A Bowl of Stupid

I’m mixing movies (worse that metephors, I know …), but there’s a quote from “Lost In Translation’ where Bill Murry’s character says:

The more you know who you are and what you want, the less you let things upset you.

That line has made an impression on me ever since I first heard in back when I was still living in Miami, working the 8-6 lawyering gig, ridiculously embittered and hating just about everyone and everything around me, and not knowing a god-damn thing about myself or what I wanted from my life — even after 30+ years.

At the time, one of the only things I did know was that I’m a non-conformist, and the traditional American lifestyle holds little, if any, appeal for me (nor do the traditional American obsessions with money, power, and guns … but that’s another story). Acting on that little bit of knowledge, I radically changed my life, leaving the law career, selling my house, and giving away most of the other worldly possessions one manages to aquire over the years — which inevitably led me to my current path …

I have no job, I have little money (but enough), I no longer live in States, and I travel constantly throughout Asia (where I feel much more confortable and at ease with myself). and I’ve lived this way going on a couple years now and thankfully see nothing that would necessitate significantly altering this lifestyle in the near and foreseeable future.

That being said, however, I feel like I’ve reached a turning point of sorts — it’s not that I dislike my life or my travels or anything I’m doing in ANY way, shape or form. Indeed, I feel immeasurably fortunate to be here, doing what I’m doing, leading the life I’m leading.

It’s just that … well, I’m starting to get angry again. At nonsensical shit. Just like when I was back living in the States.

I’ve been trying to put my finger on just why I again find myself randomly embittered about silly-ass shit, despite being out here ‘living the life,’ as everyone else says. It’s obviously not my location or job this time. Nor is it about paying a mortgage or car payments or insurance, or any of that other nonsense. It’s just that I’m starting to get a little … well, bored. And frustrated.

I kinda thought that I would figure something out by now about how I’m supposed to live the rest of my life. Yet one of the only things I’ve realized is that what I’m doing now will, for whatever reason — money, boredom, whatever — come to an end some day. And this knowledge has raised the spectre of returning to my past career and lifestyle (or at least some facsimile thereof).

Nonetheless, while fairly disconcerting, this is not really the thing that’s causing my latest bout of animosity towards … well, everyone.

Rather, I’ve also realized that doing THIS — traveling indefinitely, searching for surf and little else, and trying to just ‘be’ – isn’t quite how I want to live my life forever. It’s not exactly who I am. But, at this point, I’ve spent almost as much time and effort redefining myself as that ANTI-lawyer, beach bum, global surf traveler, that this realization pushes me from mere frustration to anger.

Because all that means is the initial question still looms out there, larger than ever despite my attempts to glean otherwise — what the hell am I supposed to do when this ends? Sometimes I feel like I’m just chasing my hat, postponing an inevitable return to a life of quiet desperation. Only this time, if that’s the case, I’ll have used up another one of my three strikes, with only one more to spare.

Like I said, I love my life, and the realizations are only fleeting at this point, but I really don’t want to start being angry again over nothing, like in the old days. Especially now that so much has changed for the better. Maybe I just need to go someplace new …

So anyway, apparently I own some island in the Persion Gulf — a big tourist spot with the Middle Eastern crowd or something. I quote from their website:

Kish Island is a resort island lapped by the sheltered waters of coral-edged lagoons, home to many of the world’s spices of reef fish. Snorkeling in the Kish Island is amongst the best in the world, whilst scuba diving offers an even more spectacular insight of life beneath the waters.

Kish lies like a pearl across the turquoise waters of the Persian Gulf and is a heaven of peace and tranquility fringed by sandy beaches and coral reefs vivid with colorful fish.

Pretty freaking sweet, huh?

Umm … well no, I haven’t checked to see if it’s ACTUALLY my island … but it IS named after me (Kish Island), and that’s pretty compelling evidence, right?

Umm … well yeah, I guess it IS in Iran, but so the fuck what?!? Now that President G.W. Cockmunch is almost out of office, we’re not still buying into that whole ‘Axis Of Evil’ bullshit, right?

Dude! … C’mon!! … It’s an island!! … And it’s got my name!! It’s GOTTA be mine!! I’M RICH!!! IT’S MINE, ALL MINE!!!

Conthequences schmonthequences, as long as I’m rich!!

Wanting to take full advantage of being back in the big city before I head out once again into the wilderness, I’ve just returned from my second trip to the movie theatre in as many days — this time I saw the new Hellboy II – The Golden Army film.

Remember how I JUST got done talkin’ smack about the new Batman/Dark Knight film — saying how it lacked character and originality?

Well, after seeing the new Hellboy flick, I take it all back (or at least some of it).

Hoeee-leeey crap, did that Hellboy movie suck balls — big, red, demonic, monster balls, to be precise. Man, I don’t know what the mouth breathing knuckle-draggers who made THAT steaming pile of crap were thinking, but it sure wasn’t about how to make a good movie.

Yeah, I know, I should’ve expected as much from a Hellboy sequal, but it was directed by Guillermo Del Toro and I thought the previews looked pretty good. Whatever …

Anyway, it sure did give me a new perspective on the new Batman film. Sure, being an ‘okay’ movie awash in a sea of garbage it’s fairly akin to being the skinniest kid at fat camp — but I guess, at the end of the day, you’re still getting laid more than the other tubbo’s by comparason.

P.S. I liked Ranylt’s comment to my prior post so much, I decided to take 10 minutes out of my extremely busy schedule and put my limited ‘photoshopping’ skills to work in making a Stuart Smalley Joker:

Sadly, it looks much too much like the real thing. And if anyone thinks they can do any better in 10 minutes, well, you can go suck it. Suck it long. And suck it hard.

Anyway, I’m back home in Bangkok.

I mentioned in a comment over at TK’s place that one of the primary reasons I came back here (after getting a decent massage or 10) was to see the new Batman / Dark Knight movie.

I’m an admitted comic book/movie junkie; I think Christian Bale, Michael Caine, Heath Ledger, Gary Oldman, Aaron Eckhart, and Morgan Freeman are ALL very talented actors; and of the popular comics, the Batman comic (whose protagonist has no ‘super powers’ beyond being a multi-billionaire) is one that is most grounded in reality. Moreover, just about everyone I’ve read, spoken to, etc., has said the movie was absolutely the best comic movie they’ve ever seen.

Sounds promising, right?

Umm … yeah, not so much. It ain’t all that.

I really don’t get it. I saw the movie last night on the gihugent IMAX screen over at Siam Square, and while the cinematography was grande (which may be simply be explained by the 16 meter high screen), the rest of the movie was remarkably … dull.

Yes, the acting was decent, yes, Ledger portrayed Jack Nicholson the Joker very well, yes, the special effects were what we’ve all come to expect from big budget Hollywood films. But holy fuck people, come ON!! At the end of the day, it’s just Blue Steel!!

They’re just rehashing all the same ol’ shit. A little bit of Sin City here, a bit of Batman Begins there, a sprinkling of Steven King there, then add in some Beetlejuice makeup and Spider Man-esque special effects for flavour — and boom, instant blockbuster.

Much has been said about how ‘dark and sinister’ this film is — which sets it apart from all the other comic book adaptions. But again … c’mon, it’s BATMAN. The tone of this film owes more to Frank Miller — who single-handedly reintroduced Batman as the now familiar psychologically dark character — than to the present cast and crew. Indeed, Miller’s portrayal of Batman as a dark and compulsive figure has dominated most later Batman projects to at least some degree, including the 1989 Batman film.

Moreover, critics said the same thing about the story’s ‘new, darker version’ when disecting Batman Begins (“In “Batman Begins,” director Christopher Nolan gets back to a deeper, darker vision of the Caped Crusader”) — simply because they both followed the campy, money-driven silliness into which the earlier Batman films had devolved.

For me, the Dark Knight wasn’t ‘darker’ and more sinister. it was simply longer and duller — proving that no matter no much ‘mood’ a movie tries to shove down your throat, they’re still no replacing a solid script and honest, beleivable characters.

Granted, it was an ‘okay’ movie, but it doesn’t hold a candle (no pun intended) to any one of a plethora of darker, more comprehensive ‘dark’ film noir adaptations — One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest, The Shining, and the first Batman movie, to name just a few (and yes, there’s a reason I chose all Nicholson films).

Hell, even Superman 3 had Richard Pryor in it. All I got for bad acting and funny faces in The Dark Knight was Maggie Gyllenhaal. On the bright side, at least she caught on fire, too.

Yeah, this turned more into a movie review than a simple rant. Sorry about that, from now on I’ll leave that shit to the professionals — they can tell the difference between Blue Steel and Magnum (oh my, it’s glorious).

Those of you who know me personally (and possibly others who are only familiar with my writing) are probably well aware that I never acknowledge — and indeed, often disparage — my personal happiness, lest the karmic fates learn of my condition and decide to wrench that happiness out of my grubby little mitts.

This is perhaps my number one defense mechanism (the other being my need to distance myself from anyone showing the slightest interest in me … but that’s for another therepy session).

Regardless, despite all the bitterness and despair I project to dispel the fates, I hope noone believes — nor forgets — that I am not actually well aware of just how ridiculously lucky, how unfathomably fortunate I am to be leading the life I am.

I say this for a wide variety of reasons — including, without limitation, because I was fortunate enough to be born into middle-class America, and was raised in an uncompromisingly loving family, and received an extensive education (sans spelling, of course), and have the ability to travel the globe as I now do, and have met all the wonderful people I have.

So to those persons who think I am bitter and cynical and mean, and I have forsaken all the gifts provided to me — I am sorry for projecting that impression, for it is a lie. I truly appreciate every last gift in my life … I simply refuse to acknowledge them openly, for a variety of reasons.

Indeed, even were I still living in Miami working the 8 to 6 grind, I would still be just THAT fortunate, if for nothing else than because I am healthy, and my family is healthy (although there still was a great deal more).

And this brings me to the underlying reason why I now acknowledge the greatness the fortunes have provided (and which I hope they will continue to, despite my having admitted it openly) — my friend Jill and her family … again.

Just days after burying her mother, Jill and her family are now faced with the prospect of her brother Craig, who, it now appears, may soon succomb to his own cancer in the coming weeks/months. And unfortunately making the situation even less tolerable, Craig is also suffering immensely from his cancer.

I know I’ve written about Jill and Craig and her family before, but … just … fuck. I really haven’t the words to describe all my hopes and fears and empathy and feelings for them. So instead, I’ll simply acknowledge the fortunes with which I have been blessed, and wait for some of those same fortunes to work their way towards them.

As noted, I’m here on Siargao Island — ostensibly for the surf. Well, the surf ain’t here, but that still hasn’t taken away from the ridiculously great time I’ve been having. Frankly, I’m on ‘island time’ now and I don’t want to write much, photo much, or do much of anything, really.

For those who are interested, Siargao is located in Surigao del Norte, a province of the Philippines located in the Caraga region in Mindanao. The province consists of two major islands—Siargao and Bucas Grande Island—in the Philippine Sea, and a small region at the northernmost tip of the island of Mindanao.

In addition to the surfing, the province is known for having many caves and tunnel systems in its islands. Some are half-submerged in water most of the time and can be accessed only during low tides — like the Suhoton Cave at Bucas Grande Island, where we went the other day.

That’s also where these photos were taken by a professional photographer friend of mine. He’s graciously allowed me to post the pictures on my Flickr account … for the benefit of you freakin’ yaa-hoos. So enjoy, and I’ll be posting more of them (and others) soon … if I find the energy.

I’m heading back to my palm tree hammock, mango shake, and masseuse. Ahhh …

Well, after spending an interesting few days travelling from Bangkok, through Manila and Cebu city (via air), Surigao city (via overnight ferry), and Dapa city (via fast ferry), I’m back at the place shown in the above photo — General Luna, Siargao Island, Surigao Del Norte, Philippines.

The trip wasn’t, however, without it’s issues:

I’m in an island paradise on the very western edge of the Pacific Ocean. I went out for a surf ths morning (small, but fun), and I’ll be here for another month.

Sweet!!

Okay, for anyone interested — here are a couple of pictures of the new Sak Yant tattoo I got yesterday.

And with respect to the question posed by Girl With Curious Hair as to sanitary issues — although TK has welcomed me to the wonderful world of tetanus … personally, I’m not all that concerned about the needle (read: spear) they used for the tattoo, I’m pretty sure the snake venom took care of anything bad.

Plus, according to the latest news, now I’ve got to worry about the communist rebels that killed a couple cops in the small Philippino surfing/fishing villiage that I’m leaving for in about 6 hours — so any potential blood infection may be the least of my concerns.

So I’m feeling pretty stoked right now. I did something today that officially qualifies as being one of the coolest things I’ve done since moving to Thailand:

I took a trip to the most famous temple in the world for ‘Yant tattooing’ — Wat Bang Phra, in Nakhon Chaysri, Nakhon Pathom Province, Thailand (it’s said a tattoo from this temple can protect from danger or even death — and given my track record, you can see why I went there).

For those who are unaware (myself included, to some extent):

Sak yant (Thai: สักยันต), also called yantra tattooing, is a form of sacred tattooing practiced in Southeast Asian countries, including Cambodia and Thailand. Sak yant are normally tattooed by Buddhist monks or Brahmin priests.

The Wat Bang Phra Buddhist temple, about 30 miles west of Bangkok, is one of the most highly esteemed locations for Sak Yant. Dozens of monks and master artists, who have spend years perfecting the art, can be found there. Many people — including two (2) monks I wound up giving a ride back to the Bangkok bus station — travel from far reaches of Thailand and Cambodia just to get ‘inked’ by the monks there.

I don’t yet have a picture of the new tattoo (located on my upper shoulders, extending up the length of my neck to the base of my skull), but I’ll post one as soon as I get the chance.

The experience was kinda trippy in and of itself — a local friend of mine recently got a yant tattoo from Arjan Noo, the preist here in Bangkok that received worldwide fame for giving Angelina Jolie the yant designs adorning her back. So, together with a friend who was here yesterday visiting from the States, I decided to go and get inked by this guy.

The only problem? Now that Ajarn Noo is famous, a blessed tattoo from him costs about US$1000.00 (ONE THOUSAND U.S. DOLLARS) — which translates into three surfboards, for the rest of us. Naturally, we were inclined to say ‘fuck it’ to that high-fallutin’ shit.

Just the same, we still wanted to look at getting inked. So we wandered over to the shop on the Sukhumvit that I got my last design done, where the artist told us that we could also get Sak Yant done at the sacred Wat Bang Phra — where Noo apparently trained — for the equivilent of US$5.00 (FIVE U.S. DOLLARS).

Okay, let’s review … admittedly talanted yet incredibly over-hyped ‘tattoo artist to the stars’ — versus — true Buddhist monks practicing a sacred craft, hand crafted traditional artistic designs, ‘blessed’ protective mantras on me for all time, no celebrities, no bullshit, … and oh yeah, for only Five Bucks?

That’s a pretty tough call, right? Yeah, that’s what I said too.

Unfortunately, my friend left last night, so she couldn’t get any ink done. So I made solo arrangements for the trip to the temple instead.

Despite having been told, and reading online accounts (the Wikipedia account was particularly accurate) about the Wat, I STILL had trouble at first figuring out how the whole process works (c’mon, it IS bloody Thailand). However, I was lucky enough to run into 2 monks who spoke decent English and helped me along. The pair had travelled 250 kilometers from their temple near Cambodia for the day, just to get tattooed at the Wat.

Thanks to them, I was also lucky enough to be admitted into the group of people waiting for Hiwong Pi Nan, one of the younger masters to come up in recent years, who has developed a rather large following of disciples since his tattoos are finely detailed and absolutely beautiful.

Before entering the temple, you must buy flowers and cigarettes (about US$2.00) as an offering to Buddha. These offerings are given to the monk, and then ‘recycled’ for the next batch of devotees, with the money used to support the Wat. The tattoos are done in groups of about 15-20 people. When the previous group is complete, the monk blesses the next batch of offerings and the next group of people.

When tattooing, the monk dips a slender 15 inch double-pronged metal rod (think barbeque skewer) into a dark inky liquid (said to contain a combination of coloring agent, palm oil, herbs, and snake venom). He then repeatedly, rhythmically, and quickly punctures the skin. Small dots of ink and blood appear, and with repeated applications, the small dots eventually form an overall design.

For me, the precess was far more painful than the modern machine-needle tattooing (or even the bamboo needling) I’ve had done in the past. As such, I eventually resorted to rythemic breathing and chanting mantras to focus out the pain. It helped for a bit … until I could hear/feel the metal rod literally ‘POPPING’ in and out of the skin of my upper neck — at which point, I kinda lost concentration and started giggling (which I think may be a ‘no-no’ in a Buddhist temple, I’m not sure).

After finishing, the monk say a quick prayer and blows of the tattoo. You then go to the next temple building, where the temple’s master himself also blesses the tattoo (and, in my case, he also ‘topped-up’ the pre-existing “OM MANI PADME HUM” Sanscrit prayer mantra I already have on my upper back).

And that was that.

Honestly, I feel incredible right now. I mean, really freakin’ good!!

Usually, I come out after getting a new tat feeling kinda worn out. But for some reason, that’s not the case today.

Is it the protective blessing placed on me through the new tattoo? Who knows. I don’t particularly believe in any of that religious mumbo-jumbo, but there are more things in Heaven and Earth, dear Horatio, so you never know …

Or it could just be the mutherfuckin’ snake venom.

Anyhoo, I’ll post picks of the new ink as soon as I get a chance (hopefully before I leave for the Philippines tomorrow).