Cozily Changing Character...

Today I was walking back from that plaza where I get my chocolate milk; I walked by a kid who must’ve been 8 years old. He flashed the biggest smile, I threw him mine and nodded, but then he spoke the unthinkable; with his emaciated thumb held high, “America good!” My hairs literally stood on end then, I proceeded to buy everything from every stall on my way back to the hostel. Well, the purchasing was more metaphorical, thus offering their wallets little cushion, but still had my heart throbbing with hope; hope 4 what…I haven’t a clue.

My last week has been quite cozy in Kota Kinabalu after I climbed the mountain. I’ve gone against my “get going” instinct and become part of the family in Summer Lodge…they love me! The place is a great hostel and anyone coming to the area should go nowhere else. The next stop is Indonesia which requires me to spin in circles and not move at the same time just to get a visa…I’m starting with a methodical jumping whilst drinking a beer. People are patient, so all is good.

In the mean time, I’ve got the fever of World Cup 2006 and find myself operating during inversely acceptable hours; that is watching the madness from 9pm till 5:30am each night. Most here couldn’t understand why a ‘traveler’ would stop and watch a month of football, ie. soccer; they are not unlike most people in that they couldn’t understand the murrman in me. It’s a nice break from movin’ about frantically to catch the next bus to be issued a duplicate ticket that puts you on a boat that strands you near a water taxi where you must pay another fee before you pay another “park entrance” fee that you’ve already paid; it’s here that they say, “pay or swim”…they always hold a smile though. Don’t misread me…after this chill session, I’ll be so itchy to throw myself into the water that I might never stop…never.

In having a month in one place, I’ve established citizenship by purchasing a membership at the local gym which is inside the 5 Star Hyatt where I stand out like a Jew in a mosque—more true than not with my Amish look-alike phase--and picked up a book to soak up the language a bit (maybe I should say fraction of very little). Many backpackers return to KK and upon seeing me STILL here, they’re in disbelief. One of the reasons I don’t quite fit in with the Hyatt posse is the same reason one of the cleaning ladies signs the cross every time she passes me and refers to me as JC. Yeah, my facial hair had reached divine proportions and I might have been converting people without even knowing it; but most people were just scared I think. Another receptionist girl started to fancy me and really contorted my liberation by asking me to spend her day off with her. In accepting, I didn’t realize it came with the daily awkward “good morning” as she waits 2C what’s next. L8r she told me she would gladly accompany me to Philippines and show me around. I’m so fortunate that I don’t have an itinerary or care to plan one out…at this point, it was I who reached for the father, son, and whoever else; she was catholic funny enough and has since left me alone 4 the most part. The third and last lady behind the counter where I often chat about random nothingness, swore that I was Tom Cruise in The Last Samurai…she was so gutted when I shaved it all off. It seems everyone else that saw the transition were pumping me for more, “so are you gonna get a hair cut next?” I don’t even want to broach the subject of my mullet. What’s more confounding is why so many people who don’t even know me wanted to shape me like putty; society conforms those who’ve been conformed and it’s a cycle that I choose not to spin…hockey hair will stay there, 4 now.

I don’t know why I let my facial hair grow to barbaric lengths, but my beard became beastly by and by and I was forced to request the clippers of a Swedish traveler and mow it all off. The hair that lay in the sink was an all too common sight below a barber’s chair. My appearance had changed so much that a guy from Ghana who “works” in KK actually woke me up in the middle of the night to tell me that I couldn’t sleep in my bed. “Why”, I inquired with lazy eyes. “This bed is taken” he offered. I opened my eyes and questioned my whereabouts (ie. hospital, hell, brothel) and it was after a pause that he recognized the newly born man lying in his underwear and apologized with a laughter that put us both to sleep like babies—he went back to his bed.

I picked up “Catch-22”, the classic anti-war book that pieces together dark, satirical humor that had me laughing while shaking my head. The ending found me wide awake with splendid enjoyment, then I passed it on. I’ve now a tome offering the accounts of the killing fields in Cambodia that must weigh 3 pounds. “Pol Pot: A History of a Nightmare” should occupy a great part of the remainder of my time here but I have a few others in the waiting should I devour it as I seem to be doing nowadays.

I sent some of you a video of the "advertising" here in Malaysia; it's a commercial that plays constantly during the world cup and makes me laugh with incredulity each time it tempts; should one be interested in viewing this pleasurable performance, let me know w/ a posted comment below.

Fever 4 Footy; a Fortified Friend