Pride and Prejudice (and Snobbery) by Austen - A
You know, if I were to be honest with myself (and the rest of the world) I would admit that I have at times had "issues" with the English. I think the main reason has to do with snobbery. I hate it. I am a snob about snobs, I guess. Maybe it's because snobbery is so connected to class. Maybe it's because snobbery has to do with being cruel to usually innocent people (another thing I have trouble accepting). Maybe because snobs just fucking suck. Anyway, I've never been a big fan of English lit, especially since anything written before 1930 seems to talk about the rich rich English with their pretty dresses and horse carriages and fine ways. *puke* I finally read Austen's Persuasion several months back, and though I didn't think it was a work of staggering genius, did find it entertaining.
Of course, Austen pokes fun at snobs. I had a debate with an English friend whether she is playfully poking fun or more subtly calling the upper class a bunch of self-obsessed assholes (I leant toward the latter argument). So, anyway, I just recently picked up and finished Pride and Prejudice and found that I really loved it.
Maybe that will make some people groan, but it's true. Maybe it has something to do with the idiotic romantic in me I keep imagining long dead, or maybe it's the old cliche that all women envision themselves as Elizabeth (though don't we all envision ourselves as the main characters in MOST books!?). And sure, you could see the eventual outcome of the book by about page six, but still, it was a winnner with me. Maybe because it's a fun blend of intense romance, like all her books, while REALLY taking a look at snobbery, cruelty, contradictions, selfishness, and an array of other ridiculous things in society at that time.
One thing I find very interesting, is that in Sense and Sensibility (of which I've only seen the movie, not read the book), the wild, outspoken, free-spirited girl is, though punished cruelly for her actions, portrayed in the end as being a very positive thing. That it is the free spirit that is the true soul, who is free of all these idiotic pretentions and self and society-inflicted misery. And yet, in Pride and Prejudice, it is the sister with these same free-spirited characteristics who is potrayed as close to evil as one can get. She's improper, she's outspoken, she's without shame, she's hurt her family's reputation, she's a fucking idiot! She should just marry the asshole everyone hates and go on with what everyone is assured of as a miserable married life in order to salvage a shred of her family's dignity.
I'm not interested in becoming a total Austenphile now and delving into what I am sure are tomes on the subject of her and her books. Instead, I've ordered the BBC Pride and Prejudice DVD to be RUSHED to me through the mail! How else to top off a great book than watching the stiff and strangely attractive Colin Firth mumble on the screen! *flutter*
Thursday, August 28, 2003
Tuesday, August 12, 2003
DISROBED
I was having one of those days where you have time off, and really want to use it well, but your original plans fall through so you’re left scrambling to make something significant of what’s left of the day. I finally decided to ride on over to the “Temple of the Golden Mount.” This mouthful of a temple has always been a favorite of mine. You climb it slowly through a series of steps that are only comfortable for geishas or tightly-constricted monks. It’s like riding a stairmaster to top of a mountain. Along the way, as you encircle it, are various ancient trees, statues, and other Buddhist images and artifacts. This is about the fifth time I have come here, but it certainly was the most interesting.
I got there right about 5:30pm, and I knew it might be closing just about now. So, as I was hurrying up the tiny stairs, I came upon a figure on the side. There were some cement benches and some trees. I saw a Thai man who was dressed only in what could be described as a giant loincloth/diaper (kind of what you’d see strapped to a sumo wrestler). He was making these movements back and forth..back and forth..and I was slow to understand what was going on. “What is he doing….is he exercising….that…doesn’t….look quite right. Wait a minute, is that a PENIS I see? Holy shit!” It seems the young man was doing his very best to get it on with a cement bench. During this whole time I didn’t break my stride up the stairs, but was completely stunned. I’ve never seen anything like this in Thailand before. I kept walking as if all was normal.
Yet, it was not over, those thankfully less dramatic. Only about 15 feet from Mr. Eager Beaver was another man, passed out on the path to my left, in a classic too-much-Thai-whisky pose. You’d expect an empty bottle in his hand, with the last few drops slowly seeping out to the ground. But no! In this man’s outstretched hand was a slightly-mangled box of….Chiclets! I kid you not! It was a box of gum! If you saw everything save his hand, you would swear the guy was passed out from booze. Maybe he tried to freshen his breath at the last minute before going unconscious.
And what is strange about all of this is that it is a temple, a very important one that tourists flock to, heaving themselves slowly up the baby steps, and stopping along the way to catch their breath or ring a giant bell of which they have no comprehension of its significance. I’ve never seen such things at a temple before, which would be comparable to a man rubbing up to a statue of Mary in a catholic church.
Finally, I reached the top, after being warned by each descending tourist that the roof was closed. This was disappointing since the roof is, of course, the whole point of climbing this stairway to heaven. On the roof, next to the giant golden stupa, you have a 360 degree view of Bangkok which gives the city a kind of beauty and dignity impossible to see in daylight.
At the top, the doors were closed, but a few people were hanging out on the steps, taking in the view and enjoying the strong and cool winds that blow at that height. Standing there was the obligatory monk, looking a little nervous and eager at the same time. There were also the people taking care of the temple (those who locked the doors and sold tourists water, soda, and cheap Buddha images), who were looking impatient with the hangers-on.
It wasn’t long before the monk had struck up a conversation with me, as well as a good-looking young Thai man who worked there. I was surprised to be attracted to the Thai man since it’s a pretty rare thing for me. It’s difficult to feel attraction to someone who clocks you in the femininity department. This guy had enough masculinity (hair on his legs, hooray!) to not make me feel like a Nordic giant, and he spoke English well, another rarity. I felt myself torn between the over-eager monk who was obviously trying to establish a friendship in order to “practice his English” as he said, and the cute guy who had an interesting story. The cute guy had just recently “disrobed” from the monkhood which was hinted at in his hair which was in the Caesar stage of the growing-out process. The 27 year old said he had been a monk for the past 13 years! When I asked what would make someone “disrobe” (I know, the word is just too much, isn’t it?) after all that time, he said, “Well, I think a monk’s life is too smooth…and I want my life to be kind of….rough.”
Oh REAL-ly! OOooooooh! I found him even more attractive until he said this…..
“And I had to disrobe now, because I want to be a flight attendant and there’s an age limit for joining.”
“Umm, okay. That’s fair.”
Time went on with Eager Monk Man and Cute Disrobed Man. Finally, CDM said he had to go, and waved goodbye. I was left there with EMM politely listening to him going on about a Buddhist temple in NYC, while the vision of my body sprinting down the stairs after CDM was repeating itself in my head. After a couple of minutes, I kind of hinted to the EMM that I should probably get going. As we were making our way down the steps, the EMM suggested I could come to see his room in the monk compound (of which the temple was a part of).
WHAT?!?!?!
A monk is inviting me back to his room? Is that…uh…right? Awkwardly, I declined, saying I better be going. Before I reached the bottom, CDM was there with two old women who were probably his relatives. Meanwhile, the EMM had scrawled out his name, address, phone number, and email on a slip of paper and offered it up to me (a woman cannot touch a male monk), of which I took and stuffed in my pocket. Then EMM slunk off, probably embarrassed that I hadn’t accepted his invitation. Though I admit that I’m curious as to what a monk’s room looks like, it didn’t feel quite “ria proy” as a Thai would say, or “proper.”
The CDM seemed to be lurking a little, which was what I was hoping. As they saw me approach my motorcycle, the typical gasps and exclamations were made followed by the usual compliments that *I*, a WHITE GIRL, could possibly ride a motorcycle by myself. Words of “good good” were murmured for a bit. The guy asked if I was going out for fun and I said I was headed to a place not far away where I would be getting dinner. One of the old women said he was going near there too. I asked him if he wanted me to give him a ride…..
This was the big moment….
“Um, I have to go eat dinner with my aunts here. I’m not leaving for a half hour.”
Well, that’s it. I’m not going to wait a half hour, especially since I’m on my way to dinner myself and it’s getting late. CDM blew it! I got on my bike, and drove off. Alas!
I guess I could always go back to the temple…but then I'd have to deal with EMM who hinted again and again that I could always find him there at the temple. Ugh.
Well, maybe not.
I got there right about 5:30pm, and I knew it might be closing just about now. So, as I was hurrying up the tiny stairs, I came upon a figure on the side. There were some cement benches and some trees. I saw a Thai man who was dressed only in what could be described as a giant loincloth/diaper (kind of what you’d see strapped to a sumo wrestler). He was making these movements back and forth..back and forth..and I was slow to understand what was going on. “What is he doing….is he exercising….that…doesn’t….look quite right. Wait a minute, is that a PENIS I see? Holy shit!” It seems the young man was doing his very best to get it on with a cement bench. During this whole time I didn’t break my stride up the stairs, but was completely stunned. I’ve never seen anything like this in Thailand before. I kept walking as if all was normal.
Yet, it was not over, those thankfully less dramatic. Only about 15 feet from Mr. Eager Beaver was another man, passed out on the path to my left, in a classic too-much-Thai-whisky pose. You’d expect an empty bottle in his hand, with the last few drops slowly seeping out to the ground. But no! In this man’s outstretched hand was a slightly-mangled box of….Chiclets! I kid you not! It was a box of gum! If you saw everything save his hand, you would swear the guy was passed out from booze. Maybe he tried to freshen his breath at the last minute before going unconscious.
And what is strange about all of this is that it is a temple, a very important one that tourists flock to, heaving themselves slowly up the baby steps, and stopping along the way to catch their breath or ring a giant bell of which they have no comprehension of its significance. I’ve never seen such things at a temple before, which would be comparable to a man rubbing up to a statue of Mary in a catholic church.
Finally, I reached the top, after being warned by each descending tourist that the roof was closed. This was disappointing since the roof is, of course, the whole point of climbing this stairway to heaven. On the roof, next to the giant golden stupa, you have a 360 degree view of Bangkok which gives the city a kind of beauty and dignity impossible to see in daylight.
At the top, the doors were closed, but a few people were hanging out on the steps, taking in the view and enjoying the strong and cool winds that blow at that height. Standing there was the obligatory monk, looking a little nervous and eager at the same time. There were also the people taking care of the temple (those who locked the doors and sold tourists water, soda, and cheap Buddha images), who were looking impatient with the hangers-on.
It wasn’t long before the monk had struck up a conversation with me, as well as a good-looking young Thai man who worked there. I was surprised to be attracted to the Thai man since it’s a pretty rare thing for me. It’s difficult to feel attraction to someone who clocks you in the femininity department. This guy had enough masculinity (hair on his legs, hooray!) to not make me feel like a Nordic giant, and he spoke English well, another rarity. I felt myself torn between the over-eager monk who was obviously trying to establish a friendship in order to “practice his English” as he said, and the cute guy who had an interesting story. The cute guy had just recently “disrobed” from the monkhood which was hinted at in his hair which was in the Caesar stage of the growing-out process. The 27 year old said he had been a monk for the past 13 years! When I asked what would make someone “disrobe” (I know, the word is just too much, isn’t it?) after all that time, he said, “Well, I think a monk’s life is too smooth…and I want my life to be kind of….rough.”
Oh REAL-ly! OOooooooh! I found him even more attractive until he said this…..
“And I had to disrobe now, because I want to be a flight attendant and there’s an age limit for joining.”
“Umm, okay. That’s fair.”
Time went on with Eager Monk Man and Cute Disrobed Man. Finally, CDM said he had to go, and waved goodbye. I was left there with EMM politely listening to him going on about a Buddhist temple in NYC, while the vision of my body sprinting down the stairs after CDM was repeating itself in my head. After a couple of minutes, I kind of hinted to the EMM that I should probably get going. As we were making our way down the steps, the EMM suggested I could come to see his room in the monk compound (of which the temple was a part of).
WHAT?!?!?!
A monk is inviting me back to his room? Is that…uh…right? Awkwardly, I declined, saying I better be going. Before I reached the bottom, CDM was there with two old women who were probably his relatives. Meanwhile, the EMM had scrawled out his name, address, phone number, and email on a slip of paper and offered it up to me (a woman cannot touch a male monk), of which I took and stuffed in my pocket. Then EMM slunk off, probably embarrassed that I hadn’t accepted his invitation. Though I admit that I’m curious as to what a monk’s room looks like, it didn’t feel quite “ria proy” as a Thai would say, or “proper.”
The CDM seemed to be lurking a little, which was what I was hoping. As they saw me approach my motorcycle, the typical gasps and exclamations were made followed by the usual compliments that *I*, a WHITE GIRL, could possibly ride a motorcycle by myself. Words of “good good” were murmured for a bit. The guy asked if I was going out for fun and I said I was headed to a place not far away where I would be getting dinner. One of the old women said he was going near there too. I asked him if he wanted me to give him a ride…..
This was the big moment….
“Um, I have to go eat dinner with my aunts here. I’m not leaving for a half hour.”
Well, that’s it. I’m not going to wait a half hour, especially since I’m on my way to dinner myself and it’s getting late. CDM blew it! I got on my bike, and drove off. Alas!
I guess I could always go back to the temple…but then I'd have to deal with EMM who hinted again and again that I could always find him there at the temple. Ugh.
Well, maybe not.
Monday, July 14, 2003
Ceremony
I always finds ceremony interesting. I often think of what my old professor and friend told me about how grad students are like serial killers. They travel the foreign countryside, extracting tales from aging natives, scratching notes in notebooks. And then, as the aging native reveals his/her story, usually long held close to the heart, the storyteller dies, from the relief of release. I was aghast when I first heard this, and another professor asked if I had any respect for ritual. Hmm, I don't know. Probably not.
Of course, ceremony or ritual in a foreign country is a lot more interesting than in your own country, where you may not even recognize it as such. What I find fascinating (and also at the same time, sometimes boring), about Thailand is the need for ceremony at every level, for every reason, at any time. I have a quick example.
So, I’m at work on a Thursday, busy as usual. I’m at the tail-end of a staff meeting that I am running, including at that moment, a staff development seminar, where I am introducing a new writing activity for the classroom. A Thai teacher bursts into the room and after giving rapid apologies, demands that me and my assistant must immediately proceed to a ceremony about to start. What ceremony? Why? Where?
These questions are never easily answered in Thailand, unfortunately. Finally, I got a “where” out of the teacher and after throwing on a fresh coat of lipstick (looks are everything here), we proceeded to the named location. As we bypassed running and happily screaming children, we were directed into a small assembly room. We were immediately shocked to see lavish decorations all around, the Thai version of elevator music playing, and a small group of obvious VIP’s sitting or milling around. Through another set of doors a little dessert and coffee bar had been set-up. On the stage was a long table draped in pink satin with large arrangements of flowers placed here and there. What was this all for? The signing of a contract. The umbrella school I work at is about to (re)start construction on a massive building which will eventually house our own little school (as well as many other things). This large affair was for the simple 30 seconds of signing (and additional 4 minutes of photographs afterwards) that this would encompass. I was relieved actually. Often ceremonies like these can drone on for hours, where I find myself performing all sorts of Jedi mind tricks on myself to try and stifle the ear-splitting screaming going on inside my head, begging to be released from this motionless sitting position, where I have been listening to the same speech in Thai for over 45 minutes. I always want to sprint from the room, screaming bloody murder. My usual escape, if possible, is to feign having to use the restroom, then having a leisurely stroll around the hallway for as long as I can without arousing anger or suspicion. Then, back to my statue-like sitting and waterfall of thoughts. It seems the art of ritual here is the art of sitting still.
Of course, ceremony or ritual in a foreign country is a lot more interesting than in your own country, where you may not even recognize it as such. What I find fascinating (and also at the same time, sometimes boring), about Thailand is the need for ceremony at every level, for every reason, at any time. I have a quick example.
So, I’m at work on a Thursday, busy as usual. I’m at the tail-end of a staff meeting that I am running, including at that moment, a staff development seminar, where I am introducing a new writing activity for the classroom. A Thai teacher bursts into the room and after giving rapid apologies, demands that me and my assistant must immediately proceed to a ceremony about to start. What ceremony? Why? Where?
These questions are never easily answered in Thailand, unfortunately. Finally, I got a “where” out of the teacher and after throwing on a fresh coat of lipstick (looks are everything here), we proceeded to the named location. As we bypassed running and happily screaming children, we were directed into a small assembly room. We were immediately shocked to see lavish decorations all around, the Thai version of elevator music playing, and a small group of obvious VIP’s sitting or milling around. Through another set of doors a little dessert and coffee bar had been set-up. On the stage was a long table draped in pink satin with large arrangements of flowers placed here and there. What was this all for? The signing of a contract. The umbrella school I work at is about to (re)start construction on a massive building which will eventually house our own little school (as well as many other things). This large affair was for the simple 30 seconds of signing (and additional 4 minutes of photographs afterwards) that this would encompass. I was relieved actually. Often ceremonies like these can drone on for hours, where I find myself performing all sorts of Jedi mind tricks on myself to try and stifle the ear-splitting screaming going on inside my head, begging to be released from this motionless sitting position, where I have been listening to the same speech in Thai for over 45 minutes. I always want to sprint from the room, screaming bloody murder. My usual escape, if possible, is to feign having to use the restroom, then having a leisurely stroll around the hallway for as long as I can without arousing anger or suspicion. Then, back to my statue-like sitting and waterfall of thoughts. It seems the art of ritual here is the art of sitting still.
Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix by J.K. Rowling A+
Yes, I admit it. I am a Harry Potter fanatic. I’ve done the first book with my English class. I’ve read every book. I’ve bought various paraphernalia from the film (including the jammy pants I’m wearing now). And I’m constantly LOOKING for new things to buy. So, after receiving my pre-paid copy of Harry Potter book five, I took it home and put it on the shelf. I knew, as soon as I started reading it, I’d be obsessed. I think I made it about four days before I gave up and cracked the massive book open. Once that began, there was to be no stopping. I took it to work, to the gym where I awkwardly read it while pumping away at the exercise bike, at the bank, balancing it on one arm with my passport and banking documents in the other. In one week, the 776 page book was finished. I never read that fast in grad school, or at least, never enjoyed reading that fast. I think I started crying on about page 700 and didn’t stop til the end. It’s a kid’s book! Though I wonder how many kids have the attention span for such a mammoth-sized “children’s book.” I guess we’ll see. All I know is that for me and my adult friends, the Harry Potter books are absolutely obsessive page-turners. One friend finished book three and then begged me to rush home and get him book four. He didn’t want to go a day without it.
My only beef with the whole book has to do with the last 50 pages or so. Don’t worry, I don’t believe in spoiling a book/movie. Rowling does a good job in conveying the frustration and sometimes rage that Harry Potter, now a 15-year old boy, is experiencing in his tumultuous life. But at the end, a book which has been building to such a hyper pitch level that I could barely stand it, sort of ends in a gentle fashion, where you kind of go, “Um, okay. Well, that’s it then? Okay…” Plus, after all this crap that he endures, he’s still a pretty pissed off boy at the end of the book. Ahh adolescence!
I must say, the most intriguing character in this series is Professor Severus Snape. An interesting aspect to him was revealed in this book, and I hope he will be further expanded and explored in the future ones. He’s probably the most rounded character of the bunch and I’m really pleased that Alan Rickman has been cast as him. He’s doing a fabulous job. The only character of whom I really feel deprived was Remus Lupin, probably because he seems like the kind of guy I’d have a huge crush on in real life. Man, now I’m going to have to wait YEARS for the next movie and book. *sigh* Back to my beloved Roald Dahl books.
My only beef with the whole book has to do with the last 50 pages or so. Don’t worry, I don’t believe in spoiling a book/movie. Rowling does a good job in conveying the frustration and sometimes rage that Harry Potter, now a 15-year old boy, is experiencing in his tumultuous life. But at the end, a book which has been building to such a hyper pitch level that I could barely stand it, sort of ends in a gentle fashion, where you kind of go, “Um, okay. Well, that’s it then? Okay…” Plus, after all this crap that he endures, he’s still a pretty pissed off boy at the end of the book. Ahh adolescence!
I must say, the most intriguing character in this series is Professor Severus Snape. An interesting aspect to him was revealed in this book, and I hope he will be further expanded and explored in the future ones. He’s probably the most rounded character of the bunch and I’m really pleased that Alan Rickman has been cast as him. He’s doing a fabulous job. The only character of whom I really feel deprived was Remus Lupin, probably because he seems like the kind of guy I’d have a huge crush on in real life. Man, now I’m going to have to wait YEARS for the next movie and book. *sigh* Back to my beloved Roald Dahl books.
Sunday, June 15, 2003
My Lack of Moral Fiber
So yesterday I paid my second ever bribe here in Bangkok. Considering I've been here for nearly three years, and I daily ride a motorcycle all over the damn place (illegally), I consider that a bit of a triumph. That's kind of what happens to you here, you morals change. For many, they change dramatically. It's most interesting to me in Americans who are not aware of the intense sense of integrity that has been woven into their system through the years. "A bribe? What the fuck? What kind of backwards, corrupt place is this? Can't anyone DO something about this?"
The funny thing about morality is that it's really a facade, in my honest opinion. Whether you're a murderer or a priest, your morals are a very fragile thing. They can change much more easily than you'd ever think, and not because of some earth-shattering reason (someone's holding a gun to your head), but often, for something simple. My prime example: convenience.
That's the true reason most people pay bribes here. Simple convenience. You're stopped by a cop for some reason (and to be fair to the Thai police, the three times I've been stopped, I was breaking the law, though two of those times I didn't know it), and he tells you how he's going to write you out a ticket for like 400-1000 baht. Then you have to take the ticket to the police station (far away, and if you know anything about Bangkok, you know that it's a total hassle to do even the easiest things), where you will pay it there. You're sitting there in traffic, you're on your way to meet someone, go to work, etc. You flash 100 baht the policeman's way. At first he acts offended. After a few minutes of his striking several poses in your direction and looking over his shoulder to make sure other motorists are not gaping at him, he grabs the cash and waves you off. "Phew!" you whisper to yourself or to your passengers. "Glad that's over! Let's get out of here." The bribe is passed, you're on your way, and no thoughts of going to hell, bad karma, or the blackening of your soul crosses your mind.
Yeah, that's pretty much what happened to me. I was riding my motorcycle, with a friend on back, across the new Rama VIII bridge. Just on the other side is the infamous Khao San Road (a la Nasty Backpackersville) where several of us were meeting for an Indian meal. I was riding up up up the bridge, and after clearing the hump and coasting down, I saw him. The lone policeman next to his motorcycle, and directly in my path (the side margin of the road). I started going, "oh shit, oh shit, oh shit." Usually I just avoid eye contact, but I'd have to run over him to get past him, so that plan wasn't going to work.
Yeah, he stopped me. He then told me that motorcycles weren't allowed on the bridge at all! Okay, that was a bit of a shocker. Not allowed on the bridge? Not that there aren't other bridges, but it's not like they're set real close together, and this was a brand new one. He told me it would cost 1000 baht. A hefty sum here! (about $23 USD and about 1/3 the monthly salary of about 60% of Thais). And damn it, we were already late (I had the guest of honor on the back of my bike), and people were already calling us on the phone and complaining).
With such a giant quote of the "ticket" I was to get, I knew the policeman wanted a bribe. That sum was way too inflated to be real. I fumbled into my pocket, all the while apologizing and trying to be charming enough to get myself off, until I pulled out about 140 baht and told him that's all I had. He kind of sneered and looked around nervously, but I knew it would do. Holding out it plainly on a busy bridge wasn't too inconspicuous, so I rolled it up and held it low. He looked around, struck his various poses, and then did a move that would have impressed David Copperfield. With a wave of his hand and flash of light, my money disappeared and the friendly policemen said he'd even escort us off the bridge for our trouble. Wow!
So, there it is. My second bribe ever (the first was for driving my motorcycle down a "bus only" lane). Do I feel bad? Truthfully, yeah, a little bit. I am perpetuating a corrupt system. Why? So, I can get to dinner a few minutes earlier and make the bad policeman disappear! *poof* But really, it surprises you when it's over. You kind of go, "that was it? My eternal damnation was that easy and that...dramaless?" Yeah, pretty much. There goes my "Get out of hell free" card.
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QUICKIE BOOK REVIEWS
Sweet Thames by Matthew Kneale - A
This is my new most favorite author in the world. By accident, I noticed my swelling bookshelves housed TWO books by him (chosen seperately at different times and bookstores). I went on to buy a third book by him. All are completely different and completely wonderful. Though none can top the greatness of his English Passengers, Sweet Thames is still a kick ass book of mid-19th century when the sewer problem of London was reaching epic nasty proportions and the infamous Cholera outbreak was on the verge of erupting. In the center of all this is an ambitous engineer and his own personal dramas. Historical fiction is always my favorite and this guy is fantastic. Academic and accurate without being too serious and dry. Entertaining and funny without being ridiculous. And with the ability to make yourself feel connected to the most unfortunate character in the book. Or is that just me?
To the Lighthouse by Virginia Woolf - D
THANK GOD I finished this damn book!!! Oh Virginia, I tried SO hard to like this book. I felt some sort of obligation since you stuck all those rocks in your pocket and marched with such determination into the sea, yourself. But god, this book SUCKS! I hate stream of consciousness! I hated how this book dragged on and on and on like some sort of slow moving nightmare. I hated this book even more than The Map that Changed the World, and that's pretty bad.
The Lady Tree by Christie Dickason - A
Absolutely loved this book (more historical fiction) about young Englishman with a dark past who is forced into hastily earning a sizeable fortune in the crazy world of investment in 17th century Netherlands. I love any historical fiction that shows me a time/place I don't feel too familiar with (and that's not hard), and this book fit in nicely. It was fun to read and very gripping in parts, making my heart feel clenched. Absolutely recommended (though the whole Lady Tree part seemed totally irrelevent, though I know there is a sequel that should deal more with the actual "lady tree").
The Lost Continent by Bill Bryson - B
A very fun and often totally hysterical book to read about a now Englishman's (American-born and raised) road trip throughout the U.S. Fun to read, though it does drag on a bit and start to feel repetitive.
The funny thing about morality is that it's really a facade, in my honest opinion. Whether you're a murderer or a priest, your morals are a very fragile thing. They can change much more easily than you'd ever think, and not because of some earth-shattering reason (someone's holding a gun to your head), but often, for something simple. My prime example: convenience.
That's the true reason most people pay bribes here. Simple convenience. You're stopped by a cop for some reason (and to be fair to the Thai police, the three times I've been stopped, I was breaking the law, though two of those times I didn't know it), and he tells you how he's going to write you out a ticket for like 400-1000 baht. Then you have to take the ticket to the police station (far away, and if you know anything about Bangkok, you know that it's a total hassle to do even the easiest things), where you will pay it there. You're sitting there in traffic, you're on your way to meet someone, go to work, etc. You flash 100 baht the policeman's way. At first he acts offended. After a few minutes of his striking several poses in your direction and looking over his shoulder to make sure other motorists are not gaping at him, he grabs the cash and waves you off. "Phew!" you whisper to yourself or to your passengers. "Glad that's over! Let's get out of here." The bribe is passed, you're on your way, and no thoughts of going to hell, bad karma, or the blackening of your soul crosses your mind.
Yeah, that's pretty much what happened to me. I was riding my motorcycle, with a friend on back, across the new Rama VIII bridge. Just on the other side is the infamous Khao San Road (a la Nasty Backpackersville) where several of us were meeting for an Indian meal. I was riding up up up the bridge, and after clearing the hump and coasting down, I saw him. The lone policeman next to his motorcycle, and directly in my path (the side margin of the road). I started going, "oh shit, oh shit, oh shit." Usually I just avoid eye contact, but I'd have to run over him to get past him, so that plan wasn't going to work.
Yeah, he stopped me. He then told me that motorcycles weren't allowed on the bridge at all! Okay, that was a bit of a shocker. Not allowed on the bridge? Not that there aren't other bridges, but it's not like they're set real close together, and this was a brand new one. He told me it would cost 1000 baht. A hefty sum here! (about $23 USD and about 1/3 the monthly salary of about 60% of Thais). And damn it, we were already late (I had the guest of honor on the back of my bike), and people were already calling us on the phone and complaining).
With such a giant quote of the "ticket" I was to get, I knew the policeman wanted a bribe. That sum was way too inflated to be real. I fumbled into my pocket, all the while apologizing and trying to be charming enough to get myself off, until I pulled out about 140 baht and told him that's all I had. He kind of sneered and looked around nervously, but I knew it would do. Holding out it plainly on a busy bridge wasn't too inconspicuous, so I rolled it up and held it low. He looked around, struck his various poses, and then did a move that would have impressed David Copperfield. With a wave of his hand and flash of light, my money disappeared and the friendly policemen said he'd even escort us off the bridge for our trouble. Wow!
So, there it is. My second bribe ever (the first was for driving my motorcycle down a "bus only" lane). Do I feel bad? Truthfully, yeah, a little bit. I am perpetuating a corrupt system. Why? So, I can get to dinner a few minutes earlier and make the bad policeman disappear! *poof* But really, it surprises you when it's over. You kind of go, "that was it? My eternal damnation was that easy and that...dramaless?" Yeah, pretty much. There goes my "Get out of hell free" card.
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QUICKIE BOOK REVIEWS
Sweet Thames by Matthew Kneale - A
This is my new most favorite author in the world. By accident, I noticed my swelling bookshelves housed TWO books by him (chosen seperately at different times and bookstores). I went on to buy a third book by him. All are completely different and completely wonderful. Though none can top the greatness of his English Passengers, Sweet Thames is still a kick ass book of mid-19th century when the sewer problem of London was reaching epic nasty proportions and the infamous Cholera outbreak was on the verge of erupting. In the center of all this is an ambitous engineer and his own personal dramas. Historical fiction is always my favorite and this guy is fantastic. Academic and accurate without being too serious and dry. Entertaining and funny without being ridiculous. And with the ability to make yourself feel connected to the most unfortunate character in the book. Or is that just me?
To the Lighthouse by Virginia Woolf - D
THANK GOD I finished this damn book!!! Oh Virginia, I tried SO hard to like this book. I felt some sort of obligation since you stuck all those rocks in your pocket and marched with such determination into the sea, yourself. But god, this book SUCKS! I hate stream of consciousness! I hated how this book dragged on and on and on like some sort of slow moving nightmare. I hated this book even more than The Map that Changed the World, and that's pretty bad.
The Lady Tree by Christie Dickason - A
Absolutely loved this book (more historical fiction) about young Englishman with a dark past who is forced into hastily earning a sizeable fortune in the crazy world of investment in 17th century Netherlands. I love any historical fiction that shows me a time/place I don't feel too familiar with (and that's not hard), and this book fit in nicely. It was fun to read and very gripping in parts, making my heart feel clenched. Absolutely recommended (though the whole Lady Tree part seemed totally irrelevent, though I know there is a sequel that should deal more with the actual "lady tree").
The Lost Continent by Bill Bryson - B
A very fun and often totally hysterical book to read about a now Englishman's (American-born and raised) road trip throughout the U.S. Fun to read, though it does drag on a bit and start to feel repetitive.
Monday, May 12, 2003
Phuket Paradise? Part II: Love Lost (Is that a shark?)
So, it’s been awhile, but I’m going to continue my stories on my sort-of recent trip to Phuket, the island paradise (and requisite beach stop of any tourist) in Thailand.
The second day in Phuket was my time to go and do one of these planned adventure trips. Basically, you go up to one of a bajillion tourist operators, who all have the same brochures (go swordfishing! Go white water rafting! Go to the Phuket Fantase show! etc. etc.). I purchased two, and the one I went on first was a trip to Phi Phi island (pronounced “pee-pee,” … yeah, I know) where I was to see many gorgeous mini islands and go snorkeling. They picked me up early the next morning, and in the van was another man who said hello to me. I noticed right away he seemed to have a Scandinavian or German accent, but would have to wait awhile before I found out for sure. The next stop let on a whole slew of crazy young Japanese men, probably around 18-22 years each. Though it was like 8 in the morning, I think they may have been drunk, or probably still hanging on their inebriation from the night before. They certainly found me interesting and tried to make awkward, loud, and “let me impress my buddies” conversation with me. It was partly funny and partly really fucking annoying considering how early it was.
Soon we were at the dock and were loaded onto a very large ship with dozens of other tourists. A long boat ride ensued, which was fantastic. Gorgeous blue water, and these strange “islands,” some like a real small island size, and others almost like giant pieces of rock jutting defiantly out of the ocean, covered in green vegetation. They were all different shapes and were just sitting there in the middle of the ocean, not in view of any mainland or large islands. Just there. We passed dozens of them and I never grew tired of the beautiful view. I had another good view too. The young man in the van had turned out to be a Norwegian (hooray! I love Scandinavian men), and was not only good-looking, but interesting, considerate, and funny. In fact, in a weird twist of fate, he kind of looked like the Nordic version of the ex-love-of-my-life, a New York Jewish guy (I know, but I swear, the connection was there!). They had similar faces, bodies, and smiles. Anyway, this guy was different enough for it not to be weird or make me think I was doing some strange subconscious replacement.
I couldn’t believe my luck. As I have mentioned more than once, living in Bangkok is a total disaster for a single, white female. One other remarked that “we white women” feel “invisible” since no white man wants to date us and the Thai men see us more like a trophy. I don’t know how much I agree with that, but I have never found living here even remotely easy in the romance department. Since Western men are basically sucked off the arriving planes and scuttled away by eager Thai women and Thai men, I’ve found, tend to be embarrassingly immature and difficult to communicate with, dating here is….complicated. I’ve had to placate myself with the occasional Western man (mistake), the occasional Thai man (disappointing), and the occasional ex-lover flying into town (fantastic, but fleeting).
Anyway, so here I am on this beautiful ocean, the air is very hot but the wind is strong and this guy is great! He keeps offering to buy me drinks (no, not get me drunk, Pepsis and water too), and has even mentioned that I’m lovely. *cheer* We are occasionally interrupted though by this gaggle of older Japanese women. About every 20 minutes, one confidently strides up to me and motions that she wants to take a photo with me. So there I am having my picture taken, flanked by these Japanese women in their sun hats and big sunglasses. They never ask the Norwegian guy, in fact, they purposefully push him aside. Do they think I’m a celebrity? I have lived in Thailand awhile and had a lot of interest in me for various reasons, but I have never had strangers walk up to me and demand a photo. It was all very strange and very amusing.
Anyway, the young man and I are talking for a couple hours and are sharing our lives. After mentioning this gay friend of mine, I must have given him the cue he needed, because he reveals that he too is gay, and has been in a relationship for like four years with some gorgeous Swedish man.
*SOB*
“Oh, the humanity!” [sic]
I felt like a big, shiny balloon slowly deflating. Of course, I couldn’t change my positive feelings toward him just because I wouldn’t be able to sleep with him now. I tried to be mature about the whole thing, and I was, but still. What a shitty deal. No wonder I have so many gay friends. I think I attract them with some secretion I must put out. I’m obviously not putting anything out to any heterosexuals here, ‘cause I’d sure put out if I could! I’m no slut, but I’m no nun either. Though if I don’t get out of here soon, I might as well be.
Nevertheless, the trip must go on, and since he and I were on different tours, we separated once we got to Phi Phi island. I was truly sad to see him go. And I went on to a lunch, some time on the island, and finally to another smaller boat to go out snorkeling. It was the first time in my life that I have successfully snorkeled (I have some difficulty snorkeling/scuba diving because of the breathing), and thank GOD it worked this time! It was absolutely amazing. There I was, floating at the top of the water, looking down at sea floor just 10-25 feet below. It was like pressing your face up to a page in a Jacques Cousteau book. It seemed so unreal to see things you’d see on a documentary or in a glossy coffee table book just suddenly there in front of you. Sea urchins, coral, various brightly colored fish, and even some sort of snake at one time….which led to an slightly embarrassing moment.
After seeing the snake, and not knowing if that was a GOOD thing, I quickly turned around and quickly pumped my finned-feet back to the boat. As I got closer, I shouted up to the guy, “There was a snake, a snake. Is that dangerous?” I said it all in Thai, but “snake” was said in English (they know it by the English name as well). A Russian man swimming nearby heard me, but somehow heard, “shark” instead of “snake” and began to totally panic. Without fins, he frantically swam back to the ship, terrified. He finally was set straight and relaxed a bit. The Thais, in their typical way, told me, “Oh yeah, they’re dangerous. Just try to stay away from them.”
Oh, okay.
It was fantastic anyway, and after a long day, I returned home. Horribly sunburnt, but happy. More on the sunburn later. *shudder*
The second day in Phuket was my time to go and do one of these planned adventure trips. Basically, you go up to one of a bajillion tourist operators, who all have the same brochures (go swordfishing! Go white water rafting! Go to the Phuket Fantase show! etc. etc.). I purchased two, and the one I went on first was a trip to Phi Phi island (pronounced “pee-pee,” … yeah, I know) where I was to see many gorgeous mini islands and go snorkeling. They picked me up early the next morning, and in the van was another man who said hello to me. I noticed right away he seemed to have a Scandinavian or German accent, but would have to wait awhile before I found out for sure. The next stop let on a whole slew of crazy young Japanese men, probably around 18-22 years each. Though it was like 8 in the morning, I think they may have been drunk, or probably still hanging on their inebriation from the night before. They certainly found me interesting and tried to make awkward, loud, and “let me impress my buddies” conversation with me. It was partly funny and partly really fucking annoying considering how early it was.
Soon we were at the dock and were loaded onto a very large ship with dozens of other tourists. A long boat ride ensued, which was fantastic. Gorgeous blue water, and these strange “islands,” some like a real small island size, and others almost like giant pieces of rock jutting defiantly out of the ocean, covered in green vegetation. They were all different shapes and were just sitting there in the middle of the ocean, not in view of any mainland or large islands. Just there. We passed dozens of them and I never grew tired of the beautiful view. I had another good view too. The young man in the van had turned out to be a Norwegian (hooray! I love Scandinavian men), and was not only good-looking, but interesting, considerate, and funny. In fact, in a weird twist of fate, he kind of looked like the Nordic version of the ex-love-of-my-life, a New York Jewish guy (I know, but I swear, the connection was there!). They had similar faces, bodies, and smiles. Anyway, this guy was different enough for it not to be weird or make me think I was doing some strange subconscious replacement.
I couldn’t believe my luck. As I have mentioned more than once, living in Bangkok is a total disaster for a single, white female. One other remarked that “we white women” feel “invisible” since no white man wants to date us and the Thai men see us more like a trophy. I don’t know how much I agree with that, but I have never found living here even remotely easy in the romance department. Since Western men are basically sucked off the arriving planes and scuttled away by eager Thai women and Thai men, I’ve found, tend to be embarrassingly immature and difficult to communicate with, dating here is….complicated. I’ve had to placate myself with the occasional Western man (mistake), the occasional Thai man (disappointing), and the occasional ex-lover flying into town (fantastic, but fleeting).
Anyway, so here I am on this beautiful ocean, the air is very hot but the wind is strong and this guy is great! He keeps offering to buy me drinks (no, not get me drunk, Pepsis and water too), and has even mentioned that I’m lovely. *cheer* We are occasionally interrupted though by this gaggle of older Japanese women. About every 20 minutes, one confidently strides up to me and motions that she wants to take a photo with me. So there I am having my picture taken, flanked by these Japanese women in their sun hats and big sunglasses. They never ask the Norwegian guy, in fact, they purposefully push him aside. Do they think I’m a celebrity? I have lived in Thailand awhile and had a lot of interest in me for various reasons, but I have never had strangers walk up to me and demand a photo. It was all very strange and very amusing.
Anyway, the young man and I are talking for a couple hours and are sharing our lives. After mentioning this gay friend of mine, I must have given him the cue he needed, because he reveals that he too is gay, and has been in a relationship for like four years with some gorgeous Swedish man.
*SOB*
“Oh, the humanity!” [sic]
I felt like a big, shiny balloon slowly deflating. Of course, I couldn’t change my positive feelings toward him just because I wouldn’t be able to sleep with him now. I tried to be mature about the whole thing, and I was, but still. What a shitty deal. No wonder I have so many gay friends. I think I attract them with some secretion I must put out. I’m obviously not putting anything out to any heterosexuals here, ‘cause I’d sure put out if I could! I’m no slut, but I’m no nun either. Though if I don’t get out of here soon, I might as well be.
Nevertheless, the trip must go on, and since he and I were on different tours, we separated once we got to Phi Phi island. I was truly sad to see him go. And I went on to a lunch, some time on the island, and finally to another smaller boat to go out snorkeling. It was the first time in my life that I have successfully snorkeled (I have some difficulty snorkeling/scuba diving because of the breathing), and thank GOD it worked this time! It was absolutely amazing. There I was, floating at the top of the water, looking down at sea floor just 10-25 feet below. It was like pressing your face up to a page in a Jacques Cousteau book. It seemed so unreal to see things you’d see on a documentary or in a glossy coffee table book just suddenly there in front of you. Sea urchins, coral, various brightly colored fish, and even some sort of snake at one time….which led to an slightly embarrassing moment.
After seeing the snake, and not knowing if that was a GOOD thing, I quickly turned around and quickly pumped my finned-feet back to the boat. As I got closer, I shouted up to the guy, “There was a snake, a snake. Is that dangerous?” I said it all in Thai, but “snake” was said in English (they know it by the English name as well). A Russian man swimming nearby heard me, but somehow heard, “shark” instead of “snake” and began to totally panic. Without fins, he frantically swam back to the ship, terrified. He finally was set straight and relaxed a bit. The Thais, in their typical way, told me, “Oh yeah, they’re dangerous. Just try to stay away from them.”
Oh, okay.
It was fantastic anyway, and after a long day, I returned home. Horribly sunburnt, but happy. More on the sunburn later. *shudder*
Tuesday, April 29, 2003
Salsa, Frida, and Book Reviews
So, I had this kind of embarrassing experience. I've joined this gym to get my fat ass motivated and moving (the astounding price I paid for the first three months is enough to get me to go anyway). They have a wide assortment of aerobics classes every day from dawn to well past dusk. I noticed a "Latin" one listed and was pretty excited, since I love Latin music and dancing. It took me a couple weeks to work up the nerve to join though. Not only was it listed as an intermediate level, but it was late at night. So, one night I worked out hard in my t-shirt, umbro shorts, and cross-trainers. I did all the required running and sweating, as well as some weight training. Sweaty and ready for an aerobics workout, I walked up to the room. Outside I saw a small Thai woman dressed very stylishly in a swirly mini skirt, sexy orange shirt with a little orange scarf tied around her throat, and some flashy high heels. Truly in my mind though I was rolling my eyes, "Why do people come to the gym dressed like this???" I walked into the workout room and saw that everyone was wearing skirts and high heels. ???
Turns out that it was a Latin DANCE class (Salsa, to be exact). I was both thrilled and appalled. Also turns out the cute little orange woman was the instructor! (okay, the clothes are therefore approved). There I was in my mammoth shoes (I'm already large by Thai standards), with an impressive sweat ring circling my neck and down my back. Everyone else was fresh as a daisy and seemed to know what the hell they were doing. No one was really volunteering to dance with me. Nonetheless, I gave it a try, and besides standing around alone most of the time and feeling like an idiot (there are never enough men to go around at these things and I can't ask some guy to pay a load to join the gym for this), I had a pretty good time. In fact, I went again, wearing my heels and smelling April spring fresh. This time they said I was a good dancer, which was a total lie, but I am much better! Hooray! Here's to tackling your fears, even if you think you look like an ass. Now I can salsa! Kind of!
**********
Just saw the movie, Frida here. I admit knowing nothing about this woman before the film (besides the few things you heard about her body, her husband, and her sexuality, sadly, less about her art), but after this movie, I sure would like to learn more. Wonderful film; best I've seen in awhile. It's rare that I'll hate a film, but it's rare I'll love one too. Also, the soundtrack is fucking fantastic, so run out and buy it. Chavela Vargas' (herself a past lover of Frida),"Paloma Negra" (an old recording) is fantastic, as well as her live performance in the film itself, La Llorona many years later.
Quickie Book Reviews
The Casebook of Sherlock Holmes by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle - A
Sure....it's outdated, and features wisps of racism (Africans called "savages"), sexism (all the women are beautiful, helpless, and long-suffering, or ugly and evil), and some interesting drug use (Holmes' interest in cocaine, for example), but you cannot beat these stories. My ear-flap hunting cat's off to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's arrogant, asexual hero and his helpful, also long-suffering sidekick, Dr. Watson. Bonus: This book contained actual reprints of the stories as they appeared in The Strand magazine nearly a hundred years ago, complete with the original delightful illustrations. It'll take you about a century to read this (it makes "bible print" look magnified), but it's well worth it.
Immortality by Milan Kundera B+
Okay, he's one of my favorite authors, though kind of confusing or annoying. And though he claims he doesn't write philosophy, he's not fooling me. This novel deals (mainly) with the analysis of what it is like to return to your home country after many years away as a "refugee." And in his usual style, he takes out long passages to focus and deeply analyze single words and how that one word is interpreted by different kinds of individuals. I really liked it; he always makes me think and he must have about 12 good quotable quotes in each novel, this one no exception. I will be giving it to a friend as a gift, but if you're not as epileptic reader as I, I recommend you read the fantastic, The Unbearable Lightness of Being instead.
Turns out that it was a Latin DANCE class (Salsa, to be exact). I was both thrilled and appalled. Also turns out the cute little orange woman was the instructor! (okay, the clothes are therefore approved). There I was in my mammoth shoes (I'm already large by Thai standards), with an impressive sweat ring circling my neck and down my back. Everyone else was fresh as a daisy and seemed to know what the hell they were doing. No one was really volunteering to dance with me. Nonetheless, I gave it a try, and besides standing around alone most of the time and feeling like an idiot (there are never enough men to go around at these things and I can't ask some guy to pay a load to join the gym for this), I had a pretty good time. In fact, I went again, wearing my heels and smelling April spring fresh. This time they said I was a good dancer, which was a total lie, but I am much better! Hooray! Here's to tackling your fears, even if you think you look like an ass. Now I can salsa! Kind of!
**********
Just saw the movie, Frida here. I admit knowing nothing about this woman before the film (besides the few things you heard about her body, her husband, and her sexuality, sadly, less about her art), but after this movie, I sure would like to learn more. Wonderful film; best I've seen in awhile. It's rare that I'll hate a film, but it's rare I'll love one too. Also, the soundtrack is fucking fantastic, so run out and buy it. Chavela Vargas' (herself a past lover of Frida),"Paloma Negra" (an old recording) is fantastic, as well as her live performance in the film itself, La Llorona many years later.
Quickie Book Reviews
The Casebook of Sherlock Holmes by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle - A
Sure....it's outdated, and features wisps of racism (Africans called "savages"), sexism (all the women are beautiful, helpless, and long-suffering, or ugly and evil), and some interesting drug use (Holmes' interest in cocaine, for example), but you cannot beat these stories. My ear-flap hunting cat's off to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's arrogant, asexual hero and his helpful, also long-suffering sidekick, Dr. Watson. Bonus: This book contained actual reprints of the stories as they appeared in The Strand magazine nearly a hundred years ago, complete with the original delightful illustrations. It'll take you about a century to read this (it makes "bible print" look magnified), but it's well worth it.
Immortality by Milan Kundera B+
Okay, he's one of my favorite authors, though kind of confusing or annoying. And though he claims he doesn't write philosophy, he's not fooling me. This novel deals (mainly) with the analysis of what it is like to return to your home country after many years away as a "refugee." And in his usual style, he takes out long passages to focus and deeply analyze single words and how that one word is interpreted by different kinds of individuals. I really liked it; he always makes me think and he must have about 12 good quotable quotes in each novel, this one no exception. I will be giving it to a friend as a gift, but if you're not as epileptic reader as I, I recommend you read the fantastic, The Unbearable Lightness of Being instead.
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