I knew my internal scribe was out walking a picket line with the Writers Guild of America when I considered titling a blog post “Maui wowie.”
Clever? Maybe. Funny? Most definitely not.
It’s been a bit of a rough patch for an old newsie who doesn’t give a fiddler’s fart about Barbie, the Iowa State Fair, Taylor Swift, a fish-slapping dance involving Zuck and Schmuck, Hunter Biden, or the latest freakout over artificial intelligence. (Texting Jesus? Seriously? Dude’s only been Holy Ghosting you people for a couple thousand years.)
We’re just 13 days into August and already I’m being served Halloween-related ads as I shamble around the Internets in search of inspiration.
But I’m having trouble envisioning anything more horrific than getting chased into the ocean by the deadliest American wildfire in more than a century and hearing later that some blogger made a lame joke about it.
Just a sec; gotta block this Jesus dude. He wants to know why the poor sods in Lahaina didn’t just walk to the mainland instead of jumping into the sea.
“That’s what I’da done,” he texts.
“Not with those holes in your feet,” I reply. “You’re not seaworthy anymore, skipper. More leaks than Ginger Hitler’s White House.”
Hah. Nailed it.
Mad Blog Media 
Oy! Shecky, it’s too soon…
Ah, squire, sometimes you have to have a go. Are you a goer, squire? Wink wink nudge nudge say no more, say no more?
More of a Jesus joke anyway, squire. Surely it’s not too early for one of those in 2023 A.D.?
• Editor’s note: I should jot down for the Permanent Record that Chris knows a great deal more about disasters natural and manmade than does Your Humble Narrator. He has dealt with same in an Official Capacity in Santa Rosa and Sonoma County, Calif., while YHN sits on the sidelines and cracks wise.
So bad and so damn good! Chapeau mi amigo. And probably not too soon since Aquaman saw a need to tell tourists to stay away. That won’t stop the fucking developers though, because there are million dollar condos to build.
Thanks, matey. Betimes I wonder what these big brains of ours are for.
“Ooo, cool place to build a house!” we think. And then later, when the fires, floods, earthquakes, volcanos, tsunamis, locusts and whatnot have their way with us, we think again, maybe. Sometimes.
Back in the Day®, after a series of regional fires got my attention, I took a look around our place outside Weirdcliffe and thought: “Hey, you know what? There’s only one way down off this hillside, which is full of beetle-kill, piñon, juniper, and other flammable items.”
I knew there was a beat-up stretch of two-track somewhere just shy of the top of our seven-house hill that meandered down and across to Operation Uplift and, eventually, County Road 260, so I got on the mountain bike and went looking for a way to get there, just in case.
I found it, and holy hell, would that have ever been fun in low-range 4WD, with a wildland fire chasing you and no ocean to jump in. I’m mighty glad we never had to try it.
Meanwhile, the wind here in Albu-Cray-Z is off the charts. Banshees hear this howling and think, “Damn, we got to up our game, yo.” Great day for no fuggin’ fires, please, and thank you.
Nailed it. Ho ho and hee haw. Ugh.
Gawd almighty, that fire does seem like divine revenge for something albeit I don’t know what. Lahina was the kingdom’s capital before the honkies took over. What did it do to deserve this?
Between climate change and strong El Ninos (and I don’t know if climate change is driving stronger El Ninos) and bad land use practices, such as letting invasive grasses grow where plantations once grew, this was the perfect fuckup. I was never on that side of Maui, preferring instead the Hana Highway for my bike rides when I was escaping Honolulu. But this is really sad.
That’s me on a Maui mental health tour when I was trying to survive academia.
We sent our filthy lucre off to Paradise last night after reading the NY Times suggestions.
Early days yet, obviously, but it sure seems like a lot of human error served as kindling for this nightmare.
Sirens that never sounded. No plan to cut electrical power in winds that could drop the lines into the weeds. Invasive grasses that burn like an arsonist’s kerosene when they’re dry as a bone, which they are. Were. Whatever. Hydrants sans water.
“It can’t happen here.” Except it can.
Incidentally, Simon Romero of the NYT is (or was) a Burqueño. Seems he may be out of Mexico City now.
This was us after the volcano and the tsunami, Back in the Day®.
Bad land use planning.
Back when Adam West was still the only Batman we used to live on Oahu’s North Shore because that was where the Navy stuck us, and they’re right, all that grass they brought in to feed the cows that aren’t eating it anymore definitely caused the majority of the problem.
Ah, the Glory Days, when there was but the One True Batman. We have not seen his like since.
Remember when a superhero TV show or movie was comparatively rare? Talk about the Glory Days. …
Regarding appropriate timing after a terrible disaster, I don’t believe there is ever is a good time. But then we need to remember that we need to reflect and move on with the recovery, the rebuilding, and the reflection of how wonderful it was, and some light humor and a smile doesn’t hurt. I’ve often wondered how the centipedes fared the fire. I’ve had Loggins and Messina’s “Lahaina” lyrics in my head for many days.
I hope that most of the surviving families whose homes were lost, are able to rebuild again where their relative’s spirits lie. May the kama’aina magic guide development for the locals first before the resort venture capitalists storm in with their carpet bags.
Wow. Sorry about the typo. “how wonderful it once was”. I laid off my brain editor a while back and thought I cuud make it by on wit and wisdum alonne.
Before the rapacious haole vampires can flutter in we might see a few folks in charge of water, power, and emergency response legging it for the Puʻuhonua o Hōnaunau.
In the fabled Before-Time, a newsroom was a place where “Too soon?” was never heard. Sometimes the echo of the blast, the gutters running with blood from the massacre, or the smoke billowing from the fire were still very much with us when some wiseguy (usually on the copy desk) disinterred a groaner from the depths of black humor.
…. and that is how we survive the scary times that the spirits send our way….
Ginger hitler’s count continues to rise. Four indictments, 91 individual counts, and 712 years if guilty on all counts. And some of the Georgia RICO counts have a five year minimum sentence. Maybe orange is the new orange?
Sometimes I wonder if now may not be the time to go ahead and take off on the round the world bike ride to get away from the trump news ticker tape. Although it looks like I’d have to make that trip several years long to encompass all the cases that he will face. No matter what, be it the White House or the big house, he will be delighted that his mug will continue to be part of American culture for years to come.
With that out of the way, I hope Mr. O’Grady that the weather in Al-b-cue has allowed for some pleasant riding or trail runs. I miss the higher elevation blue skies and your images do a fine job of exhibiting that.
I rolled out yesterday for a brief one hour escape on one of the bikes and to immerse myself in the miasma of thermal baking that is occurring in my area. A little over 41C it was. Not so bad when one is able to keep the pace up above 25 kph or so. Today is just a little cooler but I escaped out in the morning when the temp was quite delightful. At least the logistics of riding at the higher temps are less then those necessary when riding at temps that are 140F less.
Khal, Is that a Cannondale with Campy on it that you had when you rode in Maui? I think in the past you have indicated that you still have that bike / frame. I can imagine that riding that area / road now requires a lot more risk acceptance with increased traffic and impatience.
Just think how many books, movies, and TV shows are being pitched — under the table, of course, since the writers are on strike — about Ginger Hitler, the Man and the Myth. May I never see a one of them.
I doubt they’ll get Alec Baldwin for the lead. Seems that pistola he was holding on the “Rust” set required a trigger squeeze after all. Took ’em a while to figure that out, hey?
The weather has cooled off a bit here, which is nice, as I don’t start sweating the minute I think about kitting up for a ride now. Temps in the high 80s/low 90s I can live with. It is August in The Duck! City, after all.
And yeah, I don’t think there’s a bike tour long enough to escape the coverage. If you stuck to dispersed camping, with the occasional motel overnight to hose off the grime (with the TV off), you might be able to dodge the worst of it.
But eventually you’d have to visit a grocery to resupply and then you’d bump into some MAGA-hatted mouth-breather with a sawed-off shotgun in a hip holster, a “Come and Take It” T-shirt and a “Buck Fiden” tat on his sloping forehead.
Kinda regret even commenting on this maniac and the scum he attracts. I can only hope they end up poor and forgotten. Soon.
“Post Holes” is good too!
Thanks, matey. I kinda like that one my own bad self. As a language English is not all it could be, but we can still have a bit of fun with it.