Do you remember (assuming you've actually read this and have any interest at all) when I used to write about the "psycho ex-pats" and the horrible "Australian Fascist" I encountered at work in Bangkok? Well, I just found a funny article on the issue of the vitriolic foreigners on the only place to find a teaching job in Thailand, ajarn.com. I haven't really thought, talked, or done much regarding Bangkok since I left. I guess to me I just ...left. I do talk to my fantastic former assistant director, and continue to receive almost daily emails from former students (in particular, wildly-intensive missives from a 12 year old girl in love with her Math teacher).
My former assistant IM'ed me the other day to announce that the Fascist Australian had cleaned out his desk and left! Wow! We always knew it would happen (besides being such a dick, the guy's self-destructive qualities made Robert Downey Jr. look like a choir boy), but I guess I was still a little shocked. We were joking that it was my presence that kept the guy there. He was always in this epic battle to destroy me, get me fired, spread vicious (untrue) rumours, etc. (MUAHAHAH) that he couldn't quit the job while I was around and admit "defeat." Now, that I've been gone, for only two months, he's finally imploded. Better than exploding; that could have been nasty.
Anyway, I found the article amusing, and a bit gratifying, since all my writings about the psycho ex-pats and the Fascist always seemed overly dramatic in print. I thought people might see me as a drama queen, or worse, an outright liar. In the end, it's just sad. Ex-pat communities ought to be a place of comfort and familiarity when living in a difficult or simply different land. Not always so, I guess.
Friday, January 23, 2004
Thursday, January 22, 2004
Happy Birthday to Me!
Today is my birthday. I am 31 years old. What a strange age. There’s no going back now. The twenties are utterly and completely gone. I really liked 30. It seemed like such a nice age (though it was difficult getting through it since it was my last months in Thailand). Now, I’m just 31. How boring.
Last night I reached a special point. I was reading this article on people who have come to live in NY (forever), and the writer made a comment to the effect that at some point, everyone ends up on their bathroom floor crying. Bah! Not me! I don't even cry that much and I'm made of concrete.
Bah, indeed. Guess what I was doing last night? It was right before my birthday (I was born four minutes after midnight and often kind of look forward to that moment), and I was doing some online stuff, like checking on my one remaining credit card bill (I have in recent years paid off all other EIGHT credit cards I once had). I knew I was late with my American Express bill, for the first time in years, but it couldn’t be helped seeing as how I am gainfully UNemployed and doing anything the temp agency throws at me to make rent and keep myself in potatoes. I was noticing how my balance had skyrocketed (no fucking surprise, fucking credit card companies), and then I saw that the “late fee” was $35.00. THIRTY-FIVE DOLLARS! With all this talk from the politicians, why isn’t anyone DOING something about this??? It’s fucking criminal. And you know there’s no rich people suffering such a fine, it’s the people who couldn’t scrounge enough cash to make their minimum payment in the first place. If I couldn’t make my $50 payment, how am I supposed to make another $35? Well, that’s the point, isn’t it? It’s so sinister it just erupted into a wave of malice that washed over me and choked me up. Not wanting to look like a weepy girl in front of my roommate (I have already cried in front of him once which was humiliating enough), I retreated to the bathroom where I let it out. I was overwhelmed that in minutes I was turning 31 (not old, but certainly not fresh and young neither), and that I was a) unemployed, b) totally broke, and c) back into my spiraling credit card debt that I had triumphantly crawled out of inch by inch through my paychecks in Thailand. The feeling of helplessness when you know you’re being totally fucked and there is NOTHING you can do about it is almost more than I can bear at times. It’s not like you can complain to the Better Business Bureau. It’s not like a policeman will show up at their door and tell them to cut that shit out. You just have to find like $150 for your next payment in 28 days (they don’t even give you 30, which screws things up if you’re paid once a month), so you can pay for the minimum balance from last month and this month, the late fees, and the new and higher interest all coming at you like some sort of Odyssesian Hydra.
I hate credit cards. I love them too. I hate this one, but I’ll never be able to get rid of it, because even if I pay it off, I’ll need a credit card just to get that Blockbuster or gym membership or WHATEVER that requires a “credit card, not debit.” *SIGH* No one is going to give me a new one (I was hoping Citibank would, but forget it now), despite my heroic destruction and fully-paid balances on the eight others. I’m going to be stuck with this crappy AmEx forever.
Anyway, that was last night, and today I am better, though still broke and after tomorrow, once again without even temp work. For the moment, I twiddle my thumbs away in the World’s Most Boring Job Ever. It’s my office job that pays really good money, but collectively, has about 45 minutes of basic clerical work for the eight hours I sit at this desk (nine hours if you include your lunch break). I know I should be more grateful, since it does pay well, but I hate to be so idle. I would rather be sitting here typing (which I am obviously doing right now), even some boring report or whatever. I enjoy being busy and doing good work. Luckily, there is just ONE more hour left, and then I can flee to home home home! Wonderful apartment.
And tonight my roommate is doing something pretty great – he’s taking me out to dinner to somewhere very nice. I actually feel really uncomfortable about it (when money’s involved, I always turn into a self-deprecating Catholic priest), but this is one of those things I’m trying to change about myself -- Accept gifts graciously. Enjoy them without feeling immense guilt at the money that was spent for them. Feel worthy of such a gift, etc. It’s not that I really feel unworthy, I was just raised, in a very strict manner, that money was something we didn’t have, we didn’t want anyone to know we didn’t have, and to make sure not to take dime from anyone else. It’s bad bad bad! Yeah, it fucked me up good.
So, tonight we go to Tavern on the Green and I’m going to love it! And order a salad.
Last night I reached a special point. I was reading this article on people who have come to live in NY (forever), and the writer made a comment to the effect that at some point, everyone ends up on their bathroom floor crying. Bah! Not me! I don't even cry that much and I'm made of concrete.
Bah, indeed. Guess what I was doing last night? It was right before my birthday (I was born four minutes after midnight and often kind of look forward to that moment), and I was doing some online stuff, like checking on my one remaining credit card bill (I have in recent years paid off all other EIGHT credit cards I once had). I knew I was late with my American Express bill, for the first time in years, but it couldn’t be helped seeing as how I am gainfully UNemployed and doing anything the temp agency throws at me to make rent and keep myself in potatoes. I was noticing how my balance had skyrocketed (no fucking surprise, fucking credit card companies), and then I saw that the “late fee” was $35.00. THIRTY-FIVE DOLLARS! With all this talk from the politicians, why isn’t anyone DOING something about this??? It’s fucking criminal. And you know there’s no rich people suffering such a fine, it’s the people who couldn’t scrounge enough cash to make their minimum payment in the first place. If I couldn’t make my $50 payment, how am I supposed to make another $35? Well, that’s the point, isn’t it? It’s so sinister it just erupted into a wave of malice that washed over me and choked me up. Not wanting to look like a weepy girl in front of my roommate (I have already cried in front of him once which was humiliating enough), I retreated to the bathroom where I let it out. I was overwhelmed that in minutes I was turning 31 (not old, but certainly not fresh and young neither), and that I was a) unemployed, b) totally broke, and c) back into my spiraling credit card debt that I had triumphantly crawled out of inch by inch through my paychecks in Thailand. The feeling of helplessness when you know you’re being totally fucked and there is NOTHING you can do about it is almost more than I can bear at times. It’s not like you can complain to the Better Business Bureau. It’s not like a policeman will show up at their door and tell them to cut that shit out. You just have to find like $150 for your next payment in 28 days (they don’t even give you 30, which screws things up if you’re paid once a month), so you can pay for the minimum balance from last month and this month, the late fees, and the new and higher interest all coming at you like some sort of Odyssesian Hydra.
I hate credit cards. I love them too. I hate this one, but I’ll never be able to get rid of it, because even if I pay it off, I’ll need a credit card just to get that Blockbuster or gym membership or WHATEVER that requires a “credit card, not debit.” *SIGH* No one is going to give me a new one (I was hoping Citibank would, but forget it now), despite my heroic destruction and fully-paid balances on the eight others. I’m going to be stuck with this crappy AmEx forever.
Anyway, that was last night, and today I am better, though still broke and after tomorrow, once again without even temp work. For the moment, I twiddle my thumbs away in the World’s Most Boring Job Ever. It’s my office job that pays really good money, but collectively, has about 45 minutes of basic clerical work for the eight hours I sit at this desk (nine hours if you include your lunch break). I know I should be more grateful, since it does pay well, but I hate to be so idle. I would rather be sitting here typing (which I am obviously doing right now), even some boring report or whatever. I enjoy being busy and doing good work. Luckily, there is just ONE more hour left, and then I can flee to home home home! Wonderful apartment.
And tonight my roommate is doing something pretty great – he’s taking me out to dinner to somewhere very nice. I actually feel really uncomfortable about it (when money’s involved, I always turn into a self-deprecating Catholic priest), but this is one of those things I’m trying to change about myself -- Accept gifts graciously. Enjoy them without feeling immense guilt at the money that was spent for them. Feel worthy of such a gift, etc. It’s not that I really feel unworthy, I was just raised, in a very strict manner, that money was something we didn’t have, we didn’t want anyone to know we didn’t have, and to make sure not to take dime from anyone else. It’s bad bad bad! Yeah, it fucked me up good.
So, tonight we go to Tavern on the Green and I’m going to love it! And order a salad.
Wednesday, January 21, 2004
Quickie Book Review: Any Human Heart by William Boyd (A-)
The first 100 pages of this book or so made me both smile and grimace. The book seemed like a rip-off of The Catcher in the Rye, but set in England with a slightly more social protagonist. Yet, I couldn’t put it down; it was rather entertaining. My only other complaint of the book is that it is so Forrest Gump-esque. The main character, Logan Mountstuart (great name, eh?), is an upper-class boy who becomes a moderately-successful writer and then proceeds to meet like every famous writer and painter of the early to mid-20th century, including Hemmingway, Picasso, Warhol, Ian Fleming and Virginia Woolf (whom he hates). With the help of his writings and a comfortable, though not outrageous, income, he continues to live a rather extraordinary, though under the radar, life. There’s a very interesting thread regarding Logan’s interactions with the Duke of Windsor (the one who abdicated so he could be with Mrs. Wallace Simpson). The relationship that begins sweetly, ends rather bitterly and had me rather intrigued. So much so, that today I’m going to do some research on the Duke’s time in the Bahamas and see if some of the stuff in the book could be true (I’m assuming he had the famous people in the right places at the right times, even if their interactions with the main character were fictional). The book is written like a true memoir and on more than one occasion I had to check myself -- It seems like it’s a real piece of non-fiction. Despite my criticisms, I thought this book was amazing -- Very enjoyable, very honest, and an interesting snapshot of the passing of the 20th century from someone who had “lived in every decade.” It was fun to read about him living in NYC in the 50’s, to hear of what it was like in locations so close to my own apartment just a half century ago. I also appreciated the very real actions of the “hero,” especially in terms of his libido. Heroes are often made a bit too morally pure. This man was no villain, he was just human. There is the occasional beautiful line in the book as well; the kind that always makes me reach for a pen and underline them (though I rarely come back to read what I’ve deemed so noteworthy). I’ll leave one of them for you just below. It’s a bit romantic and stuff, but so am I. Enjoy.
“Funny, these sensual fingerprints left on your imagination, only revealing themselves much later. Like invisible ink emerging when warmed by a light bulb or candleflame. What was it about [her] that sneaked its way into my sexual archive?”
“Funny, these sensual fingerprints left on your imagination, only revealing themselves much later. Like invisible ink emerging when warmed by a light bulb or candleflame. What was it about [her] that sneaked its way into my sexual archive?”
You Spin Me Round Round, Baby
I can't believe Kerry won! Who voted for him and why? I don't usually write about politics, though I always have a deep interest in it. I guess it?s because I always feel like I don?t have enough information. It?s not that I?m UNinformed or MISinformed, I?m just NOTENOUGHinformed, I guess. I have been paying attention to the Democratic race though, since I am a Democrat and like to take who I vote for seriously. I find myself shifting around though. Since I?ve only been back in the U.S. for a couple months, naturally, Dean was the first one to catch my attention. Then I watched two of the Democratic debates, and found that Gephardt and Edwards caught my attention. But the more I listened to Gephardt, the less I was interested in him. It?s funny though, when he got creamed last night at the Iowa caucus, I actually felt bad about it. REALLY bad. I can?t exactly explain why. I guess if it was up to me, people like Kerry, Dean, and Lieberman would be tossed out much sooner than Gephardt. And how about that Kucinich? He was an interesting guy! Too bad he doesn?t have a chance. There?s no chance for any strong opinions. Strong delivery? Sure. Strong ideals? Forget it. As George Bush Sr. advised George Bush Jr. on the satiric sketch on SNL, ?Slide to the middle, slide to the middle.?
There seems to be this strong dislike in America now for anyone who?s an ?old school? or ?insider? politician. Politicians make gallant claims distancing themselves from D.C., trying to claim that they?re just normal folk, aw shucks. I find this a bit strange myself. Sure, we all like the idea of ?new blood? in the political process ? hoping it will breathe new life into an already sluggish and apathetic political system, but when the older I get also, the more I want someone who knows what the fuck they?re doing. If it were ANY other profession on earth (I?m trying to think of exceptions) you would want someone with experience, contacts, savvy, and simple know-how. You wouldn?t call up a lawyer, plumber, or doctor who didn?t know what the hell s/he was doing ? someone who wanted to distance themselves from the traditional methods (with the possible exception of being into holistic/Chinese medicine, etc.). After recently leaving a job where it took me forever just to figure out how the damn system worked (and it was a helluva lot more complicated than I had ever imagined), I wonder what it would be like for a politician just entering that arena for the first time. To be fair, there is the part of me that thinks there COULD be possibilities. I often wondered back in Thailand if I hadn?t been so keen on following the culture, being respectful to the right people, knowing what I knew, if I could have just plowed ahead like a blind bull and made some more dramatic changes than I did. But I also know that in reality, it would have worked in the short-term, but that in the long-term, the powers that be (and under me) would have conspired to get such a loose cannon out of there, no matter how positive my innovations. What is the result then? Do we just keep in the old dinosaurs and hope they s/he is somehow different, despite his/her years of experience. We pray that the candidate will actually DO what was promised (how many of us actually believe that?).
I still hold a great deal of respect for Senator Russ Feingold of Wisconsin, simply because he seems to have really strong ideals and follows them. Feingold has been the single voice of protest in the Senate -- like after 9-11 when he feared that civil liberties might be rashly threatened in the chaos after the tragedy. After the dust settled, and everyone blinked, they realized that he had been the voice of reason, which is a brave thing to be with George W. Bush playing John Wayne on the tv screen.
Now, I know this isn?t always easy for Feingold or his own employees (as they pick through other offices? discarded office furniture in hopes of something ?new? or have less time off than other offices) to be so ?honest. Feingold GIVES BACK money to the government every year and won?t even accept a pencil from a constituent. The result for Feingold? He just barely won his last election, mostly because he followed his own campaign finance reform ideals and didn?t accept all that soft money, etc. etc. Bumper stickers that were practically dropped from crop dusters in the previous election were suddenly cautiously handed out (for $1). People were asked to re-use their old Feingold lawn signs if they had ?em. Commericals were fewer and farther between. In a time when money has a lot to do with how far a campaign can go, that?s tough. He made it though. And he?s facing re-election this coming November. I wish I could still vote in Wisconsin. I?d vote for him in a heartbeat.
Oh geez, I got way off on a Feingold tangent. I?m going to spend the day reading various Demo?s websites and try to get a handle on what EACH one really stands for (I?ve already started and it?s rather difficult. Spin spin spin!). Maybe I can form a more educated opinion by the end of the day. As of now, I?m going for Edwards. We?ll see.
There seems to be this strong dislike in America now for anyone who?s an ?old school? or ?insider? politician. Politicians make gallant claims distancing themselves from D.C., trying to claim that they?re just normal folk, aw shucks. I find this a bit strange myself. Sure, we all like the idea of ?new blood? in the political process ? hoping it will breathe new life into an already sluggish and apathetic political system, but when the older I get also, the more I want someone who knows what the fuck they?re doing. If it were ANY other profession on earth (I?m trying to think of exceptions) you would want someone with experience, contacts, savvy, and simple know-how. You wouldn?t call up a lawyer, plumber, or doctor who didn?t know what the hell s/he was doing ? someone who wanted to distance themselves from the traditional methods (with the possible exception of being into holistic/Chinese medicine, etc.). After recently leaving a job where it took me forever just to figure out how the damn system worked (and it was a helluva lot more complicated than I had ever imagined), I wonder what it would be like for a politician just entering that arena for the first time. To be fair, there is the part of me that thinks there COULD be possibilities. I often wondered back in Thailand if I hadn?t been so keen on following the culture, being respectful to the right people, knowing what I knew, if I could have just plowed ahead like a blind bull and made some more dramatic changes than I did. But I also know that in reality, it would have worked in the short-term, but that in the long-term, the powers that be (and under me) would have conspired to get such a loose cannon out of there, no matter how positive my innovations. What is the result then? Do we just keep in the old dinosaurs and hope they s/he is somehow different, despite his/her years of experience. We pray that the candidate will actually DO what was promised (how many of us actually believe that?).
I still hold a great deal of respect for Senator Russ Feingold of Wisconsin, simply because he seems to have really strong ideals and follows them. Feingold has been the single voice of protest in the Senate -- like after 9-11 when he feared that civil liberties might be rashly threatened in the chaos after the tragedy. After the dust settled, and everyone blinked, they realized that he had been the voice of reason, which is a brave thing to be with George W. Bush playing John Wayne on the tv screen.
Now, I know this isn?t always easy for Feingold or his own employees (as they pick through other offices? discarded office furniture in hopes of something ?new? or have less time off than other offices) to be so ?honest. Feingold GIVES BACK money to the government every year and won?t even accept a pencil from a constituent. The result for Feingold? He just barely won his last election, mostly because he followed his own campaign finance reform ideals and didn?t accept all that soft money, etc. etc. Bumper stickers that were practically dropped from crop dusters in the previous election were suddenly cautiously handed out (for $1). People were asked to re-use their old Feingold lawn signs if they had ?em. Commericals were fewer and farther between. In a time when money has a lot to do with how far a campaign can go, that?s tough. He made it though. And he?s facing re-election this coming November. I wish I could still vote in Wisconsin. I?d vote for him in a heartbeat.
Oh geez, I got way off on a Feingold tangent. I?m going to spend the day reading various Demo?s websites and try to get a handle on what EACH one really stands for (I?ve already started and it?s rather difficult. Spin spin spin!). Maybe I can form a more educated opinion by the end of the day. As of now, I?m going for Edwards. We?ll see.
Saturday, January 17, 2004
Goodbye, Bangkok. Hello, New York City!
I should have started writing in here a long time ago (yeah, I always say that). I don’t know what my excuse is really – but moving from one hemisphere to the other can be quite tiring and time-consuming. Yes, I am no longer in Bangkok. After three loooong, and yet somehow fast, years, I have returned to the United States. I guess I will have to change the title of my blog now. Don’t want to tempt people with such a title and have them all bummed out that all I’m talking about is New York pizza and the Empire State Building.
Yes, that’s where I am – New York City. It was one of those things, really. I have a good friend whose lease was ending just around the time I was returning from Thailand. He offered, I happily accepted. I’ve always wanted to live in New York city and now couldn’t be a better time. I’m single, I’ve paid off all my credit card bills (except that fucking AmEx card), and I have nothing tying me down (property, children, etc.). We have a really cool apartment on E. 14th Street (fantastic location!), that is actually not small! No, it’s not the apartment from Friends, but jesus christ, who the hell can afford that fantastically unbelievable apartment?
I thought it would be so easy. I arrived in NYC with enough money for my first month’s rent and a nice, hefty (it was to me!) chunk to spare. I’d buy a bed, maybe get a cellphone, buy some home stuff. In fact, on like the first full day I was in NYC, my roommate and I (we’ll call him “Dogbert”), went to the magical Bed, Bath, & Beyond where I slammed down a hefty chunk of money. I wasn’t scared because it wasn’t ALL my money and I’d be working any day now.
Yeah, work. Now, this was another thing I had little fear about. Through my whole life, the only thing that has gone about 100% right in my life – total success and a lot of happiness – have been my jobs (I shudder to say career since I am already 30 and have barely scratched out one). From 15 years old to 15 years later – now, I have ALWAYS been working. I’ve been able to snap my fingers and get a job, starting immediately. And nearly every job I have ever had has offered me a promotion or actually promoted me in some form. My last job promoted me from a teaching position to director in just a year. Part of that, honestly, has to do with the lack of competent talent (and the overabundance of ex-pat psychos), but part of it has to do with my own pukingly puritan ethic. Now, I have been in NYC for six weeks and … NOTHING!
I am unemployed.
It’s not for lack of trying. I think I have applied for about fifty jobs in the past couple of months (no kidding), been only on TWO interviews (both of which I thought I was going to get the job, and wasn’t even contacted to be told what a loser I was). I have looked on job boards (HotJobs, Monster, JobBank, gov’t sites, idealist.org, etc.). I even went to a Border’s gigantic job fair where after three interviews and some sort of phone survey to see if I was a thief, was told they’d get back to me by Friday. It’s now the following Thursday. For a job that only paid $7.75/hour (criminally low for NYC), and three interviews, you’d think I would have at least deserved a “piss off” letter.
Well then, I do what you do – I marched off confidently to a temp agency. After cooing at my resume and giving me big smiles, they told me that there was nothing for me at this time. “What? Nothing?” To me, a temp agency is a place where you go in, they shake your hand, give you some half-desirable job, and you’re off! Data entry, secretarial work, flipping burgers, who the fuck cares? The woman advised me to sign up with three other temp agencies. Again…what?!?! I definitely had no idea what I was getting into. I signed up with three others and only one offered me a job – one for which I had to get a background check for (fingerprinted, the whole works). At least it was something, and it paid $20/hour!!! One other agency did offer me a one day, three hour job. I took it of course, but *SIGH*
Within two weeks, my money was gone (holy crap grocery stores are REALLY expensive here, though you can get a piece of pizza as big as your head for nothing!), and I was still unemployed.
Well, here I am, all these weeks later, and I’m back at that $20/ hour office job. It’s not so bad. I basically fill-in for secretaries (*cough* excuse me, Executive Assistants) who are off on vacation. It’s good pay, very little work (though I actually hate that), and it’s not too far from home. After my first assignment with them, they requested me back personally. See, I told you I do good work! I just need to get a foot in the damn door! The only drawback being I can’t email from here (firewalls, grrr), and so I sit here all day wondering if I have gotten a phone call or email from a prospective employer, only to rush home at the end of the day and only discover nothing on the phone and four emails from my mother.
Rent in NYC, as everyone knows, is not cheap and I have yet to come up with my entire share (I hand over almost my entire paycheck each week to my roommate like some sort of pathetic, indentured servant). I’m almost there, but that’s not how it works with rent. Luckily, I have a very understanding roommate (it doesn’t hurt that he has a very good paying job that makes rent almost effortless for him). That aside, I know many others wouldn’t find it in their hearts to take my piddly paychecks every other week and let me slide. Hooray for Dogbert!
I’ve never experienced this before and I find it astonishingly stressful and demoralizing. Feeling unlucky in love, having family problems, or financial troubles are all commonplace to me, and don’t bother me too much. But this is something I’ve always excelled at and found relatively easy. I don’t even really understand what is going on. Are my cover letters and resume that bad?? (Yes, I have had a few people look at them and offer me comments, but they seem to think they’re fairly on the mark, though they at times tend to be on the long side). I’ve always thought myself excellent in interviews, so why did the only two I have ignore me til I went crawling to them? (“Ummm remember me? I assume I didn’t get the job!”). Also, the total lack of money thing is very stressful as well. Though I haven’t been too terribly fortunate in the funds department in my life, the past three years in Thailand have been relatively comfortable and worry free. I cannot CANNOT tell you how much of a relief, stress-reliever, etc. etc. it is not to have to worry about money every fucking minute of the day. Having to pass by things you really want, having to put off things you really need til the next paycheck or two, having to be embarrassed when that familiar “decline” beep spurts out of the register. Now, after three years of monetary bliss, I’m back to a life of heavy carbs (bagels, cereal, toast, pasta, mac-n-cheese), and wishful thinking (ohhhh there’s Wendy’s…oh that spicy chicken sandwich is soooo good…ohhhhh when I get a good job…ohhhh). I miss fruit and vegetables too (way too expensive right now). I used to eat TONS of fruit in Thailand.
Well, I guess I’ve vented all the shitty stuff about NYC and haven’t gone on about all the great. And there is a lot of great. I really do like it here. Despite my desperate need for something aesthetically pleasing (green grass, blue water), it’s hard to resist the charms of NYC. And as with anywhere gigantic and urban, the real way to experience it is to have a ton of money (trying to experience the “authenticers version of a city is something I’ve always found completely pretentious and idiotic. Stupid travel books and travel diaries!!! Money helps you do all the touristy things (and screw that notion that doing touristy things makes you a clueless idiot). It helps you see and experience things you can’t when you’re broke. Hey, EVERYONE should try NYC pizza and a Gray’s Papaya King hot dog!!! But, don’t think that avoiding some of the other more expensive stuff is somehow making your trip more “real.” *puke barf gag*
I guess most of the good stuff you’re already familiar with. I mean, I’m not living in some relatively unknown city, making it known to the masses “Wow, that New York, what a town!” For now, my joys are small (yes, that pizza is damn good!). I’ll tell you more later. Maybe after I’ve got a job.
Yes, that’s where I am – New York City. It was one of those things, really. I have a good friend whose lease was ending just around the time I was returning from Thailand. He offered, I happily accepted. I’ve always wanted to live in New York city and now couldn’t be a better time. I’m single, I’ve paid off all my credit card bills (except that fucking AmEx card), and I have nothing tying me down (property, children, etc.). We have a really cool apartment on E. 14th Street (fantastic location!), that is actually not small! No, it’s not the apartment from Friends, but jesus christ, who the hell can afford that fantastically unbelievable apartment?
I thought it would be so easy. I arrived in NYC with enough money for my first month’s rent and a nice, hefty (it was to me!) chunk to spare. I’d buy a bed, maybe get a cellphone, buy some home stuff. In fact, on like the first full day I was in NYC, my roommate and I (we’ll call him “Dogbert”), went to the magical Bed, Bath, & Beyond where I slammed down a hefty chunk of money. I wasn’t scared because it wasn’t ALL my money and I’d be working any day now.
Yeah, work. Now, this was another thing I had little fear about. Through my whole life, the only thing that has gone about 100% right in my life – total success and a lot of happiness – have been my jobs (I shudder to say career since I am already 30 and have barely scratched out one). From 15 years old to 15 years later – now, I have ALWAYS been working. I’ve been able to snap my fingers and get a job, starting immediately. And nearly every job I have ever had has offered me a promotion or actually promoted me in some form. My last job promoted me from a teaching position to director in just a year. Part of that, honestly, has to do with the lack of competent talent (and the overabundance of ex-pat psychos), but part of it has to do with my own pukingly puritan ethic. Now, I have been in NYC for six weeks and … NOTHING!
I am unemployed.
It’s not for lack of trying. I think I have applied for about fifty jobs in the past couple of months (no kidding), been only on TWO interviews (both of which I thought I was going to get the job, and wasn’t even contacted to be told what a loser I was). I have looked on job boards (HotJobs, Monster, JobBank, gov’t sites, idealist.org, etc.). I even went to a Border’s gigantic job fair where after three interviews and some sort of phone survey to see if I was a thief, was told they’d get back to me by Friday. It’s now the following Thursday. For a job that only paid $7.75/hour (criminally low for NYC), and three interviews, you’d think I would have at least deserved a “piss off” letter.
Well then, I do what you do – I marched off confidently to a temp agency. After cooing at my resume and giving me big smiles, they told me that there was nothing for me at this time. “What? Nothing?” To me, a temp agency is a place where you go in, they shake your hand, give you some half-desirable job, and you’re off! Data entry, secretarial work, flipping burgers, who the fuck cares? The woman advised me to sign up with three other temp agencies. Again…what?!?! I definitely had no idea what I was getting into. I signed up with three others and only one offered me a job – one for which I had to get a background check for (fingerprinted, the whole works). At least it was something, and it paid $20/hour!!! One other agency did offer me a one day, three hour job. I took it of course, but *SIGH*
Within two weeks, my money was gone (holy crap grocery stores are REALLY expensive here, though you can get a piece of pizza as big as your head for nothing!), and I was still unemployed.
Well, here I am, all these weeks later, and I’m back at that $20/ hour office job. It’s not so bad. I basically fill-in for secretaries (*cough* excuse me, Executive Assistants) who are off on vacation. It’s good pay, very little work (though I actually hate that), and it’s not too far from home. After my first assignment with them, they requested me back personally. See, I told you I do good work! I just need to get a foot in the damn door! The only drawback being I can’t email from here (firewalls, grrr), and so I sit here all day wondering if I have gotten a phone call or email from a prospective employer, only to rush home at the end of the day and only discover nothing on the phone and four emails from my mother.
Rent in NYC, as everyone knows, is not cheap and I have yet to come up with my entire share (I hand over almost my entire paycheck each week to my roommate like some sort of pathetic, indentured servant). I’m almost there, but that’s not how it works with rent. Luckily, I have a very understanding roommate (it doesn’t hurt that he has a very good paying job that makes rent almost effortless for him). That aside, I know many others wouldn’t find it in their hearts to take my piddly paychecks every other week and let me slide. Hooray for Dogbert!
I’ve never experienced this before and I find it astonishingly stressful and demoralizing. Feeling unlucky in love, having family problems, or financial troubles are all commonplace to me, and don’t bother me too much. But this is something I’ve always excelled at and found relatively easy. I don’t even really understand what is going on. Are my cover letters and resume that bad?? (Yes, I have had a few people look at them and offer me comments, but they seem to think they’re fairly on the mark, though they at times tend to be on the long side). I’ve always thought myself excellent in interviews, so why did the only two I have ignore me til I went crawling to them? (“Ummm remember me? I assume I didn’t get the job!”). Also, the total lack of money thing is very stressful as well. Though I haven’t been too terribly fortunate in the funds department in my life, the past three years in Thailand have been relatively comfortable and worry free. I cannot CANNOT tell you how much of a relief, stress-reliever, etc. etc. it is not to have to worry about money every fucking minute of the day. Having to pass by things you really want, having to put off things you really need til the next paycheck or two, having to be embarrassed when that familiar “decline” beep spurts out of the register. Now, after three years of monetary bliss, I’m back to a life of heavy carbs (bagels, cereal, toast, pasta, mac-n-cheese), and wishful thinking (ohhhh there’s Wendy’s…oh that spicy chicken sandwich is soooo good…ohhhhh when I get a good job…ohhhh). I miss fruit and vegetables too (way too expensive right now). I used to eat TONS of fruit in Thailand.
Well, I guess I’ve vented all the shitty stuff about NYC and haven’t gone on about all the great. And there is a lot of great. I really do like it here. Despite my desperate need for something aesthetically pleasing (green grass, blue water), it’s hard to resist the charms of NYC. And as with anywhere gigantic and urban, the real way to experience it is to have a ton of money (trying to experience the “authentic
I guess most of the good stuff you’re already familiar with. I mean, I’m not living in some relatively unknown city, making it known to the masses “Wow, that New York, what a town!” For now, my joys are small (yes, that pizza is damn good!). I’ll tell you more later. Maybe after I’ve got a job.
Sunday, October 19, 2003
Here Today, Gone Tomorrow
So, I have this good friend back from the States. When I knew her a few years ago (before I left for Thailand), she was so great. Young, beautiful, bright, energetic, and fun. She worked as one of my assistant’s at my last job in the U.S., and I always stated that she “was the best assistant I ever had.” And I still mean it today.
So, when a few months ago she wrote me, looking for a job, and I just HAPPENED to have an opening, it seemed perfect. In a frenzy of excited emails and lots of paperwork and preparation, the friend arrived! (Let’s just call her “Rory”). I was so excited to see her at the airport, and we talked of things we might do. I found her a little bit more reserved than I’d remembered her, but 1) she was a couple years older now and 2) she’d just got off one of the most hellish things a person can do – fly transcontinentally.
As the days went forward, strange things began to surface. I was a little surprised at her immediate need to be in luxurious western malls, hanging out in Starbucks and downing Dairy Queen on a daily basis (usually you don’t need your “western fix” until a great deal of time has gone by and the veneer of Bangkok begins to rub off). I was also surprised by her insistence that she live in a “foreigner” area. This is Thailand after all, filled with….Thais. Sure, there are a couple foreigner areas, pockets really, and very expensive (the people who live there are often paid Western salaries which enables them to live like emperors and emperoresses here. I didn’t really yearn to be around Westerners until like a year and a half had gone by and I started to fantasize about Mexican food, Barnes & Nobles, and speaking English how I normally would (and not slowed down or dumbed down). I think that’s when I started watching a lot of movies here (something I still enjoy a great deal).
Yet, she was very determined to do certain things like finding a dream apartment, locating a long and beautiful place to walk, and using her new job here to quickly dig herself out of debt. Quickly, I tried to tell her that all three things were a little far-fetched for Bangkok unless you work for the U.S. Embassy, Unocal, or a drug lord.
“There is NO ‘Target’ in Bangkok.”
This my own personal saying, and what it means is this: in Bangkok, there are usually only two tiers to things – really cheap and fairly shitty quality, and super expensive and fantastic quality. The “Target Department Store” genre (cheap to mid-priced items of fair to good quality) is not readily available. I’ve found this annoying myself, especially when it comes to clothes. I am not fat, but I am big (tall with a medium build). Considering most Thai women have narrow shoulders, tiny chests, and could fit their entire body in a shot glass, you can imagine how finding clothes to fit my Nordic frame isn’t so simple. I’ve only found two places to buy clothes easily “off the rack,” and at both of them I spend much more money on something like a t-shirt, than I EVER spent back in the U.S. That’s just the way it is.
Rory had a very difficult time finding her dream apartment (1-bedroom with all the foreigner stuff that are considered treasured amenities here, i.e. a large room, air-con, hot water, pool, work-out room, etc.). Also, she was disappointed by the location of our school (Northwest Bangkok, a bit of a distance from the “foreigner” or “farang” areas which are in the south and southwest part of Bangkok).
Also, she realized (this one surprised me) that she wasn’t going to get rich teaching in Thailand (no one ever does…this isn’t Japan or Korea five years ago!). Admittedly, I have more disposable income than I have EVER had in my life due to the incredibly cheap cost of food and relatively cheap cost of living overall. And, during my three years here, I have JUST managed to pay off all my evil credit cards back in the U.S., and this was with me wiring a very hefty chunk of my paycheck home each month.
Rory was taken around to five apartments in the immediate area (we have long since learned that a teacher living too far from school is a VERY unhappy teacher). Dealing with Bangkok’s early morning traffic can send anyone over the edge. Rory wasn’t too pleased, or couldn’t afford them, and looked further. It became a rabid quest with her, and consumed her day and night, leading to hours on the internet searching out websites, and calling brokers. Luck wasn’t with her, and as the days slowly crept buy, she became increasingly frantic. I didn’t know what to do since we always offer our new teachers the five local apartment complexes and that’s about it. I myself am a teacher, and not an apartment broker, and my limited Thai doesn’t enable me to find out where the good places to live are.
During all of this, I kept urging Rory to come to work. We had an interim course which is basically like a light-hearted summer school course until the next semester begins. This was her chance to teach a no-failure class and get her feet wet before the next semester began and it got real serious. After being denied several days in a row for various reasons (I was being pretty patient, wanting her to be able to do her own thing), finally the final day of interim courses arrived.
I informed her cheerfully that this was “the big day” as I woke her up that morning (she’d been staying with me). She asked what I was talking about, and though a little surprised and annoyed, tried to keep my chipper exterior and remind her that this was the last day to teach. She asked if she could “come later in the afternoon,” and I felt myself sink inside. I felt I had been patient long enough, and had felt quite alarmed at her lack of “get up and go.” She’d always been so take charge back at the previous job. I never had to tell her anything twice, and she worked by herself well. This time, she seemed to grudgingly drag herself from event to event. She informed me that she had a meeting at 10am with the broker again. I firmly asked her to change the appointment. This was the last day and there wasn’t time for her to show up late in the day (most classes are taught before noon). She reluctantly got up, showered, and then came out solemnly in a towel and sat on the couch. After a moment, she said,
“Um, I have something I need to tell you. You may be angry.”
Oh fuck. So many times in Thailand I have had “the talk” (in its various forms) with many people. It is never good, and it’s always dramatic. I waited tensely. I was informed that she really wasn’t going to see the broker, but in fact was scheduled for an interview an ANOTHER school that was paying about 10,000 baht more ($250 USD) a month.
I felt a wave of anger wash over me like rapid lava. I felt my hands begin to shake. I was shocked at how angry I was. I was simply shocked. I had given my FRIEND a job which had made me feel a little weird, but since she was such a good person and such a fantastic worker, I thought I could be fully justified. I had pulled strings to get her here. We had done tomes of paperwork justifying hiring her from the U.S. I was letting her stay in my home (until the arrival of my mother two weeks later). I had let her avoid work, (something I would have been firmer with another new employee), and I had ignored her distant, sullen nature in telling myself that it was jet lag, new country jitters, homesickness, etc. I kept thinking she’d snap out of it once she found this coveted apartment. I was a fool. Again.
She spluttered that she probably wouldn’t get the job anyway, that she “MIGHT not take it,” and that she “might not like the school.” Ha, fat chance. An American girl here is like a golden nugget. It’s probably the most sought-after teacher of all native English speakers. American accents are often preferred and women are a rarity (and deeply desired, especially in international kindergartens). It just happened to be an international kindergarten. Fuck.
Not to be overly dramatic myself, but I felt rather betrayed. I guess there’s so much background she couldn’t have known – how fantastically difficult it is to find good teachers in Thailand. How excited we were to have a happy, energetic woman on board (the school will be all male after my departure). How there was only a week and a half until the next semester began! Whoever we desperately found to replace her would be rushed into writing long plans for the entire semester in a short amount of time (unfair to him/her). And of course, this was my friend. Someone who had come all the way across the U.S. For me to give her a new life, for her to take a position teaching position she was well-suited for.
A few more days went by, and there was no apartment. She was leaving early in the morning to seek out long walks, and coming back with meat on sticks (she’s into the no-carbos diet which was intriguing and yet mystifying to me! There’s nothing like that here, especially with the required quota of rice each Thai must intake in a day). Finally, this morning while entering a local internet café to search for apartments again, she was suddenly bitten by a small, stupid, yippy dog (I hate these fucking things. Thais love them and will pay through the nose to own the snobbish little overly-breeded rats). This was the last straw. She was in tears. She was utterly miserable. First, she called home. Then, she asked to talk about it with me. She was so sad, which I felt terrible about, but didn’t really know how to deal with. At some point she began to lash out at me for my lack of assistance, caring, understanding, etc. (another stunning moment). I was immediately defensive, as I thought about how hard I had tried to do everything right. Giving lots of advice when needed (often feeling like I was annoying her with too much), and backing off when she was hinting how much she needed to be alone.
I tried to calm myself down after that and explain to her that I wasn’t trying to be critical or negative (wow, she’s REALLY sensitive about any criticism about her no-carbs diet), but was trying to keep her realistic. Her expectations really were only going to give her future grief (like living far from work or pining for the perfect pad). I think she …kind of… understood after that, and though she said she wasn’t “blaming” or “accusing” me, I had the distinct feeling she really was.
Within minutes she was on the back of my motorcycle on what would be a lengthy and exhausting dash across town to purchase her a plane ticket back to the U.S. (and later another lengthy wait at the hospital to get a just-in-case rabies shot). That’s right, a week after her arrival, she was packing it up and shipping it out. God. I have to admit, after all this, I was a little relieved. I have been here awhile and have seen people like this again and again and AGAIN. The best thing is to let them escape as soon as possible. If you try to keep them “to the end of the semester” (to please parents or make things cleaner), everyone ends up unhappy, including the children.
So, tomorrow as the sun is rising over the Chao Phya river, Rory will be soaring toward the Pacific, back the “comforts” of home (she has her own demons to face back there). As much as I hate how this all ended up, I know it’s really for the best. “It’s something unpredictable, but in the end was right. I hope you had the time of your life.”
A Star Called Henry by Roddy Doyle -- A-
This book follows the life of "Henry," a strong, street smart child who grows up in the slums of Dublin, and later becomes involved in the formation of the IRA and the revolution surrounding it. Though slow to get into, the book is a fantastic read and is more than the typical "God, nothing could be possibly more miserable than being poor and growing up in Ireland" book. It delves into so many areas, explores so many issues, and was so intertwined with real historical events (including the many appearances of Michael Collins), that I kept wondering if Henry Smart was a real historical figures (nope). Good historical fiction, as well as a good look at poltiics, family relationships, feminism, and the effectiveness of violent revolution.
So, when a few months ago she wrote me, looking for a job, and I just HAPPENED to have an opening, it seemed perfect. In a frenzy of excited emails and lots of paperwork and preparation, the friend arrived! (Let’s just call her “Rory”). I was so excited to see her at the airport, and we talked of things we might do. I found her a little bit more reserved than I’d remembered her, but 1) she was a couple years older now and 2) she’d just got off one of the most hellish things a person can do – fly transcontinentally.
As the days went forward, strange things began to surface. I was a little surprised at her immediate need to be in luxurious western malls, hanging out in Starbucks and downing Dairy Queen on a daily basis (usually you don’t need your “western fix” until a great deal of time has gone by and the veneer of Bangkok begins to rub off). I was also surprised by her insistence that she live in a “foreigner” area. This is Thailand after all, filled with….Thais. Sure, there are a couple foreigner areas, pockets really, and very expensive (the people who live there are often paid Western salaries which enables them to live like emperors and emperoresses here. I didn’t really yearn to be around Westerners until like a year and a half had gone by and I started to fantasize about Mexican food, Barnes & Nobles, and speaking English how I normally would (and not slowed down or dumbed down). I think that’s when I started watching a lot of movies here (something I still enjoy a great deal).
Yet, she was very determined to do certain things like finding a dream apartment, locating a long and beautiful place to walk, and using her new job here to quickly dig herself out of debt. Quickly, I tried to tell her that all three things were a little far-fetched for Bangkok unless you work for the U.S. Embassy, Unocal, or a drug lord.
“There is NO ‘Target’ in Bangkok.”
This my own personal saying, and what it means is this: in Bangkok, there are usually only two tiers to things – really cheap and fairly shitty quality, and super expensive and fantastic quality. The “Target Department Store” genre (cheap to mid-priced items of fair to good quality) is not readily available. I’ve found this annoying myself, especially when it comes to clothes. I am not fat, but I am big (tall with a medium build). Considering most Thai women have narrow shoulders, tiny chests, and could fit their entire body in a shot glass, you can imagine how finding clothes to fit my Nordic frame isn’t so simple. I’ve only found two places to buy clothes easily “off the rack,” and at both of them I spend much more money on something like a t-shirt, than I EVER spent back in the U.S. That’s just the way it is.
Rory had a very difficult time finding her dream apartment (1-bedroom with all the foreigner stuff that are considered treasured amenities here, i.e. a large room, air-con, hot water, pool, work-out room, etc.). Also, she was disappointed by the location of our school (Northwest Bangkok, a bit of a distance from the “foreigner” or “farang” areas which are in the south and southwest part of Bangkok).
Also, she realized (this one surprised me) that she wasn’t going to get rich teaching in Thailand (no one ever does…this isn’t Japan or Korea five years ago!). Admittedly, I have more disposable income than I have EVER had in my life due to the incredibly cheap cost of food and relatively cheap cost of living overall. And, during my three years here, I have JUST managed to pay off all my evil credit cards back in the U.S., and this was with me wiring a very hefty chunk of my paycheck home each month.
Rory was taken around to five apartments in the immediate area (we have long since learned that a teacher living too far from school is a VERY unhappy teacher). Dealing with Bangkok’s early morning traffic can send anyone over the edge. Rory wasn’t too pleased, or couldn’t afford them, and looked further. It became a rabid quest with her, and consumed her day and night, leading to hours on the internet searching out websites, and calling brokers. Luck wasn’t with her, and as the days slowly crept buy, she became increasingly frantic. I didn’t know what to do since we always offer our new teachers the five local apartment complexes and that’s about it. I myself am a teacher, and not an apartment broker, and my limited Thai doesn’t enable me to find out where the good places to live are.
During all of this, I kept urging Rory to come to work. We had an interim course which is basically like a light-hearted summer school course until the next semester begins. This was her chance to teach a no-failure class and get her feet wet before the next semester began and it got real serious. After being denied several days in a row for various reasons (I was being pretty patient, wanting her to be able to do her own thing), finally the final day of interim courses arrived.
I informed her cheerfully that this was “the big day” as I woke her up that morning (she’d been staying with me). She asked what I was talking about, and though a little surprised and annoyed, tried to keep my chipper exterior and remind her that this was the last day to teach. She asked if she could “come later in the afternoon,” and I felt myself sink inside. I felt I had been patient long enough, and had felt quite alarmed at her lack of “get up and go.” She’d always been so take charge back at the previous job. I never had to tell her anything twice, and she worked by herself well. This time, she seemed to grudgingly drag herself from event to event. She informed me that she had a meeting at 10am with the broker again. I firmly asked her to change the appointment. This was the last day and there wasn’t time for her to show up late in the day (most classes are taught before noon). She reluctantly got up, showered, and then came out solemnly in a towel and sat on the couch. After a moment, she said,
“Um, I have something I need to tell you. You may be angry.”
Oh fuck. So many times in Thailand I have had “the talk” (in its various forms) with many people. It is never good, and it’s always dramatic. I waited tensely. I was informed that she really wasn’t going to see the broker, but in fact was scheduled for an interview an ANOTHER school that was paying about 10,000 baht more ($250 USD) a month.
I felt a wave of anger wash over me like rapid lava. I felt my hands begin to shake. I was shocked at how angry I was. I was simply shocked. I had given my FRIEND a job which had made me feel a little weird, but since she was such a good person and such a fantastic worker, I thought I could be fully justified. I had pulled strings to get her here. We had done tomes of paperwork justifying hiring her from the U.S. I was letting her stay in my home (until the arrival of my mother two weeks later). I had let her avoid work, (something I would have been firmer with another new employee), and I had ignored her distant, sullen nature in telling myself that it was jet lag, new country jitters, homesickness, etc. I kept thinking she’d snap out of it once she found this coveted apartment. I was a fool. Again.
She spluttered that she probably wouldn’t get the job anyway, that she “MIGHT not take it,” and that she “might not like the school.” Ha, fat chance. An American girl here is like a golden nugget. It’s probably the most sought-after teacher of all native English speakers. American accents are often preferred and women are a rarity (and deeply desired, especially in international kindergartens). It just happened to be an international kindergarten. Fuck.
Not to be overly dramatic myself, but I felt rather betrayed. I guess there’s so much background she couldn’t have known – how fantastically difficult it is to find good teachers in Thailand. How excited we were to have a happy, energetic woman on board (the school will be all male after my departure). How there was only a week and a half until the next semester began! Whoever we desperately found to replace her would be rushed into writing long plans for the entire semester in a short amount of time (unfair to him/her). And of course, this was my friend. Someone who had come all the way across the U.S. For me to give her a new life, for her to take a position teaching position she was well-suited for.
A few more days went by, and there was no apartment. She was leaving early in the morning to seek out long walks, and coming back with meat on sticks (she’s into the no-carbos diet which was intriguing and yet mystifying to me! There’s nothing like that here, especially with the required quota of rice each Thai must intake in a day). Finally, this morning while entering a local internet café to search for apartments again, she was suddenly bitten by a small, stupid, yippy dog (I hate these fucking things. Thais love them and will pay through the nose to own the snobbish little overly-breeded rats). This was the last straw. She was in tears. She was utterly miserable. First, she called home. Then, she asked to talk about it with me. She was so sad, which I felt terrible about, but didn’t really know how to deal with. At some point she began to lash out at me for my lack of assistance, caring, understanding, etc. (another stunning moment). I was immediately defensive, as I thought about how hard I had tried to do everything right. Giving lots of advice when needed (often feeling like I was annoying her with too much), and backing off when she was hinting how much she needed to be alone.
I tried to calm myself down after that and explain to her that I wasn’t trying to be critical or negative (wow, she’s REALLY sensitive about any criticism about her no-carbs diet), but was trying to keep her realistic. Her expectations really were only going to give her future grief (like living far from work or pining for the perfect pad). I think she …kind of… understood after that, and though she said she wasn’t “blaming” or “accusing” me, I had the distinct feeling she really was.
Within minutes she was on the back of my motorcycle on what would be a lengthy and exhausting dash across town to purchase her a plane ticket back to the U.S. (and later another lengthy wait at the hospital to get a just-in-case rabies shot). That’s right, a week after her arrival, she was packing it up and shipping it out. God. I have to admit, after all this, I was a little relieved. I have been here awhile and have seen people like this again and again and AGAIN. The best thing is to let them escape as soon as possible. If you try to keep them “to the end of the semester” (to please parents or make things cleaner), everyone ends up unhappy, including the children.
So, tomorrow as the sun is rising over the Chao Phya river, Rory will be soaring toward the Pacific, back the “comforts” of home (she has her own demons to face back there). As much as I hate how this all ended up, I know it’s really for the best. “It’s something unpredictable, but in the end was right. I hope you had the time of your life.”
A Star Called Henry by Roddy Doyle -- A-
This book follows the life of "Henry," a strong, street smart child who grows up in the slums of Dublin, and later becomes involved in the formation of the IRA and the revolution surrounding it. Though slow to get into, the book is a fantastic read and is more than the typical "God, nothing could be possibly more miserable than being poor and growing up in Ireland" book. It delves into so many areas, explores so many issues, and was so intertwined with real historical events (including the many appearances of Michael Collins), that I kept wondering if Henry Smart was a real historical figures (nope). Good historical fiction, as well as a good look at poltiics, family relationships, feminism, and the effectiveness of violent revolution.
Tuesday, October 14, 2003
Crash Into Me (Again)
I’ve been riding my motorcycle for a couple years now and have felt utterly comfortable and confident about it. One thing I particularly like about riding my motorcycle is how I am able to focus like an air traffic controller. Having an annoying case of ADD all my life, it’s nice to be able to focus so completely on something and feel alert and not sleepy as a result.
It was Saturday and time for French class. The French embassy is quite a distance from my house and I decided to ride the motorcycle the whole way to save some time. The great thing about riding a motorcycle here is that it can cut travel time in a half, and often even more so. I was about halfway there and making a right turn at a major intersection. There was a taxi on my left, who suddenly decided he had to be in my lane RIGHT NOW! Sometimes you see this in Bangkok – a car makes a sudden and violent turn into another lane – pushing their way through a small spot that opens up. I GUESS he did not see me. I don’t know. He sure felt me, for he hit me like a…well, I’d like to say a mack truck, but it was really “just” a taxi.
I felt the taxi slam into the side of my body and felt my body bounce a few times against the taxi. It’s amazing how you can recall minute details and at the same time, things all seem hazy. It’s also amazing on how a pasty, soft human being like myself can have all “natural” instincts for survival kick in less than a single second. Soon, I was on the asphalt, my bike revolving on top of me, and I quickly extracted myself from it. And yet, at the same time, I quickly looked up, just in time to watch that fucking asshole of a taxi sail off into the sunset, without a care in the world. At that moment, I think my heart sank to my now-scuffed shoes. It’s one thing to be hit, it’s another thing to watch the thug race away in a cloud of disgrace. I laid there for a moment in disbelief, and then looked around to see if anyone was coming to help me.
No. No one.
I slowly limped and led the now, slightly-bent bike to the side of the road. Traffic, relieved to see me clearing the road finally, resumed. I sat there on the defunct motorcycle for a moment taking it all in. I had just experienced a hit and run. No one stopped (unless I was blocking the road). No one helped me. And the taxi drive was probably halfway to China by now. I looked at what appeared to be my only immediate injury – a bloody and banged up elbow. As time wore on, I would be happy and unhappy to find my only other injuries were minor – cuts and scrapes on my arms and legs. Good thing I was wearing my giant helmet.
I have to tell you, being the ‘victim’ of a hit-and-run is rather heartbreaking. That may be a dramatic term, but it was how I felt. The first time I was hit, it was very different, with several people offering to help and being kind. Now, I felt as if I was simply a temporary and annoying road block for the Bangkokians.
Luckily, a police hut (small little huts that sit at major intersections to do traffic duty and such). I slowly made my way over to him on the other side of the road. He was polite, but completely unsympathetic. He informed me that I was “unhurt” (Ha!) and that the taxi driver was long gone, so there wasn’t anything he could do. Obviously, he was going to do nothing.
I called my Thai friend (roommate) and told her what happened. I have noticed that no matter how calm you may feel, once you begin telling someone you care about it, all your emotions flood out. Yup, that’s right, I was crying like Jimmy Swaggert (he would’ve loved Bangkok!). Now, Thais are polite and kind, but they’re not always known for their compassion (like when I was told on September 11th to “shake it off”). My roomie was laughing at my crying, though she did let me know she would be on her way immediately. I spent the next hour sitting in the tiny, though thankfully air-conditioned, cubicle with the cop. At least my roomie would come and play translator (my Thai only gets me so far), and sort of take care of me. I didn’t want to do jackshit but maybe have a bit to eat and sleep.
My roommate arrived – with a friend! Although I knew and liked the friend, I have to tell you, the last thing I wanted at that moment was to socialize. (I’m not great at it even in the best of health). I spent the next couple of hours treating them to some “strange” (to them) food at Outback Steakhouse.
Oh well.
It was Saturday and time for French class. The French embassy is quite a distance from my house and I decided to ride the motorcycle the whole way to save some time. The great thing about riding a motorcycle here is that it can cut travel time in a half, and often even more so. I was about halfway there and making a right turn at a major intersection. There was a taxi on my left, who suddenly decided he had to be in my lane RIGHT NOW! Sometimes you see this in Bangkok – a car makes a sudden and violent turn into another lane – pushing their way through a small spot that opens up. I GUESS he did not see me. I don’t know. He sure felt me, for he hit me like a…well, I’d like to say a mack truck, but it was really “just” a taxi.
I felt the taxi slam into the side of my body and felt my body bounce a few times against the taxi. It’s amazing how you can recall minute details and at the same time, things all seem hazy. It’s also amazing on how a pasty, soft human being like myself can have all “natural” instincts for survival kick in less than a single second. Soon, I was on the asphalt, my bike revolving on top of me, and I quickly extracted myself from it. And yet, at the same time, I quickly looked up, just in time to watch that fucking asshole of a taxi sail off into the sunset, without a care in the world. At that moment, I think my heart sank to my now-scuffed shoes. It’s one thing to be hit, it’s another thing to watch the thug race away in a cloud of disgrace. I laid there for a moment in disbelief, and then looked around to see if anyone was coming to help me.
No. No one.
I slowly limped and led the now, slightly-bent bike to the side of the road. Traffic, relieved to see me clearing the road finally, resumed. I sat there on the defunct motorcycle for a moment taking it all in. I had just experienced a hit and run. No one stopped (unless I was blocking the road). No one helped me. And the taxi drive was probably halfway to China by now. I looked at what appeared to be my only immediate injury – a bloody and banged up elbow. As time wore on, I would be happy and unhappy to find my only other injuries were minor – cuts and scrapes on my arms and legs. Good thing I was wearing my giant helmet.
I have to tell you, being the ‘victim’ of a hit-and-run is rather heartbreaking. That may be a dramatic term, but it was how I felt. The first time I was hit, it was very different, with several people offering to help and being kind. Now, I felt as if I was simply a temporary and annoying road block for the Bangkokians.
Luckily, a police hut (small little huts that sit at major intersections to do traffic duty and such). I slowly made my way over to him on the other side of the road. He was polite, but completely unsympathetic. He informed me that I was “unhurt” (Ha!) and that the taxi driver was long gone, so there wasn’t anything he could do. Obviously, he was going to do nothing.
I called my Thai friend (roommate) and told her what happened. I have noticed that no matter how calm you may feel, once you begin telling someone you care about it, all your emotions flood out. Yup, that’s right, I was crying like Jimmy Swaggert (he would’ve loved Bangkok!). Now, Thais are polite and kind, but they’re not always known for their compassion (like when I was told on September 11th to “shake it off”). My roomie was laughing at my crying, though she did let me know she would be on her way immediately. I spent the next hour sitting in the tiny, though thankfully air-conditioned, cubicle with the cop. At least my roomie would come and play translator (my Thai only gets me so far), and sort of take care of me. I didn’t want to do jackshit but maybe have a bit to eat and sleep.
My roommate arrived – with a friend! Although I knew and liked the friend, I have to tell you, the last thing I wanted at that moment was to socialize. (I’m not great at it even in the best of health). I spent the next couple of hours treating them to some “strange” (to them) food at Outback Steakhouse.
Oh well.
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