I have impeccable timing!

It’s my birthday as you can obviously see* and after I was just getting over the picture birthday card I received from my virtual girlfriend, Lucy Liu, I began to think about the next best things…food and beer. Not necessarily in that order.

I’ve been on a curry kick of late, after stopping off with my friend Rich Ellison to have a beer after work a couple of weekends ago. I’m a lot like Rich in that I love to cook, but sometimes my cooking gets rather boring, so I’ve been thinking about broadening my horizons.

Curry is something Rich loves to prepare. I love curry, but a problem exists. I met Rich after work and he handed me a couple of plastic bags filled with dinner…curries he had prepared at home and gave me a sampling of. I was so thrilled! I could already smell the wonderful scents wafting up from the bags!

When we arrived at our drinking destination (I like that…’Drinking Destination,’ sounds like the title for a book), a store that simply has tables out front for farangs to gather, talk, bitch, and consume mass quantities of beer and spirits (similar to the Coneheads), Rich went inside and came out with a packet of Waugh’s Curry, a brand I’d never seen before. He handed it to me and told me I should try it, which I did.

I usually stay away from curry because although I love it, it does not love me, and I often end up with severe stomach cramps and diarrhea for a day afterwards. But this stuff was different some how. Oh, it wasn’t without any after effects…I had the farts bad for a couple of days, but at least my stomach could hack it.

So, today I got up around five a.m. a free man since I don’t have to be back to work for four days since Tuesday is a holiday here, and while drinking my coffee and reading my e-mails, I began to think about preparing some curry. The thing is though, I’m lazy. I kept putting off getting dressed and heading out on my motorcycle, until somewhere around eleven fifteen…and to explain my opening at the top of this posting, my timing was impeccable since it began raining half way into my shopping excursion to the Thunglung market and surrounding stores.

Aside from the argument I was involved in with an old lady at one of the vegetable stands, who tried to charge me forty baht for a small handful of celery (Celery here is tiny. It’s nothing like the large ribbed versions you get in the West), and a small bunch of fresh coriander, everything else went pretty smooth. I left the wet market having made most of the Thai’s day, since they rarely see me in that market because I do most of my shopping now in Ban Kunine Sang, to the West of my village. So they finally had something to talk about today! I had to be in Thunglung today since I had to pay my electric bill.

By the time I arrived back on the main road to get on my motorcycle, it was raining steady, and on the way home the skies decided to open up. I was soaked once I got home, and to top things off, Chok, my youngest little dog, bounced out of the forest from my blind-side and I dropped the bike in a puddle of mud to avoid hitting her. So I had to spend ten minutes getting cleaned up, then another fifteen to twenty minutes washing my long beans, onions, peppers, celery, coriander, mushrooms, and pork I’d purchased.

I bought a kilo of CP packaged pork to mince for the breakfast sausage I make for myself, a copycat recipe of Jimmy Dean’s sausage…rest his soul. The other kilo is for my curry and some pork fried rice. I wanted to purchase some gung (shrimp in the West…Prawns in the East…Gung in Thailand) but the prices were well out of my spending budget.

So, there you have it. If you’re not a cook, you’re missing out. There’s nothing quite like sitting down and cutting, slicing, dicing, grinding, and mixing, then preparing and cooking…it’s relaxing to me somehow and then there is the finished product! Ummmm. Delicious! Or as they say here in Thailand….

Aloi Maak!

*Please send money and gifts to: Jim Anderson, #134 Moo 2, Tambon Patong, Hatyai, Songkhla 90230 Thailand. Thank you.

-Jeeem-

Hey....

What more could a guy like me wish for on his birthday?

-Jeeem-

Well, there you have it folks!

The unbridled truth. Western breakfasts in Asia....suck. Unless you want to spend an arm and a leg or two eating a banquet breakfast at a five star hotel that caters to foreigners.

I am writing this since I tried to get a decent breakfast during my trip to Georgetown, Penang, Malaysia, and got...well, read on.

I was staying at the Oriental Hotel. I went downstairs to the lobby and simply asked them, "Where can I get a decent American breakfast around here?" The guy smiled at me and pointed out the glass front doors to a restaurant around the corner.



The 78 Cafe...with a "K," thank you.

This place is interesting. The outside perimeter is surrounded with little cooking kiosks, each specializing in different kinds of food. At first I wasn't sure if I could get breakfast at this joint, as after quickly looking around me, the Malay's, Indians, and Chinese sitting around inside were all eating the typical Asian breakfast...i.e., anything and everything. Noodles, rice dishes, etc.

But, a guy came up to me asking, "What you want drink?"

"Coffee please," and in a split second, he turned on his heels and was gone, prompting me to loudly say, "Sir!" and he returned.

"Milk and sugar please," I said smiling, since he looked irritated. Then I said, "Can I have some breakfast?" but he was already gone.

Shortly a woman showed up with a small pad in her hand. Then I had it all figured out. The guy was the drink guy. She was the "food" woman.

"May I please have some breakfast?"

"Yes sir, what you like?"

"I would like two eggs, over easy, some sausage, and toast with some jelly."

I figured this was going to prompt an argument, but she just repeated my order and left. My coffee arrived and I pulled out a newspaper I had saved for the trip and took a sip of my coffee, which didn't have enough milk or sugar in it.

Then, while reading my paper, the woman arrived back in record time and laid my "American Breakfast" down before me....

Two eggs, soaked in oil, and fried HARD.
Two hot dogs, barely warm.
Two squished hamburger buns, slathered in too much butter or margarine, and toasted on only one side.
Oh! I can't forget the garnish! It was the best looking thing on the plate! Three slices of tomato, two slices of cucumber (Asian's love cucumber) and a sprig of parsley.

There you have it! The perfect Amerasian Breakfast!

-Jeeem-

Ah, the American breakfast.

I never looked at the American breakfast as a tradition, just a morning meal. But, in the U.S., unlike Asia and Southeast Asia, the Western breakfast is not so much a tradition as it is a ritual.

Get out of bed in the morning, anywhere in the western world, shower, get dressed and take a walk down the sidewalk past your neighbors houses…as you laugh at the morning newspapers lying in a puddle next to flower beds, and porch roofs, you’ll catch that familiar aroma tickling your nostrils…fresh cooked bacon, sausage and hash browns.

Intoxicating aromas.

Try doing the same thing in Asia, and you won’t see or smell anything different than if you were to walk by at noontime or late afternoon. Fried fish, rice, stir-fried vegetables, and some concoctions you don’t want to know about…or smell.

So, I thought write today about the American Breakfast, or as they say in England, “The Full Monty.”

Let’s start with your basic egg.

Eggs are a big part of a traditional American breakfast, but they often get a bum rap from health nuts. However, I’m not going there today. We all know both the American breakfast and the English Full Monty are cholesterol nightmares. But then, what comfort food isn’t?

Ever try and break open an egg? Remember the first time? The yolk went everywhere. People’s tastes are different, so let’s look at how they like their eggs.

Sunny side up – The yolk is pristine, cooked through just long enough where it’s not too runny.

Sunny side down – You flip the pristine egg over momentarily, cooking the top of the yolk just barely.

Over easy – Flip the pristine egg over for a short time, just so the membrane covering the yolk is lightly cooked.

Over medium - Over medium hardens that yolk just a bit, so it’s thicker than sunny side up. Let’s face it, some breakfast eaters in the west have pretty light stomachs in the morning, so a runny egg is liable to cause everything to come right back up, and out their nose. Over medium is the remedy for those types of people.

Over hard – An egg, yolk intact, cooked well on both sides, leaves the yolk a bit chewy and hard.

Some of these methods are cooked on a hard, greased grill, typically in a restaurant, while others are cooked at home in a frying pan with a shot of vegetable oil, bacon fat, butter or lard.

Scrambled – Crack the egg or eggs into a bowl, and fluff em’ up with a fork. Some people add milk, some add cream. Heat your griddle or pan, add a little grease, oil, bacon fat, butter or lard, and fry em’ up.

Scrambled hard – Rarely heard of, but some people like them this way. The cook throws the scrambled eggs into the pan, and as soon as they begin to congeal, he or she, continues to scramble them in the pan. These eggs resemble popcorn when they are finished and depending on the amount of oil, grease, bacon fat, butter or lard, are usually relatively dry.

Scrambled medium – Again, another type of scrambled eggs that are not commonly heard of, but are scrambled in the pan, but not to the point of popcorn eggs, and still relatively moist.

Omelet – The scrambled eggs are allowed to congeal in the pan and are then carefully folded over into a nice little packet. The omelet can be filled with many different types of ingredients. There is no limit to the imagination, but common fillers are mushrooms, cheese, hot peppers, onions,

Regarding eggs I’d be terribly remiss if I didn’t include the poached egg.

Poached – The poached egg is most likely not going to be found on a Hungry Man’s breakfast menu. Most people who liked poached eggs are either on a diet, or they get grossed out by the other methods of cooking eggs. A poached egg is simply an egg, which is steamed until cooked. The yolk can end up runny or hard, depending on the time it is cooked. For years, my mother who was diabetic, would cook up a poached egg and plop it down on toast, adding a bit of salt and pepper to it. Not bad actually.

Next on the agenda are breakfast meats. From steak to sausage, and everything in-between…let’s discuss these cholesterol bombers!

Steak – A Hungry Man’s breakfast wouldn’t be right unless Steak was included on the menu. From London broil, to filet Mignon, the hearty breakfast typically includes a big slab of beef. London broil or flank steak would be the cheapest cuts and would progress from there. Sirloin, sirloin tips, T-bone, tenderloin, filet Mignon. You just specify the degree of doneness…which would be medium rare of course!

Ham – For the sake of length, I’m going to lump together ham luncheon meat, Canadian bacon, Back bacon, and your regular bacon strips, which are either maple syrup flavored, plain or hickory smoked. Yum, yum. I’m getting hungry just thinking of all this! Bacon lovers range from the kind who likes their bacon still squealing, to cooked crisp. I’m an in-between sort of bacon lover. Canadian bacon and back bacon are just different cuts is all, typically thicker and fattier.

Sausage – Oh boy. Sausage. Hickory smoked, highly seasoned, patties, stuffed into casings, spicy hot, maple syrup flavored. You name it. They are all delicious. As far back as anybody can remember sausage has been experimented with, using different ingredients thrown into ground up pork. Sage is the main ingredient in most cases, but you’ll find rosemary, thyme, marjoram, pepper, red pepper, coriander, fennel, and other highly aromatic spices added to sausage. Jimmy Dean used to be my favorite, and it came in regular, maple syrup flavor and spicy. Spicy was my favorite. There are other sausages, but I’m not going to get into Chorizo or Mexican sausage which is often mixed in scrambled eggs, or longanisa sausage used in the Philippines, which is also delicious.

Right about now we’re building up to one big coronary occlusion. So get out the defibrillator paddles and rack up the joules.

Potatoes – You knew there had to be a vegetable here somewhere, no? Well, potatoes level your Hungry Man breakfast out a bit, but they don’t reduce the chance for that whopping myocardial infarction. The reason why is they are not typically presented baked or boiled. No, potatoes are fried up in a skillet with other goodies….vegetables like green peppers and onions! Delish!

Home Fries – For the sake of argument, I’m going to say it all depends on the cook, as to how home fries are prepared and presented on your plate. Typically the potato is first boiled or baked and left to cool in the fridge. Then, once cold, they are sliced up into mouth sized chunks, seasoned with pepper, salt, and maybe a splash of paprika or oregano, and stir fried with onion and green peppers in oil.

Hash Browns – Using a shredder or a well placed meat cleaver, the cook shreds up a raw potato into thin little strips. Then, he adds some minced onion and possibly some chopped green peppers. Then they are formed into a patty of sorts, flattened with a spatula, and fried in oil until done and crispy. Not much different than home fries, but possibly a bit neater.

Now, there you have it!

Oops! Almost forgot the bread! Darn!

Toast – Likely on a Hungry Man’s menu you’re going to find TEXAS TOAST, cause well…everything’s big in Texas, right? Ha! All Texas toast is is a thicker slice of bread, usually about an inch or inch and a half in diameter, toasted soft, and slathered in butter. Defibrillator please!

Then, toast isn’t toast for breakfast without jam or jelly. Preserves, they call them and they come in a variety of flavors like Strawberry, Cherry, Blueberry, Blackberry, Orange marmalade, Grape, and any other fruit you can think of. Usually the waitress will plop down some condiment tray with extra butter and a large selection of jams and jellies to choose from.

I’m not going to get into bagels since real men don’t eat bagels. And even English muffins are not often seen on a traditional American breakfast menu. But, I’d be hard pressed to turn down a Thomas’s English muffin with all those nooks and crannies to hold all that melted butter and jam or jelly! Ha!

There you have it. Yes, I’ve left out pancakes, Eggs Benedict, Blood pudding, bagels with cream cheese and lox, and waffles….because they just aren’t your common part of a Hungry Man’s breakfast.

I welcome any comments from readers, and would love to hear about other ethnic breakfast items. The Full Monty in England isn’t too far off the mark of the American Breakfast and is well known as a cholesterol nightmare.

So stick that drooling tongue back in your mouth and go get some breakfast! You deserve it!

-Jeeem-

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-