Crabby in Krabi, Thailand

For the last 10 days I've been in Krabi, Thailand being frugal and watching the rain fall. It has rained everyday I've been here. For the first time in my life, I've seen it pour rain for two straight days -- everytime I looked outside, I was astonished at how heavy it was raining. Occasionally, the power goes out because of the rain, and ironically, sometimes the running water stops (figure that one out). With no money and nothing to do outside, I end up spending most of my days reading and writing and sitting (plenty of that).

I read The Princess Bride -- forgive me for not knowing it was a book first -- but it was an excellent read. At least equal to the movie, but my loyalty will always be with the movie.

I'm not a great writer, probably an even less talented poet, but I like poetry, so here is a joke poem I wrote while sitting on a bench watching it rain.

An hypothetical image of a flooded Boston.

King of the Rain

A ceiling of clouds hang in the sky
I'm no meteorologist, so I don't know why,
But it rains everyday, from noon until noon,
And I doubt it will stop anytime soon.

Puddles become ponds, and ponds become lakes
And I wish it'd stop raining -- jeez, for Pete's sake!
The lakes become oceans and continue to rise
So I'm riding a boat that I hope won't capsize.

Call me a cynic, but I purchased that boat
Long before houses were surrounded by moats.
When the time was just right, I went sailing through town
Picking up friends, but let the rest of them drown.

With such limited room, just what could I do,
And I needed that flat-screen and the pool table too,
And thirst quenching beer, along with a distiller.
"Chad, try this grain alcohol, it's literally killer."

My days now revolve around the moon and the tides.
Me and my friend, we long for antediluvian times.
Of times when we'd grab a beer at the bar
Or go for a stroll or just hop in the car.

But now that I think of it, the rain's not half bad.
For one, my social status has increased just a tad.
My friends are so close, and I'm king of this realm
As I rock in my boat while manning the helm.

No Wallet, No Ballin' It

The days of spending hundred Baht bills is over. At least for a short while. I lost my wallet. In Thailand they say (lord knows why), "No Money, No Honey." They like that saying so much they put it on t-shirts and make you pay for the shirt in order to wear it. Well, that saying is overused and, more importantly, annoying. So I'm going to start promoting "No Wallet, No Ballin' It," cuz I'm so gangsta.... Ehem, sorry. Still annoying.

You're thinking, "Adam got wasted and started making bone headed decisions". Wrong: I was totally sober when I lost my wallet. On the 18th of March, more than one full day before the Full Moon Party, I lost my wallet out a hole in my back pocket (a hole I knew about) while trying to escape the rain. A few hours later I realized this and went looking on the stretch of 100 meters it could have fallen upon, and fully succeeded in not finding it. Don't worry though. The wallet had my remaining cash and my two debit cards -- my only means of getting more cash.

That put me in a serious bind, and put a damper on my party mood. I kindly explained my situation to the 24-hour automated telling machine: I'm American, I need to borrow some cash, and "its no big deal, I'm good for it", but the ATM stood fast. One to nil, ATM. My second option was getting money wired to me via Western Union. (I'm not a conspiracy type of guy, but a Western Union is conveniently located directly across the street from where I lost my wallet). Getting money wired to me meant asking my parents to do some legwork, which I did not relish -- being that I'm half-way across the world where everyday is practically Saturday -- but I had no other options. Fortunately, I have a retired step-father, Dave, who I can feel less guilty about bothering. A few phone calls and emails later, things were all arranged. Dave came through, big time. The next morning I had enough money to last me two weeks.

What does one do with money in Koh Pha Ngan? Spend it on taxi rides, body paint, and buckets of cocktails. I can finally say that I got into the party spirit, but I'm blaming the Thai version of "Red Bull" called the M150. Some say it has amphetamines in it, but I didn't do a chromatography elusion to find out. I will say that I did not feel like my normal self during the party, and the next day, I had no desire to do another bucket for at least, say, 4 weeks; maybe ever. I spent the entire day recovering from the hangover. Apparently, there is a video of me and a Scottish mate, Fraser, jumping a rope of fire at the party. If I ever get it, I'll be sure to post it here.

Fully recovered from the bash, Maggie and her Scottish friends left Koh Pha Ngan. I decided I'd stayed an extra day to follow-up with the police in person. The police didn't seem that helpful over the phone, or perhaps, their English wasn't reassuring enough that they understood my situation.

First things first, I looked around for a cheap room in Thong Sala. Thong Sala is the main hub for boats and travelers coming to the island, but otherwise nothing is there and few travelers would want to stay there as a first choice. Two days after the Full Moon Party, I figured vacancies would be high and rooms would be cheap. But not on Koh Pha Ngan. It defies all economic models on supply and demand, and it freakin' infuriating, especially with limited funds for the next two weeks. I figured I could appeal to peoples compassionate side by tell them my story of losing the wallet. Also an incorrect assumption. I didn't find anything less than an astronomical 450 Baht (about 15 USD).

I walked around a bit more, and I found a place called Suksbai Guesthouse. With a name that phonetically contains "Sucks" and "Buy", I should have been more wary. Two younger women (I presume) greeted me in the open air lobby, but one was playing coy with some guy in a doorway, then disappeared inside. The remaining one asked what I wanted. I explained my situation and that I was looking for a room for less than 300 Baht. She said she could give me a "small room" for 350 Baht. I reminded her of my situation and she agreed to 300. Hurray, sympathy and a room! Or was it?

She led me outside, around back through a hauntingly grungy alley -- even in daytime -- where I sneaked by a moldy mattress leaning against the wall sporting a hole fit for a rodent of unusual size. She opened an unlocked door to a room that appeared occasionally lived in. She said, "This is it, small room, okay?". I timidly agreed. She said I should lock the door with my own lock, then left me.

Alone, I reassessed the room. A Winnie-the-Pooh stuffed animal lay ass-up on the bed. Some bags of white and pink pills in unmarked bags were on a shelf. The remnants of a roach lay in an ashtray. With the climatic suspense of a horror movie, I dared to lift the lid to the toilet: Condoms and wrappers. The following pictures are not for the faint of heart.

At this point a faint whisper (actually, a shrill scream) in my head told me that 1) the sheets probably aren't clean, 2) I probably don't want to know the history of the sheets, and 3) this guesthouse may not be a legitimate establishment. With the fortitude of Hercules, I put all such things out of my head as best as possible and settled in for the day.

I made the 1 or 2 km walk to the police station, eager to hear any news of my wallet. First, I waited for the near comatose officer behind the desk to finish with a Thai couple. Finally, it was my turn! My enthusiasm was crushed as he continued his lackluster stare perched above a laid out newspaper. He looked at me like I was interrupting him, and I imagined him saying in a south Boston accent, "Does it look like I work here, guy?".

The officer calmly listened to my sob story that I'm sure he's heard a million times before. He handed me a pile of lost credit cards and let me look through them to see if any were mine. No dice. I said I wanted to provide a contact number in case anyone returns it. He sort of frowned in a way that said, "You're gonna make me stand up, aren't you?". Then walked over to a shelf, grabbed a scrap piece of paper that seemed to have been used to practice the multiplication tables, and asked me to put my contact information on it. I did. He told me "Okay" and said goodbye. At that point, I become more assured than ever that I'd never see my wallet again. That bitter thought was sweetened by having seen the most brilliant display of apathy on the job in my life.

I avoided my room for most of the day until the mosquitoes started biting in the evening. Back in my room, I became glad that I had packed a liner. I locked myself  into my room with my padlock and twice that night someone came to knock. I didn't answer. I spent most of the night reading "Little Princes" by Connor Grennan, practically cover to cover. The book is a biography that starts with the author's two month trip to Nepal to volunteer at an orphanage, where he then becomes committed to the children, and starts a foundation that reunites orphaned kids with their parents from the civil war. I definitely recommend it.

Desperately in need of a shower, probably more mentally than physically, I boarded the ship for the mainland at 7AM and arrived in Krabi around 2PM. Immediately on arrival, I was glad to be in a place of rational economics. A tuk-tuke ride was now 20 Baht instead of 150 Baht. A cheap room was 150 Baht (and it even had 2 beds just in case I wanted a frugal roommate). Things will be good here while I wait for my debit cards to arrive.

The book, "Little Princes," touched on something I've been thinking recently, especially after my recent stays on the islands of Thailand. Perhaps this trip has been overly self-indulgent and I think I need to do something more productive. I've considered volunteering, or settling into a place to learn a language, or working on a farm, or, god forbid, actually finding a professional job again. But regardless, I believe I'm spending too much money on enjoying myself. And I feel guilty for it. I'll see how long that sentiment lingers as I resume climbing in Railay Beach in the next couple weeks.

I'm Going Back, Back to Koh Pha Ngan

For whatever reason, I decided to go back to Koh Pha Ngan for the real-deal Full Moon Party. There are a bunch of reasons that this isn't the best decision I've ever made. For one, it becomes unreasonably expensive here as 20,000 people converge on the tiny island in the days before the party. Another, it isn't really my scene (which I know because I've already checked it out and failed miserably at enjoying it). Third, the boat ride from Koh Tao to Koh Pha Ngan nearly sank on the rough sea swells. But I do have the great company of Maggie and her Scottish friends she introduced to me.

I'm over-exaggerating a little about the boat. The boat caught a large swell at a weird angle, and the boat tipped hard enough to one side where a few of the windows in the bottom cabin were covered in water. Usually, boats are engineered for such things, as was this boat, but before we left the choppy waters in the port of Koh Tao, one of the windows was speared and cracked by the stern of another boat. This spider-web of cracked glass imploded as the water pressure pushed on the window, then allowing water to spill into the cabin for a handful of seconds. While the boat didn't sink, it was terrifying enough for everyone in the bottom cabin to panic and believe it was going to sink.

Although my seat was in the bottom cabin, I was occupied in puking off the side of the boat on the top deck, along with 20 other travelers. The brown watery chunks spilled down onto the windows below -- another reason the bottom cabin sucks. Between heaving, I silently laughed at the irony of all of us spewing on a boat bound for an enormous island party where a large percentage will end up spewing again, under their own hand, due to drinking too much alcohol.

I remember the very swell that caused the incident, hanging tightly onto the hand rail, and then thinking, "Just how far will this boat continue to tip over before it doesn't return to normal". It did return to normal though. Then I heard the muted screams of a few people on the bottom cabin through the imploded window, and selfishly realized how happy I was being on the top deck. The waters were rough, but I felt comfortable enough that I could tread water long enough in such a situation to be rescued, and less confident that I would have escaped the crowded (fire-hazardly so) cabin.

Following this, I pondered what type of biology allows one to get sea sick and then feel completely restored from puking almost immediately. If someone can explain that to me, send me an email.

I enjoyed the rest of the ride back to Koh Pha Ngan on the top deck, checking out the views without feeling sick. On the way, we passed several tanker ships, with a combination of preachy messages in large, bold letters on the hull. I read them from 500 meters or more away:

No Smoking
Safety First
Prevent Pollution

Were those messages for their own crew or for the crew of other boats? Or just to impress that the company is safety and ecologically conscious?

I also spotted a catamaran on the sea headed for Koh Tao. These more-expensive-ticket catamarans are touted as being able to make the trip there in 45 minutes (compared to 2 hours for our boat). What they don't tell you about is the ride: falling, rising, and flying through the waves like a dolphin cresting the sea. Its violent enough that no one is allowed to be outside on the deck when the seas are rough. I imagined what that ride was like for the passengers, locked up inside, groups huddled around 50 gallon trash cans and taking turns ralphing up their breakfast, and the miasma filling the cabin for the innocent, non-sea-sick passengers.

It was one more excessively fast tuk-tuk ride to the bungalow hotel in the town of Hat Yao. As I walked up the steep hill the to bungalow I thought, "Well, at least if a tsunami comes, I'm protected from that here."

And if you are keeping up with Ethan's blog, I have a would you rather... be on a train sitting hard seat for 40 hours, or a 2-hour terrifying boat ride? Maggie said she'd prefer the train. I said I'd take the boat. 

Koh Pha Ngan and Koh Tao

It was a train and a boat to Koh Pha Ngan. Koh Pha Ngan is the locale of the proverbial Full Moon Parties -- but everyone must know that, because, as I found out, even my mom knew. I stayed in the heart of the madness, and Maggie too, in the beach town of Hat Rin (said Haad Rin).

The first night I strolled along the beach of Hat Rin and saw the beginning stages of the circus being assembled. DJ systems are brought out. Elephant sized speakers are wired up. Myriad drinking booths, with ridiculous names, are stocked with bottles of alcohol. Glow in the dark necklaces, hats and shirts are laid out. Tiki torches are speared into the sand for as far as the eye can see. And most importantly, kerosene is put in the ready for the fire dancers. This scene is repeated every day, without fail, but with varying degrees of enormity. But my night culminated in sharing one drink with Maggie and then going to bed by 10PM.

The next day, we escaped Hat Rin for Hat Yuan, which is only accessible by boat, and lounged around on the beach surrounded by heaps of beautiful women not wearing any tops. Maggie pondered if we had stumbled upon a "Beautiful Women Contest." We met two Americans, Ashlyn and Morgan, from Hawaii and California respectively, and spent the day and evening with them bouncing around the island, and checking out the various beach hangouts and lounges. Without a doubt, Hat Yuan is a sanctuary from the craziness of Hat Rin, and it was an incredibly relaxing day.

Early in the evening, our American friends were surprised to discover that we weren't staying in Hat Yuan, but in Hat Rin. Morgan was shocked. He shared his disbelief with us, "So you're really going back to Hat Rin? That place sucks. I mean, first you stay in that crappy place, and you gotta take a scary boat ride back at night, and you have to pay for the ride too. That really sucks." There was no intended malice in his words. Morgan really didn't like Hat Rin (except for the all crepes he ate there). He too often repeated similar sentiments with such earnestness for the rest of the night, and I started to think that maybe he didn't realize he was talking out loud, and that we could hear him.

Late in the night, we did get that boat ride back to Hat Rin. Maggie tried hard to haggle down the price from 700 Baht, but the taxi driver wouldn't have any of it. When she finally relented, he whipped out a leather Gucci wallet to make change. (Tourism is a good business here). By this time, Morgan and Ashlyn wanted to come along to experience the ride at night, and it did not disappoint. The driver navigated the boat in the pitch-black choppy water without any artificial light. In the darkness, I could make out the large boulders along the rocky coast line that the driver paralleled. (I briefly pondered if anyone would save us if we hit one of those rocks). On the sea, the sky stretched on forever without a cloud, and the stars were so bright. I took this all in for a few minutes until we cornered around the bay where the the spot-light spectacle of Hat Rin hit me in the face. From 500 meters out on the water, I could feel the bass of music resonating in my chest. We were dropped off in front of a large crowd of party-goers who were watching a fire dancer throwing flaming bow staffs into the air. I felt like the guest of honor to an extravagant Hollywood party. But again, I wasn't up for the craziness of it all, and went to bed.  Lame, I know.

The next night, Maggie and I agreed we had to embrace Koh Pha Ngan for what it is. It was the "Shiva Moon (Jungle and Family) Party". For all anyone cares in Koh Pha Ngan, it could have been called "An Ice Cream Tuesday Tri-cycle Soiree". People were going to be there, but how and why it was a family party I still have no idea. When we got into the jungle party, no more than 40 people were there, loud music made talking impossible, and it was early in the night. Instead of seeing what would come of it all, we left, making friends with the people we shared a tuk-tuk with, and finally embraced the party on the beach. To be honest, I found it incredibly dull. People stared in awe of the fire dancers or futilely shouted into each others ears. Some people danced, or, depending on their level of intoxication, stumbled around on the sand with something feigning rhythm and coordination. I did drink a bucket of cheap alcohol and Redbull, before going back to my room where I fought the effects of caffeine for a few hours before falling asleep. And that was my craziest night in Koh Pha Ngan.

Koh Tao is the mecca for SCUBA divers, or at least aspiring divers looking to get some level of certification on the cheap. I got my open water scuba certification over three days. My ears took forever to equalize as I went deeper underwater, and I kept focusing on constantly breathing to prevent "over-expansion injuries". For that reason, though I only had four dives, I wasn't comfortable enough to fully appreciate the beauty of the fish and coral reefs. But the people I met were cool, and I'm happy I came away with a skill I can use in the future, instead of a souvenir or a picture. One other thing to be said about Koh Tao is that the fire dancers here are pretty awesome. Especially the exploited 8 year old kid I saw last night.

And I finally added more pictures to the Thailand Picasa web album. Internet is not cheap here, nor is it fast, so it was at the cost of nearly 6 dollars.

Sukhothai, Ayutthaya, and Bangkok, Oh My

I finally left Chiang Mai on a five hour bus to Sukhothai, mostly prepared to re-indulge in the run-of-the-mill tourism that I had escaped from by rock climbing. On the bus I met a friendly woman, Cristina, doing the last few days of site-seeing before going back home to Italy. I didn't have a place to stay for the evening and I had given up carrying a Lonely Planet guidebook. I asked if I could tag along with her and see if I'd find a room at the same place as her.

Cristina and I arrived at the guesthouse around 7PM. The owner said that there were only two rooms available: a single for 150 Baht (~5 USD) and a double for 400 Baht (you can do the math if you want). I knew I wasn't going to spend 400 Baht for a room and I thought about moving somewhere else. Fortunately, Cristina was up for splitting a room. We looked at the first, where a beat-up futon filled the space of a shabby fan-cooled "room" that afforded enough space to walk in and close the door. The bath room was outside down the hallway. The second room was a cathedral in comparison: A large open room, king size bed, a closet, two chairs and a table, air conditioning and an attached bathroom. It sort of felt like a well-practiced sales pitch. It worked.

Sukhothai is a quiet and tiny city that has grown up around the ruins of Buddhist temples. The thing to do as a tourist is to rent a bike to visit the many temples, Buddhas and stupas, indistinguishable though they may be except for location. It was a gray day and I thought I could get away with wearing a tank top and no sunscreen. I wanted to minimize my farmer's tan before my eventual arrival on a beach. Cristina and I road around the historical parks and, with mechanical certainty akin to Pavlov's dogs salivating at the sound of a bell, took the pictures that everyone else has taken in the past and thousands will again in the future.

The sun eventually came out, and I knew I was getting sunburnt. It took about 4 hours of touring until we gave up, leaving many sites unvisited. After lunch, I checked in the mirror at the guesthouse to see that my farmer's tan had been thoroughly demolished and replaced with something far more unsightly. I haven't yet figured out how I'm going to fix these new, more embarrassing tan lines.

Another seven hour bus to Ayutthaya, which has sites similar to Sukhothai but in the midst of a grungy and fast-paced city. I was originally going to pass this place up, but I didn't have a strong desire to go to Bangkok, so I continued to team up with Cristina. This type of sight seeing becomes more tolerable with someone else to break up the monotony.

When we got off the bus for Ayutthaya, we were left in the middle of a 10 lane highway, and used a walking bridge to get a minibus to the city center. Unwittingly, we picked the wrong side and the bus started in the direction of Bangkok. Cristina was not happy about this and worked on getting the problem resolved; I sat with my bag between my legs, shrugged, and looked out the window. It was then that I realized after six months of travel, I've become fairly complacent about the unexpected. The worst that could happen would be that I'd be in Bangkok a few days earlier than I expected.

Without too much delay, we did make it back to Ayutthaya. The next day we did the same routine as before: rent bikes, take pictures, give up around noon, but I was wise enough to wear sunscreen this time. The main attraction of Ayutthaya is a Buddha face in the tangle of a tree's roots. I didn't think it was that impressive, although it was unique. I was more intrigued by the adjacent signage that said "Please... Do not stand over the Buddha's head. (It's insulting)," which intended to say, "If you take a picture, it is insulting if your face is higher than the Buddha's head." I amused myself by watching other travelers ignore this confusing signage, while some security guard was forced to intervene and instruct the people what the sign really meant. I wanted to point out that I could have re-worded that sign and saved them the cost of employing the guard.

The next morning I said goodbye to Cristina, who wanted to get to Bangkok early to go shopping for friends and family. Little did I expect -- in a city of eight million people -- that I would run into her three more times on the streets of Bangkok. The path of the tourist is a microcosm of any country, especially Thailand, especially Bangkok.

On my arrival in Bangkok a few hours later, I happened to meet two travelers, Christoffa from Sweden and Abdul from Thailand, on a bus to the same destination as me, that being Khao San Rd -- a.k.a. the backpacker slum of Bangkok. These two gents were really friendly dudes. Abdul spoke to a few Thai people to point me in the right direction, then they personally walked me to my guesthouse, and invited me for lunch. Abdul was looking for Halal food but we weren't able to find anything, so it was only Christoffa and I that ate. For all their help, I tried to pay for lunch, but Christoffa refused and said, "Welcome to Bangkok."

Having found some good people, I walked around with them to some of the WatsKhao San Road, where Abdul found a Halal restaurant. I understand the technical differences, but from the looks of cleanliness of the floor it didn't seem like a place worth holding out for. This was the first food for Abdul all day.

That evening I met a friend, Maggie, from my hometown of Exeter, New Hampshire. Maggie is a sharp and intelligent lady, and I was glad to have the company of a native English speaker that would understand the sarcasm that so often is unnoticed on other non-native speakers. Maggie and I grabbed a drink, but after a long day for both us, we conceded to go to bed early in order to get up for our full day of sight seeing in Bangkok. I failed at this concession, not being able to sleep, ended up going down the street and meeting a bunch of nameless strangers until I felt the urge to sleep a few hours later.

The next morning, while Maggie and I were headed out, I saw a face from the previous night. This stranger and I both recognized each other, and we chatted for a minute. David, from France, employed in London, and working as a chef at the "second most famous restaurant in the city, after The Ritz", said he was staying in the same guesthouse, and he'd be around for the evening if we wanted to hang out again. More on this later.

Maggie and I headed in the direction of the two main tourist attractions in Bangkok, the Grand Palace and the giant Reclining Buddha. (My list excludes other main tourist attractions such as prostitution and the infamous Ping Pong show, which I had to explain to Maggie).  Our attempt at tourism was pathetic and consisted of strolling around, taking pictures without slowing our pace, and soon admitting that, "Yeah, I'm basically done with this site."

Later that evening, we were heading out to sample the night life of Bangkok. We passed David drinking beers in the guesthouse restaurant, which he had brought in from a convenient store. The waiters were not happy with this, but allowed it, and at David's request, brought two chilled mugs for Maggie and me. After that we walked down the road, shared another beer at a street vendor, made some new friends, walkeded down the road, drunked another beer at a cafe, walkeded downa da' roadz to a clubz, met somes more peeps, and shareded somz more (hiccup) beer. At the end of this routine, no more beer could be consumed without unpleasant consequences. The group of seven of us went our separate ways to get some sleep. Except for David, I don't know where he went.

But when I woke up at 9AM to buy the train/boat tickets to Koh Pha Ngan, David was back at the guesthouse drinking, his shirt was off, his speech was off and slurred, and he had not gone to sleep yet. David is a nice guy, a real people person, but I wasn't interested in talking to him in this inebriated state, nor to his Russian friend. (Ethan, I've decided that not wearing a shirt in the city of a foreign country should be added to the Tourist Douche Bag Rules). The Russian guy told me in a comically heavy accent as I walked away, "Don't never trust a foreigner." I'm not sure what that was in reference too, and wanted to point out that he was a foreigner in Thailand; and that based on the double negative, I wasn't prepared to accept this advice from a "foreigner". I was too hung over to pick on him though.

I got the tickets, Maggie and I were bound for Koh Pha Ngan at the end of the day. We stayed away from the hostel for most of the evening in order to evade inebriated David. We inevitably saw him when we picked up our packs, and we were both glad to have a departing train to keep this conversation short. Island bound!

I'll post pictures soon eventually.

United States of America, Incorporated

Reader beware: I'm getting up onto my soapbox. Now is the time to walk away.

A lot of travelers I meet started their journey to see the world. I'm no exception. When I meet a traveler, I find that, more often than not, I enjoy their company because we share a similar mindset. But there is a paradox about this average traveler: Their desire to travel the world seems inversely proportional to their interest in current events of the world. Consequently, so many great people (but not all) don't care or don't know about what is going on in the world. (Reminds me of a punchline to a joke Ethan told me: What do you call an apathetic idiot?). I'm not saying these travelers are unsympathetic if I start a conversation about politics or socio-economic forces, but the world of the traveler is a place of relaxation and fun -- and who wants to listen to or be a Donny Downer while sitting on a white sand beach with a bright blue ocean at your feet?

Without trying to sound snotty, I have been watching the current events of the world and the United States. I'd say I've been watching intently for the last five years or more. And although I've retained only a small fraction of the critical thought and analysis that have rattled through my brain, I'm convinced that humanity is pretty much fucked.

Here is the world through my lens: Each pending crisis is a opportunity for the powerful to take from the poor and redistribute more wealth to the powerful and wealthy; where the US judicial systems (and increasingly other countries) treat corporations equal to a human being while corporations have all the financial power and knowledge intrinsic to a collective group; where our government is in bed with our media and corporations, and vice verse (as they say in Asia: same same); where a corporate media distorts and lies to the people to advance an ideology or goals for those in power; where neo-liberal policies that benefit corporations are pursued with blind faithfulness and disregard for human beings; where governments pursue "free-trade" agreements that are intrinsically exclusive to free exchange and being contrary to true neo-liberal ideology; where salaries and wages (adjusted for inflation) have stagnated in the middle class while salaries of CEOs have increased astronomically; where elected leaders are unwilling to increase taxes on the wealthy and close corporate tax loop holes in order to redistribute that wealth to raise the water line for the lowest of the low in society; where people would rather be comfortable and ignorant than informed and disheartened; where people would rather be complacent, disillusioned and idle, than disgruntled and participative, in the midst of a continuous onslaught on the American dream. I could go on. 

And this brings me to the reason I feel so much anxiety over this topic right now. Wisconsin. (An American said to me the other day, "There are protests in Wisconsin... for what?"). When I extract the essence of the political events in Wisconsin, I see the Republican governor arrogantly parading against the face of popular support for labor unions. There is something the USA could learn from the Arab world these days -- a people willing to fight for democracy. Granted, Wisconsinites have shown a fighting spirit in the protests throughout the state but not enough to scare any politicians. And that scares me -- when our political figures don't really need to care about what their constituents think. The USA is a political landscape largely free of long term consequences -- the voters have amnesia or adopt the revisionist histories from pundits instead of critical thinking or discriminating their sources, and the non-voters don't care because they are disillusioned from the last time they voted.

I, too, have finally passed a unthinkable tipping point where I feel like I should just give up. Corporations own America, to be renamed, The United States of America, Incorporated. But giving up just isn't in me, even if I wanted. (I've been so heated as I write this, I don't even know if I've accomplished anything but a rambling, incoherent blog no one cares about). But for many, apathy is the opiate of the disillusioned masses. Often I play a song called The Decline by NOFX to remind myself I'm not the only person who feels this way. One of my favorite lines goes: Only moron and genius / Would fight a losing battle / Against the super ego / When giving in is so damn comforting / And so we go, on with our lives / We know the truth, but prefer lies / Lies are simple, simple is bliss / Why go against tradition when we can / Admit defeat, live in decline / Be the victim of our own design.

I thought about scrapping this post. Anyway, here goes... pressing "Publish Post". Moron count: + 1.