So I usually scoff at jetlag, but my schedule is definitely altered right about now. Went down for a “nap” at 8 PM, blew off the alarm when it rang at 10 (night life drinking seems expensive here anyway) then was full on wide awake at 2:30 AM. So I read and whittled the time away, I’d be fine to meet my ride to Denpasar at 10, then the school boss at 11, and could nap later.
I ate the comp. breakfast at 7, chatted up a waiter about a possible room in Kuta, then wandered out to get some money changed before showering and changing into my shirtsleeves and tie. Found a money changing place with good rates but the guy said he didn’t have enough to change $100 so early, could I come back at 9:30? So I walked down to the beach. Horseback riding, Aussie surfers and wandering hangover cases, fending off vendors looking for the first sale of the day. About 9:15 I was back, chatting up the guy a bit, he seemed quite swell. He sold an Absolut bottle of petrol to some Aussie motorbiker and said he could now change my bill.
Now changing money in the airport was a painless affair: no passport, no commission, no paperwork, boom boom boom. Different than what I was used to, but less hassle. So I wasn’t off put when this guy started the same routine. But seeing my older ‘Benjamin’, smaller head style, he said it was a problem and did I have a newer, big head one? “Sure.” In China they’d once refused a twenty with a slight tear in it, so I wasn’t thinking it was a big deal. So I go into the money belt for another and the guy says,
“Let me see a few, I’ll check serial numbers…”
So alarm bells are going off, but I’m looking straight at the guy, carefully, the entire time, and we find a ‘big heada’, make the deal and suddenly there is the 5% commission. OK, whatever. So I’m heading back to the hotel to shower and change, still plenty of time til Denpasar, about a ten minute walk, and my spidey sense is tingling. No, screaming. That wasn’t right. Sketchville. But I’m hesitant to whip out the wad on the street and count it. ‘You’re just tired, chill’, I tell myself.
But back in the safety of the room it becomes obvious I’m $200 light. ‘Wait, count back all purchases since you left ATL….the $25 visa on arrival…changed the other $70 to rupiah…what was the starting number again…’
Oh Chilly, did you literally just fall from the turnip truck? Did you not realize the ground would be so hard and stoney when you landed? Did you patiently wait, stroll on the beach, returning to this fuckwit magician for he to then rob you before your very eyes?

It’s 9:37, I’m full of Sumatran coffee, sweating, to quote Ben Kingsly’s ever so charming character from ‘Sexy Beast’… “like a cunt”, must shower and go through hell traffic in blazing heat to meet a new boss, and I just got robbed in the stupidest possible way. So maybe I’m destined to end up paying a Fool Tax, but I’ve got to try and get that back!
So I run to the front counter, remembering my hired driver is a hulking fellow who might back me up as muscle, and explain my situation to the excellent desk people. I’m shaking and freaking out a bit, and big guy hasn’t come to work yet, but the desk lady explains to the thin but uniformed security guy what’s up, who orders me onto the back of his bike and we’re off.
The place is close, but now of course everything looks the same and it takes me a minute to find the right spot. En route I see two guys sitting on a nearby wall from earlier. The wordless look between them says ‘that white guy is back’ and what doubt is left in my mind that it might be my mistake, or I was somehow robbed earlier, diminishes further.
There he is reading his morning paper as I approach. My tone is polite, but I jack my aura up to rhino level.

You are an obstacle in my path…you will submit.

“Hey, did we have a little misunderstanding earlier?”
“What do you mean sir?”
He begins his verbal dance. The calculator to explain the commission again…the small head Frank that is less than acceptable, etc.
“No, I’m talking about the $200 you palmed…”
Truly, the guy has a gifted slight-of-hand/misdirection routine. Energy squandered on petty crime; he should be doing magic at kids Bdays…hell maybe even Vegas someday.
He hems and haws, “I would never steal…” etc.
“Look me in the eye, sir..”, he says, which is perfect, as I’ve seconds before removed my dark sunglasses and am giving him my red, white and blue cowboy best. Right on cue, my muscle leans into the doorway… I don’t even think I had to use the word “police”, which is good because I’m not exactly sure how far that would have gotten me without receipts etc. And he starts to quiver ever so slightly, but keeps his relative cool as we both realize I am holding 4 aces and he is holding jackity-cock, as he reaches into his wallet and nonchalantly says, “Oh you mean this $200…”
“Exactly. Thank you.”
And I motor back to the room, thank my sidekick, who I’ve later purchased a “three pack of smokes” gift for, hit the shower and ride on to meet the new boss.
It’s become sort of a happy story in my mind, despite my pure idiocy. Hell, I might even swing by and buy that rogue a beer later, just in the name of mind-fuck-shame-karma.

Meeting went well, more on that later…

Apologies for only getting two post out so far in 2011, but I’ve been busy. I scored my next teaching job and have landed on the island of Bali in the Indonesian archipelago. I couldn’t believe I got the job when I applied on a longshot, but obtainment of the visa has been trying. After a passport renewal, passing narcotic and HIV screens, I am still only technically here on a tourist visa – the school will fly me to Singapore in a few weeks for my work visa. This route got me here quicker.

I actually wasn’t as jazzed about this move, despite how absurd that seems, mostly through a lack of “hunger”. I’ve had such a blast with my 20 month old niece, digging the holidays, helping a friend’s parents in a low stress move for $25 an hour, it was hard to get away from. Losing a week to ATL’s snowpocalypse 2011 makes sweating it out now all the more surreal. But now that I’m here, the jackpot feeling is kicking in.

Flying Korean Airlines to Seoul, I have to give huge prop to their service. A complete entertainment system in back of the seat in front of you for free is definitely the way to do Pacific flights. I watched and was underwhelmed by “Inception”, the sad but wonderful “Never Let Me Go”, the comic book entertaining chocked full of cuties “Scott Pilgrim vs. The World”, had tetris AND chess. I barely got into lisening to podcasts I had (holla, Producer) and didn’t even open my book! What gives, airlines of America, with your nickel and dime inferior service? I won’t even go into how cute and polite the Korean stewardesses were in their little uniforms. Then after a very quick connection in Seoul, I popped an ambien with wine and slept most of the other 7 hours to Denpasar. The airport is actually south of Kuta, technically where I’m staying in a swank place my brother-in-law helped book. Despite the 1 AM arrival, there was a driver with a sign bearing my name, and I needed only change a little money, buy a few beers and a water, then was at the hotel.

This morning after breakfast, I went exploring a bit. Met a guy on a scooter with whom I agreed to do a “listen to our timeshare schpeal” for a prize (“What! Grand Prize winner, what are the odds?”). Hopefully he got his commission, because I only had to listen to the young German woman’s pitch, realize I wasn’t gonna throw down 2K right now to join the group, find I’d won the reduced price stay and not the camcorder or $500 (…shocker) and was out of there in a paid cab back to my place in about 15 minutes. Riding around on the back of his scooter en route I got to see around a bit.

The vibe is very SE Asia, though more expensive. Two large beers and a large water were about $6 out of a convenience store (true, right by the airport and surely I can find for less) which is only slightly less than the States, and very expensive by Chinese standards, where 9 lg beers (warm) were only about $2.50. And there are jaded tourists everywhere, which is the one thing I’m dreading. It’s a mixed curse as opposed to isolated Liaocheng, China where I lived for the last year: on the one hand, less culture and language barrier, improved chances of getting laid…on the other, the smileless faces of the expat gilded ghetto, and being treated like a tourist yourself, even months from now, and the hustle that goes along with that. But picking up some language skills (and thankfully for the most part Balinese is NOT tonal) should get me out of that rut.

I see the capital city and meet my new bosses tomorrow and report for orientation on Monday. Bring it Bali!

A friend, a working dancer, who has not seen this film yet, commented recently that his dance friends tend to rant about the realism of the film while the non-dance people are a little less excited. In the non dance camp, I must admit I have more respect for the discipline of ballet than I did before. Of course, you know it’s demanding, but to see rehersals in effect, witness the ego’s involved, at least fictionally represented, is another level.

I really enjoyed the transformation, when the Nina character “nails” the Black Swan half of the dance, which the entire film her ability to do has been in question. But rather than a “dance film”, I would describe this as a very repressed and infantilized woman dealing poorly with personal and professional pressure.

Even though the film works and is very good, if I seem a little less than blown away, I must admit I wouldn’t have minded a little more “Aronofsky style”. It’s what I loved about the first three films: the zip edit montages and time lapse, the emphasis on color, and whatever other ephemeral but distinct elements where at work. Yes, even The Fountain, which I didn’t think was as bad as some others seemed to. Then with The Wrestler, he shed most of that, replacing with strip downed realism, not “Hollywood magic” at all. And it worked. But I’d like to see the former style come back! To be fair, there are hints of it, as the film progresses and Nina is getting lost in her psyche. But the only scenes that struck me as distinctively Aronofsky where when the camera followed, about two feet behind her, showing us the mundane city commute as she was seeing it. He did the same with Rourke walking behind the scenes in the grocery store and at various matches. In Requiem, he did it with the camera in front of the characters, we seeing their expressions and behind them, often in a fix cam that shook about all the background only keeping their heads in focus.
I miss all of the other highly stylized trickery Mr. A! Don’t be afraid to follow it into realms they might call pretentious crap…

I saw a book on this guy a few years ago, didn’t pay attention to his name and had to do much research to rediscover Greg Irons. But how can I not help but feel affinity for a guy who worked in Underground comics and actually on one of my favorite films The Yellow Submarine, before reinventing himself in the world of tattoo? As for his death in BKK Thailand, soon after receiving “magic” protection tattoos: after seeing some cynicism expressed about this, may I offer an alternate view that perhaps the ink was only a final step before passing from this realm. Anyway, a great and interesting guy while he was here.