Apparently David Beckham looks like a pale, out of shape Irishman

Because I've been told at least 6 times now "you face look like David Beckham"

Makes me feel sorry for Posh Spice.

This is what your lady looks like

when she gets published for the first time.
Congrats travel writer!

Goodnight sweet chicken.

The knife was dull. Much duller than the knife I would give someone who wanted to slit my throat. But here I was, sawing back and forth across this tiny chicken's neck. Hoping to break the skin. Hoping this all would be over soon. His chicken eye staring at me the whole time, as if to say "just get it over with pal".

Then it happened. The tiniest prick. On the 4th try. Blood spewing forth. Dark red. The chicken was now dinner. I was a murderer.

I'd be lying if I said I ever thought I'd kill a chicken and eat it. Just never thought there would come a time or place where that would be necessary. I get my chicken at El Pollo Loco. They do it for me.

But having done it, in the rain soaked jungles of Vietnam, I have to say I feel as though I just completed a necessary human task. I feel kind of alive. In touch with the world around me. Maybe its a primal feeling, but it kind of feels good.

After all I've eaten 100's of chickens and cows and seahorses in my life, and never once had to extend myself anymore than pointing at their names on a menu. For the first time in my life I was part of the whole circle of life thing.

So was it good? Let's just say I appreciate the sacrifice my chicken made…and had I known he'd be so tough and chewy he might still be alive.

A kayak pirate looks at 40

Today Ryan and I kayaked across Ha Long Bay to the island he wished we stayed on. Not that our island was bad. It just wasn't filled with 20 something girls in bikinis and 20 something bros with dicks drawn on their backs. Apparently Ryan is really into one of these two things. Maybe both. Who knows.

Our heads filled with visions of plunder, naked jello shots, and all out debauchery we docked our banana yellow kayaks on Ass Island only to realize we forgot our wallets. Fucking morons.

After an awkward walk around the premises and a quick game of pool, we took to the beach and watched as all the bikinis and marker cocks boarded the daily booze cruise and set off into the bay. Leaving us alone. And broke. On Asshole island.

Yellow lights and plastic chairs

There's something special about eating on the street. Something familiar, that I had forgotten about until tonight. The feel of a tiny plastic chair against your ass. A beer sweating on an even tinier table in front of you. The warm glow of street lights, bathing everything in a golden soup. The feel of the dirt and shit under neath your sandals. The smiles on the faces of strangers. The exhaust from passing scooters mixing with the intoxicating smell emanating from a nearby grill. The way your shirt sticks to your back.

It's all so specific. The smells. The feeling of the air. The way the food tastes. It's better. Much better than any over priced restaurant. Give me a crowded street corner any day. When it's crowded you know it's good.

This is Hanoi. This is traveling.