Stickman Readers' Submissions August 24th, 2013

Thai Thoughts And Anecdotes Part 394


She is coming home today. Oh god, I’ve missed her so. When we are apart time just stops for me. The hands on the clock do not move. The sun in the sky seems to be stuck. I believe it is the same for her. Neither one of us are real talkers but when you spend years together as a couple you just develop a mystic sympatico. You know what the other one is thinking and feeling. I love her.

I had to go into Bangkok’s most reputable hospital for ego reduction surgery. Too many complaints at home. Anyway, I had my friend Kurt from Chiang Rai come down and pick her up. She’ll stay with him for a week. She does not like to be alone and she has hip problems: needs help going up stairs, and needs help getting into cars. She’s spent time with Kurt before. It’s all good.

He Clinic Bangkok

We’ve been a fixture in the neighborhood for years. A happy couple. Bonded. Committed. Flowing into each other like water. Never a word said by others. Just happy acceptance by wonderful Thais. We are both getting older but the Thais can see mutual love in our dimming eyes. We walk together, we sit together, and we eat ice cream cones together. It’s all good. A life spent with a kindred spirit and happiness I never knew until I came to the Kingdom. Her name is Binky. My name is Dana.

Kurt is going to bring her home today. I’m all dressed up, vibrating like a tuning fork, and fighting back tears. I’m standing taller and walking rather than staggering. Excited. I’m also a little late. Hurrying down Soi 22 I can see Kurt helping her out of the car in front of Denny’s. She looks fabulous. And it looks like Kurt spent some money on her. She’s wearing a new sparkly necklace called a choker, sporting a new haircut, and her nails have been done. Sweet Jesus on a cracker I had forgotten how beautiful she is. And the fact that she is an older woman now is irrelevant. Love does not pay attention to the years, only the moments.

Then I am close enough to shout out a greeting. To declare my presence. To advertise my love and to advertise my need. It’s 7:30 in the morning and I am surrounded by Thais hurrying to the start of their day. Nobody notices the ex-pat or his love like two lonely wires about to be rejoined. It’s a private rushing moment. I call out:

CBD bangkok

Me: Hi Kurt.

Kurt: Hi Dana.

Me: Hi Binky.

Binky: Woof.

wonderland clinic


“The comedy of correction, which would include the Aristophanes of The Clouds and The Wasps, Leon Battista Alberti’s allegorical comic tale Momus (written in the 1440’s), Erasmus, Rabelais, some elements of Cervantes (though Don Quixote amiably contains many comic modes), Swift, Moliere, and Flaubert’s Bovard and Pecuchet, is satirical in impulse, frequently violent and farcical, keen to see through the weaknesses of mankind, and essentially prenovelistic.” — James Wood, from The Irresponsible Self: On Laughter and the Novel.

Well, of course: who could disagree with this. I mean really, it’s so obvious you have to wonder why Mr. Woods (I call him Jimmy) even took the time to write it down. I think. Ok, I’m not really sure what I think. Sixty five words and thirteen punctuation marks in one sentence. There are 312 pps. of these whopper sentences in this book including one stunner on page 303 that I simply did not have enough life left to copy out. And get this: the subtitle is On Laughter and the Novel. I didn’t laugh once.

And yet, Mr. Woods (I call him Jimmy) is considered by many people a gifted literary critic. So the fact that I often stared at some of his passages like an Egyptian hound staring at the Rosetta Stone is really a comment on me. I’m just not big enough in the old brain department. I’m not smart enough. I’m just not as smart as Mr. Woods.

I think of this book sometimes when I get emails telling me that my writing, and my storytelling, and my wordsmithing skills stink and I should just skulk away from the Thai-farang writing scene. Well, possibly my critics are correct: but before I put down my pen, I’d like to see my critics wrestle around in the mud first with this book and come up victorious.

I freely admit that Mr. Woods will probably never find my writing as attractive for his literary criticism skills as some of the unreadable books from the past; on the other hand, I think I have a more accessible notion of laughter than he does. This book is so dry you would not want to read it in the sun; it might spontaneously combustulate (Woodsian word) in your hands.

This book made me feel intellectually and academically inferior and I deserved it. Still, I am glad that the Thai-farang writing genre is so young that dissectatory (Woodsian word again) literary criticism like Mr. Wood’s is just not possible yet. We are still having too much fun.


September 12, 2013

At 1:16 AM two of my Beacon Hill mansion windows were broken by rocks. Not meteorites or errant space debris but cobblestones dug up out of Acorn St. and then carried over to my house in Louisburg Square. Big heavy 18th century cobblestones hurled by agitated humans through my purple 19th century glass windowpanes. Police were called.

Cobblestone hurlers were arrested, paddy wagons were summoned, photos were taken, witness accounts recorded, cobblestones labeled and bagged for the lab, and the unhappy humans transported to Long Island in the harbor to have their heads shaved, bodies examined for vermin, and new clothes issued. To be transported to Long Island in Boston harbor, incarcerated, stripped, hosed down, deloused, and counseled because of temporary mental instability over a Thai Thoughts and Anecdotes issue might seem harsh, hyperbolic even; but I demur: I believe every individual of the populace should be transported, incarcerated, stripped, deloused, and counseled once per year. It would benefit everybody. Naturally, I would be in charge. But I almost digress. Anyway, my attorney was summoned. Military scramble jets out of Hampton Roads, Virginia picked up him and his staff in Nassau and flew them to Boston.

The early morning crowd had been building and fomenting for hours. Normally I do not pay attention to the little people but in this case I made a mistake. Speeches had been made, signed affidavits presented to my servant staff, and local Dana Fan Club members listened to by my head butler Somchai. Gossip had turned to rumor, premonition to paranoia, civilized values to social unrest.

The problem? Dana Enterprise leaks had made it known that Thai Thoughts and Anecdotes would not be going to number 500. There would not be a Thai Thoughts and Anecdotes — Part 500. Hearts and hopes were ripped asunder. People felt abandoned and bereft. Grief counselors had to be called. None of the speech makers or rock throwers were sufficiently advanced on the evolutionary scale to be able to handle the depression and sadness. It was a problem without a solution.

Then the descent into madness started as people lost their mental stability and all hope. Grief counselors were beaten up. Unkind and unnecessary things were said about Fa. The front garden bronze statue of Pattaya office dog Rufus was treated disrespectfully. Flowers were trampled and one demented Dana Fan Club member (#24,567) burned his membership card.

There will not be a Thai Thoughts and Anecdotes — Part 500. I have been asked by nations, institutions, and individuals to make contributions to humanity in different ways. Please don’t hate me because I am special. I am from the fourth spiral arm of the Torndule galaxy. It can not be any other way. The retirement train is coming and we should all be happy to hear it. I am ascending to godhead status and I can not take you with me. You knew that.

Love Dana

Stickman’s thoughts:

And here I was thinking you’d say that you stuck your head out the window and saw someone who resembled Korski chortling as he scurried away!

nana plaza