IMR: 1997: December: 11 -- Thursday, 5:31 p.m.
Our Apartment, Waikiki, Hawai`i
Quite a good day.
Apparently following William's advice, Micheal and I -- upon arriving for the last 206 class -- made a couple of bad jokes and carried on as if the entire flame fest never happened. Of course random quotes from the exchange (all from Micheal's entry, of course) popped up here and there.
The day started with Strobel telling us that we both had high "A" averages and would therefore be spared the nightmare that is his editing final.
Compared to perhaps three exemptions in the other section, at least six students in our class (four from our row) escaped. One, 'Venue freelancer Paul Lerman, surprised everyone with a 99.4 percent average. One tenth more, Strobel noted, and he would've rounded up to 100.
After class, I holed up in the journalism office computer room and got cracking on my research paper. Two hours -- yes, thank you, two hours later -- the six-page essay was printed and stapled.
Just in time for the Journalism department year-end wrap party.
Before we could dig into the rich Chinese spread, Chair Lowell Frazier passed out assorted awards and scholorships. It was a quick process, though, since eight out of ten awardees weren't there.
William then joined us, making his second annual appearance at the event as "the guy who's not a journalism major." The three of us commandeered a corner and marveled at the day's Ka Leo, which featured (in part) favorite quotes from members of the staff and a photo caption of campus sidewalk chalk artists that read, "Vandalism or art?"
After the party, Micheal and I -- having misssed (aw, damn!) our last jargon-intensive CAPS class -- headed to Mary's office to drop off our papers. We then hooked up with Christy and passed the time at Manoa Garden.
They snuggled and nuzzled while I tried to ignore them. Pulling out her brush, Christy groomed Micheal's hair... releasing a small blizzard of dandruff onto her black backpack. A brisk dusting, sadly, was less than effective in clearing the deposits.
We discussed Micheal's scrapbook page and the photographs of Christy he'd posted there. I rather liked them, but she was less than impressed.
"At least you're actually on the page now," I said, recalling an earlier conversation in which she and I sarcastically bemoaned our ommission.
Like William, I will never understand how things between those two work. Most of the time, their relationship's ambiguous, wildly swinging state leaves Micheal hating life (aptly illustrated on Tuesday). But times like today, they appear so affectionate and content I can almost see them soaking eachother's teeth at the tricentennial.
On occasion I ask, "Why do those two bother with eachother?" Yet, when her new Ka Leo "friends" shamelessly conspire to break them up, I want nothing more for them to get married.
In mid lounge, we bumped into Panther.
Panther, a veteran of the local USENET newsgroups as well as assorted mailing lists, has for assorted reasons become quite a fixture on the UH campus. He tends to cats, feeds birds, and gets his 'net fix through the monochrome terminals at Hamilton Library.
He was in quite a jovial mood, heckling me while putting down a "double black" beer. Micheal and Christy, baffled at the loud, gray-haired man enjoying life at the next table, huddled quietly. My efforts to explain how I knew the gentleman were futile.
Panther went in and bought a bag of chips to feed the birds, but found the birds less than impressed. He loudly dared me to scrounge up a piece of bread.
I gladly nicked a package of crackers and bought a tuna sandwhich, urging Panther to feed the crackers to his little friends and to enjoy the sandwhich himself. He did, only after finding the sparrows and doves very happy with the smuggled saltines.
We marveled at the line inside the campus branch of American Savings Bank, which was only last week the campus branch of Bank of America.
The local papers are brimming with articles about how the changeover -- following BOA's retreat from Hawai`i and ASB's acquisition of its local branches and accounts -- was not going very smoothly. Hundreds of people continue to be denied access to their money.
My friends and I had, for months, jokingly referred to BOA as "The Bank for Stupid People." Funny how right we were.
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|© Ryan Kawailani Ozawa · E-Mail: firstname.lastname@example.org · Created: 11 December 1997 · Last Modified: 14 December 1997|