#the universe's payment for not being able to hold my liquor at all

[microshiner]

The problem with owning a van

At 1 PM on Sunday afternoon, I am sitting alone at a four-top table in the middle of a large buffet room. Soccer is on the TV in front of me and soccer is also on the TV behind me. I don’t know who is playing, or what the score is. I don’t have my glasses on, so I can barely see the screen. The room is fairly packed and full of conversation, although not in English, so despite all the activity I sit alone with my thoughts. I have three plates of food. What I would consider to be the main plate, the one I have been digging into the most fervently, is a mixture of lo mein noodles, sweet and sour something or other, wontons, french fries, onion rings, chicken nuggets, garlic bread,  steamed mussels, and ice cold jumbo shrimp. I also have a large plate of salad. The third plate is a pool of sauce, mostly ketchup.

As cliché as this might sound, I am not in Vegas, and unfortunately, not hungover. But I am running on no sleep and walking with a severe limp, having trekked a good sixty or so miles back and forth across a festival site over the previous few days carrying everything from amplifiers to old wooden tables to dollies of Red Bull and Blue Moon.

Such is life in the summer months - full of festivals and constant events, keeping the bills paid while slowly draining the sanity. For many of them, I am fortunate enough to be on the press side of things, where my main responsibilities are observing the action and conducting a couple interviews along the way while keeping a steady stream of booze flowing in, because I heard a rumor once that alcohol helps prevent your ears from being damaged by loud music. It acts as a protective layer between the blasting speakers and your ear drum. I’ve got to look out for my health in these situations.

If I remember correctly, the guy that told me that felt it necessary to scream it at me from right in front of the stage as he was plugging his right ear with an index finger and holding a can of Coors Light in the other hand.

I was far from the media this weekend, though. More like a grunt laborer. But hey, you gotta do what you gotta do, and I did manage to score a couple vouchers for the food trucks. In the end, it was probably worth a few days of schlepping gear in and out of a Ford Econoline.

That’s the problem with owning a van. People are always wanting you to use it. I could make a monthly payment if I had a dollar for every time I’ve had to come up with an impromptu lie like, ‘Oh, yeah man, I won’t be able to help you move today because my van is actually missing the engine right now. Must have gotten stolen overnight or something. Sorry.’

One can only be so much of a workhorse. Two, however, can be just as good as four or five, as I learned last week from a band called You Knew Me When at Jagged Mountain Brewery in Denver. I was finishing off a long work day with a pint and had the chance to talk to the group before they took the stage (in this case, the corner of the tasting room) for a happy hour set and get the lowdown on how they make a living booking tours based around breweries and distilleries and what their music is all about. This two-piece has the sound and style of a full band, and then some.

The husband and wife duo of Cie (pronounced ‘See’) and Karisa Hoover hail from Nashville, the home of country, but they wanted to do something a little different. Cie comes from a heavy metal background, Karisa is about as close to the definition of an indie girl as you can find, and while their sound is certainly far closer to indie than metal, good metal to me wears its heart on its sleeve the way punk became known for, and with a glance at Cie’s lyric sheets, you will find plenty of heart.

Their live performances are full of that same heart. Heart, and booze. You Knew Me When traverses the region hitting primarily breweries and distilleries, sharing their craft music with hordes of craft guzzlers night after night and doing a fair amount of ‘sampling’ along the way. “We have a limit of two drinks before we play,” Karisa says. “I’m drinking kombucha right now so that I can adhere to that rule.” I think back to the time I’ve spent on the road and wonder why the hell I never of thought of that. So many sloppy performances could have been marginalized.

The two met while attending Belmont University in Nashville, Cie learning up on PR and marketing and Karisa studying music education. Together with their musical prowess, and following a wedding and several years together, they felt they had the necessary skill set to uproot from the shackles of everyday life and become a full-time touring band. The two did not start playing music together right away, but over time began to feel that their artistic juices could create one heck of a punch.

“I think it was really the creative drive,” Cie says. They decided, after putting together the band, to take a one year sabbatical from work and see what they could make happen musically.

“Three years later, here we are,” says Karisa with a laugh.

Traveling with only two people, both Cie and Karisa hold multiple instrumental duties. Cie sings, plays guitar, and handles foot percussion, while Karisa holds down the piano, ukulele, glockenspiel, cymbals and, oh yeah, does some singing herself. “When we started touring, we decided to just do the touring thing with just the two of us, so it was like, how can we create more of a cool sound with just the two people so that’s when we added the kick drum and she added some cymbals. We added stuff to fill out the sound as a duo.”

You Knew Me When is approaching their 100th brewery, quite an accomplishment. I haven’t even drank at that many breweries, let alone gigged. I just met these guys, but I am proud of them. They also have quite a few distilleries under their belt, with WildRye Distilling out of Bozeman, Montana being their favorite (also noted is Willie’s Distillery in Ennis,. Apparently, I need to visit Big Sky Country). They are doing it, and since I have no two drink rule on this particular night, I stop by State-38 Distilling on the way home to celebrate the band’s accomplishments.

To be honest, I have never tried locally made tequila here in Colorado, and I’ve been meaning to check these guys out for a while. Owner and Master Distiller Sean Smiley has built a solid reputation for his products- they are one of the few I’ve actually seen in the small, corner liquor store down the street from my house. Their tasting room boasts a wood-paneled bar and similar flooring, giving it a rustic finish that feels very Colorado appropriate.

“We’re a 100% agave distillery,” says lead distiller JT Tewinkle. They distill tequilas, obviously, but also a Blanco Agave Spirit and an agave-based vodka and a gin, both the world’s only. Add to that list North America’s only one-year aged Anejo and you’ve got yourself one of the most impressive menus in the country, let alone the 38th state which they call home.

It was during the aging process for the Anejo that Sean and JT came up with the concept and plans for their agave-based vodka and gin. “We started off with the Blanco and the Reposado, and then we were literally sitting on our heels for a year for the Anejo, so we had to start looking at other things we could do,” Tewinkle says. “There’s two rules with vodka - it has to be distilled at 190 proof or better, and it has to be filtered. So basically that means you can make vodka out of shoe leather if you (follow the rules).”

This is apparently the case with a lot of the mass-produced vodkas you see on the shelves at liquor stores and bars - when you read ‘distilled seven times,’ it often means that they started with garbage ingredients and had to distill it that many times just to get to 190 proof, meaning their bragging of a high number of distilling cycles is little more than a bad marketing ploy. “It’s a trick of the vodka industry,” Tewinkle informs me.

He and Smiley have known each other for twenty years. Smiley started the distillery and hired JT as his lead distiller almost immediately, confident in his knowledge of tequila and experience in the bar industry. “I’ve been a tequila guy my entire sixteen year career, so it was a very easy segue to learn how to make it. Plus, I have a chemical engineering background from college, so that didn’t hurt.”

I am lead into the distilling area behind the tasting room and poured a sample of the Reposado straight from the barrel. Their agave is 100% organic, right out of Jalisco, Mexico. All products are distilled and bottled in-house from agave to glass by the two themselves.

“I love distilling,” Tewinkle says. Smiley does as well, as I gathered from email correspondence, and it shows in their product line. I have yet to taste anything near what they are doing with their agave liquors. Back in the tasting room, I familiarize myself with a few more of their products. Not a bad cap to what has been a good day - nothing like a little craft agave to restore your sanity.

[vulcanlsj]

The Psychic Saiyan’s Revenge

Chapter 4

After Duke leaves his ship, he heads towards the bar that he saw Vulcan and Nappa fight in.  When he gets there, he sits at the counter, and points his head at the rail.

“And what'll you have?”  Says the bartender in a hearty mood.

“Um, what do you got besides ale and whiskey?”  Duke says without raising his head.

“We got some of that new carbonated stuff, Vulcan likes that, and we got this stuff called “vodka” from Frieza's stores.  It's pretty expensive though.  I've not sold much of it yet.”

“Give me some of that.”  Duke recalls back to when he was off planet training, and having vodka when he was trying to relax and ease his mind.  The dry taste of martinis, and the soft taste of straight vodka.  The bartender opens a bottle, and begins to pour it into a slightly grimy glass.  Duke reacts without even lifting his head to see the glass.  “No, not in that glass, it goes in a triangular shaped glass, one of the ones you don't use that often.”

“Oh, uh, sorry.  I'll put it in one of those.”  The bartender looks confusingly at Duke, but reaches down for one of the martini glasses Duke mentioned.

“And wash it out before you use it, I don't want to get sick before I put my plans into action,” Duke says annoyed.  He turns around and lifts his head up, and looks at all the Saiyans having a good time. Some are talking about recent missions, and how they single handedly murdered and conquered a planet by themselves, when in reality, they had a team that had been killed, and he was just lucky enough to deal with a small group.  Some were tossing around their mates, and telling their friends how their kids were going to be the strongest Saiyans ever to walk the universe, while others talked about how they were soon going to be the strongest Saiyan themselves after all these missions Frieza had been sending them on.

Duke knew otherwise, and that Frieza has just been sending Saiyans out on all these missions in hope of ridding the universe of all the Saiyans without having to deal with them himself.  Once again Duke begins to have a feeling that something bad is going to happen.  He assumes that it has to do with his plan of killing the King.  So he starts to go over his plan once more, and to smooth out any details that might get in the way.  Just then the bartender put the martini glass down next to him, full to the brim with vodka.

“Here ya go buddy.  Hope ya like it.”  The bartender looks at Duke with a smile, and holds out a hand for his payment.

“Took you long enough, I was able to listen in on five different conversations before you got me my drink.”  Duke turns and looks at the bartender with a scowl, and the bartender looks confused, as he had only taken 30 seconds to wash out the glass, and then pour the liquor into it.  “Oh, sorry, forgot about my special skills.  Time seems to go by so slowly when I'm spacing off.  What do you have for food though?”

“Um, well, we've got some bovine meat, and some poultry.  Raw, or cooked for a bit extra.”

“Give me the chicken legs, and I'll cook them myself.”

The bartender walks into the back, and then returns with the legs of meat.  While he is in the back, Duke is struck in his head suddenly, as he sees something happening.  He sees two Saiyans on a planet where they had just wiped out the inhabitants, approached from behind by Zarbon and Dodoria.  He sees them call them by their names: Toral and Goral, and then attack them.  Within a short amount of time, they kill the Saiyans, and take off.  The bartender looks at Duke with concern.  “Are you okay buddy?  You look like you just saw a ghost.”

“Yeah, I'm fine, just a bit of a headache.”

“Oh, well, here ya go, eat your fill, I've got plenty in the back just waiting to be eaten.”

“So this is old meat then?”  Duke stares down the bartender, and the bartender backs up a couple of feet.

“Uh, I dunno, my assistants just keep it in the back.”  The bartender looks at him with a slight bit of fear in his eyes, but shrugs it off when Duke takes the meat off the counter, and uses his pyrokinetics to cook the leg.  He rips his teeth into the leg, eating it quickly.

“It's good enough, give me a couple more, and I'll pay you.”  Duke downs his vodka, and turns to look at the bar scene again.  In a few minutes, the tender returns with two more legs, and Duke repeats his pyro to cook them and eat them.  He lays down the rest of Nappa's gold pouch, and walks out the door.  “Keep the change, I'm sure Nappa's money is good enough in here.”  He says over his shoulder to the bartender.

Once out of the pub, Duke starts walking towards his ship.  He goes over his plan one more time.  He goes over how he will teleport inside the throne room, and then knock out all the guards with a psyche blast, and then attack the King.  He goes over how if Vulcan or any of his team is inside, to have them chase him outside, and lead them to his ship just outside the city.  There he will have Tarah and Vector ambush them.  Also by then, S'kur should have located Asper, and eaten him so he could take on his form, and sneak into Vulcan's team, without him noticing.  After Vulcan's team would have been taken care of, he would return to the throne room, and kill Vegeta.

In the event where the prince has returned, he would kill the King, and then if the prince posed a threat, or held thoughts similar to his father's, Duke would also kill him.  In the event that Zarbon or Dodoria is inside the throne room, he would release his anger at them, and kill them with energy blasts.  But the worst event would be if Frieza himself is in the king's chamber.  He would have to teleport back to his ship, and retreat for the time being.  If anyone else is in the throne room, he would either kill them, or knock them out with his psyche blast.

Just as he finalizes his plan, Duke has a strange feeling like someone had been following him.  At first, he plans on just turning around and using a psychic blast at them and knocking them down so he could head back to his ship, but when he turns around, and is faced by a beautiful Saiyan woman with hair covering her face, he hesitates. Then he realizes that she knows something about his plan, but doesn't know how, til she opens her mouth.

“So there's another psychic, I was wondering who was trying to get into my brother's mind a few days ago.”  The woman looks at Duke, and takes a step forward.  Duke just looks at her with surprise.  “Oh, and I should give you some advice, you might want to close your mind off when you are going over a plan to overthrow the king in the middle of a crowded courtyard.”

Duke looks at her with horror, realizing that he had given her easy access to his thoughts, and his plans.  “Well, I must admit, I am surprised that you are psychic, I thought I was the only one.”

“I thought that too, until a couple of days ago.  I should have known it was you.  I mean, I even looked at you, and you looked back.” Tolan cracks her neck, and takes another step towards Duke.  Duke steps back in reaction.

“Ah, well, from now on, I'll remember to keep my mind closed, I never know if there are other psychics around me.”  Duke raises up his arms, and tightens his gloves.

“What do you mean, 'from now on'?  You're not going to be allowed to carry out your plan.  I have no idea if you can even take the king, let alone replace him.”  Tolan raises concern in her voice, but also pushes her chest out in superiority.

“First, I know I can take the king, and second, I don't plan on taking over as king, I thought your brother or your mother would do that.  Oh wait, it would have to be Vulcan.”  Duke's expression goes from focus, to sadness as he realizes an event that just happened on another planet.

“What do you mean, my brother?  What do you know?  Tell me dammit!!” Tolan explodes with sudden concern for her mother.

“Well, you won't like it, but Zarbon and Dodoria just killed your parents on Hubon.  Something I didn't foresee happening.”

“And you can tell this?  How?”  Tolan erupts at Duke, and starts to charge at him.

“I saw it a few minutes ago in the bar.  But I put it in the back of my mind, didn't think it would be important as I didn't expect to be here long enough to figure out the fate of the Saiyans, or to run into you.”

“Well, are you sure they're dead?”  Tolan asks.

“We shouldn't talk about this here, let's go to a less populated area, maybe just outside the city.”

“Why, so you can just put off telling me what you know about my parents?” Tolan raises her energy level, and a few Saiyans begin to look at them in anticipation of a fight.

“Because I don't want to get into this here, too many ears that don't know exactly what I'm dealing with.”  Duke looks around at the Saiyans, and they step back a few feet.  “Either that, or you let me go to the castle and kill the King like I have already planned to do.”

“Fine, but you follow me.”  Tolan takes to the sky, and Duke follows shortly behind.  They reach a plateau of dirt a few miles outside of the capital city.  Duke lands first, and waits for Tolan to land.

“Okay, so we're here.  About your parents, I'm sure because I was keeping an eye on them after my vision.  I just sensed their energy drop to nothing, and Zarbon and Dodoria were nearby, so it was exactly as my vision had seen.”  Duke shifts his feet absently, subconsciously preparing for a fight.

“So you have visions?  And you say my parents are dead, then prove it to me.  Let me see this vision that you saw.”  Tolan loosens herself, and stares down Duke.

“I dunno, I'm not sure I can do that.”

“Sure you can, just remember the vision, and then project your thoughts into my mind.  I'll see it that way.”

“Well, I'm still not sure it's the best idea.  You just have to either trust me, or not.  It's as simple as that.”

“Fine, then I'll have to force it out of your mind.”  Tolan puts her right hand to her forehead, and closes her eyes.  An aura forms around her, and she focuses on Duke's mind.  Meanwhile, Duke is trying to prevent her from entering his mind, but she gets inside just before he reacts.  Tolan dives into Duke, and she begins searching for the vision.  She finds it shortly afterwards, knowing where to look for hidden thoughts in a mind.  She herself hides many thoughts from time to time.  But upon seeing the vision that Duke had, she falls to her knees.  Duke rushes to her, feeling a sense of alien concern for her for some reason.  Once he reaches her though, she bends backwards, and unleashes a burst of energy from her energy field.  It knocks Duke back, and once he gains his footing again, Tolan is right on top of him.

She swings a right hand at his face, which connects, and sends Duke flying.  He skids on the ground for a few hundred feet, til he reaches the cliff.  Falling off, Duke smashes into the ground below. Duke rolls over as Tolan flies down after him, and smashes her feet into the ground, just where Duke was a moment ago.  She then turns to face him, and pulls her hands back.  Duke recognizes this, and puts his hands up.  A pink shield suddenly appears, and deflects Tolan's energy blast.  After the shield goes down, however, she flies in again and smashes her knee into Duke's stomach.  He floats up a few feet, but stops himself just above her.

Duke aims his right hand at her, while reaching behind himself with his left, and fires two energy blasts.  Tolan dodges the one aimed directly at her, and flies around him to unleash another barrage of attacks.  But she collides with the second energy blast, and is hurled to the ground.  Duke spins around, and puts both his hands together.  A pink energy begins to form between them, and he then releases it at her.  Tolan gets up just in time to see the blast before it hits her.  Once it connects, a blinding pain starts at the impact location that soon reaches her entire body.  After the psychic blast connected with Tolan, Duke flies up into the air, and reaches behind him as if he were grabbing a sword.  Then a katana suddenly appears, one with a ¾ inch handle and cross stitching.  The blade curves out 9 ft, and Duke holds it in an offensive stance.

Tolan then has recovered from the previous attack, and looks up at Duke. Seeing that he has summoned some sword, she tilts her head. Wondering to herself, 'Where did that thing come from?' Tolan throws off her scouter, and puts her right hand pointing at Duke.  A ball of fire appears in front of it, and flies at Duke.  Duke takes his katana, and focuses psychic energy around it.  Once it is glowing pink, he swings at the ball of fire, hoping to bounce it back at her. But before the ball hits his katana, it transforms into a bird, and flies around the blade.  Duke, shocked, is hit full force by it. Igniting in flames, he falls to the ground.

Tolan slowly walks over to him, and picks him up by his armor.  She reaches for his katana, but Duke throws open his eyes, and Tolan is sent flying back.  After Duke had flexed his energy, he levitates his katana up, grabs it with both hands, and pulls.  The katana splits into two katanas, each possessing a four and a half foot blade. Tolan has sat up by this point, and sees Duke split his sword.  She then charges in at him, and forces her energy at him.  Duke only flinches at this, and then slashes at her chest with his left blade forming a down to up diagonal.  Her armor easily shatters, and falls off in pieces.  Following up his left blade with the right one, he makes a deep cut into her suit and chest.

Tolan flies back from the double slash, and smashes into the ground.  Duke steps up to her, and looks down at her.  She is just sitting up, when he points his left blade at her.  Tolan stares at the point of the blade, and looks up it to his face.  Duke smiles, and suddenly a burst of a fiery pink energy slams into Tolan.  She is pushed into the ground, and a crater forms around her.  Then the energy explodes. After the smoke clears, Tolan is laying unconscious at the bottom of the crater, armor shattered around her, her suit cut open, and a deep gash across her chest.  Her jumpsuit is tattered and burned from the rebound attack from Duke, and still has cinders smoldering.  Duke checks her energy level, and notes that she is just barely alive.

He considers healing her, but decides against it.  He turns to his ship, and focuses on being next to it.  He disappears in a flash of pink light.

[decaffeinatedlightluminary-blog]

Stop Korupsi dan Suap di Indonesia

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Stop Korupsi dan Suap di Indonesia

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Go East Young Man! Traveling the Orient – Asia Adventure

After spending a summer serving in war-torn east Africa, where I slept in a tent for two of the three months I was there; I returned to the United States to embark upon a law education.  Far less adventurous and for me difficult to be passionate about, I struggled my first year of law school.  Though I passed the first semester of courses by the skin of my teeth, my grade point average was quite discouraging for someone thinking to make a career practicing law.

Thankfully, it took a few months for our second semester final exams to be graded and posted.  I therefore in good faith pursued an international law internship and summer program at the University of Hong Kong.  Situated atop lovely Victorian Peak, I dived deeper into academia and international law.

What was unique about those three months in Hong Kong during the summer of 1995 was that the British government was still ruling.  Upon taking a trip to the high court, I saw Chinese judges wear white British style wigs.  It was a funny and rare site to behold.

My passion in particular was helping oppressed people in forgotten nations where their human rights were being violated.  Unfortunately I learned from my law professor in Hong Kong that international treaties to uphold human rights are rarely enforced by the United Nations or anyone else globally.  For me that further diminished the relevance of international law and my interest in studying it.

In those days a particular religious group smuggled Bibles across from Hong Kong into Shenzhen, China.  I was asked to participate, which I did.  That day of smuggling Bibles was far more exciting than my entire summer buried in law books in Hong Kong.

Upon returning home after successfully completing my summer internship and academic program, I opened a disheartening letter from my law school encouraging me to withdraw based on my dismal grade point average.

Wondering what on earth I would now do with my life, when walking home to my Brooklyn Heights apartment I heard a voice.  “Go east young man!  Go east!”

Gripped by what I heard, I determined to go to Chinatown that week. Upon doing so I met a Chinese Pastor who immediately offered me a job to travel with him throughout Asia and be his English teacher. Without hesitation I happily accepted.  Not long thereafter I found myself in Taipei, Taiwan.

Across the street from my new apartment was Chiang Kai-shek Memorial Park honoring the revolutionary Chinese leader who established Taiwan governmentally.  Suffering from jet lag the first week I was in Taiwan, I journeyed outside looking for some food when I discovered the lovely park across the street.

Many people were exercising, enjoying the cool morning air.  Tai chi was a particular favorite, which I saw both men and when doing with the utmost concentration and precision.  The Chinese internal martial art is frequently practiced for health and longevity.  The slow and fluid movements facilitate internal harmony and oneness within.

Before the business day began, the raising of the national flag, along with a soldier salute occurred daily.  It was a delight to be able to see and behold.  Though I could not yet speak Mandarin, what I saw with my eyes captivated my heart and deposited a deep respect for Chinese culture.

By reason of my association with Pastor Ko and other reputable wise men, I soon became a highly sought out speaker.  Others throughout Asia began hearing of me and invited me to their countries.

My trip to Burma was a somewhat covert operation considering where I was invited to speak was deemed a “blackout area” where foreigners were not permitted.  Nevertheless after meeting my initial contact in Rangoon, we were able to exchange the problematic national currency and secure a domestic flight to the remote destination.

There was no electricity.  I slept on a blow up mattress under a mosquito net, while large rats crawled overhead at night.  We hung our meager supplies and fruit from a string to keep the rats from getting to them during the evening.

When I awoke in the morning, there were always some fresh rodent droppings on my mosquito net.  Nevertheless I was happy to endure such light afflictions considering the tremendous response of the people when I spoke to them about personal empowerment and being a world-changer.

Since the Universities had been shut down across Burma, students did whatever they could to further their education and professional development.  That is why they were so enthusiastic to hear me speak.

Historically student and monk peaceful protests in Burma were ended by brutality and killing.  What troubled me most however was the lack of opportunity for bright youth throughout the country.  Religious leaders from the monasteries begged for rice daily in the streets of Rangoon. Democracy would not be tolerated as those in power were determined to hold on as long as possible.

What touched my heart the most was the humility and hunger of young adults to draw near to foreigners to learn anything they could.  Such a yearning for knowledge and self-development deeply moved my heart to commit to do all I can for the Burmese youth.  I pray the freedom within the hearts of the youth and monks of Burma can somehow victoriously breakthrough and transform their beloved country.

Upon reaching my twenty-eight day limit on my visa in Burma, I was forced to leave the country.  My next stop was Thailand, a lovely country with much sexual perversion.

Never in my life had I seen such open prostitution as I had in Bangkok and Phuket.  Prostitutes and transvestites freely approached people on the streets soliciting payment for sexual favors.  Commonly ladies and “lady-boys” approached me uttering obscenities and selling services.

The U.S. Navy and Marines arrived in Phuket happy to party and take in some extracurricular activities.  A few service men made friends with local girls.  I can only imagine how many drunk foreigners wake up in the morning only to find they’ve slept with a transvestite.

Beyond the vice of prostitution, Thailand overall is a lovely place to vacation and visit.  The food is fantastic.  The people are friendly.  The beaches are superb.  Among the islands I visited were Krabi and Phee-Phee, the latter hit the hardest by the tsunamis.

A European restaurant owner told me stories of Burmese young ladies who had been kidnapped or promised work at upscale resorts.  Once the Burmese girls were brought to the cities, their passports were taken and they were forcibly subjected to prostitution.  I was informed that once the young ladies get HIV or some sexual disease, they are taken back to the Burmese border, given a fatal injection, and left to die.

Such human rights violations are rarely fought considering the limited economic opportunities in Burma.  It is said even along the northeast region of Thailand families sell their own daughters into prostitution to make money.

Though I saw many beautiful young ladies, I managed to happily restrain myself.  I was not interested in catching any sexual diseases, which I was told was quite common throughout Thailand.

I journeyed further south when I received an invitation to speak in Penang, Malaysia.  Immediately upon entering Malaysia I could sense there was a stronger governmental hand upon the land.  I found the Muslims in Malaysia to be very friendly and respectful.

My greatest adventure was traveling to East Malaysia, where I spoke in several poor villages. The precious people were very superstitious, practicing various voodoo like observances I had only before seen in Haiti.  Some claimed they were harassed and troubled by demon spirits.  Hence I spoke on the importance of guarding your heart, personal purity, and living fearlessly.

The villagers were overjoyed to have me as their guest and cooked innumerable dishes for me to sample.  Their poverty by no means hindered their gracious hospitality, neither their generosity.  I shall never forget the tenderness of heart the Malaysians showed me.

One unexpected visitor that showed up in a modest home where I stayed was a monkey.  During the outbreak of Japanese encephalitis when the military was slaughtering all of the pigs, many were concerned about other animals contracting the virus.  Thankfully we never fell ill with the disease and carried on through the outbreak unharmed.

While in East Malaysia (the island of Bornea), an invitation came to speak in Brunei.  This small and oil rich nation didn’t have much to do socially at night, but the people were all very polite and industrious.  Shell Oil and other petroleum contractors frequented the small country to do business.

What surprised me the most was to see over seventy people jam packed within a small house to hear me speak.  The event was hosted by a Christian fellowship that legally was not permitted to meet publicly.

When I inquired further as to the laws of Brunei, I was told that only the Catholics and Anglicans are legally authorized to conduct Christian ceremonies.  Brunei does not permit other religious groups to have churches or schools.

It was then I realized how priceless the freedom of thought and expression is, without which there can be no democracy or just government to serve the people.  Such sacred freedoms we in the West so commonly take for granted are greatly cherished and only wished for abroad in such nations as Brunei. Though Brunei has a prospering economy, it is a “dry country” meaning no liquor is sold in the country.  Certainly forbidding the use of alcohol has its benefits.  There are no drunk driving incidents to endanger people with, neither excessive substance abuse.  As one who does not drink myself, such restrictions had no bearing upon me.

Nevertheless as a world traveler touring Asia, the laws of Brunei that restrict religion and consumption were very noticeable.  On a more fun note, the free theme park the sultan constructed for all to happily use in the center of the country was a blast!  Children and adults of all ages make merry and enjoy it very much!  It is my hope the sultan’s generosity will extend over into social freedoms for the people of Brunei.

Upon leaving Brunei we were off to Jakarta, Indonesia.  As a surfer Indonesia, the world’s largest archipelago, quickly became my favorite country in Asia.  Considering I didn’t have much money to travel on, the inexpensive hotels and minimal cost of living made Indonesia very comfortable for me.

Even better the people were very generous.  Wherever I spoke I always left with more money than I came in with.  Upon going to get a hair cut at the salon, I was presently surprised to discover reflexology.  Foot massage is very popular throughout Indonesia and only costs about $5 to $10 depending on where you go.

After a good workout at the hotel health club, I even managed to get a full body massage lasting one hour for just $10 to $15 USD.  I suddenly felt like a king, though I was living on a pauper’s budget.

While traveling to different areas of Jakarta, my taxi driver pointed out to me a former hotel which had been bombed during the riots a few years ago.  The building was utterly destroyed.  I was told that Islamic terrorists had blown it up in anticipation of President Clinton and other Americans being there.

I learned about the May riots in which Chinese businessmen were also targeted by Muslim extremists who vandalized their homes and sought to kill them.  Like clockwork every May, Chinese would leave the country fearing for their lives.

It seems the Chinese living within Indonesia made the locals jealous.  Their business acumen and astute intellect provoked struggling Indonesians.

Nevertheless the same opportunities exist for all throughout Indonesia.  Yet many people were easily aroused by the protestation calling for violence.  Sadly many died over the years as a result.

I fell deeply in love with Indonesia and returned numerous times.  I particularly remember my time speaking in East Timor during the war in 2000, before the United Nations granted them national sovereignty.  It was a time of hardship and unrest, as war killed many innocent people.  Thankfully Timor Leste, as it is now called, is a land dwelling in peace.

When the tsunamis swept through the island of Sumatra, I was moved with compassion to find my way to Banda Aceh.  The longtime renegade province of Indonesia had historically killed dissidents and religious leaders of other faiths.  Eventually the leaders of Banda Aceh forbid international aid workers altogether.

That all changed when Banda Aceh and the bordering towns were devastated by the tsunamis.  International aid workers from around the globe were suddenly greeted with open arms, waving hands, and smiling faces.

I met men who had lost up to five children and their wives in a single day.  One Muslim man told me he cried for two months straight.

Endeavoring to do what I could with what little finances I had, we helped a Muslim young man rebuild his home.  His home had been leveled by the tsunamis and he washed to the top of a nearby mountain when the waves swept through.

It was nothing short of a miracle that those alive survived.  As they all pulled together to rebuild their homes, bureaucratic delays from the government impeded progress.  Nevertheless many proceeded to build with or without authorization.

Other allegations later surfaced that corrupt governmental officials nationally and locally were pocketing charitable contributions and not getting them to those most in need.  Such corruption is widespread throughout Indonesia as is evident by the poor and faulty infrastructure across the country.

Bribery sadly is commonplace.  Even more troubling was the drug epidemic I witnessed among the youth, many of whom use ecstasy.  It is said some 15,000 youth die annually from ecstasy overdose.

The island of Java also has its problems with prostitution.  Not something you would expect from an Islamic government.

The Bali bombings during which discos were set on fire and tourists killed sent fear throughout the tourism industry.  As the economy took a nosedive, the Indonesian government and police quickly responded to terrorist elements seeking to thwart national stability.

The dangers of terrorists remain throughout isolated areas of Indonesia, as one never knows when a radical may strike.  Overall Indonesia however is very peaceable, polite, and warm toward foreigners.

I often felt like a movie star everywhere I went in Indonesia as people shouted at me with joy hoping to get a wave or smile in return.

The sweetness and sincerity of the people stole my heart.  Though I am an American born citizen, I left my heart in Asia.  Every chance I get, I happily and wholeheartedly return to the continent where two-thirds of the world’s populace lives.

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[reelbrew]

AFI’s Top 100 Greatest Films

There were a lot of cool cars being driven by cool kids in high school; Mustang Mach 1’s, BMW Series 5’s and Mazda MX-5’s. Sure, they weren’t technically their cars, but they became their identity. Popped polo’s and slim-fit khaki’s traced with a fresh iron were just as much their identity, even if they also weren’t technically their clothes. These bi-products of early Brooks Brother’s fashion and Abercrombie & Fitch roughness would work on ingraining themselves in these factors of cool by lingering as long as humanly possible in these symbols that would later assist in inventing the term “Netflix and Chill”.

From behind the windshield of the Dodge Caravan that would unfortunately define me, along with the Incubus ‘Make Yourself’ CD that spun on repeat in an attempt to mask my inherent softness, I would observe these propped up pre-fuck boys and their donated cool. Why couldn’t my parents have sprung a modern day muscle car on me upon realizing I wouldn’t be gifted the powers of Sabrina the Teenage Witch on my sixteenth birthday?

Well, because my image wasn’t something I could run from. My overweight lethargy and transparent nu-metal image, despite baggy khaki’s and an oversized button-down, were something that I couldn’t hide – I had to own up to it despite the suffocating geek I suppressed within. No matter how many times I had my mom bring me to the local mall’s American Eagle, there was no amount of maroon polo’s and pre-faded jeans that could cover up the Cheetos stained fingers and shamefully forlorn look towards the Hot Topic entrance. This was something I had to own.

So I got a job at Blockbuster.

Now mind you, this was before the concept of working at a video store was “interesting” or “cool”; this was an era of subservient cinema slavery, where discussing film wasn’t as universally embraced, at least not in the suburban whiteness of Connecticut. This was a time where the heavy sighs from illegally parked soccer moms were as prevalent as the late fees they accrued. A time where eye-rolls from senior-citizens looking to rent an already-checked-out Cocoon for the eighth time were as blatantly obvious as the over-crowded DVD rack trying to push M. Night Shyamalan’s ‘The Village’.

The dress code for such a highly respected and sought-after position was one that I already had experience attempting to hide behind; a navy polo tucked into khaki’s, my American Eagle façade proving a warm-up to the minimum wage job I hoped to embrace. It wasn’t necessarily egregious attire, as there was minimal flare and not an iota of suspenders in sight, yet it was one that highlighted an already maligned position. There was no blending in, fading back behind the romance of the Frank Capra’s or William Holden’s; this was an empty and exposed prom-floor with me alone in the middle, a fresh piece of toilet paper clinging to the bottom of my father’s loaned dress shoes.

Perhaps the corporate heads of Blockbuster realized this complete lack of concealment from the myriad of high school anguish, as we were given 7-free rentals a week. That’s 28 movies a month, and if it’s February, that’s a movie a night for the entire month! Sure, you could surmise that it was profoundly necessary to know our releases, to understand the sub-genres of film in order to better serve suburbia, but that would be looking at things a little too blankly.

The languid conspiracy theorist in me suggests that it was a corporate take-hold of employee turnover, looking to submerge the high school outcast even further into their new after-school job. That the cinema pariah would be content rising to district manager without noticing that they’re now 38 years old and failing to make payments on their Chrysler Lebaron. However, I took these tepid offerings from the powers that be and I began scaling my own escape ladder, tackling the AFI’s 100 Years 100 Movies; a cinematic structure that has remained unclimbed for almost 15 years.

Now it remained untouched for so long, not because of its daunting nature (yes, ‘Yankee Doodle Dandy’ feels tremendously disconcerting, despite heavyweights such as ‘Lawrence of Arabia’ and ‘The Best Years of Our Lives’) but because I was fired for deleting a $10 late-fee off my dad’s account. Without the free rentals aiding in my quest to become even more American through the lens of film, I was relegated to driving 6 miles out of town to Dial-M-for-Movies, a hip indie store that resided in the corner of a shopping center with a liquor and grocery store.

Something happened though, in between those passing days of observing the cultural shift in ‘Easy Rider’ and ‘Do the Right Thing’; I went off to a tiny liberal arts college in New Hampshire. There, the idea of cool – cool cars, cool clothes and even cool cinema no longer remained prevalent. Cars were replaced with Birkenstock’s, clothes with thrift store trades and cinema with pot-induced discoveries. In between watching David Lynch’s ‘Mulholland Drive’ or Fellini’s ‘8 ½’ over crab Rangoon with an intelligent and film obsessed girlfriend, there were countless viewings of F.W. Murnau’s ‘Nosferatu’ synched to Radiohead’s ‘Kid A’ in a dorm room full of jocks, slackers, geeks and dweebs.

The perception of viewing film and what it meant was completely subverted; no longer were my escapes an alienating process of societal masochism. For once they represented a greater niche that was at once examined and embraced for what it was. Running across the quad to make my Foreign Film class on time might have given me flashbacks to sprinting across the parking lot of my hometowns strip mall, except I had embraced who I was through working at Blockbuster and the American Film Institute’s 100 Greatest Films of All Time; a list that has so far remained unmarked, 39 of the 100 going unseen and unappreciated.

Looking back, I realize that the high school fraternity of popularity and locker room bravado that clung to their cool cars and clothes acted as a nudge, a catalyst for my own cool. Without sitting in my Dodge Caravan and observing this state of existing, Weezer’s ‘Perfect Situation’ oozing 80’s synth pop-sadness from the speakers, I never would have ultimately seen me for what I was. In doing so, I was able to embrace 100 films that further acted as a catalyst of cinema cool, sending me into other countries of exploration, spending most of my paycheck on Criterion’s collection or obscure martial art flicks that did nothing but allow me to think my fists were snacks.

After years of getting to know Ozu, Kurosawa, Wong Kar-Wai, Fassbinder, the Bergman’s (both Ingrid and Ingmar) and Truffaut, I’ve been feeling as if it’s time to go back and finish what I started. I think it’s time to revisit a list of films that helped me shed my heavy exterior; not only introducing me to cinema, but the world that cinema gleamed from. So grab your ragged pair of Birkenstock’s, leave your Trapper Keeper at the door, your Incubus CD spinning, and sprint across your living room to enjoy a little bit of Americana from an ex-Blockbuster employee as I go through the American Film Institute’s 100 Greatest Films of All Time.