Prosecuting in Paradise

United States Supreme Court Justice visits Saipan.

2012-01-29T02:32:00.001-06:00

The Saipan legal community was abuzz this weekend as Justice Sotomayor arrived early Saturday evening. If you're reading this in Texas, New York, or any other state for that matter, you're probably thinking "no big deal." The visit way out here in Saipan, however, is the first of its kind for a sitting Supreme Court Justice.

As you would expect, the CNMI Bar Association hosted a luncheon in her honor at which yours truly was invited. Interestingly, the invitation suggested "island formal" for attire. Despite being on island for nearly two years, I wasn't quite sure what that entailed. The phrase itself seems paradoxical. After asking around, I was told that it meant Hawaiian shirts, slacks, and close-toed shoes. This proved problematic as I did not own a Hawaiian shirt. Nor did I feel comfortable meeting a Supreme Court judge in a Hawaiian shirt. Then again, I also didn't want to be the ONE guy not wearing a Hawaiian shirt so I broke down and bought what I considered the least offensive-looking shirt in the store.

The worst part is it's now the most expensive shirt I own. The damn thing cost $120.00! For a Hawaiian shirt!!! But I digress.

The luncheon was followed by a "conversatorio" with Justice Sotomayor. Basically, it was a Q&A for high school students. For the better part of two hours, I sat and listened to questions like "What does the legal system mean to you?" and "Would you follow the law even if you didn't personally agree with it?" Blah, blah, blah. There wasn't a single substantive question asked. Probably because attorneys were not given the opportunity to ask a question. Oh well, at least I get CLE credits and something to blog about. Besides, not too many people get to hang out with a Supreme Court Justice in their lifetime--especially while rocking a Hawaiian shirt.

Just your average neighborhood cockfight...

2012-01-07T06:43:00.000-06:00

SPCA defines cockfighting as a centuries-old cruel blood-sport in which two or more specially bred roosters (called game-cocks) are placed in a pit (generally a small, above-ground, enclosed space) to fight to the death. When I brought this up with my friend and neighbor, he defined it much more concisely: tradition.

Look, I know what you're thinking--I shouldn't support an activity that has the dubious distinction of being listed as one of the nine "cruel sports" on PETA's website. I get it. In fact, over the last several months I've avoided participation in the bloodsport because of this ethical quandary. Ultimately, I decided rather than boycott the neighborhood cockfight, I should treat it as an "educational experience" and see if its truly a cruel sport. Besides, Saipan is the only place in America where you can still legally cockfight which means I'm likely the only lawyer in America who has spent his Saturday evening as a spectator watching this bloodsport.

PETA's version

A three-inch gaff is attached to the rooster

Roosters are born, raised, and trained to fight on "game farms." Breeders (also called "cockers") kill the birds they deem inferior, keeping only the birds who are "game"—willing to fight. Many of these birds spend most of their lives tethered by one leg near inadequate shelter, such as a plastic barrel or a small wire cage. Breeders "condition" the birds to fight through physical work, including attaching weights to roosters' legs, and "practice fights" with other roosters.Breeders often pluck the birds' feathers and hack off the roosters' waddles and/or combs (the flesh at the top of their heads and under their beaks) with shears to prevent other roosters from tearing them off in the ring. Since roosters do not have sweat glands, losing these body parts deprives them of the ability to cool themselves. Some "cockers" cut off the birds' spurs, which are the natural bony protrusions on the legs, so that more deadly, artificial weapons can be strapped to their legs.Cockfights are usually held in round or square enclosures called "cockpits," or simply, "pits." According to one eyewitness, "With neck feathers fanned and wings whirring, the birds jump and parry at each other. They kick and duel in mid-air, striking at each other with feet and beak."

If the fighting wanes, handlers pick up the birds and blow on their backs, yank at their beaks, or hold them beak-to-beak in an attempt to "reignite the frenzy." The birds are then re-pitted, and the fight doesn’t end until one rooster is dead or nearly dead. "Losing" birds are often discarded in a barrel or trash can near the game pit, even while they are still alive.

MY version

One day my neighbor Justin came home with a couple roosters. A week later there were about a dozen. By the end of the month, he had at least thirty roosters reminding me that the sun was rising. When I inquired into the sudden infestation of roosters on his property, he laughed and said he was training them to fight. The majority of his roosters are tethered by one leg to A-frames made of crates while the others are kept in small wired cages. Each day, Justin dutifully trains the birds to become stronger and faster.

Occasionally, Justin will hold neighborhood fights to gauge the success of his training regimen. This usually involves another neighbor bringing over one of his roosters to fight one of Justin's trained roosters in a "pit." The roosters are then fitted with razor-sharp steel blades called gaffes that are attached to the rooster's legs. As you can see from the video, if the action wanes, the roosters are picked up and forced to fight until one of the roosters is dead. The losing bird is then eaten for supper.

Conclusion

Well, it's bloody alright. I wasn't expecting Foghorn Leghorn but certainly nothing as brutal as I witnessed. Roosters are trained for the specific purpose of fighting and they do indeed fight to the death. It's also big business here in Saipan. While neighborhood cockfights occur, Saipan also has a government-sanctioned cockfighting Colosseum where gambling is allowed. People come from far away places (read: Guam) to challenge local breeders. Anyway, I would be lying if I said it wasn't a tad bit exhilarating. It's also a bit more than a tad bit tragic. Right or wrong, it's a tradition that has existed for centuries in Micronesia.

Warning: the video caution graphic scenes.

A look back on 2011

2012-01-01T06:36:00.001-06:00

Be always at war with your vices, at peace with your neighbors, and let each new year find you a better man. ~Benjamin Franklin

As I look towards 2012, I cannot help but to reflect fondly on last year. In the blink of an eye, 2011 came and went without so much as an opportunity to truly appreciate the incredulous life I lead. From strolling the streets of Amsterdam to riding elephants in Thailand to marrying my beautiful wife, 2011 was one of those years that you wish you could be stuck in for perpetuity. For reasons still unknown to me, God has blessed me with a life I do not deserve, fiercely loyal friends, family of which I am proud, and a partner in life that makes me a better man. For all the reasons, I am thankful to be celebrating another year and yet another opportunity at a new beginning. For as much as the new year is about reflection, it's also about change. It is essentially an excuse to recreate yourself or build on the person you've become over the years. Either way, it's an opportunity to evolve into a better person--and lord knows I could certainly improve.

So, like most of you out there, I am resolved to do just that: improve. And like most of you, I've decided the best way to do that is through another lofty aspiration. I thought about just adopting Woody Guthrie's New Year Resolutions, but that would be cheating.

5. Pass the CNMI & Guam Bar Exams
Good lord. Why anyone would make this a New Year's resolution is beyond me--I suppose I am a glutton for punishment. Truth be told, I think I need something to motivate me or the thought alone of studying for another bar exam will lead to an early demise of this resolution.

4. Run a marathon
I have talked about this for years and have fallen short each time. In fact, this little resolution has made my last five New Years lists to no avail. Here's hoping that the sixth time fairs better than its predecessors.

3. Learn to sail
I live on a tropical island and rarely step foot near the ocean. It's a shame, really. Hopefully, with a little help from my east-coast friends who grew up on a boat, I might have a legitimate chance of actually accomplishing this one.

2. Keep traveling
Last year, Jess and I traveled to six countries and while it would be unrealistic to think I could match that number in 2012, I'm hoping we have an opportunity to at least get off this island for a week or two!

1. Keep smiling
I love my life. I love my job. I love my wife. And I hope that 2012 brings as much joy as the last.

HAPPY NEW YEAR TO ALL MY FRIENDS AND FAMILY BACK IN THE STATES!

TOP TEN MOMENTS FROM 2011

10. Braving the journey to the rim of an active volcano in Tagatay, Philippines

9. Hanging out with the Longneck tribe near the Burma border.

8. Adding Amu to our family

7. Gaining trial experience as a prosecutor

6. Enjoying the powder in Niseko, Japan

5. Exploring the ancient ruins of Angkor Wat in Siem Riep, Cambodia

4. Spending the day as an elephant owner in Chaing Mai, Thailand

3. Touring the gardens outside the Taj Mahal in Agra, India

2. Proposing to Jessica on top of the United States Capitol building

1. Saying "I do" to my beautiful bride

*Saipan, NYE, New Years, resolutions, best of 2011, San Antonio, Saipan, India, Cambodia, Agra, Patteya elephant farm, Chaing Mai, Thailand, Sapporo Ice festival, dogs, lab, prosecutor, island, lifestyle, attorney, law, legal,

A history lesson on World War II, island style

2012-01-01T05:21:00.000-06:00

Over the last eighteen months I've traveled to the island of Tinian approximately twenty times. I've even chronicled some of my trips there (here, here, and here). The island itself is roughly five miles south of Saipan so my commute from my front door to the Tinian courthouse is only thirty minutes or so (depending on the availability of flights).

Anywho, traveling is way more fun when you have someone to enjoy it with--which is why I was so excited for my most recent trip to Tinian. This past week I had another bench trial on Tinian (read the news article) which normally would annoy me because I loathe the flight so much. This time, however, Jess was coming with me. This is exciting because 1) I wouldn't be tempted to gamble and 2) I've been wanting to show her some of the historic sights on the island. Unfortunately, I was only partially successful. :-)

Locals rave about the beauty of Taga beach--and for good reason. Just a stone's throw from my hotel, Jess and I spent our lunch break enjoying the view that you see below. Not one of Tinian's 2,000 residents wanted to join us so we had the beach all to ourselves.

During a stroll on the beach, we stumbled upon this old airplane wheel. In fact, we saw at least eight wheels which I assume is from fighter planes that crashed during the battle of Tinian in World War II.

A little further up the beach, we "discovered" this war bunker. If you look close, you can see Jess peeking out (she was too scared to get any closer because of a HUGE spider nearby).

We also took a few minutes to visit the Tinian blowhole. As you can see from our photos below, the waves were particularly big. Both Jessica and I ended up getting soaked.

No trip to Tinian would be complete without a quick stop to view the latte stones. Legend has it that when the last latte stone falls, the great Chamorro warrior Taga will return to the island. As you can see from the photo below, it shouldn't be long until we dispel the myth.

Just another day at the office. I had just won my trial and had two hours to spare until my flight so I figured I would kill some time. To all those top five percenters working at the big firm making the big bucks...eat your heart out.

If you've seen one bunker, you've seen them all. At least this one had a really cool propeller donated by the Japanese with compliments of the United States Army.

And of course, the atomic bomb pits. If you've read my previous posts, then you know that the Enola Gay took off from the island of Tinian on its fateful mission to Japan. Below you can see the pits where the atomic bombs were stored and lifted into the planes that bombed Hiroshima and Nagasaki.

Merry Christmas from your friends in Saipan

2011-12-24T21:18:00.001-06:00

In the weeks leading up to Christmas, I become giddy with anticipation. As if I were a child awaiting Santa's descent from the chimney, I eagerly awaited my wife's permission to unpack all our holiday decorations. Surprisingly, I find the act of unpacking the assorted decorations that I've collected over the years more fulfilling than the act of opening presents. And for good reason. We have it all. Hand-crafted ornaments, stockings, colorful blinking lights, candy canes, faux antlers for the dog, and santa hats galore. Despite all the amenities, it still didn't feel like Christmas here in Saipan.

Something was missing. I couldn't quite put my finger on it but I was determined to add a little holiday cheer around the house. To help in this endeavor, Jess and I threw a white elephant Christmas party. The gift exchange ran the gamut. Here are some of my favorites:

Notice the photo of my nephews and my law school roommate Javier and his wife Audrey. That should earn me points for Best Uncle and Best Godfather of the year!

My contribution to the gift exchange? An autographed photograph of myself!

You're welcome Travis!

My friend and everyone's favorite haole Jenn Dockter came away with two bottles of wine.

Jenn has kindly offered to share with me to ring in the New Year!

Pejman showcased his million-dollar smile when he unwrapped the Saipanda backpack.

He ended up wearing the backpack all night long and referring to himself as a "tourist" I dig it.

My friend Peter reacts in disgust as he discovers that Santa didn't bring him what he wished for.

He actually ended up with the best gift of the night: a hulaskirt nutcracker!

The luckiest man alive (and my dear friend), Tiberius Mocanu, came away with a bottle of wild turkey.

The entertainment didn't stop with the gift exchange. To get the crowd ready to rumble, my friend Jaime and I put on the gloves. I started strong with a left cross...

...but unfortunately, Jaime ended strong with a right cross of his own. For the rest of the night, he walked around the party quietly challenging everyone (i.e. Pejman) to a boxing match. No one took him up on it.

To summarize, the party was a success. Partly because everyone seemed to be having a good time, but more so because it helped me find that holiday spirit that is so difficult to find in this economy. It also made me realize how truly blessed I am to have such incredible friends and how critical family and friendships are when it comes to holiday cheer. Living 7,000 miles away from all my nephews, nieces, and my Texas friendships has proven terribly challenging for both Jessica and myself. Thankfully, our Christmas party helped remind me of Christmas memories from my past like the time my family celebrated Christmas in Junction, Texas. Or the time my Cowboy buddies took a Christmas trip to New Orleans and I donned a "Merry Christmas Yall" sweatshirt. Oh, and the time my best friends Groberg and Marshall spent a Christmas working at the Keystone ski resort. And how could I forget my trip to the Rose Bowl with my father and friends.

At the end of the evening, I realized what was missing.

FAMILY. It's just not the same celebrating without our parents, siblings, and nephews and nieces. Know that we love and miss all of you.

And to everyone reading this blog, Merry Christmas from your friends in Saipan!

The Burning RIng of Fire

2011-12-04T00:28:00.001-06:00

The Ring of Fire sounds more ominous that it does inviting. Especially considering that 90% of the earthquakes in the world occur in the shaded area in the illustration above. And I'm not just blowing smoke. On one recent trip to Japan, Jess and I were awakened at 3:00 a.m. by our hotel room swaying from the tremors of a 6.5 earthquake.

Jess: "What's happening?!"

Russ: "It's an earthquake dear."

Jess: "Are we going to be okay??"

Russ: " . . . uh, we'll see."

As if the fear of earthquakes weren't enough, the Ring of Fire also lays claim to 75% of the world's volcanos. You can imagine my reaction when I learned that my hotel in Manila (also in the ring of fire) was only a short drive from an active volcano. I figured since we had survived an earthquake, we might as well try our luck with surviving a volcano. So just like that, Jess and I decided to spend our Saturday climbing the Taal Volcano. In preparation, Jess and I read the following excerpt from wikipedia:

The volcano had several violent eruptions in the past causing loss of life in the island and the populated areas surrounding the lake, with the death toll estimated at around 5,000 to 6,000. Because of its proximity to populated areas and its eruptive history, the volcano was designated a Decade Volcano, worthy of close study to prevent future natural disasters. It is one of the active volcanoes in the Philippines and part of the Pacific ring of fire.

Unfortunately, the article did little to assuage our fears. We nonetheless carried on with our plans and hired a taxi for the day. What we should have done in hindsight is hire a reliable taxi. The taxi we hired did not have any brakes. This minor piece of information, however, did not come to our attention until we were careening down the side of a mountain. I did my best to calm my wife, reassuring her its "normal" for locals to drive at high rates of speed in this terrain.

I'm not sure when I too began to worry. Perhaps it was when the car started to slide uncontrollably. Or perhaps it was when I noticed the cab driver frantically pulling on the emergency brake; either way we wanted out of the car, preferably in one piece. As the car finally came to a stop, smoke billowed out from the hood. Jess leaped out and I doubt God himself could have convinced her to get back in that taxi. Ok. Probably God. But definitely not her husband. Fortunately, God didn't want us to get back in that car either so he provided an alternative--a motorcycle with one of those cool sidecars.

We hadn't even reached the base of the volcano and I was already stressed. Things only marginally improved. The volcano is situated in the center of a lake which meant we now had to rent a boat. In the aftermath of our taxi debacle, we were more concerned with reliability than we were with price. After a brief haggling session, we paid the fare and set sail for the volcano.

Dozens of tourists had already begun their ascent to the rim when we arrived. All of our predecessors, however, had the benefit of scaling the volcano on horseback. Apparently, the horses costs money-- money that we spent on a reliable boat. Without an alternative we had no choice but to rely on our own two feet.

The hike itself wasn't too terrible. Yes, it was hot. And it was steep. And exhausting. And the pungent smell of sulfur was overpowering. BUT, the picturesque views from the volcanic rim made it all worth it. As we peered into the volcano, we were surprised to see a miniature lake. And if you think about it, it was a lake within an island within a lake within an island. Get it? Anyway, the vibrant colors of the smoldering water inside the volcano seemingly shifted to a greenish hue as steam rose from various parts of the rim. Not wanting to chance fate, we lingered only for a few minutes before beginning the descent.

It wasn't the Burning Ring of Fire Johnny Cash told me about, but it sure was p'erty (in my best Texas twang).

Thanksgiving in the Philippines

2011-12-01T21:33:00.001-06:00

If you love Thanksgiving, you're in good company. Americans have been stuffing their faces with turkey and pies since President Lincoln made it an official holiday in 1863. Actually, we have celebrated Thanksgiving long before it became an official holiday. As most of us learn in grammar school, the Pilgrims who landed at Plymouth celebrated their first harvest in a strange new land with the help of the Wampanoag indian tribe.

Fast forward 390 years to the present where my wife and I serendipitously ended up in a strange new land of our own: the Philippines. Unanticipated events required our departure on November 23rd, thus eviscerating our much anticipated plans for Thanksgiving.

It should be noted at this juncture that I enjoy traveling--just not as much as I enjoy family, friends, feasting, and football. As Jon Stewart astutely acknowledges, "Thanksgiving is the only holiday left where you can get drunk around your kids at 2:00 p.m. and watch football all day without getting in trouble."

Which is exactly what I planned to do until a poorly planned trip got in the way. I grumbled all the way to the airport and then complained some more once we were airborne. Jessica however took a more proactive approach: she sat out to find a Thanksgiving feast in the Philippines. Now I know this may come as surprise to many of you reading this blog, but other countries do not celebrate Thanksgiving (gasp!) I thought to myself, Thanksgiving in the Philippines? Really? I couldn't even find turkey for sandwiches at the grocery store in Manila much less enough turkey for a proper Thanksgiving feast.

Defeated, I resigned myself to a Thanksgiving sans turkey and stuffing. I felt like that old married couple eating soup at Luby's during the holiday season. Then it hit me. Much like the Pilgrims of yesteryear, Jess and I were thrust into a foreign land that we knew nothing about. And like the pilgrims, I knew in order to have a successful thanksgiving feast, we would have to rely on the locals.

Through our efforts of prodding and pleading, we discovered a magnificent buffet only a few short miles from where we were staying. It was advertised as an American Thanksgiving Feast, complete with stuffing, apple pie, potatoes, and yes, even turkey. We did our best to consume the 4,500 calories the average American eats on thanksgiving and even made a few friends to celebrate with.

At the end of the day, we had a very memorable thanksgiving thanks to the generosity of the local community here in Manila. Which is a good thing because we have so much to be thankful for such as:

Family: We miss you guys sooo much. Rach, I expect you to make me a pie when I get back to Texas!
Friends: Jess and I have the most amazing friends. I know we're hard to get in touch with, you know, being thousands of miles away and all, but know that we love and think of each of you often)
Employment: In this economy, I'm thankful that I'm even receiving a paycheck. But I'm also thankful for having a job that I love.
Health: We're still breathing (clean, fresh air) out here in the Pacific.
Amu: The recent addition to our family. He's an adorable chocolate lab that stole Jess' heart (and my spot in the bed).

Our first island wedding

2011-11-22T22:35:00.001-06:00

For months, I've heard tales of raucous weddings here on Saipan. I envisioned picturesque sunset ceremonies and copious amounts of wine where everyone laughed and danced until dawn.

Those tales turned out to be true.

Jess and I were invited to celebrate the nuptials of our friend Eden, a beautiful Filipina who until recently, was a waitress at a popular bar called Godfather's. Her husband Angelo Villagomez is an affable young Chamorro who feels at ease in front of a crowd (he also happens to be the the author of the Saipan Blog).

The ceremony--as one might expect--was held on a massive yacht. The Chief Justice of the Supreme Court, Alex Castro, presided over the ceremony. And if you look carefully in the background of the photograph, you can tell Jessica and I are still enjoying the honeymoon phase!

The happy couple definitely knows how to party too! The wedding was so much fun. It had everything you would expect from an island wedding-a beautiful sunset, a ukulele, lots of dancing, and great food (not to mention an open bar). Jess and I are happy for our friends and wish them the best as they start their new lives together in Washington D.C.

Restaurant review: Mai Thai

2011-11-14T17:32:00.001-06:00

An old favorite has reemerged recently. Mai Thai Spices owner Tony C.P. Ng used to run the old Mai Thai restaurant in Garapan more than a decade ago. He announced his return to the restaurant business with the opening of Mai Thai Spices in September 2009.

The previous Mai Thai Restaurant was an island favorite for many years before it closed in the late 1990s but anyone fortunate enough to dine there can attest to its uniqueness in offering only the finest in Thai cuisine.

Banking on a sure thing, Ng opened Mai Thai Spices and said everything that Mai Thai Restaurant was-from the furniture and decorations to the menu-is Mai Thai Spices now.

Restaurant staff Buakhlee Phoorhamonasri said the name Mai Thai means “Spicy Thai Silk” in her native Thai. She said they prepare Thai food based on recipes handed down from generation to generation using the freshest and finest ingredients imported directly from Thailand.

In fact, she said Mai Thai Spices takes deliveries of fresh herbs, spices, and authentic Thai ingredients directly from Bangkok once a month, which makes Mai Thai Spices the most authentic Thai restaurant on island.

Ng said Thai food is known for its hot, sour, sweet, and salty elements, which make having a fresh supply of herbs and spices-including garlic, coriander, lemon grass, mint, and an assortment of hot peppers-not only a must but a necessity in their cooking to perk up their dishes' flavor and aroma.

The restaurant also serves different varieties of freshly ground coffee brewed in their own espresso machine. Mai Thai Spices can also host garden parties at night and on weekends. The restaurant has Wi-Fi so that customers will not miss important e-mails while dining. The restaurant also accepts all major credit cards.

Mai Thai Spices is located at the Royal Crown Insurance building, right across Sunleader Mart in San Antonio. It can comfortably seat 60 people and is open from 10am to 10pm Monday to Sunday.

For more information and reservations, call 234-3173 or the main office at 234-2256/57. This story was originally posted here.

Restaurant Review: 360

2011-11-04T17:23:00.000-05:00

360 Revolving Restaurant Saipan Promotional Video from Chibi Moku on Vimeo.

What does Saipan, NYC, Houston, Detroit, and Las Vegas all have in common? Revolving restaurants.

The aptly-named 360 restaurant offers panoramic views "6.77 miles above the deepest place on Earth." I have to admit that I have an affinity for revolving restaurants. One of my first childhood memories was running around the Spindletop restaurant in Houston. I also dined in revolving restaurants in Argentina, New York, Chile, California and Louisiana. And to top it off, my twin sister was married in the Stratosphere in Las Vegas.

Despite this affinity, I am not the biggest fan of Saipan's revolving restaurant. The proprietors do their best to hype the view, but it's insignificant at best. Sure you get a view of the ocean, but its beauty is blemished by the rooftops of deteriorating buildings in Susupe village. The food leaves something to be desired as well. It's overpriced and the quality is hit-or-miss. The restaurant is within walking distance of my office so my colleagues and I would frequently eat here and enjoy the "360 Lunch Club" - a lunch special that included tea, soup or salad, and your choice of burger, mahi-mahi, quesadilla, or spaghetti for only $9.99. Unfortunately, in the last few months prices have increased 30%! The lunch special is now $12.99 so don't let the online menu fool you.

Their one saving grace is the Friday happy hour. You can munch on free hors d' oeuvres and sip on a $4.00 glass of wine all while watching the sunset. I've only been once, but I was thoroughly impressed with the selection of hor d'oeuvres and steeply-discounted wine. In fact, nearly all of their drinks are 50% off for the Friday happy hour. I should also mention that the restaurant provides frequent diner cards where you get a free meal after every six visits. Not a bad deal.

Restaurant Review: Coco's

2011-11-04T16:35:00.000-05:00

My co-workers Tiberius and Nicole joined me for lunch this past week at Coco's restaurant. Tucked away behind Winchell's bakery in Garapan, you probably wouldn't know at first glance that this place has the best lunch in town (the interior reminded me of a mix between Red Lobster/Pizza Inn circa 1985). Sure the red-checkered tablecloths and metal chairs give the interior a cheap look, but that's exactly what you're getting-a quality meal for cheap.

For lunch, I ordered a glass of tea, salad bar, soup, a 6 oz. sirloin with steamed carrots, and a bowl of ice cream. While the salad bar left something to be desired (it's tiny), my steak was cooked to perfection over a wood-burning grill. Service was done with a smile and my tea was always topped off at the appropriate time. More importantly, I ended up feasting for only $13.00. Remember to ask the waitress for the local discount. Anyway, I admit it's a little pricey for a lunch, BUT considering all the food you get, it's definitely worth it.

My colleagues didn't fare as well as I did. They both ordered the grilled chicken as was recommended by our friend Ed Cabrera. Nicole seemed content with hers while Tiberius complained that the chicken was a bit dry and that the seasoning was "eh." I tend to trust Ed and Nicole's recommendation over Tiberius' for the simple fact that his wife-who happens to be a fabulous ~~cook~~ chief-spoils him daily with gourmet meals.

I was so enamored with the lunch, I came back a few days later with my wife to try their dinner. My dining experience, however. was much different the second time around. I ordered the 8 oz ribeye which was grisly and overcooked and TWICE THE PRICE as my lunch meal. Yep, prices DOUBLED for dinner. Suffice it to say that I have a love-hate relationship with Coco's: I love their lunch, hate their dinner.

Restaurant Review: Shenanigans

2011-10-23T02:01:00.000-05:00

she·nan·i·gan

\shə-ˈna-ni-gən\
1: a devious trick used especially for an underhand purpose
2 a : tricky or questionable practices or conduct —usually used in plural
b : high-spirited or mischievous activity —usually used in plural

The word "shenanigan" conjures up a steady stream of mental images; none however are remotely related to gourmet cooking. Sure, I've seen my fare share of irish pubs or bars with this namesake, but I generally try to avoid those type of establishments--at least when I'm dining.

Enter Shenanigans, the newest restaurant in Saipan. Based on the name alone, I avoided it for the better part of my first year here. Turns out, it's not only the newest restaurant, it also happens to be the best.

The owner Bel Busby and chef Tony Alovera spent years working at another restaurant on island. When opportunity came knocking, the two decided to venture out on their own. So in February 2010, Shenanigans opened its doors for the first time. And we should all be glad they did. In this past eighteen months, this dynamic duo have managed to build an incredible reputation and continues to establish itself as one of those "places to be seen." From the quiet yet inviting atmosphere to the top-notch service, Shenanigans is like a mirage in the desert--too good to be true.

The menu offers a nice selection of salads, appetizers, sandwiches, and pastas as well as vegetarian dishes. What continuously brings me back for more however, is the breakfast. There weekend breakfast is only rivaled by the Hyatt brunch. Specials like Juevos Rancheros, Mexican migas, and the most amazing french toast are exquisite! Throw in the bottomless cup of coffee and you could stay here for most of the day. In fact, some people do. I often find myself here on Sunday mornings enjoying the company of friends (and not leaving until well past noon). I suppose part of the allure is that Shenanigans feels like "home." As in, I could see it being a trendy little restaurant that my friends and I back home would frequent. Be that as it may, let's get to the good part: the food.

My default meal here is the Juevos rancheros (I highly, highly recommend it) but occasionally I go with the "mix n' match" that allows diners to choose four separate items for $10.95. When I choose the latter, I typically get eggs, french toast, bacon, and andouille sausage.

Lunch is equally appetizing. Jess and I recommend the Turkey aioli sandwich with a cup of their delightful clam chowder. Or if you feel like treating yourself to dinner here, owner Bel Busby recommends "Tony's wrap" or the "grilled Hawaiian fish". I would add the ceviche as a must when ordering dinner. Suffice it to say that you cannot go wrong. Prices are reasonable especially considering the quality of service, the fresh ingredients, the wonderful atmosphere, and the divine taste of every single entree on the menu. And if you're not feeling hungry, they offer a fully-stocked bar (complete with an espresso machine).

As for the name, the owner chose it after watching the comedy "Waiting" starring Ryan Reynolds. Trust me when I tell you that there is nothing shenanigan about this place other than its name. And if this review didn't give you enough of a reason to check it out, then perhaps this will:

Shenanigans will be giving away a bottle of wine throughout the month of November when four or more people dine for dinner and each order an entree. The deal is tentative as of now, but I'll be sure to get more details and share with everyone at a later date.

Shenanigans is located at the Juan T. Guerrero building in Garapan and seats 70-80 persons. They are open Monday-Sunday 7:00 a.m. to 10:00 p.m. and accept all major credit cards. For reservations or to call in an order, call 285-8324.

In case, you're still not convinced, I've included links to other sites that heap on the accolades.

Trip Advisor UK

Trip Advisor Australia

TravBuddy

Saipan Tribune

Restaurant Review: Kili cafe & terrace

2011-10-19T06:00:00.001-05:00

Variety is the spice of life.

Don't get me wrong--I enjoy my island lifestyle. I'm never more than a stone's throw from a coconut tree and my day-to-day apparel consists of t-shirts, shorts, and flipflops. Occasionally, I'll grab a beer down at the local saloon where I see the same familiar faces. At this point, it's routine-a routine that I enjoy.

But every now and then I get a little nostalgic and long for a night out on the town. I want to see my wife in her little cocktail dress while we sip fine wine and lounge in an air-conditioned restaurant while listening to soft music. Basically, I want a little variety--which is why Jess and I joined our friends Cuki and Mari Alvarez for a night out on the town at Kili cafe.

Housed in the swank Hyatt hotel, Kili cafe is perfectly situated between the open-air foyer and the beach. The restaurant offers themed dinner buffets that rotate and change daily and offer an extensive variety at a fair price.

Monday: Oceans Bounty (seafood selections)
Tuesday: Roasts and Reds (an array of fine meats and wines)
Wednesday: El rancho nights (Ranch specials from Texas to Tijuana)
Thursday: Asian curries (A journey through the spice route)
Friday: Marianas BBQ (local favorites)
Saturday: Street food specials (most popular street food from around the world)
Sunday: Rustic farmhouse flavors (homestyle food)

Tuesday (roasts and reds) is the hands down favorite and for good reason: the price includes all you can drink wine. While I appreciate a bottomless bottle of wine, I'm partial to el rancho night here. Guests have an option of dining outdoors on the terrace or opting for the air-conditioned main dining room. The humidity here rivals Houston so we opted for the air-conditioning. :-) Once inside, we helped ourselves to the well-stocked buffet. I want to be clear here--we're not talking Golden Corral buffet, we're talking high-class (which admittedly sounds like a contradiction). Not only did we have our choice of soups, salads, desserts and cheeses, we were also allowed to order any entree on the menu. In fact, when the waiter told me I was allowed to order as many entrees as my heart desired, I did just that. I ordered the lamb stew, prime rib, brisket, mashed potatoes, and the duck. I would have ordered the salmon but I'm allergic. In my defense, I asked the chef to prepare a "sampler" and if you must know...

...I cleaned my plate.

Comparatively, the price is a little steep: $38.00 per person. Back in the States, my friends and I wouldn't think twice about spending $80.00 on dinner for two--especially a dinner that included all you can drink wine. Out here, however, people have a different mentality. Or at least I do. When you can eat out at half this price, it's hard to justify the expense. Then again, I got to see my wife in her little cocktail dress and spend hours enjoying good conversation and great company.

And that to me makes it worth every penny.

Restaurant review: Wild Bills

2011-10-19T02:42:00.000-05:00

Around these parts, "Wild Bills" is as famous as its namesake. Opened by Texan Bill Curry and his wife Somjai, the pub house and restaurant burst onto the scene in 2006 and has been a staple ever since. The couple have proudly gone back to their roots to offer Saipan a diverse dining option that offers a little something for everyone. For the red-blooded Americans out there, you'll notice some familiar grub on the menu that will make you feel right at home. For instance, they offer fried chicken, chicken fried steak and the perennial favorite: the bacon cheeseburger.

And for the more international astute amongst us, Wild Bills will treat you right. In fact, the Thai food in my opinion is the best in town and that's saying something considering its competing against a dozen or so Thai restaurants. For dinner, I typically order the Gai Kra Praow (Chicken with sweet basil) or the Pad Thai. Make sure you come hungry because the portions are HUGE. My wife and I generally split an entree and we both leave full.

It's not all sunshine and puppy dogs though--Wild Bills has a few flaws in my book. For starters, the atmosphere leaves something to be desired. It's hard to enjoy a quiet meal here as the bar area can often get rowdy. Like most restaurants in Saipan, the furniture, appliances, and decorations have a weathered look to it which might create an impression of untidiness. The prices--while still inexpensive--have increased 20% in the past five years.

Thankfully, the efficiency of the waitstaff more than makes up for any shortcomings. Don't expect lots of friendly conversations though--the bar area and the steady stream of customers keep these Thai waitresses busy. And while they may be too busy to chat up, you can nonetheless expect a friendly smile, prompt service, and an overall great experience.

Wild Bill's is open for breakfast, too, and serves Omelette's, Eggs benedict, Chamorro Breakfasts, Beef Tapa, Breakfast Steaks, Pancakes, French Toast, Hash Browns,and Fried Rice. While I love breakfast food, I wouldn't recommend the eggs benedict. I've ordered it twice and both times the eggs were overcooked and the hollandaise sauce was more like a cream gravy Other than that, everything I've tried is good. So go ahead and give 'em a chance. Their phone number is (670) 233-3372 for take-out and they are open from 7am-10pm. They also host a trivia tournament every Tuesday starting at 6:30--it's free to play and everyone is welcome to participate.

Restaurant review: Himawari

2011-10-16T07:05:00.000-05:00

Nestled in the back alleys of Garapan you'll find the hidden gem that is Himawari. At first glance, you might take offense to its quaint approach to marketing or the haphazard condition of the building. But if you can resist the urge to judge a book by its cover, it quickly becomes apparent why Himawari is the Cinderella of Saipan restaurants.

Initially a Japanese store & hotel, the restaurant was added almost as an afterthought. When the restaurant first opened, it was nothing more than a grocery store with a few tables in an adjacent room. Yet despite its humble beginnings, the restaurant has thrived. Here's why.

1) The food

At the end of the day, it's all about the finished product and Himawari delivers. On our last trip, I devoured a perfectly prepared California roll and washed it down with a hearty bowl of ramen soup. For a guy who doesn't even like sushi, you know the food has to be good. What's more is my wife shared my enthusiasm for the food. Jessica ordered (and would recommend) the spicy tuna roll and the pokie.

Ramen!

2) The price

Himawari prides itself on it's affordability and for good reason. Most customers can get a delicious meal for under $10.00. The restaurant even allows its patrons to bring in food or beverages from the attached grocery store. So instead of paying $45.00 for a bottle of wine, customers are allowed to walk next door, spend $7.00 on a bottle of Yellow Tail merlot and have it uncorked tableside. Want a pastry to accompany your meal? Just grab it next door for pennies on the dollar.

3) The Service

I cannot say enough good things about the quality of service at this Japanese jewel. Service is always done with efficiency and with a smile. The sushi chefs prepare your meal in plain sight and consequently, you get plenty of opportunities to interact with them if you so choose. It has been my experience that they take pride in their craft and genuinely care that the customer is pleased.

I could go on and on but suffice it to say that Himawari gets two thumbs up. If you're looking for a quick, inexpensive meal that will leave you satisfied, look no further than the backroads of Garapan.

SUSHI!

A Guide to Wining and Dining in Saipan

2011-10-10T02:11:00.000-05:00

If you're contemplating moving to Saipan or even just visiting for a handful of days, you're probably unsure on the breadth of culinary delights on our small island. Before relocating to Saipan, I imagined my food choices would be quite limited. I mean, how many restaurants can there be on a tiny speck in the middle of the Pacific, right?

You would be surprised. That is, unless you're one of the lucky readers of my blog.

Over the next few weeks, I plan on reviewing several of the restaurants on island. Every few days, I will review a new restaurant and give my Saipan readers some honest feedback on my experience. If any of you have any suggestions on restaurants to review, I would love to hear from you.

Honeymooning after the honeymoon

2011-10-10T02:01:00.000-05:00

After a month honeymooning in southeast Asia, Jessica and I are back in Saipan "roughing it". Instead of paying $5.00 for hour-long massages, we now have to pay $20.00. And the days of hiking through the jungle to find ancient temples are long gone as well. Unfortunately, back in Saipan we're only able to find well-preserved artifacts from World War II. Sure, we have an ocean-view from our bedroom and yes the temperature is 90 degrees year round, but there's not a decent mexican restaurant for miles.
Be that as it may, I just wanted to let everyone know that we're enjoying out time in Saipan. Jess has become quite a fan of "spa day" and lounging on the beach. We're working hard but making time to enjoy our first year of marriage. We realize how fortunate we are to be living on a tropical island and having this wonderful opportunity to honeymoon after our honeymoon. Please send us an email or a message on facebook or give us a call. We would love to hear from everyone!

Cambodia and the mystique of Angkor Wat

2011-09-11T07:56:00.002-05:00

ANGKOR WAT

Ford CEO Alan Mulally could learn a little something from the ancient Khmer civilization. Between the 8th and 13th centuries, a succession of Hindu and Buddhist kings created magnificent temples made of stone. Many of the elaborate carvings and intricate architecture still stand today. The temples of Angkor Wat and surrounding area have been compared to other great architectural achievements such as Chichen Itza, Machu Pichu, and the Pyramids. It is afterall, the largest religious monument in the world. And since Jess and I were only a five-hour bus ride from the Cambodian border, I thought to myself "why wouldn't we go?" I couldn't think of a good reason either so twenty-four hours later, we found ourselves in Siem Riep, the bustling city that shelters Angkor Wat.

Angkor Wat at sunrise

Overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of ruins, my wife and I hired a guide. For the next three days, our guide Soviet (that's his real name) would educate us on Cambodian history and its culture. He was also kind enough to share with us his own personal story. The youngest of six siblings, Soviet bore the weight of the world on his shoulders. Because of the devastation of the Pol Pot era, none of Soviet's siblings were allowed to attend school. When he was a young boy, his father stepped on a land mine and remains permanently handicapped to this day. Worse, two of his siblings were killed. Fortunately, Soviet met a Christian missionary around the age of fourteen and was invited to study English at a rudimentary monastery in Siem riep for free. Consequently, he became the soul breadwinner for his entire family. Fast forward thirteen years, and he is reaping the benefits of good intentions and hard work. As a tour guide, Soviet told us that he makes approximately ten times the average daily wage (he told us he averaged $25.00 for a day's work). For you math wizards, that means the average worker in Cambodia makes $2.50 a day. Most of the people reading this blog probably make at least $25.00 an hour and still have trouble paying your bills. And yet this 27-year-old man seemed ecstatic that he was in a position to help his family. Thinking back to our days in Cambodia, I cannot recall seeing Soviet when he wasn't smiling. We found this story repeated a thousand times over. In fact, nearly everyone we met seemed content with their lives. I found their smiles contagious and it was the people that ultimately made Cambodia our favorite honeymoon destination.

As I've done in the past on this blog, I've decided to let the pictures do the talking. It's important to note that Angkor Wat is but one set of ruins. Others that are worth a visit include Angkor Thom, Ta Prohm, Bayon, and Banteay Srei. I've posted separate slide shows below to help you easily identify the distinctions between the ruins. Enjoy!

Oh and if someone out there in blog world knows Alan, tell him "Ford Tough" can't hold a candle to the ingenuity of an ancient Cambodian civilization. He's going to have to step it up a notch if he wants to compete in this economy.

*Slide show photos will be up by the end of the week!

I hate Fridays

2011-09-04T08:15:00.003-05:00

Once upon a time, I loved Fridays. It signaled the beginning of college football, happy hours, and late-night runs to Taco Cabana. In my hey day, I would celebrate all night knowing I had two days to recover from the carnage. But that was then. Now, I would just as rather work all day than enjoy the false hopes of a sunny Friday afternoon. Here's why.

As many of you know, it has long been an aspiration of mine to visit all seven wonders of the world. But for that goal, Jess and I would have left India long ago. Instead, we hopped on a flight bound for New Delhi. Having arrived safely in India's capitol, Jessica rejoiced in the mere fact that we were less than 200 miles away from one of the greatest architectural accomplishments known to man.

I didn't share her sentiment.

And for good reason. I have had the unfortunate pleasure of learning that nothing in life worth having comes easy. Months earlier when I planned the trip, I neglected to factor in pollution and poverty into the honeymoon equation. Oops. And then of course their were other X factors such as "Delhi Belly" which I can assure you is the antithesis to romance. Suffice it to say that Jessica and I are much closer after our experience in India.

But as my father would say, these minor challenges were simply speed bumps on my road of Wonders. Rather than let a little illness stand in the way of one of my life-long dreams, Jess and I improvised. As soon as we were settled in to our hotel in New Delhi, I sought out the hotel manager to plan my escape from India. Poor Jess stood there patiently as I confided, or rather vented, to any hotel staff that would listen about my frustrations thus far. Fortunately, my concerns did not fall on deaf ears. The manager immediately arranged for a private driver to chauffeur my wife and I to the Taj Mahal at 6:00 a.m. the following morning. He assured me that we would be back by 6:00 p.m. that night. I (naively) took him at his word and sought refuge at the lone computer terminal in the lobby. For the next three hours, I canceled hotel accommodations and rearranged our travel schedule. With the assurance of seeing the Taj Mahal that Friday morning, I moved our departure flights up to Friday evening.

And that's where everything went terribly wrong. You see, as many of you know, the devil is in the details. For months, I planned our honeymoon. I read dozens of articles, hundreds of reviews, and countless blogs on touring the Taj Mahal.

And all of them failed to mention that the world wonder is closed on Fridays.

That's right, you read that correctly. The Taj Mahal is @#$! closed on Fridays. Forget for a moment that one of the most visited buildings on the planet is closed to the public on a weekly basis. And forget how I could have overlooked such a critical piece of information. Simply imagine being so close yet so far away from accomplishing one of your dreams. I tried in vain to rearrange my travels from a small Internet cafe in Agra. In the end, Jess and I had to accept the fact we would be admiring the beauty of the Taj Mahal from afar. After eight days, four flights, two trains, and one chauffeur-driven Toyota, I had come within 100 yards of accomplishing my dream: All to be stopped cold by poor planning and bad timing.

At least I came away with a handful of snapshots...

...and a newfound hatred of Fridays.

Life lessons from an Indian taxi driver

2011-08-18T07:52:00.002-05:00

After a week in India, my curiosity got the best of me so I set out to explore my surroundings. Everywhere I looked, cows (or more specifically Brahma Bulls) stereotypically stalled traffic. Further down the road, the stench of urine masked the smell of kabobs as I ambled past endless rows of street vendors. The smell would normally have bothered me but I was distracted by a man visibly defecating on the street corner. I wasn't so much disturbed by the fact that the man had relieved himself in the middle of a busy intersection, but more in awe that the throng of people around us weren't phased by his actions in the least bit. The crowd simply sidestepped his excrement without so much as a grimace.

This was my introduction to the oldest inhabited city on the planet.

The cacophony of city life in Varanasi proved too much so I sought refuge in the backseat of a 1960's era taxi. Like most of us, my typical conversations with taxi drivers is limited to polite introductions and a courteous question or two regarding the best bar or restaurant in town. This however would not be a typical conversation. Before I had a chance to engage the driver, he burst out in what purported to be singing. "NAH Nah NAH NAH NAH Nah Nah NAH" The "song" reminded me of a revving motorcycle engine.

Russell: "Excuse me, sir."

Taxi driver: (In rapid succession) Nah, Nah, NAH, NAH, NAH. My name is Bullie. I am taxi driver. NAH, NAH, NAH, NAH, NAH

Russell: "Well, Bullie. I would like to..."

Bullie!!

[interrupted by Bullie]

Taxi driver: ...NAH, NAH, NAH, NAH. I sing because singing make me happy. NAH, Nah, Nah, Nah, NAH, NAH

I shot an amused look at my wife and said:

Russell: "Do you know where we are going, because I don't."

Taxi driver: "Bulli take you anywhere you want to go.

Russell: "How much to Sarnath?"

Taxi driver: You pay me happy price.

Russell: "How much is happy price?"

Taxi driver: You pay price that makes you happy and that makes me happy.

I looked at Jess and shrugged.

Russell: "Okay. Happy price it is."

Taxi driver: NAH, NAH, NAH, NAH, NAH, NAH, NAH, NAH, NAh

Over the next several days, Jess and I would spend a majority of the day with Bullie. From our trek to Sarnath to the ghats on the Ganges, to the silk factories in the muslim slums, Bullie escorted us all over Varanasi. And while he taught us many things about the culture and the city, he also inadvertently taught us a lot about life.

BULLIE'S TOP TEN LESSONS ON LIFE

10. Always give from your heart

(Don't be stingy)

09. Support the local economy

(The "I know a guy who can help you with that" philosophy)

08. Schedules are a waste of time

(If I'm late, so what)

07. Money talks

(For $5.00 I will wait an additional twenty minutes)

06. Don't mess with elephants

(Don't @#$ with anyone or anything bigger than you)

05. Take time to smell the flowers

(It's the little things that matter)

04. When in Rome...

(Try the food, try the water, try everything in India)

03. Family first

(If my son need a ride, we detour)

02. Quitting is not an option

("Bullie married for forty years. That's what my wife tell me. She tell me a lot.")

AND THE NUMBER ONE LESSON...

It's hard to frown when you're singing. NAH, NAH, NAH, NAH, NAH, NAH.

Jessica watching the ghats ceremony in Varanasi

Russ at a Tibetan temple giving the prayer wheels a whirl

Lunch time!

Namaste India!

2011-08-18T05:34:00.001-05:00

A goat for auction

Have you ever committed to doing something and immediately realized you were in over your head?

Welcome to our life.

As our AirAsia flight reached cruising altitude, the passengers directly in front of me and behind me frantically looked around. Their eyes shifted rapidly from one side of the plane to the other. As their bodies contorted in their seats, it was readily apparent something was about to happen. This only heightened my paranoia. I soon realized what they were waiting for: the seat belt sign to illuminate. As soon as my fellow travelers heard the "bing" from the speakers above, they all jumped out of their seats to mingle with other travelers. Whew. I watched in curiosity as each passenger leisurely chatted in the aisle. The peculiarity of the situation compounded when our plane nose-dived for its landing. But for the non-chalence of everyone on board, I believe I would have urinated on myself right then and there.

Unfortunately, it only got worse from there. Jess and I simply weren't prepared for India. Despite traveling extensively around the world, I have never experienced anything remotely similar to India. We were utterly overwhelmed. To put it more bluntly, I distinctly remember thinking, "what the #$% have I gotten myself into?"

A homeless child studying

Kolkata transportation

That's what I call using your head (I know, bad joke).

The alleys of Kolkata

Looks like traffic

That feeling never subsided. As we made our way through the slums of Kolkata, I was taken aback by the poverty. Jess and I strolled through the streets for hours in utter shock at the way of life in one of India's largest cities. A few years ago, I had read Thomas Friedman's book "The Earth is Flat" which theorized that developing countries like India would be a force in the global economy in the very near future. As I stood in the crowded streets, that idea seemed utterly absurd. Certainly the people were hardworking and proud, but they are not even in the same league as the United States.

Nonetheless, we were intent on enjoying ourselves and to that extent, we sat out to find Mother Theresa's home. For more than forty years, Mother Theresa committed her life to serving Christ through selfless service. The house where she and other nuns tirelessly worked to alleviate the suffering of the poor and sick stands to this day, buzzing with activity. Volunteers come from all over the world to follow in her steps-but I imagine all fall far short of the devotion of Mother. After roughly a two-mile walk through the slums, Jess and I stumbled upon her home. Not surprisingly, there were no locks on the doors and all were free to enter. Inside, nuns walked with a purpose and tourists stood frozen while pondering the sacrifice it would take to devote your life within these humble walls. Never has it been more apparent that my material lifestyle falls far short of what God intended. For instance, I typed up the notes of this blog post on my ipad which I would later download to my macbook while sitting in my air-conditioned house. Despite these indulgences, I'm hoping that my inquisitive mind and liberal heart lead me to a more purpose driven life--even if that means I'm in over my head.

Standing up for the old guys in Koh Phi Phi

2011-08-08T22:25:00.003-05:00

Located off the coast of Thailand in the Andamen Sea you'll find the jewel that is Koh Phi Phi. We're not talking just another beach with white sand and panoramic views. We're talking about one of the most beautiful places on planet Earth. So beautiful in fact, it provided the backdrop for the 2000 movie "The Beach." Jess and I figured if it was good enough for Leo, it was good enough for us. So, without a worry in the world, the two of us set out to explore the now famous islands.

Of course, I neglected to mention to my beautiful wife that in December 2004, the entire island had been decimated by a tsunami triggered by a 9.0 earthquake. Hundreds died and the infrastructure was completely wiped out. This didn't sit well with Jess when I told her minutes before the boat docked.

I anticipated a small, still-recovering fishing village, but instead I found a bustling resort town that had completely recovered from the wrath of mother nature. Unfortunately (for me), I also noticed that I was quite a bit older than the average traveller. From the moment we stepped off the boat, we were surrounded by guys in their young twenties sporting eight-pack abs and what seemed like bottomless flasks of whiskey. Jess didn't seem to mind. As a husband, your wife's safety is always your paramount concern. And since all these young guys looked dangerous, I decided it would be best to book a room at the more isolated end of the island (you know, for her er...safety).

Once we settled in, we were able to finally relax and enjoy the island lifestyle that I had become accustomed to. One morning, Jess and I rented a private boat and set out to explore some of the neighboring islands. We made the requisite visit to Viking Cove and Maya Bay, both of which are spectacular. We also made the strategic decision to set sail at 6:00 a.m.--long before the Eight-packs would be awake. The payoff? Sensational views of one of the most beautiful places on Earth all to ourselves.

Score one for the old guys.

Old guys: 1
Young guys: 0 1

*Author's comment: After writing this blog entry, Jess determined that the young guys should get a point because "after all, they do have six packs." While I wanted to protest, she did have a good point. But then I pointed out that I didn't have a six pack and I still got the girl SO I should get more points because the old guys are forced to try even harder. In the end, the young guys got the point but as a compromise, it's listed in red. hehe. OH AND PICTURES WILL BE POSTED IN THE NEXT 24 HOURS. CHECK BACK.

The Best Day of My Life by Jessica Lorfing

2011-08-08T21:45:00.001-05:00

*Check back for Jess' story on our visit to Thailand's best elephant farm!

Hanging out with the Long Neck tribe

2011-08-01T00:09:00.000-05:00

As I boy, I was fascinated with the oddity of culture. I remember spending hours staring at the glossy-colored photos proudly displayed in National Geographic. To a young kid growing up in a small Texas suburb, it was impossible to grasp that I might one day experience the reality of these photos. And yet, twenty plus years later, I found myself smack in the middle of one of those National Geographic moments, pinching myself at the absurdity that this small town Texan was honeymooning with the Padaung tribe.

As the pictures connotes, the Padaung women are famous for wearing brass rings around their necks. Contrary to the prevailing view, the rings do not actually stretch out their necks but rather squash the vertebrae and collarbone allowing for the elongated neck that the tribe has become notorious for. With less than 40,000 in their tribe, a small minority have sought refuge from the fighting in their native Burma. As such, small tribes of eight to ten families have sprung up all over Northern Thailand. This is our story upon visiting one of the local tribes on the Thailand/Burma border.

* * *

There is an app for that

Jess and I awoke early one morning and hopped on a long-tail boat to visit the Padaung women. We were informed that only women born on the Wednesday of a full-moon wore the brass rings but we soon learned that most women in the tribe adopted this practice. Our boat inched up to a rickety pier and Jess and I were immediately welcomed by a Padaung woman. As we walked through the only road in town, women clad with brass rings invited us to sit down and take photographs. One by one, we took photos of each woman, followed by the obligatory purchase of small souvenirs. I was struck by their acceptance of this peculiar fate. These women just sit for hours on end, waiting for tourists to arrive so that we can snap a photo for our friends back home. This realization however, didn't stop me from taking photographs. I rationalized my behavior in that the women were making five times the salary of other rural workers off the tourist industry. Additionally, NGO's and religious groups have donated heavily to the village building schools and churches in recent years. In fact, it wasn't until Jess and I visited one of the schools that we truly got a glimpse at life in the village.

A young Padaung woman

After being caught peering over a tall thicket fence, a teacher smiled and invited us into her classroom. As we walked through the door, the children's faces lit up and they immediately began singing in near unison, "I'm a little teapot." We spent the next thirty minutes playing with the children. While Jess sang along with the children and commended them on their excellent English, I goofed off with the kids. I opened up the ipad and soon found that Angrybirds has universal appeal. The kids giggled and pranced around after watching the animated bird crash into its intended target. Adorable.

Overall, the people were kind and gracious. Despite clinging to their ancient and vibrant culture for the last several hundred years, we did notice signs of assimilation. A volleyball net was set up in the cow pasture accompanied by a few soccer balls. In the distance, a baptist church was perched on a hill that looked as if it hadn't been used in sometime. And of course, their were teenagers drinking coca-cola rocking U.S. brand clothes. For better or for worse, the way of life for the Paduang tribe is evolving.

Living a Willie lifestyle in Northern Thailand

2011-07-31T19:53:00.001-05:00

Expectations were low as we strolled into Mae Hong Son, the least visited province in Thailand. As we had arrived by boat, we hitched a ride into town. The silence of the city was deafening. Noticeably absent were the incestuous "beep-beep" from passing tuk-tuks. More shocking was the absence of the ubiquitous touts. In their place, we found genuine smiles and a welcoming demeanor.

After a quick reference to our trusty Lonely Planet (thanks Marshall), we asked the driver to drop us at Fern resort. For $50.00 a night, Jess and I lived lavishly. The eco-friendly resort was beautiful. The lack of telephones and televisions added to the allure as we were forced to enjoy the nature walks and rice paddies just a stone's throw from our room. For the next two days, Jess and I recharged our batteries and enjoyed the soothing sounds of nature. When we did venture into town, it was usually to enjoy the $5.00 massages. Despite being practically free, the quality did not suffer. In fact, of all the massages on this trip, the ones in Mae Hong Son were the best.

We also discovered this adorable tea plantation with AMAZING TEA. The owner invited us into his shop and I knew we had hit pit dirt when I heard the soothing voice of Willie Nelson from an old speaker in the back of the shop. As the only customers in the store, Jess and I received the undivided attention of this industrious man. For roughly an hour we tested his organic teas, grown just up the road on the Burma border. He kindly gave us a history lesson on tea. Did you know that quality tea only comes from the main stock and not any of the little stems? OR that P'uer tea is the most expensive tea in the world? Apparently, it was grown within the walls of the forbidden city for hundreds of years and it supposedly ages like a fine wine. You can learn the damndest things in Thailand. And if you don't feel like learning, you can just skip the history lesson and buy out the entire store like we did.

Oh, and the first two people who comment on this post will receive a nice little treat in the mail. As Willie Nelson likes to say, "the early bird gets the worm but the second mouse gets the cheese."

Turning shrieks into laughter since 2011

2011-07-29T04:27:00.005-05:00

"Uh oh. Biiig one." I could hear the trepidation in our guide's voice as he reached for his helmet. His uneasiness was underscored as this was his first time to wear a helmet in the last twenty-four hours. I cinched my life vest tighter and turned to Jessica: "Buckle up, it's going to be a bumpy ride."

Jess with her ear-to-ear grin

Two days prior, Jessica and I had been safely on dry land in Pai, a small town in Thailand with a hippy feel. Despite the torrential downpour, I convinced my wife that rafting down the Pai River would be the perfect adventure for a honeymoon--like marriages, most of the trip would be smooth and steady. But occasionally, it would get a little rocky. Having sold this adventure to my wife as a "completely safe adrenaline rush", we both walked into the Thai Adventures booking office with a healthy dose of confidence.

But that was then. Now facing what seemed like certain death, our confidence abandoned ship. I tried to play the role of the reassuring husband, but that went out the window the moment our raft hit class IV rapids-my school girl yelp would deprive me of that role for the foreseeable future. The rapids pulled at our raft as if a child had sinisterly dropped a toy boat into a river just to watch its certain demise. Over the roar of the rapids, I could hear someone from the back yelling, "left back, left back, left back" but it was too late. Despite the best efforts of our rafting guide, disaster would wait only a few seconds longer. Our inflatable raft went directly over a "pour over" so with a heave-ho, our boat teetered up on one side, insisting all of its passengers made an early departure. Three of our companions did exactly that as they were tossed like rag dolls into the washing machine below. Jessica manage to stay in the boat by the grace of God (and the quick reflexes of a Belgium teacher).

Within moments, one of our colleagues popped up out of the water gasping for air. As the current brought him near the raft, I reeled him in with my paddle just as instructed in the safety meeting earlier that morning. I could see two of our unluckier rafters bobbing up and down about 100 yards downstream. Unfortunately, those same safety instructions neglected to mention what to do when more people were out of the boat than in the boat.

The lackadaisical reactions of the guide only reinforced the reoccurring thought running through my head: this was going to be a loooong forty-eight hours. Eventually we rescued our fellow Americans and reacquired a paddle lost in the mayhem (Ahem, Jessica).

Jess camping!

Nighttime brought a temporary reprieve from the rapids much to the satisfaction of our waterlogged American companions. We drank beer and swapped stories from our travels with all the other rafters. The stories stopped, not coincidentally, when the beer ran out so Jess and I sought refuge under our mosquito net. Rancid sleeping bags served as pillows as we did our best to sleep off our bruised egos. The smell of years of accumulated sweat prevented me from sleeping with any ease or perhaps that was simply a consequence of the hard, wooden platform we laid on throughout the night.

The morning brought more of the same with one exception: my wife had found her confidence and love for rafting. Even in the most harrowing of times, I would catch a glimpse of my wife's ear-to-ear grin during each encounter with rapids. Fear gave way to comfort and squeals were replaced with laughter.

And just like that, my wife became the rafter in our family of two.

How to Make Sexy Lips

2011-07-24T20:50:00.003-05:00

I LOVE food and I love eating delicous food. Nothing beats the taste of my mom's perfectly cooked chicken enchiladas or my dad's jalepeno style hamburges with veggies fresh off the grill. However to much of my dismay, I never really developed great cooking skills and just recently became interested in the "hobby" when I realized this was an unspoken expectation as a newlywed wife. Thank goodness Russ had no false expectations since he has witnessed some past cooking fiascos (i.e. cooking frozen chicken without the thawing step.. oh right, the thawing step) I still blush thinking about it. So I wasn't too suprised when Russ ethusiastically agreed to a Thai cooking class for a day.

Rice selection at the local market

We signed up with a local organic farm right outisde of Chiang Mai, the Chiang Mai Thai Farm Cooking School. The iternary for the day included: a morning visit to the local outdoors market to learn some ingredients for our dishes, followed by a visit to the farm to discuss more ingredients and finally the class was sent to the kitchen and commissioned with the task of producing five respectable Thai dishes.

Our morning got off to a rocky start when Russ and I were found at the McDonald's next to the outdoors market instead of shopping for our local ingredients. However, our Thai cooking teacher, Tommy, did not seem to hold it against us. He actually had quite a sense of humor himself. Tommy stated, " You know how some groups of people smell like their food. You people smell like cheeseburgers and chocolate, but it is ok because I like chocolate. I am a Thai person. I smell spicy."

Meet Tommy

By the end of the day Tommy had the entire class laughing at his loaded comments that were delivered with such subtle ease. Other Tommy comments: " You want: not so hot, medium hot, spicy, or sexy lips. Thai cooking gives you sexy lips."

"You cook well and bang hard (on pot). You are a very good wife. Be a very good wife"

"Good Wife" curry paste in mortar

After lots of instruction and time spent over the hot stove top, we had successfully executed our five recipes. Though probably not done to the complete satisfacation of Tommy, our meal tasted pretty darn good. Good food and some Chang beer led to great fellowship. We were able to eat and drink our way into a couple new friendships from people in the class: a married couple from Georgia who are permenantley living in Beijing and a Californian set on traveling around the world in eighty days. Included is my favorite recipe from the day. I hope that it will give you sexy lips:

Papaya Salad: Somtam

Ingredients:

- 1 cup of shredded green papaya (peel the papaya and rinse under running water. Remove the seeds and shred the flesh with a grater) Note: you can substitute papaya with cucumber, cabbage, carrot or granny smith apples.

- 1-2 hot chillies

- 2-3 peeled cloves of garlic

- 1 tbsp. of lemon juice

- 2 tps. of sugar

- 1/3 cup of chopped long green beans (chop approx. 3 cm long)

-1 tomato, cut into 6 peices

- 2 tbsp. of peanuts

- 1 tbsp. of fish or soy sauce

-1/4 tsp. or salt

Preparation: Put garlic, long beans, and chillies in the mortar and mash with a pestle until crushed into pieces. Then add lemon juice, sugar, fish sauce, tomato and salt and mix together. Finally add shredded papaya and mix together well with the pestle and a spoon. Serve cold with fresh cabbage, lettuce, or morning glory. You can eat it with sticky rice like the Thai's do, but I like it plain. The taste should be spicy, sweet, sour and a little bit salty.

This recipe is easy and delicious..just what a good wife needs. Hope you enjoy!

The Best of Chiang Mai

2011-07-23T23:41:00.004-05:00

It was hard for Russ and I to say goodbye to Bangkok once again (the first time being when we headed to India), but we were excited to head north to experience the more relaxed city of Chiang Mai in rural Thailand which we had heard so many great things about. Unfortunately, Russ was battling sickness when we first got there and a day later I was sick for 48 hours. However, this charming city still found a special place in our hearts. So here is a list commemorating our Chiang Mai favorites throughout the seven or so days we were there:

Russell with our Thai family

1. Villa San Pee-Sua and its owners. Russell and I have made this villa our Thai home. Upon arrival to the villa, we newlyweds were quite the handful, which is an understatement. Russ was sick and then I got sick shortly after. However, this did not stop the owner and his daughter from welcoming us with open arms. They are the most warm, considerate people we have been around. The owner graduated from Berkley in the 1970's and reminensed about his university experiences during the famous Vietnam protests. Now his daughter runs the villa. The villa staff took us in when we were sick, brought me a birthday cake with candles, and almost went out searching for us one day when they thought we were lost at the train station. We love are new Thai home and I wonder if they are slightly worried we will never leave.

Bad times--our favorite restaurant closed for the day!

2. Love at first bite. This is our favorite restaurant in Chiang Mai, along with anyone else who has been lucky enough to try their food. They have the best comfort food around. Russ and I love their macaroni and cheese, chicken pot pie, spaghetti and meatballs, and oreo cheescake (absolutely delicious!) We tried to eat here at least once a day..unfortunately, one day the restaurant was closed..a dark time for us. Today is our last day in Chiang Mai and even at this moment I am craving some more mac and cheese.

3. My birthday. We celebrated my 25th birthday in Chiang Mai. Though I was sick for most of the day, I started to gain energy in the afternoon and managed to celebrate with Russ in the evening. So Russ and I put on our Sunday best and went to the nicest restaurant in town, Le Coq d' Or. The restaurant was set up like a botancial garden. We were surrounded by twinkle lights and beautfiul exotic flowers. The meal turned out to be the nicest meal that I think both of us have ever eaten. It was our first time to try foi gras which ended up being our favorite course. It just melted in your mouth, unforgettable. We also loved their house wine which was a 2008 red from a vineyard in Chile..which I am ashamed to admit we forgot to get the name!

4. Sunday Night Bazaar. After birthday dinner we took a stroll through the Sunday Night Bazaar. There is a daily night bazaar in Chiang Mai but on Sunday it is particularly large. It is overwhlemed with lots of crafts, food and local musicians. My favorite part was listening and watching the local musicians. They made themselves unavoidable by setting up stations in the middle of the walking lanes. The boys singing groups and young teens playing violins in traditional dress was a neat sight to see.

5. Baan Tawai: This is a woodcraft village about 30 minutes outside of Chiang Mai. The large village is filled with ornate wood carvings, wood furniture, and all things wood.

6. Elephant Farm. LOVED IT. The Patara Farm is an experience we will never forget. See coming post.

7. Thai Cooking Class. We picked up some skills in the kitchen and helped me further my studies in Mrs. See details in following post.

8. The bus ride to Mae Hong Song. A bus ride does not seem like a memorable event, but when we encountered 760 sharp curves in five hours it became impossible to forget.. mostly because our stomachs wouldn't let us. However, the views are breathtaking as the minivan climbs up and around the mountainous region and from the window, we got a glimpse into more Thai rural life.

9. Doi Suthep. The beautiful temple is located up a mountain a few minutes outside of the city. The location was chosen by a white elephant which in Thai culture has great prestige. The pretty views of the city and the precious Chinese hilltribe village children running around the temple grounds hoping to make a buck or two from pics with foreigners makes the experience worthwhile.

10. Generally the people and rural environment. Chaing Mai residents are amazing. We experienced no touts which was a huge relief after India. Waking up to a view of the mist covered mountains along the pai river was such a peaceful way to begin the day and we felt lucky to encounter so much joy and friendliness in the people throughout our stay here.

Fake it 'til you make it.

2011-07-23T22:44:00.001-05:00

Over the years, I've developed an appreciation for the finer things in life. As Johnny Cash would say I like "drinking coffee in fancy dining cars and smoking big cigars." Unfortunately, Uncle Sam doesn't feel the need to accommodate my aspirations of a luxury lifestyle. As a government employee, I can barely afford my student loans much less tailored suits and expensive bottles of wine. While Uncle Sam may be pinching pennies these days, I was determined to live a limousine lifestyle on a Buick budget. You see, the more industrious amongst us see life in different shades of gray. And I've learned over the years, that sometimes in life you have to color outside the lines, which is why I decided to pay Bobby a visit at Rajas fashion.

Located in the heart of Bangkok, the proprietor has turned this family business into an international success (BBC even did a documentary on him). As you enter the unassuming store, you're immediately greeted with warm smiles and the cocktail of your choice. How's that for service?! Unlike many tailors in town, there was no pressure whatsoever to buy a suit. Truth be told, there was no need--their reputation speak for themselves. So do their customers. As I weighed my options, three customers independently and on their own volition highly recommended Rajas tailored suits. As if that wasn't enough, portraits of Rajas former customers hung on a nearby wall. This may not seem noteworthy--except the fact that many of his former clients include royalty, famous athletes, and even U.S. presidents.

So there I was, getting fitted for a tailor-made suit by the best in the business. Jess and I ambled through the store picking our favorite cashmere fabrics. After coming to a consensus, Bobby personally took my measurements and scheduled me for a second appointment (apparently, even the rich and famous require a second fitting to ensure the suit fits like a glove).

* * *

Upon arriving for my second fitting, I was greeted by the same warm smile along with a glass of scotch. The only notable difference is that I was welcomed by name. That may not sound like a big deal, but when Bobby asked how my honeymoon was going, I felt like a VIP. After a few minutes, I was back in front of the mirror as tailors whirled around me. A snip there, a pinch here. And just when I thought the suit was perfect, Bobby came over and made some last minute alterations. With a wink he looked at Jessica and said, "Well Russell, I'm trying to make you look good for your honeymoon but you're not giving me much to work with...I'll see what I can do in the next couple weeks." That was an understatement. The man is a miracle worker. If the man can make me look good in a suit, then I suggest you get to Bangkok asap.

The best part about the entire experience is the affordability. For what I would have paid for a good suit in the States, I was able to purchase two tailored cashmere suits, two silk ties, and four tailored Egyptian-cotton shirts. With a deal like that, even Uncle Sam can afford a new suit.

Bangkok, Bill, and Boxing

2011-07-16T00:47:00.004-05:00

Bangkok caught Jess and I off guard. I expected tomfoolery and sketchy tourists and instead was pleasantly surprised. After only three days into our honeymoon, we both concluded that we LOVED this city. The people are friendly, the food is excellent, and the night-life is on par with Vegas, NYC, and my beloved Austin. What more can a guy ask for?

Jess and I checked into our suite at Labua after an exhausting flight. The hotel--made famous by the filming of Hangover 2--lived up to our expectations. Each room has a private balcony despite being 50 floors up [you have to sign a waiver before the hotel staff unlock the balcony]. Service was excellent as well. On our second night, room service unexpectedly brought by a dessert wishing us a "Happy honeymoon."

We eventually decided to venture out into the city. To aide in this endeavor, I called up a college buddy who had been living in Bangkok for the last several years. Although, I hadn't seen Bill Bredeson in nearly ten years he was a willing host and happily agreed to meet up that afternoon.

Me and my buddy Bill

After meeting my old friend in the lobby, we decided to grab a Caipirinha on the roof-top at the Sky Bar. Jess tolerated the two of us as we reminisced and laughed at where life had taken us over the last ten years. After the three of us had our fill of $20.00 drinks, Bill took us to Lumpinee stadium to watch an authentic muy thai boxing match. Very cool experience. Somehow we ended up ringside cheering on the fighters. We even went backstage to congratulate a handful of the winners and console one or two of the losers. Jessica kept referring to the fighters as "cute", but these guys were anything but cute. They were lean and mean (despite my wife being at least six inches taller than some of them).

Enjoying the fight from ringside

I react to losing a friendly wager to my wife

Posing with Jess' favorite boxer

After we had our fill of boxing, Bill took us out for dinner and drinks at a bar called the Iron Fairies. Not only was the ambiance swank, but they had the best damn burgers in Asia--and this coming from a man who knows his burgers. We were told that this was a bar where the prince would occasionally drop by but we never saw any royal blood much to the disappointment of Jessica. After an action-packed day, Jess and I were ready to hit the sack. We stopped by Bill's apartment on the way home to check out art he had recently acquired. The man definitely has an eye for art. And a heart for newlyweds. As we parted ways, Bill gave Jessica and I a wonderful bottle of french wine to celebrate our honeymoon. The perfect ending to a perfect day.

Merci Bill.

The bright lights of Amsterdam

2011-07-16T00:15:00.000-05:00

Over the years, my parents have shared many tales from their travels. One of my favorites is when they honeymooned in Amsterdam twenty-five years ago. While en route to Anne Frank's house, they "stumbled" [my father's words, not mine] upon the red light district. Somehow, the novelty of those red lights prevented my parents from ever finding Anne Frank' house.

Nearly twenty years after my father told me that story, I would get an unexpected opportunity to not make that same mistake.

As Jess and I checked into to our Delta flight to start our new life in Saipan, the travel agent informed us that our flight had been canceled. So this is how I'm going to start my honeymoon. Just my luck. "Ma'am, is there anything you can do? This is supposed to be the first day of our honeymoon." The agent gave me an intense stare as if to gauge the veracity of my statement. After a moment, her upper lip creeped upwards and she quickly went to work on her computer. Click, click click. "Well, let's see." Click, click, click. "I know you folks must be in a hurry, but I could put you in Amsterdam for the night and you could start your honeymoon from there."

I thought to myself, Be cool Russell. Be cool.
I nonchalantly replied, "well, that works for me if you have two seats together."
"Yes sir. In fact, I've booked you two first class seats all the way through?"
Did she say first class?! That's how we do it!!!
[calmly] That will be fine. Thank you.

And just like that, my new wife and I were high-rolling in first class on a detour to Amsterdam. Our first stop? Anne Frank's house. I mean, suuuurree we might have strolled through the red-light district but at least we made it out of the red light district.

All in all, it was a heck of a way to start our honeymoon.

The Wedding

2011-07-15T23:54:00.002-05:00

I'm married!! The evening was magical and better than I could have ever imagined. I spent the morning with close friends over brunch at Paloma Blanca. The married ones shared advice based on their wedding experience. My friend Javier and Patrick kept reiterating for me to enjoy every minute because it would be over in the blink of an eye.

After a lesiurely two hour brunch, my best man ended the soiree. "Time to go get your tux" Groberg said for the third time. For the rest of the afternoon, my best man solemnly drove me around town making sure I was ready for my big day. Tux. Check. Haircut. Check. Taxi to the church. Check. Ring. Check. I couldn't have picked a better man for the job.

Once at the church, my groomsmen and I had an hour or so to ourselves. We took photographs and simply lived in the moment. And before I knew it, it was time.

The butterflies went away as soon as I saw my bride. Breathtaking. Of all the things I've done in my life, all the experiences, all the travels...that instance will forever reign as the most memorable. I heard nothing and saw only my bride. I honestly didn't even notice her father walking her down the aisle until they practically reached the alter. I imagine it's what a father feels like the first time he sees his child--pure joy. At that moment, I do not think it was possible for me to be any happier.

My beautiful bride joined me at the alter and the pastor began the ceremony. It was over in an instant. I remember my groomsman Javier reading scripture and I remember the comforting voice of Jessica's friend. I remember turning for a moment to see my groomsmen in solidarity behind me. I remember the pastor's advice and I remember the look on my parent's face, but most of all, I remember my wive's eyes. They were full of unbridled love. The kind of love that perserveres.

Like most men, my favorite part was the part where you kiss the bride. I was so excited, I practiclly ran dow the aisle after the pastor pronounced us husband and wife. hehe. After a million photographs, Jess and I headed over to the reception to join the festivities.

From the moment we walked in to the moment we left, we were surrounded by friends and family. Everywhere I looked I saw close friends. Everyone I cared about in one room--all here to support my wife and I.

I loved it.

For those of you who I didn't get a chance to personally chat with, please accept my apologies. If you were at the wedding, then you know 1) that we love you 2) that is was quite hectic and 3) that is didn't last near as long as we wanted it to. For those of you who we did speak with, thank you for the memories. It was without question the best night of my life. We had so much fun!

A special thanks to the following folk:

Mr.and Mrs. Lutrell.
Thank you for hosting such a memorable and amazing wedding. Rarely is an event planned and executed with perfection but I can honestly say that the wedding was everything Jess and I could have hoped for--and then some. Thank you both for your love and support.

John Groberg
Well, my friend...you've been by my side through thick and thin. I didn't know if you had a public speech in you--but you nailed it. Thank you for the wonderful toast and for showing me what it means to be a best man.

Elizabeth Clinch

You made my bride cry on our wedding night and I cannot thank you enough. We loved the toast and of course, you shined up there in the spotlight. Jess has always told me about your kind heart and giving personality and I am thankful Jess has you in her life. I promise to keep her away from Texas for as little of time as possible.

A father's advice

2011-07-15T23:12:00.003-05:00

It seems I've always been a day late and a dollar short--the day of my wedding rehearsal was no different. Not surprisingly, I lost track of time after spending most of the day in Austin working on Jess' wedding present. I arrived at the Lutrell's house approximately thirty minutes late and was no where near ready--much to the chagrin of my bride and father-in-law. Sigh. As luck wold have it, Jess' brother (Josh) had my back and ran to the store to pick up an outfit for me. I was ushered into the bathroom to shower and spruce up while Jess' father ironed my clothes. Probably not the best way to start the marriage festivities.

Fortunately, things only got better from there. Jess and I arrived at the Trinity University church only a few minutes late (but still an hour before our guests). After a quick consultation with our wedding coordinator (Robin we love you!), Jess and I had a moment to ourselves to take it all in.

It was incredible.

We were soon joined by our family and others in the wedding party. I glanced around the room and paused to remember the moment. I saw my best friends huddled to one corner and as I looked at each one a thousand memories raced through my mind. In the back of the church, all the bridesmaids were chatting and I smiled to think that my life now included six more life-long friends. I saw the the pride in my mother's face as she admired the glory of the church I was to be married in and I saw the approval on my dad's face as he looked at my beautiful bride-to-be. I took a moment to chat with Jess' brothers and introduced Mr. Lutrell to many of my groomsmen.

After doing a brief run-through of the ceremony, we all headed over to La Margarita to celebrate over dinner and drinks. As we laughed and shared old memories, I remember thinking how fortunate I was. For not doing anything truly memorable with my life, God had still blessed me with a loving family, the most amazing friends, and now with a wife that truly would be my better half.

As the dinner came to a close, my father gave a toast, or as he put it a "roast." He offered affectionate words mixed with humorous remarks. Most importantly, he shared with me his secret to his successful 25 years of marriage.

"Russell, this is my advice to you. Always, and I mean always, make sure that in any disagreement with your wife, that you get the last words."

"Those last words should always be 'yes, dear.' "

Just another day at the office

2011-06-04T22:50:00.000-05:00

I enjoy my job. It's challenging, rewarding, and always full of surprises. And as an extra bonus, I get five weeks vacation which allows me some leniency in my work schedule.

Such as taking a vacation day to go deep sea fishing with my buddies.

To celebrate my pending nuptials, my coworkers took it upon themselves to plan a day of fishing and philandering. My friends Peter, Ben, Tiberius, Jordan, and Brian joined me at 8:00 a.m. this past Friday on a chartered fishing boat. Well, more like 8:30 a.m. (ahem, Jordan). Be that as it may, our captain informed us that June is the beginning of marlin season and they had recently caught two large marlins roughly two weeks ago. The weather was perfect and our expectations were high as we set out to catch the big one.

It took a few minutes to find my sea legs, but I eventually loosened up. We ventured out approximately three miles off the coast with four lines in the water to maximize our chances. It seemed to be working. Thirty minutes into the soiree, one of the reels went off. bzzzzzzzzzzzz. The captain yelled out for the fisherman amongst us to take control. My buddies were all yelling at me to grab the reel. I hesitated for a moment trying to contemplate how to reel in a fish while holding my beer. Someone yelled, "put down the beer." Right. I thought to myself, this is go time. Don't mess this up. Now, you're probably thinking that it's dang near impossible to mess up something so simple. So let me put this in context: I am a terrible fisherman. My six year old nephew catches more fish than me. Seriously. I remember going fishing with my father a few years back and the people to my left were catching fish. The people to my right were catching fish. In fact, everyone was reeling in fish galore. Everyone that is, except for me. Maybe I'm not patient enough, or maybe the fish can sense my trepidation, or maybe, just maybe, I'm just that bad. Which is why I'm thankful my friends showed pity on me and let me have the first bite of the day.

I stepped into the spotlight and began to reel away. Initially, I was like Roland Martin, expertly reeling in my marlin. After a few minutes, I started to slow down. I could feel everyone's eyes on me and could hear my friends taunting me. "Come on! I thought you've been hitting the gym." Next came the sweat. I didn't know what was on the other end of the line, but it was tougher than me. I was huffing and puffing and my arm started to burn. As in, it hurt like hell. Suddenly, I didn't want to be in spotlight anymore. I've heard stories of it taking hours to reel in a fish. Hmph. At this rate, I wasn't going to last five more minutes. And if I hadn't been surrounded by five guys who would never let me live it down, I wouldn't have.

But this is a story about triumph ladies and gentlemen. I persevered. I kept on reeling and in the end, I landed a twenty-pound mahi mahi.

Not too bad for just another day at the office--Saipan style.

Where’s the beef?

2011-05-25T17:41:00.000-05:00

As one would imagine, there’s not much to do on a small island. Trust me, even scuba diving gets old after awhile. And contrary to the belief of many of my East Texas friends, there is only so much fishing one man can do. So I guess it was sheer boredom that led me to accept my friend Ben Petersburg’s invitation to hash with him.

I’ll do my best to explain.

The hash harriers—a “drinking club with a running problem”—was originally founded in 1938 in Kuala Lumpar. There are over 1,957 hash groups around the world in 1,274 cities.

The idea is to run through the jungle chasing a person known as the “hare”. The hare is selected weeks before to “set a trail” meaning he/she is responsible for cutting a path in the jungle in advance of the hash. The location of the trail and the final destination is kept secret from the rest of the group. On hash day, members meet up at a predetermined location chosen by the hare. The hare is given a ten-minute head start and then it’s a free for all. In order to track the hare, he is required to drop flour intermittently…every 20 yards or so.

Fortunately, a few brave souls had the brilliant idea to start a local hash club in Saipan. Members have come and gone but the club has consistently met every Saturday (with few exceptions) since its founding in 1984. One of the original founders looks strikingly similar to John Locke in the tv show “Lost”. Anyway, here is the story about my first hash experience.

* * *

I arrived at Guam National Bank at 3:30 p.m. sharp as instructed by my pal Ben. And of course, I was the first person there. I sheepishly waited in my car not sure on whether this hash thing was a good idea. After a few minutes, a caravan of vehicles pulled into the bank parking lot as if they were an entourage. A hodgepodge of characters rifled out of the cars, many wearing knee-length neon socks and gloves. Members greeted one another with inside jokes. This obviously made me feel even more alienated. No one made any effort to introduce themselves so I just stood there trying to make friends. “Hi, I’m Russell.” “Sup, I’m Fossilfucker.” I thought to myself, OHHH, we got a funny man here. Real cool dude. I moved on thinking I would have better luck making friends with someone else. “Hi, I’m Russell.” "Hey man, I'm dog leg."

Thankfully, Ben arrived and started answering questions. He explained that members earn “hash names”. For instance, Ben’s hash name is “Fake Steak” because during a hash, they ran through a cow pasture and he thought the cows were fake (How a man could think a cow was fake is beyond me, but that is neither here not there.). I followed him around as he introduced me to everyone. “Hey Panty bandit, this is my friend Russell, he’s a FNG.” “We have an FNG?! "Hey Dogleg, we have an FNG today."

After getting situated, I ponied up $10.00 and headed out to the “box”, the starting point for the race. The gentlemen known as Dogleg explained to me the rules with an extra expletive mixed in just for entertainment I suppose. Fossilfucker was designated the hare. He had long-brown hair, a well-trimmed beard and a slender build. I remember thinking, how the hell am I supposed to catch a guy that looks like Jesus?! Seriously, this guy was like a ninja. I ran for nearly 45 minutes through the jungle trying to catch him. I scaled boulders, climbed massive trees, explored caves, and generally ran as fast as my lungs allowed me. At one point, I may have vomited. When I finally arrived at the “on home”, I half expected him to be breaking bread and drinking wine. Instead, the man was drinking a beer and didn’t even look like he had broken a sweat.

“Did…pant, pant pant…did I, uh…pant, pant, pant, even come close to…pant, pant, pant, catching you?”

“Nah, not really. I thought you guys were going to get closer.” He then tossed his beer can into the back of his truck where it clanked next to two other empty beer cans. I can barely breathe and this dude finished far enough ahead where he had a chance to drink three beers?!?

At this point, I heard a little voice inside me: “Form tackle this mofo ninja right now! We have the element of surprise…take his ass down.” But then I heard another, more prudent voice inside me say, “don’t f*ck with Jesus.” And seeing that I’m a good Christian man, I took the latter advice.

As people trickled in, some of us built a bonfire and drank beer while others cooled off in the Ocean. It was surreal. Here I was, surrounded by doctors, lawyers, teachers, scientists, and other professionals drinking beer as I waded in the Ocean after running through the jungle on a tropical island.

After everyone had a chance to catch their breath, we all sat around the bonfire and shared “tails from the trails.” Members took turns sharing stories from the hash. Dogleg got up and announced that I had won the hash. “I was surprised too, but the FNG is in pretty good shape.” What the hell does that mean? Hey, don’t let the beer gut fool ya. After everyone quit laughing, he pulled me up in front of the bonfire and after making me drink beer from a bed pan (I know, disgusting) he announced that forever more, I will be known as “Where’s the beef”. I hadn’t realized it, but I was wearing a Texas shirt, Texas shorts, and a burnt-orange hat. Apparently, one of the more senior members recognized my affinity for the LoneStar State and considering that I had been brought by Fake Steak, the name “Where’s the beef” seemed appropriate at the time.

As the fire died out, and we all packed up, everyone bid adieu. See ya next week Happy pockets. Good hash dork knight.

And then it happened. Someone yelled out “Good meeting you Where’s the Beef.” Hope to see you next hash.”

It was official. I was now a part of the drinking club with a running problem.

ALL...MY...FRIENDS...DRIVE A LOWRIDER

2011-05-15T03:33:00.001-05:00

For nine years I drove a 2001 Dodge pickup. When I finally traded it in, I wasn't sure if the damn thing would even make it to the dealership. This wasn't one of those fancy trucks with leather interior and four doors. My truck was what you call the "Oklahoma package" which is say there wasn't a single upgrade when I purchased it. Just a single cab truck with a cassette player and manual windows. It had taken me safely to San Francisco, Colorado, Washington D.C. and Las Vegas--twice. With over 130,000 miles, cracked windshield, and too many dings to count, ol' faithful was ready to retire.

Never in a million years did I imagine my next car being a step down from the 2001 Dodge. As an attorney, you would think I could afford something with at least electric windows. Instead, I ended up with a 1996 Toyota Camry. Welcome to island life. Upon arriving in Saipan, I had a suitcase and about $800.00. I figured that would be enough money to take care of food and shelter for the first month--you know, the "essentials". I quickly realized a vehicle is also an essential, particularly on an island that is suprisingly large. This proved problematic because I incorrectly assumed I would be able to walk everywhere. Tsk, tsk.

I also learned that as an essential commodity, cars were waaaaayyyy overpriced. Kelly bluebook was a starting point for negotiation--and the prices only went up from there. People selling vehicles obviously want their money upfront. Unfortunately, I didn't have a significant amount of cash and the bank wasn't interested in loaning me $7,000 for that nice Jeep Wrangler with the For Sale sign taped to the back of it. To stay within my budget, I needed to find a car that cost approximately $300.00. You cant get a rim job for $300.00 much less an entire car. In fact, the cheapest car I could find was $2,700. So, with a little compassion and patience from my pal Peter, I purchased his 1996 Toyota Camry. When I told Jess abou my new ride, she informed me that in highschool she drove a 1998 Camry. Awesome.

It's a beauty though. Sure, the shocks are nonexistent and the speedometer and the odometer are broken, but at least it has electric windows. Or it did until that broke about a month after I made the big purchase.

On the upside, Saipan is small enough that everyone is identifiable by their car. So if you're ever passing through and you can't get ahold of me, just look for the gray Toyota lowrider.

Moving on up...

2011-03-01T04:57:00.000-06:00

It may not be a deluxe apartment in the sky, but I definitely got a piece of the pie. I moved into my new house this week and it’s even bigger and better than my last home. After months of outrageous electric bills, I decided I could save money by moving in with my friend Daniel Stafford & Co. Granted, I am in my thirties and the idea of having roommates again is daunting, but this place is just too cool to pass up.

The house is 5,000 square feet and is only a mile or so from my office. It comes with a fully-stocked bar, numerous patios, outdoor kitchen, and it’s directly on the water. As in, my backyard is the Pacific Ocean. We have a live-in maid and I'm told that all my roommates are masters of the culinary arts. The downside is the very unfortunate realization that this is no doubt the nicest house I will ever live in.

Here’s the rub. I will only be living here until I get hitched this Summer. No roommates for the misses and me. Sooo, if you like what you see and you can get by the vetting process, a room should be available in July.

SAPPORO ICE FESTIVAL

2011-02-20T02:00:00.002-06:00

Thank you David Freeman. As the creator of the eponymous travel guide, "100 things to do before you die", he has offered sage advice for those destined to traverse the globe in search of new adventures. Coming in at number 19, Freeman hit the nail on the head with the Sapporo Ice festival.

It was incredible. Now in it's 62nd year, the Snow festival in Sapporo has turned into an internationally-acclaimed event. Thousands gathered in the street to stare in awe at the majestic sculptures. Located in Odori Park, QuyhnChi and I walked the twelve blocks admiring the sculptures which ranged from baseball players to a massive replica of the Forbidden City. Apparently, the festival was started by highschool students years ago. The event has grown considerably; now the military is in charge of the event. Each February, soldiers are transformed into artists as they work for weeks crafting some of the most unbelievable designs.

When you visit, you should know their is both a snow festival AND an ice festival. The ice festival is impressive in of itself, however it pales in comparison to the snow sculptures. Not to take away from the impressiveness of the ice carvings, particularly considering there were roughly 100 of them, I just preferred the snow festival.

To ski or not to ski, that is the question

2011-02-11T05:37:00.001-06:00

I have a confession to make: I am a skier. While that may not sound like a big deal to many of you, I'm beginning to realize it's a carnal sin to others. For the past week, I've shared a ski lodge in Niseko, Japan with several adrenaline junkies. Each of them are out the door at 8:00 a.m.--a full thirty minutes before the lifts open just to ensure they get the best "powder". After several hours on the slopes they would come back and share tales from the trails. Most of their stories include phrases like "half-pipe, gnarley, bombed, back bowls, hiked the gates, carved, speed, etc." My stories, however, included words like "graceful, precaution, safety, crash." Look, don't get me wrong--I like speed just as much as the next guy; I just prefer to live to tell the story about my downhill adventures. These guys approached the mountain with reckless abandon. And then it hit me: they were snowboarders.

The guys watching the Superbowl

Snowboarding it seems, is a way of life. They have their own style. They have their own lingo. And they have the confidence to back it up. Each morning I would awake to "bro--you trying snowboarding today?" And each night, I would get the same peer pressure to turn in the skis and strap on a snowboard. As I was the only skier in the entire house, I felt as though I had to represent for skiers everywhere. I failed miserably. These days, skiing seems a bit antiquated. Over the years, I've skied all over world--Vail, Breckenridge, Keystone, Taos,

Telluride, Bariloche, and now Niseko. And I have certainly noticed a trend--snowboarding is en vogue. Sure there are dinosaurs who cling to skiing like myself and my buddy Marshall, but it seems like its going the way of the dodo bird. The way I see it, I can get down a really big mountain on a pair of skis and I can do it safely and gracefully. My motto is "if it aint broke, don't fix it."

The skier

THE SNOWBOARDERS*

Wes "Baby slope" Bogdan

James the Lumberjack

Mike "the Crazy Dentist" Hall

Dan "el jefe" Lamar

Dan "Thrasher" Westphal

Micah "the Entrepreneur" Lamar

QuynhChi "black diamond" Nguyen

Merilee "Versatility" Garife

Soleil "the genius" Lamar

* A big shout out to all my new snowboard friends. What a wonderful week skiing with all of you. Thanks for taking it easy on me.

Niseko, Japan

2011-02-10T20:54:00.003-06:00

Tucked away in the southwest corner of Japan's island of Hokkaido you'll find a booming little ski town in the shadow of Mount Niseko and Mount Yotei. In the quaint little town of Niseko, you find four ski areas: Hirafu, Anapuru, Hanazono, and Moiwa all of which offer world-class skiing. The city gets an average of 38 feet of snow a year--enough powder to make even the most avid skier content.

My friend Quyhnchi trying to start a war

Enjoying a nice latte on a cold day

My trip here was effortless. I booked a frequent flyer ticket on Continental.com and flew directly from Guam to Sapporo. From there, I booked a two-hour bus ticket that took me directly to Niseko. Within hours, I was on the slopes. The runs here are marked similar to all other resorts: green and black runs with the slight variation of intermediate runs being marked with red. The powder here would rival that of any resort in the world. The service, however, is second to none. All the employees were courteous and helpful. Lift operators swept the lift chairs to remove any snow before each person sat down. The ski shop allowed me to return my skis late and all the employees graciously tolerated my hand gesturing in lieu of attempting Japanese. Transportation to and from different mountains and resorts also proved effortless. The buses ran on-time and were never crowded--even at peak times. All in all, the resort created an atmosphere that proved welcoming and certainly a desire to return.

I should point out a couple things. Much of the Japanese charm is lost out of necessity for tourism. 70% of those on vacation were Australian so consequently, most restaurants and shops cater to the masses. Restaurants offer English menus by default and everything seems to cost twice as much. Speaking of which, prices here are steep. Lift tickets range from $40 to $75.00 per day and ski rentals tacked on another $35.00. Lodging proved equally overpriced but fortunately Dr. Dan Lamar let me use his lodge in the heart of Niseko. So my blue chip vacation ended up costing me a whopping $350.00!

All aboard the chicken bus

2011-02-07T06:18:00.002-06:00

Imagine living on a remote island where everyone routinely visits the same two bars. Over and over. And over. Now imagine living in paradise on a tropical island teeming with an abundance of bars. So many bars, in fact, that you could not possibly visit all of them in a single night. To attempt such a feat would be...crazy. Now imagine a visionary. Imagine a visionary not afraid to attempt the impossible...to go beyond the realm of expectation. In Brave New World, that man was Bernard Marx. In Saipan, that man is Brian O'Laughlin. This is his story.

Mr. O'Laughlin decided he wanted to celebrate his wife's birthday, but he didn't want to be confined to Saipan's orwellian choice of bars. Sure, he could have gone to Godfathers or Johnnys--but no--he wanted something more. He wanted options. And so one night he made the bold, unprecedented move of going outside the norm. And he was going to do it with a bang. A pubcrawl. And not just any pubcrawl. A pubcrawl to six bars that each person on Saipan has driven by a thousand times but never stepped inside. And he was going to do the entire thing on a chicken bus. What's that you say? No, no I'm not making this up. Say it with me: C-H-I-C-K-E-N B-U-S. Sounds cool, right? Venice has its gondolas, Amsterdam has its bikes, New York has its yellow taxis, and Saipan has the chicken bus. It was a thing of beauty. The contraption even "clucked" when you honked the horn.

As if his brilliance wasn't already apparent, he pulled off another Einstein move: he had twenty-five of his closest friends meet him and his wonderful wife at "Johnnys" one of the two Saipan-approved bars. Had he just told everyone "lets do a pubcrawl", the results could have been disastrous. You want us to go to a bar other than Gods or Johnnys? Ummm...uhhh...I, er, don't think I can." But instead, he had everyone meet at some place they were comfortable; a place where they could take a little babystep. Absolutely brilliant. My respect for the man is akin to that of the double rainbow. At 7:15 p.m., his plan went into affect. And it may very well change Saipan forever.

We all bordered the chicken bus and with a "cock-a-doodle-doo", we were off. Suddenly, people were detached from their chains of complacency. People forgot that our employers refuse to pay us on time and that our paychecks are 10% less than we were promised. Instead, they were smiling and laughing. They were having a good time. Annnd they were having a good time in Saipan--at a bar other than Godfathers. It was magical.

The night brought lots of laughs and memorable moments. Friends doing shots through snorkels, others playing pool with entrepreneurial women, while the more adventurous practiced their dance moves.

Mr. O'laughlin, I salute you. I am sure I speak for the entire Saipan community when I say, "Thank you. Thank you for having the courage to think outside the box. Thank you for showing me the enlightened path every man must take...and for giving me an opportunity to take that path on a chicken bus."

Meet the future Mrs. Lorfing

2011-02-04T21:28:00.002-06:00

My brother used to tell me if it weren't for bad luck, I wouldn't have any luck at all. Which for the better part of my teen years, proved true for the most part. For years I put up with his jokes and insults. Today, however, I get the last laugh. Because today, I can point to that beautiful woman in the photo and say that's my fiancee (whose the lucky one now bro)!

Our story

Jess and I met one fateful night in downtown Austin (read: we met at a bar). Several friends of mine came up from San Antonio to spend the weekend in Austin and I felt obliged to show them a good time. We strolled into a bar called Union Park around 10:00 p.m.. I immediately noticed a cute redhead standing near the bar. After much cajoling by my friends, I approached Jess and asked if I could buy her a drink (cliche, I know). The next hour was spent dancing and laughing...and then poof...she practically ran out the door at the stroke of midnight as if she was afraid of turning into a pumpkin.
Disappointed, I saddled up at the bar and commemorated our encounter over a glass of scotch. But fate had different plans for us that night. As my friends and I walked out of the bar nearly 30 minutes later, I noticed my Cinderella trying to hail a cab. Apparently, she had been trying for several minutes to no avail. Carpe Diem! I immediately walked out into the street and stopped a cab for her. As she was getting in, I asked for her phone number and she responded, "You don't even know my name" I introduced myself and said, "Now we know each other". She reluctantly gave me her number...and the rest my friends, is history.

The proposal
I flew into Texas to ask her father for Jess' hand in marriage. After four hours and what seemed like a hundred questions, he acquiesced and gave his blessing. A few days later, Jess and I flew to Washington D.C. where we wined and dined in our nation's capital. We spent the first two days sightseeing and then went to the Kennedy Center to watch "South Pacific" Sunday evening. Apparently, Jess has expected me to propose after the play and when I didn't, she started to tear up. I, of course, ran with it. I told her that maybe in a year or two we could get married. Evil, I know.

The following day I proposed at the tippy top of the U.S. capitol building. We had a staffer from Senator McCaskill's office pose as a tourist and take some candid shots of the proposal (see above). I don't recall exactly what I said because I was so nervous, but apparently it worked because I duped her into saying yes. We celebrated with a champagne toast and a breathtaking view overlooking the city.

The ring
I'm only including this because all you girls keep asking. It's princess cut with a simple band that has diamonds all around it. She deserves a bigger rock but in my defense: 1) I work for the government and 2) it fits her personality. Which is to say, I'll be getting her an upgrade at the five-year anniversary.

Meet Jessica

Jessica Dene Lutrell was born July 17th in the great state of Texas. She attended San Antonio Christian Academy and graduated magna cum laude from Baylor University (Sic 'em Bears!) with a degree in political science. As a woman of faith, she has a servant's heart and always looks to give before she receives. Jess adores her younger brothers--Justin and Josh--both of which epitomize Texas values.

The girl loves music. Her favorite food is skinny cow ice cream sandwiches and she avoids wearing heels in fear that she will be taller than her fiancee. She tolerates my fanatical obsession with Longhorn football and I'm told she can hold her own on the basketball court. She is reliable yet unpredictable; sensitive yet rowdy; conservative yet compassionate; sheltered yet adventurous. You mix all that together and you not only have one helluva woman, you have the perfect woman for me--the future Mrs. Lorfing.

The Most Interesting Man in the World

2010-12-22T07:11:00.000-06:00

Meet Peter. That's him in the faux cowboy hat and plaid shorts. He's a bit of a ramblin' man with a quick wit and a million-dollar smile. At first glance, you would gauge him to be about ten years younger than he is, which I presume, comes from a life-time of indulgence. He somehow strikes an odd balance between the prodigal son, Tucker Max, and an honest business man. Writing this, I imagine Peter laughing at the thought of me using a bibilical story to describe him. Of course, I imagine all his friends laughing even harder.

No doubt, it takes an "adventureous" spirit to move to a tropical island. And like most of us out here in Saipan, he is full of contrast. A computer engineer by trade, Peter made the naive choice to quit his day job and attend law school. At least he had the forsight to attend law school in San Diego.
So you're probably all wondering why the hell I'm writing about a guy most of you have never met. It's simple. Because Peter is a man of vision (and because I needed a reason to post a picture of him on a pink horse). And when that vision leads to love and a beautiful Filipino fiancee, it's worth sharing with the world wide web.
Yep, you read that correctly. The man is in love...why else would he allow himself to be photographed in that god-awful getup. And the best part is, he proposed when he met her. If the writers for "How I met your mother" ever stumble upon my blog, I suspect we will all know the grand finale before it aires. I mean, it has Hollywood written all over it. Over the last several months, he has been courting his fiancee from afar. And despite never actually meeting in person until this past month, she would send him emails every single day. Literally. Everyone in the office took their jabs when we would check his facebook page, only to see "Peter likes this" in response to an occasional post by his fiancee.

But in the end Peter got the last laugh and the girl.

And for that, he gets my vote for the most interesting man in the world. May he and his pink stallion forever live in infamy on the web.

What franchise has the worst win-loss percentage in the NFL?

2010-11-21T03:51:00.001-06:00

This was the question that cost me first place in our inaugural trivia night. Ridiculous--I know I let you down Judge Meyers. Our efforts did not go unnoticed however. We actually made the paper for placing second. Yep, you read that right...the news actually covered our trivia night. And we owe it all to Daniel Stafford, Brian O'laughlin, and Jordan Davis. I thought up this little ditty for giving me something to do on a Tuesday night.

Come and listen to a story about a man named Dan

Big time attorney always working on his tan

Then one day, he was drinking some brew

And decided he needed something challenging to do

Trivia that is. Brain power. Tough questions.

Well the first thing you know, ol' Dan tells a friend

His roommates said, "a helping hand we'll lend"

Wild Bills is the place it ought to be

So they loaded up the speakers and hosted a party

Cheap booze, that is. Good food. Cute waitresses.

Well now its time to say goodbye to Dan and all his friends
And they would like to thank you folks for kindly droppin' in
You're all invited back next week to this locality

To play another round and enjoy the camaraderie

Trivia Tuesdays that is, 7:30 sharp, All for free.

An ode to the champions

2010-11-21T03:33:00.000-06:00

Dodge ball is a precision sport. To master the game, you're going to need more than the skills you picked up in 5th grade. It takes dedication, repetition, hard work, and your fair share of blood, sweat, and tears. I knew I was in over my head when my coworker Shelli Neal asked me to join her team. I haven't played in years. What if I'm too slow, what if I throw like a girl? Shelli could see the trepidation in my eyes. She reassured me that it was going to be okay. She put her arm around me and said "Russ, you're going to be fine. Sure you don't have the cannon that Adam Hardwicke has, or the ninja skills that Steven Gardiner has, but you have something far more important . . . a twelve-pack of budlight. Now quit you're whining and let's have some fun."

And fun we had.

The first night was more a drinking contest than a dodge ball contest. After each and every loss, our team scurried back to the sideline to chug a beer. I'm not sure if we were drinking to numb the pain of defeat or if we were drinking so as to have an excuse for not dodging the ball. Psh. My grandmother throws harder than that! If I hadn't downed four beers in the last ten minutes, I totally would have dodged that shot. Regardless of our intent, the outcome was the same. Out of twelve games, my team was 2-10. No, no...don't feel bad for us...we kept our chin up and our game face on the entire night. Our plan was to regroup and come out swinging the next day.

Dodge ball is a surprisingly athletic sport...particularly for men of a certain age. I woke up with a twinge in my shoulder, my hamstrings were tight, and my back felt like, well, like I had just played three hours of dodge ball. The buzz had long worn off and I was left with the memories of several last-place finishes and a feeling of inadequacy. I'm fairly certain I was nailed with a dodge ball in every game. My spirits were low and my heart just wasn't in it. To be honest, I was seriously thinking of quitting. It was at this moment that the following colloquy popped in my head:

Lance Armstrong: Could I get a bottle of water. - - Hey, aren't you Russell Lorfing?
Russell Lorfing: Lance Armstrong!

Lance Armstrong: Yeah, that's me. But I'm a big fan of yours.

Russell Lorfing: Really?

Lance Armstrong: Yeah, I've been watching the dodgeball tournament on the Ocho. ESPN 8. I just can't get enough of it. But, good luck in the tournament. I'm really pulling for you against those jerks from Juevos Grandes. I think you better hurry up or you're gonna be late.

Russell Lorfing: Uh, actually I decided to quit... Lance.

Lance Armstrong: Quit? You know, once I was thinking about quitting when I was diagnosed with brain, lung and testicular cancer, all at the same time. But with the love and support of my friends and family, I got back on the bike and I won the Tour de France five times in a row. But I'm sure you have a good reason to quit. So what are you dying from that's keeping you from the finals?

Russell Lorfing: Right now it feels a little bit like... shame.

Lance Armstrong: Well, I guess if a person never quit when the going got tough, they wouldn't have anything to regret for the rest of their life. But good luck to you Russell. I'm sure this decision won't haunt you forever.

Lance was right. I couldn't quit. I might regret that decision for the rest of my life. So, I laced up the sneakers, threw on my "Lady of Guadalupe" shirt (no one wants to hit the Lady of Guadalupe), and put on my game face. Due to our below-average performance the night before, our opponents underestimated our abilities.

They never saw it coming.

In two quick rounds, we eliminated our higher-ranked adversaries. Hmm...that doesn't quite do it justice. We eviscerated them. It wasn't even close. In both rounds, five of my teammates remained when the buzzer sounded. The sweet taste of victory would be short-lived. Despite making it to the quarter-finals, my team fell to the reigning champs. They showed us no mercy. I had no regrets. We came together as a team, we won as a team, and we lost as a team. The team that ended up winning the whole shebang, Juevos Grandes, did so deservedly. These guys were cocky...but they were gooood. My team never played them, thankfully, but sometimes you just know when you're beat. "You gotta know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em, and know when to run" and these guys were good enough that even Kenny Rogers would have ran for the hills. So, out of respect for the champs, I put together this here ode.

An ode to the Champions

They came from all walks of life
Each with their own struggles and strife
Attorneys, teachers, even a public defender
Put them together, and you have a number one contender

Looking for trouble all dressed in red
By the smirk on their faces, we knew they had street cred
Lean and mean they all appeared
It was over before it began, I feared

Be weary of the ones they call Big balls
They come out swinging and looking for a brawl
Don't turn your back on those Big balls
They come out swinging and looking for a brawl

Their skill was unmatched and their strength uncanny
probably from the meth they shot in their fannie
What else could explain Steve Gardiner's amazing feat
Catching four balls to single-handedly deny defeat

Watching the finale, I caught myself cheering
as each one of their opponents began disappearing
One by one they dropped like flies
All that was left was to accept the first place prize

Be weary of the ones they call Big balls

They come out swinging and looking for a brawl
Don't turn your back on those Big balls
They come out swinging and looking for a brawl

The sky is falling! The sky is falling!

2010-11-03T02:18:00.000-05:00

Could it be? No! A paycheck for me?? Today friends, I received my first paycheck on time. In fact, I received it two days early. Yes, you read that correctly...early. For the first time since moving to the Mariana Islands, I received my money, in the correct amount, with the appropriate deductions, on time. While this may not sound newsworthy to many of you, it is certainly a cause for pause here in the CNMI. Can I get an amen on that?!

Lawyer by day...Super Bear by night

2010-11-02T07:01:00.002-05:00

Being a prosecutor on a tropical island isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Sure, I get to scuba dive before work and go fishing whenever I want, but it’s hard work too. I work long hours, make way less than my peers (even when the government decides to pay me), and I’m thousands of miles away from my family and friends. Add on the stress and responsibility of prosecuting rapists, wife beaters, and other criminals, and it will make even the veteran attorney think about quitting their day job.

Perhaps it’s that same stress and responsibility that makes attorneys so eager to partake in the bright lights of night life. This is what I would like to believe. I mean, how else can you explain a respected attorney dressing up like a matador, a public defender dressing up like an old pervy man, or a court clerk dressing up like a young Filipino masseuse (I mean, besides the fact that it was Halloween). Of course, I did see a professor dressed like Zorro, a teacher dressed like Fred Flintstone, a waitress dressed like Catwoman, and an ICE agent dressed like the most interesting man in the world, so either they are all really really stressed and overworked, or I'm back at square one.

As much as I would like to blame my shenanigans on my hard work and stress, the truth is I just like to have fun. Everyone does. No matter how old you are, how much money you make, how professional you pretend to be, at the end of the day, there is a little kid in all of us just dying to come out and play. So go ahead, let loose. Faster than a speeding bullet... It's a bird... it's a plane... it's Superman!

Adios muchaca*

2010-10-30T01:17:00.000-05:00

JessSweet,
I enjoy country music. Not the new-age stuff, but real country music...like Willie Nelson and Johnny Cash. It seems that no matter what kind of emotional hell I'm going through, there is always that perfect little ditty that pops in my head and makes me feel just a little bit better. But you already know that about me.

The two weeks came and went like a Saipan sunset--incredible yet all too brief. I'm not sure if you'll ever come back to this side of the world, but here's a list of reasons why you should.

10. You still need to finish your scuba certification (which is already paid for)!

09. Homegrown tomatoes from your very own garden.

08. You can beat up any girl on the island (think IT&E).

07. We never got a chance to snorkel at Managaha

06. I just found out Da is available 24 hours a day!

05. Wine Tuesdays at the Hyatt. Oh, and the mudpie. God bless that chef

04. Flights to Asia for as little as $400.00

03. Ocean views from the bedroom, ocean views from the living room, ocean views from the kitchen, ocean...well, you get the point.

02. It's really tough for me to take you on on a date when you're 8,000 miles away

01. If not for me, do it for the children Jess....think of the children.

As if this blogpost wasn't embarrassing enough, I wanted to share with you the Johnny Cash song that's stuck in my head. It's called Port of Lonely Hearts...at first glance it reads a little cheesy, but you should know there is nothing cheesy about the man in black.

A ship came in but it was empty and it sailed back out to sea again
Now there's the sail on the horizon and now I wait until your ship comes in
And I'll be waiting in the port of lonely hearts watchin' for your topsail on the sea
Prayin' that my ship of love will come to the port of lonely hearts where I will be
[ guitar ]
I'll brave the storm until you're with me
Cause the wind and rain can't change a love that's true
I'll be alone until you anchor and then I'll leave this lonely port with you
Till then I'm waiting in the port of lonely hearts...

* Disclaimer: This website and the information it contains are provided as a public service by the author of this blog. The author makes no claims, promises or guarantees about the accuracy, completeness, or adequacy of the contents of this website and expressly disclaims liability for offensive content of this website. Reference in this website to any term of art such as "adios muchacha" is not intended to be offensive and should not be taken out of context. No warranty of any kind, implied, expressed or statutory, with regard to the offensive nature of this site, is given with respect to the contents of this website or its hyperlinks to other Internet resources. While public, all information shared on this site should be taken lightly and in abandonment of any preconceived biases you have towards the author. Viva la libertad de expresión!

Tinian and the Legend of Taga

2010-10-29T21:20:00.000-05:00

Three months after my first god-forsaken flight to the neighboring island of Tinian, I found the courage to try my luck again. This time, I noticed a patch kit was used to cover what I assume was a hole in the airplane. You know...one of those mesh patch kits you buy at home depot for $9.99. Nothing is quite so unsettling as to hear the roar of an airplane engine while simultaneously noticing a shoddy repair job as you are about to take off. Sigh. I wouldn't say that it was easier the second time, but I would say I've become somewhat resigned to the fact that if I am to die young, it will be at the hands of one of these pimple-faced pilots.

Despite the emotional toll it takes on me to get out here, I'm actually beginning to like this place. With a population of about 2,000, the island is a tight-knit community where everyone knows everyone. Literally. Take for instance this past trip where I attempted to interview a handful of my witnesses on an upcoming case. I asked the police officer at the airport where John Doe lived and he kindly provided me with detailed directions and even offered me a ride. When I arrived, John Doe wasn't home. I asked his wife where I could find Jack Doe and she too kindly provided me with detailed instructions on how to find Jack. This chain of events repeated itself throughout the afternoon until I finally gave up in despair. I called my office to let them know that I was unable to meet with a single witness. The voice on the other end of the phone let out a voracious laugh. She said that the police officer at the airport must have called John Doe to warn him of my presence in Tinian and John Doe's wife must have warned Jack Doe and on and on and on. In hindsight, I suppose a doey-eyed howlie with a badge asking for directions is not so inconspicuous as I had envisioned.

I spent the remainder of the evening down at the karaoke bar soaking up as much history and knowledge about Tinian as possible in hopes of better understanding the locals (my rendition of Bob Marley's "Buffalo Soldier" won the respect and/or pity of the crowd. By the end of the night, I had an eager audience willing to share the history of the island).

And it all starts with the legend of Taga. I shook my head when asked if I knew of Taga, and the crowd of five let out a collective gasp in disbelief. At this point, my companions had consumed a healthy amount of alcohol which made the story that much more interesting. It was a group effort so each person would chime in to add their own version of the story, which was told intermittently in Chamarro. This, I presumed, was more from the alcohol than anything else. I had to repeatedly remind my new friends that I didn't speak Chamarro, which consistently drew an unnecessary laugh. It took thirty minutes to tell a story that could have been told in two...but I suppose that's the beauty of storytelling. So without further delay (drum roll please), I present to you the abbreviated version of the Legend of Taga.

THE LEGEND OF TAGA

A giant of a man lived on Guam.
He was very strong and the envy of the locals.
He had a son named Taga.
Taga was even stronger than his father.
This upset the father because he wanted all the attention (jealous, bastard).
One day, Taga was playing with a crab and it crawled under a tree.
Taga uprooted the tree with ease.
The father noticed Taga's strength and became enraged.
He wanted to kill his son Taga.
To evade capture and a beatdown by his old man, Taga ran away.
He jumped from Guam to the island of Rota, a mere 55 miles away.
Taga made a family with some lucky lady. Together, they built enormous houses on stone pedestals called latte stones.
Taga, being the stud that he was, single-handedly populated the Northern Mariana Islands.
The strength of the Chamarro people is evidently the result of good genes.
It is said that once the last latte stone falls, Taga will return.

A fallen Latte stone

A healthy dose of medicine

2010-10-11T02:13:00.003-05:00

It is said that a faithful friend is the medicine of life. I believe this to my core. Take for instance, my buddy Corey King. We've been friends for nearly 25 years. He's seen me through the good times and the bad times. And even though we've gone months without talking in the past--at the end of the day--I know he would be there for me if I ever needed a helping hand. That doesn't change the fact, however, that my closest friends are 8,000 miles away. In fact, one of the single most difficult things about moving across the world is losing that support and comfort that a true friendship offers.

Or so I thought.

Credit to Chief for taking this humiliating photo

This past week I had the ~~mis~~fortune of spending four days in the CHC hospital due to severe chest pains. I can't quite describe the fear of waking up in crippling pain on a tiny island with an even tinier hospital thousands of miles away from home. What I can tell you is that it is a terribly lonely feeling. I initially tried to "suck it up" and cope with the pain. I took a couple aspirin and headed to work. By mid-morning, I could barely breathe and after some concerned words from my brother, I decided I needed to get to the emergency room. I genuinely thought I was having a heart attack (which FYI, only makes matters worse). By the time I arrived at the ER, my nerves had gotten the best of me. My heart was racing, my blood pressure was through the roof, and I felt like I couldn't breathe. Fortunately, the medical staff at CHC was excellent. From the moment I walked in the hospital, I was swarmed by a throng of nurses eager to help. The doctor did his part to reassure me that things were going to be ok. The best part however, the most reassuring part, was the response from my friends.
News travels fast on the small island of Saipan and within hours of my debut at CHC, I had an audience of familiar faces. What followed was an outpouring of support and affection that would bring a grown man to tears. During my four day stay, I had someone with me twenty-four hours a day. Seriously. In my thirty years, I have traveled all over the world and met some very interesting people, but it wasn't until now that I've ever felt at home anywhere other than Texas. It took a trip to ER to realize how fortunate I truly am to have such incredible friendships in my life.
So here's a public thank you for all those people who took time out of their schedules to keep me company and provide the "medicine of life" that is so desperately needed in times of despair.

Thank you Jess for your prayers, support, and love. Your phone calls on the hour, every hour, meant the world. You are probably the most lovable person on the face of the planet.
Thank you Mike for your Speedracer skills and constant willingness to help. You kept me smiling during the whole damn episode. I guess that's why your the chief.
Thank you Tiberius for taking one for the team and accepting the late night shift. You're one helluva friend no matter what people say about you.
Thank you Eileen for everything. The snacks, the comforter, the flowers, and your genuine interest in my well-being.
Thank you Ariele for being a rockstar and for taking charge when the other nurses tried to make me take yet another pill. On a sidenote, your taste in movies is impeccable.
Thank you Peter for the Subway sandwich and not hooking up with any of my nurses. You are a man of restraint for which I have great admiration.
Thank you Dr. Ami Waters for the sage medical advice and putting up with my whiney questions multiple times a day.
Thank you Shelli for breaking into my apartment and not telling everyone how dirty my house is when I'm not expecting company. You have proven to be one of my closest friends here and I appreciate all your support.
Thank you Pixie for stopping by and keeping me company. You have given me new respect for Iowa farm boys.
Thank you Richard for keeping it cordial and providing me with competent, reasonable advice to seek medical assistance. You are a worthy adversary sir.
Thank you Kate for not blowing my cover when the doctor came in for my diagnosis. Apologies for making you listen to my rants, but I certainly appreciated it. You are without question Tiberius' better half.
Thank you Dr. JeanOlivia Grant for being one of the coolest doctors I've ever met. You went above and beyond not because of some unspoken professional obligation but simply out of kindness. I know you have a fan club, but put my name at the top of that list.
Thank you Amanda for sneaking in ice cream and fruit. Oh, and your external hard drive is magical (although I still like the original Karate kid best).
Thank you Juanita for being my Saipan mom and visiting me in the ER and my hospital room.
Thank you Auntie Frieda for calling ahead and giving the ER staff a heads up. When we arrived, I felt as though the entire staff was waiting to help.
Thank you Daniel for being an incredible friend. You vouched for me before you knew me and for that, I owe you. In my short time here in Saipan, you have proven to be worthy of your nickname. "I'm gonna make him an offer he can't refuse."
Thank you Blumel for keeping my cases running smoothly and for visiting me in the ER.
Thank you Quenchi for the visit and the smile. You have a contagious smile and sometimes thats exactly what the doctor ordered. Annnddd, I'm sorry I'm bad about returning phone calls. Jess can tell you that its just one of those character flaws that I cant seem to shake.
Thank you Eric for the light reading and the laughs. It's good to know I have the feds on my side.
Thank you Jim for the diagnosis. I knew that chili was too damn spicy.
Thank you Lacy for stopping by and keeping me company even though I was falling asleep.
Thank you Jordan for making me laugh more in twenty minutes than I did the entire time I was cooped up in CHC. Although I blame your jealously for Liz not visiting. Let it go Jordan...let it go.
Thank you Eli for stopping by and for the snacks. I know you're a family man these days, but I'm looking forward to grabbing a beer with you one of these days. You'll have to take a break from studying for your fifth bar license, but something tells me you could use a cold draft beer.
Thank you Ed for taking time out of your hectic schedule and giving me reassurance and peace of mind. It's a good feeling to have el jefe stop in to show his support.
Thank you David for representing the civil side and visiting me in the ER. It's good to know there is love for the criminal attorneys up on capitol hill.
Thank you Brian for scooping me up and giving me a ride home from the hospital. As good as the staff was, I wanted to get the hell out of dodge.

Thank you everyone for your support and making Saipan home.

*Sidenote: Although the doctors couldn't tell me what was wrong, they did rule out any heart issues. When the doctor asked if I was dealing with any stress lately, I just smiled and stared at him as if he had asked a rhetorical question (all the Saipan people reading this understands my sarcasm). That said, I'm feeling 100% and fairly confident that I'm back to my perfect specimen of health. Although my ego took a hit when my nurse-who at the time was giving me a shot in my stomach-look puzzled. When I asked what was wrong, she asked in her Filipino accent "ahh, I tat zu wur a aht-lete...what happened to yu?
Okay, so maybe not perfect specimen of health, but pretty damn close.

Send more slush bars

2010-09-29T06:53:00.000-05:00

One of the first things I did three months ago when I moved here was start this blog. And one of my first entries was a simple request to family and friends: send care packages. Clearly this is self-serving and self-centered. I realize that, however, I am on a remote island far away from normalcy, so I feel like I should get a pass for being pushy. Out of my 1,137 facebook friends, 200 classmates, 50 extended family and three siblings, only TWO people have taken the time to send a card or care package.

I find this unacceptable.

If you're reading this, I need you to finish this entry, run to the store, throw a couple books, some spices, maybe a margarita mix or something Texas into a box, slap a label on it, and mail it to me. I cannot tell you how wonderful it feels to trudge to the mailbox to pick up my daily bills only to be surprised by a care package. What's this??! A large box for me? What could be inside...a puppy...music...a ticket home? Perhaps it's that Goonie DVD I've been asking for since Christmas...this is so exciting! You see, when you receive something unexpected, it makes life that much sweeter. Especially waaaayyyy out here where I feel so detached from society.

Kudos to Marshall Hill and Jess Lutrell for the packages you both sent. I LOVED them. Jess, I have almost memorized the cd you sent. You are AMAZING. Marshall, ol' friend, send more slush bars.

Check, please.

2010-09-25T02:44:00.008-05:00

Employee--noun. A person who is hired for a wage, salary, fee or payment to perform work for an employer.

Who doesn't love payday? It is the moment of fruition where your hours of hardwork culminate in a tangible benefit. The concept of getting compensated for your labor is not novel...in fact, receiving a benefit in exchange for one's talent can be traced back throughout history. Pretty basic, right? That's what I thought too. Or least I did until I moved to the Northern Mariana Islands.

The contrast inherent in the term "payless payday" only underscores the absurdity of what has become a somewhat regular occurrence since arriving in Saipan. I realize that living on an island requires an adjustment as to my expectations of civilization. I get it. But it's not like I'm complaining about the inability to dine at fancy restaurants or smoke big cigars. I can live with outdated tv dinners, waking up at 5:00 a.m. to watch the Longhorns, the fifteen-hour time difference, being away from family and friends, and spending $5.00 on a gallon of gas, but I have to draw a line at not being paid. There is nothing quite as demoralizing as watching paychecks being handed out and having the HR lady divert her gaze so as to avoid the embarrassment of not having your money.

I find some comfort in knowing this kind of behavior is not totally without precedent. California has given out IOU's in the recent past and Pennsylvania went through an eerily similar budget crisis in 2009. Below is an excerpt discussing Pennsylvania's Supreme Court ruling in Council 13 AFSCME v. Commonwealth:

While the case was pending on appeal, the 2009 budget impasse occurred. As a result of the Commonwealth Court's ruling, during the first several weeks of that stalemate, state workers were expected to work without pay. They finally were paid when a partial budget was enacted in mid-August, but for many, the damage had been done. The average unionized state employee earns approximately $35,000 yearly. Without their paychecks, they were unable to make timely payments on their mortgages and other credit obligations, incurring late fees, increased interest rates and other penalties. Thousands of state employees struggling to find ways to feed their families and put gas in the car to get to work, went to food banks and took out additional loans to try to make ends meet. Although the Supreme Court's Dec. 28, 2009, ruling did not actually mention the "payless paydays" to which state workers had been subjected in 2009, it implicitly outlawed such tactics in the future. The court, in a six-to-one decision authored by Chief Justice Ronald D. Castille, found the case justiciable, held that the FLSA does indeed require timely payment of at least minimum wage for hours worked, and determined that this timely payment requirement pre-empts Article III, Section 24 of the Pennsylvania Constitution so that it does not prohibit payment of employee wages during an impasse.

Playboy discovers Saipan

2010-09-20T01:23:00.001-05:00

Compliments of Playboy.com

I normally wouldn't post an article on my blog published by Playboy, but considering it details life on Saipan, I figured I have a good excuse. I don't know how realistic it is, but its relevant nonetheless. Jess, please don't be mad--this is just good, solid investigative work that should be shared with the good people following my blog. :-)

"Nine thousand miles to the east of mainland America is a far-flung U.S. territory known as the Commonwealth of the Northern Mariana Islands. Official outposts of U.S. soil, the islands are about four hours south of Tokyo by plane. The most populated island, Saipan, is the kind of place urban Westerners dream about: a palm-fringed tropical island with a turquoise lagoon, spectacular coral reefs, lush jungle growth and breathtaking cliff-side views."

Read the rest of the article here (just run your cursor over the word "here").

On a related note, thanks to Daniel Stafford for being a Playboy subscriber for the past fifteen years and passing on this little gem. He may be the only person who literally subscribes just for the articles.

So I have that going for me...

2010-09-12T00:38:00.004-05:00

I've played maybe three rounds of golf in my entire life. I've used all sorts of excuses to convince myself golf isn't for me. Prohibitive costs, outrageous green fees, lack of accessibility, and my favorite excuse, "I don't own any clubs."

Here in the Marianas, I don't have any of those excuses. With four golf courses within a five-mile radius, Saipan is a a golfer's paradise. Before leaving Austin, Papa Hill practically gave me a great set of clubs. And while tourists have to pay exorbitant green fees, locals (including me) pay about $30.00. So now when friends ask me to play a round of golf, I have to forgo the excuses and fess up: I am a horrible golfer.

This is exactly what I told my friends Siave and Corey when they asked if I wanted to play golf a couple weeks ago. I got the standard response: "Nah man, golf is all about having fun" and "It's all good--we'll drink some beer and get a little practice in." In my mind however, I knew what they were really thinking: "We're about to expose you and your complete lack of athletic ability by mocking your triple bogeys and dominating you on each hole." Nevertheless, I found myself with club in hand on the first hole wondering what the hell am I doing golfing with two special agents who obviously are in much better shape than me.

The Six hole at Lao Lao Bay

My first shot sailed down the middle of the fairway. I used my three-iron off the tee because, quite frankly, I've never used my driver. Siave cracked, "We got a ringer here." Ha. Unfortunately, that would be my best shot of the day. As I watched my colleagues repeatedly sink twenty-foot putts and chip the ball on the green with surgeon-like precision, I hacked my way to the hole. It became painfully common for Siave and Corey to finish a hole only for me to follow with four to five more strokes. The divot would go further than the ball, which often went in the exact opposite direction that I intended. Over the next five hours I lost nine balls and a little pride. When the scores were tallied, Siave finished with 89, Corey with 94, and I finished with, get this--a 134! That is not a typo. I really in truly did that bad. That's more than twice as many strokes as it takes Tiger Woods. TWICE AS MANY!! *Sigh* As painful as it was for me, I at least earned the sympathy of my golfing buddies. They ended up buying my lunch either out of pity or as a reward for my Rocky-esqe determination. I choose to believe it was the latter.

As a sidenote, my poor performance was offset by the sheer beauty of this course. Lao Lao Bay Golf Resort, designed by Greg Norman, was opened in 1994. The resort has two 18-hole courses. The courses stretch from the top of Saipan's tallest peak, Tapotchau, all the way to Lao Lao Bay. The 6,330 yard eastern course runs along Lao Lao Bay making for beautiful scenery and windy conditions. The 6,805 yard western course stretches along the Tapotchau with narrow fairways, ponds and carefully placed sandtraps. If anyone out there reading this likes golf, gimme a jingle and book a ticket because it doesn't get better than this!

Home sweet home

2010-09-09T09:52:00.000-05:00

The view from my couch

Any idea what it's like to live out of a suitcase for five weeks? Some might think it makes life a little less complicated. Those people would be wrong. There is nothing comforting about cold showers, lumpy beds and barren walls. Granted, my room had a view and I was only minutes away from the Ocean, but hotels aren't home. Which is why I couldn't have been happier to move into my new house. I say house because it's not a home until you feel at home.
Since 2000, I have moved twelve times. I have almost become accustomed to packing up boxes right around the time I get around to unpacking from the last move. I am determined to break that habit out here in the Northern Mariana Islands and with any luck, I'll be here for at least a year. Last week, the moving company arrived with (almost) all my boxes. And believe it or not, the boxes are empty and the pictures are hung. Some might say I even decorated. Others would say the house needs a lot more work. But at the end of the day, I would say I'm home.

Welcome back college football, I've missed you

2010-09-09T08:18:00.000-05:00

Since 1998, I have considered myself an Orangeblood. For you non-Texans reading this, that means I’m a Longhorn fan. You know, a real fan. And if that fact was ever in doubt I just want to point out that my UT diploma is prominently displayed right next to framed UT baseball jersey which hangs next to my Cowboy hat and chaps for everyone to see in my office. And if that wasn’t enough, the autographed Mack Brown football on my desk should put everyone on notice that I mean business.

Which is why it should come as no surprise that it’s 5:30 Sunday morning (and OU still sux) and I’m wide awake. You see, it’s not easy being a Longhorn fan in the Northern Mariana Islands. Because we are fifteen hours ahead of Texas, watching the Longhorns means a lot of dedication and early mornings. To be honest, it’s as much about the familiarity as it is about my loyalty to my Horns. You see, it makes me feel a little bit at home knowing that friends like Marshall Hill and Chris Maguire are no doubt huddled around Ace’s big-screen tv as this very moment. Well, that’s not necessarily true…that are more likely huddled around a flask cheering on the Horns from the stands.

Oh, and just for the record…that was not a Rice touchdown. His knee was down. AND the ball was about a foot short of the goal line. Go Horns.

I'll drop a bomb on you

2010-09-09T08:04:00.005-05:00

Abel Runway

The speedometer read 70 mph as I barreled down the Abel runway on the small island of Tinian. With a quick glance to my left and right, I dared to take my eyes off the asphalt in front of me to make sure there was no one around to witness what very well could be a federal crime. Afterall, driving a rental car down a runway—the same runway that the Enola Gay made famous in 1944—at least raises a suspicion of illegality. I wrenched the accelerator down another notch and watched my speed climb to 80 mph. I wondered if Colonel Tibbets had the same uneasy feeling as he began one of the most historic flights in American history. Perhaps he too resisted the urge to yell “weeeeeeeeeee” as his plane lifted off the runway.

Japanese bunker

At one time, the airfield in Tinian was the most active in the world, with thousands of raids originating from here. American forces wrecked havoc on its Pacific enemies with air strikes that ran 24 hours a day. But the Japanese weren’t the only ones who suffered losses. A quick exploration of the island uncovered countless WWII artifacts. Pieces of wrecked fighter planes littered the beaches. Helmets and canteens were embedded in the rock from 70 years of disregard. It was if I was walking through a museum, albeit one preserved by the disinterest of locals rather than curators.

Atomic Bomb

Once the epicenter of WWII, the airfields are now abandoned, the runways overgrown with weeds. The historic significance has seemingly been forgotten save for a few landmarks. During the three hours I spent at the memorial grounds, I did not come across a single person. Imagine walking around the battlefields of Gettysburg or San Jacinto and having your thoughts as your only companion. To be honest, I actually enjoyed my privacy. It made the trip to the pits that once housed “Fat Man” and “Little Boy” that much better. The pits are encased in glass and display now-declassified photographs of the atomic bomb that exploded 1,800 feet about Hiroshima. I’ve always pictured the A-bomb as one of those cool electronic gadgets like the one Sean Connery and Nicolas Cage have to disarm in “The Rock.” Hardly. It looks more like one of the acme bombs you would see Wylie Coyote use against the roadrunner. Despite its cartoonish look, history teaches us that looks can be deceiving. The atom bomb created a temperature over 7,000 degrees. The heat created was so great that people's clothes caught fire over a mile and a half away. The atomic bomb "little boy" took the lives of over 200,000. It hastened Japan’s decision to surrender and led to the end of World War II.

Gyeongbok Palace

2010-09-09T07:46:00.001-05:00

Despite the quick trip, I did make time in South Korea for one or two cultural experiences. After at least an hour in a taxi, I found myself wandering around the Gyeongbok palace. Built in 1394 by King Taejo, it has withstood over 600 years of attacks. While only a dozen or so of the original buildings remain, the compound housed hundreds of buildings at the apex of its grandeur. I can only imagine.

This place was amazing. Smack in the middle of Seoul, the palace is a constant reminder of the contrast between ancient and modern Korea. The government has done a superb job of protecting the cultural beauty of the palace. In fact, the royal throne hall is the largest surviving wooden structure in Korea.

I didn't take an official tour or anything like that, but I enjoyed the three hours I spent walking around the compound. When you approach the entrance, you don't expect it to be so expansive, but as I have pointed out previously, looks can be deceiving.

Located on the grounds of the palace is the National Folk Museum. Initially, I wasn't too interested in checking out what it had to offer, but it was blazing hot so I figured I would take a quick look at what it had to offered. I'm glad I did. Apparently, the museum had just began an exposition on the Korean war. They had letters from American soldiers and all that jazz. I found it interesting that despite being 7,000 miles away from home, in a foreign country, American valor was celebrated and revered. In my travels around the world, I have experienced anti-American sentiments and the appreciation for our assistance in the "forgotten war" was certainly a welcomed change.

A quick note on the Jet set lifestyle and the Capital of Texas.

2010-08-26T17:42:00.000-05:00

Soooo, how many of you have taken a weekend trip to South Korea?

. . .

. . .

. . .

Anyone?? Yeah, that’s what I thought. South Korea is pretty damn far from my mainland friends. I mean, it’s not like you can just hop on a flight at a whim and head to Korea. Well, it’s not like you can. American society cannot accommodate that lifestyle. We work. A lot. A trip across the world to South Korea just wouldn’t be practical, especially if you only had 48 hours. It’s just not the American way. My friend Daniel Stafford, however, lives a different lifestyle. A lifestyle where champagne flows and free weekend trips to S. Korea is the norm. This is a guy who waltzed his way into a corner office with little to no experience at one of the largest investment companies on this side of the world. I haven’t figured out how the hell he does it, but the man has sway. I would like to think his Texas roots has something to do with it, but I’m about as Texan as they come and I’m not the one fishing with the Chief Justice. Until I figure out what cards he’s holding, I’ve decided to just ride his coattails for as long as possible. Which is exactly how I ended up in South Korea this past weekend—living life on my terms, or rather, on Daniel’s terms.

Two weeks ago, Daniel IM’ed me asking if I would like to judge a mock trial competition. Since I haven’t met many folks out here yet, I thought it would be a good opportunity to make friends and so I typed a quick response letting him know I was willing to help. The sequence of events that followed are a blur, but within thirty minutes, I had a plane ticket to South Korea and a hotel in Seoul (in case any of my readers are from Oklahoma, let me spell this out for you: my buddy arranged a FREE trip for me to South Korea).

Our flight left at 3:00 a.m. on Friday night, which just for the record, is not conducive to a good nights rest. I tossed and turned in anticipation of my flight. Around midnight, I determined any effort to rest up beforehand was futile. So while most of my friends were sound asleep, I was putting on the dress slacks and button down for the four-hour flight to Seoul.

As I half expected, my travel companion (and apparently veteran air traveler) had chosen to spend the night out at the bars. Instead of slacks, he was wearing mesh shorts and a t-shirt. Christ—I felt like an idiot. The feeling soon went away after my pre-boarding ritual (Crown and coke, make it a double). I can’t complain about the flight really, mainly because I don’t remember much of it. But I digress.

We arrived a little after 7:00 a.m. and since the mock trial competition started at 9:00 that same morning, we took a shuttle from the airport directly to the competition. I secretly congratulated myself for being the boy scout who planned ahead and wore slacks on the plane. Upon arriving at the host hotel, we ran into a handful of the Korean contestants (who may I add, are literally better advocates than some of my law school classmates). They stared at us for a moment and one particularly-gutsy student asked, “Are you our judges?” I’m not sure if our yes response scared him or reassured him, but he looked over at Daniel and quipped, “Well, are you going to change?” Haha. Brilliant.

We finished our judicial duties around 6:00 p.m. And despite less that four hours of sleep the night before, we made the choice that a night out on the town would be the prudent choice. After all, we were only in town for the weekend. I’m not quite sure where we went or where we ended up, but I do remember thinking 1) I like Korea and 2) Why can’t any of these people dance?

After doing my damage to the social scene in Seoul, my companions were ready to call it a night. As we were searching for our cab, the following colloquy occurred.

Canadian: Do you know where we can find cheap drinks?

Me: Umm…sorry, not from around here but if you go over there (point in a manner that somewhat is suggestive of the bar I had just come from), you’ll at least be entertained by the lack of rhythm.

Canadian: haha. Where are you from?

Me: Texas

Canadian: We’re from Canada.

Me: My buddy Thom is from Canada. Good people.

Canadian: You probably don’t even know the capital of Canada.

Me: Ottowa. Do you know the capital of Texas?

Canadian: [Bewildered look] The capital of Texas?! Why the f*ck would I know the capital of Texas? Who gives a –

Me: [Interrupting] Well, Texas has the 13th largest economy in the world and is also world-renown for the Alamo and our—

Canadian: [talking over me] You stupid f*cking American. That’s so typical of f*cking Americans. Why the f*ck would I give a sh*t about the capital of Texas.

Me: I just told you.

Canadian: F*cking American. Let’s get out of here.

I spent the next twenty minutes explaining to my buddies what I would have said to the Canadians had I drank a few more beers. Geez. Leave to the Canadians to screw up a perfectly good night. Oh, and for the record, the capital of Texas is Austin. It’s a little piece of heaven tucked away in the hill country of the Lone Star state. It’s home to the SXSW festival, Austin City Limits music festival, the Longhorns, Lance Armstrong, Willie Nelson, and about 500,000 of the friendliest, most laid-back folks you’ll ever meet.

If you haven’t been there, plan a weekend getaway and take a trip to my mecca. Order the queso at Matt’s El Rancho, a Mexican martini from Trudy’s and BBQ at Salt Lick. You’ll immediately notice the outgoing demeanor of Austinites. It’s a place where people wave when you let them in your lane. No one honks because it’s considered rude. When people smile and ask how you’re doing, answer them because chances are they are being sincere. And if you tell them it’s your first time in Texas, most Austinites will buy you a beer to welcome you to the Lone Star State. And don’t let the Cowboy hats and boots fool you—there are more people here with graduates degree per capita than almost any other city in the country. We’re a proud people that appreciate our history and our culture—and yes, Texans have a culture all their own.

Give us a chance. You’ll be glad you did.

Gut Check

2010-08-26T17:33:00.000-05:00

Most of my friends back home think I’m crazy for moving to Saipan. Since arriving six weeks ago, even I have questioned my sanity. But somewhere deep down, I believe I’m supposed to be waaaaaaayyyy on the other side of the world. I have certainly had time to reflect on my decision to move here and I’ll be the first to admit, there are pros and cons.
Sure, all you naysayers have the perks of civilization. I mean, you have daily access to Starbucks, wield the DVR remote without a second thought to its precious value, eat out on a regular basis, take advantage of the endless variety of alcohol, plan a last minute weekend getaway with family and friends, or cheer for my beloved Longhorns from the vantage point of a skybox. Those are all things I took for granted. And while I may have been banished to a life of crummy coffee and analog television, I nonetheless embrace my new lifestyle.
I live on an island which allows relatively cheap access to anywhere in Asia. I have an ocean view from my living room and get to scuba dive before and after work with my boss. I don’t pay federal taxes and if I’m feeling up to it, I have access to some of the best golf courses in the Eastern hemisphere. My employer gives me five weeks of vacation (yes, you read that correctly) and I have already been assigned to some of the most high-profile felony cases here on Saipan. Oh, and I live on a tropical island which is in the Guinness Book of World Records for the most consistent temperature on the planet—88 degrees. Throw in a badge, the option to carry a gun and the ability to throw bad guys in jail and this Texan couldn’t be happier.

If any of my friends are reading this and would like to take a walk on the wild side, send me your resume and I’ll do what I can. Trust me, you wont regret it.

Sucking up and Scuba diving

2010-08-16T03:23:00.004-05:00

I have a confession. I didn't really want to learn how to scuba dive. Something about being underwater for long periods of time just seemed creepy to me. From the Galapagos Islands in the Pacific to the Caribbean coast off the shores of Colombia, I've had plenty of opportunities to dive all over the world--I simply chose not to. At the time, it seemed like a completely logical decision. Wait, let me get this straight. You want me to spend money to jump into a vast body of water filled with sharks and other sea creatures that eat chumps like me for breakfast, breathe from a wee little bottle of air, and swim 100 feet below the surface? Uhh, no thanks. When I arrived in the CNMI thirty-three days ago, I was wholly content to add Saipan to the list of places where I haven't dived. In fact, I would have happily done so but for that nagging characteristic in all rookies looking to make a name for themselves: ambition.

It's not everyday opportunity knocks. And so when my boss, who also happens to be a dive instructor, volunteered to spend his weekends teaching us how to scuba dive, I answered. Now some might call it brown nosing, sucking up or even kissing ass...I would like to think I took advantage of an opportunity to show el jefe that I'm a team player.

I ponied up the cash, "studied" for all the quizzes, and threw caution to the wind. I've spent the past two weekends 40 to 50 feet underwater trying to impress my boss and scuba buddies. During that time, the damnedest thing happened--I actually realized I liked scuba diving. Hell, I even made some great new friends. For those of you considering getting certified, take it from a former skeptic--it is AMAZING. I felt completely safe throughout the certification and never felt rushed or pressured into anything I didn't want to do. Admittedly, there were times when I felt uncomfortable (like when I got caught in a surge and was tossed around like a ragdoll), but if your instructor is worth his salt, he will prepare for damn near anything that could go wrong. For instance, on our last dive, a couple of Japanese tourist were snorkeling--without fins--and managed to get stuck in the surge. The bossman had to actually swim back out and save them. From our training, we knew to not fight the current and to swim parallel to the shore to get out of a rip or surge. Assuming I pass the written examination, I might just seek other scuba certifications.

The little plane that could

2010-08-15T05:48:00.004-05:00

The Commonwealth of the Northern Mariana Islands (CNMI) is a commonwealth in political union with the United States. Of the fourteen islands that make up the CNMI, only three (Saipan, Tinian, and Rota) have a population in the triple digits. Nonetheless, the Office of the Attorney General is responsible for prosecuting crime throughout the entire chain of islands. Consequently, attorneys in our office are assigned a docket on other islands in addition to our caseload on Saipan.
Fortunately, my responsibility is to cover the docket in Tinian, an island rich in history located only a few miles from Saipan. Its proximity to Saipan makes it easily accessible by boat. In fact, it is so close that a ferry operates between the two on a regular basis. This weighed heavily in my decision to accept the docket, because as many of you know, I have a healthy fear of flying. I figured I would catch the ferry in the early morning, arrive before my first hearing a few minutes early, and hop on the first ferry back after lunch.

I figured wrong.

Apparently, my time is precious enough that the government insist that I fly.  In theory, that sounds like a perfectly reasonable and efficient idea. But theory isn't always reality. Allow me to elaborate. I arrived at the airport twenty minutes before takeoff. There was no airport security other than the lone guard strolling through the terminal. No metal detectors, no x-ray machines, nothing. I simply walked directly up to the gate and handed the attendant my ticket. The following conversation ensued:

Airline employee:   Haf adai. Body weight, please.
Russell: Ummm, I'm sorry....what was that?
Airline employee: Body weight.
Russell: One more time, I thought you asked for my body weight.
Airline employee: [hehehehe] I did.

I complied with her request as I stared at her, astonished at what that question must mean. The befuddled look on her face as she quite visibly struggled with the arithmetic confirmed my fear.

Airline employee: uhhhhh...ok, sir. You sit back seat, on right-side of plane.
Russell: [silence]
Airline employee: Have a nice day sir. No need to worry sir, plane is safe today.

The plane is safe today?! Seriously? In my mind, that suggests that the plane isn't safe on other days and if it is not safe on other days, then it is not a safe plane. And if it is not a safe plane, then the plane cannot be safe today.   I took a deep breath, turned around, and slowly made my way to the tarmac. I could hear Percy from the Green Mile yelling "Dead man walking, we got a dead man walking here." As I turned the corner, I literally stopped dead in my tracks.   Less than 100 yards from where I was standing sat the little plane that could. The first thought that popped in my head was, "you have to be @#^%@* me!"   I immediately came to the conclusion that while my time might be precious to the CNMI government, my well-being was an afterthought. Did they really expect me to get in that hunk of junk? I actually called the office to get an answer to that question (um, yes). *Sigh* Well my friends, I took my chances on that poor excuse for a plane and I lived to share the story. Check out the short video of my heroic flight.

My new mailing address

2010-08-01T00:15:00.002-05:00

Russell Lorfing

PMB 964

PO BOX 10000

Saipan, MP 96950

670.789.8677 (cell)

Jot it down. Sing it from the roof tops. Tattoo it on the small of your back. I don't care how you do it, just commit it to memory. And for the love of GOD, someone please send me a care package! It's depressing watching these sunsets alone.