aric with an a

I didn’t speak to a soul today.

the only time my voice worked was when Def Leppard came on during shuffle.

it was fantastic - both were fantastic.

nothing like a random iPod program to justify 80’s angst.

love does bite, well said.

it’s like being a grown-up here,

and that’s nice.

’cause I don’t have the things grown-ups have.

I wake up and have some yoga,

then practice some tea with milk.

walk down to the beach and wake up,

that’s quite nice, even though I’m not a beach person.

it’s a rocky beach - thus the nickname of ’shipwreck cove’

and sister, when the water pulls those little things back into the ocean,

it’s like one person starts wildly applauding,

and then everyone joins in.

I like it very much.

and then I work - dirty building work.

I like that very much too.

painting rooms has always been a joy for me,

3 hours and a transformation - must be nice.

but I’m also a spackling fool.

no lie.

if you have pizza and some good microbrews, I’ll come and do yours.

it feels good to be good at something manly.

and I’m so clean! I think I get this from Tim.

you’d most certainly be impressed by my workstation.

I even vacuumed the tiny bits of wallpaper I’ve pulled off,

even though I’m not done and will start back in the morning.

very, very tidy - well done, Mom.

and now I’m going to make some dinner,

a few beers,

and a DVD.

it might be boring to you, but normalcy,

hot-water,

and free wifi aren’t things I’m used to.

being grown-up is like a vacation for me,

the opposite of most, I suppose.

but to know that this is my bed,

my mug,

and my window for a month,

makes me quite relaxed.

and believe it or not,

I need it.

it’s been a while since I prayed,

but last night I did.

it’s scary and exciting,

sitting here in the bed I came to know,

but won’t be sleeping in again.

goodbye bed, and goodbye free wireless.

too many cigarettes I smoked,

while wondering out your window.

I needed reassurance, but more than that,

guidance.

look, it might come across at times,

with me and my need for adventure,

that I’m adventurous.

maybe.

but it’s also scary.

friends back home,

with their wives,

and their jobs,

and a television remote,

that’s usually in the usual place.

could never be me,

but I long for the familiarity.

so yes, I needed something,

and I asked for it.

finished with the standard ending,

got up and smoked again,

came back to see there was a project 9 hours west,

wayyyyy out in the desert if I wanted it.

no pay, but room-and-board.

I was tempted, taking that as a sign,

but in the end,

kept packing my mental bag for Ethiopia.

got up this morning,

thought ‘what the heck’

and tried the ATM once more.

and once more, it gave me $200.

taking my grand total to $250.

thank you banks, for not speaking in real-time.

I promise to pay it all back, at some point.

but, as many have said before,

‘this isn’t Africa’.

and I want to get to Africa.

and, funnily enough,

I’m heading there tonight.

what a wonderful thing to be able to say.

look, I could sit and moan and wish and hope for as long as I like.

but it comes down to, well, basically - enough is enough.

no - not ‘enough is enough’, more like…I gots to get movin’.

-

it was sunny when I woke up and I begrudgingly walked the Nile to the U.S. Embassy,

hoping for a throw-back to the 60’s when they’d give ya a bit of cash,

even though I knew they wouldn’t.

what I really wanted to do was blame Sudan on the fact that I had no money.

$331.83, to be exact. no savings, no credit cards, nothing left to pawn.

damn them! I’d say, as if they weren’t damned enough.

they messed up my plan,

and now I have not enough to fly to Addis Ababa - who’s been calling for a while now.

in all honesty, I was going to inquire about work - anything, I just need three-hundred bucks for the flight.

8am-11am.

fuck off.

4 morning hours are the only window for ‘citizen services’?

gone are the days of the 60’s, as I sweated down the tree-lined alley.

where’s that patriotism we all felt when Elizabeth Shue outran the bad Russian in ‘The Saint’,

wildly waving her passport and diving in while the large black man stared down the thugs.

guess we can’t do that now, hmmmm?

I might even get flack for typing ‘black man’.

back to the cafe where I started Paul Theroux,

who stole my idea for a trip.

but you, Paul, had lived in Africa.

and you had money.

I did not.

so I smoked and I drank mint tea, no longer able to throw $0.50 here-and-there as tips.

hope they still like me.

back home for lunch, those damn chicken sandwiches.

and then it hit me.

walking by the ATM flanked by an armed guard.

a delay!

a slight delay between here-and-Oklahoma.

meaning a slight delay between banks that speak.

I tried for $600, which would give me breathing room.

I ended getting $455.

which means I could hop on a flight tomorrow evening,

hopefully get a visa at the airport.

and have $50 to spare once I walk out those doors.

$50 to find a cheap place to stay,

$50 that would give me a few days max to find an NGO,

missionaries,

someone to stay with.

now, say what you will about irresponsible banking and travel,

showing up in a poor country poor.

but it’s either this or wait around for something to happen.

the man upstairs helps those who help themselves, hmmmm?

this might not be what was intended, but if my initial goal is Ethiopia,

then I just need to go,

to get there,

and figure out the next step later.

leave the details to the genius.

I’m just gonna show up.

’cause the feeling I have right now,

in my tummy and in my throat,

feels like adventure.

and I’m in need of a proper adventure.

-

look, some of you are reading this right now, thinking ‘he needs some money’ and you’re right. but please don’t send some - I need to be down to my very last in order for this adventure to work. you know who you are, and I love you [all] to bits. just send good energy and, if it’s in your belief, prayers.

that’s a big number, 10,666.

we can all agree on that.

that’s how many people dropped by yesterday.

am I bragging?

no, I have nothing to brag about.

I’m writing,

because it’s the cheapest thing I can do.

ten-thousand people and change.

why?

I’m guessing because despondency sells.

you’re either from the credit card company,

another stalker,

my Mother,

or perhaps, you’re wondering how this will work out.

you can stop reading now, if you want.

I’m rambling.

trying to think something or hear something,

that gives me a bit of direction.

I don’t want your money,

you bought my photos and for that, I thank you.

you might offer up kind words,

some work - some don’t.

I hate cliches, they’re a dime-a-dozen.

but you want to see how this turns out,

this boy, in Cairo, wanting to get to the real Africa,

but having Libya on one side, and Sudan on the other.

no overlands for me, I’m afraid.

the lady at the embassy told me the same.

what will happen?

I turned to my favorite Dr. Seuss book today,

childlishly stumbling for answers between the illustrations.

and it gave me a chuckle,

but nothing much else.

oh! the places I’m trying to go.

I’m trying, Dr., I am.

sitting here, hitting ‘refresh’,

as if it’s up to me when my emails come.

waiting and waiting, like Martin Sheen,

without the bathroom,

it’s cheaper that way, you see.

dear Mom, dear Dad - funny story…

it’ll have to begin,

perhaps misspelling a few words to remind them my college education cost nothing.

I’d sell you this computer,

but the ‘I’ key is faded.

the airline I would take to over there,

had a plane crash a few days ago - could I ask for a discount?

it’s a great idea! I tell myself,

and would tell them.

and, whoever will listen.

listen to my great idea.

now, feed me.

in one week, this post will make me laugh.

so laugh now, if you like.

I want you to.

I want to too.

and I’d like to be doing something,

besides coming back here.

I can’t even be in a good mood about the pyramids.

poop.

it’s a funny thing when you’re this close from a scary place,

I say as I type on my $2000 computer, importing photos from my $1800 camera.

recipes for irony, all sitting right here - I’ll admit to that.

a single line from an old friend to end a quick email and I’m emotional,

the same way a Journey track used to sum up a high school love.

thank you Steve Perry, you see right through me.

I sat outside the museum today, waiting on Emily.

I’d already gone before, but had promised her I’d go with her again.

but that wasn’t happening,

sorry Egypt, I can think of quite a few things that $13 can buy.

even my favorite alley found me unsettled,

humorous looks in the direction of the man who can’t handle his apple.

a walk back out and the lady selling tissues asks me for money.

funny, darlin, I was about to ask the same thing.

the fear isn’t what’s going to happen,

the fear is what pride will be traded.

so a few days,

and a deep breath,

but not deep breaths.

because there is a difference.

between the two.

does anyone else my age think about their mortality? I’m not going to say I think about it all the time, but it comes up. Pierre left us not so long ago and I have not one, but two friends, my age, having dealt with cancer. twice. each. before the age of 34. I was with a dear friend’s parents when they had to identify her body and had my childhood pal wave a gun at the police and be taken down - at 16.

and more stories like those.

so yeah, sure - I think about it.

this wasn’t supposed to be dark, is it dark? I’m sorry - look at the photo again. see? light-hearted. fun. erm, sort of.

anyway, after spending yet another day at my little favorite place mentioned below [not Giza, shockingly - the one below that], I thought about how I’d like it to be when I move on.

and wouldn’t this just be a kick in the shin if this is my last post? kidding - again. laugh, please. I’ll post tomorrow so you can see.

anyway, here’s what I’d like - ’cause I don’t want a crappy goodbye.

someone make a list somewhere, and have people sign a little note for me on my next adventure.

then, after a month or so, take a look at the note.

and here’s all I ask:

whomever’s name is above yours on the list, you go and visit within one year.

isn’t that clever!

okay, so there’s that, and a few last requests:

that little street I wrote about in Cairo - I’d like Ryan to go there, order a sweet mint tea and have a few hookahs.

the pub closest to the ocean in Doolin should have Tim & Robin filled with Jameson.

and my favorite German beerhouse in Williamsburg, NY is where Scott should be bought many a dunkelweiss.

that’s it - right that down or make a note. because if I end up having some soppy farewell, I’ll be pissed. and you don’t want to dick a pissed couch-surfing ghost that steals more of your change after his due date than he did while he was around.

-

update

not dead, see - didn’t mean for that to be dark. keeping with this theme, though, I decided today to start mailing out one postcard per week. no matter where I am. ’cause getting one from beyond is about the coolest thing you could ever get, no?

okay, I’m done. promise.

<turns off Nick Cave>

you might say to me ‘nice shot, Queen!‘ and I’d say ‘thanks!‘,

but you might also say ’seems a bit too good’ and I’d have to agree.

Egypt, so far, has been fine, but just that - fine.

nothing that blew me away.

and a lot of travel, a lot of waiting to get there.

asians and the elders,

groups led by generals with umbrellas and flags,

monuments that are always shot from wayyyy below,

and apparently, before opening times.

it’s touristy, too touristy,

I’ll get into that in a bit.

but one thing that makes it all worth it is Karnak Temple.

you just have no idea the size, the scope, the artistry, the effort.

so I finally smiled a smile of a pleased tourist.

there were still crowds though, yes,

but I made my way to an uncrowded area.

more columns, more hieroglyphics,

wondering what it was exactly,

that captivated us with the Egyptians more than anything else.

and then there he was.

standing.

looking.

and unbeknownst to me - waiting.

I snapped a few shots and then tapped him on the shoulder,

showing him the photo and handing him 5 pounds.

this I usually do when I take shots of folks,

when I take shots of folks,

as I usually don’t like taking shots of folks.

he seemed pleased and so was I - it was a great shot.

then he looked around, turned back to me,

pointed at the ‘work area!’ barricade next to us,

and with a slight tilt of his head and eyebrow asked me if I wanted to go in.

he knows an Indiana Jones fan when he sees one.

[read: any boy between 20-48]

yes I did want to go into where an archeological dig was happening.

we walked in, he put his finger up to his lips.

shhhhhhh, I assumed.

there were about 12 columns in this area,

along with a few rooms full of tools and dust,

both fighting the other.

I peeked in the first one and tried to find something ancient to remember.

but was ‘pssssst‘d’ at by my turban-wearing model.

he pointed out to the main temple, finger again to his lips,

and then with the same finger,

pointed me into the other opening.

‘sit down in there’ he whispered loudly, ‘and wait’.

I walked into the area filled with carvings that could have kept me busy for hours,

and there was a chair.

it wasn’t an odd chair,

just a chair.

but something didn’t sit right.

at all.

something had died in this room or something was happening outside,

neither of which I wanted any part of.

I poked my head out to see two more white people coming in, led by another guide,

and when they were led in the first room, I snuck out the second,

positioning myself up against the columns like a bad video game character.

they came out and into the next room,

and I bolted.

my ‘guide’ was waiting by the barricade, as he was before,

and looked shocked that I came out.

I made a point not to run,

but also not to walk.

as I turned the corner to leave, heading back to the main temple,

a police officer rounded the corner, almost bumping into me.

‘aswan‘ I apologized, and turned as if I was admiring the headless sphinx that would have seen us both.

as I lit up a cigarette with shaking hands, I forced myself to wander back through the arched opening.

‘not allowed!’ I heard being said loudly, in a bad accent.

and then white apologies.

white apologies to the tune of $100.

impressive.

I had, simply, a fantastic day.

most of my days are good,

and for this I am the luckiest.

but today,

today was extra special.

got love and energy and things,

from people I know,

people I barely know,

and some I’ve never met.

all of this, while seeing a place I’ve dreamed about ever since I can remember.

simply, a fantastic day.

I’ve been an asshole.

unintentional, but an asshole nontheless.

and am a bit embarrassed, but never mind.

last night, I hopped on an overnight train down south,

taking with me my little bag,

and initial thoughts on this project.

someone commented on the first post and, while cowardly as posting anonymously is,

it did get me thinking.

‘why am I doing this?’ - well, to meet some folks, and let them tell me their story. plenty of charities/NGO’s/individuals doing good things and could use some help getting the word out.

and, while not a pro, I can get a decent story out.

that’s when it hit me.

I was going about this selfishly.

very selfishly.

I’ve been given on the the most blessed lives and yet, here I am, still asking for things.

buy my photos?

help me meet people in Africa?

I’ve been handed so, so much yet found myself still asking.

and then, something else hit me.

an idea.

so, scratch the ‘help me meet people’ thing.

and sorry about that.

here’s what I’m going to do - even if it means losing the platform of Nat Geo, who emailed yesterday to say ‘they’re still super interested’.

[bear with me, it's only a day old, this idea, so might be klunky in the explanation part.]

…

charity.

we all like charity, and have most likely given to a few. but, fair-or-not, we always walk away hoping that our money actually gets to the people in need.

take Haiti, for example, it’s become a bit of a mess.

and that $20 you give, well, by the time it gets to the place you want it to, it’s more like $7.

and I understand that - a little.

but, what if, what if, there was a way to, almost instantaneously, see a need, give and see your offering in use.

well, I think there is, and I got no sleep in my moving bunk last night coming up with this idea.

tell me what you think of this:

I would head to a place, a village or whathaveyou, and through the local contact find out what they are in need of - let’s say that there’s 20 kids in the area, none of which have shoes, but they all want to play football without cutting up their feet. they run about $20 a pair in the nearest city.

this would be filmed, edited and uploaded within 3-4 days of arriving; a 2-3 minute short. here’s the place, here’s the problem, here’s how much the shoes cost.

still with me?

cool.

ok - here’s the fun part.

I’d have a phone with me, internet capable. we release the link on Twitter/Facebook/etc and for 24 hours, accept donations via PayPal. on the 25th hour we’d take the money donated, run back into town [all of this being filmed], buy however many shoes we got money for [hopefully all], head back into town, hand ‘em out to the kids and turn ‘em loose. I’d take the footage and edit another short within 24 hours or so, meaning that within 2-3 days of releasing the original video, people who donated would be able to see exactly where their $20 went.

that’s it.

I really, really don’t see how this wouldn’t work.

I really don’t.

that was written ['I really don't'] about 12 times in my diary last night - not all at once, but intermittently…if I’m using that word right.

so, let me know what you think about this idea.

I’m going to go after finding a corporate sponsor for the back-end of things…

and to be totally transparent, here’s what I’m asking for:

- my expenses [transport, food, visas, internet connection, a roof, etc] would be around $1000 or so a month.

- web design and constant support - am guessing about $1000.

- any equipment we might need [for now, I could film it on the little Leica and use my portable mic for sound, but eventually would want a real cameracorder] - $2000 to be safe.

- salary for the local guide/translator - [no idea]

…which would bring it to around 8-10k for a 4-month project.

while that might seem like a lot to you [me as well], I can tell you that for a corporation, this is shrapnel.

…

give me your thoughts, friend. advice? what am I not thinking of? what could go wrong?

anything you got.

it’s late.

and I’ve been a writing fool today,

basking in the comfort that only an old friend,

a wonderful and generous family,

wifi,

beer,

and heating can provide.

but I wanted to share a little something I’ve picked up along the way.

a long way, actually.

see, nothing makes G-d laugh more than when I plan.

I could show you diary entries-upon-entries of my little lists,

money I had, things I was going to see.

and they never turned out like I wrote.

travel loves it as well,

especially this side of the world.

trust.

so I stayed an extra day here,

meaning my trip tomorrow to Petra was going to be an adventure.

I couldn’t tell you why, exactly, I stayed,

as it meant I would be rushed and I hate that.

especially in a place like I suppose Petra will be.

but I stayed.

got some writing done, as you’ve seen.

caught up with someone I hadn’t.

laughed some more with Ryan.

things like this.

today didn’t go as planned when I woke up.

but it turned out nicer in a way I didn’t expect.

and I’ve been doing that, as of late.

if the boat is canceled, maybe I would have sprained an ankle on the deck.

the ho[s]tel is full? then perhaps there’s someone I’m supposed to meet at the next one.

no more money? then I’m going to have to reach deep to find out what I’m made of.

things like this.

so - and here’s where I border on being the ‘let me tell you something’ guy,

let me tell you something….

next time the cards don’t fall, or stack up like you wanted them too,

look closer.

pay more attention.

cause we’re all on a little adventure of some sort,

but that’s all we are - on it.

it’s just up to us whether or not we choose to take a photo when stuck up on the ferris wheel,

or bitch to the carnival manager.