All Aboard for the Big Mango: A Primer*

The Big Mango! Bangkok – the cultural, economic, and political heartbeat of Thailand – the capitol of the Kingdom of Smiles. Suvnubarmi Airport is a major air hub in South-East Asia, hundreds of flights arrive everyday from everywhere. With this many flights per day, you can fly at a discount from anywhere and arrive here. And the Big Mango has something exciting and exotic to entice everybody and every budget.

If you have a comfortable or perhaps (softly) a big budget you are in the taxi line to slip of to Silom or Sukhumvit Roads where the hotels are grand, shiny and brand name. But if your budget does not include tipping bell boys and hushed piano bars in the lobby then you are in the bus line, waiting for the AE2. Next stop, Banglumpoo!

Banglumpoo means, of course, the world renowned Khaosan Road area. Everyone has hear of it or seen it on a major movie screen but until you have walked through the crush of tourists and locals, bathed in neon, heard all the languages and smelled it all, you can’t have known anything about it at all. Time has ticked here as it has everywhere. Throughout the area there are new upscale boutique hotels, many with swimming pools. But if you keep your hand on your wallet and wander down some of the smaller sois you can still find some of the original wooden structure guesthouses of the days of your, hidden for the discerning, at surprisingly low prices.

Here you have been in the Big Mango for hours and no one has even once mentioned food. And Thai food is vaunted as the best in the world by many. For the homesick and the hopeless, rest assured, you can still find your tasteless mess of mass produced branded fast food. But if you crave more, something exotic, there are scads of things, steamed, fried, or barbequed waiting for you on the street. Do not cringe. No street stall on Khaosan Road has ever been closed by an E. coli outbreak like some major (sic) restaurants in the west have been. And if chicken, pork, noodles, vegetables and fresh fruit do not meet your definition of exotic you can always crunch a kilo of deep-fried crickets.

Night and light. There are a multitude of bars, indoors, best in rainy season, on the streets and in hidden corners to sit, sip and swap stories. Or if you dance: metal, house, techno, garage, hip hop boom and bounce in the many crowded clubs. Live music ranges from easy/fold t spontaneous street jams, to the famous blues bars in the area.

Here you are a short walk from the most famous of the sights to see in Bangkok: Wat Po, the opulent Grand Palace, and the jewel of jewels, the Emerald Buddah at Wat Phra Kheo. And with a short ride across the river you visit Wat Arun, the Temple of the Dawn, and the oldest temple in Bangkok.

Shopping? The Big Mango has shopping. And if the t-shirts, jewelry, clothing, shoes, sunglasses, music, souvenirs, and what not in Banglumpoo car not enough for you, worry not. China town, Siam Square, Sukhumvit Road, and Phat Phong are easily accessible from Khaosan Road by bus, by taxi or by river ferry to connect with the Skytrain to get you where you are going. Beware of road transportation during rush hours though; the Big Mango can have traffic problems.

And there is more, so much more to Bangkok, far too much to see or do in a short stay. To understand Bangkok you have to return. Or you could just stay longer as so many who arrived before you will recommend.

*  should you dare

The Going

One of the most important aspects of working abroad is making sure that your visa is always valid and up to date, it is also one of the biggest hassles that you will deal with will working in a foreign country. It is far more important to not have visa trouble than it is to be abroad without a job.

Problems arise as countries have many different visa levels. There are tourist visas, non-immigrant visas, long stay visas, work visa, business visas. The visa list is endless. Each visa costs a different amount and is valid for different lengths of stay inside the country you are traveling to. So the first hurdle is to know what your length of stay is. The second is paying attention to your entry stamp which also gives your exit date.

Most people looking for work abroad enter the country on a tourist visa. This is the best way to find out if you would like to live in the country. The visa that you were issued in your home country may indicate that it is valid for three months and many just assume that is the case. What they have missed is that the visa is valid for entry into the country for that three month period but this three months is not for the duration of your stay. That is shown with the entry stamp. Many have made the above assumption and found themselves in very hot water at the end of the three months.

And the hot water can be very hot. If you overstay your visa time you have to pay, cash money, and there is a fixed amount of cash that is to be paid for every day you have overstayed. A reader called himself lucky enough, with a small but seemingly mandatory cash incentive to the border guard, to make a phone call and have the money (a large amount) sent to him but if the time to get the money exceeded two hours he was off to jail. A hot room, now windows, a locked door, and no room to pace and nothing to do but pace.

And if this becomes you, you have to pay your cash money immediately. There is never the opportunity to go back to where you were staying and wait for money to be sent from where ever it is that money comes from. You will not leave the border station without paying or you will go to jail and have to try to work things out from the inside of a foreign prison. Not the easiest thing to do. And while you are worrying about the situation you are in the fine increases everyday by the daily rate.

The overstay rates vary and are changed without notice at the whim of the government so be aware of this if you are in the situation where you do owe money. For example in Thailand the present overstay is 500 baht per day, about $15, but in China it is 500 RMB per day, which is about a whopping $80. The fines must always be paid in local funds as well.

Overstay can be expensive, embarrassing in the first moments if you have no cash in your pocket, and devastating if you end up locked behind bars in an immigration jail. And be assured, immigration jail in any country is not a nice place. Always stay on track with your visa dates.

Dope 2

 

Marijuana use leads directly to heroin use!

This was the watchword of the 60's and 70's. And this had to be true because you could read it in the newspaper every week in Ann Landers agony aunt column. Over and over the suburban parents of North America were bombarded with this wisdom doled out by a woman who had probably never seen the bad weed nor the dreaded white powder. She knew it was true, probably because someone had told her so. But this great soothsayer probably had no idea exactly how difficult it was to actually score wacky tobacky in most suburban areas.

You had to know someone who knew someone that could give you all the code words and precise locations and timing for a seconds long clandestine meeting to pass the grass. In those days it could take you hours to track down a dime bag. Also at that time rolling your own cigarettes was something frowned upon, reserved for the poor, so if some young, healthy buck wheeled into the corner store and wanted to buy cigarette papers that kid was immediately suspect. It was a tough job to get a little high then. And if it was so hard just to score a little pot it is no stretch of the imagination to know that heroin would be impossible to get. Heroin was looked upon as a 'foreign' high. You would definitely have to go to another country to get it. But why would that be considered? Pot was the perfect high.

Time has passed and marijuana is still almost as hard to find now as it was then. But on every street corner there are a variety of designer drugs openly available on every street corner.

With the passage of time just about everyone has met a junkie. Heroin is everywhere and it is much cheaper than it ever was. Now having known many junkies, living next door to the Golden Triangle assured this, and asked and made many observations this has been discovered: heroin users do not smoke pot. The simple reason for this is that the drugs operate on different brain functions. There are no sensations in the brain that overlap from the use of these disparate drugs.

Heroin and all other opiates cause direct stimulation of the endorphins in a person's brain. The multitude of sensuous rewards are instantaneous for the user. There is just no way to feel that damned good without chemical help.

There is another drug that stimulates endorphins in a similar, but not exact, manner. Nicotine, the main drug in tobacco, seems to give the user an endorphin high. And this is a an addictive high that most tobacco users will go to great lengths to get.

Heroin users, for the main, do not smoke pot (well a very small percentage do) but every junky smokes cigarettes, incessantly, obsessively. So the only conclusion that can be drawn from this information is that: cigarette use leads directly to heroin use. (See: Dope 1)

Wake up and smell the hemp!

Ooops

A matched pair!.  Oxen.

Hitch 'em up.

Move 'em out

And For Tomorrow's Forecast ...

Many in the world are obsessed with the past: past glories, past dreams dashed, past wrinkles in time that changed lives. An equal number seem to be equally obsessed with the future: hopes of fortunes and glory, desires for dreams fulfilled. Perhaps these are all the same people. Those that sift over what has come before to make a plan to change what will be. Hard to knock those hopes, in a sense, because why shouldn't everyone hope for something special from the future that eliminates all that came before. And these people do seek guidance, help, assistance to find that path into the future.

In light of that zedzzhedsezz will make light of the entire rigamarole and point the way with our own style of 'guidance'. The newest feature is the future as discerned from the Chinese astrological calendar. All you have to do is to find the animal that represents the year of your birth and read your way to future mirth.

And hey, let us know if we get anything right, right?

August's Rooster

Roosters, this month your key word is: affection. To hold your family and friends in a aura of esteem will put you onto the path of contentment. Combine this with your ability to let the heavy waters of life flow off of your feathers and you and all around you will experience a joy in all life involves.

Male Roosters: avoid blowing your own horn, most especially if all you are blowing is hot air. Female Roosters: do not be critical of anyone this month. All Roosters need to put their pride in their pockets.

August's Ox

O Oxen, do not let your natural tendency for stubbornness mire you in calamitous times. This month demands logical dependability to see you through. You will find that others will obviously look to you for the answers to the big problems, whether these problems exist in the workplace or in private lives.

It will be best if you avoid any desire to make any major acquisitions, do not give in to shopping desires.

August's Dog

Every Dog's honesty will save the day this month. Whether it is tracking down the owner of a lost wallet or admitting a short coming to a spouse. In the second case your sense of loyalty will always win out. Remember to stand fast with your friends in all situations.

The worst thing a Dog can do this month is to sit in judgment of others. This will only lead to disagreements that will throw the balance of the entire month to the wolves.

August's Monkey

Monkeys, this is your month. Your element is Metal and this month that means gold. Be innovative and concentrate your intellectual abilities on the goal of eliminating any and all problems that should arise. Don't fall off your wallet.

All Monkeys need to avoid lording it over others, bragging about your innate abilities. This will only alienate those that you will need to achieve the monetary success that you so richly deserve.

August's Horse

Horses, if you remain cheerful you will be very popular this month. Remember to bend with the winds of change, especially in the workplace. If you do not refuse to try new things in all aspects of your life you cannot help but be successful.

Your single downside this month is your innate tendency to pout when doubted. Giving into this will destroy any and all chances of a healthy and happy time until autumn.

August's Rabbit

Rabbits, this month, should definitely take time to be amongst their element (wood) and will find that this is a great time to go camping, and having a good time in the outdoors with friends. And as all Rabbits are born lucky it is time to look to a new intimate relationship or to buy a lottery ticket.

Female rabbits should avoid being moody. This will lead to a self-indulgent weakness, usually food, that will be very bad. Male Rabbits need to avoid digging in their heels and avoid confrontations in the workplace.

August's Snake

Snakes beware. Unless you can find a way to share the things that you love most with those around you, learn to trust those closest to you this will be a bad month.

Nurture your mystic side. Depend on your element (fire) to drive away the coldness that could creep into your life. Above all set a goal and do not sway from that goal. Be very careful about money investments. Sharing what you love does not include throwing the baby after the bath water.

August's Dragon

Dragons will set this month on fire. Using their natural talent for leading the way they will rise to the top of most situations where they will find that they belong. Do not beat around the bush in intimate situations. Getting straight to the point will be the only way to succeed with the opposite sex.

Be careful not to let the capacity to lead to cause you to look down upon those less able than you. All Dragon need to resist the urge to make demands and to attempt to lead by sheer force of personality. This last will lead to a defeat, going down in flames, that can be avoided.

August's Tiger

For male Tigers the word of the month is: colour. Indulge in every possible artistic endeavor you can find. This applies specifically to your working lives, take every opportunity to show your generosity by sharing the feeling associated with colour.

For female Tigers, this is the month to indulge in Passion (with a capital P). This is the time to show your partners exactly how daring you can be.

For all Tigers the warning for the month is: detachment. Tigers have a tendency to remove themselves from the mundane and watch from the sidelines. This is to be avoided at all costs.

August's Ox

O Oxen, do not let your natural tendency for stubbornness mire you in calamitous times. This month demands logical dependability to see you through. You will find that others will obviously look to you for the answers to the big problems, whether these problems exist in the workplace or in private lives.

It will be best if you avoid any desire to make any major acquisitions, do not give in to shopping desires.

August's Rat

Luckily it is still summer and Rats can enjoy being in their element, water. Rats will show their industrious side with very hard work and an intense desire to succeed. As the details do matter careful attention must be paid to all aspects of life. Social chances will abound.

Do be careful Rats, in those social situations that will come up. Do not allow yourselves to become at all envious of those around you. This could set up a ticking time bomb for you and all concerned. You need to use your brain.

Sense From Nothing

Politics seems to be impenetrable to most people.  It is almost as if huge thick walls were constructed around the ideas and concepts that make up the body politic.  People are left to look about and wonder exactly what is meant when politicians speak and where their policies may actually lead to.

Left Wing.  Right Wing.  It can all be so confusing.

But wait.  If a bird (an animal that actually has wings) uses only, perchance, its left wing it travels in a circle.  This would extrapolate equally to the right.  And it is well known that traveling in a circle will always return you to the beginning point. 

In other words you get nowhere.

Now surely that is an accurate explanation of the problem.

Bombed

Dateline: Richards and Nelson

It seems that pedestrians had been pestered. Needless to say, this needed to be checked and even possibly annotated.

Walking, gingerly, in the general area it was a shock to hear screams from the trees. Mad, angry screams that filled every space between the molecules of gases in the air and would not could not stop. Very loud it was. And invisible. No amount of attempting to search through the greenery of the street side trees would give a clue.

This was, of course, a crow. A very pissed off crow from the sound of it. A crow not to be messed with. Better to turn and walk away. The only clue of imp-ending doom (aside form the Doppler effect of the screaming crow) was the sound of ripping leaves. A quick look over the shoulder and there it was. Swooping down in what could only be described as: a bombing position effect. A fast thought, do crows aim for the eyes with their razor talons? There was an impossibly tight whirl and a half -hearted second pass and then the crow was gone, cawing and shaking on a power line across the street. Danger, gladly, averted.

How can this possibly be important? (Aside from the fact that a bird brain was endangering a populace: consider this to be a comparison to the last Bush administration)

The laughter. No sooner than the crow was crowing victory to all who could hear and searching for yet another unsuspecting bomb target the laughter began. And could not stop for minutes. The first genuine laughter in six months. The catharsis of humour. Proof of life.

Thanks crow.

Neighbourhood Watch

When you enter a town in North America there is a sign from the wildlife 'service' clubs there to welcome you: The Honourable Order of Moles welcomes you to Pavement Narrows. Enjoy your stay. How benign.

In other parts of the world it just ain't so. In parts of Central America (same continent but south, very south) the wildlife can be somewhat more dangerous. This must be particularly so in Honduras. As you enter a town (sic) or a village there is a massive billboard of welcome just as in the north. But this welcome is not set out by a 'service' club, o no. The very large sign of welcome is sponsored by the local Armada, ie: the gun shop. And for cash this emporium of supersonic metal delivery systems will provide anyone, at almost any time, a handgun, rifle, or assault weapon of choice. There is plenty of dangerous wildlife.

In a state capitol, which is essentially a fishing village that is home to the area prison, on the north shore of the country and the south shore of the Caribbean Sea, gun toting is seen as a status symbol. Being a country that has been raped and pillaged of all resources since discovery by the west guns are basically the only affordable symbol for a majority of the poor people that live there. Houses are for the main made out of mud and sticks and one pile of mud and stack of sticks is truly the same as another. Cars are seen on TV. Many families dream of having a personal telephone line strung to there mud and stick pile. So guns are the measure of keeping up with the Joneses.

In most cases this status symbol is somewhat like a hillbilly having a Gremlin mounted on blocks in the front yard: possessed, displayed and completely useless. Due to this it is lucky that there are no laws regarding where and how a person carries that portable death machine. Waistbands and pockets are the usual places, holsters costing extra show a sort of elitism. But there are those that can actually afford bullets. This is something that they let everyone in the village know nightly by firing bullets into the air when drunk. There is a distinct difference in the sound of a .38 revolver and a .22 automatic.

Two things are peculiar to a fishing village. One, everyone is up early. Like the birds, those who fish have to get the worms to entice the fish into the pan. Two, the beach road is Main Street.

So on this particular Main Street the women of town are up early gossiping, endlessly mending clothes and waiting for the day's catch to arrive in order to begin making lunch. And late every morning from a big mud and stick hut, designated as a hotel, a man comes out to enjoy his morning piss against a cocoanut palm on the edge of main street. He always takes care in his toilette. He comes out wearing his holster with a .44 revolver (as any real man should) and nothing else. This ensures that he can never drip any pee on his shoes and that if he was aware enough that the wildlife might have trouble sneaking up on him.

Dope 1

The health warning (a little late to be of any use if one can read it when it is in their hands) on a package of cigarettes reads: Cigarettes are Highly Addictive. Well this must be news to the billion people that smoke. This will be a great salve to their minds that have been continually troubled by their failure to quit or even to reduce the amount smoked. The damned things are highly addictive, that explains it.

Wait, the warning goes on to say: Studies show that tobacco can be harder to quit than heroin or cocaine. Well now, is that a fact? And there is even money on the fact that those studies (what it took more than one?) cost someone a lot of money to learn a fact that has been apparent to every junkie since the beginning of time.

Heroin and cocaine are illegal, so we are told by big government, because they are addicting. The users take the drug and then become addicted and then are continually having to 'feed' their habit. So, thank you Big Government for saving us, by decree and draconian enforcement, from being drug slaves.

Wait! Didn't those studies say that tobacco and hence nicotine are more addicting than the above drugs? And haven't facts proved that hundreds of thousands of deaths are directly related to tobacco use, compared to a few thousands to the use of the other drugs. And doesn't Big Government tell the world that by banning heroin and cocaine that the world is a safer place for the citizens of the world?

Isn't that a contradiction? Doesn't that fly in the face of logic? The idea of banning one type of drugs by a certain criterion but not the other type? Most especially when the health costs and death toll from tobacco, which are so well known and documented, is far greater than for any other drug on the planet.

Does it have anything to do with the fact that the immediate effects of heroin and cocaine are pleasurable? That no one should be addicted to anything 'pleasurable', because any smoker will tell that there is no real pleasure in smoking cigarettes. Does it have to do with where the raw materials for heroin and cocaine are grown which is far outside the taxing influence of Big Government?

Does it have anything to do with (whisper it) money?

a pome

On the necessity of fences

in urban situations

and the protection of possible

future generations

create your own gods but

keep them in your backyard

Fun With Finances 1

A major Japanese exporter of automobiles (cars)* is promoting what must still be in the wake of the 2007 financial crisis (sic) that a discount of up to $8500 on the purchase of one of their new vehicles. Now for the youth of today that must seem to be a great bargain. “Yo, dude, way too cool on the priceola man!” But for the ancient set, those with enough brain cells to left to rattle together to make a noise in their heads this fabulous 'offer' must be making them shake their heads (increasing their inner brain noise). Thirty years ago, before their daring name change, you could buy almost three of the same manufacturers cars for that same money. (apologies for the italics but they do look cool don't they?) It must be remembered that this is only the 'savings' on said car purchase, you still gotta pay more for the damn thing. Discovering the cost to drive it away is far too frightening to delve into.

Now, what does this car today have that the cars of thirty years ago warrants such an outlandish outlay of cash? A car today has wheels and tires and gears and windows and radios and seats and floors and doors. But did cars not always have these features?

Perhaps the components of the car in question are now made of precious metals. Gold, after all is far more expensive today than it ever deserved to be. Surely they cannot be using old fashioned, cheap steel and aluminum. Perhaps the seats are now covered in vellum (now that would be expensive and very illegal as well). Are the windows lead crystal? Hasn't lead crystal been removed from the market do to its poisonous tendencies?

Surely there is a reason that a person desiring to drive a car should pay such a crippling cost. Do you think that the selling company will make an effort to explain? Or do they think that you should blithely pay what they demand without questioning why. Good question.

Of course this assault upon the wallets and life savings of today's consumers is only highlighted when it is pointed out that Henry Ford's (you remember him, he was the only non-German to be awarded the Iron Cross by Hitler) first assembly line car, the Model T, was priced at $500 delivered.

* if the manufacturer desires to be named it can be easily done for a fee

Pet Me! Pet Me! Pet Me!

Fortunately there are still places in the world where television is a household luxury and not a necessity. In these places you will find crowds of people crowded outside the patio of a restaurant or on a variety of chairs outside a corner store glued (as is most of the world) to the idiot box. But, as mentioned, fortunately no one feels the need to keep up with any of the Joneses by having a set in their own home. On returning to the West this is reversed. Bigger, better, more intrusive screens are the norm and with more places that provide the means to watch.

It should be mentioned that television does have its purpose, to whit, keeping the actors, designers, directors, and the multitude of support personnel in work. The objection, raised by many more than this tiny voice, is with the advertising. Try to find a quorum to disagree, the dare is on.

What is most alarming is the change of acceptance of advertising. Not long ago any 'star' or 'celebrity' would have vehemently denounced becoming a part of the ad maker machine. Well at least they kept that part hidden, having seen George Clooney in a whiskey ad in South Korea put paid to that. But now, the gloves have been removed.

Drew Barrymore, Gwen Stephani, Avril Lavigne, Katy Perry, Jennifer Lopez, among the more notable, have all not only succumbed to the lure but are continually on the idiot box. What can be the possible motivation behind this? They are supposed to be huge stars. Their recognition value is very high. They must be, therefore extremely rich. So if they do not need to boost their popularity quotient and they do not need the money why on earth do they do something now that not too long ago was seen to be demeaning to anyone in their position? A possible conclusion that can be drawn may be that they feel the need to be noticed even outside their locus of fame, to be adored on a far more continual basis than is apparent in being an 'A list star'.

Just how much attention can they need before they just go home and let an actor that might actually need the job do it?

A Peeve

The wearing of hair in 'Dreadlocks' is not a matter of style nor a fashion statement. 'Dreadlocks' are a visible symbol of religious solidarity with other wearers, the equivalent of a Star of David to Jews or a cross to Christians. Neither Jew nor Christian tolerate the misuse of the symbols in a light way and nor in the main are these symbols used out of context. So why is it that 'dreadlocks' are not treated in the same way.

The wearing of the hair in 'dreadlocks' shows that the wearer is a follower of Ras Ta, the Lion of God and the last direct messenger that was sent to the earth to right the wrongs of human beings. Ras Ta was the last emperor of Ethiopia, Haille Salassie. This is the man that those referred to as 'Rastafarians' worship. He or she would not change their hair anymore than a Sikh would shave his head.

But the religious symbology is not to be ignored nor should it be converted to fashion for the ignorant masses. We do not see the women of the west suddenly wearing a burka, full body cover with hood and veil, to a gallery opening or to the shopping mall, it would be blasphemous. The men of the west have not on an impulse decided to wear turbans of bright colours to do their banking and drink beer in pubs. That, again, would be blasphemous and shunned at all costs. To offend those of another faith by adopting the dress is not something to do lightly nor would offending those whose faith the wearer would profess to have regardless of appearance.

Each should be allowed their own way to see the universe and their individual roles within it. If this includes an outward manifestation to show solidarity with others who see the world as they do there should be no problem. But to take any of those manifestations and corrupt it by using it as a fashion concept, a style idea is, frankly, repugnant

In the Grand Scheme

Put it down, perhaps, to youthful exuberance. Vancouver is after all only a century and a few decades old. Put it down to the first warm day of the year, perhaps. Put it down to possibly the last hockey game to be played in the city this year. Put it down to winning. Winning and the desire of all and their uncle to honk, hoot, and holler in a cauldron of flesh, pushing and squeezing together from the waterfront to the bridge on Granville Street.

O way o way o way o way! O way o way o way o way!

It took eleven seconds of overtime for Alex Burrows to make himself the hero, again, and it took about ten seconds after that for the crowds to start to move on mass to begin the celebration. People of every shape and shoe size crammed into the streets of Vancouver and moved with the migratory minds of wildebeest. Granville Street quickly resembled any popular shopping street in big city China: loud, crowded, and moving as slow as maple syrup tossed on snow.

In any direction there was a wall a flesh. High fiving, dancing like Zulus, laughing, singing and generally acting like it was a birthday party for each and every one of the tens of thousands. Everyone smiled at friends and strangers alike. They chanted. Women were hoisted onto shoulders to film the vocal and physical explosions on the street.

Spontaneous dancing broke out on bus shelter benches and any other place there was space to shake a booty on the street. They chanted and sang and screamed. If sound was measured on the Richter Scale this was most definitely a reading of 9.9. Anyone in a hurry to get anywhere was not going to make their appointments. Relaxing to the inevitable seemed to be the norm.

At the corner of Robson and Granville a line of police officers slowly snaked diagonally across the intersection. Uniforms could not part the crowds any more than the traffic that was caught up in the public outburst before they could escape. And they all had hold of the officer sidling in front of their face, for they truly could not see farther than that. I asked if they were a conga line and received a smile in reply. But imagine, I said, that this line of cops could create a conga line of upwards of 50,000 outrageously happy fans. It would also create a new collective noun: a conga of cops.

This was a benign show of collective madness. The guy climbing up the building then getting arrested was just dumb but what about the guy with the paddle?And although it would continue at varying volumes for hours and although I had only traveled a few blocks in the first hour the decision had to be made to turn and fight back the way I'd come for another hour to get to the typewriter.

And on the edges of the crush, if you looked closely, there were the homeless. Shabbily attired, usually sitting still, and guarding their suitcases, backpacks, and shopping carts that held their entire lives in close guard. Sure they were happy about the result in the game but few looked happy about the possibility of losing all they had to the more serious of the revelers around them.

And closer to the docklands the human mass thinned out until very few were on the streets sipping coffee and watching the endless movement of those more excited than they were. On Hastings Street the rave conditions of a few mere blocks away ceased, the noise muted. And on the edge of Victory Square with the sun beginning to set the junkies stared at the backs of their hands or into the middle distance with the appearance of taking no notice at all.

O way o way o way o way! O way o way o way o way

(this is has just surfaced, so ...)

Stoopid

I got taxed man.

But everyone was.  Am I that stoopid ?????

Step Right Up

Step up, step up, step up. Step right up. No need to push or shove. Plenty of room down at the front. Make sure you don't crush any of the kiddies under your feet. Step up, step up, step up. This is your chance to make it big. Step right up.

Today it is at 25 million. The voluntary tax upon the stupid today carries a cash value of 25 million. Lay your money down and the world could, perhaps with an inordinate amount of luck, lay at your feet. Is it worth the risk? It is a lot of money after all.

Within memory, mine at least, is the first time the lottery boasted a prize of one million. Just a single one. But back then a single million was worth a million and that was certainly a lot of semollians. The populace went money mad. People were buying up tickets with their mortgage payments, taking out loans, standing in lines for hours to buy their tickets and spending every feverish minute spending the fruits of their certain luck. Only one person won. It can be imagined that the price for others far exceeded the dollar purchase price of the ticket.

Today it was learned that the stupid tax has doubled. Does this, after all these decades, figure into whether a ticket should be snapped up? Think, a two dollar investment for a 12.5 million times return. What are the odds?

The odds, unfortunately have not changed, 40 million to 1. “Do I dare?”

Being absolutely skint is was a debate. But what was that dream that hovered in that somnolent semi-awake state? Could it have been numbers? Or clues to numbers?

Call me stupid.

I stepped up.

I stepped right up.

From the Klong's Edge

It has been raining. Rain isn’t the word that truly describes /grey sky in torrents, sheets blankets, cats and dogs with raindrops the size of gumdrops at 32 ft. per second per second, as caused by that nasty effect known as gravity, creating a thundering earth-bound tattoo on every tin, concrete or plastic overhang anywhere you care to think of, but most especially at the edge of this klong. Wet noise is the only way to describe it. Wet, wet noise and the sun is simply a memory.

A quick, no call it a cursory glance around the room reveals an empty existence. Well, not entirely empty. There is a bed (comfy), three pillows (a number barely sufficient for one person), a table (with pencil), a wardrobe (almost empty), ,a dressing table with mirror (to be avoided at all costs, remember what happened to Alice), an empty chip bag (original flavour), an ashtray (full), two old puzzles from the Bangkok Post (unfinished), and a laptop (ancient). The ancient laptop is the very one being used for this composition. O, and the typist. Other than that the room is empty.

There are certainly the invisible things there because there are invisible things everywhere (air being the most necessary example). Cooking and coffee odours that waft in from the stalls near the rapidly rising klong swirl around the room. And the echoes of every past occupant that ever passed through the room must resonate off the walls. But being invisible they cannot possibly count.

What no TV? Of course there is no television. Television is antiquated, barbaric and boring. Besides there is an extra charge for the useless box. So, no, there is no TV.

It is 7 am. Not that it could be noticed by looking at the sky which is almost as black as any ordinary night. Nor can the roar of the tuk-tuks on Samsen Road, indicating the morning movement of people be heard above the din of the rain on tin. But there is no book to bury a nose in. There is no coffee to curl fingers around and sip knowingly. There are no comforts in the room, a truly empty existence.

Staring out the window the air is slivered with rain, rain, rain, rain and the morning’s choices are limited. Watching the rain would be the number one choice. But there is a second choice. Running (speed would be needed) around the corner to Soi 2 and a quick, yet dripping entrance into the BookBar to satisfy both morning needs: coffee and a book. Damn, a person could get wet enough on that run to need do drink a beer to take the chill off. So, faced with only these two choices for morning entertainment, and after a short time of hemming and hawing, a decision is made. And after a few stretches and deep knee bends this typist will be prepared to make that mad dash through the rain (no singing will be needed) that is part of activity choice number two. Who knows, there may be another intrepid soul (fool) who prefers coffee and a book to emptiness and has come to the same conclusion and with whom wet stories may be traded.

It also means that I no longer need to type this.

to a chorus of raspberries

Objectivity is simply another person's subjectivity

The Point of Missing the Point

I was recently assigned to write a few short articles regarding ‘car accident compensation’ in combination with visiting some tropical locales, China, South

Korea and Vietnam (at least Vietnam is tropical). I proceeded to expound on the necessity to drive safely to avoid having the need to file such a claim. This, in my tiny mind, seemed to make a lot of sense. Who would choose, regardless of location, to involve themselves in the mess of documentation and hassle that such a claim would inevitably involve. According to my editor though, I had sadly missed the point, apparently, unbeknownst to me, ‘car accident compensation is a ‘benefit’. Oh really?

Now let us imagine that you the reader live in some Western society and in order to keep up with your neighbour’s idiocy you too purchase and use a car. To be able to do this the car owner must (read: is forced) to have said ‘accident compensation’ called insurance to be able to drive this car about. Now in such above places if you get into a fender bender the parties involved get out of their cars and tut knowingly over the damage and pleasantly exchange insurance information (this is coming from my imagination) and all leave and go about their business with smiles on their faces. Let the insurance companies worry about it, that is, after all, why you pay them, correct?

Move that scene to the third world and things operate very differently. Firstly, car owner insurance is not a priority as in the places mentioned above. So if, by some sad chance, you do rear end a car or your car is treated in the same manner what do you suppose happens? Whether you are at fault or not there will be no pleasant exchange of information. As the Westerner with the handy car accident claim paperwork will be the only one with such coverage (sic) and as it will be written in English for the benefit of that customer anyone that you hit while driving or anyone who hits you will understand not a word. Also, as the insurance concept is not a prevailing idea in these places all accidents are usually settled with a cash payment before you can leave. In China traffic will be held up for hours as the accidentees are waiting for the cash to be delivered. In Vietnam it has been said that ‘accidents’ are arranged for this very cash in hand reason. No one leaves the scene unless of course blood and or death are involved and then they will drive as quickly away as can be managed. So regardless of having coverage you still have to belly up the cash on the spot regardless of your ‘coverage’. But, hey, no problem, you are ‘covered’ and will get the money back on your return even if that is much quicker than anticipated due to the fact that you paid all of your holiday cash to escape your scrape, right?

Oh ye innocent hearted. The whole basis of the insurance industry is to never pay money out but to collect the said money is. Have you ever known anyone that has ever received a claim payout without trouble? Truly sorry customer, here is your cheque. Not a chance of that is there? The insurance company will delay by any tactic, blaming shoddy police reports, the other company dragging its heels, or go so far as to say that you, the driver, was ultimately responsible thereby absolving them of the necessary payment. Anything to avoid having to pay. Can you imagine the hassle involved with you, the car accident compensation purchaser having had an accident in a foreign country?

They would have to send a team of investigators to that country, none of whom will be able to speak the language, try to find the other driver who did not give a name or working telephone number. So on and so forth. Of course the costs of this needed investigation will be borne by the one making the claim, so every flight, hotel, meal, bribe, and whore, will be deducted from the claim, if any is granted, and added onto the insurance bill to be repaid if (hah) the investigation can find the smallest reason to revoke the claim. It is business after all isn’t it?

Perhaps I did miss the point but I will never understand which point I missed.

I rest my fingers.

The Opening Salvo

All people are simply the sum of their thoughts and the pictures of the past as seen through their own eyes and lives, whether those lives were important to the rest of the world or simply important to that solitary person. And, of course, we all stand alone. Alone, regardless of the crowds and hoards of people that surround us. Alone, regardless of those we imagine that do and will support us. Alone. Against the mass of teeming life that seeks only to support and replicate itself.

There is nothing about this that is linear. Thoughts and memory are fugitives from time and there is not a single thing that is close to being in sequence. And out of that sea of memory, primordial it could be, some things are picked and others not. And as magpies choose the brightest things they see with which to line their nests, so it will be with all of this.

And it all comes from the inside of a single head: memory, observation, rumination. All, that is, unless it is “quoted” and noted.

Who knows what will happen next?