Search This Blog

Saturday, October 31, 2009

The Bus Ride


29/30 Oct. 2009
After three weeks, my certification class is over and I'm moving to Ayutthaya to begin my job. There are several of us that have been placed within the Ayutthaya region (about an hour outside of Bangkok), and four of us opted to take the overnight bus from Chiang Mai to Ayutthaya. Thai buses are definitely not made for Westerners, but it wasn't crowded so we were at least able to take two seats each. Karl and I watched Boondock Saints on his laptop, popped a couple of Ambien, and would have passed out for the next eight hours had not a few things happened. The first was that I had to use the bathroom, which was downstairs. There was a group of four French people behind us, one of whom left his shit in the middle of the aisle. I was walking back to my seat when I tripped over this. I tried to grab one of the seats to steady myself, but instead grabbed the head of a sleeping Frenchwoman, who screamed bloody murder when I grabbed her head. I tried explaining in English, but the Ambien made me slur all my words together, plus she didn't speak any English (or probably Thai for that matter...fucking French). I eventually gave up and went back to sleep.

A little while later, I was again awakened when we stopped at a night market to get food. I wandered down to the store to buy some chips and spent at least five minutes trying to figure out what I wanted. Even though the chips are made by Lay's, they are not like what we are used to. In Thailand they apparently want their chips to taste like full meals, so you get flavors like spicy chili squid, pork spareribs, and Vietnamese seafood. I opted for the ham-and-swiss-sandwich flavor and got back onto the bus. As I was scarfing down the chips, an interesting thing happened: I decided to go spelunking into the chip bag.

If you've never experienced Ambien let me tell you a little about it. Ambien is a prescription sleeping pill that is much, much stronger than Valium. I told Karl, "Ambien is going to knock you out for eight hours, if for some reason it doesn't, shit gets weird." This is how I found myself spelunking in the chip bag (I was looking for Gandhi so I could get a blessing from him). I'm pretty sure that I didn't actually try to fit my head in it, but I don't want to testify to it under oath. During our stop, Karl and I had a 10 min. conversation that consisted of 3 words (I'm not exaggerating) and a lot of grunts. Fortunately, after half an hour of this, the bus left and we were able to go back to sleep.

The bus arrived in Ayutthaya at 4:30, and Tom, who's been to Ayutthaya before, told Karl and I to go to Tony's Place, a local guesthouse where all the phrang hang out. It was closed and the lights were turned off, but they left the door open to the lounge so we went in, grabbed a couple of sofa's, and sat down. One of the Thai's who worked there woke up and came over to us. I tried to explain the situation in broken, Ambien-affected Thai, but he just took me upstairs, pointed me to a hammock, and went back to sleep, and that is why I love this country.

The next morning, one of my placement company employees took me to my apartment and got me settled in. The apartment itself is pretty nice, but basic. Bed, desk, two chairs, balcony, shower, toilet. The apartments are across the street from the bus station and two blocks from downtown. Ayutthaya itself is about 81,000 people and seems like a really cool place. All of the Americans and English swear it's the best city in Thailand, and it seems like a really chill place. Life is good.

Sunday, October 25, 2009

An Open Letter (and Ode) to My Brown Pumas

(As I write this, someone is playing a melancholy tune on the hotel piano, maybe it's better that way)

Hey guys,

This is a letter that I never wanted to write, and I never wanted for you to read. We've had some great times together these past 3 and a half years together, haven't we? You've been there for me a lot, like all those times I've drunkenly wandered for hours in downtown Little Rock, Fayetteville, and Chiang Mai. You've never complained at all, just kept trudging along. I probably haven't told you this enough, but I loved you more than any other pair of shoes I've ever owned. In fact, I am more attached to you than any person has a right to be to their shoes. Sure, we've had our rough patches, like when I bought those Penguins, but I've always come back to you.

I'm so sorry, but I can't come back to you anymore. It's really unfair of me to focus on the negatives after all the love you've given to me, but you do squeak and you are kind of falling apart. Don't take that the wrong way, you've held up better than any reasonable person could ever ask, especially after all you've been through. I never wanted to admit it, but those hikes up mountains and hours of walking have taken their toll. Surely you must ache all the time. I'd like to lie and say that I'm doing this for you, but it's for me as well.

Today when I was at the Chiang Mai mall (which is bigger than any mall I've been in), I just knew that it was time to find someone else. It was cruel of me to bring you when I did, but it was something I needed to do then and there. Truthfully, I thought that since I was in Asia I might as well go all-out and by some douchebag hipster shoes. Admittedly, I surprised that they were so expensive, considering that the Thai's are so poor. I mean, seriously, there's a reason why most places can't a take a 1,000 baht note (about $40), yet all these Western stores like Puma and Converse wanted 2,500-3,000. I mean Thai teaches earn 8,000 a month, that's a third of their paycheck. Who are these rich Thai's that buy all this? It's not like there were any Westerners in the mall.

But I digress. I saw those hipster Van's and I was enamored. Don't get me wrong, it's nothing like when I bought you. Even though it was close to 4 years ago, I remember it perfectly: I saw you at Journey and it was love at first sight. I like to think that you loved me then too. Then that guy at Journey tried to sell me a bootleg copy of Employee of the Month while I purchasing you and I knew that we had something special. You were never douchey hipster shoes, you were just cool.

I'm not quitting you completely. It's not like I'm going to throw you or anything. You know that you'll always have a place in my heart. Plus, I'll probably bust you out for those occasions when I don't care about Asia, I just care about me. You'll always be a part of me. Thanks for everything, I don't deserve your loyalty.

Scott

Saturday, October 17, 2009

Make it Rain

I feel like I sort of slighted my Friday night in the last post, so I'm going to go into some more depth after having had time to let it stew.

While we were in the bar, we managed to get a deck of cards and began playing Circle of Fire. Naturally, the scantily-dressed barmaids loved it. One of the rules we made was that you had to scream "Make it rain!" every time you took a drink. They never got tired of it. It got to the point where they would actually anticipate it and run over before we said it. Between the two bars, we drank 3 beers and 4 Long Island Ice Teas each in less than 2 hours, so I'm actually surprised that we did as well as we did. Apparently, Neil asked the bartender where a good club was and he referred him to the gay club, which is how we ended up there.

The club itself was really large for Thailand, maybe the size of the kickboxing arena. I can't really recall much, but it had flashing lights, a live band, and a giant pit of people dancing, which I guess are staples of the Euro club scene. All the Thai's left me alone, which makes sense, because I was visibly hammered and that's not sexy no matter who you are. However, Neil and Rob told me when they went to the bathroom they were aggressively sought out by several of the patrons. Apparently, they tried to give them massages as they peed, and Neil eventually gave them 300 Baht (about $10) to go away.

17 Oct 2009
A strange thing happened to me this morning: my shorts didn't fit as well as they seemed to earlier this week. I can't be sure, but I think I may have dropped at least one (maybe two) size(s). This is not unique to me, as my classmates have reported similar phenomenons. This is especially strange because almost everyone in the program is young, healthy, and very fit. At least half of us run. I don't think there's a single person who would qualify as being "overweight" (except on WiiFit...bastards), yet we are all dropping weight at an insane rate. I've been here a week, have eaten out every day, consumed large quantities of alcohol, and still have probably dropped 3-5 lbs. I realized that I would lose weight over here (hence, I weighed myself before I left), but jesus man. I feel like I could so dominate Biggest Loser right now. If there's anyone looking to drop a few pounds, take my advice and follow the Thailand-plan.

Friday, October 16, 2009

This Week in Chiang Mai

Ok, so I'm nearly finished with the Rubio essay, but in the meantime here's some of the things that have actually been going on in Thailand. There's probably too much for one entry, but I'm going to try anyway.

Since coming here, I've:
  • Had three incredibly debauched nights, each culminating in it's own climatic ending
  • Sworn off alcohol after said nights
  • Drunkenly wandered into a Thai gay club (more on that later)
  • Been to a Thai kickboxing match
  • Run twice in miserable heat
  • Gotten diarrhea
  • Spoken about as much Thai as I did back in the States
As part of my time in Thailand, I have to attend American TESOL training for the first three weeks. While this training isn't particularly difficult, it is time consuming. Basically we are in class from 9 a.m. to at least 5 p.m. everyday (one day we got out at 4, one day we got out at 7:30). These sessions are absolutely brutal, especially for 35 Americans and Brits who came over to the country expecting to do nothing but party the whole time. Are the classes informative? Probably. Helpful? Probably. Boring as shit? Definitely. So, unfortunately, we don't have as much down-time as any of us would like. Yet, in spite of all these complications, we all have managed to squeeze in some amazing times thus far.

The Thai people are exactly as advertised: shy, soft-spoken, non-confrontational, and never in a hurry. Seriously, I thought American college students meandered, we're not worthy at all. More importantly they all speak enough English that none us are forced to rely on our Thai (probably best for everyone). Thai is a tonal language, and frankly, as Westerners we are almost incapable of making many of the sounds. Sure, we'll probably learn eventually, but for the moment we might as well not even bother speaking Thai. This is actually somewhat disheartening for me, as I vowed not to be the asshole American who never learns the language, but it looks more and more like that may be a possibility. I'm also disheartened by the fact that I'm having trouble uploading pictures (not that I've taken any anyway). But whatever, if you're actually reading this, you just want to hear about how drunk I got anyway.

14 Oct. 2009
One of the most popular pastimes in Thailand is Muay Thai. You may be familiar with this, as it used by many UFC fighters. I can't even begin to tell you how often you are accosted in the street but people handing out flyers for the next match. Brandon, one of the guys in the program, trains in Muay Thai, and at his suggestion a group of about ten of us decided to attend one of the matches. After haggling with a song-taw driver (never accept the first price they offer), we made our way to the arena. If you get the opportunity, you should do a Google Image search of song-taw (or maybe song-tau's). Basically, they're small trucks with camper shells. Only benches have been installed in the truck bed. They're probably the cheapest and most accessible form of transportation in the city, and we use them whenever we can't walk. Along the way, the driver stopped (twice) to ask for directions, despite the fact that this arena isn't exactly small. When we arrived, he decided that he wanted to hang around and watch the fight. The arena itself looked like it was taken directly out of the Street Fighter, an underrated movie by the way; The ring was in the middle, with a bunch of fold-out chairs placed alongside it. Surrounding the lower-level was an upper-tier made out of wood and completely populated by foreigners. Naturally, we sat in the upper-tier. From what I can gather, the majority of the foreigners were English and American, and almost all of them had intense dreadlocks and reeked of hippie.

As the fights began, a small traditional-Thai band began to play. Brandon informed us that this helped the fighters keep their rhythm throughout the match. I'm glad I was sober, because otherwise it might have sounded as if a cat were being strangled. There were about the seven fights, the publicized fight featuring "Bia France," who, as you might guess, was French. The fights themselves were thoroughly entertaining affairs, but the best part were the Thai fans. A couple hundred respectable, middle-aged Thai men sat next to the ring, and they would jump and scream every time a blow was landed. Further, there was a constant exchange of money. They made me think of the Vietnamese men that Frank always gambles with on "It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia. Watching them was probably just as enjoyable as watching the fighters. The final fighter featured a fighter named "James Bond," who was actually Thai, but I didn't see if he won or lost, because I got into an epic conversation about the World Cup with Rob and Neil.

16 Oct. 2009
So last night I went out with Rob and Neil (two Englishmen of the highest caliber). We started out in the night bazaar, which I need to write about in a separate post, then made our way to the some of bars in downtown Chiang Mai. There was a string of about ten in a row, and each had about 4 or 5 women of ill repute who would literally try to grab you and pull you in as you walked by. Part of my Thai repertoire is "Mai au khrap," which means "I don't want any." Rob pointed out later that this may not have been exactly the right thing to say, but at least it got them to leave me alone. After deciding on a bar, we were continually pestered by a string of Thai children anywhere from 4 to 7 years old, hounding us to buy necklaces and the like. In spite of this, we managed to get completely sloshed. In my state, Neil appeared to be the least drunk, so the duty of leading us to the next bar fell on him. We then wandered into a ridiculously expensive Euro-style club where we ran into our fellow classmates Adam, David, Kerry, and Olga. Adam politely informed us, "You realize this is a gay club right?" No idea. Being the open-minded people that we are, we shrugged it off and proceeded to join them in an intense dance session; finally making our way home.

A note about running in Thailand
It's miserable, completely fucking miserable. However, I'm a stubborn bastard so I've managed to sack up and do it for the past week. The other day I got to the point where I had to take my shirt off. I never run without a shirt because it's kind of douchebaggy, but I didn't care at this point. The moment I stripped it off I was greeted with lots of catcalls and whistles by the locals. I was pretty flattered.

Monday, October 12, 2009

Don't Believe the Hype

Ok, so it looks like I can't embed YouTube videos at all in Thailand. Here's the link (I would suggest opening it with Ctrl+right click and just let it play while you read). I also want to explain the purpose of these essays. As I mentioned earlier, my biggest academic flaw is that I'm an undisciplined writer. The point of these essays is to get me in the habit of writing on a regular basis. I'm sure a lot of people would rather read about traveling in Thailand than literary criticism, but it's one of my goals with this blog so bear with me.

(This essay revolves around the NBA draft, which happened in June. While I realize this is old news, and has been covered extensively, I feel that I have a new angle to present. I also am writing this with the assumption that the reader knows nothing about Ricky Rubio and Hasheem Thabeet. If you are relatively familiar with both you can simply skip to the "Implications" section without missing anything.)

Ricky Rubio is thought to be a Spanish basketball prodigy. He was the back-up point guard for the Spanish team which placed silver in the Beijing Olympics. Known for his dazzling passes, he has been favorably compared to "Pistol" Pete Maravich. Most importantly, if you read this website, then you know that he also looks like a Jonas brother.

This year, at the age of nineteen, he entered his name into the NBA draft, and was drafted 5th overall by the Minnesota Timberwolves, but there was a major problem. Prior to the draft, young Ricky had already chosen the teams that he wanted to play for: the Los Angeles Clippers or the Sacramento Kings (with the #1 and #4 picks, respectively). Further, through his agent, he threatened Memphis (#2 pick) and Oklahoma City (#3), warning them that if they drafted him he would remain in Spain. He also refused to participate in pre-draft workouts or combines with any team other than Sacramento. The Kings were in desperate need of a playmaker, and Rubio appeared to be the perfect fit, so it was simply assumed that they would grab him when they got their chance. Unfortunately for Ricky Rubio, Kings' GM Geoff Petrie, one of the most respected GM's in the NBA, wasn't quite as enamored with Ricky as the rest of the NBA and ESPN. Petrie had legitimate concerns about his lack of athleticism and questioned his ability to score in the NBA. When the Kings came onto the clock, Petrie instead opted for the dynamic Memphis guard Tyreke Evans, who had been personally endorsed by Barack Obama no less.

The Timberwolves, with the fifth and sixth picks, sensed a golden opportunity to seize prized trade asset and snatched Rubio with the fifth pick, then took Syracuse playmaker Jonny Flynn with the sixth as insurance in case Ricky opted to stay in Spain. Their fears turned out to be well-placed, as moments after being drafted, he made it know that he would probably remain in Spain, and skipped the post-draft team interviews. However, the strangest part of this saga has been the fallout; the national sports media (primarily ESPN, but not Jay Marotti, go figure) was quick to defend Rubio and criticize Minnesota GM David Khan, saying, "Of course Ricky's not going to want to play for the 'Wolves; he's going to have to compete for playing time with Jonny Flynn."

Now I should point out that Rubio is not the first athlete to try and punk several teams in the draft. Players such as Steve Francis, Jamarcus Russell, and John Elway have all attempted similar feats with varying degrees of success, but have been severely criticized by the media, especially the African-Americans Francis and Russell. The glaring distinction is that all of them had been absolutely dominant in their respective sports for the entirety of their college careers. Basically they had proven themselves time and time again. Rubio has not. While he was on the Spanish national team, he was largely invisible during his playing time in Beijing. It should be fairly obvious that the distinction between Rubio and Steve Francis is race, but the case of Ricky Rubio extends deeper when he is compared to fellow 2009 draftee Hasheem Thabeet.

Hasheem Thabeet is a Tanzanian-born center who played three years of college basketball for Georgetown. While at Georgetown, he was quite possibly the most dominant defensive center of all time, averaging over 4 blocks a game. In spite of this, Thabeet has largely faced an army of doubters, many of whom immediately proclaimed him as a bust the moment he was drafted second overall by the Memphis Grizzlies. Many pundits have made racially-tinged remarks comparing him to fellow African Michael Olowokandi, one of the bigger busts in draft history. In addition to this, Thabeet will be forced to compete for playing time with 7"2 Hamed Haddadi and 7"1 Marc Gasol, who is coming off a solid rookie campaign where he was named to the NBA All-Rookie 2nd Team. Yet in spite of all these negatives, Thabeet has remained completely positive, expressing his gratitude at being drafted by Memphis (not exactly one of the choice teams in the NBA).

When you compare the profiles of Rubio and Thabeet, you observe one potentially-dominant skill and a lot of question marks. Rubio's passing is his calling card, whereas Thabeet's shotblocking is his. Both will probably struggle to score consistently in the NBA. However, Thabeet has size (he's 7"3) and athleticism which Rubio does not possess, yet Rubio is thought to be the better prospect. Personally, I have concerns about each of them, but the national media's glaring discrepency in tone has made the racial overtones of the 2009 NBA draft so overt that you'd have to be blind, deaf, and dumb to miss them.

The Implications

On FreeDarko Dr. LIC wrote that Rubio was shitting on the American dream. I think it's even worse than that. I see Ricky Rubio as the symbol of Old World Europe, coming to colonize the Americas just as his ancestors did 500 years ago. He arrogantly believes that everything should be handed to him as he dictates. Like the Spanish with their guns, horses, and diseases, he has bamboozled (I was really looking for an excuse to write "bamboozled") the natives into thinking that he has something to offer, but really he brings absolutely nothing. The biggest fear that I have about the entire Rubio saga is that it will set a precedent for foreign athletes looking to come over to the NBA. Just imagine what would happen if every European player was able to make the same childish demands as Ricky Rubio. If that were the case, you might as well throw out the lottery system. While it's a flawed system, it does give small-market teams a glimmer of hope. Teams like OKC (Kevin Durant), Cleveland (LeBron James), and New Orleans (Chris Paul) have been lucky enough to get franchise players because of the lottery system. What if the future superstars decided that they didn't want to play for Memphis, Charlotte, or Milwaukee? There would be absolutely no social mobility in the NBA; you would be stuck with perpetual winners and perpetual losers. What is already a huge problem becomes even worse.

The case of Hasheem Thabeet is equally troubling. Thabeet represents postcolonial Africa. He possess many valuable commodities (he's an athletic 7", when have GM's and pundits not lusted after them?), but because of his African heritage, he lacks any semblence of credibility. Critics love to point to Olowokandi and Saer Sene, but weren't Hakeem Olajuwon and Dikembe Mutombo or Americans like Andrew Bynum and Dwight Howard pretty damn raw when they entered into the NBA? The great ambassadors Olajuwon and Mutombo seemed to pave the way for Africans in the NBA, yet they still face huge hurdles just to get into the NBA. What if one day the next Olajuwon or the next Mutombo decides it isn't worth it, and plays soccer instead? Why do we want to discourage humble, hard-working Africans while encouraging bratty, spoiled Europeans? Neo-colonialism is at work in the NBA and ESPN, and it needs to be addressed. It is not healthy for the league just as it is not healthy for the world. By the way, I wasn't joking when I compared Ricky Rubio to Cortes.

A Solution

Having studied postcolonialism in literature and history for majority of my collegiate career, I realize that it can be a depressing field. I don't want to come off as a complete downer, but I am skeptical about the NBA's willingness to correct itself. I do have a simple solution. While it won't cure the media's racial hang-ups, it will solve some of the league's problems. I believe that a clause should be added to the NBA draft: a player must sign a contract when he enters his name into the draft stating that if he is selected in the 1st round, he must play for that team that season, unless the team signs a waiver allowing him to remain elsewhere. I'm sorry, but 19-22 year-olds who have not played a minute in the league should not be given any kind of leverage, especially when they stand to earn more in a season than many Americans earn in a lifetime.

Friday, October 9, 2009

The Plane Ride

So I can't embed YouTube videos from this computer, but here's the music I had in mind: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j21ULe2hrY4



So, I've actually done a lot of flying, but usually it is of the 1 hour to 2 hours-variety, so this was a bit of a new experience for me. Here's what I did:

  • Flew from Little Rock to Dallas (about 45 min.)
  • 5 hour layover in Dallas
  • Flew from Dallas to Seoul (a little more than 14 hours)
  • Saw Seoul from the inside of the airport (it actually looks very similar to Texas from what I saw, i.e. nothing)
  • Waited another 5 hours to fly to Chiang Mai
  • Flew from Seoul to Chiang Mai (a 5 hour flight)

Needless to say, my ass isn't going anywhere near an airplane for six months.

(Ed note: I'm going into "bro"-mode for a second) One big positive of Korean Airlines is this: every stewardess is tall and very pretty. While this is rather sexist on my part, I will say that when you're crammed into a uncomfortable position for an extended period of time this attribute goes a long way. Thankfully, the flight itself was eventful, except for one instance on my part.

After Terminator: Salvation they showed this Korean movie called Chow. Chow, from what I could gather, was a B horror/comedy (think The Mummy, Snakes on a Plane, Evil Dead, etc.) revolving around a giant boar terrorizing the local population. Some of the comic relief provided was by an American redneck who was dressed in camo for the entire movie. I didn't really watch the movie, which I kind of regret now, but instead just dozed off. While dozing, I had some kind of day-dream or nightmare that the plane was crashing. Unfortunately, I had not forgotten this by the time I woke up. I wake confused as hell, because I'm on an airplane and I thought that I was dreaming that. Further, there were a bunch of strange noises coming from the movie, which in my panic I interpreted as the airplane's engine sputtering. Thinking that I was on the verge of death, I went into survival-mode, which, for me, is apparently doing nothing. I got as low into my chair as possible (practically on the floor) and looked around the plane at my fellow passengers, who were either asleep or watching the movie, with the big crazy eyes and wondered, "We're all going to die! Why the hell isn't anyone else panicking?" This lasted for about 10 min., during which my palms were sweating profusely. I eventually got to the point where I thought that we were still going to crash, but maybe not at this instant. So I convinced myself to read because it's better than waiting to die. I kept a death-grip on my Kindle for another 10 min. when the panic attack (or stupidity) finally wore off, and had a normal flight from then on. Needless to say, I'm really happy that the lights were turned off and that everyone else was asleep or ignoring me because it was damn pathetic on my part.

While we standing, waiting to get the airplane, I applied another layer of deodorant. It was really classy on my part, I know, but it was definitely better than the alternative. People with broad shoulders aren't meant to fly internationally. Dwight Howard probably smells like death after a 14-hour flight.

Anyway, in Seoul I met with Megan, who's also in the program, and we flew into Chiang Mai. The drive from the airport to the hotel was not quite as impressive as I thought it would be, probably because it was 1 in the morning and I couldn't see anything. In any case, I'm here to stay for at least another six months. I think I have all day to walk around and do whatever, so that's about it for me.

Wednesday, October 7, 2009

The Day Before the Day After Tomorrow



So I leave tomorrow. I have to wake up at 3:50 tomorrow, so this will probably be rushed. If you can't tell, I'm kind of blog-stupid and am having issues with the pictures. I'll work on that.

Some vital statistics:

  • 5"10 1/2
  • 181 lbs. according to my sister's WiiFit

I'm guessing at least one of those will change.


Having never left the country before, much less for six months, I faced quite a few difficulties in packing. Obviously the biggest challenge was narrowing down which shoes I was going to bring. I have about six pairs of shoes that I wear on a regular basis (and we wonder why the rest of the world thinks we're wasteful), so I had some tough decesions to make. The have-to-take's: one of pair of tennis shoes, running shoes (you can laugh, but I haven't had any shin splints since making the change to customized shoes; I'm a believer), and black shoes for teaching. The maybe's: Toms, Chackos, Rainbows, and any other pair of tennis shoes. Times like these are when I realize just how terrible a person I am.



Unfortunately, I had a major incident of bad karma today, which will be fantastic before I fly for 15 hours. I'll go ahead and apologize now to any of the passengers on board my flight. If we crash, well, my bad. I feel like the second post is way too early to apologize for not writing more (lame), but I never guaranteed that this blog would be interesting all of the time...or even most of the time. Right now I have an essay on Ricky Rubio, Hasheem Thabeet, and Postcolonialism in the works, depending on how the whole travel thing works, I'm going to optimistically shoot for early next week. If I don't post it, it probably means that I'm dead or I don't have internet. Take your pick.


The most important item I packed:



It's entirely possible that I love my Kindle more than I love my family.

Sunday, October 4, 2009

The Chronic Intro

Ok, so I'm fairly certain that I don't have much to offer as a blogger.

I haven't bothered looking, but I'm positive that there are no less than ten people currently blogging about being an American in Thailand. At least one of them is smarter than I am (but no more than one of them). Another one is a better writer than I am, and all of them are more motivated than I am. You see, for an English graduate, I am an incredibly lazy writer (this is actually a fairly common syndrome among us). It doesn't matter what it is--fiction, poetry, emails, texts--I'll manage to find a way not to write it. The notable exceptions are academic papers, which I'm pretty much forced to write. I try to justify this character flaw all the time; my primary argument is that I expend so much energy when I do write, that writing becomes one of the least appealing activities when I am not required to do it.

And then I decided to go Thailand.

Suddenly everyone I knew--friends, family, co-workers, and acquaintances whose names I may or may not know--told me, "Be sure to write me." "Fuck me," was my first thought, "am I going to have to write all these emails?" William Faulkner wrote, "I notice how it takes a lazy man, a man that hates moving, to get set on moving once he does get started off, the same as he was set on staying still, like it aint the moving he hates so much as the starting and stopping." Writing emails to fifty people, that's a lot of starting and stopping. I told myself that if I were to get set on [writing], I might as well write a damn blog. If nothing else, I can just make them read this, instead writing a bunch of emails.

So here it is, Pad Thai & Chocolate Jesus, an (occasionally) fascinating blog written by someone who hates to write. I don't claim to be more interesting than most bloggers, but I have a few things going for me: a flawless memory for random pop culture tidbits and an eclectic taste in music ranging from Lil Wayne to Bonnie Tyler. I am interested in damn near everything, and I'll sometimes blog about living in Thailand. Once every week or two, I will post a semi-academic essay (minus references). I can't promise that I won't block quote myself like an asshole, but I can guarantee that at least one essay will be dedicated to sexual confusion in Disney Channel Original Movies. If that isn't enough to entice you to check this website obsessively for updates, then you're dead to me anyway. Here's my man Tom Waits, who is my everyday inspiration: