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Honolulu Lite
Charles Memminger
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Honolulu won’t win a square in Monopoly
Welcome to the Tuesday Lite Notebook (where we bemoan lost time, lost loves, lost opportunities, lost luggage and "Lost" cast members trying to beat DUI raps).
» Lost cause: Please sit down. I have disturbing news. Take a deep breath. Ready? You all are adopted. Wait. No. That's not the disturbing news. The disturbing news is that Honolulu will NOT be one of the spaces on the new Monopoly World Edition. Two of the 22 spaces on the board were to go to "write-in" cities, of which Honolulu was getting an apparent massive lack of support. The only U.S. city to make the write-in cut was San Francisco. There will be a runoff between S.F. and the other big write-in finishers -- stay sitting down for this -- Izmir, Turkey; Tamworth, U.K.; Szczecin, Poland; and some others. It's obvious why Honolulu got beat out by Izmir, the third most populous city in Turkey, and Szczecin, the birthplace of Franz Galli, inventor of the radiator: Honolulu is just too easy to spell.
» Lost sense: The man accused of brutally murdering three people on Tantalus is too crazy to go to trial. So this insane, murdering maniac who clearly is a danger to society has been released from prison. He's undergoing treatment at Hawaii State Hospital, where security is so bad hospital doctors and staffers have recently quit to protect themselves. And unlike a prison, there are no high walls and armed guards in towers to keep murdering crazy people from escaping. So once again I raise the question: Why, when it comes to seriously dangerous insane people, can there not be a wing or branch of the mental hospital within state prison walls? We have police substations. We have satellite city halls. We have regional driving license bureaus. Why can't there be a mental hospital substation in a high-security prison for crazy killers? To simply send a potential homicidal maniac to a low-security hospital is, well, insane.
» Lost meaning: I'm still trying to figure out why I received this breathless e-mail alert from a big New York PR firm: "Please be advised that Mary J. Blige is carrying a pale gold woven metal box clutch by Cole Haan to the 16th Annual Elton John Aids Foundation Oscar Party." OK. Uh. What the hell is a "pale gold woven metal box clutch?" Who is Mary J. Blige? And why should I care about any of this? I went online and discovered that Mary J. Blige is an extremely famous R&B singer I'd never heard of. The metal box clutch thingy is a purse of some sort. And the dress Ms. Blige wore to the Oscar party made her look like she was riding on the shoulders of Cousin It from the Addams Family. And since I've apparently been appointed an expert on all things "haute kultur" (that's a highfaluting French-German term that means "highfalutin"), I should report that Nicole Richie, with her huge, blond bobblehead cranial appendage perched on her cilium-thin bodylike structure (clad in a gorgeous black cocktail napkin) looked disturbingly like a Pez dispenser.
Buy Charles Memminger's hilarious new book, "Hey, Waiter, There's An Umbrella In My Drink!" at island book stores or
online at any book retailer. E-mail him at
cmemminger@starbulletin.com