Busy Week

Today I went down to Princeton to see King Abdullah of Jordan speak.

And earlier this week, I saw Patrick Stewart perform in a wacky, innovative version of Macbeth at the Brooklyn Academy of Music.

Does everyone know what these two men have in common? Hint: I mean something unusual, not "they're both guys."

Anticipation

Here's how you know a frequent traveler from a once-a-year-holiday traveler.

The latter looks forward to their trip with nervous glee, pores over books about their destination, stocks up on gear, perhaps makes a list. Shares tips they've read. The latter prepares with interest and enthusiasm.

The former waits until the night before, then remembers they forgot to check the weather and shape of electrical outlets at their destination. Rummages through drawers in search of a passport. Wonders if it will matter that they didn't get any vaccines. Bristles at the inconveniences of getting to the airport, which in New York can be as long a trip as the actual flight. They might even complain to envious friends. "Ugh, I have to go to Europe tomorrow, what a pain in the @ss."*

The frequent traveler dreads the actual process of travel. Because the packing part is annoying, the actual travel itself dehumanizing and uncomfortable, and there are bound to be bumps along the way, but not the funny kind that make good stories. More like the kind where you have to wait in a lot of lines or sit very still for an interminable amount of time.

Think of how you feel about traveling the night before Thanksgiving. That's it. That's the simmering dread that I get before a trip.

Once I am on the plane, strangely, I forget completely about the dread, resign myself to holding still, and that's when I begin to get excited about my destination.

*File under "Things you can't complain about." Like looking good for your age or having too many parties to attend.

Spam Years Are Like Dog Years

I spent a few hours this weekend moving the first of many files from the AOL servers to the FatCow servers.

I'd started uploading web material to my personal AOL space in the mid-90s, when it was a bargain that AOL gave you free server space as a perk of keeping an account with them. Years went by. Eventually everyone offered this perk, and then competition made server space cheaper and cheaper.

Nowadays, the only excuse I have for not consolidating all my websites into one place is laziness. It's a pain to sort through all the files, download them, clean them up, and upload them to a new spot. But when I went to my accountant last week, I realized that I was spending $179.40 a year on AOL just because I was lazy, and another $99 a year on .mac for the same reason. Time to act. Fatcow is only $88 a year.

I uploaded my Comic Book Cows, but then I made myself dizzy editing all of the e-mail address out of the guestbook. This took ages. In 1997, when I first made this site as a class exercise in using frames, people were still happy to type their e-mail addresses into a public forum. How the world has changed!

The Collector Within

I'd sent myself home a package from Namibia in 2005. I don't remember what it was, but I was shedding possessions at the time as I had to carry everything out of my apartment, to Cape Town, then north to Uganda by train and bus. I threw away the box later, but kept the stamps.

When I sent my writing samples from Swakopmund to Amtrak to audition for a gig, it had gone plastered in the same type of wildlife stamps. I thought it would either get me the job, or they would take one look at the packet wrapped in hand-canceled stamps, and call the FBI.

Ride It Where I Like

Here are a few photos from the 2000 bike trip that my friend Nikki and I took with Country Spokes. Afterwards, we drove through wine country. Just before, we'd driven up from Los Angeles, stopping by JG's house en route to discuss the website for a little upcoming project called MariesWorldTour.com.

High-Speed Mountain Gorillas

"When you go to see the mountain gorillas in Uganda, take fast film," said my friend Paul before I went off to Africa the first time.

I thought I'd get 800 speed. "No, even faster," he said. So I packed 1600 speed film. I can't remember if I carried it all the way from Berlin or Cape Town, but it was with in the bottom of my pack for a long time.

Even that wasn't enough in the dim jungle, under the canopy. But flashes are a big no-no with the mountain gorillas. Anyway, they didn't turn around and say "Cheese." I'm lucky I got the few blurry shots I got.

Some people—like Paul—take amazing shots at just the right moment. I wasn't so lucky. But blurry gorillas are better than no gorillas at all.

I Need A Vacation

My e-pal Cyrus interviewed my boss for a piece for The World radio show.

India? Bangladesh? Sri Lanka? Theme park???

My job gets more complicated—and stranger—every day.

No Wonder They Thought I Was Odd

There's a huge front page article in the Times today about Egypt. Specifically, about the complexities of social economics. Marriage equals independence and success. Without marriage, you can never be truly successful.

Young people need a certain amount of money to set up a household with a wife and kids. But fewer and fewer can afford the household, so they become frustrated. There's no way out. Hard work doesn't do it, and luck doesn't help. They turn to religion. It's a theme that is also evident in literature and movies, where frustrated Egyptians cannot find their way out of poverty. So they pray.

When you read the article, be sure to look at the excellent photo slideshow—some of the brides in the mass weddings look downright grim, so I guess it is not a lot of fun to get married that way—and of course, don't miss Craig's video.

Stark Place for a Bike Ride

I'm not much of an athlete.

There, I said it. Okay? Now we all know.

Yesterday in the course of a conversation, I had to admit that I don't know how to ski. Which never struck me as odd before. Lots of people don't know how to ski. But for whatever reason, as it left my lips, I felt horribly inadequate.

Because not only do I not know how to ski, I am a lousy motorcycle rider, suck at scuba diving, go to the world's wimpiest gym, take beginner's yoga (when I'm intermediate), and didn't learn to swim properly until I was in college. I'm mediocre at horseback-riding, don't jog, and I get altitude sickness when everyone else is drinking coca tea just for fun. My ex, Turbo—a remarkable athlete—made me play bocce once in an attempt to force me to be athletic.

All this produced—in addition to a lousy game of bocce—was simmering resentment. I think I also felt clumsy, but was too busy being furious to care so much about that end of things.

So how, you might wonder, do I get myself around the world through all these marvelous countries?

Easy. I excel at getting on the bus.

One thing I can do, though not especially well, is ride a bicycle.

My favorite bike trip in JC is to go over to Liberty State Park on a summer morning. I stop by the bagel shop on the way.

But my most favorite bike trip ever was a Death Valley weekend bike trip in March of 1999. I had some free plane tickets from being bumped (on the return leg of a courier journey, no less), so I spent one of them on a trip to Death Valley. I flew into and out of LA, so I got to have a Sunday night Aunt Kizzy's dinner with my friends—including Marc, David, Steve, and Don—and I got to bike in a cool desolate landscape.

The outfitter I went with was called Country Spokes. Jill of the team ran the bike-and-camping end of things, providing a support van, maps, tents, and bikes. Joe was the gourmet chef, producing excellent meals. They had reasonable prices, great food, nice equipment, and mega-Thermarests for the campsites. My pal Nikki and I went with them in the Redwoods the following year.

Sadly, they quit the bike business a few years later. I wish they were still in it.

Happy Today

I'm feeling sappy today.

And if you're not feeling quite as sappy, there's always Warren's take on it.