Well, since I am supposed to be writing about life in Bangkok, I’ll write about something small, literally. Bugs. Bugs in Bangkok far exceed anything I experienced in the U.S, with the exception of perhaps the black widows that fascinated me in the desert. Here the bugs are many, they’re ugly, dirty, and they are sometimes sizeable for a saddle. Yeah, I guess that describes most bugs. Anyway, here’s the chain of bugs in my life….
Fucking Mosquitoes
It’s not big shock that mosquitoes are alive and well here in Thailand. Even in a big city like Bangkok they thrive as squirrels and sparrows thrive in the Midwest U.S. And for some reason that is still unclear to me, they LOVE me! I have scars all up and down my legs to prove it, and have NEVER gone without at least 2-3 bites on my body at all times (often much more). There was a time when I was bitten every single day. Due to some measures by me, that has lessened (like making my house a fortress rivaling Fort Knox). Within my first 4-5 months in Thailand I caught Dengue Fever. Talk about knocking the fuck right out of you. Pretty painful stuff, and the hospital, though fine in terms of service, was fairly uncomfortable as I slept on what felt like a stone slab in the Arctic.
The worst is when I’m standing in a room full of Thais, or eating dinner with many friends, and suddenly, I begin to get bit. NO ONE ELSE will get bit! Not a nibble, not a scratch, not a nothing! ONLY me. Is there something about A- blood that female mosquitoes are madly attracted to? I don’t know, but it’s something that puts me into a rage just thinking about it. The other annoying thing is that I appear to be mildly allergic to them. They burn like a match on my skin. So of course, I scratch them like mad. Lovely.
If there is ONE mosquito in my house, I’m dead. I’ll be bit 4-5 times before I kill it (I can now quite accurately kill mosquitoes in midair by clapping them between my hands and smashing their bodies into my palm), or by patiently waiting for it to simply die. Every single night, I sleep with a mosquito “coil” in my room (an electric version). If I don’t, I’ll be bit by morning.
The Sensitive Ant
When I first arrived in Thailand, the arrival of the teeny tiny ant was troubling. They were amazingly organized and could appear by the thousands in just minutes. And they were so damn hard to get rid of. I felt like I was holding My Lai massacres in my kitchen daily. The problem was that unless I ate on top of a mountain, surrounded by a large ocean, there as no way to prevent the onslaught of ants. All it took was a single crumb. One crumb to fall from a cookie, cracker or piece of toast. God forbid anything with sugar in it. Immediately, as if the impact of the crumb onto the counter created a 8.0 Richter Scale earthquake in the anthill (somewhere behind the walls of my apartment), ants came massing out and surrounded the crumb until it disappeared. As long as they were out, they might as well look for something else edible, which then prompted me to make a mad dash to clear every possible, tempting thing. I have never been particularly a neat person, but I’ve always been pretty good about not leaving food around (it’s books, papers, and clothes that cover my floors). The ants were a menace. They came out in such force and I soon learned that killing them left a near noxious odor. It reminded me of the “stink bugs” I’d kill as a child which rivaled a skunk in funk. Then suddenly, the ants just disappeared. They stopped coming. I could leave a fruit pie in the middle of the carpet and one won’t show. Go figure.
Enter the Termite
If I was still in the U.S,, my house (apartment) would have been condemned a LONG time ago with one of those house-sized pieces of saran wrap surrounding it. Instead, I have lost a foot high stack of books and teaching materials, have had to have an exodus of all canned food and glassware from the cupboards, and once in awhile give a karate kick to a particular beam to watch it splinter and fall (it makes me feel powerful). I’ve been wondering if the disappearance of the ants has anything to do with the termites. Do they EAT ants? No… do they have wars with ants as ants have with themselves? *shrug* Anyway, termites TOTALLY suck. IT’s amazing what they eat, or at least try to. They leave this awful strange substance behind which to me looks like thrown up wood. They even made an attempt to eat through a can of tomato sauce, leaving their spew on it the now label-free surface. The strange wooden network they left of my foot-high stack of books was both fascinating and revolting. And guess what? Termites bite! I have been bitten twice by them! It hurts, but leaves no real damage.
The Dumbass Weevil
Weevils. FUCKING weevils. Do you know what these things are? They insane, grain-eating bugs that can swim about as well as lemmings. They look like small, black rhinoceroses. They go for all my rice and pasta. Once a bag of pasta is open, I have to hermetically seal the thing to prevent a weevil invasion. Usually, all my efforts are in vain. Even with various clips, they meander inside. Once I forgot about a half bag of pasta in the back of a cupboard. OH. MY. GOD. They had turned it into this dark green mass of mush. I almost puked my guts out.
The other interesting thing is that they seem to have a thing for suicide missions to my cats’ water bowl. Every day I have to rinse out their bowl because a small group of weevils are found dead in its bottom. Ritual suicide? Like the ants, weevils seem incapable of being stopped.
Don’t let the Bedbugs bite
The last bug on my list is what I’m afraid may be a bedbug, but I can’t seem to prove it. For sometime now, I have been bit at night by some insect. The bite has been so painful, that it wakes me up with a fantastically intense burning sensation (as well as itching). It leaves little red bites behind, a little harder and smaller than a mosquitoes. My mosquito coil seems to be inconsistent in preventing the attack of these things which only go for my hands, usually the right (the only part of my body besides my face that is outside of the blanket). I don’t know what this bug is and it’s driving me crazy!! I have stood the box spring on their ends and scoured the floor. I have vacuumed and sprayed bug spray. I have washed the sheets (in bleach). I have put the mosquito coil as close to my face and hands as possible. I never see anything. According to one website, a bedbug only comes out at night, but seems to be a fairly large, reddish bug. And slow-moving! I have tried a few late night surprise raids where I switch on the light from the darkness trying to find one. Nothing! Is it a bedbug? If not, what? How can I stop it? Argh…bugs! Bugs! Bugs! I’d much rather have one of those spiders-as-big-as-your-first climbing around my walls then these night vampires. If you have any idea of what my night visitor is, please let me know.
Saturday, December 28, 2002
Wednesday, December 04, 2002
Turning 30
In about six weeks I will be thirty years old. Supposedly, this is a major turning
point in one’s life. As for me, it is and it isn’t. Just acknowledging it is giving it importance, I know. Well, so?
I’m not afraid, worried, or alarmed. I kind of welcome thirty. For one, I feel smarter, stronger, more attractive (though a bit too fat recently), calmer, and more independent than ever before. I’ve always really liked the 30’s decade. I’ve always thought women were at their most beautiful in their 30’s. I’ve also admired how you are still young, but have taken all those lessons learned from your twenties and can put them to good use.
I’ve seen my face changing lately – in a way that I like. Unfortunately, I’ve put on about 5-10lbs in the past few months, a mixture of illness and laziness being the culprit. But I have liked the changes in my face. I have wrinkles around my eyes – those laughing lines or crow’s feet (the former sounding quite a bit kinder, in my opinion). Those are okay. I have watched my face take on more angles and shapes. My cheeks and nose seem a bit pointier, and my eyes are different, though I’m not sure why. I’ve even seen a bit more definition in my chinline, which is fine with me considering my normally soft profile. And as I said, since I’ve packed on a little lately, it’s not due to losing weight. I like it. It makes me look older, and a bit more dignified and less goofy. It’s not like I had plastic surgery, and I’m sure anyone who is in my life wouldn’t notice much of a change, but I do, and I’m pleased with it. Unfortunately, I recently went off the pill for the first time in about 10 years and it brought back my oily skin and acne in an aggressive rush. Before that, I had finally achieved, with the combined help of a high level of estrogen and the tropical climate, problem-free skin for the first time in my life.
One of the only bad things I can think of regarding turning thirty, is the loss of the allowance to be a fuck up. When you’re in your twenties, you are often referred to as “young” and you are given a LOT of freedom to do whatever the fuck you want. You can try different jobs (including getting fired), enroll and drop out of school (multiple times if need be), take off and travel for awhile, join a Buddhist temple to become a monk, etc. This is all fairly-well tolerated.
What I don’t like is that once you hit 30, society has lost almost all of its patience with your bullshit. Although the recent emergence of the “Bridgets” in the last few years have kicked out a niche for the new brand of 30-somethings. But in reality, once you hit 30, it’s time to cut the fucking shit. You aren’t married? Are you even LOOKING for a mate? And speaking of “mate,” (if you are a woman), “You know, you only have so many years left [to have a baby], you know. You don’t want to wait too long, be too old.” (I personally have heard this statement, almost verbatim, given to me on more than one occasion). It’s time to get hitched, time to put kids on the agenda (not NOW, but very very soon!), it’s time to get a career instead of a job, to stay in ONE place and settle down, to maybe buy a house or a condo, and maybe even buy a (GAGGAGGAG) an SUV.
I think I’d rather slit my wrists.
So, I’m nearly 30, single, in a good job but one I don’t see as a career, staying in a 2-bedroom-on-loan apartment, and living in Thailand, where I have NO intention of settling in. The only bit of responsibility I have is 2 cats. I don’t really have any interest in marriage, and although I’d like children some day, I certainly don’t want any right now. I like going out, being by myself, traveling, buying myself stuff, and sleeping all way too much.
point in one’s life. As for me, it is and it isn’t. Just acknowledging it is giving it importance, I know. Well, so?
I’m not afraid, worried, or alarmed. I kind of welcome thirty. For one, I feel smarter, stronger, more attractive (though a bit too fat recently), calmer, and more independent than ever before. I’ve always really liked the 30’s decade. I’ve always thought women were at their most beautiful in their 30’s. I’ve also admired how you are still young, but have taken all those lessons learned from your twenties and can put them to good use.
I’ve seen my face changing lately – in a way that I like. Unfortunately, I’ve put on about 5-10lbs in the past few months, a mixture of illness and laziness being the culprit. But I have liked the changes in my face. I have wrinkles around my eyes – those laughing lines or crow’s feet (the former sounding quite a bit kinder, in my opinion). Those are okay. I have watched my face take on more angles and shapes. My cheeks and nose seem a bit pointier, and my eyes are different, though I’m not sure why. I’ve even seen a bit more definition in my chinline, which is fine with me considering my normally soft profile. And as I said, since I’ve packed on a little lately, it’s not due to losing weight. I like it. It makes me look older, and a bit more dignified and less goofy. It’s not like I had plastic surgery, and I’m sure anyone who is in my life wouldn’t notice much of a change, but I do, and I’m pleased with it. Unfortunately, I recently went off the pill for the first time in about 10 years and it brought back my oily skin and acne in an aggressive rush. Before that, I had finally achieved, with the combined help of a high level of estrogen and the tropical climate, problem-free skin for the first time in my life.
One of the only bad things I can think of regarding turning thirty, is the loss of the allowance to be a fuck up. When you’re in your twenties, you are often referred to as “young” and you are given a LOT of freedom to do whatever the fuck you want. You can try different jobs (including getting fired), enroll and drop out of school (multiple times if need be), take off and travel for awhile, join a Buddhist temple to become a monk, etc. This is all fairly-well tolerated.
What I don’t like is that once you hit 30, society has lost almost all of its patience with your bullshit. Although the recent emergence of the “Bridgets” in the last few years have kicked out a niche for the new brand of 30-somethings. But in reality, once you hit 30, it’s time to cut the fucking shit. You aren’t married? Are you even LOOKING for a mate? And speaking of “mate,” (if you are a woman), “You know, you only have so many years left [to have a baby], you know. You don’t want to wait too long, be too old.” (I personally have heard this statement, almost verbatim, given to me on more than one occasion). It’s time to get hitched, time to put kids on the agenda (not NOW, but very very soon!), it’s time to get a career instead of a job, to stay in ONE place and settle down, to maybe buy a house or a condo, and maybe even buy a (GAGGAGGAG) an SUV.
I think I’d rather slit my wrists.
So, I’m nearly 30, single, in a good job but one I don’t see as a career, staying in a 2-bedroom-on-loan apartment, and living in Thailand, where I have NO intention of settling in. The only bit of responsibility I have is 2 cats. I don’t really have any interest in marriage, and although I’d like children some day, I certainly don’t want any right now. I like going out, being by myself, traveling, buying myself stuff, and sleeping all way too much.
Monday, November 18, 2002
Tasteless Thai
This has nothing to do with what I’m about to write, but I swear to god, while riding my motorcycle to get some food tonight, I almost crashed into an elephant’s ass. I’m totally serious. That’s living in Thailand for you.
Anyway…
One of the greatest things about living in Thailand, naturally, is the food. Thai food was my favorite long before I ever set foot in this sweltering country, and although I do grow fairly tired of it here and there, I’m sure it’ll still be my favorite when I leave. YET, I take incredible joy from also eating other kinds of foods like Indian, Italian, Greek, or Cajun, to name just a few. Just yesterday I went to a restaurant that featured food “From the Roman empire.” I know, sounds totally strange, but strange enough to make me curious. The food wasn’t that strange, but it was different and delicious.
One thing that may surprise an ex-pat living in Thailand is the food. Not Thai food per se, but the lack thereof of ALL other kinds. This is not entirely true if you are a tourist on Sukhumvit road – the traditional middle-upper class tourist area or Khao San – the sloppy and slightly seedy backpacker area.
My close friend Bill and I decided to go to a local hotel that was advertising a “Mexican buffet.” We live in a very “Thai” area (almost no foreigners or foreign food), and this was an answer to our prayers. The hotel was nicer than we thought it’d be and the buffet almost bugged our eyes right out of their sockets. It was like food heaven and we kept passing each other at the different islands of the buffet going “Can you believe this?” We were simply happy.
For all the lack of culinary diversity in Bangkok, Mexican is probably one of the least represented, much to the lament of many ex-pats who usually name it first or second in the regularly-held, “God, don’t you miss…..” food conversations I’ve been in here. (These are always interesting conversations, where ex-pats describe in minute and sensual detail all the food they are without, as if we’re all stuck in a deserted island subsisting on fish and coconuts). But that just goes more to my point – there’s a lot of Thai food here, and not a lot else.
So, get this: as Bill and I were sitting at our table ingesting the food with relish, we looked uneasily across from us where a lengthy table was packed with Thai police. About 15 of them, they were all leaning back in their chairs with uncomfortable and surly expressions on their faces. We knew they were there as some sort of bribe dinner (the various forms of bribery are more rampant here than I ever imagined). We wondered why they didn’t get up and get their food, and soon we saw why. Waiters and waitresses dressed up in the typical Mexican restaurant outfits (you should have seen the sombreros on these Thai men!) came gliding over carrying steaming bowls of fried rice. They began depositing them, and other Thai dishes in front of the men. Bill and I were aghast. FRIED FUCKING RICE? Surrounded by all this good (and good quality) food, they were not only ordering a Thai dish, but a boring one at that! WHY? WHY? WHY?
It’s simple really, Thais like Thai food ONLY. This is something I have tried to comprehend (while questioning many Thais) and have never received a clear answer. Of course, Thai food is fantastic, but if I was required to eat it for the rest of my life, I’d be pretty damn depressed. Even English food is tolerable if one really needs a change.
Recently, I was on a work trip to Singapore. I was eating with a colleague, a Thai woman, in a giant food court filled with all sorts of ethnic treats. She ordered Thai food. I ordered Korean, even getting extra kimchi, thinking as a Thai, she’d be way into something pickled, sour and spicy. She adamantly refused to touch it. Not even a taste. “I’m Thai,” she said, “I only like Thai food.” I was stunned. Sure, most travelers have been “guilty” of eating at McDonald’s while abroad. It’s familiar, it’s easy, and it’s a piece of home. Besides a few strange differences, (“la biere” in France or a “sticky rice sandwich” in Thailand), we know we can go in there and get a Big Mac combo and feel the comfort in its memorable taste. But EVERY meal, McDonald’s? How do your tastebuds not scream out in agony of this lifelong repetition? Thai food is made up of about 10 basic ingredients, kind of like Taco Bell’s five. They’re blended in different ways and different amounts with different meats, but the tastes are similar. Sometimes sweet, sometimes sour, sometimes both, and always sour.
Perhaps due to the fact that repetition is one of those things that makes me feel like I may actually be going fucking insane, that I cannot understand how it’s so happily endured by others. What would make one eat ONLY his/her own ethnic food? Is it really the taste or some sort of psychological gastronomic security blanket? I’ll leave that question to the academics; I don’t have the strength or life span for a dissertation.
Anyway…
One of the greatest things about living in Thailand, naturally, is the food. Thai food was my favorite long before I ever set foot in this sweltering country, and although I do grow fairly tired of it here and there, I’m sure it’ll still be my favorite when I leave. YET, I take incredible joy from also eating other kinds of foods like Indian, Italian, Greek, or Cajun, to name just a few. Just yesterday I went to a restaurant that featured food “From the Roman empire.” I know, sounds totally strange, but strange enough to make me curious. The food wasn’t that strange, but it was different and delicious.
One thing that may surprise an ex-pat living in Thailand is the food. Not Thai food per se, but the lack thereof of ALL other kinds. This is not entirely true if you are a tourist on Sukhumvit road – the traditional middle-upper class tourist area or Khao San – the sloppy and slightly seedy backpacker area.
My close friend Bill and I decided to go to a local hotel that was advertising a “Mexican buffet.” We live in a very “Thai” area (almost no foreigners or foreign food), and this was an answer to our prayers. The hotel was nicer than we thought it’d be and the buffet almost bugged our eyes right out of their sockets. It was like food heaven and we kept passing each other at the different islands of the buffet going “Can you believe this?” We were simply happy.
For all the lack of culinary diversity in Bangkok, Mexican is probably one of the least represented, much to the lament of many ex-pats who usually name it first or second in the regularly-held, “God, don’t you miss…..” food conversations I’ve been in here. (These are always interesting conversations, where ex-pats describe in minute and sensual detail all the food they are without, as if we’re all stuck in a deserted island subsisting on fish and coconuts). But that just goes more to my point – there’s a lot of Thai food here, and not a lot else.
So, get this: as Bill and I were sitting at our table ingesting the food with relish, we looked uneasily across from us where a lengthy table was packed with Thai police. About 15 of them, they were all leaning back in their chairs with uncomfortable and surly expressions on their faces. We knew they were there as some sort of bribe dinner (the various forms of bribery are more rampant here than I ever imagined). We wondered why they didn’t get up and get their food, and soon we saw why. Waiters and waitresses dressed up in the typical Mexican restaurant outfits (you should have seen the sombreros on these Thai men!) came gliding over carrying steaming bowls of fried rice. They began depositing them, and other Thai dishes in front of the men. Bill and I were aghast. FRIED FUCKING RICE? Surrounded by all this good (and good quality) food, they were not only ordering a Thai dish, but a boring one at that! WHY? WHY? WHY?
It’s simple really, Thais like Thai food ONLY. This is something I have tried to comprehend (while questioning many Thais) and have never received a clear answer. Of course, Thai food is fantastic, but if I was required to eat it for the rest of my life, I’d be pretty damn depressed. Even English food is tolerable if one really needs a change.
Recently, I was on a work trip to Singapore. I was eating with a colleague, a Thai woman, in a giant food court filled with all sorts of ethnic treats. She ordered Thai food. I ordered Korean, even getting extra kimchi, thinking as a Thai, she’d be way into something pickled, sour and spicy. She adamantly refused to touch it. Not even a taste. “I’m Thai,” she said, “I only like Thai food.” I was stunned. Sure, most travelers have been “guilty” of eating at McDonald’s while abroad. It’s familiar, it’s easy, and it’s a piece of home. Besides a few strange differences, (“la biere” in France or a “sticky rice sandwich” in Thailand), we know we can go in there and get a Big Mac combo and feel the comfort in its memorable taste. But EVERY meal, McDonald’s? How do your tastebuds not scream out in agony of this lifelong repetition? Thai food is made up of about 10 basic ingredients, kind of like Taco Bell’s five. They’re blended in different ways and different amounts with different meats, but the tastes are similar. Sometimes sweet, sometimes sour, sometimes both, and always sour.
Perhaps due to the fact that repetition is one of those things that makes me feel like I may actually be going fucking insane, that I cannot understand how it’s so happily endured by others. What would make one eat ONLY his/her own ethnic food? Is it really the taste or some sort of psychological gastronomic security blanket? I’ll leave that question to the academics; I don’t have the strength or life span for a dissertation.
Sunday, November 10, 2002
Obsess! Stop!
So, I haven't written here in awhile. I was gone for a bit, but that's just an excuse. I guess like everything in my life, I become consumed by it, rabidly passionate, and then, I just...stop. It's not that I lose my steam, or .. well I guess it is. I don't exactly lose interest, I just get sick of stuff. This runs the gamut from things like pomelos to painting. For instance, I'll buy pomelos from the market. I'll eat them every day, for every meal. I'll become an EXPERT on them. Know how to pick 'em, how to peel 'em, the right way to eat 'em. And then, it starts to get to be too much. And I just, stop. I stop eating them. As mentioned, this happens with activities too, like painting. I'll be suddenly seized with inspiration and be maniacally focused. Sometimes I finish the painting, but often, I don't. Often I get to about 90% done before I quit. Well, it never feels like quitting, it always feels like a break, but I still have 2 unfinished paintings on the easel (and a new one drying near the air conditioner). You could blame it on my annoying ADD, but that's a cop-out too, because that's something I've learned to deal with, at least as best I can. It's a very annoying habit of mine, this finding things fantastically boring after being so totally consumed by it. I don't really know how to control it or stop it. Eventually, I am able to come back to the discarded thing anyway, though it usually takes some time.
The reason I'm talking about this is 1) to explain why I haven't come back to this for a bit, and 2) to give a fatalistic premonition to my declaration of wanting to be a writer. "Being a writer" is one of those things I've always wanted, just like "being an artist" or "being an actress" or "being a marine biologist." Things I always thought I had the ability to do, but couldn't really get around to it. Not to mention, any desire I ever had for the first two professions was muted by the promise of being a starving artist. If there was anything I wanted to avoid in my adult love, it was the prospect of eternal poverty. I don't need to be a millionaire, but fuck, by the time I graduated from high school I was sure as hell sick as living at or below the poverty level. Of course it shouldn't be like that, but it's hard to be the keeper of dreams when you've got no money and no prospects. So, others can take their self-righteousness and shove it.
Anyway, now I AM at a point in my life where I can pursue these previously suppressed passions. A writer? How fucking cliché. Who doesn't want to be a writer? ESPECIALLY of novels. You're supposed to start small, right? From your school newspaper to small articles to short stories, and so on. I suppose so, though I WAS an editor on my school newspaper and I have never liked short stories. For some reason, I love novels, but find short stories test my patience. I read them and feel like I'm back in grad school in one of my long and tedious seminars where I drew pie graphs on my notes and colored in a slice for every 5-10 minutes that ticked by. But marathon novels still interest me, though I find dense writing makes me want to puke.
Anyway (again), saying 'I want to be a writer' means nothing. And as mentioned above, I don't know if I have the self-discipline to finish a novel once it's started. I lack a great deal of self-motivation for long run. I have bought a few books -- the typical "Writer's Handbook," as well as "The Writing Life" and "How to Write Historical Fiction." We'll see if they really help. Historical fiction is my favorite. I'd like to do that, but it'd take a great deal of research and time. I love research, but I'd hate to get SO involved and fail. Rather write about something more familiar to me and fail.
The funny thing about "deciding" to become a writer is that suddenly every word you write (that the public sees, from a friend to the whole internet), feels 10x more vulnerable than before. I've only told two people (and since no one reads this, this doesn't matter), but even a simple email to them makes me hyper-aware of the words I write. Are there any misspellings? Do the words match, make sense, are consistent? Are there any antecedents? Yeah yeah, I know it's ridiculous. Give me some time, and I won't give a shit.
The reason I'm talking about this is 1) to explain why I haven't come back to this for a bit, and 2) to give a fatalistic premonition to my declaration of wanting to be a writer. "Being a writer" is one of those things I've always wanted, just like "being an artist" or "being an actress" or "being a marine biologist." Things I always thought I had the ability to do, but couldn't really get around to it. Not to mention, any desire I ever had for the first two professions was muted by the promise of being a starving artist. If there was anything I wanted to avoid in my adult love, it was the prospect of eternal poverty. I don't need to be a millionaire, but fuck, by the time I graduated from high school I was sure as hell sick as living at or below the poverty level. Of course it shouldn't be like that, but it's hard to be the keeper of dreams when you've got no money and no prospects. So, others can take their self-righteousness and shove it.
Anyway, now I AM at a point in my life where I can pursue these previously suppressed passions. A writer? How fucking cliché. Who doesn't want to be a writer? ESPECIALLY of novels. You're supposed to start small, right? From your school newspaper to small articles to short stories, and so on. I suppose so, though I WAS an editor on my school newspaper and I have never liked short stories. For some reason, I love novels, but find short stories test my patience. I read them and feel like I'm back in grad school in one of my long and tedious seminars where I drew pie graphs on my notes and colored in a slice for every 5-10 minutes that ticked by. But marathon novels still interest me, though I find dense writing makes me want to puke.
Anyway (again), saying 'I want to be a writer' means nothing. And as mentioned above, I don't know if I have the self-discipline to finish a novel once it's started. I lack a great deal of self-motivation for long run. I have bought a few books -- the typical "Writer's Handbook," as well as "The Writing Life" and "How to Write Historical Fiction." We'll see if they really help. Historical fiction is my favorite. I'd like to do that, but it'd take a great deal of research and time. I love research, but I'd hate to get SO involved and fail. Rather write about something more familiar to me and fail.
The funny thing about "deciding" to become a writer is that suddenly every word you write (that the public sees, from a friend to the whole internet), feels 10x more vulnerable than before. I've only told two people (and since no one reads this, this doesn't matter), but even a simple email to them makes me hyper-aware of the words I write. Are there any misspellings? Do the words match, make sense, are consistent? Are there any antecedents? Yeah yeah, I know it's ridiculous. Give me some time, and I won't give a shit.
Monday, August 19, 2002
Sex in the City
You know, I have to admit I’ve always been fascinated with Bangkok’s endless supply of “TV rooms” or “Short-time hotels.” Nestled not-so-subtly between such places as store-front homes, petrol stations, and noodle-soup vendors, and sporting discrete, high cement walls next to their flashing “TV HOTEL” signs complete with beckoning arrow, these hotels appear every few blocks or so, from the diminutive to the unabashedly dramatic. (How’s that for a Preamble-like sentence?). What I find so fascinating about them is their combination of the batting-eye virgin and the gyrating “do me, big boy” prostitute. This is sort of how sex seems to be portrayed to me all over Bangkok. No, sex is only something done by husband and wife and we DON’T talk about it. But sure, there IS an incredible sex industry in which THAI MEN (no, those naughty white and Japanese men only make up a single digit percentage of those using a prostitute’s services) are populating these hotels of happiness.
Let me describe these hotels. They are single rooms, with a large bed, dim lighting, a bathroom with a shower, and of course, a TV. They normally have a single purpose – a discrete place to have sex. This is what happens. You drive up in your car and quickly turn into the area of the hotel. Immediately, smiling young Thai men wave flashlights much as those who help land planes do (they try to make the whole area as dark as possible, often with concrete roofs above), beckoning the car forward. Middle-aged women armed with cans of disinfectant walk around the place slowly, exchanging soiled sheets for clean ones. All one sees now are stalls, each with a colorful curtain displaying a large number, pulled tightly across it. The men run quickly to the curtain, fling it back, allow your car to drive in, and then rush it back into place, concealing your car behind it’s vinyl shield. There, in front of your car’s bumper, is a door. Inside that door is your ticket to paradise. Normally, you pay by the hour. Probably around $4-5 USD. The place is yours now, no questions asked.
Several times a week I find myself driving through these hotels. There are several blocks of them that connect from near my home to a nearby mall. By using them as a shortcut, I avoid the menacing traffic of Bangkok and all its danger and headaches. In return, I get an interesting look at what Bangkok pretends to abhor, and yet with a smirk and wink, looks the other way.
These places in their simplicity flourish. What does this mean?? Well, it means that there are a LOT of people who want to have sex and don’t have a place of their own to do that in. This makes sense. Most Thais live in relatively large family units (a house with parents, children, grandparents, etc.). A Thai living on his or her own is rare (and expensive). I personally know of one young woman who must travel up to an hour and half to and from work each day. I ask her why she doesn’t get a condo near school, and she says, “I don’t want to. I like living with my family. I like to come home and eat with them and talk to them.” This is said in all sincerity and I believe her. This is a woman who is engaged to a boyfriend she loves very much. If I was her, I’d have scrambled off to my own place long ago. But, it just doesn’t seem to be that way here. Family is just more important. Growing up in individualistic (yay!) America, this is hard to comprehend much of the time, but it seems to be true for most. A “sense of family” is something I never had, since I had such a fucked up one, so the individualism of America suits me fine, but I am viewed as odd here, because I live by myself and don’t seem to want or need anyone’s help.
What does it also mean? Infidelity, particularly in males, is fantastically high. Thai women grudgingly accept this, claiming that it’s a trade-off since females control the money and the children. Personally, it’s not the kind of exchange I’d like, but I am lucky enough to have the choice to avoid it. I have talked to many Thai women about this. It is kind of a sad burden. I wonder what the rate of women’s infidelity is. There is not much of a male prostitute culture (that which exists caters primarily to gay men), but once in awhile you hear things. Recently, a club where women pay to have men dance with them (and supposedly also sleep with them) was crashed by the police. You don’t hear about the police crashing the thousands of brothels and bar girl-inhabited places much. Anyway, these hotels are in a sense, a nod of approval for these men. Would hundreds, or thousands of TV room hotels exist if it was mostly married women who were taking their bar boys for a roll in the hay? I suspect not. But how is this different from any other place in the world?
Another thing that always makes me smirk, is the usual elaborate and large “spirit house” that is set up at these things. A spirit house is kind of like a mini chapel, and they can be set up anywhere, usually outside a home or business. I often see very dramatic ones at short-time hotels, and often see young women leaving the hotels and paying respect to these houses on their way out. A friend and I talking about Patpong (one of the sex tourist districts), noted that the girls would dance (and possibly screw for cash) all nigh, and then the next morning be fresh-faced, bowing and scraping at the local temple, in all true sincerity. In the U.S., this would be seem as some sort of mockery. How can you be spiritual and be a prostitute at the same time? Why not, I say? Mary Magdalene did it.
This reminds of something I saw on CNN today. A young, beautiful, and articulate princess of Swaziland was advocating and pushing a giant white rope (“tassle”) that all female virgins should wear to promote abstinence – particularly up to the age of 21. And why?? Well, besides the fact that this ridiculously-huge rope was claimed to be a reclaiming of traditional beliefs, the real reason was to PREVENT AIDS!
*cough* *splutter*
Excuse me? If the women stay virgins until they’re 21 (and supposedly married), THIS is going to help solve the spread of AIDS? HELLO? Does anyone REALLY believe it is the married women who are responsible for the spread of AIDS in Africa? I may not be the most educated woman on this subject, but I know full well that it is the single and MARRIED men who sleep around (also with prostitutes) and then come home to their wives and children who are the real carriers of this disease. So, a woman is a good girl. She stays a virgin until she is married at, let’s say, 22. Her husband sleeps with her, gets her pregnant. And, he also gives her another gift – AIDS. Well, isn’t that special. Now, that GOOD wife and her innocent baby are AIDS victims. Rah, rah tradition.
Let me describe these hotels. They are single rooms, with a large bed, dim lighting, a bathroom with a shower, and of course, a TV. They normally have a single purpose – a discrete place to have sex. This is what happens. You drive up in your car and quickly turn into the area of the hotel. Immediately, smiling young Thai men wave flashlights much as those who help land planes do (they try to make the whole area as dark as possible, often with concrete roofs above), beckoning the car forward. Middle-aged women armed with cans of disinfectant walk around the place slowly, exchanging soiled sheets for clean ones. All one sees now are stalls, each with a colorful curtain displaying a large number, pulled tightly across it. The men run quickly to the curtain, fling it back, allow your car to drive in, and then rush it back into place, concealing your car behind it’s vinyl shield. There, in front of your car’s bumper, is a door. Inside that door is your ticket to paradise. Normally, you pay by the hour. Probably around $4-5 USD. The place is yours now, no questions asked.
Several times a week I find myself driving through these hotels. There are several blocks of them that connect from near my home to a nearby mall. By using them as a shortcut, I avoid the menacing traffic of Bangkok and all its danger and headaches. In return, I get an interesting look at what Bangkok pretends to abhor, and yet with a smirk and wink, looks the other way.
These places in their simplicity flourish. What does this mean?? Well, it means that there are a LOT of people who want to have sex and don’t have a place of their own to do that in. This makes sense. Most Thais live in relatively large family units (a house with parents, children, grandparents, etc.). A Thai living on his or her own is rare (and expensive). I personally know of one young woman who must travel up to an hour and half to and from work each day. I ask her why she doesn’t get a condo near school, and she says, “I don’t want to. I like living with my family. I like to come home and eat with them and talk to them.” This is said in all sincerity and I believe her. This is a woman who is engaged to a boyfriend she loves very much. If I was her, I’d have scrambled off to my own place long ago. But, it just doesn’t seem to be that way here. Family is just more important. Growing up in individualistic (yay!) America, this is hard to comprehend much of the time, but it seems to be true for most. A “sense of family” is something I never had, since I had such a fucked up one, so the individualism of America suits me fine, but I am viewed as odd here, because I live by myself and don’t seem to want or need anyone’s help.
What does it also mean? Infidelity, particularly in males, is fantastically high. Thai women grudgingly accept this, claiming that it’s a trade-off since females control the money and the children. Personally, it’s not the kind of exchange I’d like, but I am lucky enough to have the choice to avoid it. I have talked to many Thai women about this. It is kind of a sad burden. I wonder what the rate of women’s infidelity is. There is not much of a male prostitute culture (that which exists caters primarily to gay men), but once in awhile you hear things. Recently, a club where women pay to have men dance with them (and supposedly also sleep with them) was crashed by the police. You don’t hear about the police crashing the thousands of brothels and bar girl-inhabited places much. Anyway, these hotels are in a sense, a nod of approval for these men. Would hundreds, or thousands of TV room hotels exist if it was mostly married women who were taking their bar boys for a roll in the hay? I suspect not. But how is this different from any other place in the world?
Another thing that always makes me smirk, is the usual elaborate and large “spirit house” that is set up at these things. A spirit house is kind of like a mini chapel, and they can be set up anywhere, usually outside a home or business. I often see very dramatic ones at short-time hotels, and often see young women leaving the hotels and paying respect to these houses on their way out. A friend and I talking about Patpong (one of the sex tourist districts), noted that the girls would dance (and possibly screw for cash) all nigh, and then the next morning be fresh-faced, bowing and scraping at the local temple, in all true sincerity. In the U.S., this would be seem as some sort of mockery. How can you be spiritual and be a prostitute at the same time? Why not, I say? Mary Magdalene did it.
This reminds of something I saw on CNN today. A young, beautiful, and articulate princess of Swaziland was advocating and pushing a giant white rope (“tassle”) that all female virgins should wear to promote abstinence – particularly up to the age of 21. And why?? Well, besides the fact that this ridiculously-huge rope was claimed to be a reclaiming of traditional beliefs, the real reason was to PREVENT AIDS!
*cough* *splutter*
Excuse me? If the women stay virgins until they’re 21 (and supposedly married), THIS is going to help solve the spread of AIDS? HELLO? Does anyone REALLY believe it is the married women who are responsible for the spread of AIDS in Africa? I may not be the most educated woman on this subject, but I know full well that it is the single and MARRIED men who sleep around (also with prostitutes) and then come home to their wives and children who are the real carriers of this disease. So, a woman is a good girl. She stays a virgin until she is married at, let’s say, 22. Her husband sleeps with her, gets her pregnant. And, he also gives her another gift – AIDS. Well, isn’t that special. Now, that GOOD wife and her innocent baby are AIDS victims. Rah, rah tradition.
Friday, August 09, 2002
The Foreign Service Exam, and The Morality of "Ignorance is Bliss."
Can you tell by my reading list that I’m doing some studying? Mark, you’ll hate this, but I registered for the Foreign Service Exam and I decided to start cramming for it. Yes, I know, they're going to turn me into a slut in Afghanistan, sleeping with nasty Abdul the gundealer for information.
As for the studying, it’s fabulous, actually. It’s like studying for a big, important test, and yet, if you do terrible on it, who cares?? I’m really enjoying myself. Reading all this history, political science, and economics stuff has been fun for me. I’m learning a lot about the American Presidents, a subject I’ve never felt very well-educated on. Sure, it’s not the greatest source of education, but I really like these Idiots/Dummies/No-nonsense guides. I think they’re a good place to start. We all need a decent foundation in order to go into the minute detail of academia.
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I have a strange philosophical thought to put forward. In the world of “morality,” is something considered a sin if you only feel guilty when caught? Your immediate response might be “Of course not!” but in reality, I think it’s something to think about.
For example, you do something that is beneficial to you, and which would hurt your mother emotionally if she ever discovered it. Of course, if your mother never knows about this action, she will be in the land of “ignorance is bliss” and well, so will you, since you have benefited from said action. After a great deal of time has gone by, your mother does discover said action. Naturally, she is hurt and feels a bit betrayed. NOW…yes, NOW you feel like total dog shit. You didn’t really suffer from guilt (unless you are Catholic) up until this point. What you were doing was too wonderful for you, and sometimes something that makes you happy is difficult to see as wrong.
Is this way of action really wrong? Will it encourage us to do things that society considers as immoral, and then of course, try everything one can to not get caught? You know, although rules and such can be a pain in the ass, and when you’re a child, can seem so arbitrary, when you’re an adult, they start to make sense. MOST rules are created for a REASON. Some are more obvious than others, of course. But experience often tells us, as we get older (I’m pushing 30, kind of excitedly), that often rules are put where they are for a good reason (and in less frequent times, to benefit someone or others).
We tell people in society that if you hurt someone, and they are ignorant of that fact (thus they are not truly hurt), you are doing a deceitful, immoral thing. If you are gaining some pleasure from this unknown immoral act, then it makes it much worse, because you are gaining pleasure from the possible harm it could cause if it was revealed. It seems a bit abstract to me, and of course, society DOES tell us its immortal for a reason – we don’t want everyone going around doing things that could be hurtful to others for their own satisfaction!
Yes, I am guilty of said action. I have hurt someone. Am I trying to excuse myself? Hell no, I accept the consequences (and subsequent guilt) for my actions. And anything terrible I may feel right now is because I don’t enjoy hurting others and would love to prevent it. “Well, you should have thought of that when you did what you did.” Sure, maybe. In this life, if we are trying to be good to ourselves and each other, we try not to hurt them. And sometimes, we try to live life to the fullest, and sometimes that means doing what’s best for oneself. This may hurt people. Now, I am not talking about stomping on people on your way to the top (especially for some sort of monetary gain). I am talking about doing something that makes you feel alive, and then, if it is kept from the “right” person, you continue to feel alive, happy, maybe even fulfilled. Oh mother, now you know, and now you are hurt. And yes, I feel terrible that you are hurt, for I would never want that. BUT, if you did not feel hurt, would my action be wrong? Is it only the feelings of a person (who will hopefully one day forgive you) that makes something a sin? Ahhhhh “sin.” A Christian word. Sin, sin, sin. Sin is a slap in God’s face, when what we should really care about, is if it’s a slap in our fellow “human being’s” face.
I guess I don’t have a point. As someone who has tried hard to live life to the fullest, had a wonderful time, and still feel like I’m feeling awfully short, I do think that sometimes people get hurt, even though you don’t want them to, and even though your actions were intentional. I don’t think that necessarily always makes it so much more evil. I believe in regret and retribution, and strongly in accepting consequences for one’s actions. But like the tree falling in the forest with no one to hear it crash,…is it so that an action taken, that may make someone hurt IF they discover it, is that action a true horrible deed? A SIN? Maybe ignorance really is bliss, for all of us involved. I guess we all decide for ourselves.
P.S. OH god Oh god! They’re going to add a new Bob Saget sitcom to the lineup on my already super-limited cable stations here. *cry*
As for the studying, it’s fabulous, actually. It’s like studying for a big, important test, and yet, if you do terrible on it, who cares?? I’m really enjoying myself. Reading all this history, political science, and economics stuff has been fun for me. I’m learning a lot about the American Presidents, a subject I’ve never felt very well-educated on. Sure, it’s not the greatest source of education, but I really like these Idiots/Dummies/No-nonsense guides. I think they’re a good place to start. We all need a decent foundation in order to go into the minute detail of academia.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
I have a strange philosophical thought to put forward. In the world of “morality,” is something considered a sin if you only feel guilty when caught? Your immediate response might be “Of course not!” but in reality, I think it’s something to think about.
For example, you do something that is beneficial to you, and which would hurt your mother emotionally if she ever discovered it. Of course, if your mother never knows about this action, she will be in the land of “ignorance is bliss” and well, so will you, since you have benefited from said action. After a great deal of time has gone by, your mother does discover said action. Naturally, she is hurt and feels a bit betrayed. NOW…yes, NOW you feel like total dog shit. You didn’t really suffer from guilt (unless you are Catholic) up until this point. What you were doing was too wonderful for you, and sometimes something that makes you happy is difficult to see as wrong.
Is this way of action really wrong? Will it encourage us to do things that society considers as immoral, and then of course, try everything one can to not get caught? You know, although rules and such can be a pain in the ass, and when you’re a child, can seem so arbitrary, when you’re an adult, they start to make sense. MOST rules are created for a REASON. Some are more obvious than others, of course. But experience often tells us, as we get older (I’m pushing 30, kind of excitedly), that often rules are put where they are for a good reason (and in less frequent times, to benefit someone or others).
We tell people in society that if you hurt someone, and they are ignorant of that fact (thus they are not truly hurt), you are doing a deceitful, immoral thing. If you are gaining some pleasure from this unknown immoral act, then it makes it much worse, because you are gaining pleasure from the possible harm it could cause if it was revealed. It seems a bit abstract to me, and of course, society DOES tell us its immortal for a reason – we don’t want everyone going around doing things that could be hurtful to others for their own satisfaction!
Yes, I am guilty of said action. I have hurt someone. Am I trying to excuse myself? Hell no, I accept the consequences (and subsequent guilt) for my actions. And anything terrible I may feel right now is because I don’t enjoy hurting others and would love to prevent it. “Well, you should have thought of that when you did what you did.” Sure, maybe. In this life, if we are trying to be good to ourselves and each other, we try not to hurt them. And sometimes, we try to live life to the fullest, and sometimes that means doing what’s best for oneself. This may hurt people. Now, I am not talking about stomping on people on your way to the top (especially for some sort of monetary gain). I am talking about doing something that makes you feel alive, and then, if it is kept from the “right” person, you continue to feel alive, happy, maybe even fulfilled. Oh mother, now you know, and now you are hurt. And yes, I feel terrible that you are hurt, for I would never want that. BUT, if you did not feel hurt, would my action be wrong? Is it only the feelings of a person (who will hopefully one day forgive you) that makes something a sin? Ahhhhh “sin.” A Christian word. Sin, sin, sin. Sin is a slap in God’s face, when what we should really care about, is if it’s a slap in our fellow “human being’s” face.
I guess I don’t have a point. As someone who has tried hard to live life to the fullest, had a wonderful time, and still feel like I’m feeling awfully short, I do think that sometimes people get hurt, even though you don’t want them to, and even though your actions were intentional. I don’t think that necessarily always makes it so much more evil. I believe in regret and retribution, and strongly in accepting consequences for one’s actions. But like the tree falling in the forest with no one to hear it crash,…is it so that an action taken, that may make someone hurt IF they discover it, is that action a true horrible deed? A SIN? Maybe ignorance really is bliss, for all of us involved. I guess we all decide for ourselves.
P.S. OH god Oh god! They’re going to add a new Bob Saget sitcom to the lineup on my already super-limited cable stations here. *cry*
Sunday, July 21, 2002
Eight-legged Freaks
Yes, we know that some movies pretend to be bad or try to grasp the spirit of the great B movies of the past. Alas! "Eight-legged Freaks" not only failed, but just might be the biggest piece of utter dog shit on the face of the Earth. I can safely say, without a shadow of a doubt, that it was the WORST movie I have ever seen. Of course, it didn't help that David Arquette was in it. A man who inspires me to violent acts -- between him and tha Bob Saget, I'm not sure whom I'd like to see suffer more. They're the two most unfunny people in the galaxy, though they seem to have a lot of self-confidence in this area. ANYWAY, although my good friend Mark had nothing good to say about "A Beautiful Mind" not only for its typical overcoming adversary and triumphing plot, but because of all it did NOT say. The book is still on my shelf, so I can't comment much on that, but at least I enjoyed that movie (though admittedly, I've had a 4th grade schoolgirl crush on Russell Crowe since Gladiator, a movie with a similar theme).
Eight-legged Freaks was SOOOOOO bad! I know what it was trying to do. It was a terrible copy of the success of movies like "Tremors." Tremors was fantastic! Scary and campy all in one. No apologies, but no shit either. Even "Sleepy Hollow" was scary while poking fun at itself (mostly through the bumbling Johnny Depp character). I can't even remember the last time I wanted to walk out of a movie. Besides, movies are so few and far between here, it's not like there's a buffet of choices.
I could go into a long and detailed critique of exactly WHY it was so bad, but I won't. This is mostly for me to vent at my anger of something so totally crappy being put on the screen. Even the disappointing "Queen of the Damned," didn't make me want to start a riot in the movie theater. Being in the bubble of Bangkok, I don't know how this film went over in the United States, but I hope to god it didn't make more than $45 at the box office.
Okay, I wanna go read now. I'm obsessed with finishing another book this weekend since I'm halfway through them all.
Eight-legged Freaks was SOOOOOO bad! I know what it was trying to do. It was a terrible copy of the success of movies like "Tremors." Tremors was fantastic! Scary and campy all in one. No apologies, but no shit either. Even "Sleepy Hollow" was scary while poking fun at itself (mostly through the bumbling Johnny Depp character). I can't even remember the last time I wanted to walk out of a movie. Besides, movies are so few and far between here, it's not like there's a buffet of choices.
I could go into a long and detailed critique of exactly WHY it was so bad, but I won't. This is mostly for me to vent at my anger of something so totally crappy being put on the screen. Even the disappointing "Queen of the Damned," didn't make me want to start a riot in the movie theater. Being in the bubble of Bangkok, I don't know how this film went over in the United States, but I hope to god it didn't make more than $45 at the box office.
Okay, I wanna go read now. I'm obsessed with finishing another book this weekend since I'm halfway through them all.
Tuesday, July 09, 2002
36 Hours of Bribery, Philosophy, and Fireworks
Nothing political or philosophical to say here tonight, really. I just had a really good 36 hours and wanted to write it all down. Besides, since this works kind of as my personal journal, it's good to get it down for posterity, while I'm remembering it.
Late afternoon Friday I went in AGAIN for a "brush up" laser (LASIK) surgery. This is one of those things that goes under the "Great Things About Thailand" heading -- usually something that is cheap, MUCH cheaper than the United States. In this case, it was a long-time dream -- laser surgery. Just think, no more annoying contacts or frequently-broken and awkward glasses. Yes, it is cosmetic surgery. Absolutely. And I couldn't be more grateful and happy about it. Anyway, they did my left eye fine... (I could only afford one eye at a time), and then they did my right...not so fine. A bit fuzzy, harder to see at night. They can re-do it, which means another short, but terrifying operation. So, they re-did it, and well, it seems worse. How's that? Yahoo. Anyway, I slept for about 12 hours...and then it was Saturday.
On Saturday afternoon, after a brief visit with the doctor who was relieved not to see an infection, I got on my motorcycle for the long ride out to the ex-pat area. It was the 4th of July picnic held each year by the Embassy. As annoying as this may make my dear Mark, I love this thing. I went last year as well. I suppose, when you live in a foreign country, especially in an area that has almost no foreigners besides yourself, you start to feel like you're living in a parallel universe. Then suddenly you're in this isolated area, a cocoon of sorts (metal detectors this year! Americans and dependents only! Keep your guns at home!), and you're eating hot dogs and hamburgers off the grill and deep dish apple pie (all rare treats!). There's an awful band playing country versions of Jimi Hendrix, there's veterens, there's voter registration, and then of course, there's fireworks. More Americans than you can shake a stick at are there, and usually the greatest number of compatriots at one time and place I may see is a grand total of five. I guess it's a little comforting...because it's easy. I don't have to think about the language I'm speaking. I don't have to strain to understand what's said to me. I can talk fast. I know how to act, I know what distance to stand from people. It's easy. That's why. I liked it. I know that for some reason I'm supposed to feel guilty about that, about being comfortable. I blame grad school for that.
But my immorality doesn't stop there. On the long bike ride to the picnic, I did something totally illegal. I, along with another motorcycle rider, rode through the "bus only" lane. Why? Well, two reasons. One, I needed to be on a certain street, but unfortunately, it was only one way for a VERY long stretch. Buses, on the other hand, have their own private lane going the same way I wanted to go! As I saw one motorcycle driver turn and begin to piggy back a bus down this coveted lane, I decided, hey, why can't I do it too? The second reason? Well, one bad thing about my living in Thailand is that I have become "Thai" in the sense that I have used the bad things in this society and used them to my advantage. Hey, everone else breaks the law here too and doesn't give a shit, so why should I? Yes, I don't rise above. It's true.
Anyway, I, and my motorcycle law-breaking buddy, got caught. We were pulled over by a cop. Seeing as I don't have a driver's license here, and policemen who are widely known as bribe-taking machines and have a strong sweet tooth for the sugary wallet of foreigners, I was a bit....worried. But in the end, it was the same old story. "You you got to police station. Pay a lot of money. Go station! Bad!" And after my cute-and-stupid routine didn't work too well, he did his typical "Pay here, okay" hint, and I gave him 200 baht ($5). No one here is surprised or impressed (save that it's my first Thailand bribe). I don't know how I feel. Part dirty, part thrilled, part indifferent (can you be PART indifferent?), ... Anyway, I did the right thing. You put your small bills in your pocket, and you hide your big bills so the cops don't clean you out. I put my big bills in my book. They'd never check there.
After my fill of Americana, I went to a nearby theater and saw The Minority Report which I liked very very much, but thought it could have dealt quite a bit more with the whole philosophical issue of "I am the Master of my Fate, the Captain of my Destiny" (sic). But as Spielberg himself says, "I deal more with emotions," not the intellectual aspect (he said that comparing himself to Stanley Kubrick whom he said was the latter).
Of course, I stopped in the giant English bookstore and succumbed again to purchasing a couple books. I've already finished one of them...an American slightly tweaked version of Bridget Jones. Enjoyable but unremarkable (see book list).
Finally, late at night I leave and head to the basement where my cherished motorcycle, Sherlock, awaits. I'm stopped by an American guy who is absolutely shocked to see a white woman riding a motorcycle in Bangkok. It's true. Women are rare (except driving in their own neighborhoods from home to market), and I am the only female foreigner I've seen on a bike. I suppose I'm remarkable! Maybe just different. Yeah. Anyway, I got his card. He makes some pretty famous Bangkok maps here. He said he has a group that goes on motorcycle rides. Cool. I'll make a people connection. I've got to. I think I'm getting too comfortable at this alone thing, as much as I enjoy it. All you've read above, it was all done kon diao as the Thai would say, toute seule as the French would say, or ALONE as we'd say. Well, get your motor running!
Late afternoon Friday I went in AGAIN for a "brush up" laser (LASIK) surgery. This is one of those things that goes under the "Great Things About Thailand" heading -- usually something that is cheap, MUCH cheaper than the United States. In this case, it was a long-time dream -- laser surgery. Just think, no more annoying contacts or frequently-broken and awkward glasses. Yes, it is cosmetic surgery. Absolutely. And I couldn't be more grateful and happy about it. Anyway, they did my left eye fine... (I could only afford one eye at a time), and then they did my right...not so fine. A bit fuzzy, harder to see at night. They can re-do it, which means another short, but terrifying operation. So, they re-did it, and well, it seems worse. How's that? Yahoo. Anyway, I slept for about 12 hours...and then it was Saturday.
On Saturday afternoon, after a brief visit with the doctor who was relieved not to see an infection, I got on my motorcycle for the long ride out to the ex-pat area. It was the 4th of July picnic held each year by the Embassy. As annoying as this may make my dear Mark, I love this thing. I went last year as well. I suppose, when you live in a foreign country, especially in an area that has almost no foreigners besides yourself, you start to feel like you're living in a parallel universe. Then suddenly you're in this isolated area, a cocoon of sorts (metal detectors this year! Americans and dependents only! Keep your guns at home!), and you're eating hot dogs and hamburgers off the grill and deep dish apple pie (all rare treats!). There's an awful band playing country versions of Jimi Hendrix, there's veterens, there's voter registration, and then of course, there's fireworks. More Americans than you can shake a stick at are there, and usually the greatest number of compatriots at one time and place I may see is a grand total of five. I guess it's a little comforting...because it's easy. I don't have to think about the language I'm speaking. I don't have to strain to understand what's said to me. I can talk fast. I know how to act, I know what distance to stand from people. It's easy. That's why. I liked it. I know that for some reason I'm supposed to feel guilty about that, about being comfortable. I blame grad school for that.
But my immorality doesn't stop there. On the long bike ride to the picnic, I did something totally illegal. I, along with another motorcycle rider, rode through the "bus only" lane. Why? Well, two reasons. One, I needed to be on a certain street, but unfortunately, it was only one way for a VERY long stretch. Buses, on the other hand, have their own private lane going the same way I wanted to go! As I saw one motorcycle driver turn and begin to piggy back a bus down this coveted lane, I decided, hey, why can't I do it too? The second reason? Well, one bad thing about my living in Thailand is that I have become "Thai" in the sense that I have used the bad things in this society and used them to my advantage. Hey, everone else breaks the law here too and doesn't give a shit, so why should I? Yes, I don't rise above. It's true.
Anyway, I, and my motorcycle law-breaking buddy, got caught. We were pulled over by a cop. Seeing as I don't have a driver's license here, and policemen who are widely known as bribe-taking machines and have a strong sweet tooth for the sugary wallet of foreigners, I was a bit....worried. But in the end, it was the same old story. "You you got to police station. Pay a lot of money. Go station! Bad!" And after my cute-and-stupid routine didn't work too well, he did his typical "Pay here, okay" hint, and I gave him 200 baht ($5). No one here is surprised or impressed (save that it's my first Thailand bribe). I don't know how I feel. Part dirty, part thrilled, part indifferent (can you be PART indifferent?), ... Anyway, I did the right thing. You put your small bills in your pocket, and you hide your big bills so the cops don't clean you out. I put my big bills in my book. They'd never check there.
After my fill of Americana, I went to a nearby theater and saw The Minority Report which I liked very very much, but thought it could have dealt quite a bit more with the whole philosophical issue of "I am the Master of my Fate, the Captain of my Destiny" (sic). But as Spielberg himself says, "I deal more with emotions," not the intellectual aspect (he said that comparing himself to Stanley Kubrick whom he said was the latter).
Of course, I stopped in the giant English bookstore and succumbed again to purchasing a couple books. I've already finished one of them...an American slightly tweaked version of Bridget Jones. Enjoyable but unremarkable (see book list).
Finally, late at night I leave and head to the basement where my cherished motorcycle, Sherlock, awaits. I'm stopped by an American guy who is absolutely shocked to see a white woman riding a motorcycle in Bangkok. It's true. Women are rare (except driving in their own neighborhoods from home to market), and I am the only female foreigner I've seen on a bike. I suppose I'm remarkable! Maybe just different. Yeah. Anyway, I got his card. He makes some pretty famous Bangkok maps here. He said he has a group that goes on motorcycle rides. Cool. I'll make a people connection. I've got to. I think I'm getting too comfortable at this alone thing, as much as I enjoy it. All you've read above, it was all done kon diao as the Thai would say, toute seule as the French would say, or ALONE as we'd say. Well, get your motor running!
Saturday, June 22, 2002
Western Men and Thai Women
The whole Western man – Thai woman thing has been a touchy subject for me as a Western woman living in Bangkok. I’ve never found it so incredibly difficult to be single in my life. Though I am no great beauty, nor ever had much money, I’ve never had a lot of trouble finding a good relationship. But here in Bangkok, it has been nearly impossible.
To avoid being bitter and resentful, I have tried to understand these partnerships which are abundant all over Bangkok (and which make up most of my teaching staff). I read the depressing book, “Hello my Big, Big Honey” which is a mess of emotional letters written by Western men to Thai bar girls they have “fallen in love” with. It’s the kind of book that makes you want to turn lesbian, or else consider all men to be adulterous and gullible as hell. “I love you honey, and yes, I got your bank account number and will be depositing money into your account soon….”
Not too long ago I was coming home after a night class. I stopped by in a sandwich shop to have dinner. I was enjoying myself and the atmosphere (and reading a fantastic Iris Murdoch book). Not too far from me was a typical sight – a Western man with a Thai “bar girl.”
Wait, first let me give a very general definition of “bar girl” as it is known here in Bangkok. A bar girl is a Thai woman, usually from the poor areas of the North or Northeast (Isaan) of Thailand. Predominantly though, they are Isaan woman. They can be very young, ranging from about 13-40 years old. They’re often petite with dark skin. They’re easy to recognize after awhile just by how they look and move (and often by the display of a tattoo, often on the back of a shoulder). If you are to believe the studies done on them, many of them are already married to scummy Thai men and have a baby at home, and nearly all of them are partially to totally supporting their families back home.
Most of them work in bars, where they befriend tourists (mostly Western men, but often Japanese and Korean men too), get the men to buy them drinks, and sometimes, to buy the girl herself for a night of sex. Sometimes, the man can buy the girl for days on end. By “buying” her, he first pays the bar a fee for the revenue they lose by her removal from the bar. Then the man “tips” the girl for her services. Usually this can range from about $50-$150 (USD) a night. Considering that these girls are paid about $80 a month, you can see the incentive of having a Western man take you from the bar for one night. Now sure, as I mentioned, this “definition” is a stereotype in a way, and a loose description, but trust me, my broad sweeping generalization covers most of them.
Okay, anyway, back to the sandwich shop. So the bar girl is sitting with a French man, and he is speaking English to her (most bar girls have a fairly good grasp of English, which makes sense since the better their English, the better business they can do). The guy is going on and on in this loud voice, and though I can’t remember it all anymore, I can remember the gist. Basically, he was telling his personal philosophy on anything and everything, and it was lengthy, verbose, pretentious, egotistical, and fantastically boring. But of course, the girl was listening to him as if in rapture, with lots of nods and “uh-huhs.” Perhaps, that is the secret. To listen to a man go on and on and pretend that it’s the most amazing schpiel ever. Don’t get me wrong, I believe very much in being a good listener and caring about the people who are opening up to you, but that doesn’t mean you have to take, and listen to without comment, all the bullshit that comes your way.
On that same night, I took the “sky train” (subway in the sky) home. As I was sitting in my seat, fantasizing about being home already, there was another Western man – Thai bar girl couple sitting across from me. I can no longer remember details from the conversation, but I do remember the woman distinctly reminding me of a valley girl in her speech and tone, and the guy nodding profusely adding a mess of his own, “uh-huhs!” She was talking about how much she hated Indians (there are a community here and Thais in general do not seem to be fond of them for some reason). She had lots of reasons, and lots of “you know!”s. The guy was eating it all up.
Maybe the real secret is that when these men go to Bangkok, they step into another world. A world where anything and everything is possible. And let’s be realistic, if I was in France, I’d be interested in dating a Frenchman myself. I wouldn’t rule out an American guy at ANY chance, especially since communication is so important to me. But I know it would be interesting to date someone from the place you’re in. But really, in the end…it comes down to communication. I myself had a relationship with a Thai man, and similar to a bar girl (though not in the same profession!) he needed a pretty good grasp of English for his job. And though I cannot solely blame his lack of English/communication skills for my breaking up with him, it really WAS the major reason.
Which is why I always end up at the beginning. When it comes to ex-pats in Thailand, (lesser so for the tourists who come for a wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am), HOW do they maintain these relationships? I personally know about 10 couples of Western men and Thai women living here, and the majority of the women were former bar girls. How do they do it? And if you tell me “We connect on another level” I’m going to tell you you’re full of shit. That only works for the tourist boys looking for justifications for splashing into prostitution here. Does it simply come down to men and women demanding different things in a relationship? Or men not demanding at all?
My main demand is that I can communicate to a man. I don’t mean the whiny “Let’s talk about our feeeeeeelings” but about all sorts of stuff. I want to be able to talk to him about work, about the book I’m reading, about Israel and (the lack of) Palestine, etc. I don’t want to just talk about the weather and sex (though those can be pleasant topics too!). If men are from Mars, and women are from Venus, is Mars a very quiet place and Venus full of endless chatter? Shit, maybe I should move to Saturn.
To avoid being bitter and resentful, I have tried to understand these partnerships which are abundant all over Bangkok (and which make up most of my teaching staff). I read the depressing book, “Hello my Big, Big Honey” which is a mess of emotional letters written by Western men to Thai bar girls they have “fallen in love” with. It’s the kind of book that makes you want to turn lesbian, or else consider all men to be adulterous and gullible as hell. “I love you honey, and yes, I got your bank account number and will be depositing money into your account soon….”
Not too long ago I was coming home after a night class. I stopped by in a sandwich shop to have dinner. I was enjoying myself and the atmosphere (and reading a fantastic Iris Murdoch book). Not too far from me was a typical sight – a Western man with a Thai “bar girl.”
Wait, first let me give a very general definition of “bar girl” as it is known here in Bangkok. A bar girl is a Thai woman, usually from the poor areas of the North or Northeast (Isaan) of Thailand. Predominantly though, they are Isaan woman. They can be very young, ranging from about 13-40 years old. They’re often petite with dark skin. They’re easy to recognize after awhile just by how they look and move (and often by the display of a tattoo, often on the back of a shoulder). If you are to believe the studies done on them, many of them are already married to scummy Thai men and have a baby at home, and nearly all of them are partially to totally supporting their families back home.
Most of them work in bars, where they befriend tourists (mostly Western men, but often Japanese and Korean men too), get the men to buy them drinks, and sometimes, to buy the girl herself for a night of sex. Sometimes, the man can buy the girl for days on end. By “buying” her, he first pays the bar a fee for the revenue they lose by her removal from the bar. Then the man “tips” the girl for her services. Usually this can range from about $50-$150 (USD) a night. Considering that these girls are paid about $80 a month, you can see the incentive of having a Western man take you from the bar for one night. Now sure, as I mentioned, this “definition” is a stereotype in a way, and a loose description, but trust me, my broad sweeping generalization covers most of them.
Okay, anyway, back to the sandwich shop. So the bar girl is sitting with a French man, and he is speaking English to her (most bar girls have a fairly good grasp of English, which makes sense since the better their English, the better business they can do). The guy is going on and on in this loud voice, and though I can’t remember it all anymore, I can remember the gist. Basically, he was telling his personal philosophy on anything and everything, and it was lengthy, verbose, pretentious, egotistical, and fantastically boring. But of course, the girl was listening to him as if in rapture, with lots of nods and “uh-huhs.” Perhaps, that is the secret. To listen to a man go on and on and pretend that it’s the most amazing schpiel ever. Don’t get me wrong, I believe very much in being a good listener and caring about the people who are opening up to you, but that doesn’t mean you have to take, and listen to without comment, all the bullshit that comes your way.
On that same night, I took the “sky train” (subway in the sky) home. As I was sitting in my seat, fantasizing about being home already, there was another Western man – Thai bar girl couple sitting across from me. I can no longer remember details from the conversation, but I do remember the woman distinctly reminding me of a valley girl in her speech and tone, and the guy nodding profusely adding a mess of his own, “uh-huhs!” She was talking about how much she hated Indians (there are a community here and Thais in general do not seem to be fond of them for some reason). She had lots of reasons, and lots of “you know!”s. The guy was eating it all up.
Maybe the real secret is that when these men go to Bangkok, they step into another world. A world where anything and everything is possible. And let’s be realistic, if I was in France, I’d be interested in dating a Frenchman myself. I wouldn’t rule out an American guy at ANY chance, especially since communication is so important to me. But I know it would be interesting to date someone from the place you’re in. But really, in the end…it comes down to communication. I myself had a relationship with a Thai man, and similar to a bar girl (though not in the same profession!) he needed a pretty good grasp of English for his job. And though I cannot solely blame his lack of English/communication skills for my breaking up with him, it really WAS the major reason.
Which is why I always end up at the beginning. When it comes to ex-pats in Thailand, (lesser so for the tourists who come for a wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am), HOW do they maintain these relationships? I personally know about 10 couples of Western men and Thai women living here, and the majority of the women were former bar girls. How do they do it? And if you tell me “We connect on another level” I’m going to tell you you’re full of shit. That only works for the tourist boys looking for justifications for splashing into prostitution here. Does it simply come down to men and women demanding different things in a relationship? Or men not demanding at all?
My main demand is that I can communicate to a man. I don’t mean the whiny “Let’s talk about our feeeeeeelings” but about all sorts of stuff. I want to be able to talk to him about work, about the book I’m reading, about Israel and (the lack of) Palestine, etc. I don’t want to just talk about the weather and sex (though those can be pleasant topics too!). If men are from Mars, and women are from Venus, is Mars a very quiet place and Venus full of endless chatter? Shit, maybe I should move to Saturn.
Tuesday, May 07, 2002
60 Second Poetry
Sometimes, even when I don't intend it, I find it impossible not to write and write and write. But no, I won't do it now! Instead I'm inserting another one of my "60-second poems." These are, obviously, poems I write in 60 seconds or less and usually adore. Ahhh love.....
Love comes in creeping
*bite chomp slurp*
You are nothing....
but...
a snack...a hors d'oeuvres..
wrapped in the embrace of its lips
The agony of its teeth
The sliding trauma of its throat
Until you are digested...
like all the others..
into the abyss of the intenstines.
Love comes in creeping
*bite chomp slurp*
You are nothing....
but...
a snack...a hors d'oeuvres..
wrapped in the embrace of its lips
The agony of its teeth
The sliding trauma of its throat
Until you are digested...
like all the others..
into the abyss of the intenstines.
Thursday, May 02, 2002
Fearless
Yeah, I haven't been around in awhile. One of those things that are more tiring to explain and less interesting than what you may think.
Also, I've changed my template (again). I really loved the last one, but it seems that it causes havoc on some browsers, and well, since I only really know of one person besides myself who reads this, I want him to have a bit of an easier time. Hope this is okay.
-----------------------------
Anyway, I'm going to write about tonight's triumph. As I write this out, and you read it, you will be thinking to yourself? THIS is the "triumph? Pfffff!" Well, one woman's triumph is another's snore. But it feels pretty fantastic to me. I recently acquired a motorcycle .. a small but longstanding dream of mine. If you have any idea of the traffic here in Bangkok and the dangers riding a motorcycle presents, maybe you'll understand me a little better. Just imagine traffice, from slow moving to gridlock, every day, every hour, 24/7. NO JOKE. Now imagine, weaving cars, hostile buses, arrogant taxis, crazy tuk-tuks (3-wheel contraptions), and dexterous motorcycle riders. I get to drive in that! No stretches of road with green grass and trees as side landscape! Anyway, I've been going out at the dead of night (like now) to make "dry runs" around town. Let me tell you, just crossing the bridge (and the giant Chao Phya river) was a major accomplishment. But tonight, I worked up to. Basically, it's many miles from my house, over bridges and through many busy streets to a place where I basically park (and then get on a sky train). I have to go the French embassy twice a week for lessons and it's on the other side of town. I want to start driving there, halfway, but it's seemed like an impossible task and distance. Tonight, I did it, with nearly no troubles. I even negotiated with the guy who owns the place I'll have to park. It was so damn exhilerating. And a little bit scary too, but I was just happy I didn't see a police (BRIBE!) or get lost. I don't handle getting lost well. Anyway, I did it! I survived. I didn't get lost. I obeyed traffic laws, etc. I feel good, and tired. Real tired. My mother would be proud, sort of.
My mother isn't one for compliments. Well, no one in my entire family is really, except maybe my second cousin Wendy, who is totally cool, but I see her pretty rarely now. Anyway, my mother came to Thailand about a month ago. It was her first trip outside the United States..ever (she's 49 years old). She had a really great time. I did too, though I have to admit to fits of inner torture and moments of outward physical exhaustion. While here, she gave me one compliment, over and over.
"You're fearless," she'd say. She said it with admiration (even if she did have to associate my sister in the same breath and compliment. My mother is totally unable to not talk about my sister for more than 5 minutes at a time). I took the compliment full on. Like I said, they're rare, and it's not like my mother would ever call me beautiful (ha! That only belongs to my aunt who I was raised with, JC), or smart (that would be threatening her own identity within the family). In fact, there was a time when I was an undergrad and my early days in grad school when my mother was constantly attacking my intellectual capacity at family gatherings. That was fun. One time, at a round table packed with Thanksgiving food, she blurted out, "Actually, I'm a much better writer than Sabina."
*cough*
Anyway, although I enjoyed the compliment, it sort of puzzled me. It wasn't something I had ever considered myself to be or not to be (*snicker*). But a lot of people in my family think simple act of getting onto a plane for Thailand was an incomprehensible act of bravery. I'm not belittling them. I'm just lucky, really. Mark, you will hate to hear this, but I feel so lucky to have escaped the lives they've led. My life may not be perfect, but I feel that I have been so fortunate, and most of that has had to do with my diligence (and opportunities!) in my education. I escaped a life, or at least, one I saw around me. High school education, blue color shitty job, probably shitty husband, miserable marriage, teetering on (or falling into) bankruptcy, harassing calls from creditors, eating peanut butter or mayonnaise sandwiches, Velveeta, and Chex, having a lemon of a car, getting fat, having kids really early, yelling...yelling all the time. Was this life a guarantee without my education? No, of course not, but that doesn't mean I wasn't terrified of it. Education was my life preserver. As usual, I digress.
And from a few opportunities, and a linear progression of my life in mind, I ended up here. I've been here a year and a half now, and though there are things to still accomplish at my job, in terms of Thailand, well, there aren't a lot left. The nice thing about being ALONE as I am (yes, that's supposed to be in caps), is that it forces you to be fearless. This was why my mother's compliment seemed so strange. Can you really be considered "fearless" if those acts were forced upon you for survival? When you're alone, especially in a foreign country where the language is a barrier instead of a facilitator, you find yourself doing things you really don't want to do and putting yourself in awkward positions, but just because you HAVE to. No one is going to show you how to go to the dentist, or how to use the bus, or what the hell is IN that street vendor's dish. You just have to do it and learn from mistakes.
Nevertheless, those compliments don't come like rapid machine gun fire, so I'm taking this one and sticking it upon me like a brownie badge, because tonight, I was fearless!
---------
P.S. Super shitty thing happened on the way home on my motorcycle tonight. I was on page 368 of a 380 book I was really enjoying. Somewhere on that long ride home, it fell out of my basket. I retraced my steps (wheels) twice...nothing. DAMN IT! How aggravating! And it's not like it's so easy here to get a new book back unless it's really popular, like all the Tolkein books in stores now.
Also, I've changed my template (again). I really loved the last one, but it seems that it causes havoc on some browsers, and well, since I only really know of one person besides myself who reads this, I want him to have a bit of an easier time. Hope this is okay.
-----------------------------
Anyway, I'm going to write about tonight's triumph. As I write this out, and you read it, you will be thinking to yourself? THIS is the "triumph? Pfffff!" Well, one woman's triumph is another's snore. But it feels pretty fantastic to me. I recently acquired a motorcycle .. a small but longstanding dream of mine. If you have any idea of the traffic here in Bangkok and the dangers riding a motorcycle presents, maybe you'll understand me a little better. Just imagine traffice, from slow moving to gridlock, every day, every hour, 24/7. NO JOKE. Now imagine, weaving cars, hostile buses, arrogant taxis, crazy tuk-tuks (3-wheel contraptions), and dexterous motorcycle riders. I get to drive in that! No stretches of road with green grass and trees as side landscape! Anyway, I've been going out at the dead of night (like now) to make "dry runs" around town. Let me tell you, just crossing the bridge (and the giant Chao Phya river) was a major accomplishment. But tonight, I worked up to. Basically, it's many miles from my house, over bridges and through many busy streets to a place where I basically park (and then get on a sky train). I have to go the French embassy twice a week for lessons and it's on the other side of town. I want to start driving there, halfway, but it's seemed like an impossible task and distance. Tonight, I did it, with nearly no troubles. I even negotiated with the guy who owns the place I'll have to park. It was so damn exhilerating. And a little bit scary too, but I was just happy I didn't see a police (BRIBE!) or get lost. I don't handle getting lost well. Anyway, I did it! I survived. I didn't get lost. I obeyed traffic laws, etc. I feel good, and tired. Real tired. My mother would be proud, sort of.
My mother isn't one for compliments. Well, no one in my entire family is really, except maybe my second cousin Wendy, who is totally cool, but I see her pretty rarely now. Anyway, my mother came to Thailand about a month ago. It was her first trip outside the United States..ever (she's 49 years old). She had a really great time. I did too, though I have to admit to fits of inner torture and moments of outward physical exhaustion. While here, she gave me one compliment, over and over.
"You're fearless," she'd say. She said it with admiration (even if she did have to associate my sister in the same breath and compliment. My mother is totally unable to not talk about my sister for more than 5 minutes at a time). I took the compliment full on. Like I said, they're rare, and it's not like my mother would ever call me beautiful (ha! That only belongs to my aunt who I was raised with, JC), or smart (that would be threatening her own identity within the family). In fact, there was a time when I was an undergrad and my early days in grad school when my mother was constantly attacking my intellectual capacity at family gatherings. That was fun. One time, at a round table packed with Thanksgiving food, she blurted out, "Actually, I'm a much better writer than Sabina."
*cough*
Anyway, although I enjoyed the compliment, it sort of puzzled me. It wasn't something I had ever considered myself to be or not to be (*snicker*). But a lot of people in my family think simple act of getting onto a plane for Thailand was an incomprehensible act of bravery. I'm not belittling them. I'm just lucky, really. Mark, you will hate to hear this, but I feel so lucky to have escaped the lives they've led. My life may not be perfect, but I feel that I have been so fortunate, and most of that has had to do with my diligence (and opportunities!) in my education. I escaped a life, or at least, one I saw around me. High school education, blue color shitty job, probably shitty husband, miserable marriage, teetering on (or falling into) bankruptcy, harassing calls from creditors, eating peanut butter or mayonnaise sandwiches, Velveeta, and Chex, having a lemon of a car, getting fat, having kids really early, yelling...yelling all the time. Was this life a guarantee without my education? No, of course not, but that doesn't mean I wasn't terrified of it. Education was my life preserver. As usual, I digress.
And from a few opportunities, and a linear progression of my life in mind, I ended up here. I've been here a year and a half now, and though there are things to still accomplish at my job, in terms of Thailand, well, there aren't a lot left. The nice thing about being ALONE as I am (yes, that's supposed to be in caps), is that it forces you to be fearless. This was why my mother's compliment seemed so strange. Can you really be considered "fearless" if those acts were forced upon you for survival? When you're alone, especially in a foreign country where the language is a barrier instead of a facilitator, you find yourself doing things you really don't want to do and putting yourself in awkward positions, but just because you HAVE to. No one is going to show you how to go to the dentist, or how to use the bus, or what the hell is IN that street vendor's dish. You just have to do it and learn from mistakes.
Nevertheless, those compliments don't come like rapid machine gun fire, so I'm taking this one and sticking it upon me like a brownie badge, because tonight, I was fearless!
---------
P.S. Super shitty thing happened on the way home on my motorcycle tonight. I was on page 368 of a 380 book I was really enjoying. Somewhere on that long ride home, it fell out of my basket. I retraced my steps (wheels) twice...nothing. DAMN IT! How aggravating! And it's not like it's so easy here to get a new book back unless it's really popular, like all the Tolkein books in stores now.
Sunday, April 14, 2002
(World) War (II) and Sex
I saw this movie called, “The Land Girls.” What a delightful movie this is. Well, it has the shitiest ending in the universe, but we’ll ignore that. I wonder why I’ve never heard of it. It’s just appeared in the video stores here in Bangkok and I got a cheap VCD of it. It’s the story about three women who were “Land Girls” during WWII in the countryside in England. Because men were off fighting the wars, the women were sent off to the countryside to make food (much like the American women in the factories). It’s really fascinating because (I think) it’s a good portrayal of the behavior of people during WWII, even if they’re removed from the actual battlefields, out in the beautiful and serene rural areas. Still, people act a certain way in a war, and hell if I don’t like the rampant sex and desperate love affairs that it creates. And fuck off to anyone who judges. People do what they want, they don’t worry about social mores. And all those Dear John letters. Oh man.
The movie is a drama, but it has its wonderful comical quirks. This fascinating concept that we could die at any second, so let’s fuck, let’s fall in love, let’s get married! It’s wonderful in a way – it’s living life to its fullest, not taking anything for granted, in its most extreme sense. I try very hard not to take things for granted, like my time here in Bangkok, but I am human, it is impossible not to do it somewhat.
It has this endless sexual theme throughout and how each girl approaches it. The girls are all young and attractive – two of them are actually some of my favorite actresses – and there’s one son, of the farmer, on the farm with them. You can imagine what happens afterward. And of course, of the three, there’s always the cheeky slut. But she’s actually the least interesting character. And I really like how they have the “good” girl and the “proper” girl and they’re quite different from each other. They don’t make them total archetypes or caricatures.
I wonder what it is about WWII. Why do “we” find it so romantic, so enchanting, so endlessly fascinating? Vietnam was too shameful, Korea too short and obscure, World War I too far away. The stories out of WWII though seem inexhaustible. And I admit to being drawn to it myself. I wrote my major Scandinavian project paper on WWII in Denmark and did my Master’s thesis on WWII in the Philippines. I have often wondered who I would have been during WWII (I always see myself in Europe). I often see myself as either a saboteur or a Mata Hari type. Or of course, the person hiding a family of Jews in my basement. But I suppose we all imagine ourselves like this. Like the joke how every woman imagines herself as Joan of Arc or Cleopatra in a past life, and every man thinks he was…I don’t know, Alexander the Great? Napolean? What do men fantasize about? Or do they only fantasize about sex? Anyway. No one ever envisions his or herself to be a leper, or poor peasant, or beggar.
The movie is a drama, but it has its wonderful comical quirks. This fascinating concept that we could die at any second, so let’s fuck, let’s fall in love, let’s get married! It’s wonderful in a way – it’s living life to its fullest, not taking anything for granted, in its most extreme sense. I try very hard not to take things for granted, like my time here in Bangkok, but I am human, it is impossible not to do it somewhat.
It has this endless sexual theme throughout and how each girl approaches it. The girls are all young and attractive – two of them are actually some of my favorite actresses – and there’s one son, of the farmer, on the farm with them. You can imagine what happens afterward. And of course, of the three, there’s always the cheeky slut. But she’s actually the least interesting character. And I really like how they have the “good” girl and the “proper” girl and they’re quite different from each other. They don’t make them total archetypes or caricatures.
I wonder what it is about WWII. Why do “we” find it so romantic, so enchanting, so endlessly fascinating? Vietnam was too shameful, Korea too short and obscure, World War I too far away. The stories out of WWII though seem inexhaustible. And I admit to being drawn to it myself. I wrote my major Scandinavian project paper on WWII in Denmark and did my Master’s thesis on WWII in the Philippines. I have often wondered who I would have been during WWII (I always see myself in Europe). I often see myself as either a saboteur or a Mata Hari type. Or of course, the person hiding a family of Jews in my basement. But I suppose we all imagine ourselves like this. Like the joke how every woman imagines herself as Joan of Arc or Cleopatra in a past life, and every man thinks he was…I don’t know, Alexander the Great? Napolean? What do men fantasize about? Or do they only fantasize about sex? Anyway. No one ever envisions his or herself to be a leper, or poor peasant, or beggar.
Friday, April 12, 2002
On Being Alone
You know, it really bothers me a lot that people cannot accept that one enjoys being alone and/or single. I tell people that it’s not that I don’t get lonely, (once in awhile I do), and it’s not that I’m an antisocial hermit (for god’s sake, I go out with friends a few times a month at least), but it’s this choosing to be alone that just bothers people so much. WHY?!?! That bothers me! I was reading a book once that said that the reason people get so annoyed with those who read on a bus, restaurant, etc. is that it shows that they don’t need others. Or something like that. Is enjoyment of solitude such a threat to society? I have my lonely moments! But not as often as people hope I do. Almost wish I do. I don’t avoid human contact. I’m no Walt Whitman in the woods. Why am I so strange? It’s opinions like that which make me want to be alone.
My new obsession with reading, or I should say, my re-connection with my old obsession, makes my solitude even more enjoyable. And I’m flying through books and loving it. A very long, hot, boring bus ride can be helped by a good book in your bag (I almost never go anywhere without one). And I love how I am once again learning learning learning from simple novels. It’s funny in a way, I almost TOTALLY suspended reading for enjoyment in college, and though I was being educated, I was losing knowledge as well. It just seemed like such a waste of valuable time.
What I love, is that if a novel is really good, really well-written, (and I try to be completely choosy on what I read), then you can learn real things, that you’d think you could only learn in something of non-fiction. For instance, I just read a successful book called, “In the Heart of the Sea” which is a novel about a true event (the attack of the ship Essex by a sperm whale and the horrible aftermath – it was Melville’s inspiration for Moby Dick). What a chilling book! But so interesting to learn about early American whaling industry, places like Nantucket and that whole culture (including the wives left behind for years at a time), and of course, the story of a boatful of men floating on the seat for 90 days. Every time I get really thirsty I think about this book. We all like to think of ourselves in extreme situations and think we’d be great! We’d persevere. But really, though I do see myself that way, I’m just a bit wussy girl. I can’t even live without my air conditioner in Bangkok. The one in the living room broke about a week ago and I thought I was going to kill myself.
Anyway, to get on with my point – Fuck all those people who scoff at the enjoyment of solitude. Enjoying solitude does not equate ‘psychopath in shack in the woods’ or ‘wild mountain milita man’ or ‘strange woman with 55 cats and a smelly house.’ I like going out with my friends – though I am VERY choosy nowadays who I go out with, and I sure enjoy men and all their delights, but I also enjoy being by myself – exploring Bangkok, taking all the time I want in a bookstore, getting IN and OUT of a mall without “window shopping” (*GAG*), seeing the movie *I* want to see, eating where I want to eat, and saying “fuck this heat” and schlepping myself back home as soon as possible. I LOVE doing those things. I love doing them with others, but I love doing it alone.
And screw all those people who think being alone also equates either a pathetic and lonely woman (who needs help), or a closet lesbian. Last time I checked, lesbians didn’t fit one of the three archetypes I named above. As I mentioned, I do enjoy having good men in my life, and have, for the MOST part, been lucky in that respect. The playing field is painfully reduced in Bangkok, but it’s still there. Send me an intelligent, cute, adventurous man with a sense of humor (there are a lot here who don’t seem to know how to laugh), and please make him speak fluent English. That’ll do for me.
Anyway, if my fortress of solitude attitude doesn’t meet society’s requirements for a normal person, then frankly, me and my 55 cats, could give a rat’s ass..
My new obsession with reading, or I should say, my re-connection with my old obsession, makes my solitude even more enjoyable. And I’m flying through books and loving it. A very long, hot, boring bus ride can be helped by a good book in your bag (I almost never go anywhere without one). And I love how I am once again learning learning learning from simple novels. It’s funny in a way, I almost TOTALLY suspended reading for enjoyment in college, and though I was being educated, I was losing knowledge as well. It just seemed like such a waste of valuable time.
What I love, is that if a novel is really good, really well-written, (and I try to be completely choosy on what I read), then you can learn real things, that you’d think you could only learn in something of non-fiction. For instance, I just read a successful book called, “In the Heart of the Sea” which is a novel about a true event (the attack of the ship Essex by a sperm whale and the horrible aftermath – it was Melville’s inspiration for Moby Dick). What a chilling book! But so interesting to learn about early American whaling industry, places like Nantucket and that whole culture (including the wives left behind for years at a time), and of course, the story of a boatful of men floating on the seat for 90 days. Every time I get really thirsty I think about this book. We all like to think of ourselves in extreme situations and think we’d be great! We’d persevere. But really, though I do see myself that way, I’m just a bit wussy girl. I can’t even live without my air conditioner in Bangkok. The one in the living room broke about a week ago and I thought I was going to kill myself.
Anyway, to get on with my point – Fuck all those people who scoff at the enjoyment of solitude. Enjoying solitude does not equate ‘psychopath in shack in the woods’ or ‘wild mountain milita man’ or ‘strange woman with 55 cats and a smelly house.’ I like going out with my friends – though I am VERY choosy nowadays who I go out with, and I sure enjoy men and all their delights, but I also enjoy being by myself – exploring Bangkok, taking all the time I want in a bookstore, getting IN and OUT of a mall without “window shopping” (*GAG*), seeing the movie *I* want to see, eating where I want to eat, and saying “fuck this heat” and schlepping myself back home as soon as possible. I LOVE doing those things. I love doing them with others, but I love doing it alone.
And screw all those people who think being alone also equates either a pathetic and lonely woman (who needs help), or a closet lesbian. Last time I checked, lesbians didn’t fit one of the three archetypes I named above. As I mentioned, I do enjoy having good men in my life, and have, for the MOST part, been lucky in that respect. The playing field is painfully reduced in Bangkok, but it’s still there. Send me an intelligent, cute, adventurous man with a sense of humor (there are a lot here who don’t seem to know how to laugh), and please make him speak fluent English. That’ll do for me.
Anyway, if my fortress of solitude attitude doesn’t meet society’s requirements for a normal person, then frankly, me and my 55 cats, could give a rat’s ass..
Psycho Dan, the Ex-Pat
“Oh yes, I know you have friends here too, but it’s not the same thing. We’re all from different towns, from different social levels. We’re friends just because we’re all the same thing – planters, assistants. It’s like prisoners or exiles. We drink together, we have fun, and that’s all.”
-- referring to the Dutch of the rubber plantation community in East Sumatra, Indonesia in the 1920’s. Taken from Graham Saunders’ book, Tropical Interludes: European Life and Society in South-East Asia.
----------------------------------
Well, some things never change. Ex-pats are still thrown together and find nothing more exciting than getting shit-faced. This reminded me of the most shit-faced of them all, Psycho Dan.*
You know, in my blog about psychopathic ex-pats, I had originally written an example of a teacher we had in our school who was the most fucked up ex-pat to date (his drug taking and booze swilling ways catapulted him to super-asshole status). Psycho Dan. I had hoped, as I’d heard, that he’d left the country (psycho ex-pats like this always end up moving to a new country to deposit some more of their human pollution), but no! He has returned again, like a bad (is there a good?) case of herpes.
Seems that Psycho Dan came to the house of a friend of mine, who lives just down the street from me. He repeatedly rang the friend’s doorbell. After no answer, (meaning of course, the people are not home or asleep!), he climbed the stone fence surrounding the house (complete with barbed wire), and jumped inside. Luckily, the friend had a protective dog inside those walls, who immediately went after Psycho Dan. Psycho Dan, armed with his shirt wrapped around his arm and a mop, (and apparently a good deal of drugs and alcohol in his system), was fending off the dog and screaming to the friend to punish his dog. Seeing as how the dog had done its job and kept Psycho Dan from entering the house (WHY did he enter if he thought no one was home?!), the friend gave his good dog a hot dog for reward. Though this behavior alarmed me, it didn't totally surprise me. An extreme example, but still an example of some of the ex-pats here. It’s not Thais that would make me want to leave Thailand, it’s the ex-pats! My social community. Eegad. Anyway, moving on….
* I'm not changing his name to protect the innocent (*laugh scoff*), but to protect myself from this true psycho.
-- referring to the Dutch of the rubber plantation community in East Sumatra, Indonesia in the 1920’s. Taken from Graham Saunders’ book, Tropical Interludes: European Life and Society in South-East Asia.
----------------------------------
Well, some things never change. Ex-pats are still thrown together and find nothing more exciting than getting shit-faced. This reminded me of the most shit-faced of them all, Psycho Dan.*
You know, in my blog about psychopathic ex-pats, I had originally written an example of a teacher we had in our school who was the most fucked up ex-pat to date (his drug taking and booze swilling ways catapulted him to super-asshole status). Psycho Dan. I had hoped, as I’d heard, that he’d left the country (psycho ex-pats like this always end up moving to a new country to deposit some more of their human pollution), but no! He has returned again, like a bad (is there a good?) case of herpes.
Seems that Psycho Dan came to the house of a friend of mine, who lives just down the street from me. He repeatedly rang the friend’s doorbell. After no answer, (meaning of course, the people are not home or asleep!), he climbed the stone fence surrounding the house (complete with barbed wire), and jumped inside. Luckily, the friend had a protective dog inside those walls, who immediately went after Psycho Dan. Psycho Dan, armed with his shirt wrapped around his arm and a mop, (and apparently a good deal of drugs and alcohol in his system), was fending off the dog and screaming to the friend to punish his dog. Seeing as how the dog had done its job and kept Psycho Dan from entering the house (WHY did he enter if he thought no one was home?!), the friend gave his good dog a hot dog for reward. Though this behavior alarmed me, it didn't totally surprise me. An extreme example, but still an example of some of the ex-pats here. It’s not Thais that would make me want to leave Thailand, it’s the ex-pats! My social community. Eegad. Anyway, moving on….
* I'm not changing his name to protect the innocent (*laugh scoff*), but to protect myself from this true psycho.
Friday, April 05, 2002
MY TOP TEN MOVIE LIST
Okay, so I really want to see what the new template looks like, and how I can work with it in the future, so I'm just going to plunk down my "Top 10" (really, 17) list of movies. And no, I will never, never, put Citizen Kane or Gone with the Wind. *puke*, or It's a Wonderful Life, or, though I enjoyed it, The Wizard of Oz (though I really did love "Meet me in St. Louis!)"
1. Far Away, So Close!
2. Jules et Jim
3. To Kill a Mockingbird
4. Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory
5. Ladyhawke
6. Gladiator
7. Ever After
8. Raiders of the Lost Ark
9. Sliding Doors
10. Wuthering Heights (w/Olivier)
11. Jean de Florette, Manon de Sources
12. 12 Angry Men
13. The Secret of NIMH
14. Sense and Sensibility
15. La Vita è Bella
16. A Destiny of Her Own
17. The Thomas Crown Affair
1. Far Away, So Close!
2. Jules et Jim
3. To Kill a Mockingbird
4. Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory
5. Ladyhawke
6. Gladiator
7. Ever After
8. Raiders of the Lost Ark
9. Sliding Doors
10. Wuthering Heights (w/Olivier)
11. Jean de Florette, Manon de Sources
12. 12 Angry Men
13. The Secret of NIMH
14. Sense and Sensibility
15. La Vita è Bella
16. A Destiny of Her Own
17. The Thomas Crown Affair
Thursday, April 04, 2002
The Ugly American...and Canadian...and Australian...
Why why why are there so many Psychopathic Ex-patriates here in Bangkok!?!?
So, I've been here about a year and a half, and sometimes it feels amazing and wonderful, and at other times it feels like an extended and mutated form of boot camp. Living abroad is at the very least, challenging -- especially in places that are so completely different from where you come from. And Bangkok is a big, dirty, smelly city with not much in aesthetic value. It takes sometimes hours to get from place to place, and the traffic never lets up. Never. I think you have to be kind of tough to live here.
If you have to be tough, do you have to be difficult?? Can being 'tough' make a generally happy or content person miserable? I still go through my silent rages at things I deem as inefficient and incompetent around me. And truly, I find a part of me saying, "It wouldn't be like this in the U.S.!" Ha ha! Whatever. There's a lot of good and bad in a new country, because you feel yourself standing apart from it, analyzing every single gesture, custom, more, protocol, attitude, etc. with a magnifying glass, and comparing it to what you believe it SHOULD be. This is never a really good thing, because I think it's one of the root causes of those ex-pats who are bitter about everything and constantly say things like, "I fucking hate it when The Thais......"
But what I really want know is...Where are all the NORMAL ex-pats?? And if I think I am one of the only ones, am I actually the pyscho one? I've met quite a number of "ex-pat's," and by and large, they're a big group of druggies/alcoholics and/or angry/bitter/violent people and/or clinically-Depressed-get-me-some-Zoloft-now! people.
Do they come to Bangkok this way or does Bangkok do this to them??? Why are so many of these people so incredibly fucked up? It seems everyone I meet has a personality with an extreme quality about it. Extremely mad, extremely thirsty (for beer), extremely manipulative, even extremely cruel, extremely paranoid, extremely bitter. An American friend of mine said the other day, "You know, Thailand sends its best to America, and America sends all its trash to Thailand." But it's not just Americans. Before I came to Bangkok, I had a great opinion of the Australians I had met in the United States and in Europe. They were fun-loving, friendly, and of course, they loved their beer. Here it seems different. Sure, they still love their beer, but now I encounter men who are macho, sexist, and antiquated in their thinking. They're the kind of men you always hear about, but you really never meet. These men DO exist!
I've met Americans who cannot wait to take minutes away from your life, that you'll never get back, in their ranting about how absolutely horrible the United States is. And yet, it is these same people who cannot seem to find their niche in Thailand.
I've met English who turn up their nose at everyone and anyone, and proclaim proudly how they were "bred to whinge." Good luck trying to be silly and goofy around these people -- they'll look at you as if you're a fucking idiot.
The one group I can honestly say I have no complaints about are the New Zealanders. I've met several, and they always strike me as the most laid back people on this Earth. Rah rah Kiwis!
But that's the thing. Extremes! I meet Americans who either LOVE America *wave the flag* or HATE America *burn the flag and spit on it*. People who LOVE Thailand, thinking everyone here is "soooo nice" and who HATE Thailand, thinking "everything
here is so fucked up!" It gets a bit depressing after awhile. It's hard to be friends with Thais, since it's very difficult to find Thais who speak English well (and after a year and a half, my Thai isn't anything to write home about). And when you go out with other ex-pats, you find that it involves two things a) more drinking of whisky in one sitting than you've ever had in your life and b) more bitching and moaning in one sitting than you're ever done in your life. As one man put it, "That stuff is contagious" (he was talking about the complaining). They both are. It's like this moody, bitter group you get sucked into. You think you feel better by venting it all out, and in the end, you're all just as mad as you were before. You just feel better that others are mad too (a la Aesop's "Misery loves company").
I just want to meet people who are relatively happy, and who like to laugh. To avoid those whose only recreational activity involves a bar and endless bottles of whisky (and no dinner! That takes up too much room in the stomach!). To find people who enjoy eating, who like to go to movies, who don't mind exploring a city of 10 million, etc. I know like THREE of you. As for the rest of you....where are you!?!
So, I've been here about a year and a half, and sometimes it feels amazing and wonderful, and at other times it feels like an extended and mutated form of boot camp. Living abroad is at the very least, challenging -- especially in places that are so completely different from where you come from. And Bangkok is a big, dirty, smelly city with not much in aesthetic value. It takes sometimes hours to get from place to place, and the traffic never lets up. Never. I think you have to be kind of tough to live here.
If you have to be tough, do you have to be difficult?? Can being 'tough' make a generally happy or content person miserable? I still go through my silent rages at things I deem as inefficient and incompetent around me. And truly, I find a part of me saying, "It wouldn't be like this in the U.S.!" Ha ha! Whatever. There's a lot of good and bad in a new country, because you feel yourself standing apart from it, analyzing every single gesture, custom, more, protocol, attitude, etc. with a magnifying glass, and comparing it to what you believe it SHOULD be. This is never a really good thing, because I think it's one of the root causes of those ex-pats who are bitter about everything and constantly say things like, "I fucking hate it when The Thais......"
But what I really want know is...Where are all the NORMAL ex-pats?? And if I think I am one of the only ones, am I actually the pyscho one? I've met quite a number of "ex-pat's," and by and large, they're a big group of druggies/alcoholics and/or angry/bitter/violent people and/or clinically-Depressed-get-me-some-Zoloft-now! people.
Do they come to Bangkok this way or does Bangkok do this to them??? Why are so many of these people so incredibly fucked up? It seems everyone I meet has a personality with an extreme quality about it. Extremely mad, extremely thirsty (for beer), extremely manipulative, even extremely cruel, extremely paranoid, extremely bitter. An American friend of mine said the other day, "You know, Thailand sends its best to America, and America sends all its trash to Thailand." But it's not just Americans. Before I came to Bangkok, I had a great opinion of the Australians I had met in the United States and in Europe. They were fun-loving, friendly, and of course, they loved their beer. Here it seems different. Sure, they still love their beer, but now I encounter men who are macho, sexist, and antiquated in their thinking. They're the kind of men you always hear about, but you really never meet. These men DO exist!
I've met Americans who cannot wait to take minutes away from your life, that you'll never get back, in their ranting about how absolutely horrible the United States is. And yet, it is these same people who cannot seem to find their niche in Thailand.
I've met English who turn up their nose at everyone and anyone, and proclaim proudly how they were "bred to whinge." Good luck trying to be silly and goofy around these people -- they'll look at you as if you're a fucking idiot.
The one group I can honestly say I have no complaints about are the New Zealanders. I've met several, and they always strike me as the most laid back people on this Earth. Rah rah Kiwis!
But that's the thing. Extremes! I meet Americans who either LOVE America *wave the flag* or HATE America *burn the flag and spit on it*. People who LOVE Thailand, thinking everyone here is "soooo nice" and who HATE Thailand, thinking "everything
here is so fucked up!" It gets a bit depressing after awhile. It's hard to be friends with Thais, since it's very difficult to find Thais who speak English well (and after a year and a half, my Thai isn't anything to write home about). And when you go out with other ex-pats, you find that it involves two things a) more drinking of whisky in one sitting than you've ever had in your life and b) more bitching and moaning in one sitting than you're ever done in your life. As one man put it, "That stuff is contagious" (he was talking about the complaining). They both are. It's like this moody, bitter group you get sucked into. You think you feel better by venting it all out, and in the end, you're all just as mad as you were before. You just feel better that others are mad too (a la Aesop's "Misery loves company").
I just want to meet people who are relatively happy, and who like to laugh. To avoid those whose only recreational activity involves a bar and endless bottles of whisky (and no dinner! That takes up too much room in the stomach!). To find people who enjoy eating, who like to go to movies, who don't mind exploring a city of 10 million, etc. I know like THREE of you. As for the rest of you....where are you!?!
Friday, March 29, 2002
Introduction to My Blog.
Okay, I'd really love to sit down and right a fantastic introduction, but it's late, and I've just discovered that water is soaking my carpet FROM BELOW! And I think I'm beginning to detect a foul smell. Wonderful. What does this mean?? Not what you'd think. I'm living in provided housing by my employer here in Bangkok, and sometime after I tell them of this little problem, about 10 workers will descend upon my house (only 2 will actually be necessary) and besides spending hours trying to figure out why water is seeping through my carpet from below (god, I hope it's not dog urine from the pack of dogs living beneath my house! Long story), they will also take the opportunity to get a good look at the insides of my house and then after reporting the state of my carpet problem, they will then also report the state of cleanliness or "ria proi" (properness) of my living space to my bosses. Then they will report all the items of my house to the other workers on campus (I work at a large school). So, what does this mean I have to do??
CLEAN! Fuck. Absolutely true. It's 11-fricking p.m. and I gotta get out the vacumn. My house is a pit now. It goes on this cycle from gorgeous and clean to hellish and scary. And since it's currently the latter, I gotta move my butt and start tidying up. Don't believe me? Sound ridiculous? Last time they "took a look," I was immediately afterwards sent 3 cafeteria ladies to clean my house who had just HAPPENED to mention that day that they were willing to "help me" in any way they could. Welcome to One night in Bangkok! The good, the bad, and the nosy! Stay tuned for further "farang" (white foreigner person) observations. Sometimes loving, sometimes seething.
You're probably saying, "Fuck 'em! Don't clean a thing!" Well, if this was the United States, I'd join in the chorus and shout, "Yeah, bunch of arse!" (or something more American), but this is Thailand. Things are different. And don't give me any b-shit about how I should be myself or whatever. I know what I'm doing. (Gosh, that sounds aggressive). I'm really not that way...really.
Anyway, hello! Welcome to my blog! The seeping water spots may just be a gift from g(G)od -- giving me something to rant about! Well, forget that. On to my username. I have the ethereal name of 'ladyblue' posted above. Yes, of course, this is to attract as many men as possible, especially those who read Piers Anthony like me, when I was 12 years old. Actually, Ladyblue was my very first "username" when I was introduced to the internet during my freshman year of college. (I really wanted "sabina,' but someone already had that name -- then I wanted vanillasky, but that was taken too). That was about *thinking* 1991. The internet was a brand new baby then, and fascinating to me. I had two close buddies who were computer geeks who taught me enough to get me started. And now, 11 years later (jesus, I can't believe that), graduating from IRC, to MUD's, to Web page design, here I am...writing a blog. Like every person here, there's the little dream of being a writer in me, but probably unlike the rest of you, I lack focus, self-discipline, and knowledge of structure to do any REAL writing. So, here we are. Hope to see you again.
CLEAN! Fuck. Absolutely true. It's 11-fricking p.m. and I gotta get out the vacumn. My house is a pit now. It goes on this cycle from gorgeous and clean to hellish and scary. And since it's currently the latter, I gotta move my butt and start tidying up. Don't believe me? Sound ridiculous? Last time they "took a look," I was immediately afterwards sent 3 cafeteria ladies to clean my house who had just HAPPENED to mention that day that they were willing to "help me" in any way they could. Welcome to One night in Bangkok! The good, the bad, and the nosy! Stay tuned for further "farang" (white foreigner person) observations. Sometimes loving, sometimes seething.
You're probably saying, "Fuck 'em! Don't clean a thing!" Well, if this was the United States, I'd join in the chorus and shout, "Yeah, bunch of arse!" (or something more American), but this is Thailand. Things are different. And don't give me any b-shit about how I should be myself or whatever. I know what I'm doing. (Gosh, that sounds aggressive). I'm really not that way...really.
Anyway, hello! Welcome to my blog! The seeping water spots may just be a gift from g(G)od -- giving me something to rant about! Well, forget that. On to my username. I have the ethereal name of 'ladyblue' posted above. Yes, of course, this is to attract as many men as possible, especially those who read Piers Anthony like me, when I was 12 years old. Actually, Ladyblue was my very first "username" when I was introduced to the internet during my freshman year of college. (I really wanted "sabina,' but someone already had that name -- then I wanted vanillasky, but that was taken too). That was about *thinking* 1991. The internet was a brand new baby then, and fascinating to me. I had two close buddies who were computer geeks who taught me enough to get me started. And now, 11 years later (jesus, I can't believe that), graduating from IRC, to MUD's, to Web page design, here I am...writing a blog. Like every person here, there's the little dream of being a writer in me, but probably unlike the rest of you, I lack focus, self-discipline, and knowledge of structure to do any REAL writing. So, here we are. Hope to see you again.
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