Beds of All Nations

Beds of All Nations: the hotel room designed to piss you off

Fun features I didn't mention in the video:

  • No a/c
  • I had to borrow a fan from the front desk, and it is LOUD
  • Cover band in the hotel bar playing "Higher" by Creed (yes I did mention that but it so bore repeating) 

And I still haven't gotten to sleep--who knows what fun awaits me at 2 a.m.? [EDIT: I got my answer--Germans slamming doors!]

The next video episode: exotic air conditioning

Just got back from Cambodia and I'll have more to write on that soon, but in the meantime I checked into my latest hotel, scheduled for six nights and maybe ending at one.

museum-quality artifact

museum-quality artifact

Since I couldn't sleep I wanted to share the fun with you--please enjoy my overtired, overbearded commentary.

post script: I've not convinced it's a mere 65 decibels that a/c is cranking out--"normal conversation" my enunciating and projecting ass

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Beds of All Nations: and I've never felt so alone

Drove across six states, flew over an ocean and a continent to get to Bangkok. Took two trains and staggered through strange streets, smelling riper with each 90 degree 85% humidity moment to reach the Double Five Hostel, where I found the hardest bed I've ever known.

laptop doesn't make a dent nor does my body

laptop doesn't make a dent nor does my body

It's like a pro wrestling ring, bouncy and hollow. Slap my hands on the surface and it sounds like I'm stomp-punching. 

there ain't no answer like a Yahoo! answer

there ain't no answer like a Yahoo! answer

I got fourish hours of sleep before the combo of plywood-grade surface and rumble then whine from motorbikes zipping by my window every 30 seconds roused my mind. The silent gaps in between left me disquieted.

so which one am I?

so which one am I?

And by disquieted I mean so fucking isolated.

Earlier I wrote a group text to family, "here safe love you" kind of stuff. Had to send it hours after I arrived given the time difference, didn't want to wake anyone. Also didn't matter because my new plan apparently doesn't allow texting back to the U.S.

Fortunately my family is no doubt refreshing this blog hourly, so y'all know I'm safe. Maybe not so sound though.

We scattered across a few hundred mile diameter: I, of course, was usually farthest tangent, and the distance justified (in my mind) limiting my physical contact to roughly annual trips. But I always had a lifeline through phone and used it. We'd have group text flurries a couple times a week. Sometimes interesting, sometimes silly. And if I needed more I could always pick up the phone to hear a loving and supportive voice--father, mother, brothers or sister-in-law.

And now, as the sun rises here in the east...

my scenic view. Don't worry--the cat is alive. I think.

my scenic view. Don't worry--the cat is alive. I think.

the same sun still above the horizon back home, I realize the most precious thing I left behind isn't my house or car or clothes I meticulously culled. It's the people I love. People who will still send group texts that just won't include me.

Beds of All Nations: The beds of my brothers

There are family members we are born with, family members we choose, family members we have thrust upon us. Family members we discard and have taken from us without our choosing.

I've had all the above, and most are outside the scope of this post (gotta edit, y'all). So I'll focus on one of each from the first two.

My big brother and sister-in-law were beyond kind to house and feed me on my Farewell Tour's swing through Kentucky. And it was all bliss (especially the bed--I didn't feel a single coilwire)--except for one moment, the specific drivers of which aren't relevant here. Bottom line was, I got cranky. And rather than complain (more) I simply removed myself from the situ. Mature adult that I am.

15 minutes later big bro knocks on my guest bedroom door and asks if everything is okay, they were wondering where I'd gone, and I'm welcome to come back to the living room. Also super mature and adult-like.

Yet I felt like I'd been pouting. Or maybe it seemed that way.

For all my maturity and adult-like tendencies I can still feel like the 8 year old me, babysitee of a sib twice my age. Funny how we can fall back into those old ways of thinking. I wonder if Jeb Bush feels insecure at the dinner table when dad and W share old work stories.

Then 9 more hours on the road took me to my brother from another mother (and his lovely wife's) home just outside Washington DC. I love these people--and their guest bed. Memory foam brought back...memories?

do you even thesaurus, brah?

do you even thesaurus, brah?

He and I met through work and bonded over bad management and co-worker contempt (I was a hater, I admit--I'd be nicer nowadays but it is what it is). Years passed, jobs came and went but the bond remained. He was there for me through my divorce (and was the first to notice the toxicity between X and me), I was in his bachelor party and wedding party. He thinks more like me than anyone I've known and vice versa. I think we've made each other better--steel sharpens steel and such.

I'm blessed and fortunate for the brothers I was born with and the one I chose. No matter how much I aspire to DGAF, I'll always give at least a fuck or two about what they think. I want to make them as proud as they make me.

And I'll miss the hell out of them both (and my baby brother, too--Lord knows if I left him out I'd not hear the end of it).