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Webster Hall, University of Hawai`i–Manoa, Hawai`i
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Bwy's class again. Ten minutes into it, and he's already got everyone in stitches. Though I've only had a few weeks to observe Bwy in action, I think his favorite colorful expression (and he has many) is a high-pitched, scrunchy-faced, "Ho-ly shit!" Often he embellishes it by thrusting his finger into the air with a Tony the Tiger-esque twist. Only time will tell if I'll actually learn a thing about statistics, but there's no question I've never laughed so hard in a math class. (Okay, so this is the first and probably last math class I'll have in my college career. He's still a trip.) Surprisingly, even though math and I are sworn enemies, I could be doing worse. I've only done a few of the worksheets he's handed out, but I was as surprised as anyone that I apparently did them right... despite having quickly developed a grudge against whoever designs scientific calculators. And when it comes to the 'words' aspect of statistics and political science, I'm kicking ass. Really! Just last week, he was raving about the homework assignment someone had turned in, dancing around the room and throwing off kudos that would've made anyone blush. After a dramatic pause, he started reading off the answers. And I realized it was my paper. He read one answer, and gasped, "Oh shit man I wish I thought of that!" Then he read the next answer and growled, "Oh it's so good, I'm having an orgasm!" It got more interesting from there. And after he was done he raved a bit more, even saying, "I'm going to give this guy an 'A' for the class right now!" (We've quickly learned, however, not to take any promises he makes in the throes of passion seriously.) I was mortified. "Am I going to tell you his name?" he teased, as I sunk low in my chair. "No, no, but he's in this room and he knows who he is." Sheesh. If that kind of embarassment is what good students have to put up with all the time, I'm thrilled to be consistently mediocre. Not that this has anything to do with anything, but I just want to note that 3Jane—our trusty family car, a boxy 1984 Nissan—made 100,000 miles this week. That means I've put a little over 8,000 miles under her (fan) belt since the day we bought her. I'm not sure if that's a lot of miles for ten months, honestly, or whether it matters that we're stuck on an island. But I know it's nothing compared to mom's 1991 Buick and it's 120,000 miles. I mean, Jane is 15 years old, and only now made six digits. Definitely young at heart. Sometimes I still think I was crazy to have gone out that day to return home in a different car. But then I think about what it would have been like to live the last year with an itty-bitty Ford Escort, and I know it was a good move. I knew I shouldn't have picked up that damn paper on Tuesday. Now I just can't help myself. Fun with actual Ka Leo headlines (Feb. 11, 1999, pg. 1):
Fun with actual Ka Leo columnists (p. 4): "There is no way that [Student Housing Director] Toy [Arre] could possibly stop boys from shagging each other (or girls for that matter) without violating a whole other set of constitutional rights... Now I know it would be awesome to be a gay guy and living in the all-male Hale Anuenue and get access to that amount of skin, but really, why should we even have communal bathrooms in the first place? This just gives gender segregationists another excuse to discriminate." Fun with actual Ka Leo classified ads (p. 6):
Hey, kids, I can tell you how to find Metacrawler for only 50 cents a minute. (If you want to learn about Copernic or Sherlock, it'll cost you a bit more.) |
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