Your Next Superstition

So I know what you are thinking: for a travel blog, this dude doesn't talk about travel very much. You are also thinking: in spite of that, this is absolutely my favorite blog in the world.

Wow. Two things.

First of all, thank you. That really means a lot to me. Second of all, here are some Bogota things you might find useful when you come down here for a visit. Okay, you want to stay at Hotel Parkway. No foolin'. The hotel is clean and affordable and in Bogota's Parkway barrio, which is friendly-ish and safe-ish and very cool. Think: Albuquerque on a Wednesday evening. You are also going to want to eat at a place called Statua Rota. Both of these recommendations only apply to you if you are not a total cacahead. Don't be coming down here all dumb.

Chevere.

If you enjoy a nice steak and you go to a restaurant that offers 300 metric units of meat and 600 metric units of meat, 300 is enough. Trust me. No one knows how the metric system works, but in good old normal units, a 300 steak is way big.

You may find yourself in a restaurant that offers a drink called limonada de coco. Order it and drink it. If Jesus Christ went to visit the pope at the Vatican, this is the drink He would be offered. It's the best we have.

Sometimes you have a drink with friends, and before you drink, you clink your glasses together. That is great. Good for you. If you try to clink my glass, I will clink right back and I will say, "Cheers!" or some variation. If you are having a drink with five of your friends, and everyone wants a clink, go ahead and clink.

All I'm saying is, there comes a point where glass clinking gets out of hand. Like, imagine if you had to clink 100 glasses. That would be something of a chore, right? So what is the amount of glasses one should clink before it becomes a chore?

Glad you asked.

It's five. In fact, it is very bad luck to clink more than five glasses. Your house could burn down. Okay, I just made that up, but that doesn't make it not true. Five clinks and done. After five, it's a fingerguns situation.

If you ever get the chance to ride in traffic in Manhattan or in rush hour on the 405 or on a busy road in Uganda, I think you will be well prepared to enjoy a nice taxi ride around Bogota. It's weird to me how many people are afraid to get on the plane. Let us all be more afraid of each other in our cars please.

Cheers!

Juli and I just celebrated our 12th anniversary, the global connections are getting ever stronger, and art is saving the world.

Did you ever notice that Spanish is hard to speak? Like, what's up Spain? My Spanish is so much better than it used to be, and it is just awful. The hard part is, the more you practice, the better you are able to understand how poorly you speak. Last tip: if you can learn to speak Spanish before you visit Colombia, that would be good.

Suck it, haters.

I am screening Pulling Push Doors in Chicago on May 26th. Tell someone who would love it.

Here we Gogota Again

If you hooked me up to a lie detector and asked me if I speak Spanish, every response I could think of would show up as a lie. I don't speak Spanish and I don't not speak Spanish. I can tell you for sure that when I speak it, it comes off as unsure and a little wrong. I think I'm more confident speaking French and Polish because I don't speak French or Polish at all. I can repeat a few phrases that were taught to me and that's it. Confidence!

Juli and I went to California where I spoke next to no Spanish at all. We visited Kerry and Jason and their kiddos and pup. We played in the water and near the water and on the water. It was comfortable and normal and easy.

Like Jesus

However.

We stayed at an Airbnb. Our place was an unusual place for us because it wasn't private living. We had a room in woman's house. The woman told us she was an artist and she had a seven-year-old girl. An artist, eh? I have always wanted to meet one. The house was an adults-only place with a little girl and it was Disney themed. We didn't spend much time at the Airbnb, and I expect we will seek private living from now on.

Art

As you might expect, we left California and we are in Colombia now. Dude, Spanish everywhere.

Juli and I went to a restaurant and the business of speaking Spanish falls to me. Our server said, "Good afternoon."

I said, "Good afternoon. Is there a table for two?"

She said, "Mysteryword mysteryword you like mysteryword upstairs or downstairs."

I said "up" and she lead us upstairs.

Later, she told me that there were lunch specials and she pointed at a menu that had a lot of Spanish words on it. I said, "I like a plate with meat."

She said, "Mysteryword mysteryword potato and salad or mysteryword mysteryword mysteryword?"

I said, "Which one is better?" and "Which do you prefer?"

She said a series of mystery words and I agreed with her.

Upstairs

Lunch was awesome. If you are ever in Colombia, I totally recommend lunch. I also recommend studying Spanish a little more than you think you need to. I speak it well enough for people to feel comfortable giggling at me or rolling their eyes. But if you need to go upstairs, follow me.

I'm Swearing Again

Okay, the fucked up part is: I totally went to Poland and The Netherlands, and I didn't write a word about it. I don't really have a reason why I didn't write about it. One of those things. As always, I took Albuquerque with me. I was just quiet about it.

That's over now.

Poland 

Now it's time to go to another state and another country and another state. Intrigued? Good. I'm going to need you to grab your extra AC/DC wallet, your passport, and a million dollars in Colombia bucks. Download Google Translate, get your walking shoes, your boogie shoes, and grab something to read. I am hitting the road, y'all, and I'm taking you with me.

Okay, the fucked up part is: I'm not taking Catherine with me. Weird, right? I've never been to South America without that chick. Weirder still, I will be meeting Daga from Krakow there. What? I'm confused. So like, dragons and arepas and squares and cuadranos? Buenos dobry?

Stay tuned, rockers. As soon as it makes sense to me, it will make sense to you.

I couldn't find one of Catherine and Daga, so here's this.

I have been distributing my new movie Pulling Push Doors all across the world. The most popular place to watch it is on Amazon Prime. That platform has the audience already built in, so I do what I can to boost the audience's interest. It occurred to me a while back that my Prime audience might grow if I posted Psycho Bettys From Planet Pussycat. Yeah, it totally worked. Enough eyeballs are finding Pulling Push Doors that I have decided to put Flicker on Prime as well. Look for that if you're interested.

Here's some more news PPDland. Your friend Starr booked me and the movie in Chicago. That's why we're going to another state after another country. Perhaps I will develop new opinions about pizza styles. That would be good for everyone. 

Bitchin'

Okay, the fucked up part is: I wrote a play, like, a year or two ago and I forgot about it until recently because I had to send off my final draft. I laughed at my own jokes several times. I totally get my sense of humor. I would read particularly funny parts aloud to Juli, who would pacify me with, "I know. I know. I read it yesterday."

I guess you are not supposed to laugh at your own jokes, but you have to understand, they were new to me in a way. It was like your goofy friend was on a roll, but your friend was you. It'll happen to you. Let me know when it does.

Well, this blog is just as cohesive as it ever is. I am hitting the road and bringing my movie.

Wanna come? 

I'm a Psychic

What's up, rockers? I forgot to write a blog this month, so I am finally posting the one I wrote last November. It's kind of spooky the way I can predict the future and how I am right about everything. Here it is:

I am writing this bloggity on Monday, November 7. Tomorrow the US is going to have our election for our next president.

Hillary Clinton is going to win. I know this for two reasons: I can do simple math and I know America. When I have mentioned this to people, they have sometimes said things like, "But what if Trump, whatif whatif, whatif?" I don't know. What if a lot of things. What if Gary Johnson? What if panda bears? What if the alphabet?

Sure. All good questions. But what if what is going to happen happens?

I am an American and I know Americans. I know what we think. We don't like the idea of an unAmerican president. Be he someone in bed with Putin, or someone who feeds lies to his supporters, or someone who divides the people, or someone who brags about the unwelcome pussy grab, we don't like guys like that. It's not about our respective political parties. It's an American thing.

Democrats are with her, republican are with her, men, women, book smart, street smart, not smart, with ancestry from these parts and parts far beyond, we are with her. That guy will get some votes, and he'll take some states, then he will lose.

So look at us now. By the time anyone reads this, Hillary Clinton will be our president elect and the nation and the world will be kind of: Now what?

I am going to tell you what I think about that, but first I want to make a case for Trump supporters.

The fuck did he just say?

When I was a kid, I was told that God made Eve from Adam's rib and now men have one rib more than women do. I believed that until Rebecca was in nurse school. I was an adult. This was a few years ago. A piece of easily verifiable information slipped by me for most of my life. I just didn't know any better.

There are people who supported Trump because they believed things that aren't true. While that is not the best reason to support a candidate, I don't think those people are monsters. You can be a good person who is doing the best you can with the information you have, and your information can be nonsense. I think there are people who believe that Clinton is a criminal and Trump is not. Those people are not monsters. I think there are people who have to vote for their party no matter who is running. Those people are not monsters. It is unfortunate that there are monsters out there, and they do seem to all be Trump supporters. I don't know what to do about them.

I can tell you that most Trump supporters are going to be okay. They may yell about revolution, but they will sober up and go back to work. Organizing a revolution is difficult. Bitching is easy.

My advice is: don't tell them they are wrong. If it is at all appropriate, hug them. They may think we are all monsters. They may feel like their voices aren't being heard. Listen to them. Hug them. They aren't monsters. We aren't monsters. We're all Americans.

So, Madam President. Doesn't saying that feel cool? It makes feel classy and well traveled. I feel like I suddenly need the kind of shoes that need to be shined. I will look at paintings and see the secrets inside of them and myself. Madam President. I will study more languages and develop opinions on Shakespeare and wine. Not Shakespeare. Not wine. Shakespeare and wine. Madam President. Damn, that's cool.

Okay, you're the one who is still reading this. What do you want first? Your choices are ISIS or Hitler.

ISIS it is. Those guys don't think very highly of women. My understanding is that there is great shame for those guys to be killed by a woman. What are they going to do when Madam President is giving the orders? I wonder if the US military shouldn't print a  little uterus on each bullet they use. Let's change "gunshot wound" to "uterus inside." That guy died from complications of having a uterus inside.

I am not going to tell you that Trump is Hitler. I don't particularly care to compare and contrast. Just: I get it. You get it. Hell, he gets it. Good enough?

I have been glued to the coverage of the election. It keeps making me think about Hitler in the bunker. He had done all of the awful that secured his place as one of history's greatest monsters, and he was under Berlin, and the American and Russian armies were above his head, getting ever closer. If there had been live coverage of Hitler in the bunker, I don't know if I could have not watched. It would be compelling and sad and horrific.

But I don't want to compare.

Let's talk about God.

You may think that God is the divine and almighty creator. You may think that God is the power of the universe. You may think that God is a nice idea. Maybe you think something else entirely. Whatever you think, I hope you will receive this message the way I intend it.

God bless the United States of America.

Americans need to embrace each other again. Let's stop being scared and let's stop being scary. I'm a pretty okay guy. You're pretty okay too. I want to make the most of our time together.

Wanna come?

More Travel Tips

I think one of the things most difficult for an American traveler to get used to in foreign lands is the way other people measure stuff. Sometimes you want to know how hot it is outside and you will be told that it is 26.

As if.

They are thinking of degrees in centipede and you want to know caterpillar, so here is a useful tip to keep people from trying to explain temperature math to you: just ask your phone. If searching "what is the temperature" doesn't help, try searching "what is the real temperature."

The difference between miles and kilometers is much easier to manage because it is always in your favor. If you have to pee, but you are four kilometers from your potty, you are much closer than four miles. Also, the cars look like they are driving much faster than they really are because the needle is up on 80.

Converting money is going to vary from place to place. You should get your money from the automatic teller, but if you have foreign money in your pocket when it's time to go, you should spend the rest of it on stuff you don't need. If you manage to make it back home with foreign bills in your pocket, your bank will probably turn it back into US buckaroos. If you come home with foreign change, you should put it in a bowl in your living room.

Anywhere you go, public transportation is inexpensive and frightening. Don't draw attention to yourself by talking loud or wearing a stupid-looking hat. If you are using public transportation in a foreign country and the doors don't open automatically, you have to open the doors yourself. In fact, learn to speak French and read all of the signs on the subway - or as we say in French: Metro.

If you are going to be on a train for a long time, you should bring a book with you. Don't read it. Stare out the window. Take a blurry picture.

If you don't want to carry a jacket around with you and you expect warm weather, don't let on that you wish you had packed one when it rains or gets all cold.

Think about synonyms. If the person you are talking to doesn't understand you, they may know a different word for that thing. Instead of drug store, try saying pharmacy. Instead of cab, try taxi. Instead of airplane, try flybuggy. Instead of mashed potatoes, try smooshpapas.

Maybe don't call your flight attendant "air nurse." Try to use gender nuetral language like "air nurse."

Huh?

I'll post more travel tips as I think of them if I feel like it. Safe journey!

He Walked on Down the Hall

Alright rockers, I have been back in the States for a couple of weeks now. I just want to give closure to a couple of bloggy things that were floating around from the Mexico/Spain/Uganda excursion. Bloggy thing 1: I never got robbed. I mean, I got ripped off by a taxi driver in Mexico, but the AC/DC wallet was never stolen from me. It’s around here somewhere with 10,000 Uganda bucks inside.

Found it

Speaking of Uganda, I heard a commercial on Kampala radio for a contest called Mega. If I understood it correctly, you text the Mega number for a price and maybe you’ll win a prize. Here is the part I definitely understood: the announcer from the commercial said, “Everyone is excited about Mega, and you will too.”

What the heck?

It’s like, I know what he means, but the more I think about that phrasing, the more it tickles my brain.

Bloggy thing 2: the West. You know that song Light My Fire from The Doors? Of course you do. Try to set the night on fire. Seriously. Go try. Can’t do it can you? That’s why I am a The End man. The song The End from The Doors is awesome and hilarious.

Like your face.

The lyrics are odd hippie poems about drugs and inappropriate relationships with your parents. At one point old Jimdog sings: The west is the best, the west is the best.

I’m not agreeing that one direction is superior to any other direction, but I’m pretty comfortable in the west. It was pretty cool when Juli and I got to New York and went out for some barbeque in Brooklyn. Barbeque may not be what Brooklyn is best known for, but it was kisses from angels and you got to pick your sides.

Ride the snake, y’all. The blue bus is calling us. Corn bread.

Bloggy thing 3: coming home. We flew from NYC toward Denver. The woman sitting next to me was pleasant and terrified. If there’s one thing I enjoy, it’s a scared person on an airplane. I love it when we hit a bad bunch of turbulence and you see someone start praying. Their fear is like candy to me.

Remember The Exorcist? The little girl Regan interrupts her mom’s party, goes up to the pilot and says, “You’re gonna die up there,” and then she pees on the carpet. I would love to show that clip to every scared person on the plane.

For reference: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H8EvAj1acGU&t

Anyhoo – the scared woman was named Ann or Nancy or Heart or something. She was upset because we had been in the air for way too long. I realized she had a point. We should have landed in Denver an hour ago. I think to myself: I mean, of course we’re going to die up here. We’re in a metal tube in the sky. Shame on us. But I tell Heart, “It’s probably going to be fine.”

At last the captain announces that we can’t land in Denver and we are about to run out of fuel. As anyone would have guessed, it was time to land in Scotts Bluff, Nebraska on some asphalt near a field that in no way resembled an airport. Heart was not pleased.

Scotts Bluff like a boss

This story is starting to bore me. It ends: we got home and Heart got stuck in Denver.

Bloggy thing 4: what’s next?

I don’t know dude, but I’ve got a new movie in the can, 15 Zloty on my desk, a guitar, and a neverending urge to wander. The future is wide open. I’m excited.

And you will too.  

Thought Cereal

Like clarity and cohesion? This one isn’t for you. Go find the one about pickles. And for the brave, welcome:

Well, I did it. It wasn’t easy but I brushed my hair.

I was driven down to Southern Uganda yesterday. I’m not one of those guys who knows what a kilometer means, but let’s just say I was pretty close to Rwanda. I’m also not one of those guys who can define what a road is, but if you’ll indulge me and consider what a road isn’t, we drove on a lot of those.

Maybe you know what a jerry can is. I didn’t know what it was until recently. Picture an African woman walking down the side of a road with a brightly colored container of fuel on her head. See it? It’s not fuel, though. It’s water. A jerry can held the water I used to wash myself with this morning. It seemed way too heavy to carry on one’s head.

Think of a Spanish food. Did you think of a ham sandwich? Well done. That’s right.

Now think of a Ugandan food. Did you think of matooke? Right again.

Goats dress like cows here.

I saw some baboons in the mountains.

I’m tired.

This

Is turning

Into

A

Terrible poem.

Okay, so that was what was on my mind last night. It is today now. I slept and had some coffee. It is a new day, and I only have a few more things to shoot. I am dangerously low on storage and am becoming increasingly particular about what is in front of the camera.

One of the side effects of malaria pills is you can never remember if you have taken your malaria pill.

When I was at the equator, I bought a Snickers bar – a little taste of home. Where do you think it is now? The last time I saw it, it was in a little black bag. Oh wow. There’s Juli. I bet she knows where it is.

She did.

iTunes wants to update my phone. It really has no idea about the wifi capabilities here. You’re cute, iTunes.  It took me about seven days to get my Snapchats from Hannah and KatieP.

Heck this Snickers is good.

I’m flying away from Africa on Monday. The journey to the airport is its own adventure, but once I get to Entebbe I will fly for several hours on my way to Brussels. There are a lot of amazing things about Africa, but this rock and roller is looking forward to getting back to the west. I have never been to Brussels, but I love her. And God.  New York.

And then

Albuquerque.

I’ll walk and they walk and I’ll twist and they twist and I’ll shimmy out west where I belong.

Pulling Push Doors is the name of my new movie. There you are in control of your life and your body, and the world around you, and for that brief teeny moment, when all you want to do is open the door, you realize the world around you is not what you think, and you are not in control of anything, and it’s this private moment that is either frustrating or funny, and then you don’t think about it anymore. You’re in charge again.

I’m not sure if it’s a comedy. I think everything is a comedy.  No, not Schidler’s List, you lunatic. Life. Puppies. Waiting in line. Buying something broken. It’s all comedy.

I am curious to see if you all think it’s a comedy. Maybe it’s not. It’s funny.

Like your face.

I became interested in German films from the late ‘20s and very early ‘30s. Berlin was the place where films were made and innovation was happening. Many of the great innovators left Berlin for Hollywood and here we are. I have openly stolen from these early movies for Pulling Push Doors. I like the black and white, the lighting where our focus comes and goes, the use of text to lead and misdirect. It’s like learning a series of magic tricks and the oldest and greatest trick isn’t an illusion, it’s witchcraft or a forgotten science.

I like good movies, but I also like bad movies. I have strong opinions about Rope, The Room, Pyscho, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, and an entire genre of Lifetimey movies where an abused woman leaves her husband by faking her death and assuming a new identity in a small town where he finds her. Remember Sleeping With the Enemy? That dude liked his towels straight.

Okay, I have a weird fondness for Sleepless in Seattle and The Holiday and You’ve Got Mail and movies like that. You’re waiting for the punchline, aren’t you? I like them. No joke.

I was thinking about the romantic comedy genre and wondering if I could make a movie like that. Romantic tragedy. My brain responded. Romantic tragedy.

Ugh. I was trying not to sound pretentious and I referenced Hitchcock twice.

Have you ever seen By the Sea? It’s so bad. It’s so bad it’s hypnotic. It’s so bad it’s funny. It’s so bad I can’t wait to watch it again. Go watch By the Sea immediately. Also, learn to play cards. I like cards.

Tell me again, what’s my through line?

Line?

Be sure to like Egg Murders Productions on Facebook, and get your pretty butt to Pulling Push Doors at The Guild on August 12. If you’re not in Albuquerque, you should be. As should we all.