The Ties That Bind

Every time I sit down to write this entry, something changes the underlying theme. Well, it was supposed to be done Christmas Eve, and here it is the 27th. Despite the Heisenberg Effect surrounding this topic, it's time to put words to page.

I often tell people about Georg Hegel's treatise on interpersonal relations, called "Lordship and Bondage," from his book Phenomenology of the Spirit. I know, title sounds racy, but trust me, no whips and chains--maybe we'll talk about Michel Foucault another time, though. "Lordship and Bondage" is one of the favorite things I took away from my failed attempt to double major in Philosophy. (I know...that's even more useless a major than English (Writing), but let's just roll with it. As an aside, I was one credit short: Symbolic Logic never struck me as logical, nor did I really ever think it was symbolic of much....) Hegel was a phenomenologist, someone who believed that the only way to confirm the world around us is via sense data--what we can see, hear, smell, touch, taste--and that everything outside of the self is an object unless confirmed as a subject by the self.

Hegel postulates that when two people interact initially, they are trying to convince the other of their own perception of themselves, to externally validate. And that, sooner or later, one person is more successful than the other enough that the other is turned into a mirror, or slave, and the "more successful" person becomes the "master" of the relationship.

But see, it doesn't work out so nice and neatly, Hegel explains. Because the master sooner or later realizes that an object like the slave cannot confer subjecthood and the confirmation of the master's self-perception as valid. Mirrors don't validate; they just reflect. And, at the same time, the slave usually figures out they're supplying the master with something the master values, so they start rationing those morsels of external validation out. So, at some point, the master must confirm the slave as a subject, lest the master become the slave and the slave the master, doling out that confirmation of self-perceived self like crack to the addicted master.

Ernest Hemingway believed that all relationships were transactional. He'd go into a wine peddler's shop and introduce himself, Ernest Hemingway, the novelist, perhaps you'd heard of him, and suggest that he was writing a novel about the area, and everyone told him this was the place to buy wine in the area, and he was wondering if the guy would mind being placed in the novel. Oh, he'll fuzz the details just enough for sake of anonymity, but fans will know how to get there still. The merchant would usually sell that old drunk Papa vino at a tremendous discount right then and there.

A play I saw, called Art, is all about these old school chums who get together each Christmas. They've been friends for years, but this Christmas, a painting exposes them to the scary question they've been avoiding all those years: If we share nothing in common anymore, then why are we still even friends?
 
So, yeah, now that we're all depressed thinking that everyone precious in our lives is merely there because they're out to get something and I've shown off my college edu-ma-cation, let's dispense with the liberal arts hoighty-toighty, leather elbow patch crap and start talking about my friends and family like they're something aside from lab rats.

The oft-repeated line I use goes something like this: I think my friends should be entitled to hazard pay, and every once in a while, possibly fire zone pay as well. The suggestion being that it's tough and sometimes dangerous to be my friend. And while nobody's shooting at me (usually), it sometimes can be. But oftentimes, even the best of us are a little lazy in our relationships with other people. Even the best of us can be a little selfish little tyrants. We're like the kid who comes to the playground with the ball: if you want to play ball, we think, you gotta play by my rules. Nobody goes through life wanting to be the co-star in someone else's movie life. We don't want to be the sidekick. We want to be the guy who gets the girl. The girl who becomes the celebrity. The person who makes a difference in someone's life. We want to have meaning. We want validation that yes, I am a good and worthwhile person. I do deserve these wonderful things that have happened to me, these wonderful people in my life. Because, if you look yourself in the mirror long enough, somewhere deep down, we all feel a little like we've gotten by sometimes, that we've floated a check that should have bounced, metaphorically speaking, and that sooner or later, the jig will be up, the masquerade will be revealed, and everyone will know we didn't deserve these wonderful things, these wonderful people.

When they banned smoking (I'm in the process of quitting, so it's on my mind) in British pubs, the texting traffic in the UK skyrocketed. The smokers, feeling left out of the conversations they left inside to puff their cancer sticks, were trying to connect, to touch another person. They were feeling guilty about their smoking, and trying to make up for it.

Guilt is a big motivator in our lives. Confidence in ourselves is sometimes as hard to find as faith in a divine order to the universe. When the two come together at cross purposes...oh, brother, have we got issues....

This is me coming around to a point: For a long time, in my private moments, I have felt truly unworthy of the wonderful people in my life. It's made me feel guilty sometimes, like a liar, a sham, a fake. Conversely, it's led to trouble at times.

For instance: a lot of my friends over the years have found themselves in a jam, and I've swooped in to the rescue, sometimes from halfway across the country, sometimes at seemingly great sacrifice on my part. They always think I'm doing it because I care about them that much. And, yes, I do. But somewhere deep down in my subconscious (and in yours, too, maybe, if you root around in there long enough) there might have sometimes been a guilt-ridden need to do it, so that when the truth that I'm undeserving of their loyalty and affection comes out, they'll take pity on me and remain my friend.
 
Someone with a problem usually denies the problem, then avoids it when there's no more denying it. Then things can get combative. It's like the stages of grief almost. And at the end of the steps of grieving, there is acceptance.

I'm not saying I'm there, but I'm a helluva lot closer than I was last year.

These crises of confidence are simple human failings. We all have them. Yeah, me being me, I tend to over-analyzing them to the point that they're so clinically vivisected that they don't even resemble emotions anymore, but that doesn't make me any different than the rest of us, really. Alright, it makes me a little OCD, despite the usually cluttered chaos I prefer to work and live in, but otherwise, I think I'm not that different than anyone else.

We want that person to validate us. As a good worker. As a good son or daughter. As a good parent. As a good student. As a good mentor. As a good leader or follower. As a good friend. As a good lover. Sometimes, when we're missing one of these, the very suggestion of criticism makes us rabid. Someone who has been single a long time suddenly grousing about a couple in love being annoying isn't always complaining about the public displays of affection; they're often enough complaining that they're not receiving any public displays of affection themselves. We covet when we lack. That's as human as the first neanderthal moving into a cave and the second neanderthal wanting to move into one to keep out of the rain, too.

But let's bring Hemingway back into the equation. All relationships are transactional, Papa says. So, in theory, there's a social contract between me and each of my friends. Did we actually have a written and signed document, like my friends Spider and Willow jokingly made when they dated, enumerating exceptions and clauses, and designating a third party (you guessed it: yours, truly) to arbitrate all disputes or possible breaches of contract? Of course not. We've got more of an oral agreement to broad terms, like Hemingway's idea that stories are like icebergs. Sure, we don't know the exact shape, but we have a general notion of shape. (Note: If anyone does have any line item stipulations for our friendships going forward, I'd be amused and eager for you to express them.)

Sometimes, we fail to hold up our end of the bargain. We're human; shit happens. We don't compliment you on an achievement. Our support is absent at a critical crossroads in your life. We leave the toilet seat up. We don't do this stuff on purpose; sometimes our own lives got in the way, or we had other people--other contractual obligations, if you will--that took precedence. Like I said, shit happens.

What's dangerous is when shit willfully and wantonly happens. When someone takes that contract and uses it as a manipulative tool. When someone plays on our emotional investment in a relationship to get what they want out of you. When someone reduces you back to Hegel's slave, and plays at being a master.

We've all had it done. We've maybe all done it a time or two, if we were going to be honest with ourselves. Not our finest hour. Probably another cocktail of guilt on the bar tab there, Ernest.

The thing is, friends forgive. It's part of who they are. I'm not saying rush out and confess your transgressions. Jimmy doesn't need to know that you met and had a fling with Sally after twenty years of silence and four years of marriage on the subject, but he might definitely need to know if that math comes out a little differently. But we aren't perfect, and we really shouldn't expect our friends to be perfect, either.

Lemme drag one more metaphor into the mix here to make my point, and then we can move on: I always fall for women with flaws. The girl I couldn't ever kiss quite right. The girl who when she gets up in the morning has no sense of balance for the first five or ten minutes. Yeah, Helen Hunt is an off-beat beauty, but there's a girl out there right now that when the light's right and she looks at me a certain way, I always think she looks like Helen Hunt, and it always makes me feel like she's Helen of Troy. Not because I've got a thing for Helen Hunt, but because it's a psychological tick, a neurological cross-fire in my brain that always happens, that might annoy most people, but I for some reason can't get enough of. I mean, go back to that mirror, give yourself a long look, and admit it: your present or past lover had some little flaw that you just couldn't get enough of, and while they might have hated it, it was/is part of what made you fall for them as hard as you did.

It's similar, but not the same, with friendships. I have friends I made back in the college days that were so close that I turned to them when my father died, and now, we've got nothing in common. But they're still important to me, despite the fact we sometimes each probably wonder why the hell we're still friends, like those guys in Art.

And then the right hits, and we remember.

I have been fortunate in my life. That old Chinese curse, May you live in interesting times, has been a beneficial one so far, and a little mantra I jokingly reflect on when I'm looking at the shape of my life thus far. There's a poem I wrote back in college, "Rachel," in which I refer to life as a "house half-built." (Rachel, who is sadly not with us anymore, probably never read that poem, maybe never even knew she was the type of woman that could inspire a poem, and I really wish I could have shared that with her. She might still be with us if I had.) It was literally a metaphor I wrote without really truly appreciating its meaning or import, but of course, my mentor, R, seized upon and gushed over. It's become the way I look at my life ever since he explained to me what my random literary misfire meant to him.

I find it appropriate that, now, on the cusp of moving into this big, presently empty condo, and having to re-situate all the kipple (Thank you, Philip K. Dick, for that lovely bit of poetic license) that constitutes my household goods, that I'm talking about the half-built house of life right now. Because those rooms of the house, they're not filled with furniture. They're filled with memories, with these "cold social contracts" I referred to before, re-fashioned in warm, pleasant ties that bind me to those people.

I always joke that girls at a certain age plan their weddings, and that boys around the same age instead plan funerals, with the unspoken nod to Tom and Huck popping up at their own supposed funerals. And it's true, as far as it goes. But there was a moment when someone got me thinking about a wedding, too, and I had a realization. And that realization led to me actually cobbling together the first part of a wedding toast to the as-yet-unidentified-but-hopefully-soon-but-not-too-soon-to-grace-us-with-her-identity Mrs. Josh, or maybe even part of our vows if she's into cooking up our own. I've never shared it with anyone, and I won't say who inspired it, as she'd most likely die of terminal embarrassment, or at the least kick me firmly in the teeth for never telling her she inspired such a thought. Well, it's appropriate to the occasion, so I'm going to share it.

In our infancy, we are swaddled. We're bound up tightly in blankets, and we find comfort in that. As we grow up, we do everything we can to be free of any such bondage, to be unbound in the truest, purest sense. It's when we find someone who makes us want to be bound, to be tied to them, to be re-swaddled and cast aside that need for freedom, that we truly know what love and life are all about.

Now, that's love. But these ties between us and our friends? They're probably lesser expressions of something vaguely similar. These people I've surrounded myself with? You all had a purpose for being included at some point. Don't worry if you don't know what it was, we're past that. And I likely don't remember either. We don't need to have purposes to our friends. We just need to be us, warts and all.

A friend will give you an alibi, the old joke goes. A best friend will help you hide the body.

I'm lucky to have the folks I do in my life. And this whole philosophical and psychological run-around was me making sure that I took the time to say it. Oh, I probably made a hash of it, and at some point or another bored you to tears before we got here, but, would I be me if I didn't?

Now, one more thing I need to say, then I'm hitting publish and considering hitting pubs.

Family. I lost my father at 20, and while there's a lot to say about him, I'm setting Dad aside for another time (Believe me, he'll get more than his due down the road). I am lucky enough to have my mother and three brothers, one of whom has been lucky enough to bring a daughter into the world to add to the family. We aren't the best family. We aren't the typical family. We are likely dysfunctional and a little scary at times. But I love them. I cherish them. We've had more trauma and drama than a lot of families, but we've weathered most if not all of that hardship together. And while every once in a while I say "your mother" or "your brother" when I'm upset, I wouldn't trade them for anyone else's family.

A few years after my father died, my youngest brother and I were playing catch. He was ten. He was tossing the ball well enough that I didn't have to move the glove. I put a little more power on my tosses, and he naturally did the same out of reflex. I told him we were going to try something different, and got down into a catcher's stance.

Damned if he wasn't the starting pitcher the next season for his little league team. I got a lot of secondhand parental experience, my dad passing as early as he did, but that's the one memory of paternal pride that if I died tomorrow I'd take to my grave.

Every one of my brothers has a moment they're a part of that I treasure. Alright, Mom, too, but don't push. They're not the same. Hell, they're not even close. But they're moments that when I think of them, I feel the warmth of family, even over here on a tropical island in the afternoon while they're on the other side of the planet sound asleep (except for the pitcher; I think he's got insomnia again).

So, this holiday, I wanted to thank them for being my family, even if they didn't have a choice in the matter.

We now return you to our regular programming already in progress. I'm not sure if all this rambling meant anything to you, but I hope it did. It's one of my promises to myself to recognize my friends and family's value to me a little more often, and to be more worthy of them going forward from today.

Promises to Myself

Every year, we all make resolutions.

This year, with the massive change of venue, I've decided to do things a little differently. I'm making promises. To myself. Maybe to some other people, too, but they're principally promises to me.

Without further ado:

1) I'm down to two cigarettes a day right now. I am going to quit smoking.
2) I am going to get into the best shape of my life in the next year.
3) I am investing more time in my hobbies and personal pursuits. I've left too much wait til tomorrow. That ends today.
4) I'm taking a break from love. This year, I'm focused on me, so that when I focus on love again, I'm better suited to do my best at it.
5) I'm re-investing in friendships. I joke about it a lot (and there's another entry on family and friends that's forthcoming that will expound on this), but I'm fortunate to have the varied, diverse, and eclectic friends that I have gathered about me over the years. Someone said once that you can accurately judge the value of a man by the friends he keeps. If that's the case, this half-built house that is my life is benefiting from the neighboring structures.
6) I'm going to learn to cook.
7) I'm going to take time to smell the roses.
8) I'm going to bring everything I can to my job. I work for and with some great people, and I'm unique in what I bring to a project. That should be an encouragement to do more and increase my involvement, not an invitation to rest on my laurels.
9) I've always thought that we cease to be children when we stop playing happily in the rain. I want a little of that joy back in my life, and it's doable.
10) By the end of this year, I'm going to have a much better understanding of who I am and where I'm going. I'm going to be the best Josh I've ever been.
11) A good writer reads good books. I'm going back to basics. And by basics, I mean classics. Other new good books, sure. But I'm under-read for a writer.
12) I'm going to start trying my hand at screenplays for television and cinema. Too many "novel ideas" in my head for any one man to write. Some of them might be better suited to those media than the novel format.
13) Life's too short not to speak one's mind. I'm going to be doing more of that from here on out.
14) There's too much I have said is impossible in my life that's actually possible. That ends today. I'm going to start reaching for the stars.
15) I'm going to start investing in my future. Today.
16) I'm going to try to become more of an optimist and less of a cynical pessimist calling himself a practical cat. See #14.
17) I'm letting go of a few old, longstanding grudges. They don't profit me anything at all.
18) I'm going to stop over-analyzing everything (except at work, where I'm supposed to) and just enjoy the interesting things life throws at me.
19) I'm going to grow a bonsai and/or a hydroponic garden. I think caring for something alive on a daily basis would be good and healthy for me.
20) 365 days breaks down to 8760 hours, 525,600 minutes, 31,536,000 seconds. I'm going to make the most of every one I'm not sleeping. No more idled time.

These are my 20 promises to myself. Look yourself in a mirror and make some to yourself instead of the same tired resolutions to lose the holiday pounds or giving up caffeine. You are your own best or worst friend. We try to keep promises to our friends. Resolutions? Meh...those things never work, right?

So, on Friday (not tomorrow as previously advertised, because Josh can't tell what day it is anymore), Tesla Pete and I are going to tour the Tasi 17 condos, and settle on the one(s) we'd like to lease.

This might sound run-of-the-mill. I mean, particularly for those of my friends that are military, we pack-up and move every three years or less most of the time anyhow.

There are two big differences here:

1) TP and I have been living in hotels for the better part of a month, and it'll be over a month by the time our household goods make it to Guam;
2) We're pulling out all the stops, and going to do this up big for the next year or two.


So, the places we're looking at range between 3200 and 3800 square feet of space. Some of that is eaten up by a garage (Tesla Pete does need a place to recharge the Tesla), some of that space is eaten up by a patio/balcony on each of the three floors of condo, plus a rooftop patio. The rest is pretty scary. TP is taking the master bedroom, with its jacuzzi and sauna. Why anyone in their right mind would want a sauna on Guam is beyond me; all you need do is step outside to get the same effect on a hot day. I'm still trying to secure visitation and/or joint-custody for the jacuzzi, though, of course.

I'll be taking the second floor living room and converting it into a ghetto-master bedroom. More square footage than the master, but no jacuzzi or sauna. However, TP and I have beautiful views of Tumon Bay, sunsets over the Philippine Sea, and local nightlife less than a mile away, so I reckon we'll both survive.

This does leave three bedrooms open for guests. I doubt they'll all ever be used at once, but I invite my friends to secure passage and test out limits.

The floors are, in most units, all hardwood. Somebody told me redwood, but I'm not going to repeat that until I'm sure. These condos for the most part have never been lived in; the last time we toured the places, microwaves and ovens still had instructions and styrofoam, as if they'd never been used.

This is the windward (eastern) exterior. Not much to scream about, I'll grant you. Nice big garage, few windows, sturdy construction. The thing is, this is sort of like a reverse mullet. The midwesterners out there will understand what I'm saying, but for those of you who don't: it's all business back here; the party's out front.

This is the view from the living room. What you're seeing is the perspective from the kitchen breakfast bar, looking west, over downtown Tumon, and onto Tumon Bay and the Philippine Sea. Sunset happens here. There's a patio right outside.

Lest we forget the place where food happens (aside from the grilling), this is the kitchen. Now, you're going to go "Ew, guh-REEN!" and I'm right there with you. We will not be having this watered-down olive drab crap in our kitchen. This was, however, the best-lit and most focused pic of the kitchens in the Tasi 17s available. And, to be honest, I just wanted to say guh-REEN once. For those of you of a culinary inclination, the fridge is off to the left (stage-right for you dramaturges), across the doorway, and is stainless steel and pretty.

This, my friends, is the rooftop patio. I imagine this is where trouble will either begin or end the evening when the moon's in the right phase. You'll note, just to the low-right, the primitive stool and table the construction people added. Expect that to be supplemented, because Tesla Pete and I really don't intend to throw small events if we're using the roof.

Breathtaking view up there.

Pretty good view here, too.

This is the view from what will be my room. It's technically a second floor living room. But, there's already a first floor area marked off for that function, so I said, why let TP have the view all to himself? Again, Tumon skyline, Bay and sea view, sunset looks grand. To the right will be my writer's nook with the glass, L-shaped desk. Center flush will be the bed, so I can watch the sunset in the event I want a midday siesta on the weekends. To the left will be an exercise area, probably an elliptical or bike, free weights, etc.

Now, lest I sell the place short, we must discuss the third floor, otherwise known as the realm of Pete.

Metrosexual experts tell me that the thing beside the toilet is called a "bidet." While I have had its use explained to me, I really don't count this as a loss on my part.

The wooden door on the right leads to a sauna. Again, I do not count this as a loss. Guam functions between 70-90 degrees regularly, with humidity ranges that are comparable, so I fail to see the worthwhile-ness of having a sauna.

But this, however, is where my hide gets chapped. Nay, chaffed. Jacuzzi. Indoor. This hurts on so many levels that I'm trying to work on getting Pete to give me a weekend every month where I can just come up and soak.

Now, let's talk about the "cool" factor: there's always one thing about a place, regardless of how swank it is, that just says "I want to live here, because...."

First, and the lesser of two temptations: Look at these closets. I mean, seriously.

Second: What you're seeing here is the view from the garage, just inside the regular-old-run-o-the-mill-exterior-door.

Look at that door. Yes, it's heavy duty metal. Yes, those are all bolts. Security? We haz it.

It's like the whole place is a panic/party room.

For those of you I haven't already bored, here's the floor plan:

I really do hope you can zoom in and read sideways, because for the life of me, I spent 20 minutes, and still couldn't make it right-side-up or larger at the same time.

Anyhow, that's the format for the places we'll be looking at. I expect we'll be moved in before the end of third week of January, and ready to receive limited visitations by February. Full-on just-show-up capacity will be established probably late March. So, those of you with the MAC or the frequent flier miles, you've got a place to crash.

That's the news from the western front. Tomorrow: a short blog about the importance of family and the ties that bind. Tis the season, and all that.

A Thought or Two on Age

I'm 36. There, I said. No taking it back.

The last three women I've kissed (and, no, no details for you) have all at one point or another alluded to the fact that they're "getting old," "are older," or words to that effect.

This tells me two things: one, I'm not having a midlife crisis and dating a woman half my age (thank the stars, I'd likely need a translator) and two, apparently, according to some people, mid-30s is, well, old.

Now, I've spent two years or so living the good life, using the elliptical as a clothes hanger, and in general treating my body like a frat house rather than a temple. And, in all honesty, I've pretty much always done so. Until I hit 31, it was no problem, as I had a metabolism most people would kill for. Since then, yeah, I've slowed down a little. But, seriously people: I don't feel all that different than I did ten years ago. And while I haven't gone the route others have with the added responsibilities and "grown up" accoutrements like kids and joint checking accounts and buying a home, I've gotta say it....

We may not be 25 anymore. We may not even be 29 anymore. But we sure as hell aren't in our late 40s yet.

Don't sell yourselves short. Don't think that life has passed you by, or that you're stuck. And while this post had its genesis in the comments of three women, this applies to guys out there, too.

I'm not even close to getting started, folks. And when I turn 37, I'm going to look and feel better than I did at 27. You can take that to the bank.

A late thought: For the record, these three women I'm not passing details on about? I'll say this: they are in my top ten of best women I've ever kissed. And they've only moved up the list over the years I've known them, and within a year or two of me. Maybe we are like fine wine, if kept under the right conditions. I don't know.

I did say Only On Guam....

Yes, those are life-sized Predator and Alien xenomorph statues. Yes, they are made from scrap metal. They're at the Micronesia Mall here on Guam.

Why? I dunno. But they've been here for over a year, probably much longer. I tried to get some perspective shots so y'all can judge scale. But when I say OOG, you will in fact see stuff out of the ordinary.

Like many islands in the Pacific, it rains. Not Seattle rains-for-days rains. More Hawaii rains-for-five-minutes-then-clears-off rains. So I had a little trouble navigating today to find the one cell provider on Guam that sells the iPhone 4S. I'm not gonna lie; I want to see how funny this Sirri app will be once I start interacting with it, and my team mate (who is a little late to the party, but hereafter will be known as Tesla Pete) has finally convinced me that my CONUS crackberry (which will be shut off while I'm out here, but turned back on when I visit the US) is an outdated paperweight, and that I really should upgrade. Someone recently inadvertently convinced me that Android was not the way to go (thank you, beautiful), so I decided why the heck not.

I had no idea what I was getting into.

See, Guam for some reason doesn't see the point of street signs. I guess, if you've lived here your whole life, you develop some sort of preternatural navigational sense, like a homing pigeon or something. Suffice to say, yours truly has not developed said trait, and is instead looking for street signs.

Josh, why didn't you bring that ghetto-ass GPS unit of yours, you ask? Ah, see, I did. But without a special extra chip, it literally looks like I'm driving around on the Pacific Ocean, not the island. This should kick off several Messianic jokes as well as a few Lost quips; trust me, I've thought of em all.

So, three attempts, and I ended up driving about 40 miles with no luck. Come back to the hotel, look at the map again, and realize that Google was directing me from the wrong hotel, even though there's only one Hilton on the whole island. So, later today, when sane people are awake (it's 0500 here), we'll try it again.

Good news is that household goods are here middle of next month, so the realtor and I had a talk. The realtors here on the island apparently all have access to the same databases of available houses, condos, and apartments for sale and rent, so it really does just come down to who you like dealing with on a renter/buyer side of things.

We're in the midst of integrating with Boeing this month, too. I think I have become my supervisor and program manager's shared long distance migraine, and sadly, we're not even to the hard part yet. It was a lousy time for us to pull chocks and go, but any later, and we'd have been traveling during the holiday season, which would have been a total nightmare.

The hard part about being out here is the disconnectedness. The rest of your world is literally 12 or so hours behind you. It's Friday here, and almost time for breakfast. You guys are just coming back from lunch and it's Thursday there. Right now, with the jetlag, I'm able to run between the two time zones, and make them both work with some ad hoc power nappage. But soon, I know the division will settle in, and it's gonna be hard to participate as fully as I usually do with people I care about. That's the one big downside to this trip: that it is, in fact, partially an exile.

That being said, I'm making the most of it. The other evening, while going out for sushi, the bartender from the jazz bar downstairs saw me, recognized me from past trips, and welcomed me back. I think I've been in that place four times in total, maybe, but the guy took the time. And that's the thing about the locals here: they're Americans, without the jadedness.

Example 2: I was in K-Mart today (there is no Walmart, there is no Target, but we do have Macy's, Coach, and several other high end stores at the Duty Free Section and the Mall, so yeah, again, OOG), trying to pick up some essentials (TSA squashed my toothpaste all over my toiletries bag, nobody on this island brews regular iced tea, so I decided to brew my own, etc), and there were some US Marines visiting.

Now, I'm not sure if they were stumping for Toys For Tots, a program the Corps supports every year that brings toys to needy families to ensure better a Christmas, or whether they were on a recruiting drive, or what. But there were three marines, two men, one woman who might've originally been a local, wearing their best dress and looking sharp in a K-mart. And they were getting fairly well mobbed by well-wishers. Folks were asking to have their pictures taken with them (especially the possibly local girl, which is part of why I suspect her being a local). Young, old, didn't matter. They were speaking praise for these marines' service, and thanking them for that service.

Now, I'm not saying such things are dead in CONUS American culture. It's not. But back on the continent, I've seen military funerals protested. I've seen recruiters told to stay off campuses, when I myself was a college graduate who gladly enrolled and was thankful for my time in service, what it taught me, and what it allowed me to see and do. I've seen folks heckled for being in uniform.

It reminded me of my time in Alaska. A few of us had gone out to eat at the Pizza Hut in Eagle River, about ten minutes or so outside Anchorage. We went to pay the check for the four or five of us who had the buffet, and found that someone had paid it for us. A local walked up, the guy was definitely blue collar, hard-working, and probably didn't have much socked away in savings, but he said he wanted to show us his gratitude for our service. It wasn't political--to this day, I can't tell you if that guy leaned left or right--it was just a gesture from a grateful citizen. It was neighborly.

And I think that's part of the dichotomy here on Guam. Yes, they're a tourist trap: I've told most of you, it's cheaper for a Tokyo exec to pack the family off to Guam for a week and go golfing than it is to golf in most places on the home islands. There are strip clubs here, with real live American girls, which is a big thing for the tourists, as I understand it. Guam's economy lives on tourism.

But the people here, the people that really live here, they're some of the nicest ordinary folks I've met, on average. Helpful, eager, and willing to go the extra step without being asked.

Now, I'm not sure when someone ceases to be a visitor and becomes a local. It could be like Savannah, Georgia, where you're an outsider for years before people start to accept you even provisionally. I know of some locals hangouts, but I don't even know how people make friends around here, given the transitory nature of a large chunk of the largest city's population. So, there are challenges ahead, socially speaking. But wow, if there aren't fewer impediments, too.

So, I'll take the lack of street signs. I'll take a little rain everyday. But, wow. I'll take the rest, too.

There are some non-Guam things on my mind that are weighing me down a bit. Unfinished business that I guess is just getting tossed on a shelf. The hard part is, as someone said to me quite recently, "you're going to be on the other side of the world." That's the thing about the world we live in, though, ladies and gentlemen: it keeps shrinking. Sure, I gripe about the flight out here--you would, too, if you spent longer than a day in planes and terminals--but things like this blog or facebook or email or skype puts me right there, a mouse-click away. And for me, even a virtual presence is enough presence, if only for a time.

I hate to end on a maudlin note. So, tonight (tomorrow for folks that are paying attention), I'll try to catch the sunset beachside. A friend in Fairfax asked me to drink something fruity by the beach, so I figured I'd time it just so for her and get a pic. Maybe I'll catch dinner someplace nice, too. I mean, it is Friday over here, after all.

That's all I've got from where America's day begins. Til later.

The First 36 Hours

Okay, it's been 36 hours since I've relocated to Guam. Let's look at things as they stand.

I started chantix too late. Had something to do with a trip to Chicago, but I brought enough cigarettes to bring me to the point where the chantix should be taking full effect (a week's time), so I should be able to not buy any smokes on the island and quit.

The trip getting here began inauspiciously. Cabbie was late getting me from the hotel, and therefore late getting me to Dulles. On top of that, since I'd assumed cabbie would be on time, I called down to the desk late, knowing that security at Dulles at 0600 was quick and easy. So, their fault, my fault, whatever: I had to reschedule my flight, which put me flying through Narita instead of San Fran and Honolulu.

Suffice to say, 14 hour flights ending in a completely foreign country where English is not the primary language can lead to a bit of shock to the system. I'd been through Narita once before, but had someone else with me. This time, I was solo. And it was intriguing but also a little disconcerting. I found myself looking at westerners and wanting to make friends. This has nothing to do with the Japanese; they've always seemed open and kind to me when we've interacted. It's more the sense of feeling like an out-of-touch minority amongst a majority who seem so with it.

My little lost-in-translation moments aside, the rescheduled flight went alright, aside from an engine needing to be restarted after we'd pulled away from the gate. A few leisurely hours later, I was on Guam. I'd left Dulles on Monday, I'd arrived in the wee hours of Wednesday. I think I left Tuesday somewhere in the vicinity of the International Dateline, never to be noted as having come and gone.

Got the rental car, schlepped the ginormous number of bags into it, and motored down to the Hilton. Apparently, they're overbooked as hell with Christmas rapidly approaching, so despite being a HHonors member, I'm not in the HHonors tower, but the room's still alright. Seeing as I'll be living in a hotel until the middle of next month at the earliest (more on that later), I reckon this is home for a bit, or one of em.

Jetlag plus the late arrival screwed me up yesterday. Slept all day, and consequently, it's 0516 here, and I've been up about six hours or so already. I'm going to power through the day, and hope my clock resets the hard way.

I skipped the palatial breakfast buffet yesterday and got sleep. I'm skipping it again today. Had some take-out sushi for dinner. Not the greatest, but it won't kill me.

Today, I have some goals to accomplish:

1) Try to get a cellphone for local. The regular cell most of you all know and love will be maintained for when I'm back in the continental US (or, as we like to call it in the military CONUS), but I need one here for local calls, the job, etc, and switching plans would be prohibitively foolish and time consuming. This will be a little more costly, but since I'm not going to be using it much, I can skimp on the plan. I plan, once the condo is secured, to get an upgraded skype account, so that I can talk to you all back home via telephone or video chat. I have the free version now, so those of you with skype can try to look me up and make the connection there now.

2) Contact support people for work and let them know I'm here. Fairly straight forward.

3) Get some essentials. While I like Guam, nobody here makes regular, plain-old iced tea. Every thing is flavored, whether it's oolong tea or shangrila (yes, even at McDonald's and Burger King), plus some healthy snack food for the hotel fridge.

4) Haircut. I need one in this weather. Ginger-fro is in effect. Yikes.

5) Gym. I said we're getting back in shape. No time like the present to start it.

6) Look into costs of getting a post office box. If it's fairly inexpensive in the short term, then I may just get one now and save the very kind friends who are catching my mail for the moment from having to do it for any longer than they have to.

7) Settle accounts back home. There are one or two things I left til too late before I flew out, so I'll have to address them. Some, sadly, occurred just before I left, and while I tried to address them, I couldn't. This latter case, they were inter-personal things, and I left them to the other(s) involved to address with me when they were good and ready. I'll confess that I'm a guy who doesn't like unfinished business; I prefer to hash things out to the point where everyone's sick of talking about it. This isn't because I want to make people miserable. On the contrary, it's because I want to understand, so I don't take shared history and go the wrong way with it.

8) A nice dinner. There are a couple places here on Guam that are supposedly really good that I've yet to try. That needs to change.

9) A walk on the beach. It really isn't an island getaway til you've done that, right?

10) Postcards and Christmas Shopping. There are some people I need to write. Best get to writing them and finding them Christmas gifts.

So, that's the plan for today, folks. Hafa adai as they say here!