Little Surprises

Last weekend I went to a 30th birthday party in NYC. We rented out a bar in Hell’s Kitchen, a quaint little place the likes of which only exists in New York. The party itself wasn’t a surprise for James, our birthday boy, but there was to be a little surprise.

At approximately 8:30, Trish, James' wife, told Marty and I to keep James distracted. We dutifully obliged, chatting him up about nothing in particular, par for the course. Everything was going according to plan when suddenly I noticed James' eyes drift over my shoulder and follow someone or something behind me as it moved through the bar and back towards us and the bathroom.

“Did you guys see that?” James asked, brow furrowed with confusion.

“See what?” Marty and I responded in unison.

“I think a midget just went into the bathroom.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about…” we responded more ore less in unison.

At this point I was ready to explode. This was too good. Cool Hand Marty continued telling some stupid story in the hopes that James would drop the subject. I tried to play it cool.

“Did you guys get me a midget?” he asked, his face suddenly lit up with hope. “You guys... got me a midget!”

“We didn’t get you anything,” Martin said. I just shrugged. Any second now, we wouldn't have to pretend anymore...

Practically on cue. the midget emerged from the bathroom appropriately dressed in a teddy and a thong. Everyone cheered as she spun James around on his bar stool and gave him a crazy little lap dance.

Little did I know, it was a bad idea to be standing so close to the action. Once she was done with James she grabbed me and sat me down on a stool in the middle of the bar and she took all my shirts off one by one (sweater, button down, then undershirt) and suddenly….. I was shirtless and really self-conscious about it in front of roughly 35 people. The midget leaned in and asked me, “Are you married?”

“Yeah, she’s right there!” I eagerly pointed at Moose. She went over and grabbed her and laid her down on a table in the middle of the bar, laid on top of her, spread her legs, and demanded I join them. Again, I obliged. One big happy family, we simulated a midget sandwich sexual encounter while the crowd roared. It’s pretty weird to look into your wife’s eyes while a midget’s writhing around between you. You'll likely have to take my word for it.

Suddenly, she whispered in my ear, “Pick me up!”

“Excuse me?”

She repeated herself. Yet again, I obliged. As I lifted her up she wrapped her legs around my waist and rode me like an upside down horse. This was happening. I was lightly buzzed enough to play along, though still painfully and self-consciously uncomfortable with the whole thing.

Then, suddenly, as quickly as it began, it was all over… And I was left to retrieve my clothes, and my dignity, which was strewn throughout the bar.

Happy Birthday, James.

Dispatch

Got here. Everything went fairly smoothly along the way... Just oh so tired - SO long.

Things got interesting pretty much immediately....

A) I get in line at customs- The "Foreign Passport" line. Some Indonesian cop comes up to me, grunts, points and gently guides me over to the Permanent Resident Line. I showed him my passport in protest. He just grunted and pointed to the spot in line where he wanted me to stand. What???? What is going on here? I waited until he walked away and moved back to the "I don't live here" line.

B) Jakarta is a sort of a terrifying place. Think movies of third world Asian cities. They're no joke. Traffic like you wouldn't believe. But not normal traffic: People driving crazy... motorcycles literally crammed in every inch of space left by cars.... And ME on the back of one of them!!! I'd never been on a motorcycle before, and I pretty much loved it. Except when I was 100% certain every 30 seconds or so that I was about to be crushed beyond recognition from both sides by insane chain smoking indonesian men in giant SUVs. BUT, like I said, being on the back of a motorcycle is really fun, and rather romantic. Wahyu and I literally rode off into the sunset on it.

C) Wahyu takes me to his house. (Wahyu is an Indonesian guy I know from my school...he'd been visiting the states for the last 2 months (he has done work for the school in Indonesia for the last few years). His mother has prepared a TON of food, and it is on display all over the house. No one speaks English except Wahyu, but I meet the fam. Everyone is incredibly friendly. I just wish I could talk to them without Way interpreting.


Two little nieces were asleep on the couch. When they wake up their grandma brings them over to me. They stare, wide-eyed and frightened, hiding behind grandma's burka. She leans down, telling them something I don't understand, while pointing at me. All I can make out is "Barrrrrrbie, Barrrrrrbie." Wahyu laughs and says "She's telling them not to be scared because you are just a real live Barbie...like the doll." Later they told the little girls I was a princess. That was weird. Now they just peak at me from other rooms and run away if I look at them.

D) I was served boiled testicles, I believe. And I ate them. I've seen enough of exotic foods to feel like I know a teste in my dish when I see one. Wayhu's mother knows about 5 words in english, and one is "EAT!" She follows me around the house screaming it.

E) I have to shower. Wahyu tells me, "our bathrooms are different than yours," and naturally I respond, "Yeah, I'll figure it out." I'm no dummy. I go into the bathroom. WTF??????????!!! There is a faucet sticking out of the wall about mid femur height. But just open to nothing... The bathroom floor. Then there's a sink, a big one, but it's filled to the brim with water. Then there is another sink-looking thing on the ground. But with a toilet-esque hole in it. But nothing to flush. A bucket on the edge of the giant sink. What the hell am I supposed to do??? There's no toilet paper or even a trash can in sight. Thank Christ I didn't have to do anything serious. Apparently you squat over the hole, do your thang, and then use the bucket thingy to splash water on your parts until they are clean. Then you use the same bucket to rinse the squatty potty until whatever you produced eventually sinks down the hole.

As for the shower.... I just crouched under the faucet and showered all over the bathroom floor. Who the hell knows if that was right. Princess Caitlin is here from America everyone!!!

Get a haircut

Trying to get the juices flowing again

This video is phenomenal. M.I.A is badass. Apparently so is this Romain Gavras guy. As if gingers didn't have enough to worry about already...

M.I.A, Born Free from ROMAIN-GAVRAS on Vimeo.

High Violet doesn't come out until May 11. Whether you caught the album when you could stream it from the NYT website or not, here's a taste of three tracks played live:

And, in case you're curious about their creative process:

My mind's still a little blown that Matt Berninger can't read music or play an instrument, something mentioned in that NYT article and in the clip above.

Anyone else's breath taken away by LOST last night? It's like I was all of the sudden thrown in my face that this show is well on its way to its end. Sayid's death felt so unceremonious, if necessary. I hadn't even decided yet whether I thought his goodness would prevail over the darkness that's been inside him ever since he was "saved" earlier in the season. Jin and Sun's demise, while it was given enough time to appropriately devastate me, felt so peripheral. Is Fake Locke now simply putting our heroes in situations where it is likely someone will perish in order for him to further distinguish pretenders from his new adversary? Or did he think the bomb in the sub would kill them all? And did the bomb only detonate because Widmore actually set the bomb up? Did Widmore set the bomb up?

You can download a new My Morning Jacket tune, "Friends Again", here. My visceral reaction: It's okay, but I wish they'd go back to the unbridled southern rock energy that preceded Evil Urges.

Also, I must say, I don't understand why all these musicians are dressing up in suits and ties lately. I actually have to dress for work, and almost find it insulting that someone would choose to dress that way without being forced. Irony perhaps? That's too much. I'm not really sure what sort of ensemble I'd be rocking if I were a musician, I definitely wouldn't be wearing a suit, vest, and tie that's for good goddamn sure.

I'm gonna go ahead and keep silent on wars, floods, earthquakes, volcanoes, racial profiling, tea parties, oil slicks, and recessions for the time being. I could barely cope today in the wake of Sun and Jin's demise, I'm definitely too fragile to talk about things that are actually real.