On writing

Bumped into a writing page devoted to contemporary poetry and
nonfiction.
Another reminder of why I came here-sunset throwing bars of golden
godlight from behind the mountain primeval, egrets glowing pink above
a waterbuffalo grazing a flooded paddy, the remains of a day scraped
clean by the cool air, followed immediately by the pile of elephant
shit.

One day there will be reserves left over and writing will again become
a quest and pursuit, not a grasping coping mechanism. And boy howdy do
I have some material.

To think the palm reader was so apologetic for saying that my lifeline
was very short but that only meant most of the content would happen
early, not that I'd die young.

Wait, who? Where? What was that about stories?

Sent from Speedy the ipod.

On Thai Politics

I think I got my head around it.
Respectable folks don't talk politics because either they don't want to expose their own devotion or rile the farang in case he/she has a devotion.  Safer to play it all off as nonsense.
But I think I finally got a toehold into the political situation.
It's red v yellow, Thaksin v Democrat.
Thaksin is the former PM exiled in a military coup.  His platform was enfranchisement.
Imagine if, in America, every person who said "y'all" was recognized and accepted as part of a section of society that did not receive education or representation or enfranchisement or taxation or cultural obligation.  If every American who said, "y'all" maintained allegiance to the family patriarch, even as the family holdings dwindled fourfold every generation, embraced a pre-industrial agrarian lifestyle, this is the swath of society Thaksin embraced.
His basic message was, "If y'all vote for me, I'll make sure to give you a vote.  Got that?  A VOTE!  Vote for me and I'll give y'all a vote!"
The yellow shirt, opposition, democratic party looked at Thaksin's career and went, "Huh?"  Here's a guy who rose to power on corrupt, good-ol-boy politics and was convicted of accepting bribes.  Maybe he represents the underrepresented, but is bringing representation to a group previously uninterested in any part of government really worth enshrining someone so greedy and corrupt he gets caught in this system?

It'll be interesting to see what pans out.    

On Fireworks

Not quite Main St with the city band playing Copland or 1812, but I went out for dinner at a farang bar and ended up getting sat upon by some huge thunder bumpers.  Just as I sat, a few soft raindrops brushed down.  By the time anyone in the region had looked up to see a remarkably ominous cloud, there was a flash with a triple bang directly on top of it.
And the storm didn't move for an hour and a half.
A couple dozen of the strikes were on buildings around the courtyard where I was.  At most, flash/boom were separated by a full second.
An empty beer bottle left on the curb filled within half an hour.

I decided to order the double cheeseburger.
The chopped beef/pork patties were microwaved to defrosted, and then heated in white bread with slices of processed cheese byproduct until the latter was almost as runny and gooey as the former.

Talk about delicious.

But what was that about fireworks?  Call it an 8 oz burger, maybe 6 oz of undercooked beef graced with dairy.  3-2-1 launch. (Why mention undercooking or improper cleaning, cooling, transport, storing, or beef or pork or chicken or seafood or flies or cockroaches or ants or any of the other Western conceits?)
Sigh.  Who needs to sleep away the 4th, right?

So the lightning began just after 5.  It did not move until after 7.
By 8:30 the rain was slacking and there was about a 6 or 8 second flash/boom delay.  And by that time, getting home was much more important than avoiding some drips.
Plus, who sticks around to watch the fireworks in the next town over, especially when a private encore is in the works?

the scary part

What seems fantastic and truly surprising is that I've essentially skipped adulthood, middle age, and gone straight to geriatric, all in the space of a few months.
If I go out, I check out the glorious menu offerings of things I can't cook in a hotpot. I'm much more interested in the bathroom facilities than the bar babes. I worry about tripping and taking a fall. And as for muscles, for any core or body strength, well, it's probably in there somewhere, I know it used to be, but right now it's hiding. My sojourns to beaches and islands have been relative flops, but I can talk your ear off about doctors and hospitals.
Granted, I've taken some good photos, had any number of incomparable experiences, explored Nepal, learned to cook Thai food, and have been wrangling Thai students for most of the year. But beyond that, it's become a sedentary and withdrawn life wherein it's important not to climb too many staircases or I won't have energy for the end of the day.

Lately, I've been on a Qui Gong circling stint, doing breathing exercises while shifting around my center of gravity. On Saturday, I was feeling spunky and after my morning circling walked to town and back. Later, not intending to, I walked to town and back again while on the phone. It's in the 4-6 Km range, each way. Doing so was an accomplishment. And I'm still paying for it.
Regardless, I was going to tell my colleagues about it, sprucing up just a bit to sound like something worth saying you've done, when they walked in with, "So, no matter what you've heard about them being easy on farangs, they're not. We got a little bit out of it on Friday and spent the night in jail."
Gee, I went a little crazy and ordered calf-foot stew. And the large handful of chilis probably had me feeling nearly as bad and almost as remorseful through the night and morning.

When I think back to the person who left, I think "college kid." As far as what remains, pfew, rough to say much there. Forced to decide, I'd say "I'm a 4th grade teacher."
What will be interesting is to see what abiding changes come out of this experience, from the vantage of an extended perspective looking back on what stayed behind while the rest boiled off.

What I miss

I think I spotted it this morning: the sense of safety and security.
The world here is, for me, a dangerous place. Catch a toe on an uneven
bit of sidewalk, fall flat on my face, and expect some horrible
disease/infection.
No mention of crossing the street.
Or waterfalls.
It's enough to know there are two meter cobras in the park. And the
omniverous Thai water dragons. Plus the insect and arachnid life with
associated infections.
Mosquitos and dengue, malaria, yellow fever, elephantiasis.
Don't drink the water. Don't eat the food. Don't rile the natives.
Don't touch the girls. Stay away from the drugs. Whatever you do,
don't pressure it. Never lose face. Just keep smiling and smiling and
laughing and smiling.

It's not like Nepal, keeping one hand on my wallet, watching my back
for the next predatious assault.
It's much softer and harder to escape--don't sleep too deeply or
you'll wake up in a puddle of leakage. Don't ask too much or the
smiling nods will mean termination. Don't drop your guard, let slide
full mindfulness, relax for more than a jolting instant or you'll get
sideswiped. Litrerally.

I guess it comes down to my hopelessly un-Buddhist nature: I really,
really enjoy being unmindful. And I dearly miss the chance to check
out and live my life without being constantly alert for threats from
inside and out.

Maybe one day....

Sent from Speedy the ipod.

On recorders

It is extremely difficult to reconcile my self-image with a soprano recorder.

Lately, I've been walking around humming variations on nursery rhymes--major, minor, modal, trying to invert, all that fun stuff from music theory.
And it is somewhat easier to do that here than it would be at home--precious few folks recognize "Baa Baa Black Sheep" in its original, let alone inverted minor, form.

Still, there's something disquieting about playing a recorder.  Even if it is more conducive to playing in a shared-living facility, especially in the nether hours.

Which is the upshot.  And maybe it'll be the enduring image of Thailand.

Blues in the night.
From the ivory throne.  

Try THAT with a tuba.

Say it ain't karma

In my defense (and you know it's a losing prospect if that's my opening line) I didn't even haggle.
"What's your Thai price?" I asked.
"50 Baht."
"Okay."
It was an unremarkable little market/bazaar tucked behind a 7-11 in an alley too small to support American garbage cans.  But the lady seemed nice enough and had a good enough selection of movies, so I picked out a handful at what I thought was a decent price.

I once haggled with a bootlegger.  Not something you do twice: no matter what transpires verbally or financially, you will not win.
So I didn't haggle.  I didn't argue.  I just asked for the English language stack and picked out a small handful of movies.

Black Swan doesn't play.
Inception is a Thai soap opera.
The animated Studio Ghibli show is a Pokemon disc, entirely in Thai.
Green Hornet is a Studio Ghibli flick, entirely in Japanese.
And Tron is "KILLER DINOSHARK!!"

Next time, just buy the damn movie.