Thai Yo

I'm not talking about the sushi joint on Franklin.

A few weeks ago I posted that I still hadn't heard from Yo in Phuket and that I was worried: I neglected to post up when I DID finally hear from her on January 9 and that she's okay. (Thanks for asking, Harbour).

"I'm safe. I'm not get hurt  but my car downed in the see and can not fix it any more.I'm so sad for the big wave .It come so fast . In 10 minutes every thing gone. So ... Bangtao beach cottage damaged . Every one there get hurt , but it not to much. I hope every thing at here will be going on the good way.


Any way , How are you ? and where are you now? . What are you doing ? Do you happy in your life? I 'm sure you happy in your life.  Chris !  I don't know when I can meet you again maybe not . because like now at here not seam befor . I think you don't want to come here again .


Thank you to worry about me and I'm so happy to hearing from you. Take care of your self every thing in the world will be change or time .


Bye for now.


Yo."

Redux: The Saga of the OCTOPENIS

***Searching through all the old shit stored in the overcrowded attic of my hotmail account, I came across a few noteworthy emails from my past. I've decided to throw some of them up here because...well, because they make me feel nostalgic and they make me laugh; which is why I suppose I saved them in the first place. When and if I do this in the future I'll preface the blog with the word "redux", and post the original date. ***

On to the Flatmate, a.k.a. OCTOPENIS. In 2002 I was transferred to London to work on the latest installment in the 007 film series, and my company put me up in a posh 2-bedroom flat in Mayfair for about four or five months. The flat itself was amazing: a mere 2 blocks from Hyde Park, I lived next door to diplomats and aristocrats in the mews behind Grosvenor Square (I know what you're thinking, but just wait, for the other shoe will drop). My flatmate was another Hollywood transplant who I knew from work, but didn't really know. You know what I mean.

Anyway, all that was about to change. What follows are two emails detailing my first few days in London dealing with the alcoholic culture and the shenanigans of the man who I would come to call Octopenis, because he has more testosterone than eight mortal men, and his hands are like tentacles: always groping out for anything that looks remotely like a female.

-------- Original Message --------
Subject: 
The Flatmate

Date: 
Mon, 24 Jun 2002 12:35:32 0100

From: 
Chris Lance

Organization: 
Cinesite (Europe) Ltd.

To: 
mharbour@cinesite.com, cybele@cinesite.com


I feel like I'm trapped in an early 70's sitcom like Steptoe and Son or The Odd Couple.  The hijinks started immediately, haven't yet abated, and there's no end in sight.

My first night here I turned in early while The Flatmate was still out imbibing quantities of alcohol that would kill a small horse.  When I awoke at 03:30 and walked to the kitchen to get some water, I found him passed out on the couch in his underwear, in the fetal position with his hands between his knees, half a bucket of melted ice cream on the floor with a spoon sticking out of it, and a dirty brown towel spread next to that.  It was only the next day he told me that while trying to scoop the ice cream out he flicked a large scoop of it up in the air, and when he leaned back to see where it went, he ended up sitting in it.  Ice cream all over his back and the couch.  Does he decide to clean it up immediately? No, he decides to fall asleep in it. You may think this is funny, Harbour, until you realize that this is the couch you'll be sleeping on while you're here.

Another good time was the night we all took Aimee Dadswell out for a fancy dinner at Asia de Cuba.  As the night wore on, The 'Mate ordered more and more wine until I believe he'd had at least two bottles himself.  You can tell when he's getting drunk because he gets this real lascivious look about him -- his eyes get beady and you can just watch him staring at the waitresses' breasts and ass.  I don't think it matters to him if he gets caught leering.  When I went to the bathroom I heard him come in right after me so I beat it immediately for a stall.  While I was in there I heard him talking loudly, but I didn't think he was talking to me, so I kept quiet.  He was mumbling about wanting to stick his cock in the bathroom lamp but it wouldn't fit and about all the fine women in the joint and a whole bunch of other unintelligible babble.  When I came out of the stall, there were two guys standing there waiting for him to vacate the area, looking at me like "what's with the dodgy bloke over there?", as he was still spread out covering both of the urinals, his head against the wall, booming out love-advice to the bathroom fixtures.  Needless to say, I've never washed my hands faster than I did that night, since I wanted to clear out before he turned around and they realized that we were together.  Back at the table, he assaulted our poor waitress all night with what I can only assume are Manhattan Beach/Marina del Rey pick-up lines while everyone else looked uncomfortable.  I was thankful that she was so adept at parrying his clumsy advances because it made the encounters less awkward.  At one point he said something like, "I could wait for you after you get off" to which she replied, "You'll be waiting a long time..."

These are just two examples, but something like the former or the latter happens almost every night.  You must remember that I don't despise The Mate for his shenanigans.  I just feel a mild pity for both of us, mixed with a fair amount of embarrassment or disgust, depending on whether or not we're sitting at the same table while out on the town.  But I must embrace him as he is and for what he is.  He makes me want to be a better man.  He completes me.  He is my other half, the id to my ego, the Moriarty to my Holmes, the Randy Quaid to my Chevy Chase.  He is the one and only Flatmate.
-- 
c       i        n        e       s        i       t         e
chris.lance lance@cinesite.co.uk 44(0)78.1728.8217
e           u             r          o            p           e


-------- Original Message --------

Subject: 
Flatmate Update

Date: 
Tue, 02 Jul 2002 14:09:41 0100

From: 
Chris Lance

Organization: 
Cinesite (Europe) Ltd.

To:[edited, because one of the addresses still exists]

I suspect the Flatmate is some sort of Bizarro-world Homer Simpson-esque beer-consuming robot.  I may start referring to him as The Machine instead of The Flatmate.  I've never seen anyone consume as much alcohol as he does and remain conscious (if you can call him that).  On Friday evening from 7pm until 5:30am he stood in line with a few hundred other people at Wimbledon.  During the course of the night, he consumed a case of beer.  He says he passed out around 4 a.m., but was up when the line started moving at 5:30.  He was up all day Saturday eating and drinking even more.  He came home on Saturday night, took a shower, and asked me if I wanted to go out.  Not one to ever miss seeing a train wreck, I went along with him.  Three pints of Guinness later, I was tugging on his sleeve begging for the sweet release of death.  My stomache was so bloated I looked like I was smuggling a soccer ball under my shirt, and my head reeled and ached from the smoke, alcohol, and live music (if you can call it that).  Meanwhile, he had outpaced me drinking Jack and Cokes and was still circling the ladies (if you can call them that) with a toothy grin.  I stumbled home holding my belly, and I think he followed an hour or two later.  Sunday was when I began to suspect I'm living with Beer Droid.  Out watching the Brazilian celebrations in the late morning, we stopped into a Japanese store to say hello to a friend and he comes out drinking a Kirin.  Then we lunched on Leicester Square, where he had another pint.  I had an iced tea, and a twelve-year old kid smoking a cigarette made fun of me as he walked by because I had a "girly" drink, which drew loud guffaws from the Flatmate.  I've now realized that I'm the one who is the stranger in a strange land.  I am the foreigner in a kingdom full of Beer Droids: the Flatmate has found his people.

Harbour came in last night, so he and the Flatmate, D.Rey and I and a few other people went out to the pub.  My face is now green and my head is swollen.  This is a picture of me taken this morning. 

I bet on the trifecta of evil last night and lost.  Wine, beer and then a double shot of whiskey on a Monday night.  Harbour's on the couch sleeping and I'm up in here weeping.  D.Rey is at Pinewood Studios with Dottie, but I don't think he's as hurting as I am.  I don't think anybody is.  I'm tempted to say never again, but I might be going to Amsterdam this weekend with D.Rey to watch M.Rey play bass with Eek! A Mouse.  The good news is that I'm slowly killing the Alcohol Resistance within me, though.  If I keep bombarding myself with drink I may lose a few battles, but I think I may win the war.

-- 
c       i        n        e       s        i       t         e
chris.lance lance@cinesite.co.uk 44(0)78.1728.8217
e           u             r          o            p           e

Special Ops Cody held for ransom

The war in Iraq has taken a tragic turn. (I avoid the term 'insurgency' because, with this latest development, the situation has clearly escalated.) Iraqi guerrillas have kidnapped an action figure named Special Ops Cody and are holding him hostage. If U.S. forces do not release Iraqi prisoners, the kidnappers threaten to break off Cody's plastic head.

You think I'm joking don't you? Would that I were. Look at the photo posted on the website of the Al Mujahedeen Brigade.


(CNN has archived the original photo; this copy is from DigitalMonkeyBox.com)

They're threatening him with his own plastic gun.

The full story is on CNN. Yes, CNN.

So what's the deal behind this latest madness? Do the Iraqis have fucking Destro on their team now? And where the hell is G.I. Joe when we need him? Knowing is half the battle, my ass. Somebody needs to save Cody.

Back to work

Yesterday I stealthily came out of retirement. That's my style. I started work on a movie at the 4-wall studio in Century City where I spent about four months last year. The film is not VFX heavy, though, so I'll be able to retire again in about 6 weeks. That's my style, too. Fast work, fast cash, careful & meticulous holiday planning. For now, however, I'm pooped. When every day is a Saturday, one forgets how good Friday evenings can feel.

Word from Thailand

After five days, I finally got a reply from a friend at the Andaman Nature Resort in Ao Ton Sai, Krabi: to my relief, the staff there are all safe. Her email follows below. I'm still waiting to hear from my friend Yo in Phuket, however, and I'm afraid of what I'll learn.

After my recent Macau/Hong Kong trip I chose to go to Shanghai, but a large number of Macanese chose to spend some time in Thailand. Two days ago I received word that five of the people with whom I attended Macau Encontro 2004 were killed on Phuket, and that over 200 were still stranded there with no passports to travel. "There but for the grace of God go I", indeed.

I'm in Northern Virginia, still recovering from jetlag and a bad cold. Last night I went to a joint in Reston with an old friend and his wife for the New Years' Eve celebrations. I couldn't bring myself to watch the ball drop on the TV with the other drunken patrons. No one else seemed bothered by the death and devastation that dominated the news channels one remote click away.

For me, the elephant in the restaurant last night was the fact that we are all unbelievably fortunate. Due to our nationality and upbringing, two factors over which none of us exert any control, we are among the richest people in the world. There are billions of other human beings (even in our own hemisphere) who, due to their nationality and upbringing, are suffering from poverty and hunger. There are millions in south Asia right now who are suffering from much, much worse. The Bush Administration has now pledged to give USD $350 million to the relief efforts, but that is not nearly enough (as an expenditure comparison, keep in mind that the U.S. government spends more than that amount every three days in Iraq). Private donations are needed. If you'd like to contribute a small amount, there are many outlets online, including:

United Nations Children's Fund
International Red Cross/Red Crescent
Doctors Without Borders

Irrespective of donations, we should all count ourselves lucky that we are among the most priveleged people on the planet. If you believe in a god, be thankful to him or her; if you believe in destiny, thank the Fates or the Norns. Even if just for a day, we should act like we're aware of the fortune unknowingly bestowed upon us, and act accordingly.

-------------------------------------------

hi,christ

[...] so really thankz for ur best wish. i'm fine and yesterday i went to Ao nang for asking about staffs at Ao ton sai. a woman told me they are safe. don't worry. however, i'm so sad about this disaster. u know i cry everytime when i watch news on tv. this moment. i don't want to believe that it's true. many many people dead. we don't celebrate new year. u know nothing to celebrate. they are so pity. really pity. althought my relatives don't have any problem from Zsunami, i'm not happy. u will understand if u see many many dead bodies here. Phi Phi island was attracted by Zsunami. everyhotels, bungalows and houses was destroyed. oh, yes except 2 hotels that i can not remember. christ, i think this is our problem. it;s the problem of every thai people. u know every chanels in thailand make a programme for helping thai and foriegners. christ,u know i can learn many special things from this disaster. especially, impression of thai people and farang [foreigners]. nobody think about what are their native, or religion when we are trouble.i heard many impressed stories you know that's make me cry with happy and impressed. i went to Krabi hospital for being a volunteer as well but it's only 1 hour. there are many volunteers that would like to help. most of all are foriegners becoz they can speak German, swedish,french,........ that's enough.

At ao nang area we found only 5 dead bodies. it's not like PHi Phi , pHuket and Khao Lak. if u want to know about the impressed stories here maybe u can go in WWW.manager.co.th

thankz again for ur best wish.

take care urself

New Photos!

My body is back from Asia, but my circadian rhythms are still in the far east. I flew into LAX early Saturday morning and slept in until 7 pm, and the result is that I'm still wide awake (it's now 08:00 a.m., Sunday December 19). Cold foolishness. I'm about to crash hard. But before I do, I'll post the fruit of last night's labor: instead of unpacking, I spent the night posting the photos (my first digital shots EVER!) from HK and Shanghai to my photoblog. Check out my Buzznet photoblog. The top five galleries on the right (the ones labeled "December 2004", duh) are all new.

Offline in Hong Kong

I'll be in a relative state of absence for three weeks. And by that I mean that I'll be in Hong Kong and Shanghai with limited internet access. So take care of America for me while I'm gone. And by taking care of America, I mean overthrowing the president. Got it? Good. I'll expect a full report upon my return.

A dream deferred...

I awoke this morning shocked at the tenacity of social conservatives and awed at the vast ignorance of issues evident throughout this country. I am disappointed, but not devastated; rather, I am steeled for the fight that lies ahead, and hopeful for the bright future on the horizon. John Kerry was not my candidate of choice; he merely happened to fit into the catch-all category of “anyone but Bush” that I so vigorously supported. I foresee a better alternative waiting for us in the distance.

The situation in the United States is bad now, and it’s about to get worse. Over the next four years, the Bush administration will complete the impossible structure it has begun to build:

• It will continue to rape the environment. Drilling will most likely commence in the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge, the only remaining five per cent of Alaska’s north slope that is not already open to oil exploration.

• Civil rights and liberties will continue to erode. The most Orwellian provisions of the Patriot Act will probably not be allowed to “sunset” in late 2005, and we may even see Patriot Act II resurrected in a different form. Our government will be permitted to spy on our email and tap our phones without a warrant, and the death penalty will almost certainly be expanded. The Neocons in power will continue to ignore the Geneva Convention while the rest of the world continues to protest.

• The tax cuts for the wealthiest Americans will most likely be made permanent, further dissolving the middle class at its edges; the populations of the homeless and those families living below the poverty line will swell even more than in these past few years, while millionaires grow fatter.

• Social Security funds will continue to deplete. If Bush and his anti-government cabal continue to bankrupt our federal government to line the pockets of big business, there will be little left for the Baby Boomers to retire upon, let alone future generations.

• In all likelihood, Bush will appoint between one and three Supreme Court Justices, who serve for life. Chances are that his first appointment, at least, will be a strict constructionist, a gesture to appease his Evangelical base.

• And of course, Bush will probably continue with his Neoconservative internationalist policy, perhaps justly believing that he now has a mandate for it. Their avowed agenda is simple: to remake the rest of the world in the image of the U.S., by military force if necessary. Some would call it democratization; to others it is simply imperialism under a new name. Whatever it is ultimately labeled by future generations, it is highly likely to increase, along with the bitter enmity towards our nation that it engenders.

But there is a silver lining to this immense cloud. Had Kerry won yesterday he would have had a difficult time dismantling this fascist and destructive framework that Bush has erected in the last three and a half years. With the Republican Congress strengthened, he would have been forced to compromise on some issues and build upon a faulty foundation. To build a truly strong and promising future, the Neoconservative architecture that has been erected must be completely razed, and therein lies the rub. While the situation will necessarily worsen in the next half-decade or so, I believe that this increases the chance that in the long term, the Bush policies will self-destruct (I can only hope that America doesn't go down with them), and if they persevere, progressives may be able to come out on the other side intact.

The near future will be a tough time for this country. The world will grow up around us. China's gross domestic product will surpass that of the United States by 2014¹. (According to the Employment Policy Foundation, it will be the first time since before WW I that the U.S. has not had the world's largest GDP.) As the U.S. divides itself between red and blue states, Europe will be drawing itself together. Already the E.U. is the world's largest exporter and controls the world's largest internal market. While the Neoconservatives ban stem cell research and their Evangelical constituency bans high school health textbooks mentioning condoms, Europeans have taken the lead in many industries including banking, aerospace, insurance, construction and chemicals². They will continue to advance.

When America finally sees the empty shell that is the house that Bush built, the pendulum will necessarily swing in the opposite direction, and a new foundation can be poured. Who knows? Maybe I can actually throw my wholehearted support behind the next Democratic presidential candidate.

I suppose my purpose in writing this was to convince progressives, myself included, not to lose heart. Slowly but surely, this country has historically crawled (at times it was dragged, kicking and screaming) towards the Left. Look at how the U.S. has changed over the last hundred years: the eight-hour workday; five-day work weeks; the abolition of child labor; Social Security and unemployment insurance; a graduated income tax; and suffrage for women. All these important reforms began the 20th century as planks of the 1908 Socialist Party platform, and were reviled by those in power. Sometimes we must take one step backward before we take two forward, just so we realize how bad the alternative can be. I’m hoping that in four years, we can progress forward again.

In the meantime, we should get some rest. Go on vacation. Acquire some perspective on life and get over our weltschmertz. Travel to another country and show the people we encounter that not all Americans are wearing blinders. Then come back and continue to fight: walk in protests, voice our dissent, tutor children, write letters to the editor of our local paper, and if we’re thinking about buying a new car, maybe we could consider a hybrid. Get involved and stay there. Think globally while acting locally. Most of all, we need to talk to Bush supporters. They’re not the enemy. Many of them are simply old-fashioned fiscal Republicans who don’t know that Neoconservative isn’t the same thing as Conservative; they aren’t aware that their party has been hijacked. A lot of them are still scared after 9/11 and they just don’t realize that, to paraphrase Thoreau, Bush is clipping at the branches of evil instead of hacking at the roots: rather than eliminating the causes of terrorism he’s fueling the fire. Which is, of course, exactly what the Neocons want: more fear, more military buildup, a bigger defense budget, and more wars to fight. It’ll take awhile, but the people will grow tired of it eventually. The storm clouds will clear. And then it will be our turn to take a few steps haltingly forward into the light, and start construction on the house of our dreams.

Xopher

“Hold on, be strong”. -- Outkast



¹ Based on purchasing power parity (PPP)
² According to Jeremy Rifkin, president of the Foundation on Economic Trends, a Washington-based think tank.

VOTE OR DIE

Please stand up and vote on Tuesday. This promises to be the most important election not only within our lifetime, but in generations. It is highly likely that our next president will appoint at least one Supreme Court Justice, potentially shaping the policy of our government for years to come.

Right now, disenfranchised people all over the globe are struggling for the right to self-determination, a right many of us take for granted. Our forebears fought and sometimes died to secure for us the right to choose our leaders. Don't squander this precious gift.

Here in California, polls open at 7 A.M. and close at 8 P.M. If you don't know where your polling is, click here:

www.MyPollingPlace.com

Also, know your rights:

1. As long as you are in line by the time the polls close, you have the right to
cast your vote.

2. You also have the right to cast your absentee ballot in any precinct in the
county in which you are registered.

3. If you are not listed on the registration rolls, you still have the right to
cast a provisional ballot.

Adventures in Absinthe

L'absinthe by Edgar Degas 1876

I first tried this magical elixir while in Prague in the fall of 2000. My mate Mack and I descended into an underground pub and sat down at a long wooden table; he ordered a brew (the beer in The Czech Republic is second to none) and I asked for an absinthe. Although we both ended up buying multiple bottles at the end of the week and bringing them back to Paris with us, I suspect on this first occasion he wanted me to play the role of the guinea pig. The burly Czech waitress asked me if I'd ever tried absinthe before and when I replied with a negative she gave me a crafty, knowing look and shuffled back to the bar, stopping at a table full of German tourists along the way to report what the stupid American had just ordered. I imagine she must have said something like, "Get ready for a good show." A very cruel race, these Eastern Europeans.

Now, I must make it clear that though I'd never actually sampled it, I'd read about the ritual of drinking absinthe in books by Hemingway and Sartre and I was expecting to be served with the same ceremony. Their characters would typically receive a tumbler with some absinthe in the bottom, a sugar cube, a slotted absinthe spoon, and a pitcher of water. One would balance the spoon across the rim of the glass, place the sugar cube upon it, and then pour the water through both the sugar and the spoon. As the sugar water makes contact with the clear emerald liquid, the oils within it are emulsified and the bitter wormwood-derived liquor swirls into a milky, opalescent concoction. One would then sip the resulting mixture like a cocktail and proceed with a discussion on Existentialism or the end of The Age of Revolutions or something else equally cultured. This, I later learned, is "the French method" for imbibing absinthe: it is very refined and, with all the accoutrements, has the artful appeal of a Japanese tea ceremony...it also has very little in common with "the Czech method," to which I was about to be introduced.

Our Teutonic barmaid/tormentor (let's call her "Conan") brought me a whiskey glass filled with about 3 or 4 shots of the green fairy. She looked at me and inquired in her broken English whether or not I knew "how to dreenk." I glanced from her to the bartender, to the other waitress, to the tableful of Germans, and to my friend Mack -- all of whom smiled back at me expectantly -- but nowhere did I spy the intricately carved spoon and ewer of water that I expected. Confused, I shook my head. She grunted, broke into a broad grin, and put a cube of sugar onto an (gasp!) ordinary, rather sad-looking spoon: this she dunked into the absinthe to soak the sugar. She then produced a lighter from her pocket, gave me the spoon, and lit it on fire.

The green sugar burned an alternately blue and invisible flame like a bunsen burner. The cube bubbled and crackled, and caramelized and melted, all while encased in the azure flame at the end of my spoon. The room fell silent as the flame shimmered higher and brighter. It was beautiful, and all else around me seemed to dim. For a thrilling moment my idyllic notions of turn-of-the-century Parisian cafes returned. Then the flame guttered and died; the waitress grabbed my wrist and forcefully guided the spoonful of smoldering melted sugar into the glass, stirring it vigorously. "Now SHOUP!" she bellowed, while gesturing with her gigantic ham-fist towards her face, as if she were taking a shot. I think I might have giggled and muttered some lame excuse about wanting to sip it (like those oh-so-refined French!) to savor the taste. I don't really remember what I said. All I remember is that she weighed more, and had more testosterone, than Mack and me combined.

"NO! HAHAHA! SHOOOOOOOUUP!" She pushed the glass into my face and threw my head back. I gulped: I felt like I'd just swallowed a glassful of magma. I felt rivulets of molten rock percolating down into my esophagus and spreading into my gut. I had to look down to make sure my torso wasn't engulfed in licorice flames. Then the real pain kicked in. I couldn't catch my breath – I could only exhale ethanol fumes; my sinus cavities burned like I'd just snorted a line of anise-flavored wasabi; tears shot from my eyes like twin squirtguns. Have you ever seen that old Looney Tunes cartoon in which Bugs Bunny drinks the mad scientist's potion and turns green, then red, then plaid, then polka-dotted? That's what happened to my skin. The barmaid gave me good-natured slap on the back; it felt like a punch from a linebacker. The waitresses, the bartender, and the Germans all roared with laughter, and I knew then why the word schadenfreude is Germanic in origin. After wiping my tears off his face, Mack (good ol' American Mack) scooped me up and ushered me outside to the cheers and toasts of our new German and Czech friends. Eastern Europeans...such a cruel race.