitting himself in the back of head. Over and over again. Time after time. And these constant thumps to the back of the head did nothing to deter him. Nothing at all.

And this left me thinking that maybe my rope is too short. Maybe TV just isn’t enough for this blog. Maybe I’m hitting myself in the back of the head over and over again, stopping and starting and shuffling my feet but ignoring the fact that everyone around me is keeping their distance, afraid to get too close, but also enjoying the fact that eventually the repeated wallops are bound to leave a mark.

So help me, people. Intervene. And give me some more rope to play with. Because if I end up with a huge lump on the back of my head, and all of you stood around laughing about it, I would consider that extremely not hot. (And in a way, not unlike the story of a most unfortunate slip and fall I took in North Beach several years ago. A story that cannot be told by the friends who witnessed it without laughing to the point of tears and repeating “And I swear to God, all three hundred pounds of him was laid out COMPLETELY HORIZONTALLY in mid-air before he crashed to the ground.”)

I’m reaching out here. Making an effort. Doing all the hard labor. But it might be nice if some of y’all reminded me exactly how to breathe.

This entry was posted on Sunday, April 30th, 2006 at 2:18 am and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.