Bali: The Prolouge

So I went to Bali last week.

Hmmm, before I get too far into this story, I should start out by talking about The B.O.M.B.

Hmmmm, maybe before I get too far into that, I should talk about THE EAR.

Okay, well start with THE EAR, but Ill keep it short, this one's not too interesting.

In January I got an ear infection. Swimmer's Ear. Those of you who have been swimmers definitely know what this is; for all you others, its a huge fucking painful ear infection that you get from having water in yer ears too much. Bacteria have a little fiesta in yer ear canal, and it's a bummer. Anyways, I got one of these in January, went to the Doctor, got eardrops, and figured that was that.

But this is Saipan, and these are no ordinary Bacteria.

I dont know if it's because it's so humid here, or maybe because of the crazy tropical bacteria in general, or maybe the Spam that everybody eats all the time, but Bacteria here don't fuck around.

To cut the story short, I had the infection for two and a half months. I was on all sorts of antibiotics and nothing seemed to work. Around three weeks ago, I got an appointment to see the ENT (Ear, Nose and Throat) specialist at the hospital. I was really anxious to see this dude, as I was going to Bali in two weeks, and playing in water was definitely on my agenda for Bali. I had to go to Human Resources to get a ride to the hospital, and while I was sitting in the waiting area, this guy Cole came in.

Cole: "What's up, Robin?"

Robin: "What?"

Cole: "I SAID, WHAT'S UP, ROBIN!"

Robin: "Ear infection. Can't hear too well."

Cole: "Oh man, that sucks."

Robin: "Yeah, Ive had it for like two months."

Cole: " Dude, there was this Clubmate who worked here a few years ago and had an ear infection for a few months. Dude was a dumbass and just thought he could ride it out and just put some alcohol in there every now and then, and it just got worse and worse. When he finally went in to the Doctor, and they took a look in his ear, there were like worms in there like eating at the inside of his ear."

Robin: (horrified silence).

Cole: "Alright, see you later, man."

Robin: "...gasp...see you Cole."

Cole: "Oh, one more thing, man."

Robin: "Yeah?"

Cole: "Was it really necessary to put this whole conversation in quotes like this? I mean, couldn't the message have been conveyed by just writing that I mentioned the worms thing?"

Robin "Hey man, don't ask me."

Cole: "But aren't you writing this right now?"

Robin: "Nah, that's me in a few weeks. Not me now."

Cole: "Well, I'm talking to the 'you' of right now, but this is being written by the 'you' of a few weeks from now."

Robin: "Yeah. Why don't you ask him?"

Cole: "Okay. Hey Robin from the Future?"

...Okay, my characters are talking to me. Didn't see that one coming.

Cole: "Robin?"

Ummmdo I like write back? Put myself in quotes?

Cole: "Nah, man, we can hear you fine."

...Oh...Ummm okay. What's up, Cole?

Cole: "Isn't this whole section kind of unnecessary? Like, wouldn't one sentence like 'so this guy Cole came in and told me a scary story about worms in some dudes' ear 'have been enough? I mean, aren't you trying to write a blog about Bali?"

Uh...yeah...I guess. I get easily sidetracked.

Cole: "No kidding, right Robin from the Present?"

Robin: "What?"

Cole: "I SAID NO KIDDING, RIGHT?"

Robin: "Sorry. Ear infection. Can't hear too well...right about what?"

Cole: "I was just talking about how Robin from the Future gets easily distracted."

Robin: "Oh. I didnt hear that part. I was playing with this string I found here."

Cole: "...Oh, that was lame."

Robin: "What?"

Cole: "I SAID, THAT WAS LAME."

Robin: "I heard you the first time, man. I mean, what was lame?"

Cole: "Robin from the Future set that whole part up so that you'd be playing with the string while I was talking to you, you know, cause he gets easily distracted, which means you do, too, as you're just him from two weeks prior."

Robin: "Are you saying you don't think this piece of string is pretty sweet?"

Cole: "Well, okay. That's some sweet string...hmmm....hey....hey Robin from the Future?"

Yeah?

Cole: "Could we have some laser guns or something?"

Ummm...I guess...but this isn't supposed to be a fictional blog.

Cole: "Oh, yeah, like it's stayed completely nonfiction. We're talking to a version of yourself from the FUTURE."

Oh...okay.

Robin: "Hey, my string just turned into a laser gun!"

Cole: "Hahaha! The world is our oyster!"

Robin: "Haha!"

Anyways, that's about what happened.

I went to the ENT, who was some heavily accented dude from Somewhere in Europe. He was totally proficient, though, and sucked all sorts of gross stuff out of my ear with a vacuum. He told me that my ear hadn't been infected for a long time, it was just totally irritated at me for all the antibiotics that I'd been unnecessarily putting in it for so long. God damn it but hey my ear is better I'm finally healthy again! Hooray! What's...what's that...on my butt?

The B.O.MB., otherwise known as Boils On My Butt.

I kid you not, the SAME DAY that I got rid of the pain in my ear, I grew a huge boil on my butt cheek. For the uninitiated, a boil is essentially a really, really bit zit. Let's just say in the ballpark of 4-6 times bigger than a zit. And I didnt just have one. Oh no. I had THREE.

Before we go any further with all of this, let me make one thing clear: I did not get the BOMB because I dont clean my butt cheeks. I shower every day, okay?! OKAY!?

Okay.

Anyways, the same merry band of Bacteria from my ear, bummed that the party had ended in my ear, made their merry little way down to my butt. The boils got bigger every day, and after four days, I was unable to sit without huge, fantastic amounts of pain, which was problematic, BECAUSE I'M A LIFEGUARD.

It was now only a few days before I was to fly to Bali, and I knew one thing: I needed to get these boils taken care of. Now.

On Friday, April 7, I went back to my friends at the Marianas Medical Clinic (not the ENT). I walked in, and the doctor happened to be standing in the waiting room. She saw me walk in and sighed. "Your ears' still not better," she said in a flat tone. She's also from Somewhere in Europe. I think France, judging from her accent and general disdain of everything.

"No, I said, It's...umm...something else.
"Oh." She said, "What's that?"
The whole waiting room full of people looked at me expectantly. I hesitated.
"It's...ummm...well...it's...I've got a...cough...boilonmybutt."
"What?"
"I've got a boil on my butt."

She laughed and took me into a back room. After showing her the boil, she told me to go into the 'procedure room,' and then left me there, because she needed 'help with this one.'

I spent a while wondering what that meant, then the doctor came back in, pulling on rubber gloves, followed by a Physicians Assistant, who was also pulling on gloves.

"Allright, lie down on your stomach," she said.

They closed the door, and I'm going to leave you guys out there, too.

Let's just say I can now cross off 'Have four hands in my butt cheeks at once' off my 'Things to Do Before I Die' List.

As we were walking out, she gave me a prescription for some (sigh) more antibiotics, and told me that she needed to see me on Monday, so she could pop 'em again. I told her that this wouldn't be possible, as I was leaving for Bali on Sunday the 9th. She considered this for a second, then goes,

Well, do you have a girlfriend?

(where was she going with this? No...no it couldn't be...I said No)

Well, do you have any friends who you are close enough with that they could

(AIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE)

Needless to say, I told her that I was going to take my chances, and waddled back to work.

Sunday finally rolled around. We (my friends Amanda and Mandy, and my roommate John) worked a half-day, and then got off at noon. Our flight was at two thirty, but I needed to zip over to the hospital and get my 'butt drugs.'

(and now, a monent of silence for my use of the term, 'butt drugs.')

Anyways, we were getting a ride to the airport at one-fifteen.

I borrowed John's old beat-up van (The one I'm driving in the picture on my picture page) and drove to the only pharmacy open on Sundays: The hospital. The drive took me twenty minutes. It was Twelve Thirty. I waited in the slowest line POSSIBLE behind a lady WHO HAD FORGOTTEN HER PERSCRIPTION AND WAS STILL SOMEHOW SURE THAT SHE COULD STILL GET HER DRUGS MY GOD LADY IF YOU DONT GET OUT OF MY WAY I'LL REALLY GIVE YOU A REASON TO NEED DRUGS OH SORRY AM I HOSTILE I'M LATE FOR A FLIGHT AND OH YEAH HAVE THREE BOILS ON MY ASS!

But I just waited and finally got my drugs and got out of there at eleven fifty. I had twenty-five minutes to get back, pack (I had only just started packing) and then jump on the ride to the airport. The drive was going well enough...until I saw the lights flashing in my rearview mirror.

Skydiving

How it happened:

I was working a lifeguard shift at the beach, helping Japanese people get into their two person kayaks, and trying to explain to them that the correct way to sit in a two person kayak is not facing each other, when my buddy Paul walked by me with his girlfriend Mary.

They had an hour off and were going to take one of the sailboats out (which I still can't do, as I need more experience before they let me out. eh.) I waved to them and went back to trying to help pull the Japanese couple's boat in closer to shore before they got out to try to correct their seating position (people like to try to get in and out of the kayaks in as deep water as possible, because, well, IT MAKES NO SENSE AT ALL. tourists.).

A note: at least the Japanese are polite about being stupid when they're on vacation. Americans and Russians like to pretend it's everyone else that's stupid when they're on vacation.

anyways, Paul and Mary took the boat out, and were sailing out of the beach area, when the beach center's (up the beach from where I was) microphone crackled into life and I heard my buddy Eric shout into the loudspeaker.

"scrrrrrrrrrrrrreeeeech! Hey. HEY! Raise your hands if you're going skydiving!"

I looked around. The Japanese woman was wriggling like a drowning otter over the side of the kayak (it's hard to get into a kayak in deepish water) and her husband was trying to help her but really just falling out of the boat too, but neither of them was raising their hand. I guess I shouldn't have been surprised. As they couldn't speak English, they wouldn't have known to raise their hands even if they were indeed going skydiving. But there was no one else at the beach....my eyes finally lit on the departing sailboat. Paul and Mary both had their arms raised as the boat disappeared from sight.

They were going skydiving.

I wanted to go skydiving.

I had missed my chance in San Diego, despite the fact that I was secretly really, really relieved that mom stopped me that time, as I was terrified of going. Still, it got me thinking.

Later that day, I was walking down a hallway at my job, heading for a shift working at the tennis center, when my buddy Eric came quickly around a corner. (That's mostly Eric in the photos).

"Hey Eric," I said.
"Hey Rob," he said. "Wanna go skydiving?"
I stopped dead in the hallway. Yes, I wanted to go. Yes, I was still scared of going.
"Ummmmm," I said. "You're going?"

It turned out that Paul was taking Mary for a late Christmas present, and Eric wanted to go, too. However, they could only take pairs of people, so if Eric wanted to go, then someone else had to. They were going to jump from 14,000 feet, which is a 50 second free fall, then 6-8 minutes descending with the parachute up.

"I'll think about it," I said.

I spent all of my time at the Tennis center (minus time handing out mini-golf clubs, tennis rackets and roller blades, and spraying used tennis shoes with deodorizer) thinking about this situation.

A SPECIAL NOTE ABOUT SHOE DEODORIZER:

This is the most amazing thing that has ever been invented. Typically, in the past, when I've seen it being used, my reaction has been one of vague disgust.
"Eeew," I'd think. "Who knows how many pairs of sweaty fat feet have been stuffed into those bowling shoes."

However, you should see this stuff work. It kills 99.9 percent of bacteria. It sprays in a satisfying, clean jet of odor-slaying vengeance. And it smells really good! (Especially the 'springtime fresh' variety! now on sale!) Here I'm thinking, if I owned a bottle of this, no shoes of mine, even my running shoes, would ever smell again!

There would be no need to take my several year old red Nikes that had some sort of syndrome where they would smell like bad Jesus every time I took them off after padding around the cobble stoned streets of Bologna, to the point that I'd put them in my top cabinet of my dresser and close the door every day as to avoid looks of horror from my girlfriend if she was unhappy enough to pass within several feet of them!

....

I mean, I've got this friend who that happened to, and he, well, he wishes, I mean told me that he wishes, that he just had some 'springtimefresh' shoe deodorizer spray then he could have just sprayed some of that right in there just like I was spraying some into a pair of size thirteen Rollerblades a few weeks ago and wondered,

"Am I going to go skydiving?"

And I realized that the answer was definitely yes. I mean, I knew if I could just chuck myself out of that plane, I'd have the time of my life. I needed someone else to chuck me out of the plane. But I needed to go.

I had pool life guarding next (we rotate on hour shifts) and I plopped into the chair, the "look-how-high-up-I-am-you-swimming-bitches-and-I've-got-this-red-tube-and-whistle-with-me-that-I'm-not-scared-to-blow-I-am-your-lifeguard-sunglass-clad-and-whistle twirling" feeling already settling over me. I felt someone climbing the chair next to me, and looked down

(coolly, I thought. It's important to look as cool as possible when you're on a lifeguard chair, unless you need to play air guitar if the Darkness comes on the pool stereo.)

and saw Mary pop into view.

"Hey," she said. "I think you need to give some serious thought into going skydiving because it's going to be a really good time and..."
"Ok," I said.
"Eric needs someone else, and we're going to be able to see three islands from up there, and..."
"Sure, I'm down."
"And we'll grab some beers and burgers afterward, and...what?"
"Let's do it."
She laughed. That had been easy.

She climbed down and started the two week waiting period, where I did my best to not think about it, which was impossible late at night, when I'd imagine the tingle in my feet as the solid surface of the plane would disappear beneath my feet to be replaced with 50 seconds of flying. Every time I'd see Eric, his wild hair (recently cut) flying as we'd pass each other on our way to various shifts, He'd yell "SKYDIVING BUDDY!" And I'd wet myself.

...

...I mean, I have this friend who'd be around, and he'd wet himself. He was really glad that he was wearing diapers, that he purchased because I was so scared, I mean he was so scared, that I was going skydiving.

...

anyways, moving on and anyways I woke up at ten on the day we went, ate breakfast alone, and found Eric, Paul and Mary pounding up the stairs to find me.

A NOTE ON ERIC, PAUL AND MARY:

I wish that Eric's name was Peter. Then I would have gone skydiving with Peter, Paul and Mary. (We would have been 'blowin in the wind! Haw!)

Anyways, they found me and we piled into Mary's SUV and we went and ran crazily into the Skydiving store, half expecting the staff to jump up and run crazily around the store with us, being so excited that we were jumping out of a plane my god a plane! But the two Japanese girls manning the counter just smiled and had us sit and sign countless pages of forms that say:

skydiving is a dangerous sport and we won't sue and don't worry this place is insured for 250,000 in death insurance and yada yada yada PLEASE DON'T READ ME IF YOU WANT TO RETAIN THE GUMPTION TO GET INTO THAT PLANE JUST SIGN ME AND TRY NOT TO SWEAT ON THE COUNTER WE JUST HAD IT CLEANED.

So I did and I didn't (sign it and sweat) and they tried to get us to buy the DVD of us jumping for only 250,000 dollars no wait, not 250,000 dollars that was another number that was drifting ominously through my mind at the time for some reason, the DVD was 150 dollars, which was outrageous but heck this place needed to rip off tourists didn't they so we didn't get it but Eric and I did get into jumpsuits.

A NOTE ON JUMPSUITS:

Thaaaaaaaaaat's why jumpsuits are called jumpsuits! ooooooooooooh!

And I was to be strapped to a large Russian man named Sergei, and Eric was to be strapped to an Australian man named something really Australian, and they had hats to wear if you wanted to wear a hat while you were jumping and I found a Winnie the poo hat and instead of feeling silly with this choice i felt comforted and Paul took pictures of the "DANGER" signs on the parachutes and we posed and tried not to look nervous but failed and then we walked out into the hot saipan sun and were taught the correct way to hold our arms while we left the plane at 32 feet per second squared (isn't that right?).

We met the equally Australian Pilot with an equally Australian name, tucked into the back of the plane, and took off, Eric and I giving each other crazed looks as the wheels left the ground.

The ride up was oddly calm. The whole situation just felt so surreal that I couldn't get effectively scared, although I had been sure that I was going to lose my dome at this point. We reached a thousand feet and I felt like we were as high as we could possibly go. At two thousand feet everything was already like pin-sized. Somewhere around eight thousand feet we could see the whole island, deep blue water becoming clear and turquoise (this island being the reason the world turquoise was invented, I realized) as it approached the shore.

We passed up through the poofy white clouds at this point. I realized, in a detached way, that my dream of just leaping from a passenger jet as I passed over a Field of clouds and trying to walk on them would finally come to be. Around ten thousand feet the pilot let Eric (who was sitting in the front of the tiny, maybe a dozen feet long, plane) fly for a bit, and a sudden turn made my stomach start to panic for the first time, but then the piliot re-took the controls and my calm returned. The concept of me bailing from this plane was so surreal that there was no way I could deal with it, in a scared way or otherwise.

Eric wanted to go first. We were both wearing altitude watches. Our guides were filming us with cameras and cracking jokes, trying to get inside our heads in exremely beefy russian/ausrailan ways. They told us that this was only their 10th jump or so (it was their 10,000ish and 14,000ish jump, respectively). They told us there was a chance of a water landing. My guide told me that as I was the one wearing an altitude watch, that I would have to yell "HELP MEEEEE" when we hit 5,000 feet, and then, only then, would he pull the parachute cord. He then told me that we were at 14,000 feet, because we were.

They clipped themselves onto our backs. Eric shot my poo-bear hat a look and asked if it was sort of comforting to have the hat. I told him it was. He told me he was jealous. (after laughing at me the whole way up). The Ausrailian guy strapped to eric swung the door upwards and the wind howled in. Eric walked out onto the beam sticking out from the side of the plane, and looked down. The wind made his cheeks shake comically.

And he looked down, and it was his next action that made the whole wieght of what we were doing come violently crashing down on my head. He took a really deep breath. A really, really, deep one.

And jumped.

At this point I had gone from calm to insane. I found myself stumbling in a crawl to the open door. Saw a postcard of Saipan lying clear and blue below me. Felt my cheeks flap comically. Stood on the tiny metal beam while Sergei yelled macho stuff in my ear that I never heard due to the wild blindness that my mind was wrestling with. I leaned forward, and jumped.

The first five seconds after you leave the plane from 14,000 feet is both the best five seconds ever and also impossible to really describe. After 5 or so seconds, you hit terminal velocity (meaning you can't go any faster) and the remaining 45 seconds of free fall doesn't really feel like falling. It feels more like floating in space, with the ground below you slowly rushing up to meet you. During that last 45 seconds, I swam breaststroke, I spun a 360, I flapped my arms, and I screamed a lot.

But those first five seconds.

The solid beam of the airplane leaves your feet, and everything goes NUTS. I was falling headfirst, faster than I ever thought anything could go. I was briefly aware of the magnitude of 14,000 feet. My feet tingled, and I wish I could describe my stomach plunging up into my chest, but I really can't remember specifics like that. It was just AIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEwhoa. Cool.

So if you remember, my Russian guy had told me that he wouldn't pull the parachute unless I yelled "Help Meeee" at 5,000 feet. However, as we approached that altitude, I was too busy freaking out and trying to swim through the air to notice.

My friend Paul said that they caught sight of eric first. His parachute had opened, and he was floating slowly down. They looked around for me, and when they saw me, I was still in freefall and Paul said dropping at an unbelieveable speed. The Russian guy eventually gave up on his joke and just pulled it, and I spent the next 40 seconds floating down, which seemed really slow until we hit the ground at an actually pretty high speed. Eric and I slow motion ran at each other, and babbled about how scary it was leaving the plane, much to the dismay of Paul and Mary, who were jumping next.

Things I've Learned in Saipan, Part I

1) Really, really dorky Russian teenagers LOVE mini golf.

They like playing by themselves, or with their families. Sometimes they like to tell the tennis/mini golf shack attendant (sometimes me) about playing live-action dungeons and dragons in castles in the russian countryside with their role-playing clubs, of which they are sometimes president.

2) sea cucumbers are not, in fact, dangerous. They do, however, squish rather grossly when you step on them.

3) Japanese tourists are the nicest, easiest to deal with, most polite, most eager just to have a good time, least afraid to make fools of themselves (and lord do they) tourists in the world. i love them.

4) Many Japanese and Korean parents seem to interpet

"lifeguards present"

as

"there are magical people present who can prevent your terribily small child WHO CAN NOT SWIM from drowning! In fact la la la yay they will wave their magical wands, and your child will simply FLOAT OVER THE FUCKING WATER JESUS IF YOUR KID CAN'T SWIM YOU SHOULD BE WATCHING THEM IN THE WATER YES, EVEN THE SHALLOW END IEEEEEEEEEEEEE."

Of course, that's a rough translation from the Japanese/Korean. Different language structure, you know.

5) Russians are by far the least fun group to deal with that we have here. They are probably most like American tourists in the world as the get really angry that most of the staff here doesn't speak Russian. They came to an American resort, on an American territory, that is closest to Japan, and they're mad that no-one speaks Russian? They also don't smile very much. Working here, we're supposed to say hi to guests when we walk by them.

Primarily based on our Russian clients, I made up a rule that there's a very special wedgie waiting for you at the gates of heaven if someone says hi to you and you don't A) say hi back B) smile c) wave D) raise your eyebrows E) OR EVEN ACKNOWLEDGE THAT YOU EXIST

Russian men (at least the ones we see here, which are i guess mainly the fat and rich ones) are also shaped like potatoes. These guys are huge, in the could-snap-you-like-a-twig way, but also have huge pot bellies that extend out just as far as their muscular chests. Hence, they look like potatoes.

Russians also hate tan lines more than anything. The women wear thongs, and not just the pretty ones, but also the like 250 pound ones that I WOULD PAY A THOUSAND DOLLARS TO GET OUT OF MY HEAD JUMPING UP AND DOWN UP AND DOWN OH WHY GOD ARE THEY JUMPING LIKE THAT

I also love Russian food. the dumplings are simply delicious.

6) I would like to offer an apology to every lifeguard who has ever lived who was lifeguarding a pool that I swam in when I was younger where I played the following game:

a) Let's See How Long We Can Hold Our Breath Underwater With Oh Our Arms Hanging At Our Sides So Jesus Christ It Looks Like I've Drowned Oh Robin Save Me Save Me Oh Oops, I'm Just Kidding Haha

or some variant of that game.

I have a heart attack every time, which can be quite embarrassing while I'm trying to look professional up there.

Roar

I think

a good way

to distract your audience

while doing a magic trick

(and I've heard distraction is the key to magic)

would be to yell

"OH MY GOD! A MOUNTAIN LION!"

and point towards the back of the room.

You'd get half the people to turn around

immediately.

The other half

would come around

once the mountain lion

started attacking people.

Then you could do your trick!

Ta-Daaaa!

Adventures in Saipan

Hafa Dai

That means "Hello" in the local tongue. It sounds like "Half a day," and they joke about that becuse people here are...ummm...lazy.

They also really like spam. There are spam barbeques, etc. You can buy "I love spam" t-shirts all over the place. I want one.

Wuall, I had a bit 'o trouble getting into the flow of this email, so it might be a little 'slow.' Don't say I didn't warn ye.

Well, hello there!

and welcome to what would formally be labeled as Robbies' mass travel email.

In this day and age we can call it a blog, and in fact, maybe no one will get mad at me for these
anymore: When I was in Italy I got a ton of angry emails from people who don't like my mass emails.

Some complaints I recieved were:

"they're not personal enough,"
"they're invasive and not even concerned with me,"
"I have sand in my vagina and am deeply offended by many things."

And so on.

But with Blogs, heck, you already asked to read something that isn't directly addressed to you!

Moving on...

I now live on the Island of Saipan. I work at the Pacific Islands Club (PIC), which is a
hotel/resort on the beach near the South Side of the Island.

I work 60 hours a week. This is one of the two sort of hard things to deal with here. We only get one day off a week (I'm on my day off now) and sometimes work up to 12 hours a day.

My technical position is called a "Clubmate." I think I'm the only person who thinks this name is funny. It makes us sound like...ummm...Cabana boys....ummm...I AM NOT A CABANA BOY! (sound of quiet weeping).

What I do:

Anyways...The Clubmates work as Lifeguards all around the resort. We have like 6 huge pools, there are lifeguards at the beach, lifeguards that just have to float around our huge man-made river (by far my favorite shift...floating around is great), etc.

We also have this huge wave machine called Point break, which simulates a gigantic wave that you can ride on like a boogie board thing. When you have a point break shift, you are required to demonstrate for the guests, which means you spend three hours surfing. That's a great shift too. Yesterday some of the other employees taught me how to 360 on the board.

Clubmates also run the Kids Klub (hideously spelled with a second 'k'), where we get a group of 30 kids for the day (so their parents don't have to deal with them) and take them on the water slides, play water basketball with them, etc. It's like the summer camp I worked at last summer, except I can't actually speak to most of the kids (Korean and Japanese kids)
yet.

I'm starting to lean Japanese, but damn I remember this now. Learning languages is a bitch.

They taught me to windsurf in two days, and now I guess I'm qualified to teach windsurfing lessons, 'cause I do a lot of that too.

I also lead snorkeling tours. This is funny 'cause I don't know the names of any of the fish. I just
point at the kind of fish that Nemo was and shout "NEMO!" and the Japanese tourists squeal and take lots of pictures with their very expensive underwater cameras.

...you should see the cameras that the japanese
have. I'd mate with like half of them. (Sorry mom)

I just finished training with a local named Kurt, who is 18. He keeps trying to tell me that sea cucumbers can violently attack you and suck blood out of your leg, but I'm going to remain skeptical on account of the fact that they are called SEA CUCUMBERS. I say if they were
deadly, someone would have given them a different name.

"Look out, Jim!"
"What's that, Ted?"
"It's....(gasp)...it's..."
"What Ted? a Great White Shark? a Parrhana? a Giant Squid!?"
"No Jim! Its...A SEA CUCUMBER!"
"AIEEEEEEEEEgaaaaaaaarrrgle (sound of bloody massacre)

You should see them, too. Like foot-long worms that just lie there. (wow, am I really setting myself up to be attacked by a sea cucumber. I'll let you know)

Ummm...sorry about the sea cucumber digression.

To finish up the job description, ('cause I think I need to move on), I also teach archery lessons,
play ultimate frisbee and basketball and soccer with guests, and wrestle sea cucumbers.

The hotel paid to fly me out here, pay for a hotel room that I live in, pay for three meals a day,
and health insurance. They also pay me 3 dollars an hour. This is the second bummer of the job. I'm going to save most of it (in theory) though.

Oh, I guess a third bummer of the job is that we have to eat dinner at tables with the guests and
interact with them. Yeah, it's in the nicest restraunt in the hotel (it's the most amazing buffet I've ever seen and the food changes every night), but after a 10 hour shift, the last damn thing you want to do is try to make small talk with people that you can barely even really communicate with. The Clubmates (shut up) who have been here a long time can speak Japanese, so it's not so bad for them, but for me Dinner usally constitutes of grunting, smiling, bad jokes in simple english, and break dance-offs, which I usually win.

The kids here are cool. Tonight's the full moon party/beer pong tournament. They tell me I'll get better at working hung over.

Ummm...I'm getting scuba cerified for 180 bucks here, and we're going to do some deep cave dives one we all get checked out. the island is as tropical as you can imagine. Sort of generically, actually. The ocean sparkles, people smile a lot, there's too much reggae music and drinks with little umbrellas in them. I haven't worn anything heavier than a long sleeved shirt since I got here, and even that was hot. I tried to put on one of my sweatshirts once, but had to take it off immediately...because it was infested with sea cucumbers.

That's all I can think of for now. Sorry if this blog was a little 'slow,' I've been speaking a lot of
"ME TEACH ARCHERY NOW" english these last few days, and I think it's affecting my ability to write (Speaking of archery, I'm getting all good at that, too. Man am i learning some useless skills out here)...

Peace

Tokyo Skies

You can't see

The legendary flashingneon

skyscrapers of Tokyo

from here.

Below lies a field a spiderweb of lights.

Ebbing and flowing.

Just like any you can see

from high above

in the United States.

But as I strain

for something below

anything, really

I notice a lonely road

separated from the rest of the suburbs

by an expanse of black

and there's just one car on it now

one set of headlights

going

somewhere.

Who's in that car?

A guy?

A girl?

A car full of friends?

Someone coming from a party where they embarrassed themselves in front of the guyslashgirl that they've been harboring a crush for for well years?

A trio returning from a concert oh let's say two girls and a guy and the guy and one of the girls are dating but the second girl secretly love the guy but tells everybody including herself too that they're just friends and that's all she wants (in Japanese, of course).

Is it hard for the driver to see 'cause they've been crying too hard?

Laughing too hard?

Too drunk?

Too stoned?

Or is it just a normal drive home from a job that is performed some same way every day and the drive is so routine that the driver will forget it as soon as they reach their destination?

How are they/he/she dressed?

How do Japanese kids dress, anyways?

The hipsters?

The nerds?

The gangsters?

The these categories even relevant?

Is there any way that these people this person in that car down there has any idea that a tiny person in a window seat

(no i lied I'm in the aisle I want that window seat so I can see better)

in a tiny place

thousands of feet

above has thought

so very much

about them?

Has anybody passing over me, when I'm behind two (2) headlights by myself on a lonely road

ever thought about wondered about

me?

I hope so.

Jam

And now, a digression on 'jam:' that I just thought of while writing my away message:

When I'm older and bearded and in a jam band with Noah, it's occurred to me that we should only have rehersals in our pajamas. Secondly, we should have a bunch of songs about how good smuckers' jam is. Specifically, about how when you're making a pie and you have to get a lot of jam in there, you know, like jam it down and stuff.

This means We'll have a jam jam jam jam.