Anyway… In Japan, people seem to think Americans are terribly full of themselves - cocky and pretentious (though they would never say it outright). Among other reasons, it has something to do with the fact Americans accept compliments and thanks with what we perceive to be politeness.

“Thank you for your hard work.”
“You’re welcome!”

“Wow – you’re a great public speaker.”
"Thank you!”

From the Japanese viewpoint, the correct responses would be:

“Thank you for your hard work.”
"It was nothing. I am only as good as the team.”

“Wow – you’re a great public speaker.”
“Honestly, I am really not very good. But I am working on it.”

I thought of this cultural difference the past couple weeks as multiple people say congrats about my wife and I having our first baby or tell me my baby is cute/pretty. I can't really take much credit and I'm tempted to give a Japanese inspired response. All I did was ummm... plant the seed. Still I always say “Thanks!” like a true American.

First - to get there from the Dallas airport, you travel along the President George Bush Turnpike. I'm not shitting you. Dude's still in office and he already has a highway named after him. And to top it off, I have never paid so many tolls for such a horrible trip in my life. The irony was not lost on me.

Don't get me wrong - Plano is truly breathtaking... if you are a huge fan of strip malls, chain restaurants, bland architecture, and giant trucks and SUVs. Everywhere - giant people driving giant vehicles. And by giant people, I mean the kind of people who eat a hearty breakfast at McDonald's, guzzle Starbucks frappuccinos all day, pop in to Chili's for lunch, and eat Applebee's for dinner. What a lifestyle.

At least they have a fantastic beer selection at the local pubs. Wait... did I say local pubs? I meant the cookie cutter martini bars and chain restaurant happy hours. Oh and I just realized I said "fantastic beer selection". I'm a silly goose. Obviously I meant "bullshit selection of colostomy bag contents poured into a brown bottle". You like Michelob Ultra, Budweiser, Coors, and Miller Lite? Plano is perfect for you. You can even try the one beer they offer that maybe you haven't tried before - Shiner Bock. What a treat - a beer brewed in Shiner, TX. I wonder if people in Plano realize that other countries do in fact brew beer. Some of those international beers are actually pretty tasty. I should have informed them.

Okay, I realize I'm being a pompous ass. People are different. For all I know these are nice people with great taste. Maybe they swarm to the strip malls in their SUVs to sip Budweisers because they have no other options. Ahh fuck it. If that's the case, I still feel sorry for them. Dopes.

Momo and I traveled to Peru last year with J-Mo and P3. The four of us stopped in several amazing cities and towns, but the main attraction for us was the temple complex at Machu Picchu.

To get there, we took a train from Cuzco to Aguas Calientes, which is at the base of Machu Picchu (translates as "old mountain"). Learn more about all that shit on Wiki. I'll tell you all about that experience some other time. This story is about the train ride back to Cuzco.

The ride took several hours. We were exhausted from hiking and figured we'd sleep the whole way back. A couple of hours into the ride, a surreal fashion show broke out. It started with a couple of Peruvians dressed in traditional costumes with masks and headdresses (kinda like this). They ran up and down the aisle of the train jumping and dancing. I was trying to sleep when they ran up and they scared the shit out of me.

Next, this trendy looking Peruvian couple started strutting back and forth down the aisle. They worked for the travel company, but I guess they also had a side job as fashion models. Dance music was blaring through the speakers in the train. It sounded like techno music with samples from old 80's club songs. The two "models" were wearing hip, modern clothes along with Peruvian-made scarves, sweaters and shawls.

In Peru, a lot of people speak English. But for the most part, you have to speak clearly and articulately to communicate effectively. So during this little fashion show when the music was playing, I really don't think the Peruvians understood the lyrics. The words were moving fast with audio effects on them and they were overshadowed by repetitive bass beats. After a couple of songs, it all started to blend together.

"chucka chucka dun dun na na na sessha" .... "chucka chucka dun dun na na na sessha" By the third song I was barely paying attention to the music and I had no idea what the lyrics were. Especially when I was so distracted by the fashion models.

Then I heard it. The words were clear and there was only one line to this song, repeating over and over again.

"Motherfucker gonna turn up the pressure! Motherfucker gonna turn up the pressure!"

This might be hard to believe, but it got even worse. The sample began repeating "Motherfucker! Motherfucker! Motherfucker! Motherfucker! Motherfucker! Motherfucker!" I am not shitting you. The song must have repeated the word motherfucker a hundred times.

The four of us looked at each other in amazement and confusion. No one else seemed to notice. All of these Peruvians on the train just bobbed their heads along with the beat watching the fashion show. And the models smiled and strutted the whole time.

I hope they got that song stuck in their heads and they sing along at home not realizing what they're saying.

I should point out the fact that business class and first class are entirely different. I was under the impression that those terms were interchangeable. And on my first flight, they were. It was a domestic flight from Philly to Chicago. I was listed as business class, but my seat was in the second row.

There was no distinction between business class and first class on that flight. On this flight, the seats were pretty standard, in the sense that they were in rows, all facing forward. But the seats were far roomier than economy class and I had plenty of space to stretch my legs. Plus, each seat had its own two armrests. There would be no bumping of elbows. In business class, there was a power outlet for my laptop, and we were served breakfast (French toast) on actual plates with real flatware. I don't think economy class received a meal on that flight.

At this point, I hadn't yet experienced real-deal first class. When I was checking in at the Philly airport, I used the self service kiosk. The computer asked me if I wanted to upgrade to first class for my flight from Chicago to Beijing. I was perplexed, because I was under the impression that first class and business class were one in the same. But the $629 increase in fare proved that they were different. I declined the offer. But when I got to the gate and gave the staffer my boarding pass, she said I had been upgraded. Honestly, I don't know why they chose me. Maybe it's because I was so polite and handsome (heh heh).

When I boarded that flight, I was ushered off to the left, toward the nose of the plane. To my right, I saw the business class passengers. It was a huge plane and there were maybe 20 business class passengers. In the first class section, I was one of maybe ten passengers. This is where I first sat down in my little mini-suite. How will I ever fly economy again?

Read more about my trip to Kuala Lumpur here.

My departure was just as easy. I've been in line for hours on end in airports in Manila, Bangkok, Lima, etc. KL is an entirely different story. As an American, I was ushered through security quickly and politely.

The customs agent looked at my passport, which contains a photo of me taken nearly ten years ago when my hair was quite short. She asked curiously "Were you in the Army?" For a moment, I thought this would affect which security line I would have to pass through. I assumed they had a different protocol for military personnel and veterans. I replied "No." She said, looking at the photo, "Your hair was so short." "Oh, yeah. That was a long time ago." "If you don't mind me saying so, you look much younger now." "Wow. Thanks. I'll take that as a compliment." She smiled and wished me a good flight.

At the gate at the KL airport, I ran into a fellow I met several days earlier on my flight into KL from Beijing. On the flight into KL, we discussed our mutual love of beer and he told me how much he enjoyed California wines, which surprised him. I didn't ask any personal questions on our flight into KL, but I could tell he was European. His accent sounded British to me, but with a hint of something different. Scandinavian perhaps.

He's a middle aged man, who wears jeans with hiking shoes and a sport coat. Very much a traveler. I guess the one thing that struck me about this guy was he was unapologetically guzzling the free drinks they deliver in business class. I had a few beers myself, in addition to the champagne. He then moved on to the California white and kept going. I was impressed.

So as I arrived at the gate for my departure from KL, there he was. I had some time to kill, so I continued our conversation from earlier in the week. "Here we are again." "Yes yes. So how was your stay in Malaysia?" I told him I was quite busy for the most part and didn't have much time for sightseeing. The same was true for him.

This time, I gave him my business card and explained what I do for a living. He gave me his as well. Looking at his business card, I could see that his company is based in Norway. But he explained that he is actually from Denmark. I told him my wife lived in Norway years ago. And somehow we got on the subject of seafood (even though I explained that I'm vegetarian).

He described the paradox of Scandinavian seafood. He says the fish is some of the freshest and most delicate in the world, but Norwegian chefs are terrible. They take an amazing catch and make it nearly inedible with awful seasoning and improper cooking. He says it's a different story in Northern France, where they can take an average catch and turn it into something extraordinarily delicious. He said the perfect combination would involve a French chef cooking a Norwegian fish.

The conversation turned toward China, where he currently lives. He owns a home in Denmark, but works in China for most of the year. His wife lives with him in China as well, but he said she is in Denmark for the month taking care of the house. And recently, his company decided to move him to Shanghai. He'll make the transition in a couple of weeks, which he seems very excited about.

He says "Shanghai is metropolitan and vibrant, with a thriving arts community and great restaurants." And the thing that he says he really loves about China is its rich history. People have called the country home for nearly six thousand years. He says the people in Denmark were cave dwellers as the Chinese built their first empire. I commented that I live in a country that has existed for less than 250 years. I thought about mentioning the fact that Kuala Lumpur has only been around since 1857, but I couldn't think of a way to slip that into a conversation about China without sounding awkward.

We boarded our flight and this time, he flew economy class. He told me business class tickets was sold out when he bought his ticket. It's probably for the best. Without being distracted by conversation, I got a lot of work done on the flight.

Read more about my trip to Kuala Lumpur here.

Later, I stopped at the restroom to brush my teeth. It had been nearly 20 hours since I left my house and my mouth was in bad shape. A washroom attendant was mopping the floor when he noticed me reaching for my toothbrush. He offered me a cup from the cabinet and I accepted. As I was leaving, he asked me for a "tape". I was puzzled. What kind of tape could a young Chinese guy want from an American traveler? Obviously, I should have known, but I didn’t, so I asked. "What kind of tape?" "A tape." He held his hands in the shape of a square. I was thinking "cassette?", so I gave him a puzzled look. He explained further, "A tape for the cup." Of course. A tip. As I fumbled for my wallet, he made small talk. "Where are you from?" "United States. Philadelphia." "Yes yes." "Do you know Philadelphia?" "Unites States number one." Then he gave me thumbs up. I gave him a dollar. I guess he didn't recognize "Philadelphia". Not that he hasn't heard of it - maybe it was my pronunciation that was unfamiliar.

My return flight through Beijing was not nearly as easy. I had a 5 hour layover, which I was dreading, but at least I could hang out in the Business Class lounge and get online. Too bad that's not how it went down. To Chinese airport workers, international transfers to the US are like Sasquatch - they're a complete mystery. The ticket agent in Malaysia told me my bags were checked through to san Fran where I would have to get my luggage and go through US customs. Made sense to me. So when I arrived in Beijing, I "knew" my luggage would already be on its way to my connecting flight. So I started looking for signs directing me to International Transfers. No sweat, I saw the transfers desk way off in the distance, and started walking.

A couple of minutes later, after a sweaty stroll through the oddly hot Beijing Airport, the dude at the transfers desk told me he couldn't help me. To check in with my airline, I'd have to go through immigration. WTF? I started walking all the way back to where I started. But when I got there, I was a little confused. Why would I have to go through immigration with everyone else who planned to enter China as a visitor? I could see my gate on the concourse below. I just needed a boarding pass to get there. I asked the guy at immigration and he clearly said "you need to go over to the international transfers desk." "The one way over there?" "Yes." "They sent me here." "You need to go over to the international transfers desk." "Okay, if you say so."

A couple of minutes later, after another sweaty stroll, I was back at the transfers desk. Of course the guy had the same answer he had before. I tried to explain further, but he just kept telling me to go through immigration. So fuck it. I followed his advice.

I filled out three forms, telling China that I was not carrying a shitload of cash with me, I didn't have any drugs on me, I didn't have any vegetables or whatnot, and I hadn't been to a chicken farm in the past week. The officer at immigration sent me through and pointed me down the hall to an escalator. After a few minutes of walking, I was... what the fuck?!?... I was at the main entrance to the Beijing Airport. I could have walked right through the door to have an extended stay in China. And that might not seem so strange, but you have to have a visa to stay in China. They let me through immigration without a visa? Something seemed fucked up.

I asked no fewer than 5 airport employees where the United ticketing counter was. I ended up in the Domestic Departures area, then in the International Departures area. But nothing. No United counter whatsoever! I stopped another airport employee and asked again. "A8." "A8?" "Yes. A8 *giggle*" I guess she thought of a funny joke or something. I walked to row A line 8. Malaysia Airlines. Again - WTF? I was so confused. I decided to ask the Malaysia Air staffer at the desk. She explained that the United agent would be at that counter in an hour. I guess they share a counter.

Too bad I was just at the airport's main entrance. There are hardly any benches, no restaurants, no shops, and it seemed like the air conditioning system was dead. So I sat on a bench and nearly fell asleep while reading. That hour seemed to last all day.

Finally, I saw the United agent walk up to the counter. It was 9am and my flight was scheduled to leave at noon. I had been in the airport for two hours.

The ticket agent was relatively nice, but I was not on my best behavior. My mood was slipping and dude couldn't have cheered me up if he was Don fucking Rickles. I got my ticket and showed him the info on my luggage. "I just want to confirm that my luggage is checked through to San Francisco." "No Sir. You need to get your luggage at Baggage Claim and re-check it here." "But Baggage Claim is nowhere near here and I've already been through immigration. I'm sure they won't let me back into the arrivals area." He turned to his coworker and they spoke Chinese to each other for maybe 5 minutes. I waited patiently, yet red-faced.

Then finally, things started looking up. The agent said they would have my bags transferred to my flight and they would give me a new Baggage Claim ticket at the gate. After another half hour of being ushered through security and customs, I was finally at my gate. I found the nearest Business Class lounge and sat down for a couple of free beers.

Before this trip, I had never flown first class. Let me tell you - first class is insane.

There are fresh flowers everywhere, standing individually in artfully folded napkins. They are placed in the first class restrooms, on the snack trays, and the dinner cart.

The seats are a work of art - at least in the first suite. They face away from each other at a slight angle so the passenger sitting next to you is not in your immediate peripheral vision. And there's no danger of accidentally bumping elbows with someone. The seats have all the controls of a fancy office massage chair. You can move forward and back, adjust lumbar support, use the lumbar massage feature, open the foot rest, and there's even a button marked "bed" that turns the whole thing into, well, a bed. And they give you a blanket, a regular size pillow, and a smaller pillow - all with fresh linens, not that crappy gossamer pillowcase you get in economy class.

The seat is the center piece to your own personal office space. You have a reading lamp, an LCD screen for movies, a power source for your laptop, a couple of drink holders, big cushy headphones, and a personal grooming kit with face soap, lotion, toothpaste, lip balm, mouthwash, tissues, earplugs, eye covering thingy, and socks.

The flight attendant constantly asked me if I wanted another beverage or a hot towel or a different movie (amazing selection by the way - Stranger than Fiction, Dreamgirls, Blood Diamond, etc). But instead of watching their movies on the little personal LCD screen, I plugged in my laptop and watched a couple of DVDs that I brought along for the trip. I almost forgot how much I love Scarface.

The food is truly fantastic. And I'm not just saying that it's good compared to other airline food. This shit is brilliant, even for a vegetarian. I know I just keep listing things, but fuck it. I had French toast, fresh fruit, yogurt, potato and leek quiche, mixed greens with balsamic vinaigrette and croutons, egg fried rice, a cheese platter, focaccia bread, Heineken, pinot noir, port, Tanqueray and tonic, and various juices and bottled water. The port knocked me out. Literally. The flight attendant asked if I'd like a little port wine to go with my fruit and cheese tray. Then she made some remark about how she always says "port wine" by mistake when you're really supposed to refer to it simply as "port". I said, "Yes please. I love port." "Really? Oh then I'll give you a full glass." Normally you'd serve port in a glass designed for desert wines. But she filled up a red wine glass. A wine glass full of port can be a dangerous thing. I was asleep within half an hour.

And when it's time to eat, the flight attendant places a mini tablecloth on your dinner tray then serves your food on real plates and gives you real stainless steel flatware. And of course, the drinks are served in glass, not plastic.

I can't believe I nearly forgot the champagne. As soon as I boarded and found my seat, the flight attendant brought me a glass of bubbly. I've always imagined what goes on behind that blue curtain in first class. I'll tell you right now: It's champagne, flowers, and extreme politeness from the time you board to the time you land.

When I get back, I'll tell you about the wonders of First Class travel. Seriously, you have no idea what goes on behind the blue curtain. And check out this swanky hotel.

Okay, I'm afraid I've said too much.

• Today we celebrate the birth of everyone's favorite emo-artist-freakazoid: Ev!  Happy birthday, fella.
• And I want you all to know that you will soon be able to say "I was into The Codes before they made it big."  Yep.  My band is starting to get some serious attention.  In a couple of weeks, we're playing the legendary Knitting Factory in New York!!  The show is Tuesday November 14th.

  Also, if you live in the Philadelphia area - grab a marker, open your calendar to December, and in big bold letters write THE CODES on December 10th.  We're the featured band at the upcoming Green Gala 2006!

  Before that, we'll be playing at Tritone in Philly on November 22.  Or if you live too far away to see us live, then at least be our online friend.