A Bowl of Stupid

[Me — Karang Nyimbor, Krui, Sumatra, Indonesia]

P.S. It's not the best picture, the best wave, or the best ride (I'm just digging the rail on that log of mine as hard as I can), but you get the idea.

P.P.S. Suck it, Brooke.

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I was 19 years old when I got my first tattoo. It was 1990, I was a sophomore at Arizona State University, and I guess I thought it was about time to get a tattoo.

Recently, however, I haven't been able to pinpoint just why I wanted, or how I even came to the decision to get the tattoo. Nor have I been able to recall exactly the thought processes that led me to pick that particular picture — the one directly above — to get permanently etched on my skin.

This image in question is of Calvin & Hobbs, the 2 title characters in a popular comic strip popular in the 1980's - 1990's, written and illustrated by Bill Watterson. For those of you not familiar with Calvin and Hobbes, the comic followed the humorous antics of Calvin, an imaginative six-year old boy, and Hobbes, his energetic and sardonic, albeit stuffed, tiger (named after Thomas Hobbs).

Granted, my mom wasn't thrilled to see the tattoo — especially when she realized it would not come off no matter how much soap I used. But when I got the tattoo, the comic strip was ubiquitous, well-known, and loved by both men and women. At the time, it was the best of both worlds for me — guys thought the tattoo was cool, while girls thought the tattoo was cute. It was great.

Unfortunately, times have changed.

My tattoo no longer held that same sway with my audience of late, thanks to a variety of factors — Bill Watterson's retirement of the comic strip in the the mid-1990's, the ravages of time and sun exposure to my skin, and the seemingly ceaseless efforts of American rednecks whose numbers are legion who chose THAT particular comic to decry their outrage over the quality of Ford trucks.

As such, for the past several years, the result has been a bluish blur on my left shoulder resembling something some people in some places vaguely recalled seeing at some time in the past. Moreover, this problem was exacerbated after I left the States. As a result, lately, all I seemed to hear was:

"Oh wow, is that an old tiger tattoo on your arm? What, were you in the French Foreign Legion or something?"

Uh, not so much … no.

So I've been searching for years for a 'replacement' tattoo to cover up ol' Calvin & Hobbs. Either fortunately or unfortunately, I was never able to find something I liked enough to replace them, nor have I been in many places where getting a tattoo was a practical (or healthy) idea.

But eventually I designed my own cover-up tattoo, and I'm now in Bangkok — one of the premiere locales in the world to get 'inked'. So I figured it was about time to finally ink it over up with the new design.

That's what I did today. Actually, THIS is what I did today:

The design itself is larger than I otherwise would have gone with, but it was necessary to cover the original. And the photo isn't the best — it doesn't show some of the smaller details (there are some wave designs and cross-hatching that my camera can't pick up), but all in all I'm pleased about how it came out.

Given all the issues with the old tattoo, I thought getting this new one would be a non-issue. And quite frankly, it was … until after it was gone. It was only when I saw the figures of Calvin and Hobbs slowly disappearing under a blanket of fresh black ink that I finally remembered the underlying reasons, and circumstances of, why and how I got that first tattoo.

I won't bore you with those details — most of which are inane and irrelevant to everyone but myself and my former college roommate Stacey (who came with me and got his first tattoo at the same time). But I will say this much: I am a bit sorry to see it gone.

Although it was old and faded and much of its initial meaning lost to the ravages of time, every time I looked down at my left shoulder, I was unknowingly reminded of an earlier — and very happy — time of my life. I haven't consciously thought about those college years for quite a while. Nor have I thought about the comic strip itself for a while.

My apologies, but I'm keeping my fond youthful memories to myself. I will, however, remind those of you who are interested of at least one of the reasons why I chose those particular comic strip characters to first decorate my skin.

So, to summarize, I quit my job and life in the States to go goof off traveling around the world for a few years, where I eventually go and cover up a tattoo of a comic strip poking fun at the same societal norms condemning goofing off from which I fled.

Well goddammit, if that ain't irony, I don't know what is.

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For the sake of my Kshama (living in the moment), I'll say it only once before moving on:

I am excited and curious and enjoying being here in Sri Lanka, but I actually wish I was still in the Philippines. Yes D, you heard me right, I miss my friends in the Philippines and I'm already thinking of my triumphant return to the islands.

Well, it IS pouring rain here right now as I type, so it's almost like I'm still in the Philippines. I guess that's something, right?

Anyway, moving on to Sri Lanka itself.

I'm currently staying in Ahangama on the southwest coast of the Island, at this great hotel/guesthouse called Villa Gaetano.

However, it's been very hard for me to leave the comforts of his my luxury hotel room right on the water (running me about US$12/nite). I was planning on moving to the owner's lower priced place off the beach about 100 meters down the road and about 100 meters off the beach (running US$5/nite, but still infinitely better than just about any hotel I stayed in in Thailand - it's just not right on the beach, like the Villa), but I can't seem to get up the energy to move. Plus, the restaurant is here, and I can't get enough rice/curry and roti prata.

Sri Lanka is located to the south of India in the Indian Ocean and gets the same swells as the Indonesian islands. The south west of the country is the most popular destination for travelling surfers — being cheap, safe and having access to decent waves.

Unlike my other sojerns abroad — i.e., Indo, the Philippines, Thailand, etc. — I made a point to arrange for transport from the only (non-military) airport on the island (which is located in Negambo, about 25 km north of the capital of Colombo).

I did so for several reasons. The first reason is that I've heard it's virtually impossible to get anywhere here without private transport. Second is the fact that the area is not the safest in the world — indeed, Sri Lanka just negated the cease fire agreement with the Tamil rebels after 10-12 people, including civilians (I'm not sure at the time of this writing) were killed by an explosion in Colombo just the day before I arrived here.

After seeing the military presence in Colombo and the airport (which itself was bombed by the rebel group last summer), I'm very glad I pre-arranged the travel — regardless of the cost. I didn't want to become another statistic, so I thought it prudent to pre-book a ride for the 120-130 km trip southeast down the coast to the relatively safe area of Weligama and Ahangama, where I'm staying now.

I say 'reletively safe' because, while there are army roadblocks checking cars in the area, there has been little threat down here by the militant rebel group 'the Tamil Tigers' — which has been waging an insurgent war in Sri Lanka for the better part of the last 20 years.

I also use that term because there are still a great number of reminders that this entire area was absolutely DEVESTATED by a Tsunami only 3 years ago. In fact, I inadvertently visited a hotel/guesthouse from where one of the most well published videos of the tidal wide was taken. I walked in and thought 'this place looks earily familiar' … then I found out why about 10 minutes later.

This place just got FUCKED. UP.

Truly, it's probably the fist place I've been to where there is palatable prescense of the government military, the UN, and UNICEF — all in the same 20 meter radius.

Having come here simply to surf (more or less), it is just a bit unsettling … but I'm sure I'll get used to it (unless, as there is now talk might happen, the violence escalates and the entire country falls into chaos).

I spent yesterday getting situated, hitching a ride with a fellow lodger up to the town of Galle to get money and a pair of flip-flops (not a problem, as the Sti Lankans LOVE their sandals).

As for Galle itself, there's no beach or tourist draws, but much like other areas throughout Southeast Asia there are remnants of Dutch settlement (read: colonization), back when the Dutch were more into conquest than chocolate. The only interesting item is the Old Dutch Fort, which reminded me very much of my trip to Melaka, Malaysia (which was also a Dutch Fort/Port).

At this point, it may be useful if I could throw out, free association, a list of comments describing my experience here so far:

Driving — absolutely INSANITY (and this is really saying something considering that I've experienced driving in Indonesia, Manila, Cambodia, and Miami).

Security — as mentioned above, the military is everywhere … all with automatic weapons at the ready.

Tsunami — remnants of the destruction are everywhere, despite the rebuilding and the NGO cars all over the place. It's somewhat disconcerting and more than just a bit sad, to say the least.

Dogs — yes, there are beaten-up and stray dogs in most third world countries, but I've never seen anything like the condition of the strays here. Don't ask, you don't want to know. Trust me.

Crowded — coming from Siargao Island, which itself I actually found crowded in comparison to Roti, Indonesia (one of my favorite places in the world), this place is absolute insanity. There are paved roads, buses, trains, tuk-tuks, and all the traffic and people those things infer. Granted, it's not the mayhem that defines Colombo, but I'm used to staying in villiages/towns where you can almost literally meet everyone there. Here, there are just a bunch of beach towns right after one another. It sorta reminds me of Neew Jersey … only with saner drivers.

Driving — did I mention they're all fucking crazy drivers here?

Food — thank GOD for some good local cuisine. I love the peeps in the Philippines, but god help me, their food is absolutely awful.

Appearance — okay, here's showing my vanity and caucation based values, but I was shocked to see the local ideal of beauty, which is extraordinarily 'different' from what I'm used to. I was especially shocked considering the Sri Lankans I've met before in my life are some very good looking people. But here? Ehh, not so much.

Kindness & Hospitality — coming here straight from the Philippines, I'm having a hard time adjusting to the immediate show of friendliness by most locals towards westerners. Again, it could be an act, but I haven't felt that just yet. Time will tell.

Poverty — nuff said.

Driving — absolute insanity. I was initially considering hiring/renting out a car for the month. But now? Fuck that, man. I'll use a tuk-tuk.

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Okay, just so you jackasses out there (not you, though … you and me? we cool.) don't think its all darkness and gloom and apocalyptic type shit going on in my head (cuz it is, … but it's not, … but it really is), I thought I'd go back to a musical post.

This time is a band that I admittedly should have paid more attention to last year, before I am now considered to be one of the 'bandwagoneers' (but I guess that's what makes 'bandwagoneers' to begin with, so whatever).

Great indie rock band, a great catchy sound, and it doesn't seem they take themselves too seriously (at least not yet) … and, best of all, the lead singer's sister is a professional choreographer, so they've got some really cool videos — like this one (which, if you notice, is done in one single camera shot):

OK Go - Here It Goes Again

Alright people, as you were.

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I left Miami today, en route to Phoenix, Las Vegas and L.A. before leaving for Singapore and Indonesia.

I made the (now-questionable) decision of renting a trailer to haul all of my remaining possessions to Phoenix attached to the back of my Jeep Wrangler.

The majority of these possessions include my living room furniture, which I will be giving to my friend in Phoenix, ostensibly as payment for him storing my Jeep and the 8 or so milk crates that now hold the remainder of my personal possessions — mainly books, clothes, surf-wax, and assorted water-pipes.

My Jeep is of the open-air kind. I have removable doors, removable soft-canvas "windows," as well as canvas "bikini-tops" for the roof and the rear seats. As a result, I am always a victim of the weather, to some extent or another, depending on how many of those items I choose to install on any given day.

Today, I started my trip with only the bikini tops — which were fine until I got the the middle of the State, around Orlando. That's when the swarm of mutant mosquitoes were released from the Military Weapons Research Facility.

I swear to fucking god, I was driving 60 MPH in an open air Jeep Wrangler towing a 2000 pound trailer and, in a matter of less than a minute, the air outside (which obviously also included the air inside) got so thick with huge swarming mosquitoes that, for a split second, I literally thought they were a CGI production from the guys at Industrial Light & Magic (yes, I know I need to stay away from Sci-FI films for a bit).

Upon regaining my tenuous grasp on reality, I was forced to get off at the nearest exit and put on the doors and the remaining canvas tops in a vain attempt to stay the mutant insect horde, all to no avail.

Indeed, right now, I'm in a hotel room outside Pensacola, and I still have bugs emerging from various bags, pockets and crevices (not a word, Manny, I know what you're thinking, sicko). In fact, I'd never considered the need for fumigating my hair until now.

Moreover, as I mentioned previously, most of the State of Florida is - quite literally - on fire. The smoke has dissipated, for the most part, in South Florida. Not so much elsewhere (everywhere) in the State. In fact, the visibility in the upper panhandle was anywhere from 30 to 100 feet in most areas, where I could actually see the glow of the fires from the highway.

This extensive fire and smoke also made for particularly fun driving conditions in an open air vehicle. Everything I was wearing - hell, everything I own - now smells like I was hanging out at a bonfire making s'mores all day. Plus, after breathing that thick, nasty, gunky smoke for several hours today, I now have a newfound respect for firefighters … and people who smoke Marlboro Reds.

Last, but not least, were the hail storms. Yes, you read right — it's Florida in the middle of May, and in those parts of the state not otherwise enveloped by fire, smoke, or swarms of mutant insects, there were instead terrible storms raining down golf-ball sized hail (which, although disconcerting, admittedly did lead to inadvertently comical driving of all the elderly tourists trying to get out of the state before Lucifer himself shows up).

Yes, I've said it before and I'll say it again — Florida really is starting to resemble something from The Divine Comedy or the Garden of Earthy Delights.

Given today's events, I'm pretty sure I saw the Suwannee River running red with blood.

Can you say "happy to get out alive?"

Oh shit, I'm not out yet. Let's hold off on those types of comments until I hit Mississippi tomorrow.

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As was aptly noted by Vanessa Byers earlier this week (while I was off on a 3 day bender), the entire State of Florida has been on fire for about a week now.

Specifically, forestry officials state that 236 wildfires rage in 55 of the state's 67 counties.

Those fires, in conjunction with the southernly blowing winds from the first (sub)tropical storm of the year, Andrea, turned all of South Florida into a smoky, hazy morass for most of the week.

Not to totally disregard the negative repercussions of these fires to thousands of innocent Floridians, but the fact the entire State of Florida is on fire seems to me the most fitting end to my time here in the State.

An entire state on fire? Just as I'm planning to leave — possible forever?

How fucking appropriate is that?

It's almost as if nature is acting as my own personal Cortez, thus ensuring my departure as the only means of long-term survival.

And quite frankly, I could care less. All I know is that I've never been so glad I'm leaving Miami.

UPDATE: [P.S.] Just in case anyone was wondering, I had absolutely nothing to do with any of those fires. Really. No … really!

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