Welcome to America - Bienvenidos a los Estados Unidos

wherein we learn of a visit to the strangest of lands. not much to see in this story unless you find this kind of rambling amusing. we are actually in the Socialist Republic of Vietnam, and will be spending the next five to six days motorcycling our way up the coast to Hanoi. Wish us luck. Apart from this we still owe you some pictures and stories from the last week we powered through southern and central India - and yes, the rest of the story...they are all coming. It's difficult to take 8-10 hours to put together and write an "Images" piece while also trying to experience, document, and assimilate a new rich bounty of encounters and sights every day. Any volunteers from an independantly wealthy personal assistant? We'll let you have all the window seats and the mosquito net.

apart from the pain of west to east transcontinental jet-lag, the ten days back in Los Angeles were amusing. Though having experienced reverse culture shock a couple of times now, i have learned a few things. Though I have always found that 'people say the darndest things' my tolerance for their uneasy banter and childish complaints is at an all time low. Although I doubt the conversations are materially much more interesting, I really prefer not understanding what other people around me are saying. Just ten minutes off the plane enduring the Spanglish of bitchy customs thugs was aggravating. I was prepared to get "red lined" for having been in Pakistan (I elected to omit my afghan visit from the paperwork) post John Walker, however I sailed right through. Midstride out of customs a young gum-chewing woman with a gun pointed at one of my large packages and asked "whassdat, eh?"

       "Sitar."

      Look of frustration at my indolent disregard for her ignorance "an' whassdat, eh?"

      Elbows crooked, hands before me pantomiming the strumming of invisible strings, "Like Indian guitar."

      Blank stare. "an'ow mudge ya pay forit?"

      Adaptive linguistic skills kicked in. " 'bout eddie bux," I offered to her satisfaction.

At some point during the flight my throat had stopped working, that is to say, I lost the ability to swallow. Perhaps my unsevered tonsils are to blaim for my regular throat ailments, or maybe the chain smoking I only do when traveling. Regardless, my momentary alarm and accompanying urge to go kicking my way into the cockpit for assistance was subsided when I determined I could in fact swallow if my mouth was full of water. Very interesting, I know. Ten hours of this and my piss was urgent, clear, and frequent. By the time I was through baggage and customs I was dying. My ride nowhere to be found, I wheeled my luggage in front of the men's room in the LAX International terminal and before hotfooting into the restroom asked an asian man standing there "hey couldya keep an eye on these for 15 seconds I'll be right-out!?" Coming from laid back friendly thailand, I was taken aback when he proceeded to delineate with great care and animation each exact reason why he could not. Damn, he was American-Asian. Not wanting to "get involved," concern over what really might be in said luggage, and "not wanting to be responsible" were the sources of his anxieties. I gave him a disbelieving look, shook my hands before me in the universal appellation of "stop, please stop" before leaving my luggage to fend for itself.

Outside the terminal, the automated repeating voices, once so friendly and encouraging: "The White Zone is for loading and unloading of passengers only. Thank you for your cooperation." have been replaced with an angry Henry Rollins-esque angry rant. "Do not leave your car here! It will be towed immediately! I FUCKING HATE TERRORISTS!" though I fabricated that last bit, Mr. Airport dude sounds really pissed off now.

Ten days flew by; my plans of writing copious amounts and playing through Return to Castle Wolfenstein were sidetracked by unending mundane errands/tasks/shit that "had to be taken care of." It is ridiculous how much of nothing we let consume us 'back home.' Even the "poor" people need a personal assistant.

Another thing learned was that I can be adaptable both ways...although an evening dining out in "Old-Town Pasadena" left me wild-eyed and feeling unwell, instead of withdrawing from it all, I found I was able to go from arguing over a $0.10 bus ride to unquestioningly buying four dollar juice shakes within a few days.

Ten days later China Airlines was still unable to get me off waiting list, and during each of my several daily calls, the invariably female Taiwanese representatives would softly reprimand me. "Why you try fly tru Taipei two day aftah Chinee New Yeah?"

Why indeed. Besides Adam languishing in Bangkok, I had to make it back to Thailand for the arrival of our architectural specialist (and my bro) Randy, who was coming from his home/ops in 'frisco to study Angkor with us. "Standby" is a loaded word that drips malignantly off the tongue. "Yes suh, yu can try stahn-by, maybe you nah make it on fligh' tho." Thus encouraged I arrived at the Tom Bradley terminal of the Los Angeles X airport at six-thirty a.m., and resolutely positioned myself in front of the CAL counter. To the concern of the security personnel and national guardsmen, I then stood without moving for four hours until the counter opened and I was first on the standby list. I could say something to the affect that 'traveling has made me patient' but that would be self-deceitful bullshit - it's just an ingrained stubbornness. And it didn't help. There was no seat to be had, but as I had purchased this ticket in Thailand, it proved a relatively inexpensive undertaking to upgrade to the passenger-deficient "Dynasty Class." [Note: If you can, always buy your airline tix in Thailand, they are ~$100 cheaper each - less taxes]

Also known as "Business Class" on the plane they still like to refer to it as "First Class," which does not make me uncomfortable in any way. It's pusillanimous over-sensitive bourgeois wankers who are ill at ease with the "class distinctions" imposed by calling a seating/service section "First Class." It is no reflection on the passenger - it's not like you have to be of a certain CASTE to fly First Class, it's just a better class of service. It's too bad that the world is a complex place and things are different and thus require CLASSIFICATIONS and HIERARCHY - call it what you like, if you are that insecure you have greater worries then the injustice of this elitist naming-scheme.

But enough of my apologetic first-class shame. I don't need to share the burden of the First class with you.

Enough digression - back to the show. (though here are a couple of pix)

spoils of war - terry and charles experience the world through Afghani burqahs while i regret that adamn and i were too sick to do our feature "FrontLine Media: Behind the Veil" This would have consisted of me videotaping adam as he wandered around Peshawar under a Burqah trying to execute common tasks such as sitting, buying bananas, or turning left. The cultural taboos as they were, I think everybody would have pretended not to notice.

the afghani swat made tim look more smurf then muj

the treasure map of west-central BKK i hastily penned to email to Randy on how to proceed once arrived. Yes, the golden arches indicate the McGenocides franchise.

yes, the flight was indeed packed with ROC nationals and expats on their way back to Taiwan, where my flight was broken en route to Bangkok. them and the occasional paedophile/sex-tourist headed for south-east asia.

China Airlines economy class is actually not bad - as much wine, beer, alcohol, and snackage as you require is available gratis. besides the abundant space, first class primarily consisted of superior versions of these things and the best flight attendants. this item was labelled "Enhanced Passenger Control Unit" I was unsure if it referred to my enhanced abilities while wielding the device, or simply that as a First Class passenger, I was also considered an "enhanced passenger."

halfway through the flight my Enhanced Personal Video Display Terminal, which up to that point had been doing a dandy job of delivering my Enhanced Personal Entertainment Program went out on me. I was almost through land five of Super Mario World - the woman next to me insensitively refused to give up her Mahjongg and surrender her EPVDT and accompanying EPCU.

thirty fast hours later i was reacclimating with a little of the old Bloodsport

stupid caption

these guys are where the action is really at, the sweating screaming thai gamblers in the cheap seats. you can guage when a match is 'already over' by their level of activity. cool helmet, huh?