LiAps - It's On!

Submissions Being Solicited

2005-10-22T15:37:00.000-04:00

[NOTE: I started writing this post last weekend, got a good chunk of the way through it, and then it disappeared off my screen. I resisted the urge to throw the laptop out the window, and have now calmed down sufficiently to go on. If it happens again, somebody at Sony (Because Caucasians Are Just Too Damn Tall) is gonna get hurt.]

Here's the deal, people. I have waited far, far too long to finish writing about my trip. My notes are sparse and largely indecipherable. And my short term memory isn't what it used to be. In short, I fucked up. So I'm gonna give you what I can figure out and invite all of you to make up the rest. It's kind of like a Choose Your Own Adventure book, or the FanFiction which I understand is popular among 40 year olds who live in their parents' basements (Ha! I've got 10 years to go and mine don't even have a basement!!!) Here goes:

No, Sloth, I did not puke on the plane. But it was NOT out of the question. My flight from Singapore to Hong Kong was rather uneventful, thankfully. The only real issue I had was with the meal. I was in no real mood to eat anyway, but the FA came over and offered me the following choice: "omelette or carrot cake." Now, a nice light slice of carrot cake sounded like something I could conceivably keep down, and I knew I had a decently long trip ahead of me, as I had to switch planes in HK for the flight to Shanghai. So I accepted the offer of carrot cake. People, in Asia, carrot cake does not come in slices. In fact, it's not "cake" at all, and I didn't see any "carrots." Apparently, "carrot cake" is something involving eggs, shrimp and tofu. It would have been excusable for me to have been surprised, had Monkey, Spacecake and I not had a discussion about the very topic the night before. Of course, that was before the bartendress poured that tequila down my throat.

I survived the carrot cake (though I sure didn't eat it), and landed in HK. To find out that my flight to Shanghai had been cancelled. I was prepared to be stranded in HK for days when they told me that, but, compared to dealing with the US airlines, China Eastern was a pleasure. They gave me the choice of taking either the flight before the one I was scheduled on, or the flight after. I had time to clear security, so I took the earlier flight, and that was that. The flight itself was pleasant enough too, and the coughing and spitting and phlegm noises were stereotypically fantastic!!

[Here's where my notes read, as best I can tell, "Dunhill insists on mylar." If you think I saw a man dressed as a European cigarette carrying a bunch of balloons, turn to page 35 . . .]

I was, I admit, a bit disappointed upon arrival at the Shanghai airport. Here I was, an American arriving in Red China. I was kind of hoping to be greeted by a bunch of serious looking uniformed Army dudes staring at me suspiciously, generally making me feel uncomfortable and making me fear being brought into a back room, interrogated in Mandarin with no translator, and suddenly finding myself on trial for the murder of a beautiful Chinese woman. Instead, I found myself waiting in an immigration line of entirely reasonable length, surrounded by a bunch of fat midwestern families with obnoxious kids. I thought my plane might have been diverted to Orlando.

I took the supercool superfast maglev train from the airport to the city, even though it meant dragging my ridiculously heavy bag about 3 miles through the airport and switching to the subway to get to the area near my hotel. It's pretty amazing. You fly past the highway traffic like they're going in reverse (or maybe I was still confused because they drive on the wrong side of the road), and you do feel a little bit like you're weightless.

Got to the hotel, which was in a pretty awesome location right on Nanjing Lu, the main pedestrian street, which is a hell of a scene. A lot of my Shanghai pics didn't come out so good, which is why I chose the one above, but I'll put some more up with subsequent posts. It's truly a shame I took this long to write about this, because Shanghai was my favorite city, and I really don't remember the details as well as I should. But I'll do the best I can.

Dropped my stuff in the room, which was decent, but not worth the money I paid for it (not to mention the criminal $21/night for internet access). Was a bit tired and still not feeling so great, so just figured I'd wander around the general area of the hotel. I was very popular with beggars and children. I'd been in the city for about 6 minutes, and had been approached by at least 42 people asking me for money, or trying to get me to buy something from them (most often, "Rolex, sir?"). These two youngish people, 1M 1F, came up to me and told me they were art students in town from Beijing, and would I like to come see their exhibition. Now, I wasn't foolish enough to think there was no catch, but I figured what the hell, what's the worst that could happen?

2 minutes later, having been led down the street and into an old dirty building, whisked up to the 6th floor in an ancient elevator, ushered into an apartment where two other Chinese dudes were waiting, and had the door closed behind me, I answered my own question as follows: "Oh, the worst that could happen is that I could have my wallet stolen, be stabbed repeatedly, rolled up in a carpet, thrown in the back of a truck and dumped in the countryside on the outskirts of Shanghai never to be heard from again."

But instead, they started showing me the paintings that were on the wall. They asked me to sign their book with where I was from, and kept making a point of telling me that the pictures on the wall were not for sale. But kept asking me which ones I liked. I said they were all beautiful, and was ready to make my exit. That's when the scam was revealed. While the large paintings on the wall were not for sale, the small versions of them that were in the albums on the table were. Long story short, I spent $10 on a piece of art that was average at best, but left with all my internal organs. I wouldn't have minded the scam so much -- God knows I bought enough crap I didn't really need on this trip -- if it didn't take so long; I wasted like 1/2 an hour with these people. And the girl had a pretty serious mustache too. If you're gonna try to sweet talk tourists, go for a little wax first, honey.

After escaping the art exhibition, I went for a walk along the Bund. I was certainly not the only white dude around, but we are apparently still enough of a novelty that some people point and whisper. And, by "whisper," I mean scream and laugh. I figured it out though -- twice while I was in Shanghai, families stopped me and asked me to pose for pictures with their kids. I realized that while white people aren't such a rarity in Shanghai, these were probably tourists from elsewhere in the country where they don't get a lot of us. Can you just see it, 10 years from now this Chinese girl will bring her boyfriend over to meet her family, the parents will break out the photo album: "Here's our sweet little girl pulling her pet kitten along in a rickshaw, here she is cooking her first dinner of General Tso's Chicken (note the cat doesn't appear in subsequent photos), and here she is posing with some random sweaty white dude when we were on vacation in Shanghai!"

Anyway, walked around for a few hours, don't remember the details. I did try a couple of random street foods. And by random, I mean I actually just pointed to stuff, having no idea what it might be, and bit in. It was all so cheap, worst case scenario you just chuck it and try something else. I found one I really liked - it was this pastry thing with some sort of sweet gelatinous paste inside, that I think might have been red bean-based.

Back to hotel, showered and decided to go in search of dinner. I wanted to stay in the neighborhood, and it was kind of overwhelming. But I also wanted to get something authentic. I walked down an alley-like side street off Nanjing and into a restaurant. It was a little shady looking, but not too bad. There was one group which included some white people, but other than that, the place was full of locals. They brought me to a table upstairs. To say the staff was rude doesn't come close to capturing the feeling. I (and no other person in the restaurant) was given cheap, disposable chopsticks as opposed to real ones, and a plastic cup for my beer. And I don't mean plastic cup like acrylic. I mean plastic cup like the one they give you at the dentist to rinse and spit. There were some really really great mistranslations on the menu, including several kinds of "crap" dishes. I gave them the benefit of the doubt and assumed they meant "carp," but I sure wasn't gonna chance it. I think I ended up ordering some fried pork dish and some vegetable that I saw on someone else's table that looked really good. It was a satisfying meal. Walked back toward the hotel, stopped for some little custardy dessert pastry things and an iced green tea, and went to bed.

Because I'm a Sucker

2005-10-09T16:19:00.000-04:00

and because it's free:

I have registered to play in the
Online Poker Blogger Championship!

This event is powered by PokerStars.

Registration code: 6486559

Big Pinz is going down.

Say Goodbye to Singapore

2005-10-05T22:47:00.000-04:00

Have you all noticed a pattern? Sloth complains about my lack of recent posting, and Poof! a new post appears. I do what the pretty girls ask, always. So, if I recall correctly (and I might not, as I’m now really really old), we left off with my return to Singapore after 20-something hours in KL:

Singapore
July 13, 2005

From the train station, I cabbed it back to Monkey’s place, ready for a day of just chilling out and relaxing, as I didn’t get a lot of sleep on the overnight train, and I had a 6:45 a.m. flight to Shanghai (through Hong Kong) coming up the next morning. Got back to Monkey’s place just in time to catch the beginning of The A-Team. Which rocks. I called Monkey to let him know I had arrived safely. Because I’m sure he was concerned. Concerned that I might inadvertently free the 14-year-old Filipino girl he had chained in the closet before he had a chance to make her a PB&J sandwich. Monkey informed me that his cleaning lady would be coming by to clean. I asked what time she showed up, thinking that I could just clear out of the apartment for a while and go sit by the pool, or go wander or something. Monkey told me a) he had no idea what time she showed up -- could be 5 minutes from now, or could be 4 in the afternoon; and b) I shouldn’t worry about being there when she arrived, because “I always have random people in the apartment. She’s used to it.” Of course. Of course.

I NEEDED to take a shower, so rushed in to try to make sure to at least be clothed when the cleaning lady showed up. Took a rushed dump, a rushed shower, I think I might even have rush shaved (which, in retrospect, probably wasn’t the greatest idea, as it would most certainly have freaked out the cleaning lady to find me on the bathroom floor in a pool of my own blood. Oh, wait. At Monkey’s place, that’s probably par for the course as well). Of course, then I sat and waited. And waited.

When the cleaning lady did show up, she was, as promised, not at all startled by my presence. Not because Monkey had warned her I’d be there, but just because I imagine seeing a polite, smiling white dude when you open the door to Monkey’s place is a huge relief as compared to some of the alternatives. The cleaning lady, Rose, happened to be quite pleasant. We chatted for quite a while (when she wasn’t changing her clothes in the kitchen closet) and spent some time watching Couples Fear Factor, which, coincidentally, featured a girl that Monkey and I went to High School with.

In the late afternoon, I took off and met Monkey near his office. We had made plans to meet up with Spacecake for a few drinks later in the evening. This was to be my first “blogger meeting,” which I now understand is a big deal. I was fairly sure she wasn’t any kind of serial killer, but hey, you never know. Monkey and I grabbed a quick food court dinner, and headed for New Asia Bar, where we had arranged to meet Spacecake. I had told her she’d be able to find us because we’d be “the two white guys” at the bar. But apparently this place was trendy and chichi enough that the description didn’t suffice, so Monkey described what the two of us would be wearing. There were a couple of confused phone calls, but eventually we found each other.

Spacecake was pretty much as I expected her to be. Very sweet and cute and a pleasure to spend time with. And she automatically gets bonus points for being a damned good photographer. Plus, she took Monkey in stride and somehow managed to not be offended by anything he said. Of course, she wasn’t one of the two Thai girls who he spent an hour harassing, only to have them inexplicably “disappear” when he went to the bathroom. (“I knew I shouldn’t have left. That shit happens all the time.” Swear – he said that.) I had way more beers than I had told myself I was going to. Remember, I had a 6:45 am flight the next morning. But around 10:30, I managed to convince Monkey that it was time to go. I still had to pack, and knew that staying out longer would mean more drinking, and it just would not be good. I was being a responsible adult. And I was very proud of myself.

The three of us headed back downstairs, and realized that there were very few cabs and a really long queue. Yeah, I said queue. Suck it. But they have this system in Singapore where, for an extra fee, you can call and reserve a cab, and the one they send you isn’t allowed to pick anyone else up. You can imagine how well that would work in NY – it would be like the Dr. Galakiewicz commercials: “Uh, yeah. I’m Monkey. I called for this cab.” But for the most part, it seemed to work over there. So while Spacecake and Monkey arranged for cabs, I went back upstairs to pee again. We parted ways with Spacecake (who, incredibly cutely, called a few minutes later to apologize for being on her cell phone when Monkey and I got into the cab and not engaging in what she considered to be a proper goodbye), and headed for home.

Except no we didn’t. I knew enough about Singapore from my time there to know that the destination Monkey gave the cab driver was not his place. He said that I couldn’t leave Singapore without experiencing the nightlife on Mohammed Sultan Road. He insisted that we make “1 more stop.” When in the jungle . . . . So, we hit the strip of bars which is, I gather, one of the happening areas. We hadn’t even entered a bar before Monkey was trying to get the phone number of one of the girls who was standing outside pitching a particular bar. In his version of playing hard to get, Monkey said we weren’t gonna go into her bar right away, but maybe later. So we headed across the street. To a bar called “CU.” Which, according to Monkey (and more reputable sources), used to be called “Coyote Ugly” until they got the cease and desist letter from fucking Disney or whoever owns the rights to that nightmare. The place was more like the NY original than the one at New York New York in Vegas is. Except for all the girls being Asian that is.

I had told Monkey going in that I was having one beer and going home. That’s not a threat to Monkey; we all know that he has no problem staying out by himself. So I ordered my beer. And sat down. And watched some of the girls dancing on the bar. And ordered another beer. And next thing I knew, I found myself being dragged up on top of the bar and dancing with one of the girls. And leaning backwards over the bar having tequila poured down my throat. Not necessarily in that order. Guess who that’s very not! Right, me!! At least I have something to fall back on if this whole . . . anything else doesn’t work out.

After my turn on the main stage (I perform under the name “Raven”), I decided I reall needed to go home and pack. So I left Monkey right there and hopped in a cab. I got home sometime between 12:30 and 1. Knew I had to call a cab for the trip to the airport in the morning. I set the pickup for 4:45. 4:45 in the morning. Which meant I had to be awake at 4, at the absolute latest. So I stole Monkey’s alarm clock, figuring there was a 50/50 shot he still wouldn’t be home by the time I had to leave. But he showed up around 3:15. Alone. It’s a good thing, too, because he was out of eggs.

Reason # 437 I'm a Moron

2005-09-19T22:12:00.000-04:00

Kuala Lumpur
July 13, 2005

Wednesday morning. Slept relatively late, and decided to have breakfast in the hotel lobby. It was a legitimate, American-style free buffet. They had an omelette guy and everything. [I wrote down in my journal "think of all the pussy he must get," but can't remember precisely why I thought that. I'm gonna assume it's simply because of how glad people like me are to see familiar food. Because otherwise . . . nah, never. NTTAWWT.]

After breakfast (and after taking one last dump for all of Malaysia to see), I checked out and left my bags with the bellman. I was taking the overnight train back to Singapore, so I had an entire day to kill. Headed out to Batu Caves. Where there were a lot of steps, and a lot of monkeys. The cute kind, not the kind that make omelettes for hookers. The hotel told me it should cost about 40 Ringgit to get there, and not to pay more than that. But I managed to find an honest cab driver who used the meter, and it came to 16.80. Sweet.

There's not much to say about the caves. I dig caves generally. These ones were pretty impressive. The walk up the stairs was as close as I'll ever come to climbing a mountain. I gotta say though, for a holy site, the upkeep leaves a lot to be desired. There was a bunch of grafitti and garbage all over the place. And don't blame the monkeys. When the guy pictured above finished his drink, he walked right over to the closest trash can and deposited the empty. He then turned to me, said, "Beastly hot today, isn't it, old chap?" and, with a tip of his hat, headed off to the opera.

Here's advice should you ever find yourself at Batu Caves. You need to pay for the audio tour headset at the bottom of the stairs. Wish somebody had told me. Thankfully, the guy who actually distributes the headsets (at the top of the stairs), was, after I asked nicely, more than happy to accept cash instead of a ticket from me. And I'm pretty sure he charged me something resembling the actual fee.

When I had seen enough of the caves (and the monkeys), I decided to head back to KL proper. Descended, and went looking for a cab back to the city. None of the guys waiting would agree to use the meter, and they wanted 30 Ringgit, which I knew was bullshit, since it cost me 16.80 to get there, and I wanted to go to the Petronas Twin Towers, which (I think) were closer to the caves than the hotel. I said "go screw yourself" (under my breath) and tried to flag down a cab on the street. Unsuccessfully. In the 100 degree heat. I had finally resigned myself to going back to one of the loiterers and agreeing to the jacked up price, when an available cab happened by. He also said 30. I told him it cost me 16 to get there. We settled on 20. And we were off.

Now, as it turned out, the driver would have done better had he agreed to use the meter, because we sat in traffic, and he had to take a few detours. So I ended up giving him 30 anyway.

The main attraction of the towers is a trip up to the Skybridge, which is only like 2/3 of the way up the buildings or something, but still pretty damned high. Apparently, they only give out a limited number of tickets per day, and people start lining up around 7:30 or 8 am. Needless to say, they were out by the time I got there. So I bought a bunch of cheesy unnecessary souvenirs in the gift shop, walked around the attached mall, and had lunch at an A&W. There is, right outside the towers, a beautiful park/outdoor space. So I went out there, walked and sat for a while. I was approached by some Filipino dude, and was a bit suspicious when he started talking to me. As it turned out, like so many people in Asia, he was simply being friendly and wanted to chat. So we did for a while. And that was that. Part of the park area was this little fountain/pool thingy where a whole bunch of kids were swimming and splashing around. And I sat and watched that for a few minutes. Until it occurred to me that, in Malaysia, a single white guy with a big camera hanging out and watching a bunch of wet children in various states of undress playing is probably a prime candidate for having his head whacked off with a dull sword. Yeah, I said "whacked off." So what?

I decided I'd take a stroll to the other landmark building in KL, creatively named the KL Tower. So I started walking toward it. But, much like my family's attempt to get to Fenway Park when I was a kid, simply because you can see it doesn't mean you can get there. I looked at maps, but there were all kinds of buildings and plazas and hills between me and it. And it was 146 degrees. So I said fuck it. I went back to the hotel, grabbed my bags, and decided to head for the train station, in hopes I could catch an earlier train back to Singapore. Which would have been a great plan. If there were an earlier train back to Singapore. But alas, the overnight train was the next departure. Which meant I was approximately 7 hours early. It was only as I was boarding the train those 7 hours later that it first occurred to me that I could likely have taken a bus, and been back in Singapore 2 hours before my train left. This was confirmed by Monkey the next day. That might be 437 and 438.

Not thinking of the bus solution, and despite the fact that I was exhausted, I decided I'd wander around Chinatown for a few hours to kill time. I checked my bag at the train station, and prepared to head out. And then looked out the windows. To see it totally pouring. Now, I don't mind the rain. Sometimes I quite enjoy walking around in it. And, unless I'm wearing a suit or going someplace where it's imperative that I look presentable, I don't carry umbrellas. I hate them. But being soaking wet for the 9 hour overnight train ride from KL back to Singapore just didn't seem like a great idea. So I went and unchecked my bag. And sat in the train station for 7 hours. With the help of a borrowed wireless signal, I was able to do some internetting. Also bought a book. And read it. And sat some more. And more. Changed my remaining Rinngit into Renminbi in preparation for Shanghai. And sat. Some Muslim woman, wearing headgear of some sort (yes, I AM embarrassed by how little I learned about the religion and culture in the places I went) came and sat down next to me, and it looked like she wanted to start up a conversation, but was hesitant. I smiled, but didn't know if it was impolite or otherwise inappropriate to start a conversation myself. Eventually, she gathered up the courage and started chatting. She was really sweet. She looked at my book and asked what it was I was reading. I believe my answer was something like, "just some airport trash type paperback." I'm sure she knew exactly what I meant. She told me that she liked to read in English too. Mostly Reader's Digest. I shit you not, that's what she said. We talked for a few minutes, then her cell phone rang, and she was off. So that's pretty much the same everywhere in the world.

Remember the bathroom in the Singapore train station that was incredibly gross? They had one of those in the KL train station too. And I had to use it. Yeah, use it use it. My own fault for eating that A&W crap for lunch. Now, my greatest fear was that I'd have to use one of those squatters. I just couldn't see it ending well. But I discovered that each mens' room had a bunch of squatters supplemented by 1 or 2 regular person toilets. Filthy disgusting regular person toilets, but at least I was comfortable with the physics of them. So, while I knew I wasn't going to happen upon any sparkling porcelain, I nevertheless set out to do a thorough recon. I checked at least 2, and possibly 3, different mens' rooms, looking for the least revolting option. It was still pretty revolting. But, like a trooper, I did what I had to do. And by the time I had finished inspecting every bathroom in the station, I REALLY had to do it. I survived, but I wouldn't feel clean again until I was back on American soil.

While still waiting for the train, I managed to watch a little bit of Malay Wheel of Fortune. Holy shit was that hilarious. I, of course, didn't understand it, but the visuals of the puzzles popping up were great. For those of you not familiar with Malay, take a look at this translation of some biblical passage the significance of which is lost on me, and you'll get the idea. It's like the opposite of Eastern European language -- there must be a different rule on vowels in the Malay version of the show, because Carlos Beltran could go broke buying them over there.

When I finally boarded the train, I regretted my decision to get a "sleeper" rather than just a plain old seat. Not on financial grounds this time -- the sleeper actually cost significantly less than even a second class seat on the way to KL. It's a weird thing about the currencies. There are about 2 Ringgit to a Singapore Dollar, but the tickets cost the same in each currency, i.e., if it's $30 S from Singapore to KL, it's 30R for the return trip, which comes out to 1/2 the price of the outbound. But I digress. The sleeper bed was like a hospital bed. But on a train. I have a longstanding, deep-seated fear of hospitals. And pulling those curtains around you made it like a hospital bed . . . in a coffin. I had a mini panic attack immediately upon boarding, but eventually I relaxed enough to do some reading, some ipod listening, and even some actual sleeping.

There was some jackass on a cellphone right as we left who was screaming and saying over and over again, "Woah, stop the train, turn it around!" It was much much more irritating than that, but I don't remember the details.

I did, in fact, arrive back in Singapore, 1/2 an hour or so late, but safe, if tired. More to follow.

Back On Track

2005-09-10T12:08:00.000-04:00

Because 2 of my favorite people, Big Al & Sloth, have recently complained about my slow progress in detailing my trip, and because I don't have any money to bet on today's college football games anyway (that's part of my new "government job" budget!), we continue with the trip to Kuala Lumpur.

Tuesday July 12, 2005

I was pretty excited to travel by train. There's a certain old movie, romantic-type appeal to it, and I've always wanted to do something stupid like travel across the US by train (remember, I'm the jackass that drove from NY to Vegas and back). Between the annual Amtrak derailings and my vast (largely torturous) experience on their Northeast Corridor, however, it didn't seem prudent at any convenient juncture. For this trip to KL, though, it seemed perfectly appropriate. In fact, I had rejected a closer & possibly more interesting Malaysian destination (the name of which escapes me some 2 months later -- NO - it was called Melaka!) because the only way to get there was by bus. I HATE buses, and when Monkey told me it was a 5 hour ride and he didn't think there were bathrooms on the bus, it was TOTALLY out of the question.

I got to the train station in Singapore very early. It's an old building, dating to 1923, and is beautiful in a humid, sweaty, grimy sort of way. 1923 is also the last time they had someone mop the men's room. I saw some vile bathrooms on this trip, but this one might win the prize. And don't get me started on the "squatter" toilet thing. (No, that link is not to a site I visit often, it just happens to have the best description of squat toilets I found on a quick search). Thank god all I had to do was pee. Though charging to get in to a bathroom in that condition is insulting, even at .20 Sing.

I finally was able to board the train. I had, on advice from friends of Monkey, booked a 1st class ticket, rather than 2d class. It meant spending twice as much money - $68 S rather than $34 S. What a ripoff that was! The seats might have been slightly larger, and I got a free apple juice, but other than that, there was no added comfort in the 1st class car.

[Here is where my journal has a two word bullet point that I couldn't now decipher if my life depended on it. This is why I should not have dragged out this process quite so long. Best I can tell, it says "Haber behig." So, if any of you know what that could mean -- or feel like making something up -- please leave a comment.]

Most of the rest of my 1st class car was occupied by a large group of Korean girls of approximately high school age (and their middle-aged chaperone). While that would sound promising in the porn version of my travelogue, all it really meant was that I had to lift about 37 suitcases onto the overhead rack, and get them down again upon arrival. They all said "Thank you," with a little smile and bow/nod, so it was stereotypically gratifying at least.

In terms of scenery, one of the reasons I've always wanted to travel by train, there wasn't much to see barring trees and the corrugated metal shacks indicating the abject poverty of the local residents. It seemed that both east and west qualified as the "wrong side of the tracks." I did manage to snap the picture above though, which you can imagine brought great comfort to someone traveling in a train that looked just like the one that had apparently been involved in a head-on collision. The least they could do is move it out of sight of the active tracks, no?

When we stopped at Malaysian immigration and customs, we got off the train, but nobody stamped my passport nor collected the "Arrival Card" I had filled out on the train. Cue imagination/daydreaming bubble with LiAps's vision of a Malaysian jail cell.

Also in my car were a mother and son (13ish, I think) from Houston (shout out Big Al!). I forget their exact story, but apparently some older woman who was traveling with them was a local who had come to visit them the year before and they were reciprocating.

OOH - there was an additional perk to traveling 1st class. The car had a tv. Which, for a good portion of the ride, was showing "New York Minute" starring the Olsen Twins. Now, I could tell you all that I watched it because I had, by this point, been traveling for over 2 weeks and was a bit homesick, and it made me smile to see such familiar sights as the Empire State building, and to watch the traffic zooming down 5th Avenue. And that would be partially true. Like 1.3% true. Maybe another .9% of the reason I watched the movie could be described as: Jesus, I'm on a train from Singapore to Kuala Lumpur - what the hell else am I gonna do? Which leaves (if my math is correct) 97.8% attributable to feeding my fantasies about the myriad ways I could violate Mary Kate and Ashley. Or Ashley and Mary Kate. Or just Ashley, as Mary Kate watched, while vigorously violating herself. Until I blew a whistle and they switched places. Or . . . well, you get the picture. And if you don't, you should totally rent that movie.

Upon arrival at the KL train station, I stubbornly insisted on taking public transportation to my hotel rather than hopping in a cab. Now, I basically had to figure out how to do this all on my own, because when I had called the hotel a few nights before and asked which subway/skytrain stop was closest to the hotel, they pretty much didn't want to tell me. They said, in effect, "why don't you just take a cab?" Well, I'm no one to give in to pressure from the man, so I looked at a map of KL, looked at the map of the public transit system, and figured out which stop was closest. And there I went. And walked across some bridge. And wandered around aimlessly for a good 10 minutes, backtracking and staring upwards, hoping to see a big building that said, in huge letters, "Sheraton Imperial, Kuala Lumpur." And sometime the next day, I actually noticed that building from afar. But for now, I asked 2 people who had no idea what I was talking about, and basically just wandered in what I thought was the right direction until I stumbled upon it.

The hotel was nice. Really nice. The bathroom was incredible, with floor to ceiling windows that I hope to God were tinted. They must have been, for if all of KL had watched me sitting on the toilet and showering, I surely would have been beheaded.

It was late afternoon, and raining, so I left my camera in the room and just started wandering in the general area of the hotel. Found a little street food area, and bravely ate several varieties of Indian-type stuff, which was totally delicious and ridiculously cheap. Ridiculously. More illegible notes, and then I went back to the hotel, after stopping into the mall and eating more food (there was a Roti stand that Orange Julius would have a fantastic trade dress infringement case against if so inclined).

Showered and chilled a bit at the hotel. It was, I admit, a bit disconcerting that I could hear, from the 20-somethingth floor and through closed hotel windows, muezzins doing the evening call to prayer all over the place. Malaysia is a very very Muslim country; there was a green arrow on the ceiling over the desk in my room pointing the way to Mecca. I had a little anxiety as a white American Jew wandering the city alone, but then remembered that they'd have to be crazy to mess with SpiderMan, so felt better.

I was tempted to stay in for the evening - it was raining, I was tired, I didn't really have much clue what to do. But I motivated myself to get out and wander; I was gonna spend 24 hours in this city, I couldn't waste too many of them watching CNN International. I hopped on the monorail (as opposed to the SkyTrain), which had a stop literally right outside the front door to my hotel, and made my way to Jalan Alor, one of the famous food stall areas of KL (I took some photos too, but don't like having more than one photo per post - that's not sufficiently teasing KtP). I walked the length of the street and back, and settled on a chinese place, about which -- you guessed it -- I can't read my fucking notes. I ordered a dish called "Claypot Chicken with Vinegar" and it smelled pretty good. I can't really tell you how it tasted, because the only utensils they saw fit to provide were a soup spoon and chopsticks. You try eating chicken on the bone without a fork or knife. The rice and beer were excellent. While I was sitting staring at my food, some crazy (I assume) deaf guy kept coming over to the tables in front of my stall and pointing to people's food, then pointing to the floor, followed up with the classic drawing-the-finger-across-the-throat sign. The message I took from this: "Your food has been on the floor and you will die upon ingesting it." I wish I knew sign language well enough to sign back: "Hah! Not if I cant get any of it my mouth in the first place smartass!"

Stopped at a 7-11 for water or iced tea and some late night snacks, and made my way back to the hotel, where I entertained the city with a shower, and just chilled out.

An Aside

2005-08-31T13:33:00.000-04:00

Taking a time out from recounting my trip. Been glued to the TV watching CNN coverage of Katrina aftermath. I am NOT one of those people who generally gets a kick out of disaster coverage, but this one is crazy.

New Orleans is a city I've been to a few times, as my sister went to school there, and I have a friend who grew up there and still lives (lived?) there - she and her family got out safely and are comfortable and dry in Florida, which is a great relief, especially considering she has a 2 year old and is currently 8+ months pregnant with twins. I watch and recognize streets and buildings on tv, and it's just nuts.

The photos and video, from NO and MS, are unreal. And the looting and assorted other stupidity - well, I wish I could honestly say I'm shocked by it. But I'm not.

Here's hoping the state, local and fed officials get their heads out of their asses relatively soon, and do everything possible to get things back on track ASAP. Though I'm sure you could all have figured this out on your own, you should, if so inclined, donate money to the Red Cross.

That's it for now.

Etc. Etc.

2005-08-27T00:46:00.000-04:00

So, I've delayed posting about the rest of the trip. Partly due to a bank account- liver- and soul-crushing trip to Vegas, and partly because the Monkey exploits are over; the rest of the trip will likely prove boring by comparison. That's the end of the hooker stories. Or, at least of the stories where one of them actually ends up in my hotel room. Nevertheless, I made a promise to complete the saga of my trip. So, onward.

Singapore
July 11, 2005

Having gotten back from Bangkok lateish, and still recovering from all that I had seen and heard while there, I slept in on Monday morning, while Monkey (eventually) went to work. I knew that the day of reckoning had come as far as going back to confront the ripoff artist who had conned me into buying the 2 suits. OK, so nobody conned me into anything, and it was my own sheer stupidity that got me screwed, but it kinda makes me feel better to turn it into a conspiracy. I was dreading going back, as I could still envision Master Dino and Bobby the motorbike-riding Korean tailor laughing at the Stupid American Infidel (me) over a pot of some sort of fancy tea. So, after watching the A-Team (maybe I COULD live abroad), I headed back for Chinatown. Furthering the procrastination, I grabbed lunch at what looked to be a decent "locals" Chinese place. It was pretty good, but already having a bad taste in my mouth from the ass-fucking I knew I was in for from the suit guy (metaphorical only, I hoped), the black pepper chicken probably wasn't the best choice.

Paid the check, and headed back to the shop. Once they realized I wasn't a moron coming in off the street to whom they could sell a bunch of burlap sacks for $2000, but rather a moron who had already paid $2000 for said sacks, I got the royal treatment. My finery was presented to me as though on a silver platter. Master Dino had me try on both suits and one shirt. And then he had me pose for pictures to be placed on his wall of fame. I explained that I was nobody of note, and saying "LiAps bought suits here" wouldn't get him much in the way of admiration. He mumbled something about my "body type" being spectacular. I fully expect to see my face on some Egyptian porn sites any day now.

I'm no expert on fabric, but I got a little nervous feeling the suits and the shirts. Everything actually fit pretty well, but I was still convinced it was made like shit and would fall apart after one dry cleaning - there were lots of loose threads hanging off the shirts (which Master Dino said would "come out in the wash"), etc. Now, part of the deal was that I would be able to choose 3 ties from Dino's extensive selection of cellophane wrapped neckwear. You know the kind of rack that's featured at every shitty corner souvenir store in NY - "Silk Ties $3; 4 for $10!" I made a showing of trying to match up ties with the shirts I had made. And Dino made a show of trying to help, expert that he was. And then, in flipping through the ties on the rack, I came across the item that truly summed up this whole suit-making fiasco. The tie featuring the Computer City logo print. Any shred of respectability and legitimacy that Master Dino had left to cling to in my eyes was gone. To the point where I actually said to him, "You know, if you want to be taken seriously, you should probably take this one off your rack." He smiled and nodded and pretended not to understand, or just ignored the comment very well. In the end, he threw in an extra tie, so really it all worked out.

Suits in hand, I grabbed a cab back to Monkey's place. I was still tired, and honestly felt like there wasn't that much left to see in Singapore. So I chilled out in the AC, and caught up on email and blogging (caught up being a relative term, I guess, since I'm first writing about that day a month and a half later). Met Monkey for dinner. We went to one of Singapore's (in)famous [that's like MORE than famous] outdoor food courts. Other than the fact that I spent a good portion of the meal dodging roaches, it was all good. When we got back to Monkey's he and I embarked on our planned "MP3 exchange," whereby we would each add songs from the other's music library to our respective computers. We stayed up until 3 am doing this (despite the fact that I was to leave for Kuala Lumpur on the 8:30 am train), and in the end, he took a ton of songs from me, I took none from him, and he managed to fuck up my computer in ways that I'm still trying to fix - every time he copied a song, it resulted in 2 and sometimes 3 extra copies of the song somehow ending up in my itunes library. Have I mentioned that Monkey works in IT??

Kuala Lumpur details to follow (the picture above being a mere teaser).

Patience Is A Virtue

2005-08-16T13:41:00.000-04:00

And you all have been patient. So here's the rest of the story from Bangkok. Keep in mind, there's still almost 2 weeks left on the LiAps World Tour, so don't stop visiting this blog just yet.

When I left you, I had just parted ways with Monkey, leaving him at the club while I headed back to the hotel. I should have known better than to follow in Monkey's footsteps at all, but I decided that I was kind of hungry, and I had the cab driver drop me off down the street, in front of Subway. Though Monkey had left Subway the night before with a new friend, I swear, I just wanted a sandwich. In case you hadn't figured this out yet, I'm not the kind of guy who picks up overweight unattractive Thai hookers at fast food joints. So I got my sandwich -- to go -- and set out to walk the one block to the hotel. And I almost made it. But I was "intercepted." By whom, you ask? Well, the football analogy should give you a clue. . .

That's right, I ran smack into Junior!! Not such a crazy coincidence, considering where Monkey had picked her up. Apparently, she worked at an outdoor late-night bar right on the sidewalk there between Subway and the hotel. So I was greeted by repeated choruses of "Where you friend? Where you friend?" I replied, quite truthfully, that I had no idea, and tried to juke my way around Junior (no mean feat) in an effort to get the rock (my 6-inch turkey on wheat) downfield and over the goal line (into the hotel lobby). But Junior, ever the vigilant defender, wasn't having it. Apparently, if she couldn't have Monkey, I would do. So she implored me to have "just one beer" with her at her bar. After protesting for a while, I gave in, sat down at a sidewalk table, told Junior I'd have a Chang (the last thing I needed was another overproof beer), and vowed to get out of there as quick as possible. She brought me my beer and sat down with me. The not insubstantial language barrier was a sort of saving grace for me, as our conversation consisted mostly of the now familiar "Where you friend?" When Junior got up to speak with one of her co-workers about some bar business, I saw my chance. Left some cash, including an overgenerous tip, grabbed my sandwich, and took off for the hotel.

Where I ate my sandwich (and, I think, the Snickers out of the minibar), and proceeded to pass out. Until the phone rang at around 3:30. "Monkey?" "No, he's not here." It was, of course, Junior. Give her credit for persistence (though one has to wonder about her sanity, having spent one night with Monkey and actually wanting to come back for more). She didn't seem to believe me when I said that he wasn't there. Though the phone had woken me from a dead sleep, believe me, Junior, I'd know if Monkey were in the room. So, convinced or not, I hung up and went back to sleep. Until 5. When the phone rang again. "Monkey?" "No - he's not here!!" Still true! And, this is when I start wondering about where on the Jennifer Wilbanks Psychosis Scale Junior falls. Let's recap - she's a fat, ugly Thai girl who knows my hotel room number and is apparently obsessed with the old friend of mine with whom I happen to be traveling. I think that's as far as I got before passing out again.

My slumber was not to last long (nor will I ever sleep completely soundly again), for Monkey did eventually return at around 6. And, as you might have guessed, he was not alone. The whore du jour was significantly smaller than Junior. But no more attractive. Her name: Wingnut. Because that's what it sounded like she said when introducing herself to me several hours later. While I wish my memory could simply skip the intervening period, much like a time lapse maxi-pad commercial, it wouldn't be fair. To me; if I have to live with these images and sounds etched into my brain for eternity, you all should at least have an idea of what it was like. Burying my head under my pillow was not sufficient to block out the noises -- guttural and high-pitched; some recognizable as words, others that I couldn't spell even if I knew the Thai alphabet; none of which I ever ever ever wanted to associate with Monkey. And, of course, there's only so long one can bury his head under a pillow without coming up to breathe. So there were a few glimpses to go with the sounds. Having seen Monkey positioned behind Wingnut with one hand on her ass and the other on the back of her neck, I don't believe I will ever again be able to joke with my friends about "wanting to watch." Ever.

I was just waiting for a break in the action, as I knew I had to get out of there. And, thankfully, one came at around 7. So it had only been an hour since Monkey and Wingnut got back to the room. But it felt like 6 consecutive life sentences. I showered, said goodbye, and ran out of the room. At 7:30 on a Sunday morning. In Bangkok. Where the fuck did I think I was going?? I dunno, but it had to be better than where I came from. For lack of a better idea, and because I regretted my failure to purhase a duffel bag the day before, I headed back for the Chatuchak Market. Which would have been a much better idea had anyone else been there. Despite being advertised as opening at 8 am, it was fairly deserted. But, nevertheless, I wandered around the few open stalls. While I did buy a small duffel bag, I couldn't find the donut-on-a-stick lady again, so was SOL as far as the Green Tea donuts were concerned (at least for the time being).

I wandered around the market for a while, eating and drinking little things, then got myself a Coke in a glass bottle (I never get tired of that) and sat down in the park across from the market to enjoy it. After I got tired of the homeless people begging for money (all of whom I gave some cash) and the people trying to sell me crap (none of which I bought), I decided to get up and head back for the hotel. It was 10ish, and we had to check out of the room by noon anyway, so I figured if it was up to me to rouse (or interrupt) Monkey and Wingnut, I'd bite the bullet. On my way out of the park, I saw a bunch of dudes wearing military uniforms lying on blankets in the grass. And they were lying in such a way as to suggest that "Don't Ask Don't Tell" isn't the policy in Thailand. NTTAWWT! But it was a strange sight.

So, I arrived back at the hotel around 10:45. Killed some time checking email etc. in the hotel biz ctr (which charged about 10X the going rate for internet access, but not much else open Sunday am). Then, took a deep breath, and headed for the room. Monkey and Wingnut were still there, asleep. I wasn't particularly enamored of the idea of talking to either of them right at that moment, but we had to check out in an hour. I tried simply saying "Time to get up, dude" a couple of times, but that wasn't doing it. So I had to get loud. The happy couple finally started stirring. Monkey tried protesting that he needed to sleep more, but I (gently but firmly) explained that we had to check out of the fucking hotel in an hour. Wingnut was no more interested in getting up. Monkey said something about "extending checkout," but I wasn't having it (nor was the hotel, but that was secondary in my mind). I insisted that it was time to get up and get the hell out of the hotel. They dilly-dallied a bit more, but I got them semi-coherent. Wingnut and I even had a bit of a conversation, from which the only thing I took conclusively was that she thought I looked like SpiderMan. But even my superpowers weren't gonna turn back the clock, and 35 minutes short of noon, it was take no prisoners time. I did the unthinkable (in a world where bringing a filthy Thai hooker back to our hotel room was not only thinkable, but SOP). I opened the curtains, flooding the room with light. And was greeted with a howl like nothing I've ever heard before:

"NOOOOOOO!!! NOOO, SPIDERMAN!!!! PEEEEEAAASSSE!!!!!!!!"

It was as though Wingnut were a vampire. As it turned out, she was just a hungover whore, tired from a morning of Monkey sex. Monkey had submitted, and hit the shower. With Wingnut, it was all about tough love, though. I held my ground through several rounds of "I no like you anymore SpiderMan!" and Wingnut got up, showered, and got her shit together too.

Now, were Monkey a regular human being, he would have sent Wingnut on her way, and he and I would have figured out what we wanted to do to kill the afternoon before heading to the airport for our 7:30 flight. But he's Monkey. So, what actually happened was that he decided that he would rather go with Wingnut to her place, to "sleep and fuck" for a few hours, and meet up with me later. So, we all went and checked out, I left my luggage with the bellman, bid Wingnut a fond farewell, and agreed to meet Monkey in the hotel lobby at 4:00.

I was exhausted and incredulous, and didn't really have a whole lot of ideas for how to kill the afternoon. So I decided on my default activity - wandering around camera in hand. I headed for the Chinatown area. If you recall my post from the first day in Bangkok, I noted the travel book's warnings about con men who insist that whatever sight you're headed for is "closed," and try to entice you with an alternative itinerary. As soon as I hit Chinatown, a whole bunch of tuk tuk drivers tried to get me to visit Temple X or Temple Y or let them take me to some mall or other. I declined, saying I was simply "walking." I was a little confused when they kept saying things were "closed." I wasn't looking to go to a museum or anything, just to wander. Lo and behold, they were telling the truth. 95% of Chinatown was covered in roll-down metal gates and the streets were largely deserted. Chinatown was closed.

This didn't stop me from wandering a bit more, but it was hot, I was tired, and I was ready to leave Bangkok. I headed back toward the general direction of the hotel, wandered the main street for a little while (taking the picture above, among others) and stopped in to an Irish Pub for lunch and a beer. After that, it was almost 3. I had an hour to kill before I had to meet up with Monkey. I had stopped in at a bookstore and bought a couple of cheap paperbacks, as I was almost finished with the book I had been reading. So I sat in the hotel lobby, reading one of the books, and waiting for Monkey.

He arrived 15 minutes late, looking as dissheveled as ever. He hadn't eaten (there must not have been time what with the sleeping and the fucking), so I sat with him while he ate something that I wouldn't have gone anywhere near in a dirty "American style" restaurant. We then went back to the hotel. I got my bags, successfully argued with the front desk that nobody took an Evian or a Mars bar from the minibar (after conferring with Monkey to confirm that neither he, Junior, nor Wingnut had done so), and we hopped in a cab for the airport. Things we discussed included primarily "She wasn't that bad, right?" I tried to be diplomatic while also pointing out to Monkey that, in some photographs Wingnut had with her in the hotel room, she was wearing a number. I.e., she was (unlike Junior) a confirmed whore. But, on the bright side, Monkey insists he didn't have to pay her!

We got to the airport way early - very little traffic for a Sunday evening. This left Monkey time to give his phone number to one of the employees of the Duty Free shop, and for us to fill out a tourism survey conducted by college students from Macau. Finally, we got on the plane, and said goodbye to Bangkok.

Jesus, Is He Still In Bangkok?

2005-08-12T10:01:00.000-04:00

Well, while I am obviously not, my story still is. And I think I'm ready to continue. For those of you who migt be curious, from here on out, my travels will be recounted glasses-free, as I have (so far) survived the LASIK surgery performed on my eyes yesterday afternoon. Pretty cool. OK, I left you all in:

Bangkok
July 9, 2005

Having survived the monsoon and placed in the 34th Annual Heidi Fleiss Billiards Tournament, Monkey and I headed back to the hotel to shower and hit the town. We first returned to Soi Cowboy, to see what it was like when it was alive, rather than what it was like in the afternoon. Though we tried to sneak by the bar where we played pool (because we had promised the ladies we would "come back later"), they did, in fact, spot us. So we chatted for a few minutes, never crossing the physical threshhold of the place (for fear that, like in a horror movie, gates and doors would, seemingly of their own volition, slam behind us, deadbolts would turn without being touched, and one of our hookers would say something to the effect of "No Farang escapes this bar without paying to fuck me. Bwahahahahahah!"), and, once again, said we would return later, after checking out a few of the other bars.

There was one purported country-themed bar which promised live music, and an Asian dude with serious long hair was obviously tuning up on stage and getting ready to jam. I would have loved to stick around long enough to be able to, in the middle of his set, yell drunkenly, "Pray some Skynyld man! Fleebild!!!!" But, as the guy was not naked and wearing a number, Monkey wasn't interested in staying too long. So we moved on to a bunch of go-go bars. My notes aren't great, but some things you never forget:

At one of the go-go bars, there was a dancer who reminded me quite a bit of an ex-girlfriend of mine. Now, you're all correct - I've never dated any kind of Asian chick, let alone a Thai girl. But she had a similar body, and there was something about her eyes too. There was also the dyed blonde hair. I was, apparently, expending an inordinate amount of visual energy on this girl -- let's call her, oh, I don't know, #25, because that's the number she was wearing the only place there was room for it, on her boot -- because one of the other employees motioned to her, and next thing I knew, 25 had come to sit down next to me. We "talked" and smiled and I bought her and several of her friends a few Lady Drinks. I wasn't gonna be rude and ask her to leave. But I also wasn't gonna do anything to lead her to believe that she should go pack up her stuff and follow me to my hotel. As it turns out, that wouldn't even have been necessary, because one of the "mama sans," the women who run the ho rental franchises in the go-go bars, came over and inquired as to whether I would like to take 25 "upstairs."

This place wasn't just your average go-go bar, but a full on whorehouse. All I could think of were saloons in old westerns where they have rooms upstairs for the gunslingers to drag a hoop-skirted girl by the arm, calling her "little missy" all the way, and telling her how purty she is. But, of course that's how it worked - I was in Soi Cowboy! I declined, politely and repeatedly, again blaming my imaginary "girlfriend at home," and we eventually left that bar.

To move on to a similar place. This one was a kind of ("it's OK, it's a") hybrid. A go-go bar with a live band. I must say, the band wasn't bad. Nor were the girls. I again made the mistake of focusing on one in particular. We'll call her "Doc," because -- crazy story -- she was actually working at this place to put herself through med school. See, in Thailand, there's not a whole bunch of other ways for an attractive young girl who comes from a poor family to make decent cash, and she had her heart set on becoming a pediatrician so she could go back to her small village in Northern Thailand and provide much-needed medical care for the impoverished children.

Wait, did you really believe that? Moron. We're calling her "Doc" because she was #16. So, Doc came and sat down next to me, and was really friendly. She was really cute, and smiled a lot, and was nice even before I bought her and a few of her friends some Lady Drinks. She actually seemed kind of shy, to the extent that a girl who keeps putting her hand on your crotch in an effort to get you to agree to pay her for sex can accurately be described that way. She left a few times to go back on stage and dance, but always came right back to me when she was done. Monkey told me that I should have been particularly flattered that she went to the bathroom to "freshen up" after dancing before coming to sit by my side again. And, in some perverse way, I was kind of flattered. She sat with me for quite a while, arms around mine, touching my hand. It was like we were at the movies. Except instead of watching Tom Cruise try to drive the alien invaders to surrender by preaching to them about the horrors of antidepressants and hearing Dakota Fanning shrieking like the evil being from hell that she is, we were listening to some Thai dudes playing a passable version of that Santana song, and watching a bunch of Doc's colleagues shake their tits and rub up against some chrome poles.

Doc was cute and sweet and all that. And I started to legitimately feel bad that she was expending so much effort on me when I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she wasn't gonna get what she wanted. I said so, explicitly, several times, giving her an opportunity to take her leave graciously. I certainly would not have been offended; I know her objective is to sell the VIP package, hot wax and all, and I wasn't interested in any more than the exterior wash. I sure wasn't gonna let her rub down my tires with Armor-All. But she hung out with me, no doubt because, on some level, she realized that I was infinitely more pleasant company than any nasty old dude who would actually go for the works. Or because she was trying to snag my wallet out of my pocket without me noticing.

But after spending more time with Doc than I have with women on most first dates, it happened. She kissed me. It was soft and gentle and she's cute and she smells good and OH MY GOD SHE'S A FUCKING HOOKER. A HOOKER JUST KISSED ME!!!!!

Part of me wanted to run to the Men's room and wash my mouth out with the urinal cake. But that would have been rude. So I smiled, patted her on the arm, apologized to her, and told Monkey that it was definitely time to go. To Doc's credit, she hung on until the bitter end, not giving up. I finished my beer (making sure to swish a few gulps of it around in my mouth in hopes the alcohol would do a little disinfecting on the way down), we paid, I touched Doc's shoulder and said goodnight. And she followed us out of the bar, a look on her face like I had just strangled her puppy. I felt horrible. Like I had let her down. How ridiculous is that?? Very. Very ridiculous. Once outside, I gave her a hug, and a kiss on the cheek, and said goodnight. I felt like I had just ended a 3 year relationship. Doc, it's not you, it's me.

So, after an experience like that, there was only one thing to do. Hit a few more go-go bars. Including one that had a schoolgirl theme. Which is hot. But I made damn sure to spread my visual attention around evenly, and managed to escape the places without a rebound girl to help me get over Doc.

We went on to another overpriced velvet rope club. At which I stayed for approximately 15 minutes. Enough to get and drink half of my first "included in the price of admission" drink, pee, and say adios to Monkey, who had, in the same amount of time, attempted (unsuccessfully) to talk to 4 women, at least. I handed him the ticket for my other "free" drink, as I knew he'd put it to good use, and headed back to the hotel, circa 1 am.

Yeah, you can wait for what happened next.

One (More) Night In Bangkok

2005-08-05T01:54:00.000-04:00

OK, since there's no way I'm gonna fall asleep anytime soon, having just seen in my bedroom (and killed) the scariest looking bug ever (I hit my wall so hard with a shoe that the paint cracked; I shit you not), let's go on with the story of Bangkok.

July 9, 2005
Still Bangkok. Still with Monkey (who is most assuredly NOT simply an alter ego of mine, KtP).

After breakfast, at an overpriced (but still cheap as hell) American place, Monkey and I headed for the Chatuchak Weekend Market. I have to say, this was the sight I was most looking forward to seeing in Bangkok (with the exception of all the hookers, of course). I'm a big fan of markets generally, and this one was supposed to be huge and have everything from pirated DVDs to live chickens. We took the SkyTrain out, and the place was, in fact, huge, and packed. I think I wandered around the perimeter for a good 25 minutes before I realized that there were actually interior aisles as well. It was hot as hell, and I kept downing waters and iced teas. They were like a quarter each. Crazy. Part of the problem with the place being so big was that it was also a bit confusing. I walked past some of the same things 4 times, but know I missed whole sectors (inclding that containing the live chickens, much to my chagrin). But it was still awesome. I bought some crap souvenirs, as well as some (crap) ties and two (crap) pairs of shorts, which I "tried on" by stretching the elastic waist around my neck, at the suggestion of some Asian dude who, it turns out, was just shopping himself. (There are signs all over prohibiting people from truly trying things on; I guess when you pay $2.17 for a [insert currently fashionable designer] dress, they're entitled to expect the customer to take some risk). Monkey bought some stuff too, including a hat and a backpack. I must say, though, my favorite purchase of the day: mini donuts on a stick. They were out of the one flavor I really wanted to try (Green Tea), but I sucked it up and had the coffee flavored ones. Man, those were good.

When we had had enough marketing (after eating the cheapest lunch ever), we decided to wander back to the general vicinity of our hotel. For a change of pace, we took the subway rather than the SkyTrain (Monkey figured there would be a different group of chicks, one of whom he tried totally unsuccessfully -- comically so, in fact -- to talk to while waiting for the train). When we got off the subway, we were not far from the famous "Soi Cowboy," an area of bars, at least a couple of which are Western themed, which is even funnier in Bangkok than it is in NY. We walked up and down the street, but the bars were kind of dead, as it was still mid-afternoon. We decided to stop in at a "regular" (read: shitty and not featuring naked women) bar which had a couple of pool tables to have a few beers and possibly play some pool. We ended up staying there for several hours, drinking lots of beers, and playing lots of pool, as a torrential downpour came out of nowhere. The place was pretty much empty, except for the women who worked there. And by that I mean bartenders/whores. Because I, for some ridiculous reason, feel bad calling every woman in Bangkok a whore (even the actual whores), and in keeping with the corporate trend toward title inflation, lets call them Vice Presidents of Refreshment and Copulation (VPRC). These VPRCs were actually very friendly and not overly pushy. They played pool with us for a good 1/2 hour or so before coming right out and asking if we wanted to take them home. One of them took a particular liking to me, and I was friendly in return. To a point. The "you no like me?"s got a little tiresome, but, again, we were all just chillin'. Truth be told (and this sounds ridiculous), but I actually was more "interested" in one of the other VPRCs. Less conventionally attractive, I think, than the one who was hanging on me, but, in BizarroWorld, she could have been a LiAps Special. She was cute and sweet and all the things you look for in a girl.

On the other hand, there's that whole DIRTY HOOKER thing.

So, once the rain stopped, Monkey and I headed back to the hotel to shower and get ready for the big Bangkok finale!

Which I'll tell you about soon.

Monkey Goes Down In The Backfield

2005-08-03T22:55:00.000-04:00

So I, like a good boy, went to bed around 1:30. Monkey stumbled in around 4. Mumbling something (you must understand - even when sober, Monkey mumbles; he's impossible to comprehend) about having met a girl at Subway. Yes, Subway. There was one right down the block from our hotel. He stopped for a late night sandwich and met a girl. I said "uh huh." Then he said, "Yeah. I gave her our hotel room number, so she might call later."

OK. 1. It's 4 am. When is later? 2. YOU GAVE THE GIRL, A STRANGER YOU MET AT SUBWAY IN BANGKOK, OUR ROOM NUMBER? Traveling with Monkey - you can't beat it. My first question was answered not too long after, as the phone rang at 6:30: "Monkey?" "No. Hold on." And that's when he invited the Subway girl up to our room. At 6:30 am.

Now, our hotel room had 2 single beds. Single, not double. They were approximately 8 inches apart. I knew that I had to do my best freshman roommate impersonation, pretending to be asleep. This was exceedingly difficult, in light of the noises coming from the bed right next to me. RIGHT next to me. I hid my head under my pillow for several hours. But around 9:30, I knew I wasn't gonna sleep anymore (at least not without horrifying nightmares), and knew I had to get out of there soon. So I got up, and said good morning to Monkey and his new friend. They awoke too. And I got a good look at Monkey's prize. I don't mean to be unduly harsh here. But, from the moment I saw this girl, it was decided that she would forever be known as "Junior." Because, if you were to ask me what she looked like, the best way I could describe it to you would be to say she looked pretty much . . . exactly . . . like . . . wait for it. . . Junior Seau (and, just to be clear, that's the one on the left in that picture).

I believe Monkey got a good look at Junior as well (perhaps his first), because once I said I was gonna shower and get going, he said "yeah, me too," and got ready to go right quick (as opposed to what happened the next morning). So, the 3 of us walked out together, Junior making some comment about how Monkey should buy her a papaya salad for breakfast (after all, unlike the girl in Singapore, Junior got no cheese omelette). But her suggestion came to naught, as we parted ways, Monkey and I to have breakfast, and Junior to do God knows what, because how do you follow a night with Monkey?

Over breakfast, Monkey told me that he did not have sex with Junior, as he didn't have a condom. I was very proud of Monkey. Of course, even if I found myself on the Trojan factory floor, putting any part of my body into any part of Junior's body would not have crossed my mind. To his credit, he also acknowledged that Junior was not particularly attractive, "but I was wasted." All's well that ends well, I guess.

For my part, I was OK once I managed to dismiss the unfounded idea that Junior might have used my toothbrush while in the hotel bathroom.

Bangkok, Take 1

2005-08-01T18:38:00.000-04:00

OK. You've waited long enough. Let the beginning of the end begin:

Friday, July 8
Bangkok

Where were we? After sweating through the Grand Palace and staring inappropriately at the 18 and 20-year-old girls on the boat, had bad pad thai and went to chill at the hotel. Around 8, Monkey arrived. In typical Monkey fashion. By which I mean drunk, and babbling something about having lost his passport in the cab on the way from the airport to the hotel. He obviously had it when he cleared immigration, but didn't have it when the front desk asked for it. So, he was potentially fucked. Except that, in totally not typical Monkey fashion, he had somehow managed to retain that little piece of paper they give you which tells you the number of the cab you rode in. And, in a move totally out of proportion to the quality of our hotel, he had apparently asked the concierge to "take care of" tracking down the driver and retrieving his passport. After all, we shouldn't lose any valuable drinking and whoring time on account of such a mishap.

So out we went. Now, when the idea of Monkey meeting me in Bangkok for the weekend was first floated, he, as a Bangkok veteran, gave me a preliminary rundown on the nightlife: "There are really 3 kinds of bars. There's the hooker bars, the go-go bars, and the regular bars and clubs. We'll go to all 3." And so we did. By "hooker bar," Monkey apparently meant a bar that, while not necessarily advertised as such (prostitution being illegal and all), is full of hookers. We went to one of these that was just around the corner from the hotel. And, to nobody's surprise, no sooner had we ordered a beer and taken a seat by the place where the window would have been if the bar had windows than two young ladies sat down next to us and started talking to us. These two were friendly, but not overly aggressive. We smiled and talked. I'm pretty sure Monkey pulled the routine that would get very old by the end of the weekend, pointing at me and saying "No like lady, he like ladyBOY!" There were some other hos lingering in the background, in case we should indicate that, while the two who had gotten to us first were not particularly to our tastes, we'd truly like nothing more than to pay strangers for sex. But after a beer or 2, Monkey was impatient to move on to the second category of bar.

We did not have to go far. Here's a Bangkok go-go bar in a nutshell: it's like a strip club, with lots of girls (and I'm using "girls" instead of "women" quite deliberately) dancing on stage and wandering around the bar. Each of them wears a number. According to Monkey, who I trust implicitly on such matters, the numbers serve a practical purpose. That of avoiding undue confusion when ordering one of the girls from your server. For instance, "I'll take a Heineken and that girl who was rubbing her pussy on the third pole from the left a couple of minutes ago when they were playing 'Pour Some Sugar On Me,' you know, the Asian one," is a lot tougher for someone who speaks very little English than "I'll take a Heineken and number 52." Monkey tells me (and I'm sure he read this somewhere) that once you decide on your lucky number for the night, you have to pay the bar a sort of rental fee, which entitles you to negotiate with the girl herself. It's a hell of a system. We went to a few of these bars (including one featuring exclusively ladyboys; the novelty could not make up for the aggressive groping - Monkey and I didn't even finish our beers. I've been to Lucky Cheng's before, but this was ridiculous), and while neither Monkey nor I took home a girl, we did chat with some, and buy them some drinks. "Lady Drinks" are significantly more expensive than regular drinks (though still a bargain by NY standards) - even if they just want a Coke, it costs between 1.5 and 2x what a beer costs when you buy one for yourself. As explained in the Book of Monkey, Chapter 3, Verse 16: "Yea, though the whores drinketh only soft drinks, verily will the white man be charged twice the going rate, as for each vessel of liquid purchased in the name of a harlot, said harlot shall receive a percentage of the proceeds theretofore designated by the management."

So, I had seen some go-go bars in Bangkok, managed to -- politely -- decline all offers to take home a hooker, and was off to the third kind of bar. Which turned out to be a club. Now, we know I'm not a club person. But I did it in Singapore, and figured this trip was all about doing things I don't usually do. So, once again, I paid a steep (by Thai standards) cover, passed through a velvet rope (though there was no wait at this club), and set out to enjoy the "UH-UH-UH" bass thump. Other than the fact that the crowd was 90-something percent Asian, it was just like a club in NY. Monkey spent a fair amount of time chatting up (among other women), the ladies' room attendant - shoot for the stars, Monk!. She didn't seem that into him, which was strange, since, as he'll tell you if you ask, he's smooth. Monkey ran into some girl he knew (read: had slept with on a prior occasion), and we talked to her for a while. There came a point when I had had enough to drink (well, OK, that point came several hours before) and the smoke in the place was really getting to me. So, content with my evening, I headed back to the hotel around 1 or 1:30.

Waiting for me was a flashing light on the hotel phone. I retrieved the message - Mr. Monkey should contact the Duty Manager to retrieve his passport. He did not deserve to be so lucky, especially considering the events to follow . . .

Which is where I'll leave you all for now.

The Deal, Yo

2005-07-27T01:55:00.000-04:00

OK, people. You've no doubt been checking this page 37 times a day, waiting for the next update and cursing me for keeping you hangin'. Or you've forgotten about me entirely and taken up mahjong. Either way, this is the scenario:

I intend to finish posting about my trip. I'm home now, and have a LOT to write, and hopefully a lot more pictures to post. The process, once I start, will likely drag out over several weeks. And, when it's done, it's done. The end of the trip will be the end of this blog. I'm not presuming that you care, and I'm not expecting a Slothesque protest and group cry. Nor would such a reaction change m'mind. When I started this thing a year plus ago, I observed that it was not really a me thing to do. I'm not exactly the same me I was at that time, but some basics remain. And while it's nice to have a forum for my ramblings, I think this little experiment has run its course. As with so many other past activities, interests, and, yes, people, I think I'm just not that into you anymore, blogging.

I have every intention of keeping up with the rest of you, my loyal (or not so loyal) readers; I'm not gonna take down the page, so my links will remain intact, and I'll check you out. Maybe, one day, I'll have something to say that is so important, revolutionary and/or life-changing that I'll have no choice but to throw it out there. Until then, I'll be available by email. And the red phone in Commissioner Gordon's office.

Happy Belated Bangkok

2005-07-21T07:32:00.000-04:00

Monkey Sex
Originally uploaded by LiAps.

Sorry folks. I took a little hiatus from blogging. I should be caned. But I have been taking photos and scribbling little notes in my journal, like a good 15-year-old girl (Does he like me like me, or just like me?!?!?!?!), so once I get home, after I sleep for 4 days or so, I should be able to catch you up right quick. Here goes Bangkok, which will span several posts, no doubt.

Now, the picture above was actually taken at Batu Caves outside Kuala Lumpur, but I thought it appropriate, as it depicts monkey sex, which made up a large part of what I was forced to endure during my weekend in Bangkok.

After arriving in Bangkok, and taking what I'm told is the cheapest cab ride ever from the airport to my hotel, I knew I had some time to kill before Monkey arrived. I also knew that, to the extent I wanted to see any actual historical/sightseeing type things, I better get it done before he arrived, since Monkey's theory on Bangkok is, "If it doesn't have tits, I don't need to see it."

So I headed for the Grand Palace. The way to get there from my hotel was to take the SkyTrain to one of the river boats. Which I did. The boats are notoriously cheap. I believe the ride I took cost 7 baht. For everyone but me. Somehow, I swear, they charged me about 50 baht. Which is still only $1.25, but it was unreal.

Got off at the pier and headed for the Palace, and just as promised in the book, there were a whole bunch of con-artists trying to convice me the palace was the opposite way, and/or that it was closed. And I spent a good 5 minutes talking to one of them. Because it took me that long to cross the street. But, nevertheless, I made it to the Grand Palace. It was so damn hot that I can't begin to describe to you how much I was sweating. I know that's already a theme of these entries, but it's just so true. I thought "Biloxi Blues" was a good movie, and I have used the phrase "Africa Hot" for years. But henceforth, I will have to substitute "Southeast Asia Hot." And not even the worst August day wating for the subway will qualify.

But I did the Grand Palace in the ridiculous heat. I'm not sure how much of the Palace I saw. The grounds are huge, and consist of a lot of really ornate buildings, some of which are temples and such. I just wandered around, delirious like Chevy Chase trudging through the desert in "Vacation" (though I didn't put mu pants on my head, as that's considered disrespectful in religious places), taking some pictures and sweating more. Honestly, the palace stuff was amazing and beautiful. Some of my pics, I think, came out OK, and perhaps I'll post some later.

After wandering the Palace grounds for a few hours, I decided that there was nothing else in the general area that I needed to see so badly, so I would head back in the general area of the hotel to wander a bit more and enjoy some AC while waiting for Monkey to arrive. I ended up talking to these two cute American girls who were doing a 3-week Thailand trip. They were 18 and 20. Wow am I old. I helped them make sure they got off the boat at the right place, but couldn't help them further once we got on the train, since they had no idea what stop to get off at for their hotel. Young, cute and dumb - perfect!

When I got back to the area of my hotel, I was starving, and knew I couldn't wait for Monkey to arrive to eat. But I was also so hot and tired I couldn't put a lot of effort into figuring out where to go. Which is how I ended up in the food court of the mall across the street, where I had the WORST PAD THAI EVER!!!! In fucking Thailand. I've had better pad thai in shitty restaurants in Atlanta, for Chrissakes. I think they made it shitty for me purposely. I guess I can't complain too loud, since it cost the equivalent of 75 cents, but it was kind of depressing.

Even in my semi-decent hotel, there were more than a few Western guys with young Thai "companions" walking around. Nobody even blinks about that shit over there. Still, NONE FOR ME. I don't do hookers. Chilled for a while, showered and shaved, and hoped that Monkey would show me a rockin' Friday night in Bangkok. Because who knows better than Monkey where the girlz is at??

Get In The Ring MuthaFucka!

2005-07-13T21:14:00.000-04:00

So, my last night on Samui. I’m all relaxed from my massage, took a little nap and watched a little TV. How do I end this leg of my journey? Watching some guys kick the shit out of each other, of course. Now, I imagine I’m more familiar with Muay Thai than your average asshole from the US, as Big Al was a big fan (and a hell of a fighter himself I hear) and I went with him to see some matches in NY one time. But nothing prepared me for authentic Muay Thai Lamai style.

Not even the dinner I had first. Really excellent red snapper [pause for comments] with rice and vegetables, beer, and coffee. Grand total: about $5. Unreal. The place I ate was filled with a lot of Euros. Some of whom were discussing the London bombing. Now, I was back chilling in my hotel as the news was first breaking. The only US news channel available was Fox News. Coverage of the bombing aside, MAN – that channel is as disgusting as everyone makes it sound. I’m gonna start watching at home for sheer entertainment value. The anchor named Shepard something has to be the biggest moron on TV, and that’s saying a lot. O’Reilly, who I’ve made fun of plenty without ever really watching him, deserves all my derision and more. Dumbass.

I know covering breaking news is hard, but once you get to the point where you’re interviewing your 27th “terrorism expert,” there’s no excuse for an exchange like this [not verbatim, but damned close]:

Expert: I have to say, the only two groups I think are capable of acts like this would be the IRA and Al Qaeda.

Female Anchor: So you’re saying there’s evidence the two groups are working together on these bombings?

Expert: No, not that I’m aware of.

Anchor: But is it possible that the two groups have joined forces and are responsible for these attacks?

Expert: Obviously we’re still in the early stages, and it’s impossible to know who is responsible.

Anchor: So the groups COULD be working together, and wouldn’t that be a terrifying turn of events and represent a threat nobody is prepared to deal with?

Expert: [Noncommittal comment about the authorities investigating and semi-successful subject change]

I’m surprised they didn’t ask if the IRA and DNC were working together on the bombings. However, I did learn something from watching Fox News: Linda Blair, instead of spewing pea soup, is now spewing some crap about why Pit Bulls are poor misunderstood animals and aren’t really more dangerous than the average dog. OK. You were more appealing when you were masturbating with a crucifix, honey.

So back to Muay Thai. The “stadium” was a big concrete bunker. I opted for the cheapest seating - bleachers on one side of the ring – passing up the “VIP section,” which had ratty pleather Ikea-reject sofas. Some Sk8er Boi-looking dude with long blonde hair sat next to me. He turned out not to be a California dirtbag, but a Swede. Huh! The actual fighting was somewhat entertaining, but disturbing. The fighters in the earlier matches couldn’t have been more than 11 years old. I was pulling for the kid in the kid in the pink and purple trunks in the first match, because hey, he got stuck in the pink and purple trunks. Sure enough, he won by KO in the first round. Hard to get excited about seeing a kid get kicked so hard in the ribs that he can’t get up. The rest of the matches (I stayed for 6 of 8) all went the full 5 rounds. There was some blood, and some serious hits. Glad I went, but I think I’ve decided I’m not a huge boxing fan. When the big guys fight here, you don’t feel so bad. But I guarantee that kid who went down in the first fight didn’t get $4.2 million for losing.

The Muay Thai went late, and I got back to my room about 1. I was a little jumpy from the London stuff, realizing I was pretty much in the middle of nowhere, hadn’t seen a single cop on the Island, and had no way of getting in touch with anyone. Some noise in the middle of the night scared me ¾ to death. I had initially left the curtains open so the sun might wake me up if the hotel people failed to, but then I closed them, because I didn’t feel like advertising a sleeping white dude.

I was up for good around 6. And good thing, because the hotel certainly didn’t send anyone to wake me at 7:30. Though they did send someone to check the minibar at 8:10. Minibar is a funny name for it – they had one of those systems where you insert your room key in a slot so that the TV and lights will go on; when you leave the room, they don’t want to power the TV, lights, and AC. The minibar fridge was hooked into this system as well. So, if you come back to your room, after a long day on the beach, really in need of a cold drink: FUCK YOU! It’s all warm. I guess it makes sense in a place where your room has no clock or phone.

Since I was up, I asked them to take me to the airport early, with hopes of catching an earlier flight to Bangkok. Which I did. Standby was a piece of cake, and I got on the 9:20 rather than the 10:20.

Landed in Bangkok around 10:30 a.m., ready to see if the city was all it’s cracked up to be.

Don’t you wish you knew . . .

Me & Buddha, We Got A Good Thing Goin' On

2005-07-12T06:05:00.000-04:00

Sorry folks, Blogger was being a bitch yesterday. So, my pilgrimage to Big Buddha continues here:

I got to the Buddha, walked up the stairs, took off my shoes as required, and walked around. I was regarded a bit suspiciously by the Chinese dude who was handing out incense and other prayer accessories, until I bowed to him. That got a big smile, and I no longer felt like he was going to accuse my ancestors of killing his God too.

I also, just to be sure to get on Buddha's good side, gave a 20 Baht donation, placed in one of the many receptacles placed all around the site. I then descended the steps, and came across the sign pictured above. And of course I wanted my trip to the Buddha to become part of the lore of the island of Koh Samui. Now, I would gladly have given another 20 Baht donation; 20 baht is roughly 50 cents. Except I had already given my last small bill to the other donation trough. I faced a dilemma. Would other people, or worse, Buddha himself, see me fill out a brick and place it on the pile, seemingly without donating the requested funds? How bullshit would, "But I already donated over there" sound if I were confronted? Looking back, I could have sucked it up and put in a 500 Baht note - it's $12.50, and I'm sure the Buddhists could use it (perhaps have some robes custom tailored by the fucking ripoff artist I gave away my money to in Singapore?). But I convinced myself that my 20 Baht donation was sufficient, even if I put it in a different receptacle. And I filled out a brick as pictured above, put it on the pile, and left the Buddha grounds. I'm OK, right?

Bought a DVD copy of "The Ring 2" to hopefully watch on one of my future plane rides. If it works. It cost 150 Baht. As I was leaving the area surrounding the Buddha, I was ready to head for home (Lamai, not NY). As I was walking out, what noise should I hear, but "Taxi, sir?" Now, there was a red and yellow Toyota taxi parked nearby. He could have been offering me an air-conditioned ride home in an enclosed, 4-wheeled vehicle. But he was also wearing the telltale vest of the motorbike taxi guy. And I went with him anyway. My pledge never to ride a motorbike taxi again lasted about 47 minutes. As I'm headed back pressed up against this sweaty Thai man, I started thinking how utterly stupid it was for me to do that again. My luck might not hold up for the 15K or so back to Lamai. And, oh my god, Buddha might be watching from his lofty perch, thinking, "Ah, what a perfect way to punish that asshole who stole one of my bricks!" Not good. So I had the guy switch destinations, and take me to Chaweng instead. Another beach stretch which was closer to the Buddha, and which I hadn't checked out yet. I paid him the original quoted fare for Lamai, and tipped him. I'm a generous guy, Big B, I swear.

Chaweng seemed pretty much like Lamai, but appeared to have nicer hotels, and there were more cute white chicks. Damnit - I picked wrong again. Took a regular taxi back, and was gouged again. Apparently the "Meter" the taxi claims to have is a reference to the speedometer, and the drivers make up their fares as they go along.

Decided my afternoon would consist of lunch and a massage. Massage first. So I walked down the beach a bit. There are a bunch of beachside massage places, and I chose one that didn't seem attached to a particular resort. I guess I should have seen it as a bad sign when I had to wake up the masseuse from a sound sleep in her hammock. But she seemed nice, and was not attractive, which I viewed as a plus in this particular situation (though any thoughts of a "happy ending" would have gone out the window when she broke out what smelled like Vicks Vapo-Rub anyway). And so we began. This woman bent me in ways I was positive my body didn't go, using her hands, feet, knees; I never knew that having someone dig her elbows into your ass could feel so good. I was relaxed. Chillin'. And then, Hurricane Surinamathaporn struck. The rain wasn't so bad. It's hot out, I was under an umbrella, and it wasn't what I'd call torrential. The winds, however, blew all kinds of shit at me. Including a huge coconut that landed -- no exaggeration -- maybe 8 inches from my head. B, we discussed this: I DID make the donation. I'm not quite ready to be reincarnated just yet, so cut me a break, OK?

Wind died down, rain stopped, massage continued, and then the inevitable. My Masseuse asked me "You come here alone?" And that was when I noticed the other girl, sitting in a chair next to the massage table. Wearing some sparkly gold tank top, denim skirt, big sunglasses, and I believe flip flops with heels. Here it was, my masseuse was pimpin'. I, again, explained that I was just here to chill on the beach, and was not in need of a lady of the evening for the evening. Is nothing sacred? If I can't just enjoy a stranger kneading my near-naked body for $5/hr without someone assuming I'm your Average John (now that's an idea for a reality show), something ain't right.

The rain came back as I walked into town for lunch. I first stopped to pick up a new pair of sandals. Much as I loved spreading free advertising for In N Out Burger across Asia, that thing between my toes was killing me. Those were relics from a prior phase of my life anyway. So, I spent $6 on a pair of Teva-like sandals with a Diesel tag on them. I'm so damned fashionable.

Had lunch at the Shamrock Samui, an Irish pub which was clearly very recently established. Run by some authentic-looking and sounding folks (though I thought British, rather than Irish). I ordered a Guinness, and right before he opened it for me, the guy said "I should warn you, we have to pay so much to get these in here, that they're 220 a piece." Now, that is 4X as much a s any other beer I drank on Samui. But it's also cheaper than any Guinness I've ever had in NY. So it evens out. Ordered a burger, and the guy asked if I wanted vinegar for my fries. Fuck yeah! He brought me white vinegar. The kind you use to clean floors. It was then I realized that the proprietors were neither Irish nor British, but just Thais who had hired the same makeup artist who did Eddie Murphy in the "White Like Me" sketch. No self-respecting Brit or Irelander would bring anything other than Malt vinegar. So I used some sauce with no english on it instead. Probably duck blood.

Then back to hotel, where I confirmed that a cab would be there to take me to the airport the next morning. I also had them promise to send someone to wake me up at 7:30. Because there was no clock or phone in my room, and I had looked in many many stores for a travel alarm clock, all for naught.

Typing killing me. Will finish Samui and hopefully do some Bangkok later or tomorrow.

Where To Begin

2005-07-11T03:00:00.000-04:00

Here's the deal. I obviously haven't been keeping up the posting, and there's a lot to fill in. I'll try to finish Samui in this post, maybe post a few more pics, and put down some thoughts on Bangkok (though I did not journal as I went along there). I'm back in Singapore now. Got in lat last night, but I'm leaving for Kuala Lumpur on an early morning train. Will get back here Thursday morning, and leave for Shanghai super early Friday morning. Have some more pics I'd like to share as well. The LiAps chronicles will not end up perfectly chronological, I guess. But hope you enjoy.

7 July 2005
Koh Samui, Thailand

So, remember the "nightlife" I was going to sample last night? Unless you consider an old episode of JAG "nightlife" (by the way, is that show a joke? I'd be embarassed to be either a lawyer (oh, wait, I AM embarassed to be a lawyer) OR in the military based on the portrayals on that crap), it didn't happen. I had dinner, wandered a little bit, and realized that my plan to sit alone at a bar and have a few beers inevitably meant being harrassed by prostitutes. I don't blame them; that's what most single male farangs are here for. But not LiAps. Though they are, for the most part, nice enough when you tell them "No, I don't want a lady tonight, thank you" (though you also get the "Oh, you want ladyboy then??"), I just wasn't in the mood. Was exhausted from a day in the sun and drinking a few beers anyway. So, as predicted, I was in bed around 10.

Apparently, I did miss out on some worthwhile nightlife, because some dude at breakfast was describing the entertainment at the place he was at the prior night: 2 huge white dudes mudwrestling against 4 little Thai girls. Had I seen that, I would absolutely have stopped in.

Speaking of breakfast, I had it at my hotel's restaurant, if you can call it that. That makes my 2d meal there, despite having seen a group of at least 6 cats lounging and/or strutting on the service window. I trust they're just there for the curry. There are lots of animals running around here. The dogs generally look really really unhealthy. Mangy is the word. It's sad. Some clearly belong to people; they're not all strays. But I guess getting Fido his shots sometimes has to come second to feeding your kids. I have also seen a few chickens running around (and a few with their heads cut off, but those were not the same same chickens; "same same" not a typo, but a popular expression here, memorialized on a t-shirt I bought myself). Oh, and almost stepped on a dessicated frog carcass. End of LiAps's Animal Kingdom.

The photo above is the aptly-named "Big Buddha." I don't think this is the same same Buddha featured on Rebel Billionaire, because it would be a hell of a ride from Hong Kong. I was on the fence about whether to go up to see it. The whole island is only like 50 km around (according to some Aussie dude I was talking to at breakfast), so nothing is really far away, but I was feeling lazy. Then I realized that there was, uh, not much else to do. So I was off to the Big Buddha. And I had a bout of temporary insanity. Because I took a motorbike taxi. Which is just how it sounds. They're all over the island, and in Bangkok too. You ride on the back of a motor scooter with a crazy Thai guy (or girl) driving, weaving in and out of traffic and zooming along curvy mountain roads. And the driver even gets a helmet! I have never been on a motorcycle/motorbike before. And it showed. I kind of expected some instruction. You know, "OK, hold on here. When I turn this way, lean this way, etc., etc." Instead, I got "OK. Big Buddha!" And we were off. And I'm saying to this guy who speaks little to no English, "Slow is OK. No hurry." Motorbikes are a way of life here: people ride them 60 km/hr with their toddlers sitting between their legs not even holding on. And I, 29 year old man, am gripping the handle on the back of the seat so tight I'm surprised it didn't come off in my hands. But I got there in one piece. It was something like a 12 or 13 km trip, and I survived it. And then realized there was no good reason to have done that. It saved me like $5 over a regular, air-conditioned, four wheeled taxi. And took 5 years off my life in sheer fear. I vowed never to ride a motorbike taxi again.

Reflections on Singapore Part I

2005-07-04T19:19:00.000-04:00

Or. more accurately, reflections on Monkey. Reading my last post, the sleep deprivation shows. To be clear: Monkey actually took home the Thai girl who sat on my lap Friday night, and for whom we bought pad thai. So with the omelette, I guess she got two meals out of the deal. And, yes, cab fare.

She was here until 4 pm Sunday. I had to hear things that no human being should have. I, of course, was up at 9, despite having gone to bed at 6:30 or so. Took a walk to the grocery store, read my book outside for a while, but couldn't go anywhere for real without Monkey. And couldn't shower, as the bathroom is off the bedroom. Disturbing.

There's a whole post lurking in my head about the psychology (and, in my opinion, required psychiatry) of Monkey's meeting women here. And, he says (totally unprompted) that he would like to write a book about all the women he's been with ("but they couldn't ALL get a chapter, just the ones I remember something good about at the time I'm writing the book"). For one thing, he has this pathological need to be in all the places where he's the only white guy. Sunday, we went to the known hotspots for both Thais and Filipinos. And he's famous there. "Oh, Monkey, hello." I know he likes the attention, but I was not so into it. Don't get me wrong - everyone is, for the most part, friendly; I didn't feel threatened, or unsafe. But I wonder if he really is oblivious to the fact that some significant portion of the attention he gets, from women and men, is derisive in nature. It's impossible not to see that. Of course, when you're wandering around a mall with women yelling your name and saying "How does she know my name? I don't think I banged her," I guess you have a different perspective.

We ended Sunday night at the Thai disco, where we were, again, the only 2 white people there. Except for the performers on stage, who were both whiter than me, but sang fluently in Thai. Oh, and the female one looked remarkably like a woman I used to work with.

Monday I slept relatively late, met Monkey for lunch and then decided to embark on a couple of "walking tours" as recommended by my Singapore book. It was marginally interesting, but the truth hits me constantly: I'm not a good alone traveler. I'm trying. But it isn't me. I better tune it up for Shanghai. I think it'll be somewhat easier there, as I should have better planned out the things I want to see.

Another thing I'm not good at: haggling. I decided to have some suits custom made for me. Long story short: I've paid in advance, and think I'm probably overpaying by about $500 US. The story would be funnier, but I'm too pissed at myself to tell it well. What I should have done, of course, is waited until I got here to Koh Samui. Signs advertise 2 Suits, 2 extra pairs of pants, 2 shirts and 2 ties for $199. I sincerely hope I'm getting better quality from Master Dino in Singapore, but still. I comfort myself by remembering that, in haggling with me over the price, Master Dino invoked the phrase "Inshallah," as in "Why would I lie to you, inshallah?" So, if he screwed me really bad, no 72 virgins for that guy.

Samui, so far, is uneventful. The hotel didn't send someone to pick me up at the airport, as promised (though they insisted they did and he couldn't find me; the airport terminal is a Gilligan's Island-style hut - if he were there, he couldn't have missed me). My room is OK - not fancy, but relatively clean. The mattress is hard as a rock. Which is exactly how I like it. Seriously, I'm thinking of peeling back the sheets to see what kind it is and where I can get one. But, of course, that would involve peeling back the sheets and possibly discovering other things. We'll see. Had a solo dinner that was good and pretty cheap, though not nearly as cheap as some food is here. It's unbelievable. Then went back to hotel and passed out. I was in bed by 9:30. And actually slept decently despite the fact that my room is close enough to the clubs/bars that I might as well be trying to sleep onstage at a Slayer concert.

So far today - breakfast, a long walk down the beach [there's a personal ad for you], and some sitting and reading on the beach. It's very overcast, but relaxing. Did go for a little dip in the water. Now gonna go seek out some pad thai for lunch. And if that doesn't keep me on the toilet all night, will likely check out some of the "nightlife" such as it is. So I'll be in bed by 10.

Suspension of Disbelief (and of Common Sense)

2005-07-02T22:26:00.000-04:00

July 3, 2005
Singapore

Apparently, Monkey was serious. I didn't. He did. Seems that, if the agreement in advance provides that you will not give the girl the requested $S 250 (that was at least the initial price, as laid out for me), but instead will cook her a cheese omelette at 6 am, she is, magically, no longer an OH MY GOD FILTHY WHORE! I imagine cab fare home is included in the deal too, but I don't know, because she's IN THE BEDROOM WITH HIM RIGHT NOW. And here I am cosidering burning a pair of my shorts because she wore them briefly after coming back here this morning. I guess it's all relative.

Now let's start at the beginning of yesterday.

Despite having gone to bed around 7:30, I was, of course, up before 11, bringing my 48 hour sleep total to approx. 4 hours. Monkey eventually arose as well, and we headed for the Harbourfront Mall, where we had some lunch. I had Chicken Rice. But not Chicken & Rice. That would be silly.

We wandered around several mall-type thingies and also walked along Orchard Road, the city's premiere shopping street. My stomach was not happy with me, from general travel/jet lag and the pad thai mentioned in the last post. Without going into too much detail, let me say I am grateful that Singapore's public restrooms are relatively clean (though they're nothing compared to those in the Tokyo airport - - Baggio, you would have been in heaven!) and that Monkey was in possession of some charcoal tablets, which is apparently what they prescribe for diarrhea here. I'm bringing some of that home with me.

One of the things we did was get me set up with a Singapore based cell phone. Monkey had gotten an old phone from one of his friends, and I bought a prepaid SIM card which includes "free incoming calls but we deduct 70 cents a day" (Monkey tells me this is typical Singapore logic). I now (after paying $20 to unlock the phone because its owner had, knowingly or not, set a code he didnt share with Monkey) have a Singapore cell number and am callable and textable etc. Sweet.

We then headed to a July 4th Celebration. Once we actually got there (after Monkey had taken us to the wrong subway station, where we couldn't find the shuttle bus, for obvious reasons, and yelled at and refused to pay a cab driver because he told us where we wanted to go was actually where it was), it was kind of cool and surreal for a lot of reasons I'm too tired to put coherently on the page. Drank beer, had a burger for dinner. There were apparently rumors that Billy Joel was going to show up and perform. If he was there, I didn't see him.

There were fireworks (pictured above), and they drew a big crowd of non-Americans. There was also an attempt at country line dancing, but that was apprpriately confined to a small corner of the field. And no, despite having experience doing the 2-Step at the Wild Horse Saloon in Nashville (thanks RebelMom!), I did not participate.

Went back t Monkey's for a power nap, and then, around 1 am, we went out again. To a bunch of different places, including a party on Sentosa, where I spent $35 to get in. And where we stayed about 15 minutes. Monkey weekend nights are apparently all planned around "where the chicks are gonna be." It is so not how I do things. Maybe it's me - I don't have that single guy mentality. I appreciate that it's nice to go someplace with pretty girls, but I don't change my destination every 1/2 hour based on text messages from my friends about where the girls are hotter and where the scoring potential is greatest. I spent well over $S150 last night on assorted drinks, cover charges and cab rides. I knew I wasnt going home with anyone (especially not from the bar Monkey took me to that featured exclusively Thai "Ladyboys"; damn! - that was an eye opener). And for all our shuttling from here to there and strategerizing, look how the night ended for Monkey. Shortest distance between 2 points would have been a straight line. What's the opposite of "playa," because that's what I am. Still, don't hate me. Hate the game I don't play, yo.

Monkey Wasn't Lion

2005-07-02T00:06:00.000-04:00

7/2/05
Singapore

Any chance I had of adjusting normally to the time difference is shot to hell.

Wanted to have some good stories/pics from the Tokyo airport, but it was disappointingly un-bizarre. I did take a picture of the menu at one of the airport food stands, just to reassure you all that I did NOT have the fettucine carbonara, but I don't think it came out too well. Too lazy to deal with pics now anyway.

Sat next to a very nice, if not too bright, lady on the NRT to SIN flight. Meeting her Navy husband who's here on leave. It didn't help pass the time. That flight was the longest 7 hours of my life.

But got to Singapore, cruised through customs and immigration (with gum - suckers!), and Monkey was there waiting for me on the other end, cold beer in hand. He even brought one for me! So we drank Tiger tallboys in the airport and in the cab - all perfectly acceptable. I love Asia!

Quick pitstop back at Casa de Monkey, where I resisted the strong urge to take a shower -- it's hot as hell and humid here 24/7/365; my balls would have been sweaty again within minutes anyway -- so we could get out. And man, last night, you could find me in da club. Actually, in a bunch of them, including one called Attica -- I made a joke about going clad in riot gear, but I think it fell on deaf ears. I forced myself to forget that I hate dancing, waiting in line behind velvet ropes, paying exorbitant cover charges, and really crowded loud places, and, as such, I had a good time. We were out until almost 7 am, at which point I found myself chowing down on some of the spiciest pad thai I've ever had. Damn.

Now, what Monkey wasn't lyin ("lion" - get it?) about was that the women here really are hot. They are. I've never had a preference for Asian women; Monkey had to yell at me to "stop looking at the white chicks" like 7 times last night. But there are tons and tons of beautiful Asian women all over the place.

And only 75% of them (based on 2000 census data) are whores.

Seriously. I, LiAps, talked to and, yes, danced with, at least one Vietnamese hooker last night. That's all I did, obviously. When my hooker's friend asked Monkey, "So, are you gonna take me home and give me money?" and he answered in the negative, they were done with us. And my hooker was immediately pressed up against some other white dude in an ugly red shirt. Hey, buddy! That's MY Vietnamese hooker!

At the end of the night, there was another girl, Thai, I believe, with whom Monkey and I started chatting as we were on the way out, grabbing our takeaway food. Before long, she was sitting on my lap, and we were engaged in a time-honored and universal activity: making fun of Monkey for just being himself.

This girl had apparently tried to go home with Monkey one night earlier in the week, and he had declined, citing a "girlfriend," which, in Singaporese, translates to "12-year-old boy" (at least when we're talking about Monkey). Last night, she made it quite clear that she would have been perfectly happy to come home with me. I, too, declined, for a million and a half reasons.

In semi-coherent discussions with Monkey on the way home, I made clear that I am simply not going to pay a strange girl for sex while here in Singapore (or, hopefully, ever, anywhere). He kept saying, "dude, you should have taken her home." I kept saying, "didn't you hear me - I am not going to patronize a prostitute." He kept saying, "no, she wouldn't have wanted your money." Me: "Are you saying that girl was not a whore?" Monkey: "Oh, no, I'm just saying she liked you, so she probably wouldn't have taken your money."

So yes, still glad I did not bring her back to Monkey's place.

We did, however, buy her a pad thai.

Dispatches From the Wild Blue Yonder

2005-07-01T03:20:00.000-04:00

7/1/05
Somewhere Over the Bering Sea

Seriously - raise your hand if you ever thought I'd write anything under that dateline! Thought for a second I might be over the Pacific, but onboard computer confirms it's Bering. Sweet! I'm pretty sure I passed not far from the Kamchatka Peninsula, which is my favorite peninsula ever.

Managed to score an exit row seat, which is great for extra legroom, but lacks a window. The sacrifices we globetrotters have to make.

Still 2138 miles to go. Computer says that should take 4 hours 15 min. I can't fucking believe I have another 7 hour flight to follow.

Getting excited for this trip now. Just need to make sure I really do it up. Don't use the fact that I'm alone as an excuse not to do things I want to do. Go hit some off-the-beaten-path stuff, and not be shy with the camera, etc. It's on, ferreals.

Beginnings

2005-07-01T02:55:00.000-04:00

[Posted from the freaking airport in Tokyo - no joke!]

6/30/05
JFK

And so this journey begins as do most of my trips: me at the airport 2 1/2 hours early, clearing security in 2 minutes, and waiting to board.

Saw a Buddhist Monk-looking dude eating a banana, and it looked really good. I wanted one; I'm already going native - doing as the Romans do long before I hit Rome, so to speak. So I decided to explore the terminal in search of a banana of my own. Just when I was about to give up and conclude that the bald dude had brought his own breakfast -- or conjured it out of thin air by sheer willpower -- I found it! The source of the fruit! My beloved Smoothie King, no less. Having purchased and consumed the banana, I feel strong and well-prepared for the grueling passage ahead. My vessel, a Boeing 777, is entirely full, not a single empty seat, I'm told. Let's hope my neighbors are pleasant persons of sound mind, and adventurous of spirit, as is yours truly. Onward.

In the Words of Emerson Drive

2005-06-30T02:12:00.000-04:00

I Should Be Sleeping. But instead, I just watched an episode of Blind Date and played a game of ESPN 2K5 Baseball. My 2005 Mets rock, by the way (35-10). So screw the real ones, who lost to Philly again tonight.

Bags packed, ready to go, etc. Really looking forward to the trip (but not the 24 hours it'll take to get there). A little nervous to join the ranks of the alone travelers, but keeping tabs on Big Al (LINK IS IN THE SIDEBAR!!) gives me courage.

You all be good while I'm gone. Gonna go get a few hours sleep.

Final Leg

2005-06-28T14:00:00.000-04:00

On the last day of the ride home . . . I got home. Frankly, nothing exciting. Breakfast at Denny's in PA, where a waitress poured a pot of hot coffee on some guy (I only got splashed a little, and didn't feel entitled to complain). There was horrible construction traffic, so (after sitting through one 45 minute mile earlier in the morning) I decided to make myself a little detour, driving for a while on US highways and state roads that (sort of) parallelled the Interstate. If I ever drive cross country again, I'm gonna take a shitload of time and avoid Interstates altogether. Got home a little before 4, and got a spot right outside my building, which is near impossible. And that's the deal.

Leave for Asia on Thursday. I think I have it under control, but I'm sure I'm forgetting something. Oh well. I'm really gonna try to keep a comprehensive journal and take a ton of pictures. It should be awesome.

Homeward Bound Day 3 (6/15)

2005-06-25T14:20:00.000-04:00

Woke up pretty early and took off from Pup's place when he took off to go to work. HA! Some people still have jobs [yeah, I'm all talk. Ask about the conference call I had yesterday on one of the cases I used to work on at my old firm. That's right - I quit 3 weeks ago, and still had to spend 1/2 hour on the phone with some asshole partner from another firm basically accusing me of not doing my job].

I just drove, yo. Stopped for breakfast at a Waffle House. My first WH of the trip, believe it or not. Considering it's one of my favorite places on Earth, that's shocking. This particular WH was in Blue Springs, MO. Had my waffle, Hash Browns scattered & smothered, and coke - my regular WH meal. God it's good. And then, back on the road. Not a whole lot interesting happened.

Decided to stop for lunch in Vandalia, IL. Apparently, it's IL's historic former state capital. Though I didn't discern any capital-like characteristics at the Sonic where I chose to eat. It was my first trip ever to a Sonic. And it showed, when I tried to go inside to order. Apparently, that's not OK. So a nice chick on Roller Skates pointed me in the direction of the walk-up drive-thru like board thingamajiggy, and I placed my order. I know Sonic is best known for their burgers (and their "tots," ebruce, I know), but I thought I'd do the responsible thing and order a grilled chicken sandwich. Responsible and prudent. Because my stomach, I thought, would be much more likely to react negatively to unfamiliar burger than to unfamiliar grilled chicken. I apparently didn't take into account the unfamiliar mayo-based sauce on the grilled chicken factor. After eating, I filled up with gas [pun not initially intended, but now that I see it, holy shit, that's pretty funny!]. While at the pump, I overheard a conversation between two women also refueling, in which the words "taters" and "bedclothes" were both used entirely seriously, without the slightest hint of facetiousness or irony or anything like that. Jesus, people! Chicago is in this state - come on!!

Hey, remember the Sonic sauce?? There is a truck stop in Cloverdale, IN that will never be the same. My long haul rig-driving friends: I apologize profusely.

For literally hundreds of miles along the highway, there are signs for America's # 1 RV Dealer. I guess if I were in the market for an RV, it might make me feel better to purchase it from the # 1 dealer in the country. Except that his name is TOM RAPER! And it's in huge letters like that on every sign. Raper?? "Ma'am, this is one of the finest models around. Just come on here in the back and let me show you the bedroom . . . ."

I was still feeling the effects of the Sonic sauce, and decided to call it quits around Columbus. I did, without shitting my pants, manage to make it to the far suburbs, and stayed at a Red Roof Inn in Reynoldsburg, OH. After destroying the bathroom there, I walked across the parking lot to pick up dinner at a Tim Horton's, which is apparently a Canadian inspired sandwich and donut shop. I had a turkey sandwich and a Toffee-flavored donut, in honor of one of the random girls from Texas who drank beer in our pool cabana in Vegas, who swore that her name was actually Toffe (one e, I believe).

Almost home, folks.

Return Trip Day 2 (6/14/05)

2005-06-24T01:59:00.000-04:00

Much as it pained me to leave Le Cite de Limon, I had places to go and Pup to see. So I hit the fuckin' road, with the KC Metro area as my goal. I left pretty early in the am, because my aim was to make it to KC in time to get to the Royals game against the Dodgers. Pup assured me getting tickets wouldn't be a problem. Colorado from Limon to the Kansas border was . . . nothing (though the map tells me I somehow passed by the Kit Carson County Carousel -- say that 3 times drunk -- without taking note of it; next time). I also passed through Genoa, CO, making me feel better about Europeanizing Limon. As beautiful as the mountains of Western Colorado were, that's how utterly unremarkable the flat expanse of Eastern Colorado was.

Of course, then I hit Kansas. Before I get into the details of what I experienced in Kansas, let me flat out declare that I can't imagine there is a more boring state, topographically/scenically etc., anywhere in this great country of ours. And how do they attempt to deal with that? By lowering the speed limit 5 mph from what it was in CO. As if to say, "Hah! It's boring as shit and you need to spend an extra hour driving through. We spend our lives here - pity us!"

Now, the whole ride out and back, I had been exceeding the speed limit. Significantly. But I was also sure to drive responsibly - the roads are straight and not overly crowded for the most part, and I was just keeping pace with traffic. Or setting the pace for the traffic to keep up with. Whatever. I did not have a radar detector with me; I've soured on them as they give off false alarms making you slow down for no reason, and also sometimes fail to go off as you cruise past a cop at 90. But I had been conscious of scanning the highway for 5-0. I must say, I'm pretty good at spotting them - ahead or behind - and adjusting my speed accordingly. And there should have been no easier place to do so than WaKeeney, Kansas - it's totally flat and you can see 100 miles in either direction down the road. So just how I totally failed to spot the Trooper until he pulled alongside me in the left lane escapes me. But I looked over and there he was - just behind me in the next lane. Now there were other cars ahead of me going just as fast. One that had actually pulled out to pass me just a few minutes before. But I looked up and knew who he wanted. The guy in the BMW with NY plates. I slowed. He slowed, pulled in behind me in the right lane, and lit me up. I pulled over, and didn't even think for a second that I could avoid a ticket. I thought maybe he'd cut me a litle break - give me a ticket for a slightly lower speed. So I did everything right - stayed in the car, rolled down the window, ignition off, seatbelt on, don't reach for the glove compartment to get the registration. Didn't help.

Trooper came over to the window and said, "I matched ya doin' 92. Can I please have your license and proof of insurance." I said, "Of course, sir. I didn't think I was going 92." As I got him my license and insurance card, he said that he paced me at 92, the radar said 92, and that even as he pulled up behind me, I was still doing 91. This was all likely true. I know that I had, at points, exceeded 110. There were a few times where I said to myself, "Hey, you should probably slow down," took my foot off the gas, and, 15 seconds later, watched the needle slowly ease back to the left of 95. I had to explain that neither of the addresses on my license was current, and waited while he went back to the car to make sure I wasn't wanted for passing bad checks in Little Rock. Long story long, he returned with a ticket, explained to me the procedure for pleading guilty or no contest by mail (assuming I didn't want to appear in Trego County District Court on July 18, which would have been difficult considering I'll be in Shanghai), and left me with the following pearl of wisdom: "Limit in Kansas is 70. I suggest you slow down, sir." For $168, he could have given me some more sage advice, no?

But I didn't let it faze me. I pulled away, determined to enjoy the rest of the ride. Except the rest of the ride was still in Kansas. One thing that Kansas does have that NY doesn't - an abundance of country music stations. It's true, NY has ZERO country stations. And LiAps loves the country. So I was switching back and forth between listening to my ipod and scanning local stations for good country (and other) stuff. During the lunchtime hour, I was, apparently, listening to Boomer's Noon Saloon on Y102, The Country Bull, out of Hays, KS. At one point, I was invited to dial *102 on my cell phone to make a request. So I did. And damned if I didn't get through to Boomer and make my fist ever radio station request. In the middle of fucking Kansas. I got reception on that station just long enough to hear my own voice on the radio 20 minutes or so later, followed by Callin' Baton Rouge by Garth Brooks, played just for me. It didn't quite put the $168 back in my pocket, but I felt a little better about Kansas.

Speaking of Kansas (as I will for the rest of this post), somebody tell me: are a disproportionate number of astronauts from the state, or is it just the only state that feels the need to put up a sign on the highway proclaiming every dipshit town "Home of Astronaut XX YY?"

I didn't stop at any astronaut towns. But, after 50 miles or so of seeing signs for "The Heartland's Premiere Winery," offering free tastings, I decided that, since I was due for a pee break anyway, I'd sample some vintage Kansas Jesus Juice at Wyldewood Cellars in Paxico. I didn't have great expectations, but figured I'd go in with an open mind. And I'm proud of myself. Because I think I kept a fairly straight face as I tasted several fruit-based wines out of screw-cap bottles, swished them around in my mouth and spit them in the basin thingy, making conversation with the guy behind the counter about the subtle hints of . . . wait . . . don't tell me . . . ahhhh! Rhubarb! I, of course, had to buy a couple of bottles, one of which was gifted to the 'rents, the other of which is currently aging in my rack. I'm considering going out and buying some Boone's or Mad Dog 20/20 so the Wyldewood has some peers to hang wit.

After my stop in Paxico, it was smooth (but slightly slower) sailing to Pup's place. He left a key under the mat for me and everything. Sweet. I chilled out at his place while waiting for him to get home from work ("My son worrrrrkks?!?!?!?!?"). Then we swung by to grab a friend of his and headed out for a night of KC BBQ, Royals baseball, and beer.

It was a fine evening. And a great halfway point for my trip home.

The Flip Side, Day 1 (6/13/05)

2005-06-21T22:26:00.000-04:00

After Vegas, the author of this blog turned his car around and headed back to the city that never sleeps. This is his story.

Frankly, I don't remember a whole lot about Day 1 of the return trip. I just drove. I was trying to get pretty far, as my planned stop for night 2 was Overland Park, KS, because I needed a little stuffed bear lovin'. I was pretty exhausted from Vegas, and consumed several Red Bull-type drinks, in an effort to stay awake, alert, and happy. I don't know how well they did that, but they sure kicked my stomach's ass (stomach's ass?). I did, however, come across a new favorite one. I'll never drink a Red Bull again. How could I, knowing that pimpjuice is out there?? Nelly, I don't know shiznit about your music, yo, but you make a muthafucka of a drizzink. Seriously, this stuff, despite being a truly frightening shade of neon green, is uncarbonated, so goes down smooth as Colt 45, and simply tastes better than Red Bull. I've never seen it in NY, but am gonna order a case online. Because nothing beats being able to say the following to any guests that come over: "You want something to drink? I have Coke, water, pimpjuice . . ." And meaning it.

A close second is Amp, from the makers of Mountain Dew. Similar unnatural color and better taste than Red Bull, but this one's carbonated.

My goal, once I realized how exhausted I truly was, was to get to the Denver area before stopping for the night. In accord with my genetic predisposition toward "beating the traffic on the way out," I figured I would go past the city to the outer suburbs so as not to get caught in Denver rush hour the next morning. Great plan. Except that either I was actually asleep while driving or, on I-70, once you get past the exit for the Denver airport, there's like nothing at all for scores of miles. Seriously - it went right from Airport Road to fucking cows on the side of the road. Now, I could have turned around. But I kept thinking, "Something will come up soon." Soon took forever.

But I finally found "civilization" in Limon, CO (which I insisted on pronouncing "lee-mone" to give it a thoroughly undeserved air of European-esque refinement and sophistication; I'd be willing to bet everyone else called it "lime-in"). Mapquest is telling me Limon is 89 miles from Denver. Man, it felt longer. But I found a serviceable motel, a Best Western I believe. Checking in in front of me was a cute little blonde girl who was telling the woman behind the desk about how she had checked into some motel near Denver, but there were sketchy people there and she didn't feel safe, blah, blah, so she had to get out of there. Hey - that just about confirms that I wasn't sleepdriving - Limon was the next place she found too. Sweet. The lady told me that there was no elevator, and the only 1st floor room she had was a jacuzzi suite. Having purposely stayed in a jacuzzi suite once in Vegas [here's where I squeeze my eyes shut really tight and wish really hard to go back in time to that weekend almost 3 years ago . . . nope, still June '05!] and inadvertently stayed in one in Reno (that's a good story for a post, though I just gave away the punchline), I didn't see the need for one in Limon, and decided to suffer through carrying my bag up the stairs. Had dinner at Denny's, then back to the room to crash.

Am I The Only One

2005-06-21T18:04:00.000-04:00

who suspects Tom Willis?? You know he and Weezy were getting it on. Helen was a piece of ass, but that honkey never could get enough brown sugar.

Day 4 (Wed 6/8/05)

2005-06-21T15:35:00.000-04:00

Sorry again for the delay. No excuse. I'm back in NY, and have been since last Thursday. No more pictures, just text. I'll try to post the rest of the ride out and the ride back. Maybe I'll take time to synthesize some overall thoughts on the trip as well. Leave for Asia next Thursday (6/30). On that trip, I really really want to take more pics and notes. Make me do it, OK?

Day 4: Woke up in Beaver (for the first time in a long long time). Showered, shaved, checked out, and got on the road for the 200-odd miles I had left to hit Vegas. Got gas before I got on I-15. It was self service, but one of the attendants came up and started washing my windows and asking if I needed anything else. I'm pretty sure it was because of the car I was driving, because nobody at any of the other pumps got similar treatment that I could see. I really wanted to tip him, but the smallest bill I had was a 10. Now, I've given stupid tips before, but was well aware that I'm now unemployed. So I asked him if he had change (and apologized profusely, as asking for change while tipping is incredibly tacky). He said he didn't, and that I shouldn't worry about it. Were he a bellman in a fancy hotel, I would have taken that to mean "Give me the whole $10 you dumb fuck." But from this guy at a Utah gas station, it came across as sincere. So I didn't tip him, but made a mental note to stop back by that gas station on the return trip if it made sense to do so.

Had breakfast at IHOP in Cedar City, UT, home of Southern Utah University. My waitress was the nicest, sweetest girl ever. I left her a borderline ridiculous tip percentagewise, though not ridiculous in absolute dollar terms.

I had realized somewhere along the way that I was supposed to play golf both Thursday and Friday mornings, and had not packed a single Polo shirt (golf courses require collars). So I pulled off the highway in St. George, UT and jumped into Old Navy. It was like Village of the Damned. Except instead of frightening little children, every person who worked in the store (except the girl who eventually rang me up) was an identical beautiful blonde 17-year-old girl. They were hot. I know, they were too young. But they were hot. And there I am, thinking, "Oh my God, we're in Utah - I could marry ALL OF YOU!" So I bought 3 Polo shirts for $10 a pop, as well as a classic LiAps hideous short sleeve button down off the clearance rack.

St. George is basically right on the Arizona border, and after 29 miles in Arizona, you hit Nevada. And we all know what's in Nevada. Right, Area 51. But also VEGAS!!!! After missing the turn onto the Strip and pulling a u-turn (shut up!), I pulled into the Mirage parking lot, and was home. I say "home," because in my 4 days there, I contributed to the Vegas economy what most people who live there probably spend on 2 months' rent.

Here's the deal. I was in Vegas for the bachelor party of one of my oldest, closest friends in the wizzorld. We've already referred to him as Bruno in this forum, so let's go with it. There will be no detailed descriptions of the events of the weekend. Not that anything too scandalous went on. Suffice it to say I had a great time, I believe he had a great time, and I can't wait to go to the wedding down in Florida when I get back from Asia.

Posts about the ride home, probably less detailed and less exciting, will follow above.

Day 3 - Part 2

2005-06-15T22:54:00.000-04:00

Utah Rest Stop
Originally uploaded by LiAps.

Here's my advice to all you cross-country travelers. Don't EVER say, "Oh, I'll just pee/get gas/grab food as soon as I cros into Utah." There is NOTHING until you hit Green River. Nothing. And, you'd better stop in Green River no matter what. I, as you can probably tell, needed to stop regardless. But, had I not been planning on it, the small sign on the exit signpost which read "No Services on I-70 for 106 miles" would not have caught me in time. Seriously, shouldn't they give you a mile or so advance notice?

Anyway, Utah is beautiful too. This picture was taken at a random highway rest stop, for Chrissakes!

This was the day when I truly had an epiphany - the rest of the country is so incredibly beautiful, how can I live in NY?? There was a middle school up in the CO mountains that I passed by, and thought, "How could a kid not be permanently happy with this as the backdrop for his days at school?" Something like that anyway.

Somewhere along the way (I think in CO), I passed a Halliburton truck. Ha.

Stopped at the Best Western Butch Cassidy Inn in Beaver, UT. It was immaculate and perfect for a road trip motel. I could have driven further, could probably have made it all the way to Vegas, but I was in no rush.

I asked the woman behind the counter at the hotel for a dinner recommendation that was not fast food. She said her favorite place was a steakhouse, which sounded good to me. So I changed my shirt (totally unnecessary, as it turned out), and headed out.

The "steakhouse" was a glorified trailer. And as I pulled up, the three faces in the window were unabashedly staring at me. They were the only other customers, and the only other car in the parking lot was a construction/utility van. When I walked in and sat down, I was fully prepared to take some shit from these guys -- I pulled up in a BMW with NY plates.

They started with, "You're a long way from home, aren't you?" And I settled in for the beating (hoping it would only be verbal). They turned out to be 3 really nice guys. As were the owner of the steakhouse and the waitress. We all shot the shit a little. Talking about Vegas - where I was headed, and where the owner had lived for 27 years, where he ran a catering company which catered all of John Wayne's later movies.

The food was really good, and crazy cheap. It was a good evening.

Here's one thing I thought about: I could have made up any story I wanted when talking to these people. People, including friends of mine, make shit up all the time when talking to strangers. But I told my true life story, down to admitting I was a lawyer (poor attempts at jokes followed) and that I had borrowed the BMW I was driving from my mother. I am such a bad liar, even when it doesn't matter, that I just don't do it.

OK. Enough for now. Gotta go to sleep. Rest of trip will follow

Day 3 (6/7/05) - Part 1

2005-06-15T22:02:00.000-04:00

Santa Maria
Originally uploaded by LiAps.

Sorry for the delay. But let's move on.

Got up crazy early, so got in the car and drove. Took a little detour through the mountains on US 285 and CO Rt. 9. Amazing mountain driving. Colorado as a whole is so fucking beautiful, I almost couldn't stand it. Really. I drove through Hoosier Pass - 11,541 feet elevation. You really can feel the difference in the air. Also passed through Breckenridge. You think someone will hire me as an offseason caretaker for a fancy ski house??

The pic is from some place called Santa Maria. All of a sudden, out of nowhere, there's just this huge religious statue on the side of the mountain. Not a great shot, but I really couldn't get a good angle.

Rest of the day above.

Norman?

2005-06-08T00:38:00.000-04:00

Vacancy
Originally uploaded by LiAps.

In Roggen, where I pulled off to try to get pics of the crazy sky, there was an abandoned motel. I'm not sure if it was technically abandoned, as there were cars pulling around the back - VERY shady. But I liked it as a photo subject. I should've explored more.

I drove another couple hours, past Denver, so as to make sure not to get caught in morning rush hour traffic, and spent the night in Golden, CO, at a beautiful Quality Suites. Seriously, it was clean and the people were nice. The only non-smoking room they had was a handicapped accessible room. But I wasn't taking a smoking room. So I had a huge bathroom. Apparently, though, the handicapped don't require clocks, as there was none in my room.

That's the end of Day 2, unless and until I think of something else.

Too tired to do Day 3 right now. But goodnight from Beaver, UT. I shit you not.

One Exit Too Late

2005-06-08T00:27:00.000-04:00

Crazy Sky
Originally uploaded by LiAps.

Cruising through Colorado, I saw the most incredible sky ever. Ever. I hesitated about whether to pull off the highway to try to get some shots of it, and missed my best chance (you can't think too long at about 92 mph). But then I did pull off at the next exit, in Roggen, CO. This pic is kinda cool, but doesn't even begin to capture how amazing the sky was - this one section of dark clouds in the middle of an otherwise beautifully blue view in all directions with mountains in the background. It was awesome.

Can I Interest You In A Rolix?

2005-06-08T00:21:00.000-04:00

Taste Test?
Originally uploaded by LiAps.

Got gas at Lucy's in Sedgwick, CO. It was comforting to know that I was getting a "major brand," but not have to worry about the political implications of choosing one oil company over the other. Oh, and it was the only gas for many, many miles. Yes, I took that picture through the windshield. I took a whole bunch while driving about 90 as well. That was fun.

Archway Interlude

2005-06-08T00:14:00.000-04:00

Gender Roles As They Should Be
Originally uploaded by LiAps.

While this wagon-pushing lady was not real, the miner dude standing just inside the entrance to the archway was. And I realized that as soon as he screamed, "Well hey there young feller!" scaring the everloving shit out of me.

Day 2, Part Deux

2005-06-08T00:05:00.000-04:00

How Dumb Is America?
Originally uploaded by LiAps.

Had lunch at Arby's in York, NE. I really dig Arby's.

Stopped at the Great Platte River Road Archway Monument (pictured above). I had seen a bit on the Travel Channel about this place, and could NOT resist when I saw it appear on the horizon. Basically, what this is is a glorified rest stop spanning I-80 at Kearney, NE. It's billed as a tribute to the exploration and development of the West, yadda yadda. It's $10 for admission to the attraction (it's not really a museum, per se), but my AAA card got me a dollar off. Score. I was on the fence about whether to do it or not. There's an audio tour, and I asked how long it took. I wasn't pressed for time at all, but I didn't feel like spending too long there. They said it was one of those systems that had one audio portion per room and switched over automatically when you went from one to the other. They said, "you could spend 3 hours up there, but most people take about 45 minutes." I was in and out in about 8. Yes, I bought more souvenirs.

Day 2, Part 1

2005-06-07T23:26:00.000-04:00

Kum & Go!
Originally uploaded by LiAps.

Got up early and got the hell out of the E. Coli Lodge. As I mentioned, that place was nizzasty.

Crossed the Mississippi. Anticlimactic. Perhaps because the whole bridge was under construction, and I really couldn't see anything.

Had breakfast at the Cracker Barrel in Davenport, IA. It was like, well, having breakfast in Iowa. I would have loved to have taken a panoramic shot of all the patrons in the place. Barring the Asian family (who I then saw get into a minivan with Missouri plates), the place was so full of stereotypical Iowans that I almost couldn't believe it wasn't set up for me. I tried to imagine all those people having brunch at Pastis and smiled. And then I realized that, in some way I just can't articulate, I feel more like I belong, or feel more comfortable, at an Iowa Cracker Barrel than at a chichi Manhattan brunch spot. Maybe it's just the novelty, but I don't think so.

Got gas at the above-pictured "Kum & Go" in Colfax, IA. These places are all over the state. I ask you - why the quirky misspelling? Were it a fast food joint specializing in Kumquats, maybe. But what's the hook here? It's not any LESS subject to juvenile sex jokes because of the misspelling, it's just kind of weird.

Went a good 15 miles out of my way to check out the "Authentic Danish Windmill" in Elk Horn, IA. I took a pic, but it was nothing special. Is it just me, or isn't it the Dutch, and not the Danish, who are famous for windmills? There was also a Danish Immigrant Museum further down the road, which I skipped. I did, however, go into the windmill gift shop. Among other things, I purchased a "Kiss Me, I'm Danish" pin. Why? I'm glad you asked. Here's why. And here's also all the evidence you'll ever need to have me involuntarily committed:

I imagined that the woman behind the counter (who was not entirely unattractive) would say to me, "So, are you really Danish?" And I would reply, "No, but I've eaten a few in my days . . . and none of them ever complained!"

Of course, she actually said, "Thanks. Have a great day." So now I have a Halloween costume.

Day 2 - The Process

2005-06-07T22:56:00.000-04:00

Here's the deal people. I don't know how to post multiple pictures in one post using flickr, so I'm going to have to a)ask for help, and b) do multiple posts for this day. This is just the warning post. More to come via flickr posting.

On the Road, Day 1

2005-06-07T00:10:00.000-04:00

Day 1 was actually Sunday, 6/5/05, just so you have a frame of reference. I could attempt to catch you up on Days 1 and 2, but I'm exhausted. Plus, there are pictures from Day 2, and I left the camera in the car. So, live with Day 1, in bullet point form:

Did just short of 900 miles today. That' s a fair amount of driving. Used to do it all the time between NY and ATL, but as my dad reminded me Saturday, I'm not young anymore. Feel good anyway.
Staying at the EconoLodge -- or, as a good friend of mine calls it, the E. Coli Lodge -- here in Princeton, IL. Knowing how dirty the bedspread I'm lying on right now is is almost killing me. I'm almost at the point where I can see the logic behind my friend's theory from our post-college trip to Europe, pursuant to which he didn't shower in several places because the showers were not clean enough for him.
Got served full-on raw chicken at the Country Kitchen across from the motel. If I'm found dead mysteriously in this filthy room tomorrow, have the M.E. start the investigation there.
I drove through INSANE storms today in Indiana. The worst rain I've ever seen. And I've seen [fire and I've seen] rain! They actually used the Emergency Broadcast System. Thank god they've been testing it my whole life.
I'm about 98% sure I witnessed the beginning stages of a chick in a minivan preparing to pee in a bottle while cruising along I-80 today. She emptied an Aquafina bottle out the passenger window, getting it all over my car in the process (that stuff tastes like piss anyway), and I saw her switching positions with the girl in the backseat and maneuvering in ways consistent with such a plan. I don't know for sure that that's what happened, because I passed them before they dumped the bottle again. But it would have been a great start for a niche porn film.
Still feeling awful about Spike. It was the most horrible thing I've ever witnessed. Thanks for all your kind thoughts in the comments below.
Mets are on ESPN, so I can watch it even from the middle of nowhere. LET'S GO METS!!!!

Appointment With Death

2005-06-04T00:00:00.000-04:00

Tomorrow morning, while I'm out on LI picking up a car so I can embark on my cross-country journey, my family is going to take my dog to the vet. To be put to sleep, put down, euthanised - call it what you want, it's the same thing. We have an 11:30 appointment. I am not going to be good at this.

He's old. Really old. 16 1/2. Which is like 115. And it's time. He hasn't been himself for a while - he pretty much either sleeps, paces, or just stands there staring at a wall (though it's debatable whether he can see it). He is clearly not really there; his quality of life is nil. But he's my dog, and no matter how long I've known this was coming, and how much I know it's the right thing to do, for his own sake, I'm not really ready.

Not gonna be a happy day. I'd post a picture of him if I had one on my computer or my camera. But I'm not gonna take one tomorrow, because he doesn't even look like himself anymore, and I'd rather remember him as the healthy, happy (if high maintenance) puppy that he was for so long.

Like I said, I'll try to keep you posted on some of my travels starting with the Vegas trip. Goodnight everyone.

Guess where I was last week . . .

2005-05-30T21:43:00.000-04:00

SF Broadway
Originally uploaded by LiAps.

Yup. San Fran. Love that city. Not motivated to write, though there's plenty I could be writing about. This is my last week at my job.

Sunday I leave for my solo cross-country drive to Vegas, for the bachelor party to end all bachelor parties. The beginning of the Summer of LiAps - blissfully unemployed and doing a bit of globetrotting. It should be amazing. I think I'll likely keep a paper travel journal, and maybe share some tidbits with you all on a time delay.

Gotta go to sleep soon. I was up way late last night. How's everyone??

A Glimpse Into My Youth

2005-05-22T00:19:00.000-04:00

Not to mention some of the funniest stuff ever. Seriously, when I first watched this http://www.promocast.com:8080/ramgen/mets/mets.rm [link won't work unless I write the whole thing out] today, (thanks to Bruno for forwarding it), I got pretty nostalgic. It's been a long, long time. I'm old. I'm OK with it I guess, but sometimes I forget and it comes out of nowhere to smack me upside the head. Sometimes I smack back too. Clearly past my bedtime. Goodnight.

One More Try

2005-05-19T00:51:00.000-04:00

Elvii at Martinsville
Originally uploaded by LiAps.

With Bunsen's help, maybe I can get this photo to post without screwing up the whole layout.

Fingers crossed.

It worked. Love those Evil Science Chicks. Anyway, these guys were working the crowd when my sister and I went Redneck watching last October. Yes, I sat that close to the track. Awesome.

Just posted because it has been so long since I put up a pic, and I had to switch to flickr. Hope I get enough free space. If not, I'll suck it up and pay for an account. Because I hope to have lots of pics to share from my travels this summer.

G'night.

Follow Big Al's Adventure

2005-05-16T15:27:00.000-04:00

No, not Big Gay Al from South Park, but my friend and former co-worker, whose name is not, in fact, Al. But of course that isn't the point. Big Al just took a leave of absence from my firm to travel around Asia for 6 months. We're talking about a guy who's already been to places like Tibet and Mongolia and climbed mountains and done all kinds of crazy shit people like me just don't do. But this 6-month trek should be truly top-notch.

I'm very jealous, mostly because I wish I were the type of person who could be comfortable taking such a trip alone. I'm not (though I am taking a 3 week mini-Asia trip this summer, partially alone, and, not cincidentally, meeting up with Big Al in Hong Kong). Follow Big Al's adventures here. He doesn't leave for a month or so, but hopefully he'll give us some more background and thoughts before taking off. I'll post a permanent link in the sidebar soon.

Before It Disappears Off My Tracking Site

2005-05-10T14:32:00.000-04:00

I need you all to know that someone from Greece found my site searching for "i mant to fuck my grandmother." Uh, you probably shouldn't do that. Like, ever.

Other recent amusing searches: "sweet potato ball receipt singapore," "+2005+salt emails in spain " and several variations of "bodystocking" and "pantyless" queries.

Also, more than a few people searching for Linda Canada info. (I have to do that to prevent the links from running together; I'm a moron). And I figure the more I keep mentioning her and linking to my own posts, the greater the chance she calls me and offers me the exclusive "Where are they now?" interview. I could be the next Pat O'Brien. Linda and I could get some coke and just go fucking crazy. That would be sweet.

I'll Wait 'Til They Send Out Vinnie

2005-05-09T12:27:00.000-04:00

Apologies to all my friends who work for Sprint, but these people are ridiculous. I discontinued my service with them about a year ago. They were so bad that I actually willingly paid the early termination fee to switch to Verizon. A few months after I paid my final bill, including that fee, I started getting invoices showing a past due amount of $47 and change. Now, I pay all my bills, in full, every month, and know that I had no "past due" amount. I called customer service and told them this, asking them to explain to me how, exactly, they figured I owed them this money. Their answer was, more or less, "because my computer says so." My computer often tells me there are "Sexy 19-year-old Virgins Who Want [My] Cock Deep In All Their Holes." That doesn't make it true.

I told the various reps and supervisor that I simply wasn't going to pay a bill just because they said so, and I wanted an itemized description of the charges. None ever came.

About 4 months ago, I started getting calls at work and home from a collections agency about my "debt" to Sprint. I told the one agent I spoke to that the debt was disputed, and, when I got a notice in the mail, sent back a letter officially informing the agency of the dispute, and demanding, pursuant to the federal Fair Debt Collection Practices Act, that the agency cease all attempts to contact me by phone and provide me with a "verification" of the alleged debt. I never heard from them again.

Apparently, Sprint turned the account over to the heavy hitters, Allied Interstate, a company so good at what it does, that the Minnesota Attorney General filed suit against it on behalf of the citizens of his state being repeatedly harassed by these jackasses. While the brief conversation I had with one of the reps this morning wasn't nearly as good as some of the ones described in the complaint, I told this guy that the debt was disputed and that I would send them a letter saying so if they would send me something in writing. His response:

"All this over $47? Why don't you let go of your principles here and get this taken care of today?"

Uh, you mean the principle where I don't hand over money just because someone asks for it? Thanks, but I think I'll stick to that one.

I explained further that Sprint had so far been unable to explain to me the derivation of the $47 "debt," and that I'd gladly take a look at an itemized bill if someone would provide me with one. He said:

"Well I'm sure they're not making it up. If they were making it up, they could've made it $400 or $4000!"

Oh, so I should be grateful the phantom debt is two digits instead of four, and pay on that basis. I don't think so.

This pisses me off, because I have near perfect credit. For a very good reason - I pay all bills, in full, on time, always. And these morons know this. The guy said "You're gonna ruin your credit over $47?"

I don't want to ruin my credit, and in the grand scheme of things, $47 is not worth fighting about. But maybe it is a question of principles. Not to mention that there are much better ways I could spend that $47.

So bring it, Sprint!

Can you imagine

2005-05-06T14:28:00.000-04:00

being a blue collar working man living here in Allentown (PA), having saved up your hard earned cash for a weeklong family vacation in beautiful Tampa/St. Pete, showing up at the airport for your flight on budget carrier Lehigh Valley Air (every penny counts), only to discover that you will, in fact, be flying down south on a plane packed full of bimbos with huge fake tits clothed only in transparent white tank tops and miniscule orange shorts?

I don't know about you, but that might be enough to restore my faith in the world and get me going back to church on Sundays. And I'm a jew.

Too Much Good Stuff

2005-05-02T08:13:00.000-04:00

in today's news. Can't focus. So I'm gonna puke it all up on the page for you:

1) The "Runaway Bride" - from today's AP story:

"By all accounts, authorities in Albuquerque befriended the woman.
Wilbanks boarded her plane wearing a new
FBI hat, blazer, polo shirt and pants and carrying a new tote bag and teddy bear, a gift from the aviation police chief. She flew first-class — thanks to tickets bought by her parents — and said she planned to name the bear "Al," for Albuquerque."

This crazy bitch runs away, lies about being kidnapped diverting half the cops in Georgia from doing real work, and somebody gave her a fucking teddy bear? Are you kidding? Do you think some reporter asked the question, "So, Jennifer, what are you gonna name the bear?" Here's to hoping she and the bear spend the next year in jail curled up with cellmate Bertha.

2) Paris Hilton Inc. There are so many great tidbits in this story, that you should definitely read it all. My favorite:

Fuck. I just looked again, and I can't pick a favorite! There are so many hilarious paragraphs I could cut and paste from that story that I must simply insist you read the entire thing. Let me know your favorite 'graph in the comments. My favorite CONCEPT from the story - Lil Jon producing Paris's upcoming album.

" WHAAATT??!"

No, seriously. I'm not making that up.

There's Hope For This Country Yet!

2005-04-29T14:58:00.000-04:00

Someone from the Department of Homeland Security found this site by running a search for Linda Canada. I would absolutely support her appointment as Director of the Office of State and Local Government Coordination. Even 16 years later, she's probably a lot hotter than the current guy.

Good weekend blah blah.

How Could You??

2005-04-28T09:25:00.000-04:00

Seriously. I'm shocked, stunned, flabbergasted even.

I really almost don't believe you could do this to me. I say "almost," because I do believe it now. I have no choice. It was staring me right in the face this morning, and there's no denying it.

I don't want to believe it. Don't want to believe that you could let things get to this stage. Don't want to believe that everything I took for granted -- that you would shelter me, protect me -- was just so much wishful thinking.

Maybe I was blissfully ignorant; I've been accused of being in my own world. Others knew, others saw it, and I just had my head in the sand.

But it hit me square in the jaw on the subway, out of the blue.

And I have to face it. Though it hurts me, though had you asked me about it a week ago I would have steadfastly denied it, unable to fathom that you could let me down so, it's true, and it's too late to change it.

I don't generally take much solace in the pity or sympathy of others. But if you weep for me today, you weep for the world.

Because though I may have been the one blindsided this morning, it could just as easily have been you. Or anyone else.

Sometimes the very foundations of our beings, the basic tenets of our ways of life, are shaken (and/or stirred).

I thought you would keep me safe, but reality caught up with me on the delayed 5 train this morning. You didn't keep me safe.

And now I -- all of us -- have to take it.

How could you let this happen?

Put Me In My Place

2005-04-26T10:09:00.000-04:00

Stealing a page from the lovely Julie, I have submitted myself to The Weblog Review, because there's nothing I like more than criticism from a bunch of strangers. Seriously, I am curious what someone who undoubtedly has read a whole lot more blogs than me thinks of the inane garbage that I post here. I will say this, oh beneficent reviewer: I sincerely hope you'll go back a ways in the archives, where I think some of my better stuff resides. I'm not, unlike Julie, gonna make a whole bunch of template changes. Primarily because, uh, I don't really know how.

I'm not really an attention hog (though I am, just by nature of my being me, the life of the party), and I must say, the result of the review will not make or break me. As long as people who run searches for "blog going pantyless" and "breast implants horrible mistake" are satisfied with my product, then I consider myself to be doing God's work.

So bring it on, TWR. I can take it.

Shorts

2005-04-25T23:50:00.000-04:00

1) In an effort to gather as much information as possible on the Deputy Linda Canada wedding dress episode of COPS, and disseminate that information to the public, I have commanded my new [DON'T CALL IT TiVO!] DVR to record every episode that airs on every channel until further notice. In 2 days, I already have about 8 hours of COPS-y goodness stored up. On a quick glance, none of the episodes is one of the early Broward County ones, but that won't stop me from watching them. HUH Bad Boys!

2) It's official. Nothing is sacred anymore. I just saw a California tourism commercial, which, in addition to being ridiculous simply because it starts with the Governator and Mrs. Governator walking on the beach a la Tom Kean ("Kahl-ee-for-nee-uh und you - Perrfecht To-geh-zehr"), features Jack Nicholson shamelessly exploiting one of the key phrases from the greatest movie of all time (OK, THAT's not the greatest movie of all time, but it's pretty fucking funny).

3) Oh my god. The Rodeo comes to NY this weekend. I'm not gonna go. Not gonna go. Not gonna go. But wow, I should.

Where are 4 out of 5 Dentists When You Need Them?

2005-04-25T14:12:00.000-04:00

OK, here's the deal. Whatever geniuses designed the bathroom in my new apartment were clearly British. I have a pedestal sink . A minor issue I have with this results from the lack of undersink storage space; though I have a linen closet outside the bathroom, keeping the spare rolls of tp out there means that you all should start a pool on how long it'll be before I have to do the infamous pants-around-ankles waddle to get a new roll after already having sat down and released the hounds.

My bigger issue is this: between the sink and the medicine cabinet is a single glass shelf, presumably where one would keep all the things one normally keeps near the sink - soap, toothpaste, toothbrush. BUT, the shelf is placed at the perfect level so that there isn't enough vertical clearance for a toothbrush to sit in a toothbrush holder. Can't fit between sink and shelf, can't fit between shelf and medicine cabinet. No place to keep my toothbrush.

"But LiAps, can't you keep it on top of the toilet tank next to the sink?"
"No, I'm not keeping my toothbrush on the toilet. That's just nasty."

"But LiAps, don't they make some sort of horizontal toothbrush holder, which holds a toothbrush diagonally, with one end higher than the other to facilitate proper drying and prevent that nasty mold?"
"No, apparently they don't, as my trip to Bed, Bath, and Beyond and my Googling 'Horizontal Toothbrush Holder' have proven."

I've decided my only viable option is to get one of those suction cup-based toothbrush holders and mount it on the marble wall next to the sink. There are a couple of problems with that though. 1) If the toothbrush falls out of the holder, or the holder de-suctions and falls off the wall, toothbrush hits floor. If toothbrush hits floor, it doesn't go into LiAps's mouth again. I'd probably end up getting a new toothbrush weekly, and good toothbrushes are expensive. 2) All of these suction cup toothbrush holders are marketed as being for the express purpose of "sav[ing] time by brushing teeth in the shower!" I have long been of the opinion that shower brushing is so very wrong, and I do not wish to validate the concept by spending my money on a product designed for such an activity.

Suggestion box is open. I can only last so much longer with the toothbrush balanced precariously on the shelf so that the brush part overhangs the sink without allowing the part of the shaft that may come in contact with my teeth, gums, or tongue, to touch the glass.

Time Flies

2005-04-19T10:01:00.000-04:00

I have been a fan of COPS for as long as the show has been on the air. I remember like it was yesterday the first season, where it was all Broward County, all the time. How heartbroken I was when deputy Linda Canada -- a hottie by any standards, but especially when you consider she was strapped -- married another deputy, whose name I believe was Mike something or other. While the wedding wasn't on air (Fox hadn't yet pioneered the "Who Wants to Marry a [fill in the blank]" concept), we did get to see Deputy Canada try on her wedding dress. She looked beautiful. [Side note here - I'm a bit disturbed that I was unable to find reference to the Linda Canada wedding in a few minutes of web searching. Does no one else think this was a noteworthy event?]

Anyway, I was watching an old episode yesterday, and -- are you sitting down? -- John Bunnell was a mere Sergeant with the Multnomah County Sheriff's Office (you MUST look at the "Faces of Meth" feature on this page. Awesome!). As you all know, he rose through the ranks to become Sheriff, for a grand total of 6 months, before realizing that he could make a lot more money hosting the ever-popular (and always airing on some channel somewhere) "World's Wildest Police Videos/Chases/Maulings/Rapes/Valedictory Addresses" franchise. It clearly paid off for Bunnell, as he has reached the pinnacle of fame, having had a drinking game dedicated to him.

But I digress. Often. My point was that this episode of COPS was from 1989. SIXTEEN YEARS AGO! I'm old. Really, really old.

I'm Gonna Be That Guy

2005-04-15T12:57:00.000-04:00

If the NL playoffs started now, the matchups would be Milwaukee v. Arizona and Washington v. LA (the Dodgers, not the Angels, nor the Rams or the Raiders for that matter). Who loves baseball??

In any event, I managed to get offered what I'm told is a front row ticket on the 3d base line for tonight's Mets v. Marlins game. All together now: "LET'S GO METS!!"

Have a good weekend.

Does Anybody have Encyclopedia Brown's Email Address?

2005-04-14T09:42:00.000-04:00

Because I need his services bad. I'm in the process of packing up my apartment, in anticipation of moving next week. I have a fair amount of crap for a single guy in a tiny 1 bedroom apartment. So it's not like there truly was a "place for everything" so that I could ensure that "everything was always in its place." Somehow, apparently, my big cd-holder-book-thingy disappeared. Now, I don't know exactly when it went missing, because I haven't used a cd in quite some time, since I uploaded everything onto my laptop to then download onto the ipod. But we're talking about one of those big black nylon cd-albums that holds 100 cds. And I think I may have had some doubled up. So over 100 cds of mine are missing. That's not OK.

It should be in one of 2 places - the bedroom, where my little boom box stereo and my computer are, or the living room, where my big stereo and entertainment center/storage unit are. And, besides the bathroom and the kitchen, those really are the ONLY TWO PLACES IN MY APARTMENT. It ain't there. I have not yet moved every single item in every single corner of my apartment to look, but I do believe I've looked anywhere it could fit. I have not found it.

Where could it have gone? As ridiculous as it sounds, if it isn't in my apartment, I really have to believe somebody stole it. Which is disturbing, because the only people who have access to my apartment are people who work for the building and my housekeeper. Now, the leasing office has been showing my apartment to people during the day for the past month or so. But I can't believe anybody would steal something from an apartment they were looking at as potential renters. Can I? And my housekeeper, well, truth be told, the thought of her stealing stuff from my apartment has crossed my mind before. I've even suspected that she was doing it, based on nothing more than a strange feeling; this is the first thing that I've noticed missing. But why would she take that, of all things?

I called my sister last night, to make sure that I didn't let her borrow all my cds, as I remembered we had a conversation some time ago about swapping music to put on our respective pods. Nope. She doesn't have them. I guess it's theoretically possible that I let someone else borrow my whole collection and forgot, but I don't think so.

What should I do? Can I actually call the woman from the leasing office and ask her if she noticed anyone stealing my stuff while checking out my apartment? Do I call my housekeeper and accuse her? First, obviously, I need to be entirely positive the cds are not in my apartment. But then what? Now, I've downloaded some of my favorite songs from each cd to the pod, and I can, I know, burn my own cds from that, but I certainly haven't downloaded all of every one. And damnit, those are mine!

I'm going to do a little detective work of my own, and check out the flea markets in my neighborhood on Saturday or Sunday, where there's always a few guys who have cds, sans jewel cases, being sold out of big nylon 100-cd holders JUST LIKE MINE. Man, if one of them contains the Prince "Hits 1" cd with my sophomore year suitemate's initials written on it in Sharpie (which I stole from him, inadvertently, I swear!), somebody's going down.

Know What's Funny?

2005-04-07T23:28:00.000-04:00

Everything.

Viva Mexico!!!!

2005-04-06T14:34:00.000-04:00

I am going to be in Atlanta this weekend, and it is going to take all my willpower not to purchase a Falcons Jersey, number 7, and have the name "Mexico" embroidered on the back.

And I thought I was being clever when I used the alias "Steve Lithuania" at the free clinic.

Now, who wants to wager on the next lawsuit . . .

Public Service

2005-04-01T17:48:00.000-05:00

I've thought about taking down the blog before. After the disclosure to the parents incident and just because sometimes I think this really isn't a me thing to do, I don't have time to write anything worthwhile, etc. etc.

But, every time I think that way, I remember all the good that can be served by having LiAps - It's On available to the people. I'm here to educate and inform. So, to whomever it was that found me by doing an AOL search for "mens room urinal skirt," I hope you got all the information you sought. No need to thank me. It's just what I do.

We Almost Had Her!

2005-03-29T16:08:00.000-05:00

Apparently, killer nanny Louise Woodward has given up on her dream of being a lawyer. Why? "to teach salsa dance classes with her boyfriend Richard Colley," of course.

Strange choice. I'm not saying infant murder should be a prerequisite to admission to the bar . . . but it couldn't hoit!!

Now I've Seen It All

2005-03-24T00:03:00.001-05:00

This, like much you can find on the internet, would be funny, but for the fact that it's apparently real. The group's initial mission: " educating the Jewish community about the historical evils that Jews have suffered when they have been disarmed." Because, you know, the Nazis were able to get that whole concentration camp thing accomplished only after shrewdly offering all the rabbis of Eastern Europe above-market value for the assault rifles that they kept up on the bimah in accordance with ancient Jewish tradition. Good news for all the goyim out there though - "JPFO has always welcomed persons of all religious beliefs who share a common goal of opposing and reversing victim disarmament policies while advancing liberty for all."

Just in case this group no longer exists when I have little Semitic Soldiers of my own, I'm pre-ordering several copies of the "Gran'pa Jack" series pamphlet "'Gun Control' Kills Kids." In fact, I'm gonna order 100 copies and start handing them out at every bris I go to. Which, by the way, I hope is none.

Excuse Me, Haarvaaard.

2005-03-22T14:06:00.000-05:00

Apparently, some jackasses with ivy wrapped too tightly around their brains are up in arms about a dorm cleaning service started at the Big H on the theory that allowing students to use it would represent "an obvious display of wealth that would establish a perceived, if unspoken, barrier between students of different economic means."

I could rant on about this, because it's ridiculous. Are they seriously saying that students who desire to and can afford to hire a cleaning service shouldn't be allowed to because it might make other students feel bad? Should they also not be allowed to eat at nice restaurants? Should all Harvard students be required to dress in identical burlap potato sacks? Are you fucking kidding me?

Having gone to college at a place where the "displays of wealth" often bordered on the obscene (e.g., the Hummer often parked diagonally across the front lawn of a fraternity house) and where a substantial minority -- if not a borderline majority -- of students subscribed to the motto "Nothing Exceeds Like Excess" (Jesus - I do sound more like my dad every day), I say fuck you. The people whining about this are no doubt the same people who yell about needing to promote diversity and multiculturalism and tolerance -- all good things, mind you. But like it or not, if you want to be surrounded by people from diverse backgrounds to enhance your learning experience, some of those people are going to be rich kids. Can't you be satisfied with resenting and/or mocking them, as generations before you have?

Sloth - what the fuck is going on up there?

You Know You're Going To Hell When

2005-03-20T22:55:00.000-05:00

you, totally without thinking (obviously), use a Schindler's List reference in a work email to two junior associates, one of whom is an Orthodox Jew.

Aside from that, all I have to say is SPRING BREAK SHARK ATTACK!!!!!!!!!

Happy F'in Birthday

2005-03-16T21:39:00.000-05:00

Today is my ex's birthday. Though I have not seen her since a week before she broke up with me (yes, I got a phone breakup - sweet) 17 months ago, spoken to her in 11 months, nor received even an email in the last 9 months, I struggled with the question of whether I should somehow acknowledge the day. I'm the guy who just does things like that. I sent my prior ex (the ex-fiancee) birthday emails up to and including last year, despite the fact that she was engaged (to someone else) with a house and a dog already. It's just me; I'm the nice guy. And I don't do it for recognition, or to make the other person feel bad for not reciprocating. I do it because we're clearly talking about people who I cared for and about quite a bit. And I do it despite the fact that I know no good can come of it; what possible response could I get that doesn't just make me sadder? Perhaps "I-realized-I-made-a-horrible-mistake-a-year-and-a-half-ago-and-I-really-love-you-and-want-to-be-with-you-forever-by-the-way-I-won-$147 million-in-the-interim-so-I-hope-you-don't-mind-moving-to-the-tropical-island-I-just-bought-which-I've-equipped-with-satellite-tv-and-60-inch-flat-screens-all-over-oh-and-I-also-decided-it-was-selfish-of-me-not-to-swallow-when-I-blow-you-so-that-won't-ever-be-a-problem-in-the-future." But that probably doesn't happen often.

This time, though, I made up my mind not to do it. It's 10pm (do you know where your children are?), and I have not yet sent a birthday email. I know that all my friends would advise against it, and sometimes they're right. I didn't think about it too much today, having been tied up in an arbitration hearing for one case and simultaneously finding out that my client was granted summary judgment in another case (go me!, uh, go client!). But now it's down to the wire. I decided that, to purge myself of the birthday wishes lurking inside me before they escape in an email to the ex, I'd preemptively wish a Happy Birthday to some other people. So, here goes:

Happy Birthday Rodney Peete! Give Holly my best.

Happy Birthday Chuck Woolery! Too bad Love Connection isn't on anymore, as I clearly have issues sufficient to make me a perfect contestant.

Happy Birthday Flavor Flav! Man, what the hell happened to you? Be careful with Brigitte - you don't know where she's been.

Happy Birthday Frank Poncherello! Yeah, that's right. My boyhood idol. Nobody, but nobody, square dances and/or roller discos like you! Keep up el trabajo bueno, mi amigo - I'm sure your next big break is right around the corner. Oh no, wait, there's a jackknifed tractor trailer right around the corner. You'll have to do that supercool move where you slide sideways underneath, losing your bike, but coming out with only a few scratches.

You know, it's a good thing I didn't know the ex's birthday was the same day as Erik Estrada's. I might have loved her more.

What Makes Me Angry?

2005-03-13T17:40:00.000-05:00

This. I have no standing to spout all kind of righteous indignation. I'm not a journalist, and am no expert on journalistic ethics. I do consider myself an authority on common sense, however (even if I don't always exercise it perfectly). And if you've ever wrapped a last minute birthday present with newspaper (Happy Birthday Mom!), you know enough about journalism that you couldn't possibly think it's OK to use prepackaged segments produced by the government and label them "news."

And what's the best some of the people who distribute these things to local affiliates could come up with:

"We look at them and determine whether we want them to be on the feed," David M. Winstrom, director of Fox News Edge, said of video news releases. "If I got one that said tobacco cures cancer or something like that, I would kill it."

Wow. That's some hardcore fact-checking there, Dave. Thanks. Fucking morons (I actually typed "Fucking mormons" by accident first. Perhaps if I have someone with a fake reporterish name and a camcorder go to Salt Lake City, we can find some way to blame them for this debacle).

Grrrrrr.

I Swear, I Didn't Go Looking For This

2005-03-06T22:35:00.000-05:00

But having come across it inadvertently, I had to share it. Blogland, I present you with a photo that combines two of my greatest loves. That's right - Waffle House and Porn. Two great tastes, well, you know.

Hang on! Is Blogger censoring my posts? Can I not post a picture of a pantyless woman sitting on a Waffle House table??? That is ridonkulous! The pic shows up for a second, but then disapears. SO wrong. I'm gonna write a letter to someone.

I'm an Animal Lover

2005-03-05T00:20:00.000-05:00

but this is hilarious.

I want to promise a real post soon, but I'm sick and have a ton of work to do. Which didn't stop me from coming home and watching A Clockwork Orange tonight. Never seen it before, and never need to again. Am I missing something? Do I need to be under the influence of a drug other than sudafed to really get the movie? I'm no expert, but if I'm stranded on a desert island, and I can only take one Kubrick film with me, we all know which one it's gonna be:

Almost My Birthday . . .

2005-03-02T17:10:00.000-05:00

well, not really. But if anyone's looking to get me a St. Patty's Day gift, may I suggest the following:

Stripper Selling Infamous Breast Implant on EBay
1 hour, 19 minutes ago

Oddly Enough - Reuters
MIAMI (Reuters) - A former topless dancer who was famously cleared of battering a Florida nightclub patron with her "crazy big" breasts has shed her oversized silicone implants and put one of them up for auction on eBay.

The woman known professionally as Tawny Peaks said on Wednesday she recently came across the implants in a box in her closet after watching a television discussion about crazy things sold on eBay and decided, "Why not ... I don't need it any more."
"Somebody might bid on it. It's like the first boob to be sued over in a lawsuit," she said.
Peaks said she would autograph the auctioned implant for the winner but would keep its mate "for good measure."

She explained that she had her size 69-HH implants removed and underwent breast reduction surgery in 1999 after retiring from the business to start a new life.

"They were like really big, crazy big," said Peaks, who described herself as a happily married homemaker and mother of three now living in the Detroit area.

Peaks won notoriety in 1998 when a man sued her and her employer, the Diamond Dolls nightclub in Clearwater, Florida, saying he suffered a whiplash injury when she swung her breasts into his face at a bachelor party. He said they were "like two cement blocks."
The parties accepted binding arbitration on "The People's Court" television show and the judge, former New York City Mayor Ed Koch, ordered a female bailiff to examine Peaks in private.
The bailiff found the breasts to be "soft" and to weigh about 2 pounds (0.9 kg) each. Koch ruled they were not dangerous and refused to award damages.

The implant auction ends on Saturday. So far Peaks has received 10 bids, topping out at $71, according to the eBay Web site.

I'd be REALLY excited if you could get Koch to autograph it as well. Thanks.

What Scares Me??

2005-02-24T14:36:00.000-05:00

The length of some of the hairs I've been pulling out of my ears the past few years. I'm worried that if I don't obsessively pull them out, using fingers and/or tweezers (my first pair of which I purchased several months ago), I might end up looking like this guy.

Discuss.

Note to Mom

2005-02-18T09:56:00.000-05:00

It's pronounced "Lee Opps."

Greg, we are totally even for the April Fools' edition of the law school newspaper.

Thank God

2005-02-17T18:20:00.000-05:00

I haven't slept a lot this week, and I'm more than a bit stressed about all I have to do at work. Nevertheless, I was able to outsmart LeAnn Rimes. I would have been seriously upset if I lost to her. She was a funny looking little kid, and while she's grown into someone I'd totally bang, I couldn't accept knowing that she was smarter than me, on any scale, no matter how twisted.

Another Installment

2005-02-17T13:50:00.000-05:00

of "Here's an Article LiAps Would Like to Have Written."

Come on - don't tell me you've never considered the issue!

Nothing Like

2005-02-15T09:33:00.000-05:00

good news to start the day!!

Thanks CL, for stopping by, and for linking me to hard evidence that my life is almost half over!!

Eerie, And Perfectly Timed

2005-02-15T00:50:00.000-05:00

I passed by the receptionst during my office wanderings about 11:15 tonight, and she gave me a funny look, as if to say "Why are you here?" which would be a normal question at 11:15 anywhere but a NY law firm. I said, "What, Celeste? Like you've never seen me here at 11 before? I was just about to give you the whole 'Why am I here' speech from Spies Like Us!"

So I get home a little after midnight, and what's on HBO-Comedy?? Good guess! And just in time for one of the greatest lines in the movie, which nobody seems to have bothered to post online as a .wav file. I found the line that precedes it, but William Prince's inflection on his "Why don't you gentlemen have a Pepsi?" is just fucking fantastic. Seriously, I can't overemphasize how much I love that line. I have been known to say it out of the blue in entirely random situations. And I'm a loyal Coke drinker and stockholder!

Gotta sleep. 250-page brief to be filed Wednesday means likely all-nighter tomorrow!

Seinfeld Lives

2005-02-13T23:14:00.000-05:00

It doesn't compare to Jodi's Aunt Natalie, but I had a conversation worthy of an episode with my Grandma tonight. She asked me if I had eaten dinner yet. I said yes. We talked about something else for 45 seconds or so, then:

G: Did you ever make anything with the salsa?

Now, I start thinking, "Did my grandma buy me some salsa anytime in the past 5 years (or, more likely, buy some when it was on sale 7 years ago, and bring it to me 3 years post-expiration)?" But no, she wasn't referring to any particular salsa, she was just using "the" like old people do, for real. (Anyone remember that comedian who used to do the routine on old people - putting "the" in front of everything (his example was "the Pearl Jam") and drinking coffee with everything?) So I said, "What?"

G: You know. The salsa. We eat the salsa sometimes with the chips. But you know, you can cook with it too.

L: Uh huh.

G: Yeah. I bet the chicken would taste good with the salsa.

L: Yeah. When I eat chicken tacos, I put salsa on them.

G: Oh, well we don't really like that. But the salsa with the chicken. I might have to try that some time.

Now, keep in mind, all this came after her telling me the story of how her opthalmologist told her yesterday that he will remain her opthalmologist for 30 more days, but after that, he refuses to ever see her again. Nonstop fun, my family.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I really didn't want to, but I can't help it. I like Boston Legal. It is not just because of the hot chicks (but, say it with me, "that doesn't hurt.")

Pup Asks, I Comply

2005-02-10T23:33:00.000-05:00

Pup's Music Quiz, as answered by yours truly:

10 Random songs in your library

1. Kick My Ass – Big & Rich
2. White Wedding – Billy Idol
3. Pass the 40 – Black Sheep
4. Gimme No Crack - Shinehead
5. Please Come to Boston – David Allan Coe
6. Make Me Lose Control – Eric Carmen (AND I AIN’T AFRAID TO ADMIT IT!)
7. I’m Gonna Do You – Jungle Brothers
8. Waiting For Wednesday – Lisa Loeb (and, of course, Nine Stories)
9. Wickedest Man Alive – Naughty By Nature
10. She Don’t Use Jelly – Flaming Lips

1. What is the total amount of music files on your computer?
3.15 Gigs (878 songs) – I know, I need to load some more

2. The last CD you bought is:
Keith Urban – Golden Road

3. What is the song you last listened to before this message?
Legalize It – Cypress Hill

4. Five songs you often listen to or that mean a lot to you

NB: Hard, because most songs that “mean a lot to me” necessarily make me sad, so I’ll cheat, and use the “often listen to” part of the question. Since itunes keeps track of how many times each song is played (random shuffle my ass!), here they are – the songs played most on my ipod, according to itunes:

1. You Wreck Me – Tom Petty
2. U Mean I’m Not – Black Sheep
3. (9-Way Tie):
Call and Answer – Barenaked Ladies
Jesters, Dreamers, & Thieves – Edwin McCain
Nothing On But The Radio – Gary Allan
Forever – Kid Rock
Healing Hands – Marc Cohn
Back To The Grill – MC Serch
Prayin’ For Daylight – Rascal Flatts [If you don’t know this song, you should listen to it, and tell me what YOU think “Praying For Daylight” is code for: “The only thing that gets me through the night since you been gone” indeed!]
Buss’n Rocks – Snoop Dogg
Past the Mission – Tori Amos

5. Who are you going to pass this stick to (3 persons) and why?
Julie, & KtP – I like to know what music makes these ladies tick
Gooch – This guy cracks me up, and I need to know what to listen to to get that funny

A Whole Lot of Balls In the Air

2005-02-10T14:02:00.000-05:00

In keeping with my sincere desire to keep my readers on top of all severed testicle-related news, I bring you the following:

Aaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!
Thu Feb 10, 9:56 AM ET

LONDON (Reuters) - A British woman was sentenced to two and a half years in jail Thursday for ripping off her ex-lover's testicle with her bare hands during a drunken brawl after he refused her sex.

Amanda Monti, 24, flew into a rage in May last year after Geoffrey Jones, 37, who had ended their long-term relationship, rejected her advances.
She grabbed him by the genitals, tearing off his left testicle, then hid it in her mouth before a friend of Jones handed it back to him saying "that's yours."
Monti, of Birkenhead, near Liverpool, pleaded guilty to unlawful wounding at an earlier hearing.

I particularly like the part about "Hiding" it in her mouth. I might try that next time I'm with a girl. "Quick, this isn't really mine - hide it in your mouth!"
Can't you just see the guy's friend - "Come on Amanda, cough it up now."

Love That Confucius

2005-02-08T23:34:00.000-05:00

If we don't change the direction we are headed, we will end up where we are going.

That's a Chinese proverb, according to my iced tea cap. And I like it.

Which is why I, today, announced my intention to change the direction I am headed. I told the powers that be at my firm that my last day there will be in early June. I have accepted an offer to serve a 1-year term as law clerk to a Federal District Court Judge here in NY. I've known for a few weeks, and technically didn't have to tell them until 4 weeks before (most people only give 2 weeks notice). But I feel like a huge weight has been lifted off my shoulders.

Don't get me wrong - I am still going to work like an animal for the 4 months I'm there. With a case going to trial next month, I will be abused in the customary fashion. But still. This clerkship is an awesome opportunity. In every way but financially, it will be great. So, other than struggling to get my head around the fact that I'm voluntarily taking a 67% pay cut, I'm really really psyched about this. It opens doors that are otherwise sometimes hard to open, and is great experience. The hours will certainly be more predictable and not nearly as crazy; I might have time to have a life. Which is scary, because once I don't have this job as an excuse, how do I justify being the last single guy on Earth (Earth being loosely defined as my group of friends)?

The clerkship doesn't start until September, so I'm essentially taking 3 months off. I've planned a trip to Asia - 3 weeks in Singapore, Hong Kong, and wherever else I choose to hop to. And some friends are getting married in that interim period, so there are weddings and bachelor parties to attend also.

I could write volumes about this decision (and maybe I will). But I'm tired, and have to meet a friend for breakfast at 6:45 am. I'm sure there will be more reflections on all this in future posts. For now, though, I'm much more excited than scared. Which is nice.

A True Fan

2005-02-08T09:57:00.000-05:00

Well, at Least He Won't Be Fathering More Fans...
1 hour, 28 minutes ago

LONDON (Reuters) - A Welsh rugby fan cut off his own testicles to celebrate Wales beating England at rugby, the Daily Mirror reported Tuesday.

Geoff Huish, 26, was so convinced England would win Saturday's match he told fellow drinkers at a social club, "If Wales win I'll cut my balls off," the paper said.

Friends at the club in Caerphilly, south Wales, thought he was joking.

But after the game Huish went home, severed his testicles with a knife, and walked 200 yards back to the bar with the testicles to show the shocked drinkers what he had done.

Huish was taken to hospital where he remained in serious condition, the paper said.

Wales's 11-9 victory over England at the Millennium Stadium in Cardiff was their first home win over England in 12 years.

There's a joke floating around somewhere about the testicles ending up in the pickled egg jar on the bar, but I'm too nauseous to formulate it properly.

Tonight's LiAps Special

2005-02-06T01:02:00.000-05:00

Tonight's LiAps Special

I am strangely attracted to cabbie Brenda Roman from tonight's Taxicab Confessions. And it is not solely because she wears numbered jerseys in several of the segments (though it doesn't hurt).

On a separate note, Harold & Kumar Go To White Castle is fucking hilarious.

So now we all know what I did tonight, in between sending angry voicemails and emails to the people working with me on the case that will likely kill me before April. Who's jealous??

I Tizzold Y'all!

2005-02-05T01:08:00.000-05:00

It's abizzout tizzime. Needs ta fizzind somethin on the wizzeb? A'ight den. Clizzick dis bi-atch!

Mad props ta Rebel Dad (or, as I still call him, B-Real -- WestSIDE!!) fo brizzingin dis site to my atizzention.

Bizzest thizzing abizzout it - it's got a "translizzle" function. And it proves what the boys and I have been saying for years - you CANNOT snoopify the word "kiosk." Go 'head punk, try it. Ain't hizzapenin'!

Wow, that was a little much even for me. I hate myself a little right now.

Screw The Whales And The Highways

2005-02-04T17:28:00.000-05:00

Put your money to good use - adopt a sniper! Do you have room in your home and your heart for a sweet, cuddly government-trained assassin who needs your help more than ever? Apparently, the College Republicans at Marquette University think you do. But BOOO!!!!! - the administration shut 'em down! How dare those Liberal Elitist Academic snobs try to put a stop to such a well-meaning charitable effort!! Since not everyone is lucky enough to be able to go out and take the lives of others (and let me tell you, it is fun to shoot some people!), the least the average college student should be able to do is show his or her support for such killings! And Marquette claims to be affiliated with a recognized religious group. Hah!

Don't let those bleeding hearts in Wisconsin stop you from doing all you can to ensure more bleeding hearts in the Middle East! Donate today. Please, they're counting on you.

Random Happiness et. seq.

2005-02-03T23:18:00.000-05:00

1) No idea why, but I feel really good/happy/content right now. Don't worry. It'll wear off in a few minutes. Left work circa 6:30 tonight and went to two different departure parties for associates leaving my firm. Good for them.

2) It's official. The results are in. Worst smelling cab in NY - 3E32. Congrats shady driver who had no license displayed as required!!! I've been in a grillion cabs. And some of them smell really really bad. Really bad. This one though, was unreal. It smelled like shit. And, like Steve Martin, I don't mean it like an expression or nothin'. It didn't smell stale, or like B.O., or like strange ethnic food I don't understand. It smelled like shit. I would not have been the least bit surprised to have opened the door and seen, in the light, a big steaming pile of actual human shit on the floor of the cab. And, on top of that, his meter was totally running fast. It is NOT a $13.40 ride from Water St. just north of the Seaport to my apartment. It's OK. I'll expense it.

3) Something on the Daily Show just now was so funny, I wanted to make it number 3, and I can't remember what it was. Was it "Fox has Hitler" as its mascot?? Maybe. Fuck.

4) In the past week or so, I've made airline reservations for like 4 different trips - weddings etc. Man, my next credit card bill is gonna be ugly. Anyone wanna go to a wedding in Columbus, OH over Memorial Day weekend? Assuming I'm invited "& guest" and haven't met the woman of my dreams by then, feel free to submit essays of no more than 500 words detailing why you'd be my best option.

DID ANYONE SEE THAT?

2005-02-02T22:01:00.000-05:00

Did you see the dead Marine's mom get his dog tags tangled up in the sleeve of the proud Iraqi voter?

God, I don't have the time or the strength to comment on the SoU to the extent I'd like. I didn't see or hear the whole thing anyway. That visual, though, warranted a comment.

On A Scale Of 1 to 10

2005-02-01T03:50:00.000-05:00

with 10 being "full-on batshit crazy," how disturbed do you have to be to be dreaming about evil children? To be someone who NEVER remembers his dreams, but clearly recall that an evil little girl was trying to kill someone in your dream and you were trying to stop her. And it was all happening in a walkup apartment building where you lived several flights up, and the people below were renovating their whole apartment. Oh, and the evil little girl looks a lot like your ex-girlfriend's niece, who was quite possibly the cutest human being you've ever seen and so far from evil looking that Dakota Fanning would look like post-pea soup Linda Blair in comparison. And, finally, to have checked behind the shower curtain when you just went to the bathroom, having woken up terrified from said dream.

1 to 10.

Raise Your Hand

2005-01-29T16:04:00.001-05:00

if you've ever been walking up Sixth Ave. and seen a transvestite who looks kinda like your grandma.

OK, just me then?

Good Morning Fucking Siberia

2005-01-27T08:50:00.000-05:00

Dear LiAps:

OH! You wanted hot water this morning?? Just because it was -8 with the wind chill (which does apply inside your apartment since we left 3-inch gaps between your windows and your walls)?? Yeah, sorry about that.

Love,
Building Management

Angry

2005-01-25T23:53:00.000-05:00

I'm disproportionately outraged by the MasterCard commercial that blatantly rips off the scene in Swingers where "Mike" calls "Nikki" 47 times on the night they first meet. They even use the same names. At least somebody else has noticed it. I don't know if she's just speculating on the fact that the Swingers people are getting residuals, or if she has some inside information (if it can even be imagined that a "celebrity gossip" writer for the Post might know more about the Hollywood scene than me), but either way I'm angry. Either at the MasterCard people for the blatant ripoff, or at the Swingers people for selling out. And, some guy I've never heard of, Marty Z, is with me (forgive me for not respacing after the cut and paste; I'm tired):

MasterCard has a commercial out that does not only borrow, but blatantly steals a scene completely from "Swingers", the hilarious 1996 indie-flick starring Jon Favreau & Vince Vauhn.They even use the same NAMES, "Nikki" and "Mike" in the commercial --- the classic scene that's copied, nearly verbatim, is when Jon Favreau's character "Mike" tries to leave a message on the girl's answering machine that he met earlier in the evening -- the plaigarism in this commercial is so flagrantly apparent, it makes me nauseous -- way to go McCann-Erickson --- way to be original with your near-decade-old "priceless" ad campaign. The ad MIGHT be funny if it came out NINE YEARS AGO when Swingers was released. I need answers here, people. Was this ad approved by Favreau, or did MasterCard just flounder again, by stealing ideas for their lackluster ad campaign -- read about their clever "baseball-road-trip" commercial".

So it's unanimous. Rumor has it it's going to snow again tonight. I'll be reporting from a big-ass-pile-of-salt tomorow morning.

It's The Little Things

2005-01-22T10:30:00.000-05:00

like flipping through the channels and finding that "So I Married An Axe Murderer" is on, just in time for the best line in the movie.

I'll be here buried in snow if anyone needs me. WTF? The news last night made it sound like the apocalypse. Yes, snow. We're gonna get some. This is NY - we've seen it before. You'd think I lived in Raleigh. Don't get me wrong, I'll take any excuse just to sit on my ass and watch movies all weekend, but last night's local news had three different reporters at three different big-ass-piles-of-salt reporting on -- yes -- filling the salt trucks up for today. A little excessive. They went to a Home Depot and made a point of showing that there were only seven shovels left. At least in that particular box of shovels. I will admit that my plan to go to AC tomorrow was probably not the most brilliant, but I'm also not worried I'm going to starve to death.

And I Thought You Zany Furdells Were Making It Up

2005-01-20T17:09:00.000-05:00

But no. It exists - EXTREME BLACKJACK!!!!!!

AC This Sunday. Say the word and I'm there.

Uncle

2005-01-19T23:48:00.000-05:00

Game over, BigPharma. You win. I promise promise promise that if I ever find myself on the wrong end of an erection lasting more than four hours (well, I guess the other end would be worse, but you know what I mean), I will seek IMMEDIATE MEDICAL ATTENTION. Now can you stop fucking talking about them (and how rare they are) every 30 seconds while I'm trying to watch tv???

Watched that new Point Pleasant show tonight. I don't think horror, as a genre, generally works as a series, so I don't hold out much hope for it. But man, that chick is hot. What chick, you ask? The one IMDB doesn't have any pictures of. But fear not. Because of my crack internet research skills, you can still see the one I'm talking about. You just need one of those police missing persons computers that can simulate the aging process. OK, I found a current pic. I feel a lot less like a child molester now.

So Much for the Gillette Endorsement

2005-01-19T07:52:00.000-05:00

Mike Piazza has apparently decided to go with a full time beard! Congratulations Mike and Alicia (call me babe, I know how those arrangements work, and discreet is my middle name!).

Why Al Gore Created the Internet

2005-01-18T01:37:00.000-05:00

So I could watch this and laugh hysterically even though it's not that funny. The site this comes from, uselessjunk, is aptly named. They put up some crazy shit. And it often involves naked women. So, um, that's good. Unless you're the kid in the video.

Heard the Kansas City trip went well. The idea of Pup spending a weekend with six women is frightening. Of course, the idea of Pup spending an hour with one woman is frightening too. Ladies - there's all kinds of talk about what sound like some interesting pictures. Post 'em. Stat.

And The Camel's Buried In A Big Straw Stack

2005-01-14T13:35:00.000-05:00

I've been pretty damned irritable lately. It's torture knowing there's a light at the end of the tunnel jobwise (remember my one resolution - I'm outta here calendar 05), but at the same time knowing that the next 3 months are going to be hellish. Like the worst hell I've ever seen here. One of my cases is gearing up for trial (it's actually arbitration, but it's trial for all intents and purposes), and the partner I'm working for is a classic yeller. He is impossible to deal with when he's in a bad mood, and that is not infrequent. It is going to be a nightmare, and he is not shy about telling the entire team that's the case.

So I'm on the subway this morning, starting out antsy and high-strung, and everything is bothering me. People touching me, which is unavoidable on the subway, are just getting me crazy. Some woman kept poking me in the thigh with her soaking wet umbrella, and I could actually see the cartoon steam level rising in my head. I was so close to turning around and saying something to her. It undoubtedly would have sounded rude. And just as I about reached my breaking point, I realized that the song playing on my ipod at the time was Simon & Garfunkel's "Feelin' Groovy" (59th Street Bridge Song). The idea of me going off on some woman about her fucking umbrella poking me while Art Garfunkel was falsetto whisper/singing "Falalalalalalalalaaaaa" (or, according to the lyrics I linked to, "ba da da da" etc. etc.) in my ear was just so ridiculous, that instead of turning and saying, "Bi-Atch! You best watch yo wet ass umbrella fo' I hafta stick it up yo' ass!," I just laughed. Good thing the moment passed too, because the next song that came on was Da Lench Mob's "You and Your Heroes."

That coulda been ugly yo.

Crazy Time-Travelin' Shit

2005-01-12T23:20:00.000-05:00

Not the greatest sunrise picture from my family honeymoon, but I love the fishing rod in the foreground.

The Pic has nothing to do with the post. I do like the pic though. The post, though, will blow your mind. You, my blogland friends, are about to witness a conversation between LiAps, the current 29-year-old version, and 14-year-old LiAps, thought by most to have long since disappeared off the face of the earth. It's madness that hasn't been seen since Doc Brown lost the blueprints for the flux capacitor. Strap yourselves in.

14: What the fuck is wrong with you? Do you know how important this is to us? How fucking psyched we would be?

29: Yes, I know that. But I'm a big pussy.

14: What does that even mean? What is it you were afraid of? I understand you're a pussy, but what conceivable negative consequences could have resulted from trying, just for me?

29: Uh, I don't know. It just didn't seem right.

14: It is right. And even if it isn't right right, goddamnit, you need to try. I'm giving you one more chance. Not just giving it to you, commanding that you at least try to get one more chance, and don't screw it up again.

29: OK. I'll try to try. But I'm still a pussy.

14: Yeah. We get that.

At Pup's Insistence

2005-01-11T09:41:00.000-05:00

And because I really don't want to work yet today:

3 names you go by:
1. LiAps
2. Mr. Lee Opps
3. Dr. Rosenpenis

3 screen names you have:
1. LiAps
2. Harris Berceir (anybody else get these emails all day every day?)
3. Todd Wilkinson (I'm Undacovah!)

3 things you like about yourself:
1. I'm fucking funny. What, you don't think so? You obviously just don't get it.
2. My philosophy on life.
3. My huge cock.

3 things you hate/dislike about yourself:
1. How often I don't abide by my own philosophy on life.
2. That I truly do need a woman's help to get dressed in the morning.
3. How I dress every day since I currently have no woman.

3 things that scare you:
1. The thought that I might dress poorly for the rest of my life.
2. Clamato.
3. The dark. Well, not really. Anymore.

3 of your everyday essentials:
1. Humor.
2. Music (thanks Pup).
3. Coffee. It's started again.

3 things you're wearing right now:
1. Left shoe.
2. Right Shoe.
3 . Crotchless leather panties.

3 of your favourite bands/artists:
1. Gary Allan.
2. Shinehead.
3. Frank Nitty (Good luck finding him on amazon!).

3 of your favourite songs at present:
1. Break Down Here - Julie Roberts
2. How am I supposed to focus on anyone other than Gary Allan and Shinehead right now?
3. Let The Horns Blow - Chi-Ali (and friends).

3 new things you want to try in the next 12 months:
1. Snowboarding.
2. Ice Fishing.
3. SnowFishIceBoarding.

3 things you want in a relationship (love is a given):
1. Rides & Attractions! Nonstop Action!
2. That feeling of contentment that I really can't describe any better. You'd know it if you saw the look on my face.
3. Challenge. Not like on Double Dare, and not the kind that can't be overcome; intellectual challenge.

2 truths and a lie:(no particular order to keep ya guessing)
1. My favorite color is gray.
2. I am the Captain of the Pinafore. And a right good Captain too! (see if you can spot the other lie in this post, supra, for extra credit!).
3. I know the words to "Rubber Duckie" in Spanish. But not in English.

3 physical things about a love interest that appeal:
1. Eyes.
2. Hands (I swear - it matters).
3. Ass. You believe that one, don't you?

3 things you just can't do:
1. Dance.
2. Sing.
3. Make a souffle. I've never tried, but I'm pretty sure.

3 of your favorite hobbies:
1. TV. Yeah, fuck you, it is.
2. Writing.
3. Reading.

3 things you want to do really badly right now:
1. Walk outta this office never to return.
2. I'm sorry, I'm having trouble thinking beyond No. 1.
3. Yeah, that's it for now.

3 careers you're considering:
1. Journalist of some kind (for real)
2. Sheriff, small town.
3. Minor league baseball manager.

3 places you want to go on vacation:
1. Asia, broadly speaking.
2. Alaska.
3. Italy.

3 kids names (either boy or girl):
1. PHINNAEUS PHINNAEUS PHINNEAUS!!!!

3 things you want to do before you die:
1. Have some kids (not named Phinnaeus).
2. Make as many people smile as possible (and not just the way I do it for the ladies).
3. Luge.

3 people who have to take this quiz now:
1. kfree (Kimberly of furdell.com).
2. Kate the Peon.
3. King Juan Carlos of Spain.

2005-01-06T23:20:00.000-05:00

TRY AGAIN

Aftermath (I believe I had English)

2005-01-06T23:16:00.000-05:00

Aftermath

Times Square 1/1/05 circa 2:15 am.

That's it. Just felt like sharing a picture.

When I Grow Up -- UPDATED

2005-01-04T15:57:00.000-05:00

I love to write. I don't get excited writing summary judgment briefs anymore (yes, I admit that sometimes I used to), and I've grown a bit cycnical and jaded where long, personal letters and soul-baring emails are concerned (that's probably mostly a function of having nobody to address such things to these days).

Over the past several years, I've been known to read a story online -- in anything from Slate to the NY Times -- and email it to someone with the message "This is the kind of stuff I want to write." Since the same people I'm not writing love letters and soul-baring emails to are also not available to get my "I wanna write this" links, you're all up. The quintissential LiAps story is something like the one where the reporter flies out to the middle of nowhere New Mexico, drives 400 miles down an old state highway, and writes about the things he sees and the people he meets. I don't think I have half the writing talent of anybody who writes for the Times, or for Slate, or even those hacks that write for the Miami Herald. Certainly not the reporting talent, and there is a difference; I don't like to get up in people's faces and bother them, I'm not a great bullshitter/schmoozer/asskisser, and I'm prone to sensing when someone is done wanting to talk about something and deferring rather than pushing the envelope. This whole blogging thing was a half-assed, time-limited attempt to get the writing flowing. While I like getting comments as much as the next guy, it's not about having an audience; I don't get off on seeing my name in print per se (if I did, perhaps I'd use my real name). I'm not sure I'm succeeding in getting my write on sufficiently, but I'm not ready to give up yet, as some other famous bloggers have recently.

This story from today's Times was another "This is the kind of story I'd like to write" story. On this one, I went a step further though. My apologies to Anthony DePalma (loved your dad's movies, man, really), but this story, I think I could have written better. Misspellings and assorted nonsequiturs/grammar issues etc. on NY signs are something I've been noticing and commenting on forever. Some of them are great; much greater than the ones in DePalma's story. I have thought about collecting my favorites, but never done it. In addition to better examples, I think the story cried out for more color. The premise started out too featurey to be hard news, but DePalma didn't embrace the featureyness. (Having mastered the buzzwords like that, how am I not the Executive Editor of something yet?) Anyway, I think so much more could have been done. But what do I know - maybe he was on a real tight deadline or had just returned from a 6-day multistate serial killing and heroin binge. (That's not libel. Seriously. I don't think.)

Guess I got scooped . But I doubt anyone else has picked up my slack on the photo essay documenting as many places in Manhattan as possible that advertise both "Cappuccino" and "ATM" on the same window. There are hundreds, at least. Suggestions as to what forum might accept that work for publication will be gratefully accepted.

UPDATE - If it's OK to call Evel Knievel a pimp (and the 9th Circuit says it is), I'm pretty sure DePalma's got no action against me. It's OK, Tony. I know all about no action these days. Thanks to howappealing, as always, for the link.

Network Nostradami

2005-01-01T21:02:00.000-05:00

You have to be kidding me. I love tv, and lament that I don't have more time to watch it. But some things are such bad ideas that even the fact that they appear on that magical box in my living room can't save them. Tomorrow night, FX is airing Smallpox. Briefly, the premise is apparently that one man infects himself with smallpox intentionally, and the whole rest of the world gets it as well. It's the bio-terrorism we've all been waiting for!! But it's just a movie, right? Well, not according to FX's ingenious tag line: "It's all true. It just hasn't happened yet!"

The message board on the movie's website has some typical back and forth drivel: those convinced that the movie will instruct REAL terr'ists step-by-step how to successfully mount such an attack vs. those that think they're already planning it anyway, so we might as well know what we're in for. And even some people who seem to think that showing the movie might discourage real bad guys from trying it. You know:

Ahmed: Are we ready with the smallpox, my friend?

Mohammed: No, no. We were all set to go, but turns out FX already came up with the idea and aired it. Paris Hilton says smallpox is not hot anymore, and she does not love it. Back to the mobile weapons lab!

I have a real perverse desire to watch this movie, even though, in addition to how bad an idea I think it is to promote this thing as "true," the 30 second trailer has already convinced me it is really really poorly written/directed/acted. I'm a bit fascinated with infectious disease. Outbreak is one of my all-time favorite movies; I've read books on diseases, from the Black Death to ebola; I've considered going back to school to get a Masters in public health. Since there's no Simpsons tomorrow, I likely will watch this crap. And I hate myself for it.