Thursday, May 31, 2007

The Foreigners

My stereotype of the foreigners in India has held true for the most part. They consists mostly of hippies and creey old white men. I've found more of a diversity here in Mysore. I've seen a couple of instances here where 2 or 3 young women are traveling together. The Australian guy is also 25. But there have been hippies and especially creepy old white men in Mysore too. One of the latter sat near our table the last two nights at dinner. He was a British guy who seemed like he was on some pretty hard drugs. I guess he's still trying to get over the end of the Raj.

There aren't any short foreigners for whatever reason, especially traveling alone. Come on short people, get out there and see the world. The Australian guy is pretty normal, but other than him, there aren't any normal guys. Guys that just like to watch sports tv and eat pizza. Come on normal guys, get out there and see the world. There are a few solo travelers, but not too many, and like I said, I'm the only short solo traveler I've seen. Indians are very surprized that I'm by myself. Their eyes inevitably grow large in shock when I tell them, "Nope, just me."

I couldn't seem to find the Australian guy to go to dinner tonight. Hope he didn't leave for Chennai yet. It's been nice having someone to talk to at dinner for the last 4 nights. So I had two meals alone today. For lunch I brought in a Sprite to a chain called Pizza Corner. After I ordered, the waiter said that outside drinks weren't allowed so I got up to leave. He sat me back down and explained that I could keep it, he just wanted me to pour it in a glass so it wasn't visible. That was really nice of him and I felt like an ass. Oh well, I apologized.

One last thing, I was watching cricket a few days back. It was a match between the West Indies and England in England. There was a group of 3 white guys covered in blackface, wearing wigs with dreads, and that stereotypical Jamaican hat. They showed them on tv and no one said anything. Clearly they were rooting for West Indies, but that's not right. What the fuck! That's racist as shit.

Wednesday, May 30, 2007

The Death of Moby Dick and a Tire Iron

The cricket came back again last night. I marched outside and spotted it. There it was, my Moby Dick. (Moby Dick was the whale, right? I never read the book, but the kabob place by the same name has a whale for its logo). It wasn't exactly a cricket. It looked like the offspring of a cricket and a roach, if it was zapped by some gigantic juice (Gigantic Juice- not sold in stores). I knew my shoe didn't have much of a chance against this mighty bug. Just then a couple of guys came over because I think my presence was disrupting their work. I told them about ole Moby and they said they'd take care of it. I don't know what they did, but they took care of it.

There are other very loud noises outside my window. There's some Hindi movie theater or festival or something going on all day next door. Five times a day the call to prayers can be heard throughout Mysore coming from the mosque, which just happens to be located behind my hotel. Occasionally, the loud Hindi pop music and the religious Arabic chant overlap.

Whenever the Australian guy and I go for dinner one of us asks for a menu. After the search for the Holy Grail, that's exactly what we get "a" menu. There are two of us, asshole. I guess they take it literally. The other thing that's funny is when someone orders something like Miranda, the waiter always asks, "Do you want it warm or cold?" which leads me to believe that there are people actually requesting warm Miranda. Then they ask if they can open the bottle. Considering it takes a bottle-openner to complete that feat, yes of course, what am I gonna tear off the cap with my teeth?

About an hour ago, a guy bumped into me while we were both walking and then gave me a dirty look. I glared back. Then he emphasized the tire iron he was holding. Him and his buddy walked off laughing. They were quite pleased with themselves. I started cussing them out. I took my hotel keys out of my pocket. These keys are connected to a piece of metal which is ridiculously oversized, but it's not much of a weapon. I was still blindly yelling when I came up right behind the two of them. I guess I was yelling, "Oh, you think it's funny!" It took me a few times to realize the guy with the tire iron actually kept answering me, "No," and his smile had turned to a bit of panic. The two guys walked off quickly into the crowd. So basically I scared off two guys with a tire iron while holding just some keys. I was very pleased. Justice. Vengeance. And I got away with it! When I get back to America, I better remember not to pull that shit.

Sometimes women give me the eye. I'm dripping with sweat, covered in sunscreen that makes my face look greasy, wearing a dirty old t-shirt, coughing heavily, shit running down my leg, and three day-old vomit in my mouth. When I walk by I just think to myself, 'Really? Me? Why?'
I need to sit down with these women and have a talk with them about the concept of standards.

Tuesday, May 29, 2007

Lessons Learned

So I shit my pants. I'm a little proud. That makes 3 countries. It gets much worse, but maybe some things are better left unsaid. Let's just say, I hope I don't wind up with that pink sock.

I was so delusional Sunday night I believed that people here raised crickets and then put them outside people's hotel windows and the hotel charged 30 rupees to get rid of the cricket. Well, I wasn't gonna fall for that scam. I also was convinced that I had walked for miles and miles looking for a hotel room without a cricket outside of the window, but couldn't find one.

Yesterday I realized that wasn't true. In fact, I started to doubt whether there was a cricket at all. Then it came back last night. I went outside to get it. I don't know what happened, but me and the security guard got the thing to shut the fuck up. I finally had a good full night's sleep for the first time in days. I had chicken for lunch today. I'm still gonna take it easy today, but I really do think I'm almost better now. I have a violent cough that rips apart my throat and chest and feels like a punch to the gut, but hey, that's nothing.

In America we fear other places. before I left everyone was telling me, "Don't eat this, don't drink that. Watch out for this. And for G-d's sake never ever do that." Because of everyone, I'm scared to death of every bug that comes within a mile of me. But there's nothing to be afraid of. Like I've said, India didn't make me sick, the fact that I'm a stubborn idiot did. I walked for miles and miles in extreme heat because I didn't want to haggle with the rickshaw drivers. Then I just decided I was better right when things were very bad. I'm a fucking moron.

Every local who comes up to me on the street eventually offers me weed. They claim it's legal here in Mysore. I find that highly doubtful. I don't smoke weed at all, but I'd like to find out for sure just to be able to call them out on their bullshit. The Australian guy that I've been having dinner with said that probably once you light up the police are right there, demand a bribe of 10,000 rupees and give the guy who offered the weed to you a little "reward." If anyone can find out for sure whether weed is legal in cafes in Mysore, that'd be great.

The Australian guy and I talked about Canadian Hip Hop at dinner last night, because that's what all Americans and Australians talk about when they get together. It was a very nice place with a guy playing a tabla and another one playing a keyboard right behind me. Unfortunately I couldn't enjoy it too much right then.

Monday, May 28, 2007

Still Sick

Being on the internet last night took a lot out of me. I had trouble sleeping because of the tremendous noise outside of my wondow. I learned that I'd rather have a guy hocking luggies right outside than a constantly chirping cricket right outside.

Today, I threw up all the medicine I had taken. I don't think any of the medicine helped and I was glad to throw up because it settled my stomach. I'm very cloudy headed, but that's from not eating because of my upset stomach. Now I think I'll be able to eat. And hopefully there won't be any crickets outside the room tonight.

I've found especially in Mysore, there's a lot of bullshit. It's easier not to have to put up with it when you're sick. I've found a few places that sell bottled water, but it's not sealed, so really it's just tap water put in a bottle. I managed to drag myself up to buy water and asked the guy if it was sealed. He had a huge evil smile and said yes. The cap wasn't even on tight. I twisted it off and said, "No, it's not sealed," and walked off.

I know that this sickness is a test. It's a test of my maturity and my abilkity to take care of myself. It's a test of being very weak in a foreign country, half a world away from friends and family, and yet pulling through.

Sunday, May 27, 2007

Shits and Screams

"Come back 3pm," said a tall slender gentleman working behind the desk of Hotel Bombay Tiffany in Mysore. When I came back at 3pm, I was told to come back at 6pm for my room. I figured it was fine, after all, the hotel had 24 hour checkout. I came back at 6pm and was told that it may take another hour and then another hour to clean the room.

I checked in to my very overpriced room at 7:30pm. It didn't register at the time, but I was told checkout was at noon. I spent that night very sick, as I had been all day. I was shitting like crazy and throwing up. The blanket was extremely uncomfortable. I finally decided to ask the front desk for a clean sheet to use as a blanket. Upon leaving my room and locking the door, I broke the knob. "Fuck!" I managed to fix it good as new.

I was given a sheet and the man at the front desk tried to get me to stay another night. Something went off and I got very upset, telling him everything wrong with the room and how this was the worst hotel for the money that I've stayed in India. During my rant I decided to show a little tact, "I know it's not your fault that the room is bad, you just work here. But I was promised the room at 3pm and didn't get it until 7:30pm." The man seemed shocked, "But I wrote a note saying 'Mr. David 3pm." I answered, "Right, it was you who took my reservation." Eventually I told him that it wasn't his fault and he did everything right. He told me that he would try to get me some money back. When I got back the room I realized I was wearing a "beater." I know that in India, I am actually considered very buff. I'm about twice as broad in the shoulders and hips as most Indian men (yes, little ole me!).

At night I wrote out exactly what I felt was fair, very specifically. In the morning, before it was time to check out, I threw up again. I was still very sick. I put on a t-shirt and rolled up my sleeves to show off my "guns" for an added boost to my cause. I told the same man about the situation and went through exactly what I felt I was due. Eventually the manager was brought out. I was polite at first. He looked at my sheet of demands and very firmly yelled, "No!" I had prepared all night for what I was going to say. My voice rose. So did his. Eventually it turned into a battle of volume and manhood. With my rolled up sleeves, I screamed at the top of my lungs. Anyone who has ever been to a basketball game with me, knows that's louder than most. I waved my "massive guns" and pounded the desk. The manager realized I wasn't going to relent, what I was asking for was just, he had been caught in a lie, and my screaming was bad for business so I got exactly what I asked for. WHen I left the hotel, everyone for a block was laughing as I passed. They had heard me.

I always evaluate my actions after any confrontation. It was 95%-5% I felt good about it. The 5% was because I don't like yelling at elders. Of course every little short man knows how to be assertive, but it helps even more when he's not little in that particular situation. I felt a little better after both shouting episodes. Now I know why Jewish women live forever.

In the new hotel, I was being played a bit again. Two women worked behind the desk and tried to stick me in a more expensive room than I wanted. I managed to drag myself to the internet cafe and I happened to read my hororscope on my homepage, somthing I never do. The exact words are gone, but it was to the effect of, "There isn't just one way to solve every problem. You need to find different solutions for different circumstances." So I wasn't going to repeat my yelling match with the women. Instead, I "acted" very sick. In reality, there was no acting about it, I could hardly stand up. I had to take that same room but at a drastically cut price, because I was able to win sympathy for myself.

I spent the entire day feeling like real shit. An Australian guy that I met here, he's spent the last five years in Utah, knocked on my door at 6 for dinner. I forced myself to go. Talking to him and eating some chicken noodle soup made me feel much better. Another miracle. Then we saw the beautiful Maharaja Palace all lit up. It was amazing.

Saturday, May 26, 2007

In Mysore

I'm sick. Between walking forever in the extreme heat of Hampi and putting up with Bangalore, my defenses are down. The hotel room last night didn't help. The fan was directly over me and gave me a sore throat. The bed was ridiculously hard even for India and it caused my body to ache. Everything just came together and made me feel sick. But don't worry, it's not nearly as bad as that first night. I'll be fine.

Lying in bed without a tv, made me really wish I had my CD player. I wrote the chorus of a song about it. Like to hear it? Here it goes:

I wish I had my CD play-er
I wish I didn't drop it in the toi-let
I wish I had my CD play-er
I can't-think-of-anything-that-rhymes-with toi-let
Not in this particular con-text.

I'm not much of a song writer. Even though I feel quite bad, I spent the day looking for a new hotel. I went to one and the guy told me that his hotel was full until Monday. I asked to leave my name. Just then a couple of Germans were on their way to check out. The guy made me wait for them, even though I was there first and it would've taken 2 seconds. I wasn't happy about it and I told him so. Ten minutes later he called me up to the desk and after checking for vacancies on Monday, told me that there were none.
I told him,"Why did you make me wait then?"
"Wait? Oh, wait (embarrased smile). Sorry."
"That's not very nice." My words may seem polite, but I can assure you that the tune was of someone about to explode into obsenities.

The rickshaw drivers are more agrresive here. It feels like they are making cat-calls.
"Hello friend, wanna ride?" Instead of:
"Hello baby, wanna ride? (wink)"

One guy selling a flute was even worse. He bothered me for 10 minutes. I finally told him that I had no need for a flute and I was never going to buy it. He replies, "You buy later." I answered, "No! I'm never gonna buy it!"

Fifteen minutes later I saw him again outside of my hotel and he tried to sell me the damn flute again. "Buy the flute. Buy the flute. You can give it to a girlfriend or a friend." With some firm words I convinced him that I didn't want it. He took about a step and a half until someone tapped him on the arm. It was me. "Buy my book. Buy my book. Come on, buy my book. You can give it a girlfriend or a friend." He responded in an understanding fashion, "Ok, ok." I thought about stopping there, but I wasn't upset that he was trying to sell me something. I know he's just trying to make a living. I was angry because he wouldn't leave me the fuck alone, so I kept at it, tapping him on the arm trying to seel the book in my hand. Eventually he seemed defeated and I gave up. It was quite a little spectacle; everyone was watching.

Mysore is a gritty city. It has beautiful buildings, but also trash everywhere. There are an inordinate amount of men in public compared to women. Most of the men have hard faces. I was thinking that a woman traveling alone might be intimadated by that. I was for about 30 seconds until I realized I live outside of DC, went to school in Baltimore, and my family's from the Bronx! Eh, I'm not worried.

Friday, May 25, 2007

Bangalore to Mysore

I was in Pizza Hut yesterday when a middle aged man's cell phone rang. YEEAAHH! Sure enough, his ringtone was a Lil Jon song. OKAY! I've noticed that, in addition to the waiters at Pizza Hut, Bangalore has a lot of east Asian-looking people. I wonder what is the story behind that. Ironically, I think Pizza Hut has messed up my stomach. It exacerbated my problems earlier in the week and caused a slight stomach issue last night and this morning. When you come to India, don't worry about eating the street food and drinking the water, but stay away from the Pizza Hut!

While I was waiting for my train to Mysore the biggest batch of bird shit I've ever seen fell three inches from my shoulder. It was the size of half of my shoe and was kind of deep too. My mom always tells me bird shit is lucky, but I think I was pretty lucky it didn't hit me.

Bollywood stars Amitabh Bachchan and Shah Rukh Khan are everywhere. I've seen them (on tv, billboards, and in newspapers) maybe 100 times more than Prime Minister Manmohan Singh. Maybe that's a good thing for Singh (not in scandal), but maybe it's bad (he's irrelevant).

I like Mysore better than Bangalore already. It seems like a mix between an old European city and well, India. I ate at a restaurant and was whisked upstairs. There I ate alone at my table (as usual) in a room with about 20 men. There were no women. What is this, Afghanistan? Maybe the families were all eating downstairs or something. Whatever was going on, it was weird.

Thursday, May 24, 2007

Another Day in Bangalore

The graduation ceremony for my master's degree has come and gone. Obviously, I didn't go to the ceremony (I'm in India). I didn't go because I was scared they might ask for my diploma back.

So much happens that it's impossible to post everything. In the two weeks since being in India, the threshold of what shocks me has changed. Now it's like, "Oh, a monkey just shit in my mouth, oh well, nothing to write home about." In Hampi there were quite a few beggars who had monkeys on their shoulders and would walk up to foreigners and stick their hands out. Why should I give this guy money, just because he's got a monkey on his shoulder? I thought about grabbing my groin and screaming, "I got your monkey right here!"

While walking through the ruins in Hampi, the 110 degree heat got to me. I started singing that Flea Market Commercial song. So, while wondering through ancient 600 year old temples, I was singing, "It's just like, it's just like a mini mall."

In Bangalore, it rained yesterday. Luckily, I was inside watching a replay of Game 2 of the Spurs-Jazz series. At night, after the rain, it was much cooler but very sticky. Regardless of the conditions, it's quite a feat just to cross the road. Why did the chicken cross the road? Because he wasn't in Bangalore. Sorry, that sucked. I just came up with that right on the spot. Now I'm gonna spend all day obsessing over posting that bad joke.

There are tons of military facilities in the immediate area. It makes sense considering there is Infantry Road, Brigade Road, and Mahatma Gandhi Road... wait, what? Hmm, perhaps sticking military facilities on and around Gandhi Road is a huge fucking insult to his legacy, assholes.

Wednesday, May 23, 2007

Diarrhea Cha Cha Cha

I had trouble sleeping last night because of some serious diarrhea. It wasn't nearly as bad as my first night in India, but it was very annoying. I was frustrated that I got it, because it wasn't fair. India didn't give me diarrhea, that cashew nut curry at the Welcome Restaurant in Hampi did. The real problem was that all of the wiping that I had to do made my tushy hole really raw. The pain was intense and I couldn't stop pooping, which forced me to wipe some more. It was really awful. The whole ordeal was very draining.

I moved away from the horrid Hotel Ajantha and into a nicer hotel. I took a shower and instantly felt better, another miracle. I ate at a fancy Uzbek-themed restaurant (for under $10). Whenever I go to a fancy restaurant in India, I always tell myself, 'I don't deserve this.' There are guys in suits doing everything little thing for me, while I'm in a t-shirt and jeans. I usually try to put on a nice t-shirt and spray my sneakers with anti-odor spray before I go to be a little classier.

Things have turned up, but I'm still not crazy about Bangalore. At least the MG Road portion feels like a mix between the glitz of Shanghai and the cruminess of Lianyungong (which is just to the north of Shanghai). In Bangalore, as in Lianyungong, the sidewalks are a mess. I'm constantly tripping. There are like 8 different kinds of sidewalk shottily thrown together in anyone block.

I've seen some political graffiti in the city, which in interesting. Usually, I have no idea what it's referring to, but it seems extreme in one way or another. There is always constant honking of car, motorcycle, and auto-rickshaw horns. It's that way everywhere in India, and I actually saw a sign in Bangalore asking people not to honk so much to reduce noise pollution. Good luck. The honking in India is not as bad as it is in China, but imagine a motorcycle speeding at you as you're minding your business on a sidewalk and then the guy hs the nerve to honk at you. But the honking is mostly to let others around you aware that you're there.

Hindi music videos fill the television stations in India. Usually the way it's done is they just take a clip from the Hindi movie itself and use that as the music video. The actors aren't the one's singing the songs in the movies or the music videos, instead they lipsync. Milli Vanilli should've tried to make their career over here; it would've worked out better for them.

Tuesday, May 22, 2007

My Ass Burns

I just realized that instead of walking 3-plus miles in 90-100 degree heat, carrying my heavy bag on my back, and being very thirty, I could have taken an auto-rickshaw for about a buck. Of course. But those auto-rickshaws are everywhere here in Bangalore (Mumbai has banned them from entering the city proper). They clog the streets and make the pollution really bad. Imagine someone smoking in your face constantly; it feels like that.

I dropped my CD player in the toilet. I think it's broken now. It's an old CD player that I've already had to fix once, the Jew way, which is to say I slapped it repeatedly while yelling obsenities. Works more than you gentiles might think.

John McCain pledged to follow Osama to the gates of hell. Well he might be going up my ass soon, because my tukhus hole burns. I have diarrhea. I'm not proud of it. Maybe because of it, I've been going to American joints to eat of late. The KFC and Pizza Hut are hip trendy places here, where the cutting-edge youth hang out. My brother never believes me when I tell him that Pizza Hut is a fancy restaurant outside of America. I went to the Ruby Tuesdays today, even though it was on my shit list. I guess I only vowed never to go back there in America. I had a crab cake sandwich, which was good, but not Maryland good.

The book I'm reading is by Michael Parenti and is on Yugloslavia. He denies that a genocide took place and apologizes for the Serbs' actions, very unconvincingly I might add. Maybe different disciplines have different standards, but his use of sources in outrageous. He uses secondary sources to prove points. Just cuz some other leftist nut-job agrees with you doesn't make it a fact. Any quote he takes by Bill Clinton or somone like that usually has several "..." and is clearly out of context. That's partly why I bought Musharraf's autobiography for about a buck and a half. I love shit like that: buying the president of Pakistan's autobiography in India; it doesn't make any sense. And even bootleg book vendor sells that book for some reason. I have a novel situated in India with me, but for some reason I'd rather read a bad non-fiction book over a good fiction book any time. I think Dave Chappelle said it best: I guess real life is just more interesting than fake life.

They had chess on the sports channel. Anything where you can participate while wearing a suit and drinking a glass of wine is not a sport. I don't think I've mentioned it, but they love cricket over here. LOVE IT! I've watched a lot of it on tv. I think I understand most of it. It's ok.

Monday, May 21, 2007

In Bangalore

Waiting for the train to Bangalore from Hospet a ton of beggars approached me, one by one. I wasn't in the mood. I had only eaten a grilled cheese sandwich all day; a day which included a failed attempt to find the waterfalls where I walked forever and didn't drink enough water. I started yelling at the old people and the kids to leave me alone. Certainly not my proudest moment, but I felt helpless. f course I wanted to help these people, but I didn't want to encourage their begging. I don't feel good when I refuse a beggar money and I don't feel good when I give them money either.

On teh train I met a young German couple and an American. I talked with the American guy for a little while. He wasn't my cup of tea, but it was nice to talk to an American. The conversation was a lot like the 1974 Rumble in the Jungle between Muhammad Ali and George Foreman. He just kept on talking and I sat against the ropes listening, getting in a few barbs until he talked himself out and went to sleep.

When I arrived in Bangalore, I was really dehydrated. I was determined to walk to the hotel I had chosen from the guide. I think it was about 3 miles away. The streets are confusing here and I got lost. I asked a number of people and only a rickshaw driver really tried to help me at all and even he gave only slightly correct directions. I was asking people for MG Road (Gandhi Road) from about 2 blocks away and nobody could help me. Either Bangaloreans are the stupidest people on earth or they're the rudest. Maybe a touch of both (in fairness, a couple of people have been nice to me and I've only been here a day; I haven't met all 5.5 million of them). On eguy even grabbed my hand and demanded that I give him and demanded that I give him an American dollar. I yanked my hand away and yelled "Asshole!" at him. It's probably best for everyone that I wasn't all together or I would've knocked him out.

My hotel room sucks. It's a shitty double because all of the singles are book. I'm exhausted from Hampi and the walk to the hotel and just wanted to chill, but the tv has about 8 different channels and maybe only 2 and half are watchable. There was no toilet paper or soap and a loud screetching noise outside. Man, am I cranky. I felt a little better after having my first truly spicy dish since getting to India, just ebcause I adn't eaten anything for a while.

Bangalore is a combination of the worst the west has to offer with the worst of India. There are ads everywhere, pollution is fierce, the people are rude, and they don't follow directions. As a city, Bangalore thinks it's better than it is. There are signs everywhere asking people not to drink and drive and to obey the traffic laws. Drivers obey the rules of the road much better than in Mumbai, but worse than in America. And there is just so much traffic it's a pain in the ass to walk 2 blocks. This city has no charm. Hopefully my impressions of this place will improve once I get to rest a bit.

Sunday, May 20, 2007

Following Bukka

I rode into Hampi just like King Bukka must have in 1358 when he moved the capital city of his empire to Vijayanagara from Anegundi. Well except maybe Bukka didn't have the corner of his bag shoved up his ass during a bumpy bus ride.

Besides asking me my name and where I'm from, many kids (and adults) wanted to take pictures of me. I couldn't help thinking, 'We're in the presence of the magnificient 600 year old ruins of the capital city that oversaw the largest empire in the history of south India, AND YOU'RE TAKING PICTURES OF ME?!?!?!' I'm mean I'm cute, but not 600-year-old-ruin cute.

After being on the internet yesterday I played with some of the young kids near my Hotel, Hotel Rama. The youngest son of the family that runs Hotel Rama is adorable. We played karate and he kept flailing his arms and hitting me in the groin. At one point a large cow came up behind us and all the mothers started screaming. I scooped up the young kid and pulled him out of the way just in time. It was very much like when J.T. Snow saved Dusty Baker's son in the 2002 Worls Series. But while J.T. Snow was a national hero, the mothers just laughed at me.

I really don't understand myself sometimes. While in the Vittala Temple a guy came up to me. He offered to be my tour guide through the temple because, "You wouldn't understand it. I understand it and I can show you." I lost it. First I pulled a Larry David. (I sucked air through my teeth) Kinda insulting. (Exhale) You kinda just insulted me." Then I started all out yelling at him, "How do you know I wouldn't understand? Why would you assume that?" He said he took a couse in the university on archeology and then showed me a picture ID of a man 20 years his senior. But I wasn't questioning whether or not he knew what he was talking about, I was angry that he assumed I didn't know. He said that he thought I wouldn't know because I was of a different religion. "So you don't think I'm interested in other religions?" His meak reply was , "No." "Well you're wrong." I know a lot about Vijayanagara, but not much about Hindu temples so I was totally bluffing but it felt good. Not 60 seconds later I was smiling while having a talk with some kids about where I'm from and other things like that.

I tried to calculate how much I've walked. It was at least 10 kilometers on Friday (including to Kamalapuram), assuming I didn't walk through the ruins (I did) or get lost (I did). So I would add another 6 KMs. Keep in mind it's 110 degrees here (not a dry heat). I walked to Anegundi (also spelled Anegondi) on Saturday. Everybody thought I was crazy to walk all of that. Nobody walks the ruins in 110 degree heat. But it was very satisfying to walk so far. The huamn body is amazing. And I've lost some weight. I no longer have to stare at the mirror naked crying and pointing in shame. I walked even more today, but didn't keep hydrated as well and I'm suffering slightly, but I'll be fine.

Anegundi has none of the tourist traps that Hampi does. It is rural India without much Disney World. There are goat herders and the women perform tasks that I couldn't imagine why. I stopped for a bite to eat in Anegundi. After I was done I asked for directions back to Hampi. They wouldn't let me walk back the way I came. One young man Sanil (or Sameer, I didn't think to remember his name at the time he told me) walked me to a waiting post. Then we got into the back of a jeep and the jeep dropped me off in Virupapur Gaddi, only 1 KM away from Hampi and a boat ride over the river. After fretting about paying Sanil the entire time by the end I decided to pay him. He declined. That is the first time someone declined money from me here. What's more is that he performed a service that was well worthy of acceppayment. He told me exactly where to go and when I started walking he screemed, "Bye David!"

This guy was an angel. He walked me from the restaurant to the waiting post and went with me in the jeep and then told me where to go, just out of the goodness of his heart. In fact he laughed at me when I offered him money. He is the type of person that I would like to be. He's very sure in his stride and very outgoing. However, I have a feeling that I'm somebody that he would like to be, a humble kind-hearted introvert. But he left a big impact on me and I wish I had thought to remember his name at the time. I have a torn receipt that says, "HOOVA," but I think there's more to the name of his restaurant. Maybe Shoova, who knows. In any event, I wish him all of the good things life has to offer.

Saturday, May 19, 2007

In Hampi

So like there are monkeys walking around here. If Hospet was difficult to process, then Hampi is a fantasy land. It's like a mix between rural India and Diney World, except with ancient ruins from the Vijayanagara Empire instead of Mickey Mouse.

A riddle: What's a cow with a hump on it's back like a camel and horns like a ram?
Answer: I have no fucking idea, but I saw it outside of the internet place here.

I think Blogger has a new autosave thing, which is great because the power has gone out here several times since I arrived Thursday night. It gets very hot in the room without a fan. I haven't had A/C since the train ride to Hubli about a week ago, but no fan is almost unbearable. There are red ants in my bed. This is the first time I haven't had a tv in the room. It would very easy for someone to lock me in the room the way it's designed and I'm paranoid about that for some reason.

So that stuff and more is making me very upset, but there so many things that have made me very happy in Hampi. People are very nice (when they're not trying to sell you something, which most likely they are). Your waiter is also a tour guide. So is the guy at the internet place. So is the guy at the hotel. So is the homeless person.

So many people have come up to me to talk. I feel like Big Bird. They ask me, "What is your name?" (Big Bird) "What country are you from?" (Sesame Street) and questions about my stay in India. The kids are thrilled when I acknowledge them. They smile and wave just like they would at Big Bird. Many kids ask me for a "school pen, chococalte, and 1 rupees," I have no idea why specifically those things. I got fed up with everyone asking me questions so I decided to be more selective with the answers that I give. For kids I always answer the truth, but sometimes I'm not into the whole test of manhood that many men try to pull here, so I've ben saying that I'm from Moldova to their ilk. It's worked like a charm. One guy asked me after I told him I was from Moldova a couple of times, "In English please." I replied, "Moldova, that is English."

The ruins are breath-taking. I couldn't do them justice if I tried to describe them. It's really cool to be able to see the place that I put a semester's work into learning about. When I saw specifically the Lotus Mahal and Elephant stables I was very moved.

I had dinner with a Japanese guy which was cool and met a woman from Hungary. She was shocked that I knew where Hungary was located and that I had actually been there. I got a kick out of that. She was also surprised that I was there during the music festival and didn't go. I may pull the same thing with Goa. Everyone goes there; it's cliche. People assume I've been or I'm going. I'd love not to, but it's on the way and a logical stop. We'll see. I'll write more about Hampi and Anegondi tomorrow from Hospet where the rate is cheaper and the connection is better.

Thursday, May 17, 2007

In Hospet

Each place I go, I expect not to be able to use the internet, but I keep finding places. That's a tougher task in Hospet than in some other places.

I was in sleeper class on the 3 hour ride over here. Now I see why 2A/C class is so much better. Luckily it wasn't crowded at all. I sat across from a guy with glasses and a nice shirt and he spoke English well, so I figured things would be fine. That is until he hocked a lung on my bag. The guy in the next seat was talking to himself. They both left at the same time and I had the whole section to myself. Later, an old guy sat across from me and ate peanuts. He tried to throw the shells out the window and they kept landing on me. Eventually we started talking. He told me to go to Pakistan and then find out who is good and who is bad (India or Pakistan) and tell the American people. He said Musharraf was "the worst fellow" and he liked Bush because he is "tough" and sometimes you need a tough guy. But the old guy was cool. He liked me because when he asked me to guess, I was 10 years younger on his age. I guessed 60.

From the train station into town there were stone stores and shacks lined left and right of the dirt street. It was night and I got a little anxious. I walked further and discovered a more urbanized area. The streets here are filled with fancy cars, autorickshaws, motorcycles, tractors, huge trucks, cows, goats, and luxury buses. Women walk with their goods on their head (like you see on those National Geographic things). The autorickshaw drivers pray on foreigners, but when I ate breakfast today, there was a crowd of young busboys staring at me in astonishment.

I can't really describe more; it's a bit much for me to process. I leave for Hampi soon. I hope I can find the right bus and find accomodations for the three days I'll be staying there. Then it's off to Bangalore on the train ticket I bought on the internet (thank the lord, I can avoid dealing with buying them at the train station now).

Wednesday, May 16, 2007

Still in Hubli

Game 5 of the Warriors-Jazz series was on tv live today. I was very grateful to get to watch it. ESPN international went to TNT's coverage too ealry so I got to here a little bit of Kevin Harlan and Doug Collins warming up: "How tall is Biedrins? 6'10". Isn't this the old Bulls song? You know what song they're playing in their locker room in Detroit now, the Beegees Staying Alive," and other good nuggets like that. When they say "This game is being watched in over 80 countries," it's because me and three other Americans are watching in a place like India, so no suddenly all of India is watching.

I bought my ticket to Hospet, which will put a short bus ride from Hampi and the Vijayanagara ruins. Waiting to purchase the ticket, the pudgy stomach of a Muslim guy was paste to my back. His hand was (hopefully inadvertantly) massaging my ass. I tried to bump him back, but it never worked for long. He'd plant himself right back into me. Eventually we cleared a metal railing. People tried to pass next to me, so I threw myself back into the pudgy guy and pin him against the railing. It seemed to have little effect and he's put his hand right back on my ass.

I would've flipped out, but I was having a nice conversation with the guy in front of me. His brother is in America as a software engineer in Croy (I don't know what the fuck that is, but that's what I heard him say twice).

There may be a lot of Muslims here, but the may just be more noticeable. There are women in full vail here. There are also a number of Buddhist monks. One had a shopping bag, another spat, and yet another bought his train ticket with a credit card. I've had my fill of Hubli. Also, I've meant to mention that many men hold each other's hands or put there arms around each other often.

Tuesday, May 15, 2007

In Hubli

I forgot to mention that back in Mumbai I ran into the "tourist guide" who made me get lost a couple days before. I trace the moment I met him to the exact point when everything went downhill for me Friday night. When I saw him again, it was as if he had raped my soul. He said, "Where are you from?" I turned around, became flustered, and he said, "Oh, I think we may have already met. Where are you going friend?" I mumbled and walked away fast.

Later in Mumbai an old man walked up to me and started talking. I was happy, because no one has just talked to me without asking for money. We talked for about 10 minutes and it was nice. Then he asked for money and my heart sank.
"Please, I'm an old man. I can't work. Can you give me 40 rupees?"
"If I give to you, then I should give to everyone who needs money and I won't have any left."
"No. I'm an old man, like your father. Please can you give me some money?" That was the wrong thing for him to say.
"My father's not alive, so you're not like my father. You're luckier than my father." A bad way to beg is to make yourself seem luckier than other people. He never had a chance, but that sealed his fate.

The train ride to Hubli was fine. I was in the best class available and it wasn't all that great. It made me miss the luxury of a slow Polish commuter train. But it was fine. The train even had a sit-down toilet. There are toilet's everywhere, which is much different than China.

You won't find Hubli on a map. Wait, you say you did? You say you have a detailed map of Karnataka? I stand corrected. It's a city of about 700,000 people and is a transfer point between Mumbai and Bangalore. It's very dirty. Walking during the evening, I could hardly open my eyes, much like China. Many people gawk at me (presumably because they are curious to see a foreigner and not because I'm extremely attractive- even though I am), much like China. But I have a huge room with a private bathroom and flush toilet and tv with ESPN! It's ESPN world, but it's better than nothing. And all for about $9! I've also had a couple of very good mango milkshakes. I'm hoping to get to Hampi tomorrow, but the train and bus stations in India are daunting.

Monday, May 14, 2007

The Scene

Not a whole lot has happened since I last posted. I'm just counting down the hours until I leave for Hubli and then (hopefully) to Hampi (possibly via Hospet), which is now located in what used to be the capital of the Vijayanagara Empire 1330's-1565. I studied that for a semester in grad school, so it should be fun to actually go. This will probably be my most daring trip of my stay in India.

I ate some Mangalorean crab curry yesterday. Holly shit was that good. It was tough to eat one-handed (the left hand is considered dirty here and it isn't just a traditional thing that nobody follows), but it was so good. The menu said it was 90 rupees and the bill said 160. I believe I got the 160 rupee portion and didn't make a fuss this time because the waiter was a nice old man. A lot of times I just go with my feeling about people and the guys from the hooker-type bar felt like crooks, while this guy seemed like a good soul.

It is so hot here. But those words are meaningless. When I'm out for 15 minutes I think, 'Oh, that's not so bad,' but I can't just walk around. I always try to plan where I'm going before I go outside. It's so hot and that becomes the new reality. I had to put the A/C in my room up to 80 degrees and I was still freezing! And I'm a person who likes the cold!

At night, as the vendors that line the sidewalks close up shop, people flock in to sleep on the street. Some have cusions, some cardboad, some nothing. I don't think these people want pity. I'm not even sure that they're unhappy. It's just life. It would be nice if they could have more, but there's no guarantee that that would make them happier. Who knows really, but happiness is more important than materials- even if it might be something I consider a necessity- and the two are not necessarily linked.

People here are generally very nice to me. Often it's because they want money from me (almost always for providing me a service, and usually it's a service that I don't need or even want). Some people just are friendly, but it's hard to determine. This is a society where people help you with every little thing and you tip them for it and that's how they make a living. But it goes against our American individualism, whether we realize it or not. I don't consider myself much of an individualist, but I don't need someone to carry my bag up 4 steps, especially if it means I have to pay them.

I believe my trip has peeked in this last day. Things have been really good, particularly relative to Friday night and early Saturday. I can't possibly have a swing that favorable unless my current condition worsens (I didn't want to scare anyone, but Friday night was worse than I let on, and I think I made it seem pretty bad). I doubt I'll be in a hotel that nice the rest of the way. It had digital cable. I almost had ESPN! I did have HBO!

I've watched a good bit of Indian tv. The violence in Karachi could be trouble. Some have called it the single greatest threat to Musharraf since he took over in 1999 (and he's escaped at least two assassination attempts!). If he is overthrown and some radical anti-Indian, anti-West guys take over, I will already be home, so don't worry ma. If he is overthrown, I don't think fanatics will take over and Musharraf did seem flustered a couple of days ago, but I don't think he'll be overthrown in the near future either.

Hope everyone is well.

Sunday, May 13, 2007

Lots of Yelling

If Friday night was the early 1940s, then today is 1948. When I wrote yesterday, I was still quite sick. I tried to book a cheap hotel for today, but they were full. So I booked an expensive hotel, just because I was so sick. I figured that it'd be nice to throw up in a private bathroom.

On my way back to the hotel that I was still in, a bit of yelling occured. Whenever I go anywhere, the merchants that line both sides of the sidewalks always holler at me to buy their goods. It's annoying, but I understand they're just trying to make a living. Most are pretty respectful and take a "no" or "no thanks" and leave me alone. So this happened, I said "no," and a guy walking the other way heard that and started mocking me. "No, no, no," he said. I was still sick and not about to put up with that shit. I turned and glarred at him. "No," he mocked me again. Then I started following him, screeming, "What the fuck!" His "no's" went from mocking to pleading. His two friends grabbed him and were telling him to shutup and rushed him away. He flailed his hands in submission, trying to convey that he didn't mean anything by his original "no."

I went back to my extremely small room and took a nap (I'm lucky I'm short. The room was the width of my wingspan and the length of a normal sized bed). I woke up and felt great. I was actually hungry! I found a bar and restaurant and went in because I knew it was the only thing open at 10pm.

Everyone who worked there shook my hand and I was wisked upstairs where there was blasting Hindi music and men sitting in couches displayed around the circumfrance of the room. The women stood in the middle. I thought it was weird. I ordered a half tandoori chicken, not wanting to push my stomach's luck. I made a special point about the "half" part. Then the women walked over to the men and took money from the men's hands. Evidently I was in some kind of Indian hooker bar. I looked down and away. Of course there was the customary creepy old white man present, with an even creepier smile on his face.

A waiter asked me, "What country are you from?"
"Nice." He thought for a second, "Your leader George Bush is my favorite leader."
"Bad," I replied. He motioned like he agreed. I thought, 'This guy's a tool.'

I finally got my tandoori chicken and it was really good. When I got the bill, they charged me for a full, which was double the price. I could've paid and went on my way, but I decided to flip out. "I told you a million times, half!" it was more it like 8 times, "That's fucking bullshit! You're an asshole!" waving my finger in the guy's face.

Also yesterday, I stepped on a Muslim guy's prayer mat, which was played just outside of my door. I told him sorry and he said it was ok and seemed genuine.

Now things are great. My hotel room is a palace. I have a train ticket for tomorrow to Hubli and then on to Hampi. I have toilet paper. I can eat. Life is sweet.

Saturday, May 12, 2007

Still In Mumbai

I tried to buy a train ticket to Hyderabad today, but all of the A/C sleepers were booked. It's a 16 hour ride and I'm not interested in dealing with the 115 degree heat (and that's not a dry heat) without A/C. Yesterday did go well for a brief moment. I checked out Kneseeth Eliyahod Synagogue, which is painted sky blue. As I walked in, the guard stopped me.
"Can I go in?"
"Are you Jewish?" Was his reply.
"Where are you from?"

That seemed enough to convince him that I was Jewish for some reason. The inside is not tremendously nice, though the inner sanctuary has it's charm. The guard, who I presume is not Jewish for some reason, told me that their are 4,500 Jews in Mumbai. That may seem like a lot, but compared to the 15 million people in the city, it's a very small percentage. When David Sassoon fled Baghdad in the late 19th century, he brought a contingent of Baghdadi Jews with him and eventually built himself a financial empire.

Then everything went downhill from there. A guy started talking to me, no problem until I realized that he was attempting to trick me into hiring him as a tour guide. From the guide that I have, I know some of his information was wrong. But I got lost because of him. Then I went to the Supermarket and downed some milky yogurt. That was one of the stupidest things I've ever down in my life. I got traveller's diarrohea (which I don't recommend) and spent the whole night pissing out of my ass and throwing up. Luckily I slept well diuring the afternoon, but I haven't eaten much since I got here. I forgot to bring toilet paper, so I was wiping my scraped asshole with hand santizing wipes, which burned. I didn't have the loving friendship of Steve and Kristen either like I did in Vermont.

So I'm a little cloudy headed now, a little hungry, and scared to death to eat anything that isn't snack food. But I'll be alright.

Friday, May 11, 2007

From Mumbai

It seems like a lifetime ago since I was in New York and even longer since I was home. First let me tell you about Kuwait.

We got off the plane and walked to a shuttle bus to take us to the terminal. It was about 115 degrees ouside! But it's ok, because it's a dry heat. That's bullshit by the way. The men in the airport were wearing every garment one would imagine a Muslim man wearing. A popular one was the long white robe with the checkered headscarf. And many of the women were fully vailed. Most of them gawked at me. I listened to my Jewish Hip Hop hoping no one would come up to me.

A few people did talk to me and they were all nice. Two young men in white robes approached me, which startled me. They asked me a question in Arabic and said I ddin't speak and they went away. They were probably asking for directions. Most of the time, I stared at a Nathan's Hot Dog ad that was half in English and half Arabic. I learned something in that airport: we're all similar and different: for example, their Nathan's delivers, ours doesn't.

I was very lonely in the airport. I've been throughout the trip. I thought it would be a good self-reflection opportunity, epecially since I don't feel like I really need people, I only need myself. Boy have I been wrong so far.

I felt better once we flew over Mumbai. But I'm lonely again. I don't know who to trust here (plenty of people) and who not to (I'm guessing plenty of people as well). The taxi ride from the airport is something everyone should do. It's about an hour and the first thing you see is extreme poverty. One cute little girl waved to me right when we exited the airport. It was so sweet and so heartbreaking. It would have been the taxi ride from hell, but I've been to China. We only almost died 47 times here as opposed to 834 times in a 10 minute taxi ride in China. Anyway, I wish I could have convinced someone to come with me, but I'll make it through. Take care everyone.

Monday, May 07, 2007

On Hiatus

In a few hours I'm headed to New York. On Wednesday I'll make my way over to Mumbai, India after a brief stop in Kuwait. I'll be traveling in India for five weeks. I'm going to try to keep everyone informed here during that time, but we'll see how it goes.

I'm always asked, "Are you excited?" or "Are you nervous?" No. The only thing I'm nervous about is that I'm probably going to have to talk to people, especially if I want to get a room in a hotel or buy a train ticket to travel. I don't like talking people. I can't seem to get away from it. I wish everyone well while I'm gone and I hope to stay in touch.


Sunday, May 06, 2007

2008 Presidential Debate Update

I missed the first Democratic primary debate. I was able to catch post-debate analysis. Evidently Hillary Clinton looked great in pearls. She also sounded like a man. I understand her hair looked very presidential. Anyway, I did catch some of the Republican debate during the commercials of the NBA playoffs.

I've put the candidates into categories of whether or not they should continue running for president.

Should Keep Running
Barack Obama - He's qualified and charismatic. I like his thoughts on the war. I'd like to hear more.
Hillary Clinton - She's qualified and occasionally wears pearls.
John Edwards - He's also qualified and his wife has cancer.

Let's See How It Goes
Bill Richardson - He's qualified as well. I'd like to know how he's not a fatter, older, Latino-er, and more boring version of Barack Obama.
Chris Dodd - He hasn't fucked up his chances yet.

You're Done
Joe Biden - He's your friendly neighborhood racist. Oh c'mon, he didn't mean it like that!
Dennis Kucinich - He was a poignant anti-war candidate 4 years ago. It's over. Just be happy that you're actually a United States Congressperson, as amazing as that may seem.
Mike Gravel - I've never felt more shame in agreeing with someone. He used to be qualified, like 25 years ago; now, he's just running in order to embarrass his grandchildren.

Got a Good Shot
Rudi Giuliani - He didn't have a good debate, but who cares? He seems to understand that attacking Iran would be an extremely serious, potentially disastrous decision. Don't worry about those Cwazy Cwistian Consweratives and try to win over the rest of the country.
Mitt Romney - He's a more charismatic and likeable version of John Kerry (another flip-flopper from Massachusetts. It's a big thing up there.). But he's Mormon, and Mormons believe that former 49ers quarterback Steve Young is the reincarnation of Jesus. I think.
John McCain - He looks more and more out of touch with each passing day. I just don't want to piss him off, otherwise he might follow me home on his way to the gates of Hell.

Don't Give Up... Yet
Tommy Thompson - I was actually impressed with his thoughtful Iraq plan. He wants the Iraqis to vote on whether or not we should stay. Good idea. He also wants to lynch gay people. Not such a good idea.
Jim Gilmore - A good ole fashion conservative. Until he appears on Dateline trying to get it on with a kid, he should stay in the race.
Ron Paul - He's borderline. He's a fanatical libertarian. But at least he's not Pat Robertson.

Wack Jobs
Mike Huckabee - He almost convinced me that he was a normal person. But I've learned that "culture of life" and being a big "faith" guy are code words for "let's get the Jews and Muslims." Doesn't believe in evolution.
Duncan Hunter - Here are my notes from the debate, "gonna attack Iran. maybe China too? Mexico?"
Tom Tancredo - He hates brown people AND is inarticulate! Doesn't believe in evolution.
Sam Brownback - Who the fuck elected this guy to the senate? I'm never going to Kansas, ever. He scares the shit out of me. There may very well be another Holocaust with this guy in charge. I just hope it's not our turn again. Hey, we just went 60 years ago! Doesn't believe in evolution.

Saturday, May 05, 2007

Upset of War

The Dallas Mavericks' regular season record was tied for 6th... in the history of the NBA! The Golden State Warriors were 8th... in the Western Conference this year!

The Warriors had had some success against the might Mavs in recent years, but almost no one thought it would translate to playoff success. They were too small. I'm a champion of the underdog, but even I only thought they'd steal a couple of games.

I thought it was cute that the Warriors took Game 1 on the road. The Mavs expectedly tied the series after two. Then the Warriors surprisingly held at home and went up 3-1. But plenty of weaker teams up 3-1 have gone on to lose a series. The Mavs won again at home in Game 5 and worse yet, Dirk Nowitzki finished the game strong.

At home in Game 6, disaster nearly struck. Baron Davis, the heart and soul of the Warriors- the man carrying his team on his shoulders- strained his hamstring. He tried to come back, but couldn't muster much more than a limp. So, instead of taking the ball around the defenders and to the hoop, Davis shot threes and they went in. Game 6 wasn't close. The Warriors had pulled off the improbable. They had beat one of the best teams in recent memory... four times.

Baron Davis did not pull off a feat as great as Willis Reed or Michael Jordan fighting off the flu. Those were in the NBA Finals; this was the first round. But Baron Davis' effort will go down in NBA lore. The Warriors' run is not more impressive than that of the 1999 Knicks, who are the only 8 seed to win at least two series (they won three). But the Warriors did just pull off the greatest upset in NBA history. These moments are a reminder of the good that sports can produce. An undersized, undermanned, and under-talented team was unafraid of the bigger, badder, and better team and stunned the world. Never count out the underdog or you might be next.

Friday, May 04, 2007

Who's Better (NBA)

This is a thread about who is better in the NBA. We're talking now and not over their entire careers. Give your answer without explanation and then below give a duo of your own. I'll begin...

Thursday, May 03, 2007


I am a dirty dirty sinner. The legacies of Martin Luther King and Malcolm X make me proud to share a nationality with them. Malcolm X called for black pride to overcome oppression. Martin Luther King asked fellow blacks to feel proud enough not to fight back. Their different yet similar contributions to America occurred because they were black and in a particular moment in time. But more than that, they show the greatness of this country. They show the plurality of opinion that American minorities exhibit (imagine, not even Jew is a blind supporter of Israel).

Martin Luther King stood for peace and Malcolm X stood for justice. If these became the fundamental attributes of American culture, we would truly be leaders in this world. So that's why I'm going to Hell for being a malicious sinner: pride in my fellow Americans.

Wednesday, May 02, 2007


I'm most envious of Bill Bradley. He's had just about a perfect life. He's been a Rhodes Scholar. He's won two championships with the New York Knicks. He's been a United States senator. And he's lost his bid to be the president of the United States in the Democratic primary because he was too liberal. I wish I could be him, except for only a few things. I'd like a less monotone voice. He's 6'5". I wouldn't mind a few more inches for myself, but so tall, I don't need. I also don't need his frog-like neck. And really who knows, maybe his personal life is in shambles.

Besides Bill Bradley, I wish I could be most women in the world. Women are awesome.

Tuesday, May 01, 2007


I hate people who use the word 'literally' incorrectly. I literally hate them! I'm usually not a grammar snob, but something about that just really pisses me off. And yes, I hate people who do that, not just that they do it. I was taught to hate the sinner more than sin.

People use 'literally' instead of 'very' or 'really.' The might say, "I was literally hungry before I ate dinner." Were you, asshole? The only thing worse than pretentiousness is pretentious idiocy. Well, that and the Holocaust. The other way people use 'literally' is in what I call the I'm-a-fucking-waste-of-humanity tense. These moronic turds say things such as, "My life was literally on the line." No it wasn't retard. Your 'life being on the line' is a figure of speech, which is actually the opposite of being literal. In reality, your life was figuratively on the line fucknuts. You can literally be on a line, but your life doesn't have that ability.

Newscasters and journalists participate in the fallacy the most, which is a total abomination. These people are supposed to know what the fuck they're talking about. But I guess that's too much to ask for now. The era of intellectual journalism has literally flown by the wayside. I wish I could literally stick their penises in an open bible and then slam it down. I guess there are female newscasters now too and some of them probably use 'literally' incorrectly. I don't wish them any physical harm, but I'll just watch as society destroys their sense of self.

Incorrect usage of the word 'literally' must stop. We live in such a stupid country if certain words are used in the exact opposite fashion. If we lived in a more civilized society, people like this would be stoned to death. I am calling for a change towards that type of society. It's time to take action. Soon you'll literally feel my wrath.