Will Edit For Food

Will Edit For Food

The same stuff I was too dumb to listen to when I most needed to listen. But I still read those articles, just because I do. Right this minute, I feel like disagreeing with some advice. Many folks like to say that writing is never easy, it’s always a struggle, you must always sweat blood and such. Well, the blood part is right. If you’re not sufficiently enthused about a writing project to bargain with Death to get five more minutes for it, then screw it. But writing gets easy after 20 or 25 years of doing it daily. Or such is my experience. Your actual mileage may vary.

A bishop is sitting in a doctor’s waiting room when a red faced and sobbing nun rushes out of the doctor’s exam room. The bishop charges into the exam room and demands to know what the doctor has done. “I told her she was pregnant,” the doctor replies, matter of factly. “That’s crazy! That can’t be true!” says the outraged bishop. “Why would you ever tell her something like that?” “Well, it cured her hiccups.”

I found a rather interest Scams and Consumer Alerts section at the ID Theft Center which I was planning to summarize for you, but I can’t because it simply has too much useful information. So, here’s the link.

How’d I spend my first birthday in Thailand? Why, eating authentic German food, of course. The first time I’ve had sauerkraut that didn’t come out of a can, and naturally the sausages were delicious. And the beer.

Do you remember when I told you I was ending my newsletter forever? Sometimes that’s what I need to do in order to start writing again. I knew that would happen. Bold pronouncements like that tend to make my Muse slap me around a bit. That’s what works for me. Copying others is for wimps.

Also, to quote Willie Nelson, I just started laying my burdens down. Moving to Thailand was part of that. Look at what you do, decide what you oughta quit doing, get your head on right, and you’ll start writing stuff. Publishing is very different animal, but writing is always good, even if it’s crap I’ll never want to read. And it probably is. Law of averages and all that. Write it anyway. I promise I’ll respect you in the morning. It wants all 1.3 billion of its citizens to speak perfect English and get high exam scores, right now! It gives them a workplace, a living place, utilities and a few amenities, immediately. Thailand just waits for foreign teachers to come knocking. Find your own job, find your own house, learn about work visas and laws and such.

Holy guacamole, coming here after years in China is like moving away from my parents all over again.

And wait, what’s that? You have a cat? Are you mad?

Actually, the above paragraphs are BS. They’re correct, but they’re still BS. Before I even think about finding a job here, I need to take a vacation here. So let me start over. You don’t mind. You don’t have anything better to do. You’re going to go outside and find your car’s been towed away.

(Yes, that WAS a Richard Pryor reference. Pat yourself on the back if you knew that.)

On the plane to Bangkok, after our meal, I fed Picasso. Tuna through the bars of her carrier, one plastic spoonful at a time, heavy on the juice and perhaps a few prawns. She agreed that it’s the thought that counts. Meow.

At the airport in Bangkok, we had to change planes a bit quickly, with a visit to Animal Quarantine in between, ending with a dramatic dash through an airport reminiscent of an old TV commercial that featured a worthless bastard who still hasn’t found the real killer. But the dash was quite fun, I presume, for a lovely little lady cat who was in the internationally approved carrier I was carrying. She may not have known this fat bastard could move that fast.

The next day, we found Vegemite. Yes! Enumerating all the other goodies would only make you drool and/or make me look like a food crazed idiot. I was never much of a shopper when I lived in the US, but China shifted my priorities. In Thailand, you can find pretty much anything and nobody’s surprised.

Interesting thing about shopping. I only saw a dozen people in the rather modern supermarket. I’m from China, y’all. A dozen queues, a dozen or more people in each, a few hundred more in the store. Culture shock!

Meanwhile, when my English doesn’t work, I speak Chinese. THAT doesn’t work. I’m gonna learn some Thai. I work on it daily like a good student should.

Picasso is quite happy. New sounds, new sights, new smells, new silence. She sleeps quite soundly. And often. She found a perfect hiding place underneath the bathtub, and you can’t find her with both hands and a flashlight. She has a chair near the west window which is just the best. She also has a wardrobe she can leap atop without using my shoulders, and the place is huge, with many windows and too many bird sounds. Very good for a brilliant little calico.

After the trip, Picasso was so worn out that she missed breakfast the next morning. Since then, I’ve been very gradually expanding her culinary frontiers. When the cat food I brought from China runs out in late August, there ain’t no more. But I think she’ll eventually agree that the tuna is better here than in her homeland.

Jan and I take long walks here. Much greenery, many wide open spaces, and more four legged animals than two legged ones. If you know me at all, you know I think that’s a good thing.

I tell you what I think will happen over here. In China, I’d have experiences so far outside my experience that I’d babble on in newsletters and on websites and in books. Ad infinitum. When I got the hang of the place, I didn’t write so much about it. In Thailand, my transition should complete itself, to the point where I never write about it at all. It’ll just be this great place where I happen to live, same as Arthur C. Clarke in Sri Lanka, hanging out like a lazy dawg. Or cat. Or cow. Not a bird, though. Picasso doesn’t like birds. They make too much noise when they mate. Which they do far too often.
Will Edit For Food