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.
Monday, November 18, 2002
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.
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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*
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.
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