The rest of Hawai’ian Week has been postponed

Dear Ones, I have some slightly disappointing news for y’all. I had such glorious plans for Hawai’ian Week on Whirled Musings, and here at home as well. The Rev and I were even planning to top off the week with a Texas-style luau. You might pupu the idea, but we had a big shindig planned – to which we were going to invite all of y’all, of course. You would have had a chance to sample an incredible array of Texanesian delights – that’s Texas-Polynesian fusion food – with the pièce de résistance being roast suckling armadillo with a prickly pear in its mouth.

Armadillo, as you may know, is the state roadkill of Texas. Oddly enough, though, The Rev and I haven’t been able to find any armadillo this season. They’re generally so abundant, lying on the side of the road with their little clawed hands and feet up in the air, just ripe for the pickin’. But the moment we started shopping for the luau, not one ’dillo was to be found. We’re thinking that maybe all of the rain we’ve been having just washed them away. All we were able to find was one little ol’ opossum that had been hit by a car a bit up the street from Casa de RonCon, and hell, that just won’t feed a whole crew. So the luau is off.

Adding to the frustration was an unavoidable delay in the launching of the book, Nero State, that I co-authored with noted Hawai’ian shaman Dr. Ihavascama Fer Yew. I told y’all about it the other day. The official launch was supposed to be at the end of this week; Dr. Yew and I were scheduled to appear on several big radio shows and all the morning shows on TV. But our publicist called me Wednesday evening in a panic, saying nobody has been able to get hold of Dr. Yew. "The man’s MIA," said the publicist. "Without Yew, there can be no launch."

"Well, I’m here!" I said. "And I’m ready."

"No, not you," the publicist said. "YEW. Your co-author. No one can reach him by phone, email, IM, Blackberry, Law Of Attraction, telepathy, or anything."

Now, that’s totally unlike Dr. Yew. Granted, the man is famously a bit reclusive, but he’s never been completely out of reach. Well, after trying all day yesterday to contact him myself, I finally reached his assistant, Mandi. She assured me that he was okay, but that he was "in seclusion" for at least two weeks.

"What’s the deal?" I asked.

There was a long silence. Finally Mandi replied, "He is…um…honing his self-focusing skills…I think he said."

"Magazines again?" I asked.

"Yup. The 25^th anniversary issue of Big’Uns just came in the mail."

So the book launch was off. It will be on again early in July. Expect fireworks. Or stink bombs, anyway.

Even so, I was still thinking I could salvage some of Hawai’ian Week. But then I got an irate phone call from Steve Jobs late last night. "Cosmic Connie, how DARE you have Hawai’ian Week on your blog, when this is the official launch week of the iPhone?" he asked. "Are you trying to steal some of my thunder?"

"Oh, my gosh, Steve, I completely forgot," I said. "I really am sorry."

"Well…that’s not really a good excuse," he said. "But…okay, I forgive you, because I like blue gals. But do you think that, just as a favor to me, you could postpone your special event so my iPhone has a fighting chance?"

"Steve, for you, anything," I said. "And please accept my apologies."

And so, Dear Ones, it would appear that the same Universe that was practically pleading with me to have Hawai’ian Week is now flooding me with signs that I should postpone it. When I spoke to the Universe this morning, It confirmed this. "I tried to send you subtle signs, beginning with all of those flash floods around your state," said the Universe. "But you wouldn’t pay attention. I guess it took that call from Jobs, eh?"

"Yeah, that pretty much did it," I said.

So to all of you who were celebrating Hawai’ian Week with me, I offer my sincerest apologies for cutting this very special week short. But the Universe has spoken. And so has Steve Jobs.*

I trust you will forgive me.

And now that I probably have your mouth watering for armadillo, I would like to leave you with one of my most cherished poems from a delightful but out-of-print children’s poetry book, Eggs Amen! by John Goldthwaite. This book was one of many illustrated gems published by the late creative eccentric Harlin Quist.

The armor-plated armadillo
Sleeps beneath the jungle willow
Unaware that army ants are marching out to lunch.
He dreams he grow increasing hollow
By a booming waterfall-o
And of course it is the army ants
(Crunch, crunch, crunch…)

Have a wonderful weekend!

* I am, of course, kidding about talking with Steve Jobs. And in no way am I implying that he really likes blue women. Oh, and I'm also kidding about the Rev and I eating roadkill, let alone serving it to our honored guests. However, The Rev does like armadillo.