AUSTRALIA: WORST VACATION EVER.
to see the photo gallery (120 pictures or thereabouts) please click here!!
In California I could jump in my car and go to the beach or the mountains anytime. But in Tokyo I’ve only gone mountain hiking once in my 14 months here. I’m starting to get stir crazy from all the urban-ness?you don’t even SEE THE SKY HERE. I’m not talking about the haze of pollution or nothing?it’s just that the streets are so chaotic and hemmed in by buildings that after a certain point, you don’t even think to look up anymore. So for my own peace of mind I needed to go to Australia for my summer vacation even though a) it meant missing one of the best shows all year, and b) it cost a shitload of money. On the good side though, I wouldn’t go INSANE.
I thought.
As it turns out the trip was a huge baffling 2 week ordeal of football hooligans, police threatening to deport me, sleepless nights, crying jags, alcohol problems, and half the time spent on the phone trying to reserve rooms.
How much stress? normally i only get cold sores in my mouth during times of extreme stress: final exams, horrible work deadlines i can't make, etc. but during this vacation i manage to get not one but two painful-ass sores. that's exactly 2 more than what i had back in tokyo, the place i wanted to leave because it was 'stressing me out so bad.' fucker!! should have gone to hokkaido.
On the good side, though, I got to have lots of lucid dreams every night. i think because i didn’t bring a radio to mask my tinitus (ringing in the ears). maybe the tinitus keeps me from falling all the way sleepy, so therefore my dreams are more lucid?
Also I spent the whole time listening to this massive compilation CD I made 5 seconds before I left. Just a giant ass batch of 138 MP3s all in a grab bag. Like, britney followed by motorhead followed by phillip glass and then ‘short dick man’ and the beatles and the ‘mr. Sparkle’ commercial. Why am I not a famous radio dj????
AUSTRALIA for toursists in 7 easy steps:
1: DON’T GO.
2: if you go . . .GET. A. CAR. Australia has the slowest public transit of anywhere besides morocco, Uganda, and san Francisco. Plus the place is so enormous you just can’t get to most places by train/bus. Seriously, DON’T go here unless you have nine cars.
3: fair warning: OZZY hotels are like this (from cheap motels to big fancy ones): no bathtubs, but instead miniature kitchens.
4: everyone has this rediculous accent here. First it’s funny. 3 minutes later you’re sick of it. Then you just want to run. i swear any minute they are going to just start laughing and say, 'no, seriously, we don't talk like that, we're just messing with you. NOBODY talks like that.' i just got creeped out by the accent. it's like if you went to north carolina and everyone spoke all Southern for weeks and weeks without stopping. Uh!
5: The younger generation of Chinese kids all speak Cantonese with a thick Australian accent. It is pretty adorable/hilarious., for instance instead of saying, ‘g’daaay maaaayte’; they’re all like,
“Ming Qing xiAHHo shuo bi jiAAAHO yAAAHn jiu wa?”
“Di zhen wen huAAHH yu she hui fAAAH zhAAAHHn, mate!”
plus for no reason a lot of the younger guys in Sydney are carrying computer towers around. Not laptops, the actual towers. Like in just one night I must have seen 3 guys all toting HAL 9000 around. Dude, where’s the party??
6: also the white ozzy guys, which last time were all over 6 feet tall, have somehow spurted up another foot in my absence, and are all 7 foot tall with blond hair and chiseled cheekbones. i am jealous!! But something weird happens once they hit thirty. It’s like thirty is this brick wall which literally lands on them, causing them to get 2 feet shorter and 3 feet wider. These guys do NOT age well, or maybe it’s just having to look at Ozzy women for 30 years takes a toll on them.
7: Also, avoid Brisbane. Just avoid. Ask anyone from Oz about Brisbane and they all make the same face by way of explanation. A mixture of eye-rolling and embarrassed chuckling. Then they just openly weep. Try it sometime.
oz travel diary
WEDNESDAY AUG. 11:
i had many goals when i first planned my trip to australia. now as i get off the plane, i've narrowed it down to just one: stop living.
See, on the flight i just finished dinner and proceeded to drink a pint of straight 50 proof whiskey in 10 minutes, and didn't even feel tired after that! so then got the stewardess to bring me two hits of brandy on top of that. bad, bad news. fuck what you heard; empty stomach is the only way to drink. if you're a busy, on the go drunk like me, you have to be THIS fucked up by precisely THIS point in time, and not behind schedule. drinking on an empty stomach lets you know exactly how drunk you are because it hits you fast. Whereas if you’ve got a full stomach, you always say, “damn, still not drunk. Better have another hit then…” and then one minute i'm watching HELLBOY, the next he is spinning round and round (which i just assumed was another special effect) and the next, it's morning annd i'm sprawled over all 3 seats and the crew guy is shaking me awake because it's time to land, and my goal is: stop living.
anyway, on the spur of the moment from the airport i take an insanely slow 2 hour train to the blue mountains. where i had a huge leathery steak, and hike 4 hours down, and then take this train up, which runs at MORE than a 45 degree angle. nuts!!
back in the hotel, it's night, the stores are all closed, i lost my only pencil, and - not 12 hours after my trip starts -my CD player is broken!, and no books. so what do i do for entertainment? try to breathe. this is vastly difficult because i am also beset by the most stuffy nose i have ever had in my whole fucking life. it's like there are entire families of Yeti living in there.
plus i've had the same metallica song stuck in my head for 8 hours straight. and not even the real metallica song. . . not even the fucking orchestral version . . . i have ... the string quartet version.
THURSDAY AUG 12:
try to go for another hike but the wind is fucking insanely cold here. almost like it's winter or something. .. but in august? ha! rediculous!! anyway i go buy like 200 bucks of cold weather clothing, and then immidiately take a train back to sydney, where -== doh! === it's too warm to wear any of the shit I bought!! jesus this trip just gets more and more retarded. Plus, on the train there is a businessman yelling into a cell phone on one side of me and some german backpackers noisily making out on the other.
sydney, though, when i finally get there, is amazing. So, anyone who thinks single white guys go to japan primarily for sex can just ALT-F4 the fuck out of here. I am a bastard for sure, but if I was THAT obsessed with asian women, I would have moved to china. the most bland, everyday, sensible-heel of the Chinese-ozzy women makes the most over-the-top, puffed, hairsprayed, tanned, laquered, trying-too-hard tokyo girl look like a plain jane.
the Sydney gardens are just as amazing as i remember them. just absurdly beautiful. in an extra dash of good luck, i DON'T see lots of hot girls with boyfriends kissing and i DO see a kickass sunset right over the bay bridge.
after that i hook up with a penpal who I’ll call ‘the inter-pimp’. i was expecting him to be a bit of a yob (awroight mayte, let's gaw bawm some sehilas, e wot?) or a dirty old man, but in stead he was more of a schemer. See, he was the first one to invent an online hooker reviews site for sydney. so he got a 100 percent market share, and now all the madams have to give him first crack at the new girls FOR FREE just so he'll write up a review promoting the new girl. but what makes him interesting is he seems just as excited by the financial scam aspect of this as by the sex itself.. facts and sums crop up in his stories constantly -- how many hits, how much it cost, how much he made, how much that is worth in today's dollars, etc.
he's also played bass in some major label band, which he parlayed into a much more lucrative and less labor-intensive career consulting up and coming bands hoping to get signed. his mission statement: "let the others (in the band) sweat their ass off in a van. i'll just write the hit single for their album and wait at home for the checks to roll in." fucking amazing.
all these stories are obviously rehearsed but are told with such a sense of baffled wonderment, as if he doesn't quite believe his own good luck. it makes it hard to get mad at him.
we go to see some bar bands who might become clients of his. Apart from the singer blatantly heckling the crowd for not applauding enough, it is wretched. but it was interesting to hear him talk about the music because I’ve never met an actual industry weasel before. It’s like the people or creativity in the band is an OBSTACLE to him. It is just a rock of dull clay and he has to chisel away the non-profitable parts.
but in spite of all this success and sex (or maybe because of it?) i got the impression he doesn't have many friends. all his relationships are strictly mercenary. his parade of stories was kind of schizo too. . . on one hand it made him sound like a big man. on the other hand it made him sound like he was really trying to impress me and thus a little lonely. odd.
FRIDAY; 13
up early. hike the same trail i hit 3 years ago (royal NP from WATERFALL). At that time I was totally impressed to the point of utter disbeilef that something this fun could possibly be legal. But this time i got lost ..basically i wound up crisscrossing the same fairly banal stretch of forest over and over again looking for a track to the town of audley. finally found it - just as it got too dark to hike! Poo. wound up hitching back to the station. also i thought about hookers the whole time thanks to mister interpimp.
it's weird. being in nature is helpful. it takes me away from stress and noise and rush of city life. but the very peace and quiet I’m seeking also allows me to hear all the unpleasant voices in my head that he city's noise drowns out. i'm LOOKING at verdant vistas and blue skies but THINKING of old crushes and highschool bullies and other long-ago monsters.
i recall saying out loud, 'i would be a lot happier if i could actually see the forest.'
Back in Sydney, I walk around a little but anyway i fail to talk to anyone. on my way home i pass a plump, working-class girl walking alone. where is she from? sydney? overseas? a tourist like me? here on business? where is she going? to meet friends for coffee? to rent a video to watch at home? is she lonely like me? is she also wishing for some company? if she knew me, would she enjoy spending a few hours just talking? so many women, all living happy lives without me. all able to live, not just hours or days but entire decades without my love, all just blissifully going about their daily lives absolutely unconcerned that they are missing out. How fucked is that??
go home and watch tv and it's like, what? I spent all this money on plane tickets and hotels, just to watch tv in a different place? By now I’m so pissed that i don't even remember the forest now. but, go triple h! kick that guy's ass!
SATURDAY: 14
i had this amazing dream. i wanted my left arm’s surface area to be kissed all over at once. to get dozens of people within kissing distance i had designed elaborate scaffolding, in the shape of the outline of my arm, so that people could lay down on it, heads facing my arm and then all kiss it at once, and on top of them another whole layer of people, and on top of them another layer etc. somehow doing it on a scaffolding made it possible to squoosh the people until they were only 1/2 inch wide while still normal height. anyway i wanted to try out one level of the scaffold before i built the rest of them. so i got my high school chums to help me. it was all girls i knew in high school, but never thought were attractive, and therefore felt comfortable around for just that reason. . one of them even brought her boyfriend, and i was cool with that. it was like there was no sexual element to the kissing... i.e. , no concern of winning and losing or rejection or struggle. just friends helping each other out. like a friendship kiss not a big-deal kiss.
today is the big day. i haven't been to the beach in 14 months --the longest ever non=beach time in my life. But first is have to do work: up at 8:30, book a new hotel and a plane flight, pack up all my shit, brush my teeth, do everything so efficiently that i manage to arrive at the station JUST AS THE TRAIN IS LEAVING. like i could actually reach out and touch it as it speeds away.
the next train is 20 minutes away. then a 50 minute ride. THEN i have to wait another 30 minutes for the ferry. which takes another 15 minutes. all told, it's a 2 1/2 hour trip to the beach. . . .actually longer than getting to the beach from TOKYO, which is a much bigger city. jesus. and then when i am actually on the beach i look out to the horizon and see. . . . downtown sydney! the skyscrapers and shit. Are you feeling me, parther?? it took me 2 1/2 HOURS TO GET HERE and I CAN STILL SEE EXACTLY WHERE I STARTED FROM!! Jesus, what are the trains here running on? Are they pulled by oompa-loompas or something?
plus on the train i am sitting across the aisle from this incredibly hot woman who has a siydney tour book. she's a tourist like me, she's also bored as hell alone on the train, but we can't talk to each other because men are creepy and perverted and blah blah blah. so we just sit there in silence. how dumb.
I pass the time on my clifftop hike by thinking of awesome Mr. Burns quotes to say during orgasm. an elaborate scheme of evaluation was set up, to prevent the more suggestive of the simpsons quotes (i.e. 'soon you'll have a mighty hump') from predominating over the other, more off-the-wall-and-therefore-better quotes.
For instance: “have the rolling stones killed”
runner - up "smithers -- it's doing that THING again."
2 nd runner-up: “you’re fired”
also :“release the hounds!” If you haven’t said this when you max yet, you really haven’t ever had sex.
“little help?” (works best if the lady has just said ‘they’ll never save your brain NOW, Hitler!’ while SHE was coming. . . sort of a two-fer deal.)
but of course the winner was simply, 'ex-cellent!'
although how to say this in the missionary position, while simultaneously tenting one's fingers remains a mystery. perhaps we could devise a new position based solely on finger-tenting capabilities.
then back to the hotel, rock a cool shower, head out to indian food.
Had the following conversation with the nice hippy who ran the used-book store:
ME: (putting book in bag) 'OH! it seems that umberto eco has crushed my somosas'
HIM: (not even missing a beat) ‘that’s probably not the first time someone has said that.’
Hippy: 1
Me: 0
SUNDAY 15:
today starts with a nightmare and goes downhill from there.... have a nightmare where a bunch of gay guys and club kids suddenly realize i'm not gay and start saying 'you can't come with us to the club. you can't be our friend. you are a total poser and we hate you. in fact we should kick your ass right now, FAG.'
after i wake up, i have to book a hotel in brisbane but it is impossible because eveyrone in australia is in brisbane to go to some fucking football game, which begins the day before i arrive there and apparently ends the day after i go back to japan.
Then i go down to check out and immediately fall in love with the golden angular tiny filipina clerk, and my heart turns a dull dead gray color as i leave and realize i'll never see her again.
then as if this shit was not enough i walk 15 minutes to this awesome salad joint but it's closed. Then, too dispirited to walk, i take a cab back to the hotel, which (the equivalent of a 15 minute walk) costs 7 bucks! why? because all the streetlights in sydney all take 5 minutes to turn green even if it's sunday and there is absolutely no traffic.
for all these reasons, it takes me a long time to finally warm up to my hike . . .but when I get over it, it turns out to be really fun. hyde park to the domain, to the biennial museum, finally to the botannical gardens, where i fall asleep in the sun listening to radar brothers and looking like a homeless person with my watch-cap all pulled down over my face.
museum report: most of it is CRAP. but there are amazing photogaprhs by frank theil, emiko kasahara, and the chinese/aussie guan wei. Google all these people now. and also there is a sculpture at the end of a narrow hallway. the sculpture looks EXACTLY like the butt end of an 18-wheel rig, as if it was parked in the museum by accident. killer!!! the museum is very modern and pretty and clean, but the usual aussie informality extends to this museum as well: there's a clown dressed up as a fox-bat leading the kids around the museum whooping and shrieking. how come they don't have that in every museum??
i chill in the park for a few hours and it is very relaxing and good. then i hook up with interpimp again, and meet his friend joeysan. he met her in a brothel but they are trying to upgrade their relationship from ho/trick to golddigger/sugar daddy. It’s like, “aww, my crazy kids are getting all grown-up.” it also means we can't talk about the sex industry because it would shatter the fragile facade of their 'normal' relationsihp. huh? i mean, where did you guys meet again?
So anyway i met my first japanese whore--- in AUSTRALIA. far from being the hyperactive sex-crazed bombshell he described, she's a fairly plain late-thirties, quiet, working class japanese lady. she just got to oz 4 months ago and speaks very little english. also she looks nothing like a professoinal fucker. i guess that should not surprise me-- because it seems baffling to me that MOST of the people on the street could ever have sex.
i mean, just look at them, for christ's sake!
anywyay, i always thought gold-diggers were always trying to manipulate their daddy; giggling and telling him 'oh you are so right' and petting him and smiling and shit. but joey just sort of sat there doing nothing. meanwhile homey just talked a blue streak. was she really that lonely in this new country, that she'd put up with such a lopsided relationship? or was she just totally thinking of all the money she could get out of him in the long run? and if the latter, why wasn't she trying even 10% to flatter him? And as for him, why bother? he could have sex with her anytime but he WANTS to take her to the dinner and have this kind of fake 'date' with her. . . and still neglects her. huh?
anyway it was educational i guess.
after that they dropped me off and i had the most awful pizza i ever had in my life (except the Shakeys Incident back in 1987). then i took a plane to brisbane. the flight was fine and fast, plus at the sydney domestic terminal there was a sign reading : SOME THINGS WERE NEVER MEANT TO FLY: and one of the things was FLAMMABLE SOLIDS. i read this as FLAMMABLE SOULS which was profound.
but..
when we get to the brisbane airport, i immediately log on to the internet. i pay for 12 minutes but this security guard tells me i have to get off because they're 'closing this wing.' so not only do i not get the time i paid for, BUT ALSO got kicked out in such a hurry that i left my fucking diary and all my postcards on the internet kiosk too!! fuck!!! asshole!
then i get to the hotel when this happens:
ME: holy shit, i left my diary on the airplane or something, hey, can you get me the number for the airport? this is a calamity.
CLERK; phone number? airport? (getting totally bewildered at the thought of these two very foreign concepts)
FOOTBALL FAN:(suddenly appearing) hey, can you help us? there's four of us, mate, but only one bed. you promised us two beds, mate.
CLERK: ok, i'll see what i can do.
ME: um, can you get me the phone number for the airport?
FOOTBALL FAN; wait your turn, won't you?
ME: (incredulous) that is an amazing statement.
FOOTBALL FAN: it's called good manners. . .
ME: . . .
FOOTBALL FAN: . . . you fucking cock!
after i get my room, i try calling the lost and found. they are still open at midnight. good. but then they say, 'oh, but this is international. you want domestic lost and found.' 'which is closed.'
fucker!!! i like australia, but australia hates me!
MONDAY 16:
to see the photo gallery (120 pictures or thereabouts) please click here!!
go to the botannical gardens at MOUNT COOT-THA by 9 am. hike every single inch of trail, keeping track of my progress with a pen and map, like an anal-retentive Pac-Man. then i go to the neighboring cemetary and hike there for another 3 hours, just for good measure. all told, it's an 8 hour thing. rock out!!
the cemetary is utterly empty despite being next to 4 crowded roads. in america there would be lots of people jogging here, drinking, or shooting Goth fetish gonzo porn. The cemetery is one of the best I’ve ever been to because it is so overgrown with trees that it is like a grave-forest. The toumbstones blend gradually into the trees, which blend gradually into the surrounding skyscrapers. It is unearthly and wonderful: necropolis as forest; forest as city ; city as graveyard.
on the other hand, the cashier at the food store was the cutest thing ever. and she was also totally dressed like an american: platform clogs, black polyester pants, a white blouse 3 sizes too tight, to show off her fake bra. but her face was not tacky at all. just huge bambi eyes and facial features all big but so gently curved it wasn't grotesque . . all this AND too dumb to work a cash register. god i just wanted to take her away from that job and buy her a condo on the beach and she could just text message her friends all day and immediately get super fat on bad food and video games.
Then I go see farenheit 9/11 in a theatre here: i have already read like 10 anti-bush books so nothing was new. i don't really enjoy being pandered to so this movie did nothing for me. it was good i guess, but it seemed like a slightly less articulate, less thorough version of his book on the same subject. the best part was this out-of-context talking britney head where she is like 'we should all support the president'. i walked home thinking of all the other cool stuff she COULD have said.
TUESDAY: 8/17
DREAM?starts out as sort of a nature documentary. I’m not in it. There’s a big golden eagle and this smaller golden bird. The big one starts kind of casually pecking the small one. Is it a mommy, just playing games with the baby? Or is it a predator about to eat its prey? Suddenly big one opens its mouth super wide, almost cartoonishly wide, the small one just hops inside the mouth of the big one, and starts pecking away at something there. The big one keeps its mouth open. Oh, I guess it’s symbiosis. But why? As if to answer my question ( gotta love lucid dreaming!) it flashes back to before the big bird came on the scene.
There’s a human baby sitting on a plain white background : no mountains or walls, no nothing. It sees the bird coming, and it knows it’s dead meat .. .unless. . . the baby frantically tries to transform itself into a small eagle. But it keeps reverting back to baby in bits and pieces. Like it’ll get a beak but the wings will turn back into pudgy baby arms, then it’ll make wings but the legs will revert, etc. also while this is going on, it ALSO starts going between ‘real’ and ‘2D watercolor animation’. Weird. But I guess eventually it turns into the baby eagle pictured at the start of this dream. THEN it leaps into the mouth of the big eagle and regurgitates up lots of sugar, right onto the back of the eagle’s esophagaus. This sugar is special, because it rots instantly. And the putrid odor attracts tons of flying insects, which come in the form of a buzzing cloud, so dense are they. The eagle just has to close its mough and gets a full meal, and that’s how the symbiosis works.
Then I get on the tour bus to Lamier national park, this jungle up on a plateau on the queensland/NSW border. The ride is 4 hours, beginning at 7 in the morning, but the bus driver thinks he’s a tour guide. He is talking NONSTOP, and his voice is blasting through speakers. These speakers are thoughtfully mounted over each individual seat so nobody can miss a precious word. Of course most tour guides wait till you’re actually in the park, but homey is so motivated he starts while we’re on the freeway.
Now, you might ask yourself, what part of a freeway has historical or cultural significance? Fortunately I can tell you this in great detail. First, he is treating us to an in-depth history of the bus-only commuter lane. Then he talks about every twist and turn in the roller-coaster of the amusement park we are passing. Then another 5 minute lecture on the land-deals back in the 1800s that allowed the government to buy the land to put the freeway on. All told in this relentlessly cheery voice. It’s like being at your relatives’ most boring travel slideshow back when you were a kid, times ten, at 60 miles per hour. also, branch davidians being beseiged by nancy sinatra and dying bunny-rabbit screams over the PA 24/7 at Waco comes to mind..
Needless to say I promptly go insane.
No wait, first I go up to him and politely point out that a good deal of us paying customers are trying to sleep because it is till 7:30 in the morning, and could he please turn the volume down just a little?
He’s like, ‘well, this is my job, isn’t it? And you can sleep in the park when we get there. It’s only 3 more hours.’
Right. The main attraction is a 4 hour lecture on commuter lanes, and the actual park is just a pit stop. How crass of me not to realize this.
So I go back and try to deal with it. First, earplugs. It doesn’t work. His hideous voice comes blaring through only slightly muted. “so anyway it seems this lake had this one fella that would always jetski here and wake up the locals, right? Now,…”
Ok, now I try playing music really loud. But still I can’t drown him out. “. .. so the local fishermen went and caught themselves a shark, didn’t they? And put ‘im in the lake, right? Now this poor bloke comes along with his jet-ski, and wouldn’t you know?…”
Ok, now I try to read. But I can’t concentrate because the voice from the loudspeaker scrambles the words on the page. Suddenly instead of reading about castaways, I’m reading “now hold the black knob down for at least five seconds for the flush to activate.” That’s right, having run out of jet-ski/shark/soil composition anecdotes, homey is giving us a, no fooling, 7 minute lecture on how to flush the bus’s chemical toilet. “now, this one chap,a-ha-aha, he forgot to lock the door, let me tell ya, it was…”
I have tried every single thing to deal with this mess and none of it works. I am trapped and there is still 2 ? hours to go. It’s like being schizophrenic and there are voices in your head. I can’t think what I want to think I can’t listen to what I want to listen to, I can’t concentrate on anything. . .I’m more bored and angry than I’ve ever been, and apparently I’m actually paying EXTRA for this ‘service.’ I feel a panic attack coming on. The hyperventilation. The twitching. The sudden crying. I go lock myself in the bathroom, careful to heed the 7minutes of instructions on the toilet safety, and just try to get a grip. But it doesn’t work. I sit back down and I can feel the attack coming closer and closer but can’t stop it.
Eventually, I interrupt a really charming story about the bus’ former owner’s pet dog’s grandmother by BANGING MY HEAD AGAINST THE WINDOW AS HARD AS I CAN OVER AND OVER while screaming ‘FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, PLEASE JUST SHUT UP! STOP TALKING!!’
The middlaged Chinese women sitting behind me bolt like startled deer.
For the first time in hours there is silence on the bus. Besides my hyperventilation and sobbing coughs.
Soon we stop at some little tourist trap called Tamborine, population 30. I am still shaking and red-eyed. I go for a walk to clear my head. I come back to the bus at the correct time, and I find that the bus driver has summoned the entire Tamborine police force, all three of them.
Great, so HE drives me crazy, and I’M going to be the guy who gets busted??? What is up with that???
They’re telling me I’m banned from the bus and I have to show them some i.d. and threatening to deport me. “if you tried doing that behavior here in Tamborine we’d lock you up, son.” Says the bad cop. You can tell he’s the bad cop because he’s wearing sunglasses. The good cop says, “well you seem like a reasonable man so I really don’t know what happened on that bus to make you do that.” Plus now I am still 2 hours away from my destination with no ride. Naturally I ask the cops to give me a ride! I mean, what? Like they’re so busy in the fucking Tamborine Crime Lab, solving all the crimes in this rugged-ass hood?
They don’t find my request funny though, but they’re willing to call me a cab. But because the Bad Cop called the cab, he must have told him I was stone cold crazy. So the cab didn’t show up. Luckily the Good Cop called some old grandpappy who drove me up there his damn self for only $80, and didn’t treat me like a raving loon either.
Finally up at the hotel. . ..I thought I’d get there too late to hike / it would be raining / I’d get arrested again, but it turned out pretty awesome. Went on a small trail leading through a non-foresty part of the park, which looked just like california. It’s amazing ? the small and gently rolling hills, the shrubs, the dead grass, EVERYTHING looks like sonoma/ napa county, where I grew up. And guess what is a big industry here? WINE.
Anyway suddenly the trail goes into the jungle and then just DISSAPEARS. Well not altogether. It turns from a 10 foot wide dirt track, into a tiny path which you literally cannot see. . .it’s like 6 inches wide, hasn’t been used in months, and basically you can only tell because there are SLIGHTLY less vines on it than the surrounding area. It’s also fun as hell to use! Damn!! As I walk in the deepening twilight with wallabies bounding out of my path, it occurs to me that this is really excellent. Normally when walking I fall prey to unwelcome thoughts: self-doubt, neurosis, hindsight, shoulda-coulda-wouldas etc. but when trying to navigate this non-trail, all my brain is focused on the task at hand so I actually enjoy myself! Except for the wallabies scampering away part. I’m like, ‘BUT I DIDN’T EVEN DO SHIT!’ I took it too personally I guess. There are some amazing mountain views along the way and I get back just in time for dinner.
Go to dinner and the waiter says the obligatory, ‘how are you tonight sir?’ I say, ‘fine. . . ’ and almost add, ‘. . . definitely not insane or anything like that.’
Then I kick it in front of this fireplace they have set up. Damn!
WEDNESDAY 8/18
Have this dream where some cartoon girl is dating roast beef, from ACHEWOOD.COM. she’s talking obsessively about how her boyfriend has to wear new wave pants, on and on and on about the pants, and he’s just sitting there getting more and more disgusted.
18 km hike. Wait, I got lost. . .by the time I got found again, I’d gone 22 km. Massive! Get back just at dark. Lots of waterfalls but little water. Many different kinds of trees. Just wonderufl. Thought I’d be wiped out overtired and with feet killing me but nope.
In front of the inn is a little spot where birds gather. They have trained the birds to land on people’s heads and shoulders for some reason. They land on your shoulders and you feed them a bit of birdseed. And there are HUNDREDS OF THEM. There’s this aussie nuclear family standing watching while Dad get covered with birds, two on each shoulder (like the asian pirate on the fucking simpsons) and 2 on his crocodile dundee hat. The best part=-- homey does not see anything weird or funny about this. He isn’t squeamish about it, but he doesn’t seem to be enjoying it either. Like it’s not even recreation. Like he’s just a man getting the job done or something. I’m not describing it very well but it definitely made the whole scene worthwhile.
THURSDAY 8/19
go on ANOTHER 20km hike. Finished too early ? should have spent more time in the fern grottos and stuff. Leaned over the precipice of a 50 meter waterfall to take a picture of it. Damn, why is my fucking nose so runny? And stuffy? It’s like I’m up in the clean mountain air, for DAYS, and my nose is just as unhealthy as in dusty smoggy tokyo. I really need to get that operation. Also, the clouds pass over the jungle rapidly; the spaces between them are like spotlights that drift over the valley. It’s amazing when it happens.
Good thing about this joint: it’s all old people. There’s a few kids, and they definitely TRY to make it miserable for the rest of us, but the numbers are so against them they can’t really do any damage. Awesome.
FRIDAY 8/20 ?
suddenly, boom! All the old people are gone and replaced by like 50 asian teenagers. And not all from the same asia. Like it must be 3 or 4 different groups from different countries, all with asian schoolkids. The biggest is this entire junior high class from Osaka.
Then I catch a privately chartered bus to surfers paradise. local bus drivers have all blacklisted me. but the nice lady at the hotel found some guy that just operates his own business, who doesn't know i'm a violent maniac yet. so he gives me a ride… The driver is nice at first, but then spends like easily half the whole trip mercilessly tailgating this tiny car, like 1 meter from his bumper at high speeds while on a very windy dark hilly road with like cows walking into it and shit. I was just white knuckled the whole way. Jesus.
the hotel i stay in tonight is the lovely SHIPWRECK MOTEL. which is awesome because i'm reading a novel about a shipwrecked man, by umberto eco.
i watch the olympics on tv. they have womens' volleyball on.
what the hell? they are wearing like tiny bikinis.
i thought it was FOX for a second, but no, these are the real olympics.
what the hell?? i thought this was supposed to be serious! "hi, i need my bikini line waxed in a hurry, i'm going to the olympics." what is that about?? all with their butt cleavage hanging out. do they give the gold medal to the bikini too? how lame is that?
SATURDAY 8/21
well, wow. today i sit on the beach for over 8 hours. only get sunburn on the ears. i'm listening to black sabbath and reading umberto eco and walking in the surf and it is really uncrowded and good. but i should be drunk. i mean, the beach is awesome and all, but 8 hours is a long time. i really should have gotten utterly pounded and just tied a little rope around myself to keep me from saying "hey, i'm not THAT DRUNK, i can swim fine!". also amazing: the sand is so fine it SQUEAKS when you walk. like as if you are walking on a newly polished hardwood floor. huh?
i make a little sand fort to cover my exposed pale legs. i wind up writing GODZILLA on it and digging tiny holes in the top, and putting individual lentils in them. i have no idea why; it just seemed like it should have a little ritual to go with it.
also i amuse myself by thinking of ways to make the olympics fun.
After all, the olympics are bullshit. the big countries have all the good athletes because there are just more PEOPLE in those countries. if one in a million people is a terrific athlete, obviously if you have 100 million people to choose from you will have more awesome athletes than some country with only 1 million people. basically it's a population contest, for fuck's sake. there's all these little no-name countries like rwanda, uruguay, bali, etc (basicaly the Coalition of the Wiling-type countries) that NEVER win ANYTHING. you'd think at least ONCE they'd just say, 'fuck it.' as long as we're not going to win, let's try to lose in such a spectacular way that we will become more famous than any of the 'big' countries.
how about this: the country (let's call it LOSERVONIA) enters a guy in the 100 yard dash. then when the race starts off, the LOSERVONIAN candidate just walks really slow, while taking big drags of a cigarette and drinking a bottle of jack daniel's. and he's all like, 'what? i'm chilling.' or, he runs AWAY from the racetrack, heading directly to the winner's podium, and runs to the gold medal spot, and is all acting like he won. or maybe his clothes just catch on his sneaker cleat and he runs the whole race naked. why the fuck not?
POLEVAULTING: we'd send a heavily pregnant lady to pole vault. just like 9 months pregnant. and if the baby popped out on impact, then the baby would get a gold medal. just sitting there on the winner's steps, covered in placental goo, screaming, with a medal.
HIGH DIVE: we'd get a guy in a wheelchair up there. that would be the most awesome thing in the history of earth. some guy strapped to a wheelchair who just plummets straight into the pool fro m30 feet. you'd have to get a non-electric chair though. maybe something propelled by a wound-up rubber band.
VOLLEYBALL: the only strategy would be: run at the net screaming, and hook the fingers through the net like monkeys in a cage. and when that doesn't work, they'd have a big huddle and then decide on the exact same plan next time.
HURDLES: get some morbidly obese guy to just trample the hurdles and not even give one shit. plus hes got a walkman on. and it's playing GODZILLA.
then, after a day of heaven it's 3 hours of purgatory, courtesy of the Australian powered-by-a-single-9v-battery public transit system.. it takes that long just to get 60 km from surfers paradise to brisbane. jesus! car to bus to train to taxi. so lame!
after getting settled into the hotel i walk to chinatown and find myself in a Yobbo Zoo. just totally wall-to-wall sketchy yelling guys with big maniac grins, gelled hair, and shirt-collars popped in the style of rugby players, whose idea of a good chat-up line is to go up to ladies and go ‘BLEAUUHAAAHHAAHHRGHHH!! How are you leehhdies doing tonoight?’ . and hella native brisbane girls going to clubs.
the brisbane girls have really perfected the art of wearing low-rise polyester pants so your tummy fat squeezes out the side like some ventral fins. hopefully also you have a tatoo on them, visible between the pants and the blouse. now that is class. no, wait, it wasn't class. jesus it was so nasty. in fact i think i'm gay now. and right in the middle of all this yobbishness is this wonderful little cheap delicious veggie cafe run by incredibly stoned people who just shovel pesto sauce on there. awesome! If you are not scared of yobs and their ventral-fat-finned girlfriends make your way to VEG OUT please.
SUNDAY: 8/22
Basically there is nothing to do in Brisbane. Why did I deliberately plan to spend a whole day here, when I could have been on the beach still? Walk around the hellacious strip malls and go to the little overcrowded noisy park, and eat the worst kebab ever. Christ, what was I thinking? And watch the Olympics on tv and pack. A totally wasted day, more like TWICE wasted because I could have been back at the beach blasting Fats Domino and drinking nonstop. Lame.
MONDAY 8/23
Traveling nonstop from 7 am to 8 pm, (14 hours total). Couldn’t find any sochu in Brisbane so I chugged jim beam. My first time with jim beam and it is JUST NASTY. worse taste than 100 proof vodka. . Almost as bad as vintage $500-a-bottle French wine. On top of that, the row ahead of us had 3 single Japanese women, and the row in back of us had 2 single Japanese women, but my row? An old grandpa who slept the whole time and some euro guy. How fucked is that?? Plenty is how. Plus the plane took off 30 min. late because immigration was so slow that like by takeoff 60 passengers were still waiting in the security checkpoint!! But of course they didn’t tell us they were going to delay the flight. So all of us passengers were in our own little private hells, thinking ‘OH SHIT OH SHIT GONNA MISS MY FLIGHT, OH SHIT, OH SHIT, GONNA MISS MY FLIGHT’ the whole time, which was as utterly un-necessary as it was stressful.
Anyway this whole trip smoked the Hogan.
to see the photo gallery (120 pictures or thereabouts) please click here!!
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