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Wednesday, July 01, 2009Good-Bye, Dear Roommate, I Barely Knew YeWhen I arrived at my temporary home in Alhambra a few days ago, there was a nice blond girl living here who told me she was in the process of moving out. She left this morning, and now the house feels kind of empty. Yes, I still love being alone. We had a few nice chats before she left and everything about our exchanges was always rather pleasant. We probably just didn't have enough time to start getting on each other's nerves. This is a scarily accurate depiction of us, minus the Dells: Oh yeah, and I need a bang trim. :-/ Tuesday, June 30, 2009An Ophiuchus for the Rest of UsFrom Wikipedia: Ophiuchus is a large constellation located around the celestial equator. Its name is Greek for 'snake-holder', and it is commonly represented as a man grasping the snake that is represented by the constellation Serpens. Ophiuchus was one of the 48 constellations listed by the 1st century astronomer Ptolemy, and it remains one of the 88 modern constellations. It was formerly referred to as Serpentarius, a Latin word meaning the same as its current name. Ophiuchus is a zodiacal constellation (meaning that the Sun passes through it during the course of the year), but unlike the other twelve, it does not lend its name to an astrological sign. As of 2008, the Sun passes through Ophiuchus between November 30 and December 17.  I thought it was interesting that Wikipedia still listed the constellation on its Table of Dates, even though it's not technically a sign. I kind of wish it were, since my birthday is November 30th. The next time someone asks my sign, I tell them I'm a proud member of the elite group of Ophiuchuses, the hidden 13th sign. Actually, no, I won't to do that, since that would likely spark a conversation with someone about astrology, and I go to great lengths to avoid talking about nonsense. Even though astrology is useful only for its entertainment value, I'd still like to think there's some little cosmic reason out there that makes me extra-special. Sunday, June 28, 2009Moving Right AlongI'm getting a new sublet in Alhambra today. Say it with me now:  Before you attempt to be funny and original by sarcastically mistaking it for Alabama like several other people have, please think of the children. Saturday, June 27, 2009The End Is NearMy week-long emergency sublet in Pasadena is coming to a close. I haven't been in a living situation like this in awhile, so here's a Pros-and-Cons list. PROS I sleep in a double-bed. I have a room with a door. There is an in-unit washer/dryer. I can still run my regular loop in the morning. CONS It costs more than I would pay long term. I came across a chat log of mine from when I was about to move to Seattle. I was talking to a native about decent places to live that weren't ridiculously expensive. After an exhaustive tour of apartments in NYC, I figured any apartment-hunt would be easier. Even so, I said to him, "I'm worried that I'm going to be paying $xxx/week to live in the 'cool' part of town. But I don't care that it's cool; I don't have a car and need to walk everywhere." And now, look who's paying almost $xxx/week to be within walk distance of stores, the bank, the library, and some schools I'm not attending. The landlord put down carpet remnants over the real carpet in all the rooms. The scraps in my room make walking around more tedious than it should be. She explained that people drip stuff and she has to pay to clean the carpet, etc. Yeah, I'm sure it's a pain, but the carpet is already damaged enough to warrant replacement if she wanted to sell the house anyway. She also has trays and magazines all over the table tops in case of spillage. I kind of feel like a new puppy that needs to learn how to pee on the newspaper. There are other people here. At first, there was just a girl in the big room downstairs. Fine. The landlord introduced me to some guy who had just moved out, but would be coming back in a week. Okay, great, whatever. Then, I'm in my room one evening, having taken my hair down and changed into I'm-alone-so-I'll-wear-what-I-want clothes, a guy comes into my room and introduces himself. He's staying in the loft upstairs. WTF? Maybe the landlord could have mentioned him and introduced us BEFORE I was getting ready for bed. And now there's another guy here in the room next to me. I haven't met him or even seen him, but he snores and uses nasty-looking soap. The electric sockets in the bathroom don't work. I have to do my hair in my room, kneeling on the floor in front of my closet mirror. Now I really feel like I'm in college again. In addition to that, the landlord expects us to unplug anything we're not using. Turning it off I understand, but she probably found out she could save a couple dollars on electricity by leaving everything unplugged. I'm all for doing things to help the environment, but I've disconnected and reconnected the wireless router so many times it's pointless. Of course, I have other gripes. And I will have some gripes about the new place too. The only issue I can see so far is too much IKEA. I never understood why people like that store so much. All their stuff looks small and cheap, and I have yet to sit on a piece of IKEA living room furniture that doesn't feel like a padded tree stump. I'm a big girl and I still like the feeling of disappearing into a couch. But none of that matters. By Wednesday, the last girl will move out and I will be alone. Monday, June 22, 2009If The Shining Took Place in a Pharmacy...Things have been rough lately, so I'm writing a review. Yeah, that's right, you know how I do. As written on Google: I hate Rite-Aid [on Colorado Boulevard] more than any store I've visited in recent memory. Compared to every other Rite-Aid, this one always falls short. And that includes even the now-closed Rite-Aid in Downtown Seattle, which was like a homeless shelter with stuff for sale. Since I've been in Pasadena, I've visited this Rite-Aid store several times. Everything is laid out in a way that makes no sense and it's impossible to find anything I'm looking for. Most Pasadena natives must be privy to the uselessness of this store because the aisles are always clear. Perhaps the myriad of products that I don't need are laughingly mocking me like a set of twins at the end of the aisle saying, "Come play with us, Danny. Forever and ever and ever..." The staff, if I could find one of them, can't seem to find anything either. Usually if I search long enough, I eventually find the aisle that *would* contain my item, but it *doesn't* and that's *annoying.* How do you not have Nair? I know women be shavin', but some of us don't have that kind of time or precision. Why does every travel shampoo and conditioner you carry not have a mate of the same type and brand? If I wash my hair with Pantene and then condition it with Garnier, you must understand that my hair is at risk of smelling like nuclear trash receptacle from the warring chemicals in each. Why is your "food mart" comprised almost entirely of edible garbage? Half the items are candy bars, the other half are overpriced canned goods that I can get down the street at a real grocery store. And you don't have cranberry juice that is 100% juice. You are a pharmacy! If you've ever had a UTI, then you respect the medical value of this non-prescription item!! Unlike some of the other reviewers, I didn't use the pharmacy, which I understand is the reason we have Rite-Aid in the first place. Still, if I were Godzilla, I would stomp this place out of existence and put a Walgreens in its place. Well, I'd have other people build the Walgreens because if I were Godzilla, I'd be too big to construct such a tiny store. Addendum: A bit later in the day I had the pleasure of stumbling into a "99 Cents Only" store. Everything in there is 99 cents or less! No, seriously! They have so many things I would actually eat in that store! Until today, I had never been in one of these. I was surprised to see they had produce. Some of it looked overly ripe, but it was a good effort. Much to my surprise, there was a huge selection of meat and cheese that wasn't going to expire practically tomorrow. They had 32-ounce jugs of milk and chips and salsa and daaaang, I could go full-on grocery shopping here if I knew I'd be staying here awhile. (More on that later.) I also saw Batman flip-flops, which I would have totally bought if they had my size... and wore flip-flops. I was pretty close to buying some seahorse pool toys and an InuYasha DVD, but then I remembered I don't have a pool or DVD player. And that I already have enough toys in California, Texas, Washington, and probably New York to sink a ship, and someday I'm going to have to get them all in one place. I bought a Thai Kitchen noodle bowl (better than Top Ramen, although the store has a lot of that too) and a big box of glowing sour gummy worms. No need to praise my refined tastes. So what have we learned today? Sell neat-looking crap for 99 cents. Don't call yourself a pharmacy and try to sell actual crap for more than that. Also, Pavilion, a subsidiary of Von's, has nasty carrots but all is forgiven because they have Rosarita Zesty Salsa refried beans, which I haven't seen in years and thought were discontinued. And Trader Joe's is still the best store on the planet. I went to all these places today. Saturday, June 20, 2009Craigslist Find of the DayIt's been awhile since I've posted one of these. Also, I'm sick of refraining from posting current stuff because someday I'll write about Shanghai stuff. Maybe I will write a few more things about it, they will get buried, and no one without an rss feed of this blog (which I think is everyone) will see it. Anyway, without further adieu, I give you: EX DRUG KINGPIN NEEDS WRITER (LOS ANGELES) Writer Wanted For Ex North Idaho Drug Kingpin: Looking for someone to write life story, unique story, unique Individual. Story consists of dealings with Colombians,Cubans, Mexican Federallies, 16 years in prison hanging out with mafia members from the Phildelphia Scarfo gang, Charlie Iannache, Anthony Pungitore, Gene Gotti-brother of John Gotti of the New York Mafia, being successful jail house lawyer. Story begins with the consequences for a boy with a gifted IQ who deals with uniagnosed ADHD and the path he takes in life through taking over the underbelly of the drug world,prison,self inflicted extrodinary rehabilitation efforts to his succesfull entrance back into society. This isnt some run of the mill drug dealer story! I SHOULD BE DEAD A HUNDRED TIMES OVER. GOD HAD HIS HAND ON MY SHOULDER TO GET THROUGH IT. ps: All Statue of Limitations are finished and all prison time completed. The story just needs to be told by a gifted writer. TO SEE 6 PAGE SYNOPSIS GO TO: http://bobbyconvict.blogspot.com If interested, please submit writing proposal/compensation plans. I would prefer to give the writer a portion of proceeds, but would pay the right writer to do the story. Follow up to the book would be self help videos/books for children-parents-educators-inmates to not go down the path I took, or to change an inmates life around through education. please email me at: write4me87@yahoo.com You're saying you were a drug dealer who could have made something of himself in the straight world, but chose to pursue a profession of danger and deceit? Something about overcoming adversity? A great long journey to self-realization through making a bunch of mistakes to help you realize how precious life is? Hmmm? Yes, that's totally different. There aren't any books like that. Yes, I'm obviously drawing from the Family Guy episode where Stewie rags on Brian's novel. And when I was looking for that, I also found this. Bwahaha. Tuesday, May 05, 2009What's Going On HereI'm playing with the side panels on the site. Let me know what you think. The Barbie Dream Hearse is still a big deal. I posted my pictures of Asia in a Picasa Web Album. I am still writing new posts about Asia! Read them!! I started running in the morning again. I stayed in for Cinco de Mayo. Olé. Wednesday, April 01, 2009The Beginning of the Barbie Dream HearseNo foolin'! I am now the proud owner of a big white funeral coach. Therefore, I interrupt these travel posts once again to link to yet another of my blogs. Just like the car itself, it's a work in progress. I've had the domain for less than three hours and everything is already disorganized (by my standards). Still, if you would like to take a moment to read about my hearse and/or watch me gush, I invite you to check out http://www.barbiedreamhearse.comI can't stress enough how exciting this is. I am truly fortunate to be continuously meeting so many fantastic people who are helping me complete this project! Saturday, March 14, 2009Testing 1, 2, 650Travel blog time? I'll be reguarly updating this page for awhile, but if you're not a fan of teh werdz, check out my Picasa Album, which contains all my photos of Asia. Sunday, February 01, 2009This Is Not a Blog PostThe trip has been going great; thanks to everyone who pinged me asking about it. Also, thanks for asking about my blog. I know I went AWOL just after reaching an all-time high readership of four, but I'm planning to write some trip entries real soon. In the interest of keeping it fun, I don't want to post a link to the 800 pictures I've taken and call it a day. I usually get bored when other people send me those, so I figured I'd best make with the funny or GTFO. The problem lies in the fact that I need to resize and upload at least my pics to a stable location. The Great (Fire)Wall of China won't even let me view my site, let alone perform FTP uploads to it. I wouldn't mind putting everything in a picasa or flickr account, but I won't feel pop'n'fresh-good until I have at least some of my pictures in my own domain. There was a disaster involving a seven rolls of film, Machu Picchu, the UT J-school computer lab, and an Angelfire account several years ago that I don't care to repeat. Sure, I'm on my own personal laptop now (that has a story too), but I'm allowing myself to be neurotic on this project. Until then, here's an exception to my rule. Me at the Shanghai waterfront:  Saturday, January 31, 2009One of several cats in China not being skinned and cooked for food has to be in the neighbor's apartment whining incessantly while I'm trying to sleep. GAAAAH! Tuesday, January 20, 2009Chinese Transit, a French Supermarket, and an Irish PubMy flight from Lombok to Denpasar probably would have been the most miserable I've ever experienced if it weren't so short. The cramped plane had been baking in B.O. all day and resembled one of the Seattle downtown-to-CapHill bus lines after dark. I stayed at the airport to check into my next flight. That sounds easy enough, but I had to walk all the way around to the Departures terminal with my bags in tow, and just like with everything else in Indonesia, I was doing it all outside. When I finally got where I needed to be, I learned I would have to exchange more money to buy a visa out of the country. Goddammit. Two long plane rides containing screaming kids later, I arrived in Shanghai. Why can't there be family-designated flights? Okay, I know why, but still. If I somehow woke up one day and found myself with children, I wouldn't add flying to the equation. I've obviously done something wrong, so people can come visit me for awhile. Despite the early hour, I found my friend Dan waiting for me at the exit and I nearly fell into his arms. Relief washed over me, knowing I was going to be able to put my junk somewhere for longer than a few days at a time, hang out with one of my best friends, and use the bathroom indoors. We took the Maglev train and then a cab to Dan's apartment. After stopping at the nearby Thumb Plaza for a quick breakfast and some Starbucks (fuck yeah, Starbucks!), Dan went to work and I spent some quality time in his nice, enclosed bathroom. Shut up, nasty! I was taking a shower! And then I did my hair and makeup for what felt like the first time in ages. It felt so nice to get out of the shower and not immediately feel sticky. Dan had NO food in his kitchen (not even condiments!), so I returned to Thumb Plaza to shop at Carrefour. Carrefour is a french-owned store resembling somewhat of a Chinese Walmart. Upstairs, there's an electronics section, cheap clothes, some toys, and other miscellaneous house stuff. Downstairs, there's food... which I figured out after walking the entire perimeter of the upstairs. The two floors are connected by a moving ramp that takes you buy an aisle of Pocky and flavored Lay's potato chips.  I always found Pocky silly and unsatisfying. It's one of those things Americans think is cool just because it came from overseas. The cucumber potato chips, however, I could get behind. I don't understand how they can slap the word "natural" on the package with a straight face, but I did enjoy them. The blueberry and steak taco flavored potato chips that were also available seemed kind of gross. Dan came home later that evening and showed me part of Shanghai. Once again, we headed back to Thumb Plaza, this time to visit the Irishman, a popular pub in the area. Daniel McPartland and Katie Taylor going to an Irish pub. Who would have ever imagined? Some people actually thought we were European until we opened our mouths. For the last two weeks, people have been guessing that I'm from London, which I think is oddly funny. If the sharp look in my eye doesn't tell you, my big round ass is definite proof that I am indeed a purebred American. Monday, January 19, 2009Trapped in ParadiseI was supposed to fly out of Lombok around noon today and land in Denpasar. I was hoping to put my stuff in an airport locker and spend the afternoon touring the Ubud area at the advice of a few knowledgeable American friends. At around 10:15, I was all packed up and ready to go when the front desk called me to say my flight was "delayed" and my new departure time was at 4:30pm. Whaaa? Luckily, my flight from Denpasar to Jakarta wasn't until after dinnertime, and then I was to continue on to Shanghai. (Yes, that's three planes and about a day of traveling.) But I knew when I booked my flight there were four departing flights: 8am, 12:15pm, 4pm, and 6pm. I asked if they added another flight, but what really happened (I found out after 30 minutes of circular conversation) was that Merpati Airlines canceled the noon flight because there weren't enough people on it. The front desk wanted to tell me when I needed to leave the hotel, not when my flight was. Are the people who visit this place so stupid they can't simply be told when the flight is and make an arrangement? Anyway, the fact that the front desk had such a hard time explaining what happened made me rather untrusting of whether or not I would indeed get on the 6pm flight, so I considered chartering a boat. It would be about a hundred dollars. There was no way I could afford to miss my flight to Shanghai. The money was a small part of it. The bigger issue is the fact that the week before Chinese New Year (which falls on January 26 this year) marks the largest migration of the human population each year. I learned this crucial factoid watching BBC World at my hotel in Singapore and thought, "Hey, I should probably think about booking my flight to Shanghai." Anyway, there were definitely worse places to spend my last day in Indonesia, but I was starting to get a little tired of the chi-chi hotel restaurant, the beach with its many dealers of miscellaneous junk, the happy honeymooning couples engaging in the extraneous use of camcorders... It may be cold in Shanghai, but I was tired of doing everything outside. All the bathrooms are outside. All the restaurants are outside. Most of them come with their own set of gnats and flies. I wish I were Æon Flux so I could trap them in my eyelashes. My skin would also be white instead of sunburned. And I wouldn't have to pack so many clothes because she wore the basic equivalent of a horse's bridle, despite what the disappointing film starring Charlize Theron would like you to believe. I could really save on access baggage charges. Sunday, January 18, 2009The Summer Jam of Bad-Date Blog PostsAround mid-afternoon, I walked up the shore to a small restaurant near my beachside villa for a late lunch. I noticed four guys surfing in the distance, which I thought was kind of odd. There were waves, but they weren't big. By the time I reached the restaurant, one of them paddled in and started talking to me. He pulled his long curly hair into a ponytail and lit a cigarette. He was a decent looking guy, save for a horribly off-center top row of teeth. He seemed really set on talking to me, and I couldn't exactly get out of it because he and his friends had dropped their stuff right in front of the place I was headed. His name was Sonny, he was 32, and wasn't I staying on Legian Beach in Bali a little over a week ago? Um... yes? Why do you know that? It was a little strange at first, but it's easy to get from island to island, and I'm traveling alone, so I know I stand out. Given the super-relaxed nature of most of the Balinese people I've met, I don't think anyone here has the energy to be a stalker. Sonny invited me to surf with him and his friends, but I wanted to eat, so I did. I said I might join them when I finished eating, but I guess that wasn't good enough. While I ate, the guys took turns waving at me from the water and motioning me to join them. When I was done, they were all ashore, and I said I'd come back in an hour or so after my food digested. I know I didn't have to make good on this promise, but I'd never surfed before and figured I might as well try some activity besides laying around and enjoying my vacation. I changed into my bathing suit, covered myself in sunscreen having recently suffered a miserable sunburn, and returned to the shore. A wiry guy named Isak who came up to about my chin lent me an extra board and took me out on the water, away from everyone else. It would be known as the Great Handoff of 2009. I kept slipping off the board and never could stand up at just the right time. Isak had to keep grabbing me and placing me back on the board every time a wave came. I knew ahead of time that learning to surf would be a lost cause, but I gave myself a gold star for trying. I figured my falling off the board would be the most awkward thing about the experience, but 30-year-old Isak was asking me a lot of questions and laying it on pretty thick. Compliments are nice and everything, but after the first five or six, they become kind of embarrassing for both parties. "Are all Americans as beautiful as you?" he asked. "No, actually. Most Americans are fat since they eat a lot of fast food and play video games instead of maintaining healthy active lifestyles. Also, due to the rise of the suburb, most people don't live near most of the establishments they visit, so they're walking less than ever. Due to an influx of immigrants and availability of complex equipment, we also find ourselves doing less and less manual labor..." I kept steamrolling him until he interrupted me. I don't like being asked questions that don't have answers. Then Isak asked me out to dinner... like 100 times. He asked if I had a boyfriend while we were on the water, and I stupidly told the truth. Even though I am technically fair game, I don't want to be seen as such when I don't feel like dating. I hemmed and hawed, but as long as I was there, I thought it would be cool to spend an evening eating where the locals eat and doing what the locals do. I told him I'd hang out, but I had to make it an early night. Once again, I went home, rested, changed, and returned. I met up with the guys right at sunset. They had finished surfing and were seated in a circle by a tree. A couple more guys joined us. They passed around glasses of palm wine. They said it was non-alcoholic, so I tried some. It didn't taste like anything, kind of like textured water, so I stayed out of the rotation. Next came marijuana. A few years ago, I would have been all about sampling some island herb on the other side of the world, but I'm getting a little old for this shit. Beyond that, I just didn't feel like it. I said that I had a bad experience with it and don't want to do it again, which is true. Each person made sure I knew that it's good stuff, I was welcome to it, they're good people, etc. I appreciated the offer, but I was determined to stay out of that rotation too. While they smoked, I pulled out a book that my friend Eric gave me to write about stuff on my trip. Isak asked to see it, so I handed it over. He came across a self-deprecating passage I wrote about furthering the American stereotype and asked me what it meant. I tried to explain the concept of using sarcasm and exaggeration to mean the opposite of the words you're saying. Needless to say, that worked out real well. The guys made plans to go to some Balinese dance festival up the coast later that night. Isak said he would take me to dinner and we'd meet up with the group afterward, which sounded like an appropriate plan. He had a car instead of a motorbike, and I appreciated that minor amenity, until he went and spoiled his game the second we backed away from the beach. "Are you scared to be alone in a car with me?" "No," I replied indifferently. "Should I be?" It was such a ridiculous question. The guy was tiny. And if I didn't want to ride with him, I had plenty of chances to back out. Even if I had been the slightest bit scared, my sheer annoyance with the stupidity of that question trumped any other emotion I could have been feeling at that very moment. And boy, did he keep the mood intact. "I am a romantic," he declared, "Are you a romantic?" I used to think I was, but now I know I'm not. I had already been overriding his thinly veiled complimentary questions on the beach and didn't want to sound overly cruel, so I said, "I am practical." He laughed and said, "You can be both." "Not really." I'm going to break here and just say that I know this guy made his intentions abundantly clear and I know I obviously wasn't digging his action and could have easily avoided hanging out with him. But you know how sometimes you just know that something is going to be so incredibly awful that you want to stick around just to see how bad it can actually get? That's kind of what I do all the time, and I'm not dead yet. As we headed toward Senggigi, he asked, "Where do you want to go?" Another dumb question. I know he thinks he's being all nice letting me choose the restaurant, but what it really shows is his lack of forethought. I don't live there. I don't know where to eat. He asked me out. The least he could do is have some idea of where he'd like to take me. So I asked him to take me to his favorite place, and with much more to-do than I would have liked, we pulled into an Indo-Chinese restaurant adjacent to the inexpensive Hotel Linda. Dinner was probably the best part of the evening, although it was as awkward as the majority of my dinner dates last year. Ever since I re-entered the dating pool, I have been faced with a huge influx of men with nothing to say and the inability to keep up with most of what I'm saying. They're more than happy to stare blankly and bob their heads up and down while dumping the burden of being interesting on me, even though it should be effortless if you're living the kind of life you want. Isak seemed to really enjoy his career as a social worker. I liked listening to him talk about taking kids off the streets and putting them in foster homes. He also founded an organization that houses and educates handicapped children. He had lived on the streets himself until he was 10. Then he was adopted by family in Holland where he was educated before returning to help out his homeland. All the site visits and organizational aspects of the job kept him quite busy. His ex-girlfriend felt he spent more time working than he did with her, so they broke up last year. Thus, the conversation segued into a discussion about relationships. I told him I know someone out there was probably telling the same story about me and that things had been kind of crazy ever since I left my long-term relationship in late 2007. It was a rough year, as far as relationships were concerned, and I was mostly looking for friendships at this point. Out of the blue, he asked, "Do they have sex education in the US?" It was kind of a weird question, but I answered it. We talked about abstinence versus contraception and disease prevention. Given his line of work, the topic was legitimate enough. Education is different everywhere, and given my own work with a non-profit teachers' organization, I am happy to talk about it. But while he chose interesting conversation topics, I didn't get the feeling we really conversed. He would say something, I would respond, and it was onto the next thing. I chalk some of that up to the language barrier. His English was the best I'd heard in Lombok, but that doesn't mean it's easy for him. Anyway, I'm used to guys just running through their list of standard things to say and being unable to let the conversation take its own course. At least this time, it wasn't entirely his fault. At one point, things got quiet. As I was cramming buttered water spinach down my throw-hole, I looked up and caught him staring at me intently. "What's up?" I said, my usual reaction to such nonsense. "I am just looking at you. You are so beautiful." Ugh, get over it! I don't need this kind of weirdness while I'm trying to enjoy one of my daily feedings. We finally got the check and split it. I wanted to check out the Balinese dance thingy for a bit and head home. I was getting tired and my sunburn put me in a lot of pain. Of course, Isak jumped on that last nugget of information and offered me a massage. "My entire body hurts," I replied politely, "I don't think any kind of massage would feel good right now." "I could give you a special kind of massage," he said with a knowing grin. Oh, vomit. Even for being in a place where massages and gratuitous touching are totally common, this was getting gross. He was beginning to sound like my ex from college. For someone as perpetually horny as he was, he was a fucking terrible lover. Anyway. We got in the car and headed back upshore to the Puri Mas Temple where the dance festival was supposed to be. It was a couple of miles past my hotel, offset from the main road but right along the water. I had looked at my map of the east coast of Lombok enough times to know pretty much where everything is. Things were about to get ugly, but I was hoping we'd make it to the festival first. "Would you put your hand in mine?" he asked from the driver's seat. "You're driving," I said nicely. The real answer is that I hate touching people I don't know, but the fake answer makes me sound considerably less neurotic. "I'm a good driver," he replied. "Sure, but there are motorbikes whizzing around, dogs walking in the street, that guy standing in the middle of our lane who we narrowly missed just now..." He laughed and admired my very concrete reasoning. "You know, we don't have to go to the festival," he said. "I want to go to the festival," I replied. "Maybe we could go somewhere, just the two of us," he offered. He paused. "Would you like to have sex with me?" "Are you fucking kidding? No!" "Why?" he moaned. Oh HELL no, I thought. I had just gotten through telling him that I've had a rough year and I'm not interested in dating. I was done being nice. "I have condoms!" he continued insistently. "Look! See?" He pulled a box of condoms from his glove box and placed them on the dash in front of me. "Good for you. I don't feel like having sex right now." "But I know about the diseases! I use protection!" he whined. "The answer is no, and that's just going to have to be okay." Pride be damned, this kid was not giving up. He kept pleading as we turned down the dark side street where the Puri Mas Temple is located. "We can get a hotel room together, just you and me, just for tonight," he said. I couldn't stop myself from laughing out loud. "I'm staying in the nicest, newest resort on the island. Why the hell would I want to do that?" I forgot that he might ignore my tone of voice and take the question literally, but I didn't care. I was thinking less about spelling out my rejection and concentrating more on my surroundings. I knew exactly where I was, but I immediately regretted wearing sandals. I was starting to think I might have to bail, and I might have to kick this guy somewhere as I did so. I made peace with the fact that I would have to ditch my sandals if I needed to run, but I could buy a new pair the next day to hold me over until I got back to the States. On second thought, I could jam them into my bag and then make a break for it. It's unlikely that he'll go after me on foot for very long, and I can easily duck into the woods so he can't follow me in his car. According to the map I had committed to memory, I was about a mile and a half upshore from my hotel and less than half a mile from the main drag. I probably had better luck taking the main road instead of walking along the beach, even though either one would be sparsely lit. Fortunately, all these considerations were unnecessary. We drove by the temple and it was dark. Who knows if there was even a festival in the first place? I said I wanted to go back to my hotel, and he obliged. Something in him must have known he'd been defeated, but the madness still didn't stop. We got back on the main road and headed downshore. "Are you scared to have sex with a Lombok man?" he asked. "I'm not scared to have sex with anyone. I just don't want to have sex with you." "But it has been three years since I have been lonely." Welcome to Shit That's Not My Problem, with your crotchety old bitch of a host, PlatKat. "You need to look for a nice girl on the islands that you can have that kind of relationship with," I told him. "I would like to have that kind of relationship with someone off the islands," he said. Oh goody! Another long distance relationship! Because those have gone so bloody fucking well the last few times I've tried them. (That's a good example of sarcasm, by the way.) "Well, it's not happening with me. Oh hey, here's my hotel. Just stop here," I said. "I hope you don't think I was pushy," he said. He only asked me to fuck him, what, 20 times? I burst out laughing and made sure I had everything before getting out of the car. "Can I at least have one kiss?" he asked. "Keep dreaming. But hey, thanks for not raping me. Stay classy." I hopped out of the car and followed the path to my villa. Although I took a shower a few hours earlier, I felt I needed another one. I wasn't sure which was more annoying, being pressured to have sex or being told I'm beautiful umpteen times thus negating any value I may have as a living, breathing, talented, interesting, thinking, feeling person who inhabits this planet. One day, I'm going run out of "pretty" and then what's going to happen? I'll reach a point where I can no longer be objectified. How will I spend my evenings then? Thursday, January 15, 2009Music in LombokIt's no secret that I love dance music, so I was quite happy with most of what I heard throughout Indonesia. The track selection at Qunci's beachside restaurant was usually decent. You know you're in good shape when you hear a song you recognize and it turns out they're playing the whole album, which you own. Every now and then, the music was a little too clubby. If you're going to play house music somewhere without a dancefloor, it has to be deep house, which is more jazz-inspired and relaxed in tempo. Sometimes a few places went over the top with the house music and it felt kind of weird. But hey, at least they're not playing uber-cheezy tiki music. While I openly admit that I own several Mondo Exotica cds and listen to Illinois Street Lounge on Soma FM fairly regularly, I warn people who are planning to play this genre in public spaces to choose their music carefully. Also, I'm glad they're not playing the Beach Boys. I think the era of associating their obnoxiously giddy surf jams and trite love ballads with every stretch of populated beachside on earth is finally coming to an end. That still won't stop that gay-ass song, "Kokomo," from getting stuck in your head from time to time. Um... sorry about that. I think there should be a song about Lombok, particularly the Mangsit area where I'm staying, and great care should be taken to ensure that it doesn't suck. The mountains, the lush vegetation, the calls to prayer off in the distance... everything about this place is what you'd expect from a high-end, truly exotic tropical vacation. Seriously, Hawaii is for amateurs. Unfortunately, "Mangsit" doesn't exactly roll off the tongue. It sounds more like something you'd give your dog to prevent fleas. I really hope I can get back here before it gets too crowded. Wednesday, January 14, 2009Breakfast in LombokBreakfast is probably my favorite thing about Lombok. You fill in your order, stick it in the basket, and put the basket outside your door.  And in the morning, you get a deerishus breffast!  When I took the above picture, I had ordered a banana pancake. They're not as good here as they were at my hotel in Gili—too much like regular pancakes. Every other day I ordered mie goreng. It's like chow mein but with a fried egg on top (sunny side up!), which is the way everything should be. Cheeseburger? Fried egg. Apple pie? Fried egg. Eggs? Fried egg. Old-and-busted relationship? Fried egg. Less-than-a-month-long relationship? Two fried eggs! Eggs make it all better. In fact, that's what the banana pancake needed. Eggs. Tuesday, January 13, 2009Getting to LombokI wasn't digging Gili so much, so I got on a boat headed for Lombok. I was going to find somewhere scenic and peaceful if it killed me. So, I went back to the port with my heavy suitcase, treading back through the water behind a guy carrying it for me. The boat ride was shorter and significantly less nauseating, but when we got to Lombok, it was the same old shit. I rolled up my pants, walked ashore, and paid the guy hauling my suitcase through the muddy beachfront. Suddenly, this other asshole popped out of nowhere and demanded to see my ticket, probably so he could charge me out the ass to take me somewhere. I've been paying the white-person tax on everything since I left Singapore, so I felt entitled to the whole story anytime anyone wants to sell me anything. From the looks of the people, carts, and other miscellany scattered across the shore, I highly doubted they were organized enough to have prearranged rides (which they're charging extra for anyway) according to ticket. A new guy grabbed my suitcase and put it on a horse cart. Then they loaded a European family of three and their stuff. These carts are tiny and I'm not even sure how we all fit, let alone how the horse managed to drag us up the hill. At no point in the transaction was it mentioned, "We're going to a parking lot." But that's where we went: a nasty, muddy parking lot with a few dilapidated vehicles. They started loading the family and several other people who came on another cart into a van. "Get in the van." "Where is it going?" "What hotel you stay at?" "Where is it going?" "It take you to hotel." "How much?" "Just get in." "I haven't chosen a hotel, and you've loaded that thing to capacity anyway." The van clunked away and I was faced with a stringy looking older man who stood at about my height, demanding I pay some ridiculous price for his stupid horse cart ride. About half a dozen young men stood around us. I didn't feel threatened by numbers, they were all just watching. The man and I got into it a little bit, and I was really tempted to hand him a fake 1,000,000-dollar bill that someone in Seattle was handing out during Miranda's visit last year. We must have looked at the damn thing for 10 minutes, trying to figure out what company or event was being promoted. I had stuck it in my wallet; it was so weird. Anyway, the thought crossed my mind, and quickly exited. There's no need to be funny when I'm arguing with someone from another country in that said country. I ended up getting my own van with a burned-out driver and a "tour-guide" who looked like an Indonesian Usher for $20. Not a bargain, but it wasn't going to break me. It was worth it to be able to ride by myself. I made them take me to Senggigi, the largest city on that side of the island, to buy some stuff before we headed along the coast in search of a place to stay. I had read about Qunci Villas before I came. They're a little pricer than the rest, plus they added a bunch of new villas six months ago anticipating the completion of Lombok's first international airport. It's a good time to be in Lombok, not yet overrun with tourists and their garbage like Bali. Ah, what the hell. It's the off-season, and I'm sick of half-assing it. I'm already spending about half the amount of time in Lombok that I wanted to, so yeah, I'm getting one of the new beachfront villas, I'm gonna quit worrying about being nickeled and dimed every day and just pay the price for the good stuff, AND I'm gonna sit on my porch and read and write and smoke and play Tetris and drink tea, and the whole world can kiss my beach-proximate ass. So that pretty much sums up my day-to-day life during my week in Lombok. No need to shoop dis whoop, I looked at this every day:  So what'd I do first? I climbed into my big, comfortable bed and fell asleep. Monday, January 12, 2009My Own Evil MonkeyThis is Lulu. Lulu is evil.  I set out this morning to walk around the island, as Reena had done. She said it would take a couple of hours, so I decided I would do it before lunch. I hadn't gone far when I encountered a monkey tethered to a pole. It was by itself, just sitting there on the beach. Since it had a leash and harness, I figured it was safe to get closer. I kept outside its range, but slowly stretched out my arm to take a picture with my phone. I didn't even get a chance to hit the button before that monkey snatched my phone and jammed it into its mouth. Still holding onto the other end, I began to shake the phone violently. "EEEEY, you little shit! Give that back! You are a monkey. You can't talk on the phone. T-mobile doesn't even get coverage out here." After a short game of tug-of-war, I recovered my phone and snapped a picture. Then I discovered the teeth marks on the screen and I felt some taunting was in order. I took some more pictures, dangled the phone in front of it from a safe distance, tugged at the leash, and acted like an all-around jerk until it got boring. I continued on my way, periodically stopping for shells (not rings). Further up the beach, I was approached by a guy named Man, who told me there was one monkey on the island, it's a girl monkey, and her name is Lulu. I informed him that Lulu is up to no good. I never saw the monkey after that. I kind of wonder who she belongs to. At some point, she has to eat something that isn't my phone. Perhaps she exists only to haunt my dreams, like Chris's evil monkey on "Family Guy".  Sunday, January 11, 2009Gili TrawanganI decided to check out the island of Gili Trawangan under the advice of the travel agent at the hotel and actually grew excited about it when Reena told me it was her favorite place in the world. I liked that she acknowledged that different people have different tastes, but it was nice to hear some positive affirmation that I wasn't being sold on something lame. She and I seemed to agree on most other things. Reena wore a white shell on her ring finger that she picked up while she was walking on the beach there. She proudly announced that Gili Trawangan asked her to marry it, and now they are united forever in true love. Well good for them. She won't have to worry about infidelity as far as I'm concerned, since I didn't like the island much at all. My trip there involved a nauseating boat ride that I almost missed because the idiot working the front desk at the hotel forgot to reserve transportation to the dock. They held the boat for me, and quickly loaded my giant suitcase into the boat for my prissy ass. When we got to the island, there was no pier, but I was so happy to be on dry land where I could use a bathroom that I gladly rolled up my jeans and walked ashore while some guy walked behind me with my suitcase on his back. There are no cars on the island, only horse carts. So I took one of those to a place up the shore, which charged me almost twice the rate listed in the Lonely Planet book I read. Thanks a lot and fuck you, I'm leaving in two days. The rate wasn't a big deal though ($40 instead of $25; I'll live). I thought the island would be quiet. I mean, come on... NO cars. Unfortunately, there were clubs with obnoxious thudding music, renovation happening somewhere, and a mosque that regularly broadcasts prayers over a loudspeaker. I swear, the damn thing is next door. From what I'd read, I expected to hear these calls to prayer several times a day. I didn't expect them to be rattling my walls at 4:30am. There were a few good things about today though. Before trying and failing to get settled, I enjoyed walking down the main thoroughfare in relative peace, not being coaxed into a store every other second like in Bali. A lot of people said hello though, which was okay. But since I'm an introvert at heart, I got sick of that too. "Hey, beautiful. I would like to take you as my wife." Heh. I pity da fool. The best part was lunch. I sat by the beach and ate mie goreng, a fried noodle dish similar to chicken lo mein. It usually has a fried egg on top. Downtempo music played at their airy outdoor cantina. Black Mighty Orchestra, followed by a Bebel Gilberto standard, followed by a Sarah McLaughlin remix. Nice. Saturday, January 10, 2009ReenaAfter a day of walking up and down the west coast of Bali, I concluded that it was kind of nasty there and I wanted to leave. The beaches are littered with garbage and so are the streets. I caught whiffs of smells that rivaled those in Mexico. It was all the crap you see in the average beach town with none of the cuteness. I'm sure at some point, it was just a quaint, remote beachfront, but tourism got big and the city didn't provide extra resources to compensate for it. Back at the hotel, I made a reservation to take the fast boat to the nearby island of Gili Trawangan. My other option was a six-hour ride on the slow boat, but that would have required a level of patience I so rarely possess. It was truly at an all-time low after last night's stay in this dump of a hotel. I guess the Marina Mandarin spoiled me. But I still maintain that the people who write the Lonely Planet books have an extremely liberal sense of what is "clean and comfortable, a good value." This place creeped me out. The blood stain on the bedspread was almost a deal-breaker. Someone, somewhere had period sex on my bed. I'm not against period sex, but christ, you don't need to leave evidence! Since I knew from last night that it would be raining on and off as soon as it got dark, I decided that I would sit at the hotel bar, get drunk, and meet people. If you happen to be reading this, Reena: yes, even you were premeditated. Around nightfall, I walked down to the outdoor bar/lobby and took a seat between a group of young blond Australian boys and a girl about my age with long brown hair reading a book about Southeast Asia. Girl wins by a longshot. We already had something in common. I asked her where she'd been in Asia, and she was happy to list the half-dozen countries she'd hit. Basically, Reena was doing all the world traveling bullshit that everyone back home thinks I'm doing. She'd been totally slumming it, staying in hostels and doing everything on the cheap. At one point, she asked if I was bothered by the mosquitoes last night. I said I had a room with A/C and she seemed a bit impressed. I will happily pay an extra $20 for A/C... I just wish it also included blood-free bedding. She told me she was from Estonia and explained where it was without any prompting. That was really nice of her because I actually didn't know. She told me a little bit about the cold weather and overall feel of the place, which explains why it's not high on most Americans' travel lists. I still internally chastised myself for not being more familiar with European geography. I drank watered-down gin and tonics and she drank the local beer, Bintang. She said it was her favorite, so when I had one I resisted the urge to verbally lament that it was no Shiner or Corona. However, throughout the evening we frequently lamented that more of our friends don't travel. She said her friends complain they don't have enough money, which she said was crap because she doesn't have any money. (She worked as a travel agent in Estonia. I guess it's not a lucrative job anywhere.) From an American standpoint, most of us have enough money, but we're scared and/or complacent. Most of us don't value travel as a life-enriching activity. We can really tear up a buffet though. Reena's travel companion, Marie, woke up and asked if we wanted to clubbing. Eh, why the hell not. Oh wait, I know why, it was raining. But I was drunk enough not to care, so we changed clothes and took off. For about a dollar each, we hopped on the back of some random dudes' motorbikes and sped recklessly to a downtown area in the temporarily drizzling rain. I know the ride situation looks sketchy, but there are guys on bikes circling around all the time offering rides. I had refused all day... sketchy! But Reena and Marie were doing it, so at least I wouldn't be dying alone. They took me to a reggae club they had been frequenting. I don't particularly dislike reggae music, it's just so damn predictable. A live band playing Bob Marley covers. A dozen white people geeking out to it. Christmas lights. Ganja jokes. Fine, whatever. I got another beer. A guy Reena knew got us into the club for free and gave us drink tickets. Reena and Marie went to dance after they got their drinks. As I got comfy on my barstool, I saw this guy getting fresh with Reena's backside. She didn't look thrilled, but I guess permission was earned. I stuck around for an hour or so, but the beer was making me tired. My fatigue coupled with the rain allowed me to get hustled for unreasonably high cab fare. Although I wasn't wet and this pleased me, I think I would have paid less in New York. But at least I was now tired enough to fall asleep in my creepy, weird-ass hotel room and get up early to take the fast boat to Gili Trawangan the following day. Friday, January 09, 2009Flying to BaliThe flight from Singapore to Denpasar was not long, but it was miserable. I was flying on JetStar, the Southwest Airlines of Southeast Asia. Even though it was a late-night flight, there was still a crying baby, which actually offset the obnoxious family with teenagers behind me and the two single guys who thought they were hot shit in front of me. I tried to move from the third row to an empty row of seats at the front, but the flight attendant wouldn't let me. The two guys joked that I could sit between them for 50 dollars. I played sweet and pretended to be amused by the joke, but that wasn't the end of it. Periodically thoughout the flight, the pudgy, Danish half of their twosome kept "offering" to give me the seat, lowering the price each time. Behind me, a baby was screaming, the teenagers were switching seats and getting up to walk around every two minutes, and I was agitated because that's how I roll. When we finally landed and stood up to get our bags, the Danish guy kept laying it on. His tall, well-built blond friend stood between us and said in a heart-melting Australian accent, "Oh, leave her alone." I looked at him for a half-second, trying not to appear overly appreciative, since it was too little too late anyway. "You are beautiful though," he added with a smile, not so much giving a compliment but stating a fact, which threw me into indignant-mode. Who do you think you are, trying to white-knight me with your gorgeous face and flawless smile and being all accurate and shit? "Thank you," I whispered, trying to appear as if I don't hear that on a regular basis. I don't mind it in certain contexts and actually enjoy hearing it from the right people, but sometimes I feel like it devalues the more imporant things about me. Anyway, we got off the plane and those two were immediately taken away by whatever cool thing they had arranged. I went with the rest of the plebes to buy my visa the good old fashioned way and wait for my suitcase. Thursday, January 08, 2009The Bird Is the WordI wanted to do something quiet and relaxing on my last day in Singapore, so I went to the Jurong Bird Park. Since it's a weekday, I walked through the empty park leisurely and without incident. All the colorful and interesting birds were up front, including the flamingos. These bright, balanced, basically bipedal birds are in my top 10 favorite animals, and I hope to acquire some for my nutso mansion on a hill that I will surely have once I'm rich and famous.  The rest of the park was mostly hawks. They're not bad, but they don't interest me a whole lot either. Most of them were in cages, which are easier to bypass than the colorful birds in open air or the mean-looking ostriches behind a fence. I also saw a cage of lovebirds. Five lovebirds in a cage. That's just unfair. At the end of my stroll, I used the bathroom, which was surprisingly nice compared to many public facilities overseas. I heard two American women talking as they walked in and one of them commented a similar thought and added, "Sometimes the bathroom is more interesting than the place." I agree with that too. Wednesday, January 07, 2009Women Be Shoppin'Singapore is one big mall, divided into smaller malls, some of which are connected so prissy chicks like me can avoid the stifling humidity. Despite my being a prissy chick, I don't enjoy shopping much. I already have a lot of stuff, and despite my greatest efforts to consolidate I seem to accumulate more and more possessions just by being alive. I am a little green prince, rolling a giant Katamari ball of crap all over the world. It's getting heavy. Fortunately, the malls in Singapore are as pretty as they are huge strides for capitalism, which makes going for a walk indoors somewhat pleasant. Here's a picture of a fish pond I came across at Suntec City:  Tuesday, January 06, 2009Little India and the Four FloorsI set out for Little India a little on the early side. There isn't much happening before noon or oneish, but my growling stomach wasn't cool with that. So I did the cliché, turn-down-an-alley-and-find-cheap-awesome-food thing that is so typical of foreign travel. The Supergood Curry Fish Head Restaurant was all that and more. For about three bucks, I got a plate of indescribably delicious food and the people working there were efficient and nice. I thanked my stars for getting there early, since they were packing 'em in when I left.  Later that evening, I met up with my friend's dad Barrett and some of his coworkers at the Marriott Executive Club. Their hotel is well-situated on Orchard Road (mine is by the marina because "pretty" trumps "shopping") and I'm having an easier time with the subway system than cabs, oddly enough. They had been in town much longer than I, so they told me about stuff they'd seen and done while we had free drinks and snacks. One of the more interesting attractions is inside Orchard Tower. A deserted multi-story mini-mall by day, it also houses a bunch of nightclubs well-known for their abundance of ladies of the evening. Apparently, chicks from all over Asia go there to make money or land a white guy, and white guys from all over everywhere else go there to get laid. "They call it Four Floors of Whores," laughed Tim, a quiet middle-aged man. "It's crazy," said Barrett. "I don't want to know what these people are doing." "It sounds skeezy as hell," I said. "You want to check it out?" asked Soo, a Vietnamese man with a gleam in his eye. "Absolutely." Soo and I wrapped things up at the Marriott and walked down the street. While we waited for it to get darker, Soo told me about fleeing Vietnam on a boat with 64 other refugees. Half of them made it. He ended up turning a buck well enough to bring his family out of poverty, and he could laugh about anything. We started at Harry's, the first place I visited in Asia where white people were the norm. The next place, a country-western themed bar, was filled with young petite Asian women feeling up any white man who would let them. Then we graduated to a club upstairs called Acapulco, which perfectly fit the stereotype of Asian-whore meat-market. Dressier, slutter Asian chicks packed the club, which was peppered (er, salted?) with predominantly middle-aged white men who suffered no lack of attention. They left us alone, mostly. Being the polar opposite of what that place was designed for, a middle-aged Vietnamese man and a twenty-something white girl don't have much to offer. We were there to stare at them, and I don't care how obvious it was. Some of the girls actually seemed to appreciate the extra looks, as they outnumbered paying customers 10 to 1. Also, I'm a white person with money. I might as well have had a penis. Soo fed me drinks while I watched unlikely pairs sit and chat over the loud music. What the hell could they possibly have to talk about? I wondered. And when it was finally time to make the deal, who instigated it? What do they say? Who makes the arrangements and how? As I pondered all these questions, I caught myself staring directly at a tall, white man with longish white hair and a hooked nose. He was old enough to be my dad. He caught me looking at him, averted his eyes, and was gone less than a minute later. I felt bad for making him unnecessarily paranoid, but I take comfort in the fact that I may have saved him several doctor visits in the future. When Soo attempted to put his arm around me, that was my cue to call it a night. As I rode the subway back toward the marina, I laughed at the irony of the whole thing. No one is safe in this sex-driven society, not even towering husky white girls. Monday, January 05, 2009Singapore Botanic GardensFrom the maps I'd seen, the Singapore Botanic Gardens looked huge, so I wanted to make a day of it. I just about covered the entire park, including the National Orchid Garden for a small fee. Really small, in my case, because I used my college ID. For some reason, I feel a keen sense of satisfaction that I can still get discounts with it, even though I barely remember college now. When I exited the Orchid Garden, my relaxing walk was interrupted by an older Danish couple from Bermuda. The male half was mostly to blame. I could see his wife was boring him, and he wanted to make that my problem. He asked me where I was from and what I was doing. I politely entertained his small talk for awhile. I told him of my plans for China and whatnot. He: China is a very good place to be. Very nice. Me: Sounds great! What did you like about it? He: There aren't as many Indian people there. Me: Why is that good? He: I don't like Indian people. Me: Well, it was a pleasure meeting you. I have to go this way now. I grew up around people who were openly racist, but come ON. Not in front of strangers. Is it really that hard to focus your hatred on the individual people and behaviors that bother you? Anyway, here's a flower:  Sunday, January 04, 2009There's Unlimited Dim Sum? This Party's Gonna Be Off the HOOK!I spent some of my morning at the gym and ate my first meal in Singapore at Peach Blossoms inside my hotel. They were running an all-you-can eat dim sum promotion. While I stuffed my craw with delicious fried thingies, I watched as an older woman cooed a baby in a high, breathy voice, exclaiming, "Fuck it! Fuck it! Fuck it!" It made for a nice impromptu Benny Lava session. Then I heard someone's cell phone ring with the Happy Tree Friends theme song. Yeah, I'm gonna like here. When the waitress came by with my first round of plates, she said, "You eat soup first." But like the tea and most of the hot items I ordered, it was served with a torrent of steam rising from it. I know she was trying to be helpful, but I wished I could explain that I'd like to wait for it to stop being on fire first. My favorite dish was the pan-fried cheong fun in XO chili sauce. I also had shrimp and waterchestnut wontons and steamed yam cake with Chinese sausage, and about 40 other things. Even my cold mango dessert came to me under a cloud of smoke. The white bubbling stuff at the bottom is dry ice.  Once I was convinced that wouldn't kill me, I enjoyed every bite of that too. Then, having consumed everything possible, I went back to my room for a nap. Ah, vacation... Saturday, January 03, 2009In Singapore At Last!I arrived at the Marina Mandarin at dusk, which at this point is becoming the magic time of day to arrive everywhere. Tokyo was slightly cold, but the air in Singapore was thick and muggy. I made the mistake of taking a shuttle to the hotel when I should have just called a cab. Even after going through countless airports all over the world, there's still no rule of thumb for determining which is better. You can measure distance relative to cost all you want, but you can't usually gauge which option is "worth it" until you try them. I read a lot about the hotel and the city in general. The hotel is pretty nice, and there was a dresscode. As it was peak going-out time, the folks milling around in the lobby and dining in the several open-air restaurants looked fantastic. I, having spent the last several days either in the air or about to be, checked in as quickly as possible and retreated to my room, where I looked out the window and saw this:  Friday, January 02, 2009It's Lonely at the TopI lost January 2nd to a relaxing flight to Singapore. WHAT?? Relaxing on a plane? Ya rly! I funded my flights to and from Asia with American Airlines frequent flier miles that I've been saving since college. If I was ever to fly first-class anywhere, I'm glad it was to the other side of the world, and I'm glad it was on Japan Airlines. They're partners with AA, which operated my (disappointing) return flight. The first-class cabin on JAL was gigantic. Barring the availability of willing contenders, I could have hosted a boxing match in there. Each person had their own private area by a window, and there weren't that many of us anyway, so the cabin was very quiet. As one would expect from an Asian airline, the flight attendants were wicked hot and more than happy to bring me anything I wanted. When I asked which way the bathroom was, I'm pretty sure they would have wiped my ass for me if I wanted help with that too. The bathrooms in first class, by the way, are much cleaner and nicer. During each leg of the flight, I was supplied with a makeup bag of products from Cle de Peau, a ritzy division of Shiseido, my favorite brand of high-end cosmetics. My favorite part of the flight was listening to my newly downloaded Aquitane album and sampling the dozen or so flavors of scotch on the drink menu. And, of course, receiving food that I could arrange to look like male genitalia. The only sad part was that there was no one to show it off to and receive a congratulatory fistbump for a job well-done. Well, I guess it's not too late:  *fistbump* Thursday, January 01, 2009It Ain't Shabooty, It's ShibuyaMy travel plans called for yet another layover in a distinctly unfamiliar place: Japan. Although I had almost a full day there, the Narita Airport is a few hours away from Tokyo. My sources told me to suck it up and go to Tokyo anyway, so I put my luggage in overnight baggage check and took a train to Shibuya, a hip Toyko neighborhood. I had dinner at a sushi restaurant and used a super-high-tech crapper:  Then I walked around some. At first I was thinking I'd get a room at some skeezy place for the night, since I wasn't carrying any valuables. Those capsule-thingies looked interesting, but I couldn't find any where I was. I ended up taking the last train back to Narita (phew!) because I was scared of not having enough time to get back from Tokyo. I had some trouble communicating with people at the train station about where I wanted to go, and expected to be in worse trouble at the airport if I missed my flight. I don't want to sound like that fat, dumb American who walks around foreign countries whining, "No one speaks English!" But I wasn't going to learn Japanese in a night, and I needed to anticipate problems. I spent the night in a decently-comfortable Narita hotel, wishing my flight left just a teensy bit later so I could see the Narita-san temple. Wednesday, December 31, 200899 ProblemsI left Texas feeling very frustrated yesterday, but I finally made it over to my friend Winston's high-rise in the Chicago Loop around nightfall. It was the beginning of my two-day layover in the Windy City, and I was already regretting packing too much as the third man to help lug my suitcase up a flight of stairs tried to hit on me. Winston wasn't going to be able to make it to the city this weekend, which upset me a bit because it had been 10 years. But I'm still really thankful for the use of his comfortable home. Today, I was late to a morning appointment. (I hate being late.) Then I spent way too much time walking to Union Station, when I was supposed to be taking a train from the much-closer Millenium Station to see my grandparents in a Chicago suburb. I was frustrated by the mistake, and ended up making things worse when I tried to find a shorter route back to Winston's place. Mom received my laptop mere hours after I left, and she overnighted it like I asked her to. Unfortunately, I returned to Winston's apartment too late to retrieve it from the front desk easily, so I ended up getting it the hard way, phoning several people up the chain until I could find someone willing to help me. So my NYE date shows up and I'm sitting in the lobby, upset, exhausted, and feeling helpless because I'm about to go to Asia by myself and I can't even properly navigate the city where I grew up. I'm nearly in tears, wearing dirty clothes and no make-up, and... oh yeah, did I mention this was a blind date? Luckily, he came equipped with calm reassurance, and we had a nice evening. As if I didn't have enough problems, winter is now apparently rhodent season: 
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January 2005
February 2005
March 2005
April 2005
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July 2005
August 2005
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January 2006
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February 2007
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January 2008
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October 2008
| |
|
The Big 10 Way Before That
The Big 10 Way WAY Before That
The Big 10 Way WAY WAY Before That
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