Jogging

This seems to happen to me a lot wherever I live.  I go out for an evening jog, and - as the villagers see me running - children group all around and run with me like I'm Muhammad Ali or something.  Tonight was no different.  The children and I ran through the dusty, chicken-lined lanes of the villages, while the men shouted, "Hey Misterrrrr," and the ladies sighed, "Astaga! Chimichanga!"

After the cheering and high-fives and celebration dance, I have very little energy to run any further.  Here is a picture of some goats.

My Straws

Here are my straws. I keep then in a plastic holder for a glass (in picture) that was given to me as a wedding souvenir.  They are kept on a dresser with my fake roses (to keep things classy) next to my flatscreen (high class).  Someday I'll have fake roses in each of my rooms.

I write about straws because in the midst of a long, heated walk today, I stopped in a store for a can of Fanta lemon. I was stoked when I found a really cold one in the back of the fridge, but I didn't see any straws. Like any pampered Westerner, I'm afraid to put my million-dollar mouth on a dirty, third-world can, so I asked the lady at the register where I might find a straw. She pointed to a spot next to the fridge, and then called to another lady-employee standing by the fridge to grab me a straw.

This second lady took her fingers out of her nose and began reaching for the straws. Yes. She was picking her nose. Sensing an imminent disaster I flew to the straws and grabbed one before her snot fingers could ruin straws for me, forever.

Everything turned out fine. I got my straw, drank my soda, and then made love to both these employees. Chimichanga Freud has had better days, but this one was pretty good.

In the ladies' car

I didn't mean to ride the Ladies' Car - I didn't mean to even get on the train - but the ladies pulled me in and then the party began...  It is the Ladies' Car to the everyone here, but I will always remember it as I saw it, as the Crazy Naked Ladies' Car.

The Goat

This is not about the G.O.A.T.  This is about dinner.  I said I wanted to eat a goat.  The people made it happen.

Before:

 After:

The Unwritten Legend of Abu Masker

Known to once walk in the same circles as the Moiliili Jackal, I woke up one morning with Abu Masker going through some documents in my desk.  Perhaps it was due to the fact that I was slower than normal after a long night haunted by the incessant bangs of the erupting volcano, but Masker was able to leap out the window before I could grab him.  Everyone knows that Abu Masker always wears sanitation masks, being an infamous germophobe, which was the perfect disguise on this morning when ash clouds choked the small town.  I looked everywhere, but any of these people could have been him.  Another mystery...  how is this related to the Jackal?  Two hours later, I received orders from headquarters telling me that the conditions of the volcano made it necessary to leave.  Maskar may now have free reign in Yogyakarta, but there are greater dangers.

Bike Ride between Yogyakarta to Solo

My bike didn't have one of those nice dips in the seat to nest my unmentionables. It was a painful, yet rewarding trip.

 Quite the splosion.  Here it is beginning to calm down...  but my drama with the bike seat continued.

Hey!  I see you!