WANTED

There is definately something to be said of creative questioning. I've been keeping track of the times I've been asked, "So where are you from?" since I moved here and I think the total is now 52,567,034. That one's easy to answer. The second most asked question, and not as easy to answer by far is "What made you decide to move to Hawaii?" That total is only around 51,036,287. Given, people are being friendly and kind by asking about me and expressing an interest in me which is awesome, but it makes me feel like I only have two lines in the play of my life and I keep forgetting the second one!

To remedy this situation I have developed a two pronged solution: Creative responses and creative questioning. Success at the first tactic employs both wit and wildness. For example, creative responses to "What made you decide to move to Hawaii?" could be "Oh, I'm wanted in the the other 49 states, but try not to tell anyone," or "I'm here to end apartheid." My personal favorite creative response that has particular pertinence on the islands is "PETA sent me to defend the rights of the fish used in sushi."

Since I do not wish to be part of the repetitive questioning problem I employ the second tactic, creative questioning. I suggest beginners start by taking a familiar question and using it in a different context. For example, "Nice to meet you Steve, paper or plastic?" Veterans, however, should feel free to draw from any line of questioning that seems relevant and applicable. One my brother finds very informative is "If you could choose from West Nile Virus, the Avian Flu, or Mad Cow's Disease, which would it be?" There really is no limit to the possibilities here. With that, I welcome you to the revolution of small talk.

Oh, and if you have any questions, make it a good one.

Mango Madness

Mangoes are turning me into a thief! The other day some guy gave my roommate a bagfull of ripe mangoes and she said I could help myself, they would be in the fridge. The next morning I went upstairs to the shared full kitchen and had the best mango I have ever tasted in my life for breakfast. I am talking juicy, sweet, dripping, ripe mango. I am talking Lehi's dream delicious here. I had to exercise some serious restraint with regards to the remaining mangoes but I talked myself out of the kitchen and walked away.

I mentioned my heavenly experience with my morning mango to my roommate. She pointed out that the mangoes given to her were in a different refrigerator and I must have eaten someone else's mango! I was astonished, shocked and chagrined but not one bit remorseful. I replaced the now-missing mango from my roommate's stash and helped myself to two more from the right refrigerator that were tasty but a little too ripe.

You would think my thieving ways were over, but no. I was on a walk around the neighborhood in the early evening yesterday and what do I behold? A beautiful big mango tree with ripening mangoes on it. I looked up and saw the perfect mango. I swear it was the reincarnation of my morning mango haunting my tastebuds. The only problem was the location of the mango tree. It was inside a fenced yard, and a short fence at that. Some of the tree was hanging over the fence in public air and space mind you, but not my beautiful perfectly ripened mango. It was well over my head on the inside of the fence. I could probably reach it with a stick. Needless to say I was standing in the street for 10 minutes debating strategery (using a "word" from President Bush) in the acquisition of the coveted mango. In the end, I decided to walk away but to this very day that hanging mango looms over my head and my mouth waters as I slump in defeat and regret.

I've got Mango Madness. It's turning me into someone I don't know anymore. I'm scared. I've already got one and a half incidents of theft on my hands. What if I hurt someone? I just don't want to turn on the people that really love me. If you know where I can get help . . .

Auntie

Hawaiians use a lot of terms that you would never find on the mainland. You would never hear Mahalo instead of 'thank you' or Aloha for goodbye, hello, or love. Part of the linguistic culture maintains that if you are speaking to a native of your generation they are your cousin, or cuz. On the other hand, if you are speaking to someone of an older generation they are your auntie or uncle. Native speakers also use the terms auntie and uncle to convey respect kinda like how you would use usted conjugation in Spanish. For example, all the bus drivers are referred to as auntie or uncle irrespective of age.

I was really flattered the other day when a fellow lady bus rider I was on the bus with asked me "How 'bout you auntie, you getting off here?" I think she used the formality because I was dressed for a job interview, but I came home that night thinking "Someone called me auntie!" I was so touched that I told my roommate, who is as white as the day is long, to which she replied "I've been here since January and no one has ever called me auntie." I took the opportunity to NOT point out the obvious, that to native Hawaiians she was a haole (someone of the White or Caucasian race). I was a little sad for her because I was so warmed by the verbal inclusion. The very next day a little kid called me auntie when he asked me for a dollar to ride the bus, but I think he was just buttering me up. Unfortunately, it hasn't happened to me since. My goal in life is to be referred to as cuz. I'll keep you posted.

Jeepers Creepers

This whole story happened because I am seriously blind without my glasses. I was in the shower this morning and my current accommodations here on Maui are a little "rustic" at best. I cannot turn the light on in the shower/laundry room without scampering of some sort by flying cockroaches, geckos, spiders, and others whom I've disturbed during their daily activities. Now, I am admittedly paraniod about all creatures that scamper and so my hygeine experiences are a little hurried and anxious.

Today the pits needed a little tending to, so I popped off the top of my shaving cream and as I do this, something big and black drops to the floor of the shower. My arsenal against creep crawly things consists of one weapon: screaming my brains out. In this instance I was so terrified I could only manage a healthy yelp which was promptly followed by me jumping out of the shower and dancing around the laundry room dripping wet "acting like a crazy person" (as my Mom would say). When I got the courage to peek in the shower stall at the floor, it turns out that my big black creepy crawly friend was indeed the head of my Mac3 razor that flew off when I removed the cap of the shaving cream. I was both grateful and pissed! I got back in the shower
even more paranoid than I was originally, put my razor together with shaking hands and finished my daily ablutions.

If I wasn't blind as a bat, I could have prevented a total nervous breakdown in the shower this morning. Frankly, I am still in recovery. I think there is a lesson about fear here, or expanding my arsenal. Maybe I should create the bug haters toolbelt and make it waterproof for others who have shower companions they don't necessarily want. It would at least have to include RAID, ant killer, spider killer, and a multi-purpose killer for ambiguous bugs. Ahhhhh finally, my first million . . .

OCEAN BREEZES

It's amazing how the smell of the ocean here can bring me back to Far Rockaway, Queens. I'm remembering my grandmother and how much she loves being by the ocean, her fine gray hairs dancing in the breeze. That tangible smell conjures something within that I cannot articulate except to say that it is part longing, part nostalgia, part something very peaceful. I feel comforted when that smell surrounds me. It's like being home.

I live at the mouth of the 'Iao Valley and as no place in Maui is far from the ocean, neither am I. Due to my proximity to the West Maui mountains it is always cooler here in the evenings, the winds a little more obvious but still delicious on your skin after a relentlessly sunny day. I am blessed by the beauty that surrounds me here.