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pitch #1

Noom, my bar boy friend and current love of my life, can’t hit a note if his life depended on it. Not that that stops him from trying. Even if my life, or at least my sanity, depends on it. It’s not that he warbles off pitch but rather the notes he does hit can only be heard by soi dogs. Which explains that entire soi dog thingy in case you were ever wondering. It’s not entirely his fault; culturally Thais singing sound like a cat caught in a cuisinart. When Noom joins in it sounds like those cats are also in heat. I have to assume in a previous life I must have really screwed up to have been sentenced to life with that as the sound track.

It’s not as bad when he chooses to sing along with a Thai song, which he calls ‘country music’. I think the country & western music I’m used to not wanting to hear back home is probably a different genre – the my dog left me and my pick-up truck broke down theme popular in Nashville doesn’t translate well into Thai. ‘Cuz any rural Thai worth his salt would fix that damn truck using spare parts off his dog. Huh. Forget what I just said about Thais singing sounding like a cat caught in a cuisinart.

At least when Noom sings ‘country’ he knows the words. Or knows suitable Thai words to substitute for those the person who wrote the song foolishly thought should be used. When it comes to ditties in English, not so much. It’s not just that he gets the words wrong – and/or sings them too loudly, which is a given – but that he’s fond of emphasizing the words he knows are wrong. Like a squid throwing out ink. The only one I can count on him getting right is ‘love’ or ‘lub’ as the case may be. Which is a shame. ‘Cuz if the love that makes the world go round had to rely on Noom’s musical interpretations, that popular emotion would have an entirely different rep. Kinda like the take adopted by those self-proclaimed born-again Christians who are as stern and as unyielding as their religion; the kind who spit the word ‘love’

pitch #2

If you haven’t figured it out from the years of posts I’ve written about Noom, he is quite proud of all of his talents. As am I. That may sound like a contradiction in light of his inability to sing, but then singing is not a talent he professes to have mastered. Slaughtered maybe, but mastered, not. And knowing your limits is a good thing. Especially for me. So when my ears have handled all of Noom’s singing that they can, I grab him and make a beeline for the closest karaoke club. It is the only place in the world where Noom refuses to open his mouth. He won’t even hum. Of course no good deed, even when it isn’t, goes unpunished. So as soon as we leave said karaoke club, all the pent up musicality residing within Noom’s soul comes bursting out. That has cost me some big tips in reparation for the suffering inflicted on unwary taxi drivers over the years.

I know Noom knows his singing sucks. And he probably knows too that it is wrong to inflict that pain on others. But I’ve never pointed out to him just how horrendous of a sound it is. No relationship, after all, can function or survive under the burden of total honesty. So I suffer. Unfortunately not in silence. Not that it is a non-stop barrage of notes hereto unknown to man. We both stroll around town together, each with his own iPod, both of us with our earphones firmly implanted and blocking out the cacophony that Bangkok thrives on. That way Noom can enjoy his music and the noises he makes singing along with his favorite tunes, and I can enjoy not hearing his music and the noises he makes when singing along with his favorite tunes. The only problem is he often comes across a song he thinks I need to hear. So he pulls my ear buds out, sticks his in my ears, and then starts braying out notes louder than those being delivered directly into my ear drums. It’s a shame it’s only my iPod with a volume control on it.

I’ve read the complaints of many farang who whine about the music in gogo bars being way too loud. That’s only because they are not the one sitting next to Noom. Who sings along with every tune that gets played. Don’t laugh. He’s come up with his own words for the theme to Star Wars too. His new bar features a state of the art sound system. I figure that means they should be able to crank up the decibel level by a few more notches. Okay, so I pray that means they should be able to crank up the decibel level by a few more notches. But so far, no luck. Maybe they think the sound of Noom singing will force customers to drink more. I know it works on my bar tab.

pitch #3

In private Noom is quite affectionate, in public neither of us is big on PDAs. At his bar it’s a different story. On his side it’s much about a dog marking its territory; I’m just glad he goes with kissing to accomplish that goal. And I’m sure he thinks I’m all tongue thanks to elevated hormone levels due to all the naked boys on stage. Not that I need an excuse for kissing Noom, but I do when I can because that makes it difficult for him to belt out a tune. Difficult. Not impossible. If the song is in his blood, he hums along anyway. No problemo. It took a bit of work explaining the concept, but back in our hotel room Noom now knows what a hummer is. And is much more proficient at that act than he is at singing actual words. So don’t try to claim my problem with his singing is just because I’m not a lover of music.

When I first land in Bangkok on any trip, hooking up with Noom is always a thrill. I enjoy waiting to do so at night at his bar ‘cuz that means getting to watch him naked on stage too. At least until he spots me. Then, as soon as he can get off the stage, he comes running over and gives me a big hug and an even bigger kiss. Sans sound track. But on some trips I just can’t wait and he meets me at our hotel instead, often arriving at the same time I manage to get there from the airport. I’m just as pleased to see him again but our greeting is less effusive. At least in the lobby where other people may see us. Then it’s a small hug. A bro slap more than a hug. And no lips. Or tongue. Usually. But we’ve both become more comfortable staying at our usual hotel and the staff has gotten to know us well enough that a quick, almost chaste kiss is allowed these days too. Just to tide us over until we get checked in and delivered to our room. One of the things I like about that hotel is that they don’t play music in their elevators. Know what I mean?

On my recent visit it was one of those trips where I couldn’t wait to see him and I called him from the airport. Thanks to the Thai army’s goal of spreading happiness through the country, btw, passing through Immigration these days is a breeze. No lines. No waiting. Until you get your passport stamped. Then you get to wait for your bags to make it off the plane. So I’m blaming my calling Noom instead of waiting to see him later that night on General Prayuth. I blamed him for a lot of things this trip. And while I’m not sure that one of the country songs my tone-deaf friend serenaded me with was his own rendition of the good general’s recent ballad, I assumed it was so and chalked up another anti-happiness mark in Prayuth’s win column.

pitch #4

While I’ve come to know the doormen, security guards, and management at our usual hotel well over the years I’ve never paid much attention to the girls at the reception desk. Not just because they are fish, but because we interact with the other staff members frequently during our stay and only at check-in and check-out with the women behind the desk. But that doesn’t mean they don’t know who Noom and I are. So the beaming smile shot my way as I entered the lobby wasn’t unusual. And the head nod toward where Noom waited was a cute, and nice touch. As was Noom’s greeting this time around. Maybe he’s taking General Prayuth’s happiness campaign seriously. In any case, I was happy to feel his arms around me once again. And even happier with his long, deep, wet kiss welcoming me back to Thailand. I think the reception staff went, “Awwwwww.”

I have to assume there was input from the staff ‘cuz officially on stage or not Noom always plays to the audience. His hug was longer than normal, that kiss . . . suffice to say it wasn’t the typical quick peck it normally is in public. And when it stopped, the hug did not. And instead of his usual sawatdee kop greeting Noom began crooning the words to I Will Always Love You in my ear. I can’t tell you that was the tune he used too, but can tell you it’s a good thing Whitney Houston is already dead. I can also tell you when he attempted to hit and sustain the high notes it should have been excruciatingly painful. But to me it was in perfect pitch.

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