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Below are all reports from 2006 in chronological order with the oldest first. To view more recent reports simply scroll down this page or use the “Report Finder” below.
All pictures are “clickable” for better viewing.
Fill in your e-mail address below to automatically receive updates directly in your mailbox as they are available. We will also inform you when and where the film can be seen.
Report Finder
A Simple Choice - February 11th, 2006
On the Road Again - March 2nd, 2006
Special Report from Africa (Zambia) - March 10th, 2006
Paradise Lost... - April 8th, 2006
Men Without Women - May 27th, 2006
Diary of a Vagabond - July 26th, 2006
The Meaning of Life - December 17th, 2006
Mexico Revisited - March 16th, 2007
Love at First Sight? - May 6th, 2007
In Our Darkest Hour... - August 26, 2007
Heart of Africa... - October 17th, 2007
Happy New Year! - January 1st, 2008
Obama vs. McCain - October 10th, 2008
God Bless America! - December 21st, 2008
God, Women, Dogs, and Quentin Tarantino… - April 24th, 2009
Patrick Swayze (R.I.P.) - November 15th, 2009
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Cartoon my father sent to Bolivia in the 80s when I was considering smuggling cocaine...
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Date: Saturday, February 11th, 2006
Time: 2 pm
Place: A Campground near Cape Town, South Africa
Weather: Sunny and Warm
Temperature: 34° Celsius, 93° F
Enviroment: Oddly Familiar
Buggy Condition: Excited!
Tom's Condition: Ready!
Yoshiko's Condition: Bemused...
Equipment Condition: Intact
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As a small boy I had a boundless curiosity about how things worked. I took apart and rebuilt everything from motorcycles to old washing machines and became an adept, self-taught mechanic. As an older boy I philosophized extensively about when time began, where the universe ends, and whether or not there is a God. I developed a fair grasp of the modern theories of time and space as well as some understanding of world religions. Then I reached puberty and discovered girls.
I began to do research in earnest; but decades later I had made little progress. Though I could find the G-spot on almost any female, answers to the really big questions like why women go to the lavatory in pairs always eluded me...
Until now.
Over the holidays I read Marina Muratore’s “Bluffer’s Guide to Women”.
So confident am I in my newfound knowledge of females that I have decided to undertake yet another great adventure with Yoshiko. And why not; now that I understand how women work we won’t ever have to fight again, right?
Our friend Charlotte from South Africa has been graciously storing the Buggy in Cape Town since we left there. She was between cars and the rent on her garage had been paid in advance. Now her contract has expired and the owner will not renew it, so the sleeping Buggy has to be dealt with.
For about fifteen hundred dollars it could be safely and conveniently shipped back to Europe.
Or - for about fifteen THOUSAND dollars, months of lost work, endless bureaucratic hassles, guaranteed mechanical breakdowns, extensive physical discomfort, a daily diet of scraped knuckles, cuts, bruises, blood, sweat, and tears, and with the odd life-threatening situation thrown in now and again for good measure - it could be driven back!
Looking at it that way, the choice seems obvious.
Yoshiko has already made me promise to have music in the Buggy for the return trip, so how hard can the adventure be? Next thing you know she will be asking for cold drinks, a pillow, and a roof over her head and well, jeez, then we might as well take a Land Rover!
Paris-Dakar is considered by many to be the most grueling off-road race in the world. We will voluntarily travel that entire course backwards, plus twice that distance again in some even less chartered territory.
All in the tiny open Buggy.
All without any backup whatsoever.
And all without a fridge, a phone, or a GPS.
But hey, this time we will have music. Besides, the Buggy is in good shape, we don’t need to acquire visas for Libya or Sudan, AND - now I know why women go to the bathroom in pairs.
So the return trip will be a breeze!
Pictures:
1) Updated lettering coutesy of Display & Sign.
2) NYC from the Empire State Building.
3) Interesting road sign.
4) On the road again!
5) Hope the weather holds.
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PS: Women go to the lavatory in pairs because A; Women seek safety in numbers, B; They want to get together to exchange confidences, C; They don’t trust the other woman enough to leave her alone with the men, so they encourage her to come too, D; They don’t want to use the lavatory at all, just the mirror to check their make-up.
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We have traversed Africa from the Sahara to the Kalahari...
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Date: Thursday, March 2nd, 2006
Time: 21:00 (9 pm)
Place: Solitaire in the Namibian Desert
Weather: Very Hot and Dry
Temperature: 38° Celsius, 100° F
Enviroment: Barren
Buggy Condition: Good
Tom's Condition: Sunburned - Again
Yoshiko's Condition: Fat (Relatively Speaking)
Equipment Condition: Satisfactory
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It is dusty and very hot. We are crossing the Namibian Desert more than one hundred miles (160 kilometers) from the nearest paved road. We have about ten miles of visible dirt track between us and the horizon, and we haven’t passed another vehicle in hours. Suddenly I can see three trucks, two a couple miles ahead - perhaps traveling together, perhaps talking - and one much farther away. I turn to Yoshko and her eyes are focused forward, concerned... she has noticed this flurry of activity as well. I shout above the drone of the engine and the roar of the incessant desert crosswind.
- What Time Is It?
- Four thirty.
- I knew it, rush hour in Namibia!
She smiles broadly; she got the joke. Despite her complaints to the contrary, Yoshko’s English is improving steadily.
We pull into an oasis gas stop, the only one on a three hundred mile stretch of track. Moose – the proprietor - is a large man befitting his name. In addition to gas he has cold beer and even ice cream. In this part of the world you can have a few beers any time of day without people looking at you funny – usually they are happy to join you. Except Yoshko - she thinks that if I drink before sunset I have a problem. I explain to her clearly and patiently that it is, in fact, Namibian law – all persons operating a motor vehicle along this road are required to drink two cold beers at this rest station to insure against dehydration and sunstroke. It’s a matter of public health and safety. I keep a perfectly straight face. She is not buying it. I tell her there was a large sign stating these facts just a few miles back, I have no idea how she missed it? She powers up her evil eye and starts boring in on me. I look to Moose for support and he concurs, nodding his head emphatically.
- Absolutely Ma'am - Namibian law!
Yoshko has recently eaten so we are not in any immediate physical danger; still, I’m no closer to being allowed a beer. I need a change of tactic.
- You MUST have noticed the sign requiring co-drivers to eat ice cream?
- And a piece of Moose’s world famous (in Namibia) apple pie! Adds my new ally with a big grin.
Yoshko knows when she is out-gunned and looks almost happy munching a huge slice of homemade pie while I down a couple cold beers and relate our adventures to Moose.
It feels good to be on the road again. We spent a few weeks in Cape Town with the Wildbuggers getting the Buggy back in shape, having huge “brais” (barbeques), and being generally well looked after by the incredibly hospitable South Africans. But wonderful as that was, it was hardly the adventure that is this film, and the time had come for Yoshko and me to say good-bye to our great friends there.
But as usual, all is not cold beer and warm apple pie for us in Africa. We are now in the very north of Namibia and we have been refused entry into Angola in a most rude fashion by shockingly unprofessional Angolan officials. This almost resulted in a physical altercation between myself and a Special Forces soldier who kept tapping me irritatingly and inviting me to fight him. Whether I won or lost I figured there was a good chance of ending up in an Angolan prison cell. I swallowed my pride and satisfied myself with a comment to the effect that he might not want to make the same invitation on Namibian soil. The senior police officer on site – who Yoshko hoped might diffuse the situation – was falling down drunk and began making racial slurs toward us and shouting “Get Out of Angola” - which we did.
We made a fifty-yard retreat back across the border where the Namibian officials - who had witnessed the events - apologized profusely for the atrocious behavior of their Angolan counterparts. They shook their heads regretfully, mumbled that Angolans were sometimes that way, and then stamped us back into Namibia waiving the normal entry fee for the car. But the Namibian politeness did little to offset our terrible first impression of Angola. We are questioning whether or not we WANT to go there – assuming that we could manage to get visas somehow. And we have heard that Congo-Zaire, the next country after Angola, is just as bad, maybe worse.
And finally - surprise of surprises -Yoshko and I are arguing again. Namibia is far too expensive to hang around doing nothing, which adds to our stress. We have stayed in cheaper hotels in Florida. Maybe we will go and speak to the Angolan embassy, maybe we will push east towards Zambia; you have to be pretty flexible if your want to travel through Africa in a beach buggy. We try to view everything - the fighting, the frustration, and the danger - as part of the experience. And whether we are getting great material for the film, or getting thrown in jail, it should be entertaining to our public, so stay tuned.
Pictures:
1) Flirting Buggies.
2) Saying Goodbye to Cape Town.
3) Moose’s Oasis Petrol and Beer Stop.
4) Peeing Amid the World’s Largest Sand Dunes.
5) Ruacana Border Crossing to Angola.
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Britts and South Africans in trucks were a welcome sight indeed!
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Date: Friday, March 10th, 2006
Time: 15:00 (3 pm)
Place: South Luangwa National Park, Zambia
Weather: Extremely Wet
Temperature: 34° Celsius, 93° F
Enviroment: Wild and Lushly Vegetated
Buggy Condition: Disabled
Tom's Condition: Trapped
Yoshiko's Condition: Stuck with Tom
Equipment Condition: Damaged by Water
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Meryl Streep played a Jewish musician in a concentration camp that performed for her captors. So delighted were the German guards that she was granted one special request; she asked for a toothbrush.
Oral hygiene becomes extra significant in uncontrollable situations. It provides a sense of well-being and routine and is at times the only hygiene over which we have control. Along with a folding knife, a flashlight, and a Leatherman, I always carry a toothbrush and paste in my pocket on the road in Africa. No matter how miserable we are, no matter how dirty our cloths get or how covered in mud we may be or how smelly our bodies become - there is almost always enough water around to brush our teeth.
We are borrowing a satellite connection to get this report out so we can only send text, pictures will have to wait until we get out of here.
“Here” is South Luangwa National Park in central Zambia - one of Africa’s best-kept secrets. South Luangwa has wildlife to rival the best parks in Kenya and Tanzania, but with a fraction of the tourists. Now is the low season and we have the huge reserve virtually to ourselves. Not coincidentally it is also the rainy season and the park is a hundred miles from any paved road. When heavy rains hit, the road becomes impassable even for heavy four-wheel-drive trucks – the tiny Buggy would be under water.
Yet here we are. Not only did we get caught in heavy rains, which seriously challenged and damaged the Buggy and much of our equipment, we got caught in record rains, which have caused massive flooding and washed away the bridge on the only access road to the park. The peninsula we were camping on in a curve in the Luangwa River is now an island. The Zambian government declared the park and surrounding valley a disaster area and the military has been mobilized to try and repair the road. Meanwhile we are trapped, along with the elephants, lions, and mosquitoes; and the water is still rising.
On the way into the reserve Yoshko and I spent a sleepless night in the bush when several critical wires in the car suddenly overloaded and caught fire from so much water shorting everything out. The Buggy died completely just in time for nightfall. We were befriended by a heavily armed Zambian anti-poaching team who offered us protection and a roughly cleared patch on which to pitch our tent. Cold, tired, and despondent about our situation, our spirits did not improve when we opened our sleeping bags only to find them soaking wet. Then the rain started – again. The next morning I disconnected all electrics on the Buggy and ‘hot-wired’ a lead directly from the battery to the coil. Using a screwdriver to short contacts on the starter motor allowed us to fire the engine. But there was no turning back; the bad road, which had damaged our Buggy the evening before, was now just a river. We forged ahead in search of a camp we had heard about, but before arriving we were blocked by more flooding. Helpful locals offered to carry the Buggy over the floodwater, but they were overoptimistic - I did not want the car lost forever in the swamps of Zambia. Trapped on a patch of dirt road we sat for two hours watching the water rise and not speaking.
Things were looking pretty bleak when two overland vehicles drove up out of the blue. A British couple driving a Defender and a South African couple in a Land Cruiser were a welcome sight indeed. They had already been to the park and were trying to leave the area, but were now trapped by the washed-out road, as were we. Fortunately they knew a small alternate track to get us all back to the campground... and the campground had hot-showers and beer!
Now the Buggy is in pieces again as I try to repair motor and electrical problems caused by plowing through deep water and mud. We three couples are alone here until the rains subside and the bridge is repaired. At first it was wonderful with dry bedding, running water, good-company, and wildlife. But the sound of lions at night scares Yoshko in our tiny tent, and the baboons in the day have no respect for women and raid our camp impudently if men are not present. Yoshko now arms herself with rocks whenever I leave the vicinity but everyone is getting cabin fever and the stress is tangible.
I am hoping that a man from a nearby village can get through to our camp tomorrow with a torque-wrench that I need for my engine repairs; today even this short stretch of road was blocked by flooding. We have consumed most of the beer stock now and no new supplies can arrive to the area until the road is fixed or the military does an airdrop. But we have simple foods and water; and except for a nasty burn the bottom of my foot from a hot coal we are all well. Unfortunately equipment has also been damaged and we are fighting with moisture in all our cameras.
But one day soon the sun will shine, things will begin to dry up, and we will be able to drive out of here. This ‘emergency’ report is not intended to alarm our readers, but simply to inform you. We will resume normal reports with pictures (including older ones, which we have not been able to send out) as soon as possible. In the meantime we will wait here patiently for a change of situation, as Africans have done for ever - and I will brush my teeth.
Pictures:
1) This elephant sign wasn’t kidding.
2) Fasten your seatbelts – Yoshko is driving!
3) Not a bad place to be stuck for a while.
4) We still attract a crowd wherever we go.
5) Tom checks a flooded area before driving through.
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Yoshko Lounging in a Tidal Pool in Paradise
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Date: Saturday, April 8th, 2006
Time: 12:00 noon
Place: Tofo Beach, Mozambique
Weather: Erratic
Temperature: 36° Celsius, 97° F
Enviroment: Soft & Sandy
Buggy Condition: In Her Element
Tom's Condition: Tanned and Recovering
Yoshiko's Condition: Gorgeous in a Bikini
Equipment Condition: Ageing
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We are camping on a beautiful beach in Mozambique. We usually eat local food – but this is a touristy area with some Western restaurants and yesterday I decided to treat myself to an overpriced burger. Big mistake. Last night I got intense stomach cramps followed by diarrhea and then developed a high temperature. At 3am while returning from another bathroom visit I had to steady myself against a tree. It was drizzling in the tropical night and I was delirious from fever and exhaustion. Only another fifty feet back to the tent but I wasn’t sure if I could make it - the ground was looking pretty inviting. It felt like being very drunk and not even the mosquitoes mattered any more. If I could just sleep... maybe everything would be better in the morning.
And it was better. Today I am tired but fine, physically. And though there is nothing sexy or adventurous about being sick, it is part of traveling, and I accept it. But there are other more serious problems brewing in paradise – and I’m afraid they will not disappear with the rising sun.
Try as we did, we never got into Angola. Going around that country involves very long stretches of jungle in the Congo and Yoshko has lost her desire for that kind of adventure. Instead we went to the see the spectacular Victoria Falls, and then deep into Zambia, which was interesting but too wet for us. It was from there that we filed the Special Report which now includes pictures and may be worth a second look. After more close encounters with big game, severe flooding, car problems, and diverse adventures in the bush, we are back on the east coast of Mozambique for some Rest & Relaxation. My idea was to return to South Africa and try to hitch a ride on a freighter to another continent – maybe even drive around the world. Anyplace would be easier than what we have been through here in Africa.
But the real problem is not flooding or elephants, or even the Angolan officials. The real problem with continuing this adventure is us. Yoshko would rather be raising a family with me than driving a beach buggy around Africa and no change in our route is going to alter this fact. Our goals in life have diverged undeniably; I dream about sailing a boat around the world and she dreams of a house and children.
It took me a year to figure out that when she was in a bad mood all I had to do was feed her and things would usually resolve themselves... but this is bigger. We argue incessantly now, even when she is well fed. I blame her for being uncooperative and she blames me for everything. We are unpleasant to one-another for the most part and she seems unhappy and irritable almost constantly.
There are still moments – instances of real warmth between us, even love; and the Lord knows we have shared some unbelievable experiences. But her biological clock is ticking and she has become intractable. And I understand, I am even flattered; another gorgeous and intriguing woman wants to make babies with me. How many chances like that does one man get? Alas, the timing is wrong. But I want Yoshko to be happy, and that apparently means letting her go. There is no band-aid cure for this situation and we may be coming to the end of our road together.
Life is so beautiful and so cruel and we want everything but we cannot have it. We who strive to live life to its fullest potential must accept the pain our choices inevitably heap upon us – like lost limbs and broken hearts. And there should be no drugs or alcohol to soften the blows – such pain should be experienced undiluted to fully appreciate it.
So now I don’t want to go to sleep. Because I know that when I wake up things will not be better. Do we give up the adventure and go separate ways? I cannot envision an alternative. Tomorrow painful decisions have to be made.
Tomorrow.
Today we are still in paradise.
Pictures:
1) Just the northern edge of the spectacular Victoria Falls.
2) After 200 miles of awful road some Zambian irony?
3) Bored Westerners help with more car repairs.
4) Yoshko prepares a meal in the bush.
5) A fair price for a tow from the Mango Beach Lodge owners.
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Saying goodbye to Yoshko at Dino's Beach Bar
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Date: Saturday, May 27th, 2006
Time: 17:00 (5 PM)
Place: Zululand, R.S.A.
Weather: Sunny and Comfortable
Temperature: 25° Celsius, 77° F
Enviroment: Almost African
Buggy Condition: Sandy
Tom's Condition: Indecisive
Yoshiko's Condition: Home in One Piece
Equipment Condition: Worn but Holding
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I ate dinner in this excellent little Indian restaurant last night, and now I'm back for a solid breakfast before heading north towards Swaziland. The proprietor is very impressed by my trip. As I am leaving he shakes my hand warmly and exclaims with lolling head and Indian accent,
- My greatest wish right now Mr. Tom is that all persons you meet on your journey should know what a good person you are and greet you accordingly.
- But you don't really know me; maybe I'm not a good person at all.
- My dear Mr. Tom, I am an excellent judge of character, and you are truly a good man.
And as I drive north out of the city I wonder... I wonder about Yoshko, why we fought, why she went home. I think long and hard about my children, who I haven't seen in months: is that a good man? I wonder why I am in a Buggy alone in Africa; and the answer comes back resoundingly - I don't know.
Life on the road is very different without Yoshko. I can smoke a cigarette anytime I choose. I can drink, flirt, and stay out all night (if the Buggy is secure). I can drive all day without stopping for food, or pull into a bar at noon for a beer. But usually I find myself wishing Yoshko were here to share the moments. Not least of all if the moment requires that I unpack the baggage, fix the car, tie on the cover, or perform any of the innumerable tasks that we have become so efficient at doing together. Or filming. And of course, I miss the sex.
Despite my adventurous lifestyle I maintain some degree of control over the risks I take. AIDS is indiscriminate and in the Republic of South Africa one in four people are HIV positive. In Swaziland and Botswana the figure is closer to forty percent. As attracted as I may be to some of the locals I meet, Russian roulette is not my thing. So unless I stumble upon a cute Westerner backpacking or working for an NGO - my bed will be warmed only by me.
And I begin to wonder if I have been in Africa too long. The other night I escorted a Swiss-German girl to a Shabeen; the South African word for local black bars that are very cheap and notoriously dangerous. Everyone we asked for directions warned us not to go. At one point we were walking across a desolate stretch of beach that we had also been warned about. Sonja, a small blond, took my arm lightly and expressed her thoughts out loud,
- Tom, you have a torch in one pocket, a knife in the other, a Leatherman on your belt, and you just drove 40,000 kilometers through Africa in a beach buggy. I feel fairly safe with you. In fact, I think I'll call you MacGyver.
- PLEASE don't, I said.
But she was safe, and we had a great time at the Shabeen. By the way, I go to Shabeens in every town, I'm always warned not to, and I always have a good time. Attitude is important.
When Yoshko and I were at the Cape of Good Hope drinking Champagne and celebrating, there was an unusually large baboon harassing tourists. He grabbed bags off people's arms, raided unlocked cars, and jumped up and down on locked ones. We were positioned in the center of a semi-circle of vehicles all being harassed aggressively by the baboon. The open Buggy, with bags hanging all over it, presented a wonderful opportunity. But each time this bruiser crossed from one vehicle to another he made a diversionary loop to keep clear of us. With my hand resting calmly on my knife I looked him in the eye with amusement. He continued harassing everyone else aggressively, and he continued to avoid us. After a while Yoshko stated matter-of-factly,
- We have been in Africa too long Tom; even the baboons leave you alone.
And Yoshko got tired and went home to Japan. And I am left wondering what to do next. Let go of Africa as well and ship the Buggy? Or drive it back? Ship it where? I don't know where home is.
While driving long distances in a noisy open car allows for a lot of introspection, it does not always lead to clear insights. Is life just a series of uncoordinated events, gratification seeking, and procreation; or am I driving the Buggy through Africa in quest of higher meaning? If so, I still haven't found what I'm looking for.
And I am left wondering about the words of the Indian storeowner as well. Just exactly what is a good man, really? Am I one?
I do so wish I knew.
Pictures:
1) Now I'm all alone with the crocs and the hippos.
2) And of course some Zulu dancers as well.
3) I did meet another adventurous Jap, but he was the wrong sex.
4) So I'm just missing Yoshko.
5) But I still have to write it all down.
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Loading the Buggy on a Freighter in Durban’s Port
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Date: Wednesday, July 26th, 2006
Time: 11:00 (11 AM)
Place: Barcelona Airport, Spain
Weather: Hot and Sunny
Temperature: 35° Celsius, 95° F
Enviroment: Mediterranean
Buggy Condition: Sailing
Tom's Condition: Pondering
Yoshiko's Condition: Job Hunting
Equipment Condition: Unknown
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Some days we just shouldn’t get out of bed.
After all my cockiness about getting forty thousand miles through Africa in an open car without a single theft, I got pick pocketed in Spain. TWICE! In two short days in Barcelona I managed to miss my friend at the airport, lose my wallet, sleep on a flea-infested couch, and then have four hundred dollars in cash lifted from my pocket seconds after I put it there. Obviously on returning to the West I had let my guard down, and I’m sure there is a lesson to be learned here, still... some days we just shouldn’t get out of bed.
After Yoshiko went home I decided to ship the Buggy to North America and then fly to Sweden to spend some time with my kids. Stockholm is beautiful when the sun is shining and my daughters are easily my crowning achievement in life. We had a wonderful few weeks together - I was like a strung-out junkie getting his first fix in five months! But Yoshiko’s brother died in a tragic motorcycle accident recently and she was very upset, so I went to visit her for a few weeks in Japan.
Driving around in her sister Yuko’s car, Yoshiko pulled into a gas station in Osaka. The old man who had waved us in so enthusiastically a few seconds earlier now shook his head apologetically, “Most terribly sorry”, he explained to Yoshiko in Japanese and bowed his head, ”we cannot take credit cards here”. So we tanked up further along the road and then had a bite to eat. Crawling in traffic on the way home an hour later we passed the same gas station and spotting the old man I smiled and gave a big wave. Startled, he bowed his head politely - it was unclear if he recognized me.
“What are you doing?” shouted Yoshiko in a sharp tone.
“Waving to the old man”, I replied, perplexed at her irritation. “He’s the one we saw before.”
“I know who he is” she fired back. “You can’t do that here!”
“I can’t do what here, wave to an old man?”
“No! Now you scared him.”
I bit my tongue and thought hard. Was she serious?
She was. The incident reminded me that Yoshiko and I could argue about anything. It also underlined the fact that our two cultures - and our two personalities - are so very, very different.
So I’m alone again, passing through Spain to pick up the film material from the first leg of our African adventure, on my way ‘home’. Born in New York, with my children in Sweden, and my heart in the tropics, I am voluntarily homeless. I have no idea where I will be in two months or in two years. But the Buggy is arriving in New York in a few days and I will be there to pick her up. She has become my anchor, allowing me to float freely yet preventing me from drifting away completely. One thing is for sure, it is time to edit this film. Most likely that will occur in the US.
And I need to sell the film as well. And that will require a degree of luck.
I haven’t felt very lucky lately.
Yoshiko and I didn’t make it up the west-coast of Africa because of bad luck at the Angolan border. We had bad luck with the weather in Zambia and bad luck with our relationship the whole time. Not to mention my astoundingly bad luck the last few days here in Barcelona. And now I’m going to New York to try to get lucky selling the film? Hmmm...
Here’s a joke; two guys are comparing pick-up techniques in a bar.
First guy, “I just walk up to every attractive woman I see and say, ‘Hi, would you like to have sex?’”
Second guy, “Wow, you must get slapped a lot!”
First guy, “Yeah I do, but I get laid a lot too.”
I once knew a biker who used this technique in real life. He was not particularly cute, well-hung, wealthy, or intellectual; but he got laid a lot. He didn’t get slapped very often either; the main risk was jealous boyfriends. My point is that he created his own luck. And that’s exactly what I have to do now with this film.
And when I think of my kids I am reminded that in the most important aspect of my life, I am one of the luckiest men I know.
But let’s face it, some days - through no real fault of our own - we simply shouldn’t get out of bed.
Too bad the alarm clock can’t tell us when it is going to be one of those days.
Pictures:
1) Hanging out with the greatest kids ever.
2) Enjoying a perfect Swedish lunch.
3) Attacked by big-game in Japan!
4) Yoshiko and Yuko in a Karaoke bar.
5) Leaving Barcelona for the Big-Apple.
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If Sloppy Joe’s was good enough for Hemingway...
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Date: Sunday, December 17th, 2006
Time: 18:00 (6 PM)
Place: Key West, Florida
Weather: Partly Cloudy
Temperature: 25° Celsius, 77° F
Enviroment: Sub-Tropical
Buggy Condition: Excellent
Tom's Condition: Philosophical
Yoshiko's Condition: 9-5 (in the Maldives)
Equipment Condition: Hanging In There
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The riot police lined up menacingly. When the doors opened the agitated mob stampeded. The police opened fired on the unruly crowd with pepper pellets. Similar scenes played out across the country resulting in muggings, shootings, and stabbings. What political outrage or international event could cause Americans to act like this?
The release of the new Sony Playstation.
Ambulance chasing lawyers, profit hungry insurance companies, incompetent leadership, and absurd levels of consumerism have conspired to deflate the greatest country on earth. The courage, generosity, and open-mindedness that were once hallmarks of America are withering. We could have fed the hungry, achieved world peace, and developed sustainable energy. Instead we riot over toys, hide behind false security measures, and drive gas-guzzling SUVs. And the rest of the West is not far behind.
I prefer developing nations. While it may be human nature to choose wealth and comfort at the expense of others when given the chance, they have not had that opportunity. Their expectations are more realistic so there is less stress to fulfill them. Their attitudes are more relaxed so they are less judgmental of others. They have fewer material possessions and do not live in fear that the rest of the world wants to take their toys away. The warm climate pervades the soul of tropical cultures; and the simple life really can be beautiful. After five months in the States I am ready to return to the Third World.
But the Discovery Channel is here and I wanted to sell them this film. Unfortunately there are a lot of self-important pencil-pushers involved in their decision-making process; and they make no apologies for keeping us dangling on a string for months while they ponder their possible involvement in our project. The whole entertainment business is so full of itself that it can suck the enthusiasm out of the toughest small player. Before that happens to me I have decided to cut this film independently. This does not bode well for my wallet – but it does help to maintain my dignity. It will also result in a better movie; without the ‘input’ of office workers trying to play directors. But enough whining; the title of this update is too grandiose to permit such pettiness.
The Buggy survived the boat ride from Africa, got through US customs, and got a FANTASTIC reception from the normally jaded New Yorkers. I did more major repairs in New Jersey and now she is purring like a kitten. As summer faded the Big Apple got cold so I headed south. Yoshiko flew in from Japan to meet me in Atlanta and we drove straight down to the Florida sun. It is fun for me to have such an exotic vehicle in my native country. But Yoshiko wants no more uncomfortable adventures, and last week she flew off to a new job as a dive instructor at a Four Seasons resort in the Maldives. I am visiting friends here and killing time before my kids meet me in New York for the holidays. After that my plans are less clear.
The other day I got a letter from my former secretary in Sweden. Suffering increasing stress as the holidays approach she asked, “Must life really be this endless treadmill?” So I thought about that; she has a 9 to 5 job and a house and kids in the country where she grew up. Most Westerners are fortunate enough to be able to choose how they want their lives to be; she chose security, safety, convenience, and familiarity. Humans are creatures of habit and most like routine despite what they may say about it. I chose not to run on the treadmill. I never complain of routine and rarely suffer from stress; but the price is high. I have only a vague memory of the security of a salary, my kids are 5000 miles away, and I don’t even know what country I would want a house in - if I could afford one. When I cannot pay for my lifestyle in cash it can cost a little piece of my soul... or my sanity. Adventuring is not always as romantic as it may appear; but it is my choice.
So instead of lamenting the treadmill this holiday season, revel in your good fortune. If you are near friends and family, in a safe place, with a regular income, enjoy the holidays; don’t “suffer” through them. Largely, we create our own stress – and we can control it. There’s no need to plan everything out in perfect detail. As for the sick consumerism of the West - ignore it; you don’t need to find presents for everyone. All that’s important is to be around people you care about and to appreciate the time with them.
I love my children – just the thought of them makes me happy; and I will see them very soon. I enjoy beautiful women, sunny beaches, and good company. I dream of sailing the oceans and I dream of true love. I believe that James Dean imparted sage advice when he said “Dream like you’ll live forever; live like you’ll die today”. And I am grateful that I could choose to do just that.
So what is the Holy Grail? What is the meaning of life? In our hearts we already know; it is whatever makes us happy deep down inside. Despite slick marketers trying to convince us otherwise - it is almost certainly NOT a Sony Playstation.
Here’s wishing you and yours a happy holiday season shared with people you really care about.
Pictures:
1) The Buggy in a US customs warehouse.
2) My folks outside their apartment in Manhattan.
3) The meaning of life.
4) At my brother’s house in Florida.
5) What next?
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Pernilla and Marika bathing in front of Mayan ruins
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Date: Friday, March 16th, 2007
Time: 15:30 (3:30 PM)
Place: Tulum, Mexico
Weather: Warm and Cloudy
Temperature: 27° Celsius, 79° F
Enviroment: Caribbean
Buggy Condition: Excellent
Tom's Condition: Excited
Yoshiko's Condition: Working
Equipment Condition: Acceptable
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I noticed the cops a second too late.
I had been behind three tractor-trailers as they crawled over a seemingly endless series of speed-bumps. My patience finally gave out and I gassed the Buggy, pulled out into the clear oncoming-traffic lane, blasted over the bumps and around all three trucks, and whipped back into my own lane – right under the nose of the Mexican Federal Police car.
I was guilty of both speeding and passing in a no-passing zone. The ‘fine’ started at 200 American dollars, but I understood this to be a negotiation. The “Federales” politely explained that if I wished to pay on the spot instead of at the police station they could give a 50% reduction; one hundred dollars. I had a thousand dollars in cash but ‘lied’ in imperfect Spanish to the police that I would have to go to a bank for such a big sum, surmising that they would not want to follow me there. After much haggling, the cop, frustrated, asked me directly how much cash I had on me.
- Twenty US dollars and a few pesos, I replied.
After discussion with his partner the Federal Police nodded his acceptance, opened a book, and laid it on Yoshko’s empty seat in the Buggy. I placed a twenty dollar bill between the open pages. He closed the book smoothly around the bill and then grinned, showing two big gold teeth, “Buenos tardes amigo, y bienvenidos a Mexico.”
As they drove off I thought to myself, “Welcome to Mexico indeed you fat bastard” and I pulled into the first cantina I saw and ordered a beer. I surmised that the whole charade with the money in the book was so that the crooked cops could claim they never “touched” the money, should they somehow be found out. But the sun was hot as I downed an ice-cold Tecate, and the fact was that I had just gotten out of a double moving violation for twenty bucks. Philosophizing about rampant third-world corruption that made this possible would wait for another day. I had a cold beer on a sunny afternoon with a loaded Buggy running smoothly and I’d just gotten off cheap on a ticket - even by Mexican standards. There were a lot of people in the world with bigger problems than mine.
That was several weeks ago. My Spanish is improving rapidly here, I have a terrific tan, and the fact is that I love Mexico; I always have. I have been here since New Years, and traversed most of the country already. I entered from Texas and came down the Gulf Coast to Veracruz. Then I cut across the mountains past Mexico City out to Oaxaca and the big surfing beaches of the west. Then south to beautiful indigenous cities and great ruins and finally made my way up to Cancun on the Yucatan peninsula where I spent two perfect weeks with my daughters, who just returned to Sweden. I recently spent the holidays with my kids as well, but I had to share them with all my siblings in New York. In Mexico I had them all to myself, and my sister who popped down just for two days. We had sun and surf, terrific Mexican food, and excursions in the Buggy; it was great.
Unfortunately my original reason for coming to Mexico was not to meet my kids; it was to meet a Norwegian editor here and to finally cut the film. But the editor has let me down for the second time and decided not to come. So as far as finishing the film is concerned I’m back to square one. I’m really ready to get to it now, so I have decided to head for Los Angeles – slowly – to try and find an affordable editor in Hollywood. By the time I get there the weather should be suitable for the Buggy and hopefully I will have some sort of plan.
Meanwhile I’ve got several weeks and thousands of miles left in Mexico. After months in the US I am enjoying the weather and the culture here and the fact that I can drink beer in the afternoon without anyone giving me snide looks. Yoshko is on the other side of the planet teaching diving; and I miss her. Whenever she feels down she misses me too, but she does not miss adventuring in the Buggy. We have different tastes and goals. I love travel and adventure and the interesting people I meet everywhere; and sitting and writing this down and reminiscing I am reminded of a cute conversation I had with an old man many years ago.
I was leaving California on my motorcycle to circumnavigate. The old man had been in the South Pacific in WW2 and traveled a lot in Europe and elsewhere afterwards, and he couldn’t figure out why anyone would voluntarily ride a motorcycle around the world.
“What do you want to go and do a fool thing like that for?” the old man asked me.
“I don’t know, just to see what’s out there I guess”, I replied.
“Hell son, I can tell you what’s out there... there ain’t nothin’ out there but foreigners!”
True enough.
And some are terrifically crooked cops, and some are enchantingly exotic women, and some are just regular folks. But they all have a story to tell, and they all add to your experience; and isn’t that what life is about?
And that’s OK with me.
Pictures:
1) Another milestone for the Buggy.
2) Making friends on a surfing beach near Escondido.
3) Ruins in the jungle at Pelenque.
4) Marika and Pernilla are growing up fast.
5) My kids and my sister Jane in the back of the Buggy in Cancun.
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Hey, that’s not Yoshiko!
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Date: Sunday, May 6th, 2007
Time: 17:30 (5:30 PM)
Place: Las Vegas, Nevada
Weather: Hot and Sunny
Temperature: 35° Celsius, 95° F
Enviroment: Bizarre, Surrealistic, and Arid
Buggy Condition: Ready for Hollywood
Tom's Condition: Ready to Work
Yoshiko's Condition: Unknown
Equipment Condition: Totally Worn Out
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“No mi olvides”, she said though moist eyes as she boarded the bus bound for Mexico City.
“I will never forget you Maria”, I lied politely, and then rested my gaze on the small wound on her hand. She glanced down at it too, and her skin turned from luscious brown to bright red. The self-inflicted bite mark was the result of her attempt to stifle screams of passion the night before, screams which would have woken the tiny village otherwise. Maria smiled with sweet embarrassment at the memory, and with a final passionate kiss she climbed aboard the bus.
The impatient driver roared off into the steamy Acapulco night; and as quickly as Maria had materialized, she disappeared.
As I strolled back to my Buggy alone, I weighed the odds that we would meet again... not likely. I had earned a standing invitation to visit her in the capitol, but I had no plans to go there. At 29 Maria was already the administrative head of 200 workers at a large hospital. Throughout school and a master’s degree she had managed to avoid studying English; why should she, she had no aspirations of fleeing to the US or working with tourism. She represented the rapidly growing new middle class of Mexicans - proud of her heritage and happy where she was. We had been together for several days. It was the longest relationship I had ever had with a woman who spoke absolutely no English.
We had met on the beautiful tropical beach of Chacaua located four hours south of Acapulco - and a hundred years in it’s past. Except for ten thatched roof huts, the twenty kilometer (12 mile) strip of sand probably looked identical ten thousand years ago. There were about five hundred natives in the area, a few surfers, and me. Maria had a week’s vacation and wanted to get as far from the big-city stress as possible. She pitched her tiny tent on the sand right next to mine. It didn’t take me long to start a conversation despite my limited Spanish.
After I dropped her at her bus I went for a cheap beer in the old square, far from Acapulco’s infamous tourist zone. There, alone with my thoughts, I tried solemnly but in vain to recount all my lovers. Each time I thought that I had just about covered them more popped into mind, “Right, I almost forgot the two German Lufthansa stewardesses!” Which reminded me of the leggy Air France stewardess. Which reminded me of the busty Scottish stewardess. Which made me question whether or not I could remember all the stewardesses I had been with... let alone all the women? Then I remembered a period in LA when I was juggling three lovers simultaneously for several weeks. Finally I gave up the notion of listing lovers. But one thing I knew for sure; I had appreciated every one of them. When a woman gives herself to me, any woman, she is giving me something wonderful and deeply personal; and I am grateful. Outside of my kids, women are the reason for my existence. I feel sorry for the millions of misogynists out there who just don’t get it. I REALLY like women.
And then my thoughts shifted to the women that I have loved; maybe half a dozen. Why so few?
Yoshko is waiting for a man to appear and sweep her off her feet. She wants to feel the sensation of being weak-at-the-knees, instantly, madly, in love. And while love at first site is a cute notion, I’m not sure it exists.
Of course it depends on your definition. Some would accept sexual passion or desire as a legitimate definition of love. I don’t throw the “L” word around that lightly. For me love is a profoundly tender feeling of deep affection for another person that is likely to last a very long time. There is no way I could be certain that I felt that strongly for a person without experiencing them over a period of time; which rules out love at first sight. There are a small number of people in the world that I’m sure that I love. I would lay down my life for any one of them.
I think the process to achieve what I consider love in a sexual relationship goes something like this:
We meet someone that is unusually intriguing to us. We feel a strong chemistry - a healthy natural urge to procreate, lust; which creates a desire to spend more time with this person. And with the passing of time spent together we discover common interests, get to know intimate details, and - and this part is critical - we develop a common experience base. It is first after we have some common history that we can begin to speak of ‘love’. Only after this investment of attention over time can we be sure that our initial passionate feelings (our “lust” at first sight) are profound and have a reasonable chance to stand the test of more time; love.
Many women have loved me; some have gotten hurt. So why do I like - even lust for - hundreds of women, yet love so few? Because to really fall in love requires time; and time is a limited commodity. In fact taking long periods of time together to make “love” is a luxury made prevalent by civilization, allowing an alternative to the carnal lust that is a natural survival mechanism. But it is a wonderful luxury, a worthy luxury, a luxury I would like to pursue with the right woman - even to the exclusion of the lustful encounters that I cherish so.
Do I love Yoshko?
I lust for her - there’s no denying the chemistry, or the desire to spend more time with her. And after all we have experienced together we know each other intimately. And we have history, from Africa and more; a common set of experiences that we will never share with anyone else. And for sure I have a profound feeling of affection for her that is likely to last a very long time.
Yes, I love Yoshko.
Can we live together?
Whew... whole different question! I’d like to try. Because since I love her I want to be near her all the time.
But she has isolated herself from me - working at a private resort in the Maldives for some time to come; partly to protect herself from her feelings towards me. So I’m left to finish the film and to wander the earth without her by my side. And I meet other women. And I wonder what love really is.
Now I have wandered to Las Vegas... how bizarre is that after four months in Mexico! Pretty fucking bizarre I can tell you. No where else can you find so many neon lights, mega-resorts, surrealistic decorations, and silicon breasts; this place is simply TOO much. But in a way I love it - it represents the height of Western decadence and stands in extreme contrast to my years traveling in less developed parts of the world. I like extremes - never boring. And the weather is good, and the Buggy is happy. I have a wonderful sister and nephew living here and I am visiting just for a week or so... my last stop before LA and film work.
And laying by my sister’s pool in Vegas my mind wanders back to women I have known. And I think to myself - maybe I didn’t lie to Maria at the bus station in Acapulco after all; maybe I would remember her for ever...
She was the most entertaining Spanish lesson I’ve ever had.
Pictures:
1) And that’s not Yoshko either, she’s Swiss.
2) A Norwegian of Asian decent, but still not Yoshko.
3) Nope, she’s Australian.
4) And now I am in Sin City...
5) LA’s beaches will be a bit more crowded than Chacaua.
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Four years after starting this film... Hollywood!
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Date: Sunday, August 26, 2007
Time: 15:00 (3 PM)
Place: Los Angeles, California
Weather: Sunny
Temperature: 35° Celsius, 95° F
Enviroment: Urban
Buggy Condition: Fair
Tom's Condition: Poor
Yoshiko's Condition: Unknown
Equipment Condition: Failing
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There are construction workers banging away next door. I envy them. I want a job where I see the results of my efforts at the end of each day; then go home, drink a beer, and sleep like a baby. I am in LA so I’ve been thinking I need a nose-job. Sorry, I am drifting...
I was a mischievous child, but healthy and happy. I did well in school, had regular friends, and went to church most Sundays. That ended when my mother died just after I turned eleven. My degeneracy was so profound in my early teens as to be unbelievable to many of my contemporaries today. When other kids were smoking cigarettes or cutting classes to test their independence, I was stealing cases of dynamite from construction sites and planning the demolition of our local police station; thankfully we never found caps to ignite the stuff. On a daily diet of drugs and alcohol I all but completely missed high school. I raced cars, stole motorcycles, got in fights, and defied all authority. By my late teens I realized that I had to get out of New York so I fled to California where I traded drugs and delinquency for motorcycles and Martial Arts. I still drank on occasion and I regularly evaded police in high-speed pursuits, but it was a step in the right direction. After a few years of relative stability my wanderlust got the best of me; I sold all my possessions save one motorcycle, bid my girlfriend goodbye, and rode south on what was to become an epic global adventure. I returned to LA two years later as a man of the world, wiser and tougher. Riding my English registered BMW R75 back from the Long Beach Grand Prix one afternoon I was struck by a drunken woman in a car.
The impact broke my back and my neck and shattered my left arm. It crushed my left shoulder down several inches ripping all the nerves to my upper left quarter out of my spine and leaving me permanently paralyzed throughout that entire area. My left leg was forever weakened and sensation on my right side was forever altered. Eventually my left arm was removed altogether. I underwent spinal surgery so invasive that my family did not recognize me at first when they came to the hospital to visit. Before one operation that risked leaving me a quadriplegic I made the two people in the world that I trusted most – my father and my then-wife – promise that they would kill me if I awoke unable to physically take my own life. But the powers that be had created me from durable material, and eventually I found myself in the hospital bed of a recovery facility back in New York.
I was assigned a Social Worker; a psychologist who’s job it was to assist my mental recovery while physical therapists did their best on my body. Sue visited me daily for an hour or so and we would chat. I felt no need for a shrink but I was happy for the distraction. One day she did not appear; when she showed up the next day she looked concerned. She had been pondering my ‘case’ and wondered if I would be willing to meet with a colleague of hers. Two days later a man sporting a neat black beard and spectacles sat by my bedside. His questions had obvious but unclear direction; I played along for two sessions before finding myself alone again. When Sue finally returned a few days later to resume our regular chats she bore a perplexed, almost amused expression. To a psychologist it was unimaginable that a person who had experienced what I had in life, from the loss of a mother to the loss of an arm – and everything in-between, could be as well-adjusted as I appeared to be. Obviously I was repressing terrible anger and resentment that Sue lacked the expertise to pry loose. Hence she had called in the bearded guy; one of the world’s leading authorities on retrieving repressed emotions.
- Well? I said.
- We are in full agreement in your case. You are either the strongest person we have ever encountered in our combined professional careers, or...
- Yes???
- Or you will pull out an M-16 one day and shoot a lot of innocent people at a public playground; we can’t be certain until it happens.
Sue and I went on to become great friends and I haven’t killed a single innocent person to date. I believe there are weak people in the world and strong people; and like shoe size it is mostly genetic. Tragedy runs off me like rain. My exaggerated lust for life coincides with an ability to absorb whatever it hurls at me. But lately I have been feeling tired. I want to spend more time with my children. I think I need to find a good woman, I probably need a place to call home, and I definitely need a success – like with this film. They are not unrelated.
After my last update about ‘love’ I was berated by readers. An ex-secretary wrote that I was a fool to delude myself about loving Yoshiko when it was obvious that we never got along at all. An ex sister-in-law whisked away a charming young friend of hers who had taken an interest in me at a dinner party in Vegas, “You are just an international playboy” she explained, “I read your homepage!” An ex-girlfriend was the most scathing, “It is pathetic how you use your site to try to impress women with your conquests. Has it occurred to you that nothing could be more vein than making a movie about yourself?” (It has) Only my little sister understood, “Your writing is terrific but it feels like you may be using this update to communicate with Yoshiko; perhaps you know that”
I knew it. What’s more I succeeded – though I now wish I had failed. I got Yoshiko’s attention sufficiently for her to take a vacation from her work in the Maldives and fly to Thailand to meet me there for three weeks. It was the worst trip of my life. At her request I will skip the details. We ended our four-year relationship in a monumentally bad way and likely will never see each other again. The very last time I saw her she was naked, extremely drunk, and puking all over the bed of our Bangkok hotel room. I walked out and did not return. Perhaps we were seeking closure – what we got was a train wreck. I feel nauseous when I think about what a horrible couple we became after all the wondrous times we have shared.
But she was great on camera, and I had a film to cut. And what better way to nurse a broken heart than by diving into your career? I was coming home from a bad time in Thailand to begin work in earnest because, finally, I had found en editor. Things were going to be all right. We would cut an award winning documentary and my life would get back on track. Who cared if I repressed insecurities about whether or not anybody would be interested in what I have to say? Who cared if I wondered why no network had yet bought my concept? And who cared if I secretly feared that this may in-fact be the last vein attempt of a middle-aged, one-armed has-been to jump-start his professional life? Because... I HAD AN EDITOR! I would be working and the film would be done in a few months. That knowledge gave me the strength to face each day despite my fears and anxieties and despite my searing pain over losing Yoshiko.
Until today.
This morning my editor informed me that he would be unavailable for my project since last night he had accepted a job writing for HBO.
And so, like Russell Crowe in The Gladiator looking up at the cheering crowds in the Coliseum, I looked up toward the sky at an imaginary God and I screamed, “Are you not entertained!” There came no response. I turned and walked away, head down, until I came to the edge of that bottomless abyss that is the sum of all our fears and weaknesses, dashed hopes, broken dreams, failed loves, and deepest insecurities; where there is no reflection at all.
And here I stand. Do I let the blackness suck me in and cower into a corner of the Southwest where I might become a truck driver, marry a waitress, and have annual visits by my Swedish children? Or do I dive into the abyss head first; fist outstretched, and go down kicking and screaming all the way to the gates of Hell? This is my chance to back up my bullshit, to prove that I can do more than just talk the talk, to once again turn a downward spiral of life upwards and find a better editor and make a better film and ultimately end up with a better woman; YES, this is a fucking opportunity!
Or maybe I’ll just pick up an AK-47, walk down to the local playground, and open fire; then the networks are sure to buy the film.
Courage is not a lack of fear but an ability to take appropriate action in the face of it.
Pictures:
1) Bruce Meyers with our Buggy more than 40 years after inventing the very first one!
2) About the only things smooth and easy in California are the colors.
3) Speaking of which, in Thailand I re-colored my famous tattoo.
4) This CHP officer only aggravated my lousy situation, but I beat the ticket in court!
5) With no editor I work on my tan pondering problems in the pool; clothing optional.
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My Tribal Beauty
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Date: Wednesday, October 17th, 2007
Time: 03:00 (3 AM)
Place: Livingstone, Zambia
Weather: Hot and Dry
Temperature: 34° Celsius, 93° F
Enviroment: Tarzanian
Buggy Condition: Resting in Vegas
Tom's Condition: Good
Yoshiko's Condition: Good Question
Equipment Condition: Stored
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I would have recognized them anywhere, the two gay cowboys from ‘Broke-back Mountain’; they looked exactly as they had in the film. They were seated just two tables away in the restaurant where I was eating breakfast. At another table sat a huge and ornery looking Texan glowering at the pair. Behind him was a large table full of eight or ten more cowboys and therein lay the danger; if they sided with the big Texan this was going to get messy. In front of the younger gay cowboy was an oversized bowl of yogurt and muesli – it was untouched. The big Texan spoke.
- Well eat up Boy, we don’t want no one sayin’ Texans ain’t hospitable! That IS the kind of food faggots eat ain’t it?
The reckless young cowboy glared back at the Texan defiantly but there was terror in his eyes; he couldn’t be counted on to help much. The older one looked down avoiding eye-contact, good; I knew he would fight if he had to. The Texan kept his eyes on the younger cowboy but addressed the table behind him.
- You boys see this? We got them two famous queers right here in our town. Boy I am gonna’ have fun kickin’ some faggot ass today!
The gang of cowboys was still not committed though some were snickering menacingly. I could have left my money on the table and gotten out of there. Instead I slid my chair back and rose demonstratively. I walked over and stood beside the younger cowboy who was startled but relieved. I stared straight at the big Texan; my actions had not gone unnoticed.
- Well now boys it looks like we got us another little faggot to kick the shit out of today. This is shapin’ up to be a fine morning!
I chose my words carefully and spoke them clearly; controlling the tone of my voice to disguise my fear.
- I’ve met a lot of good Texans in my day – you’re just not one of them. Now my guess is that this kid can handle you with no help at all, but we’ll never know, because before you get near him I will already have taken you out. It is ignorant assholes like you that can make me ashamed to be an American - you worthless waste of human flesh.
He lunged out of his chair at me surprisingly quickly for such a big man and I was already moving towards him; if this was a poker game then I was all-in.
I awoke sitting bolt-upright in bed, the adrenaline just as real while conscious as it had been in my dream state. Quickly I realized that the eminent danger was over - there was no big Texan, and of course no Broke-Back Mountain cowboys; just me in the semi-darkness. The shadow of a cockroach the size of a child’s thumb scurrying across blistered wall paint told me that I was in yet another dingy third-world hotel room, but where? What town was I in? What country? If thieves or police burst in what language would they be speaking? What continent was I on? Concentrate Tom!
I realized that I was not alone. I looked down in the bed beside me to see a pretty black face sleeping peacefully and the fog cleared immediately; I was back in Zambia.
I had met Mercy the year before when I had passed by Victoria Falls with Yoshiko. She was a tribal beauty working at the lodge where we had stayed for a week. We connected directly but innocently. One night Yoshko had been so annoyed with me for smoking cigarettes that she had locked me out of our tent, literally, with a small padlock on the zipper. I had returned to the bar where Mercy was closing up alone and we shared a beer and flirted; both knowing nothing could come of it.
- But if I ever return to Zambia you had better be ready!
- You will NEVER return to Zambia Tom, she had said almost angrily.
- You don’t know me that well, I just might. And if I do...
- IF you return, I will be ready.
Mercy had been true to her word.
After my cataclysmic break with Yoshiko in Thailand recently I had contacted her by mail and to my delight she was still single. LA was not helping me finish this film. Waiting around for a perfect editor was unproductive. I had all the equipment necessary to do a rough cut myself and I could set it up wherever I liked. A bonus to editing in Africa – besides Mercy - is that if I need any additional shots I am in the right place. I will return to the West for professional help with the final cut, but it will be a much smaller job. I can show editors my rough-cut in an afternoon and when I find the right one, we will finish the job in a matter of weeks.
Lions are not the most dangerous thing in Africa and I told Mercy we would need to take an HIV test. We met on my arrival and picked up Mercy’s clean bill of health and birth-control pills at the clinic. While this precluded any real mystery as to what was to transpire there was still the excitement inherent in every first encounter. After a late lunch Mercy finished a Coke and I drank a few beers and we talked; eventually retiring to our cheap guest house. It was with great pleasure on my part and some trepidation on her part that I coaxed Mercy out of her clothes. She resembled a black Barbie doll with a beautiful face and a figure even more pronounced than I had anticipated through her clothing. She turned her attention nervously towards me and grasped at my pants to help me out of them. She drew everything down in one move and then she literally gasped...
- Oh my God!
Despite her good-looks and despite countless proposals in her 23 years Mercy had only had one lover previously. He was a black man but apparently not one of those that keep the myths alive. Statistically speaking I am just above average in that regard, but contrasting my slim build at the right angle on a good day my silent partner can make a powerful impression. I smiled.
- I thought white men had small ones! She exclaimed.
Now I laughed so loudly that the bed shook and Mercy grew defensive.
- It’s true! A girl at my work slept with a white man I know; he is handsome and has his own car. She said it was like a finger irritating her and she never slept with him again. Now all us girls must run and hide whenever he comes to the restaurant for fear that we may laugh at him!
I was hysterical and managed to get out something to the effect that Africa was probably not the best place for a white man with a small one to come looking for a woman. Mercy reached nervously out to grasp it, as if to make certain it was real, and again she gasped, “Oh my God!”
When your afternoon ends like that you can be pretty sure you are in for an interesting evening. Neither of us was disappointed. Now, several hours later, I lay back down next to her and I lifted the covers gently to inspect her body, again – wow. The fresh air caused her to stir and turn towards me. She flopped a thin arm across my chest and nuzzled her shoulder into my armpit and her head into my neck. “Are you OK?” she mumbled dreamily; but she was out again before I responded. Unconsciously she cast a silky-smooth ebony thigh across my naked waist, heavy breasts against my right side, she clung to me securely in her sleep; and I thought about her question...
Yes, I was OK.
I would finish this film if I had to do it myself. I would get over Yoshiko though it would take time. I would never go ‘postal’ on a lot of innocent people with a machine-gun no matter what life threw my way. I would persevere. That was the point of my last update – though many readers misunderstood it.
With a last admiring look at Mercy I closed my eyes and relaxed; I had my demons on the ropes. They were no more or less real than ignorant Texans and I would always handle them. I allowed myself the luxury of fantasizing about a future with glowing reviews of this film, VIP parties, and even money. I would spend lots of time with my kids. I would buy a modest house on a tropical beach, or maybe sail around the world. With my arm wrapped down Mercy’s tiny back I patted her ample bottom gently and then rested my hand on the curve of her hip. Was SHE in my future? Was Africa my destiny? Its magnetic attraction is undeniable; Asia, Latin America, and the West all seem mundane by comparison. But the staggering poverty and the enormous cultural differences make it unlikely.
I pushed the future from my brain and concentrated on the moment. In doing so I realized that – for the first time in a very long time – I was content; and that for now, that was enough.
Pictures:
1) Victoria Falls has MUCH less water now in the dry season.
2) Mercy heads off to work on our second day together, all smiles.
3) Working at my portable editing suite in Africa I am often distracted by...
4) ... my demanding roommate; poor me!
5) All the while the Buggy waits patiently in Las Vegas.
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Marika & Pernilla on Christmas day
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Date: Tuesday, January 1st, 2008
Time: 10:30 PM (22:30)
Place: Stockholm, Sweden
Weather: Cold, Wet & Dark
Temperature: -1° Celsius, 30° F
Enviroment: Nordic
Buggy Condition: Relaxing
Tom's Condition: Fatherly
Mercy's Condition: Lonely
Equipment Condition: Stored
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If you read a report from me next Christmas and this film is still not finished, shoot me.
Oriental women have fairly flat bottoms on average but Yoshko has a lovely ass. Black women are renowned for having asses that just won’t quit and Mercy is no exception; but her workmate is a cute Black woman with a flat bottom. Doggy style is the reproductive position nature intended for humans; we make up everything else in the comfort of our bedrooms. Therefore - simply to achieve adequate penetration for purposes of procreation - Black men have slightly longer penises than Oriental men.
On average.
White women have moderately curved asses on average so White men need - and have - medium sized reproductive organs. Asians seem to have a small advantage over the rest of us when it comes to learning - especially logic and mathematics; on average. Africans are better dancers and they may have a slight physical advantage when it comes to some sports - like running and boxing. Again, Europeans land somewhere in the middle.
But the individual differences within each race are ten to one hundred times greater than the general differences between the races. I know Orientals who can dance and astoundingly well-hung Whites. Acknowledging minor genetic variations among different races is not racist. Assuming that these differences make one group of people superior to another is.
Being a White man with a Black woman is fascinating. Many White people are visibly uncomfortable with our presence and Black men occasionally comment outright. I had to strike one admirer of Mercy’s who got physically aggressive with her for being with a “Mazungu” - the local derogatory word for Whites. I have no tolerance for racism, and around Christmas I have to wonder - where does all the hatred in the world come from?
Non sequitur.
I had another dream...
I was flying around the town where I grew up. I often fly in my dreams but I don't have very much control. I could not soar high or fast and just hovered along at trotting speed a few meters off the ground. It was only with great concentration that I could rise high enough to clear obstacles like trees. I flew towards my old house which was a giant doll-house with cutaway sections so you could see inside. I feared that I would crash into it, but with immense effort I just cleared the roof. Looking down I saw my two daughters sleeping peacefully in one room. I wanted to be with them but I couldn't stop flying. Marika woke up and saw me and started to yell at me to come back but try as I might I couldn't return - I could only hold out my arms in a distant hug. Marika ran down the steps yelling and Pernilla woke-up and followed her. Marika chased me to the stone wall at our property line and gazed up longingly as I was drifting away. Pernilla caught-up and hugged her and I could clearly hear her comforting words - "Don't worry Marika, its just Dad checking up on us. Don't you know he is always watching, always there to protect us if we need him?"
In dreams we work out real issues and this did not require Freud to decipher; it had been too long since I spent time with my children. So I came back to Sweden to be with them for the holidays. Mercy misses me but she understands the importance of kids and of finishing the film.
I'm excited about this movie. My 'editing' (filtering out the best scenes) has gone well. The material is there to tell a good story and I have started scripting the narration. I will return to Zambia in January and then on to South Africa to find a professional editor for the final cut.
I have decided to sponsor Mercy for one year while she finishes high-school. After completing the eleventh grade her father died and she had to work full-time. Mercy earns about seventy dollars a month (not a typo) for waitressing ten hour shifts six days a week with no vacation or benefits. She is the family bread-winner supporting her younger brother who just graduated this month and her mom who has no regular employment. Mercy speaks seven languages fluently and - when she dares - she dreams of studying at a university. Providing her with the financial freedom to finish high-school will be my good-deed for 2008. I can’t think of anyone who deserves it more. She is a fine woman who cared for me and demanded nothing in return. She adored me when a little adoration was just what I needed to recover from the events of last summer and regain the confidence to make a good film.
So I sit here smugly in Sweden enjoying the holidays, surrounded by family and friends, overfed and under-worked... and I wonder what I want for Christmas:
A beautiful woman? I have a Goddess of a girlfriend who thinks I’m a perfect 10 in bed.
A wonderful family? I have a bunch of cool siblings, a terrific ex-wife who is still one of my closest friends, and two of the greatest kids on the planet.
I know, I know! I need a Porsche!
Wait a minute, I HAD a Porsche. And I had a Mercedes, and a Jaguar, and I sold them. And what with oil shortages, the ozone shrinking, and the environment hanging in the balance I don’t even really want another super-car. God created the Buggy with me in mind.
So then what DO I need for Christmas? I mean what do I really NEED???
Nothing. I have a beautiful woman, a great family, a cool car, a full stomach - and I still have a few dollars left in the bank.
I’m one of the lucky people in the world and it’s nice to be aware of that; especially around the holidays.
Happy New Year everybody!
Pictures:
1) Mercy and I visit neighboring Zimbabwe.
2) I do a lot of flying in planes as well as dreams.
3) My excellent Father’s Day surprise breakfast.
4) Marika’s class singing the traditional Santa Lucia.
5) A Christmas feast, I’ve gone up two belt sizes in Sweden!
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Mercy loves her new bikini but she still won't swim.
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Date: Friday, October 10th, 2008
Time: 3:13 PM (15:13)
Place: Livingstone, Zambia
Weather: Dusty, Sunny, & Hot
Temperature: 42° Celsius, 108° F
Enviroment: Central African
Buggy Condition: About To Be Woken
Tom's Condition: Infected Finger and Fever
Mercy's Condition: Almost a High School Grad
Equipment Condition: Good Question
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Obviously George W Bush has not fully comprehended his role in the world; I
picture him waking up to an epiphany one day and actually mouthing the
words, 'Oh my God, what have I done?'
Paradise for me always includes a beautiful beach and lots of sunshine.
In Zambia the sun can cause second degree burns to unprotected skin in a
day. Every river and lake is infested with crocodiles and hippos that really
do eat bathers. So for sound reasons Mercy avoids the sun and fears water to
the point that she cannot swim. I try to get her into our lovely pool almost
every day but old habits are hard to change. I fear that our cultural
differences may be insurmountable. But I have paid for her to complete her
high-school studies. The death of her father several years ago forced her to
quit school early and work full-time. Her grades are good and she graduates
in December and I am proud of her.
My daughter Pernilla graduated in May near the top of her class and the
youngest in her school. Now she is in New York to see a bit of the world
before starting university. And I am proud of her too. And her little sister
Marika graduated junior-high this year with excellent grades as well - seems
I'm proud of almost everyone around me right now. Even I have had a
productive year; I've been busy editing this movie.
At the moment I'm at Victoria Falls recovering from a nasty fever, not
malaria thankfully. Mercy just wiped my forehead...
- It will soon be wet-season here, she said. When I have nothing to do I
like to sit indoors and listen to the rain falling on the tin roof.
- I prefer to sit outdoors feeling the sun shining on my bare skin, I
replied.
We watched a lot of films together on my laptop in bed while I froze with
sweat and Mercy took care of me and I was glad that I wasn't alone. 'Leaving
Las Vegas' is a love story. Elisabeth Shue plays a prostitute who falls for
Nicolas Cage who is deliberately drinking himself to death but none of the
colossal insanity of their situation matters because they are soul-mates.
Ten years ago at the black-tie reception of a good friend's wedding I got
too drunk and almost embarrassed myself. I had held a cool speech in the
groom's honor, I was flush from the recent sale of my radio station, and I
had the best looking date on the planet. Dinner was over and people were
seated with drinks in groups of ten or twelve around the cleared tables.
After commanding everyone's attention I was approaching the punch line of a
joke when for emphasis I made a drunkenly sweeping gesture with my arm and
knocked over several glasses and a wine bottle. One glass landed in Sari's
lap, something spilled on my trousers, and the fancy tablecloth was soaked.
I sat like an idiot, embarrassment clearing the alcohol-induced fog in my
head. I wondered how I might vanish into thin air and never have to see any
of these people again.
Sari was on her feet drying her gown with a cloth napkin. A young waiter was
passing and she stopped him - he visibly blushed at the sight of this
voluptuous angel with her hand delicately on his shoulder.
- There's been a slight accident, she explained. We'll be needing some fresh
drinks here immediately. Can you see to that for me?
She took another napkin and adeptly patted my trousers dry. I waited for the
sarcastic comment and searched her face for a trace of accusation at having
just made fools of us both in these immaculate surroundings. In the seconds
it took her to clean me up a small flock of waiters had changed the
tablecloth, replaced every glass that wasn't full, and asked sincerely if
there was anything else we needed. Sari dismissed them politely, sat back in
her chair, and handed me my whisky.
- Well, what's the punch line? She spoke as though we had only been
disrupted by waiters refreshing our drinks.
So I finished the joke.
Everyone laughed genuinely and warmly. After a respectful smile at my
audience I turned and gazed into Sari's green eyes; she smiled admiringly at
me and nodded her head ever so slightly and I knew then that I had found my
soul-mate.
Sari and I ended two years later nearly as badly as Nicolas Cage and
Elisabeth Shue had in 'Leaving Las Vegas' - the difference being that Sari
and I had not been a movie.
Yoshiko and I ended one year ago pretty badly as well - intense
relationships often go that way. Our relationship hadn't been scripted by
Hollywood writers but it has been heavily edited by me, and now our story is
a movie. While 'Adventuress Wanted' may appear to be about beach-buggies,
big-game, and Africa - it is really about potential soul-mates destined to
failure in the harsh reality we call life. It's an unusual love story and
not one of those with a tidy ending. But Yoshko just saw the rough cut in
Japan and she was ecstatic. After nearly five years it seems that I may have
gotten this movie right.
Since my last update posted from Sweden eight months ago I've been back in
South Africa editing, in Zambia visiting Mercy, South Africa again working,
over-landed all of Zimbabwe during the elections there just for fun, Zambia
again, Sweden for Pernilla's graduation, Bulgaria for a short trip with
Marika, spent all summer back in Sweden again finishing the film, and now
I'm back in Zambia again to chill with Mercy and digest my work. In a few
days I will return to Sweden to put the final touches on the movie, then I'm
off to Las Vegas to pick up the Buggy and (a drum-roll might be appropriate
here)...
And then I drive her to Hollywood in early November for the American Film
Market to try and sell this project.
I was a wanderer in my youth and it would appear that my past has caught up
with me. I took twenty years off to pick up a degree, raise a family, and
even become a respected entrepreneur, but old habits die hard. Over the last
five years it seems I have come full circle back to the restless searcher
that I was born. I am now a professional vagabond with absolutely no idea of
what 2009 has in store for me. I'm nearly broke so if this film is not well
received at the AFM I suppose I will have to look for an honest job.
But that thought is disturbing so you may spot me on the Bowery instead,
bottle in hand, singing Sinatra's 'I Did it My Way' painfully off key...
If so put a dollar in my hat, chat a while if you like, but don't feel pity
as I have few regrets.
Back to the title of this update.
The world is truly a wondrous place - but reality is also brutal and
sometimes painful and in too many ways our planet is moving in the wrong
directions. People like Robert Mugabe should simply die. People like George
Bush should probably never have been born. And people like John McCain
should never again be elected to the most influential position in the world.
The planet, including the US, is distinctly worse off than it was eight
years ago. If you're American don't forget to vote in November; this may be
the single most significant election of our lifetimes.
We'll let you know soon how you can see the film.
Pictures:
1) Our lovely pool in Zambia won't get worn out by Mercy.
2) I'm a billionaire! In Zimbabwean dollars...
3) Proud sisters at Pernilla's high-school graduation.
4) An ice cold Bulgarian beer costs one US dollar!
5) Contemplating life through an African train window...
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November 4th at the Democratic Convention in Vegas...
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Date: Sunday, December 21st, 2008
Time: 11:30 PM (23:30)
Place: Christiansted, St Croix, USVI
Weather: Warm, Humid and Breezy
Temperature: 30° Celsius, 86° F
Enviroment: Caribbean
Buggy Condition: Good
Tom's Condition: Hopeful
Mercy's Condition: Lonely
Equipment Condition: Worn
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Did you ever notice that some car wheels have a different number of spokes than lug nuts? What's that about?
Sorry...
Despite being the biggest Martial Arts school in Stockholm only about a dozen of the toughest guys showed up for Friday night's full-contact sessions. Most of them kicked my ass on a weekly basis but anytime they relaxed for even an instant I exacted revenge. I quickly earned a reputation as a crazy one-armed American who was not to be underestimated. Rinsing off some blood in the showers one big guy claimed to understand why I never backed down. He had spent some developmental years in the States and told me he could sum up the difference between Swedes and Americans in two sentences.
- In Sweden they teach us from earliest childhood not to think that we are better than anyone else.
- In America you teach your children that with enough hard work anyone can become president.
It was an astute observation with enormous implications. Still I felt it necessary to explain that it wasn't that simple because some groups, minorities for example, didn't actually have much chance to achieve our highest office. But in a few weeks the halls of the White House will echo with the sounds of Black children who are not on a tour, and I've never been so happy to be proven wrong.
My daughter Pernilla and I were in Los Angeles for the American Film Market and I made a few contacts. Film acquisition executives work in slow-motion however and I probably won't know if I will sell this film until next summer. Molly is my assistant producer and we have begun applying to major film festivals starting in spring. That should be fun and educational for me but meantime I need to find a place to live.
Proud to be American again and with my kids growing fast I considered staying on in Hollywood. But LA is a soulless city full of ageing actors, writers, and directors that never quite made it. They occasionally rub elbows with the rich and famous but that just makes them more vain and bitter. And the city keeps dangling fame like a lure and then holding new arrivals prisoner with their own dreams - Welcome to the Hotel California. So after I dropped Pernilla at LAX I bolted.
After a marathon drive across the entire US to Florida I parked the Buggy at my brother Ben's in West Palm. I want to settle somewhere exotic so now I'm doing reconnaissance on St Croix in the US Virgin Islands to see if I want to live here. The worst hotels are a hundred dollars a day and I'm almost broke so the first night I crept alone onto someone's porch to keep out of the rain. Next day I located the only cheap weekly accommodation on the island. A crappier closet with larger cockroaches would be difficult to find in Africa but St Croix belongs to the US. Located in the most dangerous neighborhood of an island known for its crime I share a bathroom that has no lock with two cute Puerto Rican strippers and three ugly Black ex-cons; one is a murderer. I get along with all of them and wouldn't really mind the place much if it weren't for the fleas; I've gotten eight bites since I started writing this update. When I accidentally walked in on one of the strippers showering she just smiled... and so did I; I'm a big-shot filmmaker living the life.
Friday was my forth night and I was very drunk in a bar at 4am with a short bearded guy giving me local tips. I told him I had just finished a movie. He told me he was on a first-name basis with the island's only two billionaires. He said that there was going to be a Christmas boat parade in 14 hours and that he had to leave to begin decorating his yacht. I told him he was full of shit. He invited me to join him; he wasn't full of shit. St Croix is small and the arts are limited so some of the folks on his boat organized a little screening of my film. When a woman asked where she could pick me up on Monday to drive me out to the show I replied honestly that I stayed in a friendly little place down-town and would meet her at the boardwalk...
And this is America; where billionaires live a stone's throw from strippers and ex-cons, where you can wake up in a rat-infested dive and then have dinner on a yacht, and where - occasionally - dreams really do come true.
And I love it.
On November 4th I watched the election-day results at the Democratic headquarters in Las Vegas - it was an amazing feeling. I've personally received congratulatory mails about the Obama victory from friends in Africa, Asia, Latin America, and Europe. After years of embarrassment we have pulled ourselves up by our own boot-straps to elect the most exciting president since John F Kennedy in one of the most important campaigns in history. Once again America is a beacon of hope for the whole world.
No I have not found religion, but God Bless us anyway.
And Happy New Year!
Pictures:
1) Pernilla & the Buggy marketing the film in Los Angeles.
2) Crossing the Continental Divide in New Mexico.
3) New Orleans, where rain pinned me down for a couple days.
4) My luxury accommodation in the red-light district of St Croix...
5) Cruising onboard the yacht 'Nirvana' just off the same Virgin Island.
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The Sun is Setting on the Zambezi;
and on my African Adventure...
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Date: Friday, April 24th, 2009
Time: 2:30 PM (14:30)
Place: Chobe National Park, Botswana
Weather: Hot and Occasionally VERY Wet
Temperature: 33° Celsius, 91° F
Enviroment: Jurassic Parkish
Buggy Condition: Parked in Florida
Tom's Condition: Anxious About Film Distribution
Mercy's Condition: Pretty & Employed
Equipment Condition: Very Worn
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Dogs love me; even if I ignore them they adopt me. I'm less certain about how God feels about me; or me about Him. I'm not an atheist, in fact the more I understand about life the less likely it seems that it is all just an elaborate chemical accident. But I agree with comedian Bill Maher; religion is unnecessary bureaucracy between God and Man.
The trick when your raft flips in category five rapids in Central Africa is to keep your body slightly fetal and your feet forward to cushion impacts with boulders. Despite violent choking from inhaled water it is imperative to stay focused on details like where your paddle is and where the crocodiles are. Once through the worst turmoil make a mad swim for the boat and hope you get it righted before the next set of rapids is upon you. Of course you have a professional guide along. Unfortunately ours lost her helmet when we flipped. She was knocked semi-conscious and had her hands full keeping herself alive. I was right in my element; but rafting the Zambezi just below Victoria Falls will put the fear of God into most people.
And God created women...
The idea behind this last trip to Africa was to import Mercy to St. Croix and live happily ever after. But Mercy is a female and, well... I'm not. We have begun to argue. In our case enormous cultural differences exacerbated the regular challenges of a relationship and in the end proved too great. So instead of taking her away with me I helped her to find a job and now she is on her own. An employed high-school graduate is not the worst thing one can be in Zambia and with her looks she won't remain single any longer than she chooses. I on the other hand - no pun intended - am an ageing and unemployed vagabond with a passion for beautiful young women. I may be alone for a very long time.
Alone and waiting... the bane of all entrepreneurs. I am waiting to attend film-festivals that we may never get accepted to. If we do get accepted we might not win any notoriety. If we win notoriety we won't necessarily find distribution. If we find distribution it may not be significant enough to secure me financially or inspire a sequel. So really I am waiting for a break, what every new filmmaker needs; that chance encounter that changes one's destiny forever.
I'm not completely idle; I'm concluding things with Mercy here while a big studio is polishing the film's soundtracks in South Africa. I've helicoptered over Victoria Falls and rafted one of the world's greatest white-water rivers. Now I'm in Botswana camping with lions and elephants again; I even got charged by a buffalo! I'm hitch-hiking back to Cape Town to lock the audio on the final film and prepare high-quality copies for the festivals. From South Africa I'll return to the Buggy in Florida. Then by summer, hopefully, the festival circuit starts for me. It could be exciting with celebrity parties and media attention; like my radio days but without the cash - unless 'Adventuress' sells...
I had a dream...
There was a small party in a house down the street from where I grew up. Some exotic cars and a huge guy in a suit with an ear-piece told me this was no ordinary gathering. A guy on the street said Oliver Stone was previewing his new film for Quentin Tarantino and a few other directors; my heart skipped a beat - was this my big break? I walked straight up to the security guy shook his hand firmly and said;
- Hey man, Oliver and Quentin here yet? Did I miss the beginning of the show?
He stared at me for a long moment, and then jerked his head towards the door. I remained calm and sauntered in towards a simple TV room. It could have been regular guys watching a football match at half-time but it wasn't. It was some of the biggest film directors in the world taking a bathroom break during a private screening. I sat on a couch diagonally opposite Tarantino who was alone in the room. He sized me up curiously. I had to play my cards just right.
- How's the film look so far?
- Who wants to know?
- Sorry, I'm Tom. I'm a filmmaker too. Well, not like you guys, I've just finished a feature documentary. I'm a huge fan of Pulp Fiction by the way...
He looked unmoved, got up, and left - there went my big chance. In a matter of seconds security would be here to throw me out. I had started to rise when Quentin flopped back down on his sofa, popped open two cold beers, and handed me one.
- So what's your docky about Tom?
- Me and a cute Japanese girl drove a beach-buggy across all of Africa.
- No Shit? An African road movie, cool!
- On the surface it's a road movie slash adventure film slash travelogue, but really it's a love story.
- And it's completely finished?
- Completely. And it's good. I've got a DVD in my pocket. But I'm having trouble finding distribution.
- Shit man if it's any good I'll make a few calls for you. The other guys are going to piss themselves, a fucking beach-buggy across Africa! We'll play it right after Oliver's flick. I got to go tell them man; I'll be back in a minute.
And that was that. Quentin Tarantino and Oliver Stone were going to screen my movie and I knew they would like it. They'd make a few calls and 'Adventuress' would be distributed. Destiny had smiled upon me and nothing would ever be the same. I actually stood in their living room in blissful disbelief pondering the fickleness of fate...
Then I woke up.
If 'Adventuress Wanted' finds major distribution I'll be rich and famous again. If it doesn't I'll be a bum with a DVD in his pocket. 2009 is a decisive year for me but if I think too much about it my brain will explode. So for now I just work on my tan, send out the occasional DVD screener, flirt with girls, and try not to think about a potentially very lonely future.
Maybe I'll get a dog.
Pictures:
1) Such a pretty thing - Mercy will be missed.
2) This elephant pondered charging my tiny Fiat...
3) And this buffalo DID charge my tiny Fiat!
4) So I stopped for a couple of cold Botswanan beers...
5) And pondered the Meaning of Life; dung beetles fighting over... dung.
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Marika & I at the Grand Canyon
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Date: Sunday, November 15th, 2009
Time: 3:30 PM (15:30)
Place: Tijuana, Mexico
Weather: Hot and Dry
Temperature: 34° Celsius, 93° F
Enviroment: Urban Dessert
Buggy Condition: Happily in Use
Tom's Condition: Nostalgic
Yoshiko's Condition: In Love... Again
Equipment Condition: Honorably Discharged
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If my father had indulged my passion for motorcycles as a kid I probably could have competed professionally as an adult. I started much too late however and just dabbled with racing before my aspirations were distracted by real life. But I had a natural talent for bikes and I miss them.
I once aspired to a career in acting as well. In my late teens I moved to Los Angeles to become a stunt man but people told me that I had a 'young Steve McQueen' quality and that I should go for real roles. One of my few paying gigs was as an extra in a made-for-TV movie called 'Return of the Rebels' starring Barbra Eden (I Dream of Genie) on her way down, and Patrick Swayze on his way up. Barbra played the proprietor of a dessert resort - Patrick played the leader of a local hoodlum biker gang harassing her; I was one of his hoodlums.
At the end of the first day on location in the Mojave everyone piled on a studio bus to the nearest Holiday Inn an hour away. Patrick Swayze and I were the only two 'bikers' on set that had actually arrived on motorcycles.
- Looks like it's just you and me riding back. My name's Patrick, but my friends call me Buddy. I ride real fast kid, so try to keep up. I don't want to have to worry if you're splattered behind me on the pavement somewhere OK?
I just smiled...
- My name's Tom... and I'll try to keep up.
I was waiting patiently about 20 miles down the road when he pulled up ecstatically beside me;
- Tom, can you teach ME to ride like that!?!
- Sure Buddy, but it'll cost you a beer.
Patrick (Buddy) Swayze and I were inseparable for two weeks. With his professional-dancer coordination he quickly learned to ride fast, and he really appreciated my tips. He tried to get me a SAG card and a bigger role in return. We acted, drank beer, and drove our motorcycles way too fast. Then he went on to fame and fortune and I rode another one of my bikes around the world. Years later when I was a big-shot radio station owner in Sweden he came through Stockholm on a film promotion tour but I never called him; I don't know why.
Patrick Swayze's death on September 14th made me think about my own life. As a young teen a lot of people bet I wouldn't survive to my 18th birthday. Then at 18 they bet that I wouldn't make it to 21. At 21 my boss loaned me the cash to buy a brand new GS 1100 - the fastest production motorcycle ever built - on condition that he was sole beneficiary on a life insurance policy that he took out on me...
When I think about how many drugs I've done, how much beer I've ingested, how many motorcycles and cars I've crashed, how many fights I've been in, how many dodgy borders I've crossed, and how many times I've been shot at, threatened, operated on, and just plain written off... it really is a wonder that I made it this far.
Since my last update I've been in Africa, Asia, and South America. I just drove across North America in the Buggy again; this time with my daughter Marika - one of the best travel companions I've ever had. And the road winds on... but I'm tired. I need a place to hang my hat. I need a regular lover. And I need a source of income. I like exotic beaches and exotic women, but exotic countries rarely have real jobs... so I've decided to move back to LA; not very exotic but it does have beaches. I left the film industry and Hollywood as a young man on a motorcycle - I'm returning twenty five years later in a Beach Buggy with a completed movie in hand.
Perhaps it was my destiny all along?
And I'll import my own exotic beauty by the name of Yoshiko.
Earlier this year with a heavy heart I gave up on converting my tribal princess Mercy into anything resembling a Westerner. Coincidently - after a long silence - Yoshiko began writing to me again. It seemed like a sign so I spent the summer in Japan starting a book while she taught English to beginning Japanese students. We have a rocky history to be sure, but we have also seen the worst sides of one another and weathered things that most people can't imagine. We'll get a modest apartment in LA where we'll take whatever jobs we can get, keep trying to distribute the film, and play house.
So like a cat with nine lives, thus begins a new chapter for me that the odds were stacked against long ago.
Fame put only a mild dampener on Patrick Swayze and I remember how he used to try to keep up with me on his motorcycle at dangerously high speeds. He lived a proud life and he died around people who cared about him and that is as good an ending as I hope for. Ernest Hemingway and Hunter Thompson both blew their heads off in their mid 60s and I understand them. When they could no longer out drink, out drive, out fuck, and out fight most men it just wasn't worth getting up in the morning.
I've walked this earth my whole life with my pride and when that's gone you can have the rest. I figure I've got another twenty good years in me - but maybe Yoshiko will stretch that. And now another birthday has come and gone, another year; and the person most people suspected wouldn't make it to 21 is still here, respectfully reminiscing the many friends that have passed before him...
Rest in peace Buddy.
Pictures:
1) Patrick Swayze in 'Return of the Rebels'
2) I set one of my exotic beauties free this year.
3) Then unexpectedly regained a former.
4) And while we can never be sure of seeing tomorrow....
5) We can live our lives to the fullest today!
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