Go west young man
Rursday, July 4, 2002 - 13:08

For at least the last 382 years, my family has steadily been moving west. (That would be since 1620, for those of you who aren't particularly fond of arithmetic, and since the Mayflower, for those of you who aren't particularly fond of history.)

They landed at Plymouth Rock and began the push west, cutting down the forests and Indians who were in their way. My grandparents lived in the midwest, and then my parents moved to the west. And now here I am, farther west than anyone in my family has gotten, a mere half mile from the Pacific (although the ocean is to the south here, but nevermind about that).

And I don't like it. All this westward movement has had the Pacific as the ultimate goal, and for what?

Today, everyone in my hometown went to the parade that they have every year, that they close off the main streets for. Then many people go to the beach, where there's live music and a bunch of other crap. When the sun goes down, everyone who wasn't at the beach goes to the beach to watch the fireworks. The water around the beach is packed with boats, and the whole peninsula that the beach is on is packed with bodies.

I don't know what they do here. There are fireworks displays, but there's so many people it's barely possible to get there. I bet most people have their own barbecues and get drunk in their backyards. We don't have a backyard.

When we first moved here I was so homesick that I could feel it in my chest. I don't feel it anymore, except when I think about having to live here for three more years. Mr. Pooh has to work at his job for five years in order to get in on the pension, so that means three more years. Bleh. I don't want to.

Bleh bleh bleh.

I know, I'm whiny.