i'm not the kind of girl who gives up just like that.

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22 march 1997

8:55 p.m.

Dear diary, By the time I got home last night, I was dehydrated, sweaty, aching, partially deaf, mildly inebriated, hosting a headache to end all headaches and every article of clothing and strand of hair smelled like a potpourri of questionable carcinogens. Man how I've missed that feeling. Like the devoted rebel radiohead I am, I went down to the "Bring Back Radio Free Hawai`i Rally" yesterday at Nimitz Hall (formerly "The Groove" -- and a half-dozen other names that still can't hide the fact that it's a rusty warehouse). Derek, the stinker, opted out, but I managed to meet up with a few people I knew very distantly from work. (Let me tell you... you don't really know a coworker 'til you've seen her in tiger-print pants.) I also managed to surprise the glasses off Nate... literally. I guess he had just gotten in, 'cause he didn't look too healthy. Then again, he didn't say how many beers he'd had before I arrived. His significant other also chose not to consort with us heathens. After one of the most obscene hugs I've been subject to in some time, he bought me (and himself) a beer, summarized the last two months of his life in Portland in a flurry of yelling and mad gesticulations, and roped me into driving him to his folks' place in Wahiawa after the festivities were over. He then disappeared into the moderately-sized crowd on the dance floor. I got there late, so I missed part of the set by "Go Jimmy Go." They're a local ska band I don't know too well but -- after hearing them play -- I absolutely must track. They were outstanding, especially considering the calibre and chosen genre of most local bands (i.e. electric drunk rock). One song was titled "Skalihi" -- which I found particularly funny because ska would be the last kind of music I'd associate with Kalihi. In a flash of synchronicity, they also did a great rendition of The Paragons' "The Tide is High." I've had it stuck in my head since Tuesday. They signed off, sadly, just as I was starting to get into the music. Then, all the deejays from Radio Free lined up on stage. It's difficult to really describe the feeling caused by seeing people you know really well by voice and temprament, but almost never see in person. By and large, most of them didn't look like I thought they did, and damn near all of them were considerably shorter than I thought they were. They then pummeled the crowd with various freebies... including shirts, CDs and tapes that were giveaways from the station but never made it to their chosen owners. After a particularly... eclectic dance-slash-rave set spun by the ever-prolific deejay Daniel J, Sheriff Norm took the stage. He then gave what can only be described as the "I Have a Dream" soliloquy of the alternative music world. There's nothing quite as surreal as seeing a pudgy, long-white-haired, almost-Jerry-Garcia-lookalike shouting of "missions" and "dreams" and "fighting back" to a undulating crowd of teen-to-thirtysomethings in Dr. Seuss hats, neon green tube tops and rubber pants. I wish I could remember exactly what he said, but by that point the beer started kicking in. I was busy trying to figure out whether $2 was too much to pay for a skinny bottle of water. Then the next band took the stage -- BYK. (For what it's worth, it apparently stands for, "Beat Your Kids.") In addition to supporting the RFH revival movement, the well-dressed rockers were there to celebrate the release of their first CD, "I Don't Mind." Nate managed to snag a CD during the freebie feeding frenzy. It featured songs like "Disgruntled Postal Workers" and "In Heaven There is no Beer." Although they're apparently the wunderkinds of the Hawai`i band scene, it didn't take three songs before I started to get a headache. I could tell they were good, but the sound just wasn't my cup of tea. In the end, though, their cover of "Who Put the Bomp" redeemed them. After a brief surprise dance with a remarkably friendly guy (who looked all of sixteen), I managed to find and say goodbye to my colleagues -- who were busy trying to out-drink eachother upstairs -- and dragged Nate out into the cool, deathly silent Kaka`ako night. We caught up during the drive up to Wahiawa. In an ironic twist, he brought me up to date on friends here. And thankfully, this time he managed to keep the contents of his stomach private. It's half past midnight. At this very moment, Greg is at the Marilyn Manson concert, hopefully not getting killed or hit with flying scorpions. This is procrastination. He's leaving for Kaua`i tomorrow, and if Derek and I are going, I have to get in touch with him between now and 9 a.m. Derek's already asleep, and "Natural Born Killers" -- try as it might -- isn't doing a very good job of keeping me awake. Seeing as how Greg took his boyfriend to the show, and seeing as how his review is due at 8 a.m., I'm not exactly sure how to get in touch with him. Of course, I consistently depend on things miraculously falling into place. They always do.