Archive for October, 2009

Every Michael Jackson cloud has a silver lining, and yesterday this came in the form of a souvenir. As one of the first five million people to buy tickets to see “This is it”, we were entitled to a cardboard folder containing a set of three tiles depicting the great man:

Hard to describe how moved I was when I first saw this magnificent offering; although “not at all” comes close. In fact, having pithily observed that he must have had to take his gloves off and found a rare drug-free day to sign such an autograph, I was ready to throw the cardboard crap into the rubbish bin. But then she who must be obeyed muttered the magic word “don’t”, followed by the magic words “collectable” and “eBay”.

Apparently, those that weep pay good money for stuff like this. Already the Jacko forums are buzzing with the quality of souvenir being provided in each country, and Thailand has one of the better offerings (hard to imagine how bad the others must be). Even now, Betty Sue from Ohio is counting her savings so she can own another piece of Michael junk. The bidding will start soon. I think I am turning into a bit of a fan.

I have previously revealed that my teenage years were spent under the bedclothes doing what all teenagers did in the days before masturbation was invented; listening to the radio. My musical education was provided by the likes of Radio Luxembourg and Radio Caroline; so it was a real joy to re-discover those years watching “The boat that rocked”.

The boat that rocked was written and directed by Richard Curtis who wrote Blackadder (he also did Bridget Jones’s Diary, but we will forgive him eventually). Very loosely based upon Radio Caroline, it’s an affectionate and often amusing story with Philip Seymour Hoffman, Bill Nighy and Kenneth Branagh. But the real star is the music, a fantastic soundtrack with music from The Kinks, Procol Harum, Hendrik, Martha Reese and the Vandellas, Smokey Robinson etc. etc. The songs alone makes it worth watching; available from a torrent near you.

Suffused with a musical glow, I went hunting for new releases from some of my favourite bands and came up gold. FIrst, Third Eye Blind, who have not made an album since 2003, have finally released Ursa Major. Next, the weird and wonderful Handsome Furs have made a second album, Face Control. And finally, Placebo, one of my favourites, end a three year break with Battle for the Sun.

If you have never heard Placebo, here is their singer Brian Molko speaking French (we will forgive him eventually) and knocking out a cover of Bowie’s Five Years which I personally prefer to the original:

And Bowie returns the favour by performing Without You I’m Nothing with Placebo.

I’m unclean, a libertine
And every time you vent your spleen,
I seem to lose the power of speech,
You’re slipping slowly from my reach.
You grow me like an evergreen,
You never see the lonely me at all
Without you, I’m nothing

Genius. Michael who?

Call from she who must be obeyed, requesting that I drop by the Central Mall cinema to pick up four tickets for an upcoming documentary about Michael Jackson.

I know from whom the apparently urgent request has come. My wife has a friend whose husband is a huge Michael Jackson fan. He actually cried when he heard that Jackson had died. However, he is French so this probably doesn’t mean much; French men weep when they see a poignantly shaped vegetable in a supermarket.

The movie is called “This is it” and comprises edits from footage shot during Jackson’s rehearsals for the tour that never happened due to him inconveniently dying before the start. Sony paid $50 million for the footage and the resulting movie is intended as a tribute to the artist and not all a shallow marketing enterprise to make huge sums of money from the sort of people who cried when they heard the news of his death.

I have watched the trailer and it does not look promising. It starts by telling us that “his dreams inspired the world”? Which dreams would these be? Does this explain the increasing demands for cosmetic surgery or the ever-increasing incidences of pedophilia and prescription drug abuse?

We are then treated to quick glimpses of a rather sad looking little man trying to emulate the steps of his accompanying dancers, and failing; while miming to a soundtrack. Sycophantic hangers-on announce that “the man is here” when he arrives for rehearsal, and then proclaim “we’re all her because of him. May that continue, with him leading the way”. For a brief moment I thought I had stumbled across another Mel Gibson Jesus epic. Perhaps the singing and crap dancing would stop soon and we could settle down to some gratuitous torture. No such luck.

I have been advised that two of the tickets are for us. She who must be obeyed is not a fan but wants to see what all the fuss is about. I am not a fan but want to go so I can sneer loudly and laugh at inappropriate moments. Maybe I can make the Frenchman cry again; I’ll take a vegetable along as insurance, just in case.

In our first full month of operations (May 2008), Pattaya Days enticed 316 lost souls through our welcoming doors. Attendance has climbed steadily since then, and last month the number of visits topped 5,000 for the first time. I have decided that this should be treated as “a landmark”.

I realise that, in the context of the wide wide world of web, 5,000 visits a month is not a lot; and sites that deal with the seamier side of life in Pattaya probably get more hits than that in a day. But if my readership crept too high, I think I would start to panic and feel compelled to produce something that actually offered some degree of quality, rather than the current offerings of rambling half-truths illustrated by snaps. Even more worryingly, I would probably be forced to think about how I could make some money out of it; which would rather spoil the objective of the whole enterprise. Assuming there is an objective, which there probably isn’t.

If I recall, I started this because I wrote some stuff on Billy’s blog and rather enjoyed it. Then Billy rather selfishly wanted his blog back, so I decided to have my own. The rest, as they say, is not even important enough to qualify as history. But to all of you that take the time to come and read this nonsense, thank you and hope you find it worthwhile occasionally. To the few of you who both read and comment, an extra big thank you, you add some vibrancy to proceedings. On so many sites the comments are at the level of:

You suck
So do you. LOL
LMOAFALO

Here, we operate on a much higher level:

You remind me of a German theoretical physicist.
Some uncertainty there I think! LOL
LMOAFALO

Bracing stuff.

So thanks for the 2,000+ comments, please keep them coming. And to keep Billy happy, please make a Gravatar if you have not already done so. There will be prizes for the best design (subject to confirmation), although I think the Pattaya Ghost has already won.

For those who like statistics (and really, who doesn’t?):

Posts: 688
Approved comments: 2057
Spam comments: Zillions
Number of posts with the word “pussy” in the title, shamelessly inserted to attract punters from the more ribald Pattaya sites: 5
Number of punters attracted by the word “pussy” in the title: 3
Number of posts with the word “throbbing” in the title, shamelessly inserted to attract punters from the more ribald Pattaya sites: 1
Number of punters attracted by the word “throbbing” in the title: TBA

Mini-project underway to tidy up the back part of the condo, the place where there is a strange machine that does amazing things to dirty clothes and where the supplies that support condo cleaning operations are stored. As an unnecessary aside, it’s also where the cats have a shit.

There is a dilapidated sink in this area and she who must be obeyed has deemed that it is to be replaced with something that is slightly less rubbish. So this morning we set out on a sink hunt. She knows of a place on Sukhumvit road that deals in second hand kitchen gear, so we go there. It’s a massive area, full of discarded kitchen equipment, a graveyard of hobs, sinks, bars and, rather surprisingly, a wooden Red Indian. Many a hopeful restaurant business (and Red Indian carving emporium) has come to grief and sold their fittings to this culinary junkyard.

We start searching and finally come across an ideal offering. About 50cm by 70cm, a stainless steal sink on a not too rickety frame. A bit battered and sad, but the number 95 on it indicates it can be had for 95 baht; much less than the 3-400 baht I expected to pay. But much more than I expected to pay when, without a smile, the sales witch tells us she wants 9,500 baht for it. Hahahahaha, how we laugh; but she is serious. We find something similar and that is 9,800 baht. We leave and drive up the road to Index – The Living Dead Mall.

Index mainly sells cheap and nasty furniture, and cheap and nasty-ish is exactly what we are looking for to place in the utilities area. After a depressing tour past assorted veneered chipboard, we decide to buy a sink unit, then buy a cheap table and cut a hole in the top (power tools opportunity!) into which I will, in theory, place the sink. Off to the sink area where there appears to be a good choice and finally we decide on one. The salesman checks; out of stock. We choose another. The salesman checks; out of stock. Seeing that we are getting somewhat frustrated with the abundance of display models and absence of stock, he flourishes a brochure which offers a unit at a knockdown price, complete with a free tap which we don’t need but can always give to someone as a birthday present. Sounds good, we confirm our interest, and he rushes off to bring out the box. The box is opened and everything looks good, even the free tap has a certain rustic charm; OK we will take it. “Sorry”, says the salesman, “this one is already sold. Out of stock”.

Imagining what he would look like with the sharp end of the free tap inserted in an orifice, we leave Index.

Next stop Home Pro, and bugger me (or rather, bugger the Index salesman) they have exactly what we need. A cheap and tacky white cabinet in gorgeous white plastic with a stainless steel sink of the appropriate size on top. Take it home to construct and find it is over-engineered to the tune of 24 screws where 10 would be sufficient. All the screwing puts a blister on my palm, haven’t done that since my teens.

Some recompense for my damaged palm is the need to go and buy some of my favourite plastic pipe to do the plumbing bit, and as the light fails I proudly turn on the taps and we watch the water enter the new sink, leave the new sink, and find its way to the drain. Well, most of it does; I’ll find out why the floor is slightly flooded in the morning.

A session at Bira. The riders were relative beginners, so they were not providing extreme knee-scraping action. But after the restricted shooting opportunities of a Formula One circuit, it was good to stand in any suicidal position that took my fancy; such as the apex of a corner leaning out over the track.

The resident maestro, Graham, was in teaching mode so I had to shoot him through the grass to obscure the fact that his knee is not scraping the ground.