a day at the bookstore
Nov. 13th, 2005 05:07 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
insanenekoI spent several nice hours at a local bookstore drinking chai and perusing through books and magazines. One book that caught my eye was Hawaii: True Stories of the Island Spirit, a collection of short essays on Hawaii. There were entries with their share of romanticism but the decent prose made them readable. One called "Honolulu Mamas" by Robert Strauss, halfway through the book, made me howl with laughter. It was about the trip to Hawaii the author and his wife took with their respective mothers. It was so funny I had to write it down and type it up to share:
One day, driving along Oahu's North Shore, I spotted a fisherman poised with his net on the rocks just above the surf. There is tremendous skill involved in tossing a net out in a perfect circle. I thought "the ladies," as we had begun to call our mothers, might like to see it.
For half an hour the fisherman didn't move. He peered into the surf and waited. And waited. And we waited. I don't exactly recall how the following conversation got started, but it went something like this.
"It's very sad," my twice-widowed mother said.
"What's that?" my divorced mother-in-law asked.
"When people are alone."
"Yes, it is sad."
"You know who it's particularly sad for? Gay men."
"Yes, you're right. And also for fishermen."
"That's true. Fishermen do have lonely lives."
"Do you suppose a lot of fishermen are gay?"
"Yes, I've heard that also."
"Isn't it terrible? They spend all that time by themselves, on the boat, and then they can't find anyone."
"It's sad to be alone. But to be a gay fisherman and alone, that is really very sad."
"You're right. Oh look!"
A pickup truck had pulled up on the side of the road. A single man got out. He went down on the rocks to confer with the fisherman. He stood there waiting, and watching, with the fisherman.
"Do you think that's his boyfriend?"
"I hope so. He looks very nice."
"And he's so patient. I think they're happy together."
"Me too."
I looked at my wife. For the umpteenth time she was about to pee in her pants. I turned to the back seat. "You know," I said, "I don't think that people really appreciate just how difficult life is for gay Hawaiian fishermen."
"no, they don't," the ladies chimed in from the back seat. There was a squeal from the seat next to me. The passenger door flew open and my wife raced out of the car holding her belly.
In contrast, I was flipping through the November 2005 Conde Nast Traveler magazine when I came upon an article called "Before There was Paradise." It was about the leper colony at Kalaupapa on the island of Molokai. It was eye-opening for me. I knew about it as it is just common knowledge here as well as taught in school, but I didn't realize just how bad it was at the beginning. Being a leper was criminalized and people suspected were hunted down and exiled to this little natural prison. They were just dumped there to fend for themselves. What I also didn't know was that in the 19th and early 20th centuries, Hawaii's image in the US was basically that of a leper colony. Clerks who compiled the yearly index of stories published in the New York Times notated entries under "Hawaiian Islands" with the words "See 'Leprosy.'" Only when businessmen in Hawaii became desperate to change its image did they do something about bringing order to the colony. They even did a PR campaign, with things like hiring Jack London to come over and tour the place to write a piece on it. Apparently it backfired when after writing a very acceptable news article, he wrote a piece of fiction describing lepers as horrible monsters. ^_^; In any case, a very fascinating article.
One day, driving along Oahu's North Shore, I spotted a fisherman poised with his net on the rocks just above the surf. There is tremendous skill involved in tossing a net out in a perfect circle. I thought "the ladies," as we had begun to call our mothers, might like to see it.
For half an hour the fisherman didn't move. He peered into the surf and waited. And waited. And we waited. I don't exactly recall how the following conversation got started, but it went something like this.
"It's very sad," my twice-widowed mother said.
"What's that?" my divorced mother-in-law asked.
"When people are alone."
"Yes, it is sad."
"You know who it's particularly sad for? Gay men."
"Yes, you're right. And also for fishermen."
"That's true. Fishermen do have lonely lives."
"Do you suppose a lot of fishermen are gay?"
"Yes, I've heard that also."
"Isn't it terrible? They spend all that time by themselves, on the boat, and then they can't find anyone."
"It's sad to be alone. But to be a gay fisherman and alone, that is really very sad."
"You're right. Oh look!"
A pickup truck had pulled up on the side of the road. A single man got out. He went down on the rocks to confer with the fisherman. He stood there waiting, and watching, with the fisherman.
"Do you think that's his boyfriend?"
"I hope so. He looks very nice."
"And he's so patient. I think they're happy together."
"Me too."
I looked at my wife. For the umpteenth time she was about to pee in her pants. I turned to the back seat. "You know," I said, "I don't think that people really appreciate just how difficult life is for gay Hawaiian fishermen."
"no, they don't," the ladies chimed in from the back seat. There was a squeal from the seat next to me. The passenger door flew open and my wife raced out of the car holding her belly.
In contrast, I was flipping through the November 2005 Conde Nast Traveler magazine when I came upon an article called "Before There was Paradise." It was about the leper colony at Kalaupapa on the island of Molokai. It was eye-opening for me. I knew about it as it is just common knowledge here as well as taught in school, but I didn't realize just how bad it was at the beginning. Being a leper was criminalized and people suspected were hunted down and exiled to this little natural prison. They were just dumped there to fend for themselves. What I also didn't know was that in the 19th and early 20th centuries, Hawaii's image in the US was basically that of a leper colony. Clerks who compiled the yearly index of stories published in the New York Times notated entries under "Hawaiian Islands" with the words "See 'Leprosy.'" Only when businessmen in Hawaii became desperate to change its image did they do something about bringing order to the colony. They even did a PR campaign, with things like hiring Jack London to come over and tour the place to write a piece on it. Apparently it backfired when after writing a very acceptable news article, he wrote a piece of fiction describing lepers as horrible monsters. ^_^; In any case, a very fascinating article.