Category: Travel


OH, WHAT A FEELING

(Guy in car playing string instrument.)

Me: What’s he playing?

Guy 1: Looks like a mandolin or something.

Guy 2: ONE NIGHT ONLY! In my car!

(An hour later, walking back after breakfast.)

Me: What the…? He’s still there.

Guy 1: Hey, some guys have a favorite stairwell, some guys have a favorite street corner, he likes that Nissan.

Me: Please, it’s a Corolla. It’s probably not even his car.

Guy 2: He just trolls the streets looking for empty Corollas.

Guy 1: Corrolla’s got great acoustics, yo.

4:47 p.m.


OVERHEARD

Scenario: Ten college guys waiting at the 2nd Street Station.

Guy 1: (Extending a hunk of beef jerky to his friend.) Bite my big sausage.

Guy 2: No.

Guy 3: Bite it!

Guy 2: No, I’m not gonna.

Guy 4: C’mon, bite it!

Guy 5: Bite it! Bite it.

All: (General bite-it-related jeering).

Guy 2: No way.

Guy 1: C’mon, bite my big sausage.

Guy 2: No, man.

Guy 1: I’ll put in $20 if you bite my big sausage.

Guy3: Me too.

All: Me too.

Guy 1: That’s like a hundred bucks if you bite my big sausage.

Guy4: No way, he has to take two bites for a hundred bucks.

Guy 1: OK, two bites of my big sausage for a hundred bucks.

Guy 2: Cut it out.


DADA ON 58TH

The Hudson is a hip hotel, the kind of place where the bar floor is lit from below and the showers look like they could beam you up. After checking out, I turn to see a firefighter ascending the escalator in full fight-me-some-fire gear. He’s followed by another, and another… and so on. Suddenly, there are five men with oxygen tanks searching for smoke to a saucy Latin beat. No one seems to notice. I think, “Um, the building’s on fire.” I look at the guys in flame-retardant suits, I look at the counter people quacking pleasant counter banter. No one is curious, no one is ruffled, the speakers continue to coo “Oye Como Va.” An Asian woman admires the leopard-skin pillow on a lobby chair, her friend approves. To her right, a firefighter unfastens his pickaxe and peers into a suspect stairwell. I think, “Um, hey? Guys? Is the building on fire?” The firefighters’ search takes on less urgency, and a few guests begin to notice them. These people gather around the firemen with coffee table books on New York… and request autographs.

1:28 p.m.


PACKED ALL MY BLACK CLOTHES

I’m leaving for Internet World in New York tonight. This will be my first time in NY, suggestions welcome. If you’re at the show, please say hi.

1:28 p.m.


LIKE MINDS

More fun with Craigslist. Two recent favorites from the San Francisco general community section:

90 — MOHAWK advice needed (san francisco)

I have a brand new mohawk and need advice on how to look professional when I need to. Any tips on how to look cool on the weeked (sic) would be helpfull (sic) also.

thanks.

35 — Full Moon Circle?

Does anyone know of a full moon circle I could join? I’m female and would love to worship the moon w/ others! Let me know… THANKS!

1:28 p.m.

Fun trip. My cousin married a Boy Scout troop leader; I fell down a flight of basement stairs in Toledo without breaking any bones; then I drove to Chicago where I met most of the 37 Signals crew–all of whom are as smart and fun in person as they are on screen.

The highlight of the trip was my drive from Cincinnati to Chicago. Indiana radio… how can I say this tactfully?… bites monkey butt. If I hear “I Hope You Dance” one more time, I’m going to find Lee Ann Womac and exchange a few of my own affirmational phrases with her. And who can forget Lisa Lisa and the Cult Jam’s “Head to Toe”? Apparently not the Indiana DJs, because I haven’t heard that gem as much since 1987.

But there were a few things I’ll always cherish about the Midwest:

  • Restaurants called Beef and Brandy.
  • Lewd camera poses with Bob’s Big Boy statues.
  • The woman in a denim top with a matching bunny-print denim bag.
  • Seven Bucks for a steak, and Krispy Kreme Lemon-filled donuts.
  • The way natives say “Chicahgoh.”

I’m home now, which means that I’d have to search long and hard for a country music station on the radio, and I can talk smack about American cars in crowded restaurants without getting the crap kicked out of me.

12:03 p.m.

Someone once said that Toledo sounds like something winged monkeys would sing. And it does, “Toh-lee-DOH, weeeoh-WHUM.” Every corner that doesn’t have an Applebees or a Perkins has a funeral parlor. Two brief Ohio related conversations I had with Fred, who is a certifiable Toledo resident:

Me: Rudy’s Hot Dogs. Oh, my God. That place only serves hot dogs?

Fred: No, they also have omlettes.

Fred: So I’ve already taken some hassling because the new truck’s an import.

Me: What? Please. [I look around the restaurant and whisper:] American cars are crap.

Fred: You know you’re in the Midwest when you have to say that in hushed tones.

Now I’m in Chicago. The humidity is such that I don’t need to rewet my contacts. It’s like heaven, except with more toll booths.

10:30 a.m.

EMAIL MOMENT!

From: A friend at work.

Subject: Cultural observation.

Between you and me, there’s something about the British that gets under my skin. There’s an underlying “I’m more clever than you” in almost every dealing you have with them. The arrogance rivals that of the Germans, who are at least above board about it. –“Yes, ve are superior, why does zis surprise you?”

4:21 p.m.



When I got to work yesterday, my cube door was blocked off and the cube was brimming with balloons. Apparently, my coworkers have healthy lungs, and some time on their hands. Man, you’ve gotta try this. It’s just like one of those ball pits at McDonalds, except I don’t have to take my shoes off or shoulder check little kids to get some respect.

2:28 p.m.

Someone typed “find my dream girl” into Google and my page popped up. (I’m currently on the second page of links, at the top.) I haven’t decided if the search request was a technologically advanced form of stichomancy or just a slightly idealistic porn hunt. I would be flattered, but then I’d have to acknowledge the fact that I’m third on the list when you type in “girl on couch sofa.”

12:52 p.m.

OK, I’m back. I can’t eat anything that smells like food, but the trip was amazing overall. As soon as Bali Belly and jet lag subside (14-hour time change) I’ll post some travel blogs.

You. Can’t. Wait.

(OK, I can’t wait, but let me indulge in a little projection now and then. How is it hurting you?)

Meanwhile, I’d like to thank Dave for his generous help posting while I was gone. I brought him the meanest monkey mask ever. It’s shedding on his carpet at this very moment. So nice.

10:09 a.m.

So I’m posting from the road, which is kind of sad when you think about it. I’m half a block from a monkey forest and instead of walking around outside, I’m locked in a little bamboo stall typing. Bali is wired, my friends. There’s an Internet cafe about every three feet. They know about the Backstreet Boys, Tommy Hilfiger, and those horrible bottled Starbucks drinks. Shoot me now.

Also, everything costs two bucks. Well, everything except for the four-foot-high wood carvings of masturbating monkeys, those are about $250. If only I had a bigger place.

[editor’s note] Fixed Mighty Girl’s link to Annie from yesterday if you’re interested.

While I’m away, you should read Little Yellow Different:

“On a tangeant, this whole Asian-chick-and-labor thing reminds me for that Tide commercial. You know which one I’m talking about, right?

(Japanese woman speaking to the camera, cut to shots of a white guy playing basketball and pagoda’s in the background. Cut to another shot of same white guy kicking back a beer while watching sumo wrestling.)
“You know, I love my husband. But when I moved to Japan for work it took a while for him to get used to his new surroundings. The clothes he bought in America are precious to him. That’s why I wash his clothes in Tide!”

Now, I’m not a militant Asian, by any means. But let me get this straight — Asian woman has a job overseas while her husband mills around the house drinking air-mailed Budweiser and watching sumo wrestling. And SHE STILL DOES HIS FUCKING LAUNDRY?! Oh, hell no. If I was her, I’d get his gaijin ass to the fucking laundromat and tell him to wash his own damn clothes. *breathes deep* Okay, I’m better now. Carry on…”

“So I’m talking with my girl, Belinda. My very attractive, very feminine female friend Belinda. And she’s yelling at me over Instant Messager.

“WHAT? What do you MEAN you’re borrowing a copy of Diablo II?! You have to get your own copy so you can register the key and play over battle.net.” I could almost see her roll her eyes and toss her hair as she types that. “And if you’re lucky, I’ll even let you on my team.”
This is fucking surreal. Just the other day she was talking about the outfit she bought at Banana Republic. “Really?” I stutter. “How strong is your character?”
“Level 65 Ice Sorceress. You?”
*cough* “Uhmm.. Level 18 Necromancer.”
“Ugh. I guess I could help you out. Did I mention I play Tekken Tag Tournament too? Get a Playstation 2 and I’ll kick your butt anytime. Anytime.“

You know, it’s a damn shame I’m homosexual. Because I think I just met the hottest girl. Ever.”

prerecorded

I have purchased a little red bikini, 3 gallons of 30 SPF Waterproof sunscreen, and a two-week supply of Pepto Bismol chewables. I can’t lift my left arm, so the tetnus shot must be working. All of this means, I’m-going-to-Ba-li-and-yoo-oo-oou-are-ent!

OK, that was cruel, and possibly inaccurate. I mean, I have no way of knowing what’s up with you, and you seem like the jaunty, world-traveling sort (I think it’s the sports sandals). So if you plan to be on Bali or Lombok in the near future and you see me, come say hi.

I wanted to have a guest blogger while I was gone, but I couldn’t decide whom to ask. Instead, I’ve compiled some entries from sites I like. My trusty friend Dave will be posting stuff for me while I’m gone, though he won’t receive a single sexual favor in return–he wants me to bring him back a monkey mask. (Dave could use some help with his bargaining skills, my friends.)

Well, I’m off to take bucket showers and purchase carved items. No parties while I’m gone, and take care of your sister.

8:41 a.m.