"Papa, sit down!"

This is what my daughter said to me this morning as I was getting ready to leave, and she could tell. Two out of the last three times I've left, she didn't cry. I wish I could visit often enough so that she never did.

But that's all a complicated story, involving temporary insanity, arson, etc. for another time...

I read in the Manila newspaper yesterday that rescue diver's had almost finished working to recover the bodies from a recent boat accident. Over night, the buoy marking the location of the wreckage had been stolen. So forever the rest of the bodies will remain. This is such a typical story for the Philippines that even it holds no irony for me.

After visiting my daughter I returned on the same boat route that killed 12 people six months ago. Thankfully it was mid-day and calm weather and the trip went without incident. Last time I had been on that boat, winds sent random waves to the top and over the plastic tarp that covers the passenger area of the wooden and bamboo banca boat. Many passengers got wet along with some luggage, and a few were throwing up. I was listening to Tool on my cell phone with headphones and watched it all as if in a movie. I luckily got off the boat completely dry and my luggage intact.

I was on a three night trip, first to drop off some heavy luggage at my friend's house and pick up my spear guns. Then a day in Manila to move my drums, documents, and climbing gear from there to another house. Finally, on my way home stayed the night with my daughter. My plan to live here included the hope that I can visit more often. Unfortunately, I cannot stay in this city.

The foreigners here are an ugly breed, over half wearing Puerto Galera t-shirts. I can't figure it out, are they afraid that they'll forget where they are?! Some of the shirts even have a map on the back. I don't understand. Maybe they should come with a compass stitched in the collar.

This place is for a weekend of SCUBA diving and hookers. Neither are on my to-do list.

So moving again! I have a lead on a P15,000 all inclusive apartment or a P25,000 plush house. Not sure which I'll take yet. One thing is for sure, I need to start swimming every day and get into better shape. And play volleyball.

The volleyball and swimming should help me when I go diving in Moalboal.

I stole a Hunter Thompson book from my friend's house. reading him makes me want to make shit up to mix into my diary. Not that I don't think I have anything interesting to write. It's just so interesting to read those outrageous stories mixed in with the memoir. I know I have the opportunity; I've been all over the place and half of the shit I could embellish couldn't be readily checked anyway. But I resist. Everything you read shall be true, if boring at times.

So I have my teachers now. If I could capture the wit of Mark Twain, the sarcasm of Kurt Vonnegut, the ability to explain like Issac Asimov, the clarity of Hemingway, and the outrageous moods of Hunter Thompson, someone might actually read this.

"Like a key hidden in your head." My award winning essay on combination locks is still festering towards greatness in my head. I'm still not ready.


And hopefully my future award winning book is in there as well. The plot of this book is a future world where you're allowed to kill one person a year legally. Mad Max, old west style.

"The best time to plant a tree was twenty years ago. The second best time is now." Read that in a blog today.

later...
james