A Pointless Post Concerning Valentines Day and Belly Dancers

On Valentines day a boy gave me a flower...

He was four (or five? possibly six? what, I barely know how old I am) but, personally, I think that makes it cuter. I also got Valentines from my entire Lit class. Among the notable well wishes and compliments (50% of them told me I was smart... which would have been flattering if I wasn't sure that they said that because they couldn't remember anything else about me), I was told that I was smarter than Glenn Beck... Thanks, Kiana. I think.

Be warned: This post has no point. I just wrote an essay about Beloved that was dripping with points, and I've run out. So this will be throughly pointless.

I've been studying for my drivers test (finally) and have spent most of the time wondering who wrote the manual. Whoever it was delighted in obvious truths such as: "No one can see as well at night as they can during during the day."

Um... Yes. Thank you for that. I was unsure before.

I really like some of their hypothetical questions too, one of which involved jaywalkers and asked how a mature driver would engage in such a situation. Among suggested answers was "give them a little nudge to show them who's road it is." I guess can't really begrudge them that one. If I wrote a driving manual I'd probably work in as many incredibly stupid answers as I could.

I hope I never write a driving manual. Ever. I do wonder how you'd go about getting that job, though. Kind of like being a tattoo-artist. Do you have to be licenced  or read a manual? Who do you practice on? And belly dancers too. How do you learn to belly dance and when does it stop becoming a slightly strange hobby/exercise regime and start being a profession? I'm not sure. And I don't think I care enough to google it.

One of the problems of living in a small college town is that it really isn't part of The Real World. Most people here go to school or work for the school. We don't have any driving manual writers, tattoo-artists, or belly dancers that I'm aware of. And while that's OK we're not chock-full of chefs, engineers, interior decorators or farmers either. The result being that when I sat down to write out my possible future occupations (for a school thing--I'm am neither cool nor nerdy enough to diagram my future without my grade being involved) I could only think of four. Four occupations total, not occupations I wanted. They were: teacher, plumber, and beautician. And tattoo-artist

Help.

I am going to finish these posts and leave these thoughts and go study for my theory midterm. Hegel and Gramsci are calling, folks. I'm going to go answer them so that I'll maybe have some occupational options later in life. I don't think I'd be a really good tattoo-artist.

Over.

Being A Tourist

My cousin, my cousin's husband, my cousin's husband's sister, and my cousin's husband's sister's husband are all here vacationing with us this week. (Did you get all that?)

I woke up on Friday and found the latter two mentioned on my living room floor and woke up on Saturday and found the former two on my office floor. I was pretty disappointed today when I woke up and found I didn't have any extended (or very extended) family on my kitchen floor. None in the bathroom either, though that would have been a little disturbing.

When family comes to visit us, which happens anywhere from once to three times a year, we pull out our book of Everything You Need To Know To Be A Tourist In Hawaii. Everyone has something to add. Mei likes to give them the rundown on malasadas (think doughnut holes, puffed up, deep fried with powdered sugar and some kind of filling)

and Ted's Bakery Chocolate Haupia/Chocolate Macadamia Nut Pies

so that they'll go out and buy some so we can eat them too.

My mom warns them about things. She tells them about people who have gotten lost in the mountains, or have dived into the ocean and hit their head on the rocks they didn't know where there (always look first!) or got a terrible infection from corral scrapes. She also tells them about places that they should eat, like the shrimp trucks, Haliewa Eats, etc.

My dad tells his famous rip tide story:

Ahem. Back when dad was body-boarding in really big waves (and mom insisted that he have an equally big life insurance policy) he was out at the beach one day when he saw these two military guys, buff and tattooed, swimming against a current. The life guard was on the beach trying to explain to them through vague gesticulations that they needed to swim parallel to the shore. They weren't getting it and my dad paddled out and saved them.

Moral of the story: Even when you're a big, buff, tattooed military guy, you don't fight against the water and win and if you try you're going to end up being saved by a communications professor who is much smaller than you.

My cousin, Julie, told my dad that she already knew about swimming parallel to the beach from Bay Watch, so she was good-ta-go as far was water safety was concerned. See, Bay Watched payed off. I feel the same way about West Wing when I take Gov quizzes.

My part in all of this is the chapter titled How Not To Look Like A Tourist. There are several things one must remember when doing this

1. It's called LEE-KAY-LEE-KAY High way, even though it's spelled Likelike.
2. Don't take your Hawaiian pronunciation too far, it's not pee-pay-lee-nay, it's Pipe Line.
3. Take my high school band shirt and throw it on your dashboard, in a vain attempt to convince those who would break into your car that it isn't really a rental.
4. Don't leave anything in your car in case they're not convinced.
5. No aloha shirts, fanny packs, straightened hair, flowered board shorts, or cameras hanging around your neck.
6. If you wear any of those things, please don't stand next to me.
7. Put on sun screen. No matter what your teacher told you, the sun you've lived under is different from the one here. I don't care if you tan. Here you burn.
8. No, really. No one likes lobster skin. It's painful and embarrassing. 

So far no one seems to have earned any third degree burns (this time). They've had Ted's pie and yesterday no one was dragged out by a riptide. So far so good.

Over.