Dude and Dude: Boll-ivia


“You say somethin’, dude?”

“Only at the top of my lungs, dude. What’s the matter with you?”

“Just a few thousand bombs bursting in air, dude. Things have been kinda peaceful ever since, y’know?”

“Dude, you don’t need no fireworks to play the ‘I can’t hear you’ game. Next time, try this.”

Cotton, dude? And what’re you doing to it?”

Raw cotton, dude. For your ears. So I can pull it out when I’m talkin’ to you, and you won’t have no excuses. As for what I’m doing, I’m ginning the seeds out of it. And I’m gonna plant them everyplace I can reach.”

“That’s a lot of work, dude.”

“It’ll be worth it, dude. Conditions on Hawai‘i are perfect for growing cotton. Especially after all the fireworks these past few days. There won’t be a weevil spirit anyplace …”


Tip of the propeller beanie to Musings.

A New Year

It is approaching 10 PM, Hawai‘i Standard Time, on 31 December 2009 as I write this post.

Quilly is at her computer, completing the recap of her last twelve months as Quilldancer.com. There is little point to our trying to hold a conversation, for all around us, the barrage of heavy ordnance continues, as it has through much of the day. They call it “fireworks”, but it feels more like “firepower“. And there’s no shortage. I didn’t think the need for ammo in Iraq and Afghanistan had relaxed to the point that they’d be selling the surplus at the Army-Navy stores …

I’d been searching the web for an official response – any official response – to the unilateral, and apparently illegal, imposition of salary restrictions on the faculty of the University of Hawai‘i, announced two days ago and effective on the first day of the New Year, when a flash intruded itself between the ones coming though the windows.

The Hawai‘i State Superintendent of Schools has resigned.

The very one who was forced to sign off, four months ago, on a deal that slashed teacher salaries (which were already, by far, the worst in the nation as a function of purchasing power) and gave Hawai‘i the dual distinctions of having the shortest instructional year and the 48th-worst student performance levels in America.

The one who was, over the past two weeks, trying to negotiate restoration of the lost school days (“Furlough Fridays”). And, from all appearances, found herself caught between an Executive that is determined to nullify the 13th Amendment to the U. S. Constitution on the backs of teachers, and a union which, in the face of continual dead-catting by the good citizens of the Aloha State, declines to let its members be reduced back to the status of plantation serfs.

Obviously, former Superintendent Hamamoto had enough of being the cockroach between the shoe and the floor. With her resignation, the chances of public-school teachers (and their students) getting any relief from the impositions of the super-rich and their client governor become even smaller than they already were.

Not that it matters. For without good will among humans, little can be accomplished in any significant endeavor. And our experience is that the “people of aloha” have a really hard time providing good will to anything.

Except roman candles, skyrockets, and M-80s at New Year’s.

On earlier occasions, Quilly and I had tended to chuckle about the annual New Year’s conflagration in Hawai‘i.

This year, not so much. Our day of aloha o‘e approaches; our new year will be in another place, colder on the outside but warmer on the inside. We sit in a house that will soon be stripped, with BOOOOM! all around us, and reflect on the place we have called home for the last two-plus years.

Where there’s no money for teachers.

But there’s choke for fireworks.