Back in USA

Today's blog will be a soliloquy to keep you, faithful reader, informed of my whereabouts and general happenings, and also to explain to you my thoughts and feelings on several matters about which I feel passionate. In general rant form, it will not be edited to the extent of previous entries and I will endeavor to not use the "back-space" button under any circumstances.
I am currently in a bus at US/Canadian customs. I have to pee. I'm not sure if the bathroom on the bus is functional, and there's a big sign in customs that says, "Please turn off cell phones, No Public Restrooms."
I always get nervous going through customs, even when I have nothing to hide, which is most of the time. Today the agent asked me what I had and I said, "Clothes," and he said, "Clothes you bought?" And I said, "No," then corrected myself and said, "Well, I have a hat I bought in Quebec," referring to a blue and white Quebec flag hat that I got in a grocery store in Trois Rivieres for $1.99 on which I have already gotten several compliments, including one from a guy that plays guitar and sings and is generally considered to be cool who said to me in a bar in Trois Rivieres called La Chasse Galerie (The Hunting Gallery, ideal for singles) "Nice hat."
Anyway, we're waiting for a few people still being "processed," as they term it, and then we will be on our way to the Bellingham International Airport, where playboys go to lounge and drink high-priced cocktails and where several scenes of the upcoming James Bond movie have been shot¹.
It is extremely hot in the bus despite the air conditioning, and this is because my seat is angled into the sun. I chose the seat I am sitting in precisely because it wouldn't be angled into the sun due to its location on the East side of bus the and our Southern trajectory towards Seattle, but my precise calculations have been disrupted by our stopping at the United States customs checkpoint.
The bus driver, who wanted to be out of here by 5:30pm, just walked up and down the bus counting people, and exclaimed in his raspy but somewhat booming voice, "We're outta here," paused emphatically and said, "It's just 5:30."
One thing that is kind of amazing about this bus is the fact that it has wireless. I don't really know how that works, but I'm assuming it has something to do with a router that doesn't receive its signal from a jack in the wall, but rather wirelessly.
We are now passing an Exxon station just outside of Blaine, and it appears that a gallon of unleaded gasoline costs $4.46 or $4.49. I already forgot. People have been making an outrageous stink about gasoline prices for the past year or so, but I am still of the school of people whose motto is, "I don't really care." This is probably because I don't have a car.
In other news I will be hanging out with my friend Barry tonight, hopefully drinking tall cans of cheap beer and enjoying the extremely mild midsummer Seattle evening temperatures. Barry leaves for Minnesota in two or three days and then goes to Chile for four months, so apparently he is having some sort of going away party tonight. It is highly probable that about 10 minutes after I post this blog Barry, who gets blogs sent to his Blackberry on Google reader, will make a comment about his shout-out, or mention, or whatever you want to call it, in this blog.
Tomorrow I will be moving into my new room at my friend Dan's house, and pursuing with mild enthusiasm the prospect of getting a job. Prospects right now include: bussing tables at Ivar's, maybe, but probably not, driving the bicycle rick-shaws you see waiting to pick people up at the Bainbridge ferry and take them to Mariners games, and hopefully, writing or toiling for The Stranger, Seattle's only "alternative" newspaper. The Stranger is obviously, at least to me, the ideal scenario, though I could see how many could find glamor in the rick-shaw scenario, especially if he or she has seen the episode of Seinfeld in which Kramer endeavors to pull people on a rick-shaw through New York City, and fails wonderfully. Actually, now that I think about it, Kramer doesn't pull the rick-shaw, but rather holds tryouts with the city's homeless to see if he can find someone to pull it, and it ends up getting stolen by a grubby-faced man named "Rusty." My memory with that show is already fading rapidly.
In other news, yesterday I went to my first nude beach in North America. I went last year to a beach in San Francisco where there were some old men naked and a few girls topless but I don't really count that. This beach, Wreck Beach, in Vancouver, was truly a nude beach. Every five feet was a dangling weiner or a pair of breasts that seemed to be screaming for a bra. It wasn't unpleasant though, for the most part, like that last sentence makes it out to be. It really wasn't unpleasant, despite the fact that the beach was absolutely packed and there was one particularly disgusting subject who was wearing an unbuttoned beach shirt that had chili peppers all over it, and nothing else, no pants-nothing, who strolled up and down the beach various times much to our dismay. I had never in my life seen so many breasts and genitals in real life, and you always kind of expect it to be some kind of extraordinary experience, but in the end it just gets kind of boring and vaguely disgusting at times. Which is not to say I'm against nudity. I am completely pro-nudity, or at least would be if I had to take a stance on the matter, I guess, well, I just don't really care. Kind of like I don't really care about gas prices (I wish I could delete the gas price sentence because I feel like it makes me sound like a hippie).
Anyway, we're just pulling into the Bellingham airport right now, and I can see a troop of playboys drinking martini's and standing on top of a Hummer All-Terrain vehicle in the distance. The sun is once again on my body and it is very hot. I suspect either the air-condition is being over powered or it's not on to begin with.
That's about all I have to say for now.
Deuces,

Boosh Clown

¹This is false.

UPDATE: I am currently heart-broken due to the fact that I was really stoked to be able to listen to the songs, "Cape Cod Kwassa Kwassa," "Oh Yoko," and "Homecoming" by Vampire Weekend, John Lennon, and the Teenagers respectively, but have just discovered that I have absolutely no fucking clue where my head-phones are, which means that unless I start accosting random bus mates to use their head phones, I will not be able to listen to music. This is far more tragic than you can comprehend. I think I just felt a couple hairs on my head turn gray.
Good Day.