I knew that guy was sketchy!

Horseradish

By Michael Sitzman, Columnist

Alright, friends, we need to chill a bit; I sure do, at least. So, with this installation of Horseradish, I present these two true (and all-too-true) stories of Samoan Sally and The Texas Rubber Round-Up. Make of 'em what you will.

"I once had a girl, or should I say, she once had me..."
-- The Beatles

I met her while in American Samoa a few years ago, since I enjoy visiting out-of-the-way, quirky islands. This time I truly went over the edge, below the equator to the bottom-half of the world where typhoons and sink drains both flow clockwise. (It was the first thing I checked when I got to my room, and yes, it's true; they do.)

I was just relieved to be there after that eerie red-eye flight from Honolulu. Imagine: You fly all night over water and see nothing but blackness from your window. No light from a single island or passing ship illuminates the Pacific's consuming enormity. I tried to distract myself from the feeling of remoteness with the in-flight movie, which turned out to be The Perfect Storm. Oh, terrific...

Polynesia can take the visitor by surprise. In Samoa, the word mahu doesn't refer explicitly to homosexuals, and it isn't pejorative; it merely means a male who takes on a female identity. Some boys are simply raised as girls, by their parents' choice or their own. Some decide to remain women when they grow up; others return to the ranks of men.

The travel-guides had mentioned the custom, but I didn't think much of it until I realized I was seeing a few women who seemed, well, not quite women. It's no big deal there; some anthropologists speculate that it arose from the need to have more women around to do traditional women's tasks. Others say the Samoans are just progressive. You decide.

There aren't many tourists in American Samoa, so there wasn't much to eat. Ironically, it was a Mexican restaurant that had the best food in Pago Pago (pronounced "pahn-go pahn-go"), and it had an uncommonly friendly waitress. In fact, Sally was all over me, which for me is, as I said, uncommon. I think I went back to that place a few times that week; must have been the tamales...

But what did Sally want from me? Was she just longing to escape and see the world? Did she also feel isolated on that far-off rock? Or did the abundance of mahus mean too few eligible men? I'll never know.

After some weeks back in the States, I placed a heck of an expensive call seven-thousand miles overseas. She was delighted I'd actually called, and she promised to write back soon. She kept her promise, but I almost wish she hadn't...

"Dear Michael," it read. Then, a few pleasantries and thanks to our Heavenly Father for our good fortune. Such opening greetings are often seen in letters in the religiously devout South Pacific; that's the missionaries' great legacy. But then, she got straight to the point:

"Please send me the following: A gold watch, a gold necklace, gold earrings, and a two-hundred dollar money-order. The reason is the occasion of my birthday!"

See where this is going, folks? Actually, no. It just ends there.

-----

"Mama, don't let your babies grow up to be cowboys..."
-- Willie Nelson

Anyway, so these high-school kids down Texas-way had 'emselves a glow-in-the-dark condom orgy. I know it's true; I heard it from a friend's sister's friend who was there (No, honest). Sort of a sketchy variation of Musical Chairs, I guess. The guys donned the aforementioned accessories in a dark room and the girls each chose a partner. Hell, maybe they each just picked their favorite color...

So picture it: It begins as a pitch-black room with nothing visible but this colorful spectacle of bobbing latex. Then, as each lil' cowgirl picks herself a lil' cowboy, there commences a midnight rodeo the likes of which was never seen this side of the Brazos.

When this Lone Star bull ride's almost done, the lights go on, and, there, as all the cowkids are suddenly revealed in their moment of Texas-style tryst, each gets to see, to their surprise and delight, who's just knocked up whom.

I think the idea was for this game of "Musical Boys" to go on a few more times in a kind of series of eliminations. But on this particular night, it didn't. You see, the moment was kind of spoiled when the lights went on after only the first round...

Now, as our own ex-Hoot columnist Rafi Farber '05 used to say: Folks, I am NOT making this up: One of these poor gals had done done herself her very own brother! Oh, imagine the scene.

Man, what the heck was the point of today's piece anyway? None, really. I guess I just needed to get these two random stories from my sordid past off my chest. Yes, that's it; that and lab reports. Alright; I just wanted you to know that grad students really are sketchy after all.

Enjoy the weekend, partners. Careful with the Horseradish; it's hot.

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