Rubba slippas

Aug 2, 2005

It’s been a quite few weeks on the Coconut Wireless, though a few outside events have intruded on the dog days of this North Carolina summer. Seems there’s some titter-tatter about flipflops worn at the White House, which got a chuckle out of me. Our own house is overflowing with flipflops, and even though I jibe Erin for bringing home more of the sandals, I do enjoy wearing them. In Vanuatu, flipflops are the national footwear, though most of the islanders on Paama had such broad, toughened soles they didn’t really need the thin wedges of rubber.

One day on Paama, a tiny, naked Mereva marched down to our house wearing one gigantic flipflop and a big smile. Last night, I watched Malia strut around our home with one of Anna’s princess slippers. And I must admit, of all the footwear I own—running shoes, dress shoes, climbing shoes, casual shoes, hiking boots, soccer cleats—the footwear that feels the best are my flipflops. Don’t your toes just love the freedom? Which makes it more than appropriate for flipflops to be safe for the White House, our national symbol of freedom.

Anyway, then the Wall Street Journal runs an article about the unofficial language of Hawaii’s residents:

“But over the past 10 years, Hawaii pidgin has undergone a major transformation and is now being hailed in many highbrow circles as a critical component of Hawaii’s culture. There’s a thriving pidgin literary scene. And filmmakers are making more movies featuring pidgin dialogue.”

As they’d say in Waikiki, “Braddah, lucky you weah rubba slippas.”

Anton Zuiker

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