Archive for vietnam

negative nancy narrates.

Posted in culture, travel with tags , , , , , , , , , , on August 17, 2009 by megan

each one of you caring individuals have queried at one point or another the rather reasonable if slightly uncouth question ‘how the hell are you 2 able to afford this?’ the most honest response i can give is vague and disappointing, so perhaps more to point is what we don’t do. living in se asia can be moderately done on what the hardened and pretentious backpackers refer to as the shoestring, but it can be further cut by bypassing budget busting beers (after all, we’d much rather get drunk with ya’ll) and faithfully following the adage that most stomach pains can be cured with a little hydrogen two the oxygen. what we certainly do not do is go to quaint vietnamese river towns that are known for their custom tailoring and become seduced by silk shops and cloth closets. no no, we do not daydream nor twirl in the mirror, thinking about how exquisitely exotic this dress with that suit will look debuting during springtime formal affairs (that’s right, the blame is on you, engaged interests). we absolutely do not tourist trek towards the coast and decide to spend 3 days upgrading our underwater skills to an advanced level while splurging on sit down dinners 2 nights out of 4. no, we just simply do not do that, as we are the utmost masters of the mind and of the self. that’s right, dear friends, we do not do these things. and since we now all know that we don’t do them, you folks can delight in your insight and we may shelebrate in our shekels. Continue reading


this isn’t ‘nam, smokey, there are rules.

Posted in culture, humor, travel with tags , , , on July 27, 2009 by abuttercup

this morning as megan and i were leaving our room, we became abruptly aware that something was slightly amiss. it wasn’t the foggy haze in the hallway, nor the crisp aroma of kerosene gently beckoning at my nostrils that warranted my concern so much as the strange man in the black motorcycle helmet wielding the flaming broom. alarms and whistles sounded in my head, replacing what had seconds before been jubilant, anthropomorphous images of dancing muffins, fried eggs and sausage links. ‘WRONG’ my mind told me as i gaped, entirely void of comprehension at the masked man and his broom that was quite literally blazing with sizable orange flames. finding myself unable to let the apathetic grog of pre-breakfast a.m. (did i mention it was morning?) allow me to remain ignorant to this most surreal of good-mornings, i calculated it would be best to investigate the matter. “what are you doing?” i demanded, more calmly than i had anticipated. the anonymous keeper of the demonic sweeper lifted the visor on his helmet to look at me as though i were the crazy one for posing such a ridiculous query. but after a thoughtful moment of careful consideration, he proudly and enthusiastically proclaimed ” i don’t know.” he flipped the visor down as megan and i exchanged semi-exasperated but satisfied shrugs, silently agreeing that the pursuing this investigation was a fool’s errand. moreover, we supposed that there was a halfway decent chance that our hostel would not, in fact, be a smoldering ash pile upon our return, in addition to the irrefutable fact that our breakfast certainly wasn’t just going to eat itself. Continue reading