floorpie

My hotel room has four phones; three within 10 feet of each other, and one in the bathroom, which is pretty key. Unfortunately, there is not one within arm reach if I were to take a bath in the huge tub. I’m covered if I’m in the shower, but, if I’m in the tub I might miss a call.

How could they let this happen?!

You know what is within reach if I’m in the tub? A dial with numbers from 0-3 that says “Attenuator”. Attenu-what? According to dictionary.com an attenuator is:

A device that attenuates an electrical signal

Using my vast vocabulary, I take that to mean that as I turn the dial up, it lowers the amps traveling through the… what? I don’t know.

Perhaps the idea is to lower or increase the voltage for those appliances from Slovakia and Lithuphlopanvania. Although, I highly question the usefulness of saying, “Ooh, vas es too much electric power, I should turn von attenuator to three.”

Curiouser and curiouser.

My hotel in Taipei has a 13th floor, but no 4th; four being an extremely unlucky number in Chinese culture, whereas thirteen holds no special significance.

I find it interesting that, though different, we have equal levels of superstition that would seem to negate each other. How can the 13th floor really be so unlucky if every tall building in Asia has one?

There is an interesting phenomenon amongst traveling foreigners in Southeast Asia, of which, I am guilty as well. When you see the rare American (or at least Westerner), instead of a glint in your eye and a smile on your lips, instead of a familiar ‘Hi!’ or a much missed conversation in English, there is aversion. Avert your eyes, avert your gaze, walk the other way.

I am willing to concede that this may be a phenomenon only meant for me and the people I come in contact with; but, to the last, whenever I come across another American, we all just pretend like we don’t see each other. And I think it’s because we’re embarrassed. Americans have a bad international reputation, and for good reason. People travelling alone in Asia are, I think, acutely aware of this and do their best to blend in as much as possible, and distance themselves from other potential international incidents.

At least that’s my theory.

Maybe they’ll think I’m from Europe.

Before entering Taipei 101, an employee stops you and points a small white gun at your head. The gun has a purple disc in the muzzle that at first makes me think that she’s going to mark me with it. “I am a qwei-lo!” it will say across my forehead, and all the Taiwanese children will point at me and laugh and laugh and laugh.

This doesn’t seem to be the case, however, as after a few seconds she gives me a nod of approval and let’s me pass. As I’m sure you’ve by now figured out, she was taking my temperature (somehow). SARS is very much a reality here, and caution is high.

I just saw the worst Naomi Watts movie in the world (not an exaggeration). Down features killer elevators controlled by “bio-chips”, that have become sentient and begun to wreak revenge for, ummm, for, uhh… well, they just start killing people, OK? And no one but a sexy young rag reporter and a brave ex-Marine elevator mechanic can save the city from the horrible onslaught.

With a surface-to-air missile.

That the NYPD brought in to the building for no discernible reason.

And then left in a corner unguarded.

10 out of 10 thumbs up!

Korea’s Incheon International Airport is stunningly beautiful. It is somewhat reminiscent of Washington/Dulles in it’s draped ceiling and out-angled glass walls; but that resemblance is only in passing. There is marble. There is wood. There is metal. There is beauty in details.

The escalators lying dormant are just that, waiting to continue their progress upon your approach, not in disrepair as I am trained to expect. This leaves many Americans standing confused near the top, stymied into thinking that the immobility harkens to disallowed areas. May Koreans walk by and glide down effortlessly, slight looks of pity directed towards the people of the most powerful nation on Earth.

The jetways at Incheon have clear glass sides. In the fog, this gives the impression of walking normally, just simply seven meters in the air.

I’m sitting in the VIP Lounge, blogging via my laptop and a wireless connection, feeling terribly connected and proud of it. I must be the envy of all of these other preferred customers… likewise taking the red-eye to Taiwan.

Attempt to sense the sarcasm.

In the early days of mass flight (not the actual early days, mind you, the 1903’s and the stunning warped-wing advancement days; more like the 1950’s when flight was still an Event, something that the wealthy only enjoyed the convenience of) people dressed up for their adventures across land and see. Passengers weren’t necessarily going to cocktail parties, but the certainly dressed like they were. Comfort mattered little, we were talking about style damnit!

Nowadays, things are different. Flight is still an adventure; but not due to novelty, rather paranoia and fear. The whole process is well-known, rather mundane, frustrating, and frankly, often tedious. People now dress in sweats, carry neck pillows and ear plugs, take their shoes off, bring UNO and GameBoys, and do everything within their power to make the ordeal as comfortable and un-memorable as possible.

There are still holdouts, though; and this baffles me.

As I look around the lounge, there are at least 85% if the assembled in attire snazzier than my jeans and T-shirt. Of the 80%, 45% of them are wearing suits.

Suits.

Judging by the newspapers they’re reading, and the conversations I’ve overheard, these are international fliers just as I am, with similar destinations. It’s a 14-hour flight, people, at least. Why, why in the name of all things holy would you wear a suit?! Going to a business meeting as soon as you get off the plane, you say? You’re allowed two carry-ons in our upper caste, bring it with you.

You have a mere 14 hours to figure out that Half-Windsor knot.

Keeping up with the Jones’

I’ll know I’ll have “made” it when I stock Kleenex in the house again. It’s such an extraneous expense when you consider the necessary and readily available toilet paper within easy reach. When sick, what’s easier than having a roll and a trash can next to the bed? But, to actually purchase a separate box of essentially the same material without the added adaptability of multiple functions, just isn’t that economically efficient.

You’ll know that I have serious disposable income when you start seeing Kleenex boxes popping up around the house.

In going through some of my old stuff, I ran across my high school diploma (I are a graduate!). Inside was the program to what I didn’t recall as the 100th Annual R– High School Commencement “A Hundred Years of New Beginnings”. I’m not sure what significance that would have to the casual observer; but, as I now recall, we thought that statistical anomaly was a great portent of fabulous success (and just look at me now!).

At any rate, after some quick and devastatingly effective arithmetic (according to the aforementioned diploma, I meet “the standard of proficiency in Arithmetic Skills, Reading, and Language…” No need for accolades, your awe is quite enough) I calculated that I was one of 916 graduates in the class of ’93. I don’t know where you went to school (well, you I do know, but not you), but that’s a pretty big class. Considering that roughly half of the regular student body graduated that’s a really big class. And, scanning the list of names I realized I knew but maybe a 10th of them. I’m not, in fact, even entirely sure where the other 824.4 people could have been hiding out. They weren’t in, ummm, the uh, football team or, uh, with the other super rad kids, that’s for sure.

Summary of the Model Railroad Show at the Dulles Expo Center:

.: A lot of people pay with checks

That is all.