Mjarc
This is the journey across an ocean, across social boundaries. This is the jets screaming in the air, 35000 feet above the blue waters, above the white puffs of condensed smoke, which seem to stand still as we fly through, fly by, fly onwards. This is the baby screaming behind, screaming in front, screaming above everything, screeching towards the cabin and clutching on to nothing. This is the peanuts, and the complimentary Coca-Colas, and the sore ass, and the impressed nods, and the grainy looks and half-truths that half of this population tells themselves.
Aloha from Lahaina, Hawaii, on the island of Maui, in the middle of fucking Paradise. It literally blows my mind that there are places like this on Earth. I've been born, raised, and fucking cornfed on the open fields of Central Illinois my entire life. The sight of mountains, the sight of sugarcane fields, the sight of vast, open expanses of blue, serene water takes my breath away. I've been out of breath all day long. We did the typical "family with very little money to blow" (ie - six members of said family using frequent flyer miles, and hotel points from dad's job) free hotspots jaunt today down to an old, unactive volcano field. I bought a Kodak disposable camera and am hoping that the pictures I've been taking will turn out alright. I got this one (hopefully) killer shot of the lava field with the barely two lane road cutting through it, and a lonely string of power lines stranded in center. Absolutely priceless.
I began work on my tan today. I resume work tomorrow morning, 9am sharp on the deck, spread out, with The Corrections snuggled firmly on my lap. I appreciate all the responses to the inquiries about the books, including from Quinn St. Helens, who seems to have asked for three of the same books for Christmas. You'll probably finish them way before me, bro. Though I know there's a Borders on Kauai in a couple of days. Hopefully, I'll be done with The Corrections tomorrow. I started it two days ago, and have had serious problems trying to put it down. I cannot express how much I empathize with the character of Gary Lambert. He is a reflection of what I will eventually become. Paranoia. Undermined schemes. Deception. It's all there. Zook, once again, has inadvertently steered me down the right path.
We had a one night layover in Los Angeles, and I'm hesitant to offend, but that place seriously pisses me off, and just gets my blood boiling. Everyone out there, and this is gross over-generalization but its how I feel and damn if I'm not right all the time, but everyone out there is "dressed to impress". Why be this way? To "get chicks/dudes"? To make people think you're more important (than you actually are)? I may be somewhat of a slob in my appearance, if one considers jeans and thrift store t-shirts sloppy, but I know who I am, and I'm okay with this, and I don't feel the need to make good impressions. We went to a nice dinner at a nice place called Gladstones for Fish overlooking the Pacific Ocean, and during the course of our hour-long wait ***1*** I probably saw literally hundreds of people wearing leather pants, suits, kashmir sweaters, Gucci sunglasses, phatass diamond rings/necklaces/bracelets, and on and on. Once again, I'm from Illinois. We tend to keep our profiles low and wear our tastes on the inside, but I'll be damned if I ever actually end up living in LA. The rest of California is fucking awesome, though somewhat pretentious, but its nothing like the vague looks and cross-cultured mayhem that wreaks havoc on the streets of Los Angeles.
I know some of my credibility for above is somewhat shot by being in Maui. I just like this place cause I'll be able to wake up at seven in the morning on Sunday and watch the Bears game. Hells yeah. Take care, kids. The internet ain't free out here, so I'll see you all in a couple of days.
***1*** no complaints here. They had barrels of peanuts and my dad and I drank a few pints of Sam Adams while watching the Fiesta Bowl at the bar. And that very same dad revealed that he "kind of digs Radiohead" which came as a complete shock. Apparently he'd gotten some work done on my car while I was in Vegas, and I'd left OK Computer in before I left. He dug "Karma Police" and the track before it, which name is escaping me right now.
This is the journey across an ocean, across social boundaries. This is the jets screaming in the air, 35000 feet above the blue waters, above the white puffs of condensed smoke, which seem to stand still as we fly through, fly by, fly onwards. This is the baby screaming behind, screaming in front, screaming above everything, screeching towards the cabin and clutching on to nothing. This is the peanuts, and the complimentary Coca-Colas, and the sore ass, and the impressed nods, and the grainy looks and half-truths that half of this population tells themselves.
Aloha from Lahaina, Hawaii, on the island of Maui, in the middle of fucking Paradise. It literally blows my mind that there are places like this on Earth. I've been born, raised, and fucking cornfed on the open fields of Central Illinois my entire life. The sight of mountains, the sight of sugarcane fields, the sight of vast, open expanses of blue, serene water takes my breath away. I've been out of breath all day long. We did the typical "family with very little money to blow" (ie - six members of said family using frequent flyer miles, and hotel points from dad's job) free hotspots jaunt today down to an old, unactive volcano field. I bought a Kodak disposable camera and am hoping that the pictures I've been taking will turn out alright. I got this one (hopefully) killer shot of the lava field with the barely two lane road cutting through it, and a lonely string of power lines stranded in center. Absolutely priceless.
I began work on my tan today. I resume work tomorrow morning, 9am sharp on the deck, spread out, with The Corrections snuggled firmly on my lap. I appreciate all the responses to the inquiries about the books, including from Quinn St. Helens, who seems to have asked for three of the same books for Christmas. You'll probably finish them way before me, bro. Though I know there's a Borders on Kauai in a couple of days. Hopefully, I'll be done with The Corrections tomorrow. I started it two days ago, and have had serious problems trying to put it down. I cannot express how much I empathize with the character of Gary Lambert. He is a reflection of what I will eventually become. Paranoia. Undermined schemes. Deception. It's all there. Zook, once again, has inadvertently steered me down the right path.
We had a one night layover in Los Angeles, and I'm hesitant to offend, but that place seriously pisses me off, and just gets my blood boiling. Everyone out there, and this is gross over-generalization but its how I feel and damn if I'm not right all the time, but everyone out there is "dressed to impress". Why be this way? To "get chicks/dudes"? To make people think you're more important (than you actually are)? I may be somewhat of a slob in my appearance, if one considers jeans and thrift store t-shirts sloppy, but I know who I am, and I'm okay with this, and I don't feel the need to make good impressions. We went to a nice dinner at a nice place called Gladstones for Fish overlooking the Pacific Ocean, and during the course of our hour-long wait ***1*** I probably saw literally hundreds of people wearing leather pants, suits, kashmir sweaters, Gucci sunglasses, phatass diamond rings/necklaces/bracelets, and on and on. Once again, I'm from Illinois. We tend to keep our profiles low and wear our tastes on the inside, but I'll be damned if I ever actually end up living in LA. The rest of California is fucking awesome, though somewhat pretentious, but its nothing like the vague looks and cross-cultured mayhem that wreaks havoc on the streets of Los Angeles.
I know some of my credibility for above is somewhat shot by being in Maui. I just like this place cause I'll be able to wake up at seven in the morning on Sunday and watch the Bears game. Hells yeah. Take care, kids. The internet ain't free out here, so I'll see you all in a couple of days.
***1*** no complaints here. They had barrels of peanuts and my dad and I drank a few pints of Sam Adams while watching the Fiesta Bowl at the bar. And that very same dad revealed that he "kind of digs Radiohead" which came as a complete shock. Apparently he'd gotten some work done on my car while I was in Vegas, and I'd left OK Computer in before I left. He dug "Karma Police" and the track before it, which name is escaping me right now.
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