A Bowl of Stupid

[Me, post-operative -- with new nuclear power core]

I’m just not the hero type. Clearly. With this laundry list of character defects, all the mistakes I’ve made, largely public. –Tony Stark

So it’s been a while since I’ve posted anything here.

To be honest, it’s due to several issues really — I’ve been traveling throughout Nusa Tenggara a bit, I’ve been spending some time with friends, most of what I have to say can just as easily be posted via Facebook, and finally, … well, I’ve been getting my chest opened up by doctors and stuff.

So, while I suffer no illusions that anyone still visits this blog on a regular basis — mostly due to my frequent bouts of inactivity while traveling the backwaters of Southeast Asia — I still feel the need to post a little bit about recent events, for posterity sakes if for nothing else.

As I mentioned previously, I’ve made an effort to hunker down in Indonesia for the summer in an attempt to preserve what’s left of my ever-dwindling supply of cash reserves, simply because it’s cheaper here than anywhere else in Asia (except perhaps India … and we all know how I feel about that shithole country).

So I’ve been alternating between here in Bali, and going out to Nusa Tenggara for surfing and to visit friends. I recently was out there surfing, and then took a side trip out to Flores for a little exploration. Although Flores was a bit tumultuous at times, I had a great time.

The down side was that I acquired a bit of a medical problem while there. I’ll explain…

Over the past several years, I’ve built up a lump on my breastbone from where I lay on my surfboard while surfing. It sometimes gets swollen when I surf too much, and it sometimes shrinks when I stay out of the water for a while. But it has, all in all, been steadily growing over the past couple years. In medical terms, it’s an unattached, mobile, subcutaneous, cyst-like … ‘thingy’ that, in itself, poses no harm.

However, for whatever reason, while I was in Flores, it got infected. Maybe an ingrown hair. Maybe just internal bacterium. Don’t know why. It just started to swell, and hurt. I’ve had similar issues both back in University and in Law School (altho on my leg and my lower back, respectively). So I knew what it was, and I knew I had to return to Bali to get it removed by a doctor before the infection spread.

The problem is that, although Bali is the closest place to get competent medical assistance, it’s also extremely expensive to do so, since the hospitals are used to catering to rich tourists with extensive travel insurance. Unfortunately, I am neither rich, nor do I have travel insurance.

So I spent a good 2 days going from hospital to hospital, clinic to clinic, doctor to doctor — spending about US$200.00 in the process on ‘consultation fees’ — just to find someone who would help me without getting financially raped in the process. I found out the hard way that, as a foreigner, this is much harder than it would first appear.

Indeed, at one point, I found myself negotiating for assistance with the surgeon at Kasih Ibu Hospital in Denpasar — like I was buying a car … or a mango.

Beforehand, I wasn’t aware that ‘standard of care’ was negotiable. Now I know better.

Regardless, I finally found a decent, relatively inexpensive, and ultimately competent surgeon at Prima Medika Hospital, also in Denpasar. He opened up a 3 cm hole in the middle of my chest, sucked up the infected material, cut out the scar tissue, and cauterized the cyst-walls. I’ve had the wound left open for 3 days now to let the whole thing continue to drain until the infection is gone.

I return tonite for the doctor to add the new nuclear power cells and stitch the whole thing back up, after which, I should be god to go.

And I’ll be able to fly and shit too, yo.

True. True.

Several years ago, Alec Baldwin played a character in a Saturday Night Live skit where he was surprised to learn that his voice sounded gay to other people. Every time he recorded a voice message in a normal voice, the recorded playback piped back an incredibly feminine voice, with disco paying in the background. Although it was a pretty funny skit, I never really gave it any further thought.

But today, I went to a bookstore here in Bangkok to get something to read for my upcoming trip to Bali and Australia. While there, I struck up a conversation with a beautiful Thai woman there. We wound up having a great time, we exchanged phone numbers, and we spent the rest of the afternoon hanging out together. I had a great time.

But once again, I’m leaving Bangkok first thing tomorrow morning. Deja-fuckin’-vu, right?

I swear to all that is holy, if I meet yet another attractive girl RIGHT before either she or I move to another country, I’m gonna beat every last one of you fuckers about the head and neck with a dead flounder.

But even more disconcerting than the fact that I’ve no realistic chance of pursuing a relationship with this chick (yet again), is what she let slip later in the day. Apparently, the main reason why she felt comfortable enough to talk to me in the first place — she thought I was gay.

Me? Gay?

What? The? Fuck?

I don’t see it. I really don’t. But then again, that Kiwi girl I met in Vietnam last month told me something similar. Specifically, she said that I may have been here in Asia too long, because I apparently no longer have some of the more ‘masculine’ mannerisms used by Western blokes.

At first, I chalked that up to the fact she hasn’t spent much time here in Asia (and to my propensity for using obscure words most guys don’t otherwise use in everyday conversation). But now a Thai girl is also telling me the same thing.

Umm … yah, perhaps I may have been here too long.

It’s ironic, one of the things I sought to accomplish by coming to Asia (as well as exploring Buddhism and furthering my yoga practice) was to reduce my Western aggressive tendencies, and to stop acting like such a loud American prick, in general. And I also chose to move around so much because I no longer wanted to deal with all the drama bullshit that comes with having a long-term girlfriend.

So now … I tend not to get mad anymore when people bump into me on the street, or step on my toes on the train, or just act like pricks in general. And now my posture and mannerisms have indeed changed due to my extensive yoga practice. And I’ve also learned (except for the past month, of course) generally not to pursue women I’m attracted to because I know I won’t be sticking around in one location for too long.

Wait a sec — no aggressive tendencies? good posture? no more stupid pick up lines? — holy hell, I DO sound kinda gay!!

Fuck that shit!! No more yoga — I’m going back to the boxing gym. Time to start hitting people again. Hard!

And I tell ya’, this whole Buddhism ‘be nice to people’ shit is for faggots!

And to hell with the fact that I may never have a long term relationship out here — I’m gonna start chattin’ up the birds as much as I can, wherever I can, whenever I can. To hell with all that ‘deep feelings’ bullshit! … Let’s just be honest. You want it. I wanna give it to you. So let’s fuck!

Hey, I think it’s working!! I can feel the gayness draining out of me already!!

That’s right … bros before hoes. Deal with it, sucka.

[Originally transcribed: 12/04/08]

It’s funny, I’m here in Sumatra — between surf sessions — and the amazing sitar playing of Anoushka Shankar came up on my iTunes during a random shuffle. Even now, after all the shit I went through in India, listening to this Punjabi music STILL fills me with a vague, if not altogether sane, desire to visit India again.

Luckily for me, I’ve already been there (at least briefly), so I can separate that romanticized sitar-filled vision of India with the India of reality.

Yes, I still dislike the contemptible, toga-laden ‘drippy-hippies’ I met who were seeking out the India of their dreams. Yes, I still think India itself is an overcrowded and over-polluted cesspool. Yes, I still equate the entire country with the wrenching agony I suffered in the clutches of the Dengue Fever.

However, for possibly the first time since before I first left for Sri Lanka and India last November, I can empathize with these knuckle-dragging simpletons in drag — albeit on only a slighter, more sane level.

Maybe it’s because I’ve had a chance to just sit back, relax, and get in some halfway decent surf sessions during the past couple weeks. Maybe enough time has passed to mellow my views on the country. Maybe it’s my new diet of virgins’ blood and truffled chocolates.

Whatever. It’s actually kinda nice to look back at India with a ‘bit’ less disgust. Now, if I can just hold out until November 2, maybe I’ll be able to do the same with respect to the United States … but I ain’t holding my breathe.