Tuesday, June 26, 2007


(PICTURE: Wow! What a clever disguise. Who would ever suspect this guy was a criminal?)

This is one for the books. It would be hilarious if he hadn’t just killed a guy. This has to me one of the dumbest criminals ever. I wonder how long he planned his escape. I wonder how many facial tattoos he got while his escape was in the planning stage.

He killed a guard and made a run for it. Was he hoping to blend in with the general population? Is there someplace in the world where he would go unnoticed? The only phrase missing from his face is, “Arrest me, I’m a criminal.”

I read one report that he has “KICK ME” tattooed on his back. I don’t believe that.

I had always believed that tattoos, along with body piercings, were a sign of elegance and good taste. Maybe I’ll have to rethink that.

(The full story here.)

Sunday, June 24, 2007


(PICTURE: 'What does taste have to do with it?")

When we were camped in northwest Iran we were near the Caspian Sea. Caviar, which comes from there, was plentiful and cheap. We could have it every meal if we chose. I chose not. I know there are different grades of caviar and we were getting what the French might call the “street variety.” But what the French call “street wine” is pretty good wine to my taste. This Iranian caviar was not to my taste.

Much of the Iranian food was pretty good though. They dry roasted pistachios, leaving them coated with salt crystals. Many time I made a meal out of them alone. American protective regulations boost the price of pistachios quite a bit and they are not as good as the “street variety” in Iran. Their kiln baked bread is good, although you might find an occasional rock imbedded. It’s baked on heated rocks.

Throughout the world available supply has a lot to do with people’s preference in food. Rare food is often more prized than plentiful varieties. If you had lobster 10 days in a row, what would you rather have, lobster or chicken? Most people would go for the chicken.

Even further, if lobster were 10 times more available than chicken, then chicken would be regarded as the delicacy and lobster the mundane. I bought a “milk roast chicken” at our local Bangkok super market. (I have no idea of the process involved in “milk roasting” a chicken although I tried to find out.) The product of this preparation was at least equal to any lobster I have ever tasted. Luckily, in my mostly Buddhist household, the entire chicken was left to me. (They will fudge their Buddhism when certain delicacies like pizza are brought in the house.)

On the subject of Thai food, the garlic here is not very good. I have tried using it in different ways, even raw. When raw it only a little hot but still not garlicy enough. I have never gotten a garlic burp here and that is what I’m going for---that garlic aftertaste.

Two ways to judge a meal are how it tastes when eaten and how it feels afterward. Some great tasting meals do not settle well. The other day, looking for a quick meal, I opened a 190 G (6.7 Oz) of mackerel in tomato sauce, poured it over bread and microwaved it. Well sir, I’m here to tell you, my stomach came up and shook my hand and said thank you. I’m thinkin’, my stomach is like a cheap date. Why go through all the trouble when it’s so easily pleased?

That’s all for now. I’m off to get a two day supply of Subway spicy Italian sandwiches. They may not please my stomach but they sure taste good.

Thursday, June 21, 2007


When my American ex-wife was single and raising a little boy (not mine), she had a terrible dirty trick played on her. Her sister brought over a cute, cuddly, little puppy as a gift. She had seen it in a window and just couldn’t resist she said. Of course the little boy was hooked at first sight. Of course he made all the usual promises about taking care of it. Of course the cute little puppy grew into a large dog. They do that sometimes.

It was impossible to keep this friendly monster in her small apartment. There was no one she knew who could or would take it. Finally, she put an ad in the paper offering to give up the dog for free.

I took no part in this but was there for the final chapter. Only one person answered the ad. A sleazy looking guy came by to pick up the “free” dog. I never told her, even to this day, but I was pretty sure he only wanted the dog to eat it.

If you have no conscience, that is a trick you can play on a relative with little kids.

Monday, June 18, 2007


(PICTURE: She’s probably not perfect. She’s probably not as kind as Santa Claus. But life is a series of compromises.)

The Perfect Woman essay below got me to thinking. Back in the 70s I was committed to stay in America because my son from Vietnam had to stay. There was nowhere else he could go. So, at the advanced age of 40, I started dating American women. I have described many of my experiences in this blog in essays with the subtitle Dating After 40, but most of those were of the longer term variety. There were many “one date” happenings that could only occur in America.

One lady told me firmly that I must begin every sentence with the phrase, “In my opinion…”

Another, after finding I had spent many years in Asia, said, “Bring those women here. We’ll straighten them out in no time.”

“I know,” I replied. “That’s why we can never bring them here.”

That pretty much ended that date.

American women are fixated on romance. I had a very brief affair with a lovely (approaching 40) blonde. We got along very well and all of our peripherals seemed to fit for a more permanent arrangement, which I suggested.

“But,” she said, “I’m not in love with you.”

I replied, “What the hell does love have to do with it?” To be honest, at that point I started suspecting she was not all there. I won’t go into details, but she had more negatives in those aforementioned peripherals than I. The reader may suspect that this is sour grapes but I had no hard feelings. I only offered a convenient relationship. They are generally stronger than a bond of love because a perceived betrayal is easier to take.

I quit seeing her because I started thinking she was a flake and I was looking for a more permanent relationship. She called me a year later and we met again but I didn’t renew the offer. I had become convinced she was a flake.

Sometimes it takes a while so see beyond the great body.


(PICTURE: I got to thinking, playing the perfect woman wouldn’t seem to take much acting at all. It all seems so natural. I could probably get in drag and do that although I wouldn’t be much to look at. I wonder what makes it so hard.)

I saw Elizabethtown, the Cameron Crowe movie, yesterday on Thai cable. This is an interesting, almost fascinating movie for many reasons, not the least of which, it caused me to write this (which is not a review). How good was it? It held my attention 85% of the time and I did no channel surfing while it was on. The average movie or TV show ranks less than 50% on my attention rating.

The movie is mostly about a young man (Orlando Bloom) who has suffered a career disaster and is trying suicide when he learns his father has died while visiting his home town in Kentucky. The family orders him to go there and take care of things. He meets a flight attendant (Kirsten Dunst) on the way who comes on to him like gangbusters.

From there it all develops to an interesting ending. On the way, the widow (Susan Sarandon) does an amazing eulogy at the wake. Not one reviewer that I read understood what was going on there. How shallow those people are. How frustrating it must be for someone like Cameron Crowe to be writing so far above the heads of the reviewers (72% of whom hated this fine movie). What the widow had done was come to grips with the fact that she had lost her whole life (her husband) and she was trying desperately to save herself, which she was in the process of doing right there in front of our eyes. For the critics it was ridiculous and showboating. For me it was meaningful, deeply touching, and mesmerizing. The lady was trying to save her life. Rent the DVD and see who is right.

One thing I take issue with in the movie is the Kirsten Dunst character. She is like the friendly, intelligent little puppy dog that followed you home with a wagging tail (literally). In other words, she is a perfect woman. Women like that are not around in America. They are grabbed up by men like hogs snuffing out truffles, and they are just as hard to find. A 30ish, unmarried woman like her is an impossibility.

In real life, after high school, I have met two women like that. One I describe extensively in My Nympho (scroll down if you activate that link). We only got together because she was very recently wounded in her divorce. We only split because I knew that her Playboy class nympho daughter would be delivering a multitude of babies to her doorstep and I couldn’t handle that.

The second perfect woman I probably shouldn’t mention because it tells too much about me. I met her at a party. She had that intelligent puppy dog quality. We wound up at her place and talked the night away. We drank a great deal of white wine in her living room and then talked some more while cuddling in her bed.

We seemed perfect for each other. The only thing out of my natural range was that I have a preference for small breasts and the lady had extra large natural boobs. I’m not complaining. I just mention that. Only a fool would complain.

So what happened? Well this is the embarrassing part because we seemed so perfect for each other, almost like she was my alter ego. She turned out to be a complete wack job in social situations. I would look at her and not believe this was the same woman. I won’t go into details and you can believe me or not, but she caused me to start wondering about myself. If we were perfect for each other and she was nuts, what did that make me?

See, that movie caused me to think.

Beware the perfect woman.

Sunday, June 10, 2007


I’m sorry but these are the facts that make a Democrat victory in ’08 necessary:

America must be united to fight a worldwide war against Muslim terror.

Democrats, for the most part, and for their own reasons, will not support Republican leadership in that war.

Republicans, for the most part, would support Democrat leadership in the war.

So to get unity, a Democrat must be elected.

In my opinion, the election of a Democrat would result in a disaster. But this is going to be a long war, so it is best to get the disasters out of the way quickly. Mollify the far left by getting one of their own elected with an agenda of conciliation and rhetoric. Let the left, with their one world philosophy and utopian dreams (“It Takes a Village”) take the reins. Let them deconstruct the counter-terrorism structure, such as it is, let loose everyone from Guantanamo, and let freedom rein.

Is there someone on earth who would not view this as a great victory for the Muslim extremists? Okay, that is not a fair question. Gallup and the other pollsters would never couch it in those terms. But certainly those Muslim extremeists would view it as a great victory. And then would come the next offensive. And then will come the next disaster for America. It will put 911 to shame.

But that disaster is inevitable because the left in America will not, for one reason or another, recognize we are at war. Because of that, the disaster is necessary. It is the only way to unite Americans in the war, and America can only win if it is united.

Sunday, June 03, 2007


(PICTURE: Just a pretty lady who has nothing to do with the story below.)
I enjoy the writing part of this blog. Posting what I have written is a chore. Right now I have seven little essays written, but posting them is too much like work.

When I started this thing I wondered what I would write about after the first few subjects were done. Now there are more things to write about than I have time for.

Why are writing and posting different? Because I seldom compose directly to the computer. The atmosphere in front of the keyboard is a bit stifling. I like to write longhand in massage parlors and other disreputable places.

My favorite location is a barn like, fan cooled structure in downtown Bangkok. It is not a cat house although it is usually populated by 50 or more ladies of that persuasion. The “house” gets nothing from them except they seem to draw many male customers. The ladies are independent contractors but there is no sex on the premises. They have a nearby hotel that rents them rooms by the hour. The energy level (noise) in this place is high and I absorb some of it. It’s fun to be flirted with even if I know it’s only for the money. The ladies are 2s thru 8 ½. Some are here because of the color of their skin. Massage parlors only hire light-skinned Thais. But the hot looking women probably make out better here than they could in a massage parlor. Everything is negotiated.

It’s stimulating to watch the proceedings although it would be better if all the ladies didn’t wear bras. I hate that Thai fixation with bras. You’ve heard the joke about wearing a bra with a strapless dress? I see them do it here.

The hormone level is pretty intense here. As the afternoon wears on it gets higher and the girls get prettier (and that’s not the beer talking). The ladies keep coming in, more than go out. I’ve never been here after 4PM. Maybe the 10s come in in the evening. I bet they do.

What is truly a taste of reality is that the some of the top looking ones won’t give me a second look. That sets up the prospect of being rejected by a hooker if I were inclined to go that way, which I’m not.

No, really.