Stick your hand in the cookie jar

Loyal reader Neil has a succinct way of expressing himself, which I like. In these busy, busy times, who has the energy to dissect sentences with multiple, winding clauses?

This is what he said about my plan to pay a return visit to Mum's shop: 'Move on!'

'You are in a different part of the city. It will take time to hunt out places you like. Also to find the class of Thai your accustom to. You will find them locally. You have moved up is status and location. No more chickens and Chinese banging the walls all night. Going back to your old haunts will not be the same.

'You yourself said the people you sat with were not true friends. Just acquaintanceship. Go exploring. When you first move to the last apartment, didn't you feel the same way.

'Lost and out of place? Everyone does when they move after living a long time in previously location. I have returned to locations I use to live and it was never the same as I remember it. They move on. So should you.'

Okay, I take the hint. I shall just have to find some other place to meet my friends of the night (or even the daytime) outside home.

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'Why don't you do baking any more?' I asked the boyfriend.

'I am not sure who I can find to eat it,' Maiyuu replied. 'If you don't fnish it all, it goes stale.'

Maiyuu has not done any baking since we left our old condo in Thon Buri, I realised this morning.

I found half a dozen ginger cookies in a jar, which he made before the move. It's time I ate them, even though I am now watching my stomach line.

Maiyuu says the weight I lost while trudging humid streets in South-East Asia a week or so ago is now back on again. I am not sure I believe him.

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I wrote about a new movie by Poj Anon yesterday. It is one of two posts about the film this week.

Google, which serves the Adsense ads on my blog, has decided it does not approve of the subject matter in those posts, and has refused to serve ads on those pages.

The Google Adsense bot crawls the text of posts looking for key words, to help it match ads to content. If I mention condos, you might get several ads from people wanting to buy or sell condos here.

If readers are interested in condos in Thailand, which I mention in blog posts, then they might also be interested in the ads, and click them.

Google also has a list of stop words, which if repeated often enough or in particular combinations prompts Adsense to withhold advertising. It reckons that advertisers won't want to be associated with content which some readers might find objectionable.

I have re-read the posts. They look innocuous enough to me - no bad words, which I am careful to avoid on this blog, though I did mention the word naked.

I have noticed before that Google's Adsense dislikes any association between gays and those institutions which impart knowledge to youngsters.

Yes, you know the ones - the word starts with the letter 's' and ends in 'l'. I mentioned that word once or twice too.

In some contexts, it also objects to any mention of gays in relation to those institutions which bring us into the world.

Once again, you know the one - the word starts with 'f 'and ends in 'y'.

What to do? I have raised objections with Google Adsense in the past. My emails went unanswered. I can but hope that someone in their mighty Cultural Standards department was listening.

In the meantime, I shall try to minimise posts which mention either of those words in relation to gays.

Gays don't have families, of course. Nor do they go to school.

I'm just full of bad ideas

Returning to Mum's shop in Thon Buri may not be as simple as I first thought. As loyal reader Neil reminded me in comments yesterday, Mum refused to serve me the last time I was there, after I started visiting a rival place nearby.

'Finish!' she said abruptly, meaning she was no longer prepared to serve. I explained to her why I was visiting the rival place: to see if the owner would like to sell my boyfriend's baking.

She softened, and claimed she was merely joking.

'I'll be back soon,' I said.

That turned out to be untrue. Soon after, I moved to a new condo in town, which is a long way from her shop. I have not been back since.

The new condo is in the centre of town, where I am finding it hard to meet Thais. At my new condo, the only one I get to talk to regularly is my boyfriend, which is not the same.

In a post yesterday, I promised to pay another visit to Mum's shop, to see if any of my old friends were there. 

A reader who calls himself Anonymous left this caustic response:

'You've crossed the river and gone to great lengths and expense, selling your furniture and paying more rent, so that you can... live near a tourist ghetto and return to the place you used to live to be able to socialise?'

I agree, it looks sad. Before going, I would have to test the waters by sending feisty Mum a sweet text message. It would look like this:

'Sorry we haven't spoken in a while, but I have now moved to a new place. However, I still miss you and your customers. It might be time for a return visit!

Thais love that sweet talk, and Mum is no exception.

But can I be bothered? Last night I visited an eatery close to work, which was so basic it reminded me of Mum's run-down, hole-in-the-wall shop.

A middle-aged woman sat in a tiny kitchen.

'What do you want?' she asked.

She looked barely interested, as if it was all too much effort.

Four young guys in work gear were singing along to Thai songs on a jukebox.

At least six empty bottles of beer sat on their table. They appeared to know three or four guys at the next table, who were also drinking.

As I sat waiting for my order, I stole envious looks at the men at both tables. I like drinking in roughish places with real men, I thought, and I haven't done it in a long time.

At Mum's shop, I drank mainly with straight guys. We had good times, and I am sorry they had to end. But her customers moved elsewhere.

Mum also let her shop get run down. Once, the place bustled with students and young professionals. Years before, it even attracted farang customers, mainly teachers.

By the time I left, she had lost almost everyone. Few patrons bothered to visit any more. The soul of the place had vanished.

I still resent Mum for driving away her customers, many of whom I regarded as friends, though I have never told her.

In sensible moments, I realise that the Thais I met there were mere drinking partners, little more.

If they had been genuine friends, we could have met anywhere...but we never did.

None of us could be bothered, as we weren't that close.

If Mum's shop seemed special nonetheless, it's because she was a warm and caring host. She was the one who kept us together.

So, as I contemplate the solitude of my new place in town, a return visit to her shop seems inviting, though I might end up sitting alone all night.

The calendar hanger

One of the benefits of having a boyfriend who doesn't work is that he can do things inside the home.

While I am at work, he can get on with making small improvements. When I came home last night, I saw that Maiyuu had found a place for a calendar from my sister and her family.

He pointed to it proudly. It is hanging close to the kitchen table. For days, it sat unloved on a bench over there, as we didn't know where to put it.

My sister assembled pictures of herself and family to make a calendar for the 2009 year, which she passed on to my parents, who gave it to me.

I have never heard of this personalised calendar fad. Is it widespread?

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Readers say they that rather than revive the friends of the night stories from Mum's shop, I should just go back there, and write new tales for this blog.

I agree, it might be time for a visit. Since moving to a condo in town, I live a long way from Mum's shop in Thon Buri.

My friend Farang C, who lives in the same condo but managed to visit me several times at Mum's shop despite the distance he had to travel, recommends I go by ferry on the Chao Phraya river.

If I find the right spot to disembark, from there it is but a short five minute walk.

I will go back soon - I promise. The question is, will anyone else be there, or have my friends from that area all gone?

Meanwhile, I am still tidying those old stories from Mum's shop, which I shall repost soon.

Spurning the cash handout, the pool bug man

The government is handing out B2,000 baht cheques as a one-off gift to low-income taxpayers to kickstart the economy. In theory boyfriend Maiyuu should be eligible, as he does not work.

One potential snag, however, is that he lives with a foreigner with a good income. Do the authorities check such things?

When I mentioned the cash handout to Maiyuu yesterday, he appeared to know nothing about it. 'I have no income at all,' he said matter-of-factly.

He quickly lost interest. 'I would probably have to go back to my home province to get it,' he said.

I consoled him.

'Long queues form wherever the cheques are handed out,' I said. 'You have to stand for hours in the heat.'

Like many of the Thais who have turned up to get their cheques, Maiyuu believes, perhaps perversely, that the measure will not work.

'Thais are still shopping, though they go mainly to supermarkets. Hardly any go to markets these days, which suggests the economy is not as bad as the government claims,' he says.

Maiyuu is a healthy skeptic where the government is concerned, especially this Democrat-led coalition outfit.

One day I will ask him to draw up a list of his thoughts about its performance.

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I am feeling less remote from this place, after I seized the opportunity to talk to a few Thais yesterday.

Earlier, I wrote about how I felt increasingly alienated at my new condo, as I seldom get to talk to Thais any more.

Later the same day, several opportunities presented themselves. I can't remember all of the conversations now, as my memory of events rarely spans beyond 24 hours. However, I can recall these moments:

1. I spoke to the boyfriend about the rules for conscription into the army, for a blog post which also appeared yesterday. I wanted to make sure I had my facts straight.

2. I spoke to the boyfriend about the state of the economy, and the government's attempts to get it back on its feet.

3. I said hello to a condo security guard, and someone from the office.

In another morale-boosting step, I performed a small public duty at the condo's rooftop swimming pool, picking up sweetie packets discarded by young Thai swimmers the day before.

I was standing at one end of the pool. At the other, a Thai man in his 20s told a young charge how to kick while holding a boogie board (or whatever those spongy handheld things are called).

I scooped a handful of flower petals, mosquitoes and other bugs out of the water to clear the way for the big man (actually, a boy of about 10) as he came through.

New idea: Next time I feel alienated I shall ask the condo office if I can act as pool attendant.

My duties shall include scooping bugs out of the pool, and ticking off Thai youngsters who litter. It shall not include life-saving duties, as my stamina at freestyle swimming is so poor that I would probably sink before I reached anyone.

Lobster buns, living in a shell

My boyfriend loves Martha Stewart's show, which is a good thing: I get to try some of the delicious dishes she cooks!

The other day, Martha invited on to the show a New York chef who specialises in lobster. He made a lobster roll - lobster meat, mayonnaise, and a few herbal goodies stuffed in a bread roll, which he sells to his lunchtime customers for $19 a pop.

Moments after the show ended, Maiyuu left home to visit the supermarket.

When he came back, he was carrying the ingredients needed to make the dish - lobster, mayonnaise, and buns. He whipped it up yesterday for lunch, and made another lobster roll for me to tuck into while I was at work.

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As I walked to work, I felt isolated and cut off from the life around me.

Commuters were lining up at the bus stop, vehicles whizzing past. It was evening rush hour, so no surprise if the streets were busy.

Yet these were among the first Thai faces I had seen all day. In mid-afternoon, half a dozen young This turned up to play in the condo swimming pool. I had also walked past a few cleaners...that's it.

I live in the same condo complex as a middle-aged Burmese man from work.

He likes to chat animatedly to Thai co-workers at the office. Once, I did not know why he bothered, as they looked like mere acquaintances rather than friends.

Back then, I lived in a lively market on the Thon Buri side of Bangkok, and chatted to Thais outside work regularly. I could not undersand why anyone would need to make such an effort with strangers at the office.

'Save conversation for your friends!' I thought.

Now I live in a quiet inner-city condo, and know why he makes the effort....it's because he, too, no doubt feels isolated and cut off at home.

When was the last decent conversation I had with a Thai? I can't remember.

I will have to recover my sense of adventure, and search out opportunities to speak Thai, or I fear my interest in this place - maybe even tolerance of the things which foreigners normally love to hate (heat, stray dogs, and so on) - is in danger of wearing thin.

Postscript: I might revive the friends of the night series of posts from Mum's hole-in-the-wall shop in Thon Buri. First, I should re-write them to make them more accesible to new readers who know nothing about the place. This project might remind me of what I have lost - the pleasure of getting to know Thais. Can it be so hard?