(KRABI, Thailand) – If there’s one key attribute still in question for a successful run by this Kentucky basketball team, it has to be their resiliency. After demoralizing back-to-back losses to Missouri and Tennessee, BBN is wondering whether John Calipari’s crew can somehow regain that bit of an edge—that toughness and bounce back ability—desperately required to steal some remaining conference games and salvage the rest of the season. Coach Cal claims the ceiling remains as high as ever for this team. We’ve had glimpses of their raw talent along the way, but these kiddie Cats have been beaten, battered, and bruised in the arduous learning process. Can they recover and pull it all together in time to make that deep run into the NCAA tournament? I don’t know. It depends on one thing—their resiliency.

Resiliency definitely applies to the people of Phi Phi Island. This tropical paradise located in the Andaman Sea off the southern coast of Thailand was wiped off the map by the Tsunami of 2004. On December 26, at 9:45 am local time, a massive 15-foot tidal wave swept over the island, killing nearly 2000 inhabitants, and decimating the entire island infrastructure. I was on Phi Phi exactly one year before the Tsunami hit. Now, nearly fifteen years later, I’ve returned to check out what has changed since then.

Amazingly, everything has been rebuilt and looks exactly the same as I remembered it. There are the same cluster of food stalls, the same open-air shops, the same tourist agencies hocking long boat rides to Monkey Island, the same restaurants selling Thai seafood delicacies at unbelievably reasonable prices, and the same resort hotels offering five-star comforts for fifty bucks a night (breakfast included). It’s a testament to the resiliency of the Thai people and their unending quest for the tourist dollar. I guess if you rebuild Shangri-La, the people will come.

And come they do. On this random weekend in February, I’m surrounded by hordes of vacationing tourists from all different continents looking for some fun and sun in this mecca known for its natural beauty by day and manufactured debauchery by night. I’m simultaneously awed and perplexed by the contrast. The rich turquoise water surrounding the towering limestone karsts makes for idyllic cinematic backdrops perfect for Hollywood. In fact, Leonardo DiCaprio’s movie, The Beach, was filmed here back in 2000. Unfortunately, on this day, Maya Beach bears no resemblance to the one on the silver screen as I’m packed shoulder-to-shoulder with more Chinese visitors than in Tiananmen Square.

At nighttime, the bars are hopping—sunburned Scandinavians looking to cap off the perfect day of scuba diving with a nightcap of Singha and karaoke. The world-famous Reggae Bar even has a regulation Muay Thai Boxing ring where drunken revelers can volunteer to punch each other’s lights out for a free round of Mae Khong whiskey. Being neither a drunk or a reveler, I politely and wisely pass on this one as an inebriated, overweight English bloke gets his face pounded like a puff of Beef Wellington pastry.

Meanwhile Slinky’s on the beach offers free buckets of booze for “naked boys and topless girls.” I’m still not sure I understand the premise as the crowd cheers on the Aussie frat boy doing the limbo to ear-splitting electronic dance music with his glorious manhood on full display for the world to see.

What I do understand is resilience. It’s not just the toughness required for a basketball team in turmoil or the indomitable spirit of native peoples rebuilding their island livelihood. No, it’s more about everyday persistence—being able to take a punch and just trying to hang on when fate sends you reeling. It’s about keeping the faith and clinging onto that morsel of hope when it’d be so much easier to just simply walk away. It’s about pressing on with life after you’ve gotten a bad diagnosis or lost a loved one to tragedy. Resilience is about the persistence required to fight through a bad relationship, financial ruin, drug addiction, or mental illness. It’s about Jimmy V saying, “don’t give up—don’t ever give up.”

As I walk hand in hand on the beach with my lovely bride watching another jaw-dropping Indian Ocean sunset, I’m reminded once again that resiliency is hard, but it definitely has its rewards. I’m cherishing this time together because who knows if and when we’ll be able to experience it again. But at least for one glorious month in a land half way around the globe, I got a fleeting glimpse of the other side of heartache. I pray that you’ll experience it too. Whether cheering for the Wildcats or for something else nearer and dearer to your heart, here’s to resiliency and the bounty it can bring. Thanks for letting me share. I hope you enjoyed the ride.

John Huang is a columnist for Nolan Group Media. If you enjoy his writing, you can read more at or follow him on Twitter @KYHuangs.

Check out his most recent UK Sports coverage at

Christmas Without Christ

(BANGKOK, Thailand) – On countless occasions in the past, I’ve heard Kentucky Basketball referred to as a religion. Hopefully, that’s more a validation of our basketball identity than a trivialization of our lukewarm faith. Here in Thailand, basketball disinterest notwithstanding, there’s absolutely no ambivalence about the identity of its citizenry. The Thai people are Buddhists through and through–over 64 million of them accounting for nearly 94% of the entire population.

The Thais wear their religion on their sleeve–praying, giving alms, and worshipping much more genuinely and fervently than what I’ve experienced with their American evangelical counterparts back home. Monks in their saffron colored robes walk the streets every morning, receiving offerings from a dutiful and reverent population. In Thailand, the landscape is dotted beyond description with a myriad of ornately decorated, jaw-dropping temples. Each of these opulent palaces are chocked full of buddhas—all sorts of emerald buddhas, golden buddhas, and even reclining buddhas—stark and ever-present idols vexingly vying for everyone’s adoration and adulation.

I’m no expert on Buddhism, but from what I’ve learned, it seems to be a belief system devoid of much optimism. The endless cycle of reincarnation and the near impossibility of attaining nirvana are complete opposites of the unconditional love, everlasting hope, and eternal life promised to all those who believe in Jesus Christ as Lord and Savior. With that said, I still find it hard to accept that the millions of people so committed to their own belief system in this part of the world may likely all end up perishing in eternal fire. Who am I to question God’s sovereignty, but it doesn’t seem quite fair to be placed squarely behind the eight ball just because you were born into a culture that proudly identifies themselves as followers of the Enlightened One. Face it, if you were born here, you’d also be lighting candles, burning incense, and pressing gold foil on the next random buddha icon that came your way.

If only Christians in America identified with Jesus with similar devotion and vigor—or simply identified themselves with half the zeal we usually reserve for our basketball team. I’ve learned on this trip that I’m as guilty as anyone in that regard. I love Thailand and could easily stay here forever if not for one thing—the land formerly known as Siam is simply NOT part of Big Blue Nation. During my entire stay in Bangkok, I haven’t encountered a solitary soul who gives a hoot about Kentucky Basketball. Regular Thai citizens couldn’t pick John Calipari out of a lineup. They wouldn’t know PJ Washington from George Washington, Kevin Knox from Fort Knox, or Malik Monk from a Buddhist monk. They think Matt Jones once sang Delilah, and that Meisterbuerger is a low-end sandwich chain. It bothers the heck out of me that they’re ignorant to the winning ways of BBN.

It’s humbling for UK fans to admit that 99.9% of the people in Thailand (or the rest of the world for that matter) care absolutely nothing about that which makes us so passionate. They simply can’t understand why I’m walking around looking for passable WIFI connections at 7 am in the morning just so I can pick up Tom Leach on his iHeartRadio broadcast in real time. They have no earthly idea why this idiot in blue is so jacked up on a floating market boat ride as the final seconds tick away in Kentucky’s massive win over West Virginia. They can’t imagine anyone in their right mind going bonkers over a sport other than soccer or boxing or badminton (yes, badminton). Did it really take me traveling halfway around the globe to finally realize that whether Kentucky wins or loses makes absolutely no difference in the overall world order?

But that doesn’t stop me from cheering like a madman for the Big Blue 9000 miles from home. That’s still a huge part of my identity. It’s who I am and a defining part of my history. It can’t be manipulated, or suppressed, or faked, or erased—just as the Laettner shot can’t be erased. It’s as real as Kyle Macy’s socks, or Antoine Walker’s shimmy, or Jamal Murray’s bow and arrow. It’s why I can’t stand Duke, or North Carolina, or Indiana, or Digger Phelps for that matter. It’s why my moods fluctuate based on the shooting percentages, turnover to assist ratios, or girlfriend problems of 18-year old prodigies who are blessed with the ability to dribble and dunk. Sure, all True-Blue fans always want Kentucky to win every game by twenty points, but whether Kentucky winds up on the NCAA bubble or wins the NCAA championship shouldn’t ever diminish our passion and zeal for simply cheering on the Blue and White.

At least that’s what I keep telling myself. If you’re a true Wildcat fan, rooting wholeheartedly for your team—win or lose–is inherently a part of your identity, a part of your DNA. Coach Cal says relax and enjoy the process. But just like the Thais and their religious fervor, there’s been something inherently missing for the past few years in our Kentucky Basketball worship experience. A season without a championship is like Christmas without Christ. I want the prize. After Kentucky pulled off a miracle 17-point comeback against Huggy Bear in Morgantown on Saturday, we’re suddenly back in the hunt. Championship number nine can’t come soon enough.

John Huang is a columnist for Nolan Group Media and Bluegrass Sports Nation. He’s currently trying to cover University of Kentucky Sports while traveling abroad. If you enjoy his writing, you can read more at or follow him on Twitter @KYHuangs.

John Talk Thai

(Bangkok, Thailand) –When Kentucky Men’s Basketball coach John Calipari recently told media that we “don’t know sh@#,” he was only partially right. For you see, I do know “sh@#” because I’ve had the trots ever since I landed in Bangkok. I understand it’s mostly my fault, though. The food is fantastic here and I just can’t help gorging myself. The problem is that the Thais like their food laced with chilies that could choke a Chinaman, so my bowels are more exhausted than Shai Alexander.

There’s food everywhere in Bangkok. From high-end eateries to run-down food stalls, you can find anything your palate desires 24 hours a day. I’ve already gulped down oysters as big as my fist, prawns the size of lobsters, and all sorts of slippery, slimy, fruit and veggie type things that wouldn’t make the cut in America. Street food is outrageously cheap, but like anything else in life, you pay your money and take your chances. The smells emanating from these food kiosks can be somewhat overwhelming. I don’t want to sound like the ugly American, but on the list of smelliest cities, Bangkok would rank near the top. It stinks here! The combination of fried grease and exotic spices mixing together with diesel fuel and auto exhaust is ever present and distinctly pungent. It’s similar to the Cats’ second half meltdown against South Carolina–not necessarily nauseating at first, but bothersome and irritating nonetheless.

What is nauseating is Bangkok traffic. I’ve driven in LA and it’s much worse here. Gridlock everywhere for hours at a time. It’s not chaotic like Cairo, nor brutal like Beijing. It’s actually quite orderly as Thai drivers are surprisingly courteous, there’s virtually no horn honking, and zero apparent road rage. It’s just that crawling along at two kilometers an hour on an eight-lane highway makes me want to gouge my eyes out and shove bamboo shivers up my fingernails. Patience is said to be a Fruit of the Spirit. It’s something I’m sorely lacking when it comes to sitting in Bangkok traffic.

Getting in my morning runs here in Bangkok has been a bit of a challenge also. In addition to the usual uneven pavements, potholes, and overhanging tree limbs encountered along urban sidewalks, you also have to dodge the omnipresent food stalls, motorcycle swarms, and the occasional strolling Buddhist monk—all while breathing in the suffocating auto exhaust. Kind of defeats the purpose of attempted aerobic exercise if you ask me. I also miss my dog on my runs. Every dog I’ve seen in Thailand appears lethargic and listless, beaten up by life and waiting to be featured on the next bootlegged Chinese restaurant menu.

Outside of Bangkok, it’s much more pleasant. My sojourns along the beaches of Hua Hin provided me ample opportunities to relax and recharge. Imagine waking up to glorious 80-degree temperatures and a fabulous sunrise, with someone to bring you a tropical drink or to trim your neglected toenails at every beck and call. Check your modesty at the door if you choose to get the herbal body scrub and exfoliate treatment. You’re getting EVERY part of your body scrubbed and exfoliated.

And now, a word about Thai massages—they are grossly overrated. First of all, they hurt. You know you’re in trouble when you pay for the session behind the curtain. Having the Thai version of Attila the Hun slapping my calves with impunity, poking wooden rods up my insoles and making my vertebrate pop like firecrackers on the Fourth of July just wasn’t my cup of tea. At one point he performed a move on me worthy of any WWF escape maneuver—probably classified as chiropractic malpractice in the States, but here it’s just comic amusement at the poor foreigner’s expense. You’ve been warned.

And finally, nobody with obvious Kentucky ties has yet approached me on this trip. I’ve been sporting the BLUE every single day trying to attract fellow citizens of BBN for some engaging conversation. So far, no takers. The cute couple with matching Lebron jerseys and the Thai dude shooting hoops in Kyrie Irving gear were oblivious to my braggadocio about reppin the greatest tradition in the history of college basketball. Now after the Cats’ crushing loss to the Gators, I’m just looking for someone to commiserate with in the worst way.

Sigh! Such is life in this part of the world, where no one cares but me. Go Cats!

John Huang is a columnist for Nolan Group Media and Bluegrass Sports Nation publications. If you enjoy his writing, you can read more at or follow him on Twitter @KYHuangs.

Something to Smile About

(Chang Mai, Thailand) – I fought the cold and the cold won. After weeks of battling sub-freezing temperatures, weather advisories, and storm warnings back in my old Kentucky home, I stepped off Korean Air Flight 7917 at Bangkok International Airport and immediately surrendered myself to the sultry sunshine and tropical humidity bathing my pasty winter skin. I’m jet-lagged beyond comprehension by my 32-hour flight from Hell, but still manage an ear-to-ear grin thinking about the sand, sun, and surf that surely awaits me in this exotic Thai kingdom.

If Thailand is the “Land of Smiles,” then Shai Gilgeous-Alexander should feel right at home here. “That kid smiles,” said Coach John Calipari when asked about his freshman point guard earlier this season. “I don’t know if it’s a Canadian thing. I don’t know what it is. But every Canadian that I’ve coached has fun and smiles and doesn’t feel the weight of the world on them.”

Calipari has reason himself to smile after Kentucky’s hard-fought 74-67 victory over the Vanderbilt Commodores. The aforementioned smiling Gilgeous-Alexander led the Wildcats with 22 points and six assists in 39 minutes of intense action, the third time in the last six games he’s scored 20 or more points. Kentucky shot 53.5% from the field while holding Vandy to 38.2% for the afternoon. With the win, the Cats improve to 14-3 overall and 4-1 in conference play.

Forgive me if my coverage of this game appears somewhat untimely and a bit mechanical. There’s a twelve hour time difference between Memorial Gymnasium in Nashville and the city of Chang Mai in the northern part of Thailand where I’m currently visiting. So, I was up early on what was a Sunday morning searching for a Starbucks with enough bandwidth to watch the game on my computer tablet. You’ve probably already guessed that college basketball isn’t a top priority of viewers in Southeast Asia and not coincidentally, this effort to watch my Wildcats was met with limited success. In fact, I may be the only component of the Big Blue mist trying to penetrate into this remote outpost at the foothills of the Himalaya mountain range.

Since arriving four days earlier, I’ve donned my UK gear hoping to draw out other displaced Wildcat fans in this country of Buddhist temples, floating markets, and pad thai noodles. So far, I’m not doing very well–batting zero if truth be told. Rather than being viewed as a respected ambassador of the Big Blue Nation, I’m sneered at as if I’m the village idiot—a simpleton clothed entirely in Blue with a fried chicken franchise stitched across my chest. To the untrained Western eye, I may look slightly Thai, but the minute I open my mouth, there’s no doubt in the native’s minds that I’m not from their neck of the woods. Nevertheless, I’m on a mission to make converts out of the ignorant masses, with “Calipari” soon to be a well-known and awe-inspiring household moniker.

Next up for the Wildcats is another tough road encounter against the South Carolina Gamecocks, followed by the colossal ESPN Gameday tilt at Rupp against the Florida Gators. I’m not sure where I’ll be then or whether I’ll procure any video access. But I want this to be clear to everyone back home–whether I’m watching Muay Thai Boxing in Bangkok, or drinking mai tais on a secluded beach—I’ll be tuned in somehow. Perhaps it’ll just be me alone on another early Sunday morning, 9000 miles from Lexington, with the familiar banter of Tom Leach and Mike Pratt on iheart radio playing soothingly in the background.

I’ll leave you with this for now. My 26-year old daughter Katie flew over from Los Angeles to meet us here on this grand adventure. As we were stalled in traffic watching the ever-present tuk-tuks weaving in and around us, she asked me, “Dad, can you take me on one of those?” For a brief second, my mind flashed back 15 years, longingly lamenting how all that precious time had fleetingly flown by. It dawned on me that just like basketball, travel’s not solely about wins and losses. It’s not about the number of destinations reached, or peaks climbed, or refrigerator magnets accumulated. But rather it’s about the experiences gathered and emotions garnered with strangers and loved ones along the way. “It’s a process,” as Coach Cal has been apt to say when referencing this particular Kentucky team. On this particular personal journey of ours, I couldn’t agree more. Stay tuned.

John Huang is a columnist for Nolan Group Media and Bluegrass Sports Nation. If you enjoy his writing, you can read more at or follow him on Twitter @KYHuangs.

You Can’t Get There from Here

(LEXINGTON, Ky.) – The Kentucky Basketball team’s performance during the first half of this regular season reads like the proverbial roller coaster. The Wildcats started off with an early season stumble to perennial powerhouse Kansas. Then John Calipari’s squad ran off a string of less-than-spectacular victories over a bevy of Popcorn States. A hard-fought victory at Rupp over a solid Virginia Tech team suddenly sent the team trending upward. Then a pre-Christmas trip to New Orleans and a disappointing loss to UCLA brought everything crashing back down to earth. A surprising 29-point blowout win over a Pitino-less Louisville team sent spirits skyrocketing again. Now a couple of muddled efforts into the conference portion of the schedule and everyone is wondering where indeed this team is headed. With Kentucky’s performance being all over the map, I’ve decided to spice things up and do a little traveling of my own.

I’ve heard it said that with modern commercial aviation, you’re now only two consecutive airline flights away from anywhere in the world. Whoever made up that saying has obviously never been to Southeast Asia. Because that’s where I’m headed–to Thailand specifically–and I’m totally convinced that no matter how hard you try, you simply can’t get there from Lexington, Kentucky.

You see, I’ve made this trip several times before. In the past, I’ve flown east over Europe, west over the Pacific, and even supposedly the shortest route over Alaska and Siberia. Every single time, the trip has been INTERMINABLE. There’s nothing like the deflation of traveling for sixteen hours to Narita Airport in Tokyo, only to realize that a seven-hour flight to Bangkok still awaits your already dehydrated and jet-lagged body. Remember also that this isn’t Coach Cal sacked out on a Sleep Outfitters mattress in his private Lear jet. This is John Huang flying basic economy on some low budget airline out of Korea.

So why am I doing this you ask—especially smack dab in the middle of basketball season? The answer is simple. My wife is from Thailand and this is a long-overdue trip for her to visit her family back home. Those of you who have been following along on my blog know that Kanisa has dealt with some serious health problems for the past several years. She also lost her mom recently, so this is a trip full of recovery, redemption, and closure for her. Sure, I’ll miss some games in Rupp Arena but the trade-off is that I get my beloved bride of 32 years back again. Plus, I’ll still be covering the Wildcats—only now it’ll probably be from some back-alley dive bar in Bangkok. I guarantee it’ll provide a totally different perspective from the standard write-ups you’ll see from your scribes sitting courtside.

The route for this trip includes the short hop from Lexington to Detroit in the standard puddle jumper before the transcontinental flight to Seoul. I consider myself a pretty seasoned flyer, having made numerous trips to China, Taiwan, Australia, and New Zealand in years past. I won’t think twice about flying out to California to meet my daughter for lunch and I’ve racked up enough frequent flyer miles to go to Mars and back. Still, I get a bit nervous when sitting in those metal tubes, especially on long international flights. The thought of a crying baby, the threat of deep vein thrombosis, or a wayward Kim Jong-Un missile is always a bit unsettling. But throw in a little turbulence, some bad airline food, and the seatmate with B.O. and you can certainly understand my edginess.

I should be 40,000 feet over Siberia when Kentucky tips off against Texas A&M next Tuesday night. I’m wondering if I’ll be able to dial up ESPN on my tablet, or if WI-FI will even be working and available on my flight. If not, I guess I’ll just have to wait to check my Twitter feed during my five-hour layover in Seoul before the final leg of my journey to nowhere. Should I happen to drop off the grid temporarily—no worries– just keep checking back and I’ll eventually resurface.

Trust me, I’m not abandoning the Wildcats. With the rejuvenated SEC, it’ll be one of the more challenging conference gauntlets in recent history. I hope you’ll stay tuned for my perspective from the other side of the globe—just a mere 8,853 miles from my usual seat on press row. Like I said, this should be interesting.

John Huang is a retired orthodontist and avid Kentucky Wildcat fan. He works as a columnist for Nolan Group Media and Bluegrass Sports Nation. Be sure to follow him on Twitter @KYHuangs for the latest in his travel adventures.


Turks and Caicos

Turks and Caicos

Goodbye Turks and Caicos, I barely knew ya! And yet, for the past four days, you welcomed me with open arms and beckoned me with your hedonistic calling. I fell in love with all my sunrise runs along your lonely stretches of palm lined beaches, snorkeling amidst your colorful coral reefs, and eating your delectable cracked conch and grilled lobster. I adored cavorting with your friendly residents and drinking your Turks Head lager while dazzled by another enchanting Caribbean sunset. Alas, I’ll always cherish doing yoga by the sea and dining beachside with my feet buried in your pristine white sand. The slightly inebriated Canadian couple who had been returning to this paradise for thirty consecutive years told me on the plane coming over, “You won’t want to leave.” They were right, but leave I must—for every Fantasy Island tryst reluctantly ends when the credits roll.

I arrived in this British Overseas Territory to meet my daughter Katie and her boyfriend Nick. Nick’s a deejay/music producer who’ll be playing a couple of sets at the Tropi Beach and Pool Parties held annually on the island. We’re staying at the brand new luxurious Shore Club Resort right on Long Beach Bay. Most of you know that I’m normally too cheap to pay for such outlandish accommodations but don’t you worry, I’ve been partially comped as part of the official performing party. I’m a two-star retiree hanging out at a five-star celebrity venue.

Contrary to what you might think, the people of Turks and Caicos want to avoid the hard partying atmosphere adopted by some of their Caribbean brethren. There are no “spring breakers” here and consequently, these types of musical events are rather scarce. It’s up to Katie and me to get these people grooving to the beat of Nick’s music. Nick knocks it out of the park. Fueled by our outlandish ministrations together with some timely liquid courage, visitors and islanders alike are soon busting out moves worthy of any Cancun nightclub. Afterwards, I’m exhausted—forsaking any post party carnality for the sanctity of the espresso coffee maker, fluffy pillows, and Andy Griffith reruns back in my luxury suite.

I’m not the only parent along for this ride. One of the other deejays happens to be traveling with his in-laws also. We get to talking and learn that we both love to write. He’s Matt Williams, writer and producer of such hit sitcoms as Roseanne, Home Improvement, and the Cosby Show. It’s a bit awkward as I never really watched or liked any of those programs. But he’s never heard of my Huangswhinings blog either so we’re on equal footing, content to lament the perils of having our daughters fall for up-and-coming musical vagabonds.

At least once a day, I’ve been offered weed on this trip. I’m told by one of the party goers that I give off the vibes of a pot smoker. Come to think of it, I do always have the munchies, and my short-term memory is frequently shot. My lack of motivation or coordination also could be dead giveaways. Or maybe it’s just the ponytail. It is somewhat amusing because it’s not exactly the aura my Sunday School class would want me to project. I guess you don’t really want me going on any mission trips in the near future.

As I venture back into the real world, one thing’s for sure about this marvelous experience. It’s not the beautiful scenery that stokes my wanderlust. If you’ve seen one beach, you’ve seen them all. You can find fine sand and blue water and swaying palms everywhere. I’ve been to the South Pacific and the Gulf of Thailand. I’m about as jaded as an emerald Buddha when it comes to natural vistas. For me, it’s the experiences along the way that you simply can’t duplicate, that keep bringing me back—those personal interactions and precious times shared with friends and strangers alike.

Whether it’s the Jamaican ex-pat bartender, content to forever serve fruit flavored libations at the swim up bar to sunburned German tourists—or the Peruvian born photographer with her Buddhist reincarnation rantings—or the playboy from France with “orgy” painted above his crotch and currently living on a sailboat, I want to discover what makes people tick, and there’s nothing like international travel that’ll quickly open your jaundiced eye. Wherever I go, I’m always fascinated by God’s creation and his wonderful sense of humor. Being reunited with Katie also makes me happy.

Goodbye Turks and Caicos. I’ll be back soon.

John Huang is a retired orthodontist turned wannabe sports journalist and travel writer. He can be reached at and on twitter @KYHuangs.

Holding My Breath

Holding My Breath

I’m nervous. I’ll admit I’m usually kind of uptight anyway when I travel as I’ve racked up a few particularly anxious moments on my past journeys. Today, however, it’s a different kind of nervous. It’s not an embarrassing type of nervous like when I got “sea-sick” on a camel ride in Egypt. Nor is it the harrowing type of nervous of having to be rescued while snorkeling off the coast of Fiji. And it certainly isn’t the uncomfortable type of nervous like when I bruised my testicles while parasailing in the Gulf of Thailand or when I got Montezuma’s revenge on the hike up to Machu Picchu.

No, the feeling I’m experiencing today is simply a nervous type of nervous. I’m especially nervous today because I’m taking my 22-pound Boston Terrier on his first airplane flight to visit my daughter in California. Bingo is just past the borderline weight restriction for traveling inside the plane cabin and his brand new travel carrier exceeds the size limitations for under-the-seat storage by one stupid inch. I know what you’re thinking–I should have planned all this out in advance–but when I booked the ticket, I somehow thought a pound here and an inch there wouldn’t really matter to the airlines. Now I’m not so sure and that’s why I’m holding my breath.

The day started out peacefully enough. We drove from Lexington to Cincinnati specifically to take this direct budget flight to Los Angeles. I figured with a non-stop itinerary, fewer things can go wrong, right?  Bingo slept in the car all the way and I anticipate him doing the same through the entire four-and-a-half-hour  flight. The biggest challenge is just getting him on board. A month of intense training– getting him accustomed to squeezing in, curling up, and pretending to be comfortable in a carrier the size of a large shoebox–will hopefully pay off. I should mention that Bingo can also clear rooms quickly with his gas attacks, so I’ve wisely limited his food intake this morning. Another reason I’m holding my breath.

We park in the long term economy lot where Bingo does his business. A shuttle then takes us over to the main terminal. So far, so good. As I approach the check in counter, I notice I’m sweating like Niagara Falls. I’m trying to be Joe Cool on the outside but inside I’m wound tighter than your high school jeans. It’s a helpless feeling being at the mercy of a random customer service agent for some second rate airline. I’ve never flown with Frontier before but I’m praying hard that they still cut me some first-time slack and let my buddy on board.

The agent’s name is Trevo and she reminds me of a severely weathered and gravelly voiced Jennifer Anniston. It looks like she had a sleepless night which works to my advantage. She apathetically glances over my travel documents, robotically types something into her keyboard, and throws the checked bag full of Bingo’s menagerie of toys onto the conveyor belt without giving us a cursory look. She points me toward gate A-18 and it appears like we made it past the first hurdle. I’m still holding my breath.

Next it’s on to the security checkpoint. You all know the drill– empty your pockets, separate out your liquids, take off your shoes, and fire up your computer while simultaneously holding up your beltless pants and juggling your carryon bag and personal item. My personal item this trip just happens to be a dog in a box. What am I supposed to do with him during all that? Do I send him through the X-ray machine? Does he get a puppy pat-down or a special smelling session by his bomb sniffing comrades? Someone help me please!

It turns out to be none of the above. Once Bingo starts licking all the TSA agents, they start drooling and fawning all over him and we are home free. No scans, no pat-downs, no scrutiny–we’re like airport VIPs. With this new found confidence, getting past the gate agent and boarding the aircraft turns out to be a virtual snap. I plop sedately down onto seat 4A, and gently squeeze my new traveling buddy and his compressible carrier under the seat in front of me. Much easier than traveling with family I think to myself. Absolutely nothing at all to be nervous about as I finally exhale!

If you enjoy my writing, please continue to visit me at and follow me on Twitter @KYHuangs. You can also e-mail me at and I’ll send  you a personalized invitation whenever a new post appears.



Graceland, Graceland

Graceland, Graceland

“Does my dog have to pay full price to enter?” My question to the young lady behind the Graceland ticket counter was met with a blank stare. Access denied I guess. Bingo would be missing out on this one.

I wasn’t a big Elvis fan growing up. Sure, I was aware of his swiveling hips and quivering lip, but my most vivid recollection of him was at the time that he unexpectedly died. Those of you living in Lexington  in August of 1977 remember that The King was scheduled to play Rupp Arena right before he tragically passed away. The only sadness I really felt back then was for those who had purchased concert tickets. I wondered if they would ever be able to get a refund. Over the years, I’ve since developed a much greater appreciation for Elvis’s musical genius and his subsequent rise to superstardom. He was definitely a talent ahead of his time. Thus, me and my hound dog are making a pit stop to visit his home in Memphis. We’re going to Graceland, Graceland, Memphis Tennessee. We’re going to Graceland.

I wasn’t really sure what to expect, but I knew that Elvis was buried at Graceland. So in a way, I felt like we were making  sort of long-overdue, pay-our-respect type pilgrimage. I recall my brother Michael telling me once that he had actually broken down and cried at Elvis’s grave (which is not so surprising as he has been known to tear up at Star Wars movies, house-warming parties, and restaurant closings). As Bingo waited patiently  in the car, I hesitatingly plunked down $38.95 and was then treated to what the brochure described as an “unforgettable journey into the private world of an American legend, guided by a state-of-the-art iPad tour narrated by Elvis fan and actor John Stamos.”

Purchased by Elvis in 1957, I had always heard Graceland described as an elaborate mansion, but my initial impression was that it was more like just a very nice home. In fact, I could imagine myself living here back in the 60’s and 70’s, a young Chinese Elvis entertaining guests at my grand piano, shooting pool with friends in the basement, and frolicking with Priscilla in my newly decorated “jungle room”.  I took my time strolling through the diverse exhibits, past all the gold records and awards, and the various paraphernalia  documenting the life of the King of Rock-n-Roll.  I was surprised to learn that of Elvis’s three Grammy Awards, all of them were for his gospel performances only. Oh, by the way, the King  also found time to star in 31 Hollywood films, spent two years in military service, and was active in numerous charitable activities.

In the end, I felt a newly-developed kinship with the man behind the soulful voice, sideburns, and the blue-suede shoes. Not so much for all the fame and fortune he acquired in a relatively short professional career, but rather just knowing that despite his exceptional talent and success, he suffered through the same insecurities, tortured thoughts, trials and tribulations as you and me. As I lingered pensively by his gravesite in the meditation garden, I reflected again on the enormous impact he had on everyone in the entertainment industry and on all of us who simply love music. I didn’t cry though. Well, maybe just a little bit.

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