Pathologically complicated, just the way I like it.

Leaving leaving leaving leaving. My going away parties outnumber my birthdays. This is nothing new, it's a pattern I have followed as religiously as is possible for an atheist since I was 15, but ... Why?

I've come to the conclusion that it has nothing to do with running away. I'm good at life, and reasonably good at reality. There is nothing to run from, but everything to run to. This is the problem: the opportunity cost of being somewhere, when you could be somewhere else. To all you business students, I'm givin' it to you econ style – I can only be in one place at any given time, and the overwhelming cost of not being in a multitude of other places is bloody bankrupting me. I'm geographically impoverished. I am (slowly) expiring while forfeiting the opportunities that come with being in a place that I am currently not. I am not referring specifically to my current destination, Hong Kong is just one place on an impossibly long list.

That is why, in the heat of the increasingly cold moment, I decided to pretend away the Montreal winter yet again and spend the semester in China. This time I have no pretensions of staying; I learned my lesson well enough before – there ain't no education system like a Western education system. Nevertheless, the pull of the East is reprehensible in yet another hasty departure. But I digress – the point is that once again, within a predictable six month cycle, I'm going through the practised motions of upheaval. I'm doing it to be everywhere else. Life's requisite hurdles between one place and everywhere else can be overcome with a dose of resourcefulness and an affinity for multitasking. So have cake + eat cake I will.

In typical fashion, however, impulsively laid plans are rife with complications. So for anyone who knows how I roll with travel plans, I present to you an all-time eye-roller of an itinerary:

Overnight bus from Montreal to New York on the day of my last exam. Burn nine hours in New York. With luggage. Fly from New York to Moscow. Nine hour layover. Fly from Moscow to Hong Kong and arrive during business hours (welcome wagon unavailable). Loiter in Hong Kong mall for eight hours. With luggage. After receiving working visa through re-re-routed mail, ferry to Macau. Ferry back to Hong Kong in order to re-enter with working visa. Wonder why this seemed like a good idea in the first place.

Convoluted? I wouldn't want it any other way. If it was simple I wouldn't have anything interesting to write about.

LPG Fracking ... Solution?

This is a little off topic to be the first entry in almost six months. I like it like that. This letter was written as part of a project for a sustainable management class, and ... It got personal.


To Whom It May Concern,


As a former resident of northwestern British Columbia I realize that development of the natural gas fracturing industry is vitally important to the economic prosperity of communities in the area. For this development to be sustainable however, a balance must be achieved in addressing the concerns of affected residents while satisfying company goals and objectives. The process of hydraulic fracturing is an indisputable detriment to the environment and scarce natural resources. Even with strict adherence to environmental policies this damage, at best, can only be minimized. This indicates that in order to reduce the environmental impact of fracturing to a sustainable level an alternative technique must be adapted. As a bold and progressive move I propose the gradual implementation of liquid propane gas (LPG) fracturing as a substitute for the traditional hydraulic fracturing method.

In the long run the substitution of this method will yield a threefold advantage by lowering costs, satisfying community stakeholder concerns and creating a sustainable platform for further expansion. The implementation of this method would take place in stages over several years. The first stage would involve contracting LPG fracturing services for a small number of test wells in order to determine large-scale feasibility. The second stage would utilize these services for a more significant portion of existing wells, with a medium run objective of seeing this become the dominant technique used. In the long run, Encana would have the potential to become an industry leader in sustainability by developing it's own LPG fracturing technology, and subsequently replacing hydraulic fracturing as a means of natural gas extraction entirely.

The exceptional efficiency of this method reduces both direct and indirect costs in numerous areas. Water sourcing, transportation and disposal costs are eliminated. LPG is nearly 100% recoverable and recyclable, therefore eliminating the loss of saleable natural gas and as well as costly CO2 emissions resulting from the flaring process that is necessary for hydraulic fracturing. The flowback period would be shortened, potentially to as little as 24 hours, thus increasing the potential for productivity. LPG use would lead to indirect cost savings by preserving and enhancing the utility of existing wells. LPG can clear leftover fracturing fluid from used wells without leaving deposits behind. It does less damage to well walls and is more effective in procuring natural gas from tighter reservoirs.

Stakeholder concerns spanning exhaustion of local water supplies to potential air, water and ground contamination resulting from exposure to chemicals found in fracturing fluid would be alleviated by using LPG as an alternative means of fracturing. The substitution of propane removes the need to employ local water supplies, and that it is both recoverable and eliminative of the flaring process would ease concerns regarding damaged air quality. Terminating the use of hydraulic fluid excludes the risk of contaminating public water supplies and farmland during use and disposal. As less frequent transportation will be needed due to the reusable quality of LPG, there will also be a reduction in local traffic resulting from fracturing operations.

As a result of lowering costs, enhancing well performance and gaining stakeholder confidence, Encana operations will see greater long run sustainability. At the rate that wells cease to remain productive, preserving existing wells and gaining new productivity from wells currently in disuse will bolster long run profit. Appeasing anxiety in communities that are home to fracturing projects will allow Encana to pursue higher and more sustainably viable goals with full public support.

Thank you for the time you have taken to consider this suggestion. In view of the significant potential benefits in the areas of cost savings, stakeholder relations and future development, this is a bold and responsible change that would position Encana both as an industry leader and a leader in overall environmental sustainability. In a changing business environment that requires accountability to an environmentally conscientious public, there is greater emphasis than ever to respect triple bottom line business practices.

The response to this proposal, as well as all feedback that you have, will be greatly anticipated.


I would really appreciate feedback on this, especially from anyone who is directly affected by fracking operations in BC or elsewhere.

Taiwan - The Bad and the Ugly

Outside of the homesick days that are to be expected when living abroad, it is hard to find much to fault with day to day life as a foreigner living in Taiwan. Just get over the staring, and if you have the right attitude you can make this your paradise. I have met expats with attitudes ranging from hopelessly negative to blindly positive to jaded and resigned. The complaints are all pretty softcore - there are no mysterious disappearances or unprovoked assaults, as is the reality for foreigners in many countries. Until you are a resident, it isn't even possible to pay tax.

However, when it's pouring rain for the tenth day in a row, your clothes are moulding in the closet due to the humidity, you found a cockroach in your bed and some kid's mother is pointing at you and giggling while her child screams, “look at that foreigner!”, many of us tend to lose perspective. The negative ones criticize the absence of arts and culture, including the lack of a drinking culture, the “us versus them” attitude of many locals toward the world outside Taiwan, and the resulting psychologically isolated and often uninformed population (IE, the unnervingly common belief that English was first spoken in the United States). They complain about the complicated recycling system, the inconsistency of Pinyin formats, the China thing, the local obsession with eating, eating at buffets, karaoke and eating (http://www.taipeitimes.com/News/front/archives/2011/05/06/2003502534), the difficulty of gaining competence in written and spoken Mandarin, the bugs and the weather (too hot/rainy/humid/too many earthquakes).

Still, there are others with a more resilient opinion of life here. The positive ones can't say enough about the warmth and generosity of Taiwanese people, the country's scenic beauty, the low cost of living, the temperate weather, the beaches, that Asian kids are always cuter than other kids, the abundance of food and opportunities to eat it, and the fun that can be had in a six hour karaoke marathon. The resigned and jaded types claim you get used to the stares and whispers of “waiguoren”, the cost of living isn't actually that cheap if you get paid Taiwanese wages, and karaoke can be tolerated with a good dose of alcohol.

I can sympathize with all of these attitudes, depending on the weather, the number of weird bugs I have found in the bathroom, and the number of people who have tripped over cracks in the sidewalk while gawking at me that day. Maybe it's because they usually hang out with other foreigners, or maybe it's because these concerns don't necessarily apply to daily life, but there are issues in Taiwan that leave me full of resentment that probably don't bother most foreigners. The local attitude toward women and education are similar in that both are to be kept on a short leash. It is nothing compared to many countries which have drastically more conservative policies in these areas, but coming from a country so liberal, the differences are still glaring. These things would not concern someone who had come to Taiwan to work as an overseas employee for a company in their home country, but in my position, considering the possibility of an education and a subsequent career here, these are issues I cannot seem to reconcile with.

It would not be accurate to say that women are severely disadvantaged, or even disrespected in Taiwan. Although the wage gap is significant (http://474miranairresearchpaper.wmwikis.net/file/view/exportgrowthgenderwageinequalityTaiwan.pdf/168379043/exportgrowthgenderwageinequalityTaiwan.pdf), women are accepted in all fields of study and arranged marriages are increasingly rare. It is more that they are coddled, discouraged from developing any style or opinion that may be controversial, and very rarely present in positions of power and influence. Democratic Progressive Party Chairwoman Tsai Ing Wen is one extraordinary example of a powerful, successful, unmarried Taiwanese woman. Over the past few months she has been bombarded, shamelessly, by local media (which has the integrity of your average tabloid) with accusations regarding her sexual preferences. What's worse than the obvious sexism of this is the population's readiness to gobble it up, speculate, and maybe even change their vote as a result. Women are still very much a man's possession here, and although there are many families that are progressive, most still expect that their daughters will remain in the home until they are married, at which point they will go to live with the husband's family. Even if they are successful at their jobs and capable of financial independence, and even if they're 45.

The other issue that has been grating on me is with the nature of the school system, likely a product of having been spoiled by excellent educators and a freethinking academic culture in Canada. Educational culture in Taiwan revolves around a concept of obedience and success above all else (http://www.chinapost.com.tw/editorial/taiwan-issues/2010/08/30/270639/p2/Education-system.htm). Students are expected to accept the teacher's word without question, and to learn the textbook well and without deviation. The Mandarin word for teacher, laoshi, means age and wisdom, much like sensei in Japanese. The unfortunate reality is that not all teachers are necessarily old or wise, and as such the average classroom setting has the blind following the blind. It is common practice for grade school through high school educators to be trained to teach only the material in the government provided textbook for the course they are assigned to, and by no means anything else. This means that little is required of grade school teachers in terms of professional qualifications, and the person guiding your child's education may have barely completed a two year teaching certificate. Open discussion and even questions are avoided in the classroom, and students who excel are confined to the learning pace of those who are average. Being textbook correct is rewarded, while critical thinking and opinions that variate from the status quo are barely tolerated. Such emphasis is placed on correctness that most students adapt a strategy of rote memorization for all textbook material, and forget how to approach a problem constructively (http://www.taiwantoday.tw/ct.asp?xItem=164889&ctNode=428). The idea of completing an education in such a stifling setting is too depressing to accept.

For a country that is striving to differentiate itself from an overbearing China, Taiwan still has a long way to go in it's development of social ideology. What good is democracy without the momentum of a population capable of critical thought? Many Taiwanese youth can barely speak to, nor are concerned with, the country's relations with China. Last year ECFA passed with shocking ease, considering the long term economic ramifications for anyone working outside the white collar sector. Increasingly fewer youth speak Taiwanese, as their parents are so caught up in Amy Chua's “Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother” philosophy of raising over-achieving money making machines, that they fail to encourage their children to do so. It is baffling that the first generation who has not been restricted by martial law from discussing the 2-28 massacre openly is so amenable to laying down and being steamrolled by China. Could it be that this docility is a product of 16+ years of compliance education?

Hell forbid I get started on the impotence of the national service, whose directors supply their soldiers with empty guns and a hefty dose of brainwashing. I have a lot of love for Taiwan, but making a life in Mini-China is not something I can jump at the thought of. Despite the prospect of a free ride through grad school, it is back to Canada, and the apparently worthwhile student debt that comes with it, for me.

Taiwan - The Good

I am citing irreconcilable differences as the motive for ending my relationship with Taiwan. It has been a long, bumpy road complete with high highs and low lows but in the end I can't spend more than five minutes in public with Taiwan before I find myself either seething with rage or on the verge of mental collapse. I have tried to understand Taiwan and even to alter myself to fit Taiwan, but much the same as buying a dress that is a size too small because it's the last one on sale, not only are my attempts at self alteration hopeless but now I am stuck with a frustrating daily reminder of my habit for impulsive decision making.

I wrote a bunch of negative stuff about what I've experienced here and was about to post it when my gen-Y/Lonely Planet brainwashing prevented me from nay-saying any foreign culture. So, with the utmost passive-aggression, I googled “I hate Taiwan”. Not only did the results put my hatin' conscience at ease, but I learned that in comparison to some people who have spent time here I am actually pretty gentle in my criticisms ... http://asian-caucasian.stroke7.com/2006/12/07/things-i-hate-about-taiwan-1-marble-tiled-sidewalks/

To make it clear that I wouldn't go as far as to call Taiwan a “shitty toilet”, as one rather misanthropic poster did, I will expound on the wonderful qualities Taiwan does have. Before dissing everything else.


As soon as you leave Taipei this country is beautiful. There are big-name-resort rivalling beaches on the Southern Coast, dense rainforests, scenic lakes, stunning mountain peaks and breathtaking gorges (I've got more in-flight magazine adjectives where those came from if you can stomach them). You can surf, scuba dive, hang glide, hike, mountain bike, etc. This island isn't the soul-crushing, aesthetically bland industrial wasteland that it is often perceived to be.

The food - It's cheap, everywhere, and deep fried. A lot of foreigners get worked up about the nonexistent health and hygiene standards for vendor food but apparently your body develops a resistance to bacteria over time, so no big deal. Who cares if vendors harvest questionable greens from the edge of a swamp by the dump, wash raw fish directly on the sidewalk gutter or expose room-temperature meat to sun, insects and a steady stream of traffic all day? One incident of food poisoning and you'll have guts of steel.

The rough and dirty Taiwanese dialect, the wife-beater wearing betel-nut chewers getting hammered off kaoliang on the sidewalk in the middle of the day, the kamikaze blue truck drivers ... These are all things that a lot of foreigners or first/second generation Taiwanese can't stand. I actually think this is where Taiwan's only genuine charm comes from, not the watered down aspects of Japanese and Chinese culture that have been adopted over time. My biggest regret is not leaving Taipei more often, because the further away you get from the bland and superficial capital, the closer you get to real Taiwan.

Most days, the make-your-own-damn-rules attitude toward daily living is fun. Traffic rules are always disregarded (http://www.therealtaiwan.com/157/157) and a culture of survival of the fittest (especially in public transit) reigns supreme. Bureaucracy, at all levels, although grandly inefficient is a lot more relaxed and a lot less consistent. Take, for example, the story of a student who overstayed his visa. His friend had done it and hadn't even received a fine at customs, so he went ahead and stayed an extra 60 days or something like that. No phone call, no home visit from the cops. After he had booked his flight back he felt guilty and stopped into a police station to apologize, show his departing ticket and ask for goodwill. The cops threw him in a holding cell for three days, fined him the maximum amount for an overstay, and escorted him to the airport. You might be thinking, wow, that doesn't sound fun at all. The point isn't that one guy got screwed over, it's that the other guy got off scott-free. And everyone knows they will obviously be the other guy.


Unfortunately, these are the only solid reasons I can give for liking Taiwan. This is the good. Next time, I will talk about the bad ...

Manila: Stray Dogs, Cheap Booze and Some Other Stuff

Last week at this time I was kneeling on the floor, dripping sweat and swearing while I coerced a combined 150 ounces of criminally cheap liquor into my luggage. Plagued with guilt every time I left a 70PHP ($1.60CAD) bottle of gin orphaned at the grocery store, I was attempting to adopt as many as possible back to Taiwan. Visa runs can yield far more than a visa.

After a violent yet successful bout with the zipper I collapsed backward onto the floor of the hostel common room, laying my head next to the offensively loud fan hoping to drown out the noise of chickens, traffic and muggings on the street below. All it took was one unguarded, vulnerable minute for the lonely hostel lurker to strike. I had managed to avoid this guy, save for one night when I stumbled in at 2 AM to bust him getting friendly with himself, for the past five days. My luck was not to last. I spent 90 of my final minutes in Manila being subjected to an excruciating slide show of BAD photography and a drawn out, self gratifying yarn about buying cake for street kids ... “It jus' really touched my heart, ya know? These little bits must've thought I was god or something!” (He was from the UK). This guy had been in Manila for 2 weeks and had hardly ventured further than the food vendor across the street because he claimed it was too dangerous without a local escort. I'd call that a bust.

One of the only other people I talked to had been robbed at knife point in the middle of the afternoon only two blocks from the hostel. He'd been crossing a busy street with his friend when two guys pushed him behind a parked truck out of sight. Apparently his friend walked a whole block talking to himself before he realized that he was alone. Turns out the guy had all of his cash, passport and electronics on him when it happened ... Which is pretty dumb, but beside the point.

As he tells the story, after recovering his gusto he ran after the guys but couldn't find them. Instead he was stopped by a group of concerned passerby and taken to the neighbourhood representative who spent the day with him taxiing between the embassy and various police stations. Fortunately for my selfish personal enjoyment the guy had a good sense of humour and included the many oddities and ironies he encountered along the way in his tale.

All of the cops he dealt with seemed to find the incident entirely amusing and referred to him unfailingly as Joe (the Filipino title for any white foreigner, used as either a term of endearment or one of hostility depending on the circumstances – comparable to Gringo or Gaijin). They asked him what the perpetrators looked like, to which he couldn't help but reply, “Like ... You? Average height, average weight, black hair ... Filipino.” The cops thought this was hilarious. Then they asked him to look through a set of mugshots which did not seem to conform to any sort of standard - In one the guy had his arms around two babes while his face was bloodied up so badly that he was unrecognizable. There was an assortment of toothless, grinning culprits in various poses and locations, and most of the shots weren't catalogued but lying about in random stacks. Knowing that he wouldn't be able to identify for certain the guys behind the mugging, he spent a good hour going through the shots for kicks while watching American Idol with the on-duty officers in the staff lounge. He was asked by the cops more than once if he had enjoyed the company of beautiful Filipina girls yet. Cable took precedence over holsters in the budget, and most of the officers carried pistols shoved down the front of their pants. He spotted an AK-47 tossed casually on a pile of papers and other office debris. When he went to the toilet he passed by the only holding cell which had a layer of people on the floor and a canopy of hammocks supporting another layer of inmates above. While passing, the inexplicably cheerful cell occupants shouted to him, “Joe!” “Why so sad, Joe?” “What's the matter, Joe?” One guy started singing Hey Jude, and at this point he claims to have lost his mind a bit.

So, all things considered, I think I was pretty lucky during my time in the Philippines. I left the hostel alone without incident and even avoided being mugged. In fact, going in with a deep, psychologically embedded young-solo-woman paranoia I was proved nothing but wrong, ad infinitum.

With a PETA-sentiment-riling desire to see some cockfighting, I set out on my own to locate the fabled local cockhouse. I had faith in the aggressively efficient Filipino style of direction giving and stopped to ask an old man how to get to the arena. Having barely strung the words together, the man was already hailing a tricycle. He insisted that he take me there, and we squeezed into the sidecar together. This is the point where the various rob/rape/murder (in no particular order) scenarios, which are so deeply engrained in the psyche of most western women in reference to situations with male strangers, began to percolate in my imagination. Fortunately my craving to witness violence overrode my fear of becoming a victim of violence, and I was escorted into the packed arena by my spontaneous guide. As it turned out, this guy was some sort of VIP and not only did he get me in without a cover charge but he brought me to a reserved row of seats in the front, damn near close enough to smell chicken fear. He even convinced the guards to let me take pictures.

As I watched with mixed feelings of horror and morbid curiosity, he patiently answered all of my queries - “Do they eat the dead chickens after?” “How do you keep track of which one's which?” “How much do people usually win or lose?” “... Why are there razor blades tied to their legs ...?!” I was beginning to get on a bit too well with the unruly, drunken crowd around us and he kept my suitors in line with some grandfatherly-sounding chides in Tagalog. In addition to several marriage proposals and requests for cell phone photos I received opportunities to select the winning rooster, making relentlessly poor choices. That day I was wearing a Portuguese soccer jersey and despite my efforts to explain that I was Canadian I left with the nickname Portugal.

After an hour or so of gore I admitted defeat and told my escort (we never did names) that I was leaving. He had a stern conversation with one of the suitors and explained to me that the guy would show me to where I had to go. As we climbed the steps of the arena to leave there was a clamour of guys clapping him on the back, winking at me and shouting suggestive sounding stuff in Taglish. I was beginning to wonder if I had just been auctioned off to the highest bidder. The murder/rape/rob paranoia began to chafe, but again for no reason. The guy quietly led me past the scam artist cab and tricycle drivers, through the suffocating heat and to the appropriate jeepney, wished me well and sent me on my way.

This is only one example of the warmth and hospitality that is the norm. As a foreigner, getting stared at everywhere you go in Asia is expected. In Taiwan, if you meet the eyes of someone staring at you they will almost always look away to avoid eye contact. In the Philippines you are almost always asked how you are, where you are from, whether or not you like the country ... At the very least you get a smile. You could chalk that up to a more intimate history with westerners, or the lack of a language barrier, but I don't really give a shit. It's nice to be smiled at for a change. A girl that I met there gave the example of watching news coverage of a flood on CNN - People's homes are destroyed, some of their friends are dead, but you see clips of smiling people swimming and kids playing in the flood water. “That's just how people are here” she explained. I guess being screwed over in succession by the Spanish, Americans, Japanese and Americans again for a period of over 400 years led to the development of a culture that favours optimism in the face of adversity.

Nevertheless, it wouldn't be fair to paint a picture of Manila without drawing attention to some of the darker aspects. Such as, most obviously, the poverty. Most tricycle drivers, in Manila at least, are basically homeless. They sleep parked along Aurora Boulevard, legs dangling over the edge of a sidecar, inside their only means of income. They have an average income of 200PHP ($4.55CAD) per day.

If you follow Aurora Boulevard into the business district, Makati, you will encounter fully armed guards at every bank, hotel, mall, restaurant or office tower. Most of these guards carry an assault rifle with an extended clip just in case they need those extra 20 rounds to ... What? Quell a surge of desperadoes from the slums? As in any impoverished area the middle class is next to non-existent. In one neighbourhood people are struggling to find clean drinking water, while in another the lawns are manicured, the sidewalks are wide and the gates are high. Oddly enough, despite the added attention to infrastructure this is the only area in which I was ever lost and where people failed massively at giving directions.

I switched my original visa run destination from Tokyo to Manila at the last minute because of cheap flights and because I thought Manila would be more fun than Tokyo alone. Definitely did not regret that decision. Who needs unjustly lauded Kabuki theatre and a mind-boggling metro system when you can watch stray dogs chase naked kids and batter your skull inside a roll cage attached to a motorcycle? Some twisted part of me just found that to be a far more enjoyable experience.

24 Hours in the Arms of Delta

Derek Blasberg, stylist and frenemy to the stars, advises women aspiring to classiness that the only time is is acceptable for a lady to sit next to a stranger for several hours without saying a word is on an air plane. If only it were so simple – Clearly, Derek's experiences are with flying first class.

At the moment I am watching the sunset at Tokyo Narita airport, feeling very much like it is 2AM. Overwhelmed with the onslaught of emotional stimuli (yup, that one's for you) over the past month, I have recessed into a semi-catatonic, grunting, boarding pass brandishing shell of my former self. Faced with six hours of limbo between my old life and my new one, I obviously cannot think of a better way to spend it than regaling you with my woefully standard travel complaints.

On the Montreal-Detroit leg of the flight, I was seated with an ordinary and inoffensive (Read: Of average weight and bathed) man. Behind us, however, was this mean old Southern woman with a hate-on for the lone flight attendant. Before we had even started taxiing, the woman had started in on the attendant about the imagined imminence of missing her connecting flight. We couldn't even make it through the safety demonstration without her chiding remarks and audible sighs, which increased in their audacity to the point where any time the flight attendant spoke, even a request to fasten a seat belt was followed by an “Oh for the good lord's sake, lets get going!” She somehow conned the guy across the aisle into being her fetch-it bitch for the storage compartments - “Hey, grab me ma purse now, would ya?” A demeaning duty to which he was puzzlingly amenable for the duration of the flight. Before the seat belt light was turned off, she was pushing mothers and babies out of the way to be at the front of the plane, bullying the attendant into lowering the ramp faster and demanding an escort.

As I walked the 20 minutes (actually) to my next gate, the only-present-when-in-reference-to-The-States bile of Canadian Nationalism rose in my throat. How many burger shops can realistically be sustained in a 100 metre stretch? Five, apparently. Sorry, I was raised in granola and folk music country, I can't help my nature. This pathological disdain only prepared me for my next seatmate.

By virtue of something akin to bad karma I was in the middle seat, sandwiched between a nondescript yet polite man and a lard-laden, Coca-Cola swilling, snorting, putrid abomination - And that's being generous. He introduced himself with a tactful, “The window seat's mine, can ya move?” And proceeded to plant his generously portioned self at the aisle exit, as if he expected me to levitate out of the way. His in-flight behaviour was nothing less than one would expect from the poster boy for fat assholes everywhere. A relentless barrage of horking and coughing, very circa 2009 Swine Flu. Needing to use the bathroom suddenly and often, screaming, “Gotta get out!” In my ear any time I encountered the briefest moment of sleep. Occupying 1.3 seats, which is a 0.3 seat succession I should clearly make due to the conspicuous lack of Cola and wieners in my diet. And oh, the stench. If the angel and devil on his respective shoulders were waging a battle between showering and fried chicken, it must have been Two-Dollar Tuesdays at Church's.

Unfortunately I could go on, but my battery is dying and it's pre-boarding ... Next time I complain it will be from Taipei, and will most likely involve cockroaches. Here's hoping.