not including the mezzanine.

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8 september 1997

11:54 p.m.

Dear diary, Kapena was playing in concert on campus today. I grabbed another saimin (it's called the "Manoa Saimin Stand," by the way), and sat on the steps of Campus Center to enjoy the surprise show. It was clear and sunny, but unusually breezy, and the band was in good form. I was enjoying myself so much, I almost got myself on television stuffing noodles into my face. Sometimes I forget how great it is to be living here, and going to school at Manoa. Sure, the governor will keep slashing the budget until the course catalog is a tri-fold pamphlet, but damn... the weather's nice. And live entertainment? From fire-and-brimstone Jesus freaks (ideal for heckling) to upbeat, Hawaiian pop, we've got your pleasure. The concert was actually a benefit for a local group one of my old Hawaiian instructors is involved in. When I saw him at the booth, he unleashed a barrage of Hawaiian that left me gasping for breath. Flustered, I gave the generic response: "Maika`i, pehea `oe?" ("Good, how are you?") Mercilessly, he kept rambling on, pausing occasionally for me to answer some question I didn't even hear. I eventually figured out that he was asking me whether I could bring some household goods to donate for the needy. I snuck away, feeling just a tad short of stupid. To soothe my conscience, I popped down to the bookstore and bought a pack of soap bars and brought it back to the booth. He said "thank you," that much I recognized. Derek and I tried the Dixie Grill yesterday. It's a Southern-themed bar and restaurant -- replete with plastic bibs and a stuffed gator -- on Ward Avenue, across from where the old Gem store used to be. (I know very well it's a "Sports Authority" now, but the local landmark convention requires I give directions using places that no longer exist.) Just about everyone I know had lots of good things to say about the place, including Jen, who's the closest thing to a Southern expert I know. And I have to admit, it was pretty good... even with the smelly waiters. To get a feel for the place, I should note the prominent placement of a sign that read: We reserve the right to refuse service to anyone wearing a Hard Rock or Planet Hollywood T-Shirt. On Jen's reccomendation, we went with the "Trashcan Buffet." Wouldn't you know it, the food -- and there was quite a bit of it -- was served in an upturned trash can lid. They also provided a little trash bucket for bones, shells and other dining debris. We got, for $14,95 per head, a platter piled high with ribs (accompanied by six varieties of barbecue sauce), crab, shrimp, chicken, corn, applesauce, beans, cole slaw and fries. Although I initially refused to wear the plastic bib, I quickly changed my mind after realizing the use of silverware was clearly discouraged. Each table was also appointed with its own industrial-sized roll of paper towels, and we learned very quickly how important they were. A decent meal, to be sure, but appallingly messy. And I think I burned as many calories struggling with the crab alone as I got from all the food combined. One saving grace, though, was the bar. It's specialty, the "Screaming Mai Tai," is, in fact, served with a scream. And the glass had to be a foot, maybe eighteen inches tall. I emptied mine and finished off Derek's as well. Suffice it to say, I was in a really good mood last night. So good, I forgot to do a paper for Hawaiian. (Thankfully, most of my classmates forgot too. We got an extension to Thursday.) I doubt I've come anywhere near experiencing a true Southern meal. Heck, genuine Southerners probably look at places like the Dixie Grill with the same disdain as most locals have for "Hawaiian" restaurants on the mainland (where food is Hawaiianized by adding either shoyu or pineapples). Still, any restaurant that openly attacks trendiness (which, I know, could be said to be trendy in itself) is okay by me. Color me out of touch. Nate's girlfriend actually got on a plane and moved in with him. Last I heard, she was planning to run off... but since she'd chickened out the first time I put my money on her changing her mind again. Respectfully minding my own business, I simply waited to for the inevitable "well, fuck!" e-mail from him. Next thing I know, the girl and her pet bird are in Oregon. From what I understand, her departure was kept from everyone in her family, and has become quite the scandal of the decade. Though I don't know much about her, I know pissing off her kin was just about the last thing she'd ever do. She's scored a couple of big points in my book. So, now the great experiment: cohabitation. I wish them the greatest of luck... and patience.