butt to the bug

Lucrecia asked of a recent post: "What the eff are butt-bugs?"

I've decided I may as well settle this in a larger forum than the comments, which only one person (me) may read, so that my entire readership (Lucrecia and maybe Dennis) may learn. Sorry, self-deprecating quips about this blog being an exercise in navel-gazing just never seem to get old.

Butt-bugs are like my students. They started out being the bane of my existence here in Kona, but have oddly endeared themselves to me, perhaps because I've realized just how benign they are in comparison to the other evils out there, like giant flying cockroaches, Blackwater, centipedes, and corporate lawyers like those portrayed in Michael Clayton.

I believe the common name for the butt-bug is "earwig;" however, when we first encountered them shortly after moving here, in utter terror due to their shiny black carapaces and forked scorpion-like tails (or are those their heads?), we first ran screaming, then quickly named them butt-bugs because, well....hmm. I guess because they have weird butts? Also, it was around the time I saw a bratty toddler on Supernanny call her mother "Butt pie," which caused us to start calling each other that, which caused "butt" to enter into our vocabulary to a remarkable degree that has only increased.

At certain times of year, B.B.s are everywhere: dead ones on the floor and in the windowsill, live ones milling around wherever they please. One morning I found one stuck in the water gauge of the coffee maker. We never used it again. The funniest BB experience was when one hitched a ride to school with me on the outside of my car. Our evening conversations began to prominently feature our respective discoveries of butt-bugs during the day--in the lid of my Ziploc container at lunch, or worse. "They've hit the bedroom."

Ben and I have both had nightmares about them. I've lived a real-life nightmare when I suddenly realized I was surrounded on all sides by them in the shower.

But they endear themselves to me by never biting, and by running away cutely when I chase them (but not so fast that I can't catch them), not being able to fly, and looking sort of like tiny toys. All much like my students.

So that, Dear Lucrecia/Reader, is what butt bugs mean to me. I don't wish I could take them with me to Seattle, but nor do I wish to destroy them completely. Because who knows what we could have to deal with in their place? Much like...you know.

i'm going to miss this

• Going to seminars for work that are held either a) at the Sheraton Keauhou, affording the precise view upon which I meditated on my wedding day; or b) at the Sheraton Waikiki, where on my breaks I can thaw from frigid air-conditioning by watching Japanese tourists sunbathe floors below, learn to surf, or plan their Western weddings. All of which I did today during the state meeting of English teachers.

• Buffet luncheons at said teacher functions that are so resplendent in their offerings of protein and sugars (fish, chicken, fried tofu and beef, plus five desserts!) that we Ts spend the rest of the day proudly comparing how much we ate. Actual overheard snippets: "Ho, look at the dessert plates! Most hotels only give you the small-kine saucers so you only can take one. Can fit all of 'em on those." (English teachers like to exercise their local roots at all-teacher functions.) And, "I can't believe I'm hungry again [on the ride to the airport]. I ate choke of that fried tofu and watercress salad. And the chicken long rice, oh and the scalloped potatoes. Must be because I only had one half-slice of the tiramisu. Oh, and little bit of the guava cake. Oh. And I guess some creme brulee. But I never eat breakfast.....just the doughnut when we got here, and a muffin and bagel with four cream cheeses. Ugh, I could not possibly fit another morsel of food into my mouth."

Good GOD, but my dialogue skills are pathetic. I realize now that I have been projecting by including a dialogue component in my class's final writing project. When I suck at it. This is projecting, see. At least, based on my sub-high school-level training in the discipline. Of psychology, not dialogue.

Whatever, that was a composite of quotes I carefully squirreled away in my mind, along with an attempted catalog of social offenses committed against me on the plane by this classic A-hole couple that I sat next to. They stole my window seat and never said a word, clearly hoping--okay, knowing--that I wouldn't challenge them because of my nice mousely demeanor.

I also squirreled up some exhibits of classic teacher behavior that makes you certain they qualify for sainthood. Who else would have to check out an ancient laptop to bring to a conference on media literacy? Or jokingly note that their eating habits are so screwed up by living according to a bell, they nearly faint when denied their 10:00 snack or 12:00 lunch, and have to grab the sides of the metal detector to avoid crumpling to the floor? And only one of those examples is me! Don't worry, I didn't almost crumple. I risked great shame to my family by taking three trips to the buffet, and eating a gross carrot muffin, to prevent that from happening.

I'm sure teachers in Washington, should I be so lucky as to get hired as one, suffer comparable injustices, complainable offenses, yadda yadda. But I doubt whether I will ever feel such solidarity as with the teachers of my homeland, if for no other reason than I now can say I've given up my lunch breaks to make candy leis and been swayed in the awarding of a scholarship by whether or not someone regularly signed up to bring "Main Dish" to potlucks. And that I watched a woman eat a commercially produced Spam musubi during a conference presentation at 9:50, and I would have traded a year of tenure to trade places.


* sharing a ride with a colleague I've only met once, but who is totally warm, sharing of her personal life, cheerleading of mine, and effuses of my shoes (gray and black Crocs sandals with a silver button) without the usual retro-irony, "Oh da cuuute!"

* Living in a place where Spam Musubi is commercially produced, candy leis are a valid part of school culture and a currency of the National Honor Society, and Crocs are acceptable professional footwear.

whoops a daisy!

I guess I forgot to update this to report that we've decided to move to Seattle. Missy Mussy Develops S.A.D. may be an upcoming headline.

In other news, we got a Wii. I love it because I am a decent bowler according to its standards. Ben has already bought a new game, The Godfather, and is hard at work trying to beat it with the help of internet tips.

The final countdown is on: 13 more days of school. I have a ton of papers to grade, and have to figure out how to goad my students into finishing the final project that I foolishly decided to undertake in these last weeks. As a senior class adviser, I also have to work on an awards night, 2 full days of graduation rehearsal, and graduation itself. The main task involved is keeping students from getting wasted.

What I really want to be doing is scouring Real Simple back issues for tips on how to pack our stuff, and planning how Ben and I are going to play house in our new tiny apartment! I'm actually looking forward to having a smaller space to keep clean. And no butt-bugs in Seattle!