A Very Civil Court

This spring was very rainy in June. Every day was without sun. I was living in a basement and taking the subway to work. I felt like a subterranean, so when the sun finally burst through the clouds I was ready to celebrate. The event was an opening at Miguel Abreau's gallery on Orchard Street. The crowd in attendance was happy with the new weather. Summer was only a week away. We drank Groelsch beer on the sidewalk.

It was the wrong thing to do.

An unmarked police car swerved off the street onto the sidewalk. 3 cops jumped out and told anyone with a beer in their hand to stand aside from the rest. We were issued summons to show our faces at Criminal Court. The summoning officer said it would be a $20 fine.

I missed the date. My excuse? Nothing, so I showed up this last Friday to avoid getting arrested for a more simple offense. The process was quick. No one was a real criminal. Most were for trespassing or open bottle. A few were there thanks to public urination. I've been guilty of that crime thousands of times, but I regarded these offenders as lower than 'open container' violators.

The judge meted out sentences with rapidity. $50 for public urination. $20 for open container. The vast majority of the latter had been drinking Bud or Coors. I was the only miscreant cited for 'Groelsch'.

My fine for this fine beer was $20.

At the pleasure of the court I pleaded guilty.

I guess this goes on my permanent record.

One more blight.

At least it wasn't for drunk and disorderly.

Eating On The Run

No animal eat on the run. Not lions, tigers, or bears. Cows, sheep, and goats meandered as they grazed, but only humans walk and eat at the same time and most of those achieving this dubious goal are Americans. Every morning I share the train with commuters holding hands with a cup of coffee or else stuffing their faces with a bagel. I was probably guilty of the same sin in inetiquette prior, but have cut down the occasions to the rare scarfing down a slice of pizza, when i have to be someplace.

Even I'm not perfect.

We are what we eat and even more so how we eat.

Fast food makes for fast eating makes for fat people.

Sirens of Soi 6 # 4

Oom was not sabaii. Too many farangs came into the bar. They all wanted her. She had already been upstairs 4 times today. 600 baht times 4, plus drinks. Almost 3000 baht. Oom was ready to quit, but the farangs were not interested in any other girls. Only Oom. She speed-dialed her cousin. Ping was long-timed to a German, but he slept most of the day. Oom was sure Ping would want to make more money. She finally realized that most of her older cousin's money went to smoking ja-bah and not taking care of her baby.

Ping did not answer and the fattest farang in the bar came up to her.

"You sexy lady."

"Mai ching." She had heard a hundred farangs say the same thing to every lady in the Chic Car on Soi 6. None of them ever told the truth, but you could not expect the truth from such ugly men who fell for the calls of 'sexy man' from the girls of the Chic Bar.

Fools.

None of them were sexy.

Not like Bird. She loved Bird. He was krung-Thai. Oom knew every word to his song, Kob Jai Jing Jing. People said that Bird was gay. She didn't care. He was only gay because he had never met her. She spun on the bar stool to ask the Mama-San to play this song. Instead the older woman ignored her request and played the stupid farang song HOTEL CALIFORNIA.

I was almost 6 PM. Oom had enough money in her pocket and her pussy was tired. The Chic bar was not her home, but neither was the room her older cousin rented on Soi BauhKhao. Ping's boyfriend didn't start work as a motorsai taxi until 8. Oom didn't like the way he looked at her. It was the same way the old man at the Chic bar was staring at her.

Like he owned her. Oom stood up to go outside. Maybe another girl had ordered ting gai. She loved sucking on the fried chicken feet. Two steps into her retreat the old man grabbed her arm, "Where you going, sexy girl?"

"Go kin khao?" She gently pulled away her arm.

"I like you too much." The old man sounded British. Not German. Not French. They were cheap Charlies. English were good for money. Americans the best and Israelis the worst. Ping had warned her about them.

"Never go long time with an Israeli." Ping told her several stories about the Israelis gang-raping a bargirl. Only on Israeli had asked her to go upstairs. She had said 'no'.

'You like many lady. You big butterfly." Oom spoke good English. Ping told her to speak stupid. Farangs liked their woman stupid.

"You want fly with me?" His breath smelled of rotten teeth.

"No, not tonight. I have period." It was a lie, but only a small one.

"On the rag?" The old man made a face. It was not pleasant. he walked over to another bargirl. She was old as the man. They would go upstairs together. At this point in her career at Chic Bar, she could tell who was having sex with who. Sometimes she wished she didn't have this gift because she knew that other people did to each other. This old man liked something dirty. oom was not a bad girl.

"Yes, I have 'mem'." Most men would steer clear of a lady on the rag.

Some men didn't care and the fat man was one of them.

"See you see you." Oom didn't know what to say, but was happy to be in the outside air.

Sometimes the best thing to say to a farang was no.

At home she could dream of Bird. He was Oom's hero.

Controversy Ends As Lin Ping Is Named National Police Chief

FRESH OFF THE FRONT PAGES OF NOT THE BANGKOK POST

BANGKOK - The political schism that threatened to unravel the Democrat-led coalition came to a happy ending today when Prime Minister Abhisit Vejjajiva announced that Lin Ping, the adorable 12-week-old panda cub who has captured the nation’s hearts, would be the next head of the national police.

“I am pleased to announce Lin Ping as a consensus candidate,” said Abhisit at a news conference this morning. “We all look forward to the fresh perspectives and positive attitude that Lin Ping will bring to the police department.”

The announcement ends speculation that Abhisit’s secretary-general Niphon Prompong, who supported Pol General Jumpol Manmai for the post even after Abhisit had already nominated Pol General Patheep Tanprasert, would resign. Niphon himself appeared at the press conference to confirm his unqualified support for the panda.

“Since his auspicious birth three months ago, Lin Ping has shown an unmatched ability to unify Thais during these troubled times,” he said. “I am confident that he will bring some much-needed credibility to the department.”

The appointment, effective immediately, also puts to rest speculation about former Bangkok governor Apirak Kosayodhin and Bangkok MP Ong-art Klampaiboon taking Niphon’s place in the PM’s office. Political analysts see the move as a shrewd move on Abhisit’s part.

“Lin Ping consistently polls higher in approval ratings than any politician in Thailand ,” said Thammasat political science professor Prapat Thepchatree. “The only surprise is that the panda didn’t hold out for a higher political office.”

Reaction was universally positive. Newly appointed National Intelligence Agency director Suwaphan Tanyuwattana promised to work hard with Lin Ping to root out corruption, while Phue Thai leader Yongyut Wichaidit said he was pleased that the appointment went to someone with a clean background.

“Thailand needs a change from its old-guard politics,” he said, “and the appointment of a 12-week old mute furry mammal as the head of law enforcement is just the kind of social reform that our progressive party stands for.”

Lin Ping declined to answer questions from reporters, but drew thunderous applause when he demonstrated his recently acquired ability to walk.

Naked Man

I was 55 at the funeral of Frank. He had died between the borders. Rolf the bank-robber and I had carried him dead from Cambodia to Thailand. He was cremated behind Pattaya Tai. Rolf and I celebrated his passing on Soi 6.

Beer and sex and a little drugs.

I spotted Mam at a distance.

She had seen me many times before.

She thought me different.

In truth I was only a farang and I proved this time after time, especially at the dinner table

No fried chicken feet for me.

Naked Girls

Ain't it the truth?

Count No Count

Paris - 1982. I'm sitting in a two-story house on Rue de la Tour not far from the Eiiffel Tower. A chic neighborhood as opposed to my top-floor maid's quarters next to the 3e arrondisement prefecture or police station off Rue Reaumur. The walls have been stripped to reveal ancient timbers. Almost like they date from the time of Quasimodo.

I'm renting the 19th century flat from my girlfriend from Avignon. Ex-girlfriend. She's a junkie now like many young Parisiannes. Persia brown. 100 new francs a bag. $20 US. I'm working at the Rex, a nightclub, for the famed counterculture magazine. They have no writing gigs for me. Just work as a doorman, but that's okay. I'm writing a novel about teenage devil worship. onOn page 15. After a month. People tell people that I am a writer, a poet. white wine and writing about teenage devil worship. 30 years ago I was in Paris typing out a Brian ferry interview for a German gangster.

Jorgen.

Playboy of the West.

"Do you want anything?" He asked placing the tape recorder on the table next to my typewriter.

"Just a glass of champagne and a line of coke."

He came back with both and he said later, "That is my idea of a writer."

I was glad to not disappoint him then or now.