my christmas list

For everyone out there that is thinking about buying me a Daniel Day present or a lesser important, Christmas present, I would like to break tradition and tell you what you want to buy me and save you the trouble of guessing or worse, guessing wrong and incurring my wraith. I know this is rather uncouth and a serious no-no for holiday etiquette, but I think it's important to be clear about what you want and ask for things directly if you ever hope to get what you want. I think too many people rely on the "oh, they know me well enough. They will get me what I want" attitude and are greatly surprised and let down by the garbage that they ultimately receive. You only have yourself to blame if you get gifts that you don't want from loved ones. Believing that people have any idea of your inner-most desires is a pretty shaky foundation on which to build your Christmas booty-must have list. People have no idea of what you really want and they are not allowed to ask directly (they have to ask in passive-aggressive ways) OR these people know what you want better than you do, which is scary, especially when you hate what it is that you didn't even know you wanted. Isn't that a scary thought - You don't like yellow, but everyone thinks the vitamin-pee yellow sweater you're mother gave you fits your personality perfectly and they also think you're sexy in it. That should keep you drinking large quantities of wine well into your 60's.

Make a list. Set it in stone. Find out prices, stores, salesmen's names, isle numbers, hours of operation, phone numbers and addresses. Mapquest the fastest, easiest and most scenic routes from their houses to the stores in question. If the gift is expensive, have credit applications filled out for them in advance. Don't leave anything to chance. The lazy person that wants a VW Bug will get a Kia Spectrum if they don't take the appropriate steps. Ever asked for something and NOT get it? Then you know what I am saying here.

I realize that it's wrong to TELL someone what to get you. But if they are going to buy you something in the first place, then why should they waste their money on something you don't want? Isn't it your responsibility to let the person know what it is that you DO want so they don't waste powerful time and needed money? I think so. So, with that in mind... Here's my wish list for Daniel Day and Christmas presents.

1. Money and loads of it.

It's helpful to have this around in large quantities and, sadly, they don't sell it in bulk at Costco. So if you're out and about and should happen upon a huge chunk of cash, wrap it up and slap my name on it.

2. Plane ticket to London.

Nothing to serious. Just a first class ticket. (Round trip) Out of Seattle near the end of April. This is where a lot of cash from the holidays will be best used. I will send postcards.

3. A good pair of running shoes.

Sounds foolish, but I am burning through these things at a pace of one pair every six months. Size 11 EE. Thanks. Something in gray, orange and blue will work nicely.

4. A massage.

How many people giving me this massage is completely up to you. (see I can be somewhat flexible in these requests) I have needs. Urges really and they need to be worked out.

5. Tattoo.

I can never have enough of these and again, I am flexible about how does the work and how long it will take.

6. The Olsen twins.

This may not sound like the gift that keeps on giving, but I have needs. Urges really. It's not what you think it is. I am purely interested in conversation with both of them.

7. Peace on earth.

This is more of a secondary smaller gift that I could care less if I get or not. But I thought I should put it out there for anyone that didn't want to spend a lot of money on me this year. (Cheap bastards)

8. A decent cell phone.

Verizon, for all of it's power and glory, has shit cell phones. Nothing with a camera. Non flip would be a nice change of pace.

9. Money.

I can not stress enough how much I enjoy this stuff. I could eat it everyday. I could smear it all over the Olsen twins and just eat it off their stomachs, while talking on my new cell phone, wearing my new shoes on a flight to London. Damn!... That is some good stuff!

10. A guitar.

For reasons too sentimental to note. BUT... It should be either a Yamaha, a Martin, A Seagull or money.

11. A nice motorcycle.

Nothing new. Something circa 1965-1980.

That should do it. A complete list of what I want to make the world of Daniel a better place for me to live. I don't want you to think of this as begging or pandering or demanding. NO. I want you to think of this as "the season of giving" and all that other holiday, blah, blah, blah B.S.

bell ringer

I have been in a trance since my return to the US, and I can barely remember a thing from my weekend, the holiday or the days leading up to it. I can say that I am missing out on some much needed and loved sleep and I think that is making matters worse. Every time I try to lay down to rest, some issue that I have neglected for the past month rears up it's ugly head and I can't get it out of mine. This prevents me from sleeping or it only allows me to sleep for an hour at a time and I am going nuts.

This past week I slept for a total of 30 hours. I counted. A full week - 30 hours of sleep. The waking hours in between I have spent roaming the earth as a zombie and I think I actually performed 5 shows at some point. I know I met a few of my long time readers and I know that I bought tires for my car. But that's about all I can remember.

Today, the tires needed aligning and I went in town to get it done. Not being one to enjoy the smell of rubber tires in abundance, I stepped outside of the tire store to wait for my car. It was cold outside, but I didn't care. I was in a daze and I could not have counted to three if you paid me. I never realized just how terrible it feels to stare off in no particular direction for a long period of time and to realize it that you're doing it and not being able to do anything to stop it. It's horrifying. Then, amid the chaos of the moment, a bell rang. A consistent little chime that never broke it's rhythm. I could tell from the volume level that it wasn't a large bell, but it was large enough to be heard at a distance. If I had been able to break my gaze, I could have turned and looked to see what all the rompous was, but when you're lost, you're lost. Then, for some reason, I woke up. That clanking bell just snapped me out of my funk and suddenly I was aware of everything that I had missed out on over the past week - Thanksgiving, Tacoma, Comedy. And the first thing I could think to do at that moment was count to four.

I have been out of it for a long time and I have been saved by a Salvation Army bell ringer. Some lonely old man in front of a tire store that is freezing his ass off ringing a bell so people will acknowledge him with a few pennies in his bucket. He... He is my savior. I'm sure if you could have seen me at that moment you would have seen a stream of little floating black beads flying out of my mouth into the air above me. They danced for a bit and then disappeared in to nothingness. Sadly, the worst place in the world to regain consciousness is in front of a tire store in the cold of November. And the situation was only made worse by my apparent lack of early morning fashion-sense which was reflected back to me in the large picture window behind the bell ringer. I am not looking very fresh or very sane.

The days I have left are in short supply and my time with my brother is dwindling down as the tour of Canada is fast approaching. If I want to spend any amount of time celebrating the holidays with my family, I need to get it done in the next four days. I have to wrap up my birthday (8th), Christmas(somewhere near the 23rd) and New Years (end of this year). All of this, in four days. I also have other issues to address before I can leave - I have financial issues and major health matters to address before I load up my car and head for the frozen plains of Alberta. In order to survive any long tour of Canada, you have to be in peak physical condition as the tours up there can be brutal if you don't have a decent heart rate and above average snot production. The weather alone can stop your heart from beating and add to that the nutritional value of Canadian cuisine (mostly donuts and beer) and you have the makings for some really serious cardiac episodes.

To get out the door on Friday, I need to leave the world I have barely known as of late in a manageable state, so that there will be a world to love when I finally return. My brother will be here in my absence and he has a lot of things he wants to do while he is home on this trip. His frenzy of activity and his concern for the homestead almost eliminates any need for me to prepare the house in any way. And he will be here until the day before I return so I am sure things will be just fine during my trip. He has it covered and you can see that he is enjoying this visit more than others. Perhaps its the lack of major building construction on this trip or maybe he just likes the holiday season, but he is in a much happier place and that is making it easier for me to enjoy the time at home.

Heidi... Heidi has other opinions of my recent trips. She is offended. The look in that dog's eyes says it all, "Daniel, you don't spend enough time with me anymore." And she doesn't mean that in a good way. It's not that you can see the suffering in her girth or her behavior if you looked at her, but there is something in the way she is staring at me that tells me that I have not put in the hours of attention that is required to maintain a healthy working relationship. It's a familiar stare that all women give men when they feel neglected. It's usually used as a passive-aggressive method of torturing a man or to let the man know that the end of the relationship is near. Sadly, if I were to pet Heidi for the next four days straight, without sleeping, I still don't think I could impress upon her just how sorry I am. Which is always the case in matters such as this.

It's nice to be able to use both eyes to focus on what I need to do and I thank all of you for the emails and what-not. They have been very useful in keeping me from completely losing my last grasp on reality. Had I known that an annoying ringing bell was all I needed to snap out of this funk, I would have been on that days ago.

funeral arrangements

"He didn't want to buried here. He didn't even want to be buried, he wanted to be cremated and have ashes spread over the ocean."

This is a typical refrain that can be heard at any funeral by one member of the grieving cast. No matter what the setting for the final act of the dearly departed, there is always someone that is upset over the arrangements. Did he want to be buried? If so, did he want to be buried here? Didn't he mention something about some song being played at his funeral? Shouldn't he be buried in his favorite shirt?

The Put-out griever at a funeral is the ninth hardest person in the world to listen to. The tenth hardest person in the world to listen to is The Lord, so you can see what kind of competition the Put out griever is up against. (the eighth hardest person in the world is the person with the wandering eye) So, in order to save my grievers from having to second guess about whether or not I am happy with my send off, I have decided to lay it all out right here and now so that there can be no debate and no catty dialogue about the color of my flowers or the quality of my headstone.

Step One: Make sure I am really dead.

I can not stress enough how important it is that before any arrangements are made that it be confirmed that I am indeed dead. Not breathing and a lack of pulse can be deceiving, so in order to guarantee that I am a goner and to insure that there will be no premature burials or cremations. Behead me. Just cut my head right off. It may be a bit drastic, but it would make me feel better.

Step Two: Lots of lighter fluid.

I prefer to be cremated but it tends to be pretty expensive to get rid of evidence "legally" in this country so what I propose is a deep pit, a lot of lumber and some diesel fuel. Just burn me in the back yard and then scoop up all the ashes. I think this saves money and it's very theatrical.

Step Three: Dust bin.

I think the most effective way of solving the "where to put him" question is to have a hundred or so tiny urns filled with my ashes (and whatever hard fuel ashes that were present when I was cooked) and then handed out to those that would care to have a little vial. They can take me where they think I should be disposed of and then do their little goodbye in private and without debate. Some people might try to save my ashes and that's fine. Eventually there will come a time when I get thrown out or put in storage, which is also an acceptable end for me. (Has anyone ever inherited a full urn from a relative after that relative passed away? Wouldn't that be a thing) Whatever happens, each person will get their own moment to spread half an ounce of me, where ever and it can be their own little space. Side note: No comics with a coke habit are allowed to have an urn for obvious reasons. I know I should ask for specific places to have my ashes spread but then everyone would dump me in those spots and not put me where they want me thus defeating my cool idea.

Step Four: The tunes.

Sad music is everywhere and at my funeral there shall be none of it. There is a song on the "White Nights" soundtrack called, "This is your day" which is campy and very 80's and I think, very funny, which might be appropriate, but that would be about it. That should do just fine. Whenever I am finally disposed of in private. Play whatever song you best feel suits the moment for you. If the ceremony doesn't play the song you want, play the one you want at your own private "disposal".

Step Five: Floral arrangements.

Could really careless. Really.

Step Six: Religion.

I... am not the least bit religious but if there had to be someone who should stand up and do "the thing" then it should be a Jedi. No kidding. Any other denominational presence will be considered an insult to my memory and whomever arranged their presence should be disposed of promptly.

Step Seven: Ceremony.

A movie theater would be the best place to hold it. I love the movies and always felt pretty good sitting in the dark. AND if there was an A/V portion of the event, the screen is right there. I think that refreshments are what are missing from funerals. If we sell enough popcorn and peanut M&Ms we could pay for the A/V portion of the event.

Step Eight: Benediction.

What a time for everyone to get together and get to know each other. What a mess that will be and thankfully, I won't have to be the one to pick up all the trash.

Step Nine: Commentary.

If someone feels that they knew me well enough to say something that will sum me up, go for it. I doubt that any one single person will satisfy the whole crowd. If you think I am kidding here, remember this - my hardcore friends are never going to believe that I liked Air Supply and vice-versa.

Step Ten: Moving on.

Am I okay? Did I live a full life? Did I leave any unanswered questions? The answer to all of these is "yes". These questions are not really meant to be answered but are more telling signs of the depth of your affection. These are questions that are created in your mind to let your emotions and memories linger on. If you keep asking your self questions that can not be answered, then you can never let go. Am I okay?... I'm gone. Did I live a full life?... Having lived is enough. Did I leave any unanswered questions?... Absolutely. If I had known there were questions to answer while I was alive I would have answered them.

I think that my funeral should be pretty angst-free if things go down the way I want them. Just in case they fill more canisters than there are guests... Just dump the left-overs in garden.

from the hippo's mouth

I was blessed with a another great moment in the history of conversation during my last trip and I thought it was worth mentioning now after all the dust has settled. The gist of the conversation: Americans have such a high life expectancy because we are physically superior and mentally tougher than other cultures in the world. This conversation continued on and the facts were coming fast and furious - Asians live longer only because of diet, but it makes them small. Europeans live longer because of superior genes, and Africans and South Americans don't have a low life expectancy because they live in war zones that are riddled with disease. These are the kinds of facts that I love to hear from someone when I am bored because ONE, I am usually ready to kill myself from all the stagnation and I need something to stir my pot, and TWO, because I think it's important for people to challenge the way we think about things just so we don't get to complacent in our own assessments. Perhaps there are more wars in Brazil than we are being told about and that is really lowering the Latin American life expectancy. You don't really know, do you? All I have to go on is what the media tells me so perhaps there is some merit in what this guy is telling me now.

The delicate issues surrounding fact based arguments or stories is that there is really no way to truly know if they are factual or not. If the information is not readily available for you to assess, then how can you know for sure what you're hearing is a load of crap or if it's the gospel truth? For years the world was flat and there were idiots who said it was square or round. Now we know it's square and the idiots now are the ones who think it to be flat or round. This kind of paradigm shift is common in our history, so you can never get to comfy in one opinion if you hope to evolve. Unless, of course, the information is so obviously contrived and outrageous that you need not give it a second thought... ... Right?

When people bring up outrageous information, when do we know when to believe it or to pass it off as "reaching"? In the case of life expectancy, the person presenting the facts didn't share the information as a possibility by prefacing his comments with, "they say" or "I hear", he just flat out said it and he said it in a tone that said, "these are the facts and they are indisputable". I guess we are supposed to hear the truth in the tone of his voice and just live our lives never having to question the information we are given.

The issue of how long a particular group lives has so many variables that it's impossible to say why one group perishes quicker than another. If there was really a secret to why Americans with their high stress, sodium-lard based diets live so long, it would not be our superior mental and physical strengths getting us to the 72nd year. I would say it was medication and advances in surgery that let our crippled bodies crawl across the 70 plateau and shrivel up on 72. I'm sure without medications that the life expectancy average in America would fall to around 48. Europeans would see their 68 years fall to 55 and the South American/African average would probably not see a drop in their number at all. (war is war and insulin isn't going to help you see tomorrow if a mortar round finds you first)

The man I had this conversation with was an American and he was pretty proud of the fact that he was going to see 72 in his life time. He was a soldier, a smoker, a drinker, an avid video game player with a penchant for motorcycles, tattoos and Thai hookers. (so if he sees 72 then I guess there is hope for all of us). He was not fond of much in this life that wasn't American and I am guessing that there isn't much you could say about America that was negative that wouldn't start a fire under this guy. Thank god I didn't tell him I drove a Mazda, I'm sure that would have earned a shanking in the gut.

At some point in the conversation of just how great Americans were, we started down the path of what HE was and what HE wanted out of life. This was his answer: He was studying no less than four different kinds of Karate. He was a life long "White" magic user. He believed in UFO's, vampires, and "the force". And his favorite food was "hot" food. As in, Mexican, Thai, Indian, etc. He loved sports, women, beer and reading. He is - the very model of every school shooting gunman that has ever lived.

He is a man that DID NOT believe there was a plot by the US government to kill JFK, but he DID believe there were Aliens in Area 51. He DID NOT believe that the Iraq war was started for financial reasons, but he believes that Hilter DID start a world war to find the ark of the covenant and other religious artifacts! (I am not kidding) He is, as I think you can see by now, a true believer in the American faith based wisdom that makes it possible for us Americans to live until we are 72.

It's hard to listen to these kinds of people if you are in the wrong mood and it's even harder to NOT say anything or try to correct them when you hear an obvious error in their statistics, but in order to see where you are in the world, you need to let them go on without comment. You have to find constraint and learn to bite your tongue. You need to let them rant and rave about the colors of the world and where the lines on the map should really be drawn. You need to let them share with you all that they have seen and all they have experienced and how they put that all together to come up with the theories they are sharing with you today. It's important to them and ultimately it will be important to you. What you gain from your ability to NOT say anything will impress you.

I have had my moments where I have had to listen to darker, wilder stories. I have met more colorful people than this guy. I have spent more time deciphering information that people have shared with me than the amount of time I spent actually listening to them share it. It's almost like a virus that just can't be shaken off. Their stories stick in your head and you just can't get it out. You find yourself thinking about their comments for a long time after they have stopped trying to convince you that what they believe is the truth. ( what if there really are vampires in the military...)

I haven't spoken to this guy in over a week. It was only one conversation and yet I am still thinking about all the weird shit he shared with me. War torn South America.... Superior genetics of Europe... Vampires... The force... It just floats in your head and makes it impossible for me to enjoy much else. I need someone to come along with a better more colorful, more entertaining story to wipe this out of my noodle. I need to hunt this bastard down and stake him in the heart for doing this to me. (is that what you do to bad white magicians or is it holy water?)

calling it quits

Saying goodbye is always a hard thing to do when it doesn't feel like a good time to say goodbye. Sancho Ponchi and I had to say our goodbyes in the Seoul airport before either of us was ready to see it end. It was a very brief, but very emotional moment for the both us. Of course, it didn't help that Sancho was a bit drunk from the night before and that I was running late for my plane. That made it harder for both of us to say what we wanted to say or to really let the moment sink in.

Sancho was left in the airport without me for seven more hours. He had to find his own way home. My trip was much faster and it still feels like it's not over.

The final night of the tour, Sancho and I performed our last show and we tore the place apart. It felt good to leave on a high note and the audience, to show their appreciation and respect, proceeded to get Sancho as drunk as they possibly could. They did a great job. My set was an hour long and he was stumbling by the time I got off the stage. We left the base an hour later and decided that we should just have one last hurrah before our long journey home. This would be a huge mistake. The drinking was slow on my end but increased in velocity on Sancho's side. The town closed and we were left to search for places to drink that were illegal. We did find one whore bar and Sancho was so drunk that even the Russian whores, desperate for money as they are, stayed away from him. He was that kind of man that night.

We ended up at a teeny tiny bar with two women in it that fed us and talked to us about Korean customs, ideals, attitudes and shoes. What would have normally been a real bore of an evening turned out to be the best way to end the trip. Four, pretty disillusioned people, drinking, eating and trying to communicate similar feelings without a common language.

Our cab picked us up at 5 for a bus ride at 5:45 that took two hours to get to the airport. The party was still on as we rode to the airport but we were some tired bears that rolled our luggage into the terminal. I left first and I was rushed toward the gate so I had to say goodbye to Sancho before I was ready. All we really got was a long hug, and "I love you man" and a wave before he disappeared from sight.

The flight to Tokyo was two hours. The second I emerged from the gate, the rich smell of Korea gave way to the love of Japan and I immediately felt better. A five hour layover in Tokyo and then it was the 11 hour flight to San Fran. I stayed awake until I took my seat on the flight to San Fran. The gods blessed me with an empty seat next to me and I sprawled out as best as I could. I turned on "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory" and passed out and didn't wake up until I could see the coast of California from my window.

It was supposed to be a looong 14 hour lay over in San Fran, but it worked out to be three and I was rested enough that I could make some calls and stretch my legs before the one hour flight to Portland. From Portland it was a five hour drive home and I came into the forgottens to the nighttime view of Christmas lights, visible cold and my brother sleeping on the couch.

It has taken two days of disorganized sleep before I could get my head straight which is why it has taken so long for you to read this. The invasion of Asia was successful however, I might be getting screwed out of some of my money on the deal. Before you start to think that I will have time to fully recover and unpack, remember this. The day after Thanksgiving, I head to Tacoma and next weekend.... It's the invasion of Canada.

Thank you for reading along and being so very patient with my stories. I hope you enjoyed them as much as I had living them. If you have questions about the trip, please ask nicely and I will work on them this weekend. I do promise to keep the posting up from now on. It helps that I have my familiar world to aide in that process.

Sancho Ponchi made it to Laredo five hours after I arrived home.... he was still drunk.

the pictures, part two

Okay, this is one of markets in Korea that smelled of death. CHIN HAE, KOREA












Not sure what this is, but it's dead, which is more than you can say for most of the food here. This smelled so bad that we skipped lunch. CHIN HAE, KOREA










The market on the day we got to leave the base for an hour. It's four million degrees below zero which keeps the fruit nice and fresh. CHIN HAE, KOREA










I don't have to say a thing, you're already thinking it. I will say this, a dog leads a life of polar extremes in Korea. A small dog is considered good fortune and you can find one in every shop doorway. It's either that OR they cost $400 a plate. Not kidding. I won't tell you which was happening to this one. CHIN HAE, KOREA







Not sure what these are, but they are alive and apparently not bothered by the pepper in their water. I would see that as an omen if someone came in and threw a pepper into my bath water, but they don't seem to mind. CHIN HAE, KOREA









Either Koreans are not big on Jews or they really love Nazis, either way, you can get a swastika on anything here. They play it off as some "Buddhist" thing, but come on... They're Nazi lovers. CHIN HAE, KOREA









This guy knew where the hookers, young boys, drugs, gambling and other illegal things could be found. No where else in the world is human trafficking as bad as it is in Korea. There are signs that read, "we can help you get home" everywhere. They didn't do shit for me when I called. He was fond of calling me Jun Wayne. ITEAWON, KOREA








Some bad ass Korean dude from a long time ago.
Most likely ninja master "Samsung" himself
or this is the Korean version of Ronald McDonald.
CHIN HAE, KOREA














More "palace" in Seoul. No one lives here anymore which makes it easier to go inside without feeling like you're in someone's space. SEOUL, KOREA












Another view of that crazy market. SEOUL, KOREA













Oh, I do have a photo of the name of the market. Read it for yourself. This is the main entrance. I think that the Korean says, "welcome to walmart". SEOUL, KOREA










This horse was special and I climbed on it's back. It was illegal to do so, but I'm American. I'm supposed to behave this way in foreign countries. I loved it. ITEAWON, KOREA












One of the dozen or so times we had to fly on this trip. I don't even remember which airport this is. YOURGUESSISASGOODASMINE, ASIA











A teeny tiny building that is very common in Asia. I don't know if they built around it or if they put it up after they built the two other buildings, whatever the case may be, renting it is more per month than I earned on this trip. GINZA, JAPAN













I forgot to mention these in my post. These are the bumper bears of the Tokyo tower. Ponchi and I rode them and then got kicked off for cheating by using our legs. TOKYO, JAPAN










Me in the Tokyo tower. Looking east towards you. TOKYO, TOWER.












All of the Karoake on this trip and this is the only private room bar I got a picture of. Check in, get instruments and then go off to your private room. It's a lot like a swing club in that way but with tamborines. ROPPONGI, JAPAN









Foreigners seek each other out for comfort here. This guy thought we might be German. He was wrong. I think he is even lonelier now because we didn't even want to pretend just to humor him. GINZA, JAPAN









The gate way into the Roppongi district. Around me are tons of Mod kids that love to be punk rock, until you hit them or break their precious cell phone on the ground, then they turn into whinny little kids. It was very cold that night. I didn't hurt anyone. ROPPONGI, JAPAN








Define irony - This room was designed for smokers and it is the only place you can go to escape the cold. The non-smokers were dying of pneumonia in droves. Only we, the smokers-under-glass, have survived to tell this tale. TOKYO, JAPAN








Not all tea is created equal. This was my last exploration into vending machine fluids. I had great success for a solid week before this shit hit my lips. Remember this bottle, never drink it.
TOKYO, JAPAN









Some of the kids at Nagasaki that I had to deal with. NAGASAKI, JAPAN

for my illiterate fans - the pictures, part one

Okay, so we will have to do this backward because I loaded them the backwards. There will be more when I can.

The escape from Busan via ground to steps of the plane service. If we had gone through the gate it would have taken too long. BUSAN, KOREA








Sancho Ponchi and I with some moderately famous "Jackie" character. He says his famous, or related to someone famous, I don't know, they all look famous to me. Well, at least smart. NAVY SEOUL









This was part of one of the palaces in Korea. It was the final part of my trek into Seoul before I had given up.
SEOUL, KOREA










Again, inside the palace. Everyone who travels to another country gets photos of the architecture, etc. Here's my entry.
SEOUL, KOREA










Beginning of an anti-world demonstration of sorts. It's not always a good idea to be this close.
Side note. All demonstrations have to be preplanned with the police first, otherwise it's sticks on the head time. SEOUL, KOREA









The world's craziest market. A wide open spot where you can walk and take a picture without bumping into someone. SEOUL, KOREA











These are yummy and alive. SEOUL, KOREA














These make a great gift for the friends back home. ITEAWON, KOREA












Last night in Japan. Outdoor toilet that I know Sancho Ponchi is appreciating.












Drunk, Rippongi. Sancho is the one in the hat. I am the one that looks like he doesn't care. RIPPONGI, JAPAN











Ginza district at night. Again, one of those needful photos of where you have been and what you have seen that you have to try to capture in a single snap of the camera. GINZA, JAPAN










Here's the photo that caused my first dance with foreign police. If you ever see those black vans driving down the road, just behind the sign, don't take a photo after running up to them. Nasty business. TOKYO, JAPAN









The former sumo building, now some other building. Never listen to locals that don't speak English when you are trying to get directions.
TOKYO, JAPAN










A view from the Tokyo tower, looking down through the floor. Not as frightening if you are taking the photo. It doesn't feel the same through the lens of camera as it does in person. Sort of like the way it feels to look at it now.
TOKYO, JAPAN








Tokyo Tower, a cool perspective. TOKYO, JAPAN.












Colorful Coy that scare the shit out of Ninjas, which is why they are put in front of every building, including the Imperial Palace. These live in front of a Shinto Shrine. TOKYO, JAPAN










The challenging stairs of horse death. Ride up these and back down again on a horse at a full run, and live, you get... a lot of applause and some free coy.










Every street in Japan. You can eat, shit, fight, drink, fuck or put up a lantern in them if you wish. EVERY STREET, JAPAN











Ginza during the day. Sancho got creative with the camera. GINZA, JAPAN












Restaurant alley. These restaurants are just below the train tracks in Tokyo. They stretch on for miles. TOKYO, JAPAN











Coy in front of the Imperial palace that are there to eat careless Ninjas. TOKYO, JAPAN












Some of the impressive stone walls that are beginner level ninja accessible. Not very difficult for aging, overweight Americans to breech, so I'm sure if a ninja didn't make it, he was laughed out of the ninja gym. TOKYO, JAPAN









The gates that stand as symbol of just how much the Emperor didn't like Ninjas!!!! TOKYO, JAPAN











The ninja proof moat around the Imperial Palace. If you look close you can see half of Japan running the Tokyo marathon around it.
TOKYO, JAPAN










A look down the subway train. From one end to the other, two hundred and fifty yards. No doors. It was quite impressive. UNDER, JAPAN











Another glorious night with Sancho Ponchi and Dan Kyoti. DRUNK IN, JAPAN












It's not all Buddha and Shinto in Japan. They do have Mormons too. SALT LAKE CITY, JAPAN












Me in one of my famous alleys. I love these places. This one is special because there are two Japanese girls making out behind that vehicle. This photo also started to show a pattern that Sancho Ponchi had with taking photos of my butt, leading me to believe that he was fond of alleys like this back in Laredo. CASTRO STREET, JAPAN






Dan in Japan. TOKYO, JAPAN

















The entire audience of Yokota. That's him.... and Sancho. His name was (something Japanese). He left ten minutes later. Bushie the kid didn't make this show. YOKOTA, JAPAN










Every temple in Asia. YOKOSUKA, JAPAN

















Buddha shoes. You knew that buddha was a hippie, you didn't need to see his birks. KAMAKURA, JAPAN











The Buddha. KAMAKURA, JAPAN













Buddha and me. In front of the gift shops. KAMAKURA, JAPAN












Never, ever gargle this water. KAMAKURA, JAPAN












My ever faithful sidekick, Sancho Ponchi. YOKOSUKA, JAPAN












The trees and me. EVERYWHERE, JAPAN













On a bridge, the day my clothes arrived. SASEBO, JAPAN












THE spot where the bomb exploded. A rare moment when the kids were gone. NAGASAKI, JAPAN











The day of Nagasaki. Peace Park. Notice the gathering crowds in the background? They would come to haunt me the entire time I am here. I should have left after this picture was taken. NAGASAKI, JAPAN