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Show A-14 WedThursFrl, June 5-7, 2002 The Park Record SUNDAY IN THE PARK By Teri Orr Away and slightly adrift Z VI LADIES LOUNGE AT LAKOTA EVERY THURSDAY NIGHT 5PM-1AM Enjoy the Gorgeous Mountain Views from our Patio 7 i)jys 7 Nights, fhoOam - 1:00am Kitciiin Oln Until Midnight 3 - Siak Amikican Rigional Cuisine at ExtreMi.ly Ahordable Prices . ,. J ----- - . - - r $8.00 SahikdavSundav Brunch Sekvld From ll:00A!HrJ:00PM Reservations (43S) 658-3400 Onoff .Site Catering (435) 658-3600 Sports Programming WCDpMX Surround System NOW FEATURING OUR 2 FOR 1 SPECIAL BUY ONI. I.NTRf GET ONE ENTREE I REE Not to exceed $19. (X) menu price GOOD I OR I UNCI I OR DINNER EXPIRES UNE 7. 2002 MUSI I'KIMNJ COUI'ON I OR DISCOUNT NO E GOOD WITH ANY OTHER OEEERS OR DISCOUNTS A private club lor the henelit of its members Send Dad To See Fuzzy Up Close. y 'J V f . ' V-'' ' 5 ' " ' 0 And he'll spice up your Father's Day Barbecue. It's all part of the Father's Dav Gift Paekave Iron, the Uniting Fore it C f M ' .J I'V. JjFl fi bv Novell. n n n n k 7- v "1 11 r Four good-any-day grounds tickets to the tournament at Park Meadows Country Club for dad and the family. A box set of Fuzzy's four delicious Barbecue Sauces. ("all 888.335.4345 to order your Fathers Day Gift Package to the SENIOR PGA TOUR'S Uniting Fore Care Classic. We have a new name, Inn you'll leel right at home with all the familiar names of the legends of the SENIOR PGA TOUR. It'll be a week you'll never forget. August 19-25, 2002 www.unitingforecare.com UNITING foreCARE CLASSIC prMntd by NOVtN J A Delta Air Lines R l 'Shipping and handing not included. 4 J ?TJi H H fje thatched roof and bamboo walls are perfect here. And the tiki torches don't look like a '50s pool party gone bad but authentic and properly primitive. " Teri Orr Editor's note This is the second part of a two-part series on Teri's travels to the island of Maui. The first part appeared on Saturday, June 1. I will have my film developed soon but for now I tan only draw from snapshots in my mind. Like the three Japanese women in one-piece, very-modest very-modest swimsuits with skirts, sitting in the sand at the ocean's edge and letting the tide wash over their legs. And giggling at every wave. In the three hours I am at the beach, it is as brave as they ever get. The way the clouds mimic the waves. One afternoon I am sitting on the deck of the condo watching the waves crash on the shore and I look up to see a wave of gigantic proportions rolling toward me in the sky. There are no other clouds, just a bank of fluffy, churning churn-ing white, lying over the top of Molakai and heading for me. 1 stay still and watch dragons shape-shift into birds and finally the face of an old man. Until once again it is just a bank of clouds moving through a pure blue sky. There is a girl splashing through the water, naked as the day she was born which I suspect was maybe four HiiHaBH or five years ago. She appears while I am lost in thought, wiggling my toes in the tide pools in front of the famous Mama's Fish louse in Paia. Her hair is wild and she has that seamless seam-less tan body achieved by hours of nakedness in the sun. She stops long enough to tell me her name is Mavis and she points out the tiny black- and yellow-striped yellow-striped fish that swims between my toes. I remember at once, the me that used to be her. Summers spent in endless days exploring my grandparents beach world in Southern California. I am wistful remembering the kind of freedom that is the natural entitlement of a five year old. 1 look up and she has vanished. Inside at Mama's Fish House I take the drink with (he floating orchid and read the menu where the specials spe-cials really are... Wild Fish caught by Our Fishermen and then they list the choices... Hawaiian Ahi caught aboard the fishing vessel Firebird, Uku caught by Heigh Nakamura night fishing outside of liana Bay, Ono caught by Eric Stoneman trolling brightly colored col-ored hires. The thatched roof and bamboo walls are perfect here. And the tiki torches don't look like a '5()s pool party gone bad but authentic and properly primitive. Up in Kahalui at the Maui Arts and Cultural Center, film lovers have gathered on the grassy amphitheater for a light dinner before the Wednesday night Film Series. Barry Rivers, a former advisor for the Sundance Film Festival in the early '80s has put together a film series year-round to complement his three-year-old Maui Film Festival. This night as the sunset paints the sky with a warm orange glow, we drink champagne and he tells me the festival only shows life-affirming films. Don't read here cheesy, Disney-esque stuff - "Monster's Ball" qualified. But he said he wanted to show works that made people leave feeling good about the human spirit and our ability to overcome great odds. Barry and his wife, Stella, then turn around and give back the proceeds of their festival to environmental causes, women's issues and Amnesty International. (Full feature on the Maui Film Festival in. next week's paper.) White. The image of white animals. On three separate sep-arate drives I encounter three white creatures. The first... a white horse on the side of a one-lane road where I pull close to the edge so a car can cross the bridge (this is one of those roads the car rental place says not to drive on). The passenger window is open in the front seat and the horse puts its head right into my car. I pet the horse and talk to himher gently until it is my turn on the road again. On a drive later in the week on the back roads of the rain forest-like town of Haiku, I am stopped by a snowy white cattle egret walking on the edge of the road. I slow right down and the bird doesnt panic or run or fly away. It stares me down. I swear to God. And I realize I am encroaching on sacred territory. The next day I have taken a ferry to the mostly private pri-vate island of Lanai. More than 80 percent is either privately owned or under the umbrella of the Nature Conservancy. You land at a tiny harbor where maybe 10 boats are tied up and you hop a shuttle that takes you to Manele Bay where the whitest sand in tne world is tramea by swaying palm trees and thrown around cliffs of lava rocks. As in all of Hawaii, the beaches are owned by the people and even at this exclusive fabulous iBiHi hotel, anyone can be on the beach. I join the dozen or so guests here this day and swim in warm waters where we spot dolphins swimming further out in the bay. Then, after lazy hours in the sun, I again jump on the shuttle and head up to the "mountains" where there is another fabulous hotel called The Lodge. It's like a Rocky Mountain timbered resort, but with carved, pineapple wood chandeliers, with monkeys peeking out between the leaves. This island was once owned completely by Dole (the pineapple company) and they set up a tiny company town here up top in the center of the island. The tiny town square is two square blocks and has shops, churches, schools and a one-room police station. We pass blocks of tiny company-built houses with lush yards and laughing children. It is a bright day, something out of a perfectly shot travel film and I am drifting off when we stop at a crossing and I see a swan walking in a yard. Pure white, elegant, regal, and she looks at me with her cocked, elongated neck and I bow to her. I time my ferry ride back to Lahaina so I can be home for one more sunset on the deck. And then comes the magic hour. We would call it twilight. But I think it is the Scottish who call the time - where the day ends and the dark descends in the gloaming. Green trees turn to black silhouettes and one by one the stars come out to twinkle against the indigo sky. My view feels slightly distorted. Which I guess being so close to the middle of the earth, it is. Because, like a fish eye lens, some stars are so close I could touch them and others come around me on the sides of my vision and slip so far away. Which, I admit, is how this trip is already playing out. Some events I have to search the corners of my mind to remember and others, I can close my eyes and be right back there. I can do all this from my porch swing where the sun sets each night somewhere in The Canyons. The birds in my yard have been all a-twitter at my return. And one by one, the hardiest of the perennials are coming back to color my yard. All in all, after a visit to paradise, par-adise, this isn't a bad place to return to on a Sunday in the Park... Teri Orr is a former editor of The Park Record and director of the Park City Performing Arts Center. CORE SAMPLES Music therapy If you haven't got your summer concert ducks in line yet, you'd better put 'em where you want 'em before it's too late. Of course, if you are not strung out on this sort of thing, if you are not completely com-pletely "jonesing" to see this chick or that dude strut their stuff, well, then, not to worry. Myself, I need the therapy. I need to sprawl out in my "low-rider" chair beside my cooler on some grassy knoll. I need to pull down the brim of my hat and close my eyes and, through some sort of osmosis, drink it all in. I heard somewhere that moments such as these not only are not subtracted from your lifespan lifes-pan but, cumulatively, added to it. That's what it's all about -- the grass, the breeze, the sunset, the light-tackle garb, and the occasional refreshment. You are allowed to sit down, stand up, walk around, hoot and holler and, of course, check out the talent. Did I mention the occasional refreshment? refresh-ment? Which brings up an axiom. A couple of Pinots and an encore and you think you're Fred Astair. My heck, it's a haiku, too. There was a time, and what a time it was. The words of the prophets were written on the subway sub-way walls and tenement halls. Now, in their stead, you get huge, admittedly artistic, personal logos that were let loose from spray cans. Go figure. These days, I find myself attending concerts and dancing in the streets in lieu of flying a flag. Artistic freedom is the true enemy of the al Qaeda mindset. I think Tipper Gore said that. And what better way to demonstrate belief in our way of life, than to support the poets and pickers of our time. Of course, some of them appear to need a lot more support than others -- ticket prices being what they are. You've just got to prioritize, that's all. If someone who speaks directly to you, who cuts to your chase quicker than others, is coming to town, well, that's that. Dont dare miss them. Find a way to finagle a ticket. tick-et. Budget, borrow, do what it takes. Maybe you could even put it on lay-away. Saying you are with the band is a much harder sell, these days. I must apologize for that. Over the past several decades, I probably ran that one into the ground. Acquiring the ticket doesnt mean its a done deal, however. If you really are addicted to this sort of thing, that's the easy part.' By "this sort of thing" I refer to your basic outdoor, on the grass, general admission, first-come-first-served type of venue. Red Butte Gardens and Deer Valley come to mind. What you now need to do is to make sure that you By Jay Meehan IF"! Find a way to finagle a ticket. Budget, borrow, do what it takes. Maybe you could even put it on lay-away. Saying you are with the band is a much harder sell, these days. are as close to "front and center" as possible. The way to do that is to get in line at the venue as early as possible pos-sible on the day of the concert. This has become a cottage cot-tage industry unto itself. Take Red Butte for instance. Music buffs who show up only one hour before the gates open (two-and-one-half hours before the first note is played) have little or no chance at setting up on prime real estate. Location, location, location. But this is not a bad thing. The line, you see, is a cultural event in itself. Parasols are set up alongside Rube Goldberg tarp configurations. What we have here is something akin to an upscale shantytown. The sunscreen is drug out and the first water bottle is tapped. Reading material is then produced with newspapers carrying the morning and bound editions the afternoon. The line grows. Its around the corner now and heading up the path beyond the fence. Cell phones abound, especially once it gets close to H-hour. "Where are you? I haven't been standing in the hot sun all day so you can while away the afternoon after-noon in some air-con ditioned tavern. If you are not here soon, I'm selling your ticket. And I'll drink your beer." Now, this is absolutely the wrong approach. This is not therapy. Thisisangst- HiHMHBMMHiHHi ridden. A suggestion would be to make sure your concert partner is already in possession of a ticket and a general sense of where you will attempt to set up camp should they arrive after the gates open. And this is most important -- make sure they know that your job is to wait in line and their job is to arrive with fresh ahi sashimi with a nice wasabi-shoyu sauce on the side. Yeah, right! If truth be known, the overall culture of the waiting line can be a lot of fun. You'll always see someone you ' know. Count on it. And you always get some reading done with a meandering walk or two thrown in. A caveat here, however. One doesnt want to get ' too much of a jump-start on that "occasional refresh-' ment" thing. All day in the sun will chew you up and spit you out. By the end of the show, you'll be toast -a regular chocolate mess. You'll have absolutely no ' problem spotting those who popped the Pinot before its time. So here we go. Among others, the summer will feature fea-ture Nanci Griffith, the Cowboy Junkies, John.Hiatt, ' Jerry Jeff Walker, Nickel Creek, Bela Fleck and, get out of my way, Bob Dylan on the grass. Not to mention men-tion JamGrass 2002 with David Grisman, Peter Rowan, Tony Rice, Sam Bush, John Cowen, etc. Get a ticket, get in line, and get some therapy. Jay Meehan i |