The Bostonian Abroad

Going to be lost in words soon. Their towering importance will cast me into profoundest shadow! The words of scholars shall fill up my head to leafy suffocation! These scholars purport to know, and purport to know more than all the other scholars who came before, including the ones they quote and agree with - to a point. What comes before is always the basis of future refutation. The secret to success in filling others' heads with my words is to buld my refutation on the works of others. I'm learning! The desire is the thing. This environment is lethal to it. It isn't a direct result of the balmy climate; it's the isolation. A million or more people all isolated together. The distance from reality is stunning, and there is a limit to the amount of unreality one can witness before becoming purposefully unaware - for that is an effective way out, when stuck within the nutshell that is this place. Actually, it is an enigma, wrapped in a coconut, shoved

The latest round of events has me at a crossroads. I am different from the majority, and this fact is very troubling, since, in my view, the majority is heading towards irrationality on a grand scale. The events by which we measure our current history compared to our "blissful" and "decadent" past have altered the popular thought and made it reactionary and fear-based. The rage which provides fuel for current actions and opinions is most troubling of all in that the weapons of this rage are so much more serious than in previous epochs. As ever, I fear that we have disinherited our place in the grander scheme, and we are doing everything to seal our fates with those of our saurian predecessors. I suppose the only thing to do now is fret uselessly, biology taunting us to the bitter end. Or perhaps I could join the growing theocracy and, through its opiation, obviate my own consciousness? Sorry, this is as yet impossible. "Joining"is anathemic to

- AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA! LET'S GO RED SOX!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I am living in the unreality of a Red Sox World Series win! Something that generations of Red Sox fans have waited for, Prayed for, hoped for - and never saw! I was down at Murphy's Pub in Downtown Honolulu, surrounded by my fellow citizens of Red Sox Nation, chanting, shouting, screaming, praying, and thinking, "10 more outs," then down to "1 more strike!" When we Won it all, the entire bar erupted in unmeasurable glee, as Bostonians abroad like me, and fans from around New England and the world screamed their lungs out, hugged each other, high-fived, and, in my case, fell to their knees and sobbed like babies! Such total bliss is utterly unforgettable! I say "WE won" because I believe our hopes and dreams gave energy to the cause. We Reversed the Curse!!!!!!!!!!!!! LET'S GO RED SOX!!!!

I told myself I wouldn't get sucked in again, but here I am, wholeheartedly in love with my long-suffering team! I've decided that I am ready to love again. I went into the NY series with the resignation that I would rise or fall with the Red Sox and I have been amazed beyond belief. Now, I stand with millions of other New Englanders, long-suffering Boston Red Sox fans all, and I hope; I believe again!!!! We can do it if we don't give up! GO RED SOX!!!!!!

In order to be tidy and somewhat well-organized, I began to place receipts of all kinds in a shoebox. Soon, the box was full, and I needed another one. Not long afterwards, I started putting other memorable items in there, such as photo negatives, a bracelet gift I had never given, an old wallet in which I had scrawled numbers of people I no longer know, the odd stone from here or there (I have the odd habit of pickinbg up a stone or two in my travels and keeping it as a token of memory), and people's business cards. These boxes piled up higher and higher, until one day my wife said she had had enough of the clutter. I had to go through these overstuffed time-capsules and figure out what could or should be thrown away. I sat down on the floor next to the kitchen trash can and set to work cleaning out the deadwood of my past. A Coke receipt from a bike trip I had taken from Lynn to Boston in 1982. An old and crinkled ticket stub to "Cadillac Man" in 1990. A r

-- The Prelim exam has been attempted once more. Unprepared, I took it as a practice run for the real one in January. I do not expect to do well. As before, it did not seem as horrifying as I had feared. This summer was taken up in repair of the self. This was necessary after the breakdown of the spring. A new way of looking at it was needed, and I think I've started to build one. That perspective I had lost is starting to return to me. I don't feel stuck anymore. I don't feel doomed. I can do this; it's just going to take time.

-- I knew Tom and Eileen. We served together in the Peace Corps. They were among those I considered to be my best friends in Peace Corps Fiji.On many occasions, Tom and Eileen stayed at my place in Suva when they came into town from their teaching stint at Sigatoka Methodist School to do PC business, catch a movie and maybe get a bite at the golden arches. They were just like the rest of us PCV's. They went through the challenges of Peace Corps life and were open and honest about their experiences.They were, like me, healthily cynical and had a great sense of humor. When I found out about what had happened to them, I was beyond shocked. To see their PC ID's on CNN was something I was totally unprepared for.Over subsequent months and years, I have heard all of the ridiculous things said about Tom and Eileen, and I know that it would make their eyes roll at the self-serving nature of it all.Tom and Eileen were two of the most wonderful, vivacious, adventurous, and gener

-- The people who laid the foundations of this country were afraid that a political group might quickly gain control of the government and enact laws that would fly in the face of what a democracy stands for. For this reason, the framers of our government designed a system which intentionally moves very slowly. Often, the citizens become frustrated with the pace of change, and think that the system is antiquated because it does not move as quickly as the pace of life in a modern-day technological age such as ours. Because the pace of life is so much faster than the government-as-designed, people argue that we must do something to quicken it up, to meet the needs of today. I believe this to be a potentially dangerous idea. The main problem with this is, just as was feared 200+ years ago, that a group could sweep too quickly into power, before it has had time to mature in the public consciousness. Very often, in this country there are movements that spark to life, become very p

-- As a part of the sincere effort I have been making of late to improve the state of my general mood and view on life, I have returned to taking grog, or kava, tablets on a daily basis. Although it has been somewhat of a success, and I am satisfied with the results of this new regimen thus far, the very fact of taking kava again has brought back some very pleasant memories of much happier times. Kava is a drink to be truly savored, not for its taste, for that would be nearly impossible for all but a few connoisseurs whose skin is most likely quite shiny and patterned like tiles, ready to flake off at the slightest hint of a breeze, but for its heuristic and social properties; here, it remains unmatched in its abilities. One of my fondest memories of drinking kava, or as we called it in Fiji, "yaqona" (pronounced "yahn-go-nah"), was on some nondescript night during the summer, probably around January or so. I can remember sitting there in the pale anemic l

- What does it mean to be an atheist? Does it mean to not believe in a particular god? Does it mean that you don't believe in any god at all? And what is the connection between god and religion? Can one believe in a god without a religion? What about being non-theistic? Is that the same as being an atheist? Having grown up in a religion, I had the typical foundation in christianity in that I was filled with guilt and fear. Being of a particular religion that deemed itself as having the truth, I also believed that everyone around me was going to die in armageddon, and that the wonderful end of the world was coming at any moment. Everyone in school either hated me, pitied me or thought I was a nut-job. Imagine a 7 year-old screaming out in class that christmas was all a big conspiracy, built on pagan traditions and full of idolatry! I told all my friends that santa was a lie perpetrated by their parents. You can imagine how that one went over. Yeah, religion did

-- This being the fourth anniversary of our arrival in this error, I have endeavored to regain a perspective on the whole. This has not been easy, and is still ongoing, however, I feel slightly more confident than I have felt in a long while - though it is going to be a long struggle and, it seems, one without end. One would think after such a length of time as four years, acclimatization would have been achieved long ago, but this, it turns out, is not the case. Acculturation requires willingness on both the side of the newcomer as well as the "local". I remember telling my students in Boston, students who came from all over the globe to live and work and raise families in this country, that they are welcome here. I told them that they are the latest in a long line of new peoples to settle in this place, my home. I told them that they have every right to be here that we have, and that our ancestors had. (Here, I refer to: "your poor, your huddled masses y

-- There is something good to report: The teaching term is over, and a three-week break is upon me! (Even though I still have to teach on Wednesday nights and I have to study very hard for round two of the Prelims.) Symbolically, at least, it is a relief. I endured another term, another semester, and I am in a position to survey what has come before. The house looks good. New flooring will do that for a place. The pupps are as cute as ever, especially since L. has mastered the art of "Flo-beeing" them. Buster is simply too cute for words. Graduation this term was better than previous terms. I have grown comfortable with my role in it. The reason for this is unclear, but I just felt relaxed the entire time. The photo-posing at the end was easier, the final good-byes to my students, the speaking on stage - it has all gotten easier. So too has the teaching. My approach to grammar has grown steadily more scientific, yet it keeps a real-world tone to it. I

-- The past four years have been among the most difficult years of my entire life, and things don't look to get any better for the forseeable future. Culturally, I have not found the ability to assimilate. In my chosen calling, I feel frustration and anger at the utter lack of professionalism. In the purpose for which I came to this mistake in the Pacific, things are no better. Disillusionment is the norm, all around. For these reasons, I am forced to apologize to those I love for not having spoken with any of them in months. I have been so constantly upset that my health has suffered, both physical and mental. The solution to this present state of affairs is still unacceptible to me, so I continue in this supremely difficult life I have chosen. There may come a time when I am better able to deal with things, and I am still trying to find ways of coping that will bring that time closer, but for now, it is a struggle. Normally, I try to follow the old saying, "if

-- Had an epiphany recently. Hit on why it has been so difficult at times to relate to some people. The answer lies in the worlds we inhabit. My world is one of academics and domesticity, of sacred time with the family (of choice), of challenging study, of home improvement, of quiet moments of relaxation, of work seen as a career, as well as a calling, of rememberance of all the past hardships endured, leading to this time and place, of the need for appreciation of all things, great and small. The past was not too bad, but certainly not ideal. What I consider to be normal, others consider to be attrocities. When I was a kid, the method of punishment was "the beating". This involved wooden spoons, belts, hairbrushes, slaps across the face, and the pulling of hair. Insults were hurled freely, and often were meant to express love and admiration. I was told I would be a "ditch digger", that I was a "little prick". "Hello dick-less wonder&qu

-- In this modern age of commuting through ridiculous traffic, shopping at warehouse stores, worrying over the economy, trying to build a "career" (whatever the hell THAT is), and managing domestic responsibilities, time has become a scarce commodity. There was once a time when an hour seemed like a day, a day seemed like a week and a week was an entire month. Now, it all screams by unnoticed. (in spite of the screaming) Must get here... Must get there... As soon as this is over, I'll... Next on.... !!!!! I never used to understand when the old people I drove around in a wheelchair van said that "once you turn 21 - WHOOSH!! - it's all a blur!" I think I understand now. I am sitting on the edge of a beautiful summer in Hawaii. I have afternoons off! The world lies before me waiting to be seen, to be experienced! I can't. I have staff meetings; then I have to work out so that I can get rid of the stress-cheeseburgers I gorged myself o

- Well the semester is over. Finally. And I can't say I feel proud of it. Just relieved. This has been the most difficult semester yet. The trouble is not the work there is to be done, but the fact that I have done too much of it thus far. After a while, each additional class actually works against me, rather than for me. It is the academic law of diminishing returns. The longer I study, the less benefit is derived from that study. I have sat through seminar upon seminar, listened to lecture after lecture, read paper after paper and endured endless, mind-numbing presentations of the kind I was taught never to do. (Here, I refer to making a handout and then reading from it to/at the class.) Of the papers we are to read as part of the course work, many have been read years ago, many others are based on ones previously encountered. I have heard the same names over and over, learned the same concepts again and again. I have grown weary from reading for readi

-- We each have our own "passions" to bear, and mine includes the baggage that got stowed away in the overhead compartments of my psyche, where "the past comes alive!" I started to really notice it a few nights ago while my wife and I and some new friends were making teams to play trivial pursuit. When our friend E. ended up on my team, she said, "Yay! I got the SMART one!" - and she meant it! This struck me as something that would have gotten a huge laugh back "home". Me, the smart one? Baahhhh! In this place, no one knows my past; they only see my present, and they actually see me as intelligent! The stigma of being the geeky, big-nosed flunky in my k-12 days has never left my psyche. Even now, I struggle to keep those old lingering ideas from undermining my confidence. At one time, being seen as the the "air-head" or the "absent-minded one" was so normal to me, that when our friend said what she did, it

- I read this and it makes me ill: (Written by a "nonwhite" student at my institution of "higher" learning.) "'White guilt' offers no solution for racism "Don't hate me because I am a white, straight, upper class male." "Stop making me feel guilty for being born white!" Sound familiar? These statements are the sentiments of something that is very popular these days, and it's called white guilt. White people hate feeling guilty. They just hate it. They wish bygones could be bygones, and that we could all live in peace and harmony. They are the first to point out when they themselves are victims of "racism", and call affirmative action "reverse-discrimination". Sufferers of white guilt overlook systematic inequality and define racism simply as an individual's prejudice against another individual solely on the basis of their skin color. They argue for a "color blind" society, using the buzzword

- Here is something I have been thinking about in the conspiracy theorist part of my brain: Gas prices are the highest they have ever been, supposedly. The housing market has really jumped, so now it is getting harder and harder to buy a home, due to the high prices. In my hometown of Lynn, Massachusetts, renting a crappy one bedroom apartment - and Lynn is considered by many snobs to be a dump - costs an astronomical sum of $900 per month! (This, for the priviledge of listening to gun shots and screaming crack ho's!) Airline prices are soaring too. Starting to see where this is going? . . . The government tells us and the media obediently follow along in reporting to us that the inflation rate is low. What acid trip of alchemy is being employed to arrive at this outrageous conclusion!? It's like that Terry Gilliam movie where the heroes arrive on an island and break the taboo of no bloodshed. When the island starts sinking, the leader denies it is happening. T

- Every once in a while it comes back to haunt me. Not very often or for very long, but when it comes it feels like a cross between fetishism and archeology. Maybe I am the one doing the haunting. Why do I go and pick through the past like some old lady with too many cats at yet another yard sale, looking for that long lost LP of Elton tunes or maybe a forgotten first edition of "The Joke"? Truth is, the past is too easily forgotten or made irrelevant. But it is right that this should be the case, I suppose. The trick is the balance between whimsical nostalgia and pathetic obsession. I don't want to end up like some I have known, crying how everything once was right, and how Camelot is lost. It is sad to be so self-limiting. As I sit here and contemplate another day, another commute, another class taken, I think it is ever more important to think of the past in order to lessen the present - to bring it down to size. The "travails" I suffer today are n

- I look on my return as a tiresome ordeal, something to be endured, rather than enjoyed. I have had such a marvelous time, and I don't want to leave this, for fear it will be "discontinued". This has felt more like home than ever did my unfortunate place atop the sad slopes of the Ko'olaus. And so it is: back to the land of the kama 'aina, the short jean shorts, the bowed legs, the bad food, the stupid drivers, the anti-haole attitude, the lack of logic and hard work, the lack of understanding of anything but that selfish little enclave of unreality deep in the middle of the huge, uncaring ocean - and so I return, as sad to leave here as I was when I left there, but for entirely different reasons. Sigh. I shall remember this place, and vow to renew my solemn relationship with the reality I have rediscovered. May it warm me as I suffer the cruelly ironic chill of that increasingly despised guilded prison of sun and palm.

- To sit in open air - Not hot, Nor cold, But cool; To gaze upon trolley cars Lumbering along the cobblestones; To be engaged in stratospheric conversation Surrounded though, by the supposedly mundane - This place, this atmosphere, These people and their honest decency, All of it Feels like HOME. -Vinaka, Jone

--- So I have been doing the usual: Teaching Taking three classes Commuting Doing House Things Entertaining Guests Despairing Waiting Now, I'm in week ten of a ten week program of teaching. I'll have the next three weeks free, but two of those weeks, I'll still be obligated to come into town to take classes in the afternoon. The one week where I'll be totally free, L. bought me a RT ticket to Portland. It isn't Boston, but it'll do. Actually, I'd rather go to Paris, but there is little chance of that. I have very much needed to get the hell out of here. L. saw this need and I love her so much for it. It will be great to be someplace different for a change. And, "Anything different is good." This summer, I am hoping to be able to go to Fiji to collect data and catch up with family and friends. We'll see what happens. The semester goes on. . .

-- The recent slap in the face is still smarting. Judgement of the kind forced upon me is very painful. I am entirely against hurting people, and this way of doing so is the most deplorable, since education is supposed to help, not hurt. Everything I learned as a teacher tells me that what happened to me, what routinely happens to students in my position is wrong. Teaching a subject without teaching about how to teach is irresponsible. The result is the kind of hurtful system to which I have been subjected. What's more is the insulting way in which those in positions of power treat those deemed less than the powerful. The arrogance I have seen is still stunning to me. It is hurtful and it is unjustifiable. It serves as a reminder of how not to be, both as a teacher and as a person. I shall struggle on, but now, with anger and contempt in my heart. I no longer enjoy this path, but I must persevere. Out of spite, I suppose, I shall continue. Having struggled so ha

-- On the way home today, I lost my temper at a driver who was, in my view, driving like a jerk. I did the old, Masshole routine of tailgating, high-beams on. When she went to turn left, she slowed down to a complete stop and diagonally blocked the road. I laid on the horn, and a good deal of not-too-good words were exchanged, fingers punctuating the dialogue. I felt really bad about it immediately after it ended. I had lost my temper yet again drove dangerously, endangered my wife's safety, beat on my nice, new car, and screamed like a nut-case. Shameful. Why do I get so angry? Why do I feel so out of control sometimes? I swear that sometimes the stress I feel is so intolerable, it threatens to snap my fragile mental state. Work, school, commuting, isolation, culture shock, money worries - these all gang up on me in my head, and I feel like I'm going to lose it completely. So, on my way back to campus this afterneoon, bearing my former angry state in mind, I took 3

--- The wind blows fierce up there, but it's gorgeous. People jumped or got shoved over the edge of the cliff, but you'd never know it to look at the place. Tourists flock there in droves, while thugs wait to steal their stuff from their unattended rentals.

---- It was about a month ago when the realization hit that passion was gone from life. The droning of the workaday, the getting up and going for reasons unknown, save the digits on a piece of paper adding to the financial security to continue in this limbo. I had lost my passion. This life had seduced it out of me, invited me to let it go. Linguistics removes it to quantitatively and qualitatively categorize and analyze various aspects of human language in an empirical way. Teaching had likewise been reduced to the systems of the language, the ways to communicate most effectively and clearly: English Grammar, Listening Strategies, Oral Production and Pronunciation Techniques, Cultural Analysis, etc. All emotion was gone. Something to be considered as hindering the analysis, limiting the effectiveness of communication, the true stuff of WHY we speak was excluded. Life had taken on the soma-pleasant sameness that comes over a person who lives in a place where the seasonal chan

-- I have been in my program now for about three and a half years, and I have begun to wonder what kind of Ph.D. I am going to make. Am I going to be the academic pedant, "strutting and fretting my hour upon the stage, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing"(Shakespeare C.1620)? Or am I going to be a pasty wonk, seldom escaping the musty confines of the library, more content to interact with texts than with humans? Maybe I will be like Doctor Sullivan at NSCC back in Lynn? He looked like he just came from his bolling league, and he sounded authentically Bostonian, but he knew his subject, loved it, and inspired us with his teaching. I suppose I will end up a mixture of these. One of my friends saw me in class recently and said I looked pedantic. I know names and titles and use phrases like "in terms of". I guess by the standards here, I am a big, ostentatious poseur. But by the standards I grew up in, and by those I witnessed in my very short tenure in

Here it is, 2004. We went to see a has-beens concert for free and had a decent time. The rain kept the massive amount of fireworks from starting many fires. All in all, it was a quiet little vacation, just what the doctor ordered. What is on the agenda now is the testing and jumping through various flaming hoops. This student thing is a tiresome business, but I am looking forward to getting on with it to get it over with. 3 1/2 years in, and I am at the point where I don't want to do anything at all. No correspondence, no travelling, no writing or reading. It is a blah place to be. The constant rain isn't helping.