Literature Only

Southwest. Demanding the best of its passengers. Headed home from the Keys, I dropped in this classic.

It must be very strange in an airplane, he thought. I wonder what the sea looks like from that height? They should be able to see the fish well if they do not fly too high. I would like to fly very slowly at two hundred fathoms high and see the fish from above. In the turtle boats I was in the cross-trees of the mast-head and even at that height I saw much.

D. W. Hitman

Warning: the reading police, disguised as the media, have infiltrated the State Department.

Based on a stroll through the Harry Truman building cafeteria, one journalist for The Atlantic pretends to understand our present condition: “As the staffer and I walked among the tables and chairs, people with badges chatted over coffee; one was reading his Kindle.”

Forgive me for not pausing to gasp at the news.

Federal workers everywhere hang badges, like nooses, around their necks. Continue reading D. W. Hitman

Street Food with Lou Stoole

bourdainunveilsmenuforbadassfoodmarket-800x0-c-defaultI don’t watch Anthony Bourdain’s television programs but I understand the attraction behind them.

Here’s a guy traveling the world to sample bizarre cuisine, satisfying the viewer’s appetite for the exotic and the edible. His narrative is wry, crisp, and authoritative. His locations distant to the point of being surreal. His choices of food—practically supernatural.

But what happens when the show’s over? Does Bourdain head out for a smoke when CNN cuts to commercials featuring McDonald’s cheeseburgers? Is CNN missing a natural follow-on to culinary adventure, ignoring the essential question: What Happens Next? What happens after 60 minutes of gnawing Part Unknown, Part Unknown, Part Unknown?

Enter the next great adventure in culinary tourism: Lou Stoole and his quest for a proper John!

festival toilets, Glastonbury,

Let’s have cameras follow the hapless Mr. Stoole in search of foreign squatting places, holes in the ground and concrete slabs laid over crawling cesspits. What’s it look like inside a Malawian chim? How narrow is the perch inside your average jetliner? Such great stories about the width of the hole in country x and the height of the throne in country y; the porcelain foot-placement here and the wild sexual graffiti carved into the stalls over there. What about these festival toilets in Glastonbury, UK, as pictured at

My inspiration for toilet tourism began as a gift from my father, a man well-versed in the map of grocery stores  throughout New England. Not only could he tell me the precise exit number for a Stop and Shop three states away, he could direct me to the proper aisle should I need a place to rid myself of all the coffee I’d drink on the way to getting there. “Best go down aisle 12, past the detergents, and make a left at the Raid end cap through those swinging double doors. Don’t forget to wash your hands, and grab a cheese sample on your way back out!”

For dramatic, gut-wrenching drama in reality TV, one can do better than watching Anthony Bourdain eat bull penis, boiled fertilized eggs, and maggot fried rice. I’m on the edge of my seat thinking of Lou Stoole clutching his bowels in search of great foreign relief. When it comes to eating, there’s a part of the experience beyond what goes in that interests me most.

If you have an exotic toilet experience to share, feel free to spill it here.