This is the creepy thing that bit me yesterday. It's a centipede for those of you who've never seen one.

This thing wasn't the one that bit me though. I took this picture about a year or so ago when I saw it crawling around outside the back window of my kitchen.

I swore I'd never be bitten by one of these things in the first place, then about two months ago, while I was talking on my mobile phone outside late one night, I saw one wriggling towards the house from the road and decided to step on it and kill it. I knew better too, since I've tried killing these things with a hoe, and you've gotta cut them up into tiny, tiny pieces in order for the thing to die. Chop em' in half, and both pieces will go wriggling away in different directions...chop em' into four pieces and...well, you get the idea.

Anyway, cellphone in hand, I walked over to it and stamped on it. In a lightning flash, the thing whipped over and bit me on the little toe of my right foot (my 'stamping' foot). The pain wasn't bad initially, just like a regular bug bite. But, that changed about ten minutes later. Excruciating pain, for at least twenty-four hours.

So, to say I was prepared for yesterday's bite is an understatement and a misleading one. I swore I'd never be bitten by one again!

It's rainy season.

The rain sort of creeps up on you here. One week will be dry and then the deluge will come. Now it's raining in the mornings and the afternoons. Yesterday it rained all day and part of the night. I've got a large water tower to the right, as you face the cottage. Up top are six, large, blue plastic barrels to hold rain water, with an electric switch to control the reserve water from the well. The barrels are connected to a convoluted PVC piping system with a water pump at ground level. If the pump gets wet...well, it won't work. And if the pump doesn't work, I don't have water...

The pump is surrounded in a concrete "bin" of sorts, that was basically made to hold back flood water. I climbed into the bin and was readjusting the tarps, corrugated roofing material and spent umbrellas that cover the pump, to ensure the pump remained dry, since a big thunderstorm was definitely on it's way.

That's when it happened. I only saw the tail end of the thing as it shot away and under the leaves covering the ground.

Then I waited for the pain to come.

It's bad, but not as bad as last time. Last time the pain was so unbearably bad I couldn't even sleep, and was eating Paracetamol (Tylenol) like it was going out of style. This time the pain is bad, but bearable. Shouldn't be long and the pain will subside. Believe me, I'm watching the clock.

-Jeeem-

When I was in my mid to late teens, I began getting in trouble with the law.

In my junior and senior year of high school I took a shop class called Automotive Electronics, which taught engine analyzing. Within the first couple of months I lost interest in learning about engine analyzing, so my teacher, a Mr. Tony Diaz, took me aside and told me if I wanted to stay in his class and not fail, I would have to do something. So, I brought in this old clunker I’d bought at a used car dealership and began working on it.

I ended up building a powerful street machine out of a 1965 Chevy Malibu SS. I took the 327 short block out and replaced it with a 396 big block bored .30 over to a 402.

Four-bolt main, dome pistons, roller cam, tunnel ram with dual Holley elephant quads, Muncie rock crusher transmission, a new set of radical rear end gears, Mallory 50,000 volt coil, Zoom clutch and pressure plate, Mickey Thompson black ribbed valve covers and Hooker headers...fully uncapped and very loud. I bankrolled the whole project through my job working at Big 8 supermarket.

Besides the street drags, I’d occasionally sneak out around my neighborhood, and leave long, black tire marks in the road, burning rubber and showing off for the girls.

People began complaining and the cops were called, landing me in lockup a couple times for street racing. Eventually I got good at evading the cops. They knew where I lived, so I'd just park my car at somebody's house and throw a tarp over it.

Can't bust me if there's no evidence!

There was such an adrenaline rush in pulling the wool over the cop's eyes.

Well, yesterday morning I got a taste of the old times. As I’ve mentioned before on this blog, I don't have a driver's license or registration for my motorcycle. Not a biggy really, as nobody else around here does either. Well, maybe they’ve got a driver’s license, but they sure as hell don’t have their motorcycles registered. Most just can’t afford it.

Yesterday morning I had to go meet a friend in Ban Phrue and before taking off, I realized I was running low on petrol. I check my gas often now, since my gas gauge doesn’t work. So, I took the back way from my cottage in Klong Tong Nûea and circled back around to the petrol station in Thung Lung on route 4. They’ve got a little hotty working there now, aged somewhere in her late twenties who likes me, and whenever I show up for gas, I enjoy flirting with her a bit.

I pulled up to one of the pumps and saw she was busy with a customer, but she was looking over my way and smiling, so like a showoff I paid for the gas and buzzed out of there in a roar, crossing two lanes and into the far lane headed for the turn-around. Looking back over my shoulder at Miss Hotty as I did so…and drove right straight into a police barricade.

The cop looks at me as I'm passing him and I act like I don't see him...

“You!” He says…the typical Thai who doesn’t speak English greeting.

I swerve into the slow lane and by then he’s blowing his whistle. Then I can hear the cops across the street blowing their whistles…so, I made a lazy, wide left turn down a side street, then once out of their sight, made a quick right onto another side street, down an alley way, and back up by a little kids park, where I cross through the park and off onto a dead-end road...and well, you get the idea.

I backtracked all the way down as far as I could go past the center of town, then turned onto the main road and took off south, heading for Ban Phrue.

Eventually I had to come back, so once in town I dipped into yet another side street I knew, and snaked around the back of Patong School by the park, crossed the railroad tracks and headed for the big rubber tree plantation and back to my cottage the back way.

I haven’t seen any cops since. No doubt they forgot about it, or probably more accurately didn’t really know what to do about it.

Just like the old day’s man! Awesome.

I know damn well the cops know where I live, but I'm guessing they just blew it off...at least I hope they did. Oh sure...I've got a good story/excuse, but what I don't have is a driver's license or a valid registration....oh, and did I mention no helmet?

Gotta love it.

Something neat about eluding the cops, but eluding the cops in a foreign country?

Even better!

-Jeeem-

Jeeez...almost every nite for the past three days there's been a party going on somewhere around here. The sounds of terrible Karaoke music keep drifting into my bedroom, which sits relatively high since I'm on sort of a hill.

The later it gets, the more terrible the sing-along gets.

Ah-blah, mala, tonie, Saba....at least that's what it sounds like.

Most of them drunk off their posteriors, grabbing the microphone and slurring their words while trying to peer at a tiny little television screen.

This one tonight is a ways away, probably around a kilometer or so, but it doesn't matter...

Have you ever seen one of these parties being set up? Well I have. I'm an old pro at it. First the truck arrives with about a billion blue and red plastic chairs in the back, rope strung all around them. They get out of the truck and within seconds all the chairs are stacked by the side of the road (This occasionally occurs directly across from my cottage, on the takraw court).

The truck leaves and then another takes it's place. This one is seriously laden down with metal poles and heavy blue tarps.

The tent.

I can never tell if these guys are always the same, or if every truck load of them are different. They drop all the poles and tarps next to the plastic chairs, not bothering to set the tent up yet. Somebody will likely let them know where it is to be set.

Then another truck...or is that the same one as before? This is the sound equipment. Speakers that rival those at a rock concert. Huge things...always black. Why is that? Why don't they paint speakers...uh, pink? Or green.

They drop off the sound equipment but they leave a guy there. Most likely since that stuff is wicked expensive and if they were to just drop it there, somebody could just pick it up and drive off. Finally somebody arrives in yet another truck. They get out and stand around pointing.

The dreaded pointing Thai.

Thai's love to point. You see it on the news all the time. Pan the camera to the man on the side of the road...somethings there in the grass...I'm not sure what because, well, everything's in Thai...but, the guy is pointing. Arm extended out, index finger rigid...not moving, just pointing and occasionally looking at the camera as if saying, "It's right there."

About ninety-nine percent of the time you can't see anything, or it's digitalized out. When that happens, you know it's a body...and blood. But, the camera always moves too quickly for the digitalizing guy, and you get a momentary glimpse of an intestine hanging out, or something.

Anyway, the pointing Thai's have finally figured out where the tent is going....they begin. It goes up rather quickly. They must have done this before. Once it's up, everybody stands under the tent and then there is more pointing. Probably sound equipment pointing, or stage pointing. Out of nowhere comes the Thai whiskey bottle...or maybe it was always there...I just didn't notice. Everybody takes a swig.

The plastic chairs get picked up and plopped down under the tent, still stacked. That job is for the women and kids. Then they attend to the sound equipment. Those speakers stand at least four feet tall, and there are four of them. Damn. I'm not going to sleep tonight.

The rest of the afternoon, for the men anyway, begins to deteriorate into a heavy drinking session. Most of these guys will be passed out before the damn party even starts. Tables are set up and chairs are arranged. The women descend on the place and begin preparing the food. Thai women love doing that stuff.




It isn't like in the West, when you start seeing people arrive...no, Thais seem to just appear. One minute you turn around and there's forty more people under the tent than when you last glanced over there. When darkness begins to descend on the place, the music starts. Then the singing.

I've yet to hear any Thai at one of these outside parties who can sing on key. Most are terrible and it just gets worse as the night bears on...

My bed is moving. The sound from the speakers is actually vibrating the bed...and walls. Heavy sigh...I turn over and flop my pillow over my head. It doesn't work. I know the music will die down around midnight, when most of the party goers are passed out or too drunk to hold the mike. Somebody gets up and starts talking into the mike. He's slurring his words. I'd love to know what he's saying but I can only catch a few words...nothing that really makes sense. But then, I don't suspect he's making sense anyway, even if I could understand everything he was saying.

-Jeeem-

The classic Asian Wet Market.

This picture above isn't quite what I just stumbled upon this afternoon, but it certainly served it's purpose.

As you all know, I live in the tiny village of Klong Tong Nûea, where there are only two small Mom & Pop stores to the right and left of me.

The one on the left is Took's store, about one kilometer from my cottage.

It's usually swarmed with people and is on the wrong side of the road. Saturday's at this time are bad since all the local men are at her store betting on the Muai Thai boxing matches. So, trying to get groceries there at this time is damn near impossible.

To the right of me, past the bridge over the Tong River, is the other Mom & Pop store, which is just too basic, and way, way overpriced.

So, this afternoon, I decided to go exploring and once I got to the main road, instead of heading right to Took's store, I turned left and headed toward Ban Khuang Niang, where Mam and I originally got the motorbike blessed several years ago, at a popular Buddhist Temple there.

I hadn't been down that way for a long, long time. Possibly three years. I don't know why, but I just haven't.

Nothing on my motorcycle works.

The speedometer doesn't work, the odometer doesn't work, the gas gauge doesn't work...so, I'm only guessing.

I was traveling probably fifty to sixty kilometers per hour, and passed mostly jungle and a few rubber factories along the way, on both sides of the road. It was probably four or five minutes when I began approaching a small village. But I can't remember the name...Kinang something...I'll have to check it again.

I slowed, and saw a store to my left, which looked promising and once I stopped it appeared I hit pay dirt!

The store was more a market than a Mom & Pop store. It was small, but compact and deceiving in size, since in the front of the store was roughly six large freezers and coolers containing a goldmine of meats, vegetables, and other goodies, which I'd yet to discover.

I initially parked my motorbike and walked up to the first counter, arousing quite a bit of interest I might add.

Places like this don't see farangs on motorcycles very often...let alone farangs period.

I wandered up and began perusing their wares.

Nice tomatoes! Small, like all Thai tomatoes, but not the typical withered pieces of crap you get at other markets. I began picking a few and a rather attractive Thai woman around forty to fifty years old, smelling delightfully of a rather seductive perfume, showed up and offered me a bag.

I put about six nice tomatoes in the bag and heard somebody in the background say, "Tomato!" Thai's practicing their English.

So, I began looking for a Kumquat. Ha! No, just kidding...

I scoured the area picking up nice veggies here and there, and heard the perfume woman say something to me.

"Alai?" I asked...

However rude that sounded, I don't know, but it was my best Thai given the circumstance.

She answered, saying something I just didn't understand, which isn't odd, but it's certainly frustrating. She might have been speaking Southern dialect, which of course I don't understand, nor recognize.

"Pom poot Thai, neet noi." I exclaimed, which is pretty universal for "I only speak a little Thai," which I hate saying, since at this point in my life I can pretty well get by with speaking Thai, but I cannot speak the Southern dialect.

"Ah...pom poot Thai neet noi, salapat." I'm not exactly sure what "Salapat," means, but it's exactly what she said. So, I just nodded and kept moving.

Perhaps it meant, "I would like to have crazy sex with you on a chandelier," but then I just can't be sure. Besides that, I'm not really into chandelier's.

I'm one of those people, you know, as a kid when I'd visit your house and you'd let me inside your bedroom, I would explore....

Certainly you know the type.

I'd begin opening your drawers, boxes, envelopes...I just couldn't seem to control myself. I suddenly became this invasive little monster. Once I was bored with your bedroom, I'd move to your bathroom, or your mother's bedroom...better yet, your SISTERS bedroom....

You can tell a lot about a person or family by looking in their medicine chest.

I can't explain this obsession, but I do know I'm not alone. There are other "Sherlocke's" out there...I know, I've met them.

Some kids were greatly bothered by my prying. Others couldn't care less.

Think about it...who would you want to befriend? The secretive ones, or the laid back ones? For the life of me I can't remember which one's I befriended.

So, here I was at this roadside market-of-sorts in Ban Khuang Niang, and I was once again exercising my exploring rights. I began opening freezer and cooler doors left and right, and as a result, I found a goldmine!

A mere five to eight minutes from my cottage was a mini-market that not only had fresh vegetables, but also had frozen meats...

Chicken, whole and cut-up...pork, basically fresh, but some pretty weird cuts.

I picked up a small chunk of pork wrapped in plastic that didn't have a lot of fat on it, and asked the woman...

"Tao Rai?" (How much?)

"Jet sip hok baht," Seventy-six baht. Not bad for the huge chunk I was holding in my hand. Well, at least that's what I thought due to my vast knowledge of Thai meats...

In my brain, as I was walking around looking at the various vegetables and meats, and creating a recipe in my mind...

Kow phat moo (Pork fried rice) ...duay gung? (with shrimp?)

No, I didn't have enough money to throw to the gods of seafood.

Gung in Thai is Shrimp.

But, here in Southeast Asia, due to the Australian influence, the English vernacular is not "shrimp," but "Prawns."

I'm not sure where that term came from, but my take is a prawn is larger than a shrimp...of course nobody furnishes measurements for these weird words...

So, I finished my shopping and thanked the sweet-smelling lady, who gave me a great smile as she was bent over supplying my eyes with a lot of candy....eye candy that is...

"Cleavage" as you call it in the West.

Gotta love it!

So, now I've discovered a new place to shop.

Replete with cleavage!

It's along the lines of getting a new apartment in town and finally figuring out where the Extra-mart is...

Life is good.

-Jeeem-

This is a picture of the new frog / toad that has invaded my bathroom.

I know, I know...you're all thinking, "Not another stupid frog posting on Jim's Quiet Musings..." But I'm telling you, this is really odd!

You all know about Teddy. Well, Teddy is big now and lives in the washing machine's outflow hose. Then, another frog / toad just like him appeared one day. That was it. Two frogs.

Now, it's like a virtual two-lane highway into and out of my bathroom. I opened the front door one morning to let the dogs in, and when it was open, both dogs were sitting there, in front of the door, and wouldn't move. Finally I saw why. There was a frog sitting in front of them, waiting for me to open the door. The dogs wouldn't budge because these little babies have poison glands near their heads that squirt or exude a terrible tasting fluid the dogs don't particularly like.

So, once the door was open, here comes this frog...bing, bing, bing. He/she jumps up on the door stop, plops down in the living room, and slowly but surely makes a bee-line for the bathroom.

Damn-est thing I've ever seen.

Now, at all times of the day I'll be downstairs and will see some little frog bouncing around in the foyer, either coming out of the bathroom, or going in. One night I got up to go to the bathroom, turned on the light, and beheld six frogs sitting in various places in the bathroom.

I don't know what the attraction is, but it's humorous to say the least.

Handy too, actually....

From time-to-time I get these flying ant swarms happening at night. I don't know if they are hatching or what, but as soon as the lights come on in the evening, the upstairs and downstairs are overcome with these little guys. All over the place. They don't live very long, as their lifespans are similar to a damsel fly or a mayfly. Just a few hours and then they kick the bucket. Or, here in Thailand, they succumb to geckos, or as in my case...frogs.

Except for the T.V. upstairs, I try to keep all the lights off, since that keeps the flying ant numbers down. I was watching a football game one night and gulping down the beers, which seem to go hand-in-hand with football, and had to hit the bathroom. I got downstairs and turned on the bathroom light and there was three frogs on the floor feasting on flying ants!

Sitting there doing my business, I was quite entertained watching those long tongues zapping those ants.

It was great! No, I'm not going to quit my day job.

But, all good things must come to an end. As careful as I've been walking around downstairs, trying not to step on one of the little guys/gals, it was inevitable. Then, yesterday morning I opened the door and ended up crushing one little frog in the door casing. Another was found floating in my bucket of floor cleaner, dead.

But, that's not going to stop them.

I hear reinforcements are coming South from Bangkok!

-Jeeem-

In my dreams...

Just wanted to let you all know that if I die, it's going to be on my motorcycle, on Route 4 running from Malaysia to the Gulf of Thailand. Somewhere on that road you'll find me squished like a bug on a windshield...

I love riding my motorbike at high speeds to other small villages around my area. The rules of the road here in Southern Thailand are not from some motor vehicle rule book...nosiree...It's just the rule of the road...at the time.

Motorcycles travel in the breakdown lane.

Yep. However, if driving your motorbike peacefully along the breakdown lane, one must realize that the breakdown lane, although there are not any painted lines in the middle, is a two way street. This means you are highly likely to meet oncoming traffic driving against the grain. I like to pretend I'm oblivious of the oncoming traffic. Kinda like playing chicken.

Scares the shit outta the drivers going in the wrong direction. But, I don't think it's going to change anything.

Driving a motorbike in Thailand is cool. You have the right-of-way. Forget those silly pedestrians! Just hop on your bike and bump up on the sidewalk, buzzing down the path trying to hit those old people whose reactions are blunted. Ah! Got one! Two points. Old people are only worth two points. It's the young ones, ages two through six, that racks up the big time points.

Hit two kids and you've got a whopping twenty points!

God I love driving in Thailand!

-Jeeem-

Last Saturday I woke up from my afternoon nap with my cellphone ringing.

I got out of bed and looked at the phone, as I don't like the phone and I hate talking on it. But, this call was from Mam.

"Hello Mam?"

"Hi Jeeem. I am in the bus now."

"The bus? You're going home."

"Yes. Please don't be mad at me."

"Mam, I'm not mad. I'm disappointed. There is no reason for you to go back to Wang Hu Gwang again. Your mother is in the hospital, but she's okay. We don't have the money for this Mam."

"I'm sorry. Please don't be mad."

"Whatever. Why can't your sister handle this? Does she ever help out with the family? All she does is throw money at everybody. What about Miuw? She's seventeen years old, it's not like she's ten years old. She can take care of your mother once she gets out of the hospital."

.......

And so the conversation went. Mam hates confrontation of any kind, and certainly confrontation from me because I make perfect sense and she knows it. Mam doesn't know how to handle money, and so after my last paycheck of 80,000 baht she squandered much of it away, going back to Wang Hu Gwang because her mother asked her to.

So what? You say...well, Mam isn't really needed there. I don't have a new job lined up, and the money won't last forever, so for her to go home for Songkran, come back home with me, then leave again when she's really not needed, is to me, just a big waste of money.

No, I didn't get ballistic. No need. It's her mother, I understand that. But, where is the rest of that goddamn family when help is needed? Gai, Mam's sister, is nothing but a show horse. She's got the excessively expensive cellphone she doesn't need, the fancy-ass car, the rent-free house on her company's property, the two extra jobs, and the husband who is a royal jerk. But, does she ever volunteer to help out at home?

No, of course she doesn't. She's a Bangkok bunny now. Big-wig wannabe. Always acts like her caca doesn't stink, and like she's so damn busy all the time that she can't be bothered with stuff from her tiny home village where she was raised.

Then there is Maak and Miuw. Mam's children. Maak is twenty-one years old. He's one of the laziest pieces of crap I've ever seen. Still living at home, sleeps till two or three in the afternoon, then gets out of bed, goes to the bathroom, takes a shit and a piss, then hits the shower. He is never too far from his cell phone though...

Maak's cell is his connection with his buddies. His buddies are not much more energetic than he is, but around three in the afternoon everyday, they make the effort to get together, smoke their cigarettes in order to look tough, then head out to party somewhere, mooching money off some unsuspecting dork. Meanwhile, his sister Miuw does just about anything and everything in the house....laundry (by hand, like most Thai's), cooking, cleaning, folding, arranging, dusting....

But, if Miuw has to venture out away from home...say, six or eight kilometers, she's freaking lost. Will get on her cellphone and call Mama for help. It's like she loses her brain. Seventeen years old and practically helpless.

I told Mam once that the best thing for her two kids would be to get them OUT of Wang Hu Gwang...out of Chum Phae...out of Khon Kaen...and get them jobs...experience. But no, both of them have no experience because mama hasn't been around to give it.

.......

Massive update!

Mam informs me "The Family" wants her to stay home. They don't want her to return to Southern Thailand where we live. So, she turns her back on me, the two dogs Puppy and Chok, the house, everything...

Then I find out today she absconded with over 70,000 baht of my money. So, I'm pressing charges with the police and hiring a lawyer if need be.

There's really no such thing as divorce since her and I are not conventionally married. Not on paper anyway. It's easier to say by Thai eyes (which may cause some complications but not many I don't think) we're married, but according to the U.S. Embassy and Consulate, we're not legally married.

Surely this is not an unheard of situation. Many farangs (foreigners) end up in this situation, but I trusted her. Not so much in the end, as I'd caught her in several lies. But, life goes on I suppose.

For me, I've been in so many screwed up relationships, been with so many untrustworthy women, and been in so many countries that make situations like this even more difficult, that I'm almost immune to the pain and disappointment any more.

Things will level out. It'll just take time...

And I've nothing but....time.

-Jeeem-

The idiot pictured above is the direct cause of Thailand’s latest path to certain destruction, or better yet, becoming what many world leaders call, “A Failed State.”

Sure, the Thai economy would have to collapse, but looking at, say…Zimbabwe, and their history, who’s to say it isn’t far off?

Many countries have turned their back on Thailand due to opposition in the way the Thai government is being run and the very real fear their money would fall into the wrong hands. Korn Chatikavanij, the British-born, Oxford educated Thai finance minister, recently made a statement at a business meeting with foreign emissaries, that Thai politics unfortunately did not make sense. That statement, coming directly from a minister of parliament of Thailand, is a great loss of face for the Thai government.

Foreign companies, who once called Thailand their home, are now pulling out of Thailand due to massive money losses in the millions and sometimes billions of baht. Tourism, one of the biggest money makers in Thailand, if not the biggest, has suffered incredible losses. Tour agencies are reporting massive cancellations, hotel bookings are down or are being canceled the very moment I write this article, and airlines are doing double-steps to keep their occupancy rates up.

Some tour agencies have closed their doors since it costs them more money to open shop every day and use electricity, than any overhead they are making. Here in the south if you wander around the central district where thousands of Thai’s and foreign tourists alike shop at Lee Garden Mall and surrounding shops and restaurants, it’s like a ghost town compared to busier times. Walk a couple blocks away from Lee Garden, in any direction, and you’ll see tour agencies, bus tours, and local tour touts either closed or in the process of closing. Many hotels have signs on their doors and windows advertising they are selling out.

Although there isn’t any Red Shirt violence here to speak of, the South has seen enough unrest, with southern insurgent bombings adding to the bleed-over effect of violence in the streets of Bangkok, all in the name of Thaksin Shinawatra, the man pictured above.

Years ago the King was in charge. He’s the oldest living monarch in the world at present, and his people have always remained dedicated to him. I used to live in the desert southwest of the U.S., and in every Hispanic person's house you’d find a picture of Christ, and a section of the house cordoned off with candles and shrines devoted to their religion. Here in Thailand there’s not one home you can walk into without seeing a picture of the King, the Queen or the Royal family somewhere on the wall, often with a shrine build about it.

Now that’s dedication.

But, monarchies are old hat. Thailand’s went south a long time ago and what budded from it was a fledgling democracy. It was a democratic government for the people, which never seemed to catch on. Some people say, “The people are speaking out, they’re taking control. This is democracy at work.

Huh? Taking control? Yeah, they’re taking control alright…control of the streets, not the country. People are dying. Is this a democracy?

I did a quick web search and came up with this definition for democracy…

“The political orientation of those who favor government by the people or by their elected representatives.”

Well, what if the “government,” is severely corrupt? What if a terrible lack of transparency exists? What if the election process is so tainted that votes are widely bought and sold on a huge scale? Where is the democracy in all that mess?

Perhaps you’ve heard of the, “Corruption Perception Index,” put out by Transparency International, the global coalition against corruption. Many people have, but some Westerner’s have never heard of it. It’s a scale that measures the degree of corruption in a country, in particular – their government. The scale is based on a 1 to 10 score, one being the most corrupt, and 10 being an absence of corruption.

The Corruption Perceptions Index (CPI) table located at:

http://www.transparency.org/policy_research/surveys_indices/cpi/2009/cpi_2009_table, shows a country's ranking and score, the number of surveys used to determine the score, and the confidence range of the scoring. The rank shows how one country compares to others included in the index.

• The CPI score indicates the perceived level of public-sector corruption in a country/territory.
• The CPI is based on 13 independent surveys. However, not all surveys include all countries. The surveys used column indicates how many surveys were relied upon to determine the score for that country.

The confidence range indicates the reliability of the CPI scores and tells us that allowing for a margin of error; we can be 90% confident that the true score for a country lies within this range.

New Zealand is in the #1 position with a score of 9.4. Not too shabby.

The U.S. is at an embarrassing #19, The United Kingdom is ranked 17, and zipping right on down to the bottom of the table is…you guessed it! Good old Somalia, the Pirate's Club Med, at #180, with a score of 1.1, or damn near totally corrupt.

Thailand is ranked #84, with a score of 3.4, based on nine surveys, and a confidence range of 3.0 to 3.8.

Pretty pitiful.

All was rolling along pretty good years ago, when along came the man in the picture. Thaksin Shinawatra is his name. A relative nobody. A cop who entered politics like many rather wealthy, corrupt Thai middle class Thai men. He knew corruption well.

Any Thai cop knows corruption well, it’s their base.

A Thai cop is not allowed to take public transportation. In order to be a cop, you have to have your own form of transportation, a motorcycle at the very least, but a truck or car even better. If your vehicle stops running…you walk. You don’t take the bus, or Songtheaw, or tuk tuk, or any form of public transportation. It’s all about losing face.

So, Thaksin Shinawatra entered politics and slowly, but every so steadily, climbed the ladder to fame and fortune. Only problem with that is he used his political positions to gain fame and fortune. You’re not supposed to do that. The Thai constitution says you’re not supposed to do that. Most every member of parliament, government official, and hi-so middle class Thai citizen, knew of his corrupt game. But, did anyone speak out? Uh-uh. Why? Well, it’s all about losing face.

And about hanging out with the man who’s in the money.

Some say Thaksin was after the whole kit and caboodle. They say he was planning to overthrow the monarchy. Other sources say the King hated him and some whisper that the royal institution was behind the coup d'état that overthrew Thaksin.

Thaksin didn't like the media. He was known to put the cabash on journalists and t.v. media hounds. He even had lawsuits pending against certain journalists who had spoken out against him. This caused the King to repremand him in public, telling him something to the effect, "You should learn to accept criticism. Embrace other people's opinions of you, even if they are negative, as you might learn something." Shortly after that humiliating loss of face in clear view of the public, Thaksin withdrew his lawsuits.

Thailand’s got a lot to learn, but they won’t learn it from foreigners. No way. Why? Well, it’s all about losing face.

Thaksin Shinawatra was a relatively smart man. Elected to the Prime Minister post not once, but twice, he knew his base. The poor, rural farmers of the North and Northeast were the majority voters in Thailand, so it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what to do next.

You throw them a bone.

And Thaksin did just that.

He threw the rural, uneducated poor, a bone. Several bones as a matter of fact. Then he proceeded to proclaim a crack down on the drug trade. His big plan backfired a bit though, when the police and military who were given the power to enforce his plan, began feeling powerful and began taking the law into their own hands.

Extra-judicial killings, massacres, the killing of innocent people.

Thousands died at the hands of Thaksin Shinawatra, and nothing was ever done. Why? Well, it’s all about losing face.

Some of the people who died were relatives or friends of the rural poor in the North and Northeast provinces. Sons, daughters, mothers, fathers, aunts, uncles, nephews, whole damn families. People in the provinces were beginning to smarten up. They were getting pissed off that this shiny new Prime Minister who talked fancy on TV, but could speak Northern dialects when visiting the grassroots, was directly responsible for the deaths of their relatives, their friends.

So, you wanna know what he did? He threw more money at them. Lots and lots of money.

And all was well.

You live in the North and Northeast, and from day-to-day you exist on say, forty, sixty baht a day, or for you Westerners, one dollar twenty-four cents to one dollar eighty-six cents, or .80 to 1.21 British pounds a day...and when somebody throws the bone at you, you’re happy.

It worked.

Thaksin Shinawatra had the rural poor of the North and Northeast in his pocket. All the while, he was managing his satellite company, screwing other businessmen left and right, involved in international law suits, hiring the best lawyers, making astronomical profits and dodging taxes, until one day the Thai middle class, the Thai elite, got tired of it.

He began feeling like some sort of god. He decided he’d solve everything in the south, as the southern insurgency was an ongoing problem and it was beginning to glean International attention, something Thaksin didn’t want. So, he got the bright idea to head a campaign to fold up little origami peace swans.

Yeah, you heard me right. Little peace swans folded out of paper. Asian origami.

His idea spanned several months and covered a huge part of Thailand. I remember seeing a large table set up in the local mall in Hat Yai here in the south, with a group of girls manning (girling?) the table, taking donations and folding a swan in your name.

These peace swans were then collected in huge quantities, gathered into large plastic bags, placed on Royal Air Force cargo planes and ceremoniously dumped on the three provinces in the south, Patani, Yala, and Narathiwat, the Muslim strongholds demanding a free Patani state. The provinces of the Deep South where Muslim insurgents had been killing people for the past ten years or so.

I myself couldn’t believe what I was seeing. There was Thaksin on TV, smiling for the camera and writing a message on a paper peace swan, offering a free job and instant money to whomever should find it.

Gobs of these things, hundreds of thousands, if not millions of paper birds were scattered from these huge cargo planes onto the unsuspecting Muslims in the south.

Did that solve the southern insurgency?

Hell no.

Did anyone criticize Thaksin Shinawatra for this stupid, misguided plan?

Of course not.

Why? Well, it’s all about losing face.

You now, as a sort of afterthought, I never heard how that money was spent. You know, the money they collected for the paper peace swans. Not a word. Maybe it paid for the aviation fuel to fly those planes above the deep south...who knows. And you know, Thailand is polluted enough, without dumping millions of bits of paper on it from above, only adding to the trash.

Sheesh!

You see, in Thailand, just like in other parts of the world really, money is power. If you have enough of it, you can do just about anything. And that’s precisely what Thaksin thought. He might have gotten away with it too, but too many of the Thai elite were watching him.

Western educated Thai’s.

Thai’s who didn’t care about whether Thaksin lost face or not.

So Thaksin boarded his private jet (another questionable expense that nobody said anything about), and zoomed off to show his smiling face to the Western world, to speak at the UN, to press flesh with the very people who could pump money into the governmental pockets of Thailand. And while he was gone, several influential men (and most likely a couple women) began plotting his demise back on Royal Thai soil.

The 2006 Thailand coup d'état took place on Tuesday, 19 September 2006 (I'd been living in Thailand for two years and two months), when the Royal Thai Army staged a coup d'état against the elected caretaker, Thaksin Shinawatra.

Shortly thereafter he went into self-appointed exile.

His holdings were frozen in various banks in Thailand, his home was placed under surveillance, and a warrant was placed for his arrest.

The reason? Abuse of power while in office.

His family skipped the country long before the coup d'état took place, stark evidence that this was no surprise to any of them.

The coup, luckily for Thailand, was a bloodless one. Nobody contested it, except for some rumblings in the North. Remember them? The Thai people in the North? The rural poor...

First Thaksin popped up in England. He was seen waltzing around London, shopping, smiling for the camera with wife and kids in tow (That’s his dumb ass son in the background, wearing the blue t-shirt).

Then Hong Kong, where he ended up buying an expensive house in an even more expensive district, and well…so as not to bore you to death, to date I’ve lost count how many chalets, town houses, mansions, apartments, and houses this guy owns across the globe.

He began spouting his propaganda from afar. Talking to his rural base in the North of

Thailand via satellite phone. Telling them how terrible he felt; how much he missed being home. Urging his people to understand how mistreated he was.

This began ticking off the countries where he was pulling this crap off. He was still waltzing around with a diplomatic passport, one of those red thingies that allows you to go pretty much anywhere without worry of having to secure a visa. And he was flaunting his wealth by buying up the Manchester City football club, even though he had little experience in football, making things look like he was untouchable.

He lost all that.

He reached a point where he didn’t have enough money to manage the football club. So, he ended up selling it to some rich oil sheik from Saudi Arabia or some damn country in the middle east.

Meanwhile, the United Kingdom tossed his butt right out the door, and said, “Never come back,” and other countries followed. The problems of Thaksin using these countries to spout his political garbage began annoying the Thai government, and the Thai government began complaining to their corresponding embassies ambassadors. It wasn’t long before governmental leaders around the world began feeling nervous when Thaksin was in town.

Thaksin began skipping around the globe, hiding out in ritzy hotels or staying in his ritzy chalets, apartments and mansions, hiring people to hook him up with the highest tech equipment available so he could communicate with his base…the rural poor in Thailand’s north and northeast.

He told them, “Hey! Look at me! Look what they’ve done to me! Pity me! I just want to return home!”

But, there was a major obstacle to his returning home. He felt someone would try to kill him.

Something that for the life of me I can’t understand…why it hadn’t happened earlier.

He was eventually guaranteed a safe passage back to Thailand and he did return. This was just prior to the Olympic Games in Beijing. Shortly after his arrival he was served with papers to appear in court for a hearing related to his abuse of power while in office, and his involvement in purchasing land for his wife at a reduced price due to his status as Prime Minister.

He lost that case, and was sentenced to two years in prison. But before he was turned over to the authorities, he asked the court if they would please grant him leniency and allow him and his family to attend the Olympic Games…that he’d be right back after that to serve his time.

Yeah, right.

Well, the idiots of the court granted him his little vacation, and as everyone suspected, after the Olympics were over, Thaksin Shinawatra and his family, were nowhere to be found, at least for the time being.

While he had been protected from losing face so many times, the rest of the country was losing face because of him.

He didn’t disappear. No, quite the opposite. He began popping up all over the world.

“Here I am! Nah, Nyah! You can’t get me!”

Then he began live broadcasts from several different countries, week after week, trying to fire up the rural poor, to tell them he’d been cheated. To prod them along and whip them into a frenzy to fight the one damn government in Thailand that was actually doing something. A government led by an Oxford educated young man who was even handsome and polite, and could speak to the International media without insulting them or his own country.

Somewhere in all this mess came the shocking (really?) news that Thaksin’s rather hot wife, Potjaman, divorced him. Some say it was only a strategic financial move. I say she got damn sick of his shit.

And so the rural poor donned red shirts, bandanas, head scarfs, and plastic clappers, and took to the streets to fight a battle for the man that threw the bones at them. They waved his picture around, hoisted banners proclaiming victory for him, and they even wore Thaksin Shinawatra masks.

Stupid, uneducated people.

Most are paid to show up in Bangkok. The money is coming from somewhere…can you guess where? Many showed up in their field tractors, pulling along a cart full of men, women, and kids, all decked out in red.

Another time and another color, it wasn’t long ago that the yellow people took over the International airport and brought Thailand to a standstill.

Mob rule.

Have you ever heard of it? It’s a psychological thing. People…stupid, uneducated people, get so caught up in the adrenaline rush of a mob. They begin doing things they’d never think of doing when at home. But, caught up in all the excitement of a red-shirted mob, they begin throwing things, donning shields, picking up weapons and fighting for a cause…trouble is, if you take ten of them and put them in ten separate rooms, then ask them the question, “Why are you doing this?” You’re going to get ten different answers.

But, if you have all ten of them together, ask one of them that question and allow him/her to answer so all can hear, then take the remaining nine into separate rooms, you’re going to get the same damn answer.

You see, very few of the red-shirt protesters know what they are doing or why they are doing it. Even some of the red-shirt leaders don’t have a clue. Tell them they are effectively managing to destroy the very country they love, and most will tell you they are there for a good cause and they are in hopes their good cause (which most of them cannot identify) will change the country for the better.

It’s been printed in Thailand’s Bangkok Post many times…

"Even if the prime minister bends to the red-shirt’s demands and dissolves parliament, it will not solve the problem. The country will remain polarized, and another protest will take the place of the last, even in the event a new election is called.”

What to do?

Anyone’s guess I suppose…

Comments appreciated!

-Jeeem-