EK Bangkok Blog

The Meaning Of A Double

Sun, 17 Jul 2011 18:53:05

<h4>Omens</h4><p>Within minutes of arriving in Bangkok, our friends, Bob and Alison, greeted us at the airport with a van in waiting, and whisked us away to our hotel. Even before we had a chance to culture-shock, we found ourselves in Bangkok's Monday morning rush hour, and an hour-plus traffic jam. During this "downtime," as it were, we were offered a menu of plans for our morning: drop the bags at the hotel, get a hands-on education of the subway and sky train, take a trip to the mall, and brunch at an "American" restaurant. If we survived that far, Toledo's dungeons would seem a resort to what might follow. So we happily agreed as we were strapped to our fate, and I thought to myself, "Perhaps this is merely Bangkok culture. They're simply immune to the the effects of a 14-hour time difference and a 17-hour flight, and I'm just a sissy for feeling tired." I felt stronger, and onward we went.</p><h4>Reminders</h4><p>My wife and I married almost 20 years ago, at a time when she spoke Spanish and almost no English, and I spoke English and almost no Spanish. They say love is blind, and I believe that it is probably deaf, as well (at least it probably <em>should</em> be). But I digress from my point, which is this: I am used to misunderstandings in language. I am conditioned. It is my career. It is my life. My experience has taught me how to use different or simpler words when trying to communicate to people who speak English as a second language. And before arriving in Bangkok, I prided myself that I was somewhat good at it. But no more. I am humbled. My wits have been divided and conquered. And the victors always smile.</p><h4>Portents Fulfilled</h4><p>At the hotel we picked up John, an Evangelist from America who was preaching at Bob's church for the week. And upon arriving at the restaurant, we met up with Christien and Shannon, more friends from America living in Bangkok. John ordered a cappuccino, and asked the waitress to make it a "double." She agreed, and scribbled down his order. I liked the sound of that, so I too asked for a double-shot cappuccino. But the waitress looked confused. I explained, "A double-shot, just like him." She still seemed confused, but said she understood, scribbled some notes and walked away. Moments later, she brings two cappuccinos out, and they looked delicious. They were served in the short European-style coffee cup, perfectly frothy, and the froth was prepared with an artistic leaf design. Shortly after, she returned with another cappuccino, but it was served in the larger American-style coffee cup. We explained that no one else had ordered coffee, and she explained that I had ordered a large coffee, a "double" coffee. We had thought that the first two cups were for John <em>and I</em>, but in fact they were just for John--they were his "double" cappuccino. My "double" came in the form of a large <em>double-sized</em>, and she was certain she got it right. Thus the omens of miscommunication <em>began</em> to be fulfilled in Bangkok, and have continued every day since.</p>

Conquered By Frozen Foods

Fri, 29 Jul 2011 08:51:38

<p>Food defines culture. And learning to properly eat foreign food is viewed by some as a social badge of honor. Consider the world-popular ramen noodles. Most Americans would eat a bowl of ramen noodles with a fork, like a plate of spaghetti. But Thai people typically eat ramen with a pair of chopsticks and a <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Soup_spoon" target="_new">Chinese spoon</a>. They lift the noodles with the chopsticks, neatly place them into the spoon, and gracefully eat them with table manners worthy of royalty. Now that I know how to properly eat ramen in Thailand, I can proudly display my new badge.</p><p>Like many people that I know, I’ve often viewed different foreign foods as one of life’s small adventures. I have tried and enjoyed many times such culturally diverse foods that make most Americans cringe with disgust. I have had Mexican menudo and pozole, tacos de lengua (cow tongue), and even tacos de sesos (cow brain). I’ve tried French delicacies of escargo (snails) and many times enjoyed fois gras pate (fatty liver). I’ve been treated to Philippino dishes that included goat tripe, and others with the ominously anonymous title of “lo mein with ‘meat’”--just “meat”...and the feeling that you shouldn’t ask for more details. I have had Native American dishes such as fry bread and mutton stew (including assisting in the slaughter of the sheep). I have eaten shark, javelina, rabbit, and at a much younger age than I remember, squirrel. I hope it is obvious that I do not easily “culture shock” over foreign food items.</p><p>With this in mind, I hope I am not alone in confessing an ever-so-slight feeling of shock at some of the items I have discovered in the frozen section at a local store. The store, called Makro, is a membership-based warehouse-style store similar to Costco or Sam’s Club in America. Here are some of the items that really shocked me to discover:</p><ul><li>Snake skin. It actually looked like a bag full of many skins from some sort of eel...they still had some of the fins.</li><li>Giant octopus. I've had smaller octopus and squid many times, even recently. But I just can't imagine this creature as the main course.</li><li>Giant water bug (female). This was what pushed me over the edge. They looked like nothing but sewer roaches, vacuum sealed and frozen in packs of ten. I thought I had seen these things in a pest control ad. I just can't seem to imagine any method of cooking that would make these any more enticing, less yet consumable. Pardon me...just writing this is making me culture shock.</li></ul><p>It was once my pride to "try anything once," and "see how the other half lives." But what was once my pride now lies conquered in the frozen food section at the store called Makro. I close my eyes, and long for bonafide American food. Fortunately, they also sell plastic-wrapped imported cookies.</p><p><a href="images/blogpics/Bangkok-Frozen-Foods-Colage-LARGE---20110729.jpg" target="_new_blogpics">Click here for large version of picture below</a>.</p>

Unfolded Space

Fri, 29 Jul 2011 23:01:18

<p><br />A friend of mine once explained to me the theory of "folded space." The details are only fully explained in the "worm holes" of science fiction, but the concept is simple enough: folded space allows you to instantly jump from one place to another. Another law of physics states that for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. By applying the law of physical science to the theory of folded space, I believe that if you can quantum leap in time and space, then there must be another place equal and opposite: a place where you are stuck in the quantum leap for an indeterminate amount of time, and moving the smallest of distances can take an eternity. I call it <em>Unfolded Space</em>, and I know it exists every time I attempt to travel through Bangkok traffic.</p>

Who Says I'm Fat?

Sun, 31 Jul 2011 19:49:09

<h4>Vanity Fair</h4><p>In John Bunyan's <em>Pilgrim's Progress</em>, he describes the town of Vanity, "and at the town there is a fair kept, called Vanity Fair. ... It beareth the name of Vanity Fair, because...all that is there sold, or that cometh thither, is vanity." Since arriving in Bangkok, I have been regularly reminded of Bunyan's vision as this is a city most obsessed with vanity. One example of this happened this week at a local superstore. There was a large television displaying the live feed from a camera so that if you stood in front of the television you would see yourself as in a mirror. Standing directly in front of the camera so that no one else could enter its view was a young woman "dressed to the nines"--albeit in a miniskirt--and with makeup as though she were posing for the cover of <em>Cosmopolitan</em>. She seemed completely oblivious to the throngs around her as she posed, smiled, and puckered at the camera, all the while pleasantly admiring her own reflection. If anyone but himself could make Narcissus proud, she would have.</p><h4>Targeted Marketing</h4><p>With this overemphasis upon appearances, there are many thriving cosmetic businesses. You can change your appearance with everything from makeup, cosmetic dentistry, plastic surgery, and even [blush] gender-changing. Many times the malls will have gangs of young women in short-shorts and half-shirts yelling through bullhorns their "you-can-look-like-me" message. And standing throughout the mall are thin women and young men passing flyers for "slim centers." But I've noticed that, in the age-old wisdom of Asia, they don't usually waste their time and energy. The makeup evangelists literally pull at the arms of the girls who are either not wearing makeup, or apparently need a few more coats. The anti-fat evangelists literally pull at the arms of people...well, you get the idea.</p><h4>Taking It Personal</h4><p>I do not deny that I have my pride. But I will contest any accusation that I am overly vain about my looks. (Indeed, my wife has been burdened for nearly 20 years just to get me to shave regularly and to dress with some semblance of dignity.) But I'm confused. Last week when I was shopping for coffee, a toothpick with hair (perhaps it was a girl), kept pointing at the sugar-substitute then said something about "skinny." I told her thank you, and she kept repeating herself and raising her voice until I finally had to walk away. And when I accidentally walked by the mall's slim center, a woman tugged at my arm and handed me a flyer. It's like they're trying to tell me something. Perhaps I should make a t-shirt that says, "Who says I'm fat?" Or "It's a thyroid condition."</p>

Coffee Hell

Fri, 5 Aug 2011 05:44:12

<p><strong>The Coffee Snob</strong></p><p>Not so long ago in a land across the seas there lived a coffee snob. He boasted for years of the virtues of Arabica beans, the dignity of Jamaican Blue Mountain, the fragrance of Columbian Supremo, and the smooth “bite” of authentic Kona. He could discourse on different roasts, grinds, blends, <em>crema</em>, and even peaberries. He had often enjoyed roasting his own beans, and knew the difference between the first and second “pop.” He could discern and disdain a cup of Robusta at a sniff, and often commented that “Robusta should only be used as wood stain.” He once had an online store selling high-end coffee products such as $1,200 lever espresso machines. He loved good coffee, and loved to love it.</p><p><strong>Levers And Wood Stain</strong></p><p>Anyone who knows me knows that this is not a fairytale, but an autobiography. The lever machine pictured above is an actual product that I used to sell to other coffee snobs. And the bit about using Robusta as a wood stain is a true story from my childhood...but I don’t want to embarrass my parents.</p><p><strong>Coffee For Newbies</strong></p><p>All coffee snobs know that Arabica beans are superior to Robusta beans the same way that a Lamborghini is superior to a Volkswagen. It’s just a fact. And most coffee snobs agree that the best Arabica in the world comes from Jamaica, and the worst Robusta comes from Vietnam. It is very common for a can of coffee to advertise “100% Arabica” because Arabica is harder to grow (thus more expensive), and it does not contain the repulsive bitterness of Robusta (that’s the “snob” in me doing the talking).</p><p><strong>The Mighty Are Fallen</strong></p><p>When a coffee can contains Robusta, the label never brags. Like the poor kid whose father’s in prison, Robusta labels cannot tell the whole truth. When asked about his father, the child might say, “He’s at ‘camp.’” When asked about ingredients, Robusta labels say, “contains 100% ‘coffee.’” If you’re not a fellow coffee snob, you’ve probably never even read the label anyway.<br /> I am not surprised that Robusta coffee is so common in Bangkok. But one of the most popular coffees has ads <em>bragging</em> that it is Robusta. The word “Robusta” is the most prominent text on the label, second to only the brand name. And in the commercials that are displayed on the subway TV’s (another topic for another day), the handsome actor smiles and shows his “Robusta” coffee. I subconsciously cringe and swallow to prevent dry heaves, and think, “I must’ve died and gone to coffee-hell.” After a few cups of instant, I’m certain that it’s true.</p>

Just Like A Vacation

Mon, 15 Aug 2011 23:44:33

<p>Being a missionary is just like a vacation. You find yourself surrounded by a new environment, and immersing yourself in a different culture. You imbibe the sites, sounds, and smells, and are enriched with experience. The sound of snapping pictures is reminiscent of a woodpecker, and your daily prayers include thanks to God for digital cameras because you could not afford to develop that much film. You love the thought of waking up each day because, after all, it's vacation!</p><p>But I admit that this is like no other vacation I have ever had. This is the first vacation where I have been working to establish a new church and home. I have had to open accounts, shop buildings, shop housing, learn the subway system, learn the skytrain system, learn the taxi system, study the language, buy church chairs and PA equipment, mop floors, and clean windows. Meanwhile, I have had to maintain daily reading, daily prayer, keeping the family sane, and simplify my sermonizing.</p><p>These aren’t complaints, they are merely facts. And another fact is that I love it. I’d have it no other way. When I walk through the door, sweat dripping head-to-toe from the inescapable humidity, my wife usually laughs at me and says something like, “You’re not happy unless you’re going a hundred miles-per-hour!” After 20 years of marriage, I’ve learned to always get in the last word: “Yes, dear.”</p><p>So, if a vacation is something you love to wake up to...so long as it doesn’t require constant R&R, and contains the typical work and frustrations of day-to-day living...this is just like it!</p>

Planning Makes Perfect

Tue, 23 Aug 2011 08:41:06

<h4>The Day Planner Generation</h4><p>One of the basic rules of software engineering is to “design first, code after.” That is to say that you can no more write a piece of software without a plan than you can build a house without a blueprint. In fact, the principle of advance planning has been so broadly applied that you can buy tools to help plan your graduation party, plan your wedding, plan your job search, plan your children, plan your vacation, plan your life’s goals, and even plan for the unexpected. This is the generation of the Day Planner, Day Runner, and Task Manager. (Did anyone catch that pun?)</p><h4>Day Planning Bangkok Style</h4><p>Perhaps it’s just the software engineer in me, or maybe just something in my bloodline, but I have embraced the American belief that you need a plan, and I am learning how to apply that methodology to life in Bangkok. I doubt that even Steven Covey planned for life in Asia. Therefore, I would like to outline some of the planner tools I am learning to implement on a daily basis:</p><ul><li><strong>Grocery shopping.</strong> I don’t mean “what” to buy when grocery shopping, as in simply taking a grocery list. I’m talking about “how much” to buy as in, “how much of this can I fit in the backseat and trunk of the taxi.”</li><li><strong>Mapping.</strong> There is no such thing as a right turn in Bangkok, unless it is a U-Turn. Therefore, you must plan how to get where you want to go entirely based upon left turns. And I have learned (quite painfully on one occassion) that you can’t trust a Bangkok taxi driver to know the way. (“Bpai Sun Sirikit MRT krap. Khun kao jai mai krap?” “Kap pom, kap pom, Chong Nonsi,” he says. “Mai! Mai Chong Nonsi,” I say, “Sun Sirikit MRT...subway...(I show him a picture)...Khun kao jai mai krap?” “Kap pom, kap pom,” and he proceeds to take us to Chong Nonsi anyway. [SIGH])</li><li><strong>Cash on hand.</strong> Debit terminals at grocery stores are pretty common, but many places only accept cash. It is true that you can’t walk 50 feet down any street without seeing an ATM, but the fee to use the dang thing is 150 baht a whack (about $5.00)! And because taxi drivers can’t always make change, you not only have to have <em>enough</em> cash, but also the right <em>denomination</em> of cash. A lack of “cash planning,” and you might find yourself walking two miles home.</li><li><strong>The “Sweat Factor.”</strong> Bangkok has one season: hot and humid. When I go to our church building in the mornings, I walk over half-a-mile to get on the bus, and then a third-mile after I get off. When we walk to the nearest mall, it is a half-mile. By the time you’ve done a couple half-mile walks, you might not notice the difference between your body odor and that of the Bangkok open sewers. Therefore, carefully planning for the sweat factor can prevent the “land of smiles” from frowning at you.</li></ul><p> </p>

A Train In A Bottle

Fri, 16 Sep 2011 19:39:10

<h4>That Ugly "Babel" Incident</h4><p>First, I must say that Thai script is one of the most beautiful languages I have ever seen. In the picture above, you can see a sample of our church sign in Thai with its English equivalents. I think you'd agree that the Thai script just feels like art.<br /> Ever since that ugly "Babel incident," language has created boundaries between people. But part of human nature--whether used for good or evil--is our compulsion to push the boundaries, to break rules, to cross the line. In the context of language, this is good. There are approximately 6.75 billion people in the world. If you speak English, you can communicate with more than one-fifth of them (22%). For sake of example, if you speak Mandarin Chinese, you can communicate with 15% of the world; Spanish, 7.5%; French 3%; Thai, 0.5%; and so on.</p><h4>False Friends</h4><p>When learning a second language, most programs try to take what you know of your first language and teach you to apply that to the second by the use of "cognates." Put simply, cognates are words that appear or sound similar in different languages. (The old joke for those learning Spanish is "just add an 'O' or an 'A' at the end, and it's Spanish." "You can drive a 'car-o,' etc.") Therefore, cognates are your "friends," because you can use what you already know in the new language. But there are many times when cognates fail, and these are called "false friends." For example, as I was going into a convenience store, I once asked a Spanish-speaker if they would like some "cola," and the results were disastrous.</p><h4>You Can't Thai Your Shoes</h4><p>After a few embarrassing moments (like the one above), I took a little time and learned conversational Spanish. I've also spent over a year learning three levels of spoken French. And in my young-adult years, I even learned some basic Vietnamese. Armed with knowledge of cognates, diphthongs, and tonality, I figured that I could take on Thai <em>tout suite</em>, and emerge the <em>conquistador</em>. But I had forgotten my studies of Vietnamese, especially the fact that <em>there are no cognates</em>. When learning Thai, you have no "friends," only "false friends." So you can't Thai your shoes.</p><h4>Real Life Examples</h4><p>Everyone in Thailand, from about age 14 and up, has a cell phone. Therefore, it is not uncommon to overhear conversations of other train-riders, passerby's, or taxi drivers.<br /> A typical woman's conversation will consist of a dozen interjections of, "Ka ka, ka, ka ka ka, ka." In Spanish, this sounds awful. And a man's conversation similarly says, "krap, krap, krap, krap," which sounds equally awful in English. At first I thought this was a very crude language, but "ka" is how women say, "yeah, yes, yep," and "krap" is the man's equivalent.<br /> I also hear people frequently say, "Die! Die! Die!" I thought, "For being so crude, they're very well cultured in English Literature, as everyone seems to be able to quote Shakespeare." I felt the need to answer, "No die, but an ace…for he is but one!" I was disappointed to find out that <em>dii</em> (pronounced "die") is the Thai word for "okay," not the suicidal cry of Pyramus. What a pity.<br /> Finally, I saw a bottle of "Coke BTS." The "BTS" in Bangkok is the sky train, so I thought maybe "Coke BTS" had some sort of surprise. Thoughts of the old ship-in-a-bottle filled my fantasy as I imagined that maybe inside that delicious Coke there was a BTS train-in-a-bottle. "How cool!" I thought, unprepared for another disappointment. Though the letters <em>look</em> like "EAN BTS," they are actually the Thai-script for "Coke Zero." Thus my "Coke BTS" came up a big "Coke Zero." But what do you expect for 17 baht?</p>

Revelations and Thorns

Thu, 6 Oct 2011 22:43:08

<h4>A Heady Thing</h4><p>Many people are familiar with the Biblical account of Jesus walking on the water. At that time, Jesus also invited Peter to come out of the boat and join Him. So Peter left the boat and also walked on water for a short time, until he took his eyes off Jesus. The stage play "Saint John In Exile" dramatizes how Peter's success affected him. John says, "Peter was never the same after the Lord let him walk on water. It's true. Walking on water is a heady thing, beloved. It would change you, too!"</p><p>In much of Asia, there is a glut of laborers. Therefore, whenever there is a service to be done, there are usually twice as many workers servicing that need as you would see in America. At restaurants, there are usually no less than three waiters/waitresses serving your table. And because there is so much competition, workers display a great eagerness to please…and this can be a heady thing when they're working to please you.</p><p>For example, I recently had to buy new eyeglasses, and my family happened to be with me when I went to the optical store. There were two girls working the store that night, and when we came in they went to work doing everything they could to make us feel special. They cheerfully greeted us with ear-to-ear smiles and the trademark "sa-wat-dee-ka" of Thailand. They quickly setup a vanity mirror, and like a Gatling gun, shot an endless supply of frames for me to try on…bam bam bam! If that wasn't enough, they even poured us each a glass of orange juice with a a small bendy-straw and a <em>real</em> orchid set on the rim. By the time we left, we all felt so special…it was a heady thing.</p><p>Our home here in Thailand is in a "serviced apartments" complex. This means that there is a service staff that takes care of literally <em>everything</em>: landscaping, interior and exterior pest control, changing lights, appliance repair/replacement, free shuttle to various stores, free shuttle to various bus/sky train stations, fetching taxis, and even a security staff that clicks their heels and salutes every time we walk by. I have to admit, it's a heady thing.</p><h4>To Serve Man</h4><p>I confess that "red carpet treatment," and being daily saluted could quite easily go to your head. But there are other "luxuries" that offer a little balance. For example, the fragrance of "eau de toilette" that permeates the humidity. I'm not speaking of Chanel No. 5, but rather the river of open sewer along Naradiwas road…"toilet water" in the most literal sense. There is also the flapping of wings of the exotic local fowl: of course I mean the cursed vampirous mosquitos, not the "lovely plumage of the Norwegian Blue." One Sunday's lunch in a local restaurant left our family covered with itching welts. We didn't <em>eat</em> lunch, we <em>were</em> lunch! For all of the hospitable service that we received, I flashed back to an old sketch: "To Serve Man" was not a book on being a servant, "it's a cookbook!" So whatever the intentions of those who offer special treatment, I am conscious of this fact: walking on water is a heady thing, but only One has ever done it right without sinking!</p>

Inhospitable Thailand

Thu, 13 Oct 2011 20:08:36

<h4>How Rude</h4><p>As Thais typically greet you with a smile, the general perception is that Thailand is a very polite, welcoming, and hospitable place. I agree that the Thai people are wonderful, but ThaiLAND--the actual environment and ecosystem where the Thai people live--is exceedingly ill-mannered. The people are delightful, but to the <em>environment</em> I exclaim, "How rude!"</p><h4>You Don't Know</h4><p>One of the inside jokes between me and my kids is the "you don't know" joke. They may comment, "I'm tired." I then put on my best grumpy-old-man voice and reply, "You don't know what <em>tired</em> is! When I was young…(blah blah)…" Just yesterday I heard, "I'm stressed." I was obliged to respond, "You don't know what <em>stress</em> is!" And we both laughed.</p><p>Today is October 14, 2011, and right now, Thailand is experiencing it's most destructive floods in decades. A few miles north of Bangkok, in Ayutthaya, flood waters have reached over two meters (six-and-a-half feet), wreaking untold destruction. One official this week stated, "one third of Thailand is a disaster area" because of the flood waters. Even the capital city Bangkok is under threat, and parts of the city may become a swimming pool this week. As such, we have been preparing for floods for the past few days. We went to various stores looking for bottled water, and all the shelves were empty. We finally found one pallet of bottled water that was still wrapped in plastic. As the worker was in the process of cutting open the wrapping, there were at least six shopping carts waiting like vultures for the last breath to leave before they alighted on their prey. In fact, as soon as the first cut was made in the plastic, two people rushed the pallet, pulled open the plastic, and began grabbing cases of water. I took my cue, elbowed my way in, and grabbed a few myself. If ever I hear people talk of floods, I'm certain I will say, "You don't know what flooding is!"</p><p>Last night, sometime around 2am, I was startled awake by what sounded like a basketball being shot through a window by a cannon. Boom! Crash! Fizzle! Groggy and confused I looked around and listened, and I could also hear battle drums in the distant. It was not the NBA reenacting the War of 1812, it was <em>another</em> thunderstorm. In the U.S., I've lived in the east, the west, and in the middle, and I've never heard thunder like the thunder here in Bangkok. If you think you've ever heard thunder, "You don't know what thunder is!" The most recent episode is at least the third time that Thailand has insisted upon waging its war on silence when most of humanity is asleep. It's like the <a title="Wikipedia Foley Artist" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Foley_artist" target="_new_wikifoley">Foley technician</a> in the sky only works the graveyard shift. (And I thought the 2am boom boxes of El Mirage were bad.) As I attempted to return to Neverland, my lips unconsciously scolded the storm, and I uttered, "How rude!"</p><h4>The Family Dog</h4><p>When it comes to the torrential rains, thunderstorms, and flooding, I was surprised to learn that these floods did not come as a surprise to the Thai people. One news commenter even complained that it was getting so much press. "Thailand floods every year," he said, as if people should just get used to having six feet of water in their living room. Of course, he neglected to mention that <a title="Crocs In The Flood Article" href="http://www.bangkokpost.com/breakingnews/261640/thai-city-offers-bounty-for-fugitive-crocodiles" target="_new_crocs">northern crocodile farms have lost over one hundred of their beasts</a> that are now happily mingling about; and he seemed oblivious that the government is having to drop food boxes via helicopter to support the lives of remote families; not to mention the effect upon the food supply as rice crops have been lost; and let's not forget the disease that floods inevitably leave behind. But I must concede one point: One stroll down Google-lane reveals that this <em>does</em> happen every year. Not to the destructive degree that is occurring now, of course, but every year nonetheless. But this is the Land of Smiles, and this inhospitable land is patiently loved by its people like the family dog that chews its master's shoes.</p>

Expletive Deletive

Sun, 23 Oct 2011 19:33:46

<h4>Cinderella Story</h4><p>I grew up in a home where language was an art. The language art in my father had begun to be developed during his months as a trucker, and reached its full expressiveness during his time as a sailor. In the Navy, he also painted the ship. He never explained why, but I suspect it was because at that time he could strip a wall clean with just a few sentences. So by the time I hit double-digits, I had picked up a pretty colorful vocabulary myself, and had a few trips to the principle's office to prove it. After becoming a Christian, I had to learn a new vocabulary for those stubbed-toe knuckle-busted moments when you must say <em>something</em>, but don't want to paint the wall later. We call it "Christian cussing," but the proper term for it (and I'm not making this up) is <a title='Expletive Deletive' href='http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Expletive-deletive' target='_new_Expletive_Deletive'>Expletive Deletive</a>. "Shoot, dang, frizzle frazzle, freaking, Judas Priest," and "blankety-blank" are generally acceptable alternatives to their less attractive equals. And why dance with the ugly step-sisters when Cinderella is available?</p><h4>Learning The Dance</h4><p>Living in a foreign country--foreign to me, at least--there is no shortage of opportunities to practice my linguistic dance steps. Every day is a new lesson where "Step-two-three, one-two-three, step," is usually a stomp on the cultural toe! But a couple of "frizzle-frazzle-blankety-blanks" later, you feel all better and do it again. Last week my wife and I walked to a grocery store a block or two away. It was a little overcast, but no big deal. Halfway there, it starts to rain. We've learned to always keep our umbrellas with us, so again, no big deal...except that my wife's umbrella had broken that morning, and we hadn't yet replaced it. So we snuggled under one umbrella, and not only did we stay mostly dry, but I earned a few chivalry points, as well. Minutes later we're returning home, and "raining cats and dogs" cannot begin to describe that storm. It was like three tons of satellite space junk pummeling us in the form of water. Even with an umbrella, we were soaked to the knees as if we were the last fire hydrants in a world of dogs. Then right in front of our apartments came a crunch-time dilemma: the sidewalk was blocked by street signs, and only one of us could fit with the umbrella in hand. One of us had to abandon the umbrella--getting soaked from above--and step into the street, which was now running with about 8 inches of water. I gave my wife a heroic glance and motioning to the umbrella I said, "You take it honey. And remember me when I'm gone." Well, that might need a little elastic around the waist, but it was something like that. The short of it is I ran several yards through nearly a foot of water, and several more fully exposed to the storm to find refuge under a nearby awning. And in those few seconds I was more wet than a living sponge. "A small price to pay for my wife's safety and comfort," says I. Then I turned to see that she was dripping head to toe, too! "What happened?" says I. "Someone else was coming," says she. "So what?" says I. "I didn't want to poke their eyes out with the umbrella," says she. "Why did we even use the frizzle-frazzle-blankety-blank umbrella, then?" says I. And we both felt better drip-drying outside the lobby, all thanks to Expletive Deletive.</p>

Come Hell Or High Water

Wed, 2 Nov 2011 23:16:01

<h4>The Panic Button</h4><p>Last weekend many people evacuated Bangkok because of the reports of possible flooding in the inner city. However, as there was no widespread inner-city flooding (at least in terms of new areas being flooded), I speculated that it was really just an attempt to get people out of their homes and spending money in hotels and restaurants. Thus, an economy stalled by hoarding and panic might be sparked back into some life. It seems ironic to solve panic with panic, but in the words of Sherlock Holmes, "for strange effects and extraordinary combinations we must go to life itself, which is always far more daring than any effort of the imagination." After all, what better way is there to stimulate spending in hoarders than to pound the panic button--something they are already prone to answer. We decided to stay.</p><h4>The Boy Who Cried "Wolf!"</h4><p>I don't consider it heroic to ignore evacuation warnings. My motivations were just practical necessity. First, I don't have a car. And competing with a million people trying to leave the city conflicts with my struggle to be more patient. God promises not to tempt me with evil, so I don't want to tempt myself either. Second, I distrust the news for the same reason I distrust certain people: a pattern of unreliability. That dang kid has cried "wolf!" so many times, I just don't believe him anymore. Would you? Therefore, we stayed put during the so-called "inevitable" flooding coming to our area which just proved to be another midnight cry from that brat on the hill. My personal panic button has been disconnected until further notice.</p><h4>Staying Put</h4><p>There is something to be said for the determination to stay put, even if it's not seemingly <em>smart</em> to others. We were not alone in staying home for the "flood holiday." Though the streets and stores were less crowded by Bangkok standards, they were still quite full. And all of us that stayed behind got to enjoy the shorter lines, quick travel times, and emptier trains. The store shelves had been mostly replenished, so we were able to get some essentials: noodles, orange juice, and cookies. We felt rewarded for staying put through the difficulties. For a moment, I couldn't remember…was I talking about the floods or marriage? (We are soon celebrating our 20th anniversary.) Oh well. Either way, we're staying put come hell or high water.</p>

Death Of An Art Form

Sun, 6 Nov 2011 18:01:39

<h4>Howe Doth Ye Spell That?</h4><p>Spelling words correctly is an important part of being understood. However, spelling changes over time. "Olde English" exemplifies how radically even our language has changed in the past half dozen centuries. And I'm only referring to spelling, not to mention the sometimes complete reversal in meanings (e.g. "<a title="let" href="http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/let" target="_new_letdef">let</a>" now means "to allow," but used to mean "to hinder or prevent").</p><h4>Moldy Walls</h4><p>With the growth of technology, traditional artistic tools have suffered neglect and abuse. Pen-tablets are replacing oil on canvas, DAWs and VSTs are replacing wood rooms and orchestras, and CAD/CAM systems are replacing luthier, carver, and smith. Even written language--not the least of artistic mediums--has suffered greatly at the hands of solid state. I have actually heard people brag that they <em>require</em> a spelling or grammar checker, as if it's "normal" to have an IQ equal to your age. (I won't even mention the annoying habit of some people who use texting or chatroom shortcuts in <em>spoken</em> language, as if it's easier to say "L-O-L!" than it is to just laugh. Am I standing on the far side of the generation-gap, or has the world just gone stupid?!?) In the clutch of modern tech, the language arts are intoxicated, abused, and chained to the moldy walls of unused dictionaries, like poor Fortunado in Montressor's vaults. "BRB." "Wr R U?" "R U on 4 2nite?" "dont B L8." Oh, the humanity! Such abuse!!!</p><h4>Failing to Bridge Thai Script</h4><p>The Thai language does not share its lettering with any other language in the world. Its unique style is called "Thai Script," and once its rules are learned, it is possible to read not only the sounds of the Thai language but also its particular tones. Like all languages, the rules are modified across regions and time. Thus, the Thai people often pronounce their R's like L's (stereotypical of many Asian languages), sometimes don't pronounce their R's at all ("krap" is often spoken as "kap"), S's are sometimes T's but not always, and W's and V's seem as interchangeable as if they spoke German. Only firsthand experience can teach a Westerner how to correctly pronounce "Tesco Lotus," "BTS," and "Makro" (e.g. "Tesco Lo-tut," "Bee-Tee-Eht," and "Mack-Lo" [no relation to "J"]). And is that main road pronounced "Sukhumwit" or "Sukhumvit"? Only their stylist knows! Of course, these idiosyncrasies are not abuses of the language arts, they are merely regional or cultural <em>accents</em>. The abuse occurs when writing Thai words with Roman letters, which is called Roman transliteration or romanization. There are at least <em>twelve official</em> transliteration systems in use. (Isn't "twelve official systems" an oxymoron? If it's "official," shouldn't there be just <em>one</em>?!?) Some use L's for R's, T's for S's, V's for W's, and redefine the various accent marks to suit their own fancies. Thus, romanization of Thai has made destroying language art an art of itself. Therefore, one is better off just learning to read Thai Script.</p><h4>The More The Merrier</h4><p>Because Thailand is so friendly to Westerners, much of the signage around town appears in both Thai Script and Roman letters. But (because of so many "official" systems) woe unto the ignorant Farang who actually attempts to pronounce the Roman! ("Phra Khanong" is pronounced "Pra" not "Fra." "Rama" is pronounced "Pra-ram" with rolled R's like in Spanish...it's complicated.) This has become increasingly difficult during the flood crisis that has hit Thailand in past few months. The English version of the news reported that floods reached "Paholyothin road." Curious of how close that is to me, I search the redoubtable Google Maps. Google can't find "Paholyothin," but does show many businesses on "Paholyothin" located on a road that Google spelled as both "Thanon Phahon Yothin" and "Thanon Phahonyothin." ("Thanon" means "road" in Thai, and is pronounced with a dental T as "Tah-non," not the voiceless dental fricative as in "thing"...it's complicated.) Google was apparently too insecure to choose one transliteration system, so they decided to use two, perhaps increasing the odds of getting it right. One Bangkok district is called "Sathorn." Signs around the area show it spelled as "Sathorn," "Satorn," "Sathon," "Satohn," and as many other ways as Roman letters will provide. Google chose "Sathon," but "Sathorn" is probably the most accurate pronunciation. Google also rides the fence on spelling the street name Naradiwat Rhajinakharindra (say <em>that</em> five times fast!). Traveling north Google spells it "Naradhiwat," while southbound is "Naradhiwas." In Thailand, S's are almost always pronounced as T's when appearing at the end of word. But must technology proliferate the inability to spell worldwide? If so, why stop at just two different spellings? Why not use all twelve transliteration systems? Google seems to think that makes it less confusing--"the more the merrier!" While we're at it, Google, let's include the proper "texting" spelling, as well: "NR8DWT." Now no one should be confused!</p><h4>A Moment Of Silence</h4><p>So is this <em>it</em>? Has technology spelled the end of spelling? Has the book been closed on books? Is the writing on the wall? Can the language arts survive as people are dumbed-down by their tech? Until the answer presents itself, let's have a moment's silence. O, Language Arts, we hardly knew ye!</p>

Different Dogs

Thu, 17 Nov 2011 22:07:04

<h4>Arizona Dogs</h4><p>All over Phoenix there are mean dogs. One area in Peoria is called "dog town" because there are so many barking and biting canids running the street. And whether you're in north Tempe, Guadalupe, El Mirage, Apache Junction, or central Mesa, seeing a dog on the loose is nerve-wracking. Even in the ritzy suburbs north of Phoenix the dogs are crazy. A friend of mine was simply taking his morning jog when he made eye-contact with an unleashed Rottweiler. He slowed his jog to a stop as the dog began to show some fang. Before he knew it, he was being charged by this raging hound of the Baskervilles. The beast jumped for his neck, and in his quick-thinking reaction he used the animal's flying weight to launch it beyond himself. A battle ensued from which my friend was thankfully rescued from what could have been a serious mauling or worse. He now carries a retractible billy club, and gives an open invitation to White Fang's granddaddy to learn The Law of Club. Therefore, do not think me cowardly when I admit that loose dogs usually trigger my base fight-or-flight instincts.</p><h4>Bangkok Dogs</h4><p>The first time I walked to the bus stop, I was shocked and somewhat scared to see ahead of me what I looked like a dingo lying across three-quarters of the small sidewalk. I stopped and looked at my phone, hoping that no one knew that I was frozen with fear. In a display of ignorance I thought to myself, "That can't be a dingo! They only exist in Australia." Then I remembered that the dingoes in Australia have a savage and untamable reputation. Mingle these thoughts with my knowledge of Arizona dogs, and you might understand my feelings at the moment. While standing there exchanging glances between the brute and my phone, I saw a teeny-tiny Thai lady walking toward me. She was on the far side of the monster blocking our path, coming my way. I almost felt the need to cry out and warn her that she was about to stumble into its lair, and I was certain there would soon be sounds of anguish and snapping bones disturbing the morning air. I was embarrassed to see her not only walk by the dingo without any hesitation, but she even stepped right in front of its snout--within six inches--and to my amazement, the dog neither snapped, growled, nor even blinked! It was the best picture of pure lethargy I had seen since high school. One last glance at my phone, and I got up my pluck and marched on. I gave a wider berth than the courageous woman, but my passing solicited no more response from the pooch than her's. I have now passed that dingo so often and so close that I now say, "there's my friend," and "that's <em>my</em> dog."</p><h4>A Word About Dingoes</h4><p>After making friends with a dingo, I was interested to learn that <a title="Dingo Origins" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Canis_lupus_dingo#Origin" target="_new_dingo_origins">dingoes are actually believed to have originated, not in Australia, but in Thailand</a>. In fact, <a title="Thai and Australian Dingos Same Same" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Canis_lupus_dingo#Dingoes_of_Peninsular_Southeast_Asia" target="_new_dingo_same">the "Thai Dog" is exactly the same canid as the Australian dingo, down to the very genome</a>--as they say in Thailand, "same same."</p><h4>Brute To Buddy</h4><p>So why are the Thai dingoes so tame, and the Australian dingoes savage? One man told me that the Thai dogs are trained just like Jack Lemon's <em>Buck</em>: by The Law of Club. Then many Thais feed the street dogs as an act of kindness. My "buddy" dingo is only one of several dogs that roam the streets of our neighborhood--hundreds more roam the streets of Bangkok. Despite the great number of street dogs, I have never been threatened by either a growl or even a bark. (There is only one exception: a white dog barked at my son and I a few months ago while wagging its tail the whole time. Just two days ago, we saw the same dog on the same corner barking at another guy, so it was apparently no fault of our own.) In Arizona, the <em>rule</em> is that dogs are mean to strangers, while in Bangkok the <em>rule</em> is that they are not. In Arizona, the dogs are brutes. In Bangkok, they are "buddies." In Arizona, mutts will bark or bite for simply walking onto their "turf." In Bangkok, they lethargically accept your presence without so much as a blink. I began thinking about another species of Arizona "dog," the "street dawg" of the "gangsta" subculture. This "dawg" seems to pride itself in illiteracy, the smaller male wears his pants at half-mast, and the larger female wears her's bare-bellied and muffin-topped. The <em>dawg</em> behaves typical of Arizona dogs, often barking and biting with little provocation. In Bangkok, they have changed brutes to buddies while the dogs are young by using rod and reward. In Arizona (not to mention the entire globe), humanity has created brutes by "sparing the rod" and starving the soul. Perhaps a smack <em>constructively</em> administered <em>exclusively</em> on the buttocks, combined with parents <em>living</em> their faith instead of just <em>pushing</em> it--perhaps this is the "road less traveled by" that could "make all the difference." As my kids are nearing the age of moving away, I'd like to think it's worked for me.</p>

Copycatter, Copycatter

Sun, 18 Dec 2011 06:54:17

<h4>Time Keeps On Slippin', Slippin', Slippin'</h4><p>It's no secret that many Asian countries are known to produce copies of brand-name products. In 2002, during a trip to the Philippines, I was introduced to "copy watches." At that time, you could purchase a watch that said "Rolex" on it for about $20, and most other brand-name watches for about $5. I was attracted to a very fancy "Swatch" watch that even included barometer and altitude gauges for about $5. Unfortunately, the gauges were only <em>stickers</em> that <em>looked like</em> a barometer and altimeter. And like relatives visiting for the holidays, they didn't actually <em>do</em> anything besides sit there taking up space in your favorite chair. What's worse, the watch face and all of its insides shattered into a thousand pieces when I got it home and accidentally dropped it on the floor. Oh well. As they say, you get what you pay for. And I didn't pay for a real Swatch watch, just a cheap copycat.</p><h4>The Sign Of The Spyglass</h4><p>A discussion of copied products must inevitably touch on piracy. The stereotypical pirate always speaks with a raspy voice, has sun-darkened leathery skin, has hand-callouses as thick as rhinoceros hide, is usually dizzy from grog, and carries a cutlass. Oh yeah...and that pirate is almost always a "he," with <a href="http://www.thewayofthepirates.com/famous-pirates/anne-bonny.php" target="_new_abpirate">very few exceptions</a>. But this pirate no longer exists, except on <a title="Talk Like A Pirate Day" href="http://www.talklikeapirate.com" target="_new_tlapd">September 19 (International Talk Like A Pirate Day)</a>. The modern day pirate--at least the ones on this side of the earth--are really just cashiers. They are sometimes even young ladies who wear makeup, politely call you "Sir," and have an enormous catalog of "copies" you can buy: whether it be a "brand-name" watch or purse, or software or movie disc. Heck, they'll even offer you "special discount" when you decide to just walk away. Their manners and politeness make you forget the terror of swashbuckling cutthroats rasping out, "Prepare to be boarded ye scurvy swabs!" And unlike Long John Silver, they don't seem to have any fear of the gallows or <a title="Assizes" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Assizes" target="_new_assizes">Assizes</a>. Regardless, I've learned the same as Jim Hawkins: though there be pirates at <em>The Sign Of The Spyglass</em>, they still serve a good lunch. But it might mean your life or a lee-shore if you go looking for their treasure.</p><h4>Trade Winds and Trademarks</h4><p>In the time of sailing ships, catching the trade winds was the fastest way to make a fortune with imports and exports. With so many products today being digitized, our trade winds are as near as your wifi router. But software and movie piracy aren't the only effect of easy-access digital media. I have noticed many trademarks that bear striking resemblances to other well-known counterparts. Today's trade winds seem to send trademarks a' sailing! A while ago I noticed a blender in a local store that was sporting the familiar Apple logo. But upon close investigation, I noticed that the leaf of the apple was pointing the wrong way, nor was there a "chomp" mark out of the apple. It was identical in all other respects. Trademark infringement is no laughing matter, but I still laughed out loud and called over to my family to come witness. (I went back later to sneak a photo [which is taboo in the Thailand malls], but the blender was gone. However, I've reproduced the imitation logo below next to the genuine Apple logo for reference.) It was everything in me to not act like my third-grade self by pointing and taunting in a whiny kid-voice, "Copycatter! Copycatter!"</p>

Merry Christmas In Thailand

Sun, 25 Dec 2011 01:58:47

<h4>Gimme Sappy Syrup</h4><p>Call me a idealistic, old-fashioned, emotional sap, but Christmas to me is still a special time of year. As crusty as my outer shell may appear, I love the Christmas decorations in the house, the ambiance of Christmas music playing for days on end, the pictures of family and friends arriving in the mail or email. I love to see my childhood tree ornaments hanging on my tree, and tell the same stories about each one to my kids again, as if they've never heard them before. This seems to be the one time of the year when one can reminisce with others and not sound like a candidate for the old-folks home. And call me what you will, I love it!</p><h4>Hawaii and Thai Talk-A</h4><p><em>Melekalikimaka</em> is an old Christmas song by the Beach Boys that that took on new meaning for me this year. The song talks about spending Christmas in a nontraditional way, distanced from the American mainland, surfing in Hawaii. The song echoes the cultural difference in the chorus: "Melekalikimaka is 'Merry Christmas' in Hawaii talk-a." Excepting the bit about surfing, my family and I experienced a similar nontraditional Christmas away from "home"--our first actually. I confess that the holidays did give rise to some feelings of homesickness in me. Jimmy Buffet's song came to mind: "How'd you like to spend Christmas on Christmas Island?" I started to think that everyone at home longs for the world, and everyone abroad longs for home. Ah, well, such is our nature. And it is possible that neither Jimmy nor the "Boys" have spent a white-Christmas in the Rockies. But our first Thailand Christmas was still a great and memorable time as we learned from the locals what seems to be their cheerful Thai holiday greeting: "Mellie Kreetsamat!"</p><h4>The Spirit of the Lights</h4><p>Because of Thailand's non-Christian roots, I was surprised to see that much of the city was sporting Christmas trees in every mall and foyer. And the Christmas lights were not only beautiful, some were even technically fascinating. There were strings of lights tightly clustered and fashioned into full-sized Christmas trees. And my personal favorite was the new breed of icicle lights. Most people are familiar with the "old-school" icicle lights, which are just foot-long white wires hanging down with lights every few inches. The new-school lights are short tubes of LED's (the type usually used to trim stage corners or airplane walkways), and they are animated to look like they are dripping water. They look so cool they would make any American "Jones" family jealous. But it saddened me to think that Thailand has never really known the <em>Christ</em> in Christmas. The lights are hung to attract foreign shoppers, not to represent <em>the</em> light of the world. Despite the beauty of the lights, there was none of Christ's <em>spirit</em> in the lights. And like the figures at Madame Tussaud's, the decorations were spiritless symbols of things never known. I thought about these things. "Why should I feel sad? This is not my homeland." But then I understood. Like seeing a body without a spirit, I was observing the funeral of a loved one. The spirit of the lights was gone, Christ was removed from Christmas, and all that remained was the corpse. But the most glorious thing about Christ is that <em>He is the resurrection and the life.</em> And although the spirit is missing, one command of <em>Talitha cumi</em>, and it will return! Therefore, I wish everyone--not merely Happy Holidays--but <em>Merry Christmas</em>!</p>

The Smells Of Bangkok

Mon, 2 Jan 2012 00:09:10

<h4>Stinky Technology</h4><p>Technological breakthroughs are generally viewed as human progress. Commercial success of steamboats, automobiles, fixed-wing aircraft, photographs, and phonographs have forever etched the names of Fulton, Ford, Wright, Eastman, and Edison into the annals of history. But not all technology can be celebrated as ingenious. Eastman's brilliant invention memorized light, and Edison's, sound. But as Rudyard Kipling believed that it was the <em>smell</em> of Bombay that jogged his memories, some believed that we should attempt to reproduce smell as well as sights and sounds. Thus, in the late 1950's, Smell-O-Vision and AromaRama were pursued. Their attempt to include smell in movies then scratched a side note to the annals of history: "this technology stinks...literally." Sadly, it did not also scratch out scratch-and-sniff. Apparently, people feel compelled to remember those favorite smells like the holiday pumpkin pie, birthday cake, and ocean breezes. Until we can correctly "record" the things that stimulate our olfactories, I shall endeavor to describe the common smells of Bangkok.</p><h4>Sweetness On A Stick</h4><p>The streets in Bangkok are filled with street vendors selling all varieties of food and wares. Because the food is cooked on the vendor's open-air carts, the streets are filled with a unique mixture of smells. When walking you will inhale the sweet smell of roasted sweet-and-sour pork. A few more steps and you're filled with the delicious smell of dim sum and its accompanying garlic-laden teriyaki sauce. Continue for just one city block you can enjoy the scents of <em>pad thai</em> noodles filled with shrimp and fried tofu, grilled and deep fried chicken, crispy fried bacon, and enormous varieties of fresh fruits including green coconuts, mangos, bananas (sometimes fried), pineapples, dragon fruit, jack fruit, and pomegranates. There is also the sweet smells of fresh waffles coming off the griddle and stuffed with your choice of chocolate, raisins, maple brown sugar, or the incredibly delicious green tea flavored Thai custard. The smells alone seem to be so caloric that even while walking you feel like you're gaining weight. Almost all of the meats are served on skewers so that it reminds me of the favorite saying of an old surfer friend of mine: <em>"Sweetness on a stick!"</em></p><h4>The Fly In The Ointment</h4><p>The wisest man who ever lived said that dead flies make even perfume to stink. And sadly, the streets of Bangkok are not purely aromatic. Just as you're breathing deep to enjoy the delicious smells described above, you may instead fill your nostrils with the pungent rottenness of one of the many stagnant canals or open sewers. And while all of the taxis and many other vehicles run on propane, the traffic is so dense that you are likely to fill your lungs with stinky diesel exhaust and gasoline hydrocarbons, as well. It is this strange mixture of delicious and poisonous smells that is the hallmark of this environment. I used to banter with a friend that it doesn't matter if the food on your plate gets a little mixed because "it's all going to the same place." But I have seen the error of my ways, and in terms of Bangkok's smells, I just wish everything would stay distinctly separate.</p>

Busy And Bored

Fri, 20 Jan 2012 08:39:01

<h4>Such Beautiful Music</h4><p>I came to the opinion years ago that I'd rather be busy than bored. Whenever I start feeling overwhelmed with responsibilities it is common to hear me say my cheer-me-upper phrase. I almost sing it: "It's better to be busy than bored!" When my kids complain about too much homework, too many chores, too much blah-bee-dippity-blah, I give them the reprise: "It's better to be busy than bored!" (Of course, this is only after I've given my "you-don't-know-what-busy-is" lecture.) Like the "A-B-C" song or "99 Bottles," it is a horrible song to hear, but great fun to sing.</p><h4>The Invisible Rack</h4><p>I think humanity generally feels that boredom is best suited as a form of punishment or torture. Boredom makes your sanity feels strapped to an invisible rack, and every turn of the second-hand feels like a turn of the crank tearing it asunder. Some old adages even make boredom a thing demonic: "Boredom is the devil's playground," and "idle hands are the devil's workshop." Then think of some of the common forms of punishment employed by modern parents and even schoolteachers. "You're grounded," "time out," "go to your room," "stand in the corner," "write this sentence fifty times," and a multitudinous ocean of other prohibitions where each billow is a new restriction with the sole purpose of causing punishment through boredom.</p><h4>Mutual Exclusivity</h4><p>I used to think that being busy and being bored were mutually exclusive, like darkness and light, pop artists and talent, or politicians and common sense. I used to think that getting busy was a sure antidote for the sickness of boredom. But this very night in Bangkok, my own eyes witnessed masses of people who were both busy and bored at the same time, thus proving my ignorance. We were passing flyers at the Chong Nonsi BTS station, and I saw hundreds of passerby's who shared the same attributes: they walked quickly while simultaneously talking or texting on the phone, and each wore such doleful indifference on their face that I thought they were all returning home to angry parents who'd grounded them. The more I thought about this, the more I felt I had uncovered one of the many mysteries of this unique Asian culture: many--perhaps <em>most</em>--of the people are both busy <em>and</em> bored. And although I believe I've seen them both living together, I wouldn't describe it as a love-match.</p>

City Without Horizon

Fri, 3 Feb 2012 10:39:20

<h4>The Valley Of The Sun</h4><p>The clear skies of Phoenix often afford a beautiful view of the surrounding mountains. And if you happen to look westward at about 6:30pm on almost any spring night, you will see the sun going down behind the Estrella or White Tank mountains, melting their jagged peaks in its beautiful purple and orange heat. Look eastward beyond the Superstition Mountains (and slightly north), and you will see four snow-capped peaks some forty or fifty miles distant, melancholy in the sun like four elderly men in their rocking chairs. From almost everywhere in the city you can see plenty of horizon in nearly all directions.</p><h4>The Limited Sky</h4><p>We live about a quarter way up a sky-scraping apartment building in the southern side of Bangkok. A friend recently visited from the states, and after staying with us for a few days he commented, "You guys have no horizon." I should mention that this man has extensive foreign experience from his childhood on, and has lived abroad longer than in the States. Yet in the days he had stayed with us, it struck him as unusual that he had never seen the horizon from our elevated apartment window. I thought over the many months that I've lived here, and could find no distinct memory of a clear horizon, nor a sunset (even though our apartment faces west). Beyond the city skyline there is almost always a gray, dismal mist. Whether it is pollution or a humid mist depends on which newspaper you read.</p><h4>Reflections</h4><p>I was compelled to reflect on a few conversations we have had with various Thai people. They explained how so many people here desire to study in America, England, or Australia to improve their chances of a successful future. The ability to speak English, coupled with a working knowledge of foreign affairs can greatly assist a person's marketability in this economy where many depend upon foreign money. And although it is a somber commentary, I thought that perhaps we were not the only ones struggling to see a horizon in Bangkok.</p>

Aw, Rats!

Thu, 1 Mar 2012 07:24:03

<h4>A Catalog Of Hated Varmints</h4><p>In all of God's Creation, there are certain creatures that are repulsive to a majority of people. I suppose it would only take a moment to create a short list of the most obviously loathsome vermin, so let's try it. We can start with reptiles. Genesis 3 describes the "enmity" between women and snakes--something few women would deny--so we'll put snakes at the top of the list. (I must interject that before marriage I owned three snakes at one time. But although I'm an exception to the rule on this one, I still recognize the cold-bloodedness of humanity towards the slithering species, and vice versa.) We also share a common disgust for many insects, especially the infamous cockroach. Okay…cockroach is number two…check! And when cataloging odious critters, we must not neglect the attention due to rodents, typically in the form of mice and their larger cousins: rats. So let's see: in about one minute, we've got a short catalog of hated varmints. And this leads me to my main topic: rats.</p><h4>One Man's Trash</h4><p>Until two days ago, my view of rats was rather unsentimental. As a former snake owner, I viewed rats as fast-food for boa constrictors and pythons. I would go to the local pet store and place my order: "I'd like a large Mc-Mouse (pronounced "Mickey Mouse"), a Mc-Rat, and a couple Mc-Pinkies on the side." I didn't hate rats per se, but I can confess of no love for them either. But some people do love rats, some to the extent of having adopted them as family pets. My daughter's grade school had a pet rat that the teacher really loved dearly. She was even evangelistic with her love for rats. She would let the kids take turns taking the rat home over the weekend, and returning it to school on Monday morning. My daughter actually spelled doom to that plan when she brought the thing to our house one weekend. My wife, attempting to overcome her own rodent-hatred, had my daughter place the critter in her hands. To maintain its balance, it began wrapping its tail around my wife's fingers, sending her into a panic. She gripped the rat in her fist and started to scream. The rat began to resist the constricting fingers by clawing at her hand. My wife reacted to the clawing by gripping harder and dropping the beast to the ground. It hobbled around until my son put it back in its box under strict orders to keep it there until Monday. On Tuesday afternoon, my daughter came home with the news that the rat had mysteriously died in its cage. The teacher was so saddened by its untimely passing that she placed the cadaver in a shoebox, and marched her class out to the field where they had a funeral service. She even shed tears as she had one of the little girls in the class sing <em>Amazing Grace</em>. My daughter--though a serious animal lover and just a young girl at the time--was laughing herself to tears when she recounted the story that night. Well, you know what they say about <em>one man's trash</em>.</p><h4>I Hope That Was Chicken</h4><p>As I alluded earlier, my opinion of rats was forever changed two days ago. It was lunchtime, and my family and I were out-and-about and feeling adventurous. We agreed to try a new restaurant near our church. You must understand that many Thai businesses function in multi-story "shop houses." The business will occupy one or more floors on the bottom of the shop house, and the upper floor(s) are where the business owner lives with their family. It is not entirely uncommon to walk into an empty shop where some sort of sensor on the door alerts the family to come down to service the customer. Now you can understand when I say that the restaurant we decided to try was a shop house. The staircase to the living quarters was clearly visible in the back corner of the main dining area, only mildly obscured by a jutting wall. An indoor lily pond decorated the wall under the staircase, and on the wall parallel to the stairs was a large mirror exposing the stairs hidden behind the small wall. The light was dim and warm, the tables were embellished with attractive decor, the silverware was clean and wrapped in fancy napkins, and atmosphere was well scented and comfortable. The food was so exceptionally delicious and well-priced that we all agreed that this was to be a regular stop for the Kidwell family. Then something in the mirror caught my eye. It looked like a cat coming down the stairs. It was large enough to walk down the stairs with its hind feet on the upper stair behind it, and its forefeet on the stair below. I honestly thought that the family cat had simply gotten out of the home upstairs. Then after a couple seconds of staring, my eyes focused, and I started to my feet and cried out, "Dear God! That's a rat!" My family was shocked by my animation, but the restaurant staff seemed to not notice. I am not exaggerating a bit when I say that was the largest rat I have ever seen, and the last one of its size that I ever want to! I sat back down, calmed myself, and got out my Thai-English dictionary app. I now know that the Thai word for rat is "noo." I told the staff, "Ti nohn, noo. Noo, ti nohn. Khun kao jai?" ("Over there, rat! Rat, over there! Do you understand?") I showed the word "rat" in the dictionary, and the waitress repeated, "noo?" "Yes! Yes!" I exclaimed in Thai. "Over there!" She calmly went back to her stance by another staff member, and to my shock and fear, did nothing else. I kept watching the small wall that hid the bottom stair, certain that the colossal fiend would be coming around to chew my toes any second. I mustered a smile (a necessary act in Thai culture), and asked for the bill. For most of that night my family mocked my out-of-character behavior. But then I began thinking out loud. "Rodents follow corners. Why didn't the rat come around the wall when it reached the bottom? There must've been a hole leading to the back…where the food is." It was deathly silent when I concluded, "I hope that was chicken."</p>

Feeling Like Childhood Songs

Fri, 30 Mar 2012 05:37:07

<p><strong><em>(SPOILER WARNING: <a href="#article_id_23">you are recommended to click here and read the "Aw, Rats" article below before proceeding</a>.)</em></strong></p><h4>And The Cat Came Back</h4><p>"The cat came back the very next day." I have a magnetic memory for rusty songs and numbers, and that chorus has been in my head more decades than I'll admit. The meaning is so plain even Lestrade could divine it--there is a tenacious feline that keeps returning to the home of its reluctant master. I feel obliged to include the fact that I am no lover of cats because I believe that cats have no masters...only servants. And I refuse to serve any tyrant, whether feline, canine, or Orwell's porcine type. But I admit that I have a guilty admiration for the tenacity of a creature that keeps on keeping on, sometimes against the face of good reason, and contrary to those who may be trying to kill it. I'm feeling like that cat, and I'll tell you why.</p><h4>I'm Turning Japanese</h4><p>"I'm turning Japanese, I think I'm turning Japanese, I really think so." While this was a pop song during my childhood, it was as common on the lips of children as anything by Mother Goose. Despite more than thirty years of experience in songwriting--lyrics and music--I have been unable to parody these lyrics to Thailand. There are no three-syllable forms of "Thai person"--at least none that make any sense to an English listener. "I'm turning Kon-Krung-Thep, I think I'm turning Kon-Krung-Thep" is about as close as I can get, and I think it sounds stupid. But David Fenton (the original songwriter) captures the "angst," as he described it, of "turning into something you didn't expect to." I'm feeling like that guy, and I'll tell you why.</p><h4>You Know You're Adapting When...</h4><p>A few weeks ago, I posted the story "Aw, Rats!" about an experience that would cause any American restaurant to be condemned by the Health Board. The short version is this: I saw a gigantic rat--and I mean a hyperbolically enormously gigantic rat--coming downstairs inside a restaurant while we were eating. The food was delicious, but I just couldn't get over the "rat thing." I nicknamed the restaurant, "Rahn Ah-Hahn Bahn Noo" ("House of Rat Restaurant"), and added it to my blacklist...never to return. The following week, a friend from America came to preach for our church, and he too had formerly been a missionary. (Most missionaries I know have a Bible's-worth of cultural stories ranging from mildly ammusing to completely disgusting to extremely terrifying.) He laughed as I told him the rat story, and later showed him the restaurant. Then our conversation became surreal. He asked, "How's the food?" I said, "The food's great, but I can't allow myself to go back." He said, "I'd like to try it." I protested, "You're kidding, right? You're <em>not</em> kidding? But this is where I saw the rat!" He calmly said, "Let's try it." I was defeated. Now forced to face my worst fears, I was losing my American pride! I was sacrificing my dignity! I was compromising my civility! I was...I was...I was maybe overreacting a bit, at least from the perspective of a missionary. We went in, sat down, and had a delicious meal...sans rodent. I felt victorious over my vices. My fears once again conquered, I went home and slept with a smile. But to my horror, the next night he wanted to go back again! "Dear God, how much must I take?!?" We went in, had a wonderful time, delicious food, and best of all, no rats! The following night--can you believe it?!?--we tried to go yet <em>again</em>. I mean it when I say, "we" tried. I was actually looking forward to it. The food is outstanding, and if there's an occasional rat in the dining room, no biggie. But they were closing up at the restaurant, and wouldn't let us in. (Their sign said, "Open to 10pm," and even though it was only about 9pm they had already cleaned and were locking up...not uncommon here.) And that's why I feel like the cat that came back, and the guy who was turning into something else.</p>

Properganda

Sat, 21 Jul 2012 07:14:09

<h3>The New England Schwa</h3><p>A good friend of mine moved to Arizona from Massachusetts several decades ago. In the early 90's he began to be a computer enthusiast, and we would discuss hardware, software, binary, hexadecimal, and sometimes boolean logic truth tables for AND, NAND, OR, NOR, and XOR. There are few better examples of Geek Heaven than those conversations. One of our discussions inevitably lead to discussing Data Types. He told me that he was having problems with a variable that contained an "interjuh." In the context of computers, my mind began thinking of words like, "interface," "interconnectivity," and "interference." And any real geek knows that it is Crow Pie to admit that there is something in the universe of which you are not aware. I was ashamed of myself as I confessed, "I don't know what that is. What is 'interjuh'?" He was visibly shocked at my ignorance and pleaded, "You know, it's a number! But a number without a fraction. It's an <em>interjuh</em>!" The clues he had provided pointed me in the right direction, and I suddenly began to hear things differently. Having been extracted from the east side of the States at a young age, I possessed some experience with different Eastern accents. I began to raise my voice as I questioned, "You mean <em>integer</em>?!?" He raised his voice in answer, "Yes! <em>Interjuh</em>!!!" I wrote it down and said, "Look at how it's spelled! It's pronounced <em>int-eh-jer</em>, not <em>interjuh</em>! You're speaking with a Boston accent!" That was the day I learned that the New England Schwa is distinctly pronounced "ur," and "er" is pronunced "uh."</p><h3>Propagating Information</h3><p>Propagating information is something that most people would agree is a good thing. When used <em>properly</em>, many things that propagate information are considered beneficial to individuals and society alike: education, the press, publishing, etc. The thing that comes to mind of someone bad-mouthing these things is in <em>The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn</em> when Huck's drunken father beats him down saying, "And looky here—you drop that school, you hear? … Your mother couldn't read, and she couldn't write, nuther, before she died. None of the family couldn't, before they died. I can't; and here you're a-swelling yourself up like this. I ain't the man to stand it—you hear?" In other words, those against the propagation of information are often portrayed as uneducated, unread, and unintelligent. Now I must join them.</p><h3>Stop The Presses</h3><p>First, I deeply believe in freedom. I have often equated tyranny with the demonic, and the suppression of folks' God-given unalienable rights as just cause for 1789 France. This naturally implies my deep belief in freedom of speech and freedom of the press. But for any of these things to be valuable, there must be <em>truth</em> in the speech, <em>truth</em> in the press, and <em>truth</em> in the people.</p><p>It was some time ago I was in a restaurant in Bangkok, and found bold faced lies about sugar being propagated on sugar packages <em>(pictured above)</em>. William Blake said, "A truth that's told with bad intent beats all the lies you can invent." The packages stated these truths: "Sugar provides energy," "Sugar energize (sic) your body," and "Sugar complements food and drink." It's true that the body needs a <em>little</em> sugar--simple carbs, quick energy, brain food, etc. And it's true that sugar can certainly make things more tasty--at least it makes them more sweet. But other packages were more bold, and shamelessly lied: "Sugar helps relieve stress," and "Sugar helps enhance your appetite." What?!? I was appalled! In 2010, David Diamond at the University of South Florida published a study that directly links sugar to higher stress levels. And to claim that sugar enhances your appetite is directly contrary to the most basic biology: blood sugar triggers the brain's appestat, and <em>destroys</em> your appetite. Instead of properly propagating information, these people were improperly spreading <em>propaganda</em>. The only difference between <em>proper</em> propaganda and <em>improper</em> propaganda is, of course, the fact that one is true and the other is an intentional fabrication.</p><p>Most of the news I see published reminds me of those sugar packages. Perhaps it's time to stop the presses until we can get some <em>properganda</em> in print. And if you think that's not a word, look for a New England Guide to English Pronunciation…I'm sure it's in there somewhere.</p>

Jerked Around

Tue, 18 Jun 2013 08:09:52

<h4>Keep On Trucking</h4><p>A friend of mine used to be a trucker. He had traveled the United States highways several times from one coast to another, and even beyond to Alaska. My own father even spent some time on the road in his youth with his father who was a trucker by profession. Truckers are  a unique breed of people. They judge a place, not by politics or crime rate, but by the quality of its toilets, roadside chili, and especially its roads. Therefore, I don't think any truckers I know would enjoy Thailand. Sure, it has excellent roadside food, but I'm afraid that's where the truck-driving joy would probably end. The toilets are--how can I put it--well, let's just say the men's urinals are often outside and the lady maid is not ashamed to mop under his feet when he is otherwise indisposed. (Please don't ask me how I know.) And the roads are "surface challenged" worse than the complexion of an acne survivor.</p><h4>The Goodness of Bad Traffic</h4><p>In Bangkok, bad traffic isn't all bad. I know this is a paradox, but--because of the notoriously bad roads--when traffic stops it gives us unfortunate passengers a break from being bounced around by the bumpy ride. Automobile suspension becomes a consumable. And if the roads weren't bad enough, it seems to be a fundamental lesson in Thai driver's-ed to hit the gas, hit the brake, hit the gas, hit the brake. I sometimes glance at the driver's feet to see if there's a roach running around under the pedals. Meanwhile, we hurtle forward in our herky-jerky chariot like an army of bobble-heads in Ben Hur's race. Not even my fancy porcelain coffee cup with the sippy-cup lid can be enjoyed without scalding the lips. Therefore, when traffic stops it's not entirely a bad thing. At least I can get a sip of my coffee.</p><h4>The Magic Words</h4><p>When vacationing in Bangkok, visitors are warned about the various scams that are used to pick your pocket: Tuk-Tuk drivers offering tours, taxi drivers refusing to use the meter, "special price" merchants, "resident" vs "tourist" attractions, service charges, and a dozen others. But having lived in Bangkok for over two years, we've learned the magic words that change all that. They are simply: "I live here," preferably spoken in Thai. Once you establish that you're not "just another farang"--that you're part of the neighborhood--instantly service improves, scammers scurry away, and an aura of light appears around your head in their eyes. Really, and I'll prove it. When shopping for a dentist we were quoted a price of 10,000 baht for some work (about $333 USD). My wife told the dentist, "we live here," and bam! the price was reduced to 3,000 baht (about $100 USD) … just like magic! But although we discovered this wonderful secret that prevents being jerked around in business, nothing prevents getting jerked around when driving.</p>

My Name's Edward

Thu, 12 Sep 2013 20:40:54

<h3>Insensitive Eighties Guy</h3><p>One of the hallmarks of how far the dignity of humanity has fallen was the invention of the "Sensitive Nineties Guy." I always thought he was conclusive evidence against the Theory of Evolution since it seemed to me that mankind was clearly on the decline, not evolving into something better or smarter. In fact, I'm not an unfeeling or insensitive man. I care a great deal for people and for their feelings. I just don't like to bow to the whims and whines of people who are hypersensitive, most of which have never <em>seen</em>--less yet <em>experienced</em>--any degree of real suffering. Now, to demonstrate the difference between sensitivity and hypersensitivity, I want to offer an apology in advance. I am about to talk about the difficulties of people to learn different languages. I offer this because some people invest such emotion into their mother tongue, it is deemed ineffable to make such observations as I am about to do. Thus, knowing the dangerous waters to which we sail, call me Ishmael, and let us embark as unified Quakers and cannibals into our bearded Pequod.</p><h3>Men Are Created Equal, Tongues Are Not</h3><p>All men are created equal, but tongues are not. For example:</p><ul><li>When learning French, English speakers have trouble with the guttural R and nasal N sounds. As when learning English, the French sometimes have the inverse troubles with R. More often, however, they struggle with the digraph TH, as in "where is zee bass-room?" and "I like zis hemboogehr."</li><li>When learning Spanish, Americans have trouble with rolling their R's (the alveolar flap and trill). They mispronounce "tortilla" and "burro" by either overemphasizing the R like a jammed machine gun, or by taking the lazy way out and replacing the R with L or D (neither of which works, by the way).</li><li>Although Americans have this trouble, other English speakers such as the Posh of Britain are recognized masters of the rolled R. Indeed, no American would ever say "r-r-r-royalty" or "r-r-r-rubbish" with such poise and procedure.</li><li>Germans learning English have so much trouble with W, WH and TH that they even parody themselves. Of notable mention: "Vaht are you sinking about?"</li><li>Many Asians learning English have trouble with R's sounding like L's. Thai's, in particular, have additional difficulty with V's sounding like W's, swapping L's and N's, and swapping S's and T's. A little study of their writing makes this difficulty quite understandable as these are common spelling rules when writing in Thai script. When their S appears at the end of a word, it is pronounced as a T. And, ironically, when a word ends with D or T, it is sometimes pronounced as an S. When their L appears at the end of a word, it is pronounced as N. Thus, the Thai store "Tesco Lotus" is pronounced by Thais as "Tesco Lotut," "Central" mall is "Centran," and "Seven Eleven" is "Seh-when E-leh-when."</li></ul><h3>What's in a name</h3><p>Knowing what you now know about Thai spelling, consider my unfortunate predicament as a possessor of the name "Ed." Remember how Thais pronounce the D in words ending with D? They pronounce it as an S. For two years, I have introduced myself as "Ed," only to have the poor Thai choke out their insecure reply: "Es?" I say, "No, it's 'Ed.'" Almost in tears, they question back, "Es?" When I was in America, I used to joke that I had the easiest and shortest name in the English language (excepting perhaps "Al"). Now, when I introduce myself as "Ed," Thai people look at me as though I were named Mephibosheth. After two years of self-inflicted torture, I stumbled upon the solution. A few weeks ago, I repeated the above dialog with a bewildered Thai. (Who'd have thought "Ed" was so hard to say?!?) But as I was determined to teach this person my name, I said, "It's 'Ed,' as in 'Edward.'" Their eyes lit up, "Oh! Ehd-wahrd!" My eyes lit up. "Yes! Edward!" We joined hands and started jumping in a circle repeating, "Edward!" "Ehd-wahrd!" "Edward!" "Ehd-wahrd!" Ever since that wonderful day, I have concluded that Shakespeare was right: what's in a name? Ed by any other name would still smell … well, never mind. Let's just say that from now on, "My name is Edward. What's yours?"</p>