Hi! I'm back! Well, when I was in Florida and went to Disney World, Epcot, and M.G.M., the first things I noticed were the CLEANLINESS, FRIENDLINESS, and of course the RIDES! The Disney article didn't go to waste after all. I knew what to expect and what rides were the best. After our vacation I re-read the article and was amazed at how everything was so true. Remember me at Quiz Bowl time because I'm really looking forward to it! Much love and aloha, Caroline Wong P.S. "Bright Green" shirts this year! Caroline Wong TEMPEST IN A TEACUPALL KIDDING ASIDE: AN OPEN GRADUATION LETTER TO NICOLE, CATHY, STARR, LANI, SUMMER, FAITH, DANA, HEIDI, KATHY, SHEN, LAUREEN, JEANEEN, AND CAROLINE I wanna be where the people are. I wanna see--wanna see 'em dancin', Walkin' around on those, What-d-ya call 'em, Oh feet. Howard Ashman PART OF YOUR WORLD Our little group has always been and always will until the end. Kurt Cobain SMELLS LIKE TEEN SPIRIT Hey! I never kid anyone I don't like. Bill Teter "Yup, I stuck my gum right on the wall. I wanted to leave my mark, you know. You know, you can actually see that wall from the moon. So, like, if you look really, really, really hard from the moon, you could actually see my gum." Chinese tokens become earrings as Fate strikes at the flea market I always try to do my very best I just know I'll never live here . . . again Killer rebuttals at McKinley kicking re-butt multi-multi-multi Taco Bell packs AND a taco salad "The weaker sex only exists to serve US!" Dr. Cabalo, fresh out of law school, explains to her eager Radcliffe fresh(wo)men class. The young women listening, nod rapt approval of their learned professor's opinion, while they watch her hands play games in the air. By the time she hit Damien everyone with half a brain feared that little freshman "No no no no no!" Mookie Anderson exclaims, leaping out of her seat, exasperated by her pupil's inability to fake it. "That's not how you smoke a cigarette, girl. Eh, you nevah seen nobody smoke o' wot?" The willing student shakes her head in a silent NO. "Geez Louise! You nevah seen your buds takin' drags in da bat'room?" Another head shake. "Not behind da MPB?" Head shake. "Not behind da orchestra room?" Head shake. "Not even ova at Campus Centah?" Head shake. "Man oh man," Mookie sighs, pounding the palm of her hand against her forehead. "Girl, you stay givin' me Excedrin headache numbah one wit one bullet." The pupil whispers, "I'm terribly sorry, Coach Mooks, but I guess you could say that I've led a rather sheltered life." "I AM A STARRRRRRR" It was a subtle concept but I think she understood it before she tiptoed out on that hot tin roof across University Avenue to find her future. Toward perfection LANi LE sweats blood on Sundays too. "And before I return your ballots to you," Coach Mike warns, holding them behind his back, well out of reach, "I want to tell you something." She waits, nodding enthusiastically, anticipating yet another pearl of coachly wisdom. Mike continues tentatively, still concealing the ballots. "You should never never never ever take what the judges say seriously." A puzzled look crosses her face. "But, Coach, you always tell us we should consider every single carefully chosen word the judges write as sacred truth." "NO!" Mike states emphatically. "Take my word for it! All advice offered by any judge, no matter how carefully chosen or subtly worded, is WRONG! Wrong wrong wrong wrong WRONG! Got it?" Written all over her face are the words "I think I'll be the judge of that." Mike calls nervously over his shoulder, "Chris! Did you start up my car yet?" "Yo!" comes the heartening reply from the parking lot. Coach Mike carefully produces the ballots from behind his back. Taking a step away from his student, he offers them to her with a shaking hand. "Now, uh, here you go." She reaches for them, but he pulls the sheets back from her. "I'll hand them over to you, okay, but as soon as you take them, I want you to know that I have to run. I'm talking gonesville, you catch?" She gives him a curious look. "Deal?" Mike demands. "Okay okay okay already." Coach Mike tosses the ballots in her direction, turns, and runs like Carl Lewis out the door to his waiting car. Don't, I repeat, DO NOT shoot your coach! No matter what some idiot judge suggests-- and no pantyhose strangulation either. The silver-haired sisters rattling around Sacred Hearts-- OHMAGODOHMAGODOHMAGODOHMAGOD-- she shook them up. . . . and the living is easy . . . unless you wear shoes and suffer foot tan lines. To be politically correct it should not be a handicap, but a golf disability. "She did what to him?" Chris asks Ms. Mills incredulously. "Well, she didn't exactly pat him on the back and send him off with flowers, candy, and well wishes for all kinds of success in his future endeavors." "And so now you say he wants revenge?" Ms. Mills puffs on her cigarette and shakes her head sorrowfully. "Yes, poor thing. He says he's going to go out to the Bayview driving range every night until he can bring down his golf disability to the point where he can whip her." They sigh in utter dismay over this impossible dream. "My God," Chris says, "I don't think there are that many nights left in this lifetime." NOTHING is pointless Sitting politely at Maryknoll Grade School on tiny chairs listening before up and speaking softly southern that dark humor of death. "Man this saimin is so onolicious!" she shouts with great gusto. "But I fear it lacks something . . . something." Looking up at the ceiling, she taps an index finger on her chin. "Oh I know! I'd like it just a wee bit spicier." She jabs an elbow in her innocent coach's rib cage. "Eh Mikey! Try pass me dat flamet'rowah bottle of hot sauce. An make it snappy!" The always responsive, unsuspecting gentleman slides the evil bottle dutifully toward his secret executioner. Crashed out in the Mules' cafeteria in her stylin' Mickey Mouse sleeping jacket she dreams that EVERYTHING has a point. A big bad nun accosts the tiny now-cowering child in the hallway. "Little girl, you must cease this loud talk in the corridors. Why? Because you cannot control the volume of your idle chatter. You have disrupted every single class on this entire elementary school campus. And this is not the first time this has happened either. Why do we continue to give you hall passes? The whole neighborhood is up in arms because of your vocal cacophony. What do you have to say for yourself?" The listener winces. In a very, very soft voice she apologizes. "And I promise from this day on that I will always speak very softly." "Swear it!" the mean old nun demands, her sharp teeth glistening in the sun. "I swear it," the little girl whispers. "I can't hear you!" the nun shouts in Drill Instructor cadence. "Isn't that the point?" Dana remarks quietly. Baldwin in the dark-- screaming, screaming, screaming, screaming, screaming-- Sorry, Wrong Number. Nawp, that's just not her style. Speaking out and talking big have nothing to do with volume. "Options? I have no other options." The frail girl bursts into violent sobs. The admissions interviewer offers her a tissue. "Boo Hoo, oh Boo Hoo Hooooo!" He knows, right then and there, that this young woman will only be rejected by the Lab School over his dead body. And besides, the Lab School could sure use a good student newspaper. She swears her sacred vow to recycle the earth like they did with the polished Koa railings in the Kamehameha Schools library where she proved to him she is so brave. "Boy, you really drive like Speed Racer, yeah?" she comments, mimicking his pose. Hunched over the wheel, he puts the pedal to the metal and blazes a speed-of-light trail on the wide open freeway to Kapaa High School. Unfortunately, the brakes fail as he screeches into the crowded parking lot. Calling upon all his driving skill, he artfully dodges the Punahou speech team, veers away from the Iolani van, and barely misses ending the life of Craig Lockwood. Crashing through the wall of the Administration Building, the sleek Ford Econoline maxivan, equipped, sadly, with driver AND passenger stereo control knobs, takes out the Vice-Principal's office and comes to rest atop the Principal's Hurricane Iwa Survivor T-shirt. "Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God, oh my God and Yikes!" he exclaims, unhunching himself to observe the havoc he has wrought. "How will we ever repair this damage before anyone sees it?" "Don't forget," she reminds him, "my father is a contractor." Taking care of Earl, taking care of Anna, taking care of business. He opens the college survival kit given to him for his high school graduation. After examining the contents he can understand what all the objects are to be used for, except one. "Odd," he murmurs into the night sky. "What on earth would he give this to me for? How could this possibly come in handy in a college setting? What is college? Is college not an adventure where we seek to expand our minds to the limits of all that has been learned? And knowing what has already been discovered, do we not then use our acquired knowledge to discover that which was not known before? College is the ultimate exercise of the mind. As I understand it, college is nothing but study, study, study, study, and more study. Where oh where would instantly fresh breath ever enter into this picture?" After his trial at Sacred Hearts the argument turned this way: that the highest, hardest art to learn, is absolute compassion. In that one encounter he changed a life. "Interesting," she muses. "I feel as if we have intersected a parallel universe right here at Maryknoll Grade School. This sister from another dimension is doing my story." She ponders awhile, meditatively rubbing her chin, then whispers objectively, "While I'm sure that this other universe must share many characteristics in common with our own, in our universe at least, I do seem to notice that we have advanced to the stage where we actually practice our pieces." Robert Redford--no no no-- Kevin Costner--no no no-- Paul Newman--no no no-- . . . . . . . . . . . . KARANG! A girl walks into the Blue Light Bar and Grill with a television on her head-- stop me if you've heard this one before . . . "You'd really like my sister. She likes older men. And she has a nice car too. So if you married her, see, you could drive her car. And, oh, of course, I could have her room." "But what if I marry her and, for economic reasons, we have to live at your house, in her room?" She crinkles her brow. "Oh well then I guess . . . nevermind." Tumbling all over Mid Pacific gym, vaulting bleachers, somersaulting out through the doorway, bouncing on the diving board, back through the window, off the scoreboard-- nothing but net . . . is not quite as difficult as some may believe-- actually it is very, very simple-- NOT! Making use of the floor would take on a whole new meaning if she were competing in storytelling . . . "Quiet but effective," one judge writes on his ballot, before holding up a card awarding her a 9.90 in the new storytelling-floor- exercise event. "What do you mean she's leaving for a year!" Chris exclaims, barely able to control his shaking beer bottle. Mike nods dejectedly. "Alas and alack. She's going to Germany," he sighs bitterly. The two burst into tears, sob in their beers, and offer each other hankies. After a good half-hour cry, they wring out their hankies, gradually come back to their senses, and then the wheels begin to turn. "You know, Mike, it'll be sooooo awesome. Everyone will think she's graduated. They'll all be breathing sighs of relief. Then she'll come back senior year, walk into a round, and the competition will get ill." Mike chuckles and rubs his hands together with glee. "Heh heh heh," he chortles in his coachly way. "You can bet they'll be scared shhh--tuffless." Chris and Mike joyfully order up another round in spirited anticipation of Ariel's imminent return. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Well, folks, the really big dance is about to begin for all thirteen of you, and I know you'll find your feet. Each of you has just been issued a mini college survival kit. If you're not quite sure what each item in this kit is supposed to be used for, don't worry, you'll figure it out pretty fast. Don't forget our little group, okay? You are without question some of the most outstanding University High graduates that I never had the chance to teach. From one University High School grad to all of you, welcome to the club. Much love and aloha, Lanning Lee.