A Bowl of Stupid

So much to explain, yet I still don’t know exactly where to begin — at least anywhere significantly different, except geographically speaking. I suppose the easiest place to begin is with the most obvious: I’m back in America.

As noted in prior posts, I left Bangkok over two (2) months ago now, right at the beginning of all the nonsense which has since engulfed Thailand in chaos, and now threatens to spiral out of control into a full-fledged civil war. Much like I saw the housing crisis back here in the States and cashed out / moved out before the storm reached it’s full intensity, so have I done with Thailand.

Fortunately or unfortunately, I found it relatively easy when I had to mentally and physically distance myself from my home country when the time came. Likewise, I found it almost disconcertingly easy to disconnect myself from Bangkok, which I loved as much as (if not more than) any other place I’ve lived. Now I am resigned only to hope for the best — just like every other outside observer.

After Thailand, my desire was to make a life for myself in the small, tropical wonderland of American Samoa. Specifically, an opportunity arose whereby I could live and work in Samoa for a short time, on a trial basis, and see if it suited me before committing further to the island. Unfortunately, things didn’t turn out the way I had anticipated, and after that 2 month “trial period” I left the island — most likely for good.

As I’ve mentioned previously, while admittedly small, the island of Tutuila itself is absolutely gorgeous — with tropical waterfalls, ubiquitous crystal-blue waters, soaring emerald-green volcanic mountains, and many lovely people. However, I would never be able to practice law, or conduct any business there, quite frankly, simply because the American Samoan Government is one of the most corrupt, nefarious, petty, and nepotistic organizations with which I have ever come into contact (which, including Mexico, Indonesia and Thailand, is really saying something).

My plan included returning to law in a relaxed, small-town, environment, which would allow me to also continue with my surfing and other pursuits, and also start a side-gig teaching yoga. During my two (2) months on Tutuila, I explored the beauty of the island, I arranged to start teaching yoga at a local gym, I re-immersed myself back into the practice of law, and I was also fortunate enough to meet some really great people. However, all of that positivity was tempered — no, absolutely nullified — by the sheer absurdity of trying to conduct business in the shadow of malfeasance and crookedness which is the American Samoan Government.

Which is a shame, because I could have made a life for myself there. Regardless, I saw the time had come for me to move on from Samoa. And, just as I was able to distance myself from every other place I’ve lived and loved, I left — again with a disturbing lack of fuss.

That was a couple weeks ago.

And where am I now? Now I’m back in Miami Beach, actually. Back in the same building in which I was living before I left. Granted, I’m now house-sitting for an old neighbor who generously lent me his condo for a couple weeks while he’s traveling. However, needless to say, after everyone I’ve met, after everywhere I’ve gone, and everything I’ve seen, and done, and been through since I left — I’m having more than just a slight difficulty re-acclimating. Indeed, I feel like Captain Willard at the start of Apocalypse Now:

When I was there, I wanted to be here; now I’m here, and all I can think of is getting back into the jungle. I’m here for weeks now … getting softer. Every minute I stay in this room, I get weaker. Each time I look around, the walls move in a little tighter.

Regardless … the point of this post was to point out, and put an end to, my journey. My sojourn. My multi-year vision quest.

I intended a bookend. But now, after writing all this out, I’m not sure. That is to say, although I’m back in the country of my birth, I am still very far from feeling “home.” Moreover, as the days move forward, it’s looking less and less likely that I’ll remain here in Florida, as the opportunities I came here for were apparently nothing more than seductive phantoms.

And so it seems I’ll soon be moving on … again. Despite the fact I still don’t know where I’m going. Or where I’ll wind up.

And while I want more than anything to stop having to write this goddamn blog, and to stay in one place for more than a couple fucking months at a time, and end this seemingly endless adventure (at least for long enough to catch my breathe) — apparently I still don’t have that option. Yet.

Note: It’s funny how I get the most responses (I’m counting both here and privately) when I’m having a particularly bad time of things. That’s probably a good thing, as it means my friends and family, regardless of their location, are still looking out for my best interests. For that, I thank them. Truly. But try not to worry too much, as I stated in my last post (the one in question), I sometimes write simply to work things out in my own head, and they don’t necessarily reflect exactly what’s going on in my world.

In contrast to last week, which I spent both en route to and traveling around (Western) Samoa and where I had an overabundance of time and an under-abundance of electricity, I’m now located in my new home — American Samoa, where I’ve got computer access but lacking a bit on the time to write. I’ll try to remedy that (the time part, at least).

Given the challenges I went through to get here, I guess I should be happy to have even arrived — alive and in one piece (generally speaking).

By the time I first arrived on island, I hadn’t showered or slept for over 2.5 days, I was suffering from heat prostration, sun poisoning, 300-400 mosquito bites, fever, serious ‘digestive issues,’ dehydration, over-exhaustion, and (last but not least) a severely swollen and infected leg that I’d seriously mangled on the reef in Samoa after only 3 days in the water. In short, I was an absolute mess (which, for those of you who know me, is really saying something).

Even discounting all those issues, I still just HAD to get out of Western Samoa — simply speaking, in any of the various worldwide shitholes where I’ve stayed, never before in my life have I paid so much for so little (example, at the surf camp I stayed on the south coast of Upolu, I paid US$45/night to sleep in an open air bungalow with no mosquito net, with lard and crackers as ‘breakfast,’ no running water, and where the family who runs the place returned home at dark, leaving me, the only guest, alone to contend with the local stray dogs all night).

Never has an island that subsists almost entirely on tourist dollars been less tourist-friendly than that one. And never before have I seen such “nickel-and-diming” to death as I did on Upolu. It was sad, especially considering I’d heard the independent side was the nicer of the two Samoa’s.

In contrast, I was worried about coming (and living) on the American side, reading wicked things about the state of affairs here on Tutuila. But so far (and I emphasize, “so far”), Pago Pago reminds me of a typical beautifully preserved colonial island town, similar to something that one might find somewhere in the Caribbean. It is … simply beautiful here.

And as the days go on, and as I’ve healed from my ordeal on the other side, and as I learn more about the place, the people, the opportunities here, and as I’ve obtained my own car, and apartment, and sense of wholeness again — I like it more and more every day.

Sure, there are issues — it’s small, it’s preternaturally hot, it’s obscenely wet, the people are massive, the cars (trucks) are massive, the meal portions are massive, and it has taken many of the lesser qualities from both American and Samoan cultures. But it’s also in the process of integrating many of the better ones too — the Rule of Law applies (generally), the Public Library is modern and brimming with media, there’s fresh local tuna and fruits, there’s a variety of foods, there’s a growing diversity of people (Samoan, Chinese, Filipino, Korean, Caucasian), there’s a sense of community, and there’s a positive, yet not unsightly, sense of pride in being American.

I haven’t even yet had the opportunity to do much of what I came here to do — hike, mountain bike, surf, swim, snorkel, SCUBA. But the scenery is absolutely gorgeous and I’m looking forward to seeing where the road here leads me …

I’m well aware that it’s still far too early to say, but I already feel a bit like Andy Dufresne – who crawled through a river of shit and came out clean on the other side.

Much as I did when I first arrived in Asia, I’ve started writing again freehand, often without any intent to publish here, but simply to clarify what’s going on upstairs. This is one of those posts. And while it is obviously melancholic (to say the least), take it with a grain of salt, and take it for what it is — simply a free-wheeling dictation of what was going on in my mind at one particular point during this latest “adventure.” Like most things, it may change with the scenery.

28 Feb 2010; Apia, (Western) Samoa
Right after this gnawing ache in my gut –- the result (I hope) of something I ate in Bangkok right before I left — the next feeling I’ve got is an overwhelming desire to break down a little out of sheer frustration.

It turns out my sister may not have been right –- at one point during the past couple years (I’ve forgotten exactly when), she relayed to me a little bit of bumper-sticker profundity which, at the time, I found especially appropriate to my recent life choices.

In trying to understand our extremely different takes on life, she saw a quote that put into perspective my life, which until then was probably fairly incomprehensible to her compared to her suburban domesticity –- she told me that “not all those who wander are lost.”

I thought it wonderfully simplistic, and yet at the same time, delightfully profound. My ego agreed with her, telling me that I obviously have all the answers and I’m just traveling to satiate my desire for adventure. I told myself that that was, of course, the main reason why I chose to leave the States and wander throughout Asia for the better part of the 21st century.

However, now I’m starting to recognize just how wrong she, and I, was -– I am lost. I’ve been lost for a very long time, I suppose. And it’s only been my over-inflated ego and well-honed ability to live in denial that’s kept that fact from me for so long.

When I was younger, I held the undying belief that I would be a complete person when, and only if, I met ‘the one’ person who would be able to complete me. For that reason, I spent most of my 20’s moving from one dysfunctional relationship to the next, hoping the next girl I met would be “the one.”

After having the pleasure of getting that myth thrown back in my face with alarming force several years ago, I abandoned my search for ‘the one,’ knowing that the dream is nothing but a myth.

Instead, and without even knowing it, I transferred my obsession with perfection and happiness from a person to a place — if only I could find “the place” I would finally be happy, or at least content.

So I left Miami, and I keep moving all around the world –- Costa Rica, Singapore, Indonesia, Thailand — always in the hope that the next place I’d go would be “the place” for me. That it would all come together in one blinding shot of inspiration.

But it’s not been that easy. I’m starting to realized that is probably never is. Because no matter where I go, I’m always there –- and therefore, it’s always the same. And it’s always wrong.

Apparently, I’m still in a dysfunctional relationship, I’ve simply changed the unhealthy source of longing.

That aspect of my life is far too personal and complex to even begin discussing in earnest here. However, I will say that my search –- albeit unknowing – has left me weary. I am just so, so tired. I just want a place to call home. And that fatigue has led to frustration, which inevitably brings me to tears.

I want to go home. More to the point –- after so many years of moving about, I just want a home. It’s been so long since I’ve known exactly who I am, where I am, or where I will wind up even next week that I can barely tell the difference any more – one place looks just like another, only the weather and the languages change.

I’ve only just arrived, but already I sincerely doubt I’ll find what I am looking for here in Samoa. Shit, it’s a lush tropical paradise and yet I can hardly bring myself to leave my hot, sticky motel room. To me, it’s just another tropical preserve with people and customs to which I can’t fully relate. So really, what’s the point?

I am just so tired. And I just want to go home. If only I knew where that was …

I hope the Pacific is as blue as it has been in my dreams. … I hope.

My intent upon initially leaving the States way back when was to engage in what I then called “The Bowl of Stupid World Tour” — a tour that started out in Singapore, made various pit-stops in Indonesia, Thailand and other bright and shiny destinations throughout Southeast Asia. From there, the tour made an unexpected stop in Boston, and would continue on through Sri Lanka and India, and eventually lead to various stops through Australia.

All of that was accomplished — and more.

The tour was also supposed to expand into and through the Pacific — to places like Guam, Palau, and Fiji. But somehow I never got there. Instead, like many people, I got trapped by the allures of Asia and, for the past 3-plus years, I wound up living in Bangkok, then Bali, and then back to Thailand — which is where I find myself today.

My intention upon returning to Bangkok was to make a life for myself here — in the past six (6) months, I’ve spent countless hours looking for work, making new friends, and networking with the Bangkok business community, all in the hopes that I would be able to find a paying job sufficient enough to allow me to stay here, perhaps indefinitely. Indeed, for all its faults and quirks and despite the fact that I constantly have to defend it to my friends back in the States who have a distorted view of the place, I love Bangkok very much. I really do. As do I love mostly all of Southeast Asia, the Buddhist way of thinking, and all the lovely people I’ve met here who have been gracious enough to let me into their lives, however briefly.

But like most things, permanence here is apparently not for me. My destination (if there is one), at this point seemingly lies elsewhere. I’ve not been able to find a decent job that would allow me to maintain even the minimalist lifestyle to which I’ve become accustomed. So I’m leaving Thailand, and Asia — most likely never to return, except perhaps as a tourist.

I really don’t mean to come across as a drama queen. But my experiences here in Asia over the past several years have altered me in ways I previously thought unimaginable. As a result, the thought of leaving Asia for good is obviously a bit daunting. The world out here is truly wondrous — with treasures to satiate desires both subtle and gross. And I am also sorry to see this, yet another stage of my life, exiled to the relative oblivion of memories.

In contrast to that melancholy, I am also optimistic, since I’m returning to the original path that has been lost to me — I’m finally heading out into the Pacific. And I’m also returning to the practice of law. And I’m also heading back to the States (in a manner of speaking).

Less than two (2) days from now, I’m moving to American Samoa, the southernmost territory of the United States, with a total land mass about the size of Washington D.C., and a total population of approximately 70,000. I go there with the promise of a paying job, decent surf, tropical island breezes, a lush island paradise and, most importantly, relative peace and tranquility.

As usual, we’ll see how it plays out …

From Opie & Anthony comes this just awesome gem of a video. Apparently Snookie ain’t the only one getting her ass slapped around for mouthing off.*

* For anyone upset over the purported ‘sexist’ nature of that comment or this post, consider the following points: (1) Fuck off, unless you’re in a hiring position I don’t really care much about what you think about me; (2) Western sensibilities have gotten way out of hand, lighten the fuck up you politically-correct, over-sensitive, lactose intolerant, bottled-water swigging, pill-popping pussies; and (3) if someone hits you, you should be allowed hit them back regardless of their sex or age (it’s called self-defense and/or mutual combat), especially if you’re trying to enforce the law.

Calling it “basically no more than five rectangular strips of paper,” Fed chairman Ben Bernanke illustrates how much “$200″ is actually worth.”

The Onion once again proving why Global Economic Theory and Existentialism don’t mix …

U.S. Economy Grinds To Halt As Nation Realizes Money Just A Symbolic, Mutually Shared Illusion

WASHINGTON—The U.S. economy ceased to function this week after unexpected existential remarks by Federal Reserve chairman Ben Bernanke shocked Americans into realizing that money is, in fact, just a meaningless and intangible social construct.

Calling it “basically no more than five rectangular strips of paper,” Fed chairman Ben Bernanke illustrates how much “$200″ is actually worth.

What began as a routine report before the Senate Finance Committee Tuesday ended with Bernanke passionately disavowing the entire concept of currency, and negating in an instant the very foundation of the world’s largest economy.

“Though raising interest rates is unlikely at the moment, the Fed will of course act appropriately if we…if we…” said Bernanke, who then paused for a moment, looked down at his prepared statement, and shook his head in utter disbelief. “You know what? It doesn’t matter. None of this—this so-called ‘money’—really matters at all.”

“It’s just an illusion,” a wide-eyed Bernanke added as he removed bills from his wallet and slowly spread them out before him. “Just look at it: Meaningless pieces of paper with numbers printed on them. Worthless.”

The good folks at HBO Asia have been playing Nick and Norah’s Infinite Playlist in pretty heavy rotation this week. Apparently the movie came out a couple years ago, but this is the first I’m hearing of it since it never really got enough traction back in the States for them to release it out here in theatres.

As aptly described by Dan Carlson over at Pajiba, the movie, based on a young adult novel, “is the ultimate tribute to the idea of shoegazing emo pop as savior, and of the mix CD and iPod playlist as the perfect window into a boy or girl’s soul.”

And yes, I agree that the story itself was overly-simplified, Micheal Cera was completely miscast (there’s only so many times Micheal Cera can play himself before that shtick gets got old), and it all comes out feeling pre-packaged and branded. All that notwithstanding, I still found the whole of the film quite charming.

For one, I seem to remember through the fog of years and hallucinogens that, as a teen, my musical playlist actually DID feel like one of the few, if only, methods of accurately displaying to the world the depths of my soul. Secondly, I’m growing a bit of an unhealthy obsession with the leading actress, Kat Dennings (another Philadelphia Jew) — I think she’s adorable, and besides the massive boobs, she’s just got a certain je ne sais quoi.

And third, much like 500 Days of Summer (only more so), the solid Indie soundtrack and the mere recollection of City-bourne teenage angst is touching simply because it reminds me, once again, of a youth of joyful exuberance and hope, of love easily given and powerfully deep, and of even deeper heartache — all of which has long since been involuntarily relegated to the realm of distant memory.

Anyway, here’s one of the better songs from the soundtrack — Vampire Weekend’s Ottoman.

When you speak of a path, where are you now? And where do you want to go? If these are known, then we can talk of a path. Know first where you are and what you are. There is nothing to be reached. There is no goal to be reached. There is nothing to be attained. The conception that there is a goal and a path to it is wrong. We are the goal or peace always. You are the Self. You exist always.

-Sri Ramana Maharshi

VANCOUVER (AP): The US team once again proved its superiority by dominating the waterboarding exercises at the 2010 Olympic Games yesterday.

Among the US athletes participating in this year’s Olympic Games were three of the top-ranked waterboarders in the world. Adm Jack Francone, Sgt Brian Naismith and Private Kirstie Jacobs were all ranked in the top 5 by Waterboarding magazine at the start of this year, and they easily saw off the less experienced Afghan and Pakistan teams, and even bested their well-lauded Israeli counterparts.

In the event, team members are given ten minutes to simulate the drowning of a suspect volunteer. Judged like figure skating, each athlete is given marks for technical mastery of the skill and is also judged on his overall artistry.

“What really differentiates one waterboarder from another are the flourishes –- trash talk, a well placed knee on the neck, or a fist in the mouth –- that a particular athlete adds when executing his routine. It really is an art form,” explained the U.S. Team Coach, former Vice President Dick Cheney.

The Iranian team also put in a good showing and have shown remarkable improvement in the event over the past few years, progress some analysts attribute to hands-on lessons received at a “secret training facility” of which the Iranians had denied the existence until this weekend, when they publicly declared themselves a ‘nuclear state’.

The Olympics run through February 28th, concluding with rubber-hose cryptanalysis (in which a rubber hose is applied forcefully and frequently to the soles of the feet until the key to the cryptosystem is discovered, a process that can take a surprisingly short time and is quite computationally inexpensive). Las Vegas has the Iranian team as a 12:1 odds-on favorite to win, although Mr. Cheney has said that he is confident “this years U.S. team will be able to end years of Iranian dominance in this event.”

Steve Jobs had to have seen this one coming a mile away. It sounds like a tampon, for Christ’s sake!!

(A photo from Cosmopolitan Magazine of newly elected Republican Scott Brown, who won the Massachusetts U.S. Senate seat held by the late Democrat Edward M. Kennedy for nearly half a century)

See, its not that the Democrats are playing checkers and the Republicans are playing chess. It’s that the Republicans are playing chess and the Democrats are in the nurse’s office because once again they glued their balls to their thighs.

-John Stewart, on the election of Republican Scott Brown and the resulting (probable) failure of the Democratically controlled White House and Congress to pass health care reform

A photo of Bin Laden from 1998 (left) was digitally altered using elements from an image of Gaspar Llamazares, a Spanish politician who has said he was shocked to find out the FBI had used his photo for a digitally-altered image showing how Osama Bin Laden might look. (click image above for full story)

Dear FBI Profilers, although I am of Middle Easern descent, please don’t “borrow” any of my Facebook and/or Flickr photos to use for a digitally-altered image showing how Osama Bin Laden might look. Thank you and good luck. xoxo

Your friend,
-Bowl

So, needless to say, we’ve been making some minor modifications to the site recently. It’s not that I really wanted to (hell, I’ve barely anything coherent to write about anymore), but due to software incompatibility issues, I was forced to upgrade my version of WordPress.

I’m still checking out the new application, but I’ve already had to make some formatting changes and there may be more. If anyone is conversant in WordPress 2.8 or higher and has any suggestions re: themes, widgets, and any other neat stuff that’s been released over the past … oh, say four (4) years or so, please lemme know. (and for Sasquach, you’ll be happy to know the latest version has an auto-save function, if you’re in the mood to do some guest writing — ‘cha!, as if!).

In the midst of all these formatting and software changes, I somehow managed to fit in a few of the movies that came out back in the States over the last several months. And while I was disappointed with a couple of those flix — Up In The Air & Where The Wild Things Are being the biggest of them — I was absolutely overwhelmed by yet another — 500 Days of Summer.

From what I’ve read, the movie has gone from media darling to industry goat in only a matter of months. I’m no longer back in that scene, so I’ve no idea how or why the hipsters have reacted to this movie, admittedly geared directly towards their dilated pupils.

The reaction, like the audience, is reminiscent of the response following Zach Braff’s Garden State. Each of the two movies do admittedly follow the love lives of a couple of 20-something neo-hipsters, they both make use of absolutely remarkable musical soundtracks, and both feature the locale as much as the characters (New Jersey and Los Angeles, respectfully).

But from there, the comparisons begin to slide — at least in my mind. Whereas Garden State got bogged down in trifling melancholy and predictable plot development, Summer instead plotted a truer course — mostly due to its beautiful screenplay and the charisma of its two leading actors, Joseph Gordon-Levitt and Zooey Deschanel.

Their portrayal of what happens, not what movies tell us should or do happen, but what ACTUALLY happens during the course of a relationship is not something I recall seeing in a movie in recent memory, if ever. I’ve been in situations where each of the two of them were portraying in the movie — and I felt as if it could have been my life being depicted onscreen. That is art. That is talent. That is relating to your audience. That is how to properly tell a story — by letting your audience feel as if it were their own.

For me, there are much bigger forces behind my particular attachment with the movie, which I really don’t feel like going into at the moment. But I feel the need to post at least one more song from (and artfully used in) the movie — Regina Spector’s Hero. Unless something significant comes up in the interim, I’ve no doubt I’ll post more in the coming days.

One of the downsides to shopping your wares in a horrible market — one of the MANY downsides — is that it leaves you with little or no time to pursue your own pet-projects, like say … a travel / surf / entertainment blog with an ever-diminishing readership.

Hell, even with regular full-time work, I was able to stuff in a few 30 minute sectors here and there to put together something almost remotely interesting. Now, all my free time is spent pursuing contacts, going to networking events, or getting a 250 baht foot massage (Hey, it’s an investment!). I sometimes manage to fit in a look at one or two of my favorite “regular” web sites here and there. But it’s not much …

For that reason, I’m basically stealing this latest post directly from Chez — who has managed to remain much better connected (and prolific) than I of late. From the (500) Days of Summer soundtrack — yet another movie I’ve not yet had the chance to see — here’s The Temper Trap’s Sweet Disposition. Awesome track. It’s nice to see music returning to the business of … well, music.