Oh, So THIS Is What ET Looks like: Proof Of Ancient Aliens In Baghdad

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It's 5,000 years old. And proof of ETs.

It’s 6,000 years old. And proof of ETs.

I found this guy, let’s call him Xorx, on some pottery in the National Museum of Iraq. Due to some looting and the place being a general mess, the jar was marked “4000 – 6,000 BC” and they left it at that. Now, I know that artwork back then wasn’t exactly realistic but, seriously, WTF? They drew what they knew – and this does not look human. I don’t care what your Uncle Bubba says.

But, it makes sense – think about it: Iraq is the birthplace of the Old Testament – The Garden Of Eden (Basra), The Ziggurat of Ur (Hello, alien architecture!), Babylon, etc. etc. – and how the heck did humans all of a sudden learn how to build all these things? Aliens, that’s how!

Let’s look a closely at Xorx. Large bulging eyes: Check. Weird wiggly arms: Check. No Hair: Check. More than five fingers (or is that less?): Check. No lips: Check; Weird elongated body: Check. Therefore, Xorx is an alien.

Okay, fine. I’m not nuts. Nor am I a faithful watcher of the (new) History Channel. I’m just saying there’s some weird, unexplained art in the National Museum of Iraq in Baghdad.

After the jump, more extraterrestrial art – If this shizz ain’t proof of aliens, I don’t know what is:

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The Night of The Tortured Turtles (Or: How To Make Organic Viagra)

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The final concoction: Blood (red) and Bile (green) mixed with 120 proof liquor.

The final concoction: Blood (red) and Bile (green) mixed with 120 proof liquor.

During my trip to Hanoi, I got along so well with my guide Lan and my driver Thang that they invited me to Thang’s anniversary – and I (obviously) said HELL YES! I had no idea what I was getting myself into. Okay, these are the guys who took me to a brothel and introduced me to the hangover cure, so maybe I had a small clue, but damn, was I not ready for this mixology lesson.

The party was at a multi-floor restaurant 20 minutes away from my Hotel. It was the same crowd as the day before – except this time everyone brought their wives and children. The main entertainment was the torture of the turtles.  Two restaurant employees brought out a bucket of the doomed reptiles. While one held the wriggling body, the other employee took out a sharp menacing knife, grabbed the turtles’ heads and slit their necks – collecting the blood in a large glass while the dying turtle gave me the hairy eye ball [ed note: can’t say I blame him, but what was I gonna do?]. Minutes later a waitress took a hypodermic needle and extracted all the green bile-y goodness from the dying reptiles’ gall bladders. It was like watching the Coconut Tree Prison display come to life, with reptile stand ins for the mannequins.

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The Redneck Mecca of Stage Coach: Where America’s Stereotypes Come Alive

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Once a year, Rednecks from all over the world convene in the desert outside of Palm Springs for the Stage Coach festival where a bunch of (mostly) white people become inebriated, perform assless chaps dance offs (see video above) and listen to country music.

There are stereotypes for a reason and Stage Coach represents what much of the world think of when they think of Murrica. I, obviously, try to go every year (Ed Note: Little known fact, the Broad loves country music. And Stereotypes. And Bad behavior – which abounds). By the final night of the festival, brains have been fried by the sun, smokes and gallons of booze. And that’s when it gets really interesting.

Last year, to Stage Coach’s credit, they did try to integrate the stage (and thus the crowd) by having Darius Rucker and Charlie Parker perform – but frankly, only Charlie Parker counts.

And then there’s the fashion. Check out the best selling T-Shirts/bikinis from the stalls. It is all sorts of wrong. Trust.

(After the jump) Behold: AMERICA!

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Sallie Ann Glassman: The High Voodoo Priestess of New Orleans (No, Really!)

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Sallie Ann Glassman

Sallie Ann Glassman

Meet Sallie Ann Glassman – a Jew from Maine who also happens to be the high voodoo priestess of New Orleans. Not what I expected either.

Fun fact: I spend every Thanksgiving at Joan River’s house. A few years ago, I was at Joan’s house and she told me this story: “When I bought my (NYC) apartment it was haunted. Doors would open and shut, things would fall. So I found (Sallie Ann Glassman). She came up to New York and did an exorcism of the whole building. Apparently something really bad happened in the basement once. After she came all the stuff stopped. So now I have her do all my houses.” When Joan found out I was going to NOLA she introduced me to Sallie Ann. Separately, when I went to New Orleans, several business people in the town said, “You’re doing a New Orleans story? You should talk to the voodoo priestess – Sallie Ann!”

Outside the Island of Salvation

Outside the Island of Salvation

So, of course I had to talk to Sallie Ann, right? The Island of Salvation Botanica is on the edge of the Ninth Ward and crammed full of… stuff. The temple room has candles, statues, booze, cigars, altars and just things everywhere. Apparently voodoo spirits (and there are a ton) like to party.

Sallie Ann claims that during Katrina, the water stopped at her block and didn’t damage her house, temple or store because of her voodoo. Believe, don’t believe – either way, she was never under water and after Katrina that’s pretty amazing. She also says she can talk to spirits that will tell you about your past, your present and your future. She went into a trance and… Apparently I was a Buddhist monk in my past life. Go figure. I’m also supposed to be wildly successful in this life (I’m still waiting).

Photos of the voodoo after the jump:

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Deep Thoughts: How To Travel Anywhere And Not Get Killed or Maimed.

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I love a bodyguard

Yes, I know how to work that.

I’ve been known to travel to  places that some people [ed note: 99 percent] think are dodgy. I went to Iraq in 2011, was at the Essakane Music Festival outside of Timbuktu in 2013 (in my defense, Bono was there too), and hung out with a few “former” cocaine dealers in Colombia.

At this point my family has given up. Daddy (a right-wing, born again Tea Partier), now just shrugs and says, “God Bless and Hallelujah – I’ll call the prayer group.” Mom (a left-wing liberal Jew) just says, “Ah shit. Fine. Whatever.”
Over the years, I have developed a system that works for me in almost every country. Oddly enough, I’ve found people should be even more vigilant in “normal” places, because your guard is down – you just expect everything to be super fine and fun and cool – whereas in say, Cairo or Kirkuk, you are vigilant.
So, I present a by-no-means-cohesive list of How To Stay Safe. Or Alternatively, Paula Froelich’s Paranoid Guide To Travel.

Eating An Alien Lung At Santiago’s Mercado Centrale

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I love a food market, especially a fish market. Fun fact: After 8 surgeries on my ears as a child, my auditory orifices are shot so I can’t go diving. Even if I could, being from Ohio and Kentucky, every time I go snorkeling far from the shore I hear the “Jaws” theme pumping in my head. So, yeah. No scuba masks for me. Instead,  I go diving by visiting fish markets. Which suits me just fine – that way I can actually touch the fish and check them out without having them swim away or, you know, bite me. Added bonus: Dry Diving means I also don’t have to worry about a bikini wedgie or that weird rash you get from a wet suit.

Yummy. I swear.

I haven’t been to my dream fish market in Tokyo yet, but the one in Sydney Fish Market was pretty insane – with almost everything in the ocean available to poke, prod and squeeze.

So I was pretty stoked to find the fish market in the Mercado Central in Santiago, Chile. My guide, Fanor (velascofanor@hotmail.com), even introduced me to a new sea specimen I hadn’t even heard of: Piure.

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How To Survive High Altitudes (With Bonus Video!)

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Coca leaves, I looove you!

Coca leaves, I looove you!

I’m usually good up in the mountains – okay fine, there may be a bout or fifteen with HAF*, but nothing a few GasX won’t cure – but holy hell was I not prepared for what was about to happen in Peru or Chile.

High Altitude Sickness kicked in the first time for me in Peru. I was in Cusco at the market – not the big tourist one but the one waaaaay down the hill where the locals go – haggling my ass off over some alpaca skins when suddenly I wanted to die. As in crawl in the ground and call it a day. I got nauseous, light headed, dizzy and blacked out thinking, “THIS is how it’s gonna go down? Here?” I woke up to the guy I was haggling with standing over me and shoving what looked like bay leaves in my mouth.

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Deep Thoughts: The NYC Metropolitan Opera

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I love a diva

Every now and then my pal Gus lets me play dress up and invites me to his amazing Parterre level box at the Metropolitan Opera. Inevitably, I almost always say yes (except for the night after my birthday as it was the night after my birthday and I was too busy self-medicating to get off my couch to take a shower). I leave feeling cultured and superior (to my alter ego, Rhonda who was mentally at home watching Country Music Television and stuffing her face with cheese fries). Last night, while seeing La Boheme, it struck me why The Opera is so addicting.

Behold, a scientific list: Continue reading →

The Dark Side of Phu Quoc : The Idyllic Island That Comes With Torture Instructions

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IMG_3845Subtlety just seems to confuse people and so the Vietnamese government has good-naturedly sought to make its war homages as literal and interactive as possible with the use of life-sized mannequins, no matter how dull or inappropriate the theme may be. They are placed in mundane situations, like the ones chilling on hammocks at Cu Chi, or the UN inspector models at the DMZ line which are being served tea by a gorgeous little Vietnamese paper mache model. And then there are those placed in situations that are just… unfortunate. Like the re-enactment of the My Lai massacre – where American GI’s are frozen in place, forever terrifying women and children – or the torture scenes at the little known, un-publicized prison museum on Phu Quoc Island.

Phu Quoc is a tiny, idyllic island at the very southern tip of Vietnam that takes about three hours to traverse over dirt roads. An airport was installed about two years ago, roughly the same time a small patch of road on the West Side of the island was paved and resorts were built, including the exclusive La Veranda, where honeymooning couples go to snuggle on the beach and get their tan on. The hotel’s brochure lists activities to do on the island, like “snorkeling, reef diving, waterfalls, hiking in virgin forests, shopping at the market…” at the very bottom of the list, on the back page is “Coconut Tree Prison.” Located at the far end of the island, the prison is not a very popular destination for La Veranda guests – the hotel employees gave me a strange look when I told them where I wanted to go and it cost me a whopping forty dollars for someone to take me there.

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The Only Hangover Cure That Has Ever Worked: The Vietnamese Alka Seltzer. You’re Welcome.

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No, it's not a condom. It's the best damn hangover cure in the universe.

No, it’s not a condom. It’s the best damn hangover cure in the universe.

In my past life I went out for a living – as in out. Every night. All night. While it was fun and all, the mornings were not. Thus, about ten years ago, I started the quest to find the ultimate hangover cure. I worked at a company with many Australians who naturally suggested Berocca. Which, frankly, sucked. As in – didn’t work. Here’s a list of what else I’ve tried over the years which didn’t work:

  • A variety of “organic” hangover cure pills which vitamin companies tried to shill every year.
  • Alka Seltzer before going to bed and in the morning (okay, fine… it made me feel marginally better).
  • The hair of the dog (not to be done if you have to be at work the next day).
  • Greasy ham and egg sandwich followed by a V-8 and half a bottle of Visine (in the eyes, not the mouth).
  • Drinking a gallon of water before going to bed (which results in five trips to the bathroom that night, thus ensuring a fully interrupted sleep).

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