Good Night, Rooster.

So I've been here a few days now. I'm still not settled in, yet. Living in Kona after LA is about as close as you can get to living in a different country without whipping out the old passport (which I need to renew anyway).

I live right in the middle of the only area in the United States where coffee is grown. It's somewhat remote. The closest town is Kailua-Kona--with a population so small, I don't know if anybody ever cared to count it. There's a Walmart, K-mart, Macy's, Safeway, Borders, and a couple of movie theaters, as well as a plethora of resorts and the international airport. The town I'm in is Kealakekua. It's not so much a town as an area with a name. And that name again (in case you weren't paying attention) is Kealakekua. Say out loud. You can't, can you? You think you can, but you can't. I can't. People here can pronounce it, which is good. It's pronounced kay-al-uck-cake-OO-a.

The coffee has been phenomenal. The coffee I drink in the morning is like nothing I could ever afford at home. It's fresh. The coffee farmers and processors actually bring it over here to the business for it to be chocolate covered, and there's enough extra to make some pots of really amazing coffee.

The biggest road here is smaller than the smallest roads in Pasadena. It's one highway that circles the island. Everything is off the highway. The airport is a direct shot from where I am right now. It's about eight traffic lights away down the highway--about a 25 to 30 minute drive. The most amazing beach I've ever seen in my entire life is only about 45 minutes away.

I'm Mr. Touristo, here. I don't look local, and I definitely don't talk like a local. A) I talk in complete sentences, B) I'm not covered in tattoos (a Hawaiian custom), and C) I'm not extraordinarily hostile for no reason. Yes, the natives seem a tad hostile sometimes--usually on the road. But maybe it's just me.

Being here, I've started really looking at my trips to the supermarket and chain stores in a different light. Granted, I prefer to give my money to the local business rather than an internationally powerful corporation based in the Bermuda (an oft used tax shelter). But here, I walk into the Safeway, and suddenly I'm thousands of miles away on the mainland. It's comfortable because I'm used to it. I also went to Borders yesterday; as I walked around, I felt I could have been at the Border's in Pasadena on Lake Avenue. I'm not saying I don't like being here. I'm saying that sometimes it makes me feel normal to walk into a familiar place.

Ahhh, I hear a rooster. Cockfighting is big here. The thing keeps cock-a-doodling over and over. This must mean it's getting late, or something, since it is past 11 (or almost 2 on the West Coast). It also means I'm out in the middle of nowhere.

Meanwhile, if you want to see some pics, check out the photos at www.myspace.com/medinski.