I love that word. Da kine. It’s Hawaiian pidgin. Learned it from my lovely lady friend who is somewhat related (her dad is a local…not a Hawaiian. Apparently the distinction is important.) Da kine. It’s the word you use when you don’t know the word.
I have a story coming out on or about March 24 in The Whistling Fire. I submitted to them because it’s non-fiction of a deeply personal nature. It’s hard finding lit mags that publish non-fiction that reads like fiction, but The Whistling Fire has lots, including some really good stuff recently by Stacy Furrer, Patrick O’Neil, and Antonia Crane.
A few days later, Treme: The Complete First Season comes out on DVD. I was talking to David Simon over breakfast a few weeks ago (yeah, yeah) and he pointed out that The Wire never got great ratings, but what kept it on the air was the brisk business it did in DVD sales over the years. Hint, hint: you want to see HBO greenlight all five seasons of Treme? Buy the fucking DVDs.
In related news, Season Two premieres on HBO on April 11. We’re pulling Back of Town out of the garage and getting her warmed up already. Melissa Fuckin’ Leo really gets our motor running. Rowrrrrr!
Coming up in May, two readings in Texas for Where We Know: New Orleans as Home. May 13 at Domy Books in Austin, then May 19 at Domy Books in Houston. So far I am the whole show both nights, but we’re working on getting at least Mark Folse and/or Sam Jasper to join me, and maybe a couple of other contributors as well.
I have maybe another short story that I’ll be shopping, but other than that, BoT and this screenwriting class will be kicking my ass through the beginning of summer. You know what’s fun about writing your own movie? When you’ve got a minor character who is necessary to move the plot to the next point, but is otherwise a dull and dreary kind of guy, go back and picture him being played by Bill Murray and rewrite his scenes accordingly. Magic happens. It’s a beautiful thing.
It’s Carnival time, peoples. I always wanted to be a bone man.
Every time I come back home, it gets harder and harder to force myself to go back to motherfucking Texas.
See you at the parades.
Great seeing you last night, and mazel tov!
Kama’aina, is what they call the local-but-not-necessarily-hawaiian.
The other oddity is ‘local’ which can mean can mean native Hawaiian, but can also mean something less specific.
A lot of pidgin seems to have evolved specifically as a way to fuck with haoles.
The way Linda tells it, “local” is somebody who was born there but isn’t a native Hawaiian, and kama’aina is somebody who has lived there a long time but wasn’t necessarily born there. Her dad is Okinawan by heritage but born and raised in Hawaii, thus a local. He doesn’t call himself kama’aina, she says. At least that’s how she understands it.
I dunno, man, sounds about as hard as explaining black vs. white vs. creole to somebody who ain’t from New Orleans.
Pretty much. And outsiders better not get it wrong with the wrong local.
Happy (belated) Mardi Gras to you Ray!
I hope you had a wonderful time!