Clear Eyes, Full Hearts, CAN'T LOSE!

Mom loves Friday Night Lights! I knew it would happen, just as I knew Caroline's pick of the man candy on the show would be bashful second string QB Saracen. They think Lyla's annoying and Jason's heartbreaking and they don't yet understand that Riggins is sex on legs (but they will) and they understand the Awesomeness of Tami. I hope you all will, too. Friday Night Lights is the cheapest season of television DVD box set out there (less than $20 at Target) and makes a great gift to any fan of quality TV, sports, beautiful people, Texas, excellence in all things. DO IT!

Why I don't blog more

It's because of gchat and because my stream of consciousness ramblings/attempts at witty commentary go directly to Molly and then I never "flesh them out" into "blog posts."
Example:
me: i wish you were coming (to NAMM)

i wish there were a sad monkey face

Molly: why aren't there anymore?

Sent at 2:44 PM on Monday

me: well there is monkey face

but i want monkey face +lone tear
Sent at 2:47 PM on Monday

me: awesome air remix

Sent at 2:50 PM on Monday

me: whoa! why does andrew bird look exactly like Steve Cooney?

Sent at 2:53 PM on Monday

me: wow, zach condon looks 15

its not that he looks ugly, he just looks like a 120 lb 15 yr old

Sent at 2:56 PM on Monday

me: there is too much

too many blogs to read

tooo manY!

Sent at 2:58 PM on Monday

me: i think i like les savy fav

Uncut and virtually unedited. Note the lack of response in between my chats to Molly, and that not quite enough time has passed for me to be accomplishing tasks in between chats.
I just published a gchat on the internet. Clearly I am suffering from an overload of information, and an underload of intellect.

What's new, pussycat?

1. I work part-time for my dad. Come check out the Receptor at the Muse booth at NAMM in Anaheim, CA January 17-20, 2008. 

2. I tutor in English and college essays at Build a few evenings a week. It keeps me sane. No one ever got depressed helping other people. It's true.

3. In theory, I am one of three captains of the Atherton team of Obama for America. This is exciting, and also frightening because I don't usually get involved in these things. The last time I got personally involved in an election I lost (damn you Florida!) and had to do a dip (chewing tobacco) and that is SICK. By the way, I say "in theory" because I missed the first meeting and we're not starting at the phone banking until after the holidays. So what did I do for Barack today? I mentioned him in my blog. 

4. I have been receiving visitors: Kristin, David, and soon Rasha and then Azalea (shout out!). It's been really nice, and reminds me I may one day emerge from my cave into my peer group again.

5. I'm going to Ecuador! Ticket confirmed today. Jan 22-Feb 6. I guess most people go to Ecuador to tour the Galapagos but that is not on the itinerary. What is? Villages, mountain scenery, some form of local brew, photography, blogography, classic Shakira perhaps. 

Oh, just calm the frack down

HiC, despite widespread perception, is, in fact, still online. And I have one particularly loyal reader who has emailed me a few times to complain about the lack of daily updates, grammar and syntax errors, not enough Obama-love, etc. I thought I would need to build a bigger readership before the backlash began! But so it is. This is an open letter to my critics(no s): you must chill!

What is it you are looking for here, Reader? My thoughts on Puffins v. Honey Bunches of Oats for breakfast? A transcript of my notes on Caroline's college essays (fewer adverbs=better)? An analysis of my White Liberal Guilt-derived weirdness over tutoring ESL students at Build? Links to funny videos? How about reviews of the best ANTM, Project Runway, and Tila Tequila marathons (starving bitches, hilarious gays and batshit insane "lesbians" - the best of unscripted TV!). Or, uh, Razor...

My life is small right now. I'm more than fine with that. But it doesn't make for compelling reading.

Really, my daily life is a combination of "soccer mom" routine and child-like recidivism. I drive around (in a wagon, no less) to do errands like shuttling my sister and picking up the dry cleaning. I work in the mornings, nap around 4pm and then am fed dinner by my parents. It is AWESOME. This past week we've been Christmas-decorating, gingerbread house-making, and I've launched phase 2 of my campaign for a puppy. Phase 3 is when I present my stepdad with a lightly sedated pup in a box on Christmas morning! Shh!

My commitment to you, Reader: near-future posts will concern Grassroots Obama for America gossip (registered Democrats in Atherton, prepare for my call!), further career angst navel-gazing, stories from Claremont, LA, Taos, updates on the train of visitors from Yale, DC, NYC, et ceterata, celery soup.

Hey guys, remember when I lived in Asia? Me neither!

5 and 6, or a digression on my other boyfriend, BD

5. I think I might legitimately put my mom on this list, because, as much as she might feel overworked and frustrated, she is really good at her job and people love her. Her art docent trainees freak out worship her. She is like the mascot over at Art in Action. Or a cult-leader for subversive-hip suburban moms. I don't actually want her career, but I admire how after 15 years of volunteering and hanging out with us kids "in the home" she turned her skill set, interests, and educational background into a real job. All of my parentals have cool and admirable professional things going on. I don't think they get fan mail like my mom does, though.

6. I was going to put Tina Landon, choreographer to Janet, etc, on this list until I realized she was involved with White Chicks, the worst movie I have ever watched for 20 minutes on an airplane in my life. Instead, I'll say "people who play with puppies" and segue immediately into talking about Baron Davis, who is a Warrior and rocks the beard right into my heart (see above). He's there to play basketball, works for Don Nelson, my own personal Coach Taylor, and he lights up the court (with his smile, hee).

You can catch me 3 rows up from center court in a "We Believe" tee-shirt tonight in Oakland, trashtalking Yao Ming in Chinese.
Golden State!

PS This list of career heroes has long since passed from the realm of reality so consider it a beta and I'll release a more thoughtful version once feedback has been examined.

PPS How do you scream "brick" in Mandarin?

Assignment: The 6 People Whose Careers I Want

1. Mindy Kaling - she writes/acts for The Office (well, not lately, aaaaaargh). She's hilarious and brilliant and Indian-American. I wish I was her. Even though she went to Dartmouth.

2. Wing Chun, aka Tara Ariano, of TelevisionWithoutPity.com (and Toronto). She hated Dawson's Creek so much she had to blog about it. This summer she sold her site to Bravo and that means she is pretty successful. On that note I add the Fug Girls, who are hilarious bitches to be sure, and independently owned and operated, for whatever that's worth.

3. William Langewiesche, previously of The Atlantic (ew, I know), now of Vanity Fair (don't you "ew" me, punk!). Gorgeous stylist, profound, intuitive feeler, and my favorite living writer.

4. I am supposed to put Paul Farmer on this list. But I'm too cynical to think any do-gooder with national recognition could possibly be worth the worship they get. It's like a karmic thing. There is too much love going in one direction, so I must staunch the tide with my own indifference. I have known a lot of great and worthy people battling poverty and injustice in the world. But it is not my dream career path, so not even Mr Famous Friend of Bono can inspire me.

5 and 6 are going to require a lot more digging...

Low-tech living in a high-tech world

So, I don't have a cell phone. Correction, I have a cell phone and it has all my numbers in it and sometimes I carry it around to give my purse the right weight, but I do not have a plan, or a number, or a way of being reached in real time beyond the evening hours (PST) on my mother's sturdy landline. Dial it up. It's not scary.

I seem to be the only one not inconvenienced by me not having a cell phone. It troubles nearly everyone in my life, but, given that I seldom socialize outside the home and don't drive much outside the Menlo Park-Atherton region, I feel I am appropriately reachable. Mostly I like the convenience of not paying $50 a month for a phone contract. Yes, fine! I am very cheap! I am minimally employed! Just pretend it's 1997 and call me at home outside the dinner hour!

PS. There is a lot of dialogue en espanol (by the way, spell check wants to turn that into "bespangles") happening at the Music Annex today. I think Los Tigres may be in the casa!

PPS Pensando en espanol, I am contemplating a visit to Ecuador in early 08 with one Ms Paige Atkinson. Question: is it worth flying through Bogotá to avoid Miami International to make this possible?

Ready to be heartbroken

Obamania was "fired up" last night, just as promised. The man is more handsome in person and, despite a sometimes awkward mix of law school professor and Baptist preacher in his on-stage presence, got the crowd going into a dither of excitement. I found myself screaming wildly when he promised to make health insurance accessible and affordable to all Americans, and when he reminded us: "George W. Bush will not be on the ballot in 2008, neither will my cousin, Dick Cheney. Everyone's got a black sheep in the family." He's funny!

Hence the title of this post. I'm probably too cynical to become a true believer like my stepdad Rick, who is attending rallies and writing letters for the first time in his 35 years as a voter. But I think an Obama Presidency would be the sea change to save my generation and also possibly the only way to avert the Apocalypse. So if I believed in belief I would believe in the Obama Campaign. And because, despite my stated non-belief, my heart beats for Barack's potential, and I mean that in a totally non-sexual way.

Plans with (one of) my boyfriend(s)

Catherine --

I'm coming to see you.

I wanted to make sure you've heard that I'll be at the Bill Graham Civic Auditorium this Wednesday, November 14.

You can get tickets here:

https://donate.barackobama.com/sanfran

I love San Francisco, and I can't wait to come back. It'll be a good time.

Hope to see you there,

Barack

Return to Witch Mountain

I am currently freezing to death in my new job - as a part-time doer of things for my Dad at Muse Research. Located in lovely East Menlo Park at historic Music Annex Studios (Los Tigres! George Winston!), Muse combines the best of my childhood with the tech boom - casual, crumbly, techy, lacking decent heating. Ok, it's sort of hard to explain how my childhood is involved, but my dad is at a computer in the next room, and that sure feels familiar. Of all the things I have called bosses in the past - hosebeast, guru, Belgian - Dad is the weirdest. Also weird is this new concept of "revenue-generation," not to mention "ad sales." Oh, the world of making money instead of less poor people - how quaint. The atmosphere is not all that different, actually, since Muse is small and creative and staffed by subculturalists. In this case the subculture is keyboardists and sound engineers, instead of public health enthusiasts and RPCVs.

Since I have been home there has been:
an earthquake
an oil spill
a WGA strike, threatening that which we hold most dear, television.

Clearly my movements impact the universe.

And I'm link-happy because the Internet is robust and free (thanks, parentals) everywhere, lalalalala!

Home! Where my thoughts escape me

I have made it home to Atherton, CA, where I've been splitting time between my parent's houses (less than a mile apart) like a 15 year old. I say like a 15 year old because I can drive, but I don't have a car. It's not too bad, actually, and is made better by the total freedom I have to wear pyjamas all day and nap at will. One of my two checked bags is still on a multi-airport tour of Asia, or rather is getting to know the SFO baggage holding area quite well, while United gets to know how pissed off I am about being separated from everything I bought in Asia, for no reason other than their own inability to put my bag on a truck and deliver it to me.

Loads of pictures are now up on facebook, if that's your kind of thing. Check it out. Here is a taster:
Yea, that is my arm a few days after the sadist at SOS used a needle as a shovel in an attempt to draw blood. I bet that was the pic you were waiting for! The bruising was worse before.

Great things about home: revisiting academia by helping Caroline write papers, ministering to Molly's broken foot, INTERNET! and Goldfish 'til I'm sick.

PS. Gossip Girl really is entertaining, all y'all who knew it would be my new favorite show. At least it will hold me til the new Battlestar miniseries in January. TV has not disappointed!

Changi is my new favorite word

Here I am blogging at a public (free!) internet terminal in the Singapore Changi Airport Transit Hall. How very weirdly-cheery-final-scene-of-"The Beach." I might next take in a movie or exciting cable TV on one of the lounges' LCD projection screens or find some Asian kids to play XBox with, also advertised as free and open 24 hours in my handy airport guide. Well, the kids might not be free, given as it's after 11pm. My next flight is at 7am and I've already passed my first layover of the multi-airport tour of Asia in Bangkok.



Leaving Cambodia from Siem Reap this afternoon was a little weird, and not without some heartstring-tugging regret. Even though it has been a week since I left Phnom Penh and my "life" there it was still sad to bid my final "sua s'dey!" to the goofball riverside moppets and my final "aw kuhn" to the customs officials at the departure gate. I've gotten used to some things, and been privileged with some special experiences that I won't get in the States. I have more debriefing to do and a backlog of travel stories to post so never fear, dear HiC readers, I'll keep filling in the blanks from my mother's kitchen table in Atherton.

For more details on my Thailand trip, as well as the somewhat more drunken companion piece to "Liveblogging Koh Samet" please click "Paige in Doha" at the top of my links list.

I might come back later and sleepblog and/or loveblog once I've lorazepamed, depending on my serotonin levels.

Liveblogging Koh Samet

On an island in the Gulf of Thailand with Paige.

After some excellent shopping, sightseeing and non-sensual massage in Bangkok we are now doing the margaritas on the beach thing at Thai springbreak headquarters, Koh Samet.

Paige lives in Doha and we both are from Atherton, CA, went to boarding school and Yale, studied in Morocco, etc. So conversation is peppered with "yaani, mish muhtaram," "no no, I mean the Vietnamese place on University," and "dude, Josh Drimmer was the naked guy on a cell phone in the West Village!" We are also both experiencing an onslaught of culture after the drought of living in the Gulf and Phnom Penh, respectively. Paige thrills at seeing alcohol freely available and I rhapsodize over the joy of locally sourced products, functioning infrastructure, sharing leisure activities with locals, etc. It's a good time. Except for when we saw The Kingdom at the movie theatre. Peter Berg, I love you for Friday Night Lights and bringing more Kyle Chandler into my life but I don't need to see Jennifer Garner stifle her weepiness beneath the steely resolve of a government counter-terrorism agent. It's been done.

Right now the fire-throwing show on the beach has wrapped up and we're searching for another watering hole before trekking home to our bungalow up the jungly slope.

Also, I found a purple leather bag!

Debriefing

Top 5 Work Moments:

5. "Date night"my first week on the job in Sihanoukville. The "show" was young men pummeling each other during 5 hours of kickboxing (interspersed with 'hey! don't torture monkeys!' public messaging). The dinner was candlelit, beachside, pepper fried prawns for 4: my boss, her boyfriend and Swifty (my age, male coworker) and me. My boss is the one who made the double-date joke. Just the first of many instances of borderline (and often prosecutable) sexual harrassment in the workplace.

4. After reviewing tons of resumes, interviews, and reference checks I make the call on which candidates are hired for 3 key managerial positions. Lump the two or three other moments when I accomplished actual work and contributed in some way in with this one.

3. Sharing the big room with Sathy and Saven and occasionally Samal, especially when they trashtalk each other about their upcoming snooker games: "So far I have fattened him like a chicken and tonight I will make the slaughter" - Samal re: Sathy.

2. Spending the day with Nick and Cheata at Phnom Tamao Wildlife Rescue Center, meeting the lady elephants and Baby Chhou, meaningful eye contact with Mr Macaque, etc.

1. My sojourn at CADP, a.k.a. religious experiences on a farm. Motorcycle lessons and being pseudo-courted by 2 20 year old Israeli youths among the careful tracts of cucumbers and ground nuts.

Top 5 Cambodia Slices of Life:

5. The ferry at Sre Ambel, i.e. canoes tied together, covered in planks, powered by a couple outboards, loaded with trucks and people, puttering across the river next to the bridge that is 99% constructed but not in service unless your car has Armed Forces "special" plates.

4. The time Kimhour, our nightguard, had his brothers and friends over for a fishhead soup and rice wine party in the front of our house. 8 men drunk in under 10 minutes. Fi brought out fruit and I held off the Dengue another day to toast with them.

3. Wandering Sorya Mall - where you can rollerskate on the top floor, eat Swensen's ice cream on the ground floor and nowhere buy branded goods that aren't fake.

2. Walking the three blocks home from work to the big house, past the open field of drug use to the little lane that leads to my street, where the construction worker families live. Literally being greeted by joyful children yelling hello! every day.

1. Mixing with the local scene at the Red Cow beer garden (appropriating the Laughing Cow cheese label), where the uniformed representatives of Tiger, Anchor and Angkor serve their brews on ice, accompanying the spicy eel, chicken larb and sweet and sour fish. Mmm.

Oh wait

This is fun. I have friends. This is an interesting opportunity. Work is not so bad when I actually have things to do. Exactly 3 months in and the corner is finally turned. How much of my current good mood is because I'm going home and how much is truly a settled in good-feeling from life in Phnom Penh is impossible to know. I'm leaving, though, and that won't be changing. I guess I am leaving on a high note, still looking forward to my next attempt, glad I was here. Truly glad I came and a little wistful at leaving.

Too long a time to be a blip, too short to be a stint.

More adventures with Uncle Ho

We got our pho fix on Thursday, though my 100% veggie travel buddies were not thrilled when I suggested all pho in Asia is made with beef stock. Duh. Friday night we took our new layered Asian hipster haricuts to the upscale downtown area, Dong Khoi. We ate tasty fusion cuisine (you know, like wasabi mashed potatoes and mango margaritas), and found ourselves digesting and sipping our first 6 dollar drinks (no guff!) at the swank gay club down the street. Like any straight, underdressed gal in boyztown I could only justify my presence by dancing up a storm. To my great joy they played the dance version of Yes' "Owner of a Lonely Heart."
We shut the bar down there and headed to the famous/infamous HCMC nightclub Apocalypse Now. Did you really think there wasn't a cheesy backpacker/local/expat dancefloor makeout club in S. Vietnam called Apocalypse Now? You're so naive! It was all silly and fun until the inexplicably popular "I Will Survive" with all the lo-los and the line dancing at the end came on. I'm sorry, it's not seven years ago in Ibiza and I cannot take that shit anymore and it was bedtime.

In addition to the glories of orderliness, world-class cuisine, and expat/local mixing, Ho Chi Minh City has some fascinating touristy places on offer. I considered my responsibility as an American to go to the War Crimes Museum (to be honest, Vietnam's major beef continues to be with the Chinese; French and American atrocities are less resented, I guess because the West was eventually whupped.). I think my companions were less keen for more atrocity tourism, however, so we opted for the Museum of Ho Chi Minh City instead. Pictures will be posted as soon as I am able- of everything from a terrifying, poorly taxidermied tiger corpse, to a GI Joe-sized mock-up of the tunnels of Cu Chi, to a 2' model of the American Embassy in 1975 (nothing's going on in the replica, it's just the building...?) to the MiG parked in the front garden. Not to mention all the 80% scaled size mannequin protesters everywhere.

Just walking around was refreshing, despite the heat. Saigon has public parks and sidewalks (both lacking in PP) and a coconut vendor is never far if you get low on electrolytes. While enjoying crepes chocolats and veggie spring rolls one afternoon we were talked into some purchases from a book vendor (5 foot tall woman + 5 foot tall stack of illegally printed Lonely Planets and Life of Pi's on her shoulder). So now, naturally, I'm reading The Quiet American for the first time. I figure Graham Greene doesn't need my royalty dollars cause he's dead.

The reason I'm so bursting with happiness after the Vietnam trip is I finally felt like I was having an adventure. I was reaffirmed in my love of travel and my ability to be flexible and enjoy new things. I felt immediately like I could have a life in Saigon, like I could find a segment of the local scene to fit into. The brief smile I shared with a Vietnamese woman when I was almost killed by an onslaught of motorbikes as I crossed the road felt like a more significant cross-cultrual connection than I have experienced in 3 months in Phnom Penh. It's truly a bummer- the weird halfway between familiar and foreign, comfortable and uncomfortable that is life as an expat in PP - and I think it's unique to this city.

Speaking of the contrast between the comfortable and the hugely awkward, tonight I am being feted by my boss for working at WildAid for 3 months and quitting. I think she's still really excited that I figured out she almost screwed up her tax return. I don't think I deserve a party but cases of beer have been ordered and a Khmer party is happening on the far side of the river. I suppose I'll be asked to give a speech.

Coming soon - Best/Worst of, Top 5s, Highs/Lows and further debriefing.

Saigon is the answer

Sometime in the pm on Monday my roommate Briony and I decided to go to Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam instead of the Cambodian beach town Sihanoukville. Miraculously, visas were arranged in under an hour the next morning (the last day before a 3 day public holiday, Pchum Benh) and good ol Bri secured us bus tickets for Thursday morning by greasing a few palms. The rest of Phnom Penh had already bought up every other ticket out of town. And let me tell you why... it's because Vietnam is awesome!

Even though we stayed in a backpacker ghetto and I was mysteriously parted from my $100 bill at our hotel I had the best weekend ever. Everything was exciting, wonderful, and beautiful. And HCMC is meant to be the uglier, noisier sister to Hanoi. If that's true then Hanoi is a dreamland of flowers and sausages and I will die of joy if I go there. From our PP-skewered perspectives HCMC was glamourous, cosmopolitan, clean, organized, orderly, accessible, full of things to do and tasty, varied food. We were country bumpkins all weekend, awed by the modernity and functionality around us.

First stop: Diamond Plaza - a department store whose cosmetics and accessories ground floor is indistinguishable from any Nordstrom or Bloomingdale's in the States. On the top floor, after getting soaked in a particularly nasty rainstorm (the rainstorms in this part of the world are usually short bursts of torrential downpour that lighten up after a half hour or so. On Thursday it was Hollywood rain for hours and we had to wade through knee deep water in the streets to get to a restaurant, then into a cab to Diamond. Yes, a metered taxi!) we took in a film in a real movie theatre! The film we treated ourselves to? Hell yea we paid to see Evan Almighty! It was so cold in there I had to buy golf socks in the men's shoe department!

More tomorrow!

The past week

The internet connection, along with the barking dogs, the recurrent funeral next door, the heat and the many noises interrupting my sleep, has been making me a little crazy. It's also prevented me from posting about my adventures, and oh they have been multitudinous.

I've been running errands - like buying plane tickets and finally hemming the jeans I've owned for 10 months. I started Christmas shopping and I went to the monthly Euro rave at Elsewhere - where every white expat and fancy gay Khmer dude in Phnom Penh comes to get naked in the pool or lounge and lecherize. The house music leaned more toward Pink Floyd dance remix than spoken word drum and bass, thank god. At least there was no cover.

Mom's birthday was Friday and she was so excited about it she called me when it was still Thursday in California (to remind me?). Living in the future is so cool.

Also on Friday I got my first "Chinese" massage. It involved some violent pummeling, some forced stretching of my limbs over my head, and me in old man pyjamas the whole time. My massage therapist was I think Chinese or perhaps Vietnamese . Her ringtone was a popsong in an Eastern Asian language. While Master Kang's Health Center certainly caters to a certain Asian businessman elite and I'm sure a happy ending could have been requested, the facilities seemed fancy enough that hopefully my masseuse was not a victim of trafficking or exploitation. I gave her a 10% tip which amounted to one dollar.

I planned my trip to Bangkok with one Ms. Paige Austin and my trip to Siem Reap with my periodically enraging father. Now there also may be a plan afoot to see a circus in Vietnam instead of going to the beach on Wednesday? I'm getting out of this city within 48 hours or I'm acquiring a dependancy on painkillers and Cornettos and that's not healthy.

It is inappropriate to ROFL

Rabia and I went to the Killing Fields (Choeung Ek Genocide Center) on Saturday morning. The site is about 13km from Phnom Penh in the midst of farms, open green space, and factories. There is a tall glass and concrete stupa and a small information pavilion and the rest is open pits, pieces of people, and painted signs pointing out which tree was used for beating children's skulls in and which was used to slice open people's throats. I didn't realize the experience of thirty-year old murder would be so immediate. The stupa has nine stories of skulls from the 9000 odd people who have been exhumed from the mass graves since the early 80s but many thousands of bodies were left in the graves and bones are still visible all around you, sticking out of the mud, collected in a pile near a tree. Not buried, not behind glass or barricades of any kind. Even weirder is the half buried clothing that's everywhere. You don't know if it's just the sleeve of a shirt, or the shirtsleeve plus the ulna, if it leads to another skull just under the dirt.

Our guide, Sol, expertly rattled off the highlights: here is the steel bar used to bind people into a line so they could wait to be bludgeoned one by one; here is a skull with a machete fracture; here is where all the naked women's bodies were found together with their young children; this is where the loudspeaker was hung so the screams of the victims could be drowned out by louder noises.

Though we were too shy to ask him about his own experience from the Khmer Rouge period, we gleaned some of the local perspective on the genocide from Sol's comments. He expressed bewilderment that such a thing could happen, that a people would kill themselves instead of an outside enemy in a "normal" war. It sounded as though he felt shame that this regime could come to power in Cambodia and frequently explained why people did not think to escape or fight back. I asked if people in Cambodia studied genocides in other countries as part of their history classes and he seemed vague on the relevance. It was as though the Nazi genocide campaign could be explained because it was against an "other," while Cambodia's killing was brother on brother and wholly less rational.

The pictures will go up someday.

Ooooo get me away from here I'm dying

Misery is an uninteresting topic so I haven't been writing much. Wouldn't want to bore you guys. All you many numerous people reading this. The last few days have been rough and I don't really know why. I'm having several mini-meltdowns a day and last night found myself furiously pushing the cork into a bottle of red wine because I couldn't find the corkscrew and I needed a goddamned glass of wine. Or five. And it was so stifling in the kitchen I had to pause to dowse myself in lukewarm tapwater like some porny nightmare. Earlier I had fantasies of beating the crap out of other motorists who swerved too close to my motodup. Just like my umbrella beat-down fantasies back in the day, walking home after a long day of working for the hosebeast at NDI. Am I alone in having these thoughts?

Life is so much harder than I will ever imagine for most people in this country - why am I such a goddamned whiner?

I bought a plane ticket. I managed to screw up the timing through sheer carelessness, however, so I'll be spending 20 odd hours in Singapore. Is that enough time to go to the zoo? Although, after forming a deep, personal bond with 3 lady elephants, can any zoo compare?

Please do not murder the fish

Funny picture from Sre Ambel, on the way to Koh Kong.

I think the Khmer says "do not wage war on the fish, please." I love public messaging campaigns.

Things to do in Phnom Penh traffic

On a motodup taxi:

Text message

Pick your teeth

Pretend you are flying on a broomstick

On your colleague Eddy's gigantic, un-muffled, 8 foot tall motorcycle:

Fear for your life

Fear for your shoulder muscles as you grip your seat to prevent toppling off backwards during gear shifting

Think about how weird it is that your thighs are pressed so closely to your boss' boyfriend's because you can't sit side saddle on his bike

Some of the above activities are more fun stoned, so I am told.

Hour 6 of the funeral next door

I've been at my desk all day listening to a Khmer funeral on the loudspeakers next door. Not so much "listening," actually as suffering through, attempting to ignore, and ultimately going every so slightly more insane thanks to. Sometimes it's tinny, tuneless music being played over blown-out speakers, sometimes it's chanting, sometimes it's just one guy yelling a lot. But it's all very, very loud. Head-filling loud. October 28th cannot come quickly enough.

I''m going to go to Bangkok after my last day at work, before Dad arrives for the temple tour. I'll go for a few days to hang out with myself, see the Asian Metropolis I've been looking for. Wander around an air conditioned mall. Look for a Goldfish proprietor. Then I will have had my fill.

"Cambodia" will soon be metaphorical

If you read to the bottom of my last post you may have noticed my mini-bombshell. Yes, I quit. My job and the fellowship. I'm a quitter.

If you've been paying attention or been one of the dozens privy to my angsty emails over the last 2 months you're not surprised. I'm still a little surprised, however.

It came about suddenly, actually. My first day back after the dengue (and my boss' first day in the office after her second 1 month vacation of the summer) she just asked if it was true I was unhappy and that ''it might not be working out?" All I could do was tell the truth. And then it was out there. It didn't follow the schedule of how I planned on working all of this out, but it's done and I feel just a little less burdened with indecision.

I had a moment, over copious wine and samosas at Simply Blue (the swanky new Norodom Blvd bar owned by the oddest forensic psychiatrist/spook/braggart/DC native I have ever met) with coworker/lifesaver Swifty about whether I shouldn't just stick it out cause I probably could. It's true. I could just suck it up and sit here for a year. But damnitol, that is not what I want for the next year of my life. Plus Swifty's last day was yesterday. And I'm sick again. And my TiVo awaits.

I had another moment, too, this time over ginger chicken (Thai food is usually the tastiest option in Phnom Penh) with my dear roommate Fi wherein I was talking about how ''once my job is over, I'll..." And I paused. I literally did that slow realization thing where you start smiling to yourself because you realize you're happy about something you didn't know you were happy about. Like all those times Dawson "the Head" realized he really did love Joey. Just like that.

I am forward-looking. I am progressing. I am getting to somewhere I'd like to be. And soon enough I will be reunited with some of my favorite people in the world, including maybe Koko the Gorilla. She lives in Woodside, don't you know.

I worship my brother

And he's 22! Happy Birthday, Snedly! Snedward, it's your birthday! Happy birthday, Neddo! Nedpeeb, it's your birthday!

In other news I ate some snake on a stick the other day and forgot to mention it. It occurred pre-dengue and therefore millenia ago. Also, the non-rat gifting cat, Belle, despite general misanthropy has taken me as a nursemaid. She has now attempted to suckle from a button on my shirt and random sections of my pyjamas on three occasions. I smell like a mama cat I guess. Gross. Who remembers suckling cat face? Ned? Mom? Molly?

What else? I met an Australian girl who got a boob job in Thailand this summer. She was pretty happy with the results.

And I have some friends, including a nice household of roommates. 2 of whom I think are sleeping together again. Don't worry, Kris, no one in this country reads my blog.

And! I quit.

Internet, you're killing me

Schedule of third world horrors:

Obvious prostitution: weekly

Street intravenous drug use: twice a week

Naked children + garbage: 3 times/week

Evidence of families living in squalor/public/on a construction site: 3-4 times/week

Very public urination: daily to hourly

Foreigner co-workers celebrate cheapness/freedom of their lifestyle: daily

Kept awake by barking dogs and/or construction: nightly

Heat, intense sun, and no relief: hourly

Tortured by slow and/or broken internet connection: every other minute

Oh, it's not all that bad. I thought hey, I haven't written much about the fact that I currently live in the poorest country in SE Asia so I'd share some slice of life details. Also I'm overtired (see dogs, heat). When your valium won't even put you to sleep you're in trouble.

What have we learned?

I fought the protozoa and the protozoa lost. It's like I have an inhuman ability to heal myself! I came back from a 74 platelet count and barely any white blood cells to speak of without a transfusion (or required medevac to Bangkok for said transfusion). It would make anyone feel special. Also, the purple, yellow and green bruise blossoms surrounding my track marks make me feel good about my choice to never, ever become an intravenous drug user. Except for saline solution. Sweet, life-giving 4 bags of saline on Day 4. That was good, after I stopped crying. Not good? Needles. And the incompetent male nurses who wield them at SOS Clinic when digging around INSIDE your arm looking for veins. And failing! Making me cry and cry and reinforcing my needlephobia just when I was starting to get over it.

To be honest, now that I feel tons better, I don't know what to say about the dengue. You sleep and writhe a lot. There's not much to do beside writhe when you're awake because you have no energy and no appetite. Tylenol is surprisingly powerful stuff. Not eating hurts your stomach. Water tastes bad and trying to suck down too many electrolyte solutions when you are dehydrated and undernourished doesn't work and you will feel better once you go to the clinic and let them IV you for a while, even though IVs are scary. Your coworkers and roommates will realize they are your only friends and will rise to the occasion, keeping you supplied with Royal D (it's basically Tang), Saltines, baby food, and bottled water. They will listen to your feverish ramblings about what you were like in high school, how your mom makes toast, apple sauce and scrambled eggs for dinner when you're sick, and how you want to travel across the Arctic with Bear Grylls because he's hot and it's cold there. You'll despair and fear bleeding from the eyeballs.

Now that I have survived a tropical disease that has no cure, does this make me superior somehow? Like maybe a superhero? Ned survived amoebic dysentery, but really, isn't that just a fancy term for shitstorm? Dengue's kinda fun to say, and since most of my memories were destroyed by low blood sugar and febrile malaise I guess I don't feel that bad about it. Still don't want to bleed from my eyeballs, though. That's what happens when you get it again.

BREAKING NEWS!!! (One week old) I HAVE DENGUE

I joked. I feared. I cursed the mosquitoes that haunt my every move. It was all for a laugh. Until last Thursday night when I suddenly felt very faint. The pounding headache and fever followed the next day and here we are, one week later. I have dengue fever. That is all.

It's raining, it's pouring, metaphorically speaking

No, actually, it's just raining like it pays outside. My feet are muddy and so, so, so grossly mosquitofied. What's up, dengue? Are you happening or not? I'm starting to feel unglamorous. I have three dollars and assorted riel on my person and nothing in the fridge. I saw an apartment today which would have high ceilings if you were a 4 foot 2 Khmer lady. It's like a brand new, tiled, barred window rabbit warren. Or mole hole. Mole hole? Mmmm, molé. Larry the mole! Where's Darnell when you need him?

My tum is full of yummy Thai food from lunch.

I remember it was pretty hard to feed myself at first in Fez. That is, until I moved into the riad and enjoyed Gerby's rabbit-orange-cinnamon-okra stews every night. We didn't have a fridge or a pantry yet I cooked more often than I do here. I have made Korean ramen twice, per HLP's tutelage (and the instructions on the bag) and that is it. Oh wait, I heated up day-old Indian take out twice. Mmm Indian. Dan/Sam, I should have joined you in the Bombay Commune. That would have been the thing.

Now I think my thing might be finding a village out in the provinces and staying there for a few weeks. No internet, no boring underperforming job, no constant emailing to everyone I know of "what do I doooooo??!" I'll take my laptop, my doxycycline, and my bright green raingear and blend in with the foliage. I'll eat rice and whatever. I'll write a novel. It will be called The Rainy Season and it will be angsty and orientalist and feature a strong female protagonist.

When we put Maddy down I imagined I'd aimlessly drive South and be alone and mourn my dog or something. Instead, I stayed around the house, babysat and don't remember much of the summer. In the Fall, I watched a lot of Animal Planet (Animal Cops, Animal Precinct) and bonded with my poetry professor over our common recent loss. 5 years later I'm in Cambodia, feeling the same instinct to retreat.

Bob LoBlaw fishcakes

Miss Teen South Carolina believes she has "a good character" and was raised well and, despite a total inability to form coherent sentences, won 4th place in Miss Teen USA 2007. She is dumb as rocks and believes stomping around in a bikini is a competition. And yet, "she has a good character." Which is better? Would I be happier with a smart child or a simple one who had "good character?" Can that mean anything if you are too dumb to be self-aware? Are we talking about robots?

I'm meeting another PiA affiliated person for dinner and waiting for my Phonecall of Judgment and Failed Expectations.

Minimum Operating Standards

Cambodia has not solely been a vanity suck-fest. I have to have something else to show for this. For the money and the investment and the IWentToTheOtherSideOfTheWorldAndOnlyWantedToComeBack-ness. I think it's the wanting to come back. The wanting of something. The finding the right cliff and jumping off it. I am too old for this shit.
This is what I know:

I need a network
I am bad at being bored
I am limited by nothing

In the interest of entertainment: I was roused from a possible dengue febrile delirium yesterday evening by the nightguard, Kimhour, and his 6 buddies having a soup and sugarcane liquor party during some serious monsoon rains. I'm not going to make any general statements about Asians, but yo they were toasted in 5 minutes. Literally. Doing the whole "we toast to....Sopheap from Ratnakiri, yea! And to....the soup guy, yea! And to...tasty cow ankle parts, woo!" and getting sloppy but quick after a cup and a half. Meanwhile, my roommate told the story of sleeping with the other roommate and now his previously unmentioned girlfriend is visiting from America on Friday and no one can tell her. Yeesh.

Also, never email me. I thought maybe you all were concerned, but seriously, I am not in need of confirmation of my self-worth or anything. Total radio silence is preferred.

I feel tired and weak but my elephant memories sustain me

Future posted photo captions:

A) Blowing into an elephant's trunk.
B) Communing with a macaque
C) Cambodian Bambi
D) Leopards at the edge of their forested enclosure eye-kill the caged macaque on the back of our truck
E) Mr. Asiatic Black Bear waiting for the bus (or a coconut)
F) I scratch the shoulders of a frickin' huge tiger, aka, "Eponymous."

Phnom Tamao was awesome. So very hot. I have never wanted so badly to bathe with an elephant but their ginormous size and the likely high bilharzia concentration in their pond prevented it.

The photo uploading takes forever so it may be a while before the shots described above go up here. Also, this weekend I hung out with some HIV+ orphans and made a new life plan. Details to follow.

My Vietnam, my historical memory

If I left here early, would it be "an ignominious end to a misguided [trip to a] war [-torn country]?" What would the record show? Since I can't get out of the conditional mood inside my own head (until I do), I can only find new questions to ask. Would a different job help? Is staying for the sake of not quitting virtuous? Would I feel guilty no matter what? Will I run out of time if I wait until I am 26 to come back to America to find the job I want? Will property values in Leslieville survive the market crash?

Sidebar - the IT guy working on the printers has "Don't Stop Believin'" as his ringtone. Awesome.

One of these days soon I'll write something descriptive about Phnom Penh. In the meantime, because I won't have internet tomorrow (going to see Chhouk the baby elephant at Phnom Tamao Wildlife Rescue Center with Socheata), HAPPY BIRTHDAY SARAH! You're a JD. You're on your way. I salute you.

Little by little the bird builds its nest

Oh! Hedgehog Man:
Moroccan crazy with a deep knowledge of flight attendant monologues, in search of the English translations of your curious personal mottoes - How I long for an avocado shake and your infinite wisdom in the comfort of a Fassi love cafe. I would settle even for an over-sweetened Nescafe in a man cafe. Or a piss-water Flag Speciale in the Zalagh man bar. Then the bleach guy loudly making his rounds through the medina at 5am, inexplicably. Sigh! - the shower of doom, where every ablution began with the panic-inducing lighting of the gas water heater. Rocks through the kitchen window, those pen-loving neighborhood kids. Winter, the cold, barbary ape in my hair instead of dead mouse. Red team, Gerby and Goon, couscous party. Applying Arabic grammar constructions to English speech. John, you sa-understand. Night train, gin-rummy, Magic Bark. Birthday twin, the war when it started, before Nathan enlisted and was killed.

What I mean to say is I looked at apartments today and didn't want to live here.

Hey guys, come back!

I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be such a downer! It's cool, I'll be fine. I'll try to swear less.

I'm going to do some things before I leave. I suspect I will leave anyway, but I'm going to do some things first. Things like maybe give blood (to the children). And wait for my boss to return from her second extended vacation of the summer so I can write about the ridiculous things that come from her botoxed lips. And set other goals.

First, I have to share this, though, because, as promised, it gave me a hearty laugh to start my day. Thanks, Dad.

Knowns, known and unknown

The bullshit continues...

I am seriously considering packing it in and saying goodbye to this place. It feels like the right thing to do, but also kind of shitty. I think there are a million places I'd rather be and things I'd rather be doing and I have already figured that so what in the name of squat am I doing here? IT IS SO GODDAMNED BORING!

I could pretend it's boot camp or some sort of test or obstacle to overcome but it's not and I think I am wasting my life.

Also, I will die alone.

I warned about the bullshit.

In and out of the belljar

I haven't posted since Wednesday since I try not to blog angry/depressed/bored. I just had three cups of coffee in a bar that has occasionally functioning internet so I am PUMPED right now and ready for story-time.

Last night I had Khmer night at the mall. It all happened by accident and was totally awkward but in the end, as I waited for my Khmer coworker Socheata's dad to pick us up outside Paragon mall and remembered the awesome old days of shame train trips to Del Monte Center and middle school nights at Borrones, I had a bit of a moment. After work, Jules the office casanova, Socheata (pretty, young Khmer gal that works with Jules, has two rhinestones on her front teeth) and I piled onto his orange vespa (that's cozy), and headed across the Japanese Friendship Bridge to Snowe's, a darkly lit, bell-filled shack tipping into the river that is my favorite bar in town.

After, Jules and the gf were heading home with take out so I awkwardly asked to be dropped off where I could get a moto home and then awkwardly got let out at Paragon (Thai mall chain) with Socheata and then awkwardly went into the Black Coffee Hut to get pad thai take out and then awkwardly ended up sitting down with her and awkwardly realized she was eating there so awkwardly changed my order to eat-in and awkwardly rambled about how she should go to the Youth Congress something or other in Quebec City cause Canada is awesome, awkward. But it was nice and then her dad came and I got a ride home and maybe a Khmer friend??

Also - custard apple:

This was the moment at CADP however many days ago. I wanted to memorialize it. That's my hunk of custard apple (tastes like an apple flavored spaghetti squash). Those are my toes in my fabulously comfortable Earth Shoes. And I think those are radish plants near my hand. Not exactly food porn, but better than Man Band?

For today, I am looking up.

The things I did today

I contemplated going to rehab in India. To, like, diet and yoga and stuff.

I looked at airfare from here to Delhi ($363!) and Chennai ($466!) and San Francisco ($931).

I almost applied to several jobs at Google CA.

I read the recaps of a VH1 reality television series called Man Band that features over the hill former Boy Band fatties like Chris Kirkpatrick and one of the non-Lacheys from 98 Degrees. Oh, that was funny.

I ate ginger chicken and rolled my eyes at my coworker's version of "rape jokes as button-pushing sense of humor" at lunch.

I imagined the DVDs I will consume this evening and the mild guilt I will feel for participating in the piracy of artistic product.


But I'm not one of these guys, so I guess it's OK.

I am bored. I am hot.

Remember the good times?

The puppies! The herd of puppies!

Puppies don't have rabies!

My religious experience

So I went to CADP in Koh Kong for a few days and I don't know if I can really talk about it yet. I learned to ride a motorcycle and encountered swarms of puppies. There was monsoon and cold showers and wooden plank bed and ground nuts and custard apples and naked babies and so much Hebrew. I was told I "belong there." By an Israeli! When does that happen, eh? I think it happens when they are trying to recruit more women. I'll post photos tomorrow. On Saturday. When I am in the office.

Pete: yes, Zack totally pwns this blog name.

Also, at dinner they played "Hello, is it me you're looking for?" at least 3 times. And my favorite Israeli band, Keveret, playing my favorite song "Hey Yo Ya!"

Hipsters but no trivia? No guff!

Man, I meant this to be the content for my first post, since it had just happened when I founded HiC (does that brand of juicebox still exist?), but I kept forgetting and so here it is now:

Last week I met up with a friend of a friend of a friend from Yale (that is an exact calculation) for drinks/dinner at an honest to god Phnom Penh hipster bar. It's called Cafe Ya, it's tiny and down the street from sketchy-looking guesthouses, and the owners were doing needlepoint at the table next to us. The other patrons: A middle-aged tattoed dude, a permanent expat/journalist who looked like Stanley Tucci, and an Asian-American chick with an asymmetrical haircut who asked me to be in her punk band. Need I say more?

It was awesome and we're hanging out again! Friend!

Part 2: after such monumental coolitude, a disappointment was sure to follow. I rallied my housemates to triv it up at the Lazy Gecko at the lakefront (backpackerville) on Thursday. While my veggie burger was tasty and the crowd inittowinit-looking, the "registration handout" was my first hint of dissatisfaction. It explained the format: 5 rounds, 10 questions each with "categories" like "TV and Movies," "Geography," and, worst of all for its sheer lack of elan, "Random Trivia." At least they asked for team names. I could tell I didn't have the groundswell of support necessary to name us LGBT Soundsystem, though it's now my permanent default in all competitive situations requiring self-nomenclature, so we went with Dr Rithy's Rejects, a nod to the questionable level of care offered at the "western" "clinic" in town.

You know what? The level of disdain I am feeling for the content of this post so far is requiring me to cut it short. I'll give you two exemplary questions and 2 quotes from the organizers.

1. What is the name of James Blunt's debut album?

2. What does a somnambulist do?

1. "We get the questions from a book and the book says Greenland's a country."

2. "After __ round(s), __ points for 'An Idiot Says What'...what!" (every time!)


I worked myself up pretty good and was thoroughly let down by the PP trivia scene. There's another bar in town that is apparently much better but I think perhaps nothing beats home.

Koh Kong delayed, afternoon diversion

Ping Serey, who is kind of like the office Danny Concannon character on Studio 60, with less Black List-era infotainment content (food coma...inhibiting reference ability), just sent me a video clip of a young girl bashing her dad in the balls with a baseball bat. It's less than 10 seconds long and from the UK. I don't know what to skypechat back. That was funny? That was...an education? Yeah. Yeah? Yeah.

Off to Koh Kong

In a complete 180 from yesterday I have something cool to do at work. I'm going down to the CADP site (Community Agriculture and Development Project) in Koh Kong Province to do their 3 month report for USAID. I'm riding down with the kibbutzniks this afternoon.

And, just cause I miss Carl and nice boys in general, here's this:

One more for the day, cause I CALLED IT!

Spoiler alert!

I totally called Harry Potter. I wish I'd had money on that.

A New Day, A New Format, A Special Way of Being Afraid

This looks much better.

I was asked today by a British coworker if I'm a "closet Trekkie type" when I mentioned I had bought the Season 1 Battlestar Galactica DVDs. I knew that would happen! That's why I felt shame when I made the purchase! It's not really sci-fi, it's a metaphor for our troubled times! Wait, that pretty much defines the sci-fi genre. Frack.

In any case, I'm learning to live with the TV geek I have become. I am not a Trekkie by any stretch of the imagination, but I appreciate the fine work of Edward James Olmos. Stands With A Fist is also great. I could do without the hallucinatory robot sex.

To make up for the pretentious post heading I will admit that when the title first popped into my mind I thought maybe I was remembering the name of a Shins album.

Where you are from? Inti min aslak Suri?

Dudes, the Israelis are up in this piece. It's like Allenby Bridge Part 2. Ah, I jest. But seriously, the ex-kibbutzniks here at WildAid are all about quizzing the new girl with the Arab name. Dany "interrogated" me in Arabic for like 20 minutes yesterday and Oran loves greeting me each morning with "sabah al khayr." Oh the Semites and their off-puttingness. Whew.

So, guys, this is my blog

Destiny fulfilled and all that. Mom said "blog," etceterata...

I'm an executive assistant in Phnom Penh. That feels decidedly less like a "destiny fulfilled." More like "personal failure." Poor life decision? It remains to be seen.

Just so you're all aware - the name of my blog is not just a lazy, boring, couldn't-think-of-anything-else kind of thing. It's a clever play on the Dead Kennedys' song. I wanted to make that clear.

Also, that pic is me and Molly at Tina's wedding. I think that's a relative of Tina's. It is the most recent picture taken of me.

My stories:
Yesterday the internet was out for the whole office for about 6 hours. The whole office except Ping Serey, that is. The router is near my desk so a crowd had gathered (apparently the power source had been fried?) and Serey came in, wondering why his internet still worked. This made no sense since without the router, the whole office should be offline. It was confirmed, however, that Serey had internet access. I'm not caring too much because without the internet the only possible diversion for my brain is minesweeper (computer minesweeper in Cambodia! Windows is so insensitive) and I'm absorbed. Then I hear Noel, one of the Filipino accountants, deadpan that the only explanation for Serey's internet access is that "he must be the only son of God." That's funny! The Philippines is a Catholic country! That's really funny! I laughed.

If you're still reading my blog you've probably heard the cat/rat story because you are my parent or hetero life partner, but I'll tell it here for posterity:
I'm cat-sitting for the time being and my third or fourth morning here I was awoken at 5am but one of the cats, Contoi, gleefully tossing a dead mouse in my hair. In my bed. Like, under the sheets. It took several minutes to get the cat and rodent corpse out of my bed. Gross. That is all I have to say about that (tm FG).

The highlight of my life is Harry Potter at the moment, imported from Singapore by an Aussie coworker who went there to see The Cure. "They played for three hours and rocked out!"