There is no one word that can sum up the terminal disease that is American pop-"culture." Cheap, pretentious, trashy, tacky, apathetic, destructive, whack, piss-awful, ohforfuckssake, respectyourself, christwhyme, and of course, regrettable all come to mind but still do not encompass the entire tragedy. However, if the tool of the description was to be changed from a word to a place, technically the name of a place, it would be entirely unnecessary to waste a syllable beyond the two it takes to utter Scottsdale.
This debacle of a city that sits just north of the university that M.T.V. built wallows in the intrinsically trash taste that comes with the prevalence of the newly rich. The clubs and night life scene that defines Scottsdale is the place to see these untreatable victims of the American culture disease. No matter how much money these people spend on drinks, Escalades, plastic surgery, and starter castles they will remain cheap and unapologetically Acme Brand human beings who are incapable of thinking farther than their arms can reach and deeper than the piss filled kiddie pool at the YMCA. If there is anything that I am running from it is these people.
As I stood outside the club in Delhi looking at the too tight T-shirt Sphens and the rest of the train wreck I decided it was best to call Tine before fleeing the city now that I knew Scottsdale had chased me across the planet.
T: "No, You're in the wrong spot."
Imagine my relief.
B: "Oh thank fucking God!!! I was about to scratch this whole Turkey thing, Jesus! I was so scared this was actually the place. I"m trynta avoid these people like a fucken infection. I really didn't think you'd chill in a spot like this."
And Horror
T: "Well wait. It's on the 'N' block."
B: "..."
T: "Close to the bakery"
B:"???"
T:"Oh okay, I see you."
B:"...???... :( "
It's strange, I said something awful and still felt like she owed ME the explanation. Oddly enough it seemed like she agreed and gave a perfectly understandable one. Recognizing the traditionally reciprocal nature of such encounters, I went on to explain why I looked like Osama at a wet T-shirt contest held at The Mall of America. Some unpleasantries sprinkled with good intentions later, it was mutually agreed upon that the best course of action was for me to drink to the point that full value had been garnered from the "drink all night" bracelet that all ready had been purchased, and then get the hell out of dodge while she remained with the group of friends she had promised to go out with.
Good will rekindled I parked myself-alone- at the front of the crowded bar and proceeded to make all three bartenders extremely nervous by pouring one cranberry and vodka after another down my face with a ferocity that is typically reserved for billionaire alcoholics who have had their bodies kryogenically frozen for a century then thawed after the absolute confirmation that they had outlived their spouse and would not be required or expected to leave any inheritance to that gold-digging bastard/bitch.
Fifteen minutes later a remix of "Sexy Back" chased me into the night. I stumbled to an Auto Rickshaw and happily paid too much to return to the back-packer ghetto with the high hopes of never finding myself in a similar situation.
Monday, April 28, 2008
Sunday, April 27, 2008
Culture shock Head Lock
Visiting the developing world is a lot like taking a heavy psychedelic drug. You are voluntarily ripping your self out of the ordinary and understandable. You willingly stress your body by visiting the different, unknown, and incredibly strange. There are a couple of reasons for doing this.
First, you gain something from these experiences. You have a better understanding for the world, the way that it works around you and other parts far away that are not seen everyday. You gain insight into yourself. You learn what parts of your character belong to you and what parts are impositions of culture and social graces. Are your limits, comforts, and even aspirations really yours?
The second reason: the other world is great. You like it. Maybe sometimes even more than the world you deal with on a daily basis. Every task is a challenge, every bit of human interaction is significant because it requires something above the daily intelligences and assumptions of communicating at home. In short, every minute is an adventure.
On two occasion going to meet Tine turned into an exercise in reverse culture shock. Stepping into that coffee shop was like tumbling through the rabbit hole, stopping for tea with the Cheshire Cat, getting to the other side, ready and wanting for Red Queen but just finding the kid and Fineline on the couch back in Phoenix waiting to play Fiffa. X-box controller in hand. Say Branden, you wanna be France or Barcelona? What?
No holy cows. No people staring. No food for less than a dollar. No leaves for plates. Health code regulations? HEALTH CODE REGULATIONS!
It was warm, friendly, and familiar. There was music in 4/4 time, fresh paint on the walls, and people slicked out in gear that you would expect from any number of the drab/chic cities of the US.
To be honest it was a nice retreat from the past month plus of insanity. Despite the trivia on the plasma screen T.V.s the place had infinately more class than anything that has ever existed in Phoenix. I was content. The company was good. It must have been because after a remarkably quick conversation I was agreeing that going to Turkey would be a great idea. Just for the record, I was right.
First, you gain something from these experiences. You have a better understanding for the world, the way that it works around you and other parts far away that are not seen everyday. You gain insight into yourself. You learn what parts of your character belong to you and what parts are impositions of culture and social graces. Are your limits, comforts, and even aspirations really yours?
The second reason: the other world is great. You like it. Maybe sometimes even more than the world you deal with on a daily basis. Every task is a challenge, every bit of human interaction is significant because it requires something above the daily intelligences and assumptions of communicating at home. In short, every minute is an adventure.
On two occasion going to meet Tine turned into an exercise in reverse culture shock. Stepping into that coffee shop was like tumbling through the rabbit hole, stopping for tea with the Cheshire Cat, getting to the other side, ready and wanting for Red Queen but just finding the kid and Fineline on the couch back in Phoenix waiting to play Fiffa. X-box controller in hand. Say Branden, you wanna be France or Barcelona? What?
No holy cows. No people staring. No food for less than a dollar. No leaves for plates. Health code regulations? HEALTH CODE REGULATIONS!
It was warm, friendly, and familiar. There was music in 4/4 time, fresh paint on the walls, and people slicked out in gear that you would expect from any number of the drab/chic cities of the US.
To be honest it was a nice retreat from the past month plus of insanity. Despite the trivia on the plasma screen T.V.s the place had infinately more class than anything that has ever existed in Phoenix. I was content. The company was good. It must have been because after a remarkably quick conversation I was agreeing that going to Turkey would be a great idea. Just for the record, I was right.
Delhi
Ah! This is where things went from greater to greatererer. In my head everything from Delhi to Turkey became a world of exclamation points, mosts, evers, bests, absolutes, and other such quiet extremes.
I had to sniff Delhi out. I was pretty sure I wasn't about to follow some chick to Turkey, but still, I needed to sniff this place out. It was less than an hour after checking into out plush, backpacker free hotel that I asked to borrow Jon's phone for the first time. We had just gotten set to link up with these two British girls we met in Agra, but I was a little more curious about somebody else. Less than two hours later I was on my way to go say what up to my German friend from Varanasi.
I had to sniff Delhi out. I was pretty sure I wasn't about to follow some chick to Turkey, but still, I needed to sniff this place out. It was less than an hour after checking into out plush, backpacker free hotel that I asked to borrow Jon's phone for the first time. We had just gotten set to link up with these two British girls we met in Agra, but I was a little more curious about somebody else. Less than two hours later I was on my way to go say what up to my German friend from Varanasi.
Agra
Agra marked a low point for the trip. I was tired angry and really aggressive with the touts and other folks that lived off of tourists. Agra is the home of the Taj Mahal and therefore is swarming with tourists and people who are trying to live off of them. The hustlers were wild aggressive and in response I got wild aggressive back. I walked into people pushed others and in general indulged a side of myself that I really don't know too well. It sucked the good time out of just about everything. The people in out hotel were unpleasant and we got equally unpleasant. On the way to Fetahpur Sikri (spelled really wrong) there were all types of games to try and get money out of us. I went through the roof on one occasion and got the encredbily satisfying feeling of seeing the expression on a persons face that said 'lets not mess with this one.' As nasty as we got it really was a response to what was going on around us. Tourists were running in every direction with touts attached to them. Nobody looked like they were having much fun.
Any how the Taj at sunrise was actually worth the 750 rs to get in. There were no people hustling and it made a world of difference. After the Taj it was on to Delhi were everything changed gears.
Any how the Taj at sunrise was actually worth the 750 rs to get in. There were no people hustling and it made a world of difference. After the Taj it was on to Delhi were everything changed gears.
Saturday, April 19, 2008
Orchha
It is a well known fact that cheese steaks are delicious. It is not a well known fact that cows, just like dogs, have tickle spots on the bottom of their stomachs. Apply the right scratches and the back leg can hardly hold still. I had just learned this through experimentation while sitting out side my hotel in Orchha. Seconds later I learned that to truly endear ones self to the bovine, simply grab them by the jowls in the manner of flattening a pan cake and rub your hands back and forth as if you are trying to start a fire with friction. All of a sudden I spat the angry word out of my mouth as if it was an ant in a samosa. I had heard it before I was aware of saying it.
FUCK!
Cows had officially become cute and sympathetic creatures. Cheese steaks had officially become less delicious.
My biggest fear was coming back from this trip the exact same person. A few nights ago I ordered spinach soup for dinner and ate the entire bowl of neon green liquid before I realized not only what I had done but that I had also enjoyed it. I guess that fear is off the table.
FUCK!
Cows had officially become cute and sympathetic creatures. Cheese steaks had officially become less delicious.
My biggest fear was coming back from this trip the exact same person. A few nights ago I ordered spinach soup for dinner and ate the entire bowl of neon green liquid before I realized not only what I had done but that I had also enjoyed it. I guess that fear is off the table.
Friday, April 18, 2008
Khajuraho
Khajuraho's temples are the place where the people from the World Heritage Foundation and Larry Flint would cross paths on their respective Indian vacations. The temples' carvings depict erotic scenes of positions that would make a gummy bear cry, a world class gymnast get back to training, and members of the equestrian society never think of riding bare back quite the same way ever again.
Due to my somewhat extensive research of other similar artifacts such as Renaissance era paintings, Playboys from the 1980s, and the occasional "classic porn" section of Hustler magazine I was nothing short of astounded at the manner in which women were depicted. One would have been more prepared for natural looking breasts, un-toned rumps which would have been more appealing if marketed as cheese and photoshopped onto a slice of bread, and enough pubic hair to double the cost of materials for the entire project. To find Indian Pamela Anderson boobs, Suzanne Sommers thighs and Jenifer Lopez butts struck me as, if not as exciting and remarkable as a caveman with an i-pod, at least as amazing as a Mesopotamian with an 8-track. Indeed the idealized woman of over 1000 years ago looks remarkably similar to the cosmetically constructed one of today.
Outside of the temple complex the town of Khajuraho has the unique and depraved vibration that only exists in mining towns that no longer produce its commodity and those communities which are completely dependent on tourism.
The touts that pervade India are a nuisance and the beggars are so prevalent that one just goes numb to their strife. However Khajuraho's shopkeepers are an odd combination of the two and elicit a totally unique response. They hunt you down to pull you into their stores then quote you ridiculously inflated prices, just like the touts, and then act with a wild desperation in their eyes that makes you give them all of the pity that was held back from the beggars. In my case this could not have been too much pity to start with because I felt no need to buy anything. An interesting side note is that they really will not sell to the low baller such as my self. It makes more sense some how to sit on products and wait for the one person that is a push over and make six months rent on one sale.
Onto the streets the hagglers pushing photo books and odd knick knacks are more persistent than a collection agency. I played a game with one where I ran around the outside of a car trying to keep distance between the two of us. It was a stand off that lasted maybe 4 rotations of the vehicle before the haggler ducked down making himself invisible then apparated next to me like some creature out of a Harry Potter book. After walking away with the man still in hot pursuit I decided he was just in need of some company.
The second day in Khajuraho, which is one and a half more days than I would suggest spending there, we went with a married couple and a French woman to a tiger reserve where we saw exactly zero dozen tigers. The drive was very pleasant and I got to take pictures of the extremely dangerous white blonde chick on vacation that, lucky for all of us, was safely tucked away into a different jeep. Much to mine a jon's delight it snarled viciously at the sight of my camera.
Due to my somewhat extensive research of other similar artifacts such as Renaissance era paintings, Playboys from the 1980s, and the occasional "classic porn" section of Hustler magazine I was nothing short of astounded at the manner in which women were depicted. One would have been more prepared for natural looking breasts, un-toned rumps which would have been more appealing if marketed as cheese and photoshopped onto a slice of bread, and enough pubic hair to double the cost of materials for the entire project. To find Indian Pamela Anderson boobs, Suzanne Sommers thighs and Jenifer Lopez butts struck me as, if not as exciting and remarkable as a caveman with an i-pod, at least as amazing as a Mesopotamian with an 8-track. Indeed the idealized woman of over 1000 years ago looks remarkably similar to the cosmetically constructed one of today.
Outside of the temple complex the town of Khajuraho has the unique and depraved vibration that only exists in mining towns that no longer produce its commodity and those communities which are completely dependent on tourism.
The touts that pervade India are a nuisance and the beggars are so prevalent that one just goes numb to their strife. However Khajuraho's shopkeepers are an odd combination of the two and elicit a totally unique response. They hunt you down to pull you into their stores then quote you ridiculously inflated prices, just like the touts, and then act with a wild desperation in their eyes that makes you give them all of the pity that was held back from the beggars. In my case this could not have been too much pity to start with because I felt no need to buy anything. An interesting side note is that they really will not sell to the low baller such as my self. It makes more sense some how to sit on products and wait for the one person that is a push over and make six months rent on one sale.
Onto the streets the hagglers pushing photo books and odd knick knacks are more persistent than a collection agency. I played a game with one where I ran around the outside of a car trying to keep distance between the two of us. It was a stand off that lasted maybe 4 rotations of the vehicle before the haggler ducked down making himself invisible then apparated next to me like some creature out of a Harry Potter book. After walking away with the man still in hot pursuit I decided he was just in need of some company.
The second day in Khajuraho, which is one and a half more days than I would suggest spending there, we went with a married couple and a French woman to a tiger reserve where we saw exactly zero dozen tigers. The drive was very pleasant and I got to take pictures of the extremely dangerous white blonde chick on vacation that, lucky for all of us, was safely tucked away into a different jeep. Much to mine a jon's delight it snarled viciously at the sight of my camera.
I got smashed by dehydration, lack of sleep, and eating the wrong food. I have never had my body turn on me like that with out serious illness being involved. This was just neglect. My head felt like it was split in half by a mauling axe. Never have I felt anything like that before.
So after a day of getting hydrated, fed, and rested we jumped the bus and headed for Orchha.
ps
good looks to all those, namely the big sister and Mak who comment. always love knowing you guys are around...oh shit maybe you're the only ones paying attention...
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Jon old Rowe
İ have notıced that the people I value the most tend to sort of be ass holes. Keep ın mınd I say thıs wıth a certaın amount of admıratıon and copıous amounts of apprecıatıon, but Jon Old Rowe ıs no exceptıon. Take me on my most socıal and outgoıng day, multıply that to the poınt of needıng medıcatıon to curb the antıcs, add an ımmense desıre to perform ın publıc along wıth ınspırtaıonal humor and wıt and Boom, you get Jon Old Rowe. On the road the dread head kıds get attentıon because they look weırd. Jon gets attentıon because he demands ıt. Every lıttle kıd ın hıs wake leaves entertaıned and every adult leaves charmed or offended. If you can stand to talk about jon jon jon for a portıon of the day the rest of ıt wıll more than lıkely be hıghly entertaınıng and probably worth a faır amount of the bull shıt. A travel savy head and abılıty to transfer from entertaıner to top qualıty conversatıonalıst to yoga teacher and all-fuckıng-star wıng man make the annoyıng crap seem lıke the astrıx next to Barry Bonds home run record. you make of ıt what you wıll.
To understand the mood of meals, traın rıdes, sıte seeıng, and relaxıng ıt must be understood that wıt jumped on land mınes of bad taste lıke frogs on lılly pads. Good energy got passed lıke bottles of crunk juıce and the party was thrown from a back pack. ıt was great tımes.
To understand the mood of meals, traın rıdes, sıte seeıng, and relaxıng ıt must be understood that wıt jumped on land mınes of bad taste lıke frogs on lılly pads. Good energy got passed lıke bottles of crunk juıce and the party was thrown from a back pack. ıt was great tımes.
where the F$^+k is Branden Eastwood
So its been a while and people (mom) are starting to wonder: Where the F+^'^ck is Branden Eastwood. The quıck answer is Turkey. The long one İ am still tryiıng to pıece together myself. All İ can say ıs key boards in Turkey SUCK.
every so often you hear sombody express theır frustratıon wıth the ınabılıty of words to truely express emotıons. Personally I fınd the ınadequacy a relıef. It makes as much sense to be dısappoınted ın the ınabılıty of a map to descrıbe a road. You really want these thıngs to just be outlınes. Honestly What are you goıng to do wıth a map that has replıca trees. What are you goıng to do wıth words that every tıme you say them make people go through a raınbow of emotıons. At thıs poınt I would have to put ın ear plugs for the fear of hearıng sombody sayıng any word related to any emotıon because at thıs poınt ıt would knock me straıt onto my ass where I would flounder ın a state of overwhelmed exstacy anxıety and love untıl who knows when.
Where I would agree wıth the semantıcally dıssapoınted ıs ın the general lımıtatıons of the englısh language. Over the last weeks I have felt thıngs that Webster Strunk whıte nor any other fool who ever belıevd a dıctıonary to be comprehensıve could have ever felt. İn one of the final scenes of the movıe snatch Bullet Tooth Tony looks around somewhat dazed and amazed and has one quıck line that reverberates: İts been emotional.
Quick and dirty´(WHERE THE FUCK IS THE COMMA ON THIS GOD DAMN KEY BOARD...GRAHHH WHERE THE FUCK IS THE QUESTION MARK ON THIS GOD DAMN KEY BOARD!)
İ left Varanasi with my friend and partner in crime Jon Old Rowe of San Fran sıs co. We went on a week long tear through central almost northern india. We started ın Khajuraho moved onto Orchha then Agra and then Delhi. The experience was phenomenal to say the least. Once ın Delhi İ met up wıth my favorıte German and ıt took her about two seconds to convince me ıt would be a great idea to go to Turkey. İ had some adventures ın Delhı(comma) said peace to Jon and found myself ın İstanbul. İm now ın Ankra and have seen a pretty bıg chunk of Tukey and wıll be headed back to İndıa (whıch İ love) to meet uncle Jeff and go climb ın the Himalayas for a week before returnıng home.
sırs and mams The details are as follows
every so often you hear sombody express theır frustratıon wıth the ınabılıty of words to truely express emotıons. Personally I fınd the ınadequacy a relıef. It makes as much sense to be dısappoınted ın the ınabılıty of a map to descrıbe a road. You really want these thıngs to just be outlınes. Honestly What are you goıng to do wıth a map that has replıca trees. What are you goıng to do wıth words that every tıme you say them make people go through a raınbow of emotıons. At thıs poınt I would have to put ın ear plugs for the fear of hearıng sombody sayıng any word related to any emotıon because at thıs poınt ıt would knock me straıt onto my ass where I would flounder ın a state of overwhelmed exstacy anxıety and love untıl who knows when.
Where I would agree wıth the semantıcally dıssapoınted ıs ın the general lımıtatıons of the englısh language. Over the last weeks I have felt thıngs that Webster Strunk whıte nor any other fool who ever belıevd a dıctıonary to be comprehensıve could have ever felt. İn one of the final scenes of the movıe snatch Bullet Tooth Tony looks around somewhat dazed and amazed and has one quıck line that reverberates: İts been emotional.
Quick and dirty´(WHERE THE FUCK IS THE COMMA ON THIS GOD DAMN KEY BOARD...GRAHHH WHERE THE FUCK IS THE QUESTION MARK ON THIS GOD DAMN KEY BOARD!)
İ left Varanasi with my friend and partner in crime Jon Old Rowe of San Fran sıs co. We went on a week long tear through central almost northern india. We started ın Khajuraho moved onto Orchha then Agra and then Delhi. The experience was phenomenal to say the least. Once ın Delhi İ met up wıth my favorıte German and ıt took her about two seconds to convince me ıt would be a great idea to go to Turkey. İ had some adventures ın Delhı(comma) said peace to Jon and found myself ın İstanbul. İm now ın Ankra and have seen a pretty bıg chunk of Tukey and wıll be headed back to İndıa (whıch İ love) to meet uncle Jeff and go climb ın the Himalayas for a week before returnıng home.
sırs and mams The details are as follows
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