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SubscriptionsSites I Read
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| if you have heard of CVS, please be a totally awesome person and take
this ten minute survey on vision care products.
(yes, i know: not the
most compelling of activities to do, but perhaps more entertaining than
reading someone ELSE'S survey about their first kiss and whether
they've done anything illegal and other information you could existed
quite happily without knowing).
survey!
thank you oodles!
ps: happy spring, even though we're supposed to get snow on wednesday!
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| "Politics is the art of choosing between the disastrous and the unpalatable." --John Kenneth Galbraith | | |
| i can understand why people say that fall is so pretty in new england: the leaves slowly changing from glossy green to deep oranges, golden-hued yellows, rich crimsons. they make these scattered, whimsical patterns on the lawn in front of the college of communications, and glide into the fountains, these rafts of bold color creating tiny ripples.
except when is pours cats and dogs and mice and mongeese, all over boston, dumping who knows how many damn inches of rain. boston rain puddles at the edge of roadways for psycho boston cab drivers and t-operators to splash on pedestrians, in fans of icy water.
and as i was standing on the corner of beacon street, umbrella clutched in one hand, there was that oh-so-vivid memory of small-kid time, and splashing around in the backyard during an afternoon shower. that facination with the tiny earthworms that poked up from the ground, back when i didn't ever worry about ruining a pair of sandals in the mud. the way the hibiscus bush in our front yard collected pools of water in the deep red centers of the blossoms, as secret water wells for some eager ant to swim in.
and as fun as boston is, as much as there is to do and see and discover 5,000 miles away from home, as cool as it is to celebrate birthdays in the north end and go to comedy shows and all that--
autumn leaves, with their red and orage fire, never substitute for the sunny colors of a hibiscus bloom, or the thick rope of the ilima lei.
but i suppose it's one of those things, where we wouldn't appreciate these amazing summers, or christmas breaks, or all those other memories of home so much if we didn't spend what really amounts to two-thirds of a year away. the smell of sunscreen and the hibachi at the beach, full moons creating silver carpets across the ocean: they wouldn't be quite so vivid, or special. and that's not a bad thing.
and because i know tiff is gonna bitch me out for no pictures, here are the random ones, if only to ensure that she doesn't leave yet another random comment about her refusal to read anymore:
as much as i miss the guys (though we're missing a few here):
and walking mousie: (this is ryan with mousie, on the trail above my house. ry likes to run around sans shirt everywhere, i think because he likes to show off--just kidding!)
and hawaii sunrises:
there are also nights at harvard:
random pictures:
and ry bashing a coconut open on the steps of my dorm at eleven o'clock at night. go figure.
you know, come to think of it, boston's not that different after all... | | |
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mr. b once told me that boston is known for baked beans, being the "cultural hub of the universe," and rabid sports fans. i have yet to eat baked beans--or see baked beans on any restaurant menu, though this may be because i'm eating in chinatown at midnight most weekends, while avoiding the guy in the wheelchair dealing drugs. and it's quite hard to imagine the concrete jungle as the "cultural hub of the universe," but hey, it was mr. briguglio, so what exactly does one expect?
but rabid sports fans? oh, yeah.
red sox vs. orioles:
"how much for clam chowder? SIX BUCKS?" / "do they sell those shirts with profanity on it?" / "just use your id to get the free t-shirt." / "i don't want to wear my mit hat."
ravi the moke. yeah, that's an apt description.
dale and henry. dale's hiding from the cold...
brent and the harvard crew
weirdo.
so that was fenway. sox lost to the orioles, but we watched the eighth inning on from uno's. (cuz baseball does not have seven innings.)
on to basketball at the fleetcenter:
ry and i do this thing called surprise dates, where we essentially surprise each other with an afternoon, an evening, dinner, whatever. because, you know, when you've known someone since you were four, you have to think of ways to keep life exciting. :)
so i took him to a jazz concert at symphony hall, and he took me to...a celtics game.
"who are the celtics playing?" / "the pacers." / "are they good?" / "they're the best team in the east." / "oh." / "it's the playoffs...i can't believe i'm explaining this to you."
floor seats and a normal photo--yay!
ry was ecstatic because he got to high-five paul pierce and a couple other guys as they went into the locker room--this, apparently, made his day. even though the celtics lost the series. but there's always next season.
so i'm not quite sure if mr. b was entirely correct, but it was still TONS of fun. :).
home on thursday! |
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| there’s this crackseed store in kaimuki, right on the corner of koko head and waialae, run by this slightly balding, portly man who always wears a faded aloha shirt and khaki shorts. he makes the best li hing mui icees, with the li hing juice, rather than the kinda chemical-tasting powder. clear glass jars line the length of the store, each scotch-taped with small pieces of paper notating the price of quarter-pound, half-pound, one-pound of dried cuttlefish or li hing cherry seed in faded black ink.
so i had this dream today, during my afternoon nap (i think i’m regressing to small-kid time, with daily naps). and this crack seed store wasn’t in kaimuki, but in boston, right down comm ave on the b line. (yeah, i know, it was a dream, okay?) and i had the hardest time deciding if i wanted a half-pound of li hing gummy coca-colas to share with my roommates, or a quarter-pound of prune mui, or maybe a small packet of honey boro balls (the kind that melt in your mouth), or dried li hing strawberries, or—well, you get the picture.
it was so strange—i could smell the slightly musty, anise- and salt-tinged air, feel the humidity of hawaii air. those incredibly tangible reminders of small-kid time.
maybe it’s the fact that i’m leaving boston in just a couple weeks (april 29!), or the fact that, for the most part, my semester is winding down. but somehow, on this very rainy tuesday, that omnipresent thought of home struck me: that thought of ‘just a couple weeks, ali.’
and then i thought of everything that’ll come in the next couple weeks. the routine com grammar tests, and history essays, and the like.
but then there’s the thursday red sox game with the boston 03 crew, and a surprise date for ry, and, in a throwback to ap english days with mr. b, “rosencrantz & guildenstern are dead.” and i’m sure there’ll be a visit to chinatown—minus the fouth 22 of kirin this time, kay?—and visits to the north end for mike’s pastries, as a very bostonian form of omiyage.
ry told me a few days ago about how he felt like there’s still so much he hadn’t done in boston. and i suppose that’s true, because in the rush of classes and luaus and everything, it’s easy to forget how much there is in this city. but it was really cool, to run around boston and play tourist with mark ohigashi when he came to visit, to just walk around fenway in the throngs of scalpers (or, rather, people seeking scalped tickets), or grab dim sum for lunch. four more semesters in this city that i’m still barely familiar with, and that isn’t necessarily a bad thing.
but i can’t wait to walk into that crack seed store in kaimuki, on some 80-degree may afternoon, and think that i’m actually home. | | |
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