The Measure of Happiness - 2012

Last month my sister, her husband, and I celebrated my 60th with lobsters, steamers, Pinot Grigio on Watchic Pond. An early evening breeze fended off the mosquitos from the dock. My brother-in-law dressed accordingly; tee-shirt, shorts, and no shoes. Neither of us had shaved for days.

"What you think?" My brother-in-law pulled out a pipe. His health had improved dramatically since his retirement three years ago.

"Nothing much has changed here." The lake shore was covered by tall pines, hiding the numerous summer camps.

"That's what I think too." My sister and he planned to spend the summer here not doing much of anything. David passed the lit pipe. Native Maine bud from Cornish, the nearest town to the west on Route 25. "Change is good as long as it doesn't change the things you love."

"If things don't change, then I feel like I'm aging with the world." A puff of weed helped color the sunset.

"A slow pace makes time stand still." David had been a top headhunter in Boston. Work had been an 8 to 6 race. He loved his new life. Waking with the dawn with his day free for himself.

"In this light you look 30."

I had taken off my glasses. Myopia was a great fountain of youth.

"That's what I like to hear from my guests." David took off his shirt. The sun had tanned him to golden brown hue. My sister admired his physique. He was in better shape than me.

"My pleasure. Only one thing I miss."

"Your kids." My sister knew the way I thought.

Angie and Fenway are on the other side of the world. Talking on the telephone brings us closer. I would prefer to hold my son and daughter in my arms. She's 8 and he's almost 4. I had spoken to both this morning on Skype.

"I'll be there soon enough." I had a flight to Thailand planned for mid-June. I was staying two months, but today's happiness index suffered from their absence and I went to sleep a little sad.

The next morning rain splashed on the lake. New York exerted a tug and I checked the schedule of the train from Portland to Boston.

"You're leaving?"

"I got to get ready for my trip."

"How you getting to Portland?" The station lay below western promenade.

"If necessary I'll hitchhike." Yesterday's plan was for a tomorrow departure. The weather dictated a change.

"No one hitchhikes anymore." My brother-in-law wanted me to stay. We enjoy each other's company,

"Only crazy men." I had seen the ghostly wraiths of rags on highways. No destination in mind. Mime was the other side of the world.

"It's not the 70s." The Seventies were the decade of our 20s. "Hitchhiking is dead."

"I know." I had often hitchhiked across the USA, sometimes for pleasure and sometimes out of necessity. Pleasure and necessity had combined forces in August 1972. A fellow BC student Neil Nepola had been visiting his girlfriend, Vickie, in Tulsa. His BMW was to be our ride to California and I had thumbed through the Midwest spurred by the dreams of driving through the deserts in a fast car.

I arrived in Oklahoma to discover that we were on foot. Neil had rubber-necked a roller coaster in Oklahoma City and rear-ended a Chevy. The BMW was in repair shop awaiting parts. We were stuck in Tulsa without a car.

Tulsa was half-way across the continent. Vikie, her younger sister, Neil, and I drank ourselves senseless in a few of city's BYOB bars before voting to keep on trucking. We were 21. We had long hair. Neil was going to Med school in the fall. In the Philippines. After reading ON THE ROAD. The two of us bade good-bye to Tulsa, Vickie, and her younger sister. Funny I can remember Marilyn's name. She had green eyes.

We reached the coast at the end of Route 66 and stayed with Neil’s cousin in Seal Beach. We smoked more pot, bodysurfed, and drank at a bar next to the Long Beach Channel. A week flashed fast in a paralytic ganga haze. His cousin’s name is lost in that miasma.

Two weeks remained until the resumption of BC’s fall semester. I wanted to see my friend, Wayne Shephard in Pomona. It was far from the coast. He was living with his biker brother. They took us to DisneyWorld. We smoke weed in IT’S A SMALL WORLD. I couldn't have been happier, then again Disneyworld prides itself on being the “the happiest place on earth.”

This distinction has changed locations for me many times since 1972.

Goa, Koh Phi Phi, Bali, Palm Beach, Paris, Bar Harbor.

Sri Racha with Mam and Fenway.

But all places become common the first day you buy a roll of toilet paper, because the daily grind wears down the degree of happiness and you ask yourself, “Who is really happy?"

Several studies have named the Danes as the happiest people in the world. They're family people. They like nothing more than a hoogy or get-together. Danes ride bikes. Pedal . They have no basketball superstars. The USA is 15th in the rankings.

The main source of happiness comes from a feeling of belonging and in western society cars separate us from those we love. Marshall McLuhan says the only time western man is truly alone is when he’s in his car. Cell phones are supposed to bring us closer, except no one answers them. Every man is not so much an island as a desert of feeling.

Drive in the suburbs.

The landscape of emptiness.

Not a restaurant open.

Not a bar where ‘everyone knows your name’.

Only the mall where you’re forced to consume everything you don’t really need.

Friends, family, the pursuit of happiness, which is why I love Thailand.

Not for the sex.

Not for the weather.

But for the warmth of drinking, eating, and talking with your friends and Thais only score 43rd on the list.

Both Thailand and the USA could do better.

Be happy. Mi sabaii.

The other choices are too gray to consider as viable alternatives.

Happiness is more than a warm blanket – Snoopy

As Victor Borge said, "To measure your happiness feel your heart."

We all know where it is.

Happy Sabaii Sabaii Happy

In 1972 Bhutan’s King Jigme Singye Wangchuck attempted to reform his country’s feudal economy on a Buddhist spiritual level rather than a capitalistic model. To best judge his efforts the king created a Gross Domestic Happiness Index based on life satisfaction, life expectancy at birth, and ecological footprint per capita. The Wall Street Journal ignores the Happy Planet Index, which placed the Pacific nation of Vanuata at the top of the list. Zimbabwe understandably was dead last in 178th place.

Thailand ranked 38 in the 2006 Happiness Survey before coups, yellow shirts, red shirts, shooting in the streets of Bangkok, and burning luxury mall. Four years later the ranking is not lower, but higher.

# 32.

Maybe Thailand mai mi sanuk or not have fun, but they have about forty-three smiles for every expression much like the Eskimos have 23 words for snow. The present smile is known as sao sokh yim or unhappy smile. This mask of chagrin hides the basic dissatisfaction of the nation’s present state.

7/11s do not answer all our needs.

Although a little beer drinking never hurts.

Several years ago I stopped into the Janet Bar on Soi Excite. It was past midnight. Twelve ladies sat on the stool. Two westerners were at the bar. Natalee joined me for a drinking. She was typically looking very sexy, but complained, “Mai mi kak.”

“It’s low season. There aren’t customers anywhere.” Rainy season is lean for the bargirls.

“No good.” Her eyes begged me to bar-fine her.

“Mai mi taeng.” I lied about my finances. Natalee requires training and my long-term devotion to sloth has relegated my sexual prowess to an amateur level, plus I was faithful to Mam, the thinnest woman on Soi 6. She wasn't faithful to me, but one day she would be to our mutual happiness.

“Wah.” She faked crying and went to eat Chinese chicken feet at a table with the other girls.

The nearest westerner smiled sadly and said, “You speak Thai good. How long have you been here?”

“Four years straight.” My first arrival in Thailand dated back to 1991. I was only 39. A mere youth. So innocent. I never thought I would live here, but neither did I think GW Bush would win a second term.

“I’ve been here two years.” His accent was London. East End. He was about 30 and dressed better than most of the beer slobs of Pattaya. “Married a girl and lived up-country the last year.”

“How that working out?” I immediately regretted the question.

“Left her a week ago.” Alan introduced himself and signaled the bartender for two beers. “She is as good as gold, but her family was stitching me up for money. Her step-father is an ex-cop and drinks whiskey all day. And her mother took all the gold I brought my wife for her wedding. The old man wanted 50,000 baht and I told him no.”

“Good idea.” I had heard this story a thousand times. 90% of fathers of the bargirls are a good old rice farmer. Happiness is a bag of tobacco and a bottle of lao khao every day. Easy happy.

“That started the end. He called me a cheap farang in my own house. I bought a house up there. Okay, not much. 5000 pounds and spent 300,000 baht on a wedding.” Alan sounded more disappointed than mad.

“That doesn’t sound gra-dook kat man to me.” Up-country Thais consider farangs money cows.

“No, but the worst was that my wife didn’t back me up.”

"Supporting you would go against the grain. Thai women place their mother first, father second, then the rest of the family, the village, every other Thai before you.” I had experienced this first-hand with all my girlfriends here. The Thais are natural zenotropes. They hate everyone else.

“The old man came to house later with a gun. He wanted money. I told him I was leaving. Asked my wife to come along. She said no, so now I’m here.” He was looking for advice. Advice he wouldn’t follow, because he’s still in love. “My girl ain’t so pretty, she’s 31, but we have sex twice a day.”

“Sex has nothing to do with love.” Although spending a night with Natalee might come close. “Best to cut your losses. You’re from the East End. You’re not a square. Don’t let a rice farmer sucker you.”

“I don’t know.” Weakness of the heart is blood in the water to a Isaan grifter.

“What’s your old man say?” Alan’s father was a dry cleaner in the City.

“He said there ain’t no kids and you’re still young. I’ve been married before.” These failures rankled him. “I wanted this to work out.”

“Sorry.” I ordered another round.

Natalee came over to massage my neck.

“You still not want to go home with me.”

“I want, but have no money.” I was saving my money for Mam.

She frowned and joined the other menless women.

Alan’s happiness index had dropped below the UK average. Mine was someplace near Peru, which is #3.

Beer makes me happy as does hearing someone having it worse than me. We changed the subject and drank two more beers. It was 2am when I left for home. I wished him luck. Natalee blew a kiss. Alan stopped to speak with her. She smiled with enthusiasm. There wasn’t another man in sight.

I arrived back to an almost empty house. My wife has been up-country a long time. She wasn't coming back. Not tomorrow. Not ever. Thankfully my little dog was happy to see me, but then dogs are the only animal who loves you more than themselves.

Happy?

You should see Champoo's tail wag.

Now that’s happy.

Doing Good For Good

Neil and I have been friends since 1970. We met at European History pre-1500 History while attending Boston College. Both of us were hippies. Our lives were dedicated to the greater good of humanity and over the years we have often discussed whether we do good to do good or do good in order to feel good.

We never resolved this issue.

This weekend I was beset by a number of daunting issues. My soul suffered in isolation. I felt alone and very alone. It was Labor Day Weekend. No one phoned me. Not friends, not family, not even the Chinese automated voice. I have no idea what they are trying to sell. I left my apartment for the Farmers Market at Fort Greene Park.

The sidewalks were empty. Only a few pedestrians. I wallowed in depression, then I spotted Flacco a Clinton Hill homeless person. His real name is Jose Garcia. He's in his late-60s. A native of Puerto Rico. He speaks very little English and his health is very challenged by the decades of alcoholism. Still he always has a smile, but this day I noticed him slouch into the wall. He struggled to stand. I approached him and asked, "Are you okay?"

He explained in Spanish that he was dizzy and couldn't really walk.

"Do you want to go to the hospital?"

Normally he refuses any help.

"Si, I want to go hospital."

I called 911. They sent an EMS.

They took him to Brooklyn Hospital.

I could have walked past Flacco. Most people do every day. HIs brother died several years ago. He is basically alone. I know alone and felt good to helping him and my anxiety dissipated by the time I was ordering fish. I had done Flacco a favor without thinking. I was feeling good for having helped him. That was my reward. Feeling good was good.

Yesterday I saw Flacco on the sidewalk.

He was in better shape.

I have him a dollar and a cup of water.

He was happy.

He has no idea who I am.

And it don't matter to me.

NIGHT ON THE TOWN

Back in 2012 I was in Thailand. I no longer resided in Pattaya. Too many Russians, retirees, and I preferred Sriracha up the coast, where I lived with my son Fenway and his beautiful Mom. Sriracha was a totally Thai town and I was comfortable drinking beer with Mam and playing with my son, but Mam understood my need to see old friends and one night I received a phone call from Ed. The Hollywood real estate broker had just divorced his wife in LA and needed a guide to the go-go bars of Pattaya.

"Go see your friend. But not see any women." Mam kissed me good-night at the bus stop on Sukhumvit. Fenway eyed his father with suspicion. The two year-old had no reason to worry. My body and soul belonged to his mother.

"I'll be back early." The sun was setting in the Gulf of Siam. I would be at the Buffalo Bar by 7. Ed couldn't be fussy after 25 years with the same woman. "Before midnight."

"Ha." Mam knew men better than me. "Come home when you want."

"Pai." Fenway waved me onto the bus. I blew him a kiss and he wiped his cheek with a smile. He was a good jokester.

The ride to Pattaya Klang took 30 minutes. The motorsai taxi was another five minutes to the Buffalo Bar. Ed sat with the owner, Eddy. She was my age and looked older. Jamie Parker was by his side. We all knew each other from New York in the 80s.

“Ed thought I was dead.”

“I heard more than one version of your death.” Ed and Jamie had been bad boys at Max's Kansas City.

“None close to true.” Jamie had been a good boy in Pattaya. Most of the time. He excused himself to speak with the owner. We ordered beer. The first was good the second cold. Used to Manhattan prices, Ed laughed at the bill. “The girls in here seem friendly.”

“Friendly as Fereghinis.” Thais bore no physical resemblance to most venal of Star Trek races. They were more beautiful than any woman on Melrose and twice as thin.

“I thought we were farangs.” Ed ordered two drinks for the bar girls who had appeared to massage our necks.

“It’s what they call all of us.” The word’s meaning depended on how it was said.

“Not me. I’m a farang lao.” Jamie returned to the bar.

"Only because you eat insects.” The CIA called his kind 'snake-eaters'.

“And speak a little Lao.” Jamie paid the bill and asked, “Are we taking Ed on a Black Diamond run?”

Jamie’s no-hold’s barred pilgrimage to Pattaya’s night spots included most hellholes not of the regular visitor’s radar screen.

“Let’s stay with intermediate slopes.” Ed was no stranger to Jamie’s taste for danger.

We got on motorsai taxis and headed down to Walking Street. 8pm was early and Jamie suggested the Tiger Lounge. “It has great AC, they’ll play anything we want, and the two early girls are the best-looking on the street. If we're lucky neither has been barfined yet.”

Ed was a happy man. Both girls were in the bar. Their combined age didn't add up to that of his ex-wife.

Beer, AC, The Ramones, plus Wan and Fah stereo-massaging his back.

No man could ask for more and Ed recounted the damages of the divorce from his wife. “Malibu house gone. My firm considered me a pussy for not fighting the divorce and axed me from the board.”

“And that was bad?” Jamie’s history was nightlife and prison. He only worried about parole boards and that was a long time ago.

"From where I sit now it was a good thing.”

“And it’s only going to get better.” Jamie dragged us to Living Doll 2, where he harangued the manager about an erotic hot dog eating contest coupled with the most hot dogs you can eat contest. The manager deemed the idea a little too 'lo-so' for his clientele. Ed disagreed. “A bunch of fat guys sucking down dogs followed by go-go girls eating hot dog. Nothing could be sexier.”

“Really?” I asked, since Ed was seated with twin sisters. The skimpy bikinis revealed that some farang had their silken skin tattooed with the same craven images front to back. Thankfully none showed his name.

“Maybe I’m wrong.” Ed had supported the arts. None more than exotic dance.

“I show you wrong.” Jamie signaled for the chek-bin and we were off to Heaven Above. The white interior reminded Ed of Clockwork Orange and my old club off 7th Avenue. 1986. “The Milk Bar.”

“Except these girls are real.” Jamie had been saving the best for last. Ed rang the bell. The 49 year-old was avalanched by beauties and for the first time in a long time he was happy. An hour later he disappeared. No one had seen his departure. Jamie and I wandered off Walking Street and he dropped me at a taxi stand. The fee to Sriracha was 1000 baht or $30.

I made it home at midnight.

Mam and Fenway sat on the couch watching Ultraman.

My son sniffed at me.

"No perfume." I was ever faithful to my wife. We fought over that fact and made love once little Fenway was asleep. We held each other as if neither of us wanted to let go.

In the morning Ed called me and explained the rest of his night.

“I went back to the Tiger and barfined Wan for the week. I'm taking them to some island not so far away. I’ll call you when I get back.”

“Sure.” Koh Samet was an hour down the coast. I didn't warn him about not falling in love. He had been alone with a woman that didn't love him too long. His holiday might stretch to a week, because time goes fast when you’re having fun. I know, because I've been there too.

Thai Smiles Forever

Thailand is renowned throughout the world as the Land of Smiles. Every year the country plays host to millions of tourists. These visitors for the most part return home extolling the hospitality of the Thais. Few foreigners understand that the Thais have as many smiles as the Eskimos have names for snow and the nation has been showing its best face during the current political crisis.

Red shirt supporters grinning in defiance of the government.

Yellow shirts protesting the rise of the poor.

Soldiers smiling during the coup d'etat or ga boht by the Royal Thai Army.

Nothing is what it seems and it's all thanks to the Thai library of smiles.

Here are a few of them;

- yim tak tai: The polite smile, used for strangers

- feun yim: The 'I-am-forced-to-smile-even-I-do-not-want-to' smile

- yim cheuat cheuan: The winner's smile over a rival

- yim tang nam dtah: The truly happy smile

- yim tak tan: The 'sorry-you-are-wrong-again' smile

- yim sao: The smile masking sadness or unhappiness

- yim mee lay-nai: The evil smile

- yim cheun chom: The admiring smile

- yim yor: The arrogant smile

- yim mai ork: The forced smile

- yim yair-yair: The smile to apologize and take the heat out of an awkward, embarrassing situation

- yim hairng: The nervous, apologetic smile

- yim soo: The 'it-cannot-get-any-worse-therefore-I-better-smile' smile

Read more: http://absolutelybangkok.com/the-thai-smile/#ixzz0fAgo08X4

I'm particularly impressed by the last offering 'yim yor' or the smile that says I'm right and you're wrong.

Anyone who has lived in Thailand has seen that last grin too many times to count, but worse probably they didn't recognize it either because they thought that they were so right that they could never be wrong.

And the Thais call that one 'yim farang kee-nok'.

It doesn't mean anything good.

Unless you know the yim-yet-mung or the fuck-you smile

Thai White Elephant

Many Asian cultures regarded fatness as a sign of wealth, however with the advent of 7/11 consumerism in the Orient obesity is fast becoming a health issue for the region. The Thais like to joke about fat people, whom they call 'chang-nois' or little elephants.

"Why are farangs so fat?" An old rice farmer asked me in Ban Nok.

"Pepsi. KFC. Lotus." Few Thais have yet to make the miraculous connection between mega-supermarkets, 7/11, fast food and obesity. "Pepsi no good?" Den never drank soda. His favorite beverage was lao-khao or rice whiskey. "7/11 paeng." "7/11 is expensive." I only bought beer there. "Why farang poom-phoey?" "Farangs are fat, because they kin aharn mai-dee." Most westerners live in Thailand without any change in their typically European diet. "Fat good." "No, fat is not good." "Puying Thai like khang noi si khao." "White elephants?" "Chai." Den nodded with rapidity. "Fat farangs same as chang noi si khao."

"Same?" Only the king can own a white elephant.

"Yes, Thai lady have fat farang and she has good luck. Same king." The Buddhist adoration of white elephants date back to the birth of Siddhartha whose mother dreams about a white elephant giving her a lotus flower, which symbolized purity. "So white elephant good luck." I was overweight and not obese.

"Chang si khao good luck and bad luck." Den has an uncommon perception for traditions which his wife blamed on his excessive drinking. "Not have many white elephant. But white elephant can not work. Only can eat. Same as farang."

"Farangs work." I've been working since I was 12.

"Never see farang work rice paddy." Den considered farming the only honorable work left to a man. "And white elephant not white. More pink."

"Where you see one?"

"Friend have one. He have to give king. No money. Bad luck more." Den has no need for money. He lived in the rice paddies protecting his crop from rustlers. A package of tobacco, a little rice whiskey, and he was a happy man. "But good luck for king. He have many white elephants and Thai ladies have many chang-nois. Everyone happy."

"Even chang-noi?"

"Even chang noi."

As I said before, Den is a happy man so he knows happy. It's the simple things in life.

Thai Smile Onward

Thailand is renowned as the Land of Smiles. Every year the country is host to millions of tourists. These visitors for the most part return home extolling the hospitality of the Thais. Few foreigners understand that the Thais have as many smiles as the Eskimos have names for snow and the nation has been showing its best face during the current political crisis. Red shirt supporters grinning in defiance of the government. Threat of private armies. Coup or ga boht.

Nothing is what it seems and it's all thanks to the Thai library of smiles.

Click image to see more.Thailand is renowned as the Land of Smiles. Every year the country is host to millions of tourists. These visitors for the most part return home extolling the hospitality of the Thais. Few foreigners understand that the Thais have as many smiles as the Eskimos have names for snow and the nation has been showing its best face during the current political crisis. Red shirt supporters grinning in defiance of the government. Threat of private armies. Coup or ga boht.

Nothing is what it seems and it's all thanks to the Thai library of smiles.

- yim tak tai: The polite smile, used for strangers

- feun yim: The “I-am-forced-to-smile-even-I-do-not-want-to” smile

- yim cheuat cheuan: The winner’s smile over a rival

- yim tang nam dtah: The truly happy smile

- yim tak tan: The “sorry-you-are-wrong-again” smile

- yim sao: The smile masking sadness or unhappiness

- yim mee lay-nai: The evil smile

- yim cheun chom: The admiring smile

- yim yor: The arrogant smile

- yim mai ork: The forced smile

- yim yair-yair: The smile to apologize and take the heat out of an awkward, embarrassing situation

- yim hairng: The nervous, apologetic smile

- yim soo: The “it-cannot-get-any-worse-therefore-I-better-smile” smile

Read more: http://absolutelybangkok.com/the-thai-smile/#ixzz0fAgo08X4

I'm particularly impressed by the last offering 'yim yor' or the smile that says I'm right and you're wrong.

Anyone who has lived in Thailand has seen that too many times to count, but worse probably didn't recognize it either because they thought that they were so right that they could never be wrong.

Quote of the Day by the Dalai Lama

The basic thing is that everyone wants happiness, no one wants suffering. And happiness mainly comes from our own attitude, rather than from external factors. If your own mental attitude is correct, even if you remain in a hostile atmosphere, you feel happy. H.H. the Dalai Lama

Happiness ala Vietnam

Sometimes you have to share a joke in this modern world, especially if its humor addresses an eternal question.

An American, a Frenchman, and a Vietnamese refugee had a discussion about the happiness of life.

“To me, happiness is returning home on a Monday evening, having a wonderful dinner prepared by my wife, then slouching on the sofa watching Monday Night Football,” the American said.

“You Americans are not romantic at all”, the French injected, “Spending a lovely evening with my lover, walking along the Seine River, and having a romantic dinner on top of the Eiffel tower. That is happiness of life.”

“You call those things happiness”, the Vietnamese said, “then you two still don’t understand life at all. Imagine this. You are sleeping soundly at night in Sai-gon. Suddenly you hear loud knocks on your front door. You hear loud voices, ‘Mr. Nguyen Tuong Van, open the door!’.

Awakened with fear, you rush out and open the door. Right there, you see two secret policemen ready to handcuff you. One man says to you, ‘Mr. Nguyen Tuong Van, you are under arrest for possession of heroin. You are being sent to Changi to be hanged. Sweating profusely and shaking uncontrollably, you reply to them, ‘Comrades, Mr. Nguyen Tuong Van lives next door.’ That moment is the ultimate happiness of life, my friends.