Posts Tagged ‘The Hukilau Song’
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Another Cool, Wet Day
0July 27, 2017 by admin
Tuesday was another cool, wet day, but it did not keep people away. At the Imagine Mosaic, the platoon guitarist sang “Here Comes the Sun.”
Bethesda Fountain sported the usual buskers, the Boyd Family Singers in the arcade, Lady Liberty at the bottom of the western stairs, and the big bubble man on the central medallion of Bethesda Terrace. I took up my spot at the eastern edge of the fountain.
Two girls from Melbourne Beach, Florida, danced an acrobatic hula. Mom gave me $2. A man, amused, gave me a dollar.
Two women from Rhode Island were taking pictures at the fountain. Reluctantly, they hula-ed. As I transitioned into the second verse of “The Hukilau Song,” they found their stride, including a deep, dramatic bow at the conclusion. Grinning with aloha, one of the women found a fiver in her wallet for me. The second woman added a single.
Another twosome, both tall, skinny teenaged girls, danced to the hukilau. A 40-something man, having watched the show from the benches, tipped me a dollar. “Quite an operation you’re running here,” he said. A woman, who had also observed from the bench, dropped a handful of change.
An extended Muslim family, consisting of young children, several women in head scarves and dark, mustachioed men, sat in various configurations near me for a set of photos. At the end of the shoot, one of the men gave me $2.
A 30-something woman with a large dog asked for a picture. I handed her a lei and she put it on the dog. “Sit,” she said. “Stay.” The dog at first tried to shake off the lei, but finally settled down for a picture. The woman gave me some change.
At the end of my set, a young woman came up to me with 2 singles and laid them carefully under the capo I used to keep my money from blowing away. “Love the uke,” she said.
“Me too.”
Category Uncategorized | Tags: Here Comes the Sun, The Hukilau Song
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After the Rain
0July 25, 2017 by admin
I watched the rain stop around noon, strapped on my ukulele and headed out into a light drizzle. I’ve been away so much this summer that even a bad day in the park was still pretty good. The dog roses were a glorious red, sparkling with rain water, but otherwise I noticed no new plantings. One lonely pedicab driver was bent over his cell phone. The button sellers did not come out today, nor did the guitarists at the Imagine Mosaic. A few intrepid tourists in clear plastic ponchos wandered the paths.
The blight has browned most of the chestnut tree near the path. The second chestnut tree deep within Strawberry Fields is also showing signs of blight.
Except for a production company filming an ad, Bethesda Fountain was quiet. The crew was waiting for the director to return; he’d gone for coffee somewhere to wait out the rain. Shortly after I started my set, 3 girls from Manchester stopped to examine my solar-powered hula girls, which, despite the overcast sky, still managed to operate. I soon had a lei around one of their necks, and off we went to “The Hukilau Song.”
After the dance, they walked away. A little girl stopped to hula. Her mom gave me a dollar, then the Manchester girl came back with a dollar and change. A well-coiffed woman of a certain age, in a stylish tomato-red pants suit, walked by and emptied a purseful of change into my case.
A trio of wise-ass teenagers bopped around as they walked by. I was singing “That’s My Weakness Now,” and had come to the lyric about baby talk: “I never cared for baby talk, but b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b, that’s my weakness now.” One of the kids burst out laughing, turned back and rewarded me with a buck.
A woman walked by and dropped a couple of quarters; she would not hula.
A dozen or so Canadian high schoolers lined up for a hula. I saw a few bills go into my case, but mostly coin. I got more coins, from a little girl, a teenaged boy and an old woman. People were flocking back to the park. Although still cool and overcast, the rain was over. The director had returned and was barking orders. I had about 10 minutes left in my set, but the crew didn’t know that. It occurred to me that someone might pay me to shut up and go away, as has often happened in the past.
A toddler wanted to dance. I found my half-lei, especially for small heads, and dad put it on. The kid, however, would not dance. She cried. Dad hoisted her up, fished a dollar out of his wallet for me, and carried her off, with my lei.
All around me, the film crew was pushing wagons piled with lights, electronics, wires and whatnot. It would probably be an hour or more before they’d need silence. I counted out $12.05, far more than I’d expected in this weather. I packed up and went away for free.
Category Uncategorized | Tags: That's My Weakness Now, The Hukilau Song
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Monday in the Heat
0July 11, 2017 by admin
It was “A Hard Day’s Night” for the platoon guitarist. It was hot; the park was relatively uncrowded. I set up in the blazing sun at Bethesda Fountain and sang to the sky.
A dark-eyed little girl came back from the benches, where her mother sat in the shade, with permission to hula. After the first verse of “The Hukilau Song,” she walked away. Another girl of 7-8, from Georgia, with her mom, was eager to hula, and she too walked away. Finally, a teenaged girl, from Newport Beach, who would not hula, gave me a dollar. “I like your music,” she said.
A woman from San Francisco said she didn’t have time to hula, but she couldn’t pull herself away, so she put on a lei and danced, gracefully and expressively. “That was great fun,” she said. “I feel really great. I wish my family were here to record it.” She returned the lei and walked away.
“Bring them back, we’ll do it again.” As if that would ever happen. A walk-away doesn’t grasp the concept of paying the piper.
A young couple from Flagstaff happened by. “Not much hula in Arizona, I’ll bet.” The girl danced a sweet, simple hula, while the boy, after snapping a few pictures, pulled out his wallet. Tossing a dollar into my case, he said, “I’m originally from Alaska.”
“Not a hula hotspot either,” I supposed.
An 80-something woman came by with a dollar.
Two tall, self-possessed young black women allowed themselves a hula. They fell into a synchronized display of hula moves, including twirls and shimmies, attracting a crowd. They’d grown up together in California, now one lived in New York and the other in Chicago. We had a good talk, then they walked away.
A man tossed in a couple of quarters and gave me a thumbs-up.
An older dad, with 2 barely walking babies, decked out in white lace dresses, encouraged them to hula. The smaller baby, despite the dress, may have been a boy. They barely moved; I brought “The Hukilau Song” to an end after one verse. Dad kept pulling change out of his pocket.
It appeared to be 12-15 pennies, but when I counted it at the end of my set, there was a dime mixed in.
Category Uncategorized | Tags: Hard Day's Night, The Hukilau Song
