Between the work retreat in Napa and this weekend, I’ve been spending too much time staring at imaginary cracks in strange ceilings. We spent the weekend in the big city of San Francisco on ocassion of their marathon. I hung around in boutique hotel chi-chi-ness whilst M. ran until his natural resources were depleted and stopped at 26.2 miles.

What I know is, I don’t sleep so good on strange bedding and surroundings. I imagine my slutty years were all about insomnia really. I mean if you’re out partying and you crash somewhere, if you know you won’t sleep, you have to occupy your time somehows.

Now, without the excess boozing and the sedate lifestyle, I’m left to lying awake and feeling miserably tired. On the plus side, the early morning self-recriminations are nowhere to be found.

If whining about sleeplessness isn’t enough, in addition to luxury hotels I’m done with cuisine. For about 7 solid days, I’ve dined out on finely prepared, sumptuous food, and I’m bloated and overstuffed. Bologna on whitebread is the level of richness I could currently stand.

To summarize, I think I’ve just mind-melded with the emotional depth that is Paris Hilton.

I have to work on this video, but it’s a start.

It was pouring rain as we visited the Kamwokya II Parish of Kampala, aka a slum. I had my DSLR, but with the rain and my sheepishness about whipping out a big camera while exploring poverty tourism, I kept it under wraps. Strolling with my mini video camera, while chatting with our tour guide, a lay pastor from the Kamwokya Christian Caring Community, seemed a bit more chill.

 

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Buying a new camera before going to a place of scenc wonder leads to the road of excess.  Excess picture taking.

Going to a place of beauty that also features casinos leads to the road of excess hiking in the thinnest of atmosphere, which leads to the road of excess.  Excess in the form of affordable buffets, funded by the unfulfilled dreams of casino despair.  I should have taken pictures of food rather than say gorging myself into bellyaching literally and bellyaching in the whining figurative, because I had eaten too much.

Seriously, though, if it weren't for the lack of oxygen, Lake Tahoe would be one of the finest places on earth.  Amazing in a wilderness way, but without that remoteness of not having slot machines handy.  At the end of the day, I like sucking in the thick air of sea level.  Hiking at 9,000 plus feet hurts my little underdeveloped lungs and my fat little fireplug legs.

I'm moving to LA so that I can not only know the air is at maximum, non-altitude thickness, but I can see it.

Perhaps the coolest part is rather than scratching each other's eyes out after a three-hour car ride there and three hours back in the rather tiny and confined, but lovely and well-designed space, of the new Mazda, we were all snuggly close.   M. sees it as a milestone of unity.  Perhaps he's right, since car trips of my childhood made me hate the other passengers more.  Of course, unlike my sibs, M. never hits me or kicks me in the back of the seat.

And, I never slept with my brothers.

If you want to check out the literally hundreds of pictures I took with the fab new cam, go here and/or here.  Here's a tip, though, scroll fast, because there are a lot of boring as shit shots unless you are writing a manual.  Far too fucking many of me testing out the settings and reacquainting myself with concepts like shutter speed, f-stops and depths of field.

Oh, and I beg of you, skip any of the ones M. took of me.  That man has a knack for making me look shittier than my ego will allow me to believe.  Seriously, I've always had a couple of pounds to spare, but in those pics I should be rolling myself into Jenny Craig or risk getting buried in a piano-sized box.

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Got the hell out of Dodge for the long weekend.  Actually, I think we headed toward Dodge.

Chilling near Lake Tahoe walking back and forth over the Nevada and California borders.  Nice effect, that.  On one side rustic, redwood lodges suitable for ski bunnies.  Cross the street, high rise glitter and gutter and sin and all sorts of casino fun, suitable for a different kind of bunny.  Or maybe whore.

Today, we shall walk in majestic, alpine nature and see the lake itself.  I'm testing out my new SLR camera.  Fuck yeah, it's fun having all sorts of artsy fartsy switches and buttons to play with, just like when I first started with the picture taking.

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Look at me with fear and awe. We paid the few bucks to the hard-working hawkers at Penang’s famous Snake Temple.

I am Medusa; I am tamer of beasts. And, M. he looks OK, too. (By the way, those are pit vipers. Some say they are defanged, some say devenomed, but local legend has it their au naturel and just digging the happy temple vibe enough not to kill you.

I guess the title says it all.

We got in around 5 p.m. I’ve showered and contemplated and teased the hell out of M. in regard to my fondness for the native soil. It’s now about 9 p.m. I’ve read emails but not responded. M. is in bed, and soon I will be as well.

Too much to write about and too tired. And, miles to go before I sleep.

Back in Starbucks. Wanted to make sure I uploaded some pictures to guard against my computer dying and losing all. Now, I just wait f0r the upload.

More food, more family. I swear his mother is making up for 20+ years’ of meals not cooked. And, the woman can cook.

The family is subsiding a bit, having to go back to work after the holidays. For me growing up, Chinese New Year was like a novelty holiday, a mere blip on the screen of “oh yeah, there are other people in the world who don’t groove to the Jesus/Christmas/Easter family calendar.” Here it is a bona fide shindig holiday. There’s even sales in the stores, like the day after Chrismas.

I may not have ever felt quite this white and Western.

The remaining family is still planning outings for the return of the native. The lavish attention is making me a bit jumpy, but I try to roll with the punches of offered kindnesses. I do feel completely unworthy of the mother’s gift and of Auntie Fay’s.

The only real difficulty at all here is natural — the actual residents of any area never know from the desires of tourists thrilling on the idea of the exoticness of their home town. If your biggest problem is not having anyone willing to show you the sights where you are most apt to get hosed by jacked prices and mediocre fare, I guess you maybe have hit a bit of Shangri-La.

Back in Starbucks. Wanted to make sure I uploaded some pictures to guard against my computer dying and losing all. Now, I just wait f0r the upload.

More food, more family. I swear his mother is making up for 20+ years’ of meals not cooked. And, the woman can cook.

The family is subsiding a bit, having to go back to work after the holidays. For me growing up, Chinese New Year was like a novelty holiday, a mere blip on the screen of “oh yeah, there are other people in the world who don’t groove to the Jesus/Christmas/Easter family calendar.” Here it is a bona fide shindig holiday. There’s even sales in the stores, like the day after Chrismas.

I may not have ever felt quite this white and Western.

The remaining family is still planning outings for the return of the native. The lavish attention is making me a bit jumpy, but I try to roll with the punches of offered kindnesses. I do feel completely unworthy of the mother’s gift and of Auntie Fay’s.

The only real difficulty at all here is natural — the actual residents of any area never know from the desires of tourists thrilling on the idea of the exoticness of their home town. If your biggest problem is not having anyone willing to show you the sights where you are most apt to get hosed by jacked prices and mediocre fare, I guess you maybe have hit a bit of Shangri-La.