Switch It Up

Fairy Wands Don't Translate Well

At the hardware stores in Montana, where I shop all too frequently as I try to keep a century old timber frame house from being blown by fierce winter winds into the Montana gravel like so many of  the houses around it have, Rose developed a routine. She would shop for a new fairy wand.
She'd go to the dowel box, and carefully turn over the different diameter dowels until she found one true, usually colored on one tip, and of just the right heft and length. It would be her new wand, at least for a few hours of playing fairy queen. On special occasions I even indulged her with the nice aluminum ones.
Well, we were replacing all our locks on our new house the other day (I found a full set of house keys, two of them actually, hidden inside the water main shutoff box) at the local hardware store. Rose found a box of really cool rattan or young bamboo dowels, each with a knot at the end. Cured very nicely, and even with a glossy finish. Really cool fairy wands if ever there were any.
She carefully tried a bunch out, after tentatively asking permission, and we were both really excited to reenact another of our Montana traditions with a new Malaysian spin.
When we went to pay, the boss lady was not so stoked. There was a look of obvious disgust on her face. She was openly shocked that I was buying that and talking about it with my daughter.
My immediate thought was that it must be a tool for something disgusting. Was the peculiar knot for snagging clogged toilets and extracting the . . ahem. . obstruction?  Was it used to clean out greasy kitchen pipes? What use could be so sickening as to make a lady who was taking hundreds of dollars from me recoil in disgust?
Through our mixed languages, the only thing I could understand was "switch."
Hmmmm. . . I thought. . .  She wants me to switch to a different one?
I did so.
She was equally disgusted.
I tried a third.
Still shocked. Now other people watching too.
"Not for your son." She kept saying. Son / daughter is a common mixup for Chinese speakers. I listened more carefully.
It was more of a question: "Not for your daughter!!???"
"Yeah lah! I replied. "Ta yao wan he zhe ge wan ju." Broken white guy Chinese for she wants to play with this toy. I think.
"What is it?" I asked.
She grabbed it. "A switch." With three vicious strikes she swatted the air, "For cats."
Now it was my turn to be shocked and disgusted. They have a bin of rattan canes for beating cats at Chinese hardware stores.
My shock must have been obvious.
I couldn't believe it.
She registered my disappointment. I'm not sure if she was seeking to assuage my discomfort, or make a sale, but she finished her explanation with pride and finality:
"Dogs also can lah!"

Run!! The police are coming!!!

Rose and I were enjoying our chicken rice today, in the sleepy pre-monsoon grayness of a quiet Taman Mount Austin food court. Really savoring, because good chicken rice is hard to find anymore, and this one was good. Since it was about three in the afternoon, the employees far outnumbered the patrons. All of the cooks were there getting ready for the night shift, and some of the lunch stalls were shut already but still cleaning. Probably a dozen guests, and twenty workers.
Suddenly, the workers were a flash of activity. Every single hand was on deck, heeding a call that Rose and I certainly didn't hear.
Hawker stands were ripped from their makeshift anchors. Chairs and even two tables were overturned in the scuttle. A claypot rice vendor lost two nice clay pots as they fell from his stand. Chains and locks rattled, slatted bamboo curtains noisily coiled and re-coiled, their strings getting tangled, propane tanks were tossed about as if they were footballs.
I walked out the back and looked up, guessing rain at first. Nope. Not rain.
Eventually, though the spectacle was highly enjoyable, the noise became too much. As I know all to well from my own hawker stand days, the stands are all poorly built, the wheels ornamental at best, so the sound of rotten studs being scraped across sheer concrete became too much.
As we were leaving, I caught the attention of the Chicken Rice guy. They were one of the few stalls not closing up. With a shrug and a lift of the eyebrow, I asked him what was up.
"MPJB" He said. Something like that.
Police.
Checking permits.

Random Pics from Week One in Malaysia

Pan Mee seems to be a Johorian specialty. So so good.
Handmade noodles, extra anchovies, ground pork, spice,
and more spice. Slap yo mama good.

Otak Otak. In Malay it means Brains Brains, so Rose and I call it zombie food.
They call it brains because of the off gray color and strange texture.
It's indescribably good.
You take really fresh fish, ocean fish, pound out the flesh into a protein paste,
mix in spices and chiles, wrap in bamboo, and grill over charcoal.
It's smoky, spicy, sweet, fishy, awesome.

Our local temple isn't really local anymore. We used to live next to this one;
now we have to drive across town. Still worth it. Strong strong spirits here.
If you don't believe in Gods, go to this temple, in Taman Tampoi Indah,
and go to the back room, dedicated to the Gods that guide spirits to the
aftwerworld. If you don't feel anything in that room, you may already be dead,
starring in a straight to video M Night Shamylan movie.

Our local park. This Taman (neighborhood) is the boom shizzle.

SO DARN CUTE!!!!

Malaysians aren't afraid of corporate branding. Neither is Rose.

There are at least three types of Laksa in Malaysia.
The most famous is Penang. DO NOT EAT THIS. So damn gross.
The local one for my family is Nyonya Laksa. MMMMMMM....
Some of my best meals have been Melaka Nyonya Laksa.
I finally got to try the third: Sarawak Laksa. Very very tasty.
There is a strong peppery overtone from white pepper. Delicious.

Rose was there to capture the elated moment when I finally resurrected Shrek.
He'd been disassembled for a month.
Emirates airlines took a crack at killing him.
But he's back baby!!!!!!

I know, I know, it's immature.
But if you can't laugh at a restaurant named You Fuck,
well, you just need to laugh more that's all. . . 

Merry Christmas!!!

I got the best present yesterday; went to a bike shop recommended by a new friend, thanks Kenny Chong, to see about my skewer. Kenny's a salesman for an Asian bike company, so he travels from town to town in Malaysia and knows all the bike shops. He said that if any bike shop in Malaysia is going to have a fatbike skewer, it would be one that is actually just down the street from my new house.
First impressions: what a shop! All the top brands, in a really nice modern shop.
Of course, no fatbike skewer. My Trek Farley (Shrek) is probably one of the only fatbikes in Malaysia.
I wouldn't say I was crestfallen, because I knew it would be a shot in the dark, but I was bummed, and my mind was spinning trying to fill the gaps in my workout routine with futsal and yoga.
But Kennt (owner of KHS) was still turning over a couple skewers in his hands, contemplating them. What he did next blew my mind.
He disassembled to pairs of skewers: the longest he had and one with a really small stack height, and put them together to make a rear skewer that will fit the Farley's unique dimensions (Trek uses a proprietary hybrid thru-axle / qr design somewhere between 170 and 190 mm. It was all over in about ten minutes. Voila. New skewers!!!
That's the type of service you just hardly find anymore these days. So impressed.

Which led to my first Malaysian fatbike ride. It's monsoon season over here, so it was an urban ride, all roads, parks and sidewalks. It was a one of a kind experience for sure.
Riding a bike in Johor at night is a super sensual experience: the smells are one of the things that really get you: the hot jungle sweating off the monsoon rains smell of death, decay, but also of bloom and riotous greenery; half the houses you pass are burning incense or piles of leaves, so there is acrid smoke mixed into sandalwood and jasmine; pass by the markets and hawker stands and it's flashes of charcoal, hot wok, boiling oil, rotten gutters, alleyways so stinky a New York hobo would shit his pants, again, passed one stall frying chili oil that made me gag and sputter for a few blocks; you pass by nightclubs and it's cigarette smoke and too-strong perfume from Thai hookers and soft floral notes from the the glitzed-up local girls.
Then you get the sounds. The edges of the jungle at night scream at you. Sometimes it seems like a warning, but sometimes it's an invite.
Dare to duck into the jungle for a bit, as I did last night, and it's bats and spiders, mud and birds. The hot jungle detritus rises in the air with the evaporating rains, so you're always parting a curtain of debris as it rises up into the canopy. Maybe Asians believe in reincarnation because here you can sit back with a flashlight in the jungle, and watch it happen. In the swelter of the soaked jungle, fallen leaves crumble, turn to dust, and rise up to the sky on unseen currents: a mass carbon rapture so thick you can barely see beyond, to the life still here.

Emirate Pirates

DO NOT FLY EMIRATES AIRLINES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

One of their employees in the baggage section has a taste for bicycle parts.
They opened up my luggage, took out little things, most of them from my bike stuff, just enough to make it impossible to put together a fat bike in Malaysia.
I've re-purchased most of what they stole, but I'm stuck on the skewers. The companies that carry them won't ship to Malaysia. Obviously, no bike shop in Malaysia has them either.
I'm at a bit of an impasse on this one, and I'm kind of freaking out at this point. Tomorrow will be one month exactly since I went on a bike ride. That's one month too long for me. No end in sight now.
My wife or somebody in the states will have to order them, have them shipped to Montana, and then ship them to me.
The last package we shipped priority mail to Malaysia took over one month.
So, my few week break from biking is turning into a few month break.
It's making me insane.
What's even worse is the madness of stealing my QR skewers. It doesn't even make any effing sense. Many of the pieces they stole, I totally get it: they either were expensive or they looked like it.
Carbon fiber handlebars and bar end set? I get that. Good call stealing that.
Adamo anatomical road saddle? Sure, it looks pricy, and it was brand new.
Brand spanking new full set of carbide-tipped Stanley tools? Duh. No-brainer.
But, why the EFFING Hell did they steal my Quick Release Skewers??????!!!!!??????
They were threaded for 190 / 135; which means they will be useless in Malaysia, where Shrek is the only bike that uses that standard. They were heavily used, totally scuffed up, and nowhere near valuable or fancy looking.
And, of all the things they could steal (that I wouldn't notice right away) it's the only one I can't seem to replace here.

So, if any of you bikers out there get a chance to punch somebody from Emirates in the grundle, I fully support that mission.

Oh, and one last vent on the subject, in all the debate about Dubai, the Emirates, and Qatar, which I follow closely because of the football implications, one thing you always hear is what a glittering, modern jewels those Arabian metropolises are.
Built on modern slavery and the deaths of thousands of workers, sure, but glittering jewels nonetheless.
Not sure how they've spread that message so thoroughly that it's just commonly accepted now, but that is not entirely the case. I only saw one teeny aspect: the airport. Nevertheless it enjoys a stellar reputation.
Personal experience: that airport is a pit. It's the worst international airport I've been to, outside of the old LAX. It was dirty, poorly-maintained, and largely shuttered. And you have to pay to use the bathrooms. Seriously.

Well, the posts may stay sparse until I get the bike back up and running. Keep you posted.
Much love from Malaysia, to all but the Emirates staff.

Post # 100!!!

My 100th blog post comes right as I look back on 2014, and on my past life in a certain sense because we're doing a big move on Monday morning.
What a crazy, life-changing year!

In one year I:

* Put my old bike Randy to rest, best bike I'd ever had, bike on which I invented my derailleur;
* Started a new family tradition of going to the Dakotas, which are just plain awesome;
* Changed my signature;
* Got a new bike, now my favorite bike ever, my first fatbike;
* Found a world class riding destination right next door in Wyoming, slickrock style;
* Started getting money from my patents;
* Took my first trip to the Pryor Mountains, which are insanely underrated and cool;
* Rose got her first serious MTB;
* Had my twelfth anniversary (Love you Lo Po);
* Took a bunch of trips to my favorite place in the world, and stopped along the way for one of our best times ever at Natural Bridge and Falls;
* Saw many of my bike industry predictions come true, and many more shocking developments in the industry;
* Finally found some good soccer in the area;
* Found a secret stash spot in the valley so beautiful and amazing it knocks my socks off every time;
* Found a camping spot next to WSS that is the cherry on the very perfect cake that is WSS;
* Had a baby bird land on me, and on Rose;
* Rose used her bearspray on a baby black bear on Lulu Pass;
* Rose and I helped Yokie prep for and subsequently nail her citizenship test, after twelve years of trying;
* Did more riding in two days in Cooke City than I had in two years living there;
* Rose had her first backpacking mission;
* Went back alone a week later and almost died in the same area, on a mountain that tried to claim the life of a friend's friend earlier that same year on the same exact spot, a two day mission that changed my life in many ways;
* Raced in five races, and won two or three;
* Became fully consumed by biking and started shaving my legs;
* Got a new cat;
* Got a new dog, earlier, my new best friend;
* Got a new job;
* Got notice my patents are being granted.

That's the best of one hell of a year, in 100 posts or less.
Thanks for reading you guys.

Comparative Crime Statistics Malaysia vs USA (Updated)

There is a widespread, commonly accepted narrative that Malaysia in general and Johor in particular is a crazy dystopian hellscape, riddled with crime.
Finally, it drove me to do a bit of research, specifically:

What are the comparative crime statistics of USA and Malaysia? 

In a couple categories in particular, the results were surprising. 

Robbery Incidents per Capita:

The worst two countries in the world are two of Americans' most-recommended and visited destinations!! 

Mexico	746,894	618.0	2012
Costa Rica	25,066	521.6	2012

@ #14 we have a country that I love, but I have to reluctantly admit, can be sketchy:

France*

123,814

193.7

2012

@ #27-29 some countries of interest:

UK	65,156	116.2	2012
USA	354,520	111.7	2012
Italy	62,641	102.9	2012

@ # 38,39 here we are, finally:

Malaysia	21,419	81.4	2006
Canada	27,680	79.5	2012

Another site agrees, putting the USA the #18th most dangerous for robbery, and Malaysia #40.

Murder Statistics:

Well, it's an American bloodbath out there. You are literally twice as likely to be murdered in the good ol' USA vs Malaysia.
The top 5 are all neighbors:

Honduras	90.4	7,172	Americas	Central America	2012
Venezuela	53.7	16,072	Americas	South America	2012
Virgin Islands (USA)	52.6	56	Americas	Caribbean	2013
Belize	44.7	145	Americas	Central America	2012
El Salvador	41.2	2,594	Americas	Central America	2012

We find the USA down @ #111:

Niger	4.7	803	Africa	Western Africa	2012
United States	4.7	14,827	Americas	Northern America	2012
Latvia	4.7	97	Europe	Northern Europe	2012

@ #150, Malaysia:

Malaysia

2.3

652

Asia

South-Eastern Asia

2012

Notice, in both studies, you're twice as likely do die in the USA intentionally.

LONG STORY SHORT:
Robbery; 30% more dangerous in the USA vs Malaysia
Murder: 2 x as bad in the USA vs Malaysia.

Stay safe y'all!

Stay Safe, You Crazy Americans

Super stoked on the quality of the MSF (Motorcycle Safety Foundation) course that I took in Albuquerque recently. And I had a lot of fun on both bikes I got to ride this weekend, the little Yamaha TW 200 fat tire dirt bike, and my Dad's single cylinder BMW bike. Super fun.

Now it's time for Stewie, my old scooter, and the madness of Malaysian roads.
Safe travels!!!

Photos

Still working on an overhaul of this site. Also moving. As part of both these projects, I've been going through all my old photos, and some of them are worth saving before time and poor storage claims them forever. I posted a bunch on a new Photos section. Check it out here.
Can't wait to be riding in Malaysia!!! Miss my bicycle. Miss my scooter.
Only two weeks left to miss them though, then we're gone! See you on the flipside.

There is life on Mars

Cake Eaters

Inconceivable Realities

Total Rip-Off

I've always loved posters and graphic imaging in the classroom, and to convey information. Posters from ubelievablefacts.org are great examples and that's why there's a whole page of them on this site. In an inspired / plagiarist mood, I've taken the idea and started crawling with it.
From now on, from time to time, I'll post a new entry in my own total rip-off series:

Inconceivable Realities

All info featured is true, though hopefully it surprises you, even to the point you go do some additional research (talking to you guys tuition students) and learn some stuff.
So, to the first poster:

The Donut Man

I love Dr. Laura. Love her.
I'll give you all a minute to picture the Lee you thought you knew, listening intently and nodding along to hours of Dr. Laura.

It may take a few minutes.

.....

...

The other day there was a call that really stood out: The Donut Man call.

A mom was concerned with the fear, paranoia, and obsession with death that her 6 year old son was displaying, and how she should handle these issues before the funeral he was going to attend. She added that it had gotten so bad, even silly little kids' stuff like The Donut Man set him off. Dr. Laura asked what The Donut Man was.

The mom just kept assuring her it was a "kid's thing", or a "children's song"or "kid's videos and stuff." She was kind of all over the place, but her point was clear: society and my peers have approved The Donut Man content for children and so my child watches it. This was the first point of the call that really struck me, this total relinquishing of parental screening to society's standards.

We deal with this all the time. I let our daughter watch a lot of stuff that most people would never let their daughter watch. However, I've overruled a lot of stuff most people think is OK because it's children's content, by society's standards. 

Watch an episode of Spongebob Squarepants. Go ahead. Watch one. Have you ever taken acid? Mushrooms? Read about Ken Kesey's old trips? Maybe some Aldous Huxley? I'm just saying, an episode of Spongebob is like Hunter Thompson writing about a bath gone seriously wrong. I can barely handle it. It's psychologically fractious to say the least.

How about prime time TV on any network? How many dead people would you like your child to see in an evening? I know it's not for kids, but come on, what percentage of Americans huddle around Law and Order with the kids, as young as and even younger than our daughter? Statistics say most do. 

And what about ads? They are literally scientifically engineered to suck you in and program your mind and behavior. That's messed up. We never watch live TV. Only DVR'd stuff, and we always skip the ads. That stuff is mental crack.

For this mom though, an independent and unique analysis of society's standard-approved materials never occurred to her. She wouldn't even engage Dr. Laura on an explanation at first, just repeating it was Kid Approved. Finally, she relented and explained:

The Donut Man is a religious thing where a donut-shaped man teaches us that we all have holes inside that can only be filled by religion and until we fill them we're all a little bit broken inside and in our spirit too. 

Say WHAT!!!!????!!!!

So, you take a highly recognizable and graspable shape, two concentric circles, the donut, literally and figuratively the shape that most kids grasp first; you anthropomorphise it; you have it sing and dance into your child's consciousness at every level with the message that, "Hey kids, you have a hole like me!! Your insides are all messed up, right in your heart! It can only be fixed later, by somebody else! Good night now, sleep tight!" 

And then you wonder why your kid can't sleep?! Woah. That's out there. If you told me that it was a kid's horror story, I'd be more inclined to believe it.

Regardless, this mom makes the decision to make The Donut Man an integral part of her six year old kid's life, and good on her. But, once the kid starts to freak out, it's amazing that even then it never occurred to her there may be a connection. I may let our girl watch Family Guy, but if she starts to talk about giving the dog a Gin and Tonic (Brian the Dog), or making hyper-sexualized and inappropriate comments about the neighbors (Quagmire), or perhaps gets surprised plotting to assassinate my wife (Stewie), at that point I'm going to reassess my entertainment choices. If I come home and Rose is making out with Kip, our dog, I'm not going to ignore Family Guy as a potential contributing factor.

Dr. Laura tried a different tract, since the woman wasn't listening anyway. Even if you sign off on the Donut Man for your kid, what message does that send to your kid when he runs into non-believers, or people from different religions? You've taught him that they are all fundamentally flawed, messed up, missing something. If your kid runs into a foreign classmate and starts discussing these things, and lacks the broader context necessary to understand the ideas of an exclusive religion, there are going to be problems.
The mom didn't consider that. It clearly hadn't occurred to her, and the concept rendered her speechless or a few seconds.

Now, I don't know this Donut Man. I only know what she presented to Dr. Laura.
Probably a pretty safe guess though: there aren't many different colors in his dozen; it's him, and eleven other plain glazed donuts. 

If you haven't see What the Bleep Do We Know? you need to.

What the Bleep do we Know?

Rose's Mini-Meet

BILLINGS GYMNASTICS SCHOOL IS THE BEST!!! 

We'll miss you!!!

My Little Bollywood Dancer!

Detention Billings Style: "Hang 'Em High Boys!!!"

Rose rocked this routine! Best in house at this part. So proud.

Notice of Allowance

I'm like the father of a set of crazy twins who just went to college far far away somewhere; those crazy kids are my patents, and right now they are at the stage where they don't call home much. I usually have absolutely no idea what is going on with them.
Yesterday, I got a call home, and boy was it a good one! My patents have been issued a Notice of Allowance (NOA) by the United States Patent Office. A NOA means that they have survived all the challenges posed by the examiners. This Opposition Period, is like a cross examination of the witness, where the patent office makes sure your claims line up, and don't mess with any pre-existing claims. Once you've survived this stage, there are only a few more formalities and then you get your registration.
My little babies are all grown up!!!
On the same day Rose had a gymnastics meet too! So, all my babies are all grown up.

The Garden State

My new house in Johor Bahru is in Taman Setiah Indah.
Taman = Garden; Setia = Faithful; Indah = Pretty; 
The Faithful Pretty Garden
Faithful and Pretty are not surprising. Very common names throughout Malaysia. So is Taman for that matter. But, in looking at the map of Johor one sees Taman a lot, even for a Malaysian City: Taman Pelangi Indah, Taman Desa Tebrau, Taman JP Perdana, Taman Puteri Wangsa, Taman Kepas Utama, Taman Kempas Indah, Taman Austin Heights, Taman Mount Austin, Taman Austin Perdana; the list goes on and on, those neighborhoods are just the ones right next to Taman Setia Indah on the map. Basically, well over half of the areas in town have Garden in the name.

Having compared JB to Jersey since 2011, this new coincidence makes me think I was always on to something. Consider:
Jersey and JB are viewed by Americans and M'sians respectively to be: big, unsafe, untidy, generally untoward cities. Both are on the coast, and live in perpetual shadows of their glimmering and much more famous neighbors right across the water: NYC and Singapore. Both are noted for manufacturing, shopping, and for being bedroom communities. Both are awash in garish neon waterfronts, loud and provocative urban culture.

These are the common perceptions. I haven't been out East since a long-ago family road trip, so I can't speak for Jersey; as for JB:
* Big? Ehh. Traffic is worse in other cities, especially if you're on a scooter. For such a big city, it is pretty quiet at night also, in most areas; it's a big city, but nothing like KL.
* Unsafe? Definitive NO on this one. Crime statistics in JB are through the roof, but they seem overestimated to me, and I never had any problems in one year there. Even had a dropped wallet returned. Intact. With cash. Lived in Melaka for less time, and had several run-ins: I was surrounded for an attempted bike-jacking, chased for an attempted scooter-jacking, hassled by mat rempit (biker gangs) on several occasions, and hit by a car on purpose on my MTB. All in Melaka, the famously tranquil and safe tourist city.
* Untidy? Not exceptionally.
* Untoward? Aren't all large cities? I didn't find anything outrageously seedy. Saw way crazier in Amsterdam. Amsterdam makes JB look like Amish country.

So, the reality of JB as the Jersey of Malaysia hasn't really panned out.  But that doesn't matter. Jersey is probably lovely. The popular perception remains, however, that it is nothing but the butt of New Yorkers' jokes.
So, what about this garden connection? Any truth to that?
.Jersey is called the Garden State because historically it grew much of the food for the neighboring states Delaware and New York. It was a proverbial overflowing basket spilling into surrounding states.
Johor came to economic prominence when Chinese farmers opened up the area farming Black Pepper and Cat's Claw (for medicine) in the early 19th century. In the 20th century it became Malaysia's number one Palm Oil producer.
So, in both cases, the Garden nickname nods back to a time when Jersey and Johor were both gardens, feeding their fancy neighbors.
Cool!

Long story short, I can continue to simply explain to people who don't know Johor:
"I'm moving to the New Jersey of Malaysia."

The Art of the Brick (and other Pics)

London, Paris, Amsterdam, and Billings Montana:
The Art of the Brick

WHY!!??!!??!!!???

Crazy Kids

Bro Down

Her Cheesecake brings the boys to the yard.