There is one main walking path on Boracay island, running parallel to a brilliant 4km stretch of white sand beach.  Just a few meters off the ocean, the path is also white sand, so people take off their flip flops and stroll under the shade of palm trees.  It’s lined with bars playing live music at night, restaurants with cases of iced lobster and tiger prawns, and tattoo shops who can doll you up with permanent ink or henna.  The walking path is also home to the massage girls, and that is where I bought them all an iced cream.

Giving massages (and I mean legit massage, none of the rub and tug stuff) is a huge industry in touristy areas, with probably one hundred women and men lined at stations along the beach.  They wear colorful uniforms, sort of like a baggy nurse’s fits, and if you want one, they can either take you behind a curtained off little bamboo structure or on a big comfortable table right on the beach. 

Since I’ve been living here, I pass them at least three or four times a day.  I feel sort of bad for them.  They’re out there in the hot sun, sometimes 12 hours a day, and only make money on commission when they give a massage – not a regular wage.  In a good week they may massage 5-6 tourists and make $50.  In a bad week they stand out there 60 hours but don’t eat.  So they ask every single person who walks by and try to joke around and smile with them.  There are always some girls in the back who are shy, or maybe not as pretty, and they just sit there and I don’t see how they ever get clients.  It all seems so desperate to me – sort of sad – but I remind myself that these girls have great jobs compared to most.  Of course they never appear down at all, in fact they’re always laughing and smiling and have genuinely sunny attitudes, like most Filipino people. 

Anyway, I’m not on a budget where I can splurge on things like massages so I have to decline every day, but always say hi and try to make conversation.  At first I used to joke, “I’ll get a massage tomorrow, I promise.  Tomorrow!”  And then when the next day came they’d call me on it, “Sir, sir!  You said tomorrow!” 

“Exactly, I said ‘tomorrow,’ but it’s today, not tomorrow.  So I promise tomorrow.”  They knew I was kidding the whole time and it made them laugh.  Pretty soon they would yell out a cheerily “Tomorrrrowww!” in unison when they saw me coming up the path.  Like the island dweller Friday before me, my new name was Tomorrow.

Today at noon was particularly hot, even for an island in the tropics.  I wiped sweat off my brow with the little white towel I carry, just on the walk to the beachside bar, Nigi Nigi Noo Noos, where I planned on getting breakfast and working on my laptop.  I passed the massage girls and the three I’m friendliest with yelled “Tomorrow!” and said hi, grabbed my arm to start massaging it, and laughed and danced.  They knew I wasn’t a buyer, but were just genuinely friendly.  What sweethearts.  The other shy girls sat back, too shy to even say hi.

I noticed a little ice cream kiosk down the path.   

“Hey, do you guys want ice cream?”  They looked at each other, stunned, like someone had just offered them a Cadillac. “Really.  Do you like ice cream?  It’s hot out today.”

“Yes, yes, of course!  The three girls sang in chorus. 

“Ok, how many should I get?” 

“Three is fine,” they said.  But I looked behind them, at the other 8 girls (and 1 guy) who had overheard the whole thing.  They didn’t ask for ice cream, they didn’t even look disappointed they weren’t included, but how sad would it be if the shy ones, or the ones who weren’t as pretty, had to sit there and watch their friends eat ice cream?

“Ok, how many of you are there total?”  They counted them up and there were 12.  The guy selling jet ski rentals tried to sneak in but the girls kicked him out.  They cheered again when I said “okay” and walked up the path to the kiosk.  I ordered 12 large vanilla ice cream cones dipped in chocolate.  One by one the exasperated worker handed them to me, as people behind me in line grunted in frustration.  One of the massage girls ran the cones back to the other girls as they came out, delivering them before they melted.  When she came back I noticed she had something in her ear.  What was that - a hearing aid?  No, it was... a coin.  I asked her about it and she blushed and took the 10 Peso coin out of her ear.

"It's my last money in the world and I didn't want to lose it, so I hold it in my ear," she said.  I laughed with her and made her take a picture with the coin in her ear before handing her the next batch of ice cream.

When we got back to the massage girls, I took a photo of them eating their ice creams.  They thanked me about 100 times, to which I said “Walang anuman,” (you’re welcome) and walked on.  

It wasn’t much at all – we’re talking about a dozen 25 Peso ice cream cones.  I didn’t donate grand sums of money or perform some heroic actions to build a school in a war-torn country or sacrifice a year to work for the Peace Corp.  But that’s the whole point – sometimes the smallest gestures can be just as important, if they actively demonstrate the desire to treat others like human beings.  Every day we can all do these small things without worrying about scheduling free time, how much money we have in the bank, or trying to save the world all at once.  Hold the door for an old lady, give a tired mom your seat on the bus, pay for the person’s coffee behind you in line who looks like they’re having a tough day, or just look someone in the eyes and say hello and smile at them.  

People don’t expect you to solve their problems or “give” them a better life.  They just want to you to stop and say “I see you, brother,” or “I see you, sister,” with humility and service in your heart, especially those in back that aren’t normally noticed.  There is no scale to those acts of humanity – all joy is grand.  A lifetime of small deeds recognizing people as human beings is not a life wasted.  Giving to charity and getting involved in big ways is amazing, too, but first, just treat someone as a human being.  That is, perhaps, the biggest honor you could bestow.

Enjoy your ice cream, sisters, and salamat po (thanks) for being my friends.  Tomorrow was finally today.

-Norm  :-)

These questions come not just from any reader, but my little buddy Casey.  Casey is now 23 years old and about 6'4" and 240 lbs. but I still call him little because I knew him when he was about 8 years old, all ears and a big smile.  It's super cool that we're still i touch 15 years or so later, and I'm thrilled that he'd actually read my books and also show interest in reading and writing more.  

From Casey:
Hey Norm! I have always enjoyed reading but within the last year I have grown to love it. I am reaching out to you because I was wondering what gave you the inspiration. What writers/authors inspired you to become an author? What books specifically motivated you? What was the hardest part about beginning to write? (I'm talking the very beginning) 


What books/authors (if any) can you recommend to me based on what I said above? I love your work and I do hope to see you again!

What gave me the inspiration to write? 
I’ve always loved reading and loved making creative stories. I’ve always had a scary-fervent imagination, which has also gotten me in trouble!  But since I was a little kid I wanted to create and share my art with the world.  When I was in first grade we had an assignment to write a 3-page book, which was really just big drawings with a sentence the teacher transcribed for us, and then we stapled a cover on it.  I made mine on dinosaurs eating planets or something or other and then made the cover but then kept cutting out construction paper and stapling and gluing, even when others were done.  When the teacher came over to see what it was I handed her my book – but I had added a slot attached to the front cover with a library card that slid in.  “Here, I said. “Now you can go show it to the principal and give it to the library to lend out.”  So even as a little kid I wanted to create but I was giving my writing far more credit than it deserved!  haha

As I got older I wrote and created less and just chased money and material things and became a god consumer and worker ant like everyone told me to.  But that fire was still inside me, and it killed me not to do it.  So one day I snapped and gave up absolutely everything in my comfortable, safe existence and said “F it, I’d rather write and die then not live.” 

What writers/authors inspired you to become an author?  What books specifically motivated you?
I always loved reading and used to write through high school and especially college.  Most of it was horrible – I mean embarrassingly awful – sappy poetry and indecipherable hieroglyphs I wrote while high as a kite.  But not until reading the Beat Generation writers – Kerouac and Ginsberg and Burroughs and such – did I realize that authors were just people who had wild experiences or stories to tell who committed them to the page, not some special class of super-academics born to write.  I loved plenty of other books before but the Beats led me to realizing I could write, and they lead me to Charles Bukowski, still my favorite to this day.  He was a drunk ugly bitter old man who told the truth like no one else, and I saw that if he could tell the truth in his stories of everyday people and skid row life, then so could I.  And then a book by Ben Hamper – Rivethead – cemented my style as working class barroom no bullshit truth.  That book probably did more to liberate me as a writer than any other.

What was the hardest part about beginning to write?
Writing.  I’m not being a wise ass by saying that, but committing to sit down every day and put pen to paper and actually write something is the most important part about being a writer.  You can think about it, observe, live life, get drunk, get high, be around other artists, read all the classics, etc. but the act of actually writing consistently is the one sacred and crucial act of being a writer.

That was very hard to come by for me (it took decades to tame that dragon) because I always held back.  I wanted to the writing to be GREAT.  I thought about what the reader would THINK when they wrote it.  The less I wrote the more I crammed into one story/essay/piece.  I was like a cluttered attic, and it took a long time to learn to organize and write one thing at a time without worrying about the outcome or judging myself against some ideal of literary perfection.  Now, I look at writing like a pro baseball player being in the batting cage.  Every day, take your 1,000 hacks to naturalize your swing, but you’re not watching where the ball is going or if someone caught it.  Just write for the sake of writing.  Committing to that practice and not self-judging was the hardest part.

What books/authors (if any) can you recommend to me based on what I said above?
You want to be entertained as a reader or you want to write?  I can suggest the path I started on  - Bukowski and On the Road and Rivethead and others, but from there you’ll find what you like and what you don’t.  If you like a book and you’re feeling it, keep reading it, but if you don’t then put it down.  That’s my advice.  If you want to read about writing, read Stephen King’s On Writing.  My advice to you would be to treat the act of writing with discipline and passion, but from there don’t follow any rules.  Writing is just a conversation between you and the universe, and don't let anyone else interfere or tell you what's right or wrong.  Just flow and vibe and do whatever the hell feels right and don’t worry about cleaning up the lava. 

I love your work and I do hope to see you again!
Well, I guess there’s no accounting for taste!  Hahaha.  Thanks Case – love ya and I know I’ll see ya real soon somewhere in the world and it will be epic!

Norm  :-)

Millions of people were affected when super typhoon Haiyan (called Yolanda locally) hit the central Philippines islands.  The death toll is still rising and hundreds of thousands are displaced without food, water, shelter, or medical care.  Here on Boracay island we got very lucky not to get the worst of the storm, but according to the the warmth of the Filipino people, if one is in need, we all need to help.

So I'm ecstatic to announce the Boracay Cares benefit concert for typhoon relief.  100% of proceeds will go to the Red Cross for typhoon victims in the Philippines.

What:  A benefit concert of local talent and Filipino artists to raise money and awareness for typhoon relief.

When:  Friday, December 20, 2013, from sunset to whenever.

I’ve got Load problems.  Before you block me for obscenity and report me to Facebook, let me explain.  The communications system here in the Philippines is a model of inefficiency, only slightly better than two kids holding tin cans connected by string, albeit an expensive one.  And it’s gotten even more whacky since the typhoon hit.

But  Load problems started couple of months ago, when I first landed in Manila, my taxi driver was gracious enough to take me to the gigantic local mall (Filipinos love their malls) where a task as simple as buying a local SMART SIM card to put in my iPhone and registering for a phone plan involved two hours of running back and forth to 5 separate stores, each time passing through security checkpoints and getting in the back of the line.  But I had no choice – I had to have a good Internet connection so I could keep working.

I was told I have two choices for cell phone service:  SMART or GLOBE.  Smart is the most nonsensical company you’ll find, and GLOBE only serves selected local areas. 

I chose SMART, and was told I had to pay for Load, which I assumed meant loading up my phone with money for their service plan.  I was advised that I definitely wanted the unlimited package for all three: Internet, calling, and text, so I took their advice and paid for the top of the line unlimited plans.

Finally, amidst a stack of paperwork I couldn’t figure out, I got my phone back all ready to go. 

Flash forward two months later to the remote island of Boracay, after the typhoon, and we still don’t have Internet on the island.  They say the lines were knocked down all the way in the town of Kalibo, two hours south on the “main land” island of Aklan, but somehow that daisy chain precludes us from getting Internet here, too.  At first everyone reported that it would be back up within a 48 hours, then by Wednesday, then maybe next week, and now they’ve all just given up. 

That wouldn’t be a big deal except I need to work every day (a privilege I absolutely love) so I do need to access the Internet, somehow. So far, the only way to do that is either:

1)   Use the SMART Internet flash drive I bought as a connection.  It boasts a very unimpressive “2G” and usually doesn’t work at all unless I stand on the 4th floor porch of my apartment building and face west and the wind is blowing right.  I’m not kidding.  Even on those good days, the Internet speed is just a trickle, so maybe I can send an email, but Facebook or pirating a song is out of the question.

2)   Set up my cell phone as a hotspot for my laptop.  This is my most consistent solution.  Writing blogs and sending them out via social media takes 4x the time and effort it used to with a good signal, but the mail still gets through, so to speak. 

Text messages are also sporadic.  Apparently, they don’t have unlimited plans.  No, that’s not right.  They do have unlimited plans but even though I signed up and paid for one, I still get text messages from SMART at least 5 times a day saying that my plan has been fully consumed and I need to reload my phone.  How they can send these via text if my text doesn’t work is beyond me, but hey – it’s their shit show. 

So I grunt and groan like a spoiled tourist and walk down to the local phone shop.  My entrance is inglorious, as the sign on the door says PULL but what they really mean is PUSH.  I always forget and walk right into it, rattling half the structure and causing the employees to look up in panic.  My favorite employee there is a Bakla – a gay guy, the only one nice enough and brave enough to help me.

“I am out of texts again!” I whine, “and I don’t think my Internet is working.”

“Did you check your balance?” he says.  He’s wearing a bright yellow shirt and looks like he’s trying to grow a mustache.

“Of course I didn’t!  It’s the same every time,” I say. 

“Let me see your phone - I will check your Load.”

Load is the universal term for loading your phone.  It’s an issue that consumed approximately 67.4% of the free time of any island resident here, because you never know when you’re cell phone or text or Internet is going to fail.  Or, you may you receive 10 texts a day from SMART that say your Load has been fully consumed, but it still works fine.  Everyone scrambles around trying to ensure they have a full, healthy Load so they can communicate.  At any give time someone may tell you: “I need more Load!” or “Sorry I had to go to the store for my grandma to get her a Load.”  You might not hear from a friend for 4 days, and then you get 10 texts from him all at once.  But, of course, your Load has dried up by then, so you don’t get their texts until later, so everyone assumes everyone is else is dead, drunk, missing, or moved off the island. The pretty girls, especially, know how to play the game, saying they’d love to meet for a beer later but their phone is almost done, so could you lend them 100 Pesos for a Load?”  

“Sure,” I say.  

The phone store worker “tskkks” me for not checking my own Load first before coming to him, but of course I didn’t.  Number one, you can go blind from that, and number two, it’s irrelevant because it always says the same thing.  

The very patient and kind Bakla in the yellow shirt takes my phone starts typing in his magic with long fingernails.  A text comes back from someone named BUDDY, I assume a friend of SMART, giving me accurate Load numbers.   

“It says your Load is almost all spent.  You only have .51 Pesos left.”  

We play this game every time.  No matter what, it always says I have .51 Pesos left.  

“Do you remember what my Load looked like last time we checked?” I ask him.

“.51 Pesos.”

“And the time before that, do you remember my Load?”

“.51 Pesos,”  

“Exactly, I think that SMART doesn’t really know anything about my Load.”

We repeat these shenanigans for Internet, Text, and Calling, because they all seem to be separate services.  I ask if there is one plan I can pay for that would give me unlimited everything for the rest of my life, or 99 years, whichever is greater.  I would gladly pay every Peso in metro Manila for the relief of never having to stress over my depleted Load levels again.  My friend always pulls out a cheat sheet of handwritten numbers, columns, and plans.  He’s got meticulous handwriting.  He looks it over and offers his best suggestion:

“You can have 2 days of internet for 90 Pesos?”  

“I think I’m ready for a much longer term plan than that - I do better with Loads when I’m in a committed relationship,”  

He looks again.

“How about this one for 299 Pesos.”  

“What does it get me?”

“Ummm I’m not sure - about 299 Pesos worth of Load?” 

“I’ll take it.”  

He guesses that should last me approximately 250 MB of Internet usage, which could last 6 hours or 6 days, and 10 free texts a day.  That would be fine, save for the fact that SMART consumes 8 of those texts telling me my Load has expired and that I can download a Rhianna song if I wish.

I pay him, he types in his code and my phone number into his phone and sends it all to SMART.  I receive a confirmation message (counts as one text) and then a duplicate (two texts).  I thank him in Tagolog, “Salamat Po,” wipe the sweat from my brow, and go to walk out, waving goodbye.  Of course I push the door instead of pulling it, smacking my face like a bird flying into a glass slider and leaving a sweat print where my left cheek was. 

“I look forward to your next Load!” he yells after me.

“Yup, see you tomorrow when it doesn’t work again!” I reply. 

A friend and reader who lives in Latin America emailed me with this question yesterday: 

Life in XYZ is getting crazy...a little too crazy for my taste. The streets are being flooded with young loud gringos and Europeans enjoying their pub crawls, the partying is endless and drugs abundant, crime will be on the rise sooner or later (For the first time in 6-7 years I got my stuff stolen on the beach as I went for a sunset swim).

I am feeling empty and people-lonely if you know what I mean.  I am craving for a more spiritual community, some serious soul nurturing and meeting people with substance  - people who think, people with passion and compassion, with positive energy to create awesomeness in their lives while trying to empower others.  So I am thinking about relocating for a bit, maybe even permanently and for some reason my heart shouting Asia!

If you could shed ANY light on the subject for me, I would appreciate it immensely.

My response:

Wow what an amazing proclamation!  I think a lot of us go through that soul searching - looking for a place where the outside environment will match what’s inside of us. 

First off, a reality check – people are basically the same everywhere you go.  If you’re looking for a place where people are all spiritual and mature and thoughtful, you won’t find it.  Take it from someone who has been moving around and on that same quest for most of his life!  You have problems no matter where you go, and good and bad people, and even good and bad within each of us.

That being said, I know living in a small town in Latin America can at different times be a very good or a very bad thing.  But any place where people WANT to go (like nice beach towns) will attract backpackers and vacationers who are looking to party. 

For instance, you mentioned Southeast Asia.  SE Asia is an amazingly beautiful, and comparatively very safe place, but still you have people partying like rockstars everywhere!  You have loud, obnoxious Koreans and shit-faced Australians (not picking on those countries, its just a reality, like fat, complaining Americans!  Haha.)  In fact, the population density in Asia is about 100x what it is in the United States or Latin America (no lie) so get used to MORE people in your space and in your life, not less.  Think of that white sand beach with a person standing every 5 square feet, and that’s what Asia is like.

That being said, there are parts and places that do have an amazing spiritual vibe.  In places like Vietnam, Thailand, Cambodia, Laos, and Myanamar, people are genuinely more mellow and the culture teaches respect and synthesis, not individualism or machismo or material gain.  Of course each place is different, and they have other big problems, but there are so many quiet spots to go where the vibe is more chill than just touristy beach and vacation towns, or the hustle and bustle of life in the West.

I really think you are on to something and to trust your soul and your intuition.  I’ve personally found that a place won’t make me happy – only I can do that.  I’ve tried to run from my problems and sooner or later they catch up with me and I have to deal with them, BUT...

I think you would love SE Asia, and the outsides would closer match the beauty that's inside of you.    

I’ll give you as much info and suggestions I can as I travel, and connect you with cool people that may help you with getting work.  You’re always welcome to crash with me for free wherever I am when you first arrive until you get on your feet. 

One love,

Norm   :-)

I’ll keep this short and sweet, knowing that you’re probably getting ready to deep fry a turkey and check “Endure excruciating yearly visit from mother-in-law,” off your list.  Yes, it’s Thanksgiving.  But instead of pilgrims and football games, I wanted to share something that happened to me yesterday and show why, thanks to you guys, I’m having one of the best Thanksgivings of my life.  

I won’t go into all the sordid details, but I’m living here in the Philippines and my bank, Wells Fargo, screwed me over royally, arbitrarily cancelling my ATM card and leaving me stranded and money-less in a far off country.  Even worse, they refused to do anything to help fix the problem, instead reciting “company policies,” and transferring me to an even less-helpful department, who immediately would contradict the previously-stated supposed policies.  In the end, I've received better customer service in prison, but this isn’t about Wells Fargo so I’m NOT going to be negative.  I WON’T say that you should never bank with Wells because they have a bunch of cranky and heartless automatons from the planet of Fucktard working there (to be fair, at least the 39 people I spoke with over my tedious 7-hour phone siege.)  Nope, you WON'T find me ranting about soulless, bloated corporations lacking all accountability and common sense.  Not gonna do it – I’m going to stay on the sunny side of the street because something came out of it that I will never forget – and makes this the best Thanksgiving I’ve ever had:  

YOU.

Upon posting a furious (and little bit panicked) explanation of the circumstance on Facebook, I was blown away by everyone’s response.  My Facebook friends, some of whom I’ve never even met in real life, circled the wagons (pun intended) and offered to help in every way imaginable.  People even volunteered to wire me money!  I was amazed - people I’ve never met were offering to drop everything and send me their hard-earned cash with no questions asked?!  That’s just incredible, especially in this day and age of cynicism, shyster-ism, and all other ‘isms that just plain suck.

The messages of support kept coming;

“I’ll wire you a few G’s, just say the word.” 

“I can Western Union money to you right now to get you through the week,” 

“Are you OK?”  

“What else can I do to help?”  

My old friend, Stephen, who is President of a big international company and even busier with family obligations and two daughters, actually got on the phone with Wells Fargo on my behalf for over an hour trying to find me a solution!  

Thankfully, I had to yell and scream until 3:30 am to persuade Wells to set up an emergency wire (of my own funds and at my own expense, of course) which I picked up at a skeptical Western Union office here in the Philippines this morning.  WF promised to send me a new ATM card (we’ll see if that ever shows up) but the point is that YOU guys were amazing.  You’ve renewed my faith in the human spirit and given me a lot to be thankful for this Third Thursday.  

You've reminded me:

To always believe in humanity over corporations, politics, and greed.

The best investment you can make is in people and friendships, not banks.

That at this moment I don’t want or need anything else in my life.

Crappy things are always going to happen in life, but there is beauty in the symphony of our response.

Other than writing this blog to thank you, I feel the best way to repay your kindness and generosity is by offering the same sentiments to the wonderful people I meet around the world, who really need our help.  Through them, I can promise that the waves of your good karma will keep flowing on.

Thanks again and happy Thanksgiving.

See?  I got through all of that without being too negative or saying anything I’ll regret.  That wasn’t so hard, was it?

Love and hugs, your friend forever,


Norm   :-)


P.S. Oh, and Wells Fargo?…y’all can eat a big bag of dicks.  

I am one little plastic card away from not existing.  I put it into my wallet, carefully, and button the wallet and then put it in the cargo pocket of my shorts and button that up carefully, too.  I walk 50 meters down the street and then touch the weight of the wallet out of reflex, suddenly conscious that my ATM card is all I have in the world to document I am here.    

A jungle haze of heat, trike exhaust, neon Christmas, taxi girls in flip flops eyeing the nighttime behind hungover sunglasses, guys on the street trying to sell me Cialis and tasers that look like flashlights – I’m in the Philippines.  And the only thing I have in the world is my ATM card.

You see, I just dropped off my passport at the immigration office to extend my tourist visa another 28 days.  They needed my actual passport – not just a copy, its surrender like the loaning an appendage, enough to make any traveler nervous.  I won’t get it back for 4 days.  My hotel is holding my U.S. driver’s license in lieu of my passport so I won’t skip town on the bill, and who knows if or when I ever get that back.  My social security card?  I think I ripped that up many decades ago in a fit of misplaced rebellion.  I have a flimsy medical insurance card from the states in my wallet, but good luck using that in case of emergency – in the developing world, hospitals are strictly pay to play, and they’ll turn you away to die in the street if you don’t have cash on the spot.  I had a credit card but it got stolen a while ago.  Ok, actually I forgot it in a ragged Saigon hotel room after a crazy 48 hours, but it sounds better to say it was stolen.

So all I have left in the world is this ATM card.  What would happen if I lost it?  It’s not like I could walk into my bank’s branch here.  I guess someone could mail me a copy, but that would take week(s) and would have about a 3% chance of every showing up.  And how would I even place a call?  How would I pay for a place to stay?  For food?  Do you know how looping impossible it would be to get to the embassy and muster up the fees to apply for a new passport?  It’s a weird feeling to know you’re one flat, shiny rectangle away from being  persona non grata - that we can be just cancelled and asked politely to disappear.

Why is it that we human beings are defined by our accounts, our passwords, our cards, our ID’s?  How archaic a system is it to carry around a little flimsy book that they physically stamp every time you enter a country, but you’d essentially be detained by a nation’s borders if you ever lost it?  With all of our technology and innovation, this is the best we can do?  Or has the paper dragon turned against us?  You can’t even have your own money if you don’t hold onto a card proving who you are.  Why can you go to jail if you don’t have something with the letters D-R-I-V-E-R-S-L-I-C-E-N-S-E and your photo on it?  And all of these things need to be renewed because they expire and you have to jump through hoops to prove that you exist, all over again. 

When did this start?  How come we didn’t notice that they implanted barcodes in the back of our necks and swindled us into thinking they were doing us a favor?  I look around me, but none of the “uncivilized” locals seem to be suffering from my same burden of digital registration.  But how could we opt out of their paper insanity?  And is it temporary, will our civilization one day evolve out of this ant-sized comic book representation of ourselves?  In the movies, aliens never have wallets to carry ID and credit cards.  Hell, the aliens don’t even wear pants in the movies.

I think I want to live there. 

But for now, I question who set up this whole shit show in the first place, why I am one piece of paper away from not existing at all.  I glance behind me into the shadows, touching my wallet again to make sure the taxi girl didn’t somehow lift it when she blew a kiss, and cross the street.  Strange dream, man, this thing called life. 

How many photos did you take the last time you went on vacation?  Once you returned home, did you have to go through 5,427 digital photos and 124 videos to weed out the keepers?  Did you spend your whole first week back at work posting so many to Facebook that you crashed their servers?  

There’s no doubt about it – tourists take LOTS of photos.  But what if I told you there are only 45 essential photos you need to take on your next vacation.  Not 44, not 46, but 45, exactly.  

You see, I’m on the other end of it – I’ve been lucky enough to live abroad in places like Costa Rica, Nicaragua, Ecuador, Vietnam, Thailand, the Philippines, etc. so I get to witness those 5,427 photos being snapped every day (per tourist.)  So I promise you; just go down this list, checking off each photo, and you’ll save yourself countless hours fumbling.  Remember - you only have 8,880 minutes (7 days) for your whole vacation, so every minute not spent behind the lens of a camera is a minute actually enjoying it.  

Help me find an example of each of these photos.  If you have one from your last vacation or catch another tourist taking any of these, email them to me.  I promise we’ll be laughing at you, not with you.

Here are your 45 essential vacation photos.  (Most are self explanatory, while I added a little description to some.) 

• Jumping in the air at sunset.
  
• The view out your airport window.
• On any rock formation that touches water.
• Leaning against a palm tree.
• In a hammock.
• The “pose no pose” (trying to look casual for the camera while pretending you don’t know it’s even there) 
• Standing in or sitting beside the hotel fountain.
• Your breakfast burrito. 
• A poor local child.  (Note: ask if you can take a photo first, and give them some money.)
• Sitting down in shallow water.
  
• Your seafood dinner by candlelight.
• Your bartender, as long as he/she works at a Tikki bar and he/she has either dreadlocks and/or a tattoo of a shark.
• Your bad Henna tattoo of a shark.
• Getting your hair braided.
• Making a heart circle with your arms on the beach.
• Splashing water with your foot at sunset.
• Writing your name in the sand.
• An embarassing photo of you parasailing with a Level 5 cameltoe caused by the harness.
• Any waterfall.
• A coconut, probably with a straw coming out of it.
• You wearing a fedora.
• You and your snookums wearing matching white linen at dinner.
• Your legs up on a beach chair with a view of your pedicure and the ocean/pool behind it.
• A photo of you and your snookums bare feet on the beach.
• The guy who sold you overpriced oregano that you thought was weed and told you he was a Rasta.
• A parrot.
• The lifeguard stand.
  
• Wearing a Hawaiian shirt even thought you’re in the Caribbean.
• In front of anything that has a likeness of Bob Marley or Rasta colors.
• Any drinking establishment located within 27 feet of the beach.
• Any bicycle painted in a bright color.
• Selfies in all of the above locations.
• A photo of your significant other taking selfies.
• A photo of your significant other taking a photo of you.
• A photo with a much more attractive couple.
• Your mugshot when you get arrested for making bad choices after 17 margaritas.
• Any reptile, whether it’s a crocodile, lizard, or the frog in the toilet.
• Sticking out your tongue or some other random sexual gesture to a statue.
• A yoga pose on the beach.
• The Titanic “I’m king of the world,” pose.
• Endless Bummer. (Based on the surf classic, Endless Summer, you rent a board and do nothing but stand around that take pictures of it all day.)
• A wine glass or beer with the sunset behind it.
• Your handstand on the beach.

***
Did I get them all?  Email me if I missed any essential vacation photos!

Last week, many of us living or traveling here in the Philippines were faced with the worst of mother nature, as Typhoon Haiyan ripped through the central Visayan Islands, decimating played like Leyte, Samara, and Tablocan.  I was holed up on the nearby island of Boracay, where we were all lucky enough to survive the storm and rebuild quickly.  In the aftermath, wanting to help, I started a blog that connected the outside world to Boracay with information and communication with missing tourists.  We received comments and correspondence from people all over the world.

However, the last few days, we've been faced with the worst of mankind: internet scammers.  They are preying on the friends and family who are missing loved ones here in the Philippines.  It's absolutely despicable that people would try to scam money off of panicked and distraught family members, but all we can do is try to spread a word of caution, and support each other as a community.

BE CAREFUL!  Scammers will see that you are posting about missing people via blog comments or social media, and then reply or send you an email or message.  There are many forms of this scam but what's consistent is they'll say that they've located your missing loved one but they're in a precarious medical state, or stranded without a passport, etc..  Of course they are willing to help if you'll just wire them a sum of money, which they'll use to airlift them out, buy medicine, a new passport, etc.

I understand it's easy to fall for these scammers as we're all over-stressed, emotional, and over-tired, but here are some ways to weed out a genuine offer of help and reliable information from a scam.

If contacted:

-Ask for details about the loved one - full name, the street their grew up on, etc.
-Ask what they are wearing, if they have any tattoos, distinguishing marks, etc.
-Ask them to take a photo with the person and email it.
-Ask for details of where they are, where they were found, etc.  Most likely when you ask more and more questions, the scammers will realize you are not an easy target and move on to the next potential victim, or give you false info, revealing their true nature.
-Register the comment with the US embassy, police, aid organizations, etc.
-Reach out for friends, coworkers, their hotel, etc. to verify if the information is accurate.
-Never give sensitive financial information about yourself until you are absolutely sure of verification.
-Don't give up pin codes, bank account information, passport numbers, etc. about any missing loved ones.

Here is an example of a scammer who went "fishing" amongst comments about missing people in the Philippines: 

And how Lin Williamson, mother of a young lady who was missing here on Boracay Island (but we found her daughter and she is safe,) responded.  Nice work, Momma Williamson!  You tell them!