New blog!

I'm now blogging over at a much better site, come check it out! I'll start posting on this site once I get a bit better at this whole thing, but 2 blogs is a bit too much to handle right now!

This is Thailand

In the spirit of avoiding studying, I've been reading some old emails. Here's an excerpt from one I sent from Thailand, 2003. There were more exciting emails, but this just brings back all the good memories. How I miss having a life!

I was so hyped about coming back to Thailand after my last awesome trip here, I actually began to get really worried on the flight over that I would hate returning to a developing country, that there was no way it could live up to my expectations. Well, that didn't happen. It all began with the taxi driver from the airport, who wouldn't let me put on my seatbelt. "This is Thailand" he says. The he proceeded to blatantly steal my change from each toll on the road. That actually sums up this country perfectly. This is Thailand. I love being in a place where you can explain anything by just invoking the place's name. The tour you booked is nothing like advertised? This is Thailand. Your boat inexplicably turns around after an hour and returns to port? This is Thailand. Some lady on the train keeps insisting that you share your chips with her (by gesturing then sticking her hand in the bag and taking them)? This is Thailand.

Even the taxi drivers are awesome. After the aforementioned first, I was kindly offered some prostitutes by the second, and the third seemed to be curiously scared of the cops. He kept muttering about the police, and when he dropped me off he saw some cops and made me jump out quickly before he zoomed off. Wonder what that was all about? This is Thailand.

I headed north to volunteer for this foundation that works with the hill tribe people, doing water projects to get the villages fresh water. That's how I found myself pushing a truck up a 3km dirt road in the rain, covered in mud, with a bunch of scottish 17 year olds who were volunteering. That's how I found myself sleeping on the floor in a hill tribe's family hut. That's how I found myself lugging 50kg (110 lb) bags of cement, and sacs of gravel and sand, up a hill to help build the holding tanks for the water. And that's how I found myself saying goodbye two days later. Hey, this is supposed to be some sort of vacation! It was actually good to do something productive though, and get a real glimpse of the primitive lives of the hill tribe people. And also to see them eat one of the village dogs that had been getting scrappy. This is Thailand.

Push from above

I'd been planning on posting more often, but the impending doom of law school exams has been beating me into submission. Have you ever walked through a waterfall? It looks fun from a distance, then as you get closer the water starts to get louder, and the spray starts to sting your eyes. Maybe you begin to wonder if this is such a good idea, but you squint against the sharp assault, and continue on. Now you've gone too far to turn back. As you make it under the falling water, it beats down with incredible force on your head and shoulders, forcing you down, enveloping all. You can't hear, can't see, can't think. There is only the waterfall and you.
Hopefully you emerge through the other side, into a secret cave, or mossy bank, and it's all been worth it. Hopefully.

Going back back back.....gone

One of my best friends is insane. She has gone back to the boyfriend who cheated on her (for months) last year. After hearing all summer about how much better she was than him, about how he was fat, bald, and didn't treat her right, and about how she would never talk to him, she goes back. I just cannot understand this. She is a smart, fun, and kind girl, seemingly competent in all other areas of her life, yet she goes back. What would possess a sane person to do this?

Her concerned and loving friends have tried to stop this. We echo back the complaints we've heard a thousand times, we appeal to reason, faith, vanity, pride. Anything. But nothing works. Now we've become the bad guys, the enemy, and are just driving her closer to him. The usurper. But what else are we to do? Yes, people have to make their own mistakes, but this one should have already been learned! This isn't the first time for her. Going back. Are we so needing of affection, so lonely, that we return to the familiar, no matter the cost? She is not the first or last to jump back in the pool, but she is drowning, and there is nothing we can do to help.

Smooth as silk

I was conflicted what I should write about for my first substantive post. Should it be a little background (I'm a law student in New York), maybe a rant on something that is bothering me (Stuart A Scott), perhaps an amusing anectode (like the time my buddy got shit on in India). Then I realized that no one is reading this anyway, except for Dunes who so nicely commented without saying anything. I have kept this anonymous in the spirit of complete revelation and honesty, and can therefore tell no one I know about MLAAF, so what I write today doesn't matter, as long as it doesn't suck. So here is what I will write about today: shaving. I hope it doesn't suck.

I like to keep my business in order, if you know what I mean. The girls prefer it, and who am I to argue. So today I'm trimmin the hedge, and start to wonder, why not go all the way? I mean, guys in pornos do it (or so I'm told), so there must be some advantages. Perhaps increased mojo, less flossing, increased bloodflow, whatever. I mean, whatever it is, it must work, they're the kings of their domain, right? So I decide to step it up, and become king of my own domain, which at that time meant the bathroom. After some mach 3 action I'm smooth as silk. Then I see myself in the mirror and start to think "hey, those bodybuilder guys shave their chests (or so I'm told), they seem to do alright with the girls, maybe there's some correlation...". Ok, I didn't actually think that, I'm just trying to think up some reason after the fact. Anyways, I whip out the razor and shave my chest. Now I'm beginning to look a little like a 12 year old boy, not a pornstar bodybuilder, but Frog has never been known for his restraint. What's next on the agenda? My ass. Bye bye peach fuzz. Now I'm turning back and forth, admiring my handiwork in the mirror, and the horror of what I've done starts to sink in. I am now hairless from my neck to my upper thighs. Combined with my decently hairy legs and arms, I look absolutely ridiculous. I realize that I have neither the equipment to be a pornstar, nor the muscles to be a bodybuilder, and it is probably not the lack of hair that qualifies one for either of those vaunted careers. I'm sure I have ingrown hairs and unbearable itchiness to look forward to, and for what? I can't show anyone I know (hey roommate, check out what I did!), and this isn't something that I feel would play in my favor with any new girls I might meet. I think the complete shave is an idea you bring up after a few months of dating, not something you drop the first time you see each other naked. So in the end, really, I suppose all I'm left with is another self excuse for why I'm still single, and an itch I can't scratch in public.

And it begins...

So the question is, what begins? At this point, I'm not really sure. Well, at this point, I'm yelling into the void, but everyone's gotta start somewhere. This will hopefully be a space to tell some stories, have some laughs, and do some self exploration, and hopefully be interesting enough for people to waste their time reading it. And if not? Well, at least I put off studying for a few hours a week.