Touchdown

After a fairly freaky final 24 hours in Oz I made it on to the big bird and to El Lay.

My dear friend Em pointed out that the US immigration officials probably wouldn't be too keen on letting a disheveled punk like me into the country without a return ticket, so last minute flight changes, hair pulling and a sleepless night were all necessary.

Before you write me off for being totally naive, I actually thought that my onward flight to Mexico City would be ample evidence of my intention to get the fuck out of God's Cuntry, but apparently Mexico is now part of the US, at least as far as the slightly confusing US Visa Waiver Program is concerned.

An ugly side effect of NAFTA? Most likely. Evidence of the Yanquis' arrogance toward their southern cousins? Surely. More on that later, no doubt.

Despite this, I have to say my first two hours in the States have renewed my faith in its people, with even the Customs and Border Protection staff surprisingly friendly, and chirpy 'can I help you?' volunteers at every twist and turn around LAX. Maybe they're excited about the prospect of taking the photos of Bush and Cheney down in 17 days time!!! I am. In fact, I'd hoped they'd have done it already.

So here is the first of what should be many blog postings about my jaunt through Central America, coming at you straight outta the food court of the Tom Bradley International Terminal. I'm determined to stay awake all day and actually see some cool shit in LA, as my previous two visits have not revealed the the true radness of this giant