What island you from? 'What' ain't no island I ever heard of. Do they speak English on 'what'?

I went snorkeling today at the Place of Refuge, which is about 20 or so minutes south of here. I've been snorkeling a few times now, and I notice a huge problem with touristos is that they can't LOOK at something. They have to touch it. And not fish, or coral, or anything that banal. They have to touch and fuck with the endangered turtles. Signs everywhere proclaim that this is a federal offense, and you risk a huge fine, jail, and chemical castration for fucking with the turtles.

Today, I saw a family snorkeling around. This little turtle floats gracefully to the surface to get some air, and the family starts chasing it because they want to touch it. I yelled at them, "Hey!" The mom stuck her head out of the water and gave me the same wierd look that all tourists do--the "Why are you interrupting our vacation?" look--and I told her, "It's a federal offense to touch the turtles." She looked at me skeptically (always the skeptical look), and said, "Yeah? I didn't know that." I told her it was indeed highly illegal and she and her family face a huge fine if they're caught. "Really?" Now it seemed to sort of sink in--like maybe I'm not kidding, and maybe they should interrupt their vacation to heed this advice. I told her to open her eyes and look at the signs plastered everywhere, and then I swam away because I don't think I'd be able to handle it if I watched them continue to fuck with the endangered turtle.

I can see the turtles just fine with they're swimming fifteen to twenty feet away from me. Why do people have to touch them? So they can go home and beat off to the fact that they have fucked with something that's actually endangered? Won't their Republican friends be so happy for them?

My friend, we'll say her name is Lamb Tabernacle, told me my kickboxing instructor from Pasadena and his girlfriend were in town this weekend. Lamb told them I lived here, too, so we should meet up. She emailed me their phone numbers. I called them and they told me the hotel they were at. They said it'd be cool to meet for dinner, and I agreed. So I called back yesterday evening and my kickboxing instructor, who we'll call The Hun, said, "Swing by the hotel and we'll go in the Jacuzzi, and then out to dinner." Sweet deal. Okay. Where is your hotel? "Hold on." And he passed the phone to his girlfriend. I asked where their resort was, and she said that from the airport, it's two minutes away to the north. Hmm. Two minutes. Ain't nothin' that's two minutes to the north. The closest resort north of the airport is about 30 minutes. Maybe ten minutes SOUTH of the airport? No, definitely north. Okay. Then she said it was on the 58. Hmm. I don't recall driving on a highway 58. Suspicious, I finally asked, "WHICH airport are you near?"

She said, "The Lihue Airport. We're right here."

"What island are you on?"

"Kauai."

"Shit. I'm on Big Island. You're nowhere NEAR here!"

And so I didn't get to go out to dinner tonight with the Hun and his girl. I thank Lamb for this.