The Bostonian Abroad

The grades have been turned in. The papers too. The finals have been taken. The twicth has returned. As has the headache. I'm done, but I don't feel relieved. Such is the way when the work was unworthy.

I hate the library. Needed some books today for upcoming projects where the due date looms ever larger, so I traipse on in to pick up those books that I had already found on the computerized database so lovingly provided by the techno-wizzards of our esteemed third-tier institution. Upon my arrival to the appropriate floor, ( kept at a book-preserving, chilly -3 degrees) I cannot find the book I am seeking. Every other manner of book along the lines of my subject matter (i.e., Hindi) is easily found, but my particular book is nowhere to be seen. I check the print-out once more to see if I mis-read the thing. Nope. It has not already been taken out. Just not here. I am 0 for 1. Next, I trek on up to the 5th floor to get another book which is in a "special" section. This section is for the "rare" and "valuable" books, somehow all concerend with only the Pacific. Why books on this area of the world should be treated differently from say, South Am...

People are just dumb. Who cares where whoever was born? Ain't we all human in the end? So you were born a Hawaiian/something else, so what? "Oh, I'm poor because my native Pacific culture isn't being respected!" "Baloney". What of those non-Waianae-born Hawaiians from Hawaii Kai? They have no trouble "adapting" to the "dominant ideology" of the dreaded Haole. (And just who is this anyway? Me? But I am the result of 800 long years of English oppression of my ancestral home island of Eire! Surely I, an oppressed Irishman whose native language was murdered, whose native culture was crushed out of existence, whose religion was made anathema, whose ethnic identity, for what it is, is continually ridiculed and insulted, and whose native island is still, to this very day, divided by a foreign power, can't be included in this group!) It isn't so much a culture stomping on the neck of another culture, as it is a higher class...

First, An Observation On Options: I don't like fancy options like power windows or cruise control. I think they are nice and all, but not for a vehicle I own. If I am driving a rental car, then, I always take advantage of the extra features it may have, but in the long run, I don't want to have to go through the pain in the ass it is going to be when these things break down and start costing me time, money and agravation. Besides, what the heck is wrong with rolling the damned windows down yourself? Since when have we become so lazy as to balk at the mere thought of reaching over and working for some ventilation. And do I really need to save the muscle strain of pressing a gas pedal? I suppose if I lived on the mainland and drove for fifteen hour stretches, I might come to need that little added bonus, but on this tiny island, a fifteen hour trip would take me around the entire area two or three times, most of it sitting still in traffic, where cruise control would...

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.)