The further adventures of an earthbound alien

So, the best way to make the time fly, while you’re waiting to leave, is to make plans that fill every potentially idle moment. In our case we are going to a beach in another country, where my scheduled activity will make me barely distinguishable from a coconut. Like a coconut I plan to plop down in the surf and drift. (Hopefully I won’t sprout) The island is called Bintan and it’s in Indonesia. And fear not my news watching readers, it’s no where near the volcano or the earth quake epicenter. This spot isn’t even on the same plate as all of that.
J was the architect of this trip, as I have lost all focus with our current situation. She found a boat, a beach and a hotel. We shove off Saturday and return to Singapore Monday, with barely enough time to stuff our 8 suitcases with souvenirs, sandy bathing suits and all those socks that we never got around to using.

Naturally, my bags are already packed. Everything except for the seven days worth of clothes, my toothbrush and my flip flops.

Off the subject; Remember at the Republican convention when one of the people on the floor was holding a flip-flop to symbolize that John Kerry was a flip flopper? Wouldn’t you like to find that guy and pound that thing up his ass with a mallet? “The crime?” You ask. That guy has ruined the name flip flop for me. I used to think of Jimmy Buffet’s blown out on a pop top flip flop, but now I have to think about that clown who confused intelligence for indecision, just as he was told. I wonder if he’s figured out that he was used, as he slides the nozzle, deeper, into his SUV?
The nice thing about being away from the country is that the bullshit shield that the administration has erected around itself doesn’t work here. Probably because the news comes from sources other than those sponsored by the Republican party. It’s been nice not having to hear about our little retarded, Texas monkey and his daily battle with common sense. But we do get to hear the good stuff. Like that time the vice president shot a guy in the face and tried to cover it up. So, when is his trial going to be? They did arrest him for that, didn’t they?
OK, I’m back.
This is the kind of thing that gets my attention. It's an add that is at all of the bus stops here:

I don’t know what she’s selling, but make mine a double! (Nyuck nyuck)
Notice they sell milk in small little cartons here. Not like in the states where the milk comes in big jugs.

Next time (hopefully): We had a wonderful time on the island!

So while J and L got soaked at the zoo P and I went on a jungle trek. Actually it was the path that I follow when I go jogging, and the wild animals didn’t disappoint. We saw a tree shrew, (what I think was) a flying squirrel, a mob of monkeys and a bunch of bugs.

As we took pictures of the monkeys a storm was rolling in. Normally, when I go running, I don’t really care if I get wet. There’s no way you’d ever get cold in the rain here. But P and I were packing cameras and it looked like a big storm coming in. So we bolted to the food court in the near-by park and enjoyed ice cream while we waited for the storm to pass.

Here are some pictures of an old Singapore village from a cable car.
I wonder if this was a real village that is just not used anymore, or a set for tourists.
Maybe it’s a little of both, I guess I could find out. If you like.

I’m wondering how I would have kept myself from going crazy if I were to have stayed here until October as was originally planned. I run into other “caucies” and they tell me that they have been here for four years or so. And I think, why? What is it that you do that could keep you away from home for so long? Then I think what the heck have I been up to that would keep me away from home for so long. Then I wonder where home is, really. I’ve had a lot of homes. Then I think I shouldn’t think so hard. Then I wish that I’d thought of not thinking so hard sooner. It’s about this time that I download all the photos on my phone (I still haven’t bought a camera) and see what I’ve been up to. And it dawns on me, the reason I feel so displaced is because I’ve never passed that visitor mode. I haven’t moved in. I can’t! I can’t buy the things I like to have around because they are around somewhere else. Besides, if I were to furnish this place the way I want, it would be a huge waist of money because I couldn’t possibly fit everything in a suitcase and take it to where I think home is.
I’m sorry that this blog has been reduced to an, “I can’t wait to get outta here” bitch fest. But I feel the need to move forward and I can’t because anything that I do over the next 10 days has to fit into two very stuffed suitcases. So I run, I eat, I watch TV, I blog, I sleep. Which pretty much covers the content of everyone of this month’s blog enteries.
I guess, once I get home my entries are going to revolve around the Traverse City Film Fest and my involvement, there in. I don’t want to get involved but I do, but I can’t so I will. (That will pretty much be the topic of every blog entry in June. Provided I have time!)
So, until then, maybe I’ll retrace my steps and research the things I missed the first time around; like the five ‘o clock tree. What’s up with that thing?

Next time: The five O’clock tree.

What's on the menue today:


Behold the SINGAPORE NATIONAL ANTHEM:

Let us, the people of Singapore, together march forward towards happiness. Our noble aspiration is to see Singapore achieve success. Let us unite in a new spirit. We all pray: May Singapore Progress.

No rockets, no bombs just happiness, success, and progress. (Ironically, nothing about food or shopping.)

Another anthem for Singapore supplied by Tom Waits:
We sail tonight for Singapore, Were all as mad as hatters here I’ve fallen for a tawny moor, Took off to the land of nod Drank with all the Chinamen, Walked the sewers of Paris I danced along a colored wind, Dangled from a rope of sand You must say goodbye to me

Woah, Tom! What have you been into? I hoping that tawny moor was just a blob of dope and not really a tawny moore. I guess there’s nothing wrong with that, if that’s what you’re into, but the dope thing makes the rest of the verse understandable.

I guess it’s my turn:

Singapore
By Chaffie Mc Chaffington

Hot, wet Singapore
I shall always think fondly
Of your progress

Your steaming prawn balls,
your prosperity pizza,
and stewed chicken feet.


That job really blew.
That guy was a real ass.
But I don’t blame you.

Your strict laws keep me
safe from speeding coconuts.
Or gay gum chewers.

The smell of your cabs
Will always be in my shirts
As will your duck sauce.

I walk and I shop.
In this, the year of the blog.
You’re talking cock, la!

We’re going home soon
And we have a lot of junk
A lot of your junk.

And so, fare thee well
Corn in a cup and monkeys.
Good by to you Singapore!

Vanda Miss Joaquim
I shall miss your fragrant smell,
and all those wet ants.

I know, I know. How dull to write about martinis in 2006. A little too much like a fopish “Algonquin round table” discussion.
Alexander Wolcott: You, madam will drive me to drink.
Dorothy: Parker: Indeed, I’ll go fetch the car.
Robert Benchly and Harold parker chortle as Harpo Marx blasts Edna Ferber in the dome with a croquet mallet.

The point that I was trying to make is that I’m ready to come home. Singapore isn’t a very big place and I’ve pretty much done everything at least twice. I know that sounds pretty cynical but, it’s true. Remember that this country is roughly the size of Road Island’s largest city. (Providence; pop. 173,618…. salute!)
And that a six pack costs $20.00! Now you tell me if I’m being cynical.

What do I miss about home? Do you care? I mean really? If I was able to tell you what I liked about being in my own house, and I was really convincing, then we’d all be living there. Am I right? How about this:

What I will miss about South East Asia.
By Chaffie Mc Chafington

Well, as far as Singapore is concerned, I guess I’ll miss the way everyone is so polite. Maybe polite isn’t the right word. Everyone seems to mind their own business. They don’t honk. This is a big one because, for the most part, they drive like shit. They just go where ever they want, as fast as they can. Unlike the French and the Italians (who do this too) they don’t seem to get upset. They are like fast Mexicans. The white lines aren’t a law, they regard them as a rough sort of suggestion. The only people who weave more are… weavers, rug making guys. Not funny I know. I’ll go back and fix that gag. Maybe I’ll just suck it up and blow on past this one.

The women look pretty good. I’ll miss that. But there must be something wrong with me, they all have the figure of 12 year old girls, and for some reason that doesn’t seem to work for me; even when I WAS 12! And they are all so freeking shy. I guess I like them a little more noticeable.

I think what I’ll miss the most is the way the people make me feel about myself. I was talking to Jen about this the other day. The average guy around here is about 5’6” and none of them seem to break 100 pounds. I like the feeling of walking down the street and thinking, “I could kick everyone’s ass around here. Yeah, you too, shrimpy. I don’t care how many years of Tai yuck foo you have taken, I could still flatten you.”

…Makes me feel good.

Now try that same thing in New York. I think I’d probabably rank in the lower one third. “Yeah, I’m talking to you lady. I could… hey, is that a hat-pin? Fer get it!” In my neighborhood alone I’d probably rank even lower. There are some pretty tough kids at that elementary school.

What else will I miss? Hummmm.

I’d like to say the weather but, did I mention that it’s hot here? Yeah? Well it still is. One of the neat things; over the past two months is that it has rained everyday. I like the rain, but when it doesn’t cool thinks off it seems to me lacking. I’d go out after a rain and go, “well, what’d you do that for?”

I’ll miss my jungle runs. I won’t miss the feeling of being so hot that the water streams off my nose when I lean forward. Or that wonderful, soaked everything/ here comes the chafe feeling when I’m still five miles out. But when a monitor lizard slides into the river, or hearing the birds going, “coo wha ha ha ha ha”, just like the movies, or having those monkeys look at me as I run by… (well, I suppose I could do with out them and that look) anyway it’s cool out there even though it’s hot and there’s nothing like that in Michigan.

Anyway, like I always say, you never like a place more than you do when you come back for a visit. And the way the business is going there’s a good chance I’ll be returning before the fall.

So, I guess, in the mean time we just bank some pool hours and hang out. Sounds nice doesn’t it? Well you try it, man. It’s hard. Especially when you have a young blog to feed.

The view from the top of Singapore's Swiss hotel:

If you ever want to make me a martini, go ahead. For all of you novice drink makers (and people who have been living in a cave for, like, ever) a martini is; cold gin, vermouth and some sort of nosh. I prefer a green olive. Simple. Pop it into some sort of martini glass, and away we go. Down the hatch and my funny factor skyrockets. (…at least from my side) People have been known to make martinis out of vodka and I think that’s just fine. You won’t get me involved in some mindless conversation about which is better. And if you happen to run into someone who thinks that one is better than the other and is willing to debate about it and about your personal tastes, cut him off, because the evening will only get worse. It won’t be long before he starts reliving his sexual conquests at increasing volume and eventually end up on all fours, unable to decide if he should cry some more or just empty his guts into a planter in front of a bank.
I have read martini menus, and I’ve seen what those things are trying to pass off as martinis. There are two things I think you should know about these types of drinks. They are NOT martinis. They are complicated sweet drinks in martini glasses. And the sole reason that they exist is so that girls can get drunk. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not putting those drinks down. Nor am I saying that if you happen to stray into THAT menu you are a girl (but you are) And besides, I like drunk girls. I think it’s adorable the way makeup wears off as the evening wears on. If someone is going to hurl into a planter it should be a girl. (Please, don’t ever ask me why that turns me on.) I’m reminded of holding a certain dates red hair as she blew gallons of fuzzy navel into my mother’s variegated hostas. …Funny stuff there. By the way a combination of, fuzzy navel, stomach acid and wedding cake is pretty hard on taffeta, but you should see what it did for the hostas. They totally took off.

There are also those who like shit like bleu cheese in their olives and brine dumped in the drink. To me this looks and tastes like backwash. I say, save that for the Bloody Mary that you will, no doubt, need the following morning. And throw in a pickle!
The reason I bring all this up is because of the Swiss hotel in Singapore. People who know me know that I, like my pal Mark, have a goal to have a drink at the highest bar in every city that I visit. In the case of Singapore it just happens to be the Swiss hotel.
The Swiss hotel has the rare honor of making me the worst martini that I have ever had in my entire life. It was warm, watered down gin in a small water glass. Here’s how bad it was; I sent it back. Anyone who knows me knows that I never send anything back. The reason for this will most likely be the subject of another blog or a third martini tale that I slur to my favorite bartender, as she pretends to be interested.
What’s the moral of this long and pointless blog entry?
Well…
I’m not sure. I guess, if you ever get a chance to go up to Traverse City, go to the top of the Park Place hotel and get a real martini from my favorite bartender Leah. And if you ever go to the Swiss hotel in Singapore don’t.

See you soon Leah!

Only about 30 days to go and even though I'm surrounded by my family, I miss my home. Still, I think I might be able to hold out. I have a bit of a deal brewing in other areas (sorry I can't be more specific but deep down I know you don't really care about what I do) And All I have to do is relax with my wife and kids.
Anyway, the pool's nice. (If you find that jen and I mention the pool too much on our blogs, you'd forgive us if you saw the beach.)
What I never told anyone about Singapore is that, even though it's an island, it has the worst beaches in the world. It even has worse beaches than places that don't have beaches. Just off the coast are the freighters and container ships sitting in the creamy green water like turds in a punchbowl. Waiting to be unloaded. (Humm, that metaphor didn't work. maybe I should compare them to a summer's day, waiting to be unloaded....)
The two beaches that are even remotely swimable came from Indonesia, in the form of sandy land fill. I saw a map of where the beach used to be before they started adding on to the island, and it's way inland. In fact, if you were to walk from where the beach was to where it is now you'd have to walk, like, a long way. Twice as far as you'd have to walk if they were only half done. And once you get there there's a big ass drop off. Not the place to take two fledgling pollywogs. (Or as they like to call them here, kids.) Come on, as long as you're hauling sand from Indonesia you might as well drag the shallow end along too.

Really, there's no place to take kids on this island. Oh, you could go to the zoo and the bird park but once you've done it you're done. I suppose you could take them back through the exit and hope that the different order of the animals would throw them off. Or make some sort of plan to visit the animals in alphabetical order. That would keep my little pollywoggs busy. But there's still the heat.

There's shopping and eating. Eating and shopping. Then home for a swim. We are a little pinned down on the shopping because we have everything we need and there's a question about whether we can get our suitcases shut for the trip home. And as far as eating goes, well how much can a person eat? Once you've had the fish head curry, where do you go from there? Fish butt curry, (snicker, I never get tired of that one, snix)
O, tower of talc
you stack up higher than Jen
up on the table.