i am a disaster

Most importantly, in a followup to my last post, I think I have killed 25 mosquitoes since I've been sitting here. My hands have blood stains everywhere. It's so nice to kill something after spending weeks with Buddhist monks who consider all life to be a sentient being trapped on the wheel of life. I'm not one to kill indiscriminately but when flies keep landing on my face when I'm trying for a much needed nap, I want them to die. I imagine having control of tiny little knives that I can whip through the air to cut them in half. You might even call this a recurring fantasy. If I was more self aware, I'd proabably try to analyze why my recent fantasies involve pain for things that annoy me instead of smooching girls, finding a ring that gives me god like powers or somehow getting pulled into a fantasy novel. Instead, I'll sit here and jerk my hand back from the laptop every few minutes as it shocks the hell out of me.

So what's new here. Let me look in my little black book that I constantly open. DAMN IT. If I thought the laptop shocked me, the power cable just shocked me like a knife wound. Stupid electricity, if you didn't make porn so much easier to acquire, I'd never use you again.

We had a candle lit vigil in Chandigrah, "the Paris of India", which combines the beautiful green squares and parks of Savannah, GA and the depressing concrete Soviet shit buildings of Dresden, Germany. We walked to the main mall area and I got to see all of the things I hated in America like Lacoste stores and well dressed, more attractive people.

This was my night of accidental desctruction.I put down my candle in front of me and starting talking to one of the marchers next to me, a paratrooper from the indian army who joined because he figured he might be able to shoot chinese and the indian cops don't bother him if he wears his army fatigues. Unfortunately, the canadian in front of me moved back a little bit and his shirt started on fire. It burned a decent sized hole in his shirt before he started yelling and we put it out. My apology, although through laughter so hard I could barely talk, was absolutely heartfelt.

Then, as we sat at a bar for a farewell get together for an interesting fellow traveler, Zack the gay psyhic from Florida, I started gesticulating wildly at a no doubt fanastically engrossing story and I punched Zack right in the eye. Luckily, an emergency infusion of beer helped keep the swelling down and prevented a shiner.

Earlier in the day, four of us took rickshaws over to the Rock Garden. A fascinating place. One artist working back in this place for 30 years just creating a wonderland of rock sculptures, grottoes, building for elves, swing sets wiith giant rock horses over them and I decided I want to raise my kid in this wonderful place. It's hard to describe the genius of the place so I won't bother. We walked outside and there was a camel. So for 75 cents, I rode a camel and no, he didn't spit on me but he did almost hit me in the face with his neck when he jerked back once. I didn't realize how sinous their necks are. Fact Time! India has the world's only active camel regiment in its army.

OK. much more to say but time for bed. I'm hoping for 4 hours sleep for a 19 km walk. It's good to be young, strong and immortal.

Tibet Connection interview

I'm sitting in a field trying to hack my way through an article about the march for a Brooklyn magazine. I have the blood of a dozen mosquitoes on my hands. It smells like propane is leaking from the truck next to me but I really want a cigarette. I miss the simple beautiful world of blogging. It's easy. Nobody tells me that what I write is shit besides my friends who must be only kidding. Right guys? Right?

Here's my second interview with the Tibet Connection radio station out of LA: Lex Interview
And here's their website where you can listen to the station online: Tibet Connection

I originally met the interviewer's wife (who does the audio engineer side of the work) but I just met him for the first time this week when they stopped on the way to Dehli for teachings by His Holiness (another term for the DL). It was interesting to meet someone in person after we had already gotten to really like each other over the phone. However, I do not recommend this for relations with the opposite sex. Having an intellectual and personal connection with a female is great but we need to focus on the one thing that will never fade: looks.

Wow. I just did a one handed mosquito kill. Sometimes I even impress myself (often, in fact). Oh. I just did it again. Maybe it's just not that hard.

a checklist

Symptoms of worms:
1. Itchy butt - check
2. Eating lots of food - check

Ways to get worms:
1. walking barefoot - check
2. drinking the water - check
3. petting stray dogs - check

Good times. I just picture my dad giving worm medicine to our donkeys. They hated that more than anything else. It's quite funny to see a donkey sticking out its tongue in disgust just like a person. And in that vein, here's a donkey with a tie:

anecdotes from the march to tibet

some random stories from the march:

A group of us took too long at a chai break and ended up far behind the rest of the marchers. Luckily, there's only one road so you they must be somewhere ahead of you. We flagged down a passing bus and they let us hop aboard. With no seats available, we all stayed standing until one kind looking young father took his sleeping four year old boy and stowed him in the overhead luggage bin. He motioned one of the girls into the now vacant seat and she gratefully accepted. We soon caught up to our group and the driver quickly waved away our money.

On my short break in Mccleod Gang between the two waves of marchers, a candlelit vigil//protest rally took place at the main temple. After speeches, a video screen showed protests from around the world as old women wailed intermittently with tears rolling down their their beautiful wrinkled faces. On screen, a reporter harassed a Chinese man about the position of Tibet until the man emphatically stated: "Tibet has always been part of China. I don't understand their problem." Someone from the audience screamed, "Fuck you China!" The anger and despair in the air are palpable. A dangerous combination.

While in the town, I stayed with my friend Xavier, a photography student from Belgium who worked with the Dalai Lama's photographer before being sent out to photograph India. He has a strange roommate. The kind of guy who won't let him borrow salt and really gets pissy about having guests although he usually has two monks crashing on the couch. However, Xavier didn't want to offend so I had to climb up to the balcony outside his window (quite an easy climb fortunately) to have him let me in the back door. The next morning, I wanted to use the bathroom but the roommate was home and I wasn't officially here. I sneaked out the backdoor again and climbed down from the balcony. A monk sitting on a nearby porch saw me climbing down and laughed gently. He really busted up and started shaking his head when he saw me walk around to the front door of the same house and ring the bell. I wonder what he guessed had happened?

We had to take a taxi from the jail back to town. We found someone and agreed on 500 Rs for the trip plus one stop to pick up our stuff from last night's camp site. Once we reached the campsite, the price tripled to 1500 Rs. I got pissed and yelled at the owner over the mobile for awhile. Eventually, the Tibetan kitchen crew gathered around to see the fuss. When they found out what happened, a short and wonderfully plump woman led the Battle of the Taxi Fare. She stood there arguing back and forth with the taxi driver for almost thirty minutes. At one point, it looked like they might have come to blows. By the end, the price had dropped some but not down to our 800 Rs ultimatum. At this point, I'm pretty sure someone slipped him the difference so we would be happy. Such beautiful treachery. And by the end, no hard feelings. They politely said goodbye after he refused chai. To me, it was a battle. To them, a minor disagreement.


There's more to write but I have articles to finish. I should be posting more now that I'll be doing more writing for the march. I'm in charge of writing bios for the marchers. I've really wanted to find out the stories of all these monks and nun but felt bad making someone translate everything. Now it's my new project. Jackpot!

night march Or: surprise! you can't finish the chess game where you finally might beat the Belgian

After some easy days of marching because of lack of available campsites and nuns with monster blisters, we made up for it last night. I was finally beating my friend Xavier from Belgium in chess when the leadership told us to go to sleep now. We had to leave at 1AM because we just got a tip from a trusted source: the police plan to stop the march tomorrow and we need to clear the state line pronto.

We've been hearing rumors of deportation for the foreigners so half the group took a truck across the border so they could support the next wave of marchers if this wave doesn't make it. I decided to march because deportation actually would fit into my plans pretty well and I get a free flight home thus making me the least brave person here.

For an exciting beginning, the 6 hour march was anti climatic. We walked fast, jogged occasionally, stopped rarely and got two shots of chai. We crossed into the Sikh state of Punjab with no incident. Now we'll recover for the rest of the day and I'll quietly drink myself to sleep. There's been lots of fun little stuff on the march I'll write as soon as I can but I might be underground again for awhile.

A day in the life: Tibetan Buddhist monk edition

My friend Leki walked me through a typical day of his life at the Gendenjantse monastery in Karnataka, India.

Six days a week, Leki and his fellow monks wake at 5AM to spend two hours memorizing Buddhist philosophy and tracts. A breakfast of tea and bread made without oil is followed by three hours of debating. Initially, you pair with a partner to debate the texts and interpretations of how to reach enlighenment. After an hour, two monks must debate a topic while the entire class observes. Sounds like hell to me. Especially because the teachers clap their hands to stop the debate to ask a question or make a correction. Some monks have thick calluses or even draw blood from all of their interruptions and can be quite brutal on mistakes.

During the lunch of cake and curry with the occasional dal (beans), the monks discuss Buddhist philosophy and practice writing Buddhist tracts in Tibetan and English. After a two hour nap out of the hot southern sun, a group of fifty monks go to a teacher's room for a lecture followed by another hour of memorization.

Dinner consists of rice, curry, dal or cabbage. Leki says the food on this trip resembles their meals at the monastery. If so, lucky guys. I think the food here rocks. I haven't eaten so well since I found the five dollar Paki food at the cart around the corner from my squat in Chelsea. It also helps that free food tops my list of favorite things along with kittens playing with balls of string, the WCW (but not the WWF!) and cactus. After dinner, debates continue until midnight tea time. Most monks then memorize and study for another hour or two before bed time and another 5AM wake up call.

The day of rest from this strict regimen comes on Monday. Monks can go into town for shopping although they have few needs: toiletries, the material to make their robes and shoes (the only distinguishing article they wear). Most monks still spend the majority of the day in study.

Only a few special events break this pattern. The holidays fall on the Tibetan New Year and a harvest festival translated as the Blessed Rainy Day. A week long holiday ensues of playing games, going into town and watching videos (only allowed during these vacation weeks).

Exams also break the routine but they sound brutal. The whole school observes a one on one debate with teachers sitting in judgement. A moderator asks a question that could fall anywhere in Buddhist philosophy and many do not pass. The monks must pass through standards (grades) like in high school and it takes 20 to 25 years to get a degree. The first 15 years get spent in your own monastery before moving between various monasteries to be tested there.

Thus Leki Dendup described his current life to me interspersed with memories of his home in Bhutan. He grew up the son of subsistence farmers who planted maize, wheat and potatoes. Everyone in the village farmed and everyone helped each other. His parents encouraged his interest in becoming a Buddhist monk and he contacted people at his village studying at a monastery in Karnataka, a major Tibetan population center because India granted this rather poor farm land to the first of the arriving Tibetan refugees. His fellow villagers said that anyone interested can join and so he left Bhutan for Gendenjantse Monastery in south India at 17. He began his studies at a late age and won't get a vacation to see his parents for four years. Letters and occasional phone calls let his family and friends tell him how proud they are of him.

Srawberry Shortcake explains the subprime mortage crisis

At Grant Miller Media:

Hi! I'm Strawberry Shortcake. Do you like to blow bubbles? I know I do. But do you know what a housing bubble is? It's when home prices rise far beyond their intrinsic value. Some think subprime loans helped over-inflate the market! It may not sound as much fun as blowing bubbles, unless you're an attorney or you invest in gold!

It's actually a great explanation: Link