Wednesday, August 18, 2004

Head of State

It seems to be a slap in the face of democracy.  We try to get an election going that gives us a choice.  We winnow contenders down from 12 to 2, and the annointed incumbent and upstart challenger vociferously assay to contradistinguish themselves: I’m not like him, he’s not like me.... But it can be hard to tell the difference on the campaign trail.  They both have skilled speechwriters who help to make each of them sound like a good choice.  Sure, one is a decorated war veteran and one is a failed baseball team owner; one is an articulate attorney and one is a mushmouthed businessman; one is renowned as personable and easygoing and one is as interesting as a slice of three-day-old toast… but they spout the same tired list of issues and values, cast the same veiled aspersions at their opponent, stand before the same backdrops and wave the same victory sign.  To the uninformed, they could be on the same ticket.  But at least I thought they were coming from different places.  Silver spoon versus purple heart, privileged scion versus scrappy activist; native aristocrat versus immigrant mudblood; patrician versus plebean.  Turns out, I was wrong.  I must be one of the last to hear it, but both our contenders for the chief executiveship of our ship of state did not only attend the same college - they’re “brothers” in the same mysterious, elitist secret society.  I have it now on good authority (the internet) that both Kerry and Bush are members of Yale University’s Skull and Roses Club.  Talk about a buzzkill.  I guess everybody’s playing in that heart-of-gold band now.  And I used to think being a deadhead made me such an eccentric… now it doesn’t even disqualify me from the presidency.

Well, that’s enough cynical handwringing for this fine foggy morning.  How about a few more visual Tropical Tidbits, fresh from the land o’ Aloha?  I’ve hidden them below, in case you’re not ready for such intensity of mellowness… you can save them, in such case, for after the election.  That is, if the nation survives.

This guy serenaded us during our first breakfast in Kona as the sun rose over Hualalai and the surf lapped the rocky shore across the street.

This was near the end of the paved portion of the road to South Point - a wild flatlands of volcanic flows and very, very wide horizons.

This is the beach at the bottom of US territory, and is actually as green as it looks.  The sand is soft and warm, but cursed be those who steal it home - I brought a purloined jar of it back for a friend who needed to restore her karma.  The swimming is pleasant, unless you get out beyond the rocks - there, a strong current will carry you straight to the south pole, with nothing to stop you but the sharks.

Wasn’t that pleasant?  It’s nice to be back.  Have a refreshing day.