Wake up to the sound of pouring rain. It's another humid day in Thailand's second-largest city. Can't sleep anyway.

Julia gave me this book, From Beirut to Jerusalem, to read. It has been a truly excellent book, but not without side effects. Among them is a strong craving for pita and hummus. All I can picture is that creamy plate full of pureed chick peas. That's probably why I can't sleep. So I go to the Jerusalem Cafe here in Chiang Mai. It's closed.

Instead I spend the afternoon cutting up posters that I have found at the local art supply store. Still not sure what I am going to do with them. Hopefully it will be something visually offensive and disgusting. I also have colored tape rolls and presstype to add to the stew. It is a challenge.

One poster has His Majesty King Bhumibol Adulyadej of Thailand on it. It's a good picture of him wearing heavy black plastic mod glasses. Looks like Peter Sellers' character in What's New Pussycat. But cutting it into a collage is simply too dangerous. It would be a stupid way to end up in jail for defacing an image of the king. There is no sense of humor when it comes to King Bhumibol.

Evening, Inka, Anu, and I are bound for the THC bar to see what's new since 2 days ago.

I had written all this content about being here in Chiang Mai. I had nourished it with the juices of my own stomach. But a power loss cut that life short, never to again to feel the joy of being. Now, I must bring back the life that was taken away. As General Boy would say, "Bombs away!"

Thursday Oct 4th

Just had a look at the Best of Austin 2001. Congrats to Angela for being part of KUT, and for being able to get so close to John Aielli in the picture.

Sick today. Just sitting in the courtyard of the guesthouse. Coughing and sneezing. Whatever cold-like affliction Juho had is highly contagious. I am taking lots of Amoxicillin to knock it out. It allows me to catch up on other things.

Wednesday Oct 3rd

Happy birthday Dadums! Let's celebrate soon!

Today, a visit to a temple near town. The Temple of 300 Steps, with Juho and Inka, 2 Finns. As everyone knows, Americans and Finns have nothing in common. Not so! Inka lived in Dallas for 6 years. Her friend Anu lived in Waco for a year. We are practically neighbors, or were anyway. Sorry about Waco, though. A tough break. At least Anu and I can share Dairy Queen jokes. I have no plans of visiting Helsinki any time soon, but who knows.

In the evening, we go to the Rasta Bar - not my choice. Too much rasta music can cause permanent brain damage, shingles, and god knows what. By 11:30 the Texas faction prevails, and we ferry over to Bubbles for dancing. Bubbles has a "space theme." The Dj mixes it up from his seat inside the spacepod. Add to this the fact that the women are trying "make business" with us, and it is a fun(ny) place indeed.

The Bubble pops at 2 am. Spat outside, we run into friends of the people who own the THC bar. Damn the curfew, they say, they know of a speakeasy in town. And away we go to a storefront with the metal curtain closed. But when we knock, it opens to reveal a dimly lit pool table and bar, and about 8 people inside. Once inside, we all share a feeling of being bad and having more fun than we should. Life's little privileges are nice indeed.

The owner keeps shushing everybody in the bar, but with rising alcohol levels, it is a losing battle. Soon enough, my pool playing friend is shoving me in the back, saying we have to go upstairs - the police are outside.

We all trample up the stairs into the dark room, which after adjusting to the dark appears to be the owner's bedroom. There are about 12 of us, equal measures tourists and locals, sitting on the bed or the floor, trying to keep still. Below, sounds can be heard, and we are still sipping our whiskey and coke up here.

A couple of dark figures, overcome with curiosity and drink, begin lifting the blinds to look out the window. They are slapped away with a hiss from another more practical dark figure.

One woman can't take the strain, and begins yelling inexplicably at one of them in a stage whisper "How many packets of heroin have you got?". Before they can answer, she proclaims "That's 4 years in jail for you." Then she asks someone else. "How much heroin have you got? That's 4 years in jail for you!" She is convicting everyone of heroin possession in the owner's 2nd floor bedroom. I don't know what's going on in the bathroom, but all I've seen them serving here is alcohol.

Luckily for us all, the coast is soon pronounced clear, and we go back to our previous routine, talking and playing pool. It turns out to be a late night.

Tuesday Oct 2nd

Sleep late. Perspire a lot. Humid as hell here. Juho, he of the throat infection, keeps swigging out of everybody's bottles (foreshadowing). Why he do that? Just remember, never trust the Finns. Unless it's the Split Enz Finns. Then run for your life.

THC bar this evening. It's the full-moon party up on the roof. They cut the lights at 1 am but break the law by keeping open until after 3 am. More money for the law breakers! Same crew as last night. Chang, Singha, and Heineken bottles litter the table.

Monday Oct 1st

Always wanted to try quackers, and finally get my chance. Finally know what the back of my head looks like. I see a slug crawling across the edge of a razor blade. Crawling and twitching. Now everything makes sense. Bow ties. Hot pockets. Michael Jackson. Everything. Material things are but an illusion. My home is here in the jungle. I am building a shelter for you. Just sell everything you have and come to Chiang Mai. You will have to work hard, but that is the nature of the One True Path. Like me, you will realize that life begins not at the hop, but here in the jungle. Chiang Mai needs you. Soon you will need Chiang Mai.

Go to womb to get more quackers.

Wake up late. Go to the mall. Buy a shirt. Go to the THC bar with Juho, Antti, Tamara, and Sonja. Two Finns, two Dutch, one world, one Jah.

After THC bar, go to Bubbles at 2 am. Bubbles is a dance club, but is closed. Two loud French are yelling about the "stupide premier ministre" in Thailand. They say he has spent too much time in America, the stupid prime minister. Whatever the reason, the PM has put a 2 am curfew on club and bar going in Thailand. We are all victims of his decree. Instead, we all pile into a Suzuki Kick, about 9 of us, and go to the Ping river. The Thai go there after hours to chill out, so we sit and drink for a while.

Sunday Oct 30th

Last night was lots of drinking. The only way to recover. Juho and I go bowling. Antti hates bowling and won't go. And it's...bowling, like anywhere else with any other name, just as spherical. What Antti doesn't know is, if you go to Thailand and don't go bowling, you have missed the essence of Thailand. It is the most important part of the trip. Antti has missed his chance to go bowling in Thailand. But maybe he will come back someday and really see this land. One difference with bowling here is the drankin' - in Thailand bowling means getting a bottle of whiskey and sucking it down between frames. And there's no bar car driving around.

Saturday Sept 29th

Happy birthday, Nikolai. My brother just hit the big 3-0. I will drink a toast to my elders, as is the Asian custom. If you haven't seen the nikolai.org website, now's your chance!

Finland is very close to Russia. It is only 50 km from the border to St. Petersburg. I ask Juho if he has any advice for my friend in Austin, who is planning to teach English in Russia. He asks if my friend is crazy. You have to keep on your toes when the Finns are around. Juho says Russia would be a nice place to conquer if you have the right stuff. But problems with the infrastructure, economy, and corruption are formidable challenges there. In conclusion, if you can settle in Russia, you have to have "big balls."

Chiang Mai is pretty. It's unique. It's like other cities, but different. In Chiang Mai, there are many ultra fine Italian scooters on the road. That makes it a real nice place in my book. The shiny paint jobs and chrome accents. The zip of a 2-stroke engine. If tourist dollars equate to more Vespas on the road, then c'mon everybody. Get on up and go to Chiang Mai.

The hotel is called Daret's. It's the type of place you feel comfortable in immediately. Luckily that comfort doesn't cost much. In Chiang Mai you can keep your mind on your money.

My room is a mere 120 baht. About $2.50. I could go another $1 for a room with a hot shower, but I didn't come this far to take the easy road. I've been making sacrifices all along, and I'm not about to stop now. What many people don't understand is, once you take up the hard life of the Bedouin, the road becomes your only companion. Some might go without the hot shower because they have something to prove. With a seasoned traveler like myself, it's just that things like hot water don't provide any comfort. Once you are on the road, your only companion is the sound of a bus engine. The road can be a fickle bedmate, that's true. Sometimes she leaves you a pothole in the dark. Perhaps the red lights won't quit. That's when you have to grit your teeth and slam on through. It's not glamorous. Much like a Shaolin monk, it's only a lifestyle.

So much of Thai culture involves the street. Street hawkers sell their food there. Tuk-tuk drivers work their hustle there. The constant noises enter your dreams at night. THe smoke sticks in your lungs. Even getting around on foot involves constant navigation with road traffic. As such, there seems only one way to understand this thing called Thai culture. You have to look at it through the side view mirror of culture. You have to join the culture. With that in mind, Juho, Antti and I realize where our respective ambassadorial missions will take us. We rent some cheap scooters and dive into the mess. There is a snake farm up the road that needs some business.

Snake farm involves announcer and four handlers. THere is a king cobra which one of the handlers fights with his bare hands and legs. Time and time again, the cobra strikes, but he is a cobra too. Their dance is poetry. Then he presses his finger on the cobra's head and it goes to sleep. Most of all, the snake show involves the handlers outsmarting the snakes in order to kiss them. All the while, the announcer chants "And now a kiss. Kiss me, my beauty. I love you. Will you marry me?" His accent is perfect. The best part of the performance, aside from the death-defying tricks, is the soundtrack, one of the best songs ever written. The Final Countdown by Europe.

A waterfall.

At night, the THC bar, this time with Cindy and Jonathan from Aingland - Brighton ways. Substanital drinking.

Friday Sept 28th

Bus ride ends at Chiang Mai at 5 pm. It is a new personal record - 36 hours of almost constant bus riding. At bus station, run up to two guys with backpacks, offer to share a ride into town.

Get to know the two Finns, Antti and Juho. First night in Chiang Mai, the three of us go to a rooftop bar called the THC until late at night. Meet some Amis there.

Thursday Sept 27th

Entire day spent in minibus next to Thai woman who's friendly but doesn't speak English. At least the seats recline nicely.

No info here due to power surge.

Wednesday Sept 26th

See Southeast Asia's largest reclining Buddha. Then go to the mall.

What this mall has is 8 stories of pure shopping bliss. Guess what, though. Nothing is real. Not that it matters, what with styles changing so quickly as they do. But the Prada, aint. The Addidas, nuh-uh. The Nike, nope. All fake as a 9 Ringgit note. There is a bowling alley on the 7th floor, bumper cars on the 8th floor, a video arcade on 8 as well, and something called the Fantasy Island water park on the roof. Is nothing sacred?

It is a trend that has long overtaken many of the cities that benefit from the semiconductor revolution. Is this the silicon belt? There are about 4 of these mega-gorilla-malls that I have seen, and I suspect there may be more that I have not seen. All vying for consumer bling bling by outdoing each other in opulence and variety.

About the merch. The stores are full of information storage implements. CDs, y'all. Compact discs. The future of our world on a plastic disky. You can buy anything that exists digitally in these malls. Music, programs, applications, games, movies. Lots of movies. I see VCDs of movies for sale with titles I don't recognize. Movies I've never heard of from Hollywood. There are movies here that are not out on DVD, not out in theaters yet, I think some of them haven't even been filmed yet, y'all. They are cheaper than the popcorn at your local megaplex, usually about 2 to 3 dollars. Can you believe this brazen piracy, me matey? In the malls, in broad daylight, with names signed, storefronts leased, and the mall taking in rent. An entire corrupt bizness from tip to toe. There may be Amazing Thailand, but this is really amazing, and it's Malaysia.

Just for fun, I enter a store and buy the entire suite of Marcomedia products. All on one cd, crammed as full as the Amistad, y'all. It contains everything they have released, tried to release, or will release within the next month. About $4000 in software retail for a cool $2. You do the math - it's a good clearance sale.

Even better is the video arcade on 8. Here is a list of the better games Malaysians can play there:
Super Bishi Bashi
Hyper Bishi Bashi
DDR 3rd Mix
Guitar Freaks 3rd Mix (X2)
Para Para Dancing (X2)
Percussion Freaks (X2)
Sega Tambourine game (name is in Japanese)

Para Para Dancing seems pretty easy by the second game. It's more about showing your moves than being technical. The funniest game is the Bishi Bashi series, which is like Track N Field of old. You tap the buttons to do things like click the lead out of a mechanical pencil and build a hamburger. That's why I came to Malaysia in the first place.

Enough fun at the mall. This is to be my last full day in Malaysia. I book a minibus to Krabi, departing at 5 am. Eat. It's late already. Just for fun, check the bank balance again and --- HOLY FLYING FUCKWADS! --- someone has raped my credit card to little shreds. There are charges and more charges. Looks like helter skelter, asian style. This has to be an inside job. No one who's Malaysian has a Bank of America account.

Who would do an American peacekeeper like this? Also, I am running low on cash. I go to the hostel worker for some information, but he is a moron. He says go to Telecom. This is like telling someone to go to the Southwestern Bell administrative office to make a phone call. Or to go to the White House to vote. Ignoring him, I go to a Chinese-owned store across the street, and ask to make an international phone call.

The owner introduces himself as Steve. Upon my insistence, we hop on his scooter to a hotel down the street. There, I make the call, and he waits patiently for me to go through all the menus and red tape. "Press 1...Press 2." The joy of automated menus at a time like this.

I assume Steve is waiting around to sell me something, but it is not the case. Steve turns out to be a thoroughly cool guy. After the calls, we ride back to his store. He shows me a room behind his store that is a dimly lit speakeasy of sorts. He explains that people come here all the time for drinks, regardless of ethnicity or religion - it's a Shangri La for drinkers. Muslim Malayans and Buddhist Chinese drink alongside Indian Hindus in Steve's hidden bar. Over the next 3 hours, I see representatives of many groups go in for a drink. Muslims are strictly forbidden to drink, after all.

We hang out at the bar until the wee hours. Steve's friend Chong is especially tight this evening. His approach to me being there is a combination of broken English sentences and slaps on the back. Very cool place to be when paranoia sets in. Steve really saves my life, won't even let me pay for the drinks. Finally, we all go to the Muslim hawker stand for some fish cakes and tissue candy before saying goodbye. Feeling somewhat ironed out now. And in only 3 more hours, the hos, rats, and thieves of Chulia Street, Georgetown, Penang Island, Malaysia will be long gone.

Tuesday Sept 25th
First day without Teik as local friend and tour guide. One more day and I fear he would start in with the mushrooms again. Get lost in the backpacker district. The old district is a maze. I get lost. Find familiar ground...the temple where Teik and I went yesterday. A good time to have lunch too.

Up to the hawker stand strolls a woman who is definitely Western, but orders food in Hokkien. She is wearing a Chinese traditional dress and carrying a Chinese umbrella. We talk at the folding table curbside. She is Lindsey, an artist from Colorado. She's a nontraditional person. She has blue and yellow oil paint spots on her hands. She taught at Pratt in New York, but now - now she's married into a Chinese Malaysian family and living in Malaysia.

We are right outside the Dao/Buddhist temple where yesterday I lit a candle in support of the US. Lindsey lives right next to the temple, where she keeps her studio space. She offers some advice that changes the course of my travels. I explain that I am heading east to the Perhenian Islands on the east coast of Malaysia. She travels there often and was there recently (since the terrorist attacks). The people who live there are strict fundamentalist Muslims, and they are agitated right now.

Lindsey explains how the Muslims were shoving her around in the marketplace there. If you are a woman without a head covering in Muslim areas, you tend to stand out. She says she accidentally bumped into a man, and said "sorry," but he got in her face and started yelling "sorry! sorry!" in a menacing way. She is the third person to tell me such things about the Perhenian Islands. And Lindsey's a local, not a student from Cali. Reason enough to change my plans. Penang is also Malaysian and has Muslims in it. You can often hear the prayers to Mecca. The city is 55% Chinese, however, and we all know how loveable those Buddhists are - in theory at least.

Evening, I leave for the desolate west side of Penang. A bus clears the cliffside roads at speeds that would make the Beach Boys proud. On the bus, I look into my wallet. Didn't I have about 6000 baht more than this last time I checked? And didn't I have a credit card in there? Krapp, must have left the card in the ATM last time. Also, I need to stop spending so much money. Still, this wallet seems awfully light. And my room is only $1.50 per night, not very expensive.

Once there, adolescents are fighting with sticks in the twilight. A fishmonger boy on a folding bike "helps me" find my destination, Miss Loh's Guest House at the end of the world. Loh meets me at the gate, quietly saying the boy is an "addict." She gives him 2 ringgit coins to go away.

It is at this point that I am going over the edge. Terrorism in the US, antagonistic Muslims yelling "Sorry!", drug addicted fishmongers, my unusally light wallet, and Miss Loh at the end of the world. When she asks me "England?," I feel defensive and stupidly say, "No, I'm German." She starts yelling about "Oh German! You speak such good english for a german!" And she runs around shouting "There's a German here!" to no one in particular, since the guests are mostly still at the beach.

First comes a tattooed Brit. She introduces me to him as German, and we look at a local map together. I feel the need to put on a German accent, but it is pointless. Ridiculous. Miss Loh promises me that two Belgian girls are coming back from the beach, and that I can talk to them too. They probably speak German, and mine is not that great. The outcome is obvious. I use these moments to pack up and leave.

The German returns to Georgetown under the cover of night. Luckily, Georgetown is a town that doesn't sleep. Getting a meal at 2 am is no problem here. There are always hawker stands open and an extra chair on the street. I'm starting to get paranoid about my missing card. If I lost it in the ATM, maybe someone grabbed it out and went shopping. I check my online balance using the internet. No mysterious charges. Guess the machine in Krabi sucked it in. Then that will be my next destination.

Monday Sept 24th

I'm at Teik's house in Penang. I meet his brother, mother, and grandmother. Soon thereafter, his father and older brother show up. Also, a friend whose name I cannot remember. Conversing for a while, it comes up that we should go to the karaoke bar. She was classically trained in opera, and won some awards in Malaysia for her singing. We talk for at least an hour. Can't remember what it was all about, but a good conversation. Their house is like most houses in Penang. Open to the outside weather, and with geckos everywhere. Not unlike Austin in that respect.

Earlier we visited a giant Buddhist statue, this one is of Kuan Yin. Zounds, it's tall. We went up to the top of Penang Hill, which is about 750 meters high. It affords a most panoramic view of the city, I can tell you. Got some real nice fotos too. Mega-developments are big biz here. Both giant malls and giant condominiums for Penang Peeples. The condominiums are symbolic. They are both physically and monetarily out of reach for dee peeples here. So they are actually tongues sticking out of the ground in a constant frozen razz. NYYaaaaahhh, I can afford to live here, but you on the other hand cannot. You are an insignificant little ant peeple. I can hardly even see you in your diminutive nature. Maybe I will drop some rotten vegetables on your tiny insignificant head. Oh wait, its too small even for my bag of rotten vegetables. Razzz.

The malls on the other hand are sort of great and awesome, and sort of stupid too. This one that Teik and I go to has the Songbird karaoke bar in it, where we order beer from a man in a cheap malt-shop tux-iform. He is the iceman. Very cool - even has an eyebrow maneuver like WWF's The Rock. He is too cool to touch money, and puts it on a felt paddle that kind of resembles his tux-iform. Due to the felt, you cannot slide your change off of the paddle into your hand, as you could an American change dish. After all these years, this is a Malaysian change paddle. It requires some dexterity, some intelligence, a little depth perception, and lots of class. You have to reach for it and pinch it off of the felt paddle.

This is such a classy place! How classy? Well, there's a glass cabinet against the wall full of bottles. The bottles contain some fine aged cognac. Cognac is amber in color, contains alcohol, can be quite expensive, and is made in France-land, Europe. Most of all though, cognac is very exclusively classy! Each of these bottles, tastefully lined up like school wrestling trophies in a glass cabinet, has the name of some very suave karaoke singer of the dark urban night, who can come in and order it from the cabinet, just as classy as you please. I don't need to tell you this, but sitting back at the karaoke bar with a glass of Camus VSOP cognac is probably the only thing in this world better than self-actualization.

Teik and I are there to sing some karaoke. As it turns out, he is not. He backs out of the deal, leaving me to choose the two songs myself. But it's ok by me. I find plenty of English songs, though that's only the beginning. There are songs in Mandarin, Malay, English, Cantonese, and Hokkien, which is a local Chinese dialect much like Cantonese is a Hong Kong dialect. I would like to go ahead and dedicate the first song I did to Jessica, for her bold karaoke party, and because she turned off the machine when Scott and I were singing the very same song. It is the one and only Hello by Lionel Richie. The second song was Bend Me Shape Me by the American Breed, which I discovered is harder than one would think - on the ears.

Sunday Sept 23rd

Things have gotten way out of hand

I finally manage to leave Hat Yai on my second day there. I find someone with good enough English skills to explain the unique but manageable experience of crossing over into Malaysia. It is done in a minibus, aka minivan. The traveller 2 inches from my ear keeps staring at me on the minibus, or staring at my notebook, at least. We start talking. He is Malaysian. Specifically, he is an ethnic Chinese, one of the many ethnicities in this melting pot of a country.

Tan Sheng Teik

Teik is very talkative, and we talk throughout the 4 hour bus ride. Since I am trapped next to him, it's a lucky thing that he is an interesting person. With pride, he introduces himself as a multi-level marketer. This bears out the blind spot to American culture that other countries live in. He doesn't know that multi-level marketer fits comfortably in the same sentence as racketeer or spirit channeler. Not so in Malaysia. At least he sells a product that "no home should be without," some ancient Chinese mushrooms ground up in pill form. Does that come in Snake-Oil flavor? I change the subject, but it will come up again.

Sheng Teik verifies a story originally told to me by Tai, my Hong Kong friend. Yes, it is true that there are strong prejudices attached to the numbers 4, 8, and 9 in Chinese culture. According to Tai, people in Hong Kong will pay large sums of money to have lots of 8's in their lives. This applies to phone numbers, license plates, maybe even street addresses. In addition, if you have a number with lots of 4's in it, you probably won't be able to give it away. The reason behind this is the phonetic sound of 4, 8, and 9 in Chinese. When you say the number 4, it sounds like the word meaning "death." The number 8, luckily, sounds like the word "wealth." And 9 is harder to make out, but it means a "long time." As a result, if you have a business selling baby food, and you want it to succeed, what will people think of you if you are on 144 Happiness Lane, which is "Certain Death Death" Happiness Lane. Or you could have the phone number 8888888888, the absolute best phone number to have. You could sell it to Bill Gates for some good scratch. But thats 2 much funn with numbers 4 1 day, kidz.

I ask Teik about the culture of his Chinese family. Does he live at home with the family? Yes. Is that the normal way people live in Penang Malaysia? Yes. Do people really live in treehouses and eat Li'l Smokies out of their shoes? No. His defensive denial seems most suspicious (and more than a little auspicious). Teik, if you are 31 years old, and you are 31 years old, and you live with your parents and sister and brother and grandparents all in one house, will everyone think you are a greenhorn who's hiding from the big adult world and lazy besides? No. Oh wait, that's American culture I was thinking of. Yes, we all strike out on our own at the age of 18, lest we never learn to fly out of the nest at all. Is Malaysia like that, Teik? Not really, but I eat the hell out of these fungi pills and and I'm a multi-level marketer, too. OK Teik, tell me more about your strange ways.

Teik proved himself to be full of useful information. If you live in the same house as your parents, don't they try to tell you what to do all the time, Teik? He says he doesn't have to listen to them. Or he could put up an argument, and if it stood upright, they would respect his decision. Seems like a supportive environment to me. Still, I wonder if this sort of lifestyle insulates a person from the outside world. The fact that Teik has never left SE Asia in all his 31 years supports this. In fact, only within the past 2 years has he ever left Penang Island. How is that possible? How could he care if the World Trade Center blew up? For him, that's in Narnia, past the land of black angels and ghost galleons. But he is a very nice person, both curious and friendly. And his English is quite good. So when the minibus finally emerges from the ferry onto Penang Island and the streets of Georgetown, we say goodbye. He says I should call him once I get settled, and he will show me the town. Probably he's just being polite, but I go ahead and call him after dinner.

Driving around with Sheng Teik proves interesting. The city has a colonial history, and many English buildings stand as a reminder of colonialism. But the real attraction is the hawker stands, where you can get food from all over. Yes indeed. That Teik, whatta guy. I discover what is important to an ethnic Chinese Malaysian. Like in most places, it is mostly *prospects for the future*, *money*, and *career*. Teik wants to succeed. In fact, he asks me: What are the principles upon which one should live? This is a good question, but what I don't yet know is that Teik has the answers already. I say something about poetry and love being the dual foundation of a life well lived. It is a poignant moment, which Teik maneuvers by telling me his principles. Something like work, leisure, assistance, and self-actualization. For a fleeting moment, we both see a vision of a better world. A place where man exists to better his fellow man. Etc. But those words are obviously printed between the shiny covers of a multi-level marketing workbook somewhere. Somewhere, probably in Kuala Lumpur, there is a fatly ornamented penthouse where a master salesman has set up his brothel of brain pimpery, and this is his mantra. Work, leisure, assistance, and self-actualization. Sounds like hokum -> flapdoodle -> bunkum -> *presto* mystical enlightenment. As Teik mentally runs his reading finger along the trade publication's sales philisophy, I realize that we are not in the same place. I really like this guy Teik, but I am annoyed with his marketing company. It is spoiling the moment in MY vacation.

By 1 am, after seeing much of old colonial Georgetown, Teik and I say goodbye. I expect no more from him, but he insists on coming by to hang out tomorrow after he stops by his office. We agree to meet at 1 pm, Maylasia time.