If nothing else, this place will cure me of my slovenly ways.

I'm learning to live with the vagaries of tropical life.
Hawaii is full of magic, from the glorious sunsets, to wildlife and flowers, it's a vivid life.
The land is alive, the trees are vibrant, everything seems to exist in the brightest shade of a color that it could possibly be.  
It's all of the edges of the color wheel.
The ocean, the birds, the smells, the very air is screamingly vivid.
As Tom Robbins once described South America:  "It's vivid.  Too goddamn vivid."

Learning to live in a colorful place isn't all rainbows and birdsong, though.  There are a thousand tiny frustrations that weave their way into life.  

The traffic is ever-present, and worsening.  

There's no trash service.  

Service is glacial.  

Any service.  From car service, to any government organization, to restaurant service...  It's all on island time, and that takes some getting used to.   

There are bugs.

Lots. Of. Fucking. Bugs.

Here's where the Roach Rodeo begins:

Let's first begin with some cockroach facts.  They are pests, but they are highly tenacious and successful pests and so they may worthy of some respect.  I'm hoping that learning a little more about the little bastards might help improve my squealing housewife "GET IT!" reaction to them making themselves at home in my home.

Cockroaches are insects, meaning they have 6 legs, and their skeleton is the outer part of their body.  They are members of the order Blattodea, to which termites also belong.  They are generalists - "among the most primitive of insects" (even the Wikipedia article drips with scorn for the things) meaning that they have no specialized sucking mouthparts like aphids, or other true bugs.

The Wikipedia article even discusses prehistoric roaches, calling them "Roachoids".  

This is my new favorite thing to call other idiot drivers.  My mom likes to make up epithets, shouting "Fuckwad!" or "Dickweed!" at people committing traffic faux pas.  The next guy to pull out in front of me is getting a hearty "Roachoid!" 

I digress.

Let it be known that cockroaches are not even considered "true bugs".  They are imposter bugs, poseur bugs.  They are the half-wit cousins; the redheaded stepchildren; and they cannot sit at the lunch table (pun very intended) with the cool kids.  Thus judged, we shall see how fairly:

While these cretins are describes as "primitive", there are some redeeming characters among them.  

German cockroaches live in an "an elaborate social structure involving common shelter, social dependence, information transfer and kin recognition." (Wikipedia)

Half-wit cousins who recognize their redheaded stepchildren, then.

Also, Domino cockroaches are kind of cute.  They look like a flat, black and white ladybug.   Like if Andy Warhol did ladybugs in black and white, that's what the Indian variety of cockroach looks like.  

We've all heard the "factoid" about how roaches could survive a nuclear holocaust.  Some can survive, apparently, temperatures to -188F.  This is not a comforting fact.  If they can survive temperatures that low, they may be able to survive high temperatures as well.  My primary battle strategy was to set them all on fire with a blowtorch.  

Cockroaches exhibit collective decision-making.  Like a quorum about food or shelter.  

Get this: American roaches raised in isolation get depressed.   They are behaviorally different than roaches raised in a group.  

Everything I'm reading about cockroaches says that they're kinda like cows: they help eachother out, they're curious, they do stuff in herds.  They communicate to eachother with various kinds of hisses (ew).  

Well, shit.

Now I feel like I need to approach them like cows.  They're just looking for a place to eat some grub, and get busy making some more little cockroach babies.  Some of them even parent their little roachlings.  

If you're wondering how we got on this subject (I sure as fuck am): well, wonder no more as I am about to get to the damn point of this rambling story.  I applaud you, dear friend, for sticking with me this far.  

I have dubbed my adventures in making friends with the cockroaches the "Roach Rodeo"

I'm sure with my squealing and squawking, chasing them with a slipper or a rolled-up towel... occasionally throwing books across the room... I resemble a damn rodeo clown: alternately running toward - and away from - a mad bull.  

My dear friend K says: "Can confirm, you do look like a rodeo clown."

Well, I'll be the Queen of the clowns at the Roach Rodeo, then!