Word up

God has a sense of humor. You know that, right?

Right after I moved here, I got notice from the feds that I’d qualified for some job, could I come in and do this six-hour assessment?

Well, no, I couldn’t. But fortunately, they were able to defer my application for a year. I have until April 27 to take it.

(Note: This doesn’t end with me getting job at this juncture, but I like the story)

Apparently, in the application, I swore I had or would obtain some Microsoft specialist certification I’d never heard of. Upon taking the assessment, I would have 30 days to prove I had the certification.

I didn’t have it. I know Word fairly well, but as it turned out, they wanted Word 2007 and I only had 2003. The newer (but not newest) version is a HUGE upgrade. Like the difference between my 4Runner and my mom’s. I am not familiar with that at all. Specialist? Yeah, right.

But I’m a fairly competent person, right? And I can prepare. I contacted Workforce Plus (they know me there, which really is kind of sad) and got a tutorial, which I’ve been playing with in my free time. Free time, however, is not in abundance right now. (See previous post.)

The test cost $70, which was an ordeal in itself to pay. First off, I don’t have a bank account here. It works for me because all I do is go twice a month to banks: one, my cable company’s and two my utility people’s. I fill out a form and hand over cash. I have an .80 cent fee to do one of those and the other is no cost (unless you count the Dunkin Donut I usually splurge on as I leave the banking complex).

To pay this bill, I had to go to yet another bank. They gave me two options, and, seeing the name of one of those on a big building nearby, I tried there first.

Swing and a miss. Not only had they given me the wrong account number, I learned that even if you wave a stack of rupiah, an ATM card and an American Express card at the bank for this particular purpose, they will not take your money. They wanted US cash, which I don’t have. You know, seeing as how I don’t live in the US.

Thwarted, I went home and emailed the nice lady back. They took away that bank option and told me to go to the other and gave me the rupiah amount. Yay.

Finding that bank was a challenge, but it turned out to be under my nose. It’s a BCA bank, which I figured had to be in the three-building (soon to be four) World Trade Center across the street. But I’ve been in all the buildings and have never seen it. I looked on the way back from that little excursion and came up empty.

Google is a wonderful tool and I searched for the bank and two sites assured me that there was a branch in that complex, even stating which building. I also wrote down two other alternate locations within two kilometers from my apartment.

Sure enough, there is one right across the street. I hadn’t seen it because it’s in the building clearly marked “HSBC” and on the second floor, not visible when you walk in.

(Aside: I never knew HSBC was a foreign bank. I honestly thought it was based in the US and, although I knew it didn’t stand for either “Holy Shit, Buffalo’s Cold” or “Hot Sauce Blue Cheese,” I thought it was in upstate NY. Blame hockey rink sponsorships.)

Anyway, I went to the mezzanine level and, with the help of four people, paid for the test.

Then I got pushed back a week in taking it on their end because of computer issues and then a day on my end because of a snafu at work wherein I needed to change my day off.

In the meantime, I practiced this tutorial but, the whole time, had it in the back of my mind passing the thing on the first shot was a long shot. I mean, I had never used the software. I gave myself a 40 percent chance to pass it on the first shot. Not good, but if it was the lottery I’d play.

So my prayer this morning, and I am not kidding, was to pass. Not to pass with flying colors. Just to pass. I told God I didn’t care if I passed it by two points, I just really needed to pass it, please.

I didn’t write off having to take it again, but time’s awastin’ on this one. Depending on the results, I either needed to re-take the thing or try to schedule an assessment and buy a trans-oceanic plane ticket. No pressure there.

So yeah, passing would be in my best interest. I didn’t care by how much.

And really, as the joke goes, what do you call the person who graduates at the bottom of her medical school class?

"Doctor."

Who remembers what someone made on the test? Passing grade, please Lord.

The test was bizarre. The tutorial I had was 55 questions. The Real Thing only had 25 or so, and 45 minutes to take. I had the option of skipping a question to come back from it, which was good.

Some of that’s stuff WAS NOT in the tutorial. I had never SEEN some of that crap before. I mean, I was fumbling around like a blind person. Other things I knew how to do but not to alter. The screen didn't even look like my tutorial. Once I accidentally hit "forward" when I meant to hit "skip," meaning I sent in a blank answer and automatically got it wrong.

Finally, I clicked “forward” and the screen blanked. I’d sort of lost track of how many I’d answered – I kept cycling through the skipped questions, like a game of solitaire – and suddenly I was at the end. It took its sweet time in tallying up the results.

Passing grade: 660.

My Grade: 700.

I freaking passed. I am a "specialist" without ever having touched the software. Thank you, Jesus, who, in my mind, was way too literal in answering my prayer. (Of course, I *had* only asked for a two-point margin so maybe it wasn’t as literal as I felt it was.)

I sat there and laughed until I had tears falling.

So the next step in this saga-in-the-making is to see if I really can schedule the assessment and I’ve put that in motion.

As soon as I got home, I notified the potential employer and put into motion rescheduling thing. They would have gotten it Friday morning Eastern time.

Then I slept well. Very well.

Saturday morning, I checked my e-mail and I have *already* been rescheduled. This is another Act of God, so far as I am concerned because the assessment is six hours and likely involves multiple people whom I have inconvenienced for asking for this 11-month late favor.

But not only has it been rescheduled, it’s been set at a time that’s good for me. April 9, which means that I can leave here for Florida then go to DC and then return from DC back to Jakarta and not have to deal with either lost travel time or two separate RT tickets during what will likely be a two-week break or so.

I am Spartacus, and I am so thankful.

And, quite honestly, I have been so worried about all this that at this very moment, I am beyond relieved. So beyond relieved that I have don’t even recognize the feeling.

I figure it's something like acknowledging you've been the brunt of someone's twisted sense of humor. Like God's.

On Target

This place, I suppose, is a shopper’s dream. There are malls everywhere. Granted, they have the same old stores in them, but my God they are everywhere.

There are low rent malls, such as the four within a 20-minute walk of my place, and there are much nicer ones. I think I’ve been to three of those. Not in awhile, though.

I hate shopping, but between the lack of days off and inability to do anything other than work during a given day, I tend to at least consider going to a mall on my floating day off. They’re Someplace Else, and they’re air conditioned. (Yes, I know it’s winter in the States, but it was 93 degrees F here today.)

This week I pulled the trigger. I was on the hunt (which is better than shopping) for a different brand of rechargeable batteries for my MP3 player. I brought one old Duracell, but it has never worked in the little MP3 player. I have been buying regular batteries but I feel guilty about throwing them away and decided I’d try a newer rechargeable one.

My reasoning was that perhaps the MP3 was a little advanced for the Duracell, which I bought eons ago for the digital recorder back in my reporting days. Since then, technology has advanced and I noticed the same brand/age of batteries, only larger, don’t last long in my year-old digital.

So I figured I’d try with new AAAs. This is a good month to do it because it’s a short one, meaning the March paycheck will roll around a bit quicker and the February check doesn’t have to last quite as long.

Last week, my Giant grocery store failed me in that they had the AAA rechargeables, but only in a package with the charger. Since I have one of those, no deal. (Oh, and further failing me, they no longer have my little Polos. That habit didn’t last long.)

Just beyond my four-mall perimeter, there’s a new mall.And my “just beyond,” I mean you can spit from the one with the Walmarty store. There’s a driveway between the two.

At this juncture, I’m not sure if it’s a nice mall or a low-rent one because it’s brand-spankin’ new. Very few of the store are even open. The rest basically have “coming soon” over them. I noticed a fitness center, some place that will have North Face stuff and another Ace Hardware. Foodwise, there’s an Outback. Score!

If the Walmarty store is in the basement of the mall next door, the BS’N mall has the Targety one. Oh, my. It was, indeed, the anti-Walmarty store. Granted, I was in a building that’s only about 10 percent open at 2 p.m. on a Thursday, but it was almost pleasant. (Almost.)

And it’s a little more expensive. I found the batteries and had figured I’d do a little early grocery shopping but was bummed that everything was just slightly higher than even the Walmarty store, which, unlike Walmart, is slightly more expensive than my regular grocery store.

They do not have moon pies, which was a severe disappointment because the store is owned by the same conglomeration that makes the moon pies.

Though they do have Polos. That’s a point in favor. They cost the same at Targety as they do as Walmarty.

Having had no clue what the BS’N mall would bring, I loaded up the cash just in case. I am in desperate need of pants.

And I’m still in desperate need of pants. It’s getting more desperate because it’s becoming clear that there is no way I’m going to find anything other than capris to wear here. Except most capris – like the ones I tried on this week – don’t fit over my linebacker calves. We’re talking a two-handed effort to get them off. Targety Store did have some other capris that were more cargo-ish, but unfortunately, in the three piles of clothes in three different colors they had, not a one was in what I think is my size.

With the exception of the beachy capris I bought here already – which are really too casual to wear to work – I can take off every pair of pants I own off without unbuttoning them. And it’s not a struggle. That is what I mean by “desperate need.”

But I’d convinced myself I deserved a splurge so I perused the shirts. And again, I just couldn’t wear the women’s stuff, but I did find a men’s shirt I liked. And I had to go with a large … sheesh. People are just smaller here; there is no way this would fit a US man. I tried on a medium and I guess I also have linebacker shoulders. It wasn’t working.

So I am now the proud owner of a single batik shirt. Batik is basically a print (most have somewhat of a floral-ish basis, but not really Hawaiian floral, sometimes it’s more like bandana floral), and there are many, many kinds. Other SE Asia countries have similar prints, too – many of the patterns have cultural significance.

I’ve not a clue what this one is except it’s not too terribly loud. Brown-based, not too flashy. It was either that or green and the 5-6 people manning the clothing section all agreed brown was the best color for me (lone customer, a white person, I got attention), so I went with that.

The Friday staple in Morocco is couscous; in Indonesia it’s batik. Everyone who owns it brings it out. Even the guys who work in the wartegs (portable food stalls) bust out matching batik on Fridays (OK, maybe not all, but one in particular where I wave to 6-7 guys every night.). It’s like casual Friday, except batik isn’t necessarily casual.

But I got to wear my new shirt, and, like when you get something new as a PCV, *everyone* notices. I got all kinds of looks on my way to work. I mean, not that I don’t normally, but more pronounced than usual. Akin to the first time they all saw me in my Ace boots. I collect thumbs-ups.

Other than that, 2012 is still not up to billing. Beyond missing/mourning Kocur, I am still completely swamped at work. We’re down 4-5 people and working 30-40 minutes late every night is routine. Not overtime, mind you. Extra. If I got overtime, that’d help a little.

Twice this week, despite the theory that 11 p.m. is quitting time, I have been there after midnight. Once we subbed out a story for A2, which would seem like it would have been for breaking news, but when I was trying to fact-check what I could at 11:45 p.m., I found other news services had their stories on the wire for eight hours at that point.

Drew the short straw on Friday, too, in that I grabbed the last story available, which took until 12:10 a.m. to finish. It’s just insane. And it takes me a solid 30 minutes to get home.

We’re getting a new guy this week, I think, but technically he’s a desk up. I think it might alleviate a little, but considering that will only add one person overall and that “desk up” when I got here had four people and this new person will make three doesn’t really instill me in a lot of hope I’m suddenly going to be home at 11:30 every night. Or even once a week.

It’s really getting old, too. It’s time to figure out what happens after mid-April and the thought of working at this level another 12 months is just too exhausting to wrap my head around. As it is, I quite literally do nothing other than working out and working. I get up at 7 and grab breakfast, then head downstairs to the fitness room. I’m back up at 11:30 or so and I crash until 12:30 or 1 to eat lunch and head to work. And do it all over again. Joy.

It’s not much to look forward to, but there’s still nothing in the States, at least that I’ve seen.

RIP My Little Yellow Dog

This week’s been rough. I had to give the OK to put down My Girl Kocur, and it’s even worse when you have to do it long distance.

Kokadoke, who according to the Dearborn Animal Shelter was about 12 but according to Wendy could have been older since shelters fudge on ages, had had a rough few weeks.

She visited the vet just after Christmas and was diagnosed with hip dysplasia, basically losing control of her right hip. She became a daily drug user and the vet told us she’d have good days and bad.

Unfortunately, it went downhill from there. Two weeks ago, I Skyped her in an effort to cheer her up and make me feel better. Unfortunately, neither one of those happened. In the past when I’ve Skyped her, she has jumped up in whatever parent’s lap had the headphones and looked all around, trying to find her momma. She’s known it’s me.

Not this time. She was sad and lethargic, and watching her trying to stand up made me cry. Hardwood floors aren’t kind when you’re trying to drag yourself up.

And it got worse. I called on a weekend, I think, and by Thursday the next week Daddy emailed and said Koke had lost the use of both her legs. Already, she had to be lifted on and off the bed and this just made it worse. She couldn’t drag herself farther than the porch. He said it was time.

After going back and forth with Zippy and Wendy, I finally gave the OK.

But once there, Kocur, still in the car, fought being muzzled, so Daddy figured she wasn’t ready yet. We got a new breath of hope when the vet later suggested a laser treatment, sort of like chiro, that had done wonders for other dogs.

They offered a package deal and we opted to try it on Saturday. Turns out, Kokey had two herniated disks (I am not sure about the hip dysplasia, but this time she had X-rays) and went through the first round of what we thought would be a package of six.

But it didn’t take. She got substantially worse (even turning down bacon) and on Monday my parents took her in. She didn’t fight this time and went quickly. She was ready.

For a mere $61, you can off your best friend. Not a comfort.

Obviously, I am upset, not only because she’s gone and I’ll never see her again, but because I wasn’t there when she needed me.

But she would have forgiven me. Dogs are like that. Whatever you do, they love you unconditionally. And they have lousy memories for bad things their people do to them.

Like send them to live with their grandparents when you’re working 70 hours a week or go to Morocco for PC. Doesn’t matter. You come back, your best friend forgives you.

I've had "Love Me Like My Dog" going through my head for a week.

I found Kocur on Petfinder.com, which is a fantastic site. I searched for “beagle,” but Kocur wasn’t so much a beagle. She was nothing but a pound dog, a Detroit stray.

When I was hunting for a pal, I visited her first. Not seeing the “do not open cages” sign, I saw her and joined her, playing catch with a ball she had. Sold, I was.

But I had to think about it, and alert David, my roommate at the time, we were getting a new housemate. I remember I got home and sent out emails with her Petfinder link, saying this was going to be my baby.

I don’t remember who it was, but someone replied saying something like, “Oh, you already got her; I see the ‘adopted’ banner on the page.’”

NOOOOO! I hadn’t. Someone *else* came after me and stole my dog.

I mourned Young Yeller. She was the one for me, and I knew it.

A week or so later, the Dearborn Animal Shelter folks called me, telling me she’d been brought back, was I still interested.

Of course I was! I headed out there right after work, not even bothering to ask *why* she’d been brought back.

When I got there, I saw my baby, all sad in a case bearing a sign that said “Beware, Bad Dog” or something like that. Turns out, she’d bitten someone and had been returned. She was going to be put down then had I not come for her.

That night, we played fetch and hung out. Oh, and I took her walking and she not only nipped someone but also got bit by some other dog. I carried her home because she was scared.

She came named as Kaycee, but no way was that going to stay. I needed a “K” name and a colleague suggested Kocur. It fit, although I didn’t know it at the time.

When I tried to enroll her at obedience school, she attacked the teacher. When I alerted Joe Kocur to this (because I knew somehow he’d find out --*cough* Duff *cough*), he laughed all the way down the hall at Joe Louis Arena, saying *he’d* never been convicted.

Kocur’s first weekend with me, we went to Red Wings camp in Traverse City and I freaked her out because I was screaming at whatever FSU football game was on TV in the hotel room.

She got her payback, though. When I left her with my roommate (different roommate, Scott was clueless) on another FSU football weekend, he reported that she had been “great” all weekend and had “stayed in her room” and “been a good girl.” Well, as I climbed the stairs to my room and turned the corner, she had DESTROYED the comforter and pillows. Vengeance was hers, for sure.

I bought her a kennel, foolishly thinking that she’d like her new bed. She loved her new bed, but it wasn’t the kennel -- she opted for my bed instead. I’d come home and she’d be *inside* the sheets, her head on my pillow.

As soon as I'd leave for work, she'd run back up the stairs and go back to sleep, a fact I'd suspected for awhile in Detroit and confirmed one day when I forgot something and had to run back home to get it.

Toys were a big part of her world, starting with my stuffed animal tiger rug, which became hers. My youthful Missy K O’Cur photos are in Florida, but I have a great shot of her chewing that thing, which was bigger than she was (at least at the time).

I’d bring her toys when I came down for FSU games. She went for the noses first. Her little blonde brain had a lot of trouble processing the elephant, though it delighted her. She had a thing for pulling the plastic eyes off, too. And I'll probably still be unearthing stuffed animal carcasses in the Havana backyard 10 years from now.

Like lots of dogs, she was terrified of thunder. The Fourth of July and New Year’s Eve were the most-feared days of her life, followed by thunderstormy afternoons. Lord, try having a 34-pound monster sitting on your chest in bed and under the covers as she pants straight into your face. Not fun.

Even though Kocur hasn’t been physically with me since I have been in Jakarta, I miss her. And I know when I go back to Florida, it’s going to start all over again. I’ll see her chair and cry again, and probably will find her toys under this piece of furniture or that one for years to come.

She would remember where the toys were, too. I’d come back and tell her to “get Toy” (this was a proper noun) and she’d drag something back a few minutes later. Or she’d just walk over to some piece of furniture and stare under it, then at me, willing me to get down on all fours and fight the dust (and knee pain) to fish out something she’d left there three months earlier.

In that way, she was bright. In others, well, let’s just say she must have taken after her father. Not something she got from my side of the family, for sure.

I’d stand hidden in the bathroom, out of sight between two rooms in Havana. I’d call her and she’d run from one room to the other, trying to find me. No matter how many times I did this, she would never think to look in the bathtub, where I was standing.

I could go on and on, but I won’t. The screen’s too blurry. I miss my old yeller dog.

I am thankful that both my parents took such good care of her, with Daddy sitting with her that last weekend and Zippy not minding (or pretending to mind) that Kokey pooped in the bed. Daddy also took the photos posted, so I have some of her last days. Wendy’s pretty much been counseling me through this, too.

And I am glad to know real pet people who know what I am going through. Some folks just don’t get it. I’m really glad I know people who do.

Thank you for indulging me.

Toes in the sand will have to wait

Well, I jotted off to Malaysia for the third time, which used up my Delta credit. All told, including the balance of the plane ticket (I didn’t have enough left to cover that third ticket in full), I think I spent less than $150.

The plan went awry a bit, but I guess it wouldn’t be a true getaway if it didn’t. My flights to date had been so on time, I forgot sometimes they’re late, but that’s what happened.

Instead of arriving to the hostel at 11:30 p.m. like I had twice before, I was still at the train station at 1:30 a.m. Luckily, Suzy, the nice host at Traveller’s Palm, waited up for me.

So I couldn’t bear to ask her to wake up early for me to head out to Penang, which had been my original plan. Buses left at 7, 8, 9,10 and 10:30, and I’d hoped to be on the 7.

Well, so long as it spring eternal. I wound up getting on the 10 a.m. bus, which should have mathematically gotten me in around 2, but somehow I got there at 4. Ah well. I’d known it would be a quick vacation and not so much a relaxing one. The point, again, was just to get out of Jakarta and it worked for that.

When your trip’s goal was simply to stick your toes in the sand, it’s going to be a pretty modest trip.

Unfortunately, I didn’t manage to meet the goal, as I was a ways away from the sand beach, but I did the next best thing, which was to jaunt over to the jetty, where I plopped myself down on the rocks and listened to “Red Headed Stranger” and watched a couple of fisherman, lots of trash, a couple of chum pieces and then a live lizard entertain me for about an hour.

I guess I was an odd site, because this little stop was decidedly NOT a tourist spot. Two police officers came by to check me out, likely because they thought I’d made a wrong turn. Nope, I just sat under a tree, kicked off the Chacos and chilled out.

And that really was a highlight. I guess it sounds trite, but it was what the doctor ordered.

Not the chiropractor, unfortunately. Somehow I managed to throw out my back the first night and yikes. I really could barely walk, so it was nice to just sit at times.

Between that and the horrid blister I got on the top of my foot – right on the bunion scar – well, I am still in a bit of walking pain. And I did my last chiro visit this morning, so uh-oh on that.

Got sunburned, too, but not really all that bad. The weather is just so much nicer than Jakarta, likely because there are more green spaces and less air pollution.

Unlike last trip, not once did I eat in a restaurant. Instead, I opted for the food stalls. I have no idea what the food is, but basically if you put enough rice around it, I’ll eat it. I think I had Chinese, Indian and Thai, but I’m not really sure. I did miss out on a burger, which is kind of sad. I could use a nice hunk of meat about right now.

My last evening in Penang, I was set to take the overnight bus back to KL and then have a morning there before flying out. Considering I made no reservations in advance, it was a tad risky, but it worked out.

That last evening, it rained, and as I was wandering back to the hostel (another good choice – Penang Guesthouse) and trying to find the store that had this shirt I wanted, I witnessed a motorcycle accident. A man was driving and in the rain, he just skidded into another parked bike, sending his wife flying.

Fortunately, unlike in Jakarta, riders in Malaysia wear helmets or it would have been really, really bad. She pretty much landed on the side of her head, but she not only had the helmet but also a face shield. You could see where it had scraped – it looked like she’d stopped a slapshot.

The poor thing was incredibly dizzy and petty much fell over. I and her husband got her to sit down and a couple of shopkeepers brought a chair for her. She was *really* out of it and in pain, but after about half an hour she was back in her right mind. She worked at a hospital and knew the importance of X-rays, so I’m sure she’ll be fine.

I sat with her about 45 minutes as her husband tried to find alternate transportation. Their bike was OK – a broken rearview – but no way was she able to get back on. She was amazingly dizzy and said it hurt badly through her jaw.

I was just so relieved she was wearing a helmet. I mean, that could have been tragic.

The little time setback was enough to make me miss the dinner rush as well as the shirt. I never found the store again, so I guess it was closed by that time. I’m sure I’ll eventually find another clothing item that works for me.

The overnight bus back was all it was cracked up to be, including the freaking frigid temperature. I did not sleep more than one hour, if that, and was so cold it was insane. I pulled out my extra set of clothes and put the pants on up to my knees (I’d brought two pairs of capris) and pulled on the neck of the extra shirt and left my arms in. I still shivered all the way back.

And of course, we made great time on the way back. And what do you do in KL at 5:30 in the morning? Well, in my case, you sit in what is sort of a concrete park/bus station area/homeless person domain and try to get warm, which I discovered is hard even in tropical zones before the sun comes up.

There was a 24-hour McDonald’s right across the way, but I figured at that hour the AC would be blasting specifically to keep riffraff like me out, so I hung out and continued to listen to the MP3, although by that time I think I was on Phil Vassar.

At some random point, a man with a broom shooed me out, saying he needed to clean. I noted of all the people who were taking up less-than-valuable real estate, I was the only one he moved. I was the only white one and the only one who was awake. Both/either could have been factors.

So at that point, maybe 6:30 or so, it was still somewhat dark and chilly, but I decided to occupy McDonald’s anyway. And sure enough, it was darn cold, but they had hot htea.

My attempt to get a value meal (tea and hash brown) fell through and I just got the tea, but it turned out to be a bargain. Free refills, which is nice when you’re trying to warm up and wait out the sunrise.

I sat upstairs with what appeared to be more WASPy folks fresh off some kind of travel. They had wireless items, though. But I had tea, and that was important.

After four cups, I was pretty much ready to go except for the fact the McDonald’s staff was cleaning the bathroom. Do the math. I opted to wait it out and was entertained in the process.

During the whole time the woman cleaned the bathroom – which had to have taken 45 minutes – no fewer than seven guys came up to try to use it. She turned them all away. One guy plopped down next to me and tried to wait it out and I could tell by his fidgeting he was in a hurry. He would up leaving the building, probably to pee on the side of it.

The staff member did allow one woman with a small child in as she was cleaning, but the men were tossed out. For whatever sadistic reason, I thought that was funny.

After waiting out the facilities and grabbing a fifth cup of tea for the road, I wandered Chinatown again, though I didn’t eat there. The tea pretty much filled me up, so I waited until I got back to my old stomping grounds near the hostel to eat.

I walked the fancy schmancy mall and was again unimpressed (and unable to find a reasonable sports bra) and headed out the door, where I encountered all the painted bears.

By that point, it was nearing lunch and I figured I should give Little India one last go before heading to the airport, even though I was still stuffed from the fried rice I'd had as a late breakfast.

So I took one for the team and tried to find Little India, but I took a wrong turn. I’d been a little put off because on the monorail some Kenyan I’d never met before essentially professed his eternal love for me, so once we got off I just started walking.

I missed Little India but there are food stalls everywhere and I just wandered into one and said to bring me something. It had rice and was pretty darn good, although that time the tea didn’t do it for me. Too milky.

Basically, though, I feel I’ve pretty much eaten my way around Malaysia, although I’ll be damned if I’ve eaten anything Malaysian. I’m not even sure what that means, but I can guarantee you, if you’re hungry, that is a really good place to go.

Da Bears

I'm back from Malaysia for the third time, and likely the charmed final time as my Delta credit is finished.

Will do a proper wrapup with photos later, but for now, here are three from a display in front of one of the Kuala Lumpur malls.

I've no idea of what the display was for except some kind of world peace. They had all these bears painted and lined up. I started snapping away and then realized there was one for every country, though I'm not sure what the Mendoza Line was for being recognized. I didn't search, for example, for East Timur or South Sudan.

More photos are to come, but for now, here are the three from the countries where I've lived. And if you can't tell what's the U.S., Morocco and Indonesia, well, you're just not trying.


Click to enlarge if you're so inclined.