aric with an a

As many can tell from 3 months past, I’ve been mourning my morning coffee/late night bourbon sessions with my best friend, Scott. As bff’s do, we covered life, love, goals and failures, etc, but what I really loved was the Music/Film/Lit 101 that always seemed to take over. And as much as I want to say it was equally sided, it wasn’t. I’d put on a song I liked and he would grab his hard-drive and play me the song it sampled from. Nick Hornby turned to Norman Mailer. And so on.

So, when I happened to meet Celine in Mandalay and we both agreed to meet rooftop and trade tracks over a bottle of rum, I was, once again - schooled. We were more-or-less on the same path around SE Asia and got to meet up both in Cambodia and Laos; all the while, she introducing me to things I previously didn’t know.

So, every once and a while, I shall title a post with the letter of the person who taught me, and then a number indicating the ‘lesson’.

This has actually I’ve been something I have constantly been thinking about lately, how we, when introducing others to new music/writers/art/et al, rarely credit the person we learned from, which is a tragedy…nay, an insult.

I’m going to try and start that more - instead of graciously accepting the compliment that ‘Oh! I love that video about ‘Charlie The Unicorn’, I can say ‘Great, right? My friend Jenni turned me onto it’. Something you should be doing to others and them to you, no? Yes. Thank you.

Anyway, not many people know I grew up in a strict religious household - no television, no secular music, and very few books. Making me late to the game of it all. Very. Can I tell you I just read Orwell’s ‘1984′ 2 months ago? I’m ashamed to even admit that. Thankfully, I had Scott to suggest it.

Needless to say, I don’t know a whole lot about…well, anything. Including anything now considered vintage. This I had never seen before and after my friend Celine (see how easy that is!) told me about it, I looked it up.

Wow. Take that, CGI. This was done in ‘51, same year ‘A Streetcar Named Desire‘ hit the big sreens. Think about that while watching this.

Thank you Fred. Thank you Celine. Thank you Scott. Thank you Jenni.

This seems to be my problem (well, that and the direct opposite), but with both The Saturday Show, GigShanghai, The Shanghai Show and Shanghai Diaries, I always leave as soon as it starts working. Weird right? I walked from the ChinesePod spin-off show just as we topped out at half-a-million listeners a month. The B.B.C. emailed me about GigSH 3 weeks after I ended it. The Shanghai Show made all the papers here after I began the Diaires and even those are still getting press despite it being 3 months defunct.

I need, ironically, a producer or someone who can take these things and run with them after I get bored…

Speaking of which, a new show will be coming out in a week or so - make that a little new show between the previous one (SH Diaries) and the newest one coming online around January.

Proactive? Yes I am. Maintaining them is where I fail…some creepy similarities to my personal life.

So, I had another day in the oh-so-stale town of Paske. Sure, had I possessed enough money, I could have taken a day trip, but with about $25 left to my name, I simply had to wait. Meaning I had to drink. And not the normal ‘oh-isn’t-southeast-asia-great?‘ laid back afternoon bevvies, but Drinking. With a purpose. Drinking to forget. Paske and the lost-baggage were my ex-wife + alimony and I wanted them both in my head no more. So I drank. For about 5 hours. On my own. I wanted to get on that bus and pass out. 10 hours with no iPod or book (finished the book earlier that day and charger was in the other bag) means I needed to achieve unconsciousness. Immediately. The beer here is hands-down the best around, so it wasn’t hard. I got on that bus and drank even more, this time to drown out the karaoke dvd’s they play on those overnight rides. After 20-minutes, ‘my (as my best friend would say) sobriety was completely stolen’, which was great…except that I had to pee-pee and didn’t think to go beforehand. But had to. I couldn’t sleep until I did. I didn’t know when we would stop nor if I could hold it until then. But I did have an idea. See, I was lucky enough to grab the back bed in the bus meaning I could, in theory, pee into the empty bottle. Now, while it only takes me a few words to explain I attempted to do said process, I should explain that just to…arrange everything took a good 20-minutes. I couldn’t sit up properly, I was on the top bunk. I had to wrap my sarong around me as not to show everyone my special-purpose stuck inside a bottle. Driver #2 came back for a few minutes to chat on his mobile phone, so I had to pull out a change of clothes thus my sitting-up-on-my-knees position made it look like I was simply changing clothes underneath the big ole floral-print sheet I was covering myself with, at this point looking like a tipsy homosexual Bat-Man. He finally left and I began. Now, not to get too graphic, but if you size up the opening to a big beer and the opening to your…well, penis, it should seem an easy fit, right? Loads of room for aim. No. I guess it….well, expands when…ahem, emptying and my initial attempt resulted in me…ugh, side-spraying everything that was so nicely surrounded in my cape. Kind of like when you watered the lawn and put your thumb over the spout. Messy. But, as intoxication and losing goes with guys, the 8 Beer Laos and I had another idea. For some inexplicable reason, I had black electrical tape in my bag and you-know-what-I-could-make-a-seal between….ummm, both things, thus, eradicating spritzing all over my thighs again. So there I am, occasionally using a free hand to move clothes around making it look like I really was changing, my unmentionable taped to a bottle of beer all-the-while trying to not fall over seeing how roads in Laos were not as smooth as the aforementioned booze. I finally finished, filled up damn-near most of the bottle and congratulated myself. But before I could high-five one hand with the other, I had to figure out what to do with this big bottle of warm urine. The trash can below me was of the normal Asian pink-and-little variety and the weight of my own extract would tip it over and thus…well, empty itself out amongst the tourists below me. Okay, idea #3 - I could tape the bottle up and then secure it to the iron storage area in front of me. Yes. A good idea! I did that.

Giggled myself to sleep, in fact.

Woke up 8 hours later in Vientiane and was escorted out the a door different to the one I originally boarded on- one I never knew existed.

One that also opens up into a tiny on-board toilet.

Never allow your bag to be put on a bus whilst you kill a few hours around town.

‘This town is the most boring yet’ I penned in my diary, ‘thank f*ck it’s only for a few hours’. I walked around town…twice. Got a 2-hour long massage (and there were only 1-hour’s available, so basically…just got the same thing twice), ate some noodles. Had a few more Beer Lao’s. Ate some more noodles. Caught up on some email. Planned out my sleeping-on-the-bus plan to a ‘T’ (’Okay, when the bus stops for pee-pee time around 10 or 11p, I’ll finish this spliff, wash it down with a bit of ole’ ‘lao lao’, throw on Madlib’s remix of the old Blue Note albums and then see which one wins in knocking me out first. Perfect.

I walk out to board the bus and…well, it’s not there. In fact, it’s so far away from being there, by the time I explained in a very un-Lao raised voice what was going on, they tracked it…to fucking Thailand.

‘No problem sir’, (giggles - one of my biggest hatreds of Asia) ‘we will get it to you in Vientiane in a few days’.

‘Right. You can’t even put my bag on the right bus and I’m supposed to trust you’ll get it from the southern tip of the country to the damn-near north? No. I’m staying here (rolls eyes as if ‘here’ designated anything of interest, importance, etc) until it comes back tomorrow, so just exchange my ticket with the same-same (one of my favorite phrases in Asia) tomorrow’.

‘We cannot do that sir’.

[It was here for some reason my nipples hardened...I still don't know why]

‘Why not?!’

‘We have many people who work here for different companies. The man who put your bag on the wrong bus is different from the man who sells the tickets’.

‘Get your boss.’

‘Sir, the bus has already left, we cannot’.

‘Your fucking BOSS!’

‘If you’re not nice to me I don’t want to help you…this is not my problem.’

‘Where is he?’

‘He’s there, but his English and Lao are not so good. Too bad you don’t speak Chinese, ha ha’.

I got my ticket exchanged. I’m also giving a lot of faith to the system that lost my stuff in the first place to get my it back. But what the hell I’m going to do in this town for an entire 24 hours is beyond me. I don’t even know what to do for the next 24 minutes.

Fucking travel - don’t ever believe it ain’t a pain in the ass.

[Update]

Bag is back. Everyone found it amusing. I probably should have to, but…not yet. Okay, power-positive, life had a reason for keeping me here, yeah? Eyes/ears open? Dolly Parton mentioned in her amazing bio (seriously worth a read) that ‘You can’t have the rainbow without the rain!’, so was mine just in reverse? Is there a lesson to be found in all of this?! Shall I look in every corner of Paske, Laos until it hits me?

Nah.

Fuck forced-enlightenment - I’m going to the pub.

My friend Celine’s accent (she’s French, thus making me ‘leetle yongkee buoy’) reminded me of someone I keep trying to find out more about, but keep forgetting to make a mental note.

Anyone know much about this guy, Artuad? I read the wiki on him, seems like a wonderful maniac, but don’t know much else.

And in the spirit of remembering things I like and don’t, here’s a few that I wrote in my diary this morning:

Likes

Alan Tudyk

pudding

Dislikes

wicker

…I’m sure there’s more.

What can only be described as a ‘good day’. I did nothing. Seriously. Got up late to the sounds of children jumping in the river next to my $2 a night bungalow (complete with hammock). Had a few cups of coffee. Read. For the first time in a long time didn’t play any music, just…well, did nothing. Had what can only be described as a wonderful coconut milk curry. I walked home. Just as I was finding my way around the bungalow (Hammock? Sure. Electricity? If you want to pay the fuel surcharge for the generator) it started to rain. I love that. Sat myself down and read some more. A friend sms’d me telling me to ‘keep enjoying life’, which made me smile. I called Ollie who was reading a book at an outside Winchester Pub, so we lethargically exchanged. I put on ‘Kind of Blue’ and was laughing to myself as I was in a country that up until about 7 months ago, I couldn’t have pointed to on a map. Drank my Beer Lao and decided that, just for myself, I would take a quick 15 second video…as not to forget. I panned right, where the river moves to, to left, from where it comes and saw on the digital screen not one, but 2 rainbows. I damn near dropped the camera. I’ll post that vid when I can. A riverside bungalow with attached hammock, perfect weather, Miles proving there’s no such thing as a ‘wrong note’, friends around me and 2 rainbows. Ain’t gonna lie to you, I got a bit teary-eyed. This is what it’s about, these tiny minuscule unplanned moments that nicely remind you that your attempts at control over your own happiness are moot; but should you, just wait, listen, watch, feel and experience the things going on around you, sooner or later life will single you out for a little treat.

Photo by someone you should read about below

As I showered in prepartion for the the birthday party of Joe Cummings (for those of you who don’t know who he is, if you traveled to Thailand, hell, most of SE Asia and even Mexico in the past 15 years, he was the Lonely Planet author…ask Leonardo DiCaprio) there was a knock on Nym’s door and in walked James Nachtwey - as in, perhaps one of the most devastatingly brutal and honest photographers to walk the earth. Ask Time Magazine, they brought him on board. The Magazine Photographer of the Year….7 times. The Leica award…twice. Oh yeah, and that small thing called a TED prize.

He popped in, having just flown from India. Just to say hi to Nym.

Should you be anywhere, and I mean, anywhere near Stockholm on the 27th of September, visit his exhibition at the Lydmar Hotel in Stockholm. Even if it means a flight from Brazil.

I get to meet both of these guys for no other reason than having mutual friends?

Yay, mutual friends, then.

[Update]

2 hours after writing this we shared popcorn with a Senator in the elevator and that night discussed Vikings and the cultural differences of menstration practice with a former Miss Thailand.

Am starting to see why people come here for a holiday and…well, stay.

So - here I am in a travel agency in Bangkok waiting on my friend Nym to buy her ticket to Sweden. 20 minutes before I went to go exchange some money. When I reached in my bag, I found no money. Meaning I lost a lot of money. Like, more than $700. In a little white envelope. Nym thought she saw a white envelope in the spare bedroom this morning, but I’m not going to put faith into that only to be even more disappointed.

And so I wait. We’re going to go eat, check out the riots, see where a gorgeous scene of ‘In The Mood For Love’ was shot, meaning I don’t find out about my missing envelope until later on today. Meaning this knot in my stomach might be there for a bit.

I’ve lost lots of things, once, even mindlessly forgot an entire suitcase in a South L.A. train station (ask me how long that took to be ‘adopted’) and last night was commenting to Nym about how lucky I’d been this trip, having not gotten sick or lost anything. I’ll still be able to travel, but this means I go from budget planning to living like a local, which might seem enticing to some, but in India might be more than I can handle.

Oh…travel.

[Update]

It was under the bed. Okay, I can breathe. Might not seem like a lot to you, but I’m living on less than $1000 a month. And its the start of the month. And I get paid from my small projects at the first of the month. Meaning, well…it would have been a hungry month, as I had all of $50 with me.

Funny what a few hours does to you though, I mean, yes - it sucked, the thought of…well, nothing really, as I don’t have any savings and am too old to be calling my parents for cash. I had a hour where I pulled an ‘Eeyore’, but as I walked around, I started to realize something…of all the places for me to be without any cash whatsoever, I was with a friend. Who has a spare bed. I mean, had I been anywhere else, I would have been f*cked. Nice as the Thai’s are, they ain’t just handing out free meals. Okay, free expensive hotel rooms, but I’m sure I couldn’t pull that off again. So, sure - it would have been a shitty month and seriously hindered what I had planned in my ‘Summer of Adventure’ tour, but I’m lucky.

And found the money. So feel extra lucky.

Oh…tribulations.

–
aric.s.queen
producer

So - I left. Early. Was actually there only one full day. Should feel embarrassed about it, but am okay with admitting that during ‘Loving and Kindness’ time, I hid in my cell (above, pictured) until everyone was loving and kind. Don’t get me wrong, I saw a lot of people there who seemed to be getting a lot out of it and should that be your thing, then by all means…

However - if I want suffering, I can simply call a few ex-girlfriends and ask them what I’m like to be with. A few pints with Ollie or Tim will tell me everything I need in self-awareness. Indefinite silence? I’m jobless, broke, 32 and scared of commitment. Quiet solitude should be easy enough to find. Enlightenment? I’ll get it on the road, thanks.

When I get the chance, I’ll transcribe my (illegal) diary entries the short time I was there, but suffice to say the compound (the huts we assumed to be staying in (below, photo) were for the monks) was ‘Auschwitz’ in nature (my neighbor said it, I didn’t - he lasted 4 hours less than I),  and hearing things like ’sadness and sorrow can be cured with simple breathing techniques’ just seems a bit…well, passive-escapist to me.

I’ll say the same thing for Buddhism as I do for homosexuality. Both have a very kind demographic and have seriously contributed to some lovely home decor, but, as I’ve tried ‘em both, I can tell you; it ain’t for me.