A Bowl of Stupid

Nuff said.

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Today, Bloomberg.com reports that U.S. Stocks Drop as Recession Concern Outweighs Rate Reductions

Oct. 8 (Bloomberg) — U.S. stocks fell for a sixth day after Treasury Secretary Henry Paulson said more banks may collapse and unprecedented global interest-rate cuts failed to convince investors the economy will avoid a recession.

And Yahoo Finance further reports today that:

"The world economy is now entering a major downturn in the face of the most dangerous shock in mature financial markets since the 1930s," the Internatinal Monetary Fund [IMF] said in its World Economic Outlook.

Like Jon Stewart said, it's starting to look like Lord of the Flies down here. We're all on a rudderless ship, folks … the pilot has ejected, the plane is on fire, and we're all still on the plane … it's Lord of The Flies down here!!!

Sorry, I've no pithy commentary for this one. I kinda saw this coming, but I honestly didn't think it would get THIS bad. Crap.

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I'm back home in Bangkok after a nice relaxing trip to Luang Prabang, Lao PDR. Just in time to celebrate my 30th birthday (ahem) in style — and queue the music …

'One night in Bangkok and the world's your oyster The bars are temples but the pearls ain't free You'll find a god in every golden cloister …'

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Today — no pictures, no anecdotes, no nuthin'…

And you wanna know why? Cuz my surfboards (yes, that includes the BRAND NEW, NEVER BEEN FUCKIN' WAXED, SEVEN FOOT PERFECTION BOARD I JUST BOUGHT!) are now, as we speak, traversing the underbelly of the Jakarta lost luggage department.

They're either there or they've already been sold for a new house in suburban Jakarta.

Either way, I'm not a happy camper right now.

But fuck it, it's only money, right?

RIGHT?!?!

Sigh …

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I'm still here in Sumatra - having a great time, which is good since I may wind up being STUCK here because …

I can't get any of my fucking money!!!

Before I left, I arranged to get my funds out of a savings account I opened with AMTRUST DIRECT. Great, right?

Wrong!!! It's been over a month and the motherfuckers STILL won't give me my goddamn MONEY!!!!

With all my free time, I'm in the process of filing a formal complaint with the Office of Thrift Supervision against this bank and would love to use any other current complaints in showing the issues inherent with this bank.

The motto of this bank appears to be to keep the funds in tow at all costs. In other words: Keep away online account access from consumers, charge consumer's service fees for anything they can and then make up an excuse as to the reason for it, or keep away interest payments from consumers or keep funds in tow with holds that are GENERATED by the bank themselves intentionally.

I am trying to compile information to determine if there is criminal neglect and or fraud going on with this bank. I have spoken to multiple people over at the bank including a supervisor and the answers were not satisfactory. I believe a formal inquiry into this bank needs to be made by the OTS for the ONLINE DIVISION.

So now I;m in the process of documenting all the MANY issues I've had with the bank — apparently I'm only one of legion — and I've gotta email the full complaint including my personal identifying information to consumer.complaint@ots.treas.gov.

For anyone else interested, you can also contact the OCC at:

Northeast Region
Consumer Affairs
Harborside Financial Center Plaza Five
Suite 1600
Jersey City, NJ 07311
(800) 253-2181
(201) 413-7541 (Fax)
(Connecticut, Delaware, Maine, Massachusetts, New Hampshire, New Jersey, New York, Ohio, Pennsylvania, Rhode Island, Vermont, West Virginia)

Mutha-fuckas!!! How ya' like me now?

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Thanks everyone for your well-wishes. I'm feeling much better. Ironically, the rashes associated with dengue Fever showed up more heavily AFTER the fever itself receded away. No worries though, it's a small price to pay for regaining the ability to move without feeling immense bone-crushing pain.

Anyway, once again being able to move my arms and legs again with no pain (athough still pretty weak … well, weaker than usual), I took this opportunity to go over and visit Fort Cochin for the last 4 days I'm in India.

I actually really like it. It's still India … which means there's still crowding, and swarms of foriegn tourists, and piles of garbage, and packs of feral dogs, ridiculously greedy people, and burning trash everywhere. But at least fort Cochin has a really unique history to it. There's a unique blend of Dutch, Portugese, British, and Indian culture and history here. It kinda reminds me of southern Malaysia — only with more trash.

Regardless, it's a really unique place. And I mean, really, any place that has a neighborhood named "Jew Town" — sporting a 500 year old synogogue — can't be ALL bad, right?

Meanwhile, when I finally ge a moment to check my email, I find this fucked-up gem of a story from tommorows NY Times. Apparently, my buddy Chez (upon who's fantastic blog I initially based this bullshit upon), was fired from his gig at CNN for … writing a blog.

WTF?

As I've told Chez many, many, MANY times. Blogs and jobs don't go together. Just look at me, I have a blog and you don't see ME working, do ya'? Err … bad example.

Moing on … sorry 'bout the gig, my friend. fuck 'em, they're a bunch of heartless jackels. But we already knew that, didn't we? Just ask the guys from WTVJ.

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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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Yes, I'm finally in India - what a fascinating country shithole! And what better way to celebrate this auspicious occasion than for me to immediately book a flight to Krabi, Thailand.

Yes, India is just THAT good.

The presence here of what I had feared most — rabid European tourists and ego-driven nuevo-hippies everywhere — has indeed come to pass.

I originally planned on staying in India for 2 full months practicing my yoga and getting some further training should I ever wish to pursue it as a career in the future. However, I've since learned that most of the yoga ashrams and schools here — and especially those specializing in Ashtanga Vinyasa Yoga, which is what I practice — are a complete farce.

On the one hand are the loads and loads of 'yoga centers' catering to all these Westerners who have been led to believe that the best practitioners MUST be in India since that's where modern yoga developed. That's complete bullshit. My brief experience has confirmed what others have told me — you can probably get just as good, if not better, training anywhere else in the world.

Then, on the other hand is the fact that yoga practitioners here, and especially in Mysore, which is known for being 'ground-zero' for ashtanga training, in fact produces bigger egos than true ashtaga yogis. Most of the guys here project a real ego-driven sense of "I'm more at peace than you are, and I can prove it!!" Fuck that, if I wanted to sit in a room full of bitches comparing how flexible and happy they are about living with no money, I could have gone to any ONE of the many fabulous nude bars in Miami and had a much (much) better time.

I know, I know … don't be hatin' on India. Yeah, I guess you're right … it's not ALL that bad.

I mean, the food here is probably some of the best in Asia — I actually enjoy eating vegetarian cuisine when it's prepared THIS good. Plus, all the wannabe hippies with their long flowing gowns and ponytails DO make for excellent dinner theatre. And as an added bonus, all the garbage burning throughout the day makes for an absolutely beautiful sunset.

Okay, granted, you really shouldn't go into the ocean unless you want to bring a pet parasite back home with you. But then again, the numerous packs of stray dogs and the occasional elephant you may encounter whilst trying to walk back to your room will more than make up for any 'wildlife' you may otherwise be missing underwater.

So, rather than stay here any longer than necessary, I'm going back to Thailand in a couple weeks to meet up with friends from Singapore before they all head back to states for good.

I've got a multiple entry 3 month visa, but I'm not really sure for how long — or even if — I'll head back to India. Moreso, given the continuing escalation of violence in Sri Lanka (one of the same private buses that I took to leave Kandy on 1 February was blown up by Tamil terrorists the VERY next day, killing 18 people and injuring 55), I fear it's not safe to travel there again until it all resolves itself. Instead, I will go back through and pick up my surfboards on my way to Thailand.

I'm sorry, I don't mean to be a hater, I'm just drawn that way.

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Well, THIS definitely isn't good — for anyone.

Despite the surf being what it is and my need to get an Indian Visa up in Kandy, I'm currently rethinking the plans I have to travel to that precise region next week. I'm okay here down south (for now), and I'll keep everyone in the loop.

All my best wishes to those hurt and killed in the violence, and to their dear families as well. Namaste.

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Quickly, I'm still in the Philippines - I leave next week back to Singapore before quickly moving on to Sri Lanka in the first week of January.

There have been some interesting goings on in these neck of the woods here in Siargao Island. The first of which was that I basically got 'jacked' by the guy I hired a motorbike from. I paid him up front for an entire month, yet he still just came (carrying a machete) and took it back after only 2 weeks without refunding ANY money because … well, because he's a prick.

So I've basically been immobile for the past 10 days. Pisser … life in a cowboy town. C'iest la vie.

To balance it out, I've had the good fortune to meet some of the other locals (and foreigners) living on the island who have taken it upon themselves to right the wrongs that initially befell me here. I have been really treated like royalty for the past 10 days since that jackass fellow stole back his bike.

I owe them a debt of gratitude for restoring my faith in the human spirit after everything else I experienced here beforehand. Thank you.

On another note, the surf has also picked up a bit (it's not 'epic', but it's still good enuf to go have some really good fun with some of the local pros and other locals on a fairly regular basis).

The sweet is not as sweet without the sour. Ying and yang, my friends … ying and yang.

Take care. Happy holidays. Peace out for another week or so until I get back to Sing.

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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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Note: The next few posts were actually written in the last couple of weeks, but I only now have the opportunity to post them as the rains have calmed down for a couple days and the beach roads are back 'open' (using the term loosely).

And as Dee was so kind to point out commenting on my last post, I don't have spell check here in the wild, wild west Filos. So if I spell anything wrong again (like 'Goa', India), feel free to kiss my big white ass. But I mean that in the nicest way possible.

The combination of my recent motor-bike injury and the seemingly omnipresent rains have left me with an over-abundance of time this past week.

I can't surf or SCUBA dive because I can't get my injured knee wet. I can't drink alcohol because I'm on antibiotics. I've been limited in my use of electricity and phone because the power has been intermittingly shutting down due to the rains.

It's a hassel to go anywhere cuz all of the roads are flooded out and/or beyond slippery. And I've been left reading books by the bushel in an attempt to quelch the boredom factor quickly slipping in.

I've tried to use the extensive free time on my hands to do some serious meditative introspection. Unfortunately, that has led me to again debating the entire basis of my lifestyle (i.e., living abroad searching for surf).

Back in Indonesia, this stuff made sense. You have a surfboard, they have surf, it's cheap, and you can stay for months at a time and not get too bored.

But just what the fuck am I doing here in the Philippines? And now?

The weather is dismal. The surf has been dismal. The locals THEMSELVES are bored out of their mind this time of year (which leads to some REALLY dodgy pastimes). Options are limited.

At this point, it's painfully obvious that I've lost track of the entire basis why I initially left the States in the frist place. Indeed, I now only vaguely recall such grand aspirations of living abroad on virtualy nothing, having nothing, and being responsible for nobody but myself. Oh, and doing nothing but surf and sleep, of course.

It's the stuff of dreams, right? Not so much.

The journey is never as liberating as we anticipate.

I haven't felt that peaceful vibe I briefly had in Indo for some time, and I now feel like I'm again swimming against the currents. Even before I stopped working last year, I felt that 'flow' — then, pushing me out of the practice of law and out of the State of Florida.

But I fought those currents — fought them hard for a good 15 years, pursuing a career and lifestyle I didn't want. But finally, I gave in to the flow, allowing them to take me wherever. This led to my inevitable exit from a legal career and Florida (and the States).

That time of first releasing myself that 'flow' was, although disconcerting, probably the most satisfying period of my life. I don't regret at all leaving everything I had. However, I think I lost that feeling soon thereafter, reverting back to 'American Me' soon thereafter — status and money concious to the core.

I briefly had what I was looking for — that feeling of peaceful nonpurpose — and then it was gone. I've been searching for that feeling for the past 6 months throughout Southeast Asia. I want very much to again feel like I know which way to go.

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Well folks, given my history of injuries and the active lifestyle I pursue, one would assume I would have gotten injured much earlier during living abroad. Thankfully, I haven't … until now.

The good news is that it was nothing too major, and I should be fine (I don't want to jinx anything, cuz there is still potential for infection). The bad news is that I'm probabky gonna have a really nasty scar on my left knee and I won't be surfing for the next week or so until the stiches are sufficiently healed.

It was only 2 days ago when I decided to stay here in the Philippines for a full month. I made that decision based partly on the quality of Mahi-Mahi here, and also figuring that although I've not yet felt the right 'vibe' here, I should at least give the place a chance. As part of my preperations for staying the month, I rented a room with a kitchen so I can cook my own meals rather than having to constantly dine out. I also rented a motorbike so I can go to the markets in town to buy food and other supplies, as well as to ride over to the various surf breaks not within walking distance.

Yeah, some of you can already see where this is heading.

Anyway, the surf on this side of the island has been pretty dismal for the past several days — the northen winds blowing out any significant waves left from the 2 typhoons in the area. I had heard, however, there is a decent surf spot up towards the northern tip of the island. Yesterday morning, I decided spur of the moment to check it out.

I never got there.

I took a wrong turn somewhere along the way. Don't ask me where I made the wrong turn or where I wound up, because longtime resdents here on Shiargao that I've asked can't even tell me where the fuck I was (ironically, one person who did know told me I was up near a place called 'Salvation'). All I know is that almost immediately after I turned off from the main road, the 'road' — usiing the term euphamistically — changed from flat pavement to an unpaved path consisting mainly of huge puddles of mud and rocky hills.

Every so often I stopped to ask directions — each time being reassured in broken English that yes, this REALLY was the proper way to the north end of the island. Based on these directions, I continued on until I literally ran out of road (the road turned into a walking path that turned into a drainage draw, that finally ended on the beach next to a comicaly small fishing villiage). There, I was told (read: wildly gestured to) that I had indeed gone the wrong way and I needed to go bAcK almost to my starting point and take a completely DIFFERENT (and paved) road north, since where I was wasn't actually a road.

I had just turned around to make the trip back towards the main road when the heavens opened up - WIDE open. If you've never been to the tropics, you really should make the effort to do so. It is a remarkable thing, You can't imagine just how much water can fall from the sky at one time until you see it in person. It really is amazing.

Anyway, the 'road' almost immedaitely began to flood, resembling a small creek more than a road. I hadn't gone more than 50-100 meters after turning around before I hit a steep rocky incline. My my back tire hit a slicked up rock and slid out from beneath me. Thankfully, I was only going a few km/hour at the time, so I avoided any serious injury.

After falling, I picked up the bike and took it to the top of the incline where I better could take a survey of any damage — both to me and the bike. Luckily, I was able to keep the bike from getting too damaged by cushioning its fall with my body. My left leg, to be precise. I was pleased to first see that my left foot had only some minor scrapes that would heal in a couple days. But then I caught sight of my left knee, although it didn't really hurt.

I'm not sure how it happened, but when I looked, I saw a huge gaping wound right below my left kneecap. Specifically, in a rough circle about 2 inches in diameter, the skin was simply gone, exposing the tendons and other tissue below.

It really didn't hurt, but it looked knarly as hell.

I was (and still am) more concerned with infection, considering I had to ride the bike back through the 10-12 kilometers of this flooded and rocky 'road' before even making it back to solid pavement. Every time I came to another muddy expanse of water in the road, I had to pick up my left leg in the air so as to avoid spraying any 'goo' up inside my exposed kneecap.

I remember thinking to myself that this was turning into one hell of a long bike ride, however, as soon as the rain stopped and I got back on solid pavement, I'd be able to get the wound quickly attended to.

Err, not so much.

My trip back to the main road was long, but reletively uneventful. However, once there, I fell victim to my own expediency. See, the exit point back onto the main road was about halfway between the main towns of General Luna ('GL') and Dapa. As I am staying out past GL (where most of the ex-pats are), I decided to hit the medical clinic there, so as to avoid a long drive home after gettting treated.

When I got to the GL clinic at around 11:30 a.m., I found that the doctor doesn't come in until 13:30 (1:30 p.m.), and I would have to wait another 2.5 hours before I could get stiched up there. Instead, I got back on the road and headed back again where I came from — towards Dapa — specifically, the Dapa hospital. Well, I guess you could call it a 'hospital.'

It actually bore more semblance to an auto-body shop than what we in the West would call a 'hospital.' My first clue in this regard were the chickens wandering around just out front of the building. My second clue was the dog that wandered into the 'operating room' at the smell of my blood — looking for scraps, one would assume (No, I'm NOT kidding. I couldn't make up this shit).

I wasn't able to get treated when I first got there, since the only doctor in the hospital was busy delivering a baby. So, after having already left my kneecap exposed to the elements for a couple hours, I would have to wait a bit longer until after the little brat was ushered into the world (just kidding … but not really).

Now, I truly believe that how one deals with adversity is a sign of their true character, especially in an unfamiliar environment. So yesterday, I was particulally self-concious about not appearing as just another self-absorbed American looking for special treatment while screaming 'don't you know who I am?!?!" (although I was, admittedly, feeling a little like that inside).

For that reason, I didn't make a big deal about getting hurt in the first place. Nor did I bitch about having to drive back from GL to the Dapa hospital. I was not about to start losing my shit now, especially considering there was a local Filippino fisherman also there, stolidly waiting for treatment after getting his calf ripped apart by a moray eel.

An intake nurse looked at my injury and told me how much it would cost — 50 pesos for consultation, and another 75 pesos for the stitching. Le me repeat that, the entire treatment cost the equivilent to about US$3.00.

She also told me what I'd need to get for my treatment — sutchers, a needle, bandages, and a local anesthetic. I was given a prescription of sorts, and then told to go to the pharmacy in town to buy the equiptment. I paid 10 pesos (about $.25) to a guy on a tricycle to take me there and back. And after I got my suppies, I sat there silently waiting for delivery (quite literally). The total cost for all those supplies was only about another US$5.00 (admuittedly, the antibiotics I bought afterwards were sorta expensive, about US$50.00). So, it was a total cost of about US$8.00 to get treated (man, Micheal Moore's movie 'Sicko' was good, but you can't really grasp just HOW fucked up the US medical system is until you get treated outside the country).

Anyway, the baby refused to accomodate our schedules, and after a time, the doctor and trauma nurse from GL came to Dapa (ironically, they didn't even open the clinic in GL, but instead came straight to Dapa to help out in their E.R.). The fisherman rightly got his mangled leg treated first (apparently, the moray eels out here can be downright vicious). The 'OR' was open to the public, and various members of his family and the general public who happened to be there (myself included), wandered in and out surveying the proceedure.

Once again, this guy was so quietly stoic about the whole thing that I was concerned about looking like a weak-willed American when next it came my turn to be stiched up. Fortunately, I have a uniquely high pain tolerance. Unfortunately, I also have a really bad habit of giggling like a madman in response to severe pain.

As they got started on my knee, we all realized just how fucked up it was (is). Not only did I tear out a huge chunk of flesh, but the adjacent skin that remained was ripped from the tissue underneath, leaving a 'hole' under the skin. I know from prior experience that is the real danger (when I was in college, I had torn my right calf muscle resulting in an abscese that got infected and almost killed me due to my lack of treatment). It was also tricky due to the placement of the injury. I've heard this before, but I was reminded again yesterday that the knee is one of the hardest places to treat an injury.

The doctor and nurse were, however, absolute professionals when it came to cleaning and debriding the injury and stiching me up. Indeed, but for the dog looking for scraps and the locals looking to see if the American would start screaming in pain, their treatment was better than some I've received back in the States. They even gave me a mask and let me sit up to watch the proceedure (except when the local started wearing off and I started giggling like a nutjob). The hospital staff was also extrememly kind to me, and I thank them all immensely for their help.

I'll probably have a nasty scar on my left knee, but if the drugs do what they're supposed to do, I think (hope) I'll be fine. I'm taking some pretty powerful antibiotics for the next 7 days, just in case. During that time, however, I won't be unable to go in the ocean. So, no surfing for the next week. No worries, I'd rather get healed up (plus, the winds have picked up, making the waves unridable for the next 5-6 days anyway).

I go back in a couple of days for a check up (I hope I can make the US$3.00 consultation fee), and hopefully any chances I'll be healed up in a week. I just hope no more dogs wander into room.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Enough. So fuck them. And fuck you too.

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