I’m home late because the band had a rehearsal tonight. The band, it seems, has taken to having a rehearsal everynight, which is cool… for now, anyway. We’re playing a benefit gig for a help center for (I think) local workers at 3-D jobs (the 3 Ds being Difficult, Dirty, and Dangerous). We’re working on a few new songs; I need a flute for one, which means I am quite happy to know my baggage will be arriving at my house sometime tomorrow. All the presents and goodies in there share space with my leather jacket and my Western flute. …

So they’re being delivered tomorrow or the next day. Ah well. Got my tanpura (Indian drone instrument) and flute and computer on me… but no change of clothes. Gonna hurry off for a bus so I can get home and get me a nice wash-up at the local public bath. Ah… and find out whether I actually lost 10 kilos or Ritu’s scale is off-balance. Because that’s what her scale says… Better go find me a bus, it’s just after 5pm.

On the day when I find out from Rich that I’m a googlewhack (see Recent Comments in the right sidebar) I go on to find myself stranded in the Bangkok airport. Why? On a day full of too much running around (with successful shopping, no doubt, but not enough visiting with Ritu and John and Koko, and far too much hurrying about) I got onto the plane with plenty of time; we were all boarded on time, actually, but the plane didn’t budge. We were all wondering, what the hell is up with this. A one-hour delay was announced, and …

There’s a Ralpha Stanley song playing in my head, been stuck there since I woke up, and it goes, “Ridin’ the highway hoooome, ridin’ the highway home…” Funny perhaps it is that I should say this about going back to Korea, really, but there you have it. I’ve some last-minute running about to do this morning and early afternoon, and then I’ll get back to Ritu’s. Then I should be at the airport by about 3:30pm, as my flight leaves at 6:30pm. I’ll be in Korea at 1:30-ish local time, and will probably just take a bus to a yeogwan …

It’s at T-shirt Hell. Go look. Especially checkout the “WrapHell” for the biohazard wrapping paper.

This is a random scattering of observations, not an exhaustive recipie: Force-feed him weird smelly red paste with rice. If he makes faces at the gross stuff, force-feed him all the more quickly. Act like nothing’s wrong when, while sitting not a foot from his parents’ faces, screaming out Mummy!!! Daddy!!! at the top of his lungs. When you feed him water, make sure to jam the bottle into his mouth qucikly, before he’s had a chance to breathe following his last gulp. Do this at least fifteen times in a row. Reserve the right to smack him until he …

Today, I realized I am, such a bleeding heart. I could tell myself it was being tired and wanting to take the day slowly that caused me to hire the oldest bicycle-rickshaw pilot around. But I also know in my heart that, knowing I had not much to do, I thought I’d hire one of the old boys since I’ve found not only are they the most trustworthy, but also the ones who get less work. They’re not fast and spry and people therefore overlook them. They also know quite well that most foreigners don’t go in for Emporiums and …

Well, here I am smack dab in the middle of getting better—I’m up and about again, which is more than I can say for last night. Ugh! I must have eaten something funny for breakfast, or maybe something just got into my mouth from dirty hands though I’ve been careful to wash them as often as possible. Who knows, but anyway, last night, after I realized that the Taj Mahal is closed Fridays, I wanted to go see it, but I was horribly ill. I was in a restaurant (Pizza Hut, no less, which I went to in order to …

I spent yesterday afternoon on a train from Jaipur to Agra, from whence I continued on to Fatepur Sikri. I made the trip to Fatepur Sikri by taxi, which was driven by a fascinating conversationalist by the name of Sado. We talked about his vwey unusual life, including how he met his Korean wife on the train once in India, how their courtship-via-commute worked (she came to India seven times in five years to see him) and how finally told her parents if she was going to marry anyone, it would be him—at which point they finally acquiesced after years …

Ooops, mentioned Orkut but then said nothing about it. Charlie invited me to orkut.com, which is a kind of online friends-network thing. I’ve joined under the alias gorduncle. It looks like it could be an interesting service, but I’m not gonna explore it much till I’m back in Korea. But you should go check it out!