So that’s what I’m listening to, but it’s another world out there now. Rob Zombie’s got a slasher film out and some former US general’s in charge of Iraq. People still say their prayers but I can barely stay awake and it’s only 6:30pm. We get old and fishtail like Vandross while Dangerfield can spend 20 years freebasing and still come the other side. Picture yourself on a boat on a river that’s dried up to a mere trickle…

As promised, that’s me on the right, with very much the same haircut I currently have.

Ah yes, wonderful to arrive into Newark yesterday afternoon to learn that we’ve won the war with Iraq. Whew! That must’ve been a close one. Glad we sqeaked by that one. Good to see the statues falling, don’t you think? Resonates with how safe I feel right now, probably as safe as we all feel, right?

Anyway, enough enoughing. To recap the last few days: we bused in from Panama to Golfito, then took the watertaxi to Puerto Jiménez, then a 2 hour ride in the back of a pick-up fixed with 2 benches in the back and a tarp overhead (reminds me of an Australian Outback kind-of thing, you know?) to what is commonly called the last frontier of Costa Rica, the southern Pacific coast of the Osa Peninsula. Nothing there, for the most part … no phone of electricity, just miles of black-sand beaches and jungle and an occasional leathery expat trying to set up a little cabina business in this jungle getaway … we stayed there for 2 days and just wandered the beach, as well as taking a formidable hike up the Rio Madrigal into the jungle … that is, until we heard the knee-rattling roar of a pack of Howler Monkeys, at which point we started back tracking.

Then back to Puerto Jiménez, where Maja and I planned on taking a small small plane to San Jose … and here our troubles began. The pilots were wishy-washy about flying due to the heavy storms over Golfito, which we needed to land in first because they had avoided doing so on the way over due to the same storms. After about an hours delay (mind you, we’re on a gravel runway in the middle of the jungle, for all intents and purposes), 12 of us (including pilots) board the little coffin with wings … landing in Golfito, ok, then more waiting … as its pouring on us, they rush us into the plane and we take off, onlt to fly through gray numbness that just kept getting darker and darker, rain pounding (literally pounding) the plane, they 2 small tico pilots can barely see over the dashboard, which we unfortunately had a clear view of … the GPS and other panel controls/lights kept going out, and we could see the concern and frantic gesticulations of the pilots trying to save their own lives … then the plane starts really rocking, quickly tipping left and right with such degree that your head actually snapps against your shoulder or the nearby window or fellow passenger … great drops in altitude … fishtailing, so much so that you look out the window and expect to see the tail of the plane out beside you … dead silence except for the repeated beeping of emergency status indicators from the cockpit … prayers and incantations all around, I’m sure … then, suddenly, though the edge of the clouds and into sunlight beauty and long-limbed vastness, and the nervous laughter and excited chatter begins … the captain looks back to check on us and you can see it on his face, the holy shit we actually made it expression you never want to see on the pilot of your aircraft …

More later on the comings and going of whatshisface …

Well, CNN is on the TV behind us, in Spanish, but the theme song for the War On Iraq is the same … that mellifluous little melody with a hint of sympathy tinged with jingoism. As you can imagine, there´s a lot of graffiti here about the war, and none of it is very US friendly … Strange to see it from this perspective, though I haven´t really seen much because I kind of boycott the coverage. Interesting to see its social implications from another country. I was in Czech during the few weeks after 9/11, and that was a strange time too… a month of anthrax and drums beating for blood. Huh.

So, today I think we´re heading across to Pureto Jimenez, an hour by boat, and check out the beach over there. Tomorrow Maja and myself are taking a little Cessna back to San Jose, and so on and so on so forth and blah blah blah and if it happens I´ll tell you then …

Ok. Ciao.

Anyway, that’s something, sure, but it gets worse.

We get back to the apartment after talking with la policia, which is obviously going to be of no help, and we eat, then Drew and I decide to be pigs and go out for some beers and guaro (sugarcane firewater) … and after a few hours of sipping and gawking, we get into a small discussion with a few ticos, Andres and Pablo, regarding the current situation in Iraq. I knew it was getting off to a bad start when Drew slurringly says, “Well why the hell shouldn’t we police the rest of the world?!? They Obviously can’t do it themselves…” Suffice to say, they invited us outside … we remained within the safe warm bosom of El Celio (the bar we were at) and eventually, after much machismo and bravado, they left. After a few more rounds, we head out, and we’re stumbling down these little windy streets and the rain’s really coming down and he’s got a raincoat and I don’t because some cabbie’s wearing mine at the present moment, and all of a sudden, BAM! Glass shatters and Drew screams, I spin around and its fucking Andres and Pablo, and Andres has just smashed a bottle of Imperial over the back of mi companero’s cabeza (so much for policing the world), and he’s holding the back of his head and cursing a storm, then, flash, he jets, he runs like a fucking ghost in a hurricane, he’s fucking Swayze, and I’m there, a little confused, looking pleadingly with the two attackers. They advance at me, I flinch (I’m sure), then laugh menacingly and walk off, patting each other on the back and disappearing into a streetlightless night. Huh. So there I am, shaken and tipsy, alone after 3 and a half hours in Central America, with no idea of where the fuck I am … no phone numbers, no idea of anything. I start heading in the general direction my yellow gazelle of a friend ran in, looking for possible blood trails that may lead me home to my lack of bag .…

… anyway, luckily enough his wife is the better half and came out looking for me and found me sitting on footbridge smoking the last of my american cigarettes and humming the melody of that mogwai tune called “Yes! I am a long way from home!” … I won’t admit it tomorrow, but I think I might’ve been tearing up a little …

Fucking A. I think I’m going to go and buy a raincoat now. Enjoy America while it lasts, folks.

A jawful of mouthwash … beloved, it is good. Something closer … may you and I and all of us face the mirror with dignity, may we pronounce our names with a simple clarity that bespeaks our perspicacity …

… and fucking A, can anyone hook me up with any Liquid Liquid?

Insanity, maybe. I’m between shifts, prepping up to go to job # 2: Bartending, the Ultimate Moonlighting Gig, and am curious to see the general sentiment and feeling (and “vibe”, if you will) of the customers, especially as bombs light Baghdad up all green for us on CNN Headline News … “getting bombed” may be the poor pun of the evening … I may bring my survival knife … a headline I saw today said, “Baghdad: sleepwalking its way into history” … huh. I had no idea we were contending with a rogue crew of crooked somnambulists! Well, fucking A, let’s blow some shit up!

Hey, for shits and giggles, check out this army movie we made this weekend in the car … it’s Quicktime, and doesn’t have sound yet, but it seemed appropriate.

Click here to view the embedded video.

May God bless us, each and every one.