Tuesday, February 24, 2009

Happy Monday's

The sky train, Bangkok's above ground public transport, was packed. I held a center pole and wondered about the aroma or lack thereof emitted by my arm pits. I could smell the woman jammed up against me's mascara. It was cakey and pervasive. It made me self conscious of my own body air. Michael was by the doors and scanned his head around.

"Ah fuck," he muttered. My eyebrows raised with curiosity. "You know what disgusts me," Michael said loudly, his voice rupturing the sound of the electronic voice telling us we'd arrived at Ekkamai station. "I fucking loathe sex tourists."

A fat man sitting in the middle of the car, next to a dark, petite Isaan girl looked around.

"You, you fucking sex tourist, you disgust me! You ought to be ashamed of yourself," Michael screamed pointing at the man.

The man stood up, his polo shirt barely covering his pregnant belly and glared at Michael.

"You talking to me," he said stupidly, in a Queens accent.

"Of course, you oversized lecher! And double your shame for your banal exoticism of the east!" Michael stepped out of the train and made it for the stairs.

"You little shit! You oh my wife an apology!"

I rushed after Michael. We reached the bottom of the staircase at the same time.

"Look at the sodomite lumbering down the stairs! Fuck you creep!"

"You little jerk!" The man's black hair oiled back with gel was beginning to crack and come forward into his eyes. When he was a few steps away from enforcing us to ask for forgiveness we dashed through the gates. The New York man of the world continued to lumber after us. We waited for him, then Michael taunted him one last time.
"Bet you couldn't get a woman at home because you beat 'em don't you?"
Michael shrilled with laughter and ran down the stairs. I followed, laughing hysterically.
"Let's go to Happy Monday's," I said when our mirth subsided.
We crossed the street after a few minutes of waiting for the omnipresent taxis and motorbikes to give us passage. A row of motorbike taxis waited and we each got on one.

"Ekkamai soi 11," I told the driver as we whizzed down Ekkamai. Night had fallen on the " city of angels" but the neon lights of the clubs, and the lights from the small shops still open lit the sky. We passed Santika, the bar that had gone up in flames on New Year's ever. We moved into the opposite lane for about 1,000 meters. We drove head on to the coming traffic. The driver didn't heed the laws of the road, nor did he care if he and I died in a fiery collision.

The club/restaraunt was midsized. The patio contained four tables, the inside had five. The inside of the restaraunt was lit by dull chandaliers. A pseudo bookcase ran along one of the walls. On it instead of books, were old 45 lps from the 80s; Blondie, Elvis Costello, Ziggy Stardust, The New York Dolls.
We took a seat on one of the coaches and ordered two bottles of beer.

"How are things with Kathy," I asked.
"How they usually are."
"Don't be glib."
"What changes? What is there? She asks me to be more emotional, I buy flowers, I cuddle. What does she expect?"
"What do you want?"
"From what? From her? Or in general?"
"First one, then the other."
"I want her to shut up, to quit complaining. Why do men have to be 'emotional?' Its post-feminist bullshit.What does that even fucking mean? I want you to be more 'emotional.' I'm emotional. I'm horny. I'm hungry. I'm annoyed. I'm asleep. What the fuck!?" Michael drank his beer.
"Well don't feel sorry for the things you've done."
"Then how am I supposed to do things differently?"
"I just know that guilt paralyzes. It immobilizes."
Michael sighed. "Have you ever done things you've regretted?"
"It'd be a superhuman feat not to have."
"Like what?"
"I dated this girl. It was an okay relationship... sans me. I was suffocating. I was unemployed and not in school. I demanded her presence., We spent too much time together. We broke up. She got into another relationship. I made all theses threatening collages and posted them to her. I knew what I was doing would cause me pain, she made a big stink of it and it soured my relationship with a whole group of friends."
"And then...?"
"I learned that engagin in actions has consequences. I don't cheat on my girlfriend not because I don't want too, who hasn't seen something bland in the face of a loved one, but because the consequences are too tiresome."
"Too tiresome." Michael drank from his beer and sat back on the couch.

We came to Happy Monday's for the music. When the DJ was spinning he twirled records by New Order, Joy Division, The Faint, The Smiths, Bauhaus, Sonic Youth etc. It was a gem for us. A diamond in the rough. Most clubs played top 40 R&B or Thai pop. Theirwas a solstice in the songs from the 80s. It was a golden era for its lack of self-consciousness and for its hyperbolism.

I was starting to feel drunk. We'd had a few beers at home before coming out.
"Why did you yell at that man?"
"I'm a pisser."
"You just wanted a rise out of him. It wasn't like he was doing something you've never done."
"Those soi cowboii whores were worth every penny. People constantly live without realizing the extent of their actions." Michael laughed. "I was just reminding him."


Michael said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
Michael said...

His bulbous cankles, hanging out of khaki cargo shorts, led to size 13 New Balance sneakers with large "N" badges slapped on the sides.

"What does the N stand for?" he chortled "NOCTURNAL sex tourist?!"

Anonymous said...

What an idiot. Because someone looks like a stereotype image of a so-called sex tourist that gives another person the right to verbally abuse them in public....and think they are cool for doing so.

Pathetic writing skills at best.