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1.
The number four bus, the bus I take, smells like the armpit of a seventy year old fry cook. It’s by far the sketchiest bus that I’ve ever taken, filled with twitching people, homeless people, old people, costumed people, and me. Sometimes I wonder where I fall into place in the great universal measure of sketch.
2.
“Hate is a lack of imagination.” –Graham Greene
On the bus I once sat next to a mentally disabled boy. Throughout the ride, he would alternate between relaxing his entire body on me and leaning his head on my shoulder. I felt a bit violated. Anger and resentment filled my stomach hot as I subtly tried to nudge him away.
I don’t like being touched on the bus by strangers even more than I don’t like being talked to on the bus by strangers. So, sitting there on my two by two foot brown square seat, I hunched and fumed.
“Hey, hey. No snuggling with strangers,” his mom chided. The mentally disabled boy shifted his weight for a second and then dropped back down.
But this time it was different. His mom’s word choice—“snuggling”—pricked my imagination. I noticed his bare, gangly arms huddled against my shoulder and I imaged how cold he must be on the air-conditioned bus. I imagined his day and what he ate for breakfast (a banana and raisin bran).
When his mom pulled the “stop requested” cord, he lifted his head from my left shoulder and took her hand. They weaved through the standing crowd. I watched them until the bus turned the corner and they were out of sight.
3.
I scribbled: “Deep down I want to be persuaded just so the actions can be explained, and I can sit here nodding before walking away. Not so deep down, I’m scared of my unanswered questions.”
It’s funny how this poem is a lie, I thought to myself as I looked out the greasy bus window, how it’s easier to regurgitate generic sentiments than tell unflinching factual truth. The dawn was breaking, and the doors slammed loud as the bus stopped and accelerated.
It’s true though, the part about lying. None of the passengers look any different from each other. There are Hawaiian shirts on the businessmen. There are averted eyes, hunched backs, pages turning, thumbs glancing off iPod spin wheels. Fat plastic watches on skinny prepubescent wrists.
It’s not that they wear the same exact clothes necessarily—there are no generic personalities—that would be ridiculous. But it’s the shifting eyes that give it away. The Roxy t-shirt girl checking out the Oneil shirt girl checking out some one else. There’s a sense of fear. I know because I’ve felt it. Everyone wants to fit in sometimes. We want to look the same, move the same, think the same. It’s so innate and strong that it’s downright primal. We are as birds flying in triangles, climbing onto buses and off buses and into the sky.
4.
My favorite part about going over the Pali every morning is that moment just before the tunnel. The bus moves with such momentum that I feel like I might hurtle off the cliff any second. I’ve thought about contingency plan after contingency plan, usually when it rains so hard all I can see is fuzzy grey rain-static. Would I want to be under the seat when it crashes? Or should I float to the ceiling with the fall? Do call my mom in the seconds before death?
5.
A fat girl was on the bus in front of me. She smelled like Longs perfume and her hair was thick, curly, and wet. It resembled a mass of black seaweed clinging to a boulder. Her body took up two seats, her thighs over flowing into the aisle. Two stops after I got on, she pulled the stop requested cord and got off. As the bus powered away in great lumbering turns, I saw her light a cigarette and lower her weight onto the bench.
6.
Crack head Santa sat behind me on the bus today. I was in the first row, window seat; he was second row aisle. With his brown tipped full beard poking through the hole between our seats, he leveled his head with mine and turned to look at me. His jacket, maybe six inches away from my nostrils, smelled like Santa had indulged in some ganja and had maybe spilled a forty on himself.
I wondered if there was a rehab center on the North Pole. I imagined their high squeaky voices saying, “Hello, Santa.” I bet he started drinking after Tim Allen played him in Chris Kringle. That was horrible. He’d probably get drunk every Christmas eve and then do some speed (just to be safe). But he really started hitting the hard stuff once Cinnamon the elf showed him how much cocaine looks like snow. A couple of lines of “snow” and he’d be merry for the rest of the night.
But that couldn’t continue for long. One day, as she was mending his best suit, Mrs. Claus found his stash sewed into the fluffy ball in his hat. She kicked him out that night. Every Christmas eve since she’s been putting on a fake beard and making the rounds.
Things weren’t so good for a homeless, drugged out Santa on the North Pole, so he moved south—to Hawaii. No one recognized his traditional outfit and it was warm, the most logical location on the globe. When Santa couldn’t afford his “snow”, and when crack prices got cheap, he got himself a real pipe and cut off his red velour pant legs. He’s made his home camping out on the stoop of “Paintballtopia” in Maikiki.
I pulled the stop requested cord and took one more look at jolly Santa: eyes rosy and cheeks shiny, he winked in my direction and promptly passed out against the window
In class the other day we watched the famous experiment by Milgram about human obedience. The first time I saw this film (I was in a ninth grade anthropology course), I was shocked, upset, and all the other emotions that basically everyone feels after watching it. The second time, I still felt these things, but to a much lesser extent. The third time I saw this, I was numb. I had gotten used to the idea that some people obey authority without questioning it, and that the nervous laughter of the subjects didn’t mean they were sadistic.
I can get all philosophical on you and ask “what is free will?”, or get all AP Psych and say, “Why was I numb/used to the scary ideas put forth in this video the third time I watched it? What would Maslow have to say about this?”. But I’ll save that for another time when I’m not dead tired from having stayed up all night watching a French interpretation of Romeo and Juliette in the Hawaii Opera Theatre performance.
The post-Milgram discussion in class was illuminating (almost like being turned to the light–sorry, everyone in the class is now Plato obsessed). We started by asking these questions:
1. What is society (the collective)?
2. What is an individual?
3. What is the obligation of a society to an individual?
4. What is the obligation of an individual to society?
Here are some of the answers that we came up with:
1. Society
=A group of people who believe in similar things (social norms, the same rules)
=A group of individuals tied together by a common thread
2. Individual
=one person
=has self serving interists–> survival
=one self operating mind
=personality traits (unique?)
3. Obigations of society to individual
=to not make the individual compromise so much they desert society
=provide secure environment
=no contadictions
=structure, order
=NONE?
=no contradictions in social rules, laws
=predictability
= safe, content, entertained (Teacher: “What, like the Colosseum?” Student: “Didn’t you hear? Reality TV is the new Colosseum.”)
4. Obligations of individual to society
=obey social norms that garauntee the safety of society
=contribute something to sustain society
=keep it alive (which is in our own interest)
=civil disobidience
=NONE?
We had a really long discussion on what we thought “obligations” meant. Did it mean that the individual or that the society HAD to do something? Do obligations equate to no free will?
We decided that obligations simply meant that in order for society to survive, they needed to be done. A person doesn’t HAVE to do them–they can run out and join Thoreau at Walden Pond if they want.
Another interesting point that was brought up was the idea of social norms. Are social norms merely the middle of the Bell chart?
Anyways, that’s it. I have TONS more stuff to write about, all inspired by Ideas in Western Literature.
- $4,000 for my study abroad trip to France this summer
- $900 for my new digital SLR to take pictures on the trip
and that’s it. So I only need $4,900. Anyone feel generous?
I need to go pet baby Jesus’s cow, à la Magical Thinking by Augusten Boroughs.
I want to go to France so badly this summer, buy a metro card, and travel to all my French family’s houses. I want to sit in a café and drink coffee. I want to look at paintings, go to clubs, discover a new part of myself.
Right now the only thing that I know about my future is that I’m going to travel all over the world. Like in the book the Alchemist, I’m going to travel where God (or my heart) tells me to. Not on some holy messianic journey, but a treasure hunt. I’ll hunt for the answer to life, the universe and everything. So long and thanks for all the fish, I’ll say.
No but seriously, I feel that it’s something I must do. And write. I must write.
I’ll start with Europe, and I’ll end…who knows?
Reviewing my blog a couple minutes ago, I happened across an old post about that slightly tweaked guy who was addicted to philanthropy (I don’t include the actual article, but I’ll go on a hunt this weekend and find it in the depths of either cyberspace or my closet). I digress. At the time, when I was reading the article I was pretty into environmental sustainability, still am of course, but I was participating in some proactive change. It was a good feeling, and this good feeling, much like other good feelings, became slightly addictive.
Once I touched down on the service of the world’s problems, I realized how much I could do. Yes, that’s right, a good for nothing teenager on one of the most isolated island chains in the world. It’s a rush of power to realize that you can help, you can “make a difference” or whatever those do-gooders like to say.
I’ve been getting involved in some wonderful organizations, namely the Hawaii International Film Festival, and the Girl Fest. The HIFF was a fun, informational experience, and I met some talented, creative up and comer film makers. But to tell you the truth, I got the most satisfaction from the Girl Fest (which is NOT a lesbian club, as so many of my mature classmates have asked). Girl Fest is a festival that combines art, music, spoken word, and film to prevent violence against women and girls. It has been the most fun I’ve had in my life. I met Derrick Brown, Mindy Nettifee, Amber Tamblyn, and Andrea Gibson, all such moving poets whose books I HIGHLY recommend. I also heard and talked to Emily Wells, who is a multi-instrumentalist with a mellifluous, soulful voice.
And I actually just came back from introducing a film for a Hawaii premier, put on by Girl Fest. The movie is called Cargo: Innocence Lost, about sex-trafficing. Afterwards I got invited by the film maker, Michael Cory Davis, to start a Hawaii chapter of this non-profit organization he’s starting. So I’ve finally found a cause to support with the Celebration of Life!!! This is a relief. You don’t know how many people I’ve told who have laughed at me for not having an organization to give the money to yet (of course, I don’t have any money, let alone THE money until we start/finish the Celebration).
But I must return to my bed of sickness. I have this weird flu that’s going around. No worries though, for I have stocked up on my holistic cold medicine and vitamin C. The lady at the health food store said that if I take one mg of vitamin C every hour then I will be cured.
Only time will tell…
Girl Fest website: girlfesthawaii.org
Cargo: Innocence Lost website: www.cargoinnocencelost.com
Check them out!
A couple of things…
The first is this delectable band called Le Rev. This is their myspace page www.myspace.com/lerev. I would say they are sort of a trip pop band. Very enjoyable. Check out their videos too, because my internet friend Ryan Reyes helped make them and is in them! He is very funny, and if you need a good laugh, his youtube account is pimplywimp. I have spent many a hour in the computer lab with my headphones on watching his videos, chuckling to myself like some deranged crack addict.
Aren’t they just the cutest?
The second thing is…Girl Fest! I’m volunteering for Hawaii’s festival, happening in a couple of weeks. I HIGHLY suggesting going. You will hear fabulous local bands play, jam to the top slam poets, observe creative and intriguing art pieces, and to top it all off, support womens rights. Go to this website for more details: girlfesthawaii.org
p.s. the title of this post is a somewhat obscure reference that does actually connect to the subject matter. can you figure it out, o smart invisible readers? with or without google/wikipedia?
I have decided to get fit. This is mainly because I’m going off to New Zzzzealand in a week and I’m going to try snowboarding for the first time in my life, so I want to be ready for some physical stuff. And also because I hear there are some foxy foxes out there.
So this is my Get Fit schedule.
Monday
Ran and did some push ups/sit ups
Tuesday
Paddling aka running, swimming, pushups, paddling with all strength humanly possible (which is a lot) for about a century
Wendsendsday
Go for a run
Thursday
Paddling
Friday
Paddling
Saturday
Yoga and possibly paddling again
Sunday
Paddling (a race).
Surf
Hopefully this will be great. If not–more organic chocolate for me please!
