When It Rains...

While at college, more than anything, I hated a certain type of intellectual pissing match that pervaded most dinner conversations at the dining hall. Those conversations went something like: "I am so busy lately…." The other people at the table would patiently wait their turn to unload the minutiae of paper deadlines, grad school applications, and other hallmarks of the over-achieving privileged liberal a-hole set while occasionally chiming in that they were shocked, *shocked*, that life is not actually a party.

This is to preface my post, saying, in effect, I know my subsequent ranting is wrong (I am shocked, *shocked*, that I am not the only that faces challenges), but I will do it anyway.

Up until the last two weeks, I had effectively "right-sized" my work-life balance. Doing its best to emulate the Empire (if the Empire were characterized by effulgent chaos, lack of planning, and a general willingness to sacrifice minions--1 out of 3), work struck back. The Empire had a few demands, couched in a passive-aggressive style so unlike Darth. Clearly I "have time" for some extra projects. Project Rumples is tedious and nebulous; Project Commy is the travel around the world type (literally, "we need you in China next week"); Project Mimi has been ongoing for months; and Project LOL is, ostensibly, my real job.

Project Commy excited me--until I realized that it accelerates every other project I am working on. "Because you will be out, we need this now." "Because you will be out, you need to move out of your apartment sooner." "Because you will be out traveling, you will clearly have some down-time" (don't understand this). Literally, with four different people circling me the way my size 32 belt will not (anymore), everyone feels like they are being blown off.

Moving sucks no matter when. Moving under a deadline while still working is like a witty simile that expresses how bad it was. I mailed my bike back to the mainland ($150, ouch). I still had two suitcases that were overweight ($80) and two extra surfboards ($160). My plan of slowly ferrying things back was as dead as dead Iraqis.

I needed all the time possible to get out, so I took a red-eye Friday night, getting into LA at 7:00 AM Saturday. Quick trip to Barbara's to drop off all of my loot, and back to the airport for Chin0rz for flight out at noon. Trip up to SF to catch the flight to Beijing to in turn start my hopping around the country.

Checking in when switching flights in San Francisco was the first time I realized my grave error of not having arranged a visa to the Peeps Repub of Chin0rz. No visa, no trip. Can't do it in country. Won't let you on the plane. And now I am in SF. Effing great.

After an initial sinking feel of imagining having to explain not showing up to one of my many bosses, Senator Ted Steven's words came into my heart. "To teh tubes" I said, mentally noting to make sure I misspelled the the.

Teh tubes did not disappoint. God bless the "one country, two systems" heart of the Commies.

* * *

As an aside, I think the Rage Against the Machine sums up the HK - Beijing relationship pretty well:

Beijing: And now you do what we told you, and now you do what we told you….
Hong Kong: F you I won't do what you tell me….
Beijing: Are you aware that we are willing to begin killing in the name of?
Hong Kong: this just in, we will do what you told us.

* * *

So Hong Kong still knows that while America is justified in subjecting anyone coming into this country to the most stringent scrutiny, maddening red tape, and arcane, downright, asinine visa process, Americans should not be subject to the same. Or even the inconvenience of having to get a rubber stamp.

So the plan is to waste approximately 9 hours at the airport waiting for a flight to Vancouver (not being able to leave, because they don't seem to be able to locate my bag), so I can catch a 3 AM flight to Hong Kong. Which, in the ironies of all my little ponies, is *exactly* how I hoped to spend my Saturday night.

Perry, my concierge at the Ritz-Carlton Hong Kong (pheww, I have been waiting to mention that) informed me that, in fact, he would be delighted to take care of my visa trouble. Hopefully it will work out.

It doesn't help that I buy one-way tickets to foreign countries at the last minute, then don't fly on them, and buy more tickets. I was hit with the quadruple SSSS on my boarding pass twice already. That stands for Special Screening Special Screening. Apparently, much like the goose in Charlotte's Web, TSA has to say everything twice. Also, apparently DHS thinks that real Americans always buy round trip tickets and always plan ahead. Terrorists, on the other hand, clearly do things like coordinate four simultaneous plane hijackings at the last minute and are very cost conscious ("We have to think about our mayhem-to-cost ratio here, guys. You *know* they are going to audit are expense reports.)

I am tired. Already it has been 36 hours of packing, planes, pickups, and panicking--four of the five P's of traveling. I think for the next 24 hours I will gladly enter and heartily embrace the fifth P--piss-off everyone.