The Bostonian Abroad

Soon, the children will move about in the half-light of early evening. Most of them will not even be dressed in costumes. In their "slippahs" they will scuff-scuff-scuff up my driveway, ring my bell, make my dogs freak out and very unexcitedly mumble something about candy. I'll give them some, wishing they cared even a little. Across the street, through the overgrown trees, a group of "locals" will be playing volleyball. Whooping and shouting and booming their ball to and fro, the haunting sound of their clinking bottles and ukulele strumming will add an other-worldy air. Later, the cool trades will blow in, moving the wind chimes into song. Soundtrack for the ice addicts who punch in at midnight.

It's time for my favorite season, month and holiday! In Boston. The days get shorter, the air gets that crispness that bites at your cheeks, and the smell of wood-burning stoves permeates the atmosphere. But here, it looks the same, smells the same - is the same. All year. The temperature drops three degrees, the day gets shorter by twenty minutes, and the air is permeated with the sweet perfume of the many flowers growing everywhere. I haven't decorated my house or even gotten into the feeling of the season. I have lost the habit. This year will pass as so many before in this tropical paradise: with little change and constant, unremitting beauty. At least November won't suck.

FUCKIN' YANKEES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Umpteen Fuckin' rings ahn't good enuff fuh you?!!! What the FUCK!!!!!!!!! Ahmanna staht rootin' fawranuthah team I sweah-da-gawd! Nah, FUCK them. It's too painfully fun to root fuh my Red Sox. Next year is THE FUCKIN' YEAH!! 2004: "Red Sox Win!!!!" (Unless Pedro leaves, in which case we're fucked.)

Truth, Justice, Love? Are these the main philosophical ends of human strivings? Been reading a book about this - "Psychoanalysis and Religion". Fromm says that these are the main aims, and that religion should serve these aims to be a "good", non-"neurotic" religion. I am not that deep. I seek a full belly, a comfortable chair, an easily accessible remote control. Basic cable. Sure love is in there, but it is in the category of, "duh!" What is the main aim of human striving? Comfort, at best, survival, at worst. This is served very well by religion, when religion isn't messing with people's minds, causing people to be gult-ridden, judgemental, fearful, paranoid, controlling, and hate-filled. Being happy, well fed, comfortable physically, psychologically and emotionally, these are my aims; low though some may say. What of genius? What of struggling to make things better? What of passion? These all have their place, but