Hangzhou, China

Gosh, this is a little embarrassing, but I can’t state for certain that this locale was actually in Hangzhou - as I have clearly opted to post it under. Culling from a vague memory of travel itinerary, sequential location on SD card, and a, “failed me all too many times, but you’re still my boy," gut feeling, however, my, admittedly feeble, powers of deduction would let $10, maybe $20, ride on this determination. Whatever, it’s not as if it makes a difference to any of you assholes. All you care about is the photos… and possibly even the commentary. It makes me sick! Actually, wait a minute, that’s all I care about. I take it back. You’re not assholes, hell, for all I know, you might be pretty darn cool. Shit, maybe if we can, one day, move past all this, we may even come to call each other “friend." I’ll be forthright, though, as a rule of thumb, I generally despise everyone I ever come across - so I wouldn’t get your hopes up. Not to mention, I’ve been deemed a pretty lousy friend by just about everyone misfortunate enough to become ensnared in that social contract. Even as early as third grade I had made an ignominious name for myself as I watched my best friend – up until that day anyway – get swirlied by a group of bullies in the toilet stall connected to mine, while I idly and cowardly observed from above – laughing and taking polaroid photos. Choosing the most embarrassing of the lot, and believe me, this was no easy vetting process, I would later employ change I had taken from the church collection plate, as God’s request for safe keeping dictated, in the manufacturing of hundreds of photocopies of the, humiliating and, forever to be casually and maliciously referenced throughout the tenure of his extended schooling, prizewinner. Posting them with strategic setting all throughout the school and town’s telephone poles, in order to maximize coverage area as well as difficulty of removal, was no easy task, let me tell you - especially at the tender age of eight. As a matter of fact, you really need to award some deference to the whole operation if you’re gonna be objective about this at all. Besides, he later moved to a different school district once the social ridicule and physical harassment approached a “Lord of the Flies-like” level of tyrannical savagery. What can I say? Some people are just born thin-skinned. Anyway, getting back to what could potentially be Hangzhou, boy, I can summon memory of that day with a, "may as well have been yesterday," acute dexterity! It’s almost as if I can feel the sun’s torrid, incandescent radiance as I type. What an unforgivingly ho…. HOLY FUCKING SHIT THE SKY IS BLUE!

I just can’t get over these blue skies. If I didn’t know better, I would swear someone had surreptitiously photoshopped my images by cloak of night. In fact, this was my prevailing theory until I thoroughly examined the pixels with savant address. Still flabbergasted by the technical confirmation, I’m finding it kind of hard to conceive any commentary indirectly related to, what can only rightfully be labeled as, a once in a lifetime phenomenon. Just look at that fucking blue. I mean, is it cerulean, azure, periwinkle? It’s so difficult to properly classify as my retinas are currently smouldering. Shit, they might even be detached at this point. It’s a good thing I can touch type, dear reader, as I have finally arrived at some observation. It goes a little something like this: at first I made an errant perception that the woman was toting the umbrella. I then, shrewdly, discerned it was actually the person trailing her whom possessed umbrella resplendently showcased to reflect the sun’s Halley’s comet-like arrival. I was all but certain this was a male figure upon immediate glance; however, I examined the pixels, once again, as I’ve forged my name in the embers of meticulous analysis and have a reputation to uphold. Evaluation complete, I was able to confirm his male gender. Once this was categorically determined, I then deemed him “totally gay."

I told her not to look, as I had espied for myself, and there was nothing in there other than rampant, soul-shattering human rights abuse. Nonetheless, she chose not to heed my admonition. Shortly after this photo, when I found her weeping in the tall grass like she had just watched the light gradually drain out of her soul mate’s eyes as he struggled desperately, yet ultimately failed, to deliver his final heartfelt message, I couldn’t help but think, “I told you so.” I didn’t actually say it, but I really wanted to. Instead, the compassion of my character won out, yet again, and I comforted her as tenderly as I know how – by informing her that, according to the tenets of Zoroastrianism, her soul mate was on his way to uniting with the fravashi to form a “united fravashi," a guardian angel that would then watch over her. That is, of course, assuming he led his life according to the precepts of asha - a presupposition one could relatively safely make. My tranquilizing sentiment bringing her tears to hasty termination, I could not help but inquire about what little she was able to parse from his attempted vocalization. Now years later, her verbatim reply is, regrettably, lost on me; however, I do recall something to do with the word “rosebud.” Weird. Even stranger yet, is that this fictional soul mate, whom I've doctored such a, hyper-realistic and gut-wrenching end of days, began as just a metaphor for the intensity of the woman's crying. How many of you remembered that by the time you reached "rosebud?" I, for one, didn't. I've just edited in everything after "Weird." And this was after several previous read-throughs. That surely must say something about the, slightly better than, "Made in China," quality of that story. Right?

It is seriously crazy how sight of this photo instantly congers explicit memory of some sort of karate game I used to play on the Sega Master System. Goddamn that game was awesome. The inability to recall the game’s title will, unfortunately, now irk me to unreasonable ends. In all actuality, I could probably get to the bottom of this with some very basic googling strategies, but I think I’m going to just let my brain interminably work on this one unconsciously until one day, I’ll be at my best friend’s funeral, regarding the casket’s steady descent into the cold, detached earth, lamenting the human condition, when I’ll unwittingly blurt out the title of no voluntary accord. It will be one of the most bittersweet moments of my life. A sea of black clothing will simultaneous direct bewildered attention my way – each countenance finding its own unique cockeyed arrangement. Although I’ll be riddled with discomfort, I will take solace in knowing just how marvelous of an organ the brain truly is.

Yep, those are some trees. Can’t say so with botanist-like authority, but I feel pretty good about this one.

I’m totally feeling the whole perspective shift thing with those giant stone… gates? Is that what one would classify them as? I know the similar looking orange Japanese variety are torii gates, so I reckon it’s fair to deduce tantamount designation in China. I’m not saying all of Asia is the same or anything, although, ya know… Anyway, wouldn’t it be crazy if gates were so intricately varied that they had their own set of taxonomic nomenclature like groups of biological organisms? Like this one could be Lorem Ipsum Porta or something. No? Not crazy, just stupid? Okay. Anyway, as much as I enjoy the sum total of the layout here boys, couldn’t you have used some of that stone with more practical measure, say, like, in the construction of a towering 6000 kilometer wall or something? Well, who am I to judge?

Dear god - that is just out-of-this-world sublime! If I didn’t know better, I would swear it the crowning achievement legacy of some long-dead renowned master of oil paints. Then again, all those guys did was waste unparalleled, once in a century or so, talents and imagination on shitty religious iconography commissioned by an insidious ruling league of charlatans with a penchant for grifting the naïve and easily frightened... Anyway, it’s a good thing that kind of chicanery doesn’t still go on today! But back to this image, I better take a look at the pixels to confirm a photo wasn’t surreptitiously swapped with painting by cloak of night.

Seriously China, have we forgotten about my highly unique skillset already? The British spike a bit too much opium into the collective proletariat’s tea or something? Here’s a little friendly reminder: I will find you, and I will document you in increasingly more disconcerting acumen. Last warning - seriously guys!

Oh look I found you! What a peculiar unfolding of event. It’s almost as if I have some sort of honed competence I’ve spent my life in dedication towards, only to, thereafter, consistently divulge dominion of - all in the name of good faith. In case you can’t tell China, I’m being sarcastic. Do you guys even have that here? I bet you don’t. You guys probably don’t even have sarcasm…

Woah, woah, woah, woah, woah! Either I need a new prescription for my monacle, or this motherfucker just turned his back on me and walked away in the direction of transcendent beauty. And did I give you permission to gather even a single reed from this land? I don’t recall giving you permission to gather a single reed from this land. Did anyone hear me say he could gather a single reed from this land? No. I didn’t think so. This is some forty lashes kind of shit my friend…

P.S. I kind of really like this photo. Shhhh. Don’t tell anybody!

Is it just me, or do even the dragonflies look Chinese in China? Or maybe that’s just how all of them look everywhere. Did I just unwittingly reveal some sort of cryptic latent racism no one really gets but everyone kind of understands? Well, if that is the case, I don’t want to be known as a racist. I’ll just delete this.

Story time! This guy pictured above, ever-so-casually in repose on the vast expanse of pillar corner just begging for awkward lounging, was one of two professors who, sort of, directed these wacky adventures through China. While I shall restrain myself from deserving libel, suffice it to say, this guy was one enigmatic customer, though, ostensibly, a fairly well esteemed scholar. Case in quick anecdotal point: once in Beijing, he artfully disappeared from the hotel, while amongst plentiful company, to no one’s particular greater recognition. Based on firmly established earlier precedent, this really wasn't much of a surprise. Later in the night, however, while throwing back a bit of some toxic, dirt-cheap, alcoholic elixir known as baijiu, slightly outside the hotel’s premises and, thus, outdoors on the street like an authentic degenerate native, who comes strolling along out of a vanishing point far down the city street, completely barefoot, with eyes far more vacant than a midnight cinema showing of "Waterworld" six weeks after its release? Nope - not a shirtless derelict. You guessed it: the guy pictured above, ever-so-casually in repose on the vast expanse of pillar corner just begging for awkward lounging. There’s some apropos maxim about something being stranger than something, right? Well, I never was one for being able to cite shit. I'm sure someone out there can put the, admittedly, nondescript puzzle pieces together.

File this one under: “meh," for me. I put it here in case someone gets off on “meh." I hope you’re that person. The world needs more appreciators of “meh."

This one, though, this one is the kind of understated affair to bring the entirety of the world’s hipster population out of whatever vanguard hole it's currently being misunderstood in, in order to proclaim, “Meh," before returning and painfully suppressing jealousy over the sweet basket below the handlebars.

Forty lashes later and this guy still hasn’t had his fill. It’s as if he still thinks I won’t find him or something. I just don’t get it…

This cow’s thinking, “Holy fucking shit! Is that a blue sky? And just what shade is it? Sapphire, tiffany, powder?” Well, after some cursory research, and I do mean cursory, turns out cows can only see muted versions of blue. So I guess you wouldn’t need to be going through the former hue rolodex cow, though you might wanna think about immediately investing in some cones for your eye; this kind of visual spectacle isn’t exactly on the daily menu here in China – just sayin’. And a friendly heads up, don't get fooled into thinking you need the rods - those are just shady upsells... Wow, I can't believe this just dawned on me, but upon stupefyingly overlooked thought, perhaps limited visual color spectrum is an advantage in China. I mean, I don’t have to spell out the, "never gets old" motif, implication behind that consideration, do I? So then cow, in light of this review of bleak realities, it looks like you may have won this battle, but our war will drag on bitterly and stubbornly until I’m one day pushing daisies.

Well, one last shot before I say goodbye - site whose actual whereabouts I couldn’t give you the slightest indication towards, and, city that, may or may not be, Hangzhou. It’s been real! And I’ve learned so much! I promise I’ll put you on the internet some day and let others revel before the sight of the enduring monument, and testament to man’s laborious and boundless artistry – the rusted fixed gear bike with sweet basket below the handlebars.

Hell-fucking-yeah! Now your speaking my language China. I’ve got more love for bonsai trees than Mr. Miyagi on 250mg of MDMA. And country miles more than that asshole from the Cobra Kai dojo who snapped the one true bonsai from Okinawa directly after coercing Daniel-san into signing up for the tournament. But I guess that latter statement goes without saying. Anyway, let’s kick this bonsai tree park shit into high gear already!

I Love you. I love you. You’re precious. Feelin’ your twists and turns. Nice unexpected foliage on this guy. Hey, you’re bigger than expected! Very good choice on the complementary pot here. Oooh, I like how the path curves here. This one’s on a fucking pedestal – love it! And what a surprisingly strong trunk on you buddy! I think this one could actually stand to be trimmed a bit. Yeah, something’s definitely a little off with the feng shui. God fucking damnit! Why didn’t I bring my shears? You’re so stupid sometimes Josh!

Ahhh. This is the kind of photo I could just repeatedly gaze into and find bottomless, yet disparate serenity each time. At some point, unfortunately, I’d have to discontinue my ogling and go to work or some shit. You see life, that’s the kind of bullshit I’m talking about! Can’t a man just endlessly gawk at a photo of bonsai trees for all eternity without needless interruption? Is that really too much to ask?

That thick guy in the middle sure does look interesting. Let me get a closer look…

Interest confirmed! Aren’t you just genetically well-endowed. With a girth like that, you must be the subject of most of the rest of these bonsai trees’ unmitigated scorn. I bet they’re all cool to your face too, but then when you’re nodding out after a little opium break, they’re all talkin’ shit behind your back like every person you’ve ever known in your life.

Green, green, green, green, mulberry, green, green… Way to spice it up token mulberry bonsai! I bet your work largely goes underappreciated around here. Well guess what, this gweilo see you, and this gweilo is deeply appreciative. Let’s ask the next Chinese patron that steps foot through here to give a thorough evaluation of this dazzling arboretum and see if he makes mention of you. I think you’ll learn where to place your allegiance thereafter.

Yeah, if someone could go ahead and recreate a similar set up in my backyard - that would be great. I suppose I would need to start by obtaining a plot of land first. I suppose that would require a considerable amount of capital though. And I suppose that would necessitate hard work of some ilk. I’m not too sure this is going to work out as I had intended. Still, if I were to ever become “old money," still complaining about taxes significantly reduced through canny evasion, offshore account in the Cayman, rich, I would totally go for an aesthetic like this - but only after I’ve blown the vast majority on coke, hookers, and collectible trinkets first. If I don't fuck up on the prenup and my bitch of an ex-wife is forestalled capacity to pick my bones clean, I should be able to siphon enough out of the kids' college funds to, at least, install a few rocks, a modest pond, and a mulberry bonsai or two.

Okay bonsai trees, that shit was dope, but it’s dusty trail time. I think I’m gonna head in the direction of that festive red banner. My hanzi is a little weak, but I think it might be indicating something about some general tso chicken existing somewhere down the road. I don’t particularly enjoy general tso chicken, but I happen to be famished and am pretty tolerable when it comes to any food I don’t have to prepare myself. While this photo does draw back fine memory of hoggish craving as well as somewhat decent scenery, I was actually very displeased with this composition upon immediate analysis of the LCD screen thumbnail. I had a superior frame envisioned, that, if I recall correctly, involved the cut off sign to your left not being cut off - amongst other things. Unfortunately, everyone was impatiently waiting for me on the bus and I could feel their rancorous eyes piercing through my back like a victim of unlicensed Chinese acupuncturist malpractice. Good going guys! You got to dinner ten seconds earlier and the internet received a remarkably apathetic and vapidly baseless simile. Anyhow, I'm not sure how I feel about the ease with which I can recall circumstance surrounding the capture of one photo amongst over a thousand taken nearly four years ago, when I regularly commit such wholly hamstrung feats of cognitive breakdown. For instance, the recurring inability to locate my phone, whilst actively engaged in conversation on it, seems to rear its ugly head all too often.

At this juncture, I am willing to up the wager over whether we are, in fact, in Hangzhou or not. What did I have riding on the positive affirmation before? $20? Let’s make it 50 trillion now. Any takers? Come on, I have a mystical bonsai garden to erect! Well, the blue chips remains on the table if anyone decides to raise his skirt, grab his balls, live a little, and push his in too. In the mean time, expect many more pictures like this one to come.

But first, have a bunch of green. We all know you love green. Your best friend spilled the beans. You shouldn’t trust him or her anymore.

Big pimpin’, boating past trees. Big pimpin’… Uhh, can somebody help me out here? I fear I’ve just dug myself into a pretty big lyrical hole. I don’t know what I was thinking attempting to adapt the immortal Jay-Z’s poetry like that. Seriously Josh, you fucked up big time with this one…

Big pimpin’ wind sailing past trees. Big pimpin’… holy shit Josh, what the fuck have you gone and got yourself into this time? You’d think you’d remember not to fucking touch Jay-Z’s legacy already. I hope there’s a twelve step program for this kind of disorder or I might find myself shirtless on a park bench before I know what even hit me.

Told you to expect a couple more like that. You were warned. No sense in crying about it now Nancy. All’s fair in proclamation and war. Seriously, stop fucking crying already. What is Anthony Bourdain a permanent resident of your face, maintaining a deep-seated axe to grind with you that is beyond recall, and perpetually chopping onions in petty reprisal?

Yep, this one’s taking home a ribbon. Probably not a blue one, but I’ll take any trinket made of polypropylene and emitting a light luster. It’s just a shame that cow won’t be able to fully appreciate that mod blue detailing on the paint job. I suppose cud is a pretty substantial consolation gift though.

Marginally noisy, but this one ain’t too shabby either. I’m not sure I’d dole out another ribbon with such impulsive whim this go around, but nonetheless, chin up tiger - you’re doing pretty well for yourself! Besides, there’s always next time I’m in Hangzhou.

Yep, I dare say this is some pretty Chinese shit. Come on shit, why can’t I get this kind of you over here in the United States? You know, things are tightening up between us now. For those keeping score at home: US: 234723846, China: 2.

Don’t mind me, I’m just gonna gloriously thrust my opulent spire out of these luscious, lord only knows how tall, trees. Don’t perpetually ruminate on what the underlying two-thirds of my, in all likelihood, life-changingly magnificent base looks like or anything. It’s not worth losing sleep over. Although, I must say, given the chance, I would totally take a look at it, and, perhaps, even photograph it. Why didn’t you do that again? Oh, no opportunity… right… right… Well, like I said, don’t make this an issue of burden. As a matter of fact, I’m actually quite appalling down below. The sheer number of tourists that vomits upon, first eyeshot alone, nearly totals zero each year.

Okay, I think we can spare a little more polypropylene for this guy. I mean, not too much, but enough, say, to approach the size of one of those shitty breast cancer month ribbons. Be careful to just approach though, we don’t want to inspire jealousy, or worse, assault, from the most widely cognizant and regularly checked for malignant tumor.

Awww snap! Let’s switch this shit up to some park business. Now that the cat's out of the bag and I know you guys are a fan of green, you can be rest-assured I’m gonna take full advantage of your banal enthusiasms. You might want to get some tourniquets handy, because the levels of green about to drone strike your Middle-Eastern cities of interest will be so devastating only Julian Assange will know the full brunt and scandal of the casualties.

Hey China, I dare you to carve a few badass Buddhas into some rock face that stood considerably high on its own natural aesthetic merit already. Holy shit. It worked! I’ll have to try this more often. I had no idea China was so accommodating. Seriously China, this Stage IV lung cancer thing is starting to become more and more forgivable. Hey, what’s the 5-year survival rate at Stage IV again? 1%? Word. Yeah man, I’ll take those fucking Buddhas in even exchange any day of the week.

Anyone call for some tree? Someone around here had to have called for some tree. It's better if you just confess now, as the repercussions following the uncovering of truth via my own, "no stone unturned" investigation, will be far more draconian. Listen kids, this is just the sort of tactics cops will coercively employ in order to generate self-incrimination. Don’t fall for it. And don’t take legal advice from some asshole on the internet.

Hey look! It’s another badass Buddha carving. Oh and look! It’s me on the precipice below it, poorly attempting to recreate the lotus position. Really Josh, you really thought you would pull that one off? When’s the last time you even stretched? Before a dodgeball game in sixth grade? Shit, you couldn’t even get the hands right. This shit would bring utter embarrassment to a facebook profile. People would just "like" it out of a perfunctory convention they’ve long forgotten the actual motives for. They probably have something to do with some sort of tacit gratification received from doing absolutely nothing while guised as something mildly magnanimous. Or perhaps it's the false suggestion that they're interested in anything other than themselves and the circle jerk they don’t even have to pay monthly fees to be preeminent members of!

Two highly iconic Chinese stone sculptures; one cup. Listen, I’m sorry. If you had any idea how many consecutive hours I’ve been at this with only the most occasional of bathroom breaks, you would be extolling the virtues of that pathetic excuse for humor as if a recently released, wildly tattooed to the upper limits of the neck, convict, with a, "who will be the first to give me the slightest excuse for recidivism?," chip on his shoulder, just delivered it to you in your, surprisingly well soundproofed Manhattan studio-sized home, and followed with a silent, icy glare, capable of conveying a significant range of menacing intent - all of which falls on the wrong side of the bell curve.

Now this guy I like! I would party hearty with him just like he were Slurms MacKenzie. He actually reminds me of a character from a show, “Legends of the Hidden Temple," that ran during Nickelodeon’s hay day. You know what, that was a bit unfair of me, I really couldn’t say, one way or the other, what the contemporary quality of Nickelodeon’s programming is like. Perhaps the rose tints I see the shows I watched as a child through receive their aura of light merely from a less jaded child’s perspective. Actually, fuck that shit. Nickelodeon used to rock harder than Andy Warhol on any given Wednesday night at Studio 54. You asshole kids today have no idea what you’re being deprived of and substituted with. As a point of interest, and perhaps even registered by some of you more dedicated followers, this commentary would mark my second Nickelodeon reference amongst my China blogs! I'm not sure, but I feel as if this should unlock some sort of achievement. Perhaps worthy of more consideration, however, is what this recurring proclivity to nostalgically channel images from my youth says about the condition of my current well-being. This is just the type of quandary Confucius would be insightful in assessing. Holy shit that was a stretch. Moving on...

Yep, even through the trees, the Buddhas still remain! Nice try to prove otherwise Josh. That was your motive for those shots, right? Oh, you didn’t think it would be artistic, did you? Oh gosh, I… I shouldn’t have opened my big, fat mouth… You know what? Those are actually exceedingly artistic. As a matter of fact, I can’t recall ever seeing finer shots of stone carved Buddhas in rock face through the camouflage of trees. (That’s technically true, and while I’m actually feigning esteem for his shitty photos, he’ll be none the wiser. Brilliant work on the wordplay Josh! Thanks Josh! Honestly, it was nothing.)

Well, it would appear that we have now arrived at new site. The residual surplus of green present, however, renders infallible discrimination nearly impossible. There’s something about that, duly noted, extra panache to the pagoda's curls, though, that tells me I’m correct in my assumption. The conspicuous, more gnome-shoe-like nature, diverging it from previously encountered others, lends way to a strong tipoff. Yeah, I think it's coming back to me now... Nonetheless, here, I would normally insert, yet more, hackneyed reference towards the need to consider the possibility of an un reliable inclination formed from poorly collected evidence retrieved by my hilariously faulty memory. Just today, however, I came to a realization, that, contrary to what I have continually led all to believe, my memory may actually be atypically crackerjack. You see, lately, I’ve been experiencing a recurring phenomenon; several different acquaintances have been regurgitating, to their own sets of aggravating ignorance, the same bland, butcher- paper-packaged anecdotes, previously dispatched to me on more than one occasion to begin with. Honestly, this is some shit I think I never perpetrate, so why am I recalling the previous delivery of these shitty narratives while no one else seems to be able to remember divulging them in the first place? I guess I could be in the matrix or something, but I think the head on my shoulders has just been given undue short shrift - by my very own head no less! I’m not sure if that’s ironic. People get upset when you misuse “ironic,” so I’ll just go ahead and roll with that matrix theory.

Substantially closer to assurance of new locale and I haven't even, yet, received chance to pimp some bullet-time action or “know kung fu!" I realize the previous two matrix references, here and comment above, don’t logically follow much of anything, but the Wachowski brothers, I mean siblings, really did smash it with that film – even if you want to be a “Comic Book Guy” pedant and assert they appropriated material from Japanese anime or some such nerdy whinging ilk. This will be, but more, of a digression (although you should expect the non-linear from me by now), but, when I was in high school, I was a self-proclaimed computer nerd of considerable measure - hard to believe, I know! Anyhow, I owned a Doctor V64, which, if you aren't familiar with - and I should hope, for your sake, this to be true - allowed for the “backup” playback of Nintendo 64 games via rom emulation generated through absurdly bulky hardware attachment – it’s worth a google image if you’re in the dark here. This thing was capable of creating comically ludicrous tower stacks with its full array of subsequently released peripherals needed to play increasingly more encrypted games. It was its VCD playback, however, that will claim dominion of this yarn, as one of the very first films I pirated, via super 3l33t mIRC skills (how many are truly lost now?), and burned to this format, was a shitty, in-theater, camera job bootleg of a PAL Matrix; not even a telesync - I know! Nonetheless, I have fond memory of first screening the poorly lit. still in theaters, dividend of my dorky savant and hours of toil.  My white 13” JVC CRT TV/VCR combo classic would never know what hit it. The grainy excuse for a film, however, was split between two discs so you had to break flow of the exceptional viewing experience - somewhere mid-awesome philosophical mindfuck no doubt. This was the, beyond any possible level of lexical articulation, frustration tax one had no choice but to pay in order to wield such power in the comfort of his own uncomfortably small, "Michael Jordan - Wings" poster-lined, bedroom. Getting back to the photo at hand, however, the dude mid-step to the top left of the stairs looks comically small by virtue of perspective. Additionally, the girl all the way to the right in the foreground made an exceedingly good choice with those chunks – they really accentuate her sexy calves. And the girl in purple top, just opted for the "blue" pill like a little bitch.

Only one stone monument in this frame? That earlier, “two highly iconic Chinese stone sculptures; one cup” sure did set the bar unreasonably high, so much, in fact, Sergey Bubka, Ukrainian proprietor of world record pole vaulting title, would flop tragically, to his collapsed-spine demise, attempting to clear it. At least, he would meet his linebacker-built, misogynistic maker, knowing his record still sits 3 ½ inches comfortably above the competition. For those keeping score at home: US: 234723846, Ukraine: 1.

Well, hello there eminent historical Chinese figures of bronze composition! Your, heretofore, conspicuous absence has been a dolorous drain on my morale. Thanks for making yourselves known mere hours before I would have been compelled to haggle on the street with a shirtless ne’er-do-well in order to score some dubious generic Paxil.

I’m not sure the artist captured a, true-to-life, bearing of a monkey retrieving food from human hand. In my, admittedly limited, experience with such circumstance, the monkey tends to snatch with malicious visage - as if to say, “I fucking dare you to do anything about that shit, you crudely agile pussy! Last I checked, you weren’t exactly sprightly oscillating from limb to branch without a care in the world as I do." And take a look at tubby’s build over here. He’s the last candidate for reprisal one could ever suspect – penultimate, perhaps, at most anyway. I know he’s been molded with jovial and openhanded intent, but even as an acknowledging recipient of charity, a monkey will still be a dick about things, and should, thus, be rendered to appear that way.

I’d like to say I framed this photo with a definitive intent to render the, “one more stroke and you’re going to get to know my O face,” illusion of handjob one might easily, or possibly only head-contantly-in-the-gutter, cull from this vantage point, however, my memory fails to recall motive, yet again, so I cannot speculate with a reasonable degree of certainty - one way or the other. I take back that crackerjack shit. It’s funny, though, just today I was delighting in, inordinately lengthy and exhaustively detailed, ribald discussion involving the unfulfilling nature of receiving a handjob from anyone other than oneself. As my friend explicitly put forth via seasoned empiricism, no one, other than the male himself, is quite capable of adjusting rate of stroke at the precise, appropriate, interval required for superlative climax. While we were in consensus about this, I, absent-minded as ever, advanced the question of just why any partner bothers to awkwardly dole a handjob out to begin with. Sagacious as he is, he delineated the justification for its, seemingly superfluous, sexual existence, by reminding me that, when one needs to pull out, and requires those last few strokes to consign a new, recursively fractal Jackson Pollock, a helping hand is appreciated – maladroit as it may be. Shortly after this episodic and inexcusable act of basic animalistic statute forgetfulness, Wilt Chamberlain furtively appeared and made off with my man-card, before swiftly retreating like two ships passing in the night.

Anyone who challenges Grizzly Adams’ manhood over here and lives to tell about it is someone I could desperately use in the crew if I ever find myself perilously involved in a bar fight, prison riot, or any other brawl I am more than likely to become ensnared in at one point or another. The type of canny survival skills this man would, invariably possess, could make Bear Grylls, even whilst imperviously high off his finest, oak barrel-aged piss, look like a counter-culture pacifist who goes to sleep each night draped in a hemp poncho striped with seven interchanging shades of purple, while, by light of day, spends most of his time crafting multitudinous variety of trail mix - only after paying laborious consideration to notions of complementary nutritional and flavor value and what is currently available for purchase at the organic farmer's market.

Well then, this here room is awesome. For real, whomever designed this was on some serious, “why the fuck not?” shit. This looks like where I’ll wake up when the plug is torn from my brain. Goddamn I would like to meditate in there for a few brief moments before performing an immaculately composed jump kick and splintering, into fine particle, six consecutive wooden boards - held in the air by the finest assortment of bronze characters in the adjoined room.

Here’s a pretty neat shot of some ceremonial incense burning. The guy, doing the khaki and camel tandem proud, may have been our tour guide here. I’ll just go ahead and assume he was and segue into another textbook example of Chinese contradiction. Although, I guess by virtue of drawing attention to the approaching shift in storytelling, I really can't claim employment of de facto "segue" - per se. I did, in my defense, however, just kind of atone for this by dropping the unexpected cluster bomb of Latin scholar towards the rear of the former sentence. Pretty proud of that. Anyway, I remember asking the tour guide if I could spark up a cig within the immaculate confines of, whatever, this incredible temple park place was - an act, if permitted, would afford me the uncanny pleasure of performing like a true ugly American doing his best true ordinary Chinese dude impression. To my inquiry, he responded with a casual, light swivel of the head, that, if granted the benefit of generous heavy favor, rotated 45 degrees at most - on a blustery day. This former, flat out lazy, "Metal Gear Solid guard-like" dubious visual appraisal was apparently enough to assay the situation. With a shrug of his shoulders, he delivered his juridicious verdict and stated with wanton limited interest and accountability, “I don’t see why not.”

Okay, I am about to launch into a series of, what could surely be considered, run-of-the-mill, idle people-watching shots, which, I, in all likelihood, took during a much-deserved chain-smoking cigarette break. I shall endeavor to, thus, keep things brief, in consideration of my desire to preserve the continued sanity of anyone who, curiously, hasn't shrewdly decided to move on to far more worthwhile realms of the internet which claim deed to hilarious macro images and animated gifs of cats in various different situational environments. I suppose I've already proven myself incapable of that promise to be concise, by virtue of the former belabored prologue alone; although, perhaps had I chosen not to point this out, the sum extent of my own hypocrisy would have been marginally mitigated. Well, I suppose it's too late to figure out where that "delete" key lay amongst all these mysterious, unknown quadrilaterals. Seriously, I'm relatively uncertain and even living in slight fear of what some of the ones in the top row are capable of carrying out. But there I go digressing in contradictory fashion to my purported altruistic consideration again... I guess, though, we both know I'm incapable of making good on too many promises by now, and, if I'm to be candid, it is really you, dear reader, who is to blame for your own heretofore inaction, as anyone with a sense of smell should have taken putrid notice of the festering, hot-garbage odor, nauseatingly emanating from the endless sea of condemning, character-assassinating fodder that has been continually vomited out on the screen ever since the inception of this blog, and beat a hasty retreat, without second thought, to the comfort of the hills by now. Excuse me if I don't feel it incumbent upon me to apologize over what I've been painfully going through ever since being shushed in my local theater for incessantly chatting on my cellphone during the heartwarming denouement of an at capacity opening night screening of "Cars" - an event rife with embarrassment, coinciding with the relative inauguration of this blog, and antecedent to the bombastic withdrawal symptoms I have been experiencing to this very moment, which, coincidentally, are responsible for the ceaseless propellings of vomit into lithe action and the corresponding creation of its own, in turn, induced vomit, whose foul stench you've so wisely chosen to tolerate. And excuse me again, if, after given ample opportunity to assay the vile nature of my character through aforementioned fodder, you lacked the child-like ability to mold my true, repugnant, homunculus form and see me for the unreliable, shifty chameleon I am. Anyway, I promised to keep things brief, so let me begin by getting the most protracted of all the subsequent narrations out of the way. Is there anyone who has been around since the remote beginnings of the voluminous Hangzhou entries, still with me, and, able to conjure up memory of the tragic fictional story involving a woman collapsing in tears - dying soul mate within lap? It took place at some unknown site in some nebulous city, if that is any service to your recall. Well, that woman, with yarn spun around her innocent curiosity, is the very same woman you see here! If you in any way made that connection prior to my revelation of it, then you, my friend, are a fucking boss. So, this woman was one of my favorites from the travel group. At this point, maybe I should give some background information. The entirety of this trip took place via the partial charitable funding of an organization seeking to inculcate educators with a knowledge and passion for China in hope that they would later incorporate this in curriculum back home. Egad, I’ve said too much! So she was an art teacher, and by virtue of this knowledge alone, you could pretty much envision the sort of wacky, vivacious, “never quite know what side of herself she'll reveal next,” eccentricity of spirit that she embodied. We had a few good laughs and meaningful talks throughout the term of the trip. Like I said - one of my favorites. She was really excited to go ignite the incense and meditate or pray or whatever - an enthusiasm, she suggested I let course through me as well. "What the hell," I thought. I initiated a couple of awkward, “we can totally tell you don’t mean it,” slight bows, in one or two directions, before capitulating to my inability to seriously partake in anything spiritual by design. I think she, however, got some deep, metaphysical fulfillment from it all – so that’s cool. Anyway, she would be one of the, "now how far along back did you truly begin reading and can admirably recall detail from Huangshan blog?," couple of people I briefly endeavored to stay in touch with. She actually lived in Jersey, so I legitimately looked forward to, perhaps, hanging out again some day. I believe we even made tenuous plans at one point to do so, however, we barely exchanged communication following those flimsy intentions. Last email I recall receiving from her, I kind of got the idea she had, more or less, ended things with long-term husband and, perhaps, was now with lesbian partner. Those seem like the kind of details one would distinctly recall certain evidence for, but I’m thinking they're beliefs intuited through whatever framework several corner beams revealed to me. I suppose this, none-too-bizarre, yet, not altogether mundane unfolding of events speaks towards the whole, myriad twists and turns of, “roads diverged in a wood” occurrence thing I proffered earlier. Somewhere between this poignancy and the expression of her face is a range of elicited existential sorrow greater than I'd like to accept.

Yep, that’s the easy as pie act I was fruitlessly unable to briefly commit myself to. Nice form, nice tie, nice extension of lustrous "Supercuts" lock where one’s sideburn and face should be. Top marks all around.

I just can’t stop looking at that spiraled column. I mean, I’m a fan of the photo as a whole, but boy would I kill to have that level of intricately designed strength provide support to any particular aspect of my being.

This guy is just plain cool. I wouldn’t mind sitting around and listening to what he has to say about stuff.

This girl is just plain cute. I wouldn’t mind being her uncle and affording her vehicle to do things her parents wouldn’t normally allow, whenever I, rarely, but excitingly, make an appearance. Am I allowed to say something like that without the world assuming I’m a pedophile or something? Man, this “To Catch a Predator” soccer mom generation we’re living in makes it really difficult for a male to innocently say anything about a child that isn’t his own.

“How the fuck does this shit work?”

Just manning the old spit-grill here. Someone’s gotta ensure this dubious miscellaneous carcass is properly tended to thorough, evenly-cooked, crisp standards before ultimately being caked in MSG and loved by everyone and his one sanctioned child.

Gee, I remember seeing this guy and instantly affirming the necessity for a mad dash to my camera. This man was set to be the subject of the iconic Chinese photo shoot of my dreams! I’m not sure what happened, maybe I decided to have another chain-smoking break or something, but I recollect just barely even getting this one off in time (which I can live with) before he disappeared and doubtlessly infiltrated a world of tranquility I could only romanticize about. If only finding that place were as easy as a superficial commitment to a shaved-bald head and draping oneself in Shaolin orange robe. But noooo, somewhere along the perfectly adequate way, Ahura Mazda, the great Zoroastrian creator, had to go and fuck it all up. No worries though - I've got this! I'll find my way there eventually. I may shave my head just to curry a little potential metaphysical favor, but I think I'm just on my own unique, chaotically disordered path of continually changing shitty terrain, and there is a warm sunbath just around the bend. I may, however, go ahead and adorn a Shaolin orange robe before unprofitably basking in it - just to be safe! Then again, maybe I'll throw halcyon caution to the wind and see what those rays feel like in nothing but a fresh pair of Osh Kosh B'gosh overalls because, after all, every one of us is capable of finding that tranquility (except those with mental states pushed into the territory of the untreatable) and it doesn't need to be achieved through any superstitiously perceived necessity for certain hair style, faith, limited edition "Garbage Pail Kids" trading cards (although if anyone happens to be a collector and is open to some highly inequitable swaps, don't hesitate to get in touch), or clothing choice. Not to mention, my overalls game is tight as fuck and I can already see the potential behind a certain Facebook profile pic: me casually lying in that sunbath, one leg over the other, wheatgrass blade extended from mouth, elbow abutted to earth while hand supports chiseled jawline. Couple this with brilliantly post-edited over-the-top HDR filter and lens flare effects and I'll virtually ensure I incur the eternal jealousy of every human on earth. You may laugh now, or maybe even sneer at this lofty, admittedly slightly narcissistic, aspiration of utmost schadenfreude, but when that day comes, I'll be sure to rub salt in the wounds of your doubt as you writhe, jaundiced eye, utterly incensed, in maniacal disbelief of my clutch follow through. Something, I can only hope, will push your fragile mental state into the territory of the untreatable. See you there!