Extrapop

Descent Into Madness: My Three Days At CES 2012

noreply@blogger.com (Kevin McLaughlin) — Wed, 18 Jan 2012 06:27:00 +0000

Monday 9:07 a.m.

Got in last night. I have to admit, I'm really pumped about CES! Yeah, the event is always pretty crowded but it's just so awesome to be here this year. I can't wait to see all the latest and greatest products that are being unveiled. It’s my sixth straight year at the show, but I still feel like a little kid on Christmas morning, just brimming with anticipation.

The CES opening press event was last night and I was blown away by the innovative products the sponsors were showing off. And there's a great energy in general in Vegas right now, a very upbeat vibe. Even the Vegas Strip's unrepentant soullessness seems to have dissolved, replaced by a glowing friendliness that’s evident in the smiles of passersby. There is also a pervasive sense of camaraderie from my international media brethren.

The weather is excellent too -- clear desert skies and surprisingly warm for January.

Monday 10:33 p.m.

Went to Samsung and Microsoft press conferences this afternoon. Samsung launched about 20 products -- TVs, monitors, notebooks, a tablet and a smartphone. All kinds of stuff. People were eating it up.

Microsoft’s Steve Ballmer keynote was fun. He brought out Ryan Seacrest and they sat together and talked about all the cool stuff Microsoft is doing, in an informal chat type of presentation. I enjoyed it.

Heading to bed now. Hope I'll be able to fall asleep after all the excitement of the day. Can’t wait to walk the show floor, which opens tomorrow.

Tuesday 9:45 a.m.

I’m standing outside South Hall of the Las Vegas Convention Center, in a crowd of around 5,000 people all waiting for the doors to open at 10. It’s pretty chaotic. For some reason, people seem to think that shoving and jostling their way up to the entrance means they’ll get in faster. Pretty irritating if you ask me.

There are a LOT more people in Vegas than yesterday. Huge monorail line at the Venetian stop where I’m staying. Yep, CES is definitely under way. I had forgotten what a mad crush of humanity the show can be. Now I’m heading onto the show floor.

OK, I’m walking around in North Hall and it’s a little less crowded here. Problem is, I haven’t seen anything interesting yet. What I am seeing is row after row after row of booths displaying iPhone and iPad cases. Some are ridiculously outlandish, like the ones encrusted with Swarovski crystals. Are you kidding me? Hey, I guess there’s no accounting for taste. These cases look like something you’d see in a Jersey Shore episode.

Tuesday 1:14 p.m.

I’ve made my way over to Central Hall, where all the television vendors are showing off their latest models. It’s loud in here. And by loud, I mean, deafening. Good thing there are a massive amount of people here, packed into the exhibit areas like a bunch of helpless sardines, powerless against their desire to see more HDTVs.

The HDTVs on display are truly amazing examples of humankind’s ability to harness technology. But though it’s easy to fantasize about owning one, I realize that I’d never read another book, or have another meaningful conversation, if I did. This is scary technology, and after craning my neck at a few companies’ booths I move on.

Tuesday 11:49 a.m.

Chaos in the LG exhibit area. An impenetrable thicket of humanity. I snap a quick photo and hightail it outta there.

Tuesday 2:37 p.m.

Everywhere I turn, there is bad mobile etiquette on display and frankly it’s starting to piss me off. Literally 95 percent of the people I see walking around have their eyes glued to their devices and are paying ZERO attention to where they’re going. So of course, they’re constantly cutting people off, while remaining completely oblivious. I actually saw a guy texting while walking backwards down one of the bustling hallways.

The irony is that these idiots with their smartphones are rushing around so they can look at other, newer smartphones on display at CES.

Tuesday 5:12 p.m.

I’ve walked probably about three or four miles at this point, although it could be a lot more. Still haven’t seen anything all that interesting, except for a couple booths here and there surrounded by useless garbage. Oh goodie, ultrabooks. Oh wow, more tablets. E-writers? What, regular paper doesn’t work anymore?

There comes a point at CES when you’re on the show floor, and you’ve been walking for hours, and you just hit the wall. The noise of the hucksters in the exhibit areas braying for attention is getting inside my head, and it's not going away. I’ve seen enough and am heading back to the room.

Tuesday 9:37 p.m.

Exhausted, but still intact (physically, if not entirely mentally) after Day One on the CES show floor. I’ve heard the first couple of days climbing Mount Kilimanjaro are pretty easy, but then the difficulty ramps up dramatically. If that’s true, I can’t even imagine what tomorrow might have in store for me. A deep sense of foreboding washes over me, and I have trouble falling asleep.

Wednesday 9:19 a.m.

Back on the show floor. Still pretty wiped out. I’d rather be having my wisdom teeth out right now than on the CES show floor, if you want to know the truth. Thankfully it’s my last day here. Hopefully I can make it through the day without snapping. That is by no means a given, though, as the show floor has already attracted its customary hordes of attendees.

I’m walking around South Hall and again, there’s not much going here. Unless you count the hazy, eye-stinging cloud of international, mostly male colognes that's hanging over the proceedings. It occurs to me that this is a regular CES feature, the sampling of liberally applied fragrances. Fortunately I am distracted by the noise, which is also reaching a painful level.

I walk for a while and realize I’m surrounded by booths selling iPod docks shaped like pigs, whales and Charlie Brown characters. Many of them are smiling. That’s great, I’m happy you’re in a good mood. But I can’t get around the fact that these things are made of hard, heavy plastic, the kind that’s destined to sit around in a landfill for millennia. I keep walking, trying to forget what I’ve seen.

Wednesday 10:52 a.m.

The burning fatigue in my legs has started up again. I don’t even know what hall I’m in at this point, but there’s a bunch of home automation products on display, with pitch people loudly proclaiming their benefits. I pass by one booth and they’re talking about how their product lets you adjust the temperature of your home using a tablet. ‘Great,’ I think to myself, ‘because people in our sedentary culture need more reasons not to get off their couches.’

Walking further I come to a booth showing off little video cameras that you can hide places, and presumably, capture footage of people doing stupid and/or illegal things. Around another corner, I come across yet another booth selling iPhone cases, but these ones have hair. I try to scream, but the sound catches in my throat and is muffled. No one hears, and so after collecting my thoughts, I keep walking.

Wednesday 1:07 p.m.

Still no idea where I am. Was seeing darkness at the edges of my vision, so I stopped to get something to eat. Waited in a long line, then got to the counter and all they had was a hot dog wrapped in a soft pretzel. It looked disgusting, but I ate it anyway. I needed the sustenance.

I feel slightly less dizzy, but am still finding it difficult to process what’s going on around me, all these products of dubious practical value, being loudly hawked. I keep walking, hoping that I will come to the edge of the convention center soon, or that a forklift will fall on me and I won’t have to see this any more.

Wednesday 2:58 p.m.

I think I’m hallucinating. I close my eyes and see rows and rows of iPhone accessories. For some reason, Hello Kitty -- a human sized version -- is peeking at me from around corners as I approach. Soon I realize that it’s following me around, like the penguin in Billy Madison.

A couple more days here and I will have to be institutionalized. Actually, maybe just a couple of hours. I just have to make it until 5 p.m though. Almost there.

Wednesday 5:02 p.m.

I make it to 5 p.m., and stagger outside into the sunlight. I look around -- no Hello Kitty -- and my heart rate starts to drop into the normal zone. I breathe in the crisp desert air, and cough, because someone is smoking a cigar nearby. I've wandered into the smoking area. But it's so much better than the show floor.

I survived CES, again. But it left a toll on me this year, just like it always does. You know what’s really pathetic? I’ll probably be back again next year. Because I love the pain and the chaos.

Good Time For A Cleansing

noreply@blogger.com (Kevin McLaughlin) — Sun, 01 Jan 2012 00:27:00 +0000

It's tough to really call any year forgettable. Even in the worst of times -- when all the news is bad, and every time you see a newspaper or television you feel like screaming in frustration -- there are still moments that make you laugh, and maybe even feel hopeful.

Still, there's no denying that 2011 has been a tough year. Natural disasters. Political violence. Stupid politicians spouting a never ending stream of hateful nonsense. Dumb movies. An economy that many people feel is about to blow up like a faulty M-80. And general societal irritability and uncertainty that makes it seem like the wheels are about to fall off -- of everything.

Thankfully, it's 2012 now, and it's time to forget all that. Right?

Not really. The Gregorian calendar doesn't mean a damn thing to a subsistence farmer in the most primitive reaches of Papua New Guinea. Hell, they don't even have the iPad 2 there yet. And so tonight, when all the champagne corks are popping, and amateur drunks are committing more faux pas then there are stars in the sky, nothing meaningful will change.

However, New Year's can be a time to let go of bad things, to let them float away from the front of our minds to a comfortably insulated part somewhere in the back brain area. Let me be clear about this: I don't mean forgetting all the bad stuff that happened last year by sweeping it under the rug and pretending it wasn't real. Flipping the calendar page doesn't change anything. But it does give us a chance, as humans, to compartmentalize the past and move on. And that can be a valuable thing. A cleansing thing.

Smoke Is Powerful Stuff

noreply@blogger.com (Kevin McLaughlin) — Fri, 09 Dec 2011 05:59:00 +0000

It's December, and the night air is seasoned with the scent of burning wood smoke. It's not an unpleasant thing for most people, and it's actually the kind of thing that can really get you into the holiday spirit.

That got me to thinking about how powerful and evocative the smell of smoke can be -- how it always reminds me of places I've been, taking me back with just a whiff. Smoke is heavy with signals. It's chock full of codes and messages that speak deeply and directly to a primitive part of our brains. This will sound like an observation of the obvious, but it bears repeating: Smoke is powerful -- really powerful.

Anyone who's been camping can attest to how quickly and thoroughly campfire smoke gets into your clothes. It's the same permeating kind of scent that we're smelling in the nighttime air right now.

Smoke can also be horrible, like the kind that comes from burning plastic. Not only is this smoke toxic, but I personally associate it with chaos, the uneasy feeling that things are hurtling inexorably out of control and there's not a damn thing anyone can do about it.

Burning tire rubber, meanwhile, can be a reminder of how many bad drivers are out there. And anyone who's been to a rock concert can attest to the de rigeur cloud of marijuana smoke hanging over the proceedings, serving as a visual symbol of thousands of people having their minds simultaneously blown by the band playing onstage.

For me, smoke reminds me of other countries. In Bangkok, walk down the street and it's just a matter of time before you walk into an cloud of chili pepper smoke from street food vendors' cooking fires -- an invisible blast of capsicum that grabs your attention and sends you into a momentary panic. The pain only lasts a few seconds, and it's nowhere near as intense as being pepper sprayed, but it's still something you don't soon forget.

Smoke hanging in the still nighttime air also reminds me of India. I'll always remember landing for the first time in Delhi, very late at night, and having that be the first thing that registered in my jet-lagged brain. It made me picture the thousands of fires that were probably taking place at that time, all over the city. And with each fire there had to be some sort of interesting story, I thought to myself. Most of the fires were no doubt for cooking, since it was September and still quite warm. But the purpose of the other fires? I couldn't figure it out, and that made Delhi immediately more interesting to me.

The night smoke in the Bay Area right now is all about warmth, fireplaces and wood stoves, about huddling in front of the heat with a cup of hot cocoa, a good book, and preferably, a Golden or Labrador Retriever curled up nearby.

Humans love fireplace fires, both from a warmth perspective and because they're fun to stare at. Huddling at the fire in a cozy room is actually one of the most satisfying things we can do as humans, especially if it's pouring rain or snowing like crazy outside. I'm convinced of that -- in fact, I put it right behind eating warm chocolate cookies.

There's just something hard-wired in our brains that makes us feel happy and relaxed when we're gazing at a fire with eyes closed, feeling its warmth radiating on our corneas. I wouldn't be surprised it this feeling goes back to the earliest days of humanity, when men walked about with knuckles dragging and looking for something to eat that didn't run fast.

I'll always remember another type of smoke, too: The kind I saw in Thailand coming from chimneys of temples where dead people were being cremated. This is how it's done in Thailand, and in many other countries. The first time you see it, it's a bit unnerving -- you're looking at the smoke wafting up into the evening sky and it's hard not to think about the fact that you're witnessing the last visible part of a person.

But if you believe that there's something after this life, there's no more powerful visual metaphor for death -- and the blink of an eye that we call a life -- than this type of smoke.

Trauma and Triumph: My Experience Playing The Turkey In The School Play

noreply@blogger.com (Kevin McLaughlin) — Fri, 18 Nov 2011 02:10:00 +0000

When I was in third grade, my class was chosen to perform the Thanksgiving school play. This news sent waves of excitement through the student body, and immediately, I began to daydream about what role I might land.

It was a delicious kind of speculation for an 8 year old mind: Would I end up playing Squanto, the Native American from the Patuxet tribe who helped the Pilgrims survive their first winter? Or Massasoit, leader of the Wampanoag tribe? Or perhaps Samoset, the Wampanoag who first initiated contact with the Pilgrims? Heck, I wouldn't have minded getting the role of Captain Miles Standish, leader of the Pilgrims, even though he was, by some accounts, kind of a scumbag.

But as it turned out, I didn't get any of these roles. Instead, I ended up being chosen to play the Thanksgiving turkey.

When I first heard that I'd been assigned the role of turkey, I was pretty upset. But dashed hopes were the least of my worries. The irony of my being chosen to portray a character that would eventually be devoured by the other characters wasn't lost on my classmates, and they helpfully reminded me of this. A few of the students would pretend to sharpen fake carving knives whenever I walked by. Children can be so creative in their ridicule.

But after a few days of sulking, a strange thing happened: I started getting into the turkey role. I mean, really getting into it. For example, I started hanging out at a local turkey farm, studying the birds' mannerisms, listening to the sounds they made, and applying this to my role, as would a method actor.

I soon became very skilled at mimicking gobble-gobble noise of the turkey, its herky-jerky movements, and its vacuous gaze. As it turned out, my role didn’t require much onstage walking around, but I felt it wise to be as thorough as possible.

This behavior soon became a source of concern to my parents. They humored me at first, but after a while I could that they were becoming alarmed with my dedication to preparing for the turkey role. When they began discovering feathers around the house, which I'd gathered from the farm in order to make my training more realistic, my parents finally drew the line.

In due time, the date of the school play drew near, and we began rehearsals. The play was to be a simple rendition of the story of the first Thanksgiving, from the pilgrims' arrival at Plymouth Rock, their initial difficulties in adjusting to their new surroundings, freezing their butts off the first winter, and then having their lives saved the subsequent winter by the Native Americans who showed them how to survive in the new land.

The first time I tried on the turkey costume, I was disappointed by how un-birdlike it looked. A giant ball of wire and paper mache constituted the body; a long, conical piece of construction paper served as the neck, and a little turkey-head had been fashioned from a shoebox wrapped in brown felt. Two small holes were punched out in the neck for me to see through. And for feathers, there were cut strips of cloth that hung down on all sides.

The simplicity of the costume, the teachers told me, was a reflection of the symbolic nature of my role: The turkey was the main sustenance shared in the first Thanksgiving, and I was supposed to shuffle onstage at various times during the play and just kind of stand there until the end of the scene, when the stage darkened. I appeared during the pilgrim's first winter in the New World, and later, during the following winter, when the Native Americans began teaching the pilgrims how to survive in the harsh conditions.

This role obviously wasn't challenging, and so in my restlessness, I began to find ways of using the turkey skills I had developed, even though they were not in the script. In between the periods of dialogue I would make the gobble-gobble noise, just loudly enough to elicit giggles from my classmates. I discovered that by doing this, I could cause them to lose track of their lines, which made this even more enjoyable to me. Unsurprisingly, the teacher directing the play wasn't happy about this, and she told me in no uncertain terms to stop what I was doing, and she forbade me to do it during the actual production.

When the Big Day arrived, my fellow actors and actresses had not only stopped teasing me, they actually seemed a little bit jealous. After all, I was playing the central symbol of the Thanksgiving story, the image most people immediately think of when they hear the word mentioned. They were also nervous about their roles, but I wasn't in the least -- there was no way I could forget my lines, since I didn't have any.

My third grade class had never staged a class play before, but the previous year, the second graders had given a presentation of Romeo and Juliet. It had gone so well that the students were still strutting around the hallways like pompous little movie stars, nearly a year afterward. Their play had given them a lot of cachet around campus. And to be honest, us third graders were hoping for a similar impact from our Thanksgiving production.

And the play ended up going very well, with one exception. The main characters nailed all of their roles so well, and with such confidence and clarity of speech, that I felt compelled to show some of my talents. This went outside the scope of what I had been assigned to do onstage, but I didn’t care. I just wanted a piece of the spotlight that was being hogged by the other kids in the play.

So in the last scene, when the Thanksgiving feast was winding down and I was standing in the background near a flimsy replica of Plymouth Rock made of balsa wood and cardboard, I began to move around a bit. I channeled my inner turkey and mimicked pecking the ground in front of me, as if searching for some concealed seeds. I burbled in the low, muttering way I'd come to know as the turkey's form of idle chatter. None of this was in the script, naturally, but no one seemed to mind.

That is, until I slipped during one of the pecks and fell backward into Plymouth Rock.

Luckily, I didn't knock it over. The other kids in the play busted out laughing, as did most of the kids in the audience. The parents, meanwhile, tried to pretend like they weren't laughing, but they were. But we finished the play without any further issues. I caught some flak backstage from the teacher/director, but the production had gone so well overall that her scolding was almost half-hearted.

What's the lesson here? Not sure there is one. Except that in life, it's good to make the best out of the hand you're dealt. And if that comes in the form of being assigned to play the turkey in the school play, you should tackle that role with a level of intensity and enthusiasm that scares the heck out of your parents and teachers.

I Am So Foreboding, I Actually Scare Myself

noreply@blogger.com (Kevin McLaughlin) — Sun, 31 Jul 2011 18:21:00 +0000

What's up? I'm an insanely scenic stretch of terrain in the Connemara region of western Ireland. I have been blowing people's minds with my craggy features for millennia. And on this day, I'm in especially rare form, as is obvious. The way the fog is pressing down on my mountain peaks and shutting off the sunlight really adds a sense of foreboding, and frankly, I'm enjoying the hell out of it.

But lest you think I'm some sort of psychopath, let me assure you that I don't get off on scaring people or anything like that. It's just a curious thrill. No one knows what lies down this road, and around its many bends, which are hidden from view in this scene. One might assume, just based on how ridiculously ominous I look, that to travel down this road would be a fool's errand, like break-dancing next to a pile of live cobras. Go ahead and think that.

Of course, I could be bluffing. There could be a damn amusement park down that road, or an ice cream parlor with golden retrievers playing outside, and overexcited children shrieking and demanding confectionery treats. And you'd never know it because I'm looking so terrifying and dramatic. Anyway, it's your choice -- travel down this road, if you dare.

What Is Taking Your Father So Long?

noreply@blogger.com (Kevin McLaughlin) — Mon, 11 Jul 2011 03:38:00 +0000

What the heck is your father doing? He said he was going to get the ice cream like 20 minutes ago. Is he making the ice cream by himself from scratch? Seems like it's taking about that long. He'd better hurry up or he's going to be in deep trouble.

I know it's hot out here, honey, but just wait a couple of minutes and your dad will be back and we can all go find some shade and eat our ice cream. Actually, there's a lesson to be learned from waiting, honey, and it's called delayed gratification. It means learning how to wait and be patient for the things you want. It's difficult, but it also makes it all the better when you finally get what you've been waiting for. Yes, it's a grown up idea, but it's also a good thing for kids to learn too. It's all about discipline.

OK, I think I see your father over there. It looks like he's got his hands full, too. Yes, he got the ice cream! It looks like pistachio. See what I mean about being patient? This is going to be the best ice cream you've ever eaten.
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Man...What A Long Day

noreply@blogger.com (Kevin McLaughlin) — Fri, 01 Jul 2011 04:29:00 +0000

The boy patted the elephant's back and thanked her for a long day of work spent shuttling tourists around to see the sights of Jaipur. This pleased the elephant, who found the day-to-day work enjoyable but was still heavily fatigued after carrying the weight equivalent of a Boeing 747 on her back in the sweltering Indian summer heat. The elephant wanted nothing more than to immerse herself in the cool, muddy lake and relax as the sun sank slowly beneath the hills surrounding the ancient city.

It was a routine the elephant repeated daily for many years. It sounds like monotony, but there were breaks that made it all worthwhile. New and interesting opportunities arose for the elephant from time to time -- like being in a wedding. The elephant loved being dressed up in Indian wedding regalia and serving as the official transportation for bride and groom. When dressed to the nines, with all the colorful accoutrements that accompany the stunning spectacle of an Indian wedding, the elephant felt like kind of a badass, actually.

What was really interesting to the elephant was how people didn't regard her as a servant or beast of burden, but as an actual wedding guest to be honored and cherished like the other guests. This, too, pleased the elephant, because she always had a keen awareness of the life-changing significance these ceremonies held.
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I'm Seriously Getting Too Old For This

noreply@blogger.com (Kevin McLaughlin) — Fri, 17 Jun 2011 04:59:00 +0000

Man, that truck missed me by a very uncomfortably close margin. That's like the fifth time I've almost been mowed down today. I know I keep complaining about my damn job, but I'm getting too old for this. And because I've always had this desire to, you know, actually GET older, I'm going to have to finally quit once and for all.

Of course, there's the issue of what I'll do next. I've always wanted to sell ice cream. The money sucks, and the margins are razor thin, but hey, at least I'd be bringing happiness to people. Frozen happiness that slowly melts away and then is gone, with a finality like a door slamming shut. No, forget that, I don't want that job.

What about working at a movie theater? I'd get to see free movies. And I'd be bringing happiness to people there, too. Oh wait. What about the crowds on opening night? And that popcorn, with the disgusting imitation butter? I'd probably gain a ton of weight from chowing down all the time on junk food. Forget that job too.

Ah well. I do this every week it seems. This job sucks, but at least I'm outside, on the streets, feeling the vitality of the city, along with its fumes, of course. But it could be worse. So I guess I'll stick around in this street sweeping job for a while.
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Go Ahead, Try Climbing Up Here

noreply@blogger.com (Kevin McLaughlin) — Fri, 20 May 2011 04:50:00 +0000

Hey, I'm a stone fortress, and before you get any ideas, just be aware that you have pretty much zero chance of climbing me. Just wanted to get that out there before you go getting any ideas or delusions of being able to scale my rocky steepness.

I've been here for 600 years perched on this mountainside near the Diskit Monastery in Ladakh, northern India. Of course, someone had to climb up here to build me, and from time to time, to fix up my crumbling walls. But those guys were tough. You're not. I can tell.

Hey, not trying to insult you, just stating facts here. First off, it's 12,000 feet above sea level at my bottom. The air is thin up here, and that's enough to keep most folks from even trying to climb me. Second, in case you haven't noticed, it's rocky as hell up here, and crumbly, too. Treacherous would be a good way to describe it.

What's that? You're going to try anyway? Cool, whatever, just be aware that the nearest emergency room is about an hour, and the roads are pretty damn bumpy.
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Oh Man, Is That A Tour Bus?

noreply@blogger.com (Kevin McLaughlin) — Sat, 07 May 2011 23:29:00 +0000

Are you seeing what I'm seeing? It looks like a giant bus full of tourists. Big, loud, obnoxious looking ones with cameras hanging around their necks. Could they be any more of a parody of themselves? Seriously, do you see that hat the guy in the blue shirt is wearing?

I just hope they maintain a sense of respect when they come into our temple. Because a lot of times tourists come in here talking and laughing and generally not caring a whole bunch about the fact that this temple is a place of worship, a house of peace and serenity, a place where one should be able to reflect on life without having to listen to inane background chatter.

Whoa, wait, are they wearing Hawaiian shirts? We seriously need to think about banning them, as a policy. That's just not right. I can never take someone seriously when they're wearing one of those.

Ah well, here they come. Let's hope for the best.
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This Some Weird Stuff Going On Right Here

noreply@blogger.com (Kevin McLaughlin) — Thu, 11 Feb 2010 02:02:00 +0000

This is one of those photos that tells quite a story, although I'm not sure what that story is. This photo was taken in a Buddhist temple in Rangoon, Burma, and the man on the right is draping some silk fabric on a happy looking statue that also happens to be smoking a cigarette. It seemed to be some sort of merit making exercise.

The guy on the left has a priceless expression that says, "Seriously, I gotta get out of here, this is way too weird for me. I crave normalcy and I'm not getting it here."

I tried to find out more, but language barrier, in addition to this being a place of worship, made me quickly realize the immensity of the task. So I have no idea what's going on here. But that can be a point in itself. Things don't have to always make sense to be awesome, and this is just the latest example of the world's rich tapestry of weirdness.
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Being a Boat Driver Is Great

noreply@blogger.com (Kevin McLaughlin) — Sat, 23 Jan 2010 21:13:00 +0000

I gotta say, there are worst things in life than to be a boat driver. I'm Tom, a 45 year old Thai guy who works on Ko Phi Phi in southern Thailand. My job is to ferry people around the islands nearby and show them all the cool stuff here, like the caves that are home to the cave swift, whose nests make Bird's Nest Soup, and bluewater lagoons that are just TEEMING with colorful fish.

There are a few drawbacks. Some tourists like to complain, for example. I don't let it bother me, but I can't for the life of me understand why someone would fly halfway around the world, and come to such a tropical paradise as this, just to bitch about the very few things that aren't perfect here. Fortunately, folks like these are rare around these parts, but when I do meet them, I just tune them out and start humming Thai folk songs to myself.

It's a good life. I've got my wooden boat, which is surprisingly sturdy and seaworthy. Since Ko Phi Phi is in the Andaman Sea, you actually get some pretty rough water here during the rainy season. But my trusty craft has sailed through many a hairy situation unscathed. And my passengers have been very grateful for that.
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We're Not Huge Fans Of Being Photographed

noreply@blogger.com (Kevin McLaughlin) — Sun, 17 Jan 2010 20:26:00 +0000

Um, excuse me, we're having an important discussion here, could you put that camera away? It's a serious matter, and no, we're not telling you what it's about.

Look, we realize you're a tourist, and we realize that we're cute kids, but if you don't get out of here with that camera, there are going to be problems. Yangon has plenty of beautiful temples, why don't you go photograph them instead?
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Did I Leave The Oven On?

noreply@blogger.com (Kevin McLaughlin) — Thu, 31 Dec 2009 20:30:00 +0000

Uh-oh. I think I might have forgot to turn off the oven. Damn, I always do stuff like this just before going on dates. Now I'm going to be totally preoccupied, and what really sucks about the situation is that it's my first date with Marsha, and she's going to think I'm brooding and distant. Which I'm actually not.

What to do? Do I go back? I actually can't, if I want to make it to the restaurant on time for the date. Man, this is one of those situations where I wish I could just make my mind a blank and dispel all these nagging concerns. The funny thing is, I'll probably get home later and find that I had shut the oven off after all.
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"This Umbrella Isn't For Rain"

noreply@blogger.com (Kevin McLaughlin) — Thu, 29 Jan 2009 03:42:00 +0000

I know it looks like I'm ready for a rainstorm. But this umbrella, you see, isn't for keeping me dry. It's actually to keep any negative sentiments from getting into my head. Like when people are having a bad day, and they try to share their misery with people around them. I don't go for that, and it doesn't touch me because of this umbrella.

This is how I keep a happy face even with times are rough. You should try it sometime.
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"Get me OFF this damn bus!"

noreply@blogger.com (Kevin McLaughlin) — Thu, 29 Jan 2009 03:41:00 +0000

Wow, I've endured some hellish bus rides in my day, but that one has to take the cake. It wasn't so much the crush of the 87 people crammed into this tin can masquerading as a city bus, but the carry-ons that some passenger had. One guy had a pail of dead fish he'd apparently caught fishing this morning. Another guy had a friggin' cobra -- and it wasn't dead. Scared the hell out of me, although the guy assured the rest of the passengers that the damn thing had been de-venomated.

Anyway, it's great to get off that bus, I can't even put it into words right now. All I know is I'm getting too old for this kind of stuff!

Yangon, Burma. 1:13 p.m.
Temperature: 94 degrees
Humidity: 90 percent
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"Man, I Should Have Asked That Girl Out"

noreply@blogger.com (Kevin McLaughlin) — Thu, 29 Jan 2009 03:40:00 +0000

Looking back on the situation, I'm realizing that I totally should have asked that girl out back in college. I mean, she was obviously into my scene, and adored me to an almost embarrassingly obvious extent. But I never pulled the trigger on that one, which sucks, because now I'm sitting here regretting the decision, like six decades later.

What the hell was I thinking? All it would have taken was a little courage. But I totally chickened out. I guess the other guys would have given me hell for it, too. Those guys were idiots though, who cares what they think.

This really sucks. I wonder what she's up to these days?
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The Flip Side Of Kashmir

noreply@blogger.com (Kevin McLaughlin) — Sat, 24 Jan 2009 01:23:00 +0000

Hong Kong is about as opposite as you can get from the small towns in the north of India. These are seething, noisy streets that are brightly lit and resplendent with the smell of commerce. This hits you in the face here even harder than the humidity does.

Within the neon glitter, you feel a long way from anything resembling remoteness. And you can barely continue a singular thought for more than 30 seconds before being interrupted by some kind of craziness. A bit different from the silent solitude of the mountain lands.

But there are mountains here, that's the ironic thing. See that crazy skyscraper to the right of the photo? That's the Hong Kong International Finance Center, Hong Kong's tallest building. At 1335 feet, it's the seventh largest building in the world. And there's an even taller one under construction right nearby.

Someone stop this crazy merry-go-round -- I wanna get off.
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Are You Sure About This?

noreply@blogger.com (Kevin McLaughlin) — Fri, 16 Jan 2009 01:21:00 +0000

"Skydiving, huh? Wow. I mean, if you want to do it, go ahead. But it sounds pretty scary. Hope you've given enough thought to the possibility that the parachute might have been worn out from the nibbles of a thousand unseen moths. And that it might fail you right at the moment you pull the ripcord. and that you'll go hurtling toward the ground at like 188 miles per hour."

"On the other hand, you might have an amazing experience that will forever change your life in ways you couldn't have imagined. Until you took your life in your hands."

"Wait, actually, can I come with you?"
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Bad Place To Wake Sleeping Dogs

noreply@blogger.com (Kevin McLaughlin) — Tue, 06 Jan 2009 01:21:00 +0000

The northern Indian city of Leh is a winding maze of alleys; the narrow, dimly kind that stray dogs like hanging out in. I found that out the hard way one afternoon when I stumbled into -- and woke up -- a group of sleeping stray dogs, which immediately gave chase.

These tenacious dogs chased me through the dusty streets of Leh for a good 45 minutes, and every time I found a good hiding spot, they'd sniff me out right away. They were good, these dogs. It wasn't long before I became exhausted by all the running -- the town lies at an elevation of 11,500 feet.

During the chase, however, I got a pretty good view of Leh, which has a deliciously medieval type of feel to it. And eventually, I managed to escape the dogs by hiding out in a giant monastery on a hill overlooking the town. I ended up staying for six days, although five of those days I stayed because the damn dogs were waiting outside for me.
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"It's Us Against The World"

noreply@blogger.com (Kevin McLaughlin) — Thu, 18 Dec 2008 06:51:00 +0000

In the smoky fray of a Bangkok rush hour, Tim and Tina walk along one of the city's busiest roads, on their way to do a little grocery shopping with their son, D.J.

It's a grim task, navigating the crazy streets of the Thai capital, but the young family has the kind of steely resolve that's useful in these situations.

Why are they walking? It's not because they can't afford a car. Both Tim and Tina have well paying jobs, and could easily buy whatever vehicle they wanted. But they're trying to make a point by not being just another car-bound family slogging their way through Bangkok traffic in little air condition prisons. A point that, at this very moment, seems to be a bit hard-learned.

Bangkok's just tough that way. The heat and traffic jams and overall noise and chaos often combine to create a mind-blowing cocktail of sensory overload. But if you're able to learn to deal with it, and get through it, it kind of makes you a tougher person. If that's true, then little D.J. is going to be one tough little fellow -- just like his mom and dad.
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"I don't care about getting the record, I just want to STOP"

noreply@blogger.com (Kevin McLaughlin) — Sun, 14 Dec 2008 06:47:00 +0000

Honey. Sweetie. Darling. I realize how much this dancing competition means to you. Really, I do. It's just that my feet are ACHING, and my head is SPINNING, we've been dancing for over four days now, and I'm basically about to pass out from exhaustion. Can we please stop dancing now?

OK, I admit, the dancing was pretty fun at first. All the people gathered round to watch us. All their cheers. The TV cameras. But sweetness, that was about 100 hours ago, and I've got some major blisters going on here, and not all of them are on my feet. So can we please stop dancing?

The worst part is, we're still only a little over halfway to the record. That couple from Mongolia who danced for 188 hours and 34 minutes back in 1964, I don't know what got into them. I bet they were on something. Although, they probably didn't drug test world record dance candidates back then, so who knows?
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Beginning To See The Light

noreply@blogger.com (Kevin McLaughlin) — Tue, 21 Oct 2008 22:18:00 +0000

Yuming had been hauling sacks of vegetables to sell the village market ever since she was a teenager, and now, at age 47, this task had become earth shatteringly mundane. In fact, sometimes Yuming would get so bored with her daily labors that she'd head down to a quiet spot alongside the canal and just scream, loudly and with surprising volume, into the empty waters. Sometimes, she had a hard time stopping.

But on this day, Yuming has been struck with a sudden jolt of self-awareness. "There are other things I could be doing," she thought to herself. It may seem like an elementary observation, one that most people have on a fairly regular basis, but for Yuming, this was a breakthrough of epic proportions.

So as the morning light bathed Yuming's face, she resolved to change her mode of employment, giving up vegetable sales in favor of a career in fishing. She'd long envied the local fishermen as they came off the boats at the end of the day, hauling baskets of wriggling fish, so she figured this would be a good new direction for her to take in life.
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Forecast: Scattered Snow Flurries

noreply@blogger.com (Kevin McLaughlin) — Tue, 30 Sep 2008 15:49:00 +0000

According to NASA, the Phoenix Mars Lander has detected snow falling in the Martian atmosphere, about 2.5 miles above the Red Planet's surface. Even though the flakes aren't reaching the ground, the find adds another piece of evidence to the notion that Mars once harbored liquid water, and perhaps even life forms of some sort.

The discovery came as a surprise to some scientists, but not to UFO hunters and conspiracy theorists who believe intelligent life exists elsewhere in the universe. Yes, even within the political sphere.

We are living in strange times. I mean, next thing you know, some random governor of some far flung U.S. state will be chosen to run for vice president -- despite having an appalling lack of foreign policy experience -- and possibly end up a heartbeat away from the presidency. Stranger things have happened!

To round out this bizarre scenario, she'll be an accomplished hunter who's able to field dress a moose -- and will publicize this ability as if it somehow makes her more fit to help lead a country of 300 million people.
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What Is UP With the Large Hadron Collider?

noreply@blogger.com (Kevin McLaughlin) — Mon, 29 Sep 2008 17:19:00 +0000

Wow, look at this! The Large Hadron Collider has been taken offline until March or April at the earliest. Looks like they had some sort of electrical malfunction that caused a helium leak, or something like that. Hmm, I guess $9 billion doesn't go as far as it used to.

OK, so call me a conspiracy theorist, but I'm pretty sure this explanation is a smokescreen for what really happened -- a mini black hole generated by the LHC. Or, it's possible that a few scientists got sucked into a worm hole and are, at this very moment, running for their lives from a pack of hungry -- and decidedly non-herbivorous -- dinosaurs.

All I know is that this LHC really scares the hell out of me.
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