KingBurgundy.com

Well what do ya know

Yeah, I know, I can't believe it either. BA actually made good on paying me back for some of my expenses in London due to their strike. Nice timing, too. It will replenish my bank account of the huge wad of money that just got spent on Christmas presents and the like.

Before I throw away my old driver's license, I decided to whip up a quick Before and After. Apologies for the poor quality, I don't even know if my camera has a macro mode, and if it does, I don't know how to use it. :)

And here's a pic I snapped after Eric and I saw Last Samurai the other night.

Eric, Nichole and Caden - click for larger version.

This may be the last update for a week or so. As I'll be leaving for Albuquerque for a weeks vacation tomorrow night! Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to everyone in advance just in case! =)

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Click below for Part 3 of 3 of Toby's recent travel letter series. It is a long(really long), but interesting discourse on the different types of tourists.

Subject: 180 Degrees of Tourism (It's a biggun')

180 Degrees of Tourism

I sit here now only a few days back from my latest trip around Turkey. I’ve got Vivaldi’s “Four Seasons” playing on the stereo, and I find myself wishing to skip Winter and get straight on into Spring. I’ve seen studies that show that classical music stimulates the brain, so if I seem even more inspired than usual it’s thanks to the New York Philharmonic.

I should be grading exam papers, but the thought of 75 mediocre prep essays is more than I care to deal with right now. Not that it can’t be amusing sometimes. My best recollection is of a boy last year who confused the words “month” and “mount.” He mentioned in an essay that he knew a couple that got divorced after only one mount. I suppose some things take getting use to, but I’ve never heard of anyone giving up after only one go.

At some point on my trip to southern Turkey I had an epiphany. It may have been while I was looking at a Jabba-esque thong-clad German. Or been watching a group of American zealots stamp their feet and yell about Jesus to the gyrations of some possessed kid. Or observed a group of Turks from Istanbul stampede like Dacka students to the closest restaurant as soon as the evening call to prayer sounded because they had been fasting all day. Or it may even have been when I read some people’s e-mails about how they were visiting some members of their family across town. Whatever caused it, I was finally struck by the notion that almost everyone who steps out of their door can be considered a tourist. I even went so far as to hunt down a bookstore with English dictionaries just to look up the word “tour” and “tourist” so as to make sure that I wasn’t simply being overcome by moldy old olives from breakfast. It pleases me to see that, if interpreted accordingly, I have a case for my definition.

I gave much thought to this over the next few days. Indeed, apart from avoiding a few persistent taxi drivers, filling your inboxes with unsolicited group mails and trying to get the best angle for a picture of a donkey and a few cows, I pretty much walked from morning ‘til night. That afforded me a good deal of time to formulate my, as yet, unofficial Designation Guide to Tourists.

All categories below are not mutually exclusive, and a person may find that they fit into several at once. If that is the case, then choose the highest category for which you qualify and proclaim it to all.

To begin, there are three types of clearly defined tourists: Local, National and International.

Local tourists go out for a look-see at the city or area around them. Maybe they just take a new road to work and stop off at a new bakery. Whatever it is, they are learning something new about their immediate environment. It may seem trivial to some, but if a person cannot even muster enough curiosity or motivation to discover things right under their feet, what hope do they have of ever expanding their horizons past their shoes? I have been a great local tourist of almost every city I’ve lived in and have done my utmost to get others to go with me. Here in Istanbul my walks have taken me to such amazing places as ancient churches, colorful mosques, great views on the Bosphorus, the tool bazaar and four brothels. Two were legal (judging by the cops collecting money at the door) and two illegal. Outside one of those a nice old lady, who looked as if she should have been baking cookies for her grandkids, lifted up her skirt and showed me what she had baking instead. If she was the one the kid mentioned in his essay, I could see how the marriage only lasted one mount.

National tourists are out to see their own country. This can take several forms and produces several subcategories, but is generally easier than international travel because you are familiar with the customs, language and money of the place you’re travelling in.

The first subcategory is the Trip to Grandma’s House Tour. This is usually a family affair that requires little planning except buying a bus or plane ticket or getting in the car. Once you get to grandma’s house (or whatever family member’s abode you’re visiting) you know where you’re going to stay and what you’re going to do. Not too much adventure or stress, except that which is always present at family gatherings where uncle Joe gets drunk, throws up in the driveway and then passes out on the lawn.

The second is the All Inclusive Sheep Tour. These are sold by travel agents and advertised in newspapers, and they are generally meant to relax you and free your mind of all cares and worries that would normally accompany a long trip (kind of like an acid trip I would guess, with regular flashbacks to that horrible concierge. Oh, shudder). You get to stay in nice hotels, eat together at designated restaurants and get door-to-site service in your air-conditioned bus. The Shepherds (guides are a euphemism) make sure to plan exciting side trips to such places as the only Factory Authorized Carpet Shop on this street and the Official Home of Gold-plated Jewelry on that block. Here the shepherd says, ”We’ll be stopping here for about an hour. After that we’ll spend five minutes at the 10 acre City of Wow that is thought to have the best preserved Temple to WOW in the world. Oh, by the way, the Temple Tour Package will be an additional $35 each. You can get your tickets from me after you’ve purchased your carpet.”

The third subcategory is the Independent Tourist Tour. When a person reaches this level of tourism, they’re doing all right. More thought and prep is required of an independent tourist. Here you have to plan everything yourself, including where to stay, what to eat (even when there may not be a McDonald’s, KFC or Taco Hell around) and what to see. There’s always something unexpected in even the best-planned trip. In fact, on some of my own (and my family’s) independent tours, we couldn’t find any place to sleep at all. Around about 3AM we finally bagged it and just kept on driving or, in my case, slept in the parking lot of a large grocery store or Wal-Mart and just used the bathroom there. Hasan almost got to experience this two summers ago somewhere in the Bad Lands of North Dakota, but I took pity on him and sprung for a Habibi Hotel (pardon any ethnic insensitivity here) even though it took all my willpower to pry open my wallet at that hour of the night. Of course, it helped that there were no parking lots or bathrooms around unless you consider hundreds of miles of rock and dead grass to be either.

Independent tourists have to budget more because there is no dinner at the hotel that night included in the price, and you’ve got to make sure you save enough for the return trip. A happy trip could quickly turn into a Thelma and Louise adventure if a person were to get all the way across the country and then discover that they were S.O.L. in terms of money. Credit cards are great, but to use them is to abuse them, and I have been caught with mine unknowingly demagnetized on several occasions. One of these led to a Tobin and Paul adventure that I guess is safe enough to talk about after all these years, should anyone be curious enough to ask.

The last major category is the International Tourist. This is nearing the pinnacle of tourism. The subcategories that apply here are similar to those in the National Tourist category, but they are more difficult here because of possible language, currency and cultural barriers.

The All Inclusive Sheep Tour to an Industrialized Western Nation or Protectorate is one that many Americans seem to prefer, or so I would guess. I’ve only been on one of these before to Italy (thanks again Mom and Dad, don’t think I’m ungrateful because of what I may say here) and there were lots of other Americans there on similar tours. I have rarely seen Americans on one of these in North Africa, Turkey or the Middle East. There sure as hell weren’t any in Lebanon or Syria, although I’m sure they would have received a, literally, warm welcome from such tour-friendly groups as Hamas or Hizbullah. I’ll bet it would relieve a lot of tension and increase tourism if those groups would at least paint happy faces on their rocket launchers.

The Shepherd on these tours is responsible to translating, herding people into the obligatory curio shops and making sure that the older members of the group don’t get lost, yet are supplied with enough reasons to stay pissed off for most of the trip. The food included is often a somewhat poorer version of what you might get at a similar ethnic restaurant in your own neighborhood back home, but there is lots of alcohol to make you forget that and just about everything else. These tours aren’t so hard because much of the time, if you walk outside the old historical parts of the cities in these countries, you could quite easily imagine that you were driving down a suburban street in Anytown, USA. Even in Bulgaria, when I ignored the leftover hammer and sickle images from communist times and concentrated on the KFC, McDonald’s and Pizza Troll, I felt like I was in some Bruce Springsteen song where he’s raving on about another mining town that was being closed down.

The All-Inclusive Developing Nation Sheep Tour. This is where lots of folks from suburbia decide to get a taste of what it must be like to live in one of those off the wall countries they’ve only seen on the news when something blows up or there’s another coup. The tour Shepherd picks up his flock and whisks them from the airport to the local Hilton or Marriott where they are ensconced in luxury that 99% of the people of that country could never imagine. “You mean water can be heated and come out of little holes in the wall? Gowwwwwwwwwly, Cletus! Must be nice to not have to wait ‘til it rains to take a shower.” As they admire the view of the brick wall outside their window (tours always get the best prices and the worst rooms available) they are able to marvel at how different this place seems from TV. “Why honey, that masonry looks just like that post modern art-deco façade stuff the Johnsons just had their house covered with”

After a quick wash-up in the “rain closet” and after donning their assorted sun blocking equipment (solar shades, fluorescent zinc oxide and large straw gardening hats are all standard equipment) they set off to see what this new country has to offer. The Shepherd does his best to make bad jokes and then passes around a list of extra mini-tours that can be purchased. All the while they are cruising through the city, missing the little vegetable and fruit juice stands, the roasted chicken and lamp meat (I prefer the more tender 75 watt lamp meat to the heartier 100 watt) joints and all other things that make these countries really unique.

When they do arrive at whatever site is first on the list, the herd descends from the coach already complaining of heat but ready to get on with their great adventure. They do a quick stretch and then begin the marathon run that is to be their tour of 40 places in four days. They’ve got just enough time to take a few pictures of some locals who managed to break past, or at least bribe, security in order to sell postcards or fake Roman coins. It always amazes me how many tour sheep get fleeced by these people. On the other hand, it’s not always a pleasant experience for the hawkers. There’s nothing like seeing some old man with his sunshades and orange zinc oxide on his nose trying to take a picture of some gypsy women covered in a chadora while she’s trying to get him to buy a genuine handmade Bedouin table cloth.

The Independent Tourist in the Bush or Concrete Jungle Tour. In the interest of brevity (which I seem to lack), I have grouped independent travel to both industrialized and non-industrialized countries together. In many ways they are similar. There is often a language barrier when you get off the beaten path. Of course, in places like France they may speak English in even remote villages, just not to you the McDonald’s-loving American capitalist. Same difference. Cities in Europe are generally laid-out as those in the Middle East, with the most historical areas grouped inside the old city walls and the cheaper hotels nearby. The red-light district is invariably close too, and here the only difference is that in places like Amsterdam the prostitutes advertise openly in windows and there are literally red lights all over the place. In ME towns its much more subtle, just to keep up appearances. But it’s not hard to find when some little gal runs out of her one-room stone house and says she can send the kids away for a bit if you’d like. “Today bargain price, one goat.” It’s really not hard to get around by yourself in any city if you trust yourself with a map, and are smart enough to know that the sun really does rise in the east and set in the west and defensive walls usually go in a circle. When in doubt, just climb a hill (or a minaret, whatever’s handy) and get your bearings.

I’ve actually found that travelling in more non-industrialized nations is easier. For one thing, the public transportation, be it bus, train, ferry or camel, is very cheap and widely available. Not too many people can afford cars. It may seem daunting at first to get on a packed minibus with a bunch of men in robes holding canvas bags and chickens, but since it’s obvious you’re a tourist they’ll be helpful. They know you probably want to go to the center of town where all the historical stuff and hotels are, so they’ll point you to the right bus. It may be helpful to have a guidebook that spells the area you want to go to in the local language, just to make sure. On numerous occasions I have found myself trying to match up Arabic letters, and have only gone wrong a few times. When that happens though, even I spring for the taxi and spend the extra $2.

To be an independent tourist is to have confidence in your ability to do things by yourself and to know that everything always works out well in the end. There can be no panic even if you’re on the side of a road 10 miles from the nearest town, the sun is setting and there seems to be no sign of a bus or other public transport. The last time that happened to me I wound up getting a ride from a little watermelon farmer named Yusuf who took pity on me. But it worked out and I had a new experience. That’s really what being an independent tourist is all about: Getting to see and do things that tour groups will never do at your own pace in your own way.

I think I can say with confidence that I have achieved the rank of Independent Tourist. There is however, one final elite club that I hope to join some day. These are the ROAD WARRIOR Tourists. Ah, these mighty people set off from some reasonably settled place like Beijing, but quickly make their way into the hills of Outer Mongolia and beyond. Living in villages along the way and going where no one may have even seen a letter of the English alphabet before. Others journey through Central Africa over roads impassable during most times of the year unless you have a place on the back of a water buffalo. Still others may spend time with those friendly Shining Path guerrillas in the jungles of Central and South America while going to or from the Amazon Basin where they eat piranha. There’s always a war zone too, and you can automatically qualify for this rank if you enter one of those. You may leave with fewer parts than you entered with, but think about the stories you could tell!

To be in this category you must be able to get along for months at a time with only your wits and your money belt to sustain you. Credit cards are out the window, as are beds that may contain much more than straw. The closest thing I’ve ever come to experiencing what it might be like to be one of these was last summer. We (Malek, Hasan and myself) went through a tiny little village in southeast Turkey where everybody spoke Arabic, and most of the kids didn’t wear shoes (one didn’t even wear pants). I may have mentioned in some previous letter that while we were drinking mirra (sp?-a kind of Arabic coffee that will curl your teeth) with the local headman, we asked how many tourists had come through there that year. He told us that if we counted ourselves, then five. One of the others was some professor. That wasn’t including the soldiers who passed through looking for Saddam. The family latrine was something out of a cleaning woman’s worst nightmare. It was a bucket placed in a hole surrounded by a rock wall about four feet high. So I had a nice view of the treeless, rock-strewn landscape, and one of the kids who saw I was in there and decided to fertilize the field instead of waiting for the bucket. But I suppose it all wound up in the field eventually anyway.

There are some extremely independent minded people to whom the word tourist is anathema, and who prefer such euphemisms as “travelers” and “real life adventure seekers.” These are glorified hippies who managed to lay off the drugs just long enough to scrape together enough money to buy a one-way ticket to some third-world backwater, and then try to travel for the next six months on $200. They can be found in lice-infested hostels smoking hash or pot and trying to outdo each other with stories of how they are “getting to know the real people” of the country. They often refuse to go to any historical site they consider touristy, so in total hippie-style reverse logic they spend their days hanging out at tea houses trying to experience the real culture of a place. In order to do this though, they need to have someone to talk to, so they invariably wind up at a place tourists go to because that’s the only place where they can find a local who can speak English. If they do actually go to any place with an entrance fee, they usually try to sneak in or else bum ticket stubs off of “damn tourists” who are leaving. I’m not sure how many glasses of tea you have to drink before you’re completely able to completely understand a people, but from the few conversations I’ve had the misfortune of having with these tourists in denial, it seems to be many spread over about a week. And I thought I had trouble figuring out Turkey sometimes after nearly six years. Maybe I should spend a few nights downtown in a roach motel. I say that if it smells like a fish, acts like an ass and is completely clueless, then it must be one of these folks. If it steps out its front door with the intention of increasing its knowledge and breadth of understanding and having a bit of fun, then it must be a tourist.

And so I hope to have spread some light on the world of tourism. Regardless of what category it is that you fall into or feel most comfortable in, it’s still good to get out there and give it a go. I drift in and out of several depending on funds and time. Not wanting to miss your favorite team’s football game or that cliffhanger episode of “Who Wants to be a Millionaire” is not a good enough excuse for sitting at home. Just remember that unless you’re a famous supermodel you should, for the benefit of all, leave your thong at home.

Sky Captain

This movie looks really really neat.

Christmas Party Pictures!

Time to throw a bit of color onto the page again. This time it is a few pictures from my company Christmas party a couple weekends ago. Mind you, these were taken with a disposable and not my digital, so quality is kind of crap.

(Click for larger versions per the norm)

Myself, Linda, and Katy

Yvette, her sig. other Joe, and Me

Me dancing, random other coworkers and such in the background

Crazy expression time!

Yes, thats right, I'm so confident in myself nowadays that I can post horrible pictures of myself with some kind of jackass expression and some strange distortion of my arm causing it to be longer than my entire body. Go me. :)

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For those interested in reading more about Toby's most recent little trip over in Turkey, feel free to click below for part 2 of 3. (Part 1 was posted in my Nov 23rd update)

Subject: On the move.

I left off in Antalya somewhere between a big British woman's buttocks and trying to find something to do.

I finally did find something to do. I did what I seem to do best and got on another bus and went somewhere else. One of the good things about going to Antalya is that I was able to visit a few more Roman sites that I had missed. I haven't missed many, mind you, but last time I was down there I was ruined out and decided to give them a miss.

I woke-up on Sunday morning and was happy to see that my pension really did have hot water all the time. After breakfast (alas, no ham or bacon to be seen. Just olives, vegetables and some bread), I headed out to the main bus terminal and got on a bus for Perge. It said in my guide book that the old city was about two kilometers off the main highway. So I asked the driver to drop me at the turn-off and I started hiking. At first it didn't seem so bad. It was warm, and two km is nothing. But I had decided that I should bring both my cameras. I did buy them just for stuff like this afterall.

For those of you who don't know, I finally broke down and got myself a very nice semi-pro camera this summer in the States. I also bought a second lense for it. Now instead of only a small case for my old automatic, I have a medium sized accessory bag with room for all my Barbies and even a spot for either the scooter or the surfboard. On my second trip back in October for Holly's wedding, I broke down again and got a video camera. It has another bag of similar size to the first, with a special pocket for the Malibu Dream hangglider.

In order to carry both these things at once I put them inside my old backpack. I used to travel for weeks with just the stuff inside it. Now it contains nothing more than photographic equipment. I felt like a cross between a Japanese tourist and a pack mule. I had become everything I always swore not to. But I made it those two km up and all over the site, switching madly between cameras and lenses and charging up hills for just the right shot. I often left the video running inadvertantly and so am sure to have recorded many exciting shots of my feet walking. At one point I did step in cow manure though, and I guess I could send that to one of those home video shows.

After a trek around Perge I hiked it back to the main road and went down a ways to the turn-off for Aspendos. This was a four km walk each way. Being the warrior tourist I am I was up for it. I was followed by a few taxi drivers intent on "helping" me to the site, but I assured them I'd be ok. You gotta love their ploys to get you into the taxi. "Free ride. Very hot. Heart attack. Free ride for health." Etc. Along the way was a Roman bridge that has been so rebuilt it is actually more representative of the Turkish Highway Dept. They even put a plaque to themselves on it. Fair enough, seeing as how the original bits and pieces are now just creating a logjam below.

When I got to Aspendos I was duly impressed by the theater. It is indeed very well preserved. I had wanted to see it since I went to this new model park called Miniaturk along the Golden Horn in Isatnbul. They have miniatures of all of Turkey's most famous landmarks, and several from nearby foreign countries. I had seen everything there except for the Selcuk buildings in Sivas and this theater in Aspendos. My list is now almost complete.

As I entered the theater I was accosted by some kind of chanting. I could tell it was English, but I couldn't really believe I was hearing it correctly. Sure enough though, in the middle of the first tier of seats was a very large tour group chanting about Jesus. On the stage was a kid who, judging by his bodily girations, was either feeling the Spirit, or else had been possessed by an evil one that this group was now trying to cast out. Either way, it was one helluva show. I don't really go in for Christian music, but this ceratainly had a beat, and that kid certainly was dancing to it. Not top forty probably, but memorable. Just a sample (the brackets are repeats from the crowd): "If you love JEE-Zuz (If you love JEE -Zuz), ClAAAAAAAAp your hAAAAAAAAAnds (Claaaaap your Haaaands)" and this went on for five minutes and eventually ended with the group stamping their feet, clapping their hands, doing the wave (at this point I almost jumped up- Hallejuiah!) and making as much noise as possible. It ended with a big, "Sock it to the Devil, yeah!" If only Diocletian or Nero could have seen this in their own theater the lions would have had a feast. As it turned out, the evil spirit left the young man and he seemed to be ok. Praise Jesus and pass the carrots.

I said that this was an impressive theater, and it is, but between the Bible-beaters, a bit of reconstruction and the gift shop (exit stage right) I would have to say that the best theater is still in Bosra way out in the Syrian desert near the Jordanian border. There's something to be said for being the only tourist within 100 miles and having an entire buiding all to yourself in the middle of the day. That place is perfect and has never been rebuilt because nobody there has the money to do it, even if they cared enough to.

I eventually got back to the main road and got a ride to the next town. There I bought a kilo of mandalinas and went to work while I waited for the bus to Antalya. Once I got to my hotel I was hungry. I decided to go to McDonald's and then to an Internet cafe and then write some postcards. I did eat my Big Mac, and I set off on a quest to find an Internet place away from the tourist areas. One of the reasons I don't like touristy towns is that the prices are all double or triple at least what they should be. I won't pay $2 for an hour of Internet access when I shouldn't have to pay more than 1 million lira (about 65 cents-remember that for later). So I went for a walk to find a non-tourist Internet cafe. I had to go a ways, but I did get one. Of course, after a few mails I wasn't in the mood anymore and decided to leave.

On my way back to the city center, I passed by a little hamam. It had been a few years since I had gone to one of those, and that was way back in Bursa at a five star hotel package weekend with a 600 year old hamam as the main feature. About five years ago, I used to go every Wednesday to a tiny local hamam with a few people from my old school. That was a treat. The few times I'd been since had been touristy ones where the guy slapped you on the back a few times and called it a day. I actually walked a block away before I figured why not give it a shot.

There was a men's side and a women's side. I made sure to choose correctly and asked how much it was to use the place. Only 6 million ($1 equals about 1.5 million). So I got my room and changed into my diaper. Then I waited on the huge heated marble table for a masseuse (sp?) to get free. It took a while because I noticed they were pretty thorough and the place was packed. I guess most men in that neighborhood used Sunday as their bath night. When my turn came the first thing the guy did was cross my arms, put his arm under my back and basically splash me with all his 250+ pounds. I didn't feel much after that, which is just as well considering he put me in more arm locks than even Randy "Macho Man" Savage or Hulk Hogan could have come up with. Unfortunately he had eaten what I could only judge to be some kind of spicy kebab for dinner, and every now and then his breath would prove an unwelcome return to reality. I got a rub-down with a lufa (sp?) pad that took all the old skin and dirt off. I was amazed at how much gunk there was on me. He called all those little scrapings makarna (noodles) and then laughed when I asked what sauce went best with it. Then he cracked all my fingers and toes and I shut up. He started to sing and never stopped for the next 30 minutes, only pausing momentarily to slap me or tell me to roll over.

Afterwards, when I had been kneaded and suitably prepared for baking, I went into the main lobby and was wrapped up in a couple more towels on my head and body so tightly that I had to hop over to a chair. I imagine I looked like some kind of eggroll wearing a turban. I ordered a water and began the long process of de-raisining myself. While I was waiting I started watching how much everyone was paying when they left. It's a habit I've picked up here and have carried with me to every Middle Eastern county I've gone to. It's not that these guys don't like foreigners, they just think they're all rich so why shouldn't they pay more? It's funny actually that the more Turkish I try to be, the more people try to overcharge me. Maybe I just catch them a lot more than I used to, but it still bugs. When it came time for me to unwrap and leave, I asked for the bill. I was prepared to spend about 15 million if I had to (6 for the hamam and 9 for the massage). I had noticed that when everyone else gave a green twenty note they didn't get back a red ten. They seemed to be getting back about six or seven million. He told me 25 million, but then wrote 15 on the paper. I figured he'd just misspoken and I paid the 15 million like I'd planned. Ok. Then as I was leaving they all started shouting about baksheesh (tips). That was ten million they said, but I hadn't seen anyone else give any. So I asked them what that nine million was for. Then I just stared and let the excuses wash over me. After a minute of me being quiet they opened the door and said goodnight. And that was that. In sticking with my new philosophical approach, I was not going to let that put a bad taste in my mouth. I always wonder however, if they know how bad they look to other people when they try stuff like that.

I am no longer in Antalya. I left this morning after writing my postcards and looking at the Mediterranean one last time. It really is some nice water. I am now in Egirdir (silent g). It means "he, she or it is spinning" (I'm pretty sure, maybe one of you Turks can correct me if I'm wrong). There were some interesting things that happened with another Happy Helper at the bus stop, but if you've read this far your head must be spinning. Mine is, so those events will wait for later.
Until then, think of me if you eat any noodles.
Tobin

Fun with Japanese

So I'm on lesson 9 now of my learn Japanese course. I'm going a bit slow as I keep skipping days then having to repeat lessons to make sure I'm solid before moving on. Lesson 9 is particularly amusing, as the last 5 minutes is basically an American guy asking a Japanese woman out for a drink or dinner and getting rejected over and over again. It almost sounds like Dr. Seuss though the way they do it:

"Would you like to drink with me?"
"No"
"What about at 1 o clock?"
"No"
"What about at 2 o clock?"
"No"
"What about at 8 o clock?"
"NO NO"
"What about 9 o clock?"
"No, not at 1 o clock, not at 2 o clock, not at 8 o clock, not at 9 o clock"
"Oh, I understand, you want to get something to eat."
"No."
"What about at 1 o clock?"
"No."
"Would you eat green eggs and ham?"

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I keep biting the side of my mouth...I have no idea why, but I've managed to do it like seven times in the last two days. Make it stop!!!

RoTK & Last Samurai

I took in the 10am show of Return of the King today with Eric and Chuck. I guess I don't really need to say the obvious and tell you that it was a great movie. The bar was raised so high by Two Towers that I can't say I was exactly blown away(although during a few scenes, I still was quite handily). I liked it about the same as I liked the Two Towers over all. It could have surpassed the second movie, but bad editing(imho) towards the end weakened the movie for me and pulls it down a tad. Regardless, this will of course, be one of my favorite movies and be watched again and again I'm sure, so I'm going to give it 5 stars, but I may feel differently after my second viewing with Melissa on Saturday.

On Saturday, I went to see The Last Samurai with Eric. Now this movie, I guess I wasn't expecting much from, because I *was* blown away by it. This certainly is the best Samurai movie that could have ever come out of Hollywood. If you like the genre at all, I highly recommend you go see it while its still in the theatres. 4 stars.

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Coca Cola is apparently selling its product in tall thin cans now to appeal to people that are more..."hip." You can read a little bit about the marketing campaign here.

What just boggles me, is that the cans contain less product, but they are selling them for more. The highlight of the stupidity can be seen in the following quote from that page:

"Indeed, paying more for less is no impediment for young consumers like Winnie Heilmichael, a 23-year-old computer science student in Boston, who said she'd pick up the zippy little can. ''People like to try different things if they taste the same.''"

Yeah, gotta love the education system that turns out winners like that.

Christmas Party

My company christmas party this weekend was pretty fun. For some reason I always dread things like this, but once I'm actually there, I end up having a good time. Highlight was finally getting Linda to dance. Woot! ;)

And now I present you with Christmas Greetings from Eric's son Caden:

(click for larger pic)

Isn't this picture just awesome? :)

Anyway, not much else going on right now. I've gotten pretty much all of my christmas shopping done and I've only got about 2 weeks now till I take a week off and jaunt down to Albuquerque. Hurrah!

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Oh, and here's a really neat web page for viewing the earth and the moon. Thanks Carrie!

Versus

I just watched a Japanese film called Versus. I was actually under the impression it was another film when I first put it in, and so I was a bit taken a back by what I was seeing. This movie soooo did not fit into my frame of reference for a foreign film that at first I took a disliking to it. But it quickly began to win me over as I realized the filmmakers intent.

Versus is a hard film to describe. The best I could possibly do would be to say... Imagine a japanese anime film involving zombies, gunplay, and swords. Now imagine that instead of anime, its actually live action, and the gunplay is done in almost a john woo style with a bit of tarantino thrown in. And then throw in a dash of anime style swordplay, odd characters, and bizarre camera moves. Now, on top of everything else, imagine that the writer and director are both Sam Raimi in disguise. Yes, thats right, its basically a Japanese Cult Classic Live Action Anime, sort of a cross between Army of Darkness and The Killer.

Now, this sounds like a good thing, (and for me it was), but I warn you, that the level of ridiculousness in this movie is way way way WAY beyond over the top. Just like there are many many people that will never like Army of Darkness, or Rocky Horror Picture Show or the like, there are probably many *more* that won't like this movie. Having said that, if you can embrace the cheesiness, then this movie is fantastic. 4 stars.

Busy! Pics! Gaiman!

Work is still a neverending supply of busy! Maybe things will slow down next month, one can hope.

This month is also going to be pretty ridiculous in terms of busy for whatever reason. As mentioned previously, I have a company christmas party to go to this saturday. Next weekend I have a birthday party to go to. The weekend following I have plans to see Return of the King with two seperate groups of people on two seperate days. And then the weekend after that I'll be in Albuquerque again for Christmas. Craziness.

As promised, here are a couple recent pictures! As always, click the pic for the larger version if you like.

Me and Mom

Melissa w/ Baby and Jason

Linda, Freddie, Mom, Rachel Joe

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Interview with Neil Gaiman about his Douglas Adams Biography

The most lovely thing about finding the above Interview with Gaiman, is it led me to find his blog. I had despaired slightly that William Gibson had stopped updating his for now while he writes his next book, but now I have another good writer's blog to turn to. :)

And the road goes ever on....

Today I had lunch with "Ms. Spiffy". It went *quite* well, but alas, she'll be gone from Denver tomorrow. 'Tis an incredible shame....

This weekend is my company christmas party. I vow to actually attend this one, as I've managed to miss the last few. I'm starting to feel disconnected(which is not hard to do when you work at vastly different hours than everyone else), so I figured I better at least put in an appearance. It could potentially be fun, but I just hate going to these things where just about everyone is married/engaged/whathaveyou and I am one of the few slacking singles.

This morning I took a look at some recent pictures I snapped, like over this thanksgiving weekend. I'll try and post a couple over the next few days to spruce things up around here. ;)

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This is a story about a new game coming for the PC sometime soon that deals with bio-feedback. It sounds really really weird(involves increasing/decreasing heartrate via activity/meditation among other things) but it also sounds pretty intriguing. The more I read about it though, the more it sets off my evil hippy alarms.

This is the website for a movie called Wonderful Days. It is an animated movie that came out in Korea in July of 2003. Visual-wise it looks fantastic, great blend of traditional and 3D animation. But I know nothing at all about it. The site seems to be having some difficulties, so you can try downloading a trailer directly here if you can't get to it. Credit to Penny Arcade for this find.

My Thanksgiving

Well, Thanksgiving day of course, I had to work. But I went down to ABQ to visit the family and we had our thanksgiving on Saturday. Yummmmm.

One of the activities while I was there was seeing the movie "Love Actually." It was a really funny movie, and very very good. Definitely one of Richard Curtis' best. 4.5 stars.

Sunday afternoon I got home from ABQ and was completely exhausted, and somewhat sickly(damn you joe), so I went ahead and took what was supposed to be a quick 45 minute nap before leaving for work. 3.5 hours later my cell phone rings with some sort of work emergency. Oops. Missing the first 3 hours of your shift is a lovely way to start a work week. On the plus side, after getting home and sleeping right away last night(and I hope again tonight) I am finally on a normal schedule again. Hurrah!