Merde est dingue...

Well, how do I begin? My buddy J-Boogie had just quit his job being a champion for the poor in order to become an even bigger champion for the poor. (This is my jackass way of saying he worked in non-profit and will still be working in non-profit or some kind of place where the main objective is not profit.) He had some time in between the end date of his old job and the start date of his new job, so he planned a short trip to Montreal. My boiiii J-Boogie is a natural loner and backpacker, so he planned on going on this trip by himself. He had original intended on going in the fall, but that did not HAPPEN (you might even say, the plan FALLed apart (hehe)), so he had about a week or two to plan this trip.

On the night before he is due to leave by Greyhoud bus, he asks me “any chance you [wanna] steal away to Montreal on a whim?” I express to him that I would love to but I would be missing two classes, and that is far too much for a summer session course. I joke that if he would buy my $180 textbook, I would go. (I wasn’t planning on buying the textbook if I was going to attend every class. However, if I missed two classes, I would definitely need to have the textbook to maintain minimum comfort levels necessary for Kwok-sanity.)

He says the book is $30 on Amazon. Yeah, obviously his cheapass would spring for the older outdated edition. He tries to get me to buy the textbook instead of him, since it is only $30. I tell him that there really is no negotiating this; I’m the one who is going to miss two classes, and he’s the one who wants me to go on this trip. I was not going to pay $30 just to miss two classes. I know that I may not seem like a scholarly dude to most of you, but I have always made it a point to, at the very least, SHOW UP to every class in school, no matter what subject it is, so missing class was a big deal to me.

We argue back and forth a little more and finally come to an agreement. J-Boogie will buy the textbook, and if after the trip, I feel my Montreal experience wasn’t worth it, then I would give him half the money for the book. What started off as a joke suddenly got a lot more serious. Oh snap, did you guys just feel that? Shit just got REAL!

I start booking everything right then. After some confusion and a lot of frustration, I booked my bus ticket heading there, my hostel, and my train ticket back. This trip was so spontaneous and ghetto; J-Boogie and I were not even staying at the same hostel.

Day 1:

Our bus leaves at 11:00 PM, so I got there a little before 10:30 PM. J-Boogie came a little later due to trouble notifying his credit card company on his travel plans. Apparently the credit card representative asked J-Boogie things about J-Boogie that J-Boogie could not answer, but I digress.

We get on the bus and there aren’t too many single seats left, much less two-seaters. We had walked to the back, and J-Boogie wants to go back to the front to see if there are any singles available but I say “There are seats open here, let’s just sit here.” Obviously J-Boogie takes the seat next to the mildly attractive young lady because he is a HORNDOG, while I get a seat next to the bathroom, which is actually an open two-seater. J-Boogie actually asks me if the seat next to me is free, and I tell him yes, but he stays within his own seat. HORNDOG.

A nice young man eventually sits next to me and we start talking. He has a very heavy French accent so he was a little hard to understand at times. He says he’s been living in “Moriel” for a year and I’m like “What is Moriel?”

He tries several attempts to explain it to me, obviously thinking that I am a dumbass. Finally, as a last ditch resort to get me to understand, he says “the direction this bus is going” and I’m like “OHHH!” and I start laughing like a jackass. “Montreal!” Yeah, I am an idiot.

When we reached Albany, everyone had to get off the bus for some odd reason. We all go out and as I walk through the bus door and then past the driver, the driver angrily yells at me, ”YO! Were you asleep?” and hands me a reboarding pass. I was like “… Yeah….” Dude, it was 1:45 AM!

From about 11 PM to 7 AM, I was for the most part on a bus trying to sleep in uncomfortable positions. We finally arrive in Montreal, and it is time to get busy. That’s right; there is only one stop on our minds when we first arrive on this royal mountain; we had to pay homage to our motherland. You guessed it baby! CHINATOWN.

On our way there, we passed by some interesting sights, one of which was a place called “Hopital Chinois de Montreal.”

I thought racism was a thing of the past, yet here we have it in full bloom; a hospital (purportedly) that only serves Chinese people (purportedly). We went inside to inquire about this peculiar place. We ask the nice young lady inside what this place is all about. According to her, it is a long-term care center. I ask “Is it just for Chinese people?” She responds, “90% of our population here is Chinese, with the other 10% being mostly Asian (such as Thai, Cambodian, or Vietnamese), and then there are some other odd ones out.”

She also mentioned how this facility was very unique and is the largest one of its kind in a certain geographic area. She then let us know where we could find Chinatown and we were off on our merry way.

Montreal is mostly a French city, and the French colonized Vietnam, so with my brilliant detective skills, I deduced that there would be an abundance of Vietnamese people in the city, and you know what that means; PHO! And where can one find pho? CHINATOWN!

Let’s take a second to pay tribute to this delectable beef noodle soup dish.

Whoops, false alarm.

We looked around for a foreign exchange place to get the highly valued Canadian dollar, but no such luck. It was still way too early; not too many stores were open.

I imagined us starving and wasting away while sitting on the sidewalk, waiting until a foreign exchange place opened so we could get some money and then some breakfast. Alas, J-Boogie walked into a Vietnamese restaurant and asked if they accepted US dollars. Thankfully they did. It was time to eat!

The food was very good and came in large portions (bigger than Thaison!), which is a very important factor for me when it comes to pho. However, the beef was not as tender as one would have hoped. On the other hand, the chili sauce the waiter gave me was quite the complement to this Indochinese dish.

Next, we wandered around Chinatown a little bit more. I saw a delightful hat inside a store and I got so excited that I bought it without a fifth thought. Now, J-Boogie and I were both rocking hats! However, the hat I bought was made in China, and indeed the string used to secure it to my head broke within a few hours. Fortunately for me, my resourcefulness allowed me to configure alternative ways of tying the string and securing the hat to my head.

Wearing the hat was difficult because it acted like a parachute; whenever there were strong winds, the hat would be caught in the wind and the string would most likely break and the hat would fly away unless I held onto the hat. Being the jackass that J-Boogie is, he bragged about how HIS hat was perfect in that he simply had to put it on and it would be secure no matter what winds came.

Shortly after his douchebaggery, we decided to go to the island of Parc Jean-Drapeau. Along the way, we got sidetracked numerous times. For example, I saw this really small (possibly man-made) island that was accessible by a small bridge, where people could sit on the edges of the island and let their feet dillydally in the water. Must-do.

We finally get to Parc Jean-Drapeau where J-Boogie really wanted to swim in a gigantic pool. That was fun for a bit while we cooled off, but I really did not see the appeal for the two of us to go to a humungous pool in Montreal. Afterwards, we went to the nearby Biosphere where J-Boogie critiqued every picture I took of him. That guy has some very deliberate tastes when it comes to photography. Anyway, we freeloaded inside the Biosphere by recharging our electronic devices while milking the free wi-fi, until they kicked us out.

We noticed from walking around the city so far, that there are A LOT of people napping outside in public; on the streets, on benches, basically wherever one can lie down. And at least 10% of these people were most likely not hobos. They were dressed relatively moderately well, so one can only assume that napping in public outdoor spaces is part of the culture here.

Why do I mention all of this? To give socio-cultural support and backing for our next decision. Do I really have to say it? Yes, at one point we got very tired and sleepy. Well, when in Rome!

At one point, J-Boogie napped on a bridge. That guy sure loves to nap!

Next on our agenda was one of my must-see/go destinations; Habitat 67; an unusually looking architectural work of art. We found that Habitat 67 was walkable from Parc Jean-Drapeau, so that is what we did. I believe we walked on the Pont de la Concorde, which is a mighty long and WINDY bridge. I held onto my farmer’s hat like I was holding on for dear life so it would not break nor fly away. Enough about me though, here is a picture of J-Boogie as we are walking along the Concorde.

Here is a picture of him a few minutes later, while we are still walking along the Concorde:

Yes, his hat flew off and is currently being worn by Nemo of Great Neck, who has now made a home in the St. Lawrence River:

I trust he will not be as much of a douchebag as the hat’s previous owner. If any of you need a reminder of who Nemo is, here he is in a Flushing restroom:

We get to Habitat 67 and admire its structure as well as take lots of pictures. As we were sitting down and enjoying the view from within the complex, a rabid dog on a leash tried to eat us. He/she was salivating and making hungry noises, but thankfully for us, the power of the leash won out in the end. Here is a picture of part of Habitat 67.

Next on our journey was paying our first visits to our respective hostels. The plan was to get settled in, and then meet up for dinner. Luckily for J-Boogie, his hostel was very close. Unfortunately for me, mine was very far. Carrying a heavy bag, walking uphill after walking all day; by the time I reached my hostel I was an even bigger mess than when I was born. I would be staying in a room with seven other people; four bunk beds.

I walk into my room and greet a nice fellow who appears to be fluent in French. Later on I meet someone who appears to be the first guy’s friend but looks and seems kinda like a douchebag. I meet an older gentleman who appears to be very nice. At this hostel, it appears that most everyone likes to mind their own business and keep to themselves.

I was so sweaty that I had no choice but to shower, lest I become a designated hazardous waste zone. J-Boogie and I meet up later and were able to catch some off-in-the-distance fireworks (apparently Montreal was involved in some fireworks competition with other cities).

We then started looking for a suitable place to eat, but by then, it was so late that scarce places were open. We ended up eating at a Chinese restaurant, with plans to meet up with J-Boogie’s newfound hostel buddies at a bar afterwards. However, after dinner, that guy was so tired and wanted to call it an early night. I made him promise that we would get splifficated tomorrow night and he agreed.

That night’s sleep was very hot and sweaty. There was no air conditioning, so our only cooling came in the form of an open door to the balcony. I slept well enough.

Day 2:

The next morning, I enjoyed my hostel’s complimentary breakfast of breads, jams, peanut butter, and heat (for toasting). While eating, I met a nice Irish fellow (no idea he was Irish until well after he started talking), who was here on a working visa. He said that this hostel was a very interesting and old building, and reaffirmed my view that this was not the best hostel to meet people when compared to the other hostels he’s been to. We talked about a wide range of things but the only thing I can seem to recall with any respectability was this; we were talking about speaking French and how French people are a very proud people (especially in their language) and would much rather speak French than English. Germans, on the other hand would rather speak English than German because they want to practice it. He told me about a German fellow he had met who learned all his English in Australia, so when he spoke English he had a very strong Australian accent. I found the thought of a German sprangen speaking English with a strong Australian accent so absolutely hilarious and mind boggling that it completely erased any memory of the rest of the conversation that I had with this nice Irish fellow. Quite a shame.

After breakfast, I walked to J-Boogie’s hostel. The walk isn’t bad at all when you’re not carrying a huge bag. Everyone in his hotel was very nice, and one of the workers there even showed me an amazing path to bike (which we unfortunately did not have the time to do).

We left the hostel and rented bikes from the government (really an amazing system) and biked to the Botanical Garden, where we went to a Biodome. There, we saw what I thought were penguins, but in fact were puffins.

Then, we saw actual penguins which coincidentally enough are very good at freezing (in place). Here they are being fed:

We also saw a short film about the delicate balance of nature and the fragility of Mother Earth. It goes without saying that J-Boogie was ASSED OUT during this brief yet informative movie. That guy has no respect for nature.

Next up was lunch at Jean Talon Market. We consumed some nice fruit, then bought a whole rotisserie chicken as well as a ham/mushroom/cheese crepe. We then got some more fruit.

Afterwards, it was time to head to the Underground City, which we were told is a huge underground system of malls. We started going in and making our way through the underground, and then decided to turn around and head back outside for seemingly no apparent reason.

Next up; Mont Royal; the mountain in Montreal that the city is named after. We wanted to go to the top and get a panoramic view of the city. We biked as close as we possibly could to the bottom of the mountain and along the way we got to see a bit of McGill University.

We walk up the mountain a little and we are a bit confused as to which path to take. I decide to ask a seemingly nice fellow how we can get to the top of the mountain.

He asks us where we are from and we tell him “New York.” He then tells us how he used to be a police officer in Greece, how he used to live in Chicago, and how he is now some kind of security in Montreal. He says “I’ll tell you how to get to the top of the mountain, but first I must ask a favor from you guys. Do you have one American dollar? I would love to have an American dollar with both of your names written on it as a souvenir.”

Fair enough, I think. He’s been a bit entertaining so far, so I agree. He then starts telling us how to be safe; “Whenever you go out, you should wear socks. Put your money in your sock along with identification." I think he mentioned how he got robbed once, but I’m not sure.

He then starts giving us directions; “Go outside over there, make a right. Keep on going until you hit a hospital; it’s a mental hospital, you know, for the crazies. You go a little past that, and then you make another right. OR, if you guys wanna wait, I can give you a ride up there for free,. You guys wanna go to Beaver Lake right? I am an ex-police officer so I can get a coupon for a taxi ride, and then I can take you up there for free.”

We consider his offer, but ultimately decide to walk. Our newfound friend then said “It’s getting pretty dark now. It will be dangerous to go up to the mountain. If you want, I was a police officer in Greece, I can get a coupon because I used to be a cop, then I can drive you up there for free.”

He starts to say random things, such as asking if cars need to be inspected in the US. J-Boogie immediately says “We didn’t drive here! We took the bus!” and I’m thinking “What the fuck? What does that have to do with car inspections?” I do not recall why our new friend asked about car inspections, I’m pretty sure he was just curious.

At this point, J-Boogie is shitting his pants. This ex-popo has got him very unnerved. After yet another offer of a free ride, we say that it is okay; we prefer to walk. He then proceeds to give us the directions again and restate his former career as a police officer.

“Okay, so you go down there, make the first right, and keep on walking. You will pass a mental hospital; watch out because there are a lot of crazy people there. You walk a little past that and then make another right. I used to be a police officer in Greece, I can get a coupon and then I can drive you guys up to the lake for free.”

Although our new buddy was entertaining, I was started to get a little irritated at hearing the same thing over and over again. The funny thing was, despite the fact that we heard him repeat himself a billion times, I still didn’t quite understand him. He would get a coupon for a free taxi ride? But didn’t he say he was going to drive us? So if he got a coupon he wouldn’t have to pay himself? During the course of our conversation, I gradually came to the conclusion that this guy is the crazy one; probably a mental patient they let outside, whether intentionally or unintentionally. We noticed that his arm had a bandage around it, possibly applied on him after the mental hospital administered some kind of medicinal or plasmic transfusion. He once again mentions his coupon and potential free ride.

“It will get very dark soon, it will be very dangerous. It is not safe for two young boys to go up to the mountain by yourselves when it is dark. Who knows what might happen? It is very dangerous.”

Hold on, did he just insinuate that we might be homosexual? I think he did! Well, I can see where he is coming from. I respond, “Yeah, two young guys like us going up to a mountain alone together in the dark… not just dangerous, it’s suspicious!”

At some point during our conversation, I give him the dollar bill with both of our names written on it, but before I do, I ask him for his name, which is Costa Labos. As entertaining as he was, after all the bullshit he fed us, I wanted something in return, so I ask him if he has a souvenir for us.

Indeed he does, as he searches for it in his pockets. He tells us that he has a Greek icon for us. As he frantically tries to find it, he says “I made a promise to you guys that I would give you a Greek icon, so that is what I am going to do.” That was the fastest I have ever witnessed of someone referring to a promise after they had just made the promise.

At last, he takes out what appears to be a damaged bookmark, with a picture on it.

“This is a Greek god,” he says.

“Oh, it looks like Jesus!” I say.

“It IS Jesus.”

“Oh.”

What the fuck? He could have just said “I have a Jesus bookmark.” instead of making me look like a jackass. Costa Labos was far too misleading with the words “Greek icon” and “Greek god.”

For no reason at all, Costa Labos suddenly shares his life with us. He talks about how he quit the police force because he witnessed a police officer shoot and kill an innocent psychiatric patient. He also says he is in Montreal investigating something involving a mental patient. (This is why I thought he was literally insane; this guy just cannot stop talking about the crazies!)

Costa Labos then wants to show us a picture of his wife. He reaches into his pocket and I’m thinking “Oh god, he is going to pull out a gun. But I already gave him all the money I had, what else does he want?”

In actuality, he pulls out a cell phone and shows us his wallpaper, which was of a woman sitting on a bus. “Nice pair of legs eh?” he says while nudging us and winking. The picture looks exactly like the kind of picture a stalker on the train or bus would take. I am positive that picture was not of his wife, but of a moderately attractive woman (can’t tell because the time was blocking her face) sitting across from Costa Labos while he secretly took a picture.

Yet again, for no reason at all, he then proceeds to show us documents to prove his police officerness to us. He did this in such a way, such that we could only get a glance. For example, from one piece of paper he showed us, I saw a picture of him, and that was pretty much it. He also showed us a letter, which was indeed written by a police officer, but said police officer was definitely not our buddy Costa Labos.

I imagine the piece of paper with the picture was most likely a “WANTED” poster and the letter probably was addressed to Costa Labos and said something along the lines of;

“Dear Costa Labos,

You are crazy. Please let everyone you come into contact with know that you are crazy.

Sincerely, A real police officer.”

At this point, I ask J-Boogie to take a picture of Costa Labos and I, and J-Boogie becomes wide-eyed and gives me the most terrified look as if to say “What the fuck are you doing? Are you fucking crazy?”

We get a nice young lady to take a picture of all three of us. The whole time, Costa Labos is saying and repeating “Yeah, take a picture of a Greek police officer with two American boys!”

After the picture taking festivities, Costa reminds us that it isn’t safe to go up to the mountain right now and we should just have a coffee tonight and go tomorrow. It got pretty dark during our conversation, so I was inclined to agree. I felt it was time to leave, so I said “nice meeting you” and shook his hand. As we are shaking hands, he talks AGAIN about police officers, psychiatric patients, darkness, investigations, and how his brother George Labos owns a restaurant in New Jersey. It was the longest, most kwokward handshake to have ever occurred, or will ever occur.

I forget what happened next, but we somehow ended up outside a bar called “La Distillerie” to fulfill our sloshy goal of getting sloshed. However, there was a line outside filled with Hippies and Yupsters. Hell no, we are not going to wait in line to get into this place. We went next door to Pub Quartier Latin. First round on me.

At some point during our fucked upness journey, we heard “Live life without fear, put a 5-karat in my baby girl’s ear.” J-Boogie found it fascinating that they were playing Biggie in a bar in the Latin Quartier, in Montreal. I told him to write that down on a napkin.

As we were drinking, I convinced J-Boogie to read my blog out loud. That was a blasted while it lasted. Also, us being cheapasses, did not want to pay roaming charges on our calls, so we asked the bartender if we could use their phone to try to make reservations at a famous restaurant in Montreal called “Au Pied de Cochon.” The following is J-Boogie’s conversation with the restaurant:

“Hi, good afternoon, I mean, good evening… wait, this is an answering machine.”

No luck making reservations; answering machine each time.

After two and half pints, J-Boogie stumbled to the restroom and notified me that he could not walk. I told him “it’s okay man, I’ll hold your hand, we can do this!” He continually notified me that he was “fucked up”, “drunk”, and “holy shit.”

Our plan was to go to Schwartz’s Deli (which closes at 12:30 AM). We were starting to run out of time, so I finished my beer as quickly as I could, then we ran out onto the rain-soaked streets. It was quite a homo walk as we walked as fast as we could, with me holding onto his wrist at some points, and him constantly leaning on me like a drunk TLIG.

We finally get to Schwartz’s, but it is closed, at 12:15 AM! J-Boogie tries to argue with the people inside, but apparently they ran out of meat (they are famous for their smoked meat).

For dinner, we had to settle on a place that was open; a noodle specialist store.

Day 3:

We went to Schwartz’s for breakfast; their smoked meat was good but a little too salty. Their black cherry soda however, was delightful.

We then went to the Notre-Dame Basilica, which is a breathtaking church with some beautiful stained glass. J-Boogie and I sat down in a pew and bonded as amigos so often do. We talked about a variety of topics, which involved jackasses, harsh words, pushing/pulling, carrying beauty, and a broken jaw among a whole slew of other things.

We each then went to a separate confession booth. In mine, I confessed “Forgive me father for I have sinned” and then immediately walked out. J-Boogie cowered in the darkness in his booth for a while, apparently in awe at the lack of light.

"It's SOOOO dark in here!"

Next, we biked a lot more, crossing two bridges and witnessing some amazing scenery. After all this biking, it was time for some food! J-Boogie was really set on eating at “Au Pied de Cochon” and after a whole lot of trouble finding it, we finally found it. We both understood that this was a very popular restaurant, and since we were unable to secure reservations, there was a good chance we would not be able to eat there.

We walk in and J-Boogie immediately starts talking. “We’re two… we tried to call in advance for a reservation but it kept on going to the answering machine. Come on, there’s only two of us. And we’re early… I’m sure there’s a small table somewhere, anywhere! We’ll sit at the bar, anything!”

“Oh God J-Boogie…” I think. The lady asks him, “… Are you just saying you want to sit at the bar because you prefer to? Or because you think that’s the only place that would be open?”

I say to J-Boogie, “You know… you didn’t have to sound so desperate…”

The lady says that she has a table for us and even mocks J-Boogie a little bit by saying “I’ll take anything, ANYTHINGGG!” Hah, a good sense of humor, I like it!

We sit down and order calamari squid-ink poutine,

the Cochon melting pot, and “Duck in a Can.” The food was all very good. I just wish I didn’t fill myself up on butter and bread before the real food came out. When the calamari was brought out, J-Boogie had the most horrified look on his face, which many people noticed. Needless to say, he did not eat much of it.

After dinner was our next trip to Mont Royal; this time we were going to make it count. We went up, and up, and up! At one point we had to stop because J-Boogie wanted to collect some Montrealite soil to give to a dear friend. He sat on a log and dug ferociously while I lingered nearby as a lookout. Everybody, and I mean EVERYBODY, who walked by J-Boogie stared at him and gave him the dirtiest looks possible. Imagine the population of a small town had all eaten Mexican food, and the whole town only used one toilet. Now imagine that toilet got so heavy that it collapsed into itself and fell into the sewage system. Now imagine that a family of rat-infested skunks stuffed themselves in the toilet area in order to make it their new home. Now imagine the toilet exploding after a proper marinating time period. Yeah, THAT dirty.

After all was said and done though, J-Boogie gathered a very decent amount of soil. We then headed to as high as we could go on the mountain and witnessed an awe-inspiring view.

Walking out of the mountain was quite the bitch; it took us a long time to get down the mountain, realize we were on the wrong side of the mountain, and walk to some bikes. All part of the journey…

To end the night, we visited City Hall (which just so happened to be right next to J-Boogie’s hostel, a fact that neither of us knew… or at least so I think), and biked around some more. That night, while most of my hostel roommates were asleep, I ate kettle chips while reflecting on my experience. Is that bad etiquette? I know just the person to ask.

This was a very active trip, as we walked and biked to most places. Being in a hostel without any friends was very interesting; I had no trouble sleeping in a room with a bunch of guys in their underwear.

Surprisingly for me, there was a young mother and her even younger son who stayed in the same room as me. Sleeping in the presence of a woman was entirely new to me and threw off the whole dynamic and ambiance of the room. The first day that she was there, she changed in the room, which was a little awkward for me, but the next day, she went outside to change. There is no doubt in my mind that I kweeped her out.

Well, better end this with some good news. You know how J-Boogie took soil with him over the border? No, he did not report it to customs, and no, he did not get caught, imprisoned, and/or anally probed by the Transportation Security Administration. All’s well that ends well.

Here’s a nice mural I saw.

Last Friday Night…

So it’s that time again; the *Walnut Manifesto*’s (to all those who do not know what the *Walnut Manifesto is, please refer to the previous post) semi-annual reunion, plus a newcomer whom we shall call *Etiquette Nazi*. The plan was set, since it was New York’s Restaurant Week, we would dine at Smith and Wollensky; a famous steakhouse, and then get splifflicated.

This ought to make up for the past few weeks, I thought. You see, a weeks ago, some certain friends of mine had said that after our final exam, we would go out and get completely wasted. After the final, that did not happen. However, there were some words exchanged that stated that on some day of the following week (the week right after the final), we would make up for the lack of shitfacedness on the night of the final. The week passed, and still, nothing. I was irritated at the lameness of the entire situation. I hoped this Friday would prove to be a welcome change from the lametacity I had become accustomed to.

I was already running short on time this day. I had originally planned to rendezvous with *Nature Boy Sweet Cakes* for some rock climbing and hanging out, and then the Restaurant Week event. However, he never contacted me about it so I assumed he was busy with work (he does a lot of very important stuff for Satan regarding benefits for the damned souls and the like). As luck would have it, my lonely brother really wanted to watch Transformers 3 and unfortunately was unable to find anyone to accompany him. He thus asked me as a last resort and I wholeheartedly agreed.

My OGs (*Ale-X*, *J-Boogie*, and *Playboy*) as well as other people were also having dinner that night, and unfortunately I could not attend due to my prior-arranged obligations with the *Walnut Manifesto*, as well as the movie engagement with my brother. *J-Boogie* asked me to hang out, if even for a little bit, after I was done with the movie. I suspected the movie would end around 7:30 PM, and I would have an hour to hang out before the 9 PM dinner reservation so I agreed.

Off I go to see the movie, and after some frantic movement due to a certain theater’s tickets being sold out, we finally are sitting down and enjoying the movie. It had its suspenseful points, but lots of unnecessary as well as unexplained action. Yet somehow there was a point when the problem was there was too little action. For example, why was Megatron asleep before the Megan Fox replacement woke him up and called him a pussy?

After the movie, I venture to St. Marks where my OGs were just about done having dinner. I tried to contact *Playboy* and *J-Boogie*, both of whom were largely unresponsive, resulting in me relaxing and reading yelp reviews on a bench for 45 minutes before I left to go to Smith and Wollensky. As I was waiting, I called *Platypuss* to confirm the time we would be meeting. She was very short with me and tried to get me off the phone as soon as possible. It all made sense when I heard *Etiquette Nazi*’s voice in the background. Say no more *Platypuss*, say no more. During my wait time, I also texted *PunkSmashRoyale* to see if he had found parking since he was driving in. He says that he is still driving and that he is picking up *Plane Jane*. My first reaction is “… What the FUCK? You’re going all the way to Long Island?” He says “Nooooo, picking her up from Penn Station.” Oh, okay. My second reaction was “… What the FUCK? You’re not going to give me a ride?” Luckily for me I did not verbalize this second automatic impulse of mine as it may have appeared overly hostile and greedy. “Wow, fifth wheel again” I thought to myself. Well, wouldn’t be the first time! And sure as hell won’t be the last.

I get to Smith and Wollensky and I tell their friendly employee that my party will be a little bit late, but that we will definitely still be there. He tells me that two members of my party have already checked in and he points to my left where I see none other than *PunkSmashRoyale* and *Plane Jane*. Well hello hello! I quickly greet them and *Plane Jane* immediately comments on our lack of matching outfits. She eventually mentions her skanky look and I was inclined to agree.

We get a call from *Platypuss* and *Etiquette Nazi* and it sounds like they will be another fifteen to twenty minutes. We ask the restaurant if we can sit down even though not all of our party is here and we are vehemently denied, although we are kindly suggested to have a drink at the bar. Ummmm, ordering drinks at a high-class pricey restaurant? FUCK THAT! I quickly suggest that we pregame somewhere else while waiting for the other two members of our party, and my two fellas agree. We step outside and due to the wonderful technology of my Blueberry, I find that a certain “Manchester Pub” is not too far away; so we immediately set off on that trek.

We walk in and sit down, and immediately *Plane Jane* states that she is not going to drink there. She is going to “save the drinking for later.” Okay, what the FUCK? *PunkSmashRoyale* also states that he does not want to drink yet and somehow in the process mentions that it is easy for him to get intoxicated. I see... so the three of us just got to a pub, and the two of you are telling me that you don't want to drink; am I understanding that correctly?

I was not happy about this. Look, if they’re not going to get some relatively cheap drinks here, then they are not going to drink later on when the drinks likely become more expensive.

After some convincing, *Plane Jane* says she will have a cranberry vodka, yet somehow a few seconds later she manages to again reaffirm that she does not want to drink anything. Well, we’ll just see about that. I am wondering, why did you two follow me to a bar if you did not want to drink? The waitress comes by and I order a Guinness for myself, a cranberry vodka for *Plane Jane*, and I ask *PunkSmashRoyale* what he would like. He starts with an “I don’t know…” so I was left with no choice but to cut him off and order him a Guinness as well. Just after the waitress leaves, *PunkSmashRoyale* takes out his wallet and asks us “So they’re not going to check ID?” “… Shut the fuck up *PunkSmashRoyale!*!” was the only response I could think up (that guy is under-age).

Our drinks come and I quickly down the smooth smooth Guinness. *Plane Jane*’s drink is practically all ice and she asks me to finish it. I tell her to respect the drink and finish that mofo. *PunkSmashRoyale* didn’t even finish every last drop and I had to show that Guinness some respect. By this time, *Platypuss* and *Etiquette Nazi* had already arrived at Smith and Wollensky and were impatiently waiting for us. After finishing our drinks, we bolted back to the restaurant, where the two of them were giving us the cold shoulder. *Plane Jane* tried to win her sister back by complimenting her on her shoes, which I found to be quite hilarious (the sucking up, not the shoes (that’s a different story)).

At the dinner table, we had an argument about who was late and who was to blame, et cetera. I, *Plane Jane*, and *PunkSmashRoyale* said that THEY were late first, which led us to go to a bar to wait for them, so it was their fault. *Etiquette Nazi* in turn blamed US, because although they were late first, by leaving and coming back later, we were in fact later than them. However, after a certain point (perhaps possibly the beginning point), this whole blame-game became a very stupid argument. Whatever, we got to sit down, who cares? I just said it was my fault since I wanted to pregame and I would take whatever blame they were willing to throw at me. No, this was not very mature of me nor am I TRYING to sound mature. I just could not stand the incessant jabbering anymore and wanted to talk about steak, so it was more selfish than anything.

We get our appetizers, and the jerk releases itself. I forget what happened first; perhaps *Platypuss* reached across the table for some butter to spread on her bread. (Oh yeah, now I remember, somebody took the wrong fork.) Regardless of my shabby memory, once it was released, there was no chaining… the jerk.

“You’re not supposed to reach across the table. That is so rude.”

“Dude, you’re supposed to use the forks on your left. DUDE! FROM THE OUTSIDE, IN!”

“Seriously, can you not jab your fork into my calamari?”

“I don’t want that fork now. You just ate off of it, that’s disgusting!”

“Oh my GOD! I am never going to eat with you guys in a fancy restaurant ever AGAIN!”

In my defense, the two forks were exactly the same. Anyhoo, I didn’t see the point in making such a big deal out of our uncivilized behavior. We were all among friends so I felt *Etiquette Nazi* went a little overboard with his mannerism lecture. But I digress.

While we are eating, we find out that *Plane Jane* has to leave us relatively early because she has to work at 9:00 AM the next day. Her boss had wanted her to work that night but she had begged him to let her leave early at 7:00 PM so she could make it to the dinner. Well, that’s just great. We didn’t even start the real drinking yet, and things were already falling apart.

The after-dinner plans were to go to a bar, except for *Plane Jane* who was going home. For some reason which I do not recall, we stopped off at a Duane Reade to buy our own alcohol. Perhaps we thought the bar would be too pricey for our tastes. As *Plane Jane* fell asleep on the makeup chair, I reminded everyone that we had to hurry up if she was going to make her train. *Etiquette Nazi* reassures us that we have plenty of time. We finish up at Duane Reade and *Etiquette Nazi* says “We don’t have a lot of time, we need to take a cab.” You fucking idiot.

We take a cab to Penn Station, and then take the same cab to the Hotel Gansevoort (The driver did not seem particularly happy with us and apparently was giving *Etiquette Nazi* some attitude. Should have given him one of your etiquette lessons), where we were supposedly going to go drinking. Unfortunately, the line was crazy long and it was down to three dudes and one dudette, there was no way we were going to get in no matter how gay the bouncers were (and they were pretty gay).

Eventually we decide to just drive to a beach and drink. We take a cab to Webster Hall so*PunkSmashRoyale* could get his car keys from his roommate (who drove here) and then we take yet another cab to the upper west side where the car is parked.

In there, we mix lemonade with ice tea vodka… to make some kind of Arnold Palmer cocktail. We all take turns drinking except for the driver. It was very ineffective at getting us inebriated. Then we started drinking the beer, which was even less effective and made us all very bloated. We decided to drive to Long Beach while we played the drinking game where whenever one of us says a word/term we have to drink. I told them my about my Belizean vacation where the drink-word was “Panty Ripper.” That was the worst idea ever because I completely forgot about the Panty Ripper until I finished telling the story. I had to improvise and just say Panty Ripper a few times for no reason.

We then played the same game except every time a song came on; we came up with a drink-word for the song. For example, when Rihanna’s “Umbrella” came on, the drink-word was “umbrella.” We got really creative for this shit. I think for Rolling in the deep, our drink-word was “had it all.” It was a night filled with non-recollections.

We finally make it to Long Beach and we all have to pee. I for one stood tall on a giant rock and urinated on the Earth like a champion. Unfortunately I do not have any pictures of that, but here’s a Long Beach related picture.

Highlight of the night: *Platypuss* was wearing a dress and lying down and *Etiquette Nazi* took a picture (with flash) of her thong. It was ethically inexcusable but comically uproarious. He then showed the picture to us and it looked very WEIRD. She seemed to have red splotches all over the place, so if anybody is looking to tap *Platypuss*, consider yourself fairly warned.

(Seriously though, *Etiquette Nazi*, that was very fucked up of you.)

Disclaimer: It was later established that the part of the picture that had red splotches was part of the seat we were sitting on.

We left Long Beach but forgot where we parked. This situation became slightly embarrassing when somebody looking for parking asked us if we were leaving. “Yeah, but we forgot where we parked… give us a second.”

We then drove to Bayville to watch the sunrise.

We called it a night after that. It was back to *Platypuss*’s den for a little napskie until brunch later on in the day. While I slept on the couch, her roommate walked by several times. I’m sure two guys lying down in her living room is a normal occurrence for her, but still, it was weird for me.

I also had a weird dream where I and my friend (whom we shall call *PeePee Chowder*) were driving around looking for a store that sold special lanterns. What made these lanterns so special were that they had dragonflies and/or mosquitoes inside them. We were in the store looking around and I am staring at this lantern, when one of them flying buggers flies out of the lantern and I’m like “oh shit.”

Needless to say, I got bitten many times in this dream and the only reason I remember the dream is because I woke up remembering dreaming about having a lot of mosquito bites.

And so ended that night. It was kinda lame since none of us got feces on our face, but what was most important was that we made the most of our night. It was the best it could possibly be given the circumstances, and that’s what truly matters.

Trial by Fire: The Road Worth Taking

A journey to enlightenment often starts with spoiled beginnings (Siddhartha Gautama was one rich son of a bitch). For my personal journey, it was as humble as can be. Humble comes in many forms; in my case it came in the humbleness of a boy who valued his time and thus did not want to wait for his brother while said brother received a tattooance. It came in the humbleness of a legal adult who felt that four days of searching for enlightenment was more than enough. And finally, it came in the humbleness of a man who because he did not have much in this material world, was searching for something more in the area of bonding friendship.

You may be very surprised to learn that the boy, the legal adult, and the man, are all one in the same person; me. As is customary, let’s start from the beginning.

Day 1:

I wake up to the sound of my packing; that’s how quick I was with it. For some reason my mother was very encouraging of my potential decision not to go. “Come on… just stay home and relax!” she said. “No,” I thought, “this is my last chance at enlightenment and I am not going to blow it.” My mother understood my thirst for the Buddhist fountain, so she let the issue go and finally started to back my decision. I have never really liked sleeping bags; I much prefer the ghetto sleeping bag; two blankets; one on top and one on bottom. My mother helped secure these for me. To quell the impeding hunger, I made some spinach and tomato omelets which we quickly masticated and off my brother and I went.

The plan was for me to hitch a ride from *Platypuss* and *Plane Jane* in Flushing. To get to Flushing, my brother would drop me off there, and then he would head to Beaver Tattoos to get his skin beavered on. It was a fool-proof plan indeed. The ride to Flushing gave my brother and I a chance to talk and bond. We talked about “NBC Dateline: To Catch A Predator” as well as the human psyche. Suddenly, the “maintenance required” light came on in the car. “Oh fuck” I thought, “Here we go.” My brother immediately starts to freak out and says a whole bunch of stuff that I do not completely recall. One thing that I remember verbatim is “I swear we are going to die.” The whole ambience inside the car suddenly changed. Did he just promise the lord that it was due time for us to meet our maker? Yes, I know, everyone dies eventually, but the context of the quote led me to believe that death was quickly approaching.

As I pondered my imminent demise, I was fortunate enough to have my mind diverted in another direction. “I don’t feel so good… I think it was your omelet… OH GOD” said my brother. Well, this was a new dilemma. Usually it is me with the irritable bowels. You would think I would know what to do by now but despite all my vast experience in this area, all I could say was “Okay, just calm down… and… uh... hey what does that sign say over there?” There is no shortcut solution, one simply must dominate the crippling power of fear with sheer force of will.

Well, because he was late for his beaver appointment among other reasons, my brother dropped me off quite a few blocks from Main Street. “All part of the journey” I said to myself. “I am being tested right now.” I was also given the task of disposing of some Netflix envelopes in a mailbox. I asked a kind elderly woman where the nearest mailbox was right before I realized that there was one right down the street from me. “Buddha is testing me… I will not break nor will I falter, no matter how much of a dumbass I look.”

I knew *Platypuss* had an appointment with a certain doctor, and she would contact me when she was done with that and ready to go, so I planned for a stay at the Flushing library to pass the time. I immersed myself in “Death by Sudoku” by Kaye Morgan until *Platypuss* called me. I quickly rushed into the car and met *Plane Jane* for the first time, and she was not happy. I was immediately thrust with the responsibility of taking care of “Mo,” the last of many goldfish that had been given to *Plane Jane*. I do things like this all the time (you know, carry goldfish), but Mo had particular meaning to me because, well, it was my way of repaying them for a ride to enlightenment, you know, aside from being in the presence of my wondrously good looks and adoringly vibrant personality.

(All of Mo’s (short for Nemo) brothers and sisters and friends died, and *Plane Jane*’s mom suggested that she release Mo into the wild in the monastery grounds, a suggestion which *Plane Jane* begrudgingly took to heart.)

We suddenly stopped and *Platypuss* jumped out of the car, in the process somehow hyperextending her left chest bone. Apparently she was reaching for her wallet (something she has never done before) and managed to dislocate every ventricular bone. I think she’ll be okay. Apparently *Platypuss* did not go to the doctor yet because she was doing laundry, which left me and *Plane Jane* to frolic around because *Platypuss* had no concept of time.

We went to Red Mango and then went to some place to get *Platypuss* a vegetarian noodle dish because she has rules about eating animals. During this time, *Plane Jane* and I got to bond and I poured my Buddhist-related heart out to her. I told her all about my golden first year of Buddhist camp, the collapse of Buddhism in my mind, and the journey to the dark side from weak-minded fellows and lasses. I explained how I was sad that my long-time buddy *Blackheart* would not be at camp and just how emotionally fragile I was at that moment. After quite some talking, we finally got around to going to the doctor’s where *Platypuss* was Beyonce in a thong (ASSED OUT). We had some fun with that before she woke up.

Keep in mind that I’ve been holding Mo close to the chest the whole time during these escapades. At one point, the water level in his plastic bowl started to concern us, so I went on a trek to find the restroom. It was a very long and arduous trek filled with confusion and symptoms of “no idea where the restroom is.” I eventually had to ask a young lady where the restroom was while I looked frustrated carrying around a fishbowl. I am positive the situation did not look good at all. I must have also looked like a complete dumbass too because my young helper lady started to explain where the bathroom was… and then suddenly stopped explaining and said “Just follow me” as if I was too stupid to listen to directions. Yeah? Well I wasn’t too stupid to fill up a fish bowl. Actually I was. I got water all, over, the place. And then I had to pee and I let the fish bowl stay on the sink as I kept watch while peeing.

And then I continued adding water (it was a tough process because the air holes we poked were too tiny).

And then off we went! As we drove, we wondered whether we would make it in time for dinner, so we decided to take matters into our own hands… SHAKE SHACK. It was very good except for the cup (yes, a literal cup) of ketchup that *Platypuss* got me which somehow fell over in the car. No worries! I do velly good job clean up!

We finally get to the monastery and first thing’s first; we have to let Mo go. This was hilarious because *Platypuss* had to urinate EXTREMELY badly and we were taking our sweet time finding a nice place to release Mo. We finally did in a very grand ceremony, the video of which you can find pretty much anywhere, so I won’t bother linking it here. Second thing’s second, we had to find a place for *Platypuss* to pissypiss. Yeah, you guessed it, she squatted down in a random bush and let loose. It was actually quite a quick wizzywhiz, which only further cements the fact that she is a DRAMA QUEEN.

Next thing’s next. It was time to check in. Being very devout Buddhists, *Platypuss* and *Plane Jane* had registered weeks in advance. Me being the jackass that I am, had not registered at all. So they get all their stuff taken care of and then it is my turn. I tell the earth-demon behind the table that I did not register. “Why?” she asks in Mandarin. Oh no, I thought, this is not going to turn out well. I said something along the lines of “… I just didn’t!” and the lady (let’s call her *Stoneface* (the first of many stonefaces)) is not happy. She goes on about how everything has already been planned and it would not be fair to the other campers who had registered in advance. “So what you’re saying is… it’s not okay for me to stay here?” “NOT OKAY!” It was at this point that I realized we were dealing with a real-life bitch here. She said that she would talk to the nun in charge to see if there was anything that could be done. She left for a few minutes and then came back with one answer for me; “No.” We all began to argue with her. *Platypuss* and *Plane Jane* said that we had driven a long way to get here and that I come here every year (both of which are not entirely true). *Plane Jane* seemed especially passionate in her anger over the situation; I liked it!

I tried to offer some rational arguments against *Stoneface*; I knew that the only real problem about my registering late was the sleeping situation (there might be no room for a latecomer like me) so I said I could just sleep in the car. Then *Stoneface* brought up the food situation and how all the food has already been allotted to a certain number of campers. I countered saying that if food was a problem, I could just pay for the food (I know that non-campers pay something like $5 a plate if they want to eat). *Plane Jane* even offered to share her food with me, an idea which *Stoneface* did NOT like at ALL. Alas, the end answer was still “No.”

Well, I was left with no other option. I was looking for enlightenment; I was desperate. We barged into the Great Buddha Hall and I cornered the first nun I saw. I explained to her my situation. I guess this is why you have “public relations” people to deal with people like me, and people who work in the back office. The nun said it was okay for me to stay, and I am absolutely sure that she said that because she was too nice to tell me to fuck off. That is why it is important to have warmongers like *Stoneface* working the registration table and making sure people follow the rules; monks and nuns are too nice! Oh well, disaster averted!

I went to drop off my belongings in the boys dormitory, hoping that later on I would find out that there would be room for me to sleep. I then headed to KuanYin Hall where the youth group was (I am in the youth group). I walked in very awkwardly (kwokwardly) as some people looked up at the geeky kid walking into the room. There I saw some familiar faces and old friends. I saw my old buddy and told him my situation, and he gave me 411 on what was going on. Apparently, the youth group had been e-mailed some homework to do, and since I had never registered, I never received an e-mail. Okay, what the FUCK? HOMEWORK??? You have got to be kidding me; this is a five day camp and we are getting homework? Today was not off to a good start at all, but I can play by the rules. The youth group had broken out into groups to discuss the homework, so I just joined a group and tried to fit in. Our homework involved research into the Buddhist teachings. Needless to say, I was very happy when this homework discussion session ended. We had a little break before we were scheduled to go to a lake and perform our icebreakers.

As I got up, I noticed *Platypuss* talking to all her old friends. “Good!” I thought; just like one big happy family. Then I noticed *Plane Jane* sitting there looking dejected, upset, alone, and generally just very unhappy. “Oh no,” I thought, please, not now. Yes, you guessed it, this depressing image triggered my motherly instinct; it kicked right in, and it hurt.

So, the deal with *Plane Jane* was that this was her first year at camp, she is a Christian, and this is an entirely new experience for her. She decided to go just to see what it was like, and it was entirely possible that she would end up hating the entire experience. She was basically counting on her sister *Platypuss* to keep her company and make things fun. Well, it didn’t look like *Plane Jane* was having too much fun sitting and staring at the carpet. I walked over and asked her “Hey, why don’t you get your sister to introduce you to all her friends?” She continued staring at the finely made carpet and expressed discontent without uttering a word. Okay, maybe a few words were uttered. Obviously, she was not having a good time. I did not want the Buddha to hear what I would say next so I asked her to come outside with me. There, we ran into my favorite monk, whom we shall call *JAX*. I told *Plane Jane* that this was the president of BAUS but she seemed to not be able to give one flying horse shit. She just seemed very unhappy as if she was in deep thought with eyebrows furrowed. To try to break the kwokwardness, I began talking to *JAX* and informed him that I have a picture of us where we are both smiling. He smiled and said something like “Ah yes, okay!” Oh god, could this get any worse? I think I then told him that I had to urinate and that I would see him later.

From there, *Plane Jane* and I walked to the benches and told her; “Look, I just want you to know that Buddhist camp isn’t about the lectures, okay? It’s never been about the lectures. That shit back there with the homework? Fuck that! In all the years I’ve been here I never had to do homework. What the fuck was that? Look, I don’t come here for the damn lectures. Buddhist camp has always been about the people. The people are what make this fun. So just draw comics during the lectures, make some friends, hang out, and you’ll have fun, okay?” She seemed to buy this, so my motherly instinct relaxed.

Later on, we went to a lake to do our icebreakers and I mentioned my love of pho. That is all, in regards to that.

Before we went to sleep, I and my newfound friend *PunkSmashRoyale* bonded over our ranting stories. I told him about *Stoneface* and my near-missing of enlightenment and he ranted to me about how he was extremely pissed off that he was being treated like he was twelve years old and being told that he should not be out at night. We sought privacy in his car and bonded over stories and talked about life. From outside of the car, it must have looked like the homo-est thing there could possibly be, but from the inside, it was nothing but bro-bonding.

That night, as I tried to sleep, well, I couldn’t. Snoring kept me awake. At first it was as if two snorers were very politely arguing with each other, with one snore stopping right before the next snore started; no interrupting. Somehow it evolved into synchronized snoring, where the snores would all start and end at the same time. It was one of the worst night’s sleeps I ever had. I remember falling asleep around 12:00 AM and then waking up around 12:40 AM and not being able to sleep again. And then I remember waking up at 4:30 AM somehow. Suchness is life.

Day 2:

Day 2 started off like any other, except we woke up at 5:30 AM for morning service and meditation. This day was a really fun day because I got to bug nuns and monks for stickers. See, the deal was that the family group (little kids) and the youth group (my kind) were supposed to bow to the monks and nuns and greet them and ask them for stickers. The little kids were also supposed to ask the youth campers for stickers too (if the youth campers had any to give). So in summary, youth campers asked the monks and nuns for stickers so that they could have something to give to the little kids. The little kids were supposed to ask the youth campers, monks, and nuns for stickers to redeem for cool prizes (probably candy).

This was certainly a challenge I would not back down from; asking for stickers? Baby, that is easy-peasy, don’t-be-sleazy. It was certainly a difficult task though, not physically, but mentally. It took a lot of trial and error to get things right and even if you did everything right, you could walk away empty –sticker-handed. For example, the first time I tried to acquire a sticker, I asked a nun “so… I am supposed to… get a sticker from you?” She responded “YOU GREET ME POLITELY FIRST, AND THEN I GIVE STICKER TO YOU!” Immediately I bowed and said “SIFU NI HAOOOOOO!” Ah, very good. She went to a back room to get some stickers, but apparently there were none left. Rejection. You see what I mean?

Later on in the day, at the end of a lecture, I went up to the lecturing monk, greeted him politely, and then asked him if he had any stickers. He had no idea what I was talking about. I finally got my first sticker at the end of another lecture, but even this sticker was tainted with bootleggedness. I was one of the last ones to ask for a sticker since I was at the back of the line. By the time it was my turn, the monk had no more stickers left and a counselor took pity on me and gave me the one he got. Thanks buddy!

Another time, I interrupted a monk who was deep in conversation with a seemingly nice lady. I bowed and did the usual shindig and he was about to give me a sticker when the lady stopped him. I had no idea what was going on. The two of them talked for a little bit, (and I can only assume they were talking about stickers) and the monk was about to hand me the sticker again; it was so close to touching my sticker receiving area… and the woman stopped him again! Apparently, he did not have a lot of stickers and he was supposed to save them for the little kids. Well, time for me to walk away kwokwardly.

Yet, another time I ambushed the oldest nun in the monastery in the dining area. She had no idea what I was talking about either. Another kwokward walk into the sunset. But I digress.

So Day 2 was fun because we got to play with the little kids. They had three-legged races, sack races, blind-folded guiding, and team cheers. I was lucky enough to bond with the “Tickle Me Centaurs” who had a lot of team spirit and feisty attitude.

The above is me being a cheerleader and reminding my teammate what direction he needs to focus on going.

Yeah, not one job in the world that is more useless.

One thing that one little girl did that I found hilariously adorable is that she asked *Double-O-Lovin’* (one of my fellow youth campers) to take off her sunglasses. She took it off and the little girl clapped and said “Yay! You’re pretty!” I guess sunglasses are very good at hiding prettiness. However, one thing that bothered me a little is that whenever I said the team name “Tickle Me Centaurs”, one girl would always reach out and tickle me. I’d be like “what the hell are you doing?” and she would say “you said to tickle you!” It was very unsettling.

During this entire mingling time, I noticed that the “Tickle Me Centaurs” were eyeing my stickers. I had managed to get five stickers through the various and vastly numerous shameless acts I undertook in partaking. I told a little girl that I would give her two stickers if she could do a one armed pushup; she fell on the grass almost instantaneously. That was funny in a sick way. As the youth-family activities came to a close, it was time for me to distribute my stickers. I had no use for them and I wanted them to go to good use. Alas, six kids came up to me for stickers and I only had five… one little boy was the last one in and the odd one out. I promised that little boy that the next sticker I got would be his. I was very heartbroken at this point.

Later on in the day, *Platypuss*, *Plane Jane*, *PunkSmashRoyale* (from now on, let’s collectively call this group the *Walnut Manifesto*) and I decided to walk to the next town. What started off as a walk became a jog, as the next town did not seem very close at all. Nope, we never did make it to the next town, but *Platypuss* did find a nice hiking stick which she used as a spear. She actually has pretty good aim and when she threw it, she hit the ground perfectly on target. We also took some nice pictures and had a nice adventure walking through somebody’s driveway. Yes, when we jog, we go crazy. Somehow along the way of jogging, *Platypuss* got invited by a friend to the Hamptons. Apparently this guy was having a weekend party and it was a HUGE sausage fest, and he needed some ladies to even things out. For two days, the *Walnut Manifesto* contemplated and seriously considered going. I for one wanted to add more sausage into the hot dog fiesta because I think it is hilarious when guys are expecting some POONTANG and instead a bunch of jackasses like me show up. We were so ready to leave that night and go, but we never got an address so this meant another twilight sleeping next to a bunch of Buddhists.

We ended up missing a class that night due to our extended jog, which is bad. On the plus side, that night’s sleep was very good. I got used to the snoring and it slowly merged in as the background noise of my slumber.

Day 3:

For some odd reason, Day 3 started off an awfully lot like Day 2. There may have been many reasons for this but let’s not get into that.

One thing I was looking forward to on Day 3 was the lake trip. Apparently, all the campers and counselors and I guess some monks and nuns were going to go to the lake and there were going to be a lot of fun activities planned for us. Unfortunately, there were torrential rain storms that precluded the lake trip from existing. So instead of doing the alternative plan of hanging around in the Great Buddha Hall playing games or watching performances, the *Walnut Manifesto* decided to drive over to the next town. I thought we were just trying to have some fun but apparently the true origin of this journey off the monastery grounds was a tampon run. Yes, *Platypuss* and *Plane Jane* needed tampons. Wow, we REALLY know how to have fun. So we go into the store, and *Plane Jane* can’t find any tampons. I ask the cashier if he sells tampons and he says “… What? Tam… pons?”

It was at this point that I realized the cashier was a little foreign; he probably spoke Spanish from the looks of it. (*Plane Jane* said something along the lines of “oh my god…” to me as if I was a jackass for asking for tampons. Let me ask you, the reader, am I a jackass for inquiring about the availability of tampons within the vicinity?). I tried to explain to the cashier what I was looking for; “you know… tampons… what girls use… down there…” and he said “OH!” and he pointed to behind the counter. Ah, disaster averted once again. We got some Tampax (which I hear is not a very good brand) and we were off on our merry way.

In the car we had some good laughs, one of which involved *Plane Jane* being headbutted. Let’s explain this a little, see, there was this one very portly fellow who always seemed to have his butt crack showing. He (let’s call him… *Winkle-me Plumbcrack*) was also the main snorer and bane of my nightly existence. I always seemed to notice his butt crack and I told *PunkSmashRoyale* this. I didn’t want to say this to anybody else because I didn’t want people to think I was actively searching for old man shit crack. It just so happens that sometimes when a lecture is boring, your eyes wander around the room and then suddenly “WHOA! That’s a butt crack!”

(Imagine that, except far more enormous, much older, much hairier, much fuzzier, and with a penis.)

People have to understand that exposed hairy old man butt crack isn’t something that I intend to look for, it is just something that pops out at you in the course of observing the world. Like; “Ah, it is a beautiful day today. Look at those clouds HOLY CRAP that’s a butt crack.” Anyhoo, I admitted my eyes have been directed there on more than one occasion.

Back on track now, so apparently during morning service, as people were getting up, somebody headbutted *Plane Jane* right on her butt (how’s that for a coincidence, a literal head to butt!), causing her to tumble forward and almost falling into *Winkle-me Plumbcrack*’s exposed butt crack. We then concocted a hilarious situation in which she literally fell inside the butt crack and drowned in the sweaty feces. The newspapers would report that *Plane Jane* was missing and had simply disappeared because that would be what the monastery had told the authorities. However, the monastery knew exactly what the true origin of her demise was. They just deemed the truth to be too embarrassing to be put forth in the written word of the media. We must have been sick to find that situation completely awe-inspiringly hilarious.

Day 3 was also the day we would start preparing for Bodhi Night, which was the following night. Bodhi Night is basically a night of performances by the campers, counselors, and volunteers. These performances involve Buddhism in some way and are usually focused on the theme of the camp that year (this year the theme was eradicating suffering). The other three members of the *Walnut Manifesto* wanted to leave again either to have some drinks, or go to the Hamptons. We had so many goals involving the OUTSIDE of the monastery that it was hard to keep track. I let them know that Bodhi Night needed me and I would not be joining them on their excursions. Just as they were about to leave on their trek to alcohol and sinnery, they get intercepted by the counselors. It was an awkward situation that ended up with all the youth campers sitting and talking and shouting out ideas for Bodhi Night. Although I was semi-into-it, the other members of the *Walnut Manifesto* were not. *Plane Jane* was reading a book, *PunkSmashRoyale* was doing God knows what, but *Platypuss* seemed to be having a blast chatting up a guy we shall call *Spider Monkey*.

One by one the *Walnut Manifesto* left until it was just me. For some odd reason, *Spider Monkey* started conversing with me. “I should have went with them. I think they are going to Applebee’s. Do you have a car? If I found out where they went, can you drive there? I heard them say they were going to an Applebee’s. I could really go for a piece of meat right now.” Me, being the ignorant encouraging free spirit that I am, told *Spider Monkey* to go out and look for them and have a blast. He did and came back dejected; apparently he could not find them. He started up once again; “I’m pretty sure they went to Applebee’s. I heard them talking about it. They said they were going to Applebee’s. Can you drive? If I had the address could you drive there?” I kept on telling him no, and that I had no idea if they were going to an Applebee’s or not. I asked him if he wanted *Platypuss*’s number so he could call and see where they are but then he started having second thoughts. “I need to ask my parents first. I think my sister will be mad at me if I leave. I think if I tell my parents they’ll be okay with it. My sister will be mad though.” I was starting to get a little upset and just a TEENSY bit irritated here; not at *Spider Monkey* but at *Platypuss*. If she had simply took him along when she left or given him her contact information, I would not be in this hounded situation right now.

Honorable mention: I believe we played some football in the rain later that day and *Plane Jane* completely broke my ankles. She faked to my right and I went for it and ended up tearing my groin. Nice work.

That night, *PunkSmashRoyale*, *Plane Jane*, and I watched “Green Lantern.” It sucked really bad. Some scenes were taking straight from Superman, it was very predictable, corny, and just plain sucked. Don’t watch it.

Day 4:

Ah, the supposed last day of my enlightenment journey. We had another triple header of lectures and let me tell you; thank god for papers and writing instruments. I don’t know how I would have been able to get through those lectures without drawing comics and doodles.

Anyhoo, on this day we did a lot of rehearsing for Bodhi Night. I played the part of a bratty little kid and also played a few voices. It was a night of great performances. My favorite parts were when the MCs told the sifus in the back to raise the roof, and one particular scene in a skit that the family campers performed. In the scene, a bunch of people were on the journey to find something and got really motivated and said “Let’s do this!” and then they just stood there doing nothing for a few seconds. They must have forgotten their lines or what to do next or maybe they are comical geniuses. Either way it was quite a riot.

With the performances over, I eagerly awaited to go home. See, one of the reasons I came up here with *Platypuss* and *Plane Jane* was because they were going to leave early (right after Bodhi Night) and I did not want to stay the entire camp. I wanted to leave early too! However, right after the performances ended, they come to me and tell me that their parents and brother had come up to the monastery. What was going to happen, was that the five of them would drive back down to civilization that night in the dad’s car, and the OTHER brother that was still left in camp would drive back down in the car I had rode up in, tomorrow. My new plan was now to drive back with my brother the next day (tomorrow). My dreams were dashed; yet another night searching for enlightenment; it was a fruitless dream.

Good thing there were fireworks to lighten the mood. I really do not know how the monastery could afford so many fireworks, and even if they could, it was still way too much. I would have been more than satisfied halfway through the fireworks show. There was also a bonfire in which we danced around and played games such as “make that shape.”

(The above is us making a bridge.)

(The above is us making "the Buddha in the Great Buddha Hall.")

Before the night started, I got a feeling, that tonight’s gonna be a Bodhi Night, that tonight’s gonna be a Bodhi Night, feeling. Woohoooooo; it was a good night.

Day 5:

There was no morning service on Day 5, so I was very happy to sleep in until 6 AM. I was going to sleep some more and skip breakfast but I ultimately decided to get out of bed and eat breakfast. Luckily, as I later found out, there was no working meditation that day so that meant no toilet cleaning for me; hurray! We went to the closing ceremony which I must say had a real piece of crap embedded within it. There was a slideshow shown that was made by this guy, and it was meant to showcase the entire camping experience. That sounds good in theory, but it was just way too damn long. He kept on showing the same pictures over and over again, and if they weren’t the same exact pictures they were pretty damn seemular. They weren’t even in chronological order, and it was SO DAMN LONG. The lack of chronological order was especially bothersome to me, because there would be pictures of night-time activities and I'd be thinking "Oh good, day 3 of this crappy slideshow is almost over" and then we'd see some day-time activities pictures, and I would be thinking "WHAT THE FUCK? THIS IS SO HODGEPODGE" It totally fucked with my expectations. And it was SO DAMN LONG. Even the monks were getting impatient, and they make a living OUT OF BEING PATIENT. During this shitshow, my brother and I texted about how shitty it was. That’s how shitty it was.

My brother was happy that I was leaving with him because this meant that I could drive him to school so that would save him time from looking for parking around school or going back home and coming back out. On the ride back to civilization, we bonded yet again, this time over our camp experiences. I told him about all the comics I drew and we shared anger over the traffic. He climbed into the backseat to get dressed. Maybe the day wasn’t so bad after all. Though I had not found enlightenment, I had an enjoyable experience and built connections with several people, even if they lasted for only a second.

Day 9:

Day 9 was not an official Buddhist camp day, but it was a day that affected me greatly. During camp, I had always noticed this young kid, maybe around 10 years old or even less. His name is Jeffrey and he always wore a baseball cap and always seemed to have somebody attending to him. For example, somebody would always be walking with him, and I remember one time somebody holding his hands and clapping for him. Obviously, from an outside perspective, there was something not right with him. Still, from what I had seen, he seemed like a very nice smiling child with a happy-go-lucky attitude. It was on this day 9 that I remembered to ask my brother what was up with this dude.

“He has brain cancer. He’ll probably live until next year.” I guess this is where the enlightenment comes in. I was never one to follow all these rules that people make up for religions. I much prefer *JAX*’s lectures. He encourages us to learn and not waste time on silly things that don’t matter or should not matter. Hearing this news about Jeffrey really put things into perspective.

Thinking about his situation brought a great sorrow in my heart. He seemed like such a nice person and I now hold a deep regret within myself for not talking to him and getting to know him a little bit more. Maybe there was something I could have done to bring a smile to his face; I wish I could have done something, anything. As cliché as it sounds, these heart-wrenching “stories” serve as a reminder to all of us to not take life for granted. Learn, create value, and most importantly, don’t waste your time looking at crappy poorly-put-together slideshows that has “obviously not thought out at all” inherent in its design.

It is difficult for me to explain the magnitude of emotion I felt when I first heard the news. Jeffrey, I hope I see you again next year. Cheers.

Though I never met you, you have had a profound impact on my life. For that, I am thankful. Rest in peace.

9/5/2011