Odd Man Out

2008-02-13T00:01:00.000-08:00

True Romance is the manifestation of the inspiration sparked by Love.

2007-04-06T19:22:00.000-07:00

Okay so I really suck at keeping the blog up-to-date, it’s not my fault though, I’m writing in other places now, so it’s been difficult to keep up with the blog here. That being said, this place is my baby, so I will definitely try to do better in the future.

November 21, 2006

It’s my first day in Hong Kong. The jewel of the old British Empire in the East, Hong Kong evokes romantic imagery of adventure, opium dens, Kung Fu, and exotic Asian goddesses dressed in silk and jade.

I wake up around two in the afternoon after having passed out from exhaustion the night before. I walk to my window and draw the curtains to reveal a grey sky composed of fog and pollution—it’s the new Hong Kong’s version of LA smog, only it’s deadlier.

I’m excited about what the day ahead will hold and I rush to get dressed, not wanting to miss a second of the lively city I only glimpsed the night before. I charge out of my door bursting with anticipation. “God I hope I meet some ancient Kung Fu master that will take me under his wing and teach me the lost martial arts,” I think to myself.

Downstairs in the hotel lobby I find the concierge (yes my hotel had a concierge, all my hotels had concierges, no one said you have to rough it to have adventure) and get a map of the city. Immediately I’m concerned. The map is more reminiscent of a map of Disneyland than it is of this once mystical city on the far edge of the Orient. “Really,” I think as I look at the map, “there is a huge statue of the Buddha next to Hong Kong Disneyland?” I suppress my desire to trash my fantasies and I press on.

As I walk towards the exit from my hotel I ponder the previous night’s adventures with the “Taxi driver” and decide that I will resort to the more difficult, yet honest, Hong Kong metro.

“Which way is the Metro?” I ask my doorman. (Yes the bloody hotel had doormen, all my hotels did… like I said, you don’t have to stay at a 1 star hotel to have a 5 star adventure). He stares at me for a second and bows—his way of telling me to keep walking. “Thank you,” I say, “but which way is the Metro?” I again repeat my question.

“Oh… Metro?!?” he says, having a breakthrough only cross-cultural exchanges of this kind can lead to. He then points across the street at the entrance to an underground that, in almost every major city in the world will lead to an underground city where trains move next to sewers.

“Thank you,” I say politely as I bow back, and quickly run down the stairs to cross the street. Immediately I am struck in the face by something warm and wet. Being in a foreign country, I’m concerned at the various possibilities of what this “thing” could be. I wipe my forehead and am immediately relieved to see that it is clear. “Good,” I mumble, “at least I’ve ruled out most of the most offensive body fluids.” (Yeah that’s pretty much how my mind works).

Another liquid bullet hits me on the head, and then another. Only, after the fourth one do I realize that the clouds above hold not only pollution, but also, apparently, moisture, which is now condensing and falling towards the Earth… it’s raining, and I did not pack any umbrellas. “Shit!” I think, as I begin to charge across the street daring the bus driver that is hurtling towards me from the left to hit me (yes in Hong Kong they drive on the same side of the roads as those limey bastards in England—what’s up with that, just be normal and do what the rest of the world does [how these people conquered 2/3 of the world, I’ll never know]). Then I realize that he’s Asian, and I remember that there is a (possibly accurate) stereotype that Asians cannot drive well. I am afraid, and as such my fight or flight instinct kicks in and I immediately determine that it is better to flee the 10 ton behemoth rather than try to kill it. I dive out of its way and roll onto the sidewalk. My dreams of finding the Kung Fu master are fading now as I realize I have all the grace of a freshly caught fish on hot concrete.

I stand up and brush the street off my jeans and realize that I’ve torn my jeans. Not in the knees though, apparently, somehow, I tore the ass off my jeans. “This is almost too exquisite,” I think as I try to estimate through touch just how visible the “bomb-bay” and the “treasury” are (think about it, they both make sense).

Like Helen Keller on the first day of puberty I fondle myself, exploring nooks and crannies that are often reserved for showers and kinky east-Indian sex rituals. “Okay, it doesn’t appear to be too visible,” I breathe a coy sigh of relief. “New mission,” I think, “I have to buy new jeans.” But laziness and excitement conspire to compel me towards my original mission—exploring Hong Kong.

I head down the escalator into the underground and am immediately struck by just how clean it is. And also by how there are no trains or other people. “Maybe it’s not rush hour,” I muse, but who am I kidding, in a city of millions it’s always “rush hour.” I’m concerned that maybe my doorman and I didn’t have the meeting of minds I’d hoped for.

I spend the next 20 minutes exploring an underground cavern, periodically meeting equally confounded tourists to whom I pretend that I know exactly where I am and what I’m doing (never show fear). I’m lost, completely lost, just a few minutes from my hotel, and I’m bloody lost. I briefly consider what would happen if I died of starvation here in this underground hell, and then I realize that I’m in passages that lead to a mall.

I enter the mall (the first of many many malls that literally define 21st century Hong Kong), and I am struck by its size and second by the apparent lack of any signs leading to a subway. I find the information booth and ask for the metro. The girl stares at me and then sends her “English speaking” colleague over to answer my question (really metro is not international?). “This way,” she points back to where I came from.

Not wanting to kill her I politely bow and nod appreciation as I return to the hell from which I was just delivered. “Okay,” I think, “maybe I missed a turn off in the solid concrete tunnel I just walked through.” I walk back through the “Twilight Zone” and find myself back at the stairs that got me here in the first place.

I briefly flirt with the idea of hailing a cab, and then my stubborn nature kicks me in the back of the head, compelling me to explore. Here’s what we know kids: 1) Hong Kong is a big city, 2) Hong Kong has a metro (allegedly), 3) People use the metro everyday (presumably), 4) Therefore I must be able to find and use this sucker.

I walk down the street and am rewarded by a sign that has the name of the metro station I was looking for. I charge down the escalator and immediately smell the smells and hear the sounds that signal the presence of those beautiful underground engines of progress.

Okay, now it’s time to buy a ticket to ride on this train. Okay, before that I have to figure out which machines sell individual tickets, and which are to recharge those frequent-rider cards most major metros offer now. I casually walk by the machines one at a time and pretend like I know exactly what I’m doing as I try to lean forward periodically to read the pictographs on the machines. I finally find a group of people buying tickets to go to the “giant Buddha,” and they are, of all things, Iranian—I have found the junior men’s hockey team (yes ice hockey) from Iran.

I cannot help but laugh at the poetry of the situation. I am known for meeting Iranians everywhere I go, but in the freakin’ Hong Kong Metro. Immediately I say hello, and am rewarded with a group introduction to children and adults from my homeland. One at a time they ask me what I’m doing in Hong Kong and if I’ve been to Disneyland yet—the irony is not lost on me.

After exchanging information, we part and I head towards the first train on my trip towards my first destination, an ancient Taoist temple. I’m excited.

I board the train and casually stand for the next six stops (thirty minutes) until I arrive at my destination. I disembark the train and head up the stairs to… a mall. “What the f***?” I think. “I just left a God-damned mall, how many of these damn things…” I stop my thought in mid-stride. I glimpse the red tiles and banisters unique to classical Chinese architecture. Land is expensive in Hong Kong and they try to use it all. As such, they will build a mall next to a holy site, even if that holy site is the holiest in the city. I’m not judging, I’m just sayin’.

I walk up the path to the temple and am immediately pleased by what I find. The place is filled with pilgrims and worshipers here to pray to the god’s. Incense sticks that resemble nightsticks are being sold by the dozens, and I do as others do, I buy some.

I walk up the path past Chinese men that literally look like the Kung Fu master in my dreams—long beards and eyebrows painted frost white. They smile as I walk by; probably amused by the big ass package of incense I’m carrying. I light my incense and plant it in sandboxes before the temple, and promptly burn myself as I try to position my sticks next to the hundreds of others that line the sandbox.

I step back, say a prayer, and turn on the crowd with my camera flashing (bloody crass tourist). I capture some National Geographic’ish shots, and pleased with my mastery of this art, I move to explore the temple.

I find what look like paper mache statues of the gods. They are sitting on clouds in various beatific poses. I pause to try and conjure up the story behind each god. I come up with some good godly stuff, but I move on.

I leave the temple and move back towards the train. I easily find my way back to the stop which includes my hotel. I disembark and proceed to find sustenance. I don’t remember what I ate this first day, but I remember it was good. It was a dumpling with chicken I think.

I returned to my room, exhausted and nap in preparation for a night on the town. The details… not everything will be televised—sorry.

2007-03-15T14:38:00.001-07:00

Here's another article about the movie "300". . .

Hollywood's" 300 vs. Iran's 69,000,000

2007-02-22T17:18:00.000-08:00

Here's a link to an article, "The Case Against The Case Against Iran," I recently published on BrooWaha.com, please check it out.

Thanks.

http://losangeles.broowaha.com/article.php?id=802

2007-01-10T19:31:00.000-08:00

On the plane ride from New York to Hong Kong I met this very interesting American executive living and working in Hong Kong. Let’s call him “Scott”. We spent hours talking and during the course of our conversation he told me about his family, his job, and his hopes for the future.

He told me about how he met and fell in love with his wife. He went on a double date not expecting to like her at all, but found in her what he had never seen in any other human being. It’s amazing the way love is more revelation than actual discovery. I believe we all know exactly what we’re looking for, how else would we recognize it when we find (or are shown) it. He fell in love almost immediately and after a whirlwind romance they were married within a year—their love and respect for one another has lasted for almost 20 years now.

When he asked me why I wasn’t in married, I told him about the difficulty of finding the “right person” in a place like Los Angeles. I was pleased when he didn’t let me get away with that dismissive statement. He told me he was surprised that I was still single because of my appearance, my career, and my personality (his words not mine, I swear). I told him I was too.

I’m like all humans. I’m looking for that “one”. I’m not too cynical yet to believe that the “one” doesn’t exist, but I have to admit I’m getting tired of looking. Sometimes it’s tempting to just give up, but then I meet people like Scott, and I realize that I want what they have. It isn’t perfect. They have good and bad days, but as he sat there and told me about his family and how his children experienced cultures as fascinating and varied as Argentinean, Chinese, British, Mongolian, Swiss, and Korean, I was moved and re-inspired.

We arrived in Hong Kong late in the evening (around 10 pm). . .

Now, I’m no expert on airport security, but I have to say that the government in Hong Kong takes security very seriously. As we approached immigration, there was a thermal camera that airport security was using to detect that random poor bastard with the flu. (Yeah, they remember SARS, or was it SIDS, I’m not sure, it’s the one that made everyone in East Asia wear surgical masks, which incidentally a lot of people there still do). It was kind of cool though, I stopped and stared at my thermal image for a while. I imagined the scene from Predator (the one with Arnold) and got a few odd stares and laughs from my fellow arrivees.

“Yeah keep staring buddy, and we’ll see how warm blood shows up on these cameras here. . .” I thought. There are two guns airport security never catches and their called my left and right arms—locked and loaded baby.

(Sorry about that, it’s been a late day, and sometimes my mind wanders in uncontrollable ways—it’s like a bull elephant in heat. . . visualize ladies. You like?? LOL. See. . . that’s what I’m talking about. But I digress).

From the thermal camera, “Predator Cam” as I just renamed it, I went and stood in the line for immigration. Immediately I was struck by the big ass camera that kept scanning the crowd. So, being me, I tried to do suspicious things as the camera would pass over me. For example I would look at it and then look away quickly hiding my phone in my pocket, or I would pretend like I was trying to cover my face by putting my head down. What can I say, I crave attention from potentially dangerous international law enforcement.

Contrary to my hopes, I passed through immigration without much incident. I was then assaulted by the “drivers” offering me “cheap” rides into the city. Now for those of you who don’t travel much (I’m talking about anywhere, not just Hong Kong) pay careful attention. YOU MUST NEVER EVER ACCEPT A RIDE FROM THE ASSHOLES IN THE AIRPORT. GO OUTSIDE WHERE THE TAXIS ARE.

I did not really pay attention to my own advice, and I was quickly spotted by a sharp eyed “dumb-ass hunter” named (and I will never believe this is his real name) Jeff. The guy was full Chinese. I love the Chinese, and no offense, but Jeff is not a “big” name in China. Hu, yes, Mao, maybe, Xiang, possibly, but Jeff. . . What the hell!

Anyway, my “driver” “Jeff” (I use the quotes to indicate suspicion or sarcasm, in case you were “wondering”) told me to follow him out to his “taxi”. His taxi turned out to be an unmarked minivan. I’m already a bit concerned about this whole “relationship” Jeff and I have developed. I’m a bit skeptical of his motives being that he’s probably not given me his real name, add that to the unmarked Toyota he wants me and my fat ass bags to get into, and it’s looking like a spurious situation.

My “Spidey Senses” are buzzing like crazy and I decide I’m going to forgo the years of working in some opium den as a slave and elected to tell Jeff to piss off. Now our friend probably only wanted to charge me double for the ride into the city, but the fact that he followed me and told all the cabs to charge me extra and that he would split the fare with them makes me think that Jeff was not much of a friend after all. Luckily I found a taxi driver who told Jeff to kiss his ass.

After about an hour we arrived at my hotel in Kowloon.

I was exhausted. My room had two things that I wanted more than anything else in the world: a hot shower, and a cool bed. I collapsed on the bed and fell into a light coma. . . The next day I would meet Hong Kong and her inhabitants for the first time.

2007-01-10T18:33:00.000-08:00

I left for New York—yes New York—as my first stop on my trip. I remember the excitement I felt on that day. There’s something about traveling on one of these long trips that is impossible to describe. It’s like standing at the edge of some vast ocean preparing to sail into it. Even the shyest heart will be swept up in its currents.

My hotel was directly over “Ground Zero,” and I couldn’t help but think of the significance of that site to me personally. As a younger man, I began a trip in a world that still embraced the innocence of the “Pre-911” mentality. Three days into that trip, the world was turned upside down, and immediately the Dog’s of War were set loose. I watched the world change from within Europe and the Middle East during that first trip. I saw the fear slowly creep into people’s eyes as they searched every horizon for an unknown and invisible enemy.

In my hotel room on November 18, 2006, I stared down at the empty hole that marked the footprint of those two towers, the “Twin Towers.” The world is a much different place now—a fact of life I guess. But rather than focus on the fingerprints of evil in this world, I decided to make my way out into the city. One night in New York is worth ten in most other places.

I went out and grabbed dinner at this Italian restaurant called Roc.

190 Duane St (Cross Street: Greenwich Street)

New York, NY 10013 View Map

(212) 625-3333

The food was good and the place itself had a great atmosphere. Not really a good place to meet people, but a great place to have dinner with your friends.

The next morning (yeah you don’t get all the details, sorry. . . anonymity is no substitute for humility) I got up and headed out for Newark International Airport—they should seriously consider renaming it “the Armpit” because that’s where you feel like you are. (Sorry to the New Jerseyers out there. . . but the parts of New Jersey I’ve seen are no “Garden”).

The ride over was the best—and I’m being very serious—shuttle rides to the airport I’ve ever experienced. The first person in the shuttle was a pretty leggy blonde model/singer (aren’t they all) who was heading out west to be with her family. She told me about how she had just signed a record deal, and was preparing to head out on a promotional tour of her band’s new album (I’ll post their info soon).

The next person to hop in was an artist that resembled Shirley Maclaine. She had spent years in exotic places like Morocco and Africa living and painting what she saw. On this particular trip she was on her way to New Zealand to visit a friend.

Next we picked up was a stylist/photographer from Los Angeles. Sweetest woman from LA I’ve met in a while. She told me about her trip to New York and how she was thinking about leaving LA to come to New York to work on Broadway.

Two or three other people hopped in, one from Austria, another couple heading to Vegas. . .

This first “real” day of my trip introduced me to so many other travelers. I realized that as hard and distant as people may seem, there is always a desire to connect in new ways to new people—for some that requires a new perspective that only a shift in geography can bring about.
Each description is, of course, only a snapshot, but these are the snapshots of people and places I’ve been to, and, which are dear to me. Not because my trip changed me forever—although I believe every experience changes us, even if the change is imperceptible to ourselves—but because this is the story of my life. Whether anyone reads it or not is not important to me, what is important is that it is written. . .

2007-01-05T09:38:00.000-08:00

I have to apologize for not having posted anything during my trip, but, unfortunately, I was unable to take my laptop, and I did not have any secure means of posting pictures from any of the locations I visited. So I've decided to post on a daily basis the events that transpired on my trip. . .

2006-11-03T14:30:00.000-08:00

I'd like to share with you all a trip that I have planned and which I'll be taking very soon.

Please direct your attention to the map I took several hours to complete:

I'll be leaving from LA and going to

Stop 1: New York City. I'll only be here for a short time. My damn frequent flyer program is forcing me to fly from LA to NYC to go back to

Hong Kong
. Yeah, sucks, but the ticket is free. . . don't act like you haven't done stupid things when the word "Free," or, for those of you international visitors, "Complimentary" was involved.

Did you know? Broadway's Original Name was the Wiechquaekeck Trail. It was an old Algonquin trade route. Hmmm. . . interesting, yet completely useless as information goes.

On to the second stop. . .

Stop 2: The aforementioned Hong Kong. Again, I’ll be here for a short time, but to be honest I really have no desire to stay in Hong Kong that long. I feel it’s one of those cities I can pretty much burn through with the same zeal and force of will exhibited by one of it’s most famous son’s—Bruce Lee. On a personal note, my hotel here kicks ass. Thank you Priceline®.

Did you know? A port city, Hong Kong gets its name from the Cantonese word for "fragrant harbor." The island was ceded to the British after the Opium Wars in 1841, but was finally restored to Chinese custody in 1997. Despite apprehensions regarding reunification, the transition of authority has gone largely without incident. Hong Kong's multi-ethnic history makes it one of the most vibrant cultural and financial centers in the world. I did not know it meant Fragrant Harbor, somehow I always thought it was something much more lewd. . .

So from here I’m getting on a plane (as opposed to walking [it’s not always easy to come up with transitions so stop judging]) and making my way to the Jewel of the Arabian Peninsula—Dubai.

Stop 3: Dubai is the bustling economic capital of the United Arab Emirates, which has its political capital in Abu Dhabi. I’m planning on doing some diving here and smokin’ some great Shisha (Hookah as the kids like to call it). The hotels here are expensive, like I wish I could skip Dubai or sleep in the airport expensive, but hey you gotta do what you gotta do.

Did you know? There are no street addresses in Dubai. And yet the people literally shit money. . . Sometimes I feel like God hates me.

After spending my life savings on a one star hotel in Dubai, I’m going to Sharm-el-Sheikh in Egypt. I’ll be happy to get a hot meal, and, possibly—keep your fingers crossed—access to clean water on the airplane because apparently my hotel doesn’t have any actual “Showers.”

Stop 4: Sharm-el-Sheikh is one of the preeminent dive sites in the world. People travel to this city from all over the world to dive and party like its 1420 (1999 in the Islamic Calendar). So I’ll do some diving here, but I don’t know how much partying I’ll be doing at this beach resort, since, apparently, the average temperature in December is well into the 60’s. Yeah, got screwed a little on that one, but don’t worry your pretty little hearts, I got a couple of aces up my sleeves.

Did you know? Visitors to Sharm-el-Sheikh in the summer are well advised to apply liberal amounts of sunscreen and keep well hydrated. Can you ever have enough sunscreen or hydration? I think not!

After Sharm (as we call it) I will return to Cairo. . .

Stop 5: Ahhhhh. . . Cairo, land of the Pyramids and, apparently, violent diarrhea—seriously read the online forums. I’m going to check out the bazaars, the mosques, the museums, and the Pyramids, obviously, but I also want to try and get in some horseback riding and maybe check out an oasis or two, but we’ll see what time permits, as I don’t plan on staying in Cairo too long.

Did you know? Cairo is Africa’s most populous city and the center of Arab culture. Most populous city in Africa. . . huh, they don’t mention that in the travel brochure.

From Cairo, my trip really starts. Everything from here on is, in my humble opinion, WICKED AWESOME!!!!

Stop 6: After a brief layover in Dubai (I’ll be staying in the airport this time), I’m off to the Maldives, an Island Archipelago off the southern coast of India, close to the equator. (I told you it gets Wicked Awesome). I’m planning on staying here for nine days in a water villa (I’m sleeping in a hut over the water), which will be awesome, in a wicked way, unless there’s a Tsunami, in which case, I’m hoping my dive equipment, cat-like reflexes, and innate resourcefulness can bail me out. Otherwise, please start a scholarship for orphan strippers in my name. (A man’s gotta have dreams).

Did you know? Maldives is the world's flattest country (no offense to the fine female citizens of the Maldives), with no natural land higher than 2.4m (7.9ft) above sea level.

After tanning to a golden black, I’m taking off (again on a plane) to Thailand.

Stop 7: Upon arrival in Thailand, I’m departing immediately for Krabi, a beautiful beach city in the southwest of Thailand. This is where they filmed the movie the Beach with Leonardo DiCaprio. (Never saw the movie, but apparently the beach is amazing). I’ll do more diving here and continue to work on my tan and, hopefully (keep your fingers crossed) succeed in transforming my skin into leather.

Did you know? Krabi, in southern Thailand, has the distinction of being the country's oldest continually inhabited settlement, while Thailand, itself, has the distinction of being the only Southeast Asian country that was never colonized. Did anyone see the King and I? Did that take place in Thailand, or was it in Burma, or Malaysia, or Siam, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.

I’ll leave Krabi and go back to Bangkok (amazingly appropriately named) and spend two days exploring here.

Stop 8: All I can say has already been said by Head Murray:

THE AMERICAN:
Bangkok, Oriental setting
And the city don't know that the city is getting
The creme de la creme of the chess world in a
Show with everything but Yul Brynner

Time flies - doesn't seem a minute
Since the Tirolean spa had the chess boys in it
All change - don't you know that when you
Play at this level there's no ordinary venue

It's Iceland... or the Philippines... or Hastings... or... or this place!

COMPANY:
One night in Bangkok and the world's your oyster
The bars are temples but the pearls ain't free
You'll find a god in every golden cloister
And if you're lucky then the god's a she
I can feel an angel sliding up to me

THE AMERICAN:
One town's very like another
When your head's down over your pieces, brother

COMPANY:
It's a drag, it's a bore, it's really such a pity
To be looking at the board, not looking at the city

THE AMERICAN:
Whaddya mean? Ya seen one crowded, polluted, stinking town...

COMPANY:
Tea, girls, warm, sweet, sweet
Some are set up in the Somerset Maugham suite

THE AMERICAN:
Get Thai'd! You're talking to a tourist
Whose every move's among the purest
I get my kicks above the waistline, sunshine

COMPANY:
One night in Bangkok makes a hard man humble
Not much between despair and ecstasy
One night in Bangkok and the tough guys tumble
Can't be too careful with your company
I can feel the devil walking next to me

THE AMERICAN:
Siam's gonna be the witness
To the ultimate test of cerebral fitness
This grips me more than would a
Muddy old river or reclining Buddha

And thank God I'm only watching the game, controlling it

I don't see you guys rating
The kind of mate I'm contemplating
I'd let you watch, I would invite you
But the queens we use would not excite you

So you better go back to your bars, your temples, your massage parlours

COMPANY:
One night in Bangkok and the world's your oyster
The bars are temples but the pearls ain't free
You'll find a god in every golden cloister
A little flesh, a little history
I can feel an angel sliding up to me

One night in Bangkok makes a hard man humble
Not much between despair and ecstasy
One night in Bangkok and the tough guys tumble
Can't be too careful with your company
I can feel the devil walking next to me

Did you know? Bangkok is sinking at the alarming rate of 2 inches per year. Wow, soon you’ll have to go elsewhere to see a woman shoot ping pong balls from her vagina. I’m not sure it will be the same—c’est la vie.

Almost home now, from here I go to Tokyo for New Years Eve.

Stop 9: Tokyo is apparently one of the best cities in the world to be on New Years Eve. I’m not sure how or why this is the case, but I’m hoping my well tanned skin will keep me warm during the Japanese winter. I’m planning on seeing the sites and making excursions out to the country. Perhaps I’ll find that place where Tom Cruise “shanked” Ken Watanabe in the Last Samurai. I’m hoping to check out the night life and find some great electronics that the rest of the world won’t see for 20 years.

Did you know? The Greater Tokyo area has a population of over 33 million; making one of the most densely populated urban areas in the world. My back muscles will be ripped from all the bowing I’ll have to do. . .

Ah, the trip is over. . . almost.

Stop 10: Honolulu Hawaii. I have a two day layover here, so basically I’m going to dive and continue to perfect my tan. For those of you who know me (mom), I’m hoping that my skin will be permanently changed into some sort of hide material that will protect me from the impending nuclear holocaust the worlds brilliant politicians seem bent on driving us to.

Did you know? Pearl Harbor is today one of the most frequently visited tourist attractions in Hawaii. Interestingly, Pearl Harbor has as many visitors from Japan as it does from the United States. Wow, mortal enemies one day, best friends the next. . . Truly Jimmie Hendrix was right to ask: “War, huh, what is it good for. . .”

I’ll be back in Los Angeles after this last stop. Time to get back to work and payoff my hotel room in Dubai.

I’ll keep writing during the trip (hopefully) and even post some pictures. My plan is to post a picture of the progression of my tan from day one to the last day of my trip.

Until later, remember. . .

The world is a book and those who do not travel read only one page.

~ Saint Augustine

2006-11-03T14:27:00.000-08:00

A new "Remix" CD of some of Nina Simone's songs just came out. This is an awesome CD, perfect for late night driving, or lounging at home with friends. . .

2006-10-09T01:12:00.000-07:00

Leonard Cohen - Hallelujah

Now I've heard there was a secret chord
That David played, and it pleased the Lord
But you don't really care for music, do you?
It goes like this
The fourth, the fifth
The minor fall, the major lift
The baffled king composing Hallelujah

Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah

Your faith was strong but you needed proof
You saw her bathing on the roof
Her beauty and the moonlight overthrew her
She tied you
To a kitchen chair
She broke your throne, and she cut your hair
And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah

Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah

You say I took the name in vain
I don't even know the name
But if I did, well really, what's it to you?
There's a blaze of light
In every word
It doesn't matter which you heard
The holy or the broken Hallelujah

Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah

I did my best, it wasn't much
I couldn't feel, so I tried to touch
I've told the truth, I didn't come to fool you
And even though
It all went wrong
I'll stand before the Lord of Song
With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah. . .

2006-10-07T12:24:00.000-07:00

I cooked this the other day. . . it is amazing and I highly recommend it.

This dish, a specialty of northern Italy's Emilia-Romagna, is named for the regions capital city. Although the meaty sauce is classically paired with tagliatelle (ribbon pasta just slightly wider than fettuccine), it also marries well with a variety of pasta shapes that trap the savory sauce.

Ingredients:
For sauce

2 tablespoons olive oil

2 tablespoons unsalted butter

1 small onion, chopped fine

1 carrot, chopped fine

1 pound ground chuck

1 cup milk

1 cup dry white wine

a 28- to 32-ounce can whole tomatoes including juice

1 1/4 pounds dried pasta such as penne, rigatoni, fusilli, or orecchiette, or 1 1/4 pounds Fresh Semolina Orecchiette

Make sauce:

In large heavy saucepan heat oil and butter over moderately high heat until foam subsides and sauté onion, and carrot, stirring 2 minutes. Add beef and cook, stirring, 2 minutes, or until meat is no longer pink. Season mixture with salt and pepper. Add milk and cook, stirring, until most milk is evaporated, about 10 minutes. Add wine and cook, stirring occasionally, until liquid is evaporated, about 10 minutes.

In a blender or food processor coarsely purée tomatoes with juice and stir into sauce. Cook sauce at a bare simmer, uncovered, stirring occasionally, 1 hour and 15 minutes (sauce will be thickened) and season with salt and pepper. Sauce may be made ahead and cooled, uncovered, before being chilled, covered, 2 days or frozen 1 month. In an 8-quart kettle bring 7 quarts salted water to a boil. Cook pasta until al dente (about 6 minutes for fresh, longer for dried) and drain in a colander. In a heated large bowl immediately toss pasta with sauce.

Serves 6 as a main course.

From Gourmet Magazine February 1997

Some nice music, a rich desert, and someone you love (or alternatively want to get play doctor with) and you're good to go.

2006-10-05T15:39:00.000-07:00

This is Ghazal 11 from an Iranian Poet named Hafez:

O wine-bearer brighten my cup with the wine
O minstrel say good fortune is now mine.
The face of my Beloved is reflected in my cup
Little you know why with wine, I always myself align.
Eternal is the one whose heart has awakened to Love
This is how Eternal Records my life define.
So proud are the tall beauties of the world
Outshines all the others this handsome spruce of mine.
O breeze if by chance you pass through friendly gardens
From me to my Beloved, please give a sign;
Ask why you choose to forget my name?
Will come the one to whom an audience you decline.
Intoxication pleases my Beloved and my Lord
To the wine, they would assign, my life's design.
What if on Judgment Day, no favor would be gained
From eating bread and leaving a forbidden water so fine?
Hafiz, let a tear drop or two leave your eyes,
May we ensnare the Bird of Union, divine.
The sea of the skies and the gondola of the moon
With the grace of the Master, radiantly shine.

The paintings are from Iranian Painter Mahmoud Farshchin.

2006-09-14T11:52:00.000-07:00

Night Message

I’m tired of this sadness
The depths of which bring me madness
Your kiss, your eyes, your gaze, your stare
The Sacrifice complete my Soul lays bare
I approach you with intentions pure
My recompense your words demure
From a distance salutations sent
In the message a question: Was it for you My Heart was meant?
In fire I hunt for the delicate, the true
My search a folly, my heart is through
Sad and spent I pour forth without end
The blood of my Soul, my Existence, I cannot mend
Tears too heavy, fall inwards
My state defined in these last words:
Victory then Defeat, Joy then Pain,
Love then Loss
Repeat Again

2006-09-06T15:53:00.000-07:00

Prologue

A woman’s shuttering whisper broke the silence of the candle-lit darkness. “God has abandoned us.” She said as the candle flickered and struggled to remain lit.

“No!” A man’s raspy voice sternly replied, echoing in the darkness. “God is everywhere. . .” His voice softened and faded as the air drained out of his lungs. His lifeless brown eyes peacefully stared into the fading light of the candle. She brushed his sweat soaked black hair back from his brow and kissed it. The candle’s light slowly retreated from the darkness, as if the light was draining into the man’s brown eyes—following him into the unknown and away from her.

She buried her head in his chest, her black hair pouring over his tattered white shirt. How she wished he could hold her one last time and smile down at her reassuringly, the way only he could do. In her life, no man had made her feel safe like he did. Strong and handsome, he complimented her beauty and charm.

The woman’s tears began to stream down her still beautiful face as she shook uncontrollably. She didn’t know if it was her fear, or the cold that seemed to fill the void left by the candle’s light that caused her to shake. But no strength or conscious effort on her part could slow the steady and volatile vibration of her body. Her green eyes, once revered for their brilliance and allure, belied her exhaustion—she was resigned to her fate now.

The earth tremors came again and she could hear the water begin to flow into the dark chamber. Desperately, she searched the oily darkness for the water she new was racing towards her. In an instant, which to her seemed to be an eternity, the water was upon her. It crashed against her and shot up the side of her leg, splashing her chest and face. She was trapped now, and as the water’s flow increased and began to inch up her body, shocking every nerve with its cold, she couldn’t help but think that it wasn’t God that was everywhere, but rather God’s wrath.

There was nothing in the once grand chamber now, but complete darkness and the roar of water spilling onto the chamber’s polished white marble floor. She could not believe that the dark tomb she was trapped in was once filled with such brilliant light that the very walls seemed to glow with a celestial aura. “There’s no perfume in the air now,” she thought, “no stars in the chamber’s sky, and no life in the chamber.” “The land is dead” she thought. Even as she began to float, she felt the full weight of her despair pull her down.

As the cold water surrounded her and lifted her towards the dark ceiling, the roar faded until only the sound of water splashing against the white marble walls remained. “The chamber’s main entrance must be completely under water now” she thought, as she could no longer feel the floor beneath her.

She had no sense of how high she had been lifted until the rapidly rising water smashed her into the interior of the chamber’s gold dome—sliding her up its interior towards the apex of the dome, which sat more than three-hundred-sixty feet above the floor of the chamber. She could feel the warmth of her blood as it flowed down over her face; the salt of her blood mixing with the salt of the sea water she was trapped in.

As she neared the apex, the water reached her nostrils, and she struggled to gasp for air, but the distance between the water and the dome evaporated. She wasn’t shaking or crying anymore as the water consumed her like an octopus enveloping its prey—she was resigned to her fate. She felt herself sinking back towards the floor of the chamber as the air trickled out of her lungs.

In her mind she imagined the candle light flickering and fading, that gave her some solace against the blacker than black darkness she floated in. She thought of her own life, so full, so bright, like the flame of the candle. “God, why have you abandoned me?” she asked in her mind, and as the external darkness gave way to an internal darkness, she saw it.
It was a pinprick at first, barely noticeable, but it grew steadily. It was a star—her Star. Its light and warmth embraced her. She could hear a familiar music that she was sure she had never heard before. Its’ melody called to her. Her last thought was of the Heart Stone, and with that her chains were loosed—Vala’s body died. She found rapture.

2006-08-25T19:25:00.000-07:00

The Fire of Islam

In 1095 A.D. Byzantine emperor Alexius I Comnenus sent envoys to the west requesting military assistance against the Seljuk Turks—this fateful plea for help was the seed from which second millennium relations between Islam and the West would develop. Later that year, at the Council of Clermont, the seed was planted when Pope Urban II delivered one of the most famous sermons in the history of Catholicism to an audience so large it could not be accommodated in any building within the city. His speech was punctuated with the cry Deus vult (“God wills it”) and was prologue to 200 years of death, destruction, and the nine religious Crusades launched from Christian Europe—only ending with the fall of the last Christian stronghold in the Middle East (Acre) in 1291. Jews, Christians, and Muslims all suffered, under the banner of Deus vult, and the echoes of their misery and hatred still reverberate today in epilogue.

Flash forward 910 years after Pope Urban II’s speech at the Council of Clermont to Denmark—a society representative of the even greater European struggle between the integration and personal identity of its Muslim citizens. Now focus in on one individual, Kare Bluitgen, an author of children’s books—in this case a children’s book about the life of the Prophet Mohammad (PBUH)—and find there the seed for third millennium relations between Islam and the West. Kare Bluitgen wanted to publish his children’s book with illustrations, and accordingly, he searched, unsuccessfully, for illustrators in Denmark willing to draw the Prophet—an act that is proscribed in Islam—triggering a fateful course of events that have culminated again with cries of Deus vult on all sides.

In an effort to address Bluitgen’s complaints the Danish newspaper Jyllands-Posten solicited drawings from several cartoonists, asking them to “draw the Prophet as they saw him.” On September 30, 2005, Jyllands-Posten planted the seed formed by Kare Bluitgen when it published twelve cartoons from various cartoonists. The paper chose a cartoon depicting the Prophet among other turban-wearing figures (including Jesus Christ, the far-right Danish politician Pia Kjaersgaard and Kare Bluitgen) in a police line-up with the witness saying: “I don't know which one he is” as the central image with eleven other cartoons—some of which do not even depict the Prophet—arrayed around the edge of the page. (The apparent humor being that since no one knows what the Prophet looked like, it is impossible to draw his true likeness, so it should not matter if someone draws him). Each of the eleven other cartoons holds a different theme—some of the cartoons, like one depicting the Prophet wearing a bomb in his turban, are designed to offend and some, like one depicting the crescent moon and star of Islam blending into the Prophet’s face, are not. All of the cartoons are, however, meant to evoke some kind of reaction—the aim and purpose of all communication—and like the speech by Pope Urban II, they are prologue to a new chapter in the relationship between the world’s Abrahamic religions.

Since the publishing of the cartoons in Denmark, some or all have been reprinted in newspapers and magazines in Egypt (October 17, 2005), Norway (January 10, 2006), France, Germany, Italy, and Spain (all on February 1, 2006), and the French magazine Charlie Hebdo (February 8, 2006). Many of the newspapers and magazines published the cartoons as a show of solidarity with Jyllands-Posten, which they believed was taking a stand against Muslim extremism in favor of free speech and “European values.” Others published the cartoons as acts of overt provocation, seeking to broaden the chasm forming between Muslim countries and their Western counterparts. Regardless of the publisher’s intentions, the result has been violence and a rise in fundamentalist rhetoric.[1] In the midst of this tempest it is imperative for thinkers at the forefront of shaping Islamic, and more importantly, religious philosophy, to question why events have spiraled so far out of control—and more importantly to prevent this third millennium seed from imitation of its second millennium counterpart.

Whether one is Jewish, Christian, Muslim, or of any other religious persuasion, it is antithetical to rational thought to even entertain the notion that one can even attempt to force others to respect any ideal—however right and perfect it may seem. By way of example, Islam proscribes eating pork. Should Muslims in Europe rise up in arms because some Europeans eat pork? Likewise, should Christians burn the embassies of Muslim countries because Islam permits polygamy and divorce? Why didn’t those countries whose populations are comprised primarily of Buddhists attack Muslims and their property after the destruction of the Buddha (PBUH) statues in the Bamiyan valley in Afghanistan by the Taliban?[2] Perhaps it is because they realize that no statue, painting, or any other invention of mankind can ever truly capture the true essence of the Buddha (PBUH), and that the destruction of a statue, although tragic, is merely the reversion of that stone to its more basic form. Likewise, it may behoove Muslims to realize that while Islam proscribes the depiction of the Prophet, the true essence of the Prophet and his teachings cannot be broken by the insignificant and meaningless—the same cannot be said for the hues of intolerance and hate Islam has come to be painted in. To counteract this trend Muslims from all walks of life and all tenets of thought must ask and find answers to some hard questions. A good place to start is by asking why some Muslims take such offense to caricatures of the Prophet Mohammad (PBUH) in secular newspapers, printed in secular countries, with no true understanding of what Islam is or what it means to be Muslim.

One cannot but wonder at the logic and sanity of trying to force anyone to respect anything. Respect is an inherently personal decision that cannot be bludgeoned into someone’s psyche. If Muslims are upset by cartoons portraying the Prophet Mohammad (PBUH) as a violent terrorist or a depraved fool, then perhaps the Ummah Wahida[3] needs to look at itself and recognize that each Muslim individual is a representative of Islam and the Prophet Mohammad’s (PBUH) teachings—we are all windows that purport to open unto Islam, whether we like it or not.

We as Muslims can no longer rest upon the glory of our Islamic heritage any more than Christians or Jews can rest upon the glory of theirs. It is time for all of us to take responsibility for the fact that we have allowed a vocal and unrepresentative minority to hijack our faith and pervert its highest precepts—not only in the eyes of its adherents, but more importantly in the eyes of those that lack the more intimate understanding we do. How can the practitioners of a religion whose very name—Islam—means peace, justify burning embassies, attacking innocents, and perpetrating the very same deplorable acts we condemn? We cannot.

With brilliant thinkers in all fields and an Ummah representing the broadest spectrum of the human experience, the time is ripe for an Islamic Renaissance. The time of fundamentalism and ignorance must be brought to a close and the majority of Muslims—those who pity the ignorant more than they despise them must wrest the mantle of our religion from those that threaten to ruin it. More important than meaningless affronts to a figure whose greatness requires no advocate is the love and dedication required to properly represent Him and His teachings.

In Denmark, Europe, and most of the rest of the world Islam has fallen prey to the misguided antics of a small minority that I believe love Islam, but lack the information necessary to distinguish Islam from the lower ideals of those seeking to use it for political and pecuniary gain. It is the responsibility of the tolerant and peaceful majority to direct these people to those who are wise enough to reveal the true paradise that is Islam. In the Islam I hope to know—and which I believe is what the Prophet Mohammad (PBUH) taught—there is no hatred, no fear, no bigotry, and most importantly no ignorance. In the Islam I know, Deus vult can only mean peace, happiness, and harmony.

If someone seeks to offend Islam, the Prophet, or Muslims, I, as someone that considers myself a Muslim, have to look first to see why this person would do such a thing and second at the type of example I am setting for that person. If that person’s reason is their own ignorance then I must teach them. Conversely, if that person’s reason is my ignorance or worse yet my hypocrisy, then I must first correct the issues innate within myself and then seek to educate them. It has become too convenient to blame external factors—foreign policy, economic gain, racism, propaganda, etc.—for the misrepresentation of Islam throughout the world. Part of the solution has to be to take responsibility for our failure to protect the truth of Islam from those that have exploited it for their own advantage. This is a process that must begin with each individual, only then can the third millennium finally yield the peace and harmony preached by all the world’s religions and all of God’s Prophets.

To my brothers and sisters of all religions I leave this prayer:

May God’s light guide me to the knowledge to find the wisdom to know the truth.
May God grant me the strength to live within the truth.
May God forgive those that do not know the truth and provide me with the Fire of Islam to light their way out of the darkness to the truth.

[1] It is important to note that some of the cartoons being used to stoke the anger of protesters in Muslim communities worldwide were not ever printed by any reputable publication in Europe. Instead some, like one depicting the Prophet as a pig, may be propaganda that is being used by extremists to further their own agenda in Muslim communities.

[2] The examples cited are not meant to correlate to the cartoons, rather they are meant to illustrate the point that “forced” respect is dangerous and impossible.

[3] The phrase Ummah Wahida (the “One Community”) in the Quran refers to the entire Islamic world as a unified community.

2006-08-25T19:22:00.000-07:00

This Cancer

Stuck inside me like a cancer
This child it weeps
The tears it sheds I wish were mine
They are stuck inside me like a cancer

I want to cut it out
To break it
To feel the release of the torrent
To be free again

This child is stuck inside me like a cancer
She cries for me
I cry for it
But the tears they do not come

I want to tear it out
To throw it away
To feel the pain disappear
To sleep again and dream

This child is stuck inside me like a cancer
He feels sorry for me
I feel sorry for it
My heart is ablaze burning me inside

I want to burn her away
To discard the ashes
To forget the misery
To embrace the possibility

2006-08-25T19:20:00.000-07:00

Sorrow

I came to you on a summer’s day
In this heart my Love contains
For the first time in years
I felt blissful the joy of tears

I saw you as the first bloom in May
You were the blood that flowed through my veins
I felt the burdens disappear
And my will ignited to persevere

But the blue skies they turned to gray
My emotions they turned to chains
The insecurities began to reappear
The boundaries of my confidence became unclear

How did we wander so far astray
The only gifts we gave each other were pains
We turned our backs to paradise’s frontier
And returned instead to the old, the sad, and the severe

Now I sit here and I pray
That God will remove all these stains
The loneliness I’ve grown to fear
Is all that is left with me here