The Bostonian Abroad

Assing into a turn- I only started riding in March of 2006. As of now, that is about 9 months. I can hardly consider myself an authority on anything to do with motorcycling, but I I can say that I have noticed something about how I ride. I was taught that when cornering, the mantra is Slow-Look-Press-Roll (Slipper). I have used this, and sometimes find myself saying this aloud when I am trying to be careful. But I've noticed too that I tended to over-press, then had to compensate. My turns were not graceful at all, but slightly wobbly, meandering affairs that might get me pulled over for drunk driving, even though I'm stone-cold sober. Then, in those moments when there is no one up my ass or trying to outright pass me on the small 2-lane backroads I frequent, I notice that I tend not to press so much with my hands or arms, but lean into the curve with, for lack of a better word, my ass. I call it "assing into the turn". Whenever I let my ass do the leaning, and

Being that I've put 3,000 miles on my new Harley since June, I thought it wise to check with the dealer to make sure what all had been done on my bike before they sold it to me. I called the dealership in Rocky Mount, and - lo and behold, nothing at all had ever been done! They sold me a motorcycle without ever having changed the oil or even inspecting it! When this oversight was discovered, the service man immediately offered to do it for free. I was very satisfied by this offer, and I immediately took him up on it. Today, after a long and boring drive home from Lillington in my VW Golf, I hopped on my Road King and quickly set off for Rocky Mount. What a great ride! The temperature was barely 66 degrees, the sun was shining, the sky was clearing out after yesterday's rain, and the leaves were in the midst of their yearly color-dance. It was magnificent! Mindfull of the cooler weather, and of the fact that I'd be doing 70 mph or more up route 64, I dressed in layers,

I'm tired of being embarrassed, ashamed and confused by my country. Each day it seems to get even worse, too. And this obsession we have in this country of labelling people as conservative or liberal, republican or democrat - it's utterly absurd, and ultimately, hurtful to the entire nation. There seems to be no room in the national discussion for people who don't identify entirely with one side or the other. Actually, it isn't even a discussion anymore, it is a constant, nerve-wracking, mud-slinging, evil debate, with only one goal in mind - power. We've lost the purpose of government. We've lost the ideal of participation. We've lost our sense of belonging to a greater whole. Nowadays, we all feel like we are entirely divorced from the forces which dominate our lives. We don't really even care anymore, unless we are terrified into making knee-jerk reactions. Where did America go? I want to live in a country I can be proud of again, a place I fee

I had the best ride of my life yesterday afternoon, and this afternoon beckons with equal promise! The air is cool, but not cold, the wind is gentle and the fragrances of the season mix together, intoxicatingly beautiful. I had forgotten just how powerful an impact this season has on me! Having lived in the tropics for so long, I increasingly relied on ever-fading memory of just what it was like to go through Autumn. One thing that has come back to me quite powerfully is the quality of light at this time of year. It seems to me almost too bright - as if I've been suddenly awakened in the brightness of day, eyes squinting, trying to adjust. It's a stark kind of light that brings out the colors in everything especially clearly. And the air has so many different perfumes! I remember the wood-burning stove smell, but the other smells of Fall have been a pleasant surprise. There are the smells of the leaves in all their variety, and then the scents of fall seasonings, the orig

When I first came up to North Carolina from my Hellish existence in Honolulu, land of the retard anti-haole,I had no idea where the good and bad places were. In looking for a house, I asked as many people as possible where to go, and where to avoid. Almost unanimously, everyone said that I should live in Cary. Apparently, Cary is very popular among people from up North. It is filled to the brim with them, in fact. I called a friend of mine who had lived there years ago, and he could not sing Cary's praises enough. Of all the possible places to move in the Raleigh, Durham, Chapel Hill (the Triangle) area, Cary was deemed the best. In fact, Cary has consistently ranked among the top 10 places in the country to live. I looked in Cary, drove around its confusing, circular streets, and I marvelled at how many people live there! It's like a city up North! The houses are pretty much all within 15 to 20 feet of each other, and everywhere you look there are cars, cars and more

Having endeavored to ride as much as possible, I've put about 2,000 miles on my new Road King. When added to the 1500 miles I put on the Softail, I realize that I've gotten in a lot of good riding in the six months since I first learned how to ride a motorcycle. Over the last week or so, I've been blessed with some of the best weather of the entire year. As Fall fast approaches, the weather turns crisp, even down here in North Carolina, and with the change, come the many fragrances of falling leaves, cooler air and smoke from thousands of fireplaces. Riding has been a distinct pleasure, and getting off of the bike has been a hard choice to make. The feel of being out on the road, in all that beauty, makes you never want to stop. When I arrived at my destination one recent afternoon, I had such an urge to just keep on going, consequences be damned! It hasn't all been perfect though. The cooler days have meant really chilly early mornings, and downright uncomfortable

I am avoiding work - again. I have essays to correct, grade, categorize, and otherwise violently tear to shreds in the name of "ACADEMIC STANDARDS". I find this work gratifying, but I avoid it nonetheless. I am often at odds with myself over the drive to occupy my every fleeting moment with all manner of activity. From teaching, to correcting, to working out, and even to doing chores, I am often loathe to do anything but sit and stare uselessly at the TV, watching yet another installment of Journey Through The Solar System , or some such nonsense. Of course, the entire time, I'm thinking, "get off your ass and do something!" And yet I persist in my efforts to do nothing. Why do I do this? Why do I do nothing and torture myself at the same time? I suppose it is because of the ethos in which I was raised. The idea has always been to avoid being labeled lazy. My whole life, I was never working enough, learning enough, traveling enough. It was always mor

Since moving to North Carolina, I have been thinking a lot about the meaning of life, and more specifically, the meaning of my own life. It seemed for a time that life had lost its meaning for me since I was no longer foolishly pursuing a doctorate at UH, a place that was wholly wrong for me. But even deeper than this, life had lost its luster because I had done just about everything that I wanted to do. Like a video game, I had gone through all the levels and gotten to the end of the game, and now I was just floating around, not knowing what to do next or what to look forward to. What does one do if one has achieved one's goals, and the list of goals has run out? Did I peak too early? Perhaps, but I think the problem was one of perspective. I was living for something, towards something, and that was the problem. Once I had gotten to the last of the mountaintops, I looked out across a vast emptiness, with nowhere else to go. The boundary of my universe had been reached - or

This Harley thing has reached a height typical for me. At first, I know nothing, then, I become obsessed with the thing until I reach near expertise on the subject. A few months ago, I didn't know anything about motorcycles. Then, one day, I got all fired up about them. I took the course to become a safe and responsible rider, bought all the gear to ride safely, and bought a 2003 Softail. I rode around a lot, but not too much, learning as I went. I became more confident and experienced, as with these, I started to pine over the ultimate bike: The Road King. Actually, at first, I wanted it without knowing that I wanted it. I wanted an old fashioned looking bike, with big wheels and saddle bags. I saw the Fatboy and thought that was the bike for me. I attempted to chrome out parts of my bike. I added saddle bags and a windshield, but it was never enough. I knew that at some point I was going to have to get another bike to get the look and feel that I was after. A Softail

For a long while, I had been feeling afraid. At the same time, I was also feeling insecure, and down on myself for my many supposed failings. I chastised myself for every aspect of my flawed existence, and only saw things in a negative way. I think this was a necessary journey for me to get to where I am now. And where is that? Acceptance, for lack of a better term. What I mean by this is that I reached a point recently when it all became so much, that it blew itself out. I had had enough, and I moved on. The big thing I had been fearing was inevitable, and realizing this simple truth was very liberating. Now, I am shifting my focus, quite naturally, to things that have always interested me, but that I had ignored or stashed away due to circumstance or narrowmindedness. No more, I am allowing the natural progression to move me where it will, within reason, of course. The most powerful trend these days is towards the more masculine side of my character. For a long while, I have

Recent events have reacquainted me with a certain aspect of my father's that he passed down to me and my sisters: his temper. He is legendary for his anger, and what damage he does to others when he is in his rage, and I fear this in me, try to distance myself from it, and yet count on it in certain ways. When I was a kid, I was always told of how much of a completely homicidal maniac he can be when truly furious, and I always took these stories as warnings for my future. One story in particular is pretty illuminating of the type of rageful ability the man had: The day I was born, he was at a phone booth, trying to call the hospital to find out how my mother was doing. He had just gotten off work as a crane operator, and was anxious to get in touch with the hospital to find out if she had had yet another girl, or the much hoped for boy. At that moment, someone shoved his head from behind, causing his face to slam into the metal receiver for the phone. He turned around in a haze

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I've written about this before, but it bears repeating: The government is lying to us about inflation. Either this, or the way they calculate it needs to change drastically. Every day, I see on the news that housing prices have risen at a double or even triple digit percent, college tuition has gone up in the double digit percents, gas prices, automobile prices, health care - and the list goes on and on. All of these skyrocketing prices, and they tell us that the inflation rate is something around 3 or 4 percent. It just doesn't add up! I'm no expert on economic matters, but as a regular person with an average level of intelligence, it is plainly obvious to me that we are being misled. People have to work 2 or more jobs just to get by because they have gigantic rent or mortgage payments, huge health care bills, and or huge college loans to pay off (not to mention cell phone, home phone, and Internet charges - oh, and an ADT system, Life Alert, video games, DVDs, and all

In my profession, it has always been easy to find work. It seemed that there was always a place in need of my services, and there were more than enough students to go around. After I returned from Peace Corps I found a job within 3 days of sending out my first resume. In Hawaii, I didn't even have to send out a resume. My next door neighbor "knew a guy," and I had a job within a day of talking with her. On the other hand, L has never had it easy in getting a job. In Boston it was tough, and in Hawaii, it was next to impossible. It was truly depressing for her, and for me. In fact, one of the major reasons for our relocation was the job issue. In moving here, I hoped that it would get easier for her to find work, and I secretly harbored the odd wish that our situations would be reversed - in terms of job availability. Well, it looks pretty much like I'm going to get my wish. I have looked high and low for jobs in my field, and there are few (whereas L is havin

A new year dawns sleepily for me, as I try to work out the kinks in my dinged-up resume and psyche. I'm trying to find work again - in the same field I've been in for years now, and I have had to do some work to deal with the trauma of the past 5 years. I have a miniscule form of PTSD, I think, because whenever I think of work or graduate school, I mentally and sometimes actually wince at the pain it still brings. I know I need to get past this, so I try to remind myself that this place is going to be as different from the old place as the old place was different from Boston. This has helped a bit, and I have polished up the ol' resume and even bought a fancy new laser printer to make me look spiffy, even if I feel like a failing phony. Here I am, 35 years old, with years of teaching and doctoral study under my belt, and yet I feel worthless and idiotic most of the time. Graduate school really knocked me around, especially the way I was treated by the faculty. I had t