Birdmarket in Jogjakarta, Java, Indonesia from chilly on Vimeo.

She had to work until 3 on Friday, so we left her massage salon from there, dropped off her scooter and were on the road, she on the seat behind me and holding a bag with all of our stuff. We made the harbor town of Padangbi by 4:30 but couldn’t get on a ferry until 7, sitting in rain all of that time. The upside of this was getting to see that small town’s ogoh-ogoh festivities. Large, some huge, paper mache demons and devils are made and paraded around before the day of rest.

I had shots from several back in Kuta I wouldn’t get to see paraded, but nor would I deal with those crowds. Also the stores have been running beer specials, as it is one of the few days locals drink and nurse hangovers during the lights out, day of rest. The stores were insane days before with people buying everything off the shelves. Some hindus fast, but most seem to be succumbing to the same mania that sweeps westerns before a snowstorm. The realities of starvation never reflect the lines and bare shelves beforehand.

We got to Lombok Island around 11 and I had her in the capital and her hometown Mataram by 12. She suggested I just stay there for the night, but all rooms were full. It was obviously a popular time to get off Bali. So I gassed up and rode on to Senggigi when I’d “booked” a room days before. I was well tired by this point, and not aware of the ocean view just off the cliff due to the darkness and the hum of my engine. I found the place in tiny Senggigi and a guy on a bench out front told me “all full” then tried to sell me some dope. “I have a reservation” I assured him, declining his other offer. He said Ok and led me down the dark path. No one woke up from the completely unlit “office” shack, so I looked for the number in my phone history and could instantly hear my ringing from inside. Eventually the older woman awoke and came out. I gave my name and told her about the reservation.
“Sorry”, she said, “I give room away. Why you no make two reservation?” Who’d ever heard of such a thing? Usually one reservation is sufficent. And why the fuck didn’t she tell me to confirm when I made the first one?
1 AM and everything in town booked, now what? Wait til dawn? But Dopey had an idea and made a call. He could get a room for three times the price of the one I’d arranged but I had to be out at 7 AM.
“That’s nuts”, I told him. “I’m not paying that for 6 hours. No”. He called again. Same high price and I could leave at noon. “Ok”, I said. Fuck it – I was tired, hungry, and in need of an enibriant from a source I could trust: beer from the 24 hour store which thankfully was still selling.
The contact, a young guy, came and met me and we rode on to the house. There sat another watching TV. I thought I saw a pipe on the table, and riding to the store to get my beer and then eat late night in a warung on the way back I was worried about cops and set ups and general paranoia going along with illegal activity. When I got back and drank my beers (the first guy was gone but TV guy was still there) I saw upon closer inspection it was actually some random small piece of a motorbike engine. There was talk about such things later, but just in general terms – how it works in the US and Indonesia. Obviously bad news in both places. We said our goodnights and turned in. the guy said he lived there, but it seemed like a deluxe set up for one so young. I think it was a rental house with no tenant they had camped out in. I had no qualms about cranking the AC for the price I paid.

In the morning I showered and no one was around, so I left a note and slipped out leaving the door unlocked. Senggigi is was asmall town, a village really, and I was in a neighborhood off the main road, so after pulling the gate shut, security didn’t seem an issue. Coffee time. I was hoping for a place in this neighborhood rather than on the main drag where a buleh was bound to pay more. I tried one little shop that sold coffee packets, but none made. I ran into a Westerner washing his car. He was an older Canadian guy and we talked for about 20 minutes about the area and his ex-pat experience, general lack of eco-consciousness in these places, the short sighted quest for the tourist dollar, potential dive spots for some other frinds of mine who will hopefully come, etc. He pointed out a cafe that had just opened about a block away, and I went in to have coffee.

I had a pastry as well and a female German owner came out to the table (it was sort of one table in a garage area with a counter) to mention they also rented rooms. Hani was texting me at this point with leads on places in Mataram, and indeed staying back there seemed to make it easier for our depature the next day. I was paranoid about how long the boat back might take, picturing 10,000 bulehs and Balinese returning to the island in the post holiday/pre-week rush. But in the end I went to see the womans room, again back in the neighborhood. It turned out to be a good choice. I rented the smaller room, and no one came to get the larger, so I had the entire small house to myself for 150, 000 – less than $17. There was a “kitchen” but only some plates no appliances. As I set myself up, people form the restuarant came by to bring sheets, haul away recycling from the last guests, and this one really smiley, cutie showed up – Winda. Unfortunately I had to tell her the western toliet (one eastern, one western) had just backed up. First she brought me a toilet brush, which was useless. She soon returned with a borrowed plunger and I remedied the problem with minimal trauma. It worked fine after that.

I put some of my sopping things from the previous day’s rain up on the tiny deck area to dry, then went out to the beach. I chatted with some locals, foraged coral for a pending aquarium project and had some tasty satay with congeled rice wrapped in palm leave bundles.

Later, while trying to nap, Hani wrote she was coming to town with her daughter so I told them to come by the houe and I’d meet her. Her cousin came too. It started to rain agian just as they arrived. We talked and ate peanuts while waiting out the shower so they could go to the beach. Her ten year old daughter was obviously bored so I suggested she watch TV. She shyly resisted this idea at first, but eventually relented. Unfortunately, I discovered I could get no channels, but there was a DVD player and luckily I found a stash of about 40 DVDs in a drawer, including some kids stuff. She was now more of less content to wait out the rain.

Eventually they left and I went back to the store for my evening beers. My budget was a bit in question, as I’d had to blow a quarter of what I’d brought on that first night’s room, but breakfast was free, I had enough for dinner, gas, and the boat back. Hani agreed to pay if we had a blow out or some other bike issue on return ride, then I’d get her back.
I watched the excellent Australian crime drama Animal Kingdom and drank. Then went back to the restaurant for dinner. They had a special Italian menu that week, but it was too spendy. I almost went for a default burger and fries, but decided agianst it, notcing some Thai items. So in the end, had only the Italian salad, Tom Yum soup and Pad Thai. Plus, Windu to sit with me and flirt the entire meal as I drank some more beer they kept cooling for me in the fridge.

Back at the house I watched a film I’d never heard of, Extra Man, with Kevin Cline, who can be quite hilarious when he wants to. Then as I was drifting off, I felt really funky, and ran to the bathroom to puke. I think it was some seafood in the Tom Yum, but still no regrets, it was tasty…the first time. No clogging issues and I was off to a good night’s sleep.

In the morning, I rode back to the restaurnat for Indonesian breakfast and coffee, chatted a bit more with the German owner, said goodbye to Winda (who has since started calling and texting…) and rode to Mataram to meet Hani. She now had a small package en tow for a cousin in the hospital back in Kuta on Bali. It rode at my feet on the small platform of the motorscooter.
On the ferry back I met this guy, Mitch from Montana, who’s on a fair trade journey and writing a book about his travels. He’s really into the cause and there are lots of reading and links there if you are. We also saw some dolphins from the boat.

We rode back to Denpasar/Kuta without incident, though I got the flat I was expecting the next day before class. They are cheap and easy to have fixed here. Three holes in that sucker, I’m just thankful it didn’t shit out on me out on the highway in a driving rain. Despite some price-gougin’ and vomit, it was quite a nice little trip. And definite confidence builder for getting around further on my own. I still have much of this Bali island to see of course. The timing on getting my drivers license and the visa run just hasn’t made it possible before now. And this day of rest dictated me over to one of the other 17,000 islands of the archipeligo in the short run.

Singapore is essentially a city of shopping malls. I didn’t see the Orchard Boulevard hotel with the “four floors of whores” some English business man told me about in the airport, but on the other end of Orchard where I had dinner I saw plenty strutting about, including one in an anorexic Mrs. Claus get up. But Sing. is a huge financial center and those ladies are after the big $.

I walked around Chinatown, got to use a little Mandarin, got rid of the older “small head” hundred bill no one in Bali will take without a serious penalty. Walked around a ton actually. Rode the bum boat in the Singapore river. Had some great pho, and some REALLY choice honeyed pork and beef jerky sheets called bak kwa.

Got some comic/art book things in a Japanese bookstore with a huge, very discount section. Met some other teachers from the same chain I teach with from Jakarta and it seems their situation is shittier than mine. But they had been up since 4 AM, were exhausted, and weren’t exactly the best representatives at the moment. Got my bottle of Jim B from duty free for a decent price (as I’m not paying the $90 they are here), and came on home to the rain.

Since I did have the bike, I went and took Valentine’s chocolate and fake roses to two girls I’ve met, one Hindu one Muslim, both massage girls (legit Balinese massage, I haven’t tried the “naughty” yet). The Hindu one, Ayu, seems quite keen to be my “girlfriend” despite being literally half my age and the fact we can barely speak to one another. It’s all quite puppy and innocent. Phau-action prospects being better than no action at all as I see it. I get the impression things are all quite chaste in their minds, for now. Ayu had a gift for me as well when I showed up, so it’s not all just complete suckersville on my end. And I will slowly be learning Indonesian…one text message at a time, as I made the effort initally and now she seems to not be bothered with using English.

I’ll be taking a school funded visa run to Singapore soon, and also start training with the online version of the school. But for now my schedule is actually rather chill. We’ll see how long that lasts…

I walked by there in the afternoon, was thrilled with the general vibe of the place: incense and fruit offerings, people burning some other paper things – not hell notes – I’m not exactly sure what. Kids running around and families, a general good vibe like a crowd of Buddhist can create. Saw a 3 lion dance, which turned out to be the afternoon show for a busload of Taiwanese tourists Someone told me there would be a parade at four, so went to a nearby place to eat. Found myself ravenous and ate quite a bit from this cheaper place, which turned out to be a mistake because the temple was giving out free dinner a few hours later.

Four o’clock came and went and no parade, but I was enjoying just sitting and watching the prayers and offerings, mellow Chinese music and sweet smell wafting about. I’d been watching a cameraman and reporter doing their thing in the mix and eventually met them (though never got their names). He was Aussie and she Indonesian with really good American sounding English. They were AP, currently hired by CCTV to do the bit on Balinese NY celebration, no doubt going into a bigger segment on festivities all over the world.
We talked film, modern journalism, the in’s and out’s of Indonesia, and got a kick out of the tweet she got when Anderson Cooper got popped in the Cairo fray, which I assume made at least some waves in the States, if not full on CNN Domestic absurdity, with Dr. Gupta doing some fluff piece on Coopers “injuries” etc. What a gigi.

Anyway, at 7 there was another show, better than the first. A dragon dance, the red lion dancing on large concrete rolling balls, other theater. But it’d been a long day, I was (needlessly) worried about my computer back in the less than secure room, and I left before people were to jump around on phau-Bamboo poles.
I’d come by day and thought I knew the way back, but took a wrong turn and walked WAY in the wrong direction, was caught in the rain, and turned down overpriced cab rides as I stubbornly stumbled around until I found my way back, about a two hour wander. I could have hopped in a cab, but screw it, I had the time to waste. In all it was a great Chinese New Year.

*met with the “main” school in Denpasar and was pleased to find
things less formal than they might have been. Yet also got the impression my previous experience might not count for much. The “trenches” of China are China, Indonesia is Indonesia. It’s almost as if my previous teaching was guerrilla warfare and I now must learn to be a proper soldier…or something closer to one.

*driver took me by a cool monument in the center of Denpasar. Utterly
tranquil despite the heat. Cool, bizarre unknown Hindu deities.
A series of 25 odd dioramas depicting ancient, but plenty more
recent, history of the area. Turns the Dutch may have been just as
culpable bastards as other European colonialists, though I’d wager
most North Americans don’t realize this. South Africa wasn’t their
only fuck up.

*starting having random chats with Australians who weren’t too drunk
or shirtless in public, non-appropriate places.

*moved to a cheaper hotel but right in the fray of tourists saturated Kuta. Literally had to walk a gauntlet of vendors of get to my second floor room. Each, and, every, time. “Really dude, I didn’t want a t-shirt 5 minutes ago. Why would I this time?”

*sat around all weekend stressing about money and trying not to spend much money. Did find the silly little toys I collect are here though and got one.

*met with my school, peers and boss, observed classes (see above comment on previous teaching experience) found a reasonably priced place to live and will move in Friday. Also, swell owners of hotel where I’m staying cut me a 10% discount for the remaining days I’ll be here. Serious Maytals’ style pressure drop on my financial future.

*more stress about my immediate learning curve, centered around computerized utilities, corporate standardization and lingo more than actual teaching I guess. Also learning to love the local slack vibe and not to see it as nefarious. That initial “theft” (and another semi-curfuffle with some staff from the first hotel) put me in the paranoid mentality. The Balinese for the most part are swell people. Javanese in the mix, who’ve come to cash in on the tourist mecca of their country…maybe watch out a bit more. This is just an initial observation and hearsay, hopefully not bigotry.

*And now for something completely different: ladies and gentleman, a mangy tailed Asian Palm Civet…

I can’t wait to sift his poop and grind!

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…

not a temple or even the front of the hotel, one of many doorways

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.

fuck Snowpocalypse!

There will also be bar-b-que for sale and live music. I plan to blow it out as never before.

Over the weekend I went to part of the BuriedAlive filmfest at The Plaza, not so much because I wanted to see the films but support the theater and the idea of such a festival. And the films lived only up to that level, Terry Gilliam’s (who is always interesting but I can’t get on board with 100%) Legend of Hallowdega, which was amusing but sort of felt like a tax write off for Amp energy drink; and Satan Hates You, also OK but 5-10 minutes longer than it needed to be. Still I’m not sorry in the least I went: Fangoria and other film swag was given away in the lobby, and it as all about supporting the Indie film (and theater) scene, which is very much in need of such support.

That is the yo-yo making that droning sound. When the woman walks by at the end she points out to the man that I’m filming him and he laughs. Here are some other shots I took earlier in the year of a man doing yo-yo tricks, catching it on his hat platform!

And in this Daniel, who was a student all year in my most advanced teenage class, talks a bit about the history of the shopping center I thought of as “downtown” Liaocheng, Baho Dalo. Tom was a newer student of the same age but for only about a month, and doesn’t say much here.

Lilly and I quickly bonded in the excellent little house I was staying in when I returned. A friend had it on the market (back when houses sold in America…) and I paid only bills in the months we lived there. She had a great fenced in yard, but only wanted to be back there with me. When I’d set her down to explore, she’d just stand at the gate like it was a prison until I came out to brave mosquitos and throw the golfball. Specific events I remember from this era include the day a wild hare got into the fence and I let her chase it for a few minutes, as fast as she was never able to catch him; the time we had a discipline breakthrough and I made her sit lonely at the gate until she realized chewing up flipflops as verboten; the time I channeled her chewing powers for good and we sat together as she slowly pulled all the cotton bit by bit from stuffed animals and I filled my little Thai pillow with it – the look on her face…’so this is OK? this is sanctioned destruction, usually you seem pissed, but it feels like we’re working together here…’.

Over the next few years, moving a lot between Athens and ATL, beginning a record era of house-sitting, Lilly went where ever I did whenever it was possible. My sister and brother-in-law watched her a lot, as I did there dog while they were traveling, before my niece was born, which was quite a bit. Lilly was an ever present best friend and companion, always eager to travel, patient and well behaved when I was away.
And then the time came for me to move to China for a year. I made arrangements for her while I was gone, one friend watching her most of the year, then my sister taking over again last May. Lilly and my niece got along like gangbusters from day one. I knew leaving for so long held a risk, but the way it unfolded was heart wrenching: two weeks before my return she was hit and killed. After seeing so much canine abuse and neglect in China, I’d been yearning to get home and spoil her all over again. But it was not to be. The last time I saw her, like my Dad, was via Skype and she was never able to know I hadn’t abandoned her and I was coming back. Sometimes fate has just gotta do ya like that. If she’d been killed in the first few months I was away I swear it would have been easier to handle. She felt like a big part of the “home” I wanted to come back too. This is a pain I’ll be carrying for a good long while. But I’ve got to be thankful for the times we had to ramble together, and know that despite how she must have felt at the end, she was as thankful as I was – a hell of a partnership. As close as I’ve come, and most likely want to, to having a kid. Some of you won’t get that statement, but others will. Anyway, she was a gentle warrior who now chases wild shadowy hares across the parks and forests of Asgard, and those in Valhallah can hear her excited occasional barks.

When I awoke I went on a stroll around town with a specific test
for my limited Chinese: score long shoelaces for my boots. It took
several shops, but I finally did so. I’d eaten lunch earlier at one
literal hole in the wall and went exploring elsewhere for dinner. The
entire town (village) seemed to shut down around 8, but as I happened
by one place, a group of eaters called out for me to join them and I
did so. Thus I met Franch, who was from Brittany and had been working
on some sort of theater project in Shanghi, and two younger Chinese -
Michael and Gillian, who were not a couple. They had all come that
day from Yanghsuo, which was only about 45 minutes away by bus.
Gillian worked in what she described as a “regaee bar”. During the
meal, they realized they had missed the last bus back, so I took them
to my place where they were able to find rooms. Back at the hostel,
we also met two French speaking guys, Nicolo and Pierre. Nicolo was
actually Italian, but as a photo-journalist he was currently working a
French publishing house (like a French A.P.) and had lived many years
in Paris. They’d had an active day and had not yet eaten, so we tried
for the one other place in town we thought might still be opened.
I only had some drinks and they wolfed down vittles as the kitchen
graciously stayed open for them. The place was run by a Belguin guy
who chatted us up for a bit. Then it was back to the hostel for more
drinks and pool, joined now by two German girls. But as they were
“too many dicks on the dance floor”, I was 10 year older than everyone
else, and Gillian at 19 was the hottest one to me anyway, I retired
before the rest. It did fill my heart with pride though when young
Michael and Gillian took me aside at on point to ask if I was familiar
with an American writer they were currently enjoying named Kerouac.
“Yeah kid, I’ve heard of him… I could tell you some stories.”
But the Beat history lesson could only go so far with the language
barrier. The next morning we caught the bus for Yangshuo, still with
amazing mountains the entire ride.

Gillian paid my fare and was a useful guide when we got to town. I
was actually a bit dismayed to see Yangshuo at first, it seemed huge
and commercial. But after being there a while I realized it’s true
size. It is however very tourist centered and someday might be a
charmless shithole. Gillian showed me the bar when she worked, which
was much fancier than I was expecting (I was picturing a mud floored
shack with a boombox and some Bob Marley discs – as seen ubiquitously
in Jamaica). It was actually a really fancy and expensive bar
connected to a boutique hotel. As it was early in the day, all rooms
vacant, I got to tour several, as I did need a place to stay and there
was a chance I might choose here. It had a urban loft feel to it,
with original art in the rooms, glass floor lofts and multiple flat
screen TV’s. At $30 a room, it was very expensive by local standards,
but of course a joke to one who comes from a country where this price
gets you a room in a stabby crack den at best. Even the penthouse
suite was only $100 or so a night. I considered it, just for the
luxury factor, but in the end decided it would only be depressing
without someone to share it with. What good is an all glass shower
for one? The place had “love shack” written all over it. We moved
on.

She next took me to cool hostel that butted right up to a mountain,
one wall stone. It was raining, as it did every morning, and water
was dripping into buckets all over the place, but it was more
atmospheric than annoying. Being China, there were banks of computers
and electrical chords and bare light bulbs running all over the place,
but somehow no one was being electrocuted. It was like the computer
system I’d seen back in Reef Flute Cave ready to print tourists photos
on the spot. I asked about the lifespan of a system in such
conditions but the owners claimed it wasn’t a factor -
“meysha”:doesn’t matter – it is nothing. Whatever.
My room was a little more than the others but still very cheap, with a
private balcony I never ended up using. l thanked Gillian who went off
to work and I went for my nap. I later realized West Street was the
center of the bar action and was glad I was situated well away from it
where noise wouldn’t be a factor for me. It was over the top and
obnoxious, not quite Koh San Road in Bangkok but sort of a mini
version of that crossed with Gatlinburg, TN. Tons of cheesy bars, and
some OK places to drink, many foreign food restaurants, junk and
trinket shops, smaller alleys leading off the main action. Lots of
lowei and Chinese tourists, hawkers out front trying to get them to
come into this spot or that. But after so many months in a town
without a bar scene, I didn’t mind a bar scene – such as it was.
And it was on that quest for my first burger in a long time I found
Music East and West cafe, Yo yo and her co-workers, and what would
become my home base for the next few days. I think they were playing
Beatles pastmasters vol. 2 which is what pulled me in. But come to
think of it, I never heard “Rain” so it must have been some other
collection. How to describe the charm of Yo yo? She was a natural
comic, a smooth talking waitress. When seated, you were “customer”
and she would often jokingly refer to me as her “master” or even
“God”, but when you stood, you were just another chump and you should
buy her a shot. They were cheap enough during happy hour, which went
from 4-12, so I ended up doing this plenty. Occasionally she even set
me up. But in fact, as a guide she was indispensable.
“Sit down sweetie. Pick some music” was the first thing she said to
me. There was a short somewhere in the speaker wiring so one channel
would often go out, especially unfortunate and surreal with Beatles
recordings as you may know, but the place was comfortable anyway -
electric fans to combat the heat, great menu of western and chinese
food. Yo yo looked more Hawaiian, Samoan, or possibly half black,
than Chinese to me. But she talked like a small town diner waitress
with a Chinese accent. Soon Franch wandered by and seemed as pleased
with the place as I. It turned out he was a saxophone player and had a
little portable one with him he would take to practice by the river
daily. I wasn’t surprised to discover he was good.
So the tale gets a bit blurry from here, but essentially followed a
pattern of our meeting here, eating and going off on outdoor
adventures, to be followed by dinner and copious drinking into the
night; or a buzz with lunch, followed by a nap, then meeting back up
in the evening for copious drinking. Yo yo’s perpetual suggestion of
shots was not helpful.
“Wanna do a shot of Jameson, baby?”
“Yo yo, it’s 11 AM…”
“Yes, my Lord, but I am here to do one with you.”

I’m not gonna obsess on the order in which things happened from there.
It might have been after one night or two, I moved to another hostel
further up the valley I’d heard about and there met Jennifer, the
American who lives in Ko Samui, Thailand briefly before she headed on
to Xian. That other hostel was owned by a Belgian guy with a super
hot Chinese wife. Jennifer had some cross words with them before I
arrived, but I didn’t get this story until later in Beijing when we
met up a third time.
It was a full service hostel: bike rentals, arrangement of other
tours. Most of the other guests were couples, and I had to overhear
some obnoxious conversations over breakfast:
“Oh yes we were there the other day, and found it just lovely..”
“Did you?”
“Oh yes, quite, and we’ll be trying the kayak adventure today”
“Oh that sounds fun!”
“Yes, doesn’t it?”
As Camus complains of in The Plague – the trite, egoism of
lovers…and he didn’t even have to deal with the British, ee gad.
I’d wanted to try a balloon ride in that setting and was ready to pay
a heap of money, but that operation had been shut down a few months
before when one had exploded and several Dutch had died, Chinese
safety standards being what they are – but apparently the owner of the
company had been executed as compensation, Chinese justice standards
being what they are… I settled for a bike rental and set off with my
MP3, some water and a vague map along with some instruction from
Jennifer.

It was a little harder than I’d imagined getting out of town, but
after a bit on a highway going south, I turned off on a dirt road and
it was just me and the mountains, amazing views all around.
Infrequent other bikers, scooters but equal in number to water
buffalos, often tended either by old ladies or very young girls. Only
a little way out of town it was very rural, Iron age, but with signs
of more development on the way. I came to the bamboo ferry Jennifer
mentioned and rode on. I would sometimes pass through cool little
villages. In one I met an older guy who wanted to be my guide on his
own bike. It didn’t seem necessary, but I’m glad I did it, as he took
me out on tiny trails through rice paddies I wouldn’t have ventured
into on my own, as it felt like trespassing. His tour consisted
mostly of tiny bridges which I dutifully photographed. He was a
retired solider who had worked with artillery, or so I gathered from
his charade acting. I couldn’t understand most of what he rattled on
about of course, but nodded politely. In time, we came to the main
bridge of Dragon Bridge Village and had a drag moment when I went for
a beer, and offered to buy him a coke from a guy with a cooler, who
insisted on charging a crazy lowei sucker price, so I said no dice,
ranted for a bit that I was no fool. Then, going to part ways with
the guide, I realized his weird pronunciation of 4 was actually 10 and
the tour was more than twice what I’d thought, but this was my own
foolishness – as 10 is a far more logical price than 4. Still China,
nothing can be as it seems can it? No matter, it was still quite
reasonable. I rode back on the highway, well tired as I’d been gone
several hours, and after climbing a large hill, came in on the north
end of town. I showered or drank, or I’m not sure what then, but it
was nice to have the bike, as where I was staying was now a 20 minute
walk from town through utter darkness and a construction site which
will soon be dozes and dozens of vending stalls catering to the
Chinese day tourists who come in on the boats just to shop and move
on. I rented the bike an extra day just to make this trek to and from
town easier.

One day Franch and I convinced Yo yo to skip work and take us to Water
Cave which took quite a while to get to on various buses and the wait
for a full tour to be gathered. As a local, Yo yo was our “guide” and
got in free. We entered on a small boat and had to duck down beneath
the very low overhang. Soon out of the boat we followed the walkway,
much more rustic and wet than RFC had been, just bare bulbs over
head, no psychedelic lighting. We came to the mud baths, but they
were freezing so I didn’t linger. I was more psyched for the
hotspring area, which we eventually found. It was a cascading hill of
rock with several pools, perfect for one or two, ending in a pool at
the bottom. The water at the top was much too hot and at the bottom
nice but not quite “hot tub”, while the smaller pools going down could
be perfect to suite depending on your tastes, while a stream of
freezing cave water ran down the side. I was lying there after
yelling instruction to Yo yo, who seemed unable to operate the camera
she held for us well away from the water (she didn’t swim or do the
mud), when it struck me that the entire thing might be fake. The
brochure claimed this was a “recently discovered” portion of the cave,
but once there, it was part of one big chamber they surely had to pass
through to get to other parts. It was quite possible the entire hill
of stone had been fabricated and there was some sort of mechanism
beneath heating the water, which would explain why it was so hot at
the top and got better as it mixed with the natural water going down,
with absolutely no sulfury smell. The Chinese are masters of forgery:
antiques, designer labels, media and software piracy. I’ve opened
sealed bottle of liquor which seemed very cheap to realize half way
through they’d been watered or cut with something. Fake or not, the
hotsprings were neat. On the way out, I apologized to Yo yo for being
a spazz about the camera. With the noise of the cascading water
apparently I’d been yelling and she was rather embarrassed. By now,
my nickname had become Hou Tai Lang, who is the wolf from the Pleasant
Goat kids cartoon here I am semi-obsessed with. I called all the
girls Mei Yang Yang (the cute girl goat from the show) when I hit on
them, all of us knowing as respectable Chinese girls nothing was ever
going to happen without a wedding ring, which wasn’t going to happen.

“You bad man Hou Tai Lang”, Yo yo said as we headed back on the
insanely bumpy bus ride. “I feed you many drinks tonight and calm you
crazy ass down!” Franch and I pitched in and paid her more than a
days wages or missing work and taking us to the cave, which sadly
wasn’t much.

At some point we met back up with Pierre and Nicolo, who for some
crazy reason decided to WALK from Xinping to Yangshuo like fucking
Green Berets or something. They had met some girls they had plans
with and so I met them one night (might have been after the cave…)
and we were out to entertain these young ladies. They wanted to go to
this very loud and smoky club with “Chinese rock” where we split a
crazy expensive bottle of Absolute and washed it own with Red Bull. I
couldn’t hear a thing in there and was sweating like mad, but this one
girl seemed into what I might be saying and I convinced her to walk
with me outside where we could hear one another. She was in the
middle of college and trying to figure out what might be next for
herself. We sat on a bridge and I drunkenly babbled on about a life
of self-discovery where parental opinions aren’t the most important
thing (or even considered in my case, a very non-Chinese concept), Lao
Tsu, walking the roads of adventure, paying the price of solitude, but
generally dining on honeydew, standing within the pleasure dome,
drinking the milk of paradise etc blah blah. Soon it was time for her
to go meet up with her young tour group and I walked her back to her
hotel.
But her wide eyed cute stare had me rather wound up and rather than
trying to go and find the Frenchie dudes I went in search of a massage
parlor I’d seen earlier, wondering about the price of the “full
release” services. But before I could find it again, a woman in a
dark alley approached me with the age old question “are you lonely”
and whisked me off to a seedy hotel, when I had fleeting relations
with a lovely, young and svelte Mei Yang Yang, possessing just enough
Chinese to be granted the locals price (supposedly the hawker herself
came from Shandong where I live, and this fact impressed her.) So
there I was back out on the street as the town was shutting down, not
believing I’d stumbled upon what had taken me much longer to find and
figure out in Liaocheng, for the same price, with a much hotter woman
than the average. But positively JACKED on the vodka and Red Bull, it
felt more like coke at that point, so I wandered on to find Yo yo, who
after some brief reservation was OK with selling me after hours beers
to take back on the dark trail where I might be able to sedate myself
toward sleep before the dawn.
“You be careful crazy Hou Tai Lang! I no want see you tomorrow with
smash face!”
“I’m a pro, baby. A blessed magical maniac, worry not”, and indeed I
didn’t even drop one on the bumpyass ride back.

Another day, we took Lisa and Lucy for a day outing, which only seemed
fair as they had minded the restaurant while Yo yo had gone with us to
the cave. We went kayaking, again Yo yo able to beat the price they
had quoted me back at the hostel. Now we, Franch and I, were joined
by an ad hoc group with a Norweign guy and an English girl and this
Swedish guy who I seemed destined to perpetually argue with. He had a
Ramones shirt on, but didn’t recognize the Stooges when I played them
(though too be fair, I might not have at his age either). The fucker
just didn’t want to believe me when I insisted that Johnny Ramone was
a right wing ass… which is a matter of public record. Ok I might
have used the word ‘fascist’ which tends to come easily from my lips
when drinking and certainly means a very different thing in
Scandinavia. The funniest part is when he wanted to ask me about
another of his favorite bands, “Someone once told me, but I can’t
believe. Is it true Hatebreed are nazi’s?”
“Oh my Christ on a bike, I can’t believe of all bands you mentioned
that one! Yes! Yes, it’s true.”
“But common, no! How do you know this?”
“Look; I don’t know if they’ve read Mien Kampf, or polish jackboots or
fly swastikas. But I promise you they are north-eastern thugs. I
personally saw them kick the shit out of some poor clueless suburban
Oregon kid who didn’t know what he’d wandered into outside one of
their shows when I worked for a promoter out there. They get off on
violence and pack mentality.”
“But that doesn’t mean nazi…”
“Not as a political movement, no. Call it what you want. And I’m not
saying listening to them makes you a nazi or a thug, the divide
between artists life and their art etc. Enjoying the films of
Polanski doesn’t mean you condone statutory rape (never mind the dated
facts of that whole debacle). But I’m telling you first hand, those
assholes are bad news.”
“I just can’t believe it…”
“You believe what you want, kid” and round and round we went. But
this was back in the bar. Out in the kayak I had other problems.
Lucy was my boat mate for what turned into a several hour English
lesson, which was fine. But when she got tired, she quit paddling,
and as I was in front, we’d just go in circles. It was amusing at
first. But by the end, when it came time to get out, and we needed to
navigate to the far side of the river current, the sun and fatigue got
the better of me and I spazzed out on her verbally, the word “useless”
being used several times. Even safely on land, my bitter pouting
continued and the others rebuked me. An exhausted and sunburned
(fake, useless, overpriced fucking Chinese sunscreen!) fat guy on a
bender is rarely as amusing as it sounds. But back at the bar a few
hours later, re-hydrated then re-inebriated, all was forgiven, but I
assume Lucy will choose not to boat with the Wolf next time.

Eventually my time in Yangshuo ran out and I ate one last burger with
Yo yo, said my goodbyes and took the bus back to Guilin. Shefen and I
had a dinner date, though she was off that day, and she came to my
room WAY early while I was trying to catch up on some sleep. But we
went on anyway for a good Chinese meal with a hilarious chinglish menu
and another wander in the night market.
On the way into town, I’d seen a hilarious looking “Bear and Tiger
Mountain Village” with big animal statues out front. But asking
around it seemed there was a distinct possibility that it had neither
tigers not bears. So in the end I decided that what I needed was free
pictures of the front entrance. So the girls back at the Riverside
Hotel helped me arrange with the cabbie a brief stop by there the next
morning. I got my shots, and as we headed on to the airport, there
was suddenly a naked man walking along the dawn highway, his head one
massive tangle, very unhip deadlock. A “wildman” who looked for all
the world like he’d just spent the night in, then escaped from, Bear
and Tiger Mountain Village. The cab driver was very amused that I got
his picture. It was bizarre sight. A few hours later my flight
landed back in Beijing.

Woo..this has taken forever for me to write and has been rather long
so I will sum up the rest quickly: took the cheap shuttle train back
to Sanliturn where I stay in PEK and walked to the hostel, actually
bumped into another traveler I’d met in Tsingtao back in Feb on his
way out. Turned out two of the girls from my school were in town so I
met up with them, also Jennifer for a third time and we checked the
area around Hou Hi. Went back to the 798 arts district before
catching the train home the next day. All in all, the trip of a
lifetime. Feels very long ago now, as the school is in “high season”
and we are doing six day weeks.
When I come back to China in 2011, I’d like to get a job in the south,
though I can’t imagine how hot it is down there right about now. The
mountains though definitely did my soul good!

There was a light drizzle as I headed out, but I was pleased to figure
out the airport shuttle train after a short walk. So I can now get
from plane to room for 25 RMB when in China, avoiding the costly cab
ride one often has to bear when landing. On the train I chatted with
cute Dutch girl who was at the end of her trip to China. I got off at
the wrong terminal in the airport and had to wait a bit for the next
train. “Alone” in this huge terminal, I was tempted to take some
pics, but thought better of it, noticing the cameras and whomever
might be watching me. Nothing would have come of it of course, but I
figured I’d avoid the hassle. My plane took off an hour late, but the
flight was only two hours, and I was in humid, mountainous Guilin!
My hotel there had arranged a driver to pick me up, and I found my
name among the name cards of the waiting drivers. Grateful the guy
had stuck around despite my late arrival, he got a rare tip. I
instantly loved Guilin just as I thought I would. Limestone, ‘karst’,
mountains litter the terrain like huge stalagmites. The elements
easily carve them (as well as hollow them from within) and the
humidity keeps vegetation all over them. It’s hard to tell from
pictures before you arrive how many mountains there are, but
thankfully they go on in all directions. The growing city is built
all around them. The driver took me to the Riverside Inn, a place I
found online and was perfect. Cheap, clean, and staffed by several
cute girls in their 20′s. Ah, China! So Shefen, Peggy, Yo yo and the
others became my go to advice board for events around town and what to
do down river.

Dropping my stuff in the room, I went out to explore and quickly
found Elephant Trunk Hill, which is a short, steep climb and a view.
Actually, at first I misunderstood the 40 RMB fee, thinking it was
just to get to a garden area by the river, but it actually entails the
entire park and hill, which was not laid out in an obvious fashion
from the outside. But once inside I was pleased. True it was muggy,
and I sweated almost continuous for my first week of the trip. But
the rooms had AC and I was comfortable when I wanted to be. I had a
nap and Shefen told me about a place for dinner. I told them I’d be
staying another evening before heading South. Most foreign tourist
paid 390 for a boatride all the way to Yangshuo with lunch, but the
girls convinced me to take a local bus for 15 to Yangdi, then ride a
private “bamboo” boat down only the prettiest parts of the river to
Xinping for 150.

The next day I went to Reed Flute Cave which was technicolor lit and
screamed out for the use of hallucinogens. It was also mostly paved
through out, so older Chinese tourists found it easy to get around.
The Chinese love to light things and otherwise “artifically enhance”
to a point where the surreal is often obtained. Not so great for true
spelunkers, but it suited me just fine. That evening I took Shefen to
dinner at the place she’d told me about but had never actually been
to. Later I went to stroll the large night market downtown with
Jennifer, an American who lived in Ko Samui, Thailand for the last
several years. Jennifer is a health consultant and works in some
semi- New Age fields that might have turned me off were she not in
essence a Philly, cynical girl. She had a way of talking about
crystal and such that might have taken some of the bullshit factor out
of it. I’m involved in lifestyle choices that turn her off as well,
but nevertheless we got along OK and I met up with her several more
times during my trip. There was a flier at the hostel for one in
Yangshuo where she decided she would stay and I said I’d look for her
in a few days.
In some ways, Guilin is just another Chinese city, but the rivers
and mountains generated enough romance for me that I’m considering
signing my next teaching contract down there. As I said, the
mountains are a region, and while it is touristy and growing (both
foreigners and a huge emerging Chinese middle class, taking vacations
for the first time) and I would happily go anywhere, it seems my best
shot might be there in the big city, though it’s not the capital of
the province.

The next afternoon, Shefen walked me to the bus station, and I
caught the local which would take me to the road that would turn off
to Yangdi. On the way out of town the police pulled the bus over and
the driver had to talk with them about something for about 15 minutes
and we rolled on. If he paid a fine or bribe I didn’t see. It was
all rather unclear what was going on. Finally we set off again.
Sooner than I expected the bus was stopping and telling me we were at
Yangdi road, just a T intersection with some fruit and water vendors,
people waiting for other buses and traffic wizzing by on the dusty two
lane. As soon as I got off, a woman approached me, but I assured her
I already had a contact I was waiting on. I sent a text to Peggy
saying I was at this point and ready to meet the “boatman” who I had
met earlier back in Guilin. As another bus came by and turned down
the road to Yangdi, the woman came again and chattered I should get
on. When I attempted to protest, she pulled out her cell and showed me
in her contact list the number for the boatman. So the boatman wasn’t
here, but she was telling me to get on this packed standing room only
bus. It was going in the right direction. So I did. The ride was
only about 20 minutes, and the setting was now decidedly rural: cattle
in the road, mudslides on the corners the huge bus would navigate
around. At the end of the road, there were a bunch more vendors
milling around, myself the only foreigner in sight. I bought some
water and was approached by a guy who wasn’t the boatman, but had the
number in his cell and was willing to take my receipt for the ride, so
I got on his boat, which wasn’t actually bamboo, but PVC pipes painted
brown, which was fine, considering I had my camera and pack full of
everything with me and didn’t plan on going into the river just then.
We shoved off and I relaxed completely for the first time that day as
the scenery unfolded. Everything I wanted it to be and more despite
the drizzle. I’d brought my kite along and though there wasn’t truly
enough wind to get it going, the boatman put on the small motor to
give me enough velocity to go aloft for a few photos. I also had a
total 21st century moment as I received 2 cell phone calls out there
in the middle of nowhere on the river. One from a guy back in
Liaocheng looking for this certain store and another from Shefen
calling from Guilin to check up on me. All was bliss.

I’m back on the rotation where I have to out to the kindergarden in a
rural town twice a week. One of the cutest little girls in my first
class where I run flash cards and try to get a few English words to
stick had one. So I asked for it and started in on the ball, and
broke the thing. There is only like a rubber band string holding it
all together inside, and this was a cheap knockoff anyway. As it came
apart in my hands, I headed for the regular teachers, unsure if it was
a classroom object or her personal toy. They assured me not to worry
about it, truly an accident, and I started back in on the flash cards.
I looked up and saw her silently starting to cry. I didn’t know I
could feel that bad that quickly. She was trying to put on a brave
face, but after all, the Foreign Teacher had specifically asked for,
broken, then tried to slink away with her toy. I could just see
inside her little brain “That fuckin’ “lowi” (ghost – as they call
us) broke my snake, man! This is evidence of an unjust universe!” I
kept trying to tell the teacher to tell her I’d bring another one, a
better one, when I come back next Tuesday. And explain it all to her
parents. Four days is an eternity to a four year old! I asked the
driver to take me to a toystore in town right away, but she was late
anyway, and everyone kept telling me not to worry about it. But I
think I just singled-handedly started a future chapter of Al Qaeda,
the first in Eastern China…

It’s not as bad as all of that. I haven’t bought an electric bicycle,
as the regular one I was given works fine. Liaocheng is gloriously
flat, a town made for biking and I need the exercise. I’ve also
re-discovered simple youthful cheap thrills like the flying of kites.
And there are no recreation drugs to buy here. Nor records, or books
in English, or movies in English to see in the theaters or things I
would regularly buy back in the States. Beer and liquor are absurdly
cheap, and I’m drinking less anyway. I guess what’s bugging me is the
sorority girlish glee I get when I go off on a weekly buying trip.
Who needs all of this stuff? And I’m just going to have to ship it
home.

I went to Beijing in early March and it was only worse. There is so
much more available there. But ties? Seriously? Why buy more ties -
even if one was a gift. The sales girl was cute and I’m a sucker. A
rich sucker, it’s disgusting. And the street of toy stores – I was
beside myself. But I will vouch for the city – Beijing has only gotten
cooler since I was there in ’06. The 798 arts district is a must see.
And the hutong area east of Houhi as exploded. There is some
“tourist cheesey” factor with Tibetan yogurt shops and fish and chips
places, but some cool bars too and indie crafty type stores that could
only survive in China with the tourist dollar.

How much is it gonna suck to have to go back to being an American poor
person? Hopefully I will have gotten some of this consumption out of
my system by then.

Mark P. Casey, April 20, 1942 – Feb 23, 2010

My Dad died yesterday at Crawford Long hospital in Atlanta. It was rather sudden, at least the actual cause of illness, but in general not really, as he didn’t take very good care of himself and had minor mental health issues for most of my life. He had advanced pulminary fibrosis, which was only recently found, with complication of pneumonia. Even if he had last six more months for a lung transplant, that would have only bought him a few years.

The situation is especially strange as I am overseas and wont come
back for a funeral. Our plan at the moment is to have him cremated
and take him to the (family) plot in Minnesota in mid-October, hopefully
beating the first freeze. I am glad I spent a lot of time with him
before I left on this trip. The last time I actually spoke/talked
with him was via Skype in December. There were no indications then
that this would be coming so soon. I really feel for my sister who is
having to deal with the details first hand and wish her strength and
support. She got to say good by, but also had to see the horror at
the end. I called this morning and spoke into his ear over the phone
but he was already unconscious an in intensive care.

For whatever faults he may have had, he always encouraged my curiosity
and interest in history…or one of his favorite cliches, taken from
what I assume is a long defunct teen literary magazine called Cricket
- a sense of history, mystery and adventure. I wished he’d gotten to
travel more, specifically, I wish I could have gone on a trip with him
to parts of the UK before he passed. He really would have dug that.

I’ve had a chance to do a bit more traveling. Just here in
Shandong province, but I’ll take it. There are big changes coming for
our school – new name, new books, new problems etc and there was a
banquet in the capital, a meeting of the three schools our owner owns.
They put us up in an adequate hotel, which strangely had nude woman
tiles in each of the shower rooms. We had a few hours until the
dinner, so we went out into the city to explore a bit and get things
we can’t in Liaocheng. Sadly, I must admit I’ve appreciated Walmat
and McDonald, as we don’t have them here. I hate both companies in
theory, but the Chinese seldom use deoderant and I’m running low. I
found one place with Nivea, very expensive roll, on in Liaocheng, but
I wanted more variety and sure enough they did, though not much. As
we headed out, not exactly sure how to tell a cab where to take us, I
was really pleased to recognize one high rise among the many, and was
able to direct us to the store on foot in about 10 minutes. We came
to Jinan once before to see Avatar in English (though not 3D) and
Walmat is in the same multi-story building, as well as a decent toy
sore (as in collectable toys, Qees, robots and other figures). Also,
Chinese Walmat has decent log sleeve shirts with chinesey looking
stuff on them, obviously cheap.
So we made it back to the hotel in time to see part of an utterly
depressing documentary about the Chengdu earthquake (English TV is
also a treat as we don’t pay for channels. I see historical dramas in
the massage parlor, occasional news shows or sports in restaurants).
We were given nifty Qing dynasty jackets to wear, though a bit more
red than I’d like, and we were off to the drinkfest/banquet. As the
evening wore on we met some of other foreign teachers, got the schpeal
on good tattoo shops and other Jinan goodies (*ahem*…did have a
taste later in the evening, but it was bullocks and hardly worth the
general risk). We went out drinking with them at this pub (another
treat. There is a bar or two here in Liaocheng, but they are very
expensive and don’t really have what you want. Also very difficult to
talk to the hot chicks, who are mostly college students and can’t
afford to drink in expensive bars. Not to mention the garbage pop
music. I’ve got dibbs on the assasination of Kenny G btw…) and then
a dance club. Not my scene of course, but it was this one Jinan
western teacher’s last night in town, so we tagged along. Actually
the room itself was pretty cool, steam punk decor they refused to let
me take proper pictures of, and all the female employees in these
matching 60′s airline stewardess outfits. Inside all sorts of lights
and coyote ugly nonsense, plus our hosts bought copious amounts of
watered down drinks. If I’m gonna be in a silly ass disco, it might
as well be a Chinese silly ass disco. The four Liaocheng foreign
teachers, Dean, Darren, Kissi and myself eventually wandered on to a
cab and were almost home when we made the driver drop us at the 24
hour McD’s. We were all blasted and it is munchie food, though they
use cucumbers instead of pickles and some spicy dust. There Kissi got
into a fight with some guy and we wandered on, easily could have
walked the rest of the way, but Dean got us into another cab that took
us way in the wrong direction, wasting much time and money.

We awoke the next morning to the kind of
gasoline-destroying-the-peeled-skull style hangover only baiju can
produce and caught the bus back to Liaocheng. I napped, drank much
water and went for a massage. I’d call it about a 6 hour recovery,
which is impressive if you could understand the previous level of
pain. Note to self: do not mix countless beers, whiskey, vodka and
baiju. Unless ready to PAY.

The winter course has begun which means lots of work for a few weeks,
six days per. But it actually wasn’t as bad as I thought it might
have been. We’ll see about the summer when we must do two months of
this regiment. To be fair I must say, other wise the load has been
rather light. I’m not on the shift that has to go to the rural school
for a few months, and my adult class all got so busy in their personal
lives it’s on hiatus for a while. So January I only worked three days
a week, can’t bitch. But now with the new books and routine, plus
having to judge a few rounds of the national English competition – I’m
nervous.
But now it was holiday time, and Dean and I headed for the coast at
Tsingtao (“Ching Dow”). It’s stressful because even though everyone
knows the date of the lunar new year (Year of the Tiger of course) the
govt. doesn’t announce the actual dates of the long holiday until a
week before. EVERYONE goes back to their hometown for New Year (also
called Spring Festival), ensuring the bus, train and air routes will
all be clusterfucked. The only thing smaller than Chinese foreskin is
Chinese forethought (*double snare-kick-cymbal crash*). But we got
seats on an overnight sleeper, caught it at a frozen 3:30 AM and awoke
more or less rested in Tsingtao.
There were a bunch of German settlers there about a century ago,
starters of the famous brewery, and they left some architectural
influence. It’s also very dense and hilly, so it felt sort of like
San Franciso to me (though not THAT hilly) or a bit of Europe in
China, but the red tile roofs had me feeling Italy more than
Deutschland. There was a snow a few days before, and they got more
than Liaocheng, so there was still plenty of snow in the corners and
ice on the hills. The hostel where we stayed was in a converted
observatory and really cool, though the tiny restaurant in the
telescope part was freezing cold. We split a private room with it’s
own bath, very reasonable, but there were also dorm style rooms in the
three story building.
Almost immediately we met Lou, who was up on the hill taking pictures
but not staying at the hostel. She was born in Tsingtao but has lived
most of her life in LA and NYC. I know I’m into Chinese girls, but
seeing her general Western style, nose ring and saying fuck every
sixth word, had me realizing it’s more about Chinese-American girls.
She didn’t have long before having to go to a huge family lunch, but
we went on this goosechase trying to find a market area by bus, none
of us really knowing the right way. Eventually, we got into a cab and
headed back to the right area, but Dean and I hopped out to check some
stores we saw on the way and paid the cabbie to take her on. She gave
me her number, but it turned out to be a digit short when I tried to
call later…

There was a big free dinner party that night at the hostel, and the
baiju flowed liberally. Other guests who had seemed standoffish
before now got lubed and loquacious. There were several Irish
teachers from Korea who’d come over the the holiday. And at dusk the
fireworks started…well I guess I mean the colorful ones, as noisey
bangs had become a constant in the previous days. From our vantage we
could see half the city, what wasn’t blocked on the other side of the
hill and explosions were everywhere. The beer ran out and more
arrived and the colorful explosions continued. When I’d left Dean
inside, he was pounding drinks hard with some Korean guys. It was
eventually reported to me that after falling over, they’d taken him
off somewhere. Which I presumed meant to some room to sleep, as I had
the only key and knew he wasn’t in ours. ‘Fucking rookie’, I thought
‘passed out by 9 and missing all of this’. Hands down the greatest
firework evening of my life. We had some of our own of course an lit
them in the snow, but not the heavy artillery colorful stuff. It went
on until midnight, then an hour of “finale”. Madness! We made
dumplings and ate for late night munchies and everyone pretty much
wandered off. I was still up with the owner and a woman from Texas
when a phone call came. Someone from the hostel had been arrested
breaking a glass door across town, and police were bringing them over
now. We laughed about the pathetitudue of it all, and pondered the
condition he’d be in after police Chinese cutody. The owner described
“the panda” which amounts to two black eyes.
“I’ll bet it’s one of those Canadians who left before dinner. That
big one looked mean”, I said.
“Yes, your right”, AJ agreed.
“No”, the counter girl said.”Room 306″
My blood went cold, as that was our room.
“No it can’t be. I’m in 306 and Dean is…passed out….somewhere…(I hope)”
“I think it is him, the boy from England…”
Oh sweet mother of fuck!
I went up to get his passport to give the cops, which I essentially
had to, and asked AJ to try and get me a minute alone to talk with
Dean to explain selling him out at this point, even though it was a
situation of his own making. But still, even though there were no
options, giving someone elses passport to Communist Cops doesn’t feel
good. I sweated and waited. This had to be some bad joke.
Car rolled up about 20 minutes later and I was expecting a bloody
panda to emerge from the backseat. But Dean actually seemed rather
jovial, with remarkable Chinese for his condition, an actually joking
around with the cops. They let me take him aside and I gave him the
passport to give them.
“What the fuck, Dean…”
” I know mate, I fucked up. Big time.”
“What happened?”
“Don’t really know. I’ve been blacked out most of the evening. But
apparently I’ve broken something…”
“A glass door the owner wants 10,000 RMB for (over $1,500), and you
fucked with a bank’s door. The cops picked you up sleeping in front
of an ATM…”
“Shit*”
“Why DEAN?”
“Can’t say. I remember nothing.”

He was released as they had his passport and he’d be an idiot to leave
town without it. The plan was to go to the station the next day with
AJ and try to negotiate the price down. Up in the room, I plugged him
for more information, but he had nothing I described the last time
I’d seem him hours before and he didn’t remember any of it, the Korean
guys, nothing. I’ve seen Dean drink plenty, and Jinan just the week
before had been a “blowout” but I had no inclining a beast such as
this dwelt within him.
“How are you gonna pay? Ask your folks for the money?”
“My parents don’t have any money. I’m gonna have to ask the school in
Liaocheng.”
He’d only remembered at some point thinking there was a zombie
apocalypse and begging the cops not to “go out there”.
I laughed bitterly and was soon asleep. I awoke to the sound of Dean
puking his guts out, the phone rang and it was time for him to go to
the Police station. Certainly that day’s hangover beat the Jinan one
for him. After a few hours the school called and I talked to Carol,
who was in a full panic. The cops had found her number in his wallet
and called the night before.
“What has happened? Why did you leave him? (because I am older, there
is a cultural assumption I should have been watching out for “younger
brother”) What was the phone number of the restaurant owner?”
And of course I had no info for her, but resented her presumptions, as
indeed HE’D left, I never went anywhere, and after months of cleaning
up after his 23 year old ass. Not to mention he fucked the chick I
was after for three months, and I’d wanted to come on this vacation on
my own anyway, and he’d tagged along like a fucking puppy. I’d didn’t
want to hear any shit about “responsible for Dean”. He’d made his bed
and he’d lie in it. I told Carol he planned to ask the school for the
money, and she laughed bitterly.

So I went on with my day, what else could be done? I went and toured
the Tsingtao brewery with the Irish which was mediocre. They only
give two small beers and the giftshop, the main reason I went, didn’t
have much. It was more of a museum tour, we saw no live brewing. I
wandered home, exploring the city. Got a cool robot, mech-warrior
model in a shop that seemed mostly a flower store but had a few toys.
I ran into some gay guys from Chicago who were staying at the hostel
and wandered with them a while trying to find this historic German
house, but was soon hungry and tried, in need of a shower, and headed
back to the hostel on my own after they pointed the way.
Eventually, Dean showed back up after spending most of the day with
the cops. Carol called again while he was in the shower and seemed
more calm but still claimed it was the “worst New Year” ever, and
asked me again not to drink any more.
“Fuck that! I didn’t break anything. I had a lovely evening, not
even a hangover as I just stuck to beer.” But I tried to calm her as
well. AJ had talked the price down to 5,000 and the school had indeed
wired him the money, about a months salary, which he now owed them,
but he had his passport back and supposedly there were no charges
being pressed. Apparently the guy who owned the restaurant was a
mobster, but as I never even saw him, this is the vaguest speculation.
AJ’s previous hostel had been “closed by gangsters” and I think he
sort of had gangster paranoia. But who knows… Bottom line, Dean
the black out drunk got lucky as fuck after getting really stupid. At
one point, the cops showed him the video from the bank of his butting
up against the doors, out of his mind wasted.
“If only it had just been the restaurant, the cops wouldn’t have had
any evidence”, he said.
“Zip it Dean”, I told him. “You have to own this! Now lets try to
get on with the vacation.”

We’d gotten tons of great DVD’s at a shop the day before, that night
found Book City which had lots of English titles (which means two
shelves worth, in China) finally got my own copy of the four volume
Outlaws of the Marsh so I don’t have to worry with borrowing volumes
elsewhere to get through the 1200 pages. We had dinner with a
Canadian living in Shanghi named Matt at a Korean Bar-b-que place.
Tsingtao has the Old City which is the hilly part, and the New City
which is more modern, full of jazz bars and conveniences, but much
less charming.
The next day was more wandering, exploring, had some sushi, back to
the new city for a two huge department stores, one French owned an one
Japanese. Dean was psyched to find Stella Artois. He had three
despite his new swearing off alcohol (but to be fair, he hasn’t had a
drop since) and I some Tsingtao dark, which is tasty and stronger than
the regular. And they even had Cheese, not processed bullshit but
real slice-able cheese. But it was stupid expensive, in small
packages that never would have made the trip home after a few drinks,
so we just stood there a while and looked at cheese – which was free.
I also saw one of my favorite wines Negro Gato, which is $7 for a
magnum in the States, but here slightly less than a bottle of Jameson.
I was so befuddled I almost grabbed a salesgirl to freakout on, but
what would have been the point?
That night met some more travelers, including a swell Hungarian chick
who lived in NYC for a while. Next morning we went to the train
station at dawn, glad we’d already gotten tickets home as soon as we
got to town, but not yet realizing it was for the local train that
would stop in most every station. So it was a freezing cold day, took
about 10 hours to get home, but at least we had seats the entire way,
which some didn’t.

Flickr is so huge, it is fed by “farms”, which I believe refer to
server farms. At first I thought it just might be me, but looking
around in the forums there I have confirmed that farms 3 and 5 are
blocked in Northern China at the moment; and this when I was just
given two more years membership as an Xmas gift. As a result, I can
not see most of my images, the more current ones, nor my contacts. I
can read image titles about others recent vacations etc, but only get
to see a red dot in the rectangular silhouette. Also IMBD is off
limits (really? you fuckers…) and Wikipedia comes and goes. And
obviously pornhub which was miraculously activated a few weeks back
doesn’t crank out the money shots any longer. Thus has begun my
search through various forums, which will remain nameless, for ways
around this bullshit.

Maybe I’ll spend my Spring Festival vacation in a Falun Gong training
camp in Taiwan or Tibet…

Went to Qufu (choo fu), Confucius’ hometown, which was nice to get out of Liaocheng for a day, but unlike the Forbidden city and various sites in Beijing, they allow vendors on site.  As there aren’t many tourists in winter, they are hungry, and ALL OVER YOU…  sort of a drag. And we had a big snow a few weeks back.  Did I mention our apt. has no heat?  The rooms do have electric units, but the main room has no gas heat, as they are repairing it for the entire building.  But what’s the point of bitching about this here?  Or the new roommate from the UK whose only 23 and used to his mommy cleaning up after him all the time?

Here are some articles I’ve compiled on Chinese weather manipulation (some sci fi shit…here’s another from Wired), censorship (I’ve heard from a woman who works with my Dad at the Fulton library, “party” members even harass anti-party press in the Chinese community in ATL),a robot Olympics,gang trials, and stupid laws no one is about to obey.  Happy clicking.

So right now this is just Bob Pollard style fake band and fake album/fake song titles, but the new roommate Dean is on the way from the UK and is a bass player. So maybe I’ll get a classical acoustic as are so cheap in a nearby shop, a better mike for the software and we’ll actually record some of these songs…

Band: Qilin(chi lien)

Album: Liaocheng Shien Tsi

side A- Buddha was a hippie, Lao Tzu was punk rock
I beat a little Emperor, then another one
Somehow the un-lubed Happy Ending works
Sha-fucking-ma?
Wua shiang my negga (I would like to buy this)
Down to 400 RMB for the week
cheap but cheap

Side B- What the hell are you saying?
Ditch oil
Juicy Mao
pay me if you want to stare
Golden Pig Blues
Tai Chi on a frozen morning
Ain’t goin’ back to Bo Ai
Hey Shiao Jia, dig this…

Anyway, there was no doubting this teacher – he read me like a book. He could tell when I was doing something with my arm or with my Chi. He had a little “time out” T motion he would use to stop me whenever my motion was originating from the wrong place, and I’d start again. He would also stop me at just the right point, which I’m slowly learning to recognize. Then he would make me close my eyes, and take like a psychic snapshot to try and recognize the position. I don’t mean to be overly flaky in describing this, but that’s what it felt like. He’d say things in Chinese, which of course I couldn’t get, but I can say “I understand” and “I don’t understand”, and he can say “OK”, and make the thumbs up sign along with smiles, frowns and occasional blatant hand slapping or shaking out my arms when I was getting too tense. I felt like we had communication going and I was at least getting some things right, based on the look that eventually came over his face. It’s like meditation: you can tell when you’re hitting alpha wave state, but can’t really describe it or explain exactly how you get there. You just zone in on this other place, over time it’s a muscle to be exercised like any other.

Then I followed his head student through what were supposedly the first six moves, but felt more like 20. It’s hard to understand where one begins and the next ends, and of course they couldn’t completely tell me. But then I’d be surprised by another student being able to say just a few words in English to clarify. If I keep going often enough, things will become clearer and clearer – through muscle memory if nothing else. Plus there is all sorts of action in the park: people of all ages stretching, doing this rhythmic pingpong ball toss and catch, various weapons training, and other exercises; not to mention all of the tables of gaming – majong, Chinese chess, card games; and people playing classical music. Commies really know how to utilize a public space…

In other news, one month without TV (I’ll get a DVD player later, we don’t pay for channels and what would be the point?) but plenty of beer drinking with the music and net. Also digging more into Old Time radio (a strange nostalgia for my culture, or as it was 50-70 years ago), I recently found a PK Dick story on X-1 from May 22,1956 (#50 The Defenders). Not the greatest or anything, but still the first time I’ve heard Dick done for radio. Thankfully Phil didn’t have to live to see some of the less prestigious adaptations, not to mention blatant rip offs, of his work.

Anyway, my load is about 21 hours per week, for starting pay of 5K RMB (same as Yuan) per month. It’s about $734, not impressive for the west. But when I consider I can save 1000yuan per month and still live on 1000 per week, I’m essentially living like a king by Chinese standards, and my first raise is in 3 months. And also, this IS the “light” season. I will have one hell month in Winter (Jan or Feb), and one hell month in Summer (June or July) which means working closer to 40 hours per week. When I say 21 hours, that’s classroom teaching time, also have to make lesson plans, some teacher meetings, other school functions and dinners I must attend. Also there is a rotation that goes out to another rural school two days a week to what we call Bo Ai. I’m not on Bo Ai shift this month and am already trying to figure out how to get out of next month. It’s only an hour, flash cards with little kids, but an hour each way, so that’s another 6 hours per week not your own, every other month. I guess Bo Ai just stops during our “hell months”. So in a typical week, I am off Mon and Wed; one class in the evening Tues and Thurs (not counting Bo Ai), Fri; a full day of 4 two hour classes on Sat, and 3 two hour classes Sun. Ages range from 5-14, and actually my Tuesday nite class is adults level 1, beginners (more to come here…). Classes have at least 8 students, my biggest has 18 which is considered “too large”. A new teacher from the UK is on the way, and will make some of our large classes smaller. The worst are the 8-11 year olds, esp. the boys. Like maniacs are they! It’s shocking how they will run amok before class and during the 15 minute break that separates the two hours. Parents often just idly stand by and watch art being torn from the walls, screaming and chasing etc. It’s a combination of “one child – little emperor” (which is not as strict a “law” as westerners are lead to believe) spoiling and the fact these kids are pent up in class most of their week. Yeah they get recess, but they have almost no unstructured time. “Little boys are naughty” – is just understood, and little is done to curtail their behavior. The Chinese assistants get the worst of it, as occassionaly one will bo up and say all sorts of abusive things. It’s in Chinese, but you can tell it’s ugly. The discipline style is to verbally shame the kids into submission, which usually works, but not always. We can assign homework as punishment (picture Bart Simpson at the chalkboard) but this also only goes so far. Of course, it’s even more hilarious for them to see a foreign teacher lose his shit (remember when you had a “sub” at that age? Now imagine how much funnier it would have been to abuse them had they a heavy Chinese accent…) so this must not happen. The shear noise and commotion… It isn’t helped when you’re trying to prep your materials for the young ones and some jackass parent comes into the room and starts SCREAMING into a cell phone – that’s just the style here. The school’s main concern is that the money keeps coming in, so they don’t want to push things beyond a certain point. But anyone who knows me, knows this isn’t MY style, and I will only be pushed so far. I’ve already instituted business cards with our names for each of us to hand out (after all, we are walking advertisements all around town…) and if we can prove enrolling a certain number of kids/new clients, I will vote we be allowed to kick out some of the worse ones, who after all only slow up everything for those who can learn. And it’s only a matter of time ’til one of these naughty boys will discover “the emperor really does wear no clothes” i.e. we don’t have much ultimate power, and we have some sort of Lord of the Flies situation on our hands. I already saw one nasty fight between two boys, and the first thing the parents wanted to know was what the teacher had done to cause this. The teacher of course was already on his way out the door (not me), finished with the end of his final class on a long day, and could care less if two little demon emperors wanted to tear each others throat’s out. At least they don’t have guns… Another factor is: keep in mind how medicated American kids are – ridalin, prosac, who knows what the fuck, and there is none of that here, at least as far as I can tell.

So my adults are also all rich. One owns a coffeeshop/hotel/spa, which is just a hobby and not his real income. I was having a Chinese lesson with a friend in his shop and he invited us to dinner, which ended up being in a posh dining room. I was a bit dumbfounded and nervous, until our first class when I quickly realized he was the worst student. So it seemed he was trying to bribe me… But I’m more than willing to hang out in his expensive coffeeshop (which is more like a bar) and he can ply me with 15 year old scotch (even more exotic here) and such while we practice his elementary conversation starters and ABC’s. There was also a BDay party for one of our teachers (and my roommate) and most of the school in SPR coffee, which he owns (franchise). At one point, well buzzed and after singing all the verses I could remember of “Hotel California” to a conga and hollow body guitar, I wandered over to Rick’s “men’s table” so he could show me off to his buddies and they could drunkenly bellow their limited English into my ear. I am learning to drink warm beer, because the style is to slam small cups of it…”now this toast do 2, now this time 3!”…and you just can’t get cold beer down as easily. So I sip my one cold large one, and slam small warm ones, it all ads up quickly. Anyway, I didn’t want to be rude to my school friends…mostly female…and wandered back to the main table. All of the Chinese drunken men acted like 10 year olds trying to win the cool kid back “Here Teacher, have more whiskey…here Teacher we’ll give you this!…you want cigarette?…you want this? Come back to the men!”. Woke up the next morning, not hungover, but with a cold from overdoin’ it and biking home in the fog, but a friend took me to the pharmacy. They gave me a shitload of pills for like $2 and I was 99% again within a day.

Anyway, there’s an impression of the job. Meeting other foreigners, some other little dramas and joys, and still generally getting along fine. For now…

In the midst of moving to and adjusting within the lifestyle of China, I haven’t had a chance before now to give proper memorial for an old friend who recently past. Thom was a totally swell guy I hung with quite a bit in the late 80′s/early 90′s.

In high school, I had a friend who’s Mom moved to Canada for several months leaving his older sister in charge. No surprise, this became a party house of sorts, during what we now refer to as “Salad Days”(I believe taken from the Minor Threat song). It was in this era that I first met Thom. He was a year older and went to another high school, but we had similar musical and cultural tastes. In fact we collaborated on a zine called Soma, which I think only ever achieved two issues, and who knows if I even have one buried in my files any longer. But he went on to become program director for my favorite ATL radio station, GA tech’s WREK, where they have a podcast and memorial in the works. I last ran into he and his wife in the winter of 2006(07?) and was pleased to realize he seemed the “same old Thom”. He died in a hiking accident in the Grand Canyon, and while this is obviously horrible, to happen while he was so young, I take comfort in the fact he was spared some more painful fate in possibly not as beautiful a setting. Knowing we all have to go some time, may I say I hope for a similar passage. I wish all the best to his surviving wife and family, and know that all who knew him will always think fondly of him. He was that open and friendly type, without enemies or spite, while still striving hard against a mundane system that deserves to be shaken up-

I don’t really have that many things for a person my age, and had I a house in which to arrange them, they wouldn’t seem like much at all. But damn if it doesn’t still seem like so much stuff. Am I a clothes horse? No, and yet all of these T and button down shirts I can’t seem to part with. A look through the books one more time for what can be traded in and what must be present when The Library is eventually assembled. Yes, record jackets are kick ass, and vinyl is it’s own thing, but hauling around piles of it sucks! What business does a nomad have collecting art, even these small pieces? Tools which are useful and should be kept but are seldom used. Other hobby gear along these lines. What stands out the most are little “stocking stuffer” type gifts given out of some sense of “balance” or just more packages to open, that get tucked away into closets and boxes, never opened, never really wanted.

And god knows a year from now I’ll have another pile of stuff on the other side of the Pacific trying to figure out what needs to be shipped back over here…

I’ve been pulling for Michael Mann since the early days ala Manhunter, with the creepy Francis Dollarhyde and early “rock video” use of bad trip anthem “Ina gadda da vida”. What is it about his style that just doesn’t take off, esp. these days?
The cast is stellar, as is the soundtrack. The strongest kick is the period setting, recreating the 30′s world of polished hardwoods, marble, wool and steel of the tommy gun. And indeed there are many great shootouts, the tommy gun intensifying the violence. But Christian Bale’s southern accent is hokey and somehow all the elements brought together here just don’t get their Gestalt on. Worth seeing, but no need for the big screen.

Now past the time constraint, we were free for what I considered the fun part: taking some state highways on the way back. We took PA 209 from Port Jervis and followed the Delaware river down. A large black bear ran across the road just in front of us and into a corn field, no doubt on to do some fishing in the Delaware. Unfortunately I had no time for a photo, but thankfully it wasn’t a close call: 16′ Penske vs. Bear = mess for all. We had lunch in Nazareth, PA enjoying the small town Real America. Lots of bikers in PA.

Tonight we’re crashing in Staunton, VA where there is the abandoned DeJarnette hospital just off 81 and across from the Microtel. The desk lady assured me the cops snatch up infiltrators regularly and enforce jail time, so I only took some pics from across the road. Here’s some more from Flickr of those who’ve made it in. The classic “haunted” TB/mental hospital…maybe next time. Plus, Staunton has 2 indie movie theatres. Tomorrow some more exploration in VA and back to ATL. I love roadtrips, esp. of the semi-aimless variety!

So I’ve been in contact with an English school in Jinan, China and am awaiting my invitation letter, which will land me a work visa, and a move on the the next chapter of my life. Unfortunately I heard from the school yesterday, that the Chinese govt. has slowed way down, if not halted the issuing of such visa over lingering fears of swine flu. A little searching around elsewhere confirms this. So my wait will be a bit long and future a bit less certain. But I’m not in such a bad spot right now, have other work in the meanwhile. Things could be worse.

I don’t have the swine flu, and am ready to stand before a panel of Chinese doctors to confirm this. Just give me a chance ya’ll!

*update 5-19-09* Oh no! But I’m not really surprised…

My sister had an 8lb daughter yesterday, both are now doing well. The gbv song has little to do with this, other than the title and the recognition of aging, though it has all actually happened in good time.

He’s the Uncle

It occurred to me last night as I was reading some Borges, one thing I would never do, were I leading a barbarian horde in ancient times – destroy my enemies’ library. I can see the plundering of loot, destruction of crops, enslavement, and even crueler methods of killing off the first born, or thinning blood lines through rape, but why the fuck would you burn down the library? I would assimilate the library! Even if all of your enemies were reading garbage, or the same old thing, you’d be bound to pick up an esoteric volume or two with each conquest. Even if you couldn’t read the texts, someone you overpowered along the way would be able to – which also calls for a moments pause before slaying your way through those wimpy captured sages. The “ignorance is power” argument they must have been using just doesn’t stand up to the “knowledge is power” cliche of our information age. At the very least…knowledge is more fun. But I’m probably underestimating the barbarian pyromaniac factor. And when you stop to consider an art gallery is much like a library, and each musician is much like a library, and really, each mind is much like a library (…well most of them), soon you’ve seriously curtailed your barbarian license.

She was found dead in her mobile home in California. I’m a fan of the early Cronenberg film Rabid in which she starred. I’ve never actually seen Behind the Green Door…well maybe it was on a middle school VHS comp I briefly had possession of with Debbie Does Dallas and other “hits” of the era, but I don’t remember any of it.

And here’s a VERY 1977 interview.

I saw a FrontlineWorld bit on this some time back. Sure, many right here in the States could use an interest free loan right about now, but the impact is so great in the developing world where such little money can go so far. Kiva is one site where as little as $50 can make a difference. Surely there are more examples out there.

So I am the first of three intensive weekends through my training to become an English teacher in foreign lands. I’m psyched to think I’ll most likely be “elsewhere” by this spring or summer, actually earning in country rather than my usual “clock is ticking” financial strategy while traveling. The options of where I might go are somewhat limited by my not having a four year degree, but the following countries are on the table: Cambodia, Indonesia, China, Mexico, Brazil, Argentina and other spots in South America. One of my fellow students is from Alexandria, Egypt and claims to be able to hook me up there. It’s all so exciting, hard to pick a spot, but that’s not the focus right now – right now it’s all about…Engage, Study, Activate, over and again, in as many ways as possible.
Also looking into some volunteer work with the IRC in Decatur/Clarkston to help beef up the resume…

Meanwhile, I also recently saw a bumper sticker that said “My boss is a Jewish terrorist”. Makes you think. While I’m not quite ready to take it to the streets, I will say I find the media blackout, general disproportionate response (just as the US’s was to 9/11), and killing of UN workers unacceptable. I’m sure the Bush administration was stunned when Hamas became the democratically elected govt over Fatah. We’ll see how the new administration eases itself into that hornet’s nest, along with the other domestic and world messes…

I need work, and have put a temporarily fix on the situation by becoming a seasonal driver’s helper for UPS. And the irony factor for my life being what it is, I’m cruising the old haunts of Chamblee, GA a town I am drawn to in one way or another again and again. While the money isn’t stellar, I can do anything for a short time, and can make the most of flying in and out of the jumpseat (definitely using seatbelt each time, as the sidedoor is mostly open and pace is beyond brisk), and seeing anew the community I’ve known, and it’s various changes, my entire life. The wall of the stadium I used to foolishly walk along, 3-4 stories up, when I was 13. There’s the guy I painted houses with for a time back in ’04, but I won’t bother saying hi – he wouldn’t recognize me shaven anyway. Now a package going to the weightlifting, art collecting father of a good friend, where I did some work when I was with the art installer two years ago – do they give me factotum props or think I’m a grasping loser? Hopefully we won’t be stopping at the home of the long ago x-girlfriend down the street, whose parents would assuredly try to kill me, if they knew or recognized, which surely would not be the case.

You gain new respect for these guys, these delivery drivers. Drop off is only half the game. After the overnight, then “ground” speed-rate deliveries, come dozens of pick ups, including plenty of heavy objects from various factories around the area. My favorite part is getting a glimpse of what goes on in dozens of would-be anonymous small warehouses in the area: Chinese people loading produce and seafood into vans, who knew there was a small coffee distributor tucked away back here? Or this Vespa mechanic?

It also becomes obvious how much a driver knows about the area and lives on his route, not really from being nosey, but a part of doing the job well. “There is no 3567 on that street”, for example, “it’s a bad address”. People with home businesses get lots of deliveries and the smart ones are friendly and give a Christmas tip. Neighbors talk about one another. “These are like 9 Inch Nails people, they don’t come out in the daylight…Columbine shit.” And it quickly becomes obvious who has dogs and roughly what size they are. “There’s where the lady yelled at me that time for ringing the doorbell when her baby had just fallen asleep. But I was just doing the job. Without a note how was I supposed to know that?”

Overall, it’s interesting to see the dehumanizing effect that goes on. You are Delivery Driver, not a person with any scope beyond that. Everyone thinks there’s is the most important business, there’s the most important package. “We aren’t quite ready, could you come back for the pick up in half an hour?” The answer is obviously no, and if you stopped to think, you’d become aware of the exponential nature of afternoon holiday traffic on the main boulevard. Everyone has a story about a botched delivery, or sour interaction, but these are far in the statistical minority. You aren’t thinking about the mistakes that might have gone on with the truck loading, number-crunchers at the top still bitter about the strike of ’97, the way other drivers seem to think delivery trucks are as slow as MARTA buses (when in fact the opposite is true) and don’t want to let them into traffic. You forget there are people attempting to assume the roles of magical robots for your convenience.

*another relevant article, found through bp’s bagofwinds blog, link to the right

And mention tomorrow I’ll be tending concessions at the Winter I.C.E. Atlanta event for I believe my third year now, good fun.

But now I’m sort of cringing as this charismatic and likable guy steps to the plate:

-the fragile state of the Pakistani govt. and it’s nuclear weapons, discussed here, among other things.

-a sense that the “economic woes” are just in the first minute of a three day hangover

-a re-examination of race relations in America. It’s an important thing, but I sense lots of ugly things are about to be said on many sides.

-and more trouble and stink bombs left by the current administration. Remember when Clinton went out and aides pranked the White House, taking all the W’s off the keyboards among other things? Well, it wasn’t as bad as violating the solidarity of Syria…

“Hope” vs. “Doom and Gloom” – we shall see.

The best part was when they destroyed everybody in sections A through F.
Special thanx to Kafkaesq.

You make Reagan look good, you bumbling fool…

He was so much more pro in the Inside Edition days, before he fell to the level syndicated by FOXNews.

My bet is Vince Weiguang Li has advanced stage syphilis, but that’s just an intuitive hunch.

Bio

Yumiko’s first ever drawing, at the age of four, featured a hyena devouring a zebra, while a vulture looked on. Her obsession with wild animals hasn’t abated – her Infectious Car Art is populated by pandas, octopi and tropical fish – but her style has certainly developed. These days, Yumi’s animals share the spotlight with her pretty and punky Japanese girls, intertwined with traditional Japanese imagery and American pop art stylings. Yumi’s art has hung on museum walls around the world, and is collected by celebrities and rock and roll legends. But she says “I’d rather my paintings hang next to rock star pin-ups than on museum walls. Ultimately I want to connect with people all over the world on that level.” What better way than on the blank canvas that is your car?

Interview

What’s the name of your Infectious art pieces?
Strawberry Milk, Grip, Impossible and Matching Geeks.

Describe your style in one sentence:
A mix of Japanese tradition and Western pop input, with the natural world intertwined to share the spotlight.

Your beautiful ladies really look like you! Are you drawing yourself over and over again in different scenarios?
I’ve never drawn myself in my work. They are someone else, but all with long black hair and dark eyes like me.

Why do you weave so many animals into your art?
I’m a big animal lover or maybe I should say, I’m an animal fan. Wildlife is the most passionate thing for me. It’s something I always learn from and it opens my eyes. My curiosity for wildlife never ends. It inspires a passion inside me to recreate what I see in my work.

What animal do you find most fascinating and why?
I have much love for predators, especially wolves and tigers. They are being hunted and I paint them because I have a passion to share their plight.

Who are your heroes and what are your inspirations?
My heroes are action stars Hiroyuki Sanada and Tony Jaa and Mirco Crocop, a martial artist. My inspirations are music, movies, old yakuza films, manga, American cartoons (Tom & Jerry, Disney), martial arts and wildlife.

Has the slightly erotic nature of your art – the bondage, the cosplay -ever got you in trouble?
That has been an unintentional aspect of my work that others have brought to my attention. It’s never gotten me in trouble, but I’ve always been thoroughly amazed by what some people see in my work. I don’t know what to say…

You’ve painted girls wearing Van Halen colored white, red and black dresses and have titles of paintings like (The Scorpions) “Rock You Like a Hurricane” – do you harbor (a not so) secret passion for hard rock hair bands?
Those guys are my heroes! I’m happy to be the one female artist that I know about who brings on the hard rock.

Could you describe your typical day?
I wake up at 5:30am, have breakfast, exercise, etc. I start painting at 7:30. Lunch is at 12:00. I go back to painting at 1:00 until dinner at 8:00. After I eat, I paint a little more for as long as I can. I’m in bed at 11:00.

Can you describe your process in creating a piece of art?
First, I make a sketch on a thin paper. Second, I trace it on canvas or wood board. Third, I paint with acrylic using a paint brush. Last, I draw in small details like animal hair with a drawing pen.

What was your last memorable dream?
I was Michael Scofield from “Prison Break”, captured in an office room by some bad guys. I fought with them to escape. Then I ran to a train station and jumped onto a moving train.

If you had to draw yourself a tattoo design what would it be and where would you have it?
I would get a tattoo of my cat Teddo who I had for ten years. We were like mother and daughter until she died from cancer. I would probably get her on an arm.

Would you mind telling us something about you that makes you blush slightly?
I feel a little embarrassed when I have a misunderstanding with English. I’m still learning so it can be difficult at times.

Are there any interesting projects coming up that you can share with us?
I’ll have some merchandise available soon and I’ll also be in some art books.

car decals from Infectious

myspace

and her personal site

Somni 451 still lives!

Stay strong, sister! Viva Las Angelas del Diablo!

Oh but NYC tried to hold on to us! Passed from one benevolent matron to the next as our bankroll yo yo-ed and we puttered between Brooklyn and the lower East Side, chasing after Parisians, Athens girls, lipstick tornado bar tenders, and other hotties. Fantastic guest spot at Daredevill, thanx Michelle! Got to catch up briefly with Dylan and Rudyard Lee. Not using my best story form here I realize but I’m still in recovery. The roadshow will definitely be returning to the City.

Just got our first on the fly guest spot from Wizards World of Tattoos I just outside of Pottstown, PA, which makes “the fixer” feel much better about our budget before we roll on to Bogata, NJ and The Apple. Can’t have too much $ around there…

Thanx Joe!

Also check out Brian’s flash.

I’m not in it, wasn’t at the shoot, but this is the first where I helped with post production.

Also music by Don Chambers, and teenage girls!

This morning I was in a dirty ’73 Maverick riding down a state highway in southern Pennsylvania after an insanely long all-nighter and compounded sleep deprivation when I spied an amazing bookstore in a barn built in 1821. We pulled over and I went in with the camera to get some footage. It was about 10:30 in the morning. I walked in and there were two nicely dressed gentlemen, one seated in a rocking chair, the other standing, surrounded by stacks, in fact 5 stories, of antiquarian volumes. His first words were,
“Welcome! Are you camping?”
Perhaps it was paranoia induced by my lack of sleep, or his general quaffed appearance, but I misunderstood where he was coming from and launched into a neurotic cautious schpeal.
“Well…we are camping some on this trip…but you see, some friends and I used to own a bookstore…and I’m working on this crazy project with this other friend of mine now…and we’re driving around the country visiting tattoo shops…and like, bookstores because this place seems so amazing, that I was just wondering if it would be OK if I walked around a second with my camera…and the benefit to you might be…”
“Young man”, said Tom politely to silence me. “I’m trying to ask if you’d like to camp out in the six acre yard there.”
And then the top of my head came off and a huge wave of universal positivity flooded my weary, corrupted and cynical soul.

We’ll be staying here for a while.

“Now don’t be put off when you meet my friend gentlemen, he has some tattoos…”

So you get part of a narrative poem:

Four day late pick up, insomnia kicks in.
Finally the call,
and when a moped has been repo-ed from a crackhead who wouldn’t pay,
I momentarily consider taking that with the money I have rather than to get on board.
But I must get on board – Sancho Panza can’t let Don Quixote roam alone…
in fact he bankrolls the first leg, because the nest egg is in Myrtle Beach.
DQ lost the cell phone two weeks ago, so lots of contact #’s are gone, and the car does not have wifi (part of my tardy reports)

Up to the mountains, loose ends to tie up:
portraits on a Cherokee man and the cop Garcia clone from Reno 911
beers and industrial strength lortab ride on to Helen,
sell the van and now the egg is 900
but must get mamas ring out of hawk,
and fees to pay on the storage space – both monetary and emotional.
More drinking with Scuba and a final “fuck you” toast to the locals in Bavaria.
Dropped $40 on shots for strange and the princess bitch bartender, daughter of Frenchy.

I am the money man, the fixer, I carry the roll.

He’s so psyched just to hit the SC line, clearly not picturing the entire thing accurately,
but then, neither am I.
Visit and shoot a shop in Anderson
“Fuck it dude, let’s just plow on to Myrtle Bch tonight”
“Yeah. Let’s ride”
a semi bungled short cut through the state roads
but all is mirth and potential.
Steve awaits us, steve who has lined up the party
16 wanting ink
our next, very needed bankroll
I talk with Steve and we will call him a half hour from town.
But we linger and shoot footage
and eat
and the bad short cut
and It’s after midnight by the time we hit the beach.
Next time, Steve don’t answer
but we pull an all-nighter
And the strip is empty and ours at night
Dennys and Lobster van and a scratchy eye that might need tending to if the $ ever comes,
keeping the car safe, watching the sun rise over the ocean.

And then the sun is well high
as I cover my dosing patron with a beach umbrella and my mind unravels
and fucko Steve still has yet to call.
In search of an address he gave
which the GPS seems not to know.
All the hotels want three days commitments for too much, “weekend” bullshit.

Something might be wrong

(more soon)

Even if Ray had been intentionally making a symbolic show of support for the Palestinian cause, would this have been a support of terrorism? What would have happened had she appeared wearing a scarf depicting the Israeli flag?

In the above link, be sure to note under “controversial symbol” how Urban Outfitters last year quit carrying the garment after pressure from pro-Israeli lobbyists. I challenge you to think about the following: is it possible to be anti-Zionist without being anti-semitic? I say the answer is yes, just as it is possible to be an American patriot while opposing American imperialism.

God doesn’t hand out countries or play racial favorites.

Well I’ve been getting into wood crafty shit: some signs for friends, plastering the back with hilarious old newspapers I found in a house during a recent restoration. The dragonheads are from an older project 2-3 years ago. I’ve gone twice now to sell at Big City Bread with my friend’s Chris and Lou. But next week the entire operation moves to Bishop Park in conjunction with an outdoor farmers market.

Automobiles are statistically far more dangerous of course, and while I’ve never experienced anything too scary in the air, it isn’t hard to get me white knuckled or queesy with common bumps and dips. Somehow in a car wreck I feel like I might have a chance – that is, manipulate my body in some way to minimize injury. It’s an illusion of course, but to be in a cylinder falling out of the sky, ever faster, subjected to your fellow sardines shrieks and panic…I don’t think I could handle that. But I think my “fear of flying” is actually rooted in a fear of sharks. Somehow you realize you’ve survived the impact, maybe some broken limbs, clinging to some flotilla in the frigid ocean and fuel burn off dancing on savage waves, only to realize the uber-efficient predators will find you before the rescue party does-

I’ll still take taunting the Christmas Day Tiger, thank you…

Let’s step back for a minute and talk about death in general, not a comfortable topic for mortals, westerners, and particularly Americans. But when you face the fact that we all have “got to go”, I think it morbid logic to consider ways you might prefer to have it happen. And I argue there many worse, less poetic ways to meet your end than they way this guy did. Look at statistics for “average American death”…

Experiencing cancer’s sapping your vitality over the course of months/years vs. an adrenalized tiger assault – true, it is nice to have some time to say your goodbyes and get your affairs in order. But cost wise there is no contest – admission to zoo ticket vs. modern medical expenses times X, insured or not, it’s spendy ya’ll. Plus the “surprise factor”. I guarantee that guy didn’t wake up thinking ‘I might get killed at the zoo today’, and true most young people aren’t conducting their lives in ways conducive to the avoidance of cancer, but the older you get, it can’t help but occur to you at some point your odds against The House. That Big House of Cell Mutation so counter-productive to your current mode of living. True, not everyone selected will be killed by their type of cancer, but it’s an ugly game, and you’re playing, like it or not.

Car accident fatality vs. tiger attack – adrenaline levels might be more comparable here, but in terms of “last moment revelation of irony”, picture that guy lying there viscerated thinking “wow, I was killed by a ferocious animal from the other side of the world in a major urban center – that’s unexpected and sucks”. Then picture yourself after having launched through your windshield into another vehicle and the last thing you see is the backward image of their ‘W – the President’ on the remains of what used to be their back window. Or to realize over the sound of other’s squealing tires, panicked responses, and formerly compressed air escaping from the radiator, tinkling glass shards, whatever else might be going on audio wise, you are also hearing the music another vehicle had on before impact…and it’s a song you always hated, or maybe one you’ve never heard but instantly hate. Your final moments, realizing the animating force is departing your mortal coil, and the chance soundtrack is some saccharine audio schmaltz about sex or bling. OK, that’s too cruel, and odds are the player would be shut off/destroyed during the collision. So the last thing you get to hear are your fellow citizens freaking out and yelling, sounds of irritated traffic and people making the realization they are gonna be “late”. Your body torn apart by steel, fiberglass, and glass shards vs. your body being torn apart by tooth bone and cartalidge claw…Organic – to borrow a popular marketing term. Plus no leaking fuel smell. Tigers almost never explode after incapacitating their victims.

And while they are statistically rare: I think you have to take into account tiger attack vs. other animal attacks. I’d take a tiger over a bear. Shark is just about the worst for me: while many animals have evolutionary advantages against an unarmed, modern human, with a shark it just seems completely cruel in their own habitat. I guess I’d take my chances with a shark out of water, but even then I wouldn’t be too happy about it. Crocodile? To much like the shark: first thing it’s gonna do it try to get you underwater and get his roll on. Dog pack, or single 136kg dog – that would suck as well, because I really like dogs and I’d be giving the fucker commands or trying to bond with it during the attack, definitely making the situation more absurd. Poisonous snakes or insects? Fuck that too. Fight the ‘poison clock’ in addition to the puncture. In general, I think I can safely say I’d rather be killed by a mammal than another species, though trampled by a heard doesn’t seem so keen. Or at least something with a face…imagine trying to swim somewhere relatively safe as you realize your floating in a group of man-o-war.
Tigers are really beautiful and command a certain respect. Just as you can imagine an aged stag giving itself over to a bow hunter, I’m not saying liking it, but on some level appreciating his flight is over…true, preferable for him perhaps to have a lung punctured by a rivals rack, laying there sufficating as he detects some doe’s pheromonal message of “gee, that dude wasn’t SO bad, I might have given him some…oh but girl, you just know I’m fixin to present to that badass that done slayt him…”, but let’s imagine there is some respect for the “order of things”, that a stag who’s been around a few seasons can appreciate when his time has come and a worthy hunter has lain him low.
Maybe it could have been like that in the final moments for the Christmas Zoo patron: ‘obviously death sucks, but I can’t help but admire how beautiful this thing is, right here on top of me, even with all of that crimson of my oxidized blood smeared all over it’s mussel. Look at how her tail whips around like a playful kitten, she’s obviously enjoying this…’

OK, I admit the “romance” is more complete in a jungle (or I guess Siberian forest) than on the concrete of the SF zoo, but I still say there are less “fantastic” ways to go. Quality vs. quantity – is longevity really “all that”?

*paraphrase of NYT’s ‘quote of the day’: The disease is by no means inevitable, but among people 85 and older, about 40 percent develop Alzheimer’s and spend their so-called golden years in a thicket of confusion, ultimately becoming incontinent, mute, bedridden or forced to use a wheelchair and completely dependent on others.

“It makes people wonder whether they really want to live that long,” Dr. Klunk said.

I recently caught some nasty adware/worm, possibly win32.netsky, and drove myself nuts downloading various scans and tricks trying to rid myself of the thing. Eventually I just had to try and save what files I could and nuke my OS – a complete reinstall. All is back to normal now, though I have inferior versions of some programs and am having to rebuild my music library, which regrettably didn’t make it.

The worst part of all is that I got this from a Church site! I’ve been having some doubts about my place in the thereafter recently and went shopping for a new church, when my search for the Lord brought me this nasty virtual infection. How am I to know which of the Republican candidate has my best interest at heart if I’m not allowed to research the variations of Christianity?!?

Just kiddin’. I got it from a porn site. Skanky nasty porn gave me a skanky nasty virus. On a drunken quest for more files of this one actress, I was lead astray from my usual “safe” haunts, and when prompted to “download a needed codec”, lust got the better of my good sense, and I let the down the gates and invited the foul worm right in. But at deeper fault was my irreverent attitude about spyware: refusing to be one of those paranoid types, I’ve had what I guess is good luck to go with my cavalier attitude about virus infection all of these years of surfing. But now I’ve learned, twice shy. Don’t let it happen to you!

But it does bring to mind the deeper issues about what on your machine is most important, what you’ll miss most when it isn’t available. You can back it all up, but ultimately, you cant take it with you-

At the end of a day of painting trim and high altitude antics on the ladder, I wanted some beer. There are several little markets here and about, but the only one selling what I wanted is down by the stadium and some unimpressive row apartments. I headed on down, exchanging greetings with older porch folk. The closer I got to the store, the sketchier the neighborhood got. Two blocks from the store there were three guys working a corner. It’s just gotten a bit cold and they had huge bulky jackets on, all in their mid-20′s, tall and I must say, looking rather thuggish. But it was still daylight and I plodded on warily, right through the middle of their conversation. One even gave me a “what’s up?”, his voice thick with chemical of unknown origin.
Heading back, I considered choosing another street, but the alternates are actually worse, and after all I was less than a dozen blocks from the house. Now the group of three had grown to several. I just plodded on right through the middle, feeling about a foot shorter than everyone else. One guy asked me for a beer, “Naw man”, I just kept on walking. There was another group of youths coming toward them, one limping along on crutches. Crutchman said something amusing about me to his fellows, but I honestly couldn’t understand him, other than the spontaneous nickname he had granted me, which was Mario. Shittalking was as bad as the walking of that gauntlet got. I was disappointed this second group of guys felt they had to say something, but I wasn’t in much of a position to do anything about it. Behind me, I heard an animated exchange with the first group, but it was hard to read if it was actual hostility or more shittalking. I didn’t cower and I didn’t linger: just a working man getting his sixpack, kept on moving.

There’s a full moon tomorrow night. I can hear people out there yelling at, and calling to one another in the autumnal chill. Sirens come and go in the distance. I’m in here with my little dog, and a good book, and four more beers…

From The Desk of Attorney Matthew Spencer.

My DearFriend,

I am Attorney Matthew Spencer a personal attorney to my late client (Mr.Ladonna) who is a nationality of your country unfortunately died on Terrorist Bomb blast attack on the 7th July 2005. Since the death of my late client, I as his personal attorney have made several enquiries to locate any of his relations for the inheritance claim without any success. I came across your name and contact on the course of my personal search for my late client relations/next of kin. so I decided to contact you for assisting in securing the wealth left behind in a fixed deposit account by my late client before it get confiscated or declared unserviceable by the bank where my late client operates an account since the board of Directors of the bank has issued me a notice that after 2 months from now and no relation shown up for the claiming of the said funds, the funds will be confiscated and declared unserviceable.

Since the board of Directors of the bank have been unsuccessful in locating my client relatives for some time now, it’s on this note that I seek your consent to present you as the relation to my late client, so that the process of this deposit to be released into your account. The amount deposited is $12.8 Million Dollars also I believe With your assistance to get the release of the ($12,800,000.00 ) I will agree to give you 50% of the fund while 50% will be for me. I guarantee you that this transaction will be executed under a legitimate arrangement which will protect you from any breach of the law.

I will be looking forward to your indication of interest so that we can proceed with the process of claiming the funds with the below information I will like you send to me:-

1, YOUR FULL NAME.
2, YOUR CONTACT MOBILE TELEPHONE AND HOME NUMBER FOR EASY COMMUNICATION.
3, YOUR FULL CONTACT HOME ADDRESS.
4, YOUR AGE.
5, YOUR OCCUPERTION.

As soon as I receive all these information from you I will start the process of all the legal approval documents with the above information you will send to me and present you to the Directors of the bank as the relation/next of kin to my late client since they asked that I should provide the relation/next of kin for them to release the inheritance fund to the person. Please acknowledge the receipt of this mail with all the above requested information.

PLEASE REPLY URGENTLY SO THAT WE CAN START THE TRANSACTION IMMEDIATELY.

Yours sincerely,
Attorney Matthew Spencer.

Nationality of my country? Well no wonder I should get half of that dough! What will be for you, valiant Attorney Mathew Spencer, is a special compartment of hell-

A bit of music, some reading, long walks, fireside talks – though after compounding sleep deprivation, alcohol, heavy sun and all the rest… my wound up neurotic shpeal wasn’t so appreciated by some of the more ‘mellow’ among us. But fuck ‘em: eventually I WILL prove the existence of God (apart from any religion) through passionate, nonsensical, never-ending argument. Anyway, these are the days. This is very much part of what it’s all about-

This in and of itself wouldn’t be such a post, but they happen to be Josh and Ana Ziady, the newlyweds I’m housesitting for in Portland while they adventure elsewhere. Their blog has been added to the role for as long as it continues to be of interest. I wish them all the best and look forward to reading along with the adventure!
Meanwhile I am here in NoPo, Noah of the arc. There is old Max, the swell and mellow shepard; 3 cats, including ‘she must be a scorpio’ Milla and scardey Gus, as well as Bluekitty – the three have been thrown together sort of like stepchildren through the union, and there are the expected flare-up’s with such a situation; a nameless albino rat; a turtle; and a red and orange corn snake, each in their own enviorns. It’s a great house in a great location. Max gets walked daily, and the cats who are allowed have yard adventures, while the tank-kin enjoy their closed ecosystems, with appropriate food and changing. But I’m pretty sure that turtle is half-insane, just swims against the side of his tank most of the day…

Team Triceratops: the good news is I’ve already mowed most of the lawn (got all the front bits and some of the back yesterday, before catastrophic sneezing fit set in, but it looks good for the neighbors)!

The bad news is I’m eating all of your perishables (and possibly some of the dry sundries too, but I’m good for re-embersment when/if the time comes).

But there are some highpoints. In the long line to get this dismal info I met a guy I recognized to be Thai, so we are buddied up for the duration. Spence also originated in ATL, is a GA Tech student going out to visit a friend in Portland. We have quickly discovered free airport wifi, and have $50 in vouchers to split between us once the fucking airport restaurants open at 5, not to mention it is Vegas, and there are other ventures into gambling, and possibly The Spearamint Rhino later in the day. It’s unclear at this point if we’ll try to power through the day sleeplessly (could be many expensive gambling mistakes in my future, as I have several hundred $ on me right now) or get a room after 11 and crash a bit. So it’s 4:30am right now and I imagine I’ll be doing some delerious posting later in the day. Since I have the mic on me as well, I’ll probably get an interview with Spence, though he is claiming shyness with his accent.

If you are chuckling at my current predicament, I’ll mention this is NOT uncharted territory: attempting to come back from Beijing in Jan ’06, my flight was delayed 27 hours, the actual flight is 16, then missed the connetion in Newark, and finally arrived in ATL in the midst of a full on flu outbreak and HAD to be at work within 48 hours – jetlag, flu and fuckall. Vegas in summer trumps Beijing in winter. Legalized gambling and prostitution trump all the pirated DVD’s you can buy. I’m sure the poor groom I’m housesitting for and animals I’m suppose to be feeding will shit their pants when they get all this news in a few hours, but I personally have been in much worse spots…

update 7:15am – there are an incredible number of hot chicks in airports, and it’s not just a ‘hot vegas, not much clothing’ thing. But the very nature of the situation is counter-productive to meeting any, much less scoring. “Hey, I’m trapped here for the day. Wanna get a room in a few hours and fuck ourselves silly, sleep a few hours, then cab it back here?” What’s the deal with the ‘mile high’ club anyway? Presumably you knew the person you were gonna fuck before the flight originated, correct? And I guess in the 70′s some of the stewardess’ where hetero and actually attractive too.
Spence is out cold, that fucker. I think I dosed a few minutes under the bench but it smelled terrible down there and the carpet is wet everywhere else from the late night shampooing.

update 9:45 have met, loaned laptop too, and myspace joined with Crystal, en route from Bakersfield to FL, who is also a writer. Unfortunately I don’t know how much overlap there is in our musical lives.. but I’m willing to fake it.
Also have eaten with Spence, and updated the PDX peeps on my waking nightmare.

update 8:30pm went on a field trip to The Strip, played the ponys in Luxor in AC and drank free Budwiser all day long. Vegas ain’t bad! Won $166.20 in all but am only actually ‘up’ a quarter of that (great exacta hits like ‘Deadly Dreamer/Fanfest’ – actually hit two bets on that combo and ‘Bad Bet/Morgantown’ – I’m not being deep, just tellin’ true stories), tipping each free beer to the Jersy trash waitron (not Adriana, but I wouldn’t kick her out of bed for eating crackers out of Adriana), caught the shuttle back, am through TSA, to eat last free meal, drink in 1st class a few hours from now, and possibly sleep more than the three hours I have since god knows when. Found Crystal again, but she’s just babbling on her phone like she’s 18 or something. Oh wait…

“Deadly Dreamer”

Choosing some dietary kookery for yourself is one thing, but don’t force your diet on growing infants. Not every court will convict you of murder, but it ain’t right.

-PRESIDENT BUSH , on the reaction of Queen Elizabeth II after he nearly said she had visited in 1776.

No, Mr. President. That is a look anyone would give an idiot, with an added nuance of first concern: that said idiot would be in such a position of power, and second: any older woman will give you when you imply she is even older than she is, in however illogical a fashion.
BTW, she’s not your Mommy…

Is this karma for some recent contrary blog comments I’ve made? Is the universe trying to tell me to ‘chill out’? Again, these are only two heated stories in a series of recent general snubs. Then I remembered the cyclical negativity theory. Even if you’re showing restraint and general goodwill, sometimes the pressure will simply be ratched up for no apparent reason. Other forces at work.

Also, I realized, if you walk around looking exhausted with a few days beard growth, covered in sweat and filth, even if it’s in a place that sells building supplies, people will look at you like you masturbate to videos of baby seals getting clubbed, which is completely untrue btw.

You don’t think of many of the required immunizations for kids being as contraversial, after all polio erradicated in the 1st world, right? But the lines get murkier as wealthy corporations hold more of the keys to our lives and health. In the film The Corporation there is the proposal that eventually corporations will hold the patents to entire gentic sequences, i.e. Life Itself, or at least a desired parameter of ‘healthy human’. Sci fi dystopian mindfuck here we come-

I was listening and it suddenly struck me who else operates in this fashion – get ‘em good and riled up, make sure a faith based value system is the foundation on which you pretend to stand, constantly draw the lines between US and THEM but blur the line between ‘education’ and ‘opinion’…

Do mullahs constantly bitch about taxes too?

“Where are you going, risen son of god?”
“To the moon, mortal fuckwit”

… seems like it might have been good copy.

There are also specific mentions of stars, and falling stars, in ‘The Book of Revelation’ as well, but I’m not even gonna touch that hornet’s nest… Revelation my ass, I’ll take Crom vs. Cthulhu anyday-

It’s eyes alert the subconscious that something is off, and the hands have a way to go (in their color at least), but it’s an amazing andriod. The Koreans have developed one too, supposedly the facial interface is better. The future is exciting and will be very weird…

So it’s set now, Nov.2 I fly to what is not my first choice city (unexplored Hanoi) but still remains mighty Bangkok (the entire time I’m over there I dance around and carry a little boom box playing that obnoxious 80′s song, I think by Taco, ‘One night in Bangkok and the World’s your oyster…’ the ladies, and ladyboys just love it) and so wasn’t really suprised to open the travelzoo newsletter and see fucking $450 to BBK r/t from either Chicago or Denver, places I could have reached by bus and still have the trip come out way less, had money to buy gemstones to finace the entire venture and finally put that asshole Tom Shane out of buisness once and for all. Ho hum, but I comfort myself in knowing I would have had to fight like a dog to get a seat through any of those bargains and would have only one month by their limitations as opposed to the 5 and 1/2 weeks I’ll be enjoying. Still, the universe laughs – you just know it’s going to happen, then it does.

I also must console myself by thinking the way a friend does when he always mentions how amazing it is that we can go to the other side of the planet so quickly for half the cost of the ticket, when you look in the past at a journey that may have taken lifetimes/years/months and at a relatively higher cost. Of course, I subscribe to the idea that much of the journey is just getting there, so I would have loved to try it the way they did too: aboard a streamship; hearing the timbers creak in a sailing ship after being shanghi’ed from Portland (the most notorious port on the west coast into the early 20th century); stops on the way – seeing the King’s original longboard surfers in Hawaii; the spice islands of Indonesia; the Edo period in Japan; the opium wars in China; seeing Marco Polo and the monks steal silk, gunpowder, pizza and pasta from China; Kubali Khan setting up the first postal system across the vast expanse his daddy had whopped ass on; trying to get a grasp on Hindu cosmology by experiencing things from the origin-listening to whacked out yogi’s make starchatter; hunting mastadons across the Bering Strait; being a mite suckling off some wayward seagull who brings you to the strange new world…

I got this from the blog of a woman, ‘Scry’ who I met in the Beijing airport attempting to come back to the states in Jan as our flight was delayed for a hellish 27 hours! Don’t ever bitch to me about ‘long flights’, I don’t want to hear it. It’s all cake after cross country bus trips anyway. Never forget folks, it’s not just about the arriving, but the journey as well!
Her blog is mostly in Chinese, but there’s some german up right now and english poems as well.