think blue.















It's been years, and I do mean y.e.a.r.s.
I'm an internet junkie, I feel all of life's problems can be solved from nucelear pollution to gingerbread substitutions online. Especially value. So when $5 tickets to a Dodger game came across my scream (a whopping $1 cheaper than the 'cheap seats'), I jumped. I enlisted my sister and her Kenyan boyfriend to make me a third wheel.

Professional baseball games make me go ahhhhh inside ( in a refreshing way, not jumping off a building way). The grass, the crowds, the pride; love it. It's the only time in my life I minutely covet a professional sports jersey. Somehow people might thing I had been to a game in the last 5 years had I the $56.99 to bust out a hoodie.

Don't love the $8 beer though, I will never complain again. And it's the only place in the world I justify eating hot dogs, er, Dodger Dogs. My mom instilled in us since we were young children that hot dogs were the devil, in fact, so unhealthy that we were required to eat a vitamin with every hot dog consumed. I know, I know. It's not even that I like them, but moreso the mystery and danger about eating them, yes, danger.

Needless to say, I missed the games of my youth. We were so high up that fly balls weren't an option. Aparently, they no longer give free gifts away to kids. (We had a STASH of free Dodger gear growing up thanks to 4 kids and free kid's gift night.) Gone were free dogs and shared XL coke via pops, unpiling from the station wagon, and general rediculous acts to get onto the coveted jumbotron. Something changes, we lose the air of excitment, mystery, and hope somewhere between 8 and 24. And till I figure out how to recapture it, cheers...

bum blogger.

i suck at blogging. yes. i know. life is a bit less exciting, but now involves Elvis on a weekly basis, so no complaints.

give me two pina coladas...

ah mexico. in the wintery hell of korea my father and i had a conversation like this:
dad: i want to take you on a trip when you get back to america.
me: ummm...dad, at that time i'll be unemployed, living at home, eating your free food, after a month-long vacation in southeast asia , but shoot, why not keep the vacations rolling!
dad: where do you want to go?
me: a beach with pina coladas.

so, mexico it was.
now, as southern californians, we have a tainted view of mexico via experiences at the tijuana border. primarily involving montezumas revenge, human drug trafficing (think orphesus), obligatory Chiclet purchases from the pitiful children, and regretful shopping involving enormous Tweetybird banks and eagle-embroidered panchos. the 80's movie cheech and chong will bring our experience to life. but, i opened my mind that the rest of mexico could be better.

reasons i now love mexico:
1. pina coladas
2. meating men named margarito (and theories of tequlia-involved labor)
3. saying hola and adios muchachos without rebuke.
4. pina coladas on the beach under cabanas.
5. being mistaken for my dad's girlfriend (hey, atleast i look old enough now)
6. insane mexican drivers.
7. pina coladas on the beach under cabanas brought by pedro in quick fashion.
8. beaches in january.
9. ferocious, pity-less bargaining with fingerless men.
10. salsa dancing with the spanish-speaking elderly.
11. mi madres newfound love for beer.
11. a plethora of 1970's VW bugs, bringing back my childhood dreams of owning my very own live car named Herbie...I kept expecting one to wink at me.
12. no montezumas revenge. thank God!
13. Garfield and John went to Acapulco, me too.
14. incessant singing of any song involving mexico (jimmy buffet, jump little children, etc.) or pina coladas (GARTH).
15. the confidence to sing without any talent. (alright, so that's not limited to specific countries...)
16. mocking the accent (meeeeeester michael) and it being mistaken for practice.
17. any vacation on papi's penny.


in short, mexico is a fabulous place. i reccommend a trip outside the hazy tiajuana-shaped box.
(and a trip with these two rediculous people too)

too much rice?

apparently 12 months have turned me into a bonfide Korean. i blame the rice, and perhaps the tap water i wasn't advised to drink. but ever since returning stateside, i've had countless people tell me i'm looking a bit Korean these days. though, i don't know if this Korean-likeness is a step up or down from the previous Russian prostitute reference... while, i did recently made the jump from blonde to "espresso", as L'Oreal calls it, i think it goes deeper. i do in fact have bits of mongolian in me, but i don't see why it would take this long to appear.

exhibit A: me and a real Asian (Twainese-thanks Pei Pei)...i don't see it.

thanks to my mom and her XX gene donation 23 years ago, i am the owner of a small pair of eyes. maybe countless amounts of rice, paired with learning a new language, and habitually squatting over toilets brings about physical alterations. or not. i'm not Asian people.

save it for a soldier.

I have a new found love and respect for our nation’s military, and you should too. I lived in Korea for a year, where there was required 2 year military service for all males. We are blessed to live in a country with such options. Whether you support the current war or not, the soldiers are just doing what they are told.
I always “supported” them, but never opened my mouth to say so. Shame on me.

For the past year I witnessed the sad dichotomy of the critical Western media with the personal reality of those criticized soldiers and their families. Simply put, these men and women are displaced; separated from their families, friends, and home. Their bases provide them with all the necessary Frosted Flakes and Taco Bell Burrito Supremes they could ask for, but it’s not home. They choose to be there, they choose to represent our country, they choose to serve...they choose what I haven’t, and yet I benefit. The bottom line is that whether in Texas or Afghanistan, those in the military are places where we aren’t. My couch and warm feet suddenly get a little more comfortable…

My charge to you: buy a drink, shake a hand, give a kiss, anything. Say thanks. They need to know.

my buddy.

meet amanda, my travel partner. she's great, it's great. i learned a long time ago that the beauty of travel is dulled by lonliness. i have heaps of glorious memories around the globe that i shared with my camera and strangers. in some strange fate my computer crashed with those pictures and emails became infrequent; so its solely up to my lacking memory. so i'm grateful for her postponing long-awaited reunions, family and a boyfriend for a few precious moments of adventure.

amanda enjoys watches. the always-knows-the-time kinda person. maps are her friend, she likes locations. how much is the taxi? she knows. responsibility is her game, and she does it well. she's a woman of purpose and direction. i need that. she's feisty, i would't mess with her in a dark alley. i need that, too.

and then there's me...late is my middle name, i only gauge time by day and night, i emphatically trust taxi drivers (despite better judgement), i rarely know the contents of my mid-day snacks (ie: rice, coconut, brown stuff, some orange bubbles, wrapped in a leafy bit) and i tend to wander with successful expectation. my travel is a bit looser, a bit unconfined, a bit unpredictable. she keeps me safe, in well-lit areas, with people i can trust. i've tested God's grace too much in the past to know that's the better route.

we meet in conversation, intelligence and our desire for adventure. we're quirky and like-minded enough, and moreso, willing to forego domestic pleasures for awhile...a perfect fit. our paralleled internet and ice cream addictions serve us well too. despite our year long friendship, the plethora of time has allowed us to find new territory and conversation in our friendship. you know someone over dinner, coffee and weekend trips. and then you see them at their hungriest, tiredest and dirtiest and then you KNOW them.

I thoroughly enjoyed the 30 cent, road-side, sandwiches in Vietnam, with undiscernable contents. she shook her head and reminded me of our lack of western toilets and toliet paper alike. i shrugged in gastronomic pleasure.

in short, we have a good yin and yang. i take the cheap places over comfort. she buts in when necessities become necessary, like electricity. we've a good balance of logic and spontaneity. and have grown to the rare intimacy of silences. after 10 days x 24 hrs x shared clothes, food and lives x every hygine secret exposed = intimacy. maybe in 20 years she'll be in canada and i in america, but we'll look back and laugh. and pick up the phone and laugh some more. these travels will be irreplacable, and i'm glad to have her in them. i heart amanda.

P.S .she's also taught me more about Canada than i ever thought one American could learn...(ie: they have thirteen proviences, i'm being tested daily)

outANDabout.
i consider travel a priveledge not right. each time i travel i think i get the bug out of my system, and each time i come home i realize it's a lifelong affair that will only be postponed, never cured. some have the burden, some don't; none the better or the worse for it. i have been blessed with the time and money to forego hot water and a dependable night's sleep for the next few weeks. vietnam, cambodia, and thailand are on the agenda. avoiding malaria, tuberculosis and pepto bismol are my only goals. cheers to dirty feet, 12-hour bus rides, and a unmistakeable smile.