My detention began after a KLM flight in from Amsterdam, after a silent alarm rang upon my passport, apparently flagged in the system as stolen

I confirm my identity with a surfer's-tan-18-year-old-Californian drivers' license--also confiscated--but insofar as proving my identity as a genuine Brody Mulligan, this was not enough. I'd been to many parts of the Commonwealth, and proudly to "classic" Ireland,  after I called and reported my passport stolen two years ago from Austin, nervously leaning on the concrete the street opposite as free food was boiled and given to beer among the bros. When I got it back, thanks to Austin's Finest, I was told by an employee of the Secretary of state that the passport would still be valid for travel so long as (of course) I didn't file the form I was supposed to. I traveled to the United Kingdom in January of 2009, not to mention Ireland and the Netherlands (oh, Canada, also) but somehow--just now--this had this become a problem.

I wanted to know what the reality of the situation was--but my question's answer was not something I'll soon forget. Two officers explaining that nothing was wrong--I wasn't under arrest, just "detained"--with my wrists  zip-tied round my back like some cider-drunk scally in a riot van, and it was in these worrying restraints that I was forced from one area to another, the first having been a waiting room with children's books, magazines, and newspapers...almost like a clinic. The second an interrogation room which was freezing cold, small, and uncomfortable.  It was there I stayed--alone for an hour, perhaps two. I couldn't be for sure.

Never mind that I held a work permit...my rail-card at the address I stated...all affirmed and verified with my friend. I use the word sincerely. Who else but Michael Manchunian would wait nine hours for in an airport? Nobody I know here, and I wish I could repay him, but time is something that can never be replaced, and for that, I sometimes cry myself to sleep, thinking about how all of it went so wrong. My best mate, whose hopes perhaps were crushed like mine, as we'd planned on taking the tram, and dropping my things off at his flat, getting drunk in celebration of my arrival to start a new life in Britain. Those plans were derailed.

Consider this a dispatch from terminal two. In the suspicious eyes of the british, a young male, traveling alone with no checked baggage, having an invalid travel document, fumbling through a shivering interview coming down from the two tabs I popped, pills that were practically mandatory for a youths's daytrip in Amsterdam...

Once in solitary detention, I would sit, fiddle my thumbs, silently wipe frustrated tears in the private and rather spacious bathroom as I kicked out thoughts...

"If I could just have access to my bag, I'll end this...down every sedative--six months' worth--and kindly let the polite and docile guards watching me through the glass know I'd be lying down for a nap. In an hour or two, I'd soon fail to breathe. I was tortured by these thoughts, and from Thursday until Saturday this pattern continued.

I was all but convinced I'd become unwelcome in the United Kingdom, but aside from the cunt who started the whole problem, I felt like just another guy chatting it up, my personality lending itself to laughter amongst the casually cautious fellows at my confined room, of sorts, guys who were nothing but kind, dignified, and fully and graciously common, giving me as much respect as I could ask for in my solitary "holding" area; Asking if I needed water, or a blanket, even--when ordering food--asking for my input upon their decision to get pizza, almost convincing me to eat some food, as I'd been unable to eat so much as a bag of crisps or a slice of toast since my time...doing time, if you will.

And so I ate, despite my sinking feeling deep in my stomach, if only for a chance to chat it up. To not be so alone. Excusing myself afterward to the bathroom, vomiting with soft sobs. Why the fuck was I leaning against a tile wall when all I wanted to do was pay taxes, work, and live in a country that by no effort of mine--but of my ancestors through military service--owed it's ass in some ways to the United States' involvement in World War II. I wasn't angry, just disappointed. 

Eventually I realized things were growing stagnant, and excised my Blue Genes. A phone call. A twenty-five minute wait. A well dressed man with the British Staff in his crosshairs, like some type of sniper from the American Consulate. And, finally, freedom in the form of a charter flight which had been arranged for me--a nobody--in no more than a matter of hours.

I've not much more to say, other than I'm waiting on my new passport, saving up money for another work permit, and waiting, ready, and willing to get back on another transatlantic flight for another go.

For the time when things align, when I will try again...I'm not giving up my dreams...

Little minds let little things burn big dreams with little flames; and you don't think I understand? But little holes in parachutes won't leave you falling--if they do...it's because you want to land.

("Little" by Andrew McMahon; excerpt)

Posted by Brody at 04:46 AM | Permalink | TrackBacks (0)

MANY generations ago, someone in my family's heritage--on both sides of my bloodline--made the choice to pack up what little they had and take a risk as large as life itself. A gambit of leaving home to make a new life--a better life--in America, and they flourished.

There is no clear path to the choices young men must make to stake their claim in this world, nor is there any one person whom has the answers to questions about life and immortality. Have I already fufillled my fate upon a random act of kindness, aiding those in a time of need beyond my imagination?

My lust for a car started a chain of events that led me from Where the West Begins to where the West ends. I had it all...a morning walk to an easy, fun job (albiet stressfull) with a vista of Oceanside so grand it kept rent forever wasted on an empty apartment, its teenage tennant instead often spending long nights alone leaning against the pier, ears washed with waves and eyes gazing at the stars.

But I wanted more, and got it. A prestigous banking career that took me from an apartment, a girlfriend, and a generous salary readers of San Diego Magazine gleam of, all the way to Malibu. With keys to a vault housing Hollywood's diamonds and pearls, and Dick Van Dyke's occasional visits to deposit his cheques.

Was it fate that a friend made on the internet, so true to his heart and pure in intent as to wait five hours for me at the airport, welcome me to his humble room rented in a part of England that had seen better days before, and give me a reason to end the stalemate of suburban luxury I'm caught in?

Could it be that something larger than myself guided a lost passport from the haloween hazed streets in Austin into the hands of a stranger that googled my name and sought me out, mailing it to me without even asking so much as for reimbursement for postage, without which I would have never been able to make the trip of my youth that led me to this point--this moment--defined by yet another risk taken, but so large and so grand that even in my methodical, analytical, and intelligent effort is still a leap of faith into the unknown.

There are those who say I could not be making a try for this at a worse time. The dollar is weak, a world economy in poor arrears. I've spent much of my life studying loads of subjects for hours...learning the intracices of banking law, the absolutes of pharmacy, and the essence of photography, but what have I got?

A bipolar mind of a manic depressive wondering if things will never change...if my daily dose of antiepileptics, mood stabilizers, anti-anxiety drugs, and ADHD course of treatment is just a product of my environment, or true science. 

Insofar as these things are concerned, they are not paramount. Six weeks remain until once again wrapping my arms around my mother at the airport, bidding friends goodbye--for however long I do not know--boarding the KLM:

Once more across the pond. 

Posted by Brody at 06:01 AM | Permalink | TrackBacks (0)

A WiFi Phone, Two Continents, and Five Countries Later

My socks were rocked, and that's saying a lot...because I don't wear socks.

I ended my pricey AT&T affair, realizing I'd unwittingly become a slave to oddly unexplainable monthly service charges (a technology infrastructure surcharge on a $150 bill? Seriously?) and embarrassingly tripe international rates to Australia and Europe, even with the "World Connect" feature (yet another monthly fee), a wicked form of legal robbery rivaled only by collect calls, pound shoppe calling cards, and college tuition.

I'm not even going to touch the things which transpired in Amsterdam, but will admit to being turned into a proper Manchester scalawag at a chip-shop drunk dialing whoever, potentially building a telecom bill that'd sober me up faster than a Chav can think Burberry.

Of course, before I left I thought of these possible scenarios (and then some). Already enjoying an awesome Skype Subscription on my laptop, I happened to stumble across Netgear's WiFi Phone with Skype which demanded an immediate giddy go at Best Buy, stoked at the concept, I was digging the box and charging cradle. By then I was on suburban snarky autopilot, slipping off my Roos and zipping open the pocket conveniently containing mum's charge card. You know the rest.

A minute or two of googling would have you staying away from this phone like killer peanut butter, and let me be the first to say that this technology is far from perfected, and truly in its developing stages (there was only one model available for purchase at the store I visited, and only a handful on Skype's website.)

Like I mentioned, this isn't something to box up and give to your hapless off-to-college freshman or dad who thinks he's state of the art, it took a bit of trial and error, a firmware update and a few tweaks resulting in a phone able to call anywhere, with clarity comparable to a cell phone, and flawlessly integrate with the desktop Skype application.

The hardware: Retro basic for sure, the simple Nokia throwback reigns supreme as it should (why take something that's perfectly good and mess it up?) built with a solid feel and generous screen, a blue glow shines bright with an added touch of style illuminated by backlit keys shining to compliment the standard button layout (right down to the press-and-hold-1 for voicemail) and durable hard-to-scratch polycarbonate shell.

The wall charging unit which can plug directly into the phone or into the charging cradle is perhaps one of the most nifty and useful features of this phone: battery charging is achieved by a run-of-the-mill USB port, allowing a great deal of flexibility for the international traveler and couch surfer alike to keep the unit powered up and steady as she goes...

The speakerphone is a bit loud, but useful, and with updated firmware, the unit has little to no echo problems with landlines, cell phones, and can also handle the phone trees from hell, a longtime frustration of skypeout PC desktop platform users - the exhaustive "...or, if you are calling from a rotary phone, please remain on the line..." is increasingly replaced with a click and cursing after sitting through a minute or two of phone tree coaxing.

The claimed standby time and talk time vary depending on factors such as brightness, number of incoming calls, time spent debating which among the three ringtone choices best suits your individuality...on average, the phone can go a solid day without needing a charge, and can provide about an hour and a half of time to discuss the subtleties of talking trash with your mate from sheffield.

The software: Built to Skype. The phone seamlessly integrates your contacts, both skypeout and skype contacts, and offers the ability to manage those contacts, choose your status level (Online, Skype Me, Away, etc.), set a mood message, and even search for skype users based on names and e-mail address.

To get the most out of the phone's capabilities, plopping down a few fivers to get a skype-in number (or two) will maximize the software experience - skype credit can be viewed through the interface, as can the voicemail message retrieval system. For those business types that just have to start out a message with "Hi, today is...", the integration of such options and services will be a welcome luxury.

The nitty and gritty of network interfacing is the biggest complaint among users of this device--and I'll admit it can be frustrating...as a U-Verse (AT&T Fiber Optics) customer, I'm given righteous access to WiFi hotspots galore, but unfortunately, any hotspot that requires web-browser authentication is rather useless to the phone, although it supports nearly all types of secure networks, and users have the extended option of joining the T-Mobile hotspot network or The Cloud network interface.

Fortunately, if you're an urban dweller, WiFi junkie like me, you'll never be too far out of touch for too long, and even then, you can set incoming calls to forward to a friend's cell phone, or any number for that matter, allowing options for staying connected.

As for the real world? This phone accompanied me on my trip to europe and rarely let me down - that is not to say there weren't times when I could've really used the instant connectivity of a cell phone and cursed the lack of available WiFi, but just as such, the ability to use a public connection and communicate with family back home, or friends, hotels, and travel agents anywhere from Ireland to Amsterdam was at least $20 saved in a single day, not to mention the suave move of purchasing a skype-in number in the UK, allowing friends to have a local number to call me. Almost as if I lived there!

Is it worth it? That's all up to you, search around the web a bit and see just how much free WiFi exists in your area. Skype offers money back satisfaction on most all of its products, and unless you've put it through hell, you should be able to return the phone within a month or so (check the fine print of the return policy if you're not sure).

Back in Dallas, the rolled-up shirtsleeve-and-loosened-tie moguls roaming about downtown know the perfect places to take a cigarette break with their iPod in hand, facebook inbox queued up...and even the commuter train that crisscrosses the metroplex offers 3g service.

For free, of course.

Posted by Brody at 01:04 AM | Permalink | TrackBacks (0)