A Bowl of Stupid

My side trip back to the States — by way of Boston, Philadelphia and Phoenix — is coming to an abrupt, although not unanticipated, halt. I fly back to Bangkok, Thailand first thing tomorrow morning. I will be meeting up with friends there and then down in Krabi, Thailand, in another week.

After that, I still don’t know WHAT the fuck I’m gonna do.

• I may head back to Singapore for a few weeks to catch up with my flat mate (if he can’t meet me up in Thailand).
• I may continue up through Thailand, Laos, and Vietnam for a month before returning to Singapore and further destinations.
• I may also head to Papua New Guinea for their surf season – which extends into ‘winter’ in the Northern Hemisphere.

I just don’t know right now.

However, I will be keeping y’all apprised — and I’ll continue with the pictures, too. I shit you not, it’ll be like you’re right there with me (but not really).

Okay, one last thing. Although I promised myself that I wouldn’t write too much about the main issue of why I came back to the States much earlier than originally anticipated, I will say this much to all of my friends and family and curious onlookers who have asked about my trip to Boston, and why I made it in the first place:

It is a bittersweet departure. In the short time I’ve spent here, I’ve found someone that “gets” me, and whom “get” more than anyone else I’ve met before. In fact, things have gone better than I could have ever expected with KB.

She will be sorely missed, but I’m in the middle of something right now … and I still have to go. For now.

This is not over. Not by a long shot.

Canned Heat – On the Road Again

“Relax Tommy, … yeah, this is still that same unfunny, piece-of shit website we always look at.”

In preparation for my imminent return to Asia, I need to get some very important things out of the way before I leave the States. And although some would say that paying off my back taxes and getting this nasty rash taken care of would probably take precedent, I thought it more important to finally upload my photos onto my Flickr account, and change the theme of this site so you fuckers would be able to have better access to my whereabouts, ramblings, and said pictures after I leave.

I’m nothing if not inconsiderate like that.

Yeah, I know, I know … dance, monkey, dance.

One of the reasons I’ve grown so fond, so fast, of the lifestyle and peoples in Southeast Asia is because I see in many of them an adaptation of the underlying precepts I’ve sought from my whole ‘Vision-quest’ sojourn:

They have the desire, if not simply the need, to disregard all of the complications and dramas and phobias and self-introspection carried around by Americans, in favor of simply living. To borrow a phrase — they have the ability to let that which does not matter truly slide.

When I was out in the boonies of Indonesia, forced to live without electricity and potable water and other such luxuries for weeks at a time, I felt like I was at least starting to leave all that stupid shit behind. Really, in that situation, one realizes that it doesn’t matter who Paris Hilton is fucking this week, or what office intrigues are going through, or how much money your colleagues are making, or in my case, even the psychological effects of the many beatings I received as a kid at the hands of school bullies.

All that shit gradually became superfluous to the art of actually living. I was beginning to find, more and more, that I neither wanted nor desired to waste my entire life questioning my self-worth in relation to everyone else, either emotionally or monetarily.

In the grand scheme of things, it just doesn’t matter.

But now, every day I’m back in the States, I find those little things gaining more and more importance. I’m getting upset about again being confronted with continuous questions of employment and money and status and … ‘normality.’ And I find myself becoming frustrated and angered by these matters — matters that I should know really don’t matter.

I once again feel like I’ve unwittingly been cast in a Broadway show with people who, despite their impressive resumes, are nothing but a bunch of amateurs. For the love of Christ, “life surely isn’t as complicated as these brilliant fucktards are making it out to be … is it?”

• Do we really need to worry so much about having a car, or boat, or jewelry, or … whatever?
• Do we really need to work in shitty jobs we hate just to buy shit we don’t need?
• Does it really matter if we smoke and drink and eat shitty foods, if they add enjoyment to out lives?
• Do we really need to over-sanitize our food, and our water, and our homes, and … our entire fucking lives.

Simply stated, I am growing more and more pissed off having returned to a culture that — either knowingly or unwittingly — tries to make us miserable and question ourselves.

So, once again, I find myself looking forward to returning to Asia — if only to regain my footing and a sense of what is truly important in my life.

Perhaps, as some think, I really have got much more ‘soul searching’ to do in order to find happiness, regardless of my locale — I personally don’t think so, since ‘soul searching,’ by definition, interferes with ‘life living’. But regardless, my underlying recognition of ‘that which truly does not matter’ seems to come to me easier outside the States.

I spoke last night to a very good lawyer friend of mine who told me that, apparently I’m the hero of all the the blokes in his Boston office — giving up everything the way I did. I really do find this type of praise (or envy, whatever) to be comically ironic.

People spend decades envying others and trying to ‘fix’ their unhappiness while losing sight of the fact that, by doing so, they are wasting the lives they’re trying to save.

I’m not a hero. I’m not even looking for your goddamn support or condemnation anymore. But the longer I have to put up with it ‘tete a tete,’ the more I’m gonna recall why I was so pissed off in the first place. Regardless of what happens, I’m not gonna be one of them.

Enough. So fuck them. And fuck you too.

UPDATE: Forget all that old T.V. crap! Thanks to the resurgence of The Once and Future King, I now know that something far, far greater awaits us all … just over the horizon.

All hail Neil Patrick Harris!!

—-

All this unadulterated access to electricity and television has made me all nostalgic and shit for the bittersweet couch-bound days of my youth.

In that vein, I thought it appropriate to share what I remember to be the top 10 time wasters from my youth. Is it any wonder why I was such a fan of the ladies from such an early age? (and by ‘fan of the ladies,’ I mean ‘remained humiliatingly celibate’).

10. The A-Team

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KB and I drove down to visit with my folks in Philly last weekend.

Being in Boston for the month, I would have been an even worse son than I already am had I neglected to visit the parentals after traveling half-way back around the world to a city only a couple hundred miles away without making a visit. Plus, at this point in my life, I’m pretty sure the whole ‘jewish-mom” guilt trip thingy gets more powerful the closer you get to it’s source.

My parents were never that thrilled in the first place with my decision to give up a fairly cushy legal existence in favor of residing in various chicken coops throughout Southeast Asia — that’s just a given. However, that disapproval was compounded by the fact that my folks are … hmm, how would you say it? …

well, … they’re old.

In particular, gven a superior intellect, my dad remained single until he was 41, and he is now well into his 80′s. But even now, he’s still as healthy as a horse (last April before I left the States, the battery on my Jeep went out while my folks were visiting, and in response to my statement that maybe we should attach jumper cables, my dad told me that he would push-start the Jeep and that I should ‘just get in the car, ya’ pansy’).

Regardless, given their age and locale, it was recently brought to my attention that my parents, in their retirement, now resemble — creepily so — Jerry Seinfeld’s parents from ‘The Seinfeld Show.”

One particular event last weekend — one of many, unfortunately — drove that point home.

My folks still live in the small West-Philly row home where I grew up. And after living in the same place for so long, with a drop-off in the number of long-term house guests (to about none), my parents have let the house fall into a level of repair suitable to them.

The house is not in disrepair by any stretch, but there are certain things my parents have grown accustomed to living with that I (and perhaps other people) would change or fix.

One of these items is the lock on the door to the main bathroom (immediately adjacent to the 3 upstairs bedrooms). It’s not that the door doesn’t lock, it’s just that it doesn’t lock as well as it maybe should. As such, given the proper motivation — oh, like pulling on the door handle, for instance — the lock will disengage and the door will open.

This isn’t that big of an issue as my parents have been married for 45 years and I’m guessing there are no more sacred places (or scents) left to shock either of them. So … no issue.

But now you’ve got your (prodigal) son visiting from Southeast Asia with his new girl, and it would probably be a good idea to at least try to maintain an illusion of bathroom privacy. So, house rules: if the door is closed, it’s pretty much in your best interest to leave it closed.

To this end, when I went to use to bathroom early the first morning after we arrived, I saw the bathroom door shut. Not a problem, I would wait a few minutes until the current occupant was finished. However, for the first time in my life, I saw a new, hand-printed sign tacked onto the bathroom door, reading (and I shit you not – no pun intended):

I was, for a change, rendered relatively speechless as I went back into the bedroom to tell KB that her urinary options had been surreptitiously reduced in half whilst we had slept.

Given the fact said ‘downstairs bathroom’ is without a shower, we decided to expand our bladders through rhythmic breathing and meditation, and wait for 15-20 minutes until said ‘bowel movement’ was no longer ‘in progress.’

As we sat there talking, we lost track of time for a bit. But about an hour later, I decided to make another check on the status of my dad’s (or my mom’s) ‘movement.’

I found the door still shut, with the ‘sign’ still firmly tacked onto the bathroom door. Apparently, there had yet to be any ‘progress.’ We decided to keep waiting a bit longer rather than brave the cold depths of my parents basement bathroom,

KB: “No worries. Let’s give your dad 5-10 more minutes.”
Me: “Okay.”

And then, 10 minutes later,

KB: Umm … do you think your dad’s okay? Maybe you should check on him.”
Me: Uhh, okay.

After going back outside and seeing the bathroom door still adorned with my mom’s (at that point, apparently woefully optimistic) signage, I finally broke down and called out to my mom downstairs,

Me: Hey, MOM! Are you downstairs?
Mom: Yes, honey? What do you need?
Me: Uh mom, do you know when dad is gonna be done in the bathroom?
Mom: What do you mean, sweetie? Your father’s down here with me reading the newspaper.
Me: (Silent reflection)
Me: Uh, well there’s that new sign on the bathroom door that says … uh, well it says … it says the bathroom is busy.
Mom: I know, but didn’t you try the door?
Me: (Additional moment of silent reflection)
Me: Well, no mom, given the condition of the lock, I didn’t think it a prudent course of action at this juncture.
Mom: Don’t be a wise-ass. You could have just knocked on the door.
Me: (Slipping into meditative trance to contemplate situation)
Me: Well, yeah sure, but why is the sign up in the first …; uh, why would I have to knock if there’s a … what I mean to say is ‘why was the door …’
Mom: Yes, sweetheart?
Me: Uh, never mind, we’re gonna use the bathroom now.
Mom: Okay, we’re not going anywhere.
Me (halfway under breath): Of course you’re not, you’re old.
Mom: I heard that – don’t be a smart-ass.
Me: Okay, okay … I gotta go (running to bathroom in classic ‘gotta pee’ posture)

And while that whole episode — and the remainder of the weekend, for that matter — reminded me of just why I sorely needed to move halfway around the world to avoid my parents debilitating ‘quasi-jewlogic’, the whole thing just reeked of ‘Seinfeldian cuteness’ to KB.

Indeed, when we finally made it downstairs and I ignored my parents reminding me – over and over – that I ‘could have just knocked,’ KB was grinning like a little school girl, whist I sat there in silence, trying not to listen to the coffee-stirrer from Starbucks that was loudly urging me to ram it into my eye-socket.

I used to think Seinfeld was so funny. But now? I saw a commercial for an episode earlier this week, and I could literally hear my mom berating me for not knocking on the bathroom door.

Ugh, Where the fuck is the nearest Starbucks?

Okay, just so you jackasses out there (not you, though … you and me? we cool.) don’t think its all darkness and gloom and apocalyptic type shit going on in my head (cuz it is, … but it’s not, … but it really is), I thought I’d go back to a musical post.

This time is a band that I admittedly should have paid more attention to last year, before I am now considered to be one of the ‘bandwagoneers’ (but I guess that’s what makes ‘bandwagoneers’ to begin with, so whatever).

Great indie rock band, a great catchy sound, and it doesn’t seem they take themselves too seriously (at least not yet) … and, best of all, the lead singer’s sister is a professional choreographer, so they’ve got some really cool videos — like this one (which, if you notice, is done in one single camera shot):

OK Go – Here It Goes Again

Alright people, as you were.

I’m back in the States, and although I’m keeping good company (well, mostly, that is*), I am having a particularly tough time reconciling my travels over the past several months with what’s going on around me here in my ‘home country.’

There are a variety of issues flying around my head right now, many of which I staunchly refuse to discuss on a public forum such as this. However, there are some peripheral matters I do think necessary to address — if only to raise with the 4-5 people still reading this blog, my ongoing exercise in rhetorical masturbation.

The first issue I am really having problems with is the overwhelming sense of arrogance, entitlement, and just plain fucking gluttony that absolutely RULES the American psyche. Indeed, this view permeates every single aspect of the American culture – most of which I personally never saw before I left.

I have been made aware that my complaints and disillusionment with that culture may also be the simple byproduct of my own unjustified arrogance over everyone else here in the States grumbling about their everyday lives, yet who still resign themselves to such simple ’9 to 5′ existences.

Shit, if I weren’t better than them, then everyone I’ve met would themselves be doing what I’m doing instead of simply congratulating me for doing it myself … right? (That was a rhetorical question, please no need for comments).

Regardless of the cause (or the effect, for that matter), the results are the same — my seemingly endless supply of disgust at how far Americans have seemingly let themselves slip into the comfortable glove of self-entitlement and gluttony, no matter in what shape or form I find that view being presented:

• Whether it be the flippant willingness to pay more for a bottle of distilled tap water as does a family of 4 to live on for weeks in various third-world countries (most of which I obviously haven’t even scratched the surface) — this, despite the fact that potable water sources are available at their fingertips, quite literally.
• Whether it be in the form of arguing, fighting, or losing patience with minor issues or items that, in said third world countries, would be considered luxuries of unfathomable depths (the idea of ‘road rage’ or other matters relating to waiting in cue, to me now seems absolutely idiotic).
• Whether it be in the form of suburbanites, businesspersons, housewives or students spending (again) thousands of dollars just to learn how to relax more and work less, and live their lives better — the same way as many I’ve met in Indonesia, Thailand, and elsewhere do just as a matter of course, although they get ridiculed by many of those same Westerners for being seemingly slow and unproductive.
• Whether it be in the form of an entire (Western) civilization trying to lose weight, eat better, exercise more, and simply be healthier — all the while ignoring the underlying problems that have led to the problem. Indeed, I find it particularly ironic seeing people working themselves into a frenzy about work, or school, or whatever, and then thinking a 45 minute yoga class will relax them. (Shit, I find it even more comical to see people sitting in an office for 8-10 hours/day, and then driving to a gym 2 blocks away that they’ve paid US$50.00/month to attend, just so they can go ride the stationary bike or treadmill).
• Whether it be pseudo-environmentalists — regardless of how good their intentions may be — trying to recycle bottles and paper, to reduce water usage, and to refrain from disposing of litter on the street, all the while unthinkingly contributing more to the global environmental issues than they could ever possibly rectify without seriously altering their entire lives (but that would mean they would have to be cold, or hot, or dirty, or with bugs, or … something).

  Shit, I sometimes think that the bigger SUV they’ve got, the more angry they get about seeing someone throw a biodegradable paper cup to the side of the road rather than in a litter bin. I wonder just how enraged some of those people would get at seeing the Indonesian (and Thais, and Cambodians, and so on and so on …) simply burning their refuse on the side of the road, since those Americans conveniently forgot those people produce billions of tons LESS rubbish than they do.

Again, I am not unaware that much of my disgust in regard stems from my own pretension. But it’s still there, and it doesn’t really seem to be getting better. In fact, the longer I’m here (again, despite how beautiful my immediate company), it seems to be getting worse, and my desire to get back to Asia is growing stronger (indeed, it’s been pointed out to me that I am saying ‘hi’ to all the Asians we pass on the street, but not the Caucasians — yes, apparently I’m a racist).

The only good news in all of this is the fact that, for the first time in a long while, I’ve got something helping me to temper my disgust. Hopefully, that temperament will continue, and round off some of the rough edges that have taken shape over the past few years.

–

*C’mon TK, did you really think that just cuz we had nice time over a few beers that I’d stop trying to piss you off?

(Angkor Wat, Cambodia)

Take up the White Man’s burden — And reap his old reward: The blame of those ye better, The hate of those ye guard.
-Rudyard Kipling

Hello everyone. I’m back in America again – admittedly much much muuuuch sooner than I ever expected (although I am really glad y’all got to see me).

After spending what felt to be about 2-3 weeks on board various boats, motorbikes, buses, vans, tuk-tuks, airplanes and cars — I am once again back on U.S. soil. I’ve been here for several days now, I’ve had the opportunity to meet some people, talk to some people, and try to comprehend just why a majority of Americans could be suffering from an obesity problem when there are absolutely NO Dunkin’ Donuts anywhere.

Specifically, after spending several days in Bangkok, Thailand recovering from my latest stint in Krabi, Thailand, I spent a llittle over a week traveling through Cambodia — Siem Reap, Phnom Peng, Battambong.

(Cambodia, en route between Siam Riep and Battombong)

As I’ve told people out here in Boston, it is an absolutely fascinating country … the history, the people, the geography. It is stunning. It is beautiful. And it is the most disturbing country I’ve visited to date.

(Cambodia, en route between Siam Riep and Battombong)

The Kmer people are themselves both beautiful and disturbing, physically some of the most attractive people I’ve ever seen in my life, but many with a look in their eyes as if to say they would be just as willing to gut you as they would be as to drive you to your hotel. It’s just another buck.

Notwithstanding the helpful guides, the willingness to talk, and underlying all the friendly smiles, there is a tinge of hatred and blame directed (perhaps rightly) of towards all the self-righteous Westerners now gawking and throwing their money at them as if they’re a bunch of zoo animals on display — sure, thanks, but where the fuck were you motherfuckers 20 years ago when your professed concern, disbelief and ‘humanitarianism’ really counted? (indeed, myself and the other tourists are equally insistent to get pictures of the locals as the monkeys and other wildlife).

One of the local guys I hired to drive me around Siam Riep and the Temple Wats told me that the war in Cambodia is still going on, its just better hidden now. And the way in which this great gentle guy said it – just so ‘matter of factly’ – was just chilling.

Everything sounds great on paper. But shit, could you really blame them if they really do hate us as much as it sometimes would appear?

Maybe I’m making more of it than is necessary, who knows.

Regardless, my travel directly back into the States initially caused an extreme case of culture shock.

For the first couple days, I actually woke up in (what you fuckers call) the morning thinking I was still there in Cambodia. And for one of the first times, I find myself thinking more about that one country that any other I’ve visited since I left the States (despite all else going on right now).

Often it felt as if the children, the kids were the only ones with true unconditional smiles on their faces — which they did, their joyful smiles radiating out and helping (at least momentarily) to heal all the country’s other dysfunction.

(Cambodia, en route between Siam Riep and Battombong)

After seeing these truly happy kids bathing in the same shit-stained water they use as toilets — after that, and now only several days later seeing a bunch of miserable Americans paying more for a 1/2 liter of specialty bottled water than it cost me for 3 nights at a home stay in Cambodia … it’s just enlightening, to say the least.