Introducing Roxanne.

Two days in a row now I've been posted up in the library. Rather monumental seeing as I don't come here for more than one day at a time, and most of the time it's to cool off on hot days when I (or my wallet) can't quite make it to Jamba on the other side of campus. And it's for obvious reasons I don't come here. Firstly, it's like walking in to a polar ice cap and secondly, it's a library, the defeaning sound of "study" makes me nauseous. Cold and Silence. I associate both with death. Plus I like my music loud, and it's a popular theory also that I'm just lazy. :)

So anyways, I'm here and I felt it worth a mention that I started to write my thesis yesterday. I'm three pages deep (only about 97 to go) and the bulk of the work remains in bullet point format under the heading "Step 1" but it's amazing affirmation to just be able to have a word document called "Thesis Dissertation V1" though I'm debating whether or not I should rename it something more affectionate like "Roxanne" or "Cody" since you know, we'll be spending a fair amount of time together. At least, ideally we will. It will be interesting to see how we get along past the Honeymoon phase. Brace yourselves.

Past weeks have been surprisingly busy (as in sleeping til 11am as opposed to 2pm) with friends visiting and classes actually prompting me to voluntarily turn the rusty wheels in my brain to critically think about class content. And that's a rarer occurrence than me bearing the icy quiet carpet stenched library for two consecutive days. I took it upon myself to bake on the beach for three days immediately following such taxing activities to allow my soft brain to recuperate.

So aside from the increased risk of skin cancer, life's been good to me recently.

Some aren't so lucky. I went on a dinner cruise in Waikiki last week with my visiting German friend and my cousin and I swear, 85% of people on that catamaran were a deep shiny shrimp colour. Yikes. SPF30 folks. To highlight how out of place we looked I met a round, grey haired and rather shiny woman who was dressed for a jungle expedition in her khaki pants, button up shirt, and teva sneakers in the ladies room. In her southern drawl she complimented on my "pretty floral skirt thing" and asked if I was gonna be dancing tonight. I was wearing a Tav. When I smiled sweetly and said no I was also a guest not part of the dance troupe she responded with an oblivious "Gawd rilly? Weyll, ya should be!" lol. Bless her heart, she meant it as a compliment but seriously - How's that for "cultured" Americans? Come to think of it, if I had just decided to jump up and dance on the stage, the only people that would have been thrown off probably would have been the crew. The Samoan performance of Taualuga on the boat that evening was nothing short of atrocious, I'm sorry, I don't rate myself an expert on such things, but it might as well have been a dance troupe of Tyrannosaurus rexs up there. And like all the kalua pork and salmon lomilomi in their buffet, the crowds ate it up. My friend and I took to the upper observation deck to escape the madness and enjoy some skyline views only to return to find the lower deck had transformed into a disco with the entire group writhing to the Macarena. It was like a bad sequel of Dirty Dancing. Johnny and Baby do Waikiki. I could only smile, look longingly at the shore and wonder how people managed to writhe against each other without hurting their sunburn.

Hmmm... (Sigh) I remind myself that, this is Waikiki - cultural prostitution is the standard currency. I should expect no more than to be only slightly offended at having my culture bubble wrapped with a shiny label of a hula dancer and sold with a free lei to Japanese tourists. Peace. After all, t rex sells.

E, se ua muliga fo'i se keige o le Miss. Ahar. "Fai ia gi au meaaoga!" my mother would say.

Anyways, gotta go. Cody Roxanne calls.


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