IMR: Entries: 2001: April: 23 — Monday, April 23, 2001

Back to the Grind One sure way to earn points in a class you need for graduation? Be the only student to show up for class. The UH faculty strike ended on Tuesday night, and classes resumed as usual on Thursday. I was happy to see crowded campus sidewalks again, to see roaming packs of mopeds again, to overhear construction workers commenting on the mammary merits of passing students again. I stopped first at Hamilton Library to return a late book and pay my $2 fine, seeing for the first time the temporary entrance (the old loading dock in back) and the inside of the new wing. Then it was time to start learning again. Now, a good six of the twenty four students in my Indo-Pacific Language and Literature class did show up, an average-sized turnout, and we spent the session chatting about the strike, figuring out where we left off three weeks ago, and sorting out the "strike-recovery adjusted" academic calendar. The solution to make up for lost instruction days? Classes on weekends. And our class was set to meet on the following three Sunday mornings. Unlike some of my classmates, I didn't work on weekends, but I did have the small and adorable matter of Katie to sort out. Mom, fortunately, had already heard about the weekend schedule and anticipated my request. So, yesterday, I met up with her at UH, and she basically chased Katie up and down McCarthy Mall while I headed over to Miller Hall. When I got there, the previous class was running late, and I overheard the last few minutes of the locally-produced Joe Moore film "Moonglow" ("Picture Bride" was playing next door). My instructor showed up too, and on the invitation of her fellow teacher, popped in to catch the ending of "Picture Bride." In our classroom, "Moonglow" ended, and the students tumbled out, looking fairly disappointed. But then "Picture Bride" ended, and my instructor came out, clearly impressed with that film, but also clearly distressed that I was still the only student of hers in the hallway. When class started ten minutes late, and it was still just her and I and a bunch of empty desks, we just giggled and chatted, and eventually got down to the scheduled material: a documentary on Rapanui (Easter Island). I dutifully took notes, and even asked a few questions, trying as I was to take advantage of the best student-teacher ratio I've ever had on the overcrowded Manoa campus. I had a brief obsession with Rapanui when I was in high school, and now — knowing more and learning more — it still remains one of the few topics that gives me a mild but undeniable case of the heebie-jeebies. The specific incomplete, mysterious, and — in the most recent centuries — tragic history of the island is mindbending enough. But my personal take on it as a whole, like many anthropologists, is as a cautionary tale for another isolated island known as Earth. This documentary was eye opening in that it's told by a Maori anthropologist, not a Western observer, and focused heavily on the wider kinship of Polynesians. (It also confirmed my suspicion that the indigenous people of the island considered the 1994 action/drama farce "Rapa Nui" to be among the more apalling of many travesties inflicted upon them by outsiders.) We have two more documentaries to go, and hopefully they'll be just as insightful. Class ended, and my instructor and I walked out joking about what elements from the video should be included in the final. I met up with mom and Katie, and after thanking mom for helping me, I began to ask her if she'd be up to covering the remaining weekend sessions. "Katie won't be here," she reminded me. D'oh! Jen and Katie leave for Florida tomorrow night. Three weeks without cuddles, kisses, and delicious pasta dishes. Three weeks without small but strong hugs, wild tickling/wrestling matches, and "Hi daddy, love you!" Three weeks of my own brand of bachelor cuisine: gummi bears and instant ramen. Jen's excited, at least, but a little nervous too. There's the usual traveling-with-toddlers issues, of course, but she had to remind me that it'll also be the first time she'll have seen her own brother in eight years. I mean, she last saw him when he was 19, the year before she left for Hawaii and met me. Since then, he's joined the Navy, gotten married and had a son. Jen, I think, has also changed a bit since... Katie knows she's going to see Nana and Papa, and that she's getting there by flying on an airplane. We've packed all the essentials, including a carry-on bag full of books and special tapes and toys (and a small bottle of Benadryl — shh!). I'm glad Jen and Katie have this chance to visit Jen's family, especially since a few months ago, conservative estimates placed their next visit sometime after Christmas 2002. I'm thinking, though, that I could've timed it better than 15 days after I get back from my own overseas trip. I'm making promises to myself to be productive, and to Jen to have a little fun, but I know I'll fail at both. I also know that one month is a long time in toddler years, and that when Katie gets back, it'll take a little while for she and I to recognize each other. I think three weeks is long enough for her to officially become smarter than me, and I'm a little scared. In the huge shadow following our annual conference, things at work always get a little interesting. Last week, HPU celebrated its International Day. As many of our interns come from HPU, we were invited to attend... and both Steve and our boss were invited to be judges. So in the morning, some of us enjoyed a small but enthusiastic parade past our building, and then in the afternoon, all of us took a short field trip up Fort Street to see the show. There were great presentations by many HPU cultural clubs, but we were mostly interested in India, because our own Praju was both coordinating and performing. She was thrilled to see us, and we very much enjoyed her dance, performed in traditional Indian garb to not-so-traditional Indian dance music. And today, the boss decided on a whim to take me and a coworker out to lunch at Ken Fong's Chinese restaurant, a favorite haunt of his. While there, a large group of ten or twelve teachers came in, tired and sweaty, clutching picket signs and petition clipboards. A lively discussion of the ongoing schoolteachers' strike ensued at our table, and as we got up to leave, our boss quietly asked the owner to put the teachers' tab on our bill. He tried to slip out, but the owner snitched at the last minute, and the teachers tried to stop him and thank him. They also begged for his name, but all he gave them was Bob, and said in parting, "Take care of our kids." Speaking of lunch, I think it's about time I make it official: I'm addicted to Subway. No, I'm not trying to be the next Jared Fogle. I am trying to be a little healthier, but I also know it's still fast food. I do feel better sucking down a lowfat 6-inch turkey sub than a massive Whopper, though, and perhaps even better, I've been collecting heaps of those "Sub Club" stamps, which Jen has happily put to good use. I'm actually trying to test myself, to see how long it takes me to get sick of eating the same sandwich (and the same chips) three or four times a week. But so far, I guess I'm hungry enough to not be picky. In fact, I recently realized I had arrived (although I'm not sure where, exactly) when I could walk in to my usual store — the one on South King near Alakea, where the lunch-hour line usually snakes out the door and along the sidewalk — and the "sandwich artists" behind the counter could make my usual combo without me saying a word. They smile and seem to be somewhat satisfied in remembering everything, but I also suspect they're beginning to wonder if there's something wrong with me. They're probably also wondering why I'm still fat. And the coming weeks of TV dinners and chocolate chip cookies won't help.

Comments Subway too, huh? Aside from a boring plate lunch place and a bevy of overpriced swanky places, all there is for me at Rest. Row is Subway. And, I'm pleased to say, I've grown sick of it after about two weeks. Sure, the novelty of 'low-fat fast food' does have it's delights, there's only so much a man like myself can take. Yesterday I opted for a single Twinkie (sold in packages not marked for resale) washed down with a cola of sorts. It was good, dammit. —Dick (April 24, 2001 9:05 PM) Now, Ryan, don't believe the faces of the students who saw "Moonglow" without first seeing it yourself...and checking out the "mother of the groom"!! And...the credits! Geez...benadryl? Still? That was the "knock-out drug of choice for traveling toddlers" 30 years ago. Some things never change!!! Oh, btw, give Bob a big hug for me. I admire his kindness and generosity. —Tutu Sue (April 27, 2001 10:56 PM) E kala mai! Comments have been disabled due to overwhelming abuse by spammers. Please click through to any of the video hosting services linked above to leave a public response, or feel free to send an e-mail. Mahalo! < April 18 · April · April 27 > © 1997-2008 Ryan Kawailani Ozawa · E-Mail: imr@lightfantastic.org · Created: 13 November 1997 · Last Modified: 14 January 2008