Shame.

I was angry when I saw that the Military Commissions Act passed in the Senate without amendment. On the whole, it's a terrible piece of legislation. The New York Times wrote a terrific editorial ["Rushing Off a Cliff," Sept. 28, 2006] about the bill that sets out everything that's particularly wrong with it. The opening to whet your appetite:

Here's what happens when this irresponsible Congress railroads a profoundly important bill to serve the mindless politics of a midterm election: The Bush administration uses Republicans' fear of losing their majority to push through ghastly ideas about antiterrorism that will make American troops less safe and do lasting damage to our 217-year-old nation of laws — while actually doing nothing to protect the nation from terrorists. Democrats betray their principles to avoid last-minute attack ads. Our democracy is the big loser.

But what I suppose is most disturbing to my sensibilities is a provision in the act that strips detainees of their right to habeas corpus. That is, their right to challenge their detentions in court. Without habeas corpus, any non-citizen -- notice, NOT just foreign residents or illegal immigrants, but even LEGAL RESIDENTS of the U.S. . . . like my parents were prior to their naturalization in July 2001 -- can be arrested, imprisoned, denied an attorney, and, most terrifying, denied to the right to challenge their arrest and imprisonment in a court of law. This is offensive to the spirit of our Constitution and to the beliefs upon which our nation was built. And yet the vote to strip the bill of at least the habeas corpus provision lost 48 votes to 51.

Arlen Specter, a Republican Senator from Pennsylvania, proposed the amendment that would've removed this killing of habeas corpus. Four Republicans were rational enough to join all but one Democrat (Ben Nelson of Nebraska) in voting for this amendment. I'd like to ask any of my readers who are from these gentlemen's home states to drop them an e-mail and thank them. They are Lincoln Chaffee (RI), John Sununu (NH), Gordon Smith (OR), and, of course, Senator Specter.

So, this amendment did not pass and the bill was put to a vote as it was. I expected a similar vote tally when it came to passing the bill itself. I was wrong. It wasn't nearly fifty-fifty. It was 65 to 34. I was shocked that 12 Democrats (along with 3 of the 4 Republicans above) ended up voting for the bill, particularly with the habeas corpus provision still intact. Now, here's the absolute worst part:

BOTH of my Senators, Frank Lautenberg and Robert Menendez, voted for it.

WHAT. THE. HELL?

I've had issues with Mendendez before. He was one of the few Dems to vote for the waste of time that was the Flag Burning Amendment. When I found that out, I stopped paying attention to my Bar/Bri lecture and immediately shot off an e-mail lambasting him for his vote. Maybe I should've known that he might've voted the way he did. He's in one of the toughest Senate races in the country and maybe he saw this vote as a way to appealing to some of his opponent's supporters. I don't know. But Lautenberg? What the hell were you thinking? And don't feed me some 9/11 sensitivity bullshit because both NY senators voted against this. Let the Southern Democrats do shit like this. Let the cowards running for reelection do it. But not you, man. Not you.

There is a chance that the Democrats can reclaim the Senate in November. There are a good twelve Senate races that could go either way, among them Mr. Menendez versus Republican Tom Kean, Jr. in my beautiful home state of NJ. Check out this colorful map to see the latest polls on how the races are shaping up. The Dems are looking fairly strong in quite a few spots (knock on wood). Then again, with Democrats like the ones listed below, I wonder if a Dem majority would even do any good.

The 12 Democrats who voted for the Military Commission Act
(in order of most to least disappointment felt when I learned what they'd done):
Frank Lautenberg of New Jersey
Robert Menendez* of New Jersey
Debbie Stabenow* of Michigan
Thomas R. Carper* of Delaware
Ken Salazar of Colorado
Bill Nelson* of Florida
Mark L. Pryor of Arkansas
John D. Rockefeller or West Virginia
Tim Johnson of South Dakota
Mary Landrieu of Louisiana
Ben Nelson* of Nebraska
and, of course, Joseph Lieberman* of Connecticut.

Half of these Senators (those starred*) are facing reelection in November. While I certainly don't advocate voting against them (except for Joe Lieberman . . . GO NED LAMONT!), if any of these is your senator and you're as steamed as I am, let him or her know. Contact info available at Senate.gov.

Pop Tart

Sometime during my last year of law school, my friend Sharon told me about LaunchCast. Part of Yahoo! Music, LaunchCast was one of the first internet radio experiments. The system allowed you to rate music and these ratings would guide the music player to play music that fit your tastes. I approached it with significant doubt, but was pleased when the radio player tailored itself pretty quickly to singer-songwriters that were either angsty lesbians or troubled, sensitive white boys. It was perfect.

Until I explored the video player. Unlike the radio, which is a complete crapshoot, the video player lets you select the actual video you'd like to watch (which, according to my sources in the music industry, is not something the record labels like so much). When that first video is over, the player proceeds to play others based on your preferences. The video player, much more than the radio, has led me to a lot of really great music. My only complaint, if any, is that it tends to get caught up on the specific genre in which you start it up. For instance, when I was on a Kanye kick, it insisted on playing a lot of lesser quality rap and hiphop that ended up just being annoying. (Still, I suppose my Shakira video viewings led to such Spanish-language marvels as Rebelde and Chayanne, so I can't complain.) But my Launch (or Yahoo!) player had never done anything to me like tonight.

While it amuses me that Beyonce named her CD Bidet, I really enjoyed the first single and wanted to hear the newest, "Ring the Alarm." It's pretty intense -- she screams the chorus through distortion -- and pretty darn catchy. As you might've realized earlier from my preference for angsty lesbian singer-songwriters, I like the music produced by angry women. This is no exception. Beyonce is at her best on this track and she owns the video, which cuts from scenes of her being interrogated all in white to her being dragged down a hallway by soldiers while wearing fabulous thigh-high boots. It's really a stellar effort by Ms. Knowles.

But anyway, that's not the point. The point is that activating the video player means that it will attempt to entertain you for as long as possible with videos that, I suppose, are determined by your previously rated artists. After two viewings of "Ring the Alarm," I was treated to Fergie's new single and then Kanye's video for "Jesus Walks." I was entertained but, it being 1am, I thought it might be time to hit the sack. I was about to close the window when Jessica Simpson's "A Public Affair" came on.

Full disclosure: I like the song. In fact, I downloaded it while studying at Starbucks in Caldwell, NJ during the last few days before the bar. I pull no punches about that. [OH MY GOSH! They're playing the video again!!! NOOO!!! They're not. They're playing the stupid "Fan Only" version. Ugh. Yahoo! thinks it's cute to let fans send in videos of themselves dancing to songs. They cobble this sad, sad footage into a "Fans Only" video that they show with unfortunate regularity on their website. It's terrible. I'm not trying to be mean, but it ends up being a sad amount of mildly fleshy women wearing too little clothing and queeny, unattractive dudes vamping like mad. Not cute.]

The video for "A Public Affair" opens with -- get this -- Jessica Simpson, Christina Applegate, Eva Longoria, and Christina Milian riding in a car together!! (Is anyone else as excited I immediately was?!) So, they're chatting and, suddenly, the camera switches to their driver, PLAYED BY RYAN SEACREST! (Anyone FLIPPING out yet?!) Then, they arrive at a roller rink (!), go inside, and find ANDY DICK BEHIND THE COUNTER!!!!! (WHAT IS GOING ON!?!? HOW CAN ONE THING BE SO PERFECT!?!?!) The video keeps slipping into the fantasies of the characters, the best of which is a moment where Jessica Simpson and Christina Milian (who, in my opinion, is absolutely stunning) are licking the sides of Andy Dick's face. Throw on top of that a really hot, unexplained love interest for J. Simp and I'm totally sold.

So, yeah. It's the little things that make life worth it.

If you prick us, do we not bleed?

I know, I know. I've been a bad, bad blogger. If I had a nickel for everyone who has whined about how shitty my blogging has been over the last few days . . . well, I'd probably have about a quarter. Dang, people! I've got a life, you know. How do you expect me to blog daily and find a job . . . and watch five hours of Scrubs on Comedy Central in one sitting? (Including the episode with one of my single favorite moments on television: JD is frustrated at not being able to communicate with a German-speaking patient and wishes he had a way to just get through to him. Cut to JD and the patient dancing in a room full of red balloons while "99 Luftballons" plays in the background. Brilliant. And the same gag is used to terrific effect later in the episode.) [By the way, I stand by a professor of mine's remark that "Wikipedia is where facts go to die," but it seemed like a good link for the song since I'm too lazy to find a link to a recording.]

But that's not why I'm blogging. I started writing a rather inane post about getting reimmersed in American pop culture, but the only funny bit was about Beyonce's new album title. (I mean, did she really call it B'Day? At least call it B-Day. Or even BDay. But B'Day just begs me to pronounce it "bidet.") I was about to give up blogging altogether when I received the following e-mail on the LAMBDA listserv:

Hi. I am the SBA Community Service Head and have organized a blood drive for the law school that is being held on October 9th from 10am to 4pm in the Stockton Hall Lobby (aka: the leather lounge). I was wondering if you could send an email to your list serve about the blood drive so people at the law school know about the blood drive and if desired can particpate in it. The blood drive is being run by Donors for Life, which is a division of the Red Cross.

People interested in signing up for a time slot can do so on Wednesday, the 27th, from 10am to 2pm at the information desk in the law school or at www.donorsforlife.net.

Thanks. And if anyone has more questions about the blood drive they can email met at [deleted to protected some silly SBA person].

Now, what made this e-mail particularly ironic was the fact that the LAMBDA listserv was recently bumping with news of a career fair organized by the National Security Law Student Association (NSLSA) that included two branches of the U.S. military. As we all know (or I sure hope we do) the U.S. military openly discriminates against gay men and women through a "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" policy that requires the discharge of any LGBT man or woman who is exposed as such. (Learn more here from the Servicemembers Legal Defense Network and -- thanks to Roger -- watch a terrific Daily Show story on it here.) Well, thanks to Congress (ugh, there's so much backstory to this set up . . . learn more about the Solomon Amendment here), the military can recruit on campuses, even when it goes directly against the school's nondiscrimination policy. The school's one recourse is that it can, on all materials and advertising, state that the military discriminates and is allowed on campus against the school's own policies. Since the NSLSA failed to do this, LAMBDA members were rightfully pissed.

So what does this have to do with an e-mail from an SBA member organizing a blood drive? This:

"You should not give blood if you have AIDS or have ever had a positive HIV test, or if you have done something that puts you at risk for becoming infected with HIV. You are at risk for getting infected if you . . . are a male who has had sexual contact with another male, even once, since 1977."

I LOVE the "even once" part. No, that's not a quote from Rick Santorum or a press release from some neocon group. That's an excerpt from the American Red Cross Blood Donation Eligibility Guidelines, available here. Gay men are considered persona non grata by the American Red Cross. Now, I've never given blood: (1) needles scare the living Christmas out of me, and (2) I find this policy terribly offensive, but gay friends of mine have given blood. Some have reported that no one asked when they went to donate. One has told me that he simply lies because he thinks giving blood is the right thing to do. But others have been turned away.

The need for blood, while not dire, is a pressing one (especially considering the impending doom our current administration is setting us up for). And yet my O Negative blood, the universal donor -- and, in a fabulous example of nature's irony, the only blood type that can only receive its own* -- is not welcome by the American Red Cross. How is this ok?

It's not.


[*Since I couldn't find a good link to concisely explain blood type compatibility, I'm including the following chart taken from . . . well, Wikipedia. As you can see from the chart, people with AB+ blood types can accept from anyone, while my O-neg brothers and sisters must depend solely on each other. This has to do with antigens on red blood cells. O-type (+ and -) blood cells have no A or B antigens so everyone can take them, but our blood serum has antibodies against A and B antigens, so we can take neither A nor B blood. As for the negative/positive thing, it's complicated but the short version is that positives can take either while negatives can only take other negative blood. Hence, O-negs, like me, are particularly screwed.]

RBC compatibility table

Recipient blood type	Donor must be
AB+	Any blood type
AB-	O-	A-	B-	AB-
A+	O-	O+	A-	A+
A-	O-	A-
B+	O-	O+	B-	B+
B-	O-	B-
O+	O-	O+
O-	O-

Hopefully photos will sate my readers today.

I thought I'd throw up a few of MY photos in lieu of a real entry today. John was nice enough to send them to me (since I took them on his camera and then completely forgot to put them on a CD before I left). Thanks, John!

First is a picture of the group trekking through the jungle in Chiang Mai, Thailand. Second, a photo of Adam standing on a tower of one of Siem Reap's many temples.

Not too shabby, if I do say so myself. (And it beats blogging about an annoying and relatively unproductive day.)

NEWS BRIEF: Thailand's coup

Earlier, Victor and I were chatting briefly about the "coup" currently underway in Thailand. During our conversation, I mentioned that I thought that Thailand, due to its prosperity and tourism, had ventured to this side of the bloodless coup line and that everything would probably be fine. Then reports started coming in:

From Chris, the Terenzone's reporter embedded deep behind enemy (enemy?) lines: "I'm fine, no worries. Tanks are over in the part of town with the Grand Palace. And we know Chris doesn't venture in that direction anyway. 'Cause it's such a long taxi ride. I wonder how the tanks managed to avoid traffic?"

Although it immediately mentioned that there had been no violence reported, this article from CNN almost made me a bit nervous until the very end:

Some Thais gathered outside Government House in Bangkok to get pictures of themselves with the tanks and troops, AP reported.

The coup caused little stir in Bangkok's popular tourist districts, where foreigners packed beer bars and cabarets just a few miles from where the tanks were posted, AP reported.

Ah, yes. Sort of reminds me of our own presidential crisis a few years back (well, plus tanks).

Prosperity (or relative prosperity) is a hell of a thing. Imagine what the Middle East would be like if 1% of the population didn't control 99% of the money (exact numbers will vary).

The TerenZone's Guide to Applying for a Gov't Job

After a lot of serious thought, I decided that a government job could be the right path for me in the years between now and my run for Congress. Upon returning to DC, I sat my butt down, went to USAJobs.gov, and ran a search for law jobs in DC. Imagine my surprise when I found a few things that seemed to be right up my alley. Yes, indeed, I thought. This might work out after all! I carefully read the announcement and found myself a bit confused. What is a KSA? How am I supposed to present all the random info they request (info that certainly isn't on my standard resume)? And, do they REALLY want me to send in a letter of recommendation just because I'm an "external" (i.e., not currently working for the government) candidate? This is silly, I thought.

No, it's not. It's mindcrushingly stupid. It should be news to no one that our federal government can be inefficient. It certainly wasn't news to me. What shocks me is that federal jobs have such an inexplicably complex application process. With all the less than stellar intellects in government, one would think that landing a federal job would be akin to fogging a mirror. Alas, no. Here's what I learned while attempting my first application for a government job:

First, my resume is no good. They didn't seem to care that I've spent hours over the years trimming away my high school and college accomplishments so that I can fit the entirety of my professional experience on one page (in 7-pt font with .02 mm margins). They certainly didn't care that I tried to be a little fun and frisky with my header and creative with my formatting. No, the federal government doesn't like concise. And they certainly don't like fun, frisky, or creative. Confused by the term "federal resume," I turned to Google for support and guidance. Apparently, a federal resume is nothing more than a stylistically unattractive laundry list of your jobs, including your salary and supervisors. Following the guidelines I found online, I turned my gorgeous resume into the aesthetically displeasing shit the government wants from me.

Next, the government REALLY likes its own. Not only are federal employees given priority for many government positions -- and the announcement unabashedly says so -- they get to simply send in a silly performance eval form whenever they apply for another job. They do not need to track down their overworked boss at the legal clinic where they used to work and beg him to take a minute from his job saving the homes of DC's poorest residents to throw together a recommendation letter for a job with an impending deadline. No, they certainly don't. (Vytas, my aforementioned former boss, is my hero.)

Finally, and worst of all, is the devil-spawned KSA system. KSA stands for "Knowledge, Skills, and Abilities." For each federal job posting, there is a list of somewhere in the region of 4-6 KSAs. These are -- you guessed it -- knowledge, skills, or abilities that are required for that position. For each of these, the candidate is expected to write out between half a page and a full page response, detailing very specifically where they acquired said knowledge or where they developed said skills and abilities. These KSAs, by all accounts, are the primary evaluation tool in determining whether you will be selected to interview for the job. The best part? They're evaluated using a rubric that essentially counts how many time you use the buzz words in the KSA. Neat, huh? Whatever you do, DO NOT bust out your thesaurus. For your edification, here are the KSAs from my job posting:

"1. Knowledge of generally accepted legal and legal writing techniques including proper format and structure of various legal documents and ability to conduct legal analysis in a thorough and complete manner.
2. Ability to produce written works in a clear, concise, persuasive and technically correct manner.
3. Ability to communicate orally in a clear, consise [sic], persuasive and technically correct manner.
4. Knowledge of constitutional law and civil rights law.
5. Ability to perform legal tasks within stringent timeframes to meet program objectives."

For each of those, I had to produce a nearly page-long response teasing out how I've done it in the last few years, primarily using the words "clear, concise, persuasive, and technically correct." The sheer stupidity of the exercise nearly made my head implode. It also made me wonder what the KSAs for some other government jobs might look like until I remembered that presidentially-appointed government officials don't have to apply for their jobs. Besides, the KSA "Ability to fuck shit up royally" is probably implied.

Now I've got a "federal" resume, 5 KSAs, and -- if poor Vytas pulls an all-nighter tonight -- a letter of recommendation. All I need to do now is throw together a cover letter (which I'm more certain than ever that they will not read) and I can send in my first government job application! It will only have taken about 2 days worth of effort (not counting the half-day I'll spend tomorrow tracking down Vytas and then mailing the application). Neat. At this rate, I'll get a job around the new year.

Re-Districting.

So I'm back in DC. I've been here since sometime Thursday afternoon. The drive down was, of course, absolutely terrible. Not only did Hertz give me a smelly Ford Taurus (without the GPS thing I usually get) the car's gas tank was empty! When has that ever happened? They're always such bitches about their gas and how you have to return the car with a full tank and how you'll be charged roughly $2000 per gallon if you don't. But no, no gas for me. And it only took another 20 minutes of my precious time for the brain trust at the Hertz in Fairfield, NJ to alter my rental contract to reflect the lack of gas in the car.

It rained, of course. The entire ride down. Visibility was near nil for most of the time, less because of the downpour than because people's tires where kicking up so much water. Is this a new development? I've been driving for a long time, but I've never really experienced this much...well, backspray. Are tires now so advanced at cutting through water and gripping the pavement that they actually remove the water from the road and send it shooting back to the windshield of the car behind them? It was sort of scary at first but, after the second or third hour, it became strangely freeing. All I could do was drive forward and hope that I wasn't about to slam into anything. I bet my drive to DC felt a little like what bungee jumping or sky diving must feel like. Or perhaps Russian Roulette.

Still, it's nice to be back. I've already had Chipotle, been to Cobalt, and hung out in Adams Morgan. Honestly, there's not much else that I can do to make myself feel more at home. I guess unpacking is probably a good idea, too. And maybe, just maybe, I should look into that whole job thing. I heard those are useful for financing trips to Southeast Asia....

Victor takes great photos.

He really does. This is just one of his many masterpieces: Alessandro as Lara Croft.

Just when I was starting to get over my jetlag and moving towards acceptance of no longer being on my trip, Victor mailed out a link to over 600 pictures of temples, motos, ocean vistas, and, of course, all of us jumping off the top of a junk. Trip nostalgia hit like a ton of bricks.

I remember that I was pretty ready to come home. If anything, by the end of the trip, I was sad that I didn't have more time to hang out with Chris and John (ok, and the Dutch girls...ok, ok, and the French med students) but I was ready to be done traveling. I was tired of incessant offers of tuk-tuks, postcards, and, of course, "boom boom." I was over the gritty-mouth feeling of one too many moto/tuk-tuk rides. I could do without the gallons of sweat that poured out of my body each day. And being back at John's was such a relief from handheld showers with pathetic water pressure. It was hard on me to only feel honest-to-goodness clean maybe a handful of times on the entire trip. And getting clothes washed at some of our hotels (and that dastardly cleaner in Hanoi that stole/lost my brown shirt) just wasn't cutting it for me. By the very end, I was practically fantasizing about the opportunity to do laundry in my parents' high-tech washer.

But now I'd trade my fabulously clean body and immaculately pressed threads for another week or so of trekking through temples, sitting on the beach, or partying at sketchy afterhours bars with a motley assortment of Europeans. I guess it's particularly bad now since I'm just sitting in Jersey with rather little to do. I feel like I'm in a bit of a holding pattern until I return to DC. On the phone with Professor Schechter yesterday, the saying, "This is the first day of the rest of your life," came up. It took less than a second's thought to realize that it didn't apply to me. The first day of the rest of my life is Thursday.

The time between now and then? I guess I can spend it forcing people to look at Victor's spectacular trip pictures. Reliving the trip will definitely make me feel better.

A beer wouldn't hurt either.

Men2Boys

Here's a group shot in front of the Ho Chi Minh Mausoleum (courtesy of Josh):


I figured it was time for more pictures and I really like the way this one came out. Now I understand why the people of SE Asia kept thinking we were a boy band.

Reality Bites

Rather than think about the fact that I'm back in NJ and that I need health insurance and a job and a number of other things, I prefer to reminisce about my wonderful trip. I promised a run-down on my last night in Bangkok, so here it is....

First off, I put the kibosh on a little trip romance that was getting a bit too weird. I mean, I've got 24 hours left in Bangkok and have expressed a need to hang with my close friend who lives there and you go and get all clingy and demand I spend the day with you? Oh. Hell. No. You were a Siem Reap hook up that was lucky enough to see me again in Bangkok. Cherish the moment. Now leave.

Sorry for the digression. Back now.

So, a newly free man, I met up with Chris on the SkyTrain platform and headed for the glitz and glamour of the State Tower. The building is a weird, high-rise mishmash of arches and domes but, from the restaurant/bar at the very top, there are some truly spectacular views of Bangkok. We just missed the sunset (my fault, of course) but it was still pretty awe-inspiring stuff. After a single drink -- as expensive as you'd expect -- we made our way across town to Chris's apartment, snagged John at the SkyTrain station, and arrived to Limoncello.

Now, you're probably asking yourself why we were eating at an Italian restaurant, of all places, on my last night in SE Asia. The truth is, I chose it. Presented with the option of Thai (not again!), Mexican (just this side of "too weird" in my opinion), and "the best pizza in Bangkok," I couldn't resist. It seemed strangely appropriate that I use my last meal abroad as a bridge back to my world. And, I have to say, the pizza was actually quite good. Definitely better than a lot of the pizza I've forced down in the Washington, DC area.

After that, Chris, John, and I headed for Silom Soi 4 for some drinks. The initial plan had us throwing back a couple on the main gay strip of Bangkok and then following things up with some upscale partying at a nicer spot like the oft-mentioned (and yet never visited) Bed Supper Club. But how often are initial plans ever followed to their end? I had a feeling things wouldn't go as planned as soon as I saw a large, blackboard placard advertising the Miss Silom Soi 4 Pageant. I immediately texted the lovely Dutch girls that I'd met the day before -- Floor and Marelde -- and told them to get their little Dutch booties over to Silom Soi 4 as fast as they could. (The poor dears had been taken for a ride -- quite literally -- by some unscrupulous tuk-tuk drivers, so I had to coach them through the correct way to hop a taxi in Bangkok: (1) Always flag one down, never take one waiting; (2) Never get in a taxi that won't use the meter; (3) Hand gestures are the best way to express numbers.) Before you know it, Chris, John, Marelde, Floor, and I are sitting back and enjoying a transsexual beauty contest being held right on the street. From front row seats.

Soon enough, hardworking John decided to head home. The four of us remaining threw ourselves into cheering for the unfortunately-numbered contestant #13. She was absolutely stunning. Nothing about her betrayed her birth gender. She was graceful and gorgeous and gracious enough to pose for pictures (to be posted as soon as Floor e-mails them to me). Luckily, we weren't so entranced with the competition that we missed three, very attractive young men making their way tentatively down the road. Knowing that most of the people who wandered down this way by mistake had turned around shortly after passing our bar (the street got pretty dead and empty), I conspired with Marelde to get the boys to join us for a drink. I have to hand it to the girl, she's both strikingly beautiful and incredibly charming. Before I knew what was happening, an adorable French med student named Mathieu had parked himself to my right. Woo!

The night continued in a blur of drinks, beauty pageant smiles, and French-accented English until, much to our pleasure, contestand #13 was crowned Miss Silom Soi 4! We celebrated by ordering one last drink (damn last call!) and then pondered what to do next. Luckily, in the meantime, Floor snapped a few pictures of me and the boys (also to be included as soon as I get them) so that I have a visual guide against which I can measure all future mates. Sigh.

Chris pointed out that our only real option was karaoke. The girls were all for it, but the Frenchies opted out. I was sad, but I understood. They had, after all, only been in Bangkok for 24 hours and had already been taken in by a scam artist. (FYI, if someone in Thailand offers to sell you heavily discounted gems, please please please don't buy them.) Undeterred, Floor, Marelde, Chris, and I headed down the block to the karaoke bar.

As it was the night at the very beginning of my adventure, the bar was practically empty. By the time our drinks were delivered to our table, the four of us were the only people in sight. As a result, we karaoked nearly non-stop for about an hour. The crowning moment? Chris and I (with the girls on backup) performing, IN THAI, Ice Saranyu's "Kon Jai Ngai." (At least, that's how my iTunes translated the Thai from the CD I bought.) I had heard this song at the very beginning of my voyage and fell totally in love. Earlier in the day, I had purchased it (for only 155 baht) at a music store and listened to it at John's all afternoon. I can't imagine a more perfect end to my trip than performing it with Chris and my two fabulous Dutch women. Woo, indeed. I'm listening to the song on repeat right now. I can't help but smile at the memories of that crazy last night -- not to mention the memories of a crazy, spectacular trip.

Double sigh. And now excuse me while I go and decide between Blue Cross and Kaiser Permanente.

ILLinois

Greetings from Chicago! After a terrific (albeit bizarre) last night in Bangkok (it involved my Dutch girls, a transexual beauty pageant, 3 hot French med students, and Chris and me karaokeing in Thai...all to be blogged about when I have more time), I packed my bag as best I could and hopped in a cab to Bangkok International Airport. This was on Friday at 4am Bangkok time. Freedman met me at a Caribou Coffee on Halsted St. in Chicago yesterday at 5:30pm Chicago time. Time lapse: 25.5 hours.

As if 25 hours of non-stop travel weren't enough, my body finally gave in to illness. All throughout my journey, I've been very impressed with how well I've stood up to the elements. While my friends were succumbing to fevers, sore throats, and an unexpected amount of constipation, I was right as rain. (Well, except for that unfortunate -- but short-lived -- stomach thing when I left India.) It was already quite late on my last night in Bangkok when I started feeling a bit stuffed up. I assumed that a missed Zyrtec was to blame.

I was wrong. By the time I disembarked in Tokyo, I was rocking a full-blown cold. I rallied last night and went out for a bit with Andrew and his roommate, Jeff, but my throat was killing me by around 11pm. If this is the price I must pay for a bitchin' holiday (and 24 hours with Freedman), then so be it.

What little I've seen of Chicago is nice. When Freedman gave me the option of taking a $40 taxi or a $1.75 train/bus ride, I opted for the latter. (There was no way I could stomach paying the cost of 4 nights in a SE Asian hotel for a ride.) The train here is relatively nice. It's like what would result if the Boston Green Line and the DC Metro lines that run above ground in Virginia had a baby. My bus experience was also quite lovely until my stop came along and the back doors didn't open. In DC, this is usually resolved by merely shouting, "Back door, please," so that's what I did. After getting stared at for a good 10 seconds by the entire bus, the driver turned around and said, very politely, "It pushes open."

While I realize it was a perfectly reasonable mistake, I felt really effing stupid. Maybe it's because my gaffes in Asia were almost always excusable. Farangs aren't supposed to know better. Indeed, the farang label was a terrific personal excuse for everything that went wrong.

Alas, I am farang no more.

Koh Shalom

Throughout my time in Thailand -- and all over this region -- I've encountered all sorts of Euros, Ausies, Far East Asians, and even the errant American. For the most part, the languages spoken in the places I've visited have been the native tongue (Hindi, Lao, Thai, Khmer, or Vietnamese) and, occasionally, English. Imagine my surprise as I'm walking down the road in Haad Rinn: Sign in English, sign in Thai, sign in English, Thai, English, Thai, Hebrew, Thai, Hebrew, English, Hebrew, Hebrew, Thai, Hebrew.

What the Golda Meier is going on?

Turns out, the Thai islands are THE post-military retreat of young Israelis. Who knew? Interestingly enough, on that night in Haad Rinn, my boys threw game at Swiss, Dutch, English, and even Chilean girls and got at least pleasant convo. The Israeli girls, interestingly enough, did not give them the time of day.

The Israeli boys, on the other hand, seemed a bit more friendly. I left Hat Thien (our beach) for Bangkok yesterday at 4pm. After bidding a sad farewell to Vic, Graham, Adam, Charles, and Mustafa, I hopped into a water taxi to the dock in Haad Rinn where I could catch the ferry to Koh Samui (where the airport is located). After purchasing my ferry ticket, I posted up in the shade near a fellow white dude. We started chatting and he told me that he was Israeli. He was super nice -- particularly when I started asking too many questions about his upcoming job as a military scientist and he politely informed me that he wasn't supposed to talk about it -- and explained the heavy Israeli presence in the islands. Israel, as you probably know, has compulsory military service for all of its citizens. There are some other options -- for instance my scientist friend who won't have to serve as a soldier due to his physics degree -- but everyone goes to bootcamp. When finished, they bust out to Thailand to get away from it all. (FYI: after bootcamp these kids look GOOD.)

I toyed with asking him about Lebanon and whatnot, but decided that it wasn't appropriate Samui ferry conversation. Instead he showed me his pictures and listened to me drone on and on about my trip. All in all, much better than sitting on the boat with my iPod and the latest Economist. I thought my luck had run out when he said he wasn't leaving Samui until the morning (and, thus, wouldn't want to hang out with me at the airport) when I felt a tap on my shoulder and heard a mildly-accented, "Excuse me."

And that's when I met Floor (rhymes with "sure" not "door") and Marelde. They had overheard me mention that I was leaving on the last flight from Samui, same as them, and wanted to double check the time it was leaving. Before you know it, we're at the airport restaurant together laughing over smoothies and sharing stories. We spoke at length about the Israeli presence at Pha Ngan because Floor was lucky enough to bag one. They met at the Half-Moon Party (apparently in the middle of the island, deep in the jungle) and hit it off. I'm sure it helped that Floor's a hottie and -- based on pictures she showed me -- the boy was RAZOR FINE. Unfortunately, they were staying at the opposite end of the island and had to bid each other goodbye after an entire night of kissing and conversation (aww, a boy who didn't try to get her into bed right away?!).

And here's where the story gets romantic. A bit love-sick, Floor convinced Marelde (happily boyfriended) to move to Haad Rinn for the rest of their stay. They spent the first day walking around town hoping to catch a glimpse of Floor's boy, but weren't terribly successful. Toward the end of the day, Floor's frustration busted through and, according to her, she said out loud, "Why can't he just be right here right now!?"

Yup, you guessed it.

Marelde gasped at that very moment because she noticed him standing about ten feet behind Floor. Sigh. The romance continued until the girls left yesterday.

So what have we learned?

1) Israelis love Thai beaches.
2) Even if the only language you speak and read is Hebrew, you'll have no problems in Koh Pha-Ngan.
3) Israeli girls will not give American boys the time of the day. (I wonder if Mustafa introduced himself as Moose or Mustafa...because the latter might have something to do with it.)
4) Israeli boys are lovely (and often mad hot).
5) Israelis will not reveal scientific military secrets to Americans on ferry boats, no matter how shockingly charismatic the American.

Cinema Paradiso

I'd write something but I'm done traveling. Now I'm on vacation. I mean, would you spend your time blogging if you were here? We're staying in the Rainbow House. (Tee!)

Back to Bangkok for 2 days and then the epic drama of the trillion-hour flight home.

And let's have a moment of silence for the Crocodile Hunter, Steve Irwin. So sad.

The Killing Fields

We roused ourselves from bed at 5:45am in order to make our 6am minibus to our 7am boat. Lucky for all of us, the minibus was mildly late (and the boat wouldn't leave until the minibus arrived). Needless to say, minus one weak team member, the rest of us all made at least a quick appearance at Angkor What? so getting up and running so early this morning was painful.

The boat ride was phenomenal. Instead of flying this leg, we boarded a speed boat (of sorts) in Siem Reap that took us down the Ton Le Sap to Phnom Penh. It was a gorgeous sunny day and the ship -- probably due to the fact that we reversed the usual tourist route -- was not remotely full. I think I spent most of the voyage outside in the sun at the front of the boat rather than on the seats inside. Sadly, when our voyage ended, we had our worst run-in yet with the touts by the dock. Imagine about 20-30 Cambodians descending on you with flyers for various hotels or yelling to get in their tuk-tuk or moto. It's completely overwhelming.

Also overwhelming, but in a different way, was my trip to S-21 and the Killing Fields. I actually ditched the boys because they thought that I couldn't get to both in one afternoon (after doing the Royal Palace). In their place, I dragged along an extremely nice German couple that we first chatted up at the Angkor temples and ended up on our boat today. They were as doggedly determined as I, so I hopped in their tuk-tuk and off we went.

First we hit S-21. This former elementary school was turned into a prison/torture chamber during the reign of the Khmer Rouge. Political prisoners (and non-political, too -- many children were sent through S-21) were kept here and occasionally tortured in some extremely barbaric ways. The place hits you like a ton of bricks from the very beginning. I walked into the first torture room to find a rusty bed, some shackles, and a few other miscellaneous items. Then I turned to the photo on the wall. It was of the same items, but at the time they were discovered, with the person (or what was left of him) with which they were discovered.

And so it went. Protraits of the victims. Cell after cell. More searing photographs. I'd known a bit about the atrocities of the Khmer Rouge, but this was such a jarring reminder of the evil of humanity. We then followed the same route the prisoners at S-21 often took to Choeung Ek, better known as the "Killing Fields." It's the site of 129 mass graves holding the bodies of approximately 20,000 people murdered by the Khmer Rouge from 1975 to 1979. Other than a giant "charnel house" holding the stacked skulls of 8,000 victims, the site is just a wide field full of indentations (many filled with water on this rainy afternoon), each a mass grave.

So, yeah. It was a heavy day. But I suppose we must bear witness to things like this in order not to repeat them in the future.

But do we really? Or do we just sit, frustrated and powerless as this stuff repeats itself again and again?

I knew this was going to be depressing....

Angkor What?

I wish I could claim the credit for that witty title, but it's actually the name of a bar in Siem Reap, Cambodia. A bar at which my friends and I have spent each and every single night since arriving in Siem Reap. It's mad grimy but a whole lot of fun.

When we haven't been drinking, we've been touring the jaw-droppingly amazing temples of this area. Angkor Wat is the biggest and most well-known, but some of the other temples we've visited have been either fascinating, beautiful, or both. I've seen quite a few things on this trip -- not the least of which were the giant karst formations during our junk cruise on Halong Bay, Vietnam -- but these enormous temples have just knocked my socks off. Much like the Kanheri Caves in Bombay, touring the temples is just a matter of poking around until you stumble upon carvings or Buddhas or perhaps a part of temple where the surrounding jungle is forcing its way in. Just as good is shimmying up the side of Angkor Wat for some truly spectacular views (unless look down and suffer from acrophobia).

I guess it shouldn't be surprising that the locale with the best sights also has the best nightlife. The boys and I went to Angkor What? the first night because our guidebook had recommended it. It was actually pretty quiet until we met a bunch of Italians and Australians. By night two, we were partying latenight with the Indian-born owner and the two Dutch bartenders. Last night, I was definitely dragged into a group photo of young Japanese tourists after dancing on a bench with them. The one chick on the end LOVED her some Alessandro. I had a terrific time until I took a wrong turn going home and ended up ankle-deep in mud. Then again, this is Cambodia. Mud happens.

Tonight is our last night in Siem Reap. In the (very early) morning, we hop a boat (woohoo no flying!) to Phnom Penh. We initially were going to the do the two cities in reverse until we noticed an extremely interesting -- and blatantly tourist-screwing -- thing: A ticket from Siem Reap to Bangkok costs $115, a ticket from Phnom Penh to Bangkok costs $45.50. Since Ho Chi Minh City to either city was the same (~$110) we opted to simply reverse our two Cambodian destinations and save some money. I have to say, it'll be sad to leave Siem Reap and, if Phnom Penh is anything like this, it'll be sad to hop our Air Asia flight back to Bangkok on Sunday.

Then again, my planned itinerary for Phnom Penh includes the "Killing Fields" and S-21, a notorious Khmer Rouge death camp. Maybe the beach (for those following along, we finally decided on Ko Phagnan) will be a welcome relief.

30 days of travel down, 9 to go.