Pigs in the Toilet & Odes to the Crotch Flap

It’s me again – “that guy inspired by his boxers.” At least that’s what writer Jeff Vize calls me.

Some are inspired by sunsets, others, lovely pieces of art. Not me. Give me some faded stretched out undies with some cartoons on them and I’ll travel across the globe and write you an ode to the crotch flap.

I’m a simple man.

This trip won’t be the first time I’ve been inspired by underwear. Why just this Christmas I bit the bullet and bought Annie some tastefully comfortable drawers at Victoria Secret. I almost died in the process. Call me a prude, but I don’t like to talk about boobs and butt cheeks with strange ladies in underwear stores. I wrote a little piece about the experience and read it to Annie AND HER PARENTS when I presented her with the gift. I would post it here, but she would KILL ME and I wouldn’t be able to post on here anymore, or go on my trip, or get married in September – all bad things.

Anyhow, Jeff posted about me on his blog/book “Pigs in the Toilet.” What is a blog/book, I’ll let Jeff tell you in a question answer session with himself:

What’s with the serial installments? Isn’t this just a travel blog?
Well, maybe – except that the entries are all six years old.

This is more like a book that I’m gradually publishing in a blog-like format. I promise there will be a story line, and that I’ll keep the anecdotes about stomach ailments, hotel rooms and meals to a minimum.

So if this is really a book, why aren’t you publishing it and making heaps of money?

Because I’m a free-spirited anti-capitalist who believes that fine art should be freely accessible to everyone, not just those with money.

You mean you couldn’t sell the book?

Yeah, pretty much.

I enjoyed Jeff’s most recent installment about traveling in Bangladesh and, seeing how I’ll be there in a matter of a few weeks, found it immediately useful and frightening. He writes about being in Bangladesh where light-skinned travelers are treated like rock stars:

The first rule was to never stop to look at your guidebook: You’d be surrounded by literally hundreds of locals within seconds. Continuing your journey would require handshakes, ten conversations and possibly autographs.

The second rule was to walk fast. People would still stare, but you’d pass like a phantom – leaving them to discuss whether you actually existed or not.

The third rule was to develop friendly yet slightly dismissive ways of acknowledging my fame. I had fun with this one. The easiest was the Princess Diana wave – a half turn of the hand at face level, punctuated by a slightly demure smile. On more energetic days, I resorted to the Richard Nixon victory pose…

What inspires Jeff? Goread Pigs in the Toilet from the beginning.

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