A Bowl of Stupid

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.

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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).

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My buddy Desho Bernard (Desho needs a hug), who produces comedic video clips for Guru Bangkok (i.e., The Bangkok Post), just made this lastest clip — about Facebook addiction.

And while I don't refer to myself in the third person (except during sex, of course), I am also one of the legion of Facebook addicts. Ahh, we laugh because it's funny, and we laugh because it's true — Desho can't go on!!

Damn, this shit is funny.

I'd like to be able to say that I contributed to at least a portion of the brainstorming that came up with this clip. But given that the concept — unlike myself — is REALLY funny … I think we all know that I had absolutely nothing to do with it. Dammit!

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For obvious reasons (i.e., the entire election process is about as interesting — and just a likely to make me vomit — as naked pictures of Amy Winehouse), I haven't been paying much (read: any) attenton to the American Presidential race for the past 2 years.

From what I've seen tho, apparently there's finally a black guy running this time — which is pretty cool, I guess.

Anyhoo, thanks to Chez ove at Deus Ex Malcontent, I've become much more informed about the entire process. Thanks kid … I think.

I thought this YouTube clip (which Chez also wrote about on his site) was both hysterical AND informative. It's about an apparent (ahem) 'rift' between John McCain and his wife:

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(Me - jalan-jalanning in Nembralla)

Continuing with my lazy-ass attempt to reply to the few people who still actually read — or, more likely, inadvertently stumble upon — this blog, I offer the following emails, and my responses:

'Drew' wrote, asking:

"What doe the tattoo on your back mean? Where did you get it from??"

The tattoo is written in Tibetian Sanscrit, and it means "Oh Mani Padme Hum' — you can go check out this website for a more complete description/meaning (cuz frankly, as has been previously established, I'm just too lazy). I got the tattoo in a shop in South Miami Beach (I think on the corner of Washington and 7th street).

Rhonda from the blog 'Smashed Ham Sandwiches' (whatever the hell that means) wrote, in part:

Funny thing, I have a "Bowl of Stupid" on my page. Not nearly as interesting as yours. I ran across the saying on a t-shirt somewhere a few years back and it has stuck with me as one of my favorites ever since. …I have to admit I can admire a man that is so adventurous, such as yourself.

Actually, I just wrote the good part, she kinda tore me a new asshole — something about my plagerizing from T.V. shows or something… Nah, I'm kidding, Rhonda was quite nice — go check out her blog when you get the chance. And thanks Phonda, I'm sure you'll make it out of Michigan some day. If you choose to head out this way and have any questions, feel free to ask me.

And finally (for now), I got this email several weeks ago from Kevin in Australia (with my answers to his 'several' questions in bold):

How's things? I found your blog when looking for information about krui. Some good reading there. Very jealous of your travels. I've thrown in the job a couple of times myself but only made it a year a time… but then the need for stabilty kicks in and I find myself back in normal life. Anyway, I'm off to krui on Friday. Have got my flight booked to Jakarta but that's about all. Would appreciate your help with some questions if you have the time.

Did you prebook your flight to bandar lampung? No, I bought a ticket from the Merpati office in the Jakarta airport. It's about the same price as pre-booking, and you don't have to worry about missing connecting flight, etc. which airline did you go with? Merpati Airlines — unless Adam Air is back up and running, they're the only gig in town. Any recommendation for an airport hotel for the Jakarta stopover? Yeah, the airport hotel — granted, it's US$100/night, but after board storage, taxi rides, the 45-60 minutes in and back to town, the cost of hotels in town themselves, and other general shit, it's really worth the money not to deal with the hastle. You walk 30 meters from one gate to the hotel, then another 40 meters to the Merpati counter.

How much cash would you recommend changing for a week in Krui? Actually, don't recommend changing ANY cash. I would reccomend getting around 3 million rupiah from an ATM in Bandar Lampung (not including cost of transport to/back from Krui itself). figure I will head to a main town once a week to stock up on supplies and cash. Do it right afte rflight, since Bandar Lampung is the only town with a working ATM, western-style markets, etc. for 4-5 hour in any direction from Krui — so there you go.

What were your favourite breaks? Karang Nymbor ad Drew's Right. I'm a bit worried about hitting the reef… is it generally deep enough to avoid injury if one gumbies the takeoff? Dude, I can't answer that — if you're surfing a reef break, you ALWAYS need to watch out. It's not Desert Point, G-Land, or Pipe … but it's a big clumps of living rock .. and hitting that pretty much always hurts (from what I've heard - I obviously am way to skilled to ever have gotten scraped up on a reef … ahem).

Kev, I'm sorry about the late response, I was in Rote with no internet for a month, and then when I got back home to Bangkok, I had to deal with some personal stuff (including wrestling my new surfboard back from the airlines), then I had a friend visiting from out of town, and finally, I had some prior appointments with a 'relaxation therepist' that I needed to attend to.

I'm guessing you're already IN Krui area by now, so my answers my not be of any help. Sorry. But if you are there, and you happen to run in to some Scottish guy named Malcolm (he's not actually Scottish, I just like messing with him), tell him I said 'hey.' Hope you're getting some tasty waves. Cheers, mate.

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As noted a couple posts ago (while I was in Bali en route from Nusa Tenggara back home to Bangkok), I found a plethora of emails waiting for me upon my arrival to the wonderful world of indoor plumbing — some were asking how I'm doing, others were asking for travel advise, and still another was just hatin' on my blog in general.

I'll try my best to fully address each of these emails in due time. But I'll start with the last of them — which I just got from a guy (or girl … or potentially both) named 'Pat,' who wrote:

I read your blog from December 13, 2006 in which you discuss morality and responsibility. I find it ironic that your decided to discuss such issues while plagiarizing the work of others.

Your comment that related to occupying moral safe houses was taken practically word for word from the West Wing show - "No one in government takes responsibility for anything any more. We foster, we obfuscate, we rationalize. 'Everybody does it.' That's what we say. So we come to occupy a moral safe house where everyone's to blame so no one's guilty.". Granted you did take out "in government" so maybe I shouldn't have said anything.

If you decide to write a blog on the subject of hypocrisy, please let me know.

Well Pat, here it is …

Ignoring the fact that you're getting worked up about what some ex-pat surf-bum is spewing out on his BLOG, … on the INTERNET — you're absolutely right … I 'borrowed extensively' (okay, 'stole') from a West Wing transcript.

Big fucking deal.

I've no secrets here — I've admitted that I steal from the West Wing — and many other sources — on a regular basis. Fuck, if you haven't noticed, most of my post titles come from song titles. But c'mon, kid, unless you were on the writing staff, getting worked up about my failure to specifically cite back to a now-defunct television series is just silly.

And d'ya wanna see something else? I'll do it again … right now:

Quoting verbatim from the same T.V. show, Aaron Sorkin wrote that: "Good writers borrow, and great writers steal." (it bears noting this particular quote is one which Sorkin himself stole — from T.S. Elliot.)

Admittedly, you're also correct about the context of the original quote, and that by now equating myself with others who do the same thing, this quote is itself … it's, well … yeah, it's pretty hypocritical. But I think you're missing Elliot's (and Sorkin's … and my) point.

It's the sign of a good writer (or, in Elliott's opinion, a great one) to recognize that, when trying to aptly communicate your thoughts, someone else has already written what you're thinking (albeit, in my case, in another context) … far, far better than you could ever do. And I would fail to do justice to anyone reading my dribble NOT to use such rhetoric.

This is a philosophical issue, I think. Truly, is there ANYTHING we've access to — in literature, technology, or otherwise — that hasn't already been thought of, described, or built by someone else? Everything we've got, our entire culture is based on the prior accomplishments of others.

So, in this case, I forgot to cite. Again, it's just a blog — get a grip. Regardless, thanks for writing, and I hope you keep reading — I need someone to keep me on my toes.

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(Rote, Nusa Tenggara, Indonesia)

Okay, I put up on my Flickr Account the first batch of new picture from Rote, for those of you that still give a crap (which pretty much comes down to Manny and the other random stragglers that accuse me of plagiarism … on the Internet! — don't worry I'll get to that …).

I'm leaving Bali in the next couple hours back through Jakarta, and then back to Bangkok later tonight. Home sweet home … such as it is.

I'll be there a couple of weeks before leaving for the Philippines … at this point, probably for the remainder of the summer. We'll see how it goes, right?

Finally, for everyone that wrote to me (both publicly and privately) during the last few weeks while I was away, I plan on doing a 'group response post' — addressing each of the comments, suggestions, compliments, and, in one case, an interesting 'call out' on some television script writing I 'borrowed' from (ahem) about 200 months back.

To all of you (including you, Pat), thanks for taking notice, and hopefully I'll give y'all something else good to get pissed off about soon enough. Until then, just chill out and take a look at the photos from Rote (which I ALSO stole … hahahaha!).

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Any Questions?

Okay, I'll admit it — I'm a bit of a comic book junkie. Always have been, probably always will be.

For that reason alone, I'd been looking forward to the new Iron Man movie for a while now. However, with all the traveling I've been doing, I kinda forgot about the whole thing until I got back to Bangkok last week.

Luckily for me (and for Marvel), posters of Robert Downey Jr. in that goddamn iron suit are pasted up all around Bangkok — so it took me all of .025 seconds to remember about the film. Also luckily for me, the film was formally released in Bangkok theaters on 30 April (about 3 days ago), and unofficially released several weeks prior by the guy selling bootleg DVD's down on Sukhumvit Road.

So I've had the opportunity to see the movie twice so far.

And I gotta tell ya' … it's not bad. In fact, it's a pretty freakin' good.

Admittedly, it takes neither a genius nor a sneak-peak at the script to figure out the plot, before ever stepping foot into a theater (or the Sukhumvit) — successful, morally destitute, yet fundamentally good protagonist suffers harm at hands of TRULY evil persons … realizes the error of his ways … find means to rectify past wrongs and help save the world (in this case, such 'means' being a post-modern bullet-proof flying suit) … hilarity ensues … blah, blah, blah.

And yes, Iron Man can be enjoyed as just another action/adventure superhero movie — with all the requisite blockbuster CGI special effects. But thanks to the strength of primary casting (Downey, Jeff Bridges, Terrance Howard), the movie also works on a more human-scale — as a drama about a reckless man who, in discovering his conscious, decides that being a playboy weapons manufacturer may not be a 'morally sound' way to conduct his life.

On paper, Iron Man and his alter-ego Tony Stark look rather generic, but in the hands of Downey and director, Jon Favreau (remember Swingers?), the stock superhero character is redefined as a screwball romantic that hides a deeper, contemplative side — sort of like a Nick Charles (The Thin Man) for the 21st century.

Admittedly, Downey was an unlikely choice to play a superhero, but his own dark past, infectious self-deprecating humor, intuitive sense of timing, and astounding acting skills infuse the main character with a depth not otherwise seen in films based on comic books.

In fact, the only other actor with the skills to effectively pull that off was Christian Slater in the later-day Batman movies. However, unlike those (and several other deliriously boring superhero flicks), Favreau and Downey remember the underlying issue about comic book movies — generally speaking, they're not meant to be ponderous and steeped in existential angst.

They're supposed to be fun!

In the case of Iron Man, the filmmakers understood the priority had to be fun, albeit tempered with some real world content and criticism; which makes for an entertaining, fun, and yet still ultimately realistic story.

The only, and weakest, link in Iron Man was the casting of Gweneth Paltrow as Downey's assistant/love interest. I won't argue the point — she may have been a great actress at one time, but in this role she faltered … HUGELY. In fact, every time she appeared on film, I guarantee you that the minds behind Iron Man were squirming in the seats at the ridiculousness of her shallow acting — hoping, as I did, that Downey's skills were sufficient to carry the load.

Lucky for them they are. Truly, if ever there was a poster boy for everything that can be accomplished despite the ravages of drug addiction, Robert Downey Jr. is the guy. Go check out the movie, and check out how a modern-day superhero is SUPPOSED to look.

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I'm back in Bangkok. God, it feels so good just to write that out.

Admittedly, it's not like I've got all that much to do in the first place, but I've accomplished so much in just the past several days that I just really enjoy being back. I'm in Bangkok … and I'm loving it.

• I've resolved all the online banking and money issues with which I was dealing while surfing in the bowels of Southern Sumatra.
• I've spoken and/or emailed with most everyone I had neglected during the past month (most importantly, the parentals).
• I've FINALLY purchased new clothes needed to replace most of those I originally brought with me from the States that were either lost, destroyed, or no longer fit — I've lost about 10 more pounds since I left, and all of my clothes are about 2,000 sizes too big (my waist size has dropped from 36 to 30 inches).
• I've gorged myself on the seemingly endless supply of great diverse food to be found here in Bangkok — Mexican, American, Italian, Thai — as long as it does NOT include rice in any shape or form (I ate nothing but rice in Indo, and I need a few weeks break).
• I've stocked up with a nice selection of pirated DVD's of all the latest movies (by the way, the new 'Iron Man' movie fucking ROCKS!!)
• And, most importantly, I've been to the local massage parlor (not THAT kind, you freaks) about 200 times during the past week. My muscles are fully recovered from the one month of almost nonstop surfing, and my back has been cracked up more times than Chris Rock in 'New Jack City.'

Now, all I have left to do is get the electricity turned back on in the apartment (the local electric company turns it off only 2-3 days after the bill is overdue). It's been several days now, because I just today (Saturday) figured out how and where to pay the bill, which is written entirely in Thai.

It's a small price to pay, tho. I've got an extra battery for my laptop, and the local coffee shop has free wireless AND air conditioning. Nice.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got an appointment, and the girls at 'Mama Sans' hate to be kept waiting.

* The title of this post, for the unaffiliated (i.e., anyone OTHER than that musical idiot-savant, TK) is taken from a Sufjan Stevens song.

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Hey folks!

It's okay to come on back now everyone, I'm fairly calm now. But Jesus H. Christ on a pogo-fucking-stick, if I haven't had a nerve-wracking past few days.

First off, as noted in my last post, no one should EVER use AmTrust Bank for ANYTHING. EVER!! (unless you don't WANT to ever see your money again, of course). Fuck, I know there's a recession going on back in the States, but that doesn't mean the bank can simply STEAL my goddamn money!!

Regardless, that's what having an extra stash in your bank account is for, right?

Umm … yeah, not so much.

That's not to say that, besides also having the typical low-level 'scamming' thing going on, the local guys over at the Family Losman next door were also great hosts (although their facilities aren't as extensive as Andy's), so don't believe anything bad you may hear about them either. They're a bit cheaper, and they've just got a less extensive hotel/losman (i.e., Andy's got A/C rooms, a TV room, etc.). It just depends on what you want to do and pay.

So I'm here at Karang Nyimbor for another couple weeks — it's still not crowded in the surf, and my stress level has been reduced exponentially regarding money, so everything's cool.

Granted, it would be nice if the surf picks up a bit … but for now, I'm just thankful for what I've got.

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So … I'm back in Singapore, en route to my next surfing destination.

I left Bangkok yesterday morning and I've stopped over in Singapore to visit with a friend, pick up some long-lost supplies, and generally get my shit in order before heading back down to Indonesia for the next month.

Among such supplies is my camera's USB cord, which I left here in November when I thought I'd be back in only a few weeks. Now, almost 5 months later, I've FINALLY been able to upload the pictures from my recent trips HERE (the Philippines), HERE (Sri Lanka), and HERE (India) (sorry, no pics from Bangkok — my camera went 'tits up' a few weeks ago).

Oh, and Manny? … TK?

Just in case both of your busy 'work schedules' keep you from browsing through all of those pics — there's a picture showing the aftermath of my Sri Lankan sea urchin encounter HERE, and another showing the result of my motorbike accident from the Philippines HERE.

Enjoy 'em, you sadistic fucks (but I mean that in a nice way).

Anyway, I've also been planning on swinging through Kuta, Bali on my way out towards 'all points water' to pick up requisite surfing supplies (wax, ding repair kit, fins, etc.). Kuta ain't my favorite place in the world, but unfortunately, it's one of the few — if not the only — place in all of Southeast Asia where surfing supplies are available (ironically, Phuket also apparently has one lone surf shop, but I wasn't going to risk a trip just to find they had nothing I need).

Apparently, however, the second coming of Christ is happening in Bali this month — because every single fucking flight from Singapore to Bali is booked for the next 10 days (except first class tickets — which we all know I don't qualify for). This has left me just a BIT flustered, considering that last summer I was able to get a cheap flight to Bali almost instantly.

Luckily, I learned that I'm not as dumb as I thunk I is. Apparently I've either got a guardian garden gnome or had the foresight to leave myself a care package here in Singapore — replete with surf wax, an epoxy ding-repair kit, and even extra fins. Nice!

So … fuck you Bali, hello Sumatra! (Krui, southern Sumatra … to be precise).

I've heard some pretty good things about the place — including the fact that it's not TOO crowded yet. Considering the number of surfers I saw in Indonesia last year, I'm not holding my breathe. But all in all, I'm pretty stoked about checking out the Sumatran mainland. If things go well, I may even head up to the Mentawai Islands and/or Nias while I'm down in the area. We'll just see how it unfolds.

Rather than wasting US$800 on an unnecessary flight to Bali, I can take a flight from here to Jakarta (and then onward through Bandar Lampung) for only US$35.00-US$45.00. This stuff just confirms my thinking that, if you just don't force it, sometimes these things just have a way of working themselves out.

I hope to pick up the plane tickets later today, and then I'll be leaving over the weekend. I'll keep writing whenever I find Internet connections, so keep in touch. Stay well and have a good month, everyone. Peace, out.

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As everyone knows, in ranking of importance with other major issues of the day — the 5 year anniversary of the U.S. invasion of Iraq, the U.S. Presidential race, and the Chinese crackdown on Nepalese protesters — right up there is the seemingly ceaseless debate as to whether or not women are funny. (Yeah, I know, apparently I've got this alternating feminist/misogynistic theme going this week, but I leave for Indonesia in 2 days and I'm trying to get in all my reading under the wire).

If you're not aware, Christopher Hitchens wrote an article on the subject last year, in the January 2007 issue of Vanity Fair magazine (cleverly entitled "Why Women Aren't Funny"). I'll give you 2 guesses to figure out his stance on the issue.

I'm not going to waste my time rehashing Hitchens' extraordinarily long-winded attempt to avoid having sex for the rest of his adult life. However, if you're interested in sacrificing an hour of your life you'll never get back, the original article, as well as a decent compilation of some of the more vocal 'responses' can be found HERE.

Now, more than a year after Hitchens wrote that staggering work of dribble, Vanity Fair has seen fit to resurrect the whole sordid affair by publishing in its latest (April 2008) issue a rebuttal by writer Allessandra Stanley.

Like the original, this new article — sporting the less-than-convincing title: "Who Says Women Aren’t Funny?") — is yet another piece of inspired comedic genius:

Dissecting the nature of women's humor, or supposed lack thereof, is a joyless and increasingly moot subject, but it boils down to the point Virginia Woolf argued in her essay about Shakespeare's sister in A Room of One's Own, and it's analogous to the case Larry Summers made so clumsily with regard to women in the sciences that it cost him his job as president of Harvard: namely, that society has different expectations for women. Summers sealed his fate by also suggesting that women's innate aptitude for science and math might be weaker. The nature-versus-nurture argument also extends to humor. It's a shame that Margaret Mead never made it to that tribe in Papua New Guinea where women tell the jokes, and men pretend to find them funny.

Virginia Wolfe? Margaret Meade? Papua New-Fucking Guinea?

Good grief, what in the name of everything holy is this broad even talking about?

I thought that articles about humour — especially one written by a woman arguing that women are funny — should at least be mildly amusing. That would be the reasonable approach, doncha' think?

Apparently not, since the only things to be learned from either of these two articles are that: (1) neither Hitchens nor Stanley will be headlining at the Improv any time soon; (2) Vanity Fair pays its contributors by the number of words used, not coherency; and (3) reading ANYTHING in Vanity Fair with the word 'funny' in the title will make your eyes bleed.

What the hell is going on over at Vanity Fair, anyway? I mean, if they're trying to piss off their readers, then by all means, I'm pretty sure there's a used 'Mission Accomplished' banner they can pick up on the cheap. But if, on the other hand, VF is trying to publish some funny and engaging articles about contemporary pop culture … yeah, not so much.

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The latest edition (March 2008) of Atlantic Monthly contains an altogether disconcerting article entitled "Marry Him!", which can essentially be boiled down to the following excerpt:

At their core, many single women pose one of the most complicated, painful, and pervasive dilemmas they are forced to grapple with nowadays: Is it better to be alone, or to settle?

My advice is this: Settle!

That’s right. Don’t worry about passion or intense connection. Don’t nix a guy based on his annoying habit of yelling “Bravo!” in movie theaters. Overlook his halitosis or abysmal sense of aesthetics. Because if you want to have the infrastructure in place to have a family, settling is the way to go. Based on my observations, in fact, settling will probably make you happier in the long run, since many of those who marry with great expectations become more disillusioned with each passing year.

No, I don't think the author, Lori Gottlieb, is trying to be 'ironical.' And no, I don't want to think too hard on the fact that much of her theory is based not on empirical data, but rather, an analysis of several American television shows — Friends, the Mary Tyler Moore Show, Will and Grace, and, of course, Sex And The City ('SaTC').

For purposes of this article, let's just assume the premise that no in-depth discussion of the modern female condition would be complete without a critical analysis of SaTC. I wonder if the author is gonna have a conniption fit when she finds out that Carrie Bradshaw is getting married to "Mr. Perfect' (i.e., 'Mr. Big') in the upcoming SaTC movie. (No, I haven't seen the script or the trailer, but c'mon — it's a movie about an unmarried 40-something 30-something horse woman geared towards attracting an audience of similarly situated women whom ALL look forward to their wedding day the same way most men look forward to a nice T-Bone steak — let's just call it an educated guess.)

That said, based on these obviously well-reasoned theorems, the author claims that:

[Most women], like me, would rather feel alone in a marriage than actually be alone, because they, like me, realize that marriage ultimately isn’t about cosmic connection—it’s about how having a teammate, even if he’s not the love of your life, is better than not having one at all.

Good grief, I thought I was a disillusioned cynic, but this broad far surpasses me in that department. Truly, I don't want to even think about the size and quantity of skeletons in this woman's closet that would make her sink to this level of premeditated desperation. Really, I don't.

I am, however, admittedly curious as to the general reaction by the female ranks to this article — one better suited to Marie Claire or Cosmopolitan magazines than to a purportedly respected journal such as the Atlantic.

Have things gotten so bad that the USA has devolved into nation full of desperate women willing to dismiss major character failings (oh, and lest we forget … halitosis) in favor of simply having a full-time companion about whom they can kvetch to their girlfriends? Because if the majority of American women feel, as the author of this article does, that it's about time they too settled for something a little (or a lot) less than perfect … well, then I guess I should catch the next flight back to the States!

Is this really what 'true love' has been reduced to in the minds of contemporary success-oriented adult women:

So if you rarely see your husband — but he’s a decent guy who takes out the trash and sets up the baby gear, and he provides a second income that allows you to spend time with your child instead of working 60 hours a week to support a family on your own — how much does it matter whether the guy you marry is The One?

Aww honey, shush … you had me at 'mundane.'

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There's an interesting subtext — a conundrum — underlying this whole 'blogging' business.

For me, blogging began as an attempt to capitalize on my interest in the Internet (read: 'computer geek') — through the use of online advertising and retail. That idea went the way of the dodo when I made the decision to abandon the capitalistic American existence for a few years, in favor of a more simplistic life in the tropics of Southeast Asia.

At that point, blogging essentially morphed into nothing more than an easy way to memorialize my trip — physically and emotionally — and maybe make available some information about the places I'm visiting, mainly for myself, my friends and family, and anyone else with an Internet connection and a shit-load of free time on their hands.

Unknowingly (and unintentionally), this blog has also become useful in another way. When meeting people abroad, rather than handling out my phone number, email address, or other typical contact information, it's infinitely easier to write or tell people to look up my website.

In my case, I'm not sure if they feel it's an accurate description of me (the most likely scenario) or what, but the name of this blog tends to stick in peoples heads like a dull butter knife.

This is obviously a good thing. It's easily allowed me to maintain contact with people I've met from all around the globe (most of them Swedish, for some god-forsaken reason). However, it also allows a greater, albeit not complete, view of my persona to people who may not otherwise get an unfettered glimpse of my full persona until later on into a friendship.

It is for that reason more than any other that I've changed how I write this blog.

Before I revealed my true identity (yes, I am a fuckin' superhero - so shaddap) and started using this site as my own 'Universal Business Card' ("Call me!"), I tended to write bitter and scathing posts about politics, pop culture, celebrities, and a number of other divisive issues.

But I've since tried to tone down the content of this blog, so as not to offend any of the people I've met, or may meet, either with different views than mine or otherwise infected by the 'politically correctness' dictating the terms of conversations with people from the States and Europe.

Indeed, I've already had one acquaintance ask me, upon reading this site, why I hated India (and Indians) so much. After pointing out the dirty hippy's and the innumerable burning trash heaps, as well as the debilitating viral infection I picked up there, I found myself apologizing (and feeling guilty for appearing as yet another Eurocentric racist). The same goes for many other issues, as well — even music.

In trying to tone down my vacuously sardonic sense of humour (admittedly, a humour that quickly wears thin and most persons with an IQ greater than 70 don't understand to begin with), I've wound up unintentionally offending, and being overly-apologetic towards, more people than I otherwise would, because I've unknowingly disregarded their political sensitivities — both online and in the real world.

Who knows, maybe I've just been hanging out with too many Ozzies. Whatever.

While talking the other night with a friend (coincidentally, yet another Swede — I swear, they're everywhere), we got to the whole topic of maintaining a blog. Somewhere during the course of the conversation, I remembered how the word 'blog' is the shortened version of the term 'web log' — as in a personal log … about your personal ideas, experiences, and relations.

In that regard, unless they're selling something (ahem), if someone feels comfortable enough to post all their personal shit online anyway, what's the point in censoring material to possibly placate the sensibilities of people who won't understand the verse, or the underlying motivations. Admittedly, we do not live in a vacuum, and it's simply good manners not to knowingly offend people — 'do unto others' and all that.

I agree with that sentiment entirely, and I sincerely try to live my life in that manner. But there are limits — especially in the context of writing your personal thoughts vis a vis a semi-private forum on the Internet.

With that said, I will say this one more time for anyone paying attention — I've got some fucked up personal views, I live a different kind of life than most, and I have some brash and (often times unfunny) humour. I know I'm not a racist, a misogynist, or an evil vapid soul (most nobody is, really). But I will apologize up front if anything I say may come across as offensive or insensitive.

I'm writing this shit for me as much as for you. So I will write how, when, and about, whatever-the-fuck I want. Just as I really don't know you, you really can't know me simply by reading the stupid, random shit I may throw up on some website from time to time.

I know I've raised this issue before in the past, whenever I lose track of why I'm even writing this shit. But once again, it's my fucking website, and I thought it was about time for another reminder.

P.S. This is the maid speaking.

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