A Bowl of Stupid

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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(Photo of sunken passenger ferry in the Philippines, photo courtesy AP)

First thing this morning, I finally got around to booking my tickets back to the Philippines, where I'll be spending the next couple of months — I leave here in about 10 days.

Then, just as I finished doing that, I read about how the Philippines just got slammed by yet another tropical typhoon — Typhoon Fengshen. According to latest media reports, it doesn't look good:

More than 700 people were missing and many feared dead from a ferry that capsized and sank as Typhoon Fengshen continued to batter the Philippines, hampering rescue efforts.

Elsewhere, 82 people may be dead from flashfloods and landslides caused by the typhoon, although only eight were confirmed, according to National Disaster Coordinating Council Executive Director Anthony Golez. More than 366,000 were affected by the storms and of them, 70,717 had been evacuated, according to an earlier report from the council.

I'm hoping to find out some more from friends on the ground there. Hopefully, they're all okay. And I send all my best wishes to those who lost loved ones, and I hope this is as bad as it gets.

Fuck.

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A few quick notes:

First, for anyone interested, I just posted new pictures up on my Flickr page from my trip last month to Krui, Sumatra, Indonesia. Feel Free to take a look.

Second, I leave Bangkok again tonight for another month of surfing back down in Rote, Timur, Indonesia. I am, like usual, excited about the upcoming trip — especially considering the surf down there has been absolutely EXCEPTIONAL in the past couple weeks, and they expect it to continue (double overhead, 5-10 knot offshore trade winds, and simply perfect).

Unlike usual, however, I am also contemplating getting a JOB here in Bangkok when I finish my summer in the Philippines, Micronesia, and elsewhere in the Pacific.

Yeah, I said it! Whatcha gonna do?

Seriously, I like Bangkok THAT much, and I'm actually thinking about going back to work — if only to sharpen back up my intellectual skills (or what's left of them). I've spoken to a couple friends here, and there are several interesting possibilities that do NOT include the practice of law. I enjoy living in Bangkok more than any place else I've lived for a while … so it just kinda makes sense (in a strange, capitalistic kinda way).

But September is a long way off … so we'll just have to see how it unfolds.

Finally, before I go incommunicado for a few weeks, I wanted to leave you guys with this thought:

Although living in Bangkok is awesome, there will obviously always be cultural issues that plague any American or European visitors.

The non-Latin language and script is the most obvious issue. However, there are a plethora of other differences — some gross, some sublime — that also invade my everyday life here in Bangkok and make me remember that I'm an ex-pat living in an entirely foreign culture.

For example, why do Thais maintain fastidiously clean floors (clean enough to eat off of), while letting immediately adjacent walls fall into baffling levels of disrepair?

And why do Thais have such (well known) open and accepting views on sexual preferences and skimpy clothing, yet still maintain such ridged views as to public bathing, such that it's frowned upon to go swimming in bikinis or any other type of revealing bathing suit fashioned any time after the Eisenhower administration?

Yet these issues are, in large part, mere curiosities. They don't really affect my daily life, or the lives of anyone else I know. The only cultural difference that really bothers me, on a daily basis, is the ridiculous show of deference and politeness shown by Thais to foreigners ('falangs').

This gets tiring … FAST.

Consider when you go out to eat (or go out anywhere, really) back in the States — there's a general understanding that, although you're the customer, the staff generally knows more than you do about how best to service your needs in the absence of any orders to the contrary (e.g., if you don't say anything, it's safe to say that you'll get your steak back 'medium' to 'medium-rare').

In Bangkok, however, you will instead get a waitress coming over every 2 minutes asking how you want your potatoes done, how hot you like your chili sauce, how well done you want your meat … and so on, and on, and on, and on.

Similarly, I went to get a haircut the other day, but eventually gave up on the whole thing after the barber refused to cut off any more that 1-2 millimeters at a time for fear of offending me. After an hour of this, I could barely tell that I'd been to the barber at all. Regardless, I still had to leave for fear that I would lose my shit, pull a Wayne Brady, and wind up choking the bitch.

Asking directions is also a big no-no here in Bangkok. Not because nobody will tell, but instead, they will try TOO hard. Inevitably, no matter whether or not the person you ask knows where you're going, they will simply agree with any directions you may suggest, point to, or show on a map — for fear of offending you, or telling you that they can't help you.

It really is like NYC in reverse. And like I said, it gets kinda tiring after a while.

Just once … ONCE … I want to go into a restaurant or a coffee shop — or anywhere!! — and have the wait staff ignore me, and spit in my food, and generally treat me like a piece of shit like they used to do back in New York and Miami and Philly. Just once — to let me know they're alive!

Alrighty then … I needed to get that off my chest … thanks, I feel better now. I'll see you guys in June. Peace out.

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I'm really not sure how to write about the following (semi-private) information — or even if I should — But I will, nonetheless. And I justify my disclosure of this particular issue for a variety of reasons … not the least of which is that I wish to impart on my friends, family, and other readers the sheer quality of the people I've met during my travels.

Anyone following may recall that I haven't said just how I came to be living in Bangkok, except that it resulted from a mutually beneficial decision — my friend Jill needed to go back to the States for a bit, while I needed a semi-permanent home here in Southeast Asia.

I initially didn't discuss the situation out of respect for my friend's privacy. However, upon my latest return to Bangkok, I learned that Jill and her family themselves started their own website, publicly disclosing the unfortunate series of events that initially demanded Jill's return to the States.

As aptly noted therein, the site contains:

[A] perfect representation of our lives as Lawlers, lives that have now been touched by cancer TWICE, nearly simultaneously. First with our mother, Mary, diagnosed with Glioblastoma Multiforme Brain Cancer in August 2007 and, second, with our brother, Craig, diagnosed with Metastatic Chromophobe Renal Cell Carcinoma in early March 2008.

Yes, you read that right — both Jill's mom and brother were diagnosed with cancer within only months of each other. And the dignity, grace, and good humour by which J and her family are handling the situation is simply beyond description.

I am a better person for knowing people of such a caliber.

I honestly don't think I would handle myself in the same manner were I to find myself in the path of a similar storm. I just don't have that strength of character. But at least I now have a model for how it's to be done, if necessary.

If you've got a moment (which you apparently do, since you're reading THIS dribble), please take a look at Jill's website. I'm sure she and her entire family would be glad to hear of any well wishes anyone may have to offer.

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[Yours truly, waiting patiently at the Air Asia counter in the Singapore airport]

Okay, so here's the thing — I hate planning return flights just because they tend to lead to confusion or unnecessary complications 1-2 months after the plans were initially made. Case in point:

I just spent a month surfing in the relative back-country of southern Sumatra, living 'for the moment' with no full-time electricity, no indoor plumbing, and little regard for the future or the past. And then, all of a sudden, I get wrenched back to reality with the realization that I have a schedule to keep — flights to make, places to go, and the like. It all gets very complicated very fast.

I came and planned on returning via airplane from Sumatra through Jakarta (a necessity since no planes fly directly to Bandar Lampung from anyplace other than Jakarta). Then, when I got to Jakarta, I had a return flight through Singapore solely for the purpose of picking up my other piece of luggage to bring it back with me to my new home in Bangkok.

So, the trip was ostensibly to be — from Krui to Bandard Lampung to Jakarta to Singapore to Bangkok.

Following so far? Okay, that makes one of us.

Things started off alright, but it all went sideways somewhere in the skies over Singapore. It was only then that I realized I had neither remembered nor written down anywhere the information about my return flight from Singapore to Bangkok. Given the number of airlines I've traveled with over the recent months, I couldn't even remember which AIRLINE I was on. The only thing I could (or at least THOUGHT I could) remember was that I had an overnight stay in Singapore.

With that theory doggedly lodged in my cranium, I took my time getting things done when I got to Singapore at about 2:00 yesterday afternoon. Rather than take a taxi, I gave myself some extra time on a shuttle bus, stopped at a Burger King for much needed red meat, and then relaxed at a coffee shop down the street from my old apartment on Robertson Quay — waiting before I finally had to find a hotel for the night.

During that time, I also tried to find out what flight I was on today — trying via email, SMS, and finally waiting on the telephone with Thai Air, JetStar Air, Air Asia, and finally … Tiger Air.

Of course, being the last airline i called, I was booked to fly out of Singapore on Tiger Air. THAT DAY. AT 6:00 P.M. IN ONE HOUR.

D'oh!!!

I hustled as best I could to make the flight. I grabbed the first cab I found, gave the driver an extra S$10 for getting me there in 15 minutes rather than the typical 30 minutes. I got my surfboard out of the left luggage at Terminal 1 to bring it with me via another taxi to the Tiger Air counter at the 'Budget Terminal' 2 terminals away.

And, of course, I missed my flight. To take the next flight on Tiger Air, which offers non-refundable tickets, would have cost me about US$500.00.

For those of you that know me personally, I'll leave it to you to guess of my response to that offer.

I considered the option of staying in town, as I had originally planned. After learning of GREATLY inflated hotel rates due to an international food festival being held in Singapore this week, I decided to try to get a flight out later that night.

Singapore and Thai Air assured me they could do it for the bargain basement price of US$800.00. I briefly considered flying back to Los Angeles, which was about the same price, but then I saw that Hilliary Clinton won the Pennsylvania primary and I decided to wait until after 2 November before even considering a return back to the States.

Instead, I checked at the Air Asia counter, which had 2 more flights heading out to Bangkok that night. I booked passage for me and my surfboards (almost the price of another ticket) on the later one leaving at 10:20 p.m. for about US$150.00.

Grand total I spent extra for being stupid enough to forget my airline, my flight number, and my flight DAY — including taxis, shuttles, baggage storage and transit fees (and the US$30.00 'exit fee' I got jacked for by an immigration official in Jakarta), I put it at a rough estimate of about US$350.00.

That was one HELL of an expensive cup of coffee. Man, given this type of stellar intellect, sometimes I'm amazed I've made it this far.

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It's now official — after Darfur and Iraq, India is my LEAST favorite tourist destination.

I've been laid up for the better part of 5 days now with what a local pharmacist says is probably Dengue Fever.

Admittedly, he may be wrong and I could have merely caught a really bad flu virus, since the only way to diagnose Dengue is via blood tests. But there's no way in HELL I'm letting anyone in this country stick me with a needle — doing it in Sri Lanka was bad enough. So, for bitching purposes alone, I'm just gonna assume I've got the Dengue.

He may be right — there's been an increasing number of cases in India over the past year, and I've been dealing with the symptoms described as being associated with the virus.

I've had a high fever on and off for the past 5 days — relieved only by copious doses of Ibuprofen (taking aspirin apparently makes it worse). I had a slight rash across my shoulders. My digestive system is in a worse state than Brittaney Spears' career. My eyes feel like they're gonna burn right thru my skull. And EVERY SINGLE BONE in my body aches. Intensely.

Yeah, there's a reason they also call this thing the break-bone fever or bonecrusher disease.

So I've been stuck in my room for the past several days doing anything I can do NOT to go crazy with boredom — reading books by the kilo, surfing the internet (when available), watching DVD's, and trying to get the most entertainment value as possible from my fever dreams.

The fever broke early this morning (but unfortunately has just resurfaced this evening — yea!), and I'm starting to get feeling back in my eye sockets. But I still can't eat anything, and I still feel like I just went 10 rounds with Bobbitt.

Hey, I'm not complaining (well, yes I am), because it could be worse — much worse. In that respect, I'm grateful that I'm (apparently) getting better. But, all in all, I'd rather be in Philadelphia.

I leave India in one week. Let's hope I don't catch a parasite or get rolled by a gang of rogue monkeys in the meantime.

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[Welcome to India, man! And yes, that IS "Freedom Rock"!]

I promise this will be (among) the last of the derogatory comments I have about my visit to India so far. That being said …

I understand I cannot justifiably classify an entire country after having visited only a tiny portion thereof — especially one swarming with foreign tourists. Agreed. I mean, to do so would be akin to someone criticizing the entire United States after having visited only Las Vegas.

Err … forget that analogy, but you get the point.

But to those people (many whose opinions I truly do respect) that say I need to visit the 'real India' in order to understand 'the magic' of the country, I say bullshit. I have ventured out into the boonies and cities, and I say 'Bullshit.'

Yes, India IS a bit different from other countries. Yes, India DOES have a remarkable history. Yes, it DOES have some great food and an extremely diversified culture. But there are amazingly different things in just about EVERY country worldwide (for now that is, until Starbucks and McDonalds have completed their takeover of the Klingon Empire).

I don't want to come off as hating India — because I don't. Indeed, there are some very interesting aspects of Indian culture, and I don't think it's really ALL that bad here. However, this blog, by necessity, is a distillation of my recollections and experiences about my travels. I cannot write about everything I see. It's just not a practicality. Instead, I must write about those things which affect me the most … in the moment.

I write about what I 'get' from India as I experience it — the hippies, the crowding, the poverty, the misogynistic culture, the frantic pace, the greed. And these things … they're not for me. Indeed, I fled from many of these same things also existing back in the States. Only in the U.S., there was indoor plumbing and less air pollution (if you can believe that).

I will say this much, however: I HAVE learned some things about myself since my arrival here. Not from the country or its people, but in how other Westerners view them both. As one commentator here noted, there are a HUGE number of Westerners who have never visited India and have a romanticized idea of the country — believing the entire countryside is not strewn with garbage, and believing Indians are ALL spiritually enlightened.

Man, they're just people trying to get by. Just because they've got different religions and philosophies does NOT mean they're any closer to grasping the meaning of life (if any) than you are — especially the meaning of YOUR life, dipshit!

Yet many foreigners here seem to continually propagate that illusion — actively blinding themselves to the reality so they can justify their continued search for answers in a place they've seen romanticized in movies as the birthplace of 'spiritual enlightenment'. You can see it in how seriously they take themselves and the whole concept of 'India.' They've all seemingly forgotten that the minute you start believing your own bullshit is the minute you lose touch with the questions you initially sought to explain.

Ironically, I got a shot of this reality this morning seeing a funny quote on the side of one of the Starbucks cups used by a local coffee shop (not in violation of any copyright laws, I presume):

chances are you are scared of fictions.
chances are you are only fleetingly happy.
chances are you know much less than you think you do.
chances are you feel a little guilty
chances are you want people to lie to you.
perhaps the answer lies on the side of a coffee cup.
you are lost.”

-david cross
comedian, writer, actor

Indeed.

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(MC Hammer, on left, and one of his neo-hippie fashion disciples, on right)

First off, no … I don't have any actual pictures here from India to upload, since I lost the USB cord for my camera somewhere in the Philippines. Sorry.

Second off, I'm not sure I would want to put any pictures of the many, many MANY hippies roaming Kerala in their 'Hammeresque' Indian 'harem pants.' These pants are ostensibly used for yoga practice, but it seems that just about every Westerner here wears them at all times of the day, despite just how fucking silly they look.

It's a bit baffling, considering that even the hottest of girls can ruin all that beauty simply by wearing pants that make her look like she's wearing a big set of diapers. It's really hard to tell if someone's got a nice ass if she looks like she's carrying around a load of shit in her pants.

And if the cute girls can look absolutely awful in these things, imagine — really imagine — just how unappealing all the aging, new-age, hippie wannabes look in them. It's just …

just … wow.

I understand the concept of wearing comfortable clothing. Trust me, I haven't worn a pair of shoes or pants in months. It's hot and humid out and things can get hot and sticky (and stinky) really fast, so thongs (flip-flops) and shorts are obviously a necessity for maintaining any semblance of comfort (and dignity). That being said, I don't see how wearing a big bulky diaper can make one MORE comfortable in this heat and humidity. To the contrary, I'm guessing there's a bit of 'hippie chafing' going on right now.

In addition, apparently nobody has told these guys that parachute pants went out when Jim Carry and Jennifer Lopez were on 'In Living Color' and Micheal Jackson was still black (well … sorta). Even then, they looked silly … and MC Hammer could DANCE in them.

These hippies in their yoga-parachute pants, though? Who are they kidding. C'mon buddy, just put on a pair of fucking shorts. Please?

Seriously, I knew MC Hammer, and you sir, are no MC Hammer.

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Yes, I was stupid enough to step DIRECTLY on a black sea urchin in my rush to get out into the surf break right in front of my new guest house in Marissa, SR. Yes, it fucking hurt.

Given my sister's fascination with divulging my various minor physical woes with my technologically inept parents (apparently in a unilateral attempt to turn the rest of my mom's hair grey), I had resolved not to discuss the matter any further.

However, I've been asked by several folks for details. So, with a request to my sister NOT to tell my parents about this (at this point, hopefully) trifling issue for now, here are the details.

I stepped on a whole flock of black sea urchins. For those not acquainted, they are a mass of hollow black spikes with tiny spurs on them, apparently present just to add that extra special touch.

If you happen to step on them and remove your foot back without moving side to side, it may be possible to break off the spike while they are still sticking out of your foot by a few centimeters. If you 'jerk' back your foot (or feet, in my case) in response to the shock of having razor sharp spikes jammed 1-2 centimeters into the soles of your feet (no, I am NOT kidding), then the spikes will break off just below the surface of the skin.

This makes removal a particularly wonderful experience.

A large majority of the spikes in my left foot fell into the former category, and thus were removed fairly easily (all but a small one, which I'm keeping as a pet). The right foot however was not so fortunate. I had about 20 spikes in all. Most of them were removed using a mixture of native plant seepage, Sri Lankan rum, and a big fat splif.

One particularly vicious spike went thru the outside of my pinky toe in such a way that, rather than trying to pull it out, it was actually easier to cut the skin along the length of it and remove it by opening the skin flap.

There were also several others that were too deep to remove with the instruments at hand (a safety pin, nair clippers, and a pair of tweezers (all of which obviously just cleaned in an alcohol bath, of course). For them, we applied a mix of coconut, sugar, and curry powder and let it sit overnight.

Yes, I let them do that to my foot. I'm a very trusting soul.

Amazingly, the mixture worked (for the most part), as all but two of the bigger spikes were drawn to the skin surface overnite. That's where the fun starts. Long story short, after letting Dinu (my host) dig around in my foot with a safety pin for the better part of 2 hours, we instead decided to go to the doctor and let him remove the remaining spikes (this turned out to be a VERY good idea, considering the spike we removed from my little toe had gotten poisoned and was swelling from infection).

We did, of course, go to the snake farm first. Dude, if you've never seen a brown cobra hissing and rearing at you from only a meter away from you, I HIGHLY recommend it. Okay, maybe not … I hear ya.

The doctor's 'office' was something special, as was also the local anesthetic that must be applied at the site of EACH puncture. After applying the local, the 'doc' went to replace the old scalpel head with a fresh (and presumably clean) blade. In doing so, the old blade 'popped' off and flew across the room, landing behind some table or another.

Both I and my new Brit friend Paul (who was there to get some drops for his manky ear) starting laughing hysterically at the flying scalpel blade. The doc was not amused, and after setting down some newspapers to mop up the blood, he set to work digging into the sole of my foot with a scalpel.

That was just precious. Absolutely precious.

Those of you who know me personally may know my quirk that I tend to laugh more in direct relation to the amount of pain I'm in. You can ask Paul, in a matters of only seconds I was laughing hysterically in a way I haven't since watching "Showgirls." Again, just precious.

So, there you've got it. I'm on penicillin to treat the infection/poison for the next few days, and I'm out of the water for at least 1 more day (day 4, in total). All total, the doctor and the drugs cost me about US$5.00. Not bad, all things considered.

Other than that, though, I'm having a blast. No, really! Before this sea urchin bullshit, I was getting some decent surf (not Indo surf, but still …), the food is simply AMAZING, the locals are nice to a fault (almost creepily so), and the other surf-tourists I've met to date have been absolutely fantastic.

Hey sis, knock yerself out. But if mom goes all postal over this shit, it's not my fault.

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Ahh, the Philippines. What's there to say about a country whose two national beers are 'San Miguel' and 'Colt 45′?

Even before my more recent sojerns into the world outside the lower 48, one of things I've always enjoyed about visiting and/or moving to new places was that undefinable feeling of 'getting' the new place — learning its people, its culture, its … rhythem.

This typically comes for me from walking a place for several days. I quickly learn the layout of a city, how the residents get around (nobody walks in L.A., right?), the location of surf breaks, or (most importantly) the 'vibe' of the local population.

And usually, the time frame in which I usually 'get' a place is fairly short — within a matter of 1-2 days or, in some places — like Singapore, for example — within hours.

Indeed, when I first arrived to Arizona from Philadelphia for college, I was able to grasp the underlying 'vibe' of the Phoenix area really quickly. A vibe to which I immediately connected in my core that filled me with gratitute that this new place would be my home for the following several few years (and potentially forever). In retrospect, I was not incorrect in my feelings towards the city.

More recently, I have similarly been able to determine if I hold a connection - wither positive or negative - with a place in all my recent travels abroad. Several places I thought I would immediately connect with I immediately did not, like Bali, Indonesia. Meanwhile others, like Krabi and Singapore itself, I felt an almost instant gutteral connection.

And then there's the Philippines.

There have been far too many times over the years where I just KNEW how something would play out and I still refused to succumb to that inner voice telling me the way things were. And after a couple weeks here, I wish I was a bigger slave to my initial instincts (especially after reading 'Blink' by Malcolm Gladwell).

I had the most awkward feeling when I first arrived in the Philippines (hell, even before I got here) — a feeling I just knew will come to fruition, yet still wanted to put to the test).

Within minutes of my arrival in the Manila airport, I felt, no, I KNEW that, unlike any of the other places I've been to (at least in recent memory), I would never, never, NEVER be able to 'get' the Philippines.

It's really kind of hard to explain. Shit, given the frenetic disorganized pace of Manila (and indeed, the whole country), it's hard to describe what the fuck was going on even in the 30 square meters around me when I first got 'in country', let alone what the entire country is like. However, I'll try to explain it by using my own personal 'country comparison' barameter — the only tool I really know how to use:

I find Cambodia to be a more severe, meloncholy, and less 'centered' version of the beautiful, tourist laden Thailand.
I find Malaysia to be the more organized, more forward thinking, 'a-type' twin sibling of Indonesia, which still doesn't yet seem to be as concerned about keeping up with the rest of the world.
I find Singapore to be an asian version of Miami - cosmopolitan, international, stylish.

The Philippines are not so easily defined.

The closest I can come to describing the Philippines is that, to me, it is a mix of the permenant corrupt disfunction of Mexico, with some of that carefully cultivated 'laid back yet still safe third world country' feel of Costa Rica, while also having a low cost of human life (very low) prevelant in so many similar places. And add into this morrass a violent Muslim revolution going on in the Southern islands (immediately south of where I am now), and you've got some interesting Television.

Upon my initial arrival here (and since), I've encountered such a wide array of inexplicable conduct (and stories) by the Philippinos with whom I've met, such as would give an aspirin a fucking headache.

For every 1 Philippino that looks to you like 'hostage bait', there are another 4 who seem to be genuinely nice people. But honestly, I still have a hard time figuring out which is which.

Maybe it's because the country itself is a 'mish-mash' of used parts from a variety of different sources. A look at a local menu will tell you just how confusing it is — a mish-mash of Malay, 'lite' Thai, cheap Mexican (Spanish), and bad BAD AMerican food (think balony, canned corned beef hash, and white bread as main ingredients for a 'pepperoni and sausage' pizza — I only WISH I was kidding).

It's all so very confusing.

There is a 'hate-hate' relationship between the Filippinos and the money-toting tourists now afflicting their much maligned islands. Every interaction is a dance between wanting to believe in the good of people and having to protect oneself from the desperation that poisons every interaction.

Maybe that's why I'm having a hard time getting a grip on things. Hell, I took a boat out to surf Doku Island with an Israeli kid who has been here for 3 months now and told me that HE still doesn't get this place. But unlike me, he's a sadist and plans on giving it another month to find out.

I still want to test that feeling, on the off chance this place is as beautiful as it sometimes appears. So I'll be staying a full month, but unless something changes my opinion, no longer. I'm obviously willing to learn about a place, but there's gotta be a limit.

Regardless, be it neither a good nor a bad thing, but I really think I'll wind up leaving the Philippines without ever 'getting' this country.

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Taking advantage of my brief sojourn into the lands of shopping malls and air conditioned movie theatres, I opted to go to Plaza Singapura the other day to see Robert Redford's latest movie, Lions For Lambs.

I'll leave the more sublime dissection of this glorified ABC After School Special to the professionals.

However, having seen the movie in a 'non-domestic' setting (i.e., outside the U.S.), there are several things about the movie I picked up on that I may not have had I seen it back in the States. I do at least want to mention them.

Of the movie itself, I will say this — despite addressing one of the most polarizing issues in the last 25 years (America's psychopathic, and seemingly unending, rampage throughout East Asia), and boasting the talents of some of Hollywood's best actors — this has got to be one of the most BORING movies I've seen since The English Patient (which means something, considering I too was one of the several hapless victims of 'The Horse Whisperer').

The point I realized there was a problem is when I found myself trying to learn to read Chinese by matching up the sub-titles (standard for all international films shown in Singapore) with the dialogue on the screen. (That didn't go so well, by the way. Unlike Wayne Campbell, I'm having no luck learning Mandarin.)

It really is unfortunate, because the film - at scattered, albeit brief, moments along the way - says everything either that I've said or heard others say in the past 5 years about the Bush Administration, the Mainstream Media, the War in Iraq, and the 'War on Terror' (oh, and how's that 'War on Drugs going, by the way?).

Unfortunately, most of these insightful flashes (positive or negative, depending on your view) are either obfuscated by horrible duologue, marred by formulaic acting, and reduced to parody by script recitation — all of which were seemingly retrieved via a daring rescue of the scraps from the cutting room floor of Star Wars III.

Shit, I never thought I'd say this, but Mannequin Skywalker gave a more nuanced performance than did Meryl Streep in this film.

More disquieting is that the movie is, quite simply, a means by which the studio seemingly berates today's political, media, and social machinery that treats the general public as a bunch of sophomoric high-school students — while at the same time, by and through the preachy, long-winded, convoluted, self-righteous, boring-ass tone of the movie, treats them just as poorly.

Simply put, Lions For Lambs, in my opinion, ironically (unintentionally, in all likelihood) does the same thing of which it complains — talking down to its audience, the general public.

I mean, really … where the fuck does Robert Redford get off telling us about the political, military, and socio-economic ramifications of what's taken place over the past 5 years. And where was he 5 years ago anyway, when it mattered? Making some fucking horse movie?

C'mon, get a grip.

I saw it on the faces of the Singaporean folks as we walked out of the film. They were chuckling to each other, as if to say: 'It's about fucking time. But it's not like you're telling us something the entire world doesn't already know. Really, cuz if you think it's such big news, at least make it more entertaining.'

I agree. As such, I would ask that the next time Robert Redford makes a movie, remind me to bring along an 'English to Chinese' dictionary — at least then I'll have something to keep me occupied.

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There's not been much commotion about it, but yesterday, 1 May 2007, marks the four (4) year anniversary of President Bush’s declaration of “Mission Accomplished” on board the aircraft carrier Abraham Lincoln — just beyond sight of the coastline at San Diego, California.

To date, the total number of U.S. military casualties in Iraq confirmed by the U.S. Department of Defense is 3355, and Iraqi civilian deaths are estimated to be between 62,770 and 68,796.

Just to put those losses into perspective, and not to take anything away from the other innocent losses of life, but last week this country mourned (rightfully, mind you) over the deaths of 33 innocent students from Virginia Tech.

Now try to imagine that entire student body murdered.

Mission accomplished, you say? And just what mission was that?

Shit, he's gotta be using an old Jedi mind trick - there's no other plausible explanation.

P.S. For the record, I am left to assume that comments like this (as well as the godless Bible commentary and "colorful" language from my immediately preceding posts) are why, as I have been informed by friends of mine, my blog is now being banned from military installations here in South Florida. My MSG would be proud.

UPDATE: On a tangentially related subject, I found it ironic this story also came out last night about how the U.S. Army is tightening restrictions on soldiers' blogs and other Web site postings to ensure sensitive information about military operations does not make it onto public forums. And while I think it's asinine to restrict access to public blogs and such (especially one as blatantly stupid as mine - hell, it's in the fucking title, for Christ's sake), in this case, I agree with Army Brass in large part. Although I'm libertarian/anti-censorship in general, that's the military, folks. There is the distinct possibility that someone may inadvertently disclose sensitive information - which could result in the loss of lives. That's a whole 'nother game.

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So, after getting entirely too intoxicated last night, logically what did I do first thing this morning after getting only several hours of sleep?

I went mountain biking, of course. Err … yah. Two words — Mis. Take.

Although things went relatively well (no broken bones), upon my return home I resigned myself to napping on my couch for the remainder of the afternoon (which has unfortunately come to resemble the vast majority of my afternoons of late), in a valiant effort to win the war against the alcohol in my system that had otherwise emerged victorious from our various battles earlier in the day.

Once back in the sweet, safe, and cool confines of my (for now) apartment, I popped in several movies that I've wanted to see (or at least sleep through), including one of the 25 movies made by Will Ferrell last year — Stranger Than Fiction.

It was a decent and cute movie in which, as usual, Will Ferrell gave a solid performance. But what i particularly enjoyed was the movie's use of retro-punk and mod songs from the late 1970's and early 1980's to set the tone. These are some of the most stylish (pun intended), yet still musically adept, songs of the era. I definitely recommend you check out this soundtrack for Stranger Than Fiction, even if you never see the movie (which you should at least try to do).

Among the great songs on the soundtrack is this song, one of my favorites ever from the band, The Jam (the precursor band to The Style Council). Both the song (with its great guitar and bass lines), as well as the accompanying video are surprisingly contemporary considering they were produced almost 30 years ago.

The Jam - That's Entertainment

Also included in the soundtrack are several great songs from the Austin, Texas indie-rock band Spoon. You may also want to check out this particular song by Spoon (which is not on the Stranger Than Fiction soundtrack, but still a great example of their work). I also recommend you check out the songs they produced specifically for the soundtrack.

UPDATE: I just saw this post over at the great music blog, Cable & Tweed, about this topic from back in November. They also have a few MP3's from the movie, available free for download - including songs from Spoon, Wreckless Eric, and The Jam. Check it out.

2d UPDATE: Rich over at Cable & Tweed advises that, "before I disappoint any readers… those tracks on C&T from the STF soundtrack aren’t up anymore." Oh well, it's still a good music blog worth visiting.

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When I went down to Central America, I didn't bring my laptop for fear of … well, for fear that I'd have nothing to make me come back to Miami.

As such, I transcribed - longhand - much of my travels. However, my longhand is about as incomprehensible as is Chez's seemingly eternal fascination with My Chemical Romance.

That, combined with the fact that I am apparently obligated to accomplish much more than I ever thought necessary before I sell my place and leave the country, has made my transcription efforts take much longer than I initially thought. I should have up another (Part II) by the end of the day.

Now if you'll pardon me, I must now go get the payoff information for my exorbitantly high student loans from the gentleman from Sallie Mae who has been fucking me in the ass for the past 10 years.

"Excuse me, sir? Sir? Could you please stop that for a second so I can ask you a question? And to stop the horrible, horrible pain? Thank you. Now, if you can tell me my payoff information …"

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