Selfish Crab

Dear Diary,

Today I had an egg sandwich for breakfast. It tasted good. I also went for a swim, which was fun. Then I witnessed the most beautiful scene staged by human beings I will likely ever behold in my life.

Elegant to the point of obscenity. Grace distilled, materialized, and fashioned into a procession down the aisle. 90 bodies stand, 90 heads turn, 90 breaths held. Two persons marry in a small glass cliffside chapel overlooking the sea, with the sky ablaze by sunset.

Bride’s father chokes up during his verse reading. Don’t understand why he tries to finish. The emotional sobs of an elderly man in naked view of his friends and family say more about unconditional love and devotion than any quote from the Old Book.

The heat oppresses, especially those of us in full formal suits. Sweating through my woolen best grates me. Rar.

Revelry continues. Dinner is the best wedding meal I have ever had. Hard to argue with pan-seared beef topped with foie gras. We bribe the waiter to sneak us extras from the kitchen.

I decide I had enough and start a long parade of whiskey on the rocks. Bad day to forget the pepcid ac. Pink to red. Red to crimson. Comments. Thanks, no I didn’t realize I was pioneering new shades of human flesh. Bride’s mother visits our table. Openly admires the mohawk and nudges to point out there is a table full of Japanese girls over there. Crimson to fucking maroon. I have enough attention and take my drink to cool down in the only air conditioned room on the premises: the men’s bathroom. One day I will write that poem about that night I sat on a couch in a bathroom at a wedding staring into the mirror weighing my life in between gulps of Glenfinnitch.

Later: fireworks. Not metaphorical. Actual. Fireworks.

Retire to the pool. Because I need to cool off.

Congratulations, J&R. You deserve it all.

# 2009 Jan 1    {Life}    #

Scene: six people in a mini-van riding from one Balinese marketplace to another.

“I just saw a guy with a tshirt that said ‘CLAM FUCK’.”

“It said what??”

“Clam fuck. Big letters. Clam. Fuck”.

“I don’t understand. What’s that mean?”

“Maybe they’re just random English words on a shirt.”

“I don’t know if I have even heard ‘clam’ used as a slang word before.”

“I have.”

“For what?”

“Ya know. A vagina.”

“Did he just say ‘vagina’?”

“Yes, he did.”

“Vaginas? As in they smell like clams?”

“Okay, I don’t know where you guys have been diving…”

End scene.

# 2008 Dec 31    {Life}    #

Bali, Indonesia. This island is shaped like a kiwi bird and we are partying in the feet. Friends trickle in over the next few days. Some “talked” their way thru passport technicalities.

Bali has an allure to outsiders that I do not yet appreciate. Seems like yet another coastal beach area of legendary repute overwhelmed by tourism (see Goa 2007). Traffic crawls, the ocean chokes on trash, and the restaurants belch in congestion.

Here for a wedding of a lifetime. Five star hotel. The pool becomes my new love. Warm water and pool side bar. And lastly, guest services can drum up seemingly anything except free wireless access.

Also: hot as fuck. Drenched in sweat constantly. I love it when people shove a camera in your face to document your moments of perspiration. Wet season also true to its name– it storms half the time we are here.

Bride and groom are from New York, but their families are made up of Indians, Japanese, Sri lankans, and other. The result is an international wedding of an obscene degree.

Groom’s friends, Team USA, are children of Asian immigrants and hence we are mostly lawyers, doctors, and financial transactors. On the other hand, Bride’s friends, aka Team Japan, are mostly childhood friends from an elite international grade school in Japan. Now scattered all over, they are radio DJs, actresses, producers, artists, and entrepreneurs. Let the games begin.

We party in the days leading up to the wedding. After eating and drinking with the same big group night after night, my jokes run dry, the antics grow tiresome. I try out some new schticks and continue to develop my ‘other’ storytelling voice.

Nonetheless, the usual suspects rock it hard, having transplanted our hearts and minds and chop licking ways from New York to Indonesia. The group so recently made asunder was– for but a heartbeat– together again and it felt damn good.

# 2008 Dec 28    {Life}    #

Fuck am I really going to write an entry a day? I might skip a day just to be puckish.

B and K take a different flight. See you on the other side, boys. Cross ya fingers no luggage lost. Kuala Lumpur. I’m noticing a certain constituancy waiting at the gate with me, namely: really attractive people in tight clothing.

Indonesia here I come.

# 2008 Dec 26    {Life}    #

Merry Christmas from Cambodia.

A bus ride back to phnom penh. 5 days in Siem Reap is enough for a man to ask, ok now what else.

We’ve also had enough amok fish curry and settle on a Xmas dinner at Happy Herb Pizza, whose apparent specialty is “extra happy” pizza. Post-meal, our waiter– without missing a beat– asks if we want dessert or perhaps a nice joint. We decline politely and leave in search of that Last Drink in Cambodia.

We find it in a Lounge blasting hip-hop, entering another mix of rich kids and gangsters and their dolled-up girlfriends. To prove their status, they drink the exotic import Heineken, their bottles opened by the so-called beer girls (in-house beer reps in uniform).
We have only been admitted into this crowd because we are foreigners with endless dollars. I allow myself to imagine what NYC is like for our counterpart upper echelon.

Goodnight, Cambodia.

# 2008 Dec 25    {Life}    #

Breakfast sees my first banana pancake. Holy fucking shit. Cliched tourist grub ok, but still. Tasty.

We have another day on our temple pass so we opt to rent bicycles and roam the temples at will. Bicycle quest turns shitshow quickly. The White Bicycle Project rents out bicycles, the profits going to local development projects. Good idea but the bikes are a rickety death trap.

Bike tour of Angkor thom. We are serenaded by what appears to be cambodian cicadas. The sound is a cross between a jet turbine and a buzz saw tearing thru sheet metal. Charming to a degree.

Lunch at a food stall near the terrace of elephants. We haggle down the price to $2/dish or $6. Giddyup.

The U.S. dollar bill is the expected currency in these parts to a startling degree. At restaurants, guesthouses, markets. I have only used the riel as spare change. It’s not just tourists. While at a gas station where my tuktuk driver was refilling,a woman in a scooter filled up, then paid by peeling off a few greenbacks from a wad out of her pocket.

Fewer GI Joes in Siem Reap than in Phnom Penh. I do however see WGWAGs everywhere. I don’t know why here in southeast Asia. Maybe it’s the dudes’ attempt to give a shit about Asian culture before he gets to fuck his banging Asian chick, dude. Or its her whirlwind tour of Indochina with strapping Adventure Johnny and his disarming baby blues.

Dinner at Cambodia BBQ. We order phnom phleurng: cook your own meat on a hot grill surrounded by a moat of chicken broth, steeping noodles. Snake, crocodile, kangaroo. Big fan of kangaroo’s deep maroon flesh and innate smokey flavor. I look forward to sampling more marsupials. Looking at you, koala bear.

Night cap on Pub Street whose name should indicate the degree tourism has fostered this town.

# 2008 Dec 24    {Life}    #

Lazy day in Siem Reap. Souvenir shopping where we haggle over quarters. Not a bad haul at the night market: 4 tshirts and 2 Cambodia scarfs (kramas) for $12.

Google: “eating tarantula hepititus A.”

Christmas eve dinner at an extravagent tapa joint called Aha. The bill is a staggering $60 for 3 courses and bottle of wine.

Evening descent into madness, at a nightclub for locals called Zone One. Children of cambodian elite dance with abandon to local grooves. Heady sight to see.

A man pulls me out of the crowd; foreigners are helping draw tickets for a christmas raffle. The MC is dressed as Santa and reads out the numbers in a hypnotic sing song manner. I unload the microwave oven. Just call me St. Nick.

The less said about the rest of this night the better.

# 2008 Dec 24    {Life}    #

Another day, another UNESCO World heritage site.

Sunrise at Angkor Wat. This country is steeped in Hindu and buddhist mythologies. Apparently they are so commonplace that Cambodian schoolchildren are taught about Shiva Vishnu and Krishna just as Americans learn about Zeus and Hercules. All the temples feature exquisite bas reliefs tellings such legends as the mahabarabtha, the churning of the milk of the sea, some demon stealing some dude’s wife and the shitfest that ensued, and other classic stories.

Since it’s a UNESCO site, countries have called dibs on a different temple to restore. Our guide says the best country at restoration byfar has been Japan, followed closely by German and their special stone washing methods. He won’t flat out say it but the worst appears to be Italy. That’s a spicy meatball.

We are exhausted by the end of the second day. Templed out.

My luggage sits in the siem reap airport lost and found. K takes a power nap, B finds a cyber-cafe, and I negotiate a $10 round trip tuktuk. I sulk the entire way there, in disbelief that dragonair is unable to send it to my hotel. It greets me coldly at the lost n found and I drag it back into town. I find someone to saw off the mysterious padlock on it. I’m crabby and sleep thru dinner.

Hard to believe I could be such a sourpuss the same day as seeing the eighth wonder of the world. But there it is. Maybe next year I’ll pout my way through the pyramids.

# 2008 Dec 22    {Life}    #

Siem Reap is a sprawling town , a gasp of fresh air compared to phnom penh. More laid back for sure, but a wee bit touristy. The bloat of up market hotels could put off some people off.

Temples galore. 3 day temple pass costs $40 USD. Driver and guide is $60/day. It’s been worth it. We learn about the temples in chronological order. Kravan, preu sau, beatuey srey, ta prohm, and others in which i will not bear through iphone spell check. Ta prohm looks like the set of Indiana jones. are worth a thousand words so those will be posted later.

The entrance at each site is choked with postcard-, guidebook-, and fruit touts. Here’s the script they use:

“hallo. Three fo a dollah. Hallo sir. ”

“no thank you”

“please sir. Hallo. Ten fo a dollah. Hallo sir. Hallo. Good deal for you”

“no really. Thank you.”

“okay maybe latah? Later you buy from me? Promise? I remember your face, you so handsome. Buy from me later when you come back.”

The best way, if you are wondering,to deal with them is with humor and a firm hand. “no thank you” works, sometimes I like to ask them how are you. Or just a few have a nice days. I once joked, as a guidebook suggested, “oh is it free?” and the girl wryly responded, “yes free. I free you ten cards and you free me three dollars.” Clever girl.

Back in town the boys get a shave at a local barber shop and I get a glass of water to drink. The salon ladies crack up in laughter at the sight of us. A guidebook advises here: “Cambodians are good humored quick witted people. If you pass a group of them and they start laughing hysterically, it may seem they are making fun of you. Rest assured, they are.”

My luggage is found detained by the hong kong customs office. I had to call in a private investigator aka my mother to track it down. It’s on its way to phnom penh where I am no longer at.

# 2008 Dec 22    {Life}    #

My luggage has gone trapeizing around the colonial isles. No sign of it.

We visit a memorial from the khmer rouge genoicide– a school-turned-prison called teol soueng. A man without a face begs for money at the entrance. He’s soon joined by a chorus of the legless. We enter the compound, somber. Everything about this place is tragedy distilled.

My luggage has joined the hong kong triads. It was last seen running an illegal gambling outfit in Kowloon bay.

Food is cheap. Costs about $4 per head at the more western places. Lots of couples. Some of them “conscripted”. At least that’s how it seems to us. Maybe that 200 lb bald white dude has actually wooed the tiny Cambodian in a strappy dress. Or not We’ve taken to the spotting more of these “GI Joes”.

We have exhausted Phnom penh and jump on a bus to siem reap. I leave a note for my luggage, pleading it to comes to its senses and return to me.

The four hour bus ride takes five and involves us driving in the middle of the road, boot-booting our horn, passing any mode of transportation that seems more feeble. The National Route 6 is just a two way street but seems like a Rainbow Road for this country with this infrastructure.

At a rest stop, children crowd around us with bags of fruit. One dollar one dollar sir please. And repeat. We beat them back. But later relent. The schoolchildren underneath the tours shines through. A young girl in a bon hat promises me change for my twenty. She is a sweetheart and seems genuinely. B is likewise charmed by a kid with a drawing pad full of doodles, clutched in hand alongside his bag of fresh fruit to sell. B wishes he had bought– instead of pineapples– the kid’s drawing, perhaps to inspire more fruits of their creativity.

# 2008 Dec 20    {Life}    #

In hong kong on a layover. First time here since the handover. Five munutes go by and already a cultural identity crisis bubbles up. It manifests itself at the airport food court: do I eat at burger king or king’s noodle shop and grill?

I almost miss my flight because I discover there is free wifi. I dash for the gate, passing a young lady carrying a “phnom Penn KA206 final call” sign down the hall. unlimited manpower rears its head. Does this country need to build more dams? A giant man-turned turbine in fujiang would do the trick.

Google: “hong kong water drinkable”

I land in phnom penh. My luggage does not. Third world customer service desks instill fear in my heart. Should I bribe this dude?

The boys are there to greet me at the exit. B looks like a grizzled delta force warrior fresh from bora bora. K looks like he’s been here for months. He has a breezy gait and could be mistaken for a local.

Adventure begins.

# 2008 Dec 19    {Life}    1

Mad dash to the finish line as I write my last exam and 20 hrs later I am on a plane headed for Asia, allofit. I overpacked; I am that giant suitcase man who knows he will find a situation to need a third roll of extra toilet paper so in the suitcase it goes. There is an old saying: “I would have packed you a smaller suitcase if I had a more time.” That idiom works everywhere.

2 hrs into a 14 flight and have already watched one movie despite running on no sleep and low fumes. Hancock is a fucking waste of time unless your cup of tea is awesome premise turned into bad Korean drama by the third act. That will not be the last Korean joke I make.

Travelogue 2008 is being pecked out on an iPod touch and yes there will be typos. Posts will peter out.

So far the Asian people are not taking to the hawk. Small children cry and middle aged women frown disapprovingly. The bus wallah gave me attitude cuz he thought I was doing likewise by dint of coif. .

Cathay pacific has fed me more often than any terrestrial host ever has. Which meal is the one after breakfast but before lunch in which you receive an apple a granola bar and a bottle of water in a drawstring bag? Mmm just like mom used to make it.

See you in Cambodia.

# 2008 Dec 18    {Life}    #

Welcome Reception by Columbia Business School.

Apparently Columbia Business School is posting photos to Flickr. I believe this photo was taken during the WGWAG Outreach Summit.

# 2008 Dec 15    {Life}    #

‘Hawked.  Again.  People are telling me I look cooler.  Fact that a set of buzz clippers could raise my cool-factor suggests I am no more than a mere twitch of the needle on the cool meter.   Big surprise.  Nothing in my upbringing ever indicated that I was ever going to be ‘cool’ or ‘popular’ or ‘convivial’.

# 2008 Dec 15    {Life}    #

A follow-up to a previous link to the delivery workers vs. Saigon Grill lawsuit:  owners of Saigon Grill have been arrested for “more than 400 criminal charges, including violating minimum-wage laws, falsifying business records and defrauding the state’s unemployment insurance system.”   I guess now we’ll see if the delivery workers’ testimony holds up to skeptism beyond a reasonable doubt.

# 2008 Dec 10    {Life, Links}    #

Posting will be light until late January.   I’m cramming for exams, while planning for another smashing trip in the winter.  I am hoping to top last year’s photo haul of 1,593 photos.  Expect to see photos of all things Cambodian, Balinese, Hong Kongerian, and Chinese.

Also, in a side note, I am absolutely loving my adult decision-making abilities.  Just a set of quality life choices I have made in the past 3 years.  Quality.

# 2008 Dec 1    {Life, law school}    #

Dear Santa,

All I want for Christmas is a valid Windows XP SP2 authentication key and installation disc so that I can properly dual boot my laptop to play video games, without having to resort to (1) slipstreaming, or (2) interacting with underworld-types to get a cracked version.   I mean, I don’t think MS even sells these things anymore;  it’s the sort of thing only you and your magic elves can bring me.  Remember, a volume license makes a great stocking stuffer.

milk and cookies forever,

Selfish Crab.

# 2008 Nov 24    {Life}    #

Halloween shop employees by selfish crab.

# 2008 Nov 14    {Life}    #