Dee-Rob

We arrived in KL a while back, I think it was Monday, also known as yesterday, which is tomorrow if you are reading this from the other side of the international dateline. Something like that.

Since hitting Kuala Lumpur, M.’s aunt has done yeoman’s duty shuffling us around to the sites. Today was Melaka, where it all got started Malaysia-wise. Cool little town. Kind of like visiting Plymouth, MA give or take a few hundred years of human history and another hundred of colonializing nonsense from Europe.

What I really haven’t had time to describe in writing words or show in photographic splendor is the drive from Penang to Kuala Lumpur. We drove one car with two teenage/young adult cousins and a dog and followed the caravan lead of M.’s aunt and uncle (and owners of one said adolescent and dog).

The thing is, Penang is an island connected to the mainland by bridges. Consider holiday traffic at it’s peak in the U.S., since we were holidaying here, on a Sunday when everyone’s trying to get back from their family homes to their real life homes. Now, factor in an island. And, throw in the body count of Asia’s higher population numbers. Finally, stir in the fact that Penang drivers are the joke-butt crazies that back where I am from would equal Boston drivers.

When the radio traffic reports promised gridlock, we scuttled our after lunch departure plan. It became a waiting game to see if positive reports would reach our eager to leave ears. No such joy.

The plan then became an after dinner plan. But, where to eat? That question and its answering became another bit of a delay. So then we ate.

We said our goodbyes all over again and hit the road at about 9 p.m. We didn’t hit KL until about 3 or 3:30 a.m. Monday, hours after what is meant to be a four-hour ride.

Here’s what I want to show in pictures some day and find the words to describe — The truck stops along the route were mad crazy crowded. Traffic jam crowded. Like crowds you sometimes see maybe on the New Jersey Turnpike, or heading back from Cape Cod on an August Sunday. But, it was fucking 2 a.m.

Everyone was doing what one does, grabbing snacks, coffee, soda and the toilet, when one is on the road. But, it was fucking 2 a.m. and men, women and playing children were out in force.

And, it was all Asian and shit — meat on sticks and tropical fruits and Muslims ducking into the prayer room.

When I have more time, I will strive to write more and better. But, now, we prepare for healing soup that is only available at a certain vendor up around midnight.

We’re in Singapore. I’m tired. Can’t find easy web access.

And so it goes.

Hopefully a better night’s sleep than our last night’s dragging in after 1 a.m. after cumulatively flying over 18 hours is on the agenda.

Asia is very far away from the U.S.  About 9 hours in we still haven’t hit our layover in Japan.  Japan promises fun things like some kind of foot, toilets that are not in mid-air and electricity. From Tokyo, we’ll hit Singapore at about 12 midnight, there anyway.

It will be 19 or so hours from when we left the house, and one crossover the international dateline and yesterday is completely gone.  I’m sure I could come with some yearbook or poster worthy wise about minding the days as they slip through your hands. I hope I get to see monkeys.

More so, I hope I get to see monkeys in a wilderness kind of way.  Ones that don’t get peanuts from children, but instead live by their wits, as I’ll be doing. OK, that’s a lie.  I’ll be living more by my half-wits.  The wit that will need to go along with the crowd and smile profusely like the dim watt that I am unsure about language and all that.  Thank fucking god English is pretty prevalent among the M.’s folks.

If we get a SIM card to work in my old, unlocked cell phone I schlepped along, I’m going to have to beg M. to carry it.  His family from what I have seen seems addicted to the technology, using phones to text and talk like walkie talkies.  You don’t just meet somewhere, someone will call you. As what I like to call the “pseudo-wife,” seemingly there is a movement to put me pseudo in charge. So his aunt has my number on speed dial. It gives me sympathy to my sisters-in-law.  Seriously, what cosmic decree that apparently crosses cultures, puts the chicks in charge of telecommunications.  If I wanted that kind of role I would have tried to be a radioman in the army. 

I dabbled in comedy tonight. It was fun, in that way that comedy isn’t really capital F fun for the folks doing it.

I really like some of the stuff from W. Kamau Bell, and I wished it was the kind of place you could have had an actual conversation with the other performers. Same with Nato Green.

It wasn’t, though. More of a come in, do your time get on the road kind of show. (With my road about 2-3 miles away, I could have stayed.)

When I got there, the bartender thought he might have met me before at the Rose and Crown nearby, which used to have a comedy show. I did it twice, moments after moving here. To say I sucked would be to grossly underestimate what amounted to the Orick challenge.

A couple of people showed up from a job in the early 90s. A couple of other people showed up from my current employment. I shall see if they make eye contact come the morning, or advert their gaze in that awkward afterwards of a comedy show that’s rather like a bad morning after with an intimate stranger. Hopefully, all don’t hate me.

And, as I prepared to go on stage, I remembered Dot and I devising our hosting strategy. I tried to live it all, and I tried to do all of the things assigned to me — passing the tip bucket, eliciting tips, introducing and generally keeping the show moving. I believe I met expectations. (In a perfect world, people would have been howling for more of me. Alas.)

One last thing checked off my personal to-do list. I should try this comedy thing more often. Next on the list will be to go to Asia.

(Video to come, maybe I’ll ask people to vote on whether I should try this comedy thing more often.)