Monday, March 31, 2008

Six Degrees of Separation Pattaya style

John Guare in his play SIX DEGREES OF SEPARATION contends that everyone in the world is no more than six people away from each other.
GW Bush to George Bush to his father to Hitler.
Me to my sister-in-law to George Bush Senior to GW Bush to his father and then Hitler
Me to Carrie Carey to Ahmed Bin Laden to Osama Bin Laden.
Me to Howie Montauk to Victoria Lockwood, Countess Spencer to Earl of Spencer to Princess Diana to QEII.
I'd be a little harder pressed to establish the lineage to Bill Gates but in some case you want more than six degrees of separation especially if the end of the line is a brutish blonde pimp named SS Tommy.
In 1982 I was working at a nightclub in Hamburg. A delightful sunny seaside town in the summer and a dark dangerous industrial wasteland in the winter. BSIR’s was fronted by Jurgen, a playboy. The real owners were the GMbH. The city biggest gang of pimps, whose leader was a black German/American. Nigger Cali’s right-hand claw was SS Tommy and this zulhalter resembled a pit bull on steroids. I had managed to keep my distance from the monster. It seemed the best thing to do.
A week before Christmas SS Tommy slapped a bill on the bar.
"20,000 Deutschmarks.”
“For what?” That sum was about $13,000.
"For having sex with Astrid.” Tommy smiled, as if he had told a secret.
“Astrid?” The ephemerally stunning lingerie model was supposedly studying German literature at university while not posing her divinely sculpted body for catalogue photographers. “She works for you?”
“This is Hamburg. Everyone works for someone.” SS Tommy had over two hundred girls on his string
“20,000.” Astrid had been coming over my Mittelweg apartment ever since she broke up with Kurt. Four months twice a night.
"And that is cheap."
"Yes, I know." $100/sex was a bargain if you had it. My bank account was short the bill but 14,000 DMs.
“And it’s not negotiable.”
“Sure, I can understand that.” I had 1000 DMs in my pocket and the keys to my orange VW Beetle. It wasn’t worth much since a late-night collision with a tree on Eppendorfer Weg, but handing him the keys bought time for my getting on the midnight train to Paris.
I never returned to Hamburg, fearing for my life.
Cali showed up in Paris once. He said SS Tommy wasn’t happy with my car. "I don't think he will buy a used car again."
Kurt had had no idea about my relationship with Astrid. “I thought you were my friend."
"What's a girl between friends?"
"Not glue."
Astrid and I continued on our relationship through the 80s in Paris, New York and London. SS Tommy’s bill was never a subject of conversation and I refrained from mentioning my debt to the English barrister who later became her husband. I haven’t seen her in years.
To be safe I google SS Tommy's name every couple of months. The search comes up blank. I thought he was either KIA or MIA.
I was completely wrong as usual.
Several years back I had an affair with a Thai hooker. That kind of relationship is hard to avoid in Pattaya. Tut was a short vixen into ja-bah or mad medicine. The rumor on the street that she had worked as a prostitute in a brothel. I was no saint and didn't ask questions, especially since I was paying for her company.
Once she heard me speak German and asked, "Where you learn German?"
"In Hamburg."
"I had a boyfriend in Hamburg."
Boyfriends who let their girlfriends work in a whorehouse are called Zuhalterei in Germany.
"What was his name?"
A chill slithered down my spine like a snake let out of a freezer.
"Was he a body builder with blonde hair?" I should have said 'pimp'.
"Did he have any black friends?"
"One called Kelley or Charlie."
Nigger Cali was one of kind. "Did any of his friends call him SS?"
"Ja. What's it mean?
Like ILSA SHE-WOLF OF THE SS. "Schiesse."
"You know him." Tut seemed as scared as me.
"I did but don't anymore."
Tut ran out that night to meet a boyfriend in Phuket. She called a week later for airfare back. I said I'd send it ASAP and blocked her number from my cellphone. We never had sex again and SS Tommy disappeared from my life once more and I hope he stays twenty separations away instead of one, because even though he's 60 now, someone like SS Tommy never forgets his debtors.
What else would you expect from someone built like an elephant on steroids?
For more on SS Tommy read the excerpt from ALMOST A DEAD MAN

Evolution of Man

Jamie Parker and I were sitting on Pattaya Beach yesterday. The breeze off the water was cool and the beer cold. Neither of us dared to challenge the sun, although every farang around us was slathering their pasty bodies with sun oil, as if they were the Sunday pig roast.
"You know I don't believe in evolution." Jamie poured his beer into a glass and then added ice. Most British lager louts considered that sacrilege. We didn't care what those exiles from the Costa Brava thought. Cold beer is colder with ice.
"I more believe in de-volution." A quick glance at the sun bathers attested to this belief. The vacationers had trouble walking and only could communicate through cellphones.
"That's part of it too, but look at these monsters. Darwin is cited as having said that we evolved from apes, but most of these Russian women's ancestors appear to have mated with walruses. Or sea lions at worst."
"I've heard this spiel before." In fact I was the one who told him it. "Along with there are no fat people in the Rolling Stones movie GIMME SHELTER.
Actually the only fat people at Altamont were the lead singer from Canned Heat, a cop, a Hell's Angel, and the naked fat guy who gets killed in the afternoon.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah." Jamie covered his eyes.
Two Russian men were walking past us. They were sporting g-strings like BORAT extras.
"It's a disgrace. And I heard today that this fat woman in Texas had a baby and she never knew she was pregnant. Her name was April."
"Not an ex-stripper at Pig Pens?" Jamie's go-go in Pattaya for chang noi or little elephant dancers had lasted a week before the police shut it for moral indecency. Fat girls really like to talk dirty.
"No, I said an American." Jamie gets a little cranky behind a few beers and knows I like riding him in this state. "This cow goes into the hospital complaining about stomach pains and the doctors tell her she's having a baby. She weighed something like 420 pounds."
"The baby?" 420 pounds was 70 pounds more than Big Al and over twice my weight.
"No, April. The baby was normal weight."
"420 pounds. How could they have sex?"
Both of us watched two obese Russians waddle past our table. It was like watching gigantic Jell-O figurines coming to life. We downed our beers and ordered two more. It would take a lot more than that to shake off that image of fat people in coitus. More like vodka. Since that’s fat-free.

Thai Cybersex Threat

Family members have a strange way of showing up unannounced in Thailand. The lineage of cousins can extend to the son of someone's aunt who used to go to school with your wife's second uncle. On one occasion three teenage monks stopped for a visit. My 16 year-old nephew, Beer, knew one of their uncles. They seemed like good kids and having monks in the house might scare away any pii or spirits.
On the third day Beer came over to office and said, "The monks have been on the phone a long time."
"How long?" I wasn't too worried since my landlord had never engaged the long-distance server.
"One hour." His expression showed he wasn't comfortable about ratting out of the monks. "To Bangkok. A girl."
"A 900-line?"
Beer nodded his head.
I went over to the main house and pulled the phone out of the socket. 900-line calls can cost a fortune and the bill for that month was ten times normal amount.
Thank you young monks. Monks, telephone sex, the slippage of morality.
The Thailiban in power are concerned about recent research saying that girls in Bangkok are three times more sexually active than those girls living in Ban Nok. This difference in frisky behavior has been attributed to urban girls' exposure you sexual material as well as cyberspace predators seeking naive youngsters.
My nephew had been speaking with this woman in Bangkok. She wanted to meet him and asked if I could give him the money for a bus.
Only 110 baht.
"Do you know this woman?" Beer was too eager to get there for this to be any good.
"No." Any sixteener wants sex. Hell, I did when i was his age.
"Have you seen her picture?" I was feeling like my father interrogating me before I went out on a date. A hypocrite.
"What has she promised you. Sex?" I was wondering whether I should call her.
Beer didn't answer the obvious and was resigned to remained a virgin for a little longer. Sensing his disappointment I explained that this woman could be enticing him with promises of sex in order to kidnap him.
He didn't believe me, then again what teenager thinks a 50 year-old has a grasp on the problems of teen life?
Not me at 16.
Only later did I realize my father wasn't a stupid and by then it was too late to not have made stupid mistakes.
The Thailiban realizes the danger posed to the youth of Thailand and two weeks ago raided a 1-900 office in Bangkok. The chat line promoted itself as a lonely-hearts refuge, however its main service was aural sex ie speaking dirty for as long as possible to soak the caller for the charges. An official claimed they spent thousands of baht trying to convince one of the two girls at the office to meet for an after-work frolic. TOT terminated the company's lines and ordered another 12 similar services to alter the hard-sex menu.
Of course not everyone is happy with the Thailiban's interference as these chat lines are a source of income for university students and tax revenue for the government. TOT earned over 50 million baht for these services.
Sex like drugs like alcohol is part of life.
Stamping on it one place means it will only rear its head elsewhere.
Stop reefer you have heroin. Stop heroin you get ja bah. Stop ja bah you give birth to ice.
Same with sex.
One girl arrested at the phone chat line asked an inspector. "Should I work as a sex-line operator or at a late-night drinking place where there is prostitution?"
Her parents probably think she should be home in bed but few question their children's newfound prosperity. Adults are behind the curve in this new field of cyber-sex and the kids like being outlaws especially in a repressed society. Almost feels like teen freedom, because like Gore Vidal said, "The reading of pornography generally leads to the reading of more pornography."
It's the repression that leads to mayhem. Without sex, whre else can kids turn except to revolution. Oh, I gorgot all about consumerism.

Behind the Green Curtain by Jocko Weyland

She works off a muddy street in the far Northeastern outskirts of Beijing in the scrappy, dirty slums off any tourist routes. One-story linoleum-floored tenements lined the road. the one room serves as bedroom, living room, bathroom and kitchen according to the hour of the day.
In front of many are bicycle tire fixing shops or tables where the inhabitants sell liquor and cigarettes. The street is really more of a track, wide enough for one car, where dirty rainwater and human and other waste collects in the troughs between the buildings. Since there are no sidewalks jumping from front step to front step is advisable for your health.
Farthre down the sodden track is a putrid public restroom surrounded by a murky pond of effluvia and urban detritus as well as storefronts with faded red awnings postioned between the cigarette stands and tire shops. The stores are open to ventilate the dank summer heat fuming from the narrow interiors and several women in their 30s lanquish in the humidity within the store's confines conversing on cell phones, while watching Chinese soaps on the TV.
The dull devotion to TV coupled with the occassional galnce out the window seems like a time-tested devotion to boredom practiced by everyone on this road with the women wanting to hear the TV dialogue more than the banter of pasers-by.
A few doors down from the public latrine a 30ish woman eats noodles with a young girl. Seeing me the girl puts down her bowl and skips down the street avoiding the puddles. it's obviously not the first time she's left the room today.
A faint drizzle drips from the coal sky and the woman beckons with her hand. I have no where to go and enter to the twelve feet wide by eighteen foot long room. A green cracked plastic curtain nides the interior. I sit down. the girl's bowl is nearl;y fll. The rain taps on the tin door with a pleasant tinkle, however the humidity rises even higher than usual that pattering mixes with the exaggerated explosions and breaking glass of an action the action film in the next room.
On the wall calendar kittens play with a ball and a poster of an old man with a Fu-Manchu beard hides a long crack. There are plastic food containers, some green, blue andpink plastic tubs, a sink, and a tired old chair next to a tattered redfelt-covered desk that looks like it's about to fall apart.
Hair products are lined up in front of a mirror, three hangers dangle on a string, one cooking pot is on the floor, a little can with a toothbrush in it is under the table, and a head of lettuce sits on the desk. Surprisingly, there is no TV set in this particular room. A fake leather purse hangs from a nail near the mirror and the pale green paint is flaking off the walls and ceiling. Outside the rain starts coming down harder and harder, splashing the muck and making a racket as it hits the roof.
The room's floor is weathered, though a straw broom and grey mop against the wall are evidence the yellowed linoleum has been swept and mopped many times. Now alone, the woman sits on a dingy foldout bed that doubles as asofa beneath a photograph of her in the mountains north of Beijing. There is a smile on her round face and a gleam of happiness in her eyes, and she appears to be on the verge of laughing.
For all intents and purposes just another typical Chinese tourist on a typical day trip, and just likeeveryone else getting her picture taken with the mountains as a scenic backdrop. The photo was taken by one of her customers, a computer technician who later became a friend.
The woman on the couch is about thirty-five years old, with kindly, pretty but not beautiful face, and she wears an athletic sweat suit with 'Cidhlia' written in white lettering across the front. Herj et-black hair is tied in a ponytail and she possesses a slightlymischievous, coquettish manner.
The room is a supposed hair salon, though no haircuts have been given here in quite some time because this is the woman's place of business where customers who might turn into friends come to pay for her favors. She is a prostitute, and behind the green curtain there is asingle bed, or more accurately a cot, and a knee-high stool next to it. The stool is where she sits to perform oral sex on men lying on the cot. The service costs 50 Yuan, about seven dollars, and she says she always uses a condom.
She's from the southeastern province of Zhejiang and came to Beijing about a year ago. Back home she mended clothes, but there wasn't any money in that. She worked as a clerk in a grocery store for a while but still could only barely make enough money to survive, and then a friend suggested washing hair and that segued into turning tricks. She gets one or two customers a day and her busy time is from seven to nine in the evening. As she talks she stretches, luxuriates, puts her feet on a customer's legs, and stretches some more.
"Some are good, some are bad," she says about her clients, very matter of fact. If they come in stinking of liquor she send sends them away, and thirty percent of her earnings go to her pimp who comes by once a day to collect.
She lives in the room with her nine-year-old niece who is in Beijing for her summer vacation­ the girl who was sent outside.
She wants to know why anybody would want to talk to her and is curious to know if 'they have people like her' in America. She seems mystified and slightly suspicious that anyone would be interested in what she does, in her hopes and aspirations, but then shrugs off her doubts and says, "It's ok to talkabout life."
Part of her motivation behind getting into this line of work is that she needs to make money to help a sick relative back in Zhejiang who has some sort of kidney problem that requires a 30,000-Yuan operation. She says theword 'kidney' but can't write it down because she is illiterate. When askedshe won't reveal her name because "They'll catch her."
The Police, that is, who haven't demanded any bribes lately.
Once someone robbed her with a knife and took her phone. The whole time she holds the phone in her hand as if itwas some kind of talisman and while she's talking the little stuffed teddy bear attached to it by a small chain bounces and jumps. She mentions that she misses her six year old daughter who lives with the woman's husband in their home province, and that he doesn't know what she does for money but that she still loves him.
Does she like some of the customers? "Some."
"What's your big dream?" "
"To sell clothes," said with a shy smile. Shedoesn't like doing this and isn't happy but there is no other choice. She says she's only going to do it for a few more months, and that she wants to go to Hong Kong or Taiwan and sell clothes.
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USA to Zap Space Junk

A lingering image of the Iraq War is the video of a $1,000,000 smart missile taking out a crapped-out truck on a desert bridge. Cost-effective considering that US troops annually shoot over a billion bullets. One billion bullets is just a little trigger happy. This gun-crazyitis comes from the top, as GW Bush now wants to destroy a spy satellite losing its orbit, purportedly to safeguard the world against contamination from the fuel cell containing hydrazine.
Acute exposure to this highly toxic fuel humans may include irritation of the eyes, nose, and throat, dizziness, headache, nausea, pulmonary edema, seizures, coma, and it can also damage the liver, kidneys, and central nervous system. Almost the same effects as the steady diet of Big Macs in the movie SUPERSIZE ME.
The Golden Arches are in no danger from a cocaine-mad president. His mission to be accomplished is to blast the failed satellite with a single Standard Missile 3 (SM-3) fired from a US Aegis naval cruiser in the northern Pacific Ocean. White House spokesmen denied this action will accelerate the space arms race and gave 4 to 5 odds in Las Vegas of intercepting the missile before it enters the atmosphere.
Bookies are offering 1 in a 100.
Jamie Parker isn't placing any bets. "This has nothing to do with the spy satellite or flexing muscle for China or reminding the world we may be broke but we still have over 10,000 nukes. This is about UFOs. UFOs have been floating over Texas for the last month. The Government wants to show Earth isn't defenseless. Especially since there's photographic proof that these aliens might have Nazi sympathies."
His mobile phone had a picture of flying saucers festooned with swastikas. "Scary, huh? Nazis from outer space."
"I think I saw that movie." The title was TERROR FROM OUTER SPACE. It might be listed in the 100 worst films ever made. The only Nazi from Outer Space I ever met was Klaus Nomi and he was actually from Essen in the old Bundesrepublik.
"You can laugh all you want." Jamie obviously was off his meds. "They're up beyond the moon, sieg-heiling Adolf in suspended animation."
I did laugh all I want.
I've already called my bookie and bet the house on a miss, even though the Standard Missile 3 is reputed to have taken down TWA flight 800 out of JFK after a National Guard pilot accidentally armed his weapons system. Opps.
The cost of one Standard Missile 3 (SM-3) is $100,000,000.
No wonder the USA doesn't have socialized medicine.

Yellow Teeth - Part 1

SEMI-FICTION by Pascha Ray
I've been arrested several times in my life.
Age 12 for vandalizing an abandoned missile base. Age 21 for driving over a bed of flowers at a girl's college. Age 25 in NY for running an after hour club. Age 31 in Paris for writing a love poem on the British Embassy wall. The gendarmes thought it was an IRA tirade, instead of drunken verses to my girlfriend working across the street at the Azzedine Alaia salon across rue St. Honore. I never could write meter.
None of them were very serious and I avoided any complications with the law for 22 years, however my lucky streak was not destined to run forever.
This past January I came home after a pleasant lunch in Jomtien. A grey Toyota mini-van stopped behind me. At first I thought it was my brother-in-law coming for a beer and then I wondered why he brought so many friends.
Why?Because it wasn't Pi-Wot but the Bangkok police to arrest me for selling counterfeit goods over the internet. The oldest officer in a black suit presented a search warrant. The other cops were undercover in jeans, tee-shirts, and sneakers. I was wearing sandals. running was not an option, so I opened the gate, then the doors to my office.
They politely took off their shoes and entered my office. 20 shirts were on the floor. They seized the merchandise and the ranking officer asked, “Where’s the rest of it?”
“That’s it.” Business has been off this year. “Can I go outside?”
The commander nodded and two cops accompanied into the garden and I hyperventilated, as a series of prospective scenarios played in my head. Most of them were located in jail.
One of the younger cops told me to calm down, “Jai yen. Jai yen.”
Easy for him to have a cold heart.
He wasn’t being arrested in a foreign country.
“No big problem. Maybe 2000 baht.” He explained the fine would be about $60. “We take you Bangkok. You pay bail and then go home. Mai pen lai.”
I didn’t believe him and feared the worst. American detective from Quantico Ltd. was supervising the operation. His company had been looking for me a long time. He was from Texas. I had mailed him merchandise. I had used phony addresses on the envelopes. How they had tracked me back to here was unimportant, but Rusty also said it wasn't such a big deal. "Not the first time. Next time you go to jail."
"Message well taken." I had been trying to quit for ages. This would be the final push. "I don't want to go to jail."
Jail in Thailand is a bare floor with 30 other misfortunates.
"You won't."
The old lady on the street said these cops were the most honest in the nation. No cuffs and I could use my phone. Certainly not the procedure I had often witnessed on Sophon Cable.
After two hours of checking my computer and packing the merchandise, they transported me to Bangkok in an air-conditioned mini-van.
Halfway to the Sathon Police Station they stopped for food and bought a bag filled with McDonald’s Happy Meal. This was not my last meal and I realized I was fortunate to have been arrested by Federal police.
A Thai friend in Bangkok met me at the police station. His face says COP same as mine. He works as a chauffeur. Khim helped explain matters. "Small problem. You get bail. Go home."
Strangely everyone was very polite to me. My holding cell was an office with AC and a TV with my choice of DVDs. I didn’t feel like watching anything as I was reading Peter Hopkirk's THE GREAT GAME.
Later TV crews showed up for a presentation. The commanding officer for copyright infringement pointed to a pile of 2000 shirt. “This farang was caught with 4 million baht and 2000 shirts."
“No, khun tam pit." I whispered under my breath. He had made a mistake and I pointed to a single bag down the corridor. "Those are these.”
“These?” Someone had properly not briefed him.
"Yes, 20 shirts. Nothing more."
He waved to the TV crew to shut off the camera. End of interview.
The arresting officers laughed at their boss.
I sat in an AC office watching TV. Movie of my choice. INSIDE MAN. I was fingerprinted and filled out an arrest form. When the cops announced bail of 50k. I said I didn't have it.
"Mai mee kap." Speaking polite Thai helps in situations like this.
"30?" There was no way they were dropping to 20 or 25.
30 it was. A little less than $1000.
Khim and I said, "Yet mah." or motherfucker.
We were short the bail. I had 15 k in the bank and Khim had 500. Nu couldn't sell a motorcycle until tomorrow. The monkey house loomed as a probability instead of a possibility. No beds, no blankets, cheap rice twice a day, and lots of mosquitoes. The antithesis of any hotel in Bangkok.
I made one phone one call. Alan Platt lived in Bangkok. I knew him from New York. I asked for 20K. He had 15K. Khim drove over to Soi 4 and picked it up. Without Alan I would have been in the monkey house for who knows how long. I call him to say thanks every few days and also let him know I'm still broke. "No problem man, you get it when you get it."
The whole process from raid to release took 7 hours with a 2 hour trip to Bangkok thrown into the program. The Fed cops had me sign an affidavit confirming no one had asked for a sin bon or bribe.
After the money was paid they cut me loose. Khim spent 200 baht on 5 bottles of Khang. It gets you drunk. I drank 3 of them myself.My wife was happy I didn't spend any time in the 'monkey house'. No chairs, no fans, and lots of mosquitoes as a prelude to the Bangkok Hilton. Koong Toey jail.
I appeared on national TV that night. Channel 5. The Army station. The police had said, “Not worry. Not many people watch Channel 5.”
Everyone on my soi saw the newscast.
Several Thai friends said I looked handsome. They couldn’t care less that I was arrested. It’s something that happens.
Everyone was astounded by this revelation of how much money I had. "You have 4 million baht. Why you not live with wife in country? 4 million baht good forever in Ban Nok."
Ban Nok or village of the birds is the Thai euphemism for the 'boondocks'.
My old lady who cleans my house knew the truth. I was broke and wished I had the 4 million baht. Life in Ban Nok is not so bad. I could get a job at the local school teaching English and make about $300/month. 10,000 baht. 300/baht a day is a big comedown from 3000 baht a day.
This story is far from over, since the cops said it would be at least 6-10 weeks until I go to court.
Another day in paradise has gotten a little less paradisaical.

Bangkok Police Ban Mobile Calls while Mobile

Marshall McLuhan, the Canadian philosopher, said that US motorists would never car pool, because the commute to work was the only time they were ever alone, however the coiner of the phrase 'the medium is the message' never foresaw the invention of the cell phone, which allows drivers to reach out and touch somebody, although usually the bumper of the nearest car and the Bangkok Metropolitan Police are warning motorists as of May 8 any mobile phone use while mobile will incur fines ranging from Bt400 to Bt1,000. Digital cameras will catch drivers in the act as well as wandering cell phone cops.
Obviously the 1000 baht fine is part of their double-tier pricing system against farangs, but neither 400 baht or 1000 baht will deter people from speaking on the phone from behind the wheel, if only to prove they can do more than one thing at a time without driving off the road.
Problem is that most people concentrate more on their phone conversation than the road as proven by the increase of accidents after the introduction of mobile phones to Thailand and the rest of the world. Most people will obey the ban as long as there are police about the streets, otherwise they will ignore the law or find ways to circumvent it such as using handless sets, so that the police will have to ban people from speaking when they're driving.
A few will pull to the side of the road to communicate with friends, family, and lovers, although this safety measure is no guarantee of accident prevention, because a friend's father parked on the breakdown lane of a New York Highway to complete a phone call and another motorist rear-ended him. My friend's father was killed instantly. The other motorist was charged with vehicular homicide after police determined he had been talking on his cell phone.
He got a $5000 fine.

Mia Nois approved by Thailand's Interior Minister

Earl Butz, the Agriculture Secretary for the failed Nixon regime, was a plain-speaking farmer.
"Negroes only like loose shoes, tight pussy, and a warm place to shit." This comment on Black America's apathy toward voting had everyone scratching their heads about the loose shoes. Most straight males like two of three. The loose shoes had white males scratching their heads.
It was the 1970s, so Earl survived this racist riposte. Not so his response to the Pope's condemnation of birth control. "You no playa the game, you no maka the rules."
Thailand's Interior Minister is equally free with his opinion and this week Chalerm condoned the sexual harassment of female Bangkok Municipal workers by admitting that most Thai senior officials have mistresses.
I think he was using 'mostresses means plural too.
Next he'll want to install a paraphrase of Dachau's 'Arbeit macht frei' with 'Sex will get you places, women'.
I would caution female bureaucrats with the tale of Monica Lewinsky.
She fellated the second most powerful man in the universe.
Chuck Norris is #1.
Her liaison with Bill Clinton earned her immortality as a punchline and his swearing what happened between them wasn't sex.
The Press didn't see it that way and neither do the women at the BMA.
I have been with several women in my lifetime.
When they said 'no', it meant no.
Of course yes doesn't necessarily mean yes either.
At least Thailand isn't Iran where enacting the song ME AND MRS. JONES earns the unfaithful an old-fashioned biblical stoning, however neighboring Cambodia has banned several songs promoting adultery or mee choo in Thai.
"We are searching for other songs which affect people's honour, especially that of women," Phnom Penh governor Kep Chuktema said to explain the ban on three female-written songs 'If I Can't Be First Can I Be Second?, Love Another's Husband and May I Have a Piece of Your Heart Too?' from the nation's karaoke bars, which until now were unknown to the public.
The BBC ban on GOD SAVE THE QUEEN made it #1.
So soon Cambodian could have a new #1.
"Me and Mrs. Jones, we got a thing going on."
Thanks to Bun Rany the wife of the Khmer PM, Adultery is punishable with a $250 fine in Cambodia, so harken to the words of Thailand Interior Minister.
Come to Thailand and fool around.
Maybe Thais will openlove hotels at the border to help Cambodia's love-lost couples.
Serve them right for those casinos at Poipet.

Not the Nation - Profit Insufficiency Theory

NOT THE NATION continues to scathe the stratosphere of Thai Life with its entertaining bizarro version of the now-defunct THE NATION's new offering XPRESS. This is a fake story, but maybe Thais and farangs will believe the hoax easier than the manufactured truth.
BANGKOK – In a move that is being hailed by the business community but criticized by social activists and academics, the Crown Property Bureau announced today that it would tear down the popular Suan Lum Night Bazaar and lease the land to Central Pattana, PLC, for immediate conversion into a luxury mall and condominium complex, all as part of its strict observation of the new “Profit Insufficiency Theory.”
The new theory, a variation of the Sufficiency Theory that has been much-discussed but never adequately defined since its introduction by His Majesty King Bhumipol Adulyadej, is the creation of a committee of Crown Property Bureau accountants and an unnamed consulting firm, according to a CPB spokesperson. “Basically it concludes that if you’re not squeezing every last baht out your hard assets, then you’re suffering from insufficient profit,” he explained. “This insufficiency leads to an imbalance in the chi, or spirit, as well as an ‘energy block’ in the balance sheet, which causes a bad feeling among shareholders.”
With a recent Supreme Court decision removing the last legal obstacle, as well as the last hope of the estimated 3000 small-business owners who earn their livelihood at the popular tourist shopping and entertainment attraction, the Suan Lum Night Bazaar will be torn down in a matter of days “even if we need to drag them out by force,” the spokesperson added. The lease will then be turned over to Central Pattana, PLC, a family-controlled developer which made 7.6 billion baht in revenue in 2007 and over 1.65 billion baht in profit.
“Obviously we’re delighted that the Crown Property Bureau is following the noble and wise Profit-Insufficiency Theory,” said Central Pattana president Kobchai Chirathivat. “We at Central Pattana have been advocates of it for years. Making money is what matters, and having more money makes you better than those who don’t. This is the heart of Thai culture and the CPB exemplifies it better than anyone.”
Displaced business owners at Suan Lum remain highly skeptical of the new Profit Insufficiency Theory. “I borrowed 500,000 baht to build this business and was just starting to make a real profit,” complained Weeporn Ukrawit, who ran a small furniture store. “I was so proud of myself for being independent and sufficient – I thought that was the whole point. Now I’m told that Central’s profits are more important than mine? Why?”
Responding to these and other complaints, Kobchai was sympathetic. “They are free to apply for jobs at the new mall,” he offered. “We need about 300 full-time salespeople.”
The truth will set you free. A hoax will make you laugh.
For a related article click on this URL

Thai Etiquette (hands)

Male or female
When greeting a Thai male or female, a westerner will stick out his hand. The smiling Thai will offer a wilted bundle of fingers. The farang grasping this imitation of a dead octopus will mistake the weakness of the grip as an exhibition of effeminate behavior.
They couldn’t be more wrong.
Thai men are vicious fighters. Muay Thai or Thai boxing was originally fought with gloves sprinkled with broken glass. Even lady boys are tough. And heavens forbid you get on the wrong side of a bar girl’s high heels. Ali would have been on the ropes.
Touching is considered by most Siamese as a very intimate act, which doesn’t keep farangs from pressing the flesh whenever they get a chance or the Thais from showing their smile for boch-see-dah or dirty farangs. A contemplative grin to defuse this invasion of their space.
The use of hands also pertains to which you use during eating.
The right hand should be used to pick up food.
Never the left, since you use old rightie to scrap your bum in the WC or water closet.
Of course most Thais don’t know that farangs use their right hand to wipe their butt, unless the westerner happens to be left-handed, which brings up the question why do we shake hands at all.
Over 99% of men at baseball games and bars don’t wash their hands after going for a pee, so don't shake anyone's hands. Male or female. You never know where they've been.

A Comprehensive List of Sex

My research of sexual terms has been extensive over my 55 years. More for a good joke or to outrage a dinner table of stodgy American than to liberate my own sexuality, however my confidence in my prurient knowledge was shaken by a list of sexual perversions floating on the internet.
Reading this following list could be a voyage into the vast abyss of useless knowledge, then again I once read a Superman comic book which told me that lemons contained citric acid. This fact was on a test a year later in gramar school, so you never know how what you know might prove useful.
Beware some terms might shed a light on that dark corner in your libido.
Personally I am only familiar with 46 of the terms.
FORMICOPHILIA: Enjoyment of the use of insects for sexual purposes has to be a Thai favorite.
ACHLUOPHILIA: Love of darkness
ACOMOCLITIC: Preference for hairless genitals
ACOUSTICOPHILIA: Arousal from sounds
ACROPHILIA: Arousal from heights or high altitudes
ACROTOMOPHILIA: Arousal from amputees
ACTIRASTY: To become aroused from exposure to sun’s rays
ACYESIS: Female sterility
ADAMITISM: Going naked for God
ADOLESCENTILISM: Cross-dressing or playing the role of an adolescent
AELUROPHILIA: Deriving gratification from cats
AGALMATOPHILIA: Attractions to statues or mannequins
AGAMIC: Asexual; parthenogenic
AGENOBIOSIS: Married couple who consent to live together without sex
AGONOPHILIA: Person who is aroused by a partner pretending to struggl
eAGORAPHILIA: Arousal from open spaces or having sex in public places
AGREXOPHILIA: Arousal from others knowing you are having sex
AISCHROLATREIA: Worship of filth, smut; obscenity cult
ALBUTOPHILIA: Arousal from water
ALGOLAGNIA: Sexual satisfaction resulting from giving or receiving pain
ALIPHINEUR: Person using lotion to arouse a partner
ALLOERASTY: Use of nudity of another person to arouse a partner
ALLOPELLIA: Having orgasm from watching others engaging in sex
ALLOTRIORASTY: Arousal from partners of other nations or races
ALPHAMEGAMIA: Attraction to partners of another age group
ALTOCALCIPHILIA: High heel fetish
ALVINOLAGNIA: Stomach fetish
AMAUROPHILIA: Preference for a blind or blindfolded sex partner
AMAXOPHILIA: Attraction to riding in cars and motor vehicles
AMELOTASIS: Attraction to absence of limb
AMOKOSCISIA: Sexual frenzy with desire to slash or mutilate women
AMOMAXIA: Sex in a parked car
AMPHIEROTISM: Capacity of erotic reaction toward either sex
AMPHIGENTIC INVERT: sexual activity with persons of both genders
AMULIEROSIS: Result of sexual privacy
AMYCHESIS: Act of scratching partner during sexual passion
AMYCHOPHILIA: Deriving sexual pleasure from being scratched
ANACLITISM: Arousal from items used as infant
ANASTEEMAPHILIA: Attraction to a person because of a difference in height
ANAXIPHILIA: In love with a loser by someone who should know better
ANDROIDISM: Arousal from robots with human features
ANDROMANIA: Nymphomania
ANDROMINETOPHILIA: Arousal from female partner who dresses like male
ANILILAGNIA: Sexual desire for older women
ANISONOGAMIST: Attraction to either older or younger partners
ANOPHELORASTIA: Arousal from defiling or ravaging a partner
ANTHOLAGNIA: Arousal from smelling flowers
ANTHROPOPHAGOLAGNIA: Rape with cannibalism
ANTHROPOPHAGY: Pleasure derived from the ingestion of human flesh
APHEPHILIA: Deriving pleasure from being touchedA
PHILOPHRENIA: A feeling that one is unloved or unwanted
APODYSOPHILIA: Feverish desire to undress
APOTEMNOPHILIA: Person who has sexual fantasies about losing a limb
ASCETICISM: Religious self-denial often including celibacy
ASPHYXIAPHILIA: Arousal from lack of oxygen
ASTHENOLAGNIA: Arousal from weakness or being humiliated
ASTYPHIA: ImpotenceASYNODIA: Celibacy particularly due to impotence
AUTOEROTIC ASPHYXIA: Oxygen deprivation with risk of dying
AUTOGYNEPHILIA: Arousal from crossdressing
AUTOMASOCHISM: Inflicting intense sensations of pain on one’s body
AUTONEPIOPHILIA: Sexual attraction from being treated like an infant
AUTOPEDERASTY: The insertion of one’s own penis into their anus
AVERING: A boy’s begging in the nude to arouse sympathy
AVISODOMY: Breaking the neck of a bird while penetrating it for sex
AXILLISM: The use of the armpit for sex
BELONEPHILIA: Arousal from pins or needles
BIASTOPHILIA: Pleasure from forcible rape of a terrified stranger
BLISSOM: To copulate with an ewe
BROMIDROPHILIA: Arousal from bodily smellsC
CALLIPYGIAN: Having shapely buttocks
CANOPHILIA: Turned on by dogs
CATAGELOPHILIA: Love of being ridiculed
CHASMOPHILIA: Attraction to nooks, crannies, crevices, and chasms
CHEIMAPHILIA: Deriving pleasure from cold or winter
CHREMATISTOPHILIA: Arousal from being charged for sex or robbed
CHRYSOPHILIA: Arousal from gold or golden objects
CLAUSTROPHILIA: Love of being confined in small placesC
COPROPHEMIA: Obscene language
COPROPHILIA: A fancier of feces
CRATOLAGNIA: Arousal from strengthCRUROPHILIA: Sexual arousal from legs
DACRYPHILIA: Arousal from seeing tears in the eyes of a partner
DORAPHILIA: Love of animal skins
DYSTYCHIPHILIA: Deriving pleasure from accidentsE
EMETOPHILIA: Arousal from vomit or vomiting
EPISTEMOPHILIA: Abnormal preoccupation with acquiring knowledge
EREMOPHILIA: Maniacal desire to be left alone
ERGOPHILIA: Love of work and labor
EROTOPHOBIA: Fear of sexual love
EROTOPHONPHILIA: Sexual satisfaction from murdering complete strangers
ERYTHROPHILIA: Becoming aroused by blushing
FORMICOPHILIA: Enjoyment of the use of insects for sexual purposes
GAMOPHOBIA: Fear of marriage
GENICON: A sexual partner imagined by one dissatisfied with her actual partner
GENOPHOBIA: Fear of sex
GERONOSEXUALITY: An attraction where to object of desire 30 years older
GERONTOPHILIA: Arousal from an older partner
GRAPHOLAGNIA: Maniacal interest in obscene pictures
GYMNOPHOBIA: Fear of nudity
GYNOPHOBIA: Fear of women
GYNOTIKOLOBOMASSOPHILIA: Sexual pleasure by nibbling on a woman’s earlobe
HAMARTOPHILIA: Love of committing sinful acts
HAPTEPHILIA: Arousal by being touched
HARPAXOPHILIA: Getting pleasure by robbery or being robbed
HEDONOPHOBIA: Fear of pleasure
HEMATOLAGNIA: Sexual stimulation from blood
HYPNOPHILIA: Turned on by the thought of sleepingI
ICOLAGNIA: Arousal from contact with sculptures or pictures
.INFANTILISM: Attraction to childhood items
KAINOTOPHILIA: Getting pleasure from change
KAKORRHAPHIOPHILIA: Arousal from failure
KALOPSIA: Condition where things appear more beautiful than they really are
KERAUNOPHILIA: Turned on by thunder and lightning
KINESOPHILIA: Arousal from movement and exercise
KLISMAPHILIA: Sexual pleasure from enemas
KNISSOPHILIA: Attraction to incense-burning
KOPOPHILIA: Arousal from physical or mental exhaustionL
LALIOPHILIA: Arousal from public speakingLALOCHEZIA: Talking dirty to relieve tensionLEMAN: A mistress or loverLENOCINANT: LewdLIGYROPHILIA: Turned on by loud noisesLILAPSOPHILIA: Arousal from tornadoesLOBCOCK: A large, relaxed penisLITHOPHILIA: Attraction to stones, gravel, or mudLOVERTINE: Addicted to love-makingLUPANARIAN: Lubricious, lascivious, lewdLYGOPHILIA: Love of darknessLYSSOPHILIA: Sexual arousal from becoming angry or upsetM
MACHLAENOMANIA: Masochism in womenMACROMASTIC: Pertaining to large breastsMACROPHILIA: Attraction to giants or giant creaturesMAIESIOPHILIA: Arousal from childbirth or pregnant womenMAMMILLATED: Having nipplesMANIAPHILIA: Attraction to insane peopleMANUSTUPRATION: MasturbationMASTIGOPHILIA: Sexual gratification from punishment or being whippedMATUTOLAGNIA: Antemerdian sexual desireMAZOPHILIA: Compulsion for breastsMECHANOPHILIA: Turned on by machinesMEGALOPHILIA: Arousal from large objects (not necessarily fat)MENACME: The menstruating part of a woman’s lifeMENOPHANIA: The onset of menstruation; false menstruationMENTULATE: Possessing a large penis; well-hungMERKIN: A pubic hair wigMETOPOPHILIA: Turned on by a person’s faceMETROPHILIA: Arousal from poetryMISAPODYSIS: Hatred of undressing in front of someoneMISEROTIA: Aversion to sexMOLYSMOPHILIA: Attraction to dirt, filth, or contaminationMONOECIOUS: HermaphroditicMONORCHID: Having one testicleMULIEBRITY: Assumption of female characteristics by a maleMULTIGRAVIDA: A woman who has been pregnant more than onceMYSOPHILIA: Love of dirt or becoming dirtyN
NARRATOPHILIA: Arousal from erotic conversationsNASOPHILIA: Arousal from the touch, licking, or sucking of a partner’s nose.NEANILAGNIA: A yen for nymphetsNEBULOPHILIA: Arousal from fogNECROPHILIA: Sexual gratification only by having sex with the deadNEMOPHILIA: Love of forestsNEOLAGNIUM: PubertyNEOPHILIA: Arousal from anything newNOSOPHILIA: Love of becoming illNOTHOSONOMIA: Calling someone a bastardNOVERCAMANIA: Sexual attraction to one’s stepmotherNYCTOPHILIA: Love of nightNYMPHOLEPSY: Trance incurred by erotic daydreamsO
OBSOLAGNIUM: Waning sexual desire due to ageOCHLOPHILIA: Attraction to crowdsOCNOPHILE: Someone chronically dependent on their loverOCULOLINCTUS: The act of licking a partner’s eyeballODYNOPHILIA: Deriving pleasure from pain; masochismOIKOPHILIA: Attraction to one’s homeOLFACTOPHILIA: Sexual gratification from smellsOMBROPHILIA: Turned on by rain or being rained uponONANISM: MasturbationOPHELIMITY: The ability to please sexuallyOPHIDIOPHILIA: Arousal from snakesORNITHOPHILIA: Love of birdsOSMOLAGNIA: Arousal caused by bodily odors, such as sweat or mensesOSPHRESIOPHILIA: An inordinate love of smellsP
PANTOPHILIA: Arousal from just about everything imaginablePAPHIAN: Erotic; pertaining to illicit lovePAPILLA: A nipplePARACOITA: A female sexual partnerPARACOITUS: A male sexual partnerPAREUNIA: Sexual intercoursePARTHENOLATRY: Virgin worshipPARTHENOPHILIA: Attraction only to virginsPECCATOPHILIA: Arousal from sinning or having committed imaginary crimePEDIOPHILIA: Attraction to dollsPEDOPHILIA: Attraction to younger partnersPENIAPHILIA: Erotic fascination with povertyPENTHERAPHILIA: Sexual attraction to one’s mother-in-lawPEODEIKTOPHILIA: Sexual arousal from exhibitionismPEOTOMY: Surgical amputation of the penisPESSARY: A vaginal suppositoryPHALLATION: Movement of the penis in sexual intercoursePHILOPHOBIA: Fear of falling in love or of being lovedPHILOPORNIST: A lover of prostitutesPHRONEMOPHILIA: Turned on by the act of thinkingPHTHIRIOPHILIA: Attraction to licePICTOPHILIA: Arousal only from looking at erotic picturesPIZZLE: A whip made of an animal’s penisPLACOPHILIA: Arousal from tombstonesPLANISTETHIC: Flat-chestedPLUVIOPHILIA: Sexual stimulation from rain or being rained uponPNIGOPHILIA: Aroused from people chokingPOINEPHILIA: Turned on by punishment; masochismPONOPHILIA: Attraction to overworkPORNERASTIC: Licentious, lewd, and hornyPORNOCRACY: A government by prostitutesPORNOLAGNIA: Desire for prostitutesPOTAMOPHILIA: Arousal from streams and riversPREMENACMIUM: Life before menstruation beginsPRESBYTOREAN: An erotic poemPRIAPISM: Persistent and painful erection, usually the result of a diseasePRONOVALENCE: Ability to have sexual intercourse in a prone position onlyPSELLISMOPHILIA: Becoming aroused by stutteringPTERIDOMANIA: An intense desire for fernsPTERONOPHILIA: Sexual gratification from being tickled by feathersPUCELAGE: VirginityPUNQUETTO: A prostitutePUTANISM: ProstitutionPYGMALIIONISM: Falling in love with one’s creation (a la “My Fair Lady”)PYGOPHILIA: Aroused from buttocksPYROLAGNIA: Sexual stimulation from watching firesQ
QUADOSHKA: American Indian form of tantric sexQUEENING: Sitting on the side of a person’s face as a form of bondageQUIM: The vaginaR
RAMMISH: Lustful and hornyRANTALLION: One whose scrotum is longer than his penisRENIFLEUR: One who gets sexual pleasure from body smellsRÉTIFISM: Foot and shoe fetishism, including using the shoe for masturbationRETROCOPULATION: Fornicating from behind (”Doggie position”)RHABDOPHILIA: Finding pleasure in being severely criticizedRHYTIPHILIA: Arousal from facial wrinklesRUTTISH: Horny; in heatS
SAPPHISM: LesbianismSCELEROPHILIA: Attraction to bad guys or unsavory charactersSCOPTOPHILIA: VoyeurismSCOTOPHILIA: Turned on by darknessSDRUCCIOLA: CopulateSEPTOPHILIA: Sexual attraction to decaying matterSIDERODROMOPHILIA: Arousal from riding in trainsSITOPHILIA: Deriving pleasure from eatingSOCERAPHILIA: Excitement from one’s parents-in-lawSOPHOPHILIA: Sexual gratification from learningSOROPHILIA: Attraction to one’s sisterSPADONISM: EunuchrySPECTROPHILIA: Arousal from looking at oneself in a mirrorSPERMATOPHOBIA: Fear of semenSPINTRY: A male whoreSTASIVALENCE: Ability to have sexual intercourse only while standingSTAUROPHILIA: Arousal from the cross or crucifixSTHENOLAGNIA: Arousal from displaying strength or musclesSTUPRATION: RapeSTYGIOPHILIA: Deriving pleasure from thoughts of hellSUBAGITATION: CopulationSUCCUBUS: A female demon who seduces men in their sleepSUPINOVALENT: Able to fornicate only while lying on the backSYMPHOROPHILIA: Arousal by accidents or catastrophesSYNGENESOPHILIA: Sexual attraction to one’s relativesT
TAPHEPHILIA: Arousal from being buried aliveTAPHOPHILIA: Love of funeralsTELEOPHILIA: Affinity for religious ceremoniesTENTIGINOUS: LasciviousTERATOPHILIA: Arousal from deformed or monstrous peopleTHALASSOPHILIA: Love of the seaTHASSOPHILIA: Attraction to sittingTHREPTEROPHILIA: A fondness for female nursesTHYGATRILAGNIA: A father’s sexual love for his daughterTOCOPHILIA: Fondness for pregnancy and childbirthTONITROPHILIA: Love of thunderTOXIPHILIA: Attraction to poisonsTOXOPHILIA: Love of archeryTRAGALISM: Lust; lechery; obscenityTRANSFEMINATE: To change from woman to manTRAUMATOPHILIA: An unconscious desire to be injuredTRIBADISM: Mutual genital-fondling between lesbiansTRICHOPATHOPHILIA: Sexual attraction to hairU
UNDINISM: The association of water with erotic thoughtsURANISM: HomosexualityURANOPHILIA: Sexual arousal by heavenly thoughtsUROLAGNIA: Sexual pleasure from urinatingURTICATION: The use of nettles to create extra sensationUXORAVALENT: Only able to attain sex extramaritally (applied to men)UXOROVALENT: Able to score only with one’s wifeV
VACCINOPHILIA: Turned on by becoming vaccinatedVAMPIRISM: Consuming blood of a partner for arousalVICARPHILIA: Arousal from other people’s exciting experiencesVINCILAGNIA: Arousal from bondageVIRAGINITY: Masculinity in a womanVIRGIN: You really need to ask?VIRIMIMISM: Adoption of masculinityVIRIPOTENT: Sexually mature
VITRICOPHILIA: Sexual attraction to one’s stepfather
WITTOL: A husband who tolerates his wife’s infidelity
XENODYNAMIC: Person who is only potent with strangers
XENOPHILIA: An attraction to foreign customs, traditions, and foreigners
XERONISUS: Inability to reach orgasm
XYLOPHILIA: Turned on by wooden objectsY
YELD: Not old enough to procreate
YLOPHILIA: Affinity for forests
YONI WORSHIP: Worship of the female genitalsZ
ZELOPHILIA: Sexual arousal from jealousy
ZOOERASTIA: Sexual intercourse with an animal
ZOOPHILIA: One who is attracted to animals in a sexual, or emotional sense
ZWISCHENSTUFE: Arousal from a person of the same sex

Personally I'm turned on my girls playing electric guitar in the shower

Farang Poll by Bar Girls

The Old Roue and I stayed out later than planned and I woke up this morning wanting to to kill the cat who fouled my mouth. My wife asked if we had a good time at the go-go bars. I groaned I got mao without explaining the main reason for my 3am arrival was that the Old Roue and I had conducted a survey with the bar girls and go-go dancers.
Pattaya attracts tourists from around the globe. Every language is spoken in the bars and go-gos. Some countries are represented more heavily than others. The Thais generally are even-handed with their generosity, however there are favorite and conversely least liked nationalities. The Old Roue and I were not surprised by the results.
1. France - Good time and don’t have to speak too much English.
2. Norway - Free with the money and drink more than they should, so they pass out before sex.
3. Italy - More interested with speaking with their friends and getting messed up than paying attention to the girls, but a good time too.
4. Swiss - Go to sleep early and let you go out with your friends ( read Thai boyfiend). Very trusting.
5. UK - There are a lot of them.
1. India - Smell and cheap
2. Israeli - Dirty and cheap
3. Italy - Smell
4. UK - Smell and there are a lot of them.
5. USA - Smell and are fat and cheap too and think they own the world. Despite the dollar dropping from 40 baht to 31 in the five years I've been here.
I was surprised the French didn’t place in the smell-a-thon, since French men use less than one bar of soap per annum.
The reasons for these decisions were based on good time, free-spending, and not asking too many questions. Not bathing was a problem for several groups as well as jealousy, which put the Italians in the worst and best categories.
A final consensus was that the girls liked older good-looking men with money. Fatter so they were warm in bed and with bigger members than their previous boyfriends.
Young men were considered too much of a problem.
Go figure.

Thai Ties

Every time I go to my tailor for shirts, he asks why I don't buy any ties. I tell him that I wore them for most of my life and don't see the point here. Like who am I trying to impress?
My drunken friends or the madam of the Buffalo Bar?
I don't think so, but occasionally I see farang men wearing ties in Pattaya. Most look like missionaries, however it got me to thinking on what occasion would a tie be appropriate in Thailand.
The four most popular reason in the West for wearing a tie are wedding, funeral, seeing a judge in court, and because your stupid boss told you to wear one.
Sporting a cravat at your wedding sets a bad impression in that the relatives might think you have more money than they previously imagined and they'll start hounding your loving bride to fleece you at a previously unimaginable rate. Not that she want to do that, but Thai women worry about their families before a farang. Just the natural order of things.
Funerals at another event for a tie, however no one is going to waste 100 baht of buying you a tie if you are a stiff. Lucky to get a clean set of clothing on your corpse for your final voyage to the homeland or the nearest incinerator.
A tie presents respectability in a court of law back in the West and the same value is matched in Thailand. The judge will look at you standing there all handsome and say, "Alright, add a zero to the fine."
Finally the work place.
Unless you are a salaried wage slave for a corporation sucking out your life's blood, then there is no acceptable reason to wear a tie, unless it is to goof on those that have to wear a tie every day and in that case wear the loudest and most out-of-date tie possible and by all means don't worry about any food stains. After all ties started out as scarves that we used for wiping your mouth after a good meal. Why should now be any different.

The 6th Commandment in Pattaya

The religious right in America have sought to increase the influence of God on the government by trying to place the 10 Commandments in various courthouses and legislature. While I am not a follower of the bearded Jehovah in the flowing muumuu, I have nothing against erection of the twin tablets of NO this and No that as long as the politicians passing through the portals such sanctified buildings adhere to the tenets of 'god'.
No lying would eliminate 50% of the US Senate. No stealing would get rid of another 25% and no adultery would decimate the remainder, so the Senate would be a lonely place for the few saints.
I live in Pattaya.
A beach town without any commandments.
Last night at the Buffalo I asked my three friends, if they could name the 10 Commandments.
They got five.
The other five were lost during the past 10 years, however sometimes Pattaya residents seem to be challenging Sodom for the Guinness record of breaking the Commandments, which is why you should be careful with picking your friends, and once you have friends you should only trust them so far.
Rarely with someone you just barfined out of a go-go, although msot bar girls are 100% more honorable than a desperate farang. Not that anyone wants to be bad, but Pattaya breeds weakness in character, because no one wants to go back to their country of residence and will do anything to stay here another week, month, or year.
Case in point.
My good friend lends a bar owner 250,000 baht.
As a favor until the bar owner sells his establishment.
While the bar owner is in Australia, my friend checks on the bar. He reports that the bar owner's wife is sneaking money from the till and going out at night.
Who does the bar owner get angry at?
My friend.
And the fat bald cunt badmouths the man who lent him almost $6000 US.
My friend is not a calm man, but decides not to say anything.
"I want me money."
The market is slow, but finally some sucker signs a contract.
The bar owner gives the down payment of 300,000 to his girlfriend to buy land up country. My friend shows up and asks for his cash. The bald bar owner throws him out of the bar, telling him to fuck off. "I'll pay you when I get me money."
"Let no good deed go unpunished." My old boss on 47th Street said and he was right.
All my friend did was try to help a mate.
The bald bar owner might not be guilty of breaking DO NOT STEAL, but he did trespass over the 'I'm a cunt' line.
And that's a different set of rules.
#1 Never trust anyone.
#2 If you do trust someone, only trust them up to the point where they can fail. Beyond that the fault is yours.
#3 Never lend more money than you can lose.
Of course I ignore all laws, because all laws are meant to be ignored, except after the fact.

Moses on Acid

Back in the 90s my cousin Sharon Mitchell came to perform at the ShowWorld in New York. She and I were invited to the Fire Island cottage of Robin Byrd, famed XXX cable TV spokesperson. The short ferry ride brought vacationers to the sandy coastal island. There are no cars. No 7/11s. Only the occasional float plane. Robin's cottage was on the beach. Our flabby hostess greeted us in the nude.
"I don't wear clothes here." The squat 40 year-old hugged Sharon, who had several ads running on the cable channel. She hadn't been paid for any. Robin eyed me suspiciously. "So this is your cousin?"
"Yeah, on her father's side." Sharon and I have called ourselves family for years into order to save time about how we met playing pinball in Times Square. Even we get bored of our old stories, mostly since we were trying to outrun our pasts.
"I can see family resemblance." Robin squinted indicating her eyesight was worse than ours.
"Almost twins." Sharon laughed. She was straight out of Napoli and my face resembled either an Irish cop or Yankee sailor depending on the light.
Robin motioned for us to enter the house, a beach bungalow designed in the 70s for the now-extinct gay party-goers of Cherry Grove. Weathered wood and gleaming mirrors were a memorial to that Era of Errors. She showed us our rooms and said, "Make ourselves a home."
"She seems nice," I whispered to Sharon. Walls in beach bungalows are no conducive to privacy.
"Like a sleeping rattler. She doesn't like men."
"I got that from the little inquisition. I'll tread lightly."
My lightly was too heavy for Robin, who should have said, "Make yourself home at Auntie Cruella's."
I could do no right. Sand on the floor had to come from me. Not her dogs. When I nearly shattered my kneecap on a glass table, she screamed that I was clumsy. Anytime I spoke with Sharon, she sat down with her arms folded across her flapjack breasts with her bulbous belly gracelessly shielding my eyes from seeing her loose-lipped virtues.
I hid from her on the beach and went for an all-over sunburn, thinking maybe Robin hated people with tanlines.
Sharon came looking for me. She danced along the sea without a stitch of clothing. Her body glowed LA golden.
"So I think she really likes me."
'More love than like." We had a good laugh, especially after a naked man sauntered down the beach with a driftwood staff. He was tall and his back was blanketed by a self-grown alpaca sweater in remarkable contrast to his gleaming skull. His penis was enormous.
"It's Schmoses." Sharon snickered pointing indiscreetly at the pseudo-beach hermit's enormous penis. "And that's the staff of Schmoses."
"And his butt are the Ten Commandments."
This joke became funnier later that afternoon. Robin had befriended Schmoses and we discovered the two of them in coitus by the pool. It was like watching a Neanderthal have sex with a walrus, but at least I knew my pubic hairs weren't the ones on the couch. I didn't sit on it again, as Schmoses ranted on about God and the end of the world.
He was Robin's messiah for the weekend and I forgot about him until reading a BBC article how the Biblical Moses had received the 10 Commandments from Yahweh while high on psychedelic drugs, since the concoctions from bark of the acacia tree were an essential ingredient for religious rites in biblical times. Now I understand everything about the burning bush.
I took LSD maybe 20-50 times. I never saw God, but did meet Jesus one time.
My friends and I had dropped LSD in the White Mountains. We sat in a frigid river stream, listening to its lyrical babble. A young boy stumbled out of the pine forest and asked, "Where are we?"
Gobstruck by the question my friends and I simultaneously realized we were in the presence of Jesus. His Second Coming lasted less than a minute. His sister emerged from the woods and slapped him in the head.
"Don't talk to strangers."
He cried without a wise statement and we went back to listening to the river and waiting for the coming of Schmoses.

Best Pizza in Pattaya -Scoby Pizza

I have been living in Pattaya five years straight with only two visits back to the States. Friends and family asked, if I miss America and I answer honestly, "Only my friends, family, and pizza."
I didn't tell the ranking shifts depending on time of day, because there's nothing better than a pizza after a long night of beer guzzling no matter where you are in the world.
In 1996 I was teaching English to reincarnated monks, workers, factory girls, and children in Lhasa Tibet. fast food was a bowl on Yak meat and noodles. The yak meat still had hair on the meat. Two French telecommunication workers were staying next to me at the Snowlands Hotel. We ruminated every evening about food, concocting favorite meals like gulag prisoners. They extolled the virtues of Rochefort cheese, the crack of a good baguette, and Cote du Rhone. I agree with them, even though my choice of a first meal after a last-meal existence was pizza.
Pepperoni and cheese with tomato sauce.
The nearest pizza was in Kathmandu and we coordinated our departure to travel together over the Himalayas to the Nepali capitol. We got rooms at the Shakti Hotel and argued about Coq au Vin at the Yeti Hotel or pizza. I won the argument with the WWI quote, "Lafayette, we are here to eat pizza."
The pizza sucked as did all pizza in Asia during the 20th Century and even wrose was that of the two major chains along Pattaya's Beach Road. Both mass-production outlets produced a pie was topped with a communion wafer-thin offering of pseudo-cheese floating on peppery ketchup. The crust was harder than a hockey puck and the extra toppings had been spewed from a Star Trek food processor. I stopped eating pizza entirely, until a friend told me about Scoby’s Pizza on 3rd Road.
“It’s good.”
The Convict was Aussie and what the hell do Antipodeans know about pizza or any food other than BBQed Kangaroo tails. However I was proven wrong. The pizza was good that within a week a stack of Scoby pizza boxes were piled in my trash.
And the small pepperoni pizza was only 140 Baht.
Scoby had been trying to run a bar without any success. In fact he was going bust when he saw a pizza oven for sale. 12,000 baht.
Another pizza maker gave him a recipe and the rest is history.
Scoby’s is close to the Buffalo Bar and there’s nothing like eating greasy pizza and drinking cold beer with available girls of every shape, age, and demeanor, especially after closing since Scoby's stays open to 3am.
Ain’t nothing in New York like that. Not in 2008
Scoby Pizza 038-720752 340-16 3rd Road Pattaya

No Country for Old Men Pattaya

The Coen Brother's NO COUNTRY FOR OLD MEN won the Best Film Oscar this year. Three minutes of the creepy lead actor's haircut was enough for me. I chucked the DVD into the swamp behind my house and haven't heard from it since, but at the Pattaya court I ran into another farang who was living that the title of that movie.
The court clerk was patiently explaining his trial date in Thai. The Brit didn't understand a word and I translated for him, only to be engaged as a confessor.
John was English. He had been involved with a hot-tempered Thai woman for the past 16 years. 9 months ago he decided to end the relationship, but Thai girls are harder to get out of your life than gum in your hair.
Two weeks ago he was summoned up-country by a phone call. His ex- was in the hospital. As soon as he appeared , two Pattaya cops arrested him for assault. 100,000 baht bail and they seized possession of his passport. His wife had accused him of beating her. He protested that he wasn't that type of man and all the police had to do was check the hospitals for evidence of a beating.
"Where's your lawyer?"
"What do I need a lawyer for?"
"This is a criminal charge." I sometimes wonder if farangs leave their brain at the airport. "You don't understand Thai and you want to go to court without a lawyer."
"My last lawyer charged me 4000 baht to get out of jail."
"Yeah, but she didn't do anything."
This was going nowhere and I explained that he should be represented. I gave him the telephone number of my lawyer. He didn't even bother to write it down and I wished him luck.
John's 54. He's worked all his life. His Thai wife has everything now and he's on the verge of going to jail. In this case Thailand's definitely not a country for old men, although John didn't consider himself old.
He will after a couple of month's in the monkey house.

Marriage ala Pattaya

Last April Nick and I were sitting in Buffalo Bar. We drink beer a lot in Pattaya to celebrate Beermas. A holiday for every season. Despite Nick being single my wife doesn’t mind my drinking with the Hot Spurs fan. We never go to go-gos, since disco music isn’t conducive to meaningless conversations.
The DJ was playing an insipid boy band tune, which was the perfect background music for our argument about the merits of our marital status. His girlfriend of the moment, a student from Naklua, had a sponsor from Belgium. Nick considered her bigamy a bonus. he wasn’t far off the beam. He didn’t have to shell out any money other than for sexy lingerie.
My girlfriend was the mother of my loving daughter. I could have hired four bodyguards for what a family cost me and said, “You may be single, but I’m not married.”
An Aussie army vet was fed up with our banter and said, “Both of you are over 40 and never been married?”
“What’s being married got to do with anything?”
“Because both you idiots have nothing to complain about?” The Aussie was 65. His gut attested to his dedicated drinking.
We knew he had fought in Vietnam and Indonesia. Both of us liked him.
“Who was complaining?” Nick protested with a scrunched forehead. “You’re not married either.”
“Of course I’m not married and I’ll tell you why.” The Aussie signaled the girl behind the bar for a round on him. “I had a mate. A fellow Aussie like myself.”
“A convict.” Nick couldn’t resist the dig, but the old geezer had a perfect come-back.
“Better than being a Pommie bastard. Cheers.” We toasted him and he lit up a cigarette. “I first came out here in 1969 with Pat, a mate of mine. We were both in Vietnam. Army. We had a great time; girls, booze, and a beach. Couldn’t ask for anymore. We would have stayed here forever, but didn’t want to be considered peaceniks, plus we had wives. Both of us knew after being here that would last forever and about ten years ago we got divorced. Wives hated us and I couldn’t blame them. We retire from the Army and moved here. Far from our exs. We swore never to fall in love. We had had it with being suckers for women. We knew the score here. Same as Oz. All the women were out for your money or blood.”
“Where this going?” Nick had a date with his girlfriend and he had a new flimsy undergarment for her. If I was lucky he would show me the cell phone photos later.
“That’s what I hate about you young people. No patience.”
“I’m not young.” I stopped being young after 40.
“You’re younger than me.” He was old enough to have danced the Twist. “Like I said my mate swore not to get involved, but he met a lovely woman. Had an angel’s smile, was about a third of his age, and danced at the Tahitian Queen.”
The mention of that bar brought out a groan. I had met my first Thai girlfriend there and she was a demoness. I had been elected #1 sucker of 2001 by my friends and there was no way his mate’s story could be worse than mine. I was wrong.
“Pat decides to get married. I tried to talk him out of it. He wasn’t listening to reason.”
“Maybe she gave him a love potion.” Mine had. Weird thing love potions stick with you a long time. I still think about my poisoner. Mostly bad thoughts. “She was from Isaan.”
"Yeah, it would be the first time." The northeastern plateau was renowned for magic. ” Pat decides to make this a wedding to remember. He hires a hall in the Royal Cliffs. Brings down the family from the rice paddies. Dresses them up. Puts on a feed. Everyone eats like they’d been starving for years. Everyone is happy. He retires to the wedding suite a happy man. In the morning he wakes and his wife isn’t there. Her clothing. Her gold. Her clothing is, but not his lovely bride.”
“Let me guess.” Having been burnt I had a good idea where this was heading.
“If you don’t mind, I’ll tell the story.” He sipped at his rum and coke. “Pat goes to the hotel staff. They haven’t seen her. At least that’s what they say. He goes to the police, thinking she might have gone for a midnight swim. They laugh and say she’ll come in with the tide. He returns to the hotel. The family has decamped. He calls his only friend. Me. He goes on a woman hunt. We go to the Tahitian Queen. No one knows nothing and saying less. A week passes. Pat is beside himself. Then one night the hotel door opens and in walks his bride.” Pat’s so happy to see her, he almost doesn’t ask where she’s been, although she’s wearing 5 baht of gold. His bride confesses that an old boyfriend called on their wedding night. “I go with him one week. He pay for everything. Now have 5 baht gold. Good idea. Now we go on honeymoon.”
“I would have killed her.” Nick had no time for fools.
“Not Pat. He went on holiday with her. Came back, stole her gold, and went to live in Phuket.”
“Her name wasn’t Mem?” I had to ask.
“No. Why?”
“Just asking.” I was happy to have escape Mem’s madness.
“Well, now you know why I don’t get married.”
“Same goes for us.”
Nick bought the next round. I got the next. We drank ourselves into a state of blissful beerdom, which is where every man should live worldwide.

Walking safely in Pattaya

Pattaya offers locals and tourists many forms of transportation, but at one point you must walk from a vehicle to your destination. The uneven levels of the sidewalks, missing grates, and the errant baby elephant require constant alertness and courtesy is a valued asset along Beach Road, where stalls protruded into the public walkways and the vendors consider this ground there sacred property
A smile while stepping aside feels much better than a nasty glare and you can never go wrong by giving way to an elderly person or pregnant woman.
Both Thais and farangs appreciate good manners.
Walking on the more congested roads can prove a greater challenge and my best advice before getting out of your car or baht bus is look in every direction; left, right, ahead, and behind. You usually can forego checking the sky, unless you happen to be under a coconut tree. Second plan of action is to once more check in every direction. Motorcyclists travel in all directions on every inch of the street including the sidewalk.
Pattaya’s streets are wide and the traffic reaches a good speed. Thanks to the wonders of the modern communication the vehicle’s operator may concentrate more on a mobile phone conversation than your safety. The lights at some intersections allow pedestrians enough time to reach the other side of the street; however crossing between those lights can be treacherous, especially at Royal Garden and Pattaya 2 Road, Big C and Pattaya 2 Road, Pattaya 2 Road and Pattaya South Road, and the turning at Walking Street into Pattaya South Road.
Due to the traffic light sequences these areas experience intense 30-second surges of cars and bikes. Most pedestrians adhere to several techniques to cross the roadways. The first is the athletic sprint. Three seconds and you’re a winner, unless you misjudged your distance. Be aware that objects are actually moving faster than you think. Another tactic is the go-and-stop, which entails traversing the street in sections. Not an advisable strategy when the oncoming car outweighs you by a ton. Bus tourists charge en masse across the street lead by their guide, all hoping for the best.
I personally prefer waiting out a gap in the traffic surge and walk briskly to the other side. Establishing eye contact with the oncoming driver with a wave helps the passage as does not darting into the street to catch up with friend. This is not the running of the bulls in Spain.
Pattaya has several walks away from the cars and buses. The 2.7 kilometer from North Pattaya to Walking Street is especially nice with the tide out, so the first part of your journey can be barefooted over sand bars. The short walk onto the Bali Hai pier in South Pattaya provides an advantageous view of the sea frontage stretching north to Si Racha as well as a refreshing breeze at sunset. The stroll from the Jomtien Police Station to the Pattaya Water Park offers a nice change from the heavily trafficked roads of Pattaya. Most recently the city has opened a park on Jomtien Hill. The garden views of the harbor are especially nice as the sun is setting.
Lastly gentleman, you may like a brisk stroll, but if you are walking with a lady or an elderly person, please dip into your pocket and take a baht-bus or a motorsai taxi to save them discomfort. Save for appreciation of a good walk Bali Hai pier at sunset. Everyone will be happier and healthier in the end.

Sunday, March 30, 2008

BIG FOOT by Peter Nolan Smith

Semi-Fiction from Peter Nolan Smith I spent 28 years in the East Village of New York. My apartment was at 256 East 10th Street. I worked nightclubs. CBGBs, Hurrah, Studio 54, and The Milk Bar. I had two motorcycles; a 1964 Triumph and 1970 Yamaha. Dmitri from the East 6th Street Bike Shop introduced Rick, the owner of Madame Rosa's. The Californian had a Ducati and Norton. Neither of us had girlfriends and switched nights cooking dinner after which we would play gin rummy. Rick was a better cook and Dmitri joked that we were man and wife. It was only funny the first time.
When Rick mentioned to a neighbor that I was brought up in outside of Portland, the middle-aged woman extended an invitation to Thanksgiving dinner at their tenement building on East 11th Street.
Jane hailed from Columbia Falls, Maine, which she considered was the last place God created before finishing with Aroonstock County." Jane was a graduate of University of Maine. She had moved to New York to become a beatnik and ended up marrying a East Village plumber. She still loved Maine and we became friends. although she got a kick out of riding me about my hometown outside Portland. "Falmouth Foresides is almost like coming from Massachusetts."
"Nothing like being a Masshole." Carmine, her husband, had a good word to say about everyone. My nickname was 'Scumbag'.
The Lower East Side native had learned pipe-fitting in the Merchant Marines. Plumbers from the 5 bouroughs asked for his advice. Carmine had pull with City Hall. The connections were a gift from his father. The old man had been a bookie. Jane collected strays. Rick, Steve the Montana ironworker, David the biologist from the natural History Museum, and countless others. Every big holiday she set a big table for her orphans. People without family in the city. We drank wine and ate turkey until we were semi-comatose, after which Carmine would mumble stories about the East Village from the 50s interspersed with racial epitaphs, although he was always helping people from every race. We all called him Uncle Carmine and thought of him as a permanent New York fixture, except he had one weakness.
Cigars and he started complaining about a stomach ache. We told him to see a doctor. He refused every entreaty. I got him medicine with fake scripts. It helped a little bit, but not much. Carmine had more than a stomach ache and passed away suddenly while I was in Thailand. Jane called room 302 at the Malaysia Hotel to convey his last advice, "Don't go crazy, scumbag."
Jane said the burial wasn't taking place until Oct.12. "We're burying him on Columbus Day up in Schoonic Bay. He liked the view from the hill."
"I'll be there." I scheduled my return for late-Sept. The flight stopped in LA. I continued on to New York. My subleasee, a Swedish male nurse, had cleaned the place before leaving. Everything seemed to be in order. I dropped my bags on the floor and walked two blocks over to Jane's compound. Carmine had bought two buildings and a vacant lot back in the early 70s. $15,000. The property was now worth millions.
Jane gave me a big hug and said, "Carmine wanted you to have some books." Carmine's interests tended towards military history and I picked ten books. The best was one about Stalingrad. THE ENEMY AT THE GATE.
"You're going to help drive up to Maine?" Jane sat down heavily. She was not in the best of health.
"Wouldn't miss it." I had been driving her to dog shows for years. She was good company. This trip would be a home-coming for both of us. Lobsters and a funeral. She opened the closet in Carmine's office and held out a ceramic urn.
"The old man." Two identical urns were in the closet.
"Are those extra?"
"Those are the dogs. Carmine wanted to be buried with them."
No markings were written on the urns to distinguish them from each other. Jane saw my eyes and said, "No know which ones are which."
"Never said you didn't." Jane was almost as near-sighted as me.
We went to dinner at the local Italian restaurant and she outlined the funeral arrangements. Burial atop a blueberry hill. Friends and family consisted of Jane, her son and daughter. The latter two were not on speaking terms. Friends were a few. Rick, Steve the iron worker, Carmine's workmates and Lenny the anti-Zionist. A strange gathering for Schoonic Point any time of the year, but Jane said, "We'll be welcome. It's off-season."
Columbus Day was overcast without the threat of rain. Cumberland County takes up the farthest corner of NE America. Weather stations in New England cite it in the northern reach of their maritime forecasts. "Eastport to Block Island."
We stopped in Brunswick for lobster rolls at the Chamberlain Inn. Rick and Steve were enthralled with the Maine delicacy. It meant more to Jane and me. My grandfather and father had attended Bowdoin and Jane had gone to U Maine. We were familiar with the town. This was home and every mile more like heaven. Pine trees bordered long coves offering glimpses of the sea. The foliage was a little past prime. The air was champagne from Canada.
Jane had picked Ellsworth as our destination for the night. The hotel was on the strip. It had seen a hundred thousand customers this summer. The rooms had not stopped vibrating from their comings and goings. "Nothing is open in Schoonic Point this time of year."
She distributed room keys. This trip was on Carmine. We had a great lobster at the bridge leading to Bar Harbor. They were closing after this weekend. The Lobsters were soft-shelled and delectable. We agreed that Carmine had made the right choice about being buried in Maine. Upon re-entering Ellsworth, Jane said, "I know Rick is a good boy and wants to get to sleep, but I checked out the bars for you and Steve. There's one that's a fern bar and the other that is always in the police reports. I'm not letting you drive, but here's a twenty for the taxi."
Rick was married with a kid. Steve was divorced and I was perennially single. We said our good-nights and headed first to the fern bar. We lasted a single drink. The same taxi took us to the bad boy bar. The driver told us to watch out for the girls. "They like strangers."
Steve and I stood before the bar. Loud rock music and neon lights. We drunk beers on more than one occasion. and he knew my tastes and said, "You can have all the skinny ugly ones and I'll have all the fat cute ones."
"It's a deal."
He opened the door and then shut it. "What about Big Foot?"
A she-man grabbed him before he could explain. I followed and was immediately set upon by two women twice the man I was. Steve was dancing to Deep Purple to a 200 plus human version of a moose in heat. She wore size 14 boots. The men at the bar appeared relieved to be allowed to drink without any female interference.
Steve shouted one word. I couldn't hear him, but I knew the word was 'help'. We stayed three beers too many and were driven back to the hotel by four seriously masculine women in checkered shirts. Steve was groping one of them and whispered, "I'm checking to make sure they don't have any dildos."
Back in 1974 I had been picked up by two lesbians in Big Sur. They had had their way with me for two days without stop. I had to escape into the redwoods. If they had possessed dildos they would have used them. So would these girls. The Big Foot women were talking dirty. Sex as a Sumo wrestling event. I told them we couldn't do anything and they said, "Date rape."
Their station wagon braked before our rooms. Hands unbuttoned my shirt. Steve was dragged out of the car. We were doomed, until Jane appeared in a celestial nightgown. "Leave those two men alone. They're with me."
"Gigolos." They muttered, reluctantly before letting go of us. Jane stood her ground until they left the room and then asked with a smile, "You boys have fun."
"Yeah." We were glad to have escaped Big Foot's grasp.
"I'm sure Carmine would appreciate it, now go to bed. We have a busy day tomorrow." She was right. We buried Carmine without a priest. On a blueberry hill overlooking Schoonic Bay. The sun came out as we lowered the urns into the earth. Jane cried and her children hugged her. They almost seemed like a family.
I proposed a drive around Bar Harbor before the memorial dinner in Hull's Cove. Rick and Steve loved the rocky coastline and also that we saw Martha Stewart who was in hiding from the New York press. She had been a bad girl. Steve said she looked like a Big Foot woman.
I didn't laughed.
Dinner was in a small restaurant and two of the waitresses were from the Big Foot tribe. A dress tamed them and they made sign of recognizing us. Jane couldn't help but tell Rick about last night's scene and he was happy to tell everyone in the East Village that Steve and I had mated with moose. Jane knew the truth, but said, "It's funnier the way he tells it and Carmine would like that ending too."