Bitch is Back

I thought I cruised through the Jet lag when I woke up at 8am this Friday morning, with a little yawn and a lot of good vibes. I got back into bed at 11 am, following some errands, just to take in the rain falling on ground sound from underneath my old pal the comforter. I woke up at 7 pm, my Friday vaporized.

I am home, with Poodle M as the result of our very serious and very focused prayers that we said in our Taxi to Bangkok Suvarnabhumi International Airport.

We caught a cab at 5:00 am in Bangkok, right outside our hotel. The only thing we noticed as being different was the route to the airport, but the meter seemed on schedule. If this were a NYC cab, I’d have slipped into my bubble of self-absorption and gotten on my phone, or chatted the ride away with Poodle M. But this is a foreign land, and you watch your route, your meter, and your American Nards like an insatiable pitbull hungry for more babies. And that’s why Poodle M noticed that we were going the fastest we’d ever gone on any Thai road at any hour (90 mph), we were in more than one lane for long stretches at a time, and our driver looked as sleep deprived as your bog standard Gitmo Detainee. Could have been drunk, drowsy, or hopped up on goofballs, whatever it was, we each silently wondered which of our friends and family would figure out who hated lilies, and who wanted an open casket, or who would know we were dead at all. I left my car at the shop before we left, would my mechanic eventually sell my car?

The short story is THERE IS A BUDDHA. We prayed and prayed for congestion, maybe a busted spark plug, anything to slow us down. I clapped a few times loudly and we said more prayers. We arrived with no incident.

We agreed to give him money for breakfast or a motel near the airport, or rehab, and he was on the extra money tip way before us. The fare was 230 Baht, I got out to get our bags, Poodle M gave 500, and got back 200. This is another area where guidebooks suck, they have basic phrases in the back, like where is the hotel, but they don’t tell you how to politely say in Thai, “Hey Sleepy, who you think I am Snow White? You better put 70 more Baht in this hand, or this other hand finna get bitchy.” But we did not; I just kept pounding on the trunk, making sure to get our bags before he wrapped the car around the nearest pylon.

(Tipping note: No need to tip taxi drivers, it is a practice to round to the next 5 Baht. Math note: It’s 33 Baht to the Dollar. 300 Baht divided by 33 equals $9.10. Choice note: A pittance by our standards, and money we had planned on giving, only we wanted the option of handing it over, instead of leaving it up to the Mummy to decide his take. Reaming Note: Our first taxi ride from the Airport to our hotel, before we knew anything about anything, was 700 baht, more than twice the average.)

I’d like to thank all the Shankly fans for your visits, emails and comments during my time away from the big desk. I have certainly had a great time taking it all in. I am excited to travel to more far away places that have fewer safety regulations, more street food, excessive pollution, gridlock up the tailpipe, and people who don’t speak my language. [Insert obvious joke about Downtown LA or Pomona here.]

I said I wouldn’t hit the ground running, and so far, I have not made too many telephone calls, definitely have not checked my work email, or contacted my trusted co-workers, Sam and Dawn, and I’m not looking forward to the backlog of emails waiting for me, as well as the shit storm of criticism from my boss about the things I may have let slip through the cracks. Whoops, how did it get to be the future so fast?

It may be a while before I report on the mishaps at work. I know you understand. I will be checking myself into a coma on Monday at about 8:10 am. Send flowers to Poodle M, I like gerbera, peonies and star gazers, no fucked up dyed carnations. Please play Smiths songs by my hospital bed. If you see my right pinky toe twitching, I am singing along on the inside to Half a Person.

It’s nice enough to be back, but I miss our slice of Nirvana. We worked hard to make that slice. Phuket is primarly for Western assholes on their honeymoons with matching flip-flops that imprint JUST MARRIED in the sand. Although our beach was far from perfect, and cluttered with dovey-eyed man/woman combos, we made it ultra pleasant, and I look forward to returning. Poodle M had his books and magazines; I had an iPod borrowed from Kate DeGovia, esq. (You should get her number, she springs people from all kinds of snags). And we had our icy shakes and plenty of purposeless time.

Let me recap, although this was not the Oprah, wildest dreams vacation, this was also not the budget, fresh-faced youth, not-a-tourist, cool backpacking, sharing a bus bench with a chicken, ass strapped to the roof of the train, diarrhea expedition. Our mission was to park it in one or two spots far away from the marriage blinded, do as our lazy asses wanted, and get there in relative comfort and convenience. There are certain cultural, as well as personal conflicts in that, but we decided to put all that ethical mumbo jumbo on the back burner, in favor of barbecues, massages, and taking it way the hell easier than we’ve ever allowed ourselves to. There was no future, and if we did address it, it was around locations of the upcoming meal. Vacation from thinking. Simple.

We made one wrong turn on the scooter, my fault. Our love of buffets headed us to the place that should have had a big banner outside proclaiming HEY WESTERNERS, YOU LIKE THAILAND? COME IN! It was the most expensive dinner we’d had, serving mediocre fare, except for the desserts and this saucy noodle dish. Saucy for sure, I almost took my clothes off it was so good. As with many Phuketeries, we ate under the stars, ocean as backdrop, but this night was special, it was the night they beat tourists over the head with THAI CULTURE.

The dancers came out looking Thai, in fancy dresses, wacky chandelier headgear, and gold gold gold! See? This is THAILAND! This is how we do it! You like? I don’t have photos. It was boring, and if it was authentic, someone in cultural affairs should send out a memo to all dancers and bands to tone it down bro. It was exactly the imagery - dancers in native garb, amazed tourists, torches in the sand, and plenty of seafood dishes - that makes up all Asian airline commercials. I’m glad we finally found it after all this time, now, when a Singapore Airlines commercial comes on during Grey’s Anatomy, I can emphatically point and say, “I’ve been to Asia and it looks just like that. You guys should check it out! It’s cool!”

I loved coconut everything - coconut desserts, cookies, and wafers. I had coconut yogurt twice daily to keep the extrusion machine in good working order and kept cool with coconut ice cream bars, and coconut shakes.

Coconut was my stock flavor, and I also particularly loved the screwball flavored packaged snacks. I had two ice cream bars of note, and I think a strongly worded letter to Good Humor about bringing them here is on the horizon. Good Humor sells in Thailand, an ice cream bar with a Taro Root center, coated in coconut ice milk, and another wacky and disturbingly good one made of coconut ice milk, containing jack fruit, corn, and GREEN BEANS. Green F’n Beans yo, wassup wid dat? I also really enjoyed the nori flavored, as well as the cuttlefish flavored Lays Potato Chips. These would never fly in this country of culinary scaredy cats that anxiously cling to their berry, lemon, and nacho cheese flavor. Wake up and smell the Pad Prik King People.


Tuk Tuks, pictured above are cute and lame. They’re unsafe, they’re open air, they’re unmetered, which means they cost whatever the driver feels like charging you. Taxis, especially the pink ones, were our preferred mode of transit. They are metered and have climate control, which unlike cars in the states where temperature controls go from red to blue, Thai cars go from blue to bluer. It’s how I like em - cheap, pretty, and ice cold.


Our hotel concierge was nice enough to give me a crash course in Thai at 4:30 am, on the morning we arrived. By the middle of our first day, we developed a decent taxi muscle and could easily and confidently tell the driver where we wanted to go, beginning each transaction with our favorite ice breaker, “Hello,” in Thai. Even though we didn’t know much more, this seemed to smooth out the choppy transaction. Poodle M really loved to flex his third learned phrase, How Are You? This usually caught the recipient off guard, and then endeared Poodle M to them, but sometimes they’d answer off book, to which Poodle M could only nod and grin, hoping to hell they didn’t say anything like, “I’m fine, Is that a stick of pork sate up your ass?”

Our visit was too short. As I wrote in previous posts, the smell is disquieting, the smiles are mysterious, and you’re going to get reamed, but hey you’re in Thailand, where the food is absurdly delicious, the water is jewel colored and warm, and you can get knock off anything.



*****

Final Notes – Hit or Miss

Hit: Spray hose attached to our toilet. The importance of this bears no explanation.

Miss: And you’ll be sorry.


Hit: Ultra amazing street food on sticks, in banana leaves, deep fried, steamed, flogged, what have you.

Miss: No pesky health codes to get in the way of you and your salmonella, hepatitis, worms, mouth lice, what have you.


Hit: $5 Thai massages every 20 yards.

Miss: Not your pampering spa day, but more like something you’re nice Thai cousin would do for you while watching TV or listening to his/her favorite Asian music, under fluorescent lights of course.


Hit: INSANELY low prices on knock off anything.

Miss: You touch it, you buy it. And if you put it even close to your body, and you don’t buy, you may have this happen to you – Skinny ass vendor wielding a calculator chasing you down the alley screaming 100! 100! OK 100! How you like that GIRL? LADY! YOU LADY! LADY! YOU GIRL!! On second thought, don’t even look. Looking is the same as buying.


Miss: Un-marked prices on all goods sold on the street.

Hit: Say nothing while the vendor yam yam yammers on about authenticity and suddenly a 3000 baht Breitling watch knock off can be yours for only 700 bhat. Translation – a watch that normally sells for $5,000.00 in its genuine form, starts off at the Night Bazaar for $90, and with no negotiation of your own, just by looking at the watch with one eye open, it can be yours for $21. The getting is good here my friends.


Hit: Fake Louis Vuitton purse for $60.

Bigger Hit: Fake Fake Louis Vuitton purse for $6. Why is this better? You’d be the only one in your tri-county area sporting a genuine Louis purse that closes with a Gucci clasp.


Not a hit, never, ever: Tourists in corn rowed weaves.


Hit: Our abode.


Hit: The view from our window.


Miss: Our window.


Hit: In line water heater.


Miss: Shower and Toilet in one.


Miss: Toilet paper as silicone caulking.


Hit: Our Beach

Miss: Our bathroom drain, and all drains empty the soapy water and other grime into a small stream, into a larger stream, right into our beach.



Click for more

Hits

Misses

Don't Bring Me Down

You might ask, why does it always cost more and take way more time to get anything done? If you’re in the US of A, one answer is safety. Safety regulations, these blasted little rules pretty much bog down any project, any undertaking, any activity, such as construction, parking, driving, hang gliding, starting a forest fire. You name it, there is a book of safety regulations that the man uses to take away your spontaneity, your own special know how, your fun, your everything. And the other answer is the law. There’s always someone ready to sue you for all your worth, so you better take your time and follow the law, follow the safety rules, waste all this extra money on BIG GOVERNMENT just to cover your ass in case someone sips on your fresh hot coffee too fast.

Not so in Thailand. Safety is cool, but who needs it if it’s going to slow growth. This is a country on the move and the people ain’t gonna stop for some man with a clipboard.

Got no delivery truck? No problem pile in, and bring your 500 lbs of green vegetables with you. You’re probably better off barefoot any way, it keeps you cool in this heat.


Like Shankly said, we are on the move and we got no time for that guy to fix the platform. That's why we keep ropes and buckets.


You’d think all these trinkets would impede my vision, they actually improve my vision. They tell me how hard and fast this mofo is turning, and I adjust throttle and brake as necessary, it's what we call TVSC - THAI Vehicle Skid Control.


It’s only a fire hazard if someone is smoking near all these extension cords.


The ever evolving miracle of cinderblock. Not just for shelving anymore.


Ahh, the bus is for assholes anyway, and I just hate getting harassed by crazy homeless people.

Can I get a HUH?

The alley diner is set back from the street, blocked by the fruit stand pictured above. Not many foreigners know that there is a kitchen behind the stand. One adventurous woman from the States broke through the fruit barrier, walked up to the cook and asked if he had any Thai iced tea. The cook answered yes.

I found that YES is the go to answer here, and then later on in the transaction, as this lady found out, they actually mean “HUH?” I know, because I made the same folly in Bangkok. I asked for Thai iced tea, the person replied a hearty and confident yes, because she was planning on serving me Lipton tea with ice, in Thailand – Thai iced tea, you dumb, obvious American fuck.

“No no,” I clarified, “THAI, iced tea. You know, it’s thick, it’s rich, has milk in it?”

First I got question face, then deeper question face, thinking face, and then the final face, just slightly more contorted, and then “HUH?”

And just as the lady did, I resigned, “well, never mind. Is OK. One soda water please?”

*****

In the months leading up to this trip, I tried to learn Thai by using the Rosetta Stone online language course. I didn’t find it optimal for my learning style. I know what boy is, and maybe a cat, and a plane, but outside of that, I’m pretty much Helen Keller. And I feel ashamed. It’s bad enough that I am among the hoards of tourists who treat this place like our personal fantasy rag. I feel terrible that Thais can't enjoy their own beaches because they are sullied by outsiders like me who can't focus on anything past their coconut drinks.

I only learned to count a few days ago, courtesy our friends at Ace Massage. Just understanding the numbers has made all the difference and I see that I have short changed myself and have missed out on the kinds of interactions that I love – making people feel heard and understood, making people laugh with just a simple phrase. If only I could say in Thai, “Take my wife…Please!” I would have so many people in stitches, or they’d get me a newer, better, bride than the current battle axe I haul around. Either way, we’d have a connection deeper than how much? and is there a discount?

We found a way to communicate with our new friends through sharing pictures on our digital camera, and we strained with each, supplementing with a great deal of exaggerated gesticulation and charades.

They giggled when I showed them pictures of the crap sold at local markets.

They blushed when we got to the underwear laid out like omelets on a buffet table.

And they all laughed at my photo of the toilet hose, each one making the same, spray in the butt gesture.

I was able to explain my love and appreciation for the spray hose attached to most toilets, and I was also able to explain with the help of my stellar spoken mime skills, “In Amereeka NO HOSE. Just paper.”

And they looked at me as if I swallowed a live Toucan.

“No water? Only paper?”

“Yes! Paper”

And then the inevitable, “HUH?”

I just couldn’t say more. Couldn’t elaborate on western cultural imperatives and our connoisseurship of toilet paper versus the Asian model for rectal cleanliness. It would have been a perfect opportunity to ask if that hose is the reason why Thai’s don’t shake hands upon meeting. I bet that if I had better language skills, we would have gotten past the Huh and dove right into Oprah Talk. But all I got was a lot of head shaking disbelief.

Damn the language barrier.

P.S. For the record, I learned on Monday night that the drink known in the States as Thai iced tea is known and ordered locally as Thai Milk Tea, and it’s not that popular.

Breathe In and Ahhh

At any point in this blog, please feel free to contact any one of the remaining U.S. Airline companies and let the bosses know that they are nothing but a gang of fuckheads set out to ruin the mystque of air travel.

Thank you.

We are currently waiting to board our flight from Phuket to Bangkok in the Bangkok Airways passenger lounge, OPEN TO ALL BANGKOK AIRWAYS PASSENGERS. No, it's not a water cooler with Thai TV Guides, it's a perfect sanctuary from all the air travel bullshit loaded with delicate snacks, Thai iced tea on tap, beverage-ola, and free Internoodle access. There were no lines to hassle with, just speedy movement from checkpoint to checkpoint. This is perhaps the most civilized way to fly.

Fuck Delta and all its friends on expedia.com.

Ad Infinitum Ad Nauseum

Around here, more is better, and why the hell not?

These two photos are the only two that can be uploaded from this internet cafe and I've been sweltering here for an hour while the windows hourglass taunts me.

I cruised into an outdoor market for more of the same treatment. Hey, come in! You like nail polish? What you like? Mac or Bobbi Brown?

Yeah, I dig nail polish, I use it when I get a run in my stockings.

Sun is particularly hot today. Everytime I park the scooter, like seagulls who smell french fries on the beach, lounging shop keepers stand to, and approach me carefully, offering more bespoke pinstripe pants, plastic garbage, and other wares no human really needs.

We saw this white guy earlier wearing a shirt printed in Thai and in English, proclaiming the following:

NO I DON'T NEED
A SUIT
A TAXI
OR A MASSAGE
THANK YOU VERY MUCH

I think the same thing, but only a true douche bag would wear a plum colored shirt with that printed on the front and back.

You can view some of today's photos here

http://www.flickr.com/photos/21189289@N02/

*****

We did not eat at our alley diner this morning. We had a bit of a pow wow last night about feeling ripped off for only a few Baht by the cook, and we agreed that there were probably better places out there, that would be just as good and cheap, and also less likely to be performing alchemy with the orange juice. Better to stop now before I get garlic powder in my OJ.

We went instead to the Danish bakery for a more traditional western breakfast that included fresh baked bread. We got eggs, bacon, ham, potatoes, a bread basket, tea, and some kind of orange juice that seemed a little whiz banged. It was not deep orange in color, like regular Shogun orange juice, and it tasted a little like Five Alive. It was good, but I couldn't place it.

Our proprietress, Lucky, went on to explain that two days before yesterday, a man she identified as one of three Danish Mafioso, laying low in Phuket, just around the corner, kicked the crap out of a dog that had wandered in to the restaurant. The dog wandered in and the diners seemed to all enjoy its visit, feeding it and petting it, but Den Danske Mafioso did not concur. Lucky said that the guy kicked the dog so hard, it flew into the street. Not cool, and she went onto say that she kicked him out making sure to say "Fuck" a few times for good measure. In her retelling, she giggled each time she repeated the expletive. The dog belonged to someone down the street and has not been seen since.

Dey not come here no more. Ip dey come, I know his face, I say, no more, you turn around, you no allowed come to dis place, fuck, hehehe hehehe no. Dats what I say to heem.

This kind of directness, this is the shit I can go for. You know where you stand with Lucky. If she is smiling, it's because she's down with your jive, and she'll let you know when she's not. Now if they could only stop fucking with the orange juice.

Keep Smiling, Keep Shining

I don't like to feel correct about my suspicions of certain smiling bastards, but I think, sadly, that we won't be returning to our alley diner. It seemed that our kitchen master was peeved yesterday that we didn't leave a big tip, but instead left our usual. Let me make this more clear - There was some confusion on our team as to the size and amount of the currency, he thought I was handing over the whole wad, but I took some back, and then I also left an additional tip on the table. When he didn't get the wad, he made a pouty sour ugly whiny tantrum bad cheerleader face, which I didn't see, because it was blocked by my big dumb hat. Poodle M caught it and noted it.

Today, we were presented with a whopping bill, much more than we'd ever paid, and since there is no printed menu, as that would be the obvious and fair thing, we had to fork over the extra cash. Didn't feel good. But man was that a pretty smile that he gave us.

Here is the other thing around here that I have a hard time with - very little consistency. I noticed that at our diner, some days they put sugar and water in the OJ, yesterday it was salt, today, nothing, just ice. You can't count on shit here, just like Trader Joe's. The other day, I crossed a road block because someone had earlier moved a concrete pylon just enough so that minivans could squeeze by. Me and my tiny scooter cruised on by just as the rest, because why the hell not? No one said not to, they just closed the road for no apparent reason, and no one seemed to mind even though there were traffic cops on duty. Same rules apply on the road, some days it's open, some days it's closed. You can take it or leave it. I took it, and it didn't pay off. I had to head all the way back to the road block and take a circuitus route back to Patong, where Mad Max goes for ashram. But I digress.

Just now, this loud Italian was blocking the entry to the internet place, smoking with his fat ass plugging the stairs. Don Smoke-o didn't move, so the proprietress had to get out of her chair and then she smiled and giggled and ha ha ha ha pointed ever so coyly, oh please, giggle wiggle, you move, please, no smoke, he he he he he so sorry. I just watched the woman in awe. Hard to know what the hell is going on in there.

*****

Other note - Poodle M and I just had the nicest little dinner at a Danish Bakery. Such a nice break to have actual bread and real salami, with milkshakes. That definitely put a smile on our faces, the real kind.

Giggle is the New Black

I'm wondering if the Thai people are just a bunch of smiley faced passive aggressive bastards this side of the international dateline. They call this place the land of smiles, and to be frank, I have a difficult time with the all smiles all the time routine. We've been ripped off by a lot of smiling people, which leaves me to wonder about this friendly veneer and all of this prayer pose bowing.

We go to this alley every morning for breakfast. The cook, a lady boy often sporting a billowing blouse, greets us with the biggest smile, as we delight in one of our two Thai Phrases - Sawadee Khrap! Helllloo! Hellloo! We all say to each other, but immediately he turns to his right and starts murmuring in Thai, using the same kind of face you might don when shoveling elephant shit out of your bed.

Hard to know. Poodle M suggested we hire an interpreter to sit next to us, but pretend he or she is also a foreigner, just so we can understand the shit talking.

And they just giggle. When all else fails, giggle. Massage too hard? he he he!

We don't understand each other so I've taken to slipping in non sequiturs like, This is a great dish, I masturbated all over myself this morning. I smile hugely and wait for the giggle.

Daily Grind

So I've told you about Patong, and about the smell, and I've noted my suspicions re all the smiling, but I have not yet mentioned to you about the little paradise on earth that Poodle M and I are carving out here in Kata Noi.

I wasn't exaggerating about the daily massage. This usually comes close to the end of the day, and for about $10 including tip - that's when we're going up town.

We have spent the last several days by waking up when we can't stay in bed any longer. It doesn't matter that there are birds, barking dogs, or construction going on, we get up when we feel like it, and that is usually after a good 9 hour sleep period.

We head off to our diner in the alley that none of the tourists dare enter. It's a ramshackle rig with a series of portable cookstoves. They have two plastic tables and some plastic chairs. Decor a la poverty. They know our order and giggle every time we say it. Kao Koog Ka Pi - Rice fried in shrimp paste, served with fried egg, pork, chilis, shredded green mango, shallots, cucumbers, and maybe pineapple. And a glass of fresh squeezed Shogun orange juice.

Today, I tasted salt in my juice and I bolted to the lady, "hey there's salt in my juice."

After some back and forth I realized she was saying, "yes, I know, I put some in it, that's what makes it taste so good! DUH!"

And she was right, but Poodle M didn't think so. His point to me was that I hated it when I thought it was a mistake, but came to love it when I found out it was deliberate. No matter, I came here to learn and so far, I have found that sometimes salt in the OJ is just what the Thai doctor ordered.

We log our expenses as we wait for our food, scratch our heads at how quickly the money is going, then realize it's all so cheap. We gather snacks for our long day at the beach, which is only a few steps from our door. I get coconut yogurt, Poodle M gets coconut wafers, then we seal the deal with water and some kind of fruit.

Cruise out to the beach with our towels, pay the $3 beach chair fee and we hang out all day. At some point, one of us orders up sandwiches and blended drinks. So far, my vote is for the ice blended young coconut in its own juice, served in its own shell. Poodle M seems to favor the pineapple shake.

We must remain vigilant about sunscreen. I got a bad sun burn two days ago just from being under the umbrella. Poodle M reads his books, I groove on the iPod. We carry on like this until late afternoon. Go in, wash off, get dinner and a massage.

We aren't spending lavishly, but this is hardly that shoestring budget, reggae on the river, dirty asshole dreadlock, back packing tour. Last night, during my foot massage, I came to realize that my life in the last few years may have been spent in preparation for this vacation. I have never treated myself this well, and I don't think I would have been able to do this a few years ago.

We can't stay here forever, and I wouldn't want to. The bathrooms suck, I'm a walking mosquito buffet, but the coconuts drinks are ice cold, the water is warm and the massages are almost free. Poodle M is a fantastic companion and stalwart navigator. All in all, this is one of the loveliest times I've ever had.

Hell so Close

We've decided to hunker down in Kata Noi, a little seaside hamlet near the south tip of the island. The rest of the place looks like the bloated, cancerous version of Las Vegas with a lot of Blade Runner thrown in.

There is no middle ground in Thailand. You are either in the lap of luxury or you're eating shit. Our quest is to find our own quiet middle ground. So far, that means stinky toilets and bad mattresses.

Last night we rode the scooter on a slightly harrowing trip to Patong, birthplace of the Devil. It's right hand drive here, so it can be a challenge to remember that the left lane is the slow lane, and much more of a challenge when you are sharing your lane with a mobile fruit stand on your left and a propane truck on your right, on a winding mountain road. Do what you feel, and the others might accommodate you, that is the rule.

I can't emphasize enough how the guidebooks understate how truly disgusting this place is. They might note that "Patong is the least attractive of the beach communities because it's so overdeveloped." But they should really say, that Patong is quite a unique place because it's the only known region in the world where you can get Street Herpes.

You see a great deal of older white guys wining and dining young Thai women. It's a douchebag's paradise. There is a great deal of shouting going on at all times. Shouting to get you to watch some kick boxing, or a ping pong show. High rise hotels next to shacks, upscale shopping centers boasting mega tall pink christmas trees serving as the backdrop for countless rows of designer knockoff stands.

The food is fantastic everywhere in Thailand, particularly on the streets. So far, we have enjoyed numerous snacks that I have never tasted before at laughably cheap prices. And the other thing that happens on the streets are the endless siren calls to get thee to a drinkery; or to a tailor, or to a massage, or to an optician. These are the main businesses here after food vendors. And it is impossible not to be harassed when trying to get from dinner to your motorbike.

Five or six ladies will all scream Hello! Where are you from? You like girl? Or boy? My friend! bondage show, Kahm in!

My friend! My friend! How about some nice pants? Hilfiger Yes? I make you good deal.

I carry around hand santizer, but it never quite cleanses my soul.

After dinner, our waiter recommended that we seek post dinner entertainment at the Paradise Hotel complex, code for the gay area, and also what puts the Gay in gay. I hate saying that, but there was no queer pride here, just a lot of closet case westerners screeching into 50, hanging with local twinks born after Duran Duran's lesser selling album, Big Thing was released. Again, hand sanitizer did not cleanse my soul.

In keeping with our one massage per day rule, Poodle M (Boyfriend's codename for the sake of blogginess) and I walked into FAITH. As I noted earlier, no middle ground in Thailand, which meant this knocked us squarely in the land of eating shit. We were each assigned an indifferent "therapist", mine more so than Poodle M's, in fact, I was perturbed that mine was as short as a night stand, and angry as hell. They escorted us up a dark staircase, inside of which Poodle M said freely aloud, I guess this is where they kill us. They took him away to shower, I got undressed in my little room while the guy waited alongside me. It wasn't the worst massage, but I was distracted that he didn't wash his hands, and that he sounded like a troll.

Time up, you get up now. Here is water.

I faked a drink, he then told me to shower. Just pointed to the back. Poodle M was already back in the one shower, having just completed his lackluster massage. So I got in with him. They didn't even give me a towel so I borrowed his, but I had to walk back to my room naked. No one even cared, and I just held my breath and laughter until we got way the fuck far away.

Patong is the bad David Lynch dream sequence that has no end. As we tried to gather our thoughts, we of course had to walk through gauntlet after gauntlet of bars and the crazy faced personnel hired to move your money from your wallet to the bar.

Last I checked it wasn't fleet week, but here we were, sailors in a foreign land. The walk to the bike was long, I felt like we were batting away all kinds of walking talking bullshit invitations to see some kind of lame show. They make things out here to be racier than they really are. It's as if a bunch of 8 year olds got a hold of porn for the first time, and they make a really big deal about it, guaranteeing a mind blowing experience, only to show you what you may have already seen on the internet for free.

We got on the bike, and since there was no way to the main road, but to go back through the gauntlet of bullshit, we had no choice but to stick together on the bike, through the crowds, engine revving, parting the sea of crap ahead of us, and we made our way back home. So the guidebooks will tell you how overdeveloped it is, and that it's not as cozy as it could be, I just want you to know, just to save you a lot of time, Fuck Patong.

Smells Like Thai Spirit

Before I carry on about nothing, I need to tell you two important things:

1. I can't tell what day it is, therefore, all that crap I spewed about Sunday being the worst day doesn't matter for this moment. I am truly on vacation.

2. I love this place entirely. In a minute I might complain about a few things, but I need you to remember how much of a good time we are having here and I'm not thinking about the Douchebag Alliance. So yes, for the record again, I AM TRULY ON VACATION and I'm digging it.

****

Two possible scenarios strike me as I write this: 1) I may not have read the right travel publication and/or 2) These fucking books leave out critical details like THIS PLACE, MUCH LIKE MANY OTHER COUNTRIES OF THIS TYPE, HAS THE BEST AND WORST SMELLS YOUR BODY CAN INHALE.

In notes that I've written to others, I state that there are three main odors that fill the swampy air - Boogers, Diesel Exhaust, Lemongrass. I don't have the guide book here with me, but I remember becoming filled with romance and fantasy when reading any of the entries in either one of our books, plus getting a little listless reading the endless Shine-o-la found on the internet about Thailand being beautiful. It's truly gorgeous. And to take Thailand in is like making out with a beautiful princess who had been chewing on smoked cod for about an hour before your makeout session. You just hope that the smell of her hair can counteract the sewer in her mouth.

You're grossed out? You should be.

It seems to me that guide books often make it a point to omit the disgusting odor factor in their reviews. I spend my days congested, that I can smell anything at all is a miracle so you think I wouldn't be bothered by it. I just wonder why no review I've read let's you in on the dirty secret. We know the Princess is hot, and we all want a piece of her, but for fucks sake, what's wrong with telling us about how bad she smells?

The books go to great lengths to let you know how to get somewhere, who to expect there, how much things will cost, where to get a hooker, and how long she'll love you, but they don't note in the cute legend about the smell.

Our sweet room in Bangkok, in Silom was just right for us. Picture perfect. Close to everything, super quiet, incredibly cheap internet access, the best free breakfast I've ever had, fresh squeezed shogun orange juice, service with ten thousand smiles, and a room that smelled like the ashtrays at your grandpa's favorite shoe store.

Our room had a no smoking sticker on the door, but maybe that was just for decor, and the kid who did that ran out of Hello Kitty stickers, so she found the next closest thing.

The sewers are just a few inches underfoot covered by removable, vented concrete slabs. So you'll be walking, enjoying your sate on a stick that you got for about 30 cents, or maybe some of that exotic shogun orange juice, and then boom, you'll get a gust of warm, grey brown smelling, air that could vaporize Marilyn Monroe's skirt, pubes, and possibly some lower internal organs. Not good.

Diesel is king here which means when I get back, I'm going to lease an iron lung.

Today on my scooter adventure from our little town Kata Noi, to Phuket town, then to Patong, I got stuck behind several different stench parties on wheels, the least of which was the Thai Trash Truck. I slowed down to let it ahead of me, way the fuck ahead of me, only to be passed by the Thai Pig Truck. There's a lot going on here in the Kingdom of Siam.

So that leaves the food smells. These are perhaps the best smells ever. If you can think it, they can fry it and they make it smell so good, that you just may want to eat snake dick. Haven't seen it yet, but I'm sure it exists. Beyond fried, you can get steamed rice snacks, baked whatever balls, limbs on skewers, glasses and bottles filled with rainbow antifreeze colors. The fruit stands are rediculously cornucopic and everyone here gets danbgerously close to hurling food at you as you pass by. In our taxi, our driver reached out his hand, for what I thought was to check the weather, and boom, two bags of fried yams, and bananas land in his hand for 67 cents. This is the land of cheap miracles.

So when you add it up the odor stew can be a bit much, going from sweet smelling fried bananas, to some boy's undies that have seen neither water nor light in a fortnight. It would be helpful to know this don't you think? Or maybe it's just assumed that you're in Bangkok buddy, the world's your oyster, and you know what those smell like.

Out of Office Reply

Dearest Shankly Readers,

If you were wondering why I haven't been logging my usual sarcastic reports from the office, it's because it's a little difficult to do it from the Beaches of Phuket.

My shit, and the rest of me is on vacation with the beloved until the end of the month. I will try to report to you from the ground here at Phuket as time and internet connections permit.

Please stand by for reports of this land.

For now, I will tell you this - we've been getting ripped off, but we're quickly racking up the anti-rip off skills. The food here is fantastic. Hot and humid here means that the organism I once referred to as my hair, is actually a sleeping giant, rising and expanding by the minute. I'm beaded in sweat, my hair has taken over my head - I don't look good.

The mosquito bites on my arm make it look as though my arms have developed little nipples.

The beach looks like it fell off a post card rack. There are no emails to check. No memos to scoff at, just sleeping, eating, and daily massages.

I will keep you posted. I promise. Hard to type here as I'm sweating up a storm.

Wish you were here.

Yours Very Truly,

Employee835

Both Sides Now (or not)

When Management sends a memo, we read with total delight and wonder because no one is as good as the ruling body of any organization at serving up delicious, steaming piles of white hot bullshit. I have retained this memo in its original form changing only the names of the individuals to protect their sad identities.

Date: 11/8/2007

To: All Staff

From: Management

Re: Personnel Changes

Due to the increased responsibilities of the Production Department, John Mellencamp has been transferred to the Production Office to assist with daily operations, administrative duties, and manufacturing process controls. His knowledge, skills, and abilities will continue to provide the support that is needed.

Real Story – This guy John Mellencamp did not get along with his boss, Mr. Angrypants. One partner, operating on Mellencamps's behalf offered Mellencamp a position on a different team headed by Steve Earl, months ago, but Mellencamp balked for reasons that defy logic and decided to tough it out. On a recent business trip with that partner, Mr. Angrypants gave the partner an earful about Mellencamp. When the partner returned from the trip, he was eager, very eager to fire Mellencamp on the spot, but his trusted go-to person, Joni Mitchell, the author of this memo, intervened and helped to create another position in the company, on the spot, to save Mellencamp's ass, because she thought he was worth saving.


We regretfully announce that Karen Carpenter has accepted a position elsewhere, and as of Thursday, Nov. 15th will no longer be employed by Abercrombie & Fitch. Karen has played a vital role in the development and progression of [certain special] projects, on top of being an engaged and valuable Abercrmobie team member in general. We thank her for everything she’s contributed and wish her the very best in her future endeavors.

Real Story - After being jacked around longer and harder than any porn production would ever demand, Karen Carpenter found a job that was a) closer to home, and be b) run by actual business people. Her vital role had been down played several times despite her own efforts to succeed so she said fuck it, fuck you, my shit is outta here.

Beginning Monday, November 12, Jerry Springer will join Steve Earl’s team and assume Karen's responsibilities.

We appreciate everyone’s continued support during this transitional time.

Real story – Jerry Springer and John Mellencamp worked under Mr. Angrypants. Springer asked to be moved another team/department citing a hostile work environment. The company hemmed and hawed. On the day that John Mellencamp was removed and relocated Jerry Springer made his case again, only stronger. With the help of Joni Mitchell, Springer was relocated to an equally dysfunctional team, but hey, it's better than unemployment.

Lesson: Don't fuck with Joni Mitchell.

No Brainer

We have this guy here, Murray, whom we rely on for all of our materials and services, which means everything, and this guy has ZERO urgency in his blood stream. I’m not sure if I’d like to be more like him, or just plain kill him.

You could be screaming, “MURRAY! A bunch of jihad guys have me hostage here, and one of them has an AK-47 up my ass with a fresh clip, and they are ready to pull the trigger, what is the FEDEX tracking number for that package? I NEED IT NOW OR THEY ARE GONNA BLOW MY ASS THROUGH MY OWN BRAINS!”

Humming Do the Hustle, he would say, “All righty. I’ll get that for you in a minute. Computer is slow today. Hope they’re not in a rush. Huh huhuh.”

(Humming resumes)
Do do do dodo dodo do do (4x)
Do the Hustle!

Sam asked me to draw a picture of how I felt inside.

Ruby Poosday

I just made an enormous mistake.

Someone left a big pink box of delightful Latin American pastries in our office. I took a big messy bite of the guava cheese pastry, expecting strawberry, so I was a tad surprised when the guava/B.O. taste kicked in. It was so messy that I got it all over my hands, and while still eating, I walked into the bathroom, on the heels of someone who had just taken the hugest, stinkiest, dead babies in the Ganges, dump.

Why couldn’t I just wait or go to the kitchen instead? Who ever heard of eating in a public restroom?

Bad call.

What We Don't Know About You

Dearest Mr. Shankly Fans,

You live in:

Los Angeles
New York
San Francisco
Washington State
Davis, CA
London
Vienna
Tokyo
Singapore
Taiwan
Bialystok, Poland
Anakra, Turkey
Bergamo, Italy
Indonesia
Malaysia
Philadelphia
Las Vegas
Delray Beach
Chicago
to name a few locales


In our efforts to better serve you, we have been stalking each of you. We are world citizens after all and we at Mr. Shankly just wanted to know where OUR dogs were at.

We still don't know where all of our dogs are, but we know know the following about you:

You prefer to visit Mr. Shankly on Mondays.

Mornings are your favorite time to visit, particularly between 10am-noon.

Someone in Washington loves us. And we can only guess that that someone also likes to hop the border into Idaho.

Someone in London loves us, and you too in Vienna. We are crazy about you.

You rarely visit on Sundays. Maybe your church doesn't have wireless.

You seem to like the wet look.

One of you found our site by googling the keywords, CHLOROFORM KIDNAP. Bravo! I don't know how you did it. Try it, it's impossible to find us this way. Too many Chloro-sex websites.

Some of you find Shankly comforting.

Some of you fear Shankly. You want to be on Shankly's good side, but you don't quite know how. Here's how - send us an email or comment.

Some of you let Shankly boss you around and abuse you, and you always say you're going to leave, but when Shankly comes by with a box of Russel Stover Chocolate Covered Cherries and a mini-teddy bear, you forget about all the pain and you stay. Good.

Some of you might think it's creepy that we know this about you, but how would we would we show that we cared? We don't actually know much, Google Analytics is pretty vague if you are getting the free version as we are.

Thank you so much for giving us a reason to be on the internet other than scanning Craigslist Missed Connections for our almost brushes with fate.

We love you all, we appreciate your visits and when Shankly Swag arrives, we will be sure to send you our branded therapeutic Koosh Balls and other Shankly approved stress reducers.