Google yanks advertising

Readers may have noticed unusual blank spaces in the panel on the left-hand side of this page.

Where once Google proudly displayed its Adsense advertising, now there is nothing. The people who oversee Adsense advertising policies reckon I breached them, by encouraging excessive attention to the advertising itself, or displaying mature/adult content – I am not sure which.

A few weeks ago Google sent me a message warning me about this post, which it said breached its policies for display of Adsense advertising.

It gave me three days to fix the problem, or my account would be suspended, with the result that readers could no longer see my ads.

The warning notice, a standard one sent to all transgressors, said bloggers cannot encourage readers to click the ads, nor attract too much attention to them. It also contained the standard warning about offensive pictures/content, in charming Americanese:

'AdSense publishers are not permitted to place Google ads on pages with adult or mature content. This includes images or video content containing lewd or provocative poses, or close-ups of breasts, butts, or crotches.'

I removed three or four of the pictures on that post (readers will notice that only one remains). None looked particularly naughty to me, though in one picture, Nicky The Stick Sura Theerakol had his hand down his pants, as if he was feeling himself up.

The content was dull – the post is about the poor standard of Thai-made seating, for goodness sake – but the post did contain the standard sidebar reference to Google’s Adsense, which said:

‘Some readers visit day after day, but never seem to notice the Google Adsense advertising on this blog.

‘The ads help keep this blog in business. In fact, if I don't make enough from it, I don't blog.

‘However, for Google's sake I must ask readers: Please click the ads only if you find something of interest.’

I left that blurb in place, as I suspected Google’s objection was mainly to the pictures. Maybe I was wrong, for when the warning period expired, Google sent me another notice saying my Adsense account had been suspended, taking effect from this month.

The result? No Adsense advertising. The response? No more blogging, at least at this site.

I am not prepared to write for nothing. However, I do have a couple of options available to me. I would like readers’ help as to which one I should choose.

1 Resume blogging, but at sister blog Thaiboygay [deleted 20/2/11].

The advantage of this option is that the blog has a web presence, as it’s been going for some time, even if I rarely post to it any more. However, I dislike the name. I created it as a commercial vehicle for drawing readers to its bigger sister blog, Bangkok of the Mind.

The advertising is still going on this blog, even though there are many more guy pics over there than at BOTM. In fact, I transferred all the picture posts over there months ago, as I wanted BOTM to focus mainly on stories.

I could post at TBG temporarily, until Google restores advertising to BOTM.

2. Create a new blog – Bangkok of the Mind 2 – but without pics.

I like the choice of name, as it sounds rebellious – we will not be beaten, even by Google! The disadvantage is that BOTM 2 has no web presence. Even with links to BOTM 2 from this blog and TBG, readership might take some time to build up.

Any ideas?

A reformed young man

‘I hope you can keep away from the alcohol today – it’s the first day of Buddhist Lent.’

That was Phra Kew, formerly known as Kew, warning me about the evils of taking the sauce.

As a monk, he has to say such things, I suppose. Still, I was surprised by the extent of the transformation my friend has undergone since he entered the monkhood.

‘I was working as a DJ, getting drunk every night. One day, I found a website on dhamma (Buddhist teaching) which I liked.

‘I decided to do something more useful with my life,’ he said.

I visited Kew yesterday at his temple, a rambling place set in leafy surrounds close to his home.

Kew entered the monkhood in a mass ceremony at Dhammakaya temple in Pathum Thani last Tuesday. He was one of 1000 novices who took the robes (see pictures).

His temple is home to more than 50 monks. I saw few visitors, but perhaps I turned up at the wrong time.

Phra Kew is warming to his new vocation as a monk.

‘I could carry on being a monk indefinitely, moving from one temple to another,’ he said enthusiastically.

Kew introduced me to a younger orange-robed friend with a beautiful smile.

‘This is my nong [junior],’ he said.

I tried not to show too much interest. The young man is a monk after all.

-
I took a motorcycle taxi to the temple. He let me off at the entrance, close to a prayer room.

A senior monk stood outside, welcoming visitors. He asked me who I wanted to see.

I gave my friend's name.

‘Oh, Kew!’ he said, as if his reputation was already well known.

He disappeared for a moment and summoned Kew over the microphone.

‘Kew....a relative is here to see you,’ he said.

A few minutes later, my bald-headed young friend emerged from the prayer room, in the company of three or four younger monks.

‘How did you know...what are you doing here?’ Phra Kew asked as he approached.

Phra Kew looked as if he was about to cry, but was trying not to let it show. He hitched his ill-fitting orange robe back on his shoulder.

I almost cried myself.

Visiting temples is an emotional experience. Whenever I do it, I weep.

I did not give Phra Kew a wai, as he is younger. However, I felt awkward. Next time I shall have to bone up on the etiquette involved in greeting a monk.

‘I didn’t tell anyone I was here...how did you know?’ Phra Kew asked again.

Phra Kew invited me to sit with him. We took a plastic chair each. His friends left us alone to talk.

I told him the story of how I had visited his apartment last week, and left my phone number in the hope that we would make contact. I had visited the apartment many years before, but didn’t know if Kew and his family were still there.

The condo office recognised Kew’s sister from the description I gave, and passed on my telephone number. Kew’s mum called, and told me her son was about to enter the monkhood.

'How is Maiyuu?' Phra Kew asked.

He looked disappointed that I did not bring Maiyuu with me, but I explained that Maiyuu was busy.

Phra Kew looked a little ragged, but it’s been 12 months since I last saw him. I have not seen him bald before. His robes fail to disguise an enormous bad-boy tattoo which Kew wears on his back.

On the plus side, he appears to be growing into his new role in life as a monk.

Phra Kew and I spent 15 minutes together. I sat on the edge of my chair, as eager pupils must when in the presence of a teacher, while Phra Kew expounded about faith and Buddhism, with the odd personal comment dropped in.

I was surprised at how much he had changed. Phra Kew himself seemed unaware of the irony, but he is still young.

Just a few weeks ago, he was living a life of debauchery. Now he warns his visitors off all the vices he himself pursued so enthusiastically, as if he has turned his back on his old life and has sworn himself off the pleasures and temptations it once held.

I told myself not to be to hard on my young friend. Since he took the robes, Phra Kew has a duty to perform.

‘Thailand is full of vice...men pursue lust, teenage girls get pregnant, drugs are rife...Thais are turning away from religion, and society is worse off as a result,’ he lamented.

‘As a farang, I hope you can spread the word,’ he said.

‘Any time you want to meditate, please feel free to pay a visit – and luang pee [a third-person reference to Phra Kew himself] will introduce you to the senior monks here,’ he said.

I tried to steer the conversation away from religion, and back to Kew himself.

‘How is it here...are you coping on two meals a day?’ I asked.

‘At first I wandered around, looking for cigarettes. Here, they ban monks from smoking. But now that I am meditating, I am more at peace. I don’t need them any more,’ he said.

'Meditating was hard, as my legs hurt. Now I am used to it. As for the food, we have a big meal in the middle of the day, so I don’t get hungry,’ he said.

A noticeboard close to the prayer room set out a day in the life of a monk. It lists their daily activities, from when they rise before 5am, and when they go to bed almost 18 hours later.

Some of the Thai words were new to me, and I asked Phra Kew what they meant.

As he explained what he does every day, a small group of his friends in orange gathered around us to watch.

Phra Kew was patient. 'You should have been a teacher,' I thought to myself. Now that he is a monk, his opportunity has arrived.

Phra Kew excused himself, as the monks were gathering at the prayer room to confirm their solidarity with each other. That was mentioned on the noticeboard, too.

‘I am going to see my mum and dad on Sunday morning. My sisters will be there. I can talk more naturally at home. Please come and see me,’ he said.

I agreed.

Earlier, I bought a bucket of personal effects and supplies for Phra Kew. I handed it over, and said goodbye to my reformed bad boy from the Thon Buri side.

At the age of 26 - not before time, his mother would say – Kew appears to have found a place to belong.

Good on him. I hope his happiness lasts.

Gentle shove towards self-help

Boyfriend Maiyuu is making progress with his efforts to find an outlet for his bakery produce.

The sister of a woman he knows has opened a hairdressing salon/coffee shop close to a four-star hotel in Silom.

She is in the process of finding suppliers for the shop, and Maiyuu could be chosen as one of them.

He made her some chocolate cupcakes as samples, and went to see her. His new friend was enthusiastic.

'You bake like a farang, which I like. Thai stuff is much sweeter, and doesn't appeal to all tastes,' she said.

I don't know what happens next. I gave Maiyuu B5,000 as start-up capital.

Hopefully he will put it to some good use, such as helping himself find work.

Bad boy Kew enters the monkhood

A naughty young man from my past, former bad boy Kew, is entering the monkhood to say sorry for his misdeeds.

Kew’s mother, who lives in Thon Buri, called me the other day, after I left my contact number at her apartment.

'He is entering the monkhood to say sorry for all the bad things he's done, and start again,' said his mother.

'If you go to see him at the temple, you can ask for an apology when you see him, as he did bad things to you, too,' she said.

I lost contact with Kew many months ago, when my cellphone was stolen, and I changed the number.

I had no way of giving him my new number, I realised the other day, except by taking it to his apartment myself.

Kew and I have spoken on the phone once or twice since I moved from Thon Buri, where I knew him, into town.

However, in the more than 12 months since boyfriend Maiyuu and I moved, Kew and I have not met. After I lost my phone, contact ceased altogether.

I recall our last phone conversation, months ago. I told Kew where I was living.

‘That’s so far. It’s a shame, because I really miss, you, phee,’ he said.

Kew has called me many things in the seven years we have known each other, but never ‘phee’ - a respectful term meaning elder, as in elder brother, or older friend. He sounded sad.

Maybe he really was missing me, I thought, as I ended our call.

Kew, 26, stays with his mother and school-age sister at an apartment building about 10min from where boyfriend Maiyuu and I used to live in Thon Buri.

The day before Kew’s Mum called this week – breaking a no-contact drought which lasted more than six months - I took the bus back to the old market town, Talad Phlu, which Maiyuu and I once called home.

From there, I took a wobbly motorcycle taxi to Kew’s apartment, a huge old place with more than 1000 tenants.

It is at least 300m off the main drag, close to a sprawling temple. Eateries, hairdressers and other busy retail outlets line both sides of long, winding roads.

I hadn’t seen the place in more than five years, since I visited the place one day, boyfriend escorting me, to retrieve a guitar which Kew had borrowed and refused to return.

The security guard pointed me to the office. Part of the place looked familiar, but I was beginning to despair of making contact with Kew again. For all I knew, his family may have moved out, and my friend could be living anywhere.

The office looked inviting. A man aged in his mid-40s, and a younger Thai woman sat inside.

'I am looking for a friend who used to live here,' I said.

I probably sounded a little sad, even hopeless, but what else was I supposed to do?

The manager asked me about Kew and his family.

I described Kew and what I could remember about his mother, hoping he would recognise them.

I didn’t have their contact number, and while I had visited their place before, could not remember where they lived. ‘His mother has cancer and is in a wheelchair. I met her once. Do you have any tenants like that?’ I asked the manager.

He couldn’t remember.

‘He also has a bright, school-aged sister. Kew himself is handsome, and sometimes dyes his hair blond,’ I said. ‘He used to wear a stud in his lip, and race around the carpark on his motorbike,’ I added.

The manager still could not recall anyone from the family, but I left my number anyway.

‘It might come...my memory just needs time,’ he said.

Kew’s family stayed at the apartment, this is true. However, Kew has gone through phases when he lives with friends, or is busy with his girlfriend. Who knows how often he returns to this part of town?

I left the place, not expecting to hear from his family again.

By next day, however, the manager’s memory must have kicked in.

He gave my number to Kew’s sister as she came home from school.

Kew’s mother called me as soon as her daughter handed over the number.

‘Is that you, Mali? This is Kew’s mother,’ she said.

Kew, she told me, is entering the monkhood for three months over Buddhist Lent.

‘He is at a temple in the area preparing to take his robes, but on the day he is admitted to the monkhood will return to a temple close to home. He would be delighted to see you, if you want to pay a visit,’ said Mum.

The big day when Kew gives his vows as monk was to take place this week.

I can't be there for that, but can visit him at his temple on Tuesday.

'If he is making penance for all the bad things he did, will three months be long enough?' I asked his mother.

I was joking, of course. Mum laughed.

‘Should I take anything?’ I asked.

I have seen plastic buckets on sale containing personal effects for monks.

At time of the year, some Thais prepare enter the monkhood for the three months of Buddhist Lent, which starts on Tuesday.

‘Take one of those buckets...they contain items such as soap, toothpaste.,’ she said.

Postscript: I met Kew on the banks of the Chao Phraya river seven years ago, as he sat fishing with friends.

That was the start of an unusual friendship which, despite long absences on both sides, and a hostile period in which I could barely bring to look at my young friend, survives to this day.

Dodgy slum ventures

‘Can you buy a drink for Ball? He’s pacing up and down like a wild thing,’ said his mother.

She called me at work.

‘I have run up a tab at a shop close to here...B300-400 on beers for him,’ she said.

‘When I call, you don’t answer. Today you dropped in, but stayed just a second,’ she complained.

Mum sounds desperate. She is running out of money, having to borrow just to buy the family food.

‘If you agree to pay, I will put two beers on the tab and you can give me the money when you visit next,’ she said.

I dropped in earlier in the day, but after seeing the foul look which Ball’s girlfriend Jay gave me, quickly left for home again.

Mum is in trouble financially as a result of a business venture she has entered.

It might just be a temporary thing, but it could also be a sign of bad news to
come.

-
Mum has bought a second-hand pick-up truck for B170,000, and is now involved in a venture selling cut-price petrol.

She bought it by exchanging her gold for cash at a pawnshop.

Earlier, she had contemplated borrowing the money from a finance company, and asked me to help raise the money she needed for a deposit.

I said no, so she went ahead and traded in her gold.

I did not know Mum had so much money hanging around her neck. I knew she owned a Volvo, parked up somewhere for want of a battery.

That should have alerted me to the fact the woman has money, even if she chooses to spend little of it on her own home, which is a tip.

I failed to pick up the signs. She is asset-rich, but cash poor.

I should have listened to carer R, all those months ago, when he said: 'Don't worry about Ball. His mother has money...she just chooses not to give her kids any of it.'

I think now of the times she has asked me for help buying this or that small household item, and feel annoyed.

The cash she needs to keep her family going from day to day wasn’t there, but that might be because she lost it in gambling, or had lent it to someone. Who knows? Meanwhile, she lives in a freehold home, and owned gold worth at least B170,000.

'I traded in amost everything to raise money for the truck, as I don't want to be in debt,' she said.

If I gave her money, it was for useful things such as paying for a phone top-up when Ball started a new job; or helping buy new work clothes for him.

None of the jobs last, because Ball does not like being told what to do. He took up a job recently at an insurance firm, but lasted just two days there.

He walked out after getting into an argument with an insurance salesman – a mere desk jockey, little more elevated in social status than Ball himself.

Since then he has been unemployed.

I find it hard to get excited now when he tells me he has found a new job, because I suspect he does not really want it.

I doubt I will help pay for his work clothes again, unless I should succumb to some new bout of pity towards him or his mother, and part with money even when I know I shouldn’t.

-
Ball's girlfriend Jay is unhappy about my frequent visits to their home, Ball tells me.

She has asked about the gay thing, and why I am hanging around.

However, Ball has assured Jay that I am just lonely and in need of a friend.

'In fact, the farang hopes that you and I will have kids one day,' he told her.

After hearing that, Jay was reassured about my intentions, he said.

Ball and I met outside his home for a quiet beer in a basketball court on the outskirts of the slum.

Earlier, we joined a drinking circle at his place, comprising his mother and her friends.

Ball did not enjoy their company, as he prefers to sit alone, or with me.

The atmosphere improved when mum's guests left, as it was just his family, me, and the kids at play.

But Ball wanted another quiet one so I met him outside on the basketball court - the first time we have taken a drink together outside his place since carer R, owner of the ya dong stand where we first met, left for the provinces months ago.

‘You have been good to me, buying me drinks even when I don't have the money,' Ball told me.

I wanted to hear something about how I was a supportive friend, too, but it didn't come. Maybe that would be expecting too much.

Half an hour later, Jay turned up. She scolded him for sneaking out.

Ball persuaded Jay to join us on the bench seat. They started cuddling, which made me feel out of place, so I left them to it.

-
Mum bought the truck by exchanging her gold for cash at a pawn shop. Now she wants to take the ownership papers to a finance company which she hopes will lend her money to get herself back into her gambling circle.

At the moment, she can't play to her heart's desire, because her capital is tied up in the pick-up.

A few days ago, she sounded me out about a loan. Once again, I shall say no.

A sneaky tattooed worm of a man started turning up at her place about the time she decided to buy the truck. His name is Kung.

Kung hires the truck from Mum every day to pursue a petrol venture in which she is his silent partner.

He buys cheap petrol from truck drivers, who call him when they have something to sell.

In Mum's truck, he travels to meet them, takes delivery of the petrol, and the next day sells it to petrol stations. The difference in price is his profit.

He employs youngest son Beer to lift the petrol into the back of the truck.

After truckies call, Kung borrows the money he needs from Mum to pay them. I have seen her pull huge wads of cash from her purse, which she hands over to Kung.

He goes to see them the same night, and the exchange takes place.

He pays Mum B500 a day for use of the truck, and wages for Mr B. Ownership of the pickup truck is in Mum's name.

Sound dodgy? I suspect the truck drivers are slyly selling their boss's petrol on the side and pocketing the proceeds. We will see.