My HNL’s Favorite Shopping Mall, In the World, Ever – Ala Moana Shopping Center
Anyone who is anyone at all has been here, for something, anything, everything. If you’re in HNL and don’t come, for any reason, then you might be dead.
At one point in my life, with $20 burning a hole in my pocket afterschool, I had to cruise around (and buy the matching Gap button-up, Banana Republic v-neck, or Stussy tee).
Later, with $500 itchin’ to spend I would frequent Prada, bvlgari, Ferragamo, Dior (for a feminine men’s wallet or retarded keychain or other piece of conspicuous consumed vacuum) .
And even later, with $200 a day to spend (on a incredibly precocious habit that was not clothes nor accessories) on things that Ala Moana Center does not even sell, I still came here. And I came here even more, I might add. At this point, multiple times a day.
Now I swear I have no loyalty to this place but cringe and personally get offended when someone slanders it.
Locals in Honolulu do not plan on coming here most of the time, however it seems like they end up here on a semi-regular basis anyway.
There is absolutely something for everyone. People who talk trash simply cannot afford and/or have bad taste in like, everything.
(I rescind that last part because…if you don’t find yourself here for anything at all, you might as well go die in a fire, because no one’s going to miss you on Facebook. Oh wait, a person who isn’t at Alas probably doesn’t even have a Facebook, as you have no social life! Get back on WoW, faggot!
All this brings me to a paradox. How does one with no life, live???)
Back on topic: Ala’s is super huge, super sweaty, super hot, and super cool all at the same time.
My HNL’s favorite bookstore – Barnes and Nobles, Kahala Mall
Have you ever read something – a book, a review from a blogger you have a literary erection for – and thought to yourself, “I could do that, I could write like them.”
And so you attempt to and turn in that piece of work for class and then get a huge F from your community college professor? OH they totally do not understand, you lament; I am an ARTISTE, they are fucking fascists just totally in the system, a hundred percent brainwashed and unwilling to accept any effort at independent thinking or new school ideology.
You are furious – you imagine it’s you vs them. The Great Rift, you dub this, and you are the most recent martyr.
There is a war between those in the sheltered ivory tower (who do not even acknowledge the lesser denizens and where it’s so lonely at the top angels don’t fly for their wings freeze up and their BMW’s do not start for the coolant is frozen too) and the ultra creative neoclass (who are Earth dwellers but dare to stare at the sun.)
In your right brain fueled fervor, you draft the essay of your dreams. You sit crossed legged, like Buddha for inspiration; draw divine powers as Jesus crucified; chew 5 Gum and smoke crystal meth. Quickly but surely you mount the ultimate offensive.
A week later, you have it. It is fucking awesome, the culmination of your life’s work. The penultimate attack on the ignorance of your professor. At it’s apex, it slaps the face of all knowledge your wicked tormentors have ever known, in between sweet and persuasive passages of pure intellectual poetry meant to showcase the sheer SICKNESS of You.
Your significant other wonders where you are; you ignore your parents calls, your social life is on the decline, neighbors are pissed at you. you have lost 10 lbs, showered once and gone through 50 pots of coffee.
You turn in your paper again. Then grab the stapler from your professor’s table and shoot yourself in the heart. You die, for something you absolutely believed in, surely embraced by all of academia. Your last words, “Words…words…words…”
So that’s happened to me, and it’s all because I spent too much time reading anything and everything here at this Barnes and Nobles.
Next post I will be dropping HNL’s favorite micro-reviews, lyrics, and Haiku’s.