The usual events took place: we flew, we went to La Mariana for lunch, we checked in.
We'd hoped to find something new to do, so we went to a tourist bar to see some music. It was Friday night in Waikiki. What were we thinking? The amusing / weird part was leaving along the beach and noticing that the band had turned around to play to a woman in an incredibly small bikini. She repaid the compliment by playing air guitar and, well, air humping the short fence that keeps the beach people separate from the bar people. Oh Waikiki.
After a call over to Chuck's Cellar to see who was playing there, we trudged through the sea of humanity and metallic-painted street entertainers to take refuge. We sat at the bar and listened to Betty Loo Taylor play everything from Round Midnight to My Love Does It Good.
The bass player arrived partway through the set, and none of the house equipment was set up. As he reached over the bar to plug in an amp, I noticed that the third plug of his power cord was missing. I said "Are you going to get a shock, plugging in that un-grounded plug?" which is exactly what happened as I was saying it. Betty Lou and the drummer didn't miss a beat while all of this (and a blown fuse, subsequent search for appropriate power outlets, finding one, guarding the power cord so nobody tripped, taping the cord to the floor, putting out a "wet floor" sign over the taped down cord) was happening. Chuck's was perfect for us last night. We'd heard that our aunt was dying, and the music and setting were such a comfort. Jazz piano reaches deep inside both of us as a reminder of our parents and others of that generation who we love.
The bass player arrived partway through the set, and none of the house equipment was set up. As he reached over the bar to plug in an amp, I noticed that the third plug of his power cord was missing. I said "Are you going to get a shock, plugging in that un-grounded plug?" which is exactly what happened as I was saying it. Betty Lou and the drummer didn't miss a beat while all of this (and a blown fuse, subsequent search for appropriate power outlets, finding one, guarding the power cord so nobody tripped, taping the cord to the floor, putting out a "wet floor" sign over the taped down cord) was happening. Chuck's was perfect for us last night. We'd heard that our aunt was dying, and the music and setting were such a comfort. Jazz piano reaches deep inside both of us as a reminder of our parents and others of that generation who we love.
Later we headed down Kuhio to our hotel on foot. It's sketchier than Kalakaua, but I'd rather dodge minor street action than mimes, tourists and professional moonwalkers again. Our dinner at Chiba-ken was a perfect way to end the evening.
So concludes day 1.
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