luminous beings are we, not this crude matter.
23 february 1997
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11:13 p.m.
| Dear diary, I'm thinking I should name you, "Waiting for the Laundry." It seems to be a recurring theme in our meetings. The wind was ripping last night. The building across from mine had big squares of corrugated steel ripped off it. I found out about that this morning when some of the brats downstairs discovered them and dragged them up and down the sidewalk for thrills. Meanwhile, there's a three-foot pile of leaves, drink cups and other assorted garbage piled up against the main gate. Judging by past experience, it'll sit there and rustle occasionally until -- over the course of a week -- most of it makes it into the walkway area where it will eventually become a permanent part of this complex's "garden." That is unless the aforementioned brats decide to build a trash castle or something. A lot of people consider unusual weather some sort of message from the gods. I can deal with that. Last night, I walked in to find receipts and other small pieces of yellow paper all over the place -- the wind had actually managed to open and seems to have rifled through my checkbook. I found one from Foodland for $7.03 (a charge slip, no less) and another from Casual Corner (an outfitter) for $137.18. I chuckled over them as I boiled up some Macaroni and Cheese. Priorities, anyone?
I still haven't found out whether "Hamlet" opened here yet. Friday night, it was "Empire Strikes Back" instead. Derek was sucked into going and meeting up with a couple of his coworkers. Thankfully, I was more in a mood to deal with a rowdy sci-fi crowd than spending four-hours with the artsy breed anyway. A bit of a tiff erupted over the choice of venues, though, as I wasn't going to settle for anything less than the Waikiki Three. Our companions, however, had a common case of waiksphobia. Derek did a fine job of defending our camp (while he really didn't care either way), though, and in no time there were two more cars among millions circling for parking in my bustling 'hood. After a split-second introduction in the lobby, we got in just as the "Return of the Jedi" preview came on (heralded by a deafening cheer). The house was packed. There were people sitting in the aisles and everything. When we saw "Star Wars," we were three rows from the front. This time, not only did we end up in the front row, but half of us -- namely the men -- ended up sitting on the floor. This movie screen is a good three stories high -- we could see up Vader's nose. Again, I wasn't too sure I liked all the computer-graphic embellishments they added, but underneath it all it was still a great film. I was reminded of a scene in "Clerks," where there's a debate over whether "Empire" or "Jedi" is the better movie. Since, out of the three flicks, I knew "Empire" the least well, I couldn't fathom how anyone could like it better. After seeing it (literally) up close and personal, though, I think I actually agree. Of course, between tragedy and comedy, I'll take the melodramatic downer any day. It was only after we walked (or limped) out that proper introductions were made. Sean, quite talkative for who I gathered was an accountant of some kind, and Mary, who worked in some capacity with Sean for four years and has been married to him for two. Together, an almost grotesquely content pair of state workers. ("They're nice," I told Derek later, "but don't ever end up like that.") We drove over to Wailana Coffee House, where we tried to distract ourselves from the bad service with an endless stream of Star Wars quotes. Derek's pathetic (and undercooked) waffle elicted Yoda's "Size matters not." The $2 tip we settled on, after some debate, was endorsed with same. Actually, the consensus was no tip at all. Oddly enough, I was the one that insisted we leave something. I regretted it later. Regretting an act of pity (charity?) is a bizarre feeling. Derek said Sean and Mary were eager to meet me, and I figured the outing was an inspection of sorts. I figured that also from Sean's parting comment, which I guess means I passed: "I like you. You're neat." Neat. I wonder how that'd look under my name on a business card? Anyway, I think we're all meeting again next weekend. A beach picnic for a jaycees group that Sean's in (Derek's a lapsed member). Now that I've socialized with some of Derek's coworkers, I feel like I should subject him to some of my esteemed peers. He's under some ridiculous impression that state workers are "strange" and "weird." He's obviously never spent much time with people in medicine. Half the time I'm not sure which of us should be the patients.
I've got a pretty interesting assignment in Hawaiian this weekend. Each of us were given a verse from assorted Hawaiian songs, and we have to translate them. Or rather, we have to interpret them. This is the first time we've worked with things so abstract. Because there are so many ways to form sentences, and words often have dozens of meanings, there's no telling what the writer was really trying to say. Moreso than in most other languages, though, the multitude of different readings are accepted as just as valid. Listeners, I guess, hear what makes sense to them. The fact that a song has meaning to individual people is more significant than whether or not the same idea is understood by everyone.
WaikaI find it fascinating that Hawaiians gave different and distinct proper names for types of winds and types of rain. Malanai can be felt in Koloa on Kaua`i, Hana on Maui and in Kailua on this island. Kipu`upu`u only blows in Waimea. That means the cold, wildly-shifting wind that's coming into my apartment now has a name too. Suddenly I'm less inclined to shut everything up tightly... like I should let it through. I figure it's been around considerably longer than my building... |
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