Eggnog in Vermont

Production is over and everyone is home safe. I met Morgan in Keene, New Hampshire at the McCafe. I missed breakfast by 11 minutes so I had to settle for a 10:41 chicken sandwich. Morgan was laughing and looked like he'd just seen a unicorn run a red light. I think we're all in a state of euphoric shock and disbelief that we actually made it to the other side of a successful production push.

We talked for awhile and got a rough plan in line. I'll be moving out to Maine by the middle of January. Then we'll log tapes for 3 weeks and buy a couple books on how to put together a documentary film so we can learn how to make the film while logging tapes. Then we'll do some heavy writing and thinking and begin the editing around February 15. Right now Independence Day is our goal to have a rough Director's Cut finished.

The Vanderbilt Investment Group will be offering us heavy artillery support.

I told Morgan that I'd like to believe that now the most stressful and difficult phase of the project is behind us, but that probably isn't true.

But never mind that. Christmas is in two days and we've all earned a little break. I just poured an eggnog and in a little while I'm going to wander down to the saloon and see who shows up. If you'd care to join me that would be fine.

A fine meal

Anne picked us up from the airport in Phuket. She and Stephenson used to work together in Manhattan but then she moved back home to Thailand awhile ago. She drove us to her house and her mom cooked us a fine dinner. Then we took motorbikes down to the festival. The temples have festivals to raise money. You can get beer in towers and little children horse around in inflatable plastic balls floating on shallow ponds for 10 Baht. It seems like there's a finite amount of breathable oxygen in those bubbles but what do I know I'm a film maker not a doctor. You get two little guys in there and I bet you got a solid 20 minutes before brain function begins to slacken. And by then they're dun tuckered out.

The scooters are manual shift with no clutch. You just let off the gas and stomp into the next gear. It's not the smoothest method of gathering speed but it will get you down the road. There are many potholes and cracks in the road but you just keep an eye on where you want to go. If you gawk at the potholes you're going right over the handlebars and straight to hell.

Last Days

Stephenson and Anne have gone snorkeling and camping on an island that is an hour from here by boat. We're a couple hours north of Phuket. Not sure where really. It doesn't matter. I decided to hang around in this hotel room instead of joining them in snorkeling. I don't want any more boat rides or van rides or old Scandinavian tourists in spandex, bloated and hairy and grotesque.

Gary is far away in Bangkok and maybe I'll start answering his phone calls tomorrow.

This morning the intern pulled a guitar from nowhere and started strumming. Where did you get that, I asked. It came from the sky, he said. I laid in my bed until 1:30pm and did nothing and wanted to do nothing.

There was stale bread and Nutella and I stared at the ceiling and wondered about the numbness that came down like a fog.

Blending In

By combining moves remembered from his Billy Blanks Tae Bo tapes with a deep passion for high end still photography, Stephenson seamlessly integrates into the fabric of Southeast Asian Culture.

Yankee-3-Pistol on Patrol

We humped through an angry jungle thick with undergrowth and children.

Headed South to Da Nang

We took an overnight train from Hanoi to Da Nang. The Old Earth breathed terror and beauty and a man sat on top of the train with a fist raised in Defiance.

We arranged a van and a driver through the travel agent in Hanoi. He welcomed us warmly to Da Nang.

Production Summary

TRAIN TO LAOS

BACK ON THE GRID

Back in Bangkok. There isn't much in the way of high speed wi-fi between Hanoi and Saigon and we moved at such a blistering pace that I didn't get a chance to hop on the intraweb and stab away at the keyboard for all y'all. So everybody relax, we're all safe and alive and out of lame communsim with minds and spirits intact.

Morgan switched his flight on account of the strange situation at the Bangkok airport. He flew home from Saigon and made it safely with the tapes. The footage is safely back in America. Everybody breathe. All things accounted for, he was probably lugging about $50,000 worth of investment in that tinny little briefcase. Morgan's going to start casting around for grants, which we shouldn't have any problem getting at this point. We made it through the most difficult and often crippling stages of production without any institutional help whatever and now people with their hands on the big money will finally understand that this thing is getting made whether they believe in it or not. And some of them will believe.

Vietnam was a rugged and beautiful country. We took an overnight train from Hanoi to Da Nang and then hooked up with a driver who took us the rest of the way down the coast and inland to Saigon. We made it from the top to the bottom of Vietnam in about 10 days time. Lots of long van rides over bomb crater roads. We pushed up into the central highlands and saw waterfalls coming from fog in the sky and distant valleys laid with shag carpet growth that was new shades of green.

We sat down with a formet Viet Cong soldier and he said there is no room for hate in the heart.

The wi-fi at the A-One Inn isn't working too good right now and they're going to have to sort that out before I can get some pictures up.

SALE TODAY ONLY

TODAY ONLY 2-4-1 SALE ON PULL THE PIN SHIRTS.

BLACK FRIDAY SPECIAL EVERYONE.

MAKES GREAT CHRISTMAS PRESENTS

YOU WON'T FIND A BETTER DEAL ANYWHERE ON NO APOLOGIES T-SHIRTS. STOCK UP. BUY 10 AND WE MAY BE ABLE TO FEED OURSELVES WHEN WE GET TO SAIGON.

LOOKS GREAT ON WOMEN AND CHILDREN AND MEN. OLD PEOPLE LOVE GRENADES.

PULL THE PIN ON THIS NOW PLEASE. RICE IS CHEAP BUT IT'S NOT FREE. GARY'S KNEES ARE BAD SO THAT REALLY LIMITS US ON PETTY SMASH AND GRAB OPERATIONS. NOT THE SMASH AND GRAB PART BUT THE RUNNING AWAY PART.

Good Travel Information

We checked out of the Prince Hotel at noon on Black Friday with 12 hours to kill before the train south. Stephenson disappeared and reappeared across the street on a second floor balcony. The Culi Cafe. We went up for lunch.

Turns out it's an Australian owned joint. Good food and a little travel booth inside too. Gar made friends with the owner Travis, who also owns a travel agency. He gave us plenty of sound advice, including how not to get all our gear and tapes yanked during our Family Sightseeing Tour In Vietnam. I ordered some pasta and a long black. Travis advised us on a few ways to steamline and simplify our journey through the central highlands. The next and most critical leg of the journey is arranged and planned. The jungles of Vietnam are not a joke. The jungles of Vietnam are no longer a film synopsis. Tonight we head into The Shit. If anything is going to go Seriously Wrong, it will probably happen in the next week. Everybody kiss your Jesus piece and send one up. Time to pull this thing out of the furnace.

Travis got his buddy on the phone who is a New York Times photographer stationed in Hanoi. Stephenson and Morgan passed the phone off and got some advice on how to dance though backwoods communism with half a billion in equipment.

Culi Cafe. Nice place to stop on your way through Hanoi if you're trying to keep a movie on the rails. Come for the long blacks. Stay for the Good Travel Information.

A Very Special Thanksgiving from Hanoi

Just Like Riding a Bike Into a Bus

Hanoi. Oriental city of energy kinetic. 90% of the people are screaming around on motorbikes. On the way in from the airport one dude screamed right into a bus. There was a horrific crunch of plastic and metal and the guy rubbed his hand. He stood up confused, walked in a circle and sat back down. He's fine.

There's never any traffic jams in Hanoi only violent and sudden death. They swarm through like killer bees on 50cc's. Sometimes a family of seven on a bike. 7 cc's a head. There are few traffic lights. The streets are narrow and twisted and covered with a constant tsunami of honking, surging steel and bones.
















Green Vespa got my heart

Happy Thanksgiving from North Vietnam

We pulled a couple tables together in the room and threw a bed sheet over them. The chairs in the room are old and heavy and dark and wood. The doors are tall and broad and there's a nice balcony with French doors that open wide.

Every morning at 7am, the Thought Police come on the loudspeaker right outside the window with a broadcast of The News For Today And The Plan For Tomorrow. It's loud enough to cut through the cacophony of motorbike horns and there is no escaping it. Communism is dumb as hell. Morg and I laid awake in our beds trying to ignore the racket. Are they serious? Morg asked. It's hard work trying to keep minds in cages my man, I replied. You really have to mind the store.

Stephenson and Aut went down a few blocks and picked up 700,000 Dong worth of KFC. Gar bought a fifth of Wall Street brand spirit. It is a rotgut combination of blended whiskey and rotten piss apples. I took a sip of Wall Street on the stairs as I waited for Gar to come up. It was filthy and loathsome and there was no irony lost on me then.

We sat around the table and held hands and Gar said grace. The meal was awkward and chaotic, as these things can sometimes be. The mashed potatoes were delicious and I was glad to be in Hanoi on Thanksgiving with this strange and unlikely band of dreamers and freaks.


Happy Thanksgiving from room 101, Prince Hotel, Hanoi.

Bombing Sortie on Hanoi

Reed Receives a Text

The Team Takes A Boat Ride

Gar had some big ideas for us to head up to Loung Probong, Laos, and the Plain of Jars. These places are a few hundred miles north and east of Vientiene and way way way out of the way of our intended course. He wagged his finger on a map that would bring us straight down the mountainous dog leg of Laos. The only problem is, there are no roads there. And if there were, we'd be looking at a series of 30 hour meat locker bus rides. It's only 3 inches out of the way, Gar bellowed. Well, sort of.

We calmed him down and came up with a compromise that involved a trip 3 hours north to a massive reservior he wanted to show us. It was sort of a first date site with Song a year ago. The five of us plus Song piled in the van. We went downtown to buy our plane tickets to Vietnam. After a series of planning sessions, we decided that the most efficient route would be to fly into Hanoi and take an overnight train down the coast. You can't really get from Vientiene to Central Vietnam in any direct manner. Gar and Morgan and Song waited at the van while we went to get the tickets. When we got back it was Gar, Morgan, Song and Song's friend. There was plenty of room in the van for everyone still. We got underway at about 2:30 in the afternoon. A little late for a 3 hour day trip, but Gar was set and there was no use arguing.

We left the town and made a series of increasingly specific turns onto dirt roads. The van stopped and two more girls hopped in. Who are these people, I thought. Song called a couple other friends. White people in Laos are kind of like a night down at Foxwoods for the locals. If you're a young woman, or a woman of any age really, and you get wind of a van load of Ferongs from a galpal, you all stick together. No pressure, just hop along for the ride. Spin the roulette wheel, take down a few free drinks. Maybe win big. Maybe win a white husband. Get yourself a trip to America. If not, hey we sang and laughed and the boat ride was pleasant at sunset.

They like 'em clean cut over here and I was thankful that Morg let me off the hook. The was much hen cackle over his short hair and broad shoulders. This freed me up to work the still camera and enjoy the sun setting behind the mountains.

There are many islands in this reservoir. White people aren't suppose to walk on the islands Because God Said but our driver took us out far enough so it didnt really matter. The boat moved long and loud and slow like a wounded sea monster. We caught the light just in time and cameras were rolling and snapping in the golden light.

Song walked in the water and Gar threw rocks and skipped stones and limped around.

We cruised back to shore in the dark. Dinner was fine. We sat overlooking the dark water under fluorescent tubes. Small gekkos scampered along the ceiling and Gar ordered plates and plates of 'ruuts and trees and dogs and fleas' and we all ate well. There were more stinkrot noodles but Stephenson and I knew better this time. The women feel a burden to keep an eye on you as you eat and make sure your beer is iced and full and you have enough leaves and rice to eat. Touching at first but then, what the hell let me eat. I don't want any more rice.

Crawling and Sprawling throuh French Indochina

Stephenson fell in with some British thru-hikers on the overnight train and got into a bad whiskey drunk. His journey through French Indo got of to a brutal and unforgiving start.

It took 90 minutes to get past customs. The sun in Laos shines like a science bomb. Pure white light. Make you feel like you got a vapor hangover when you're sober as God on day six. I didn't see any movie theatres in Laos and I know why too. You walk out of a matinee at 2pm in downton Laos and you're immediately blind and probably dead too.

A truck picked us up from customs and drove us to a flophouse 20 minutes outside Vientiene. We all stood in the bed of the truck. The wind was hot and dirty on my face. Red dust was everywhere and I ate a Vietnamese sandwich, exhausted but strong. There were strange brown lint balls on the sandwich that would not be chewed. I swallowed some and picked some off. Everything moves slow in communist Laos. Everything barely runs. People move slow. Taxis move slow. The roads are so bad you have to move slow. It's hot and the money is worthless and nobody knows how to dance. If anyone in Laos is reading this, my advice would be to start the Revolution sooner rather than later.

Reed knows the management at the Mounty House and they put up with his beastly ways so he stays there and gets ripped off and sleeps on sandbag mattresses. Stephenson was badly hung over under a sun too close and vomited immediately after stepping off the truck. He apologized profusely and dumped buckets of water on the puke and over his head.

We went to Mr Thanvas house where Gary could finally unload his 2 rolling suitcases full of punching balls, Marti Gras beads, sweatpants and Double Bubble. The women prepared food for us. It was a bowl of congealed pig blood and a plate of noodles. The noodles looked safe. I took a chopstick full. It tasted bad and rotten in my mouth but I got down a few bites down. Stephenson took 3 noodles. He's a master of subtlety and when I saw his eye twitch and his adam's apple jump I knew something had gone seriously wrong. He sat sweating for a time and then rose with forced calm and walked into the bomb crater dirt intersection and puked his mind out. Later we talked about the noodles and he described them as TART AND RANK which may have been the truest food review I've ever heard. A few days later we were served the same dish again a couple hours north. APOCALYPTIC might be a better word, Stephenson said. We sat down wind of the noodles and I agreed that in the End of Days when the sky is on fire and the world is ruled by cockroaches and stray dogs with rent flesh the place will probably smell something like those noodles.

Dinner was fried pork and sticky rice and an entire fish on a plate that was delicious. The women keep your beer full and iced and we danced in traditional fashion for many hours.

We got into talking about Fear and Loathing and I asked Stephenson to find the two words that best sum up this trip. He said crawling and sprawling. Crawling and Sprawling through French Indochina.



Stephenson Brown.



















Reed makes a tough call.



























The bird nests in Laos are of elaborate construction.













Reed brings candy corn to Mr. Thanva's house.














Reed was here.














Reed holding forth.














There were plenty of jelly beans for all the children.

















OK USA.


















Laos is so hot you have to ice the beer.


















That's Song in the middle, Gary's girlfriend. They dance with open hands.














Reed rips the mic.


















A quick shot with the kids and the intern.