Thailand- There’s Condoms in the Mini-Bar!

Sign in Boots drugstore in Bangkok: MEN-CONDOMS.

Yesterday the office building I was in got a visit from Prince Andrew of England, who is in town for the celebration of the Thai King’s 60th anniversary, and that was odd because they closed down the lobby and I was kind of milling around on the mezzanine with hundreds of Thai people. I was thinking of Prince William, the naughty-boy prince, but this is Fergie’s ex-husband. No word on why he wanted to go to Empire Tower, possibly he just wanted a quick Starbucks.

The Thai people are setting off fireworks and wearing yellow t-shirts that read “Long Live The King” in Thai. The streets are teeming with people, every one of them in yellow. There are reports of price gouging because of high demand on the special shirts. Lance Armstrong would be jealous.

My favorite sign on the train is a little yellow sticker on the end seat saying “PLEASE OFFER THIS SEAT TO MONKS.”

One night in Bangkok will make a hard man humble, but I have seen many more hookers than chess games. Stephin Meritt of the Magnetic Fields is in the Bangkok Post today, it is a reprint of a story from the NYT where he is called a racist because all his favorite music is by white people- it’s funny to read about him in Thailand. Also, since I went to Stephin’s DJ night at Beauty Bar, I consider him a close personal friend, despite the fact that I was too shy to speak to him.

Welcome To Bangalore, The Silicon Valley of India!

I’m writing from Bangalore, where your 6:45 AM (Pacific) is my 7:15 PM.

It’s the extra half hour that fucks with your head.   

Here’s a beautiful and intricate Hindu temple we saw.

The Hindu people have blue, multi-armed gods and are vegetarians, so they’re my favorite religion at present.

In India, you just see cows and water buffalo hanging out by the side of the road.  I saw a momma cow and a calf together, and that was awesome. Sometimes there are traffic jams because a heifer decides to lay down in the middle of the road.

Expressions like “Sacred Cow” and “Holy Cow” come from somewhere.

All fans of the Grown-Ups, Denton’s finest ska band featuring a dancing Stormtrooper, will appreciate the fact that every time I saw a Bajaj, (the name that Vespa used for the South Asia market) I was stuck with “Bajaj in the Garage” in my head for the next half-hour.

My favorite ad was a billboard with a motorcycle reading “Bajaj: Feel Like A God!”

One Down, 999 To Go

One of my favorite people, Eddie Izzard, says that in order to get good at stand-up, you just have to do it a thousand times. I finally put my mike where my mouth was last night at the Boiler Room.

When I walked in, I assumed that roughly every third person was there to do a five minute set.  It was clear by midnight that every single person in attendance wanted mike time. Straw fedoras and “wacky” t-shirts abounded. The night was a sausage party. As new meat, I went after 21 other comics times and went on at a quarter of midnight.

I was pleased that everything got some kind of laugh, and was winding up for my finish when a cute but very inebriated metrosexual (it turned out to be Bobby Hacker) got up and started taking his clothes off, which was okay, but then he started taking my clothes off and putting a flashlight down my shirt. So I took off abruptly, in the midst of another comic yelling “You’re gonna get kicked out again, Bobby!” All in all, I am fairly happy with how it went – I got a good reception from the few remaining patrons and comedians.  A coked out guy in a suit yelled approving things.  I maybe learned something.

Wherefore Art Thou, Famous

  This is a picture of my favorite person in the whole world, the FAMOUS MYSTERIOUS ACTOR.

  For a brief, shining moment that many consider the “golden age” of Comcast Portland public access, his talk show was broadcast on Sunday nights. Now Famous appearances are few and far between, the show at Holocene last Wednesday was ominously plugged as “final”.

  Guests were strictly single-named, and included human beatbox (and so much more) Fogatron, Shoehorn, who tap danced and played saxophone simultaneously and took hits off a glass bottle of Wild Irish Rose in between, and KUFO radio DJ Marconi. However, there is no writing about this show. Impromptu moon-boot sand dance with Pixie sticks and jumping on a desk to do a re-enactment of Famous’ favorite film, Sweet Sal, lays flat on the page. In person, however, it rocks like an avalanche. Or a hurricane. Or some kind of natural disaster that kills people.

    It’s a group effort, and could not soar without the help of German-speaking emcee Cutter, handsome wingman John Schmitt, security chief Denny, Intern Kris, producer J.D. Fischer, and Joanie loves Chachi the Tiger. However, Famous is the star. He lives up to his name and more- this show is much funnier than anything on network television. So I guess this is just a bottled letter cast adrift on the stormy seas of the interweb- I need more !

POSTSCRIPT: Finally, someone has come to my aid on Youtube and posted a scant minute of Famous’ craft, a bit ingeniously entitled Candied Bird Dick.

Y’all wantin’ sweet tea?

I am back from a tour of textile mills in beautiful Greensboro, NC, and am really happy to have something to eat besides salad and potatoes.  I was able to help translate South Carolinian for Portlanders via my Texas past.  “Y’all wantin’ sweet tea?” is just a nonsense birdsong to the uninitiated.

My spidey-sense started tingling on the way to a vegan restaurant when we saw a vintage clothing store and people playing Hacky-Sack, because I could tell we were in “my” part of town, that is, near a college campus. We saw some fellas kicking back with drinks on the roof of their house, apparently because the porch couch was too stinky to sit on any longer.

I met a nice young man from Belfast who is interning with a local yarn manufacturer, and who wore a green rubber bracelet to show his support for the search for a cure for Irishness. I hope they succeed. Please, Jesus?

Flying home, I sat next to a young man reading Bowhunter magazine.

Fare thee well, Greensboro! I’ll miss the Cheerwine and sweet tea!

Postscript: The very kind tour guide sent me a twelve-pack of Cheerwine to help with the pain! I laughed, I thought I’d die. I have never recieved a gift based on my blog before, and I am going to have to be more careful about what I ask for.

Bug Revenge

 

It is a statistical fact, well documented by me, that if you ride a bicycle with any kind of regularity, May is the month in which you will eat a bug. It may not be the first or last time that year, but during the month of May, you will definitely find yourself with a bitter, dusty bug in your mouth. I decided that this year I would avoid my own curse, but they are very persistent. They flicker around you and buzz “you’ve got to breathe sometime.” This time, for the sake of variation, I got one in my eye, and I think it’s possible that it was worse.

1000 Years of Popular Music

Richard Thompson and his hat did his 1000 Years of Popular Music show at Portland’s Aladdin Theatre last night, moving through from the first known round (the extremely timely Sumer is Icumen in) to Britney’s pre-Federline hit, “Oops- I did it again.”

You haven’t really lived until you’ve seen a 57 year old folkie doing Britney moves.

The show hit all the high points for me, because it was like going to a rock show and a music history lecture at the same time. Also, attending a show with The Human Fly’s target demographic lets a thirtysomething and her husband, who still has quite a bit of his own hair, feel like the new hotness, as opposed to attending an Editors show, which lets us know that we look and dance like Jabba the Hutt.

The Boomers went crazy at his Beatles cover, and Spouse enjoyed his Easybeats and Henry Purcell.

I’d rather hear Richard talk about music than hear almost anyone talk about anything, and I’d rather hear Richard play guitar than anyone else do it. Also, as the Wikipedia article points out, the whole show was born out of RT responding to a Playboy request for 10 Best Songs of the Millenium as a total and utter smart-ass, which I relate to and admire.