Happy Turkey Day

24 Thursday Nov 2011

Posted by Bangkokbois in It's A Gay World

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It’s Thanksgiving, time to break out the turkey!

Today in the U.S. is Thanksgiving, a national holiday devoted to eating. It’s really one of our better celebrations and one that the rest of the world misses out on. (Okay, so Canada celebrates the day too, but they hold theirs on the date we celebrate the discovery of America, so it doesn’t really count.)

Tradition holds that the first Thanksgiving celebration was in 1621 in Plymouth, Massachusetts, prompted by a good harvest that was largely due to the native Wampanoag Indians helping the Pilgrims by providing them with seeds and teaching them to fish. The holiday was celebrated on various dates throughout the country until President Lincoln proclaimed the celebration a national holiday in an effort to foster a sense of American unity between the Northern and Southern states. He chose the last Thursday of November for the holiday, which was changed to the fourth Thursday of November by the American Congress during the presidency of Franklin D. Roosevelt.

And don’t forget the Jello!

I think Thanksgiving is the best holiday we have. Even its original meaning – a day to say thanks for the bountiful blessings we enjoy – is difficult to find offense with. Well, except if you are Native American. Then you get to say thanks for the disease and pestilence brought over by our forefathers, and their hungry grab for land which resulted in killing off three-quarters of the Native American population driving those who survived onto small worthless plots of land where they faced a future of poverty, alcoholism, and early death. But other than that, Thanksgiving is all good.

It’s a holiday of traditions, all of which center around eating. Families, friends, and the families we’ve made gather for the day to stuff themselves senseless. Turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes and gravy, and cranberry sauce grace almost every table in the country. Side dishes are regional and everyone has their favorite; the dishes we grew up with and which without Thanksgiving would not be complete. Some of those, such as yams with marshmallows, are pretty gross. But not quite as gross as cooks who play around with stuffing recipes.

Ready to stuff.

There are only about three variations of stuffing acceptable with the most far-out being that made with oysters (don’t bitch, I said it was still acceptable). Anyone cooking a Thanksgiving turkey who deviates from the norm should be shot. Sun-dried tomato stuffing will kill a Thanksgiving gathering quicker than Herman Cain can say, “Hey Hootchie Mama! Guess what I’ve got in my pocket for ya!” And Thanksgiving is about turkeys, not pigs so leave that damn bacon in the fridge where it belongs. And just for the record, turkey is supposed to be baked in an oven. Period. If you want to fry something in fat, go get some Snickers bars.

It’s difficult to not be happy on Thanksgiving, as long as no one screwed around with the turkey. Turns out that warm cozy feeling of serenity and good will you have after overeating during your Thanksgiving dinner isn’t just because of the people with whom you shared you day – ‘cuz that often means relatives and a lot of them suck – but rather that turkey contains animal proteins which encourage your brain to produce endorphins. Endorphins are your brain’s painkiller; three times more potent than morphine, they are feel-good chemicals naturally manufactured in your brain that give you a feeling of well-being. Eat a lot of turkey and your brain triggers feelings of happiness, calms anxiety, relieves depression, and helps you sleep better.

Of course, a few shots of Wild Turkey doesn’t hurt either.

I Fell In Love With A Bar Boy: Long Live The King

24 Thursday Nov 2011

Posted by Bangkokbois in Dancing With the Devil, I Fell In Love With A Bar Boy

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Luang Prabang, Wats

Luang Prabang’s National Museum’s Chapel.

“Dat Bullshit.”

Noom – my bar boy friend and current love of my life – wasn’t a happy camper. But then he wasn’t calling me on the veracity of the comment I’d just made either. His concerns were deeper. His problem was with the stupidity of the Lao people for killing off their King and Queen. The very idea, to a Thai, was unthinkable. At best. And worthy of a bit of payback genocide, at the very least.

We were touring the National Museum in Luang Prabang and had just finished going through the Haw Kham, the Royal Palace and former residence of the Lao Royal Family. Before we entered the building Noom had a long talk with the Pha Bang, the 1st century gold Buddha from Sri Lanka displayed there from which the town derives its name. The rest of our tour of the building hadn’t taken long. There wasn’t a lot to see. A few weapons were of mild interest, but safely tucked away behind glass meant they couldn’t be touched. So Noom’s attention waned quickly even on those.

The last room contained gifts sent to the Lao royal family from various countries. The display of shiny baubles caught Noom’s eye. He carefully read each descriptive card, judging the worth of what each country had sent. In his opinion, Thailand had been the most generous. Go figure. I’d like to have defended the honor of my country, but amidst the intricately carved ivory, beautifully crafted silver, and jewel laden boxes, the best the U.S. could do was a small model of the Apollo Lunar Module. Made out of cardboard. I have a strong feeling Nixon had something to do with that. Noom was considerate in not mentioning America’s paucity of generosity.

The Royal Palace @ Luang Prabang’s National Museum

“Like White House,” Noom explained to me – just in case I’d missed the purpose of the building we’d just been through – as we walked out to retrieve our shoes and cameras from the lockers provided for mandatory storage of all personal items. The displays may not have quite measured up to world class standards, but they had the rules of top-notch museums down pat. Though I think the ban on photography had less to do with protecting the artifacts and more to do with a concern that future visitors who’d seen proof of the sparsity of materials on display might decide to pass on touring the place. And pass on forking out the 30,000 kip to do so.

I considered mentioning that it was also just like the Grand Palace in Bangkok, but then that really isn’t the King’s home any longer – even before he took up residence in the hospital – and comparing the brick and mortar abode that was once home to Laos’ king with the spectre of the Grand Palace really was a case of apples and oranges. Not to mention such an association would have pissed Noom off. But his mind tracked to a similar comparison.

“Where King stay now?” Noom asked, assuming as usual I’d have the answer.

Unfortunately, I did.

“They killed the King and Queen,” I told him, not thinking just how poorly that fact would go over with a Thai.

“What!” he exclaimed, thinking perhaps I wasn’t serious and just razzing him as I frequently do.

Oooops. But too late to take that bit of news back, so I explained, “Back in the late 70s, when the Pathet Lao took over, they sent the King, Queen, and Crown Prince to re-education camps and killed them.”

Noom stared at me for a minute, waiting for me to laugh and prove it was a joke. I shook my head to signal that it wasn’t. And hoped he wouldn’t follow up by asking why they’d killed off their royalty. That was an explanation I really couldn’t provide. At least not substantially. But then I can’t explain the stupid things my country does either. Like electing Bush. Either time.

The first flight of stairs to the top of Mount Phousi.

We’d already toured the small gilded wat on the grounds, the Haw Pha Bang, waiting for the handful of other tourists to leave so we could climb up the roped off stairs of the repository of the paladin of the city for a photo op. There was still one more building to see, the Conference Hall, which houses a never ending change of modern displays about Luang Prabang, Laos, and the Laotian People. But Noom had had enough. The death of the royals, even though that’d occurred 30 years earlier, had upset him greatly. We headed over to a near-by wat instead so he could discuss the matter with the Buddha.

That conversation seemed to do the trick and soon all was good in Noom’s world again. We visited a few more wats, all of which involved scaling steep sets of stairs, took a break for a late lunch, and then headed up the almost 1,000 stairs to the top of Mount Phousi.. And another temple, albeit a small one. The real purpose for our climb was to watch the sun set over the sleepy provincial town. It’s what tourists do in Luang Prabang. Though most are smart enough to head back down the unlit stairs before dark.

Neither of us should really be allowed out without supervision. You’d think between the two of us, at least half a brain would be represented. Instead it works the other way and common sense takes a holiday of its own. So we were the last to head downward and by then it was pitch black. Which made for a precarious and tricky passage back to Sisavangvong Road. Reaching the small promenade built atop the retaining wall at street level, we stopped to congratulate ourselves and to admire the well-lit street filled with red topped canopies under which night market vendors took short naps while trying to make a few kip off unsuspecting tourists ready to hand over their hard earned cash for worthless trinkets made in Thailand and Vietnam. Bathed in a golden light behind the tents, the Royal Palace Museum’s wat rose into the night’s sky. A good photo op if there ever was one. We both started snapping shots.

The sun sets over the Mekong

Noom’s adequate yet limited English has settled on the word ‘power’ to cover the spiritual strength of Buddhist shrines, temples, and statues. It’s a very real force in Noom’s world. When we hit a shrine or temple that has power, he has a physical reaction. The hair on his arms stands up. The smoother areas of his arms get chicken skin. If I don’t notice, he’ll point it out. Just so I know I’m in the presence of a powerful piece of Buddhist imagery. He’s also into instant gratification. So after shooting a few photos, he always stops to review his work. And this time he let out a surprised, “Oh!”

Most, but not all of his photos of the wat had eerie spherical shadows in the sky surrounding the temple. I checked to see if they were reflections from street lights, but their placement was off. Plus, they moved from one picture to the next. And where one shot had only one or two of the apparitions, another had more than a dozen. And yeah, I know what they were. I think.

But so did Noom.

He picked out the photo that held the most spots. This one also had two small unexplainable bright lights in it. And he quickly identified them for me. The largest moon-like sphere was the spirit of the King. The much smaller but quite bright light below that was the Queen’s spirit. And the slightly less bright light off to the side was the spirit of the Prince. Even in death they still were in residence at the palace and watching over the Lao people.

Noom’s photo of the Royals.

In his second ‘best’ shot, the one I’m sharing with you here, the King had moved to the side of the wat, the Queen’s bright light had settled near the temple’s roof, and the Prince had transformed into one of the shadowy spheres, hovering midpoint of the Haw Pha Bang.

One man’s religion is another man’s myth. Faith and superstition are easily confused. Our personal belief systems, at their most basic, explain the unexplainable, acknowledge a greater power, and feed the needs of our soul. Noom’s soul had been troubled by the idea that a people would kill their king; an unthinkable event for a Thai. The unusual results of his photography efforts had resolved that concern. And I was afforded a glimpse into his extraordinary world once again.

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The Oasis @ Wat Jed Rin

23 Wednesday Nov 2011

Posted by Bangkokbois in Thailand Travel Tips and Tales, Wats of Thailand

≈ 6 Comments

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Chiang Mai, Wats

Even with a passing monk in the picture Wat Jed Rin doesn’t look like much from the street. But then looks can be deceiving.

What do you do when you’re in Chiang Mai with nothing planned for the day? If you are me, you go monk hunting. Chiang Mai is a great place to hunt monks. They’re all over the place. It’s the pee-wee golf version of monk hunting. No skill required. But then Chiang Mai is so laid back that you really shouldn’t have to exert effort in anything you do.

If you want to bag your monk limit easily, head for a wat. The only problem with that advice in Chiang Mai is that there are a few thousand of them. Chiang Mai has more wats than 7/11s. So there’s pretty much a wat on every corner. Anyone with the least interest in wats undoubtedly hit the big ones on their first visit to Chiang Mai. The best way to choose which to check out next is not to. Take a walk of discovery instead, you’ll be amazed at what you find.

I’d run across Wat Pan Tao cruising the Sunday Night Market years ago and fell in love with the place. It’s still one of my favorite wats to visit. There are always monks around; they are usually the younger variety, and they always enjoy chatting. The same night I found Wat Pan Tao I also took a peak at Wat Chedi Luang, probably Chiang Mai’s most famous and most visited wat (not counting Doi Suthep). But at night its wonders out back are hidden and it took two more visits to town before I discovered the wat’s magnificent chedi. Yeah. I know. But I don’t read guide books.

Wat Jed Rin’s chedi is ancient but pales in comparison to that of its neighbor Wat Chedi Luang.

Both wats are located on Phapokklao Road, a block off Ratchadammoen Road where the Sunday Market takes place. Both are cool wats and both are infested with monks. I decided to head off along the same boulevard and see if the rest of its wats would measure up. One did. And perhaps surpassed the other two well know and often visited wats that anchor that street.

Wat Jen Rin doesn’t look like much from the street, just another typical smaller neighborhood wat. It isn’t even showed on all free maps of Chiang Mai. The entrance at the exterior wall to the wiharn is scrunched into a short, steep set of stairs leading into the temple. The larger driveway off to its side opens onto a large dirt expanse. Across the front of the compound wall a set of sun bleached lanterns hangs, a more familiar site around beer bars than Buddhist temples. Beyond the unusual light accents there’s nothing visible to recommend a visit. I’m sure most touri would pass it by. Even less of a recommendation for me, there were no monks to be seen anywhere within the wat’s walls. But there was shade, a temptation in its own on a late sunny afternoon, so I decided to check it out.

Tucked behind the wat is a rural scene; a placid pond surrounded by weather-beaten wood housing for the monks.

Nice thing about playing photographer is that it tends to focus your eye. Which in turn tend to make you poke around a bit more than you would otherwise; searching for unusual perspectives, different viewpoints, details you might otherwise overlook. I’d checked out the wiharn from outside, and while the spire of the stupa behind it soared into a picture perfect blue sky, as pagodas go: kinda small, kinda plain, kinda been there shot that. But on the far side of the compound I ran across my second set of luk nimit, the golf-leafed bowling balls I recently published a post about. Still no monks, but Buddhist balls were almost as good.

A quick flash of saffron caught my eye; rounding the corner I found a novice monks hitting the wat’s soda machine (!?) and went into hunter mode angling for the best shot. Sensing a falang in his vicinity the young monk took off scurrying as the little ones often do. And I gave chase as I often do. He headed down a small dirt lane running toward the back of the wat and as soon as I cleared the buildings: damn!

Pastel colors dominate the scene around the wat’s pond area.

Tucked away behind the wat is a photographer’s wet dream: A large placid pond of bright algae green surrounded by a collection of slatternly dogtrot wood buildings, scorched by the hot sun with saffron robes adorning make-shift clotheslines gently stirred by an almost nonexistent breeze. A two-story pink wood house anchors one corner of the tableau, a long wood bridge that doesn’t look capable of bearing anyone’s weight stretches across the still water. It’s a tranquil scene, the epitome of serenity. And home to the wat’s monks.

A rickety wood bridge leads across the pond from the temple to where the monks live.

The novice monk I was chasing headed out across the bridge, treading carefully. Several other young monks rested on verandas along the water’s edge. The same paper lanterns that adorned the front of the wat were strung along the bridge, though these had been bleached by the sun into pastel shades. Unfortunately it was my last day in Chiang Mai or I would have returned at dusk; with lanterns a glow it has to be a gorgeous scene.

I spent a good hour hanging out by the water’s edge, shooting more photos as small groups of monks made their way back and forth over the bridge. Shy smiles beaming added to the enjoyment of the little oasis hidden away in the middle of town. Locals, I’m sure, know of the wat and its pond, but it seems to be a well-kept secret as far as tourist go.

Inside the temple the wat’s Buddha has an unusual elongated face.

I only ran across one other visitor, a young American girl, who I met back in front inside the wiharn. She’d snapped a few shots of the Buddha, large and gold as normal but with a distinctly thin long face, and was ready to head to the next wat until I suggested she wander out back. I saw her later that day and her eye grew large when she recognized me. “That was incredible!” she exclaimed, thanking me for not allowing her to miss the little slice of daily monk life at Wat Jed Rin.

Buddha Blessings

Back out in the courtyard a large gold-leaf adorned Buddha head resembling The Bayon of Angkor Thom in Cambodia (that’d be resembling as in looks not size or height) served as a focal point to an outdoor seating area where several young monks had gathered to watch TV. Nearby a trio of large brass gongs hung in a row, each offering up a deep bass echo. And more monks, by now used to the strange falang and his camera, scurried about.

I was tempted to head back out to the pond, but had several other small wats to visit before catching my plane out of town. None came close to offering a hidden surprise like Wat Jed Rin, though I did manage to capture a few more monk shots, one with a cuddly little puppy that I’ll post when I feel I’ve offended enough readers that I need to play the cute card for a while.

Three large brass gongs guard the entrance to Wat Jed Rin.

As usual, as soon as I got a chance, I Googled ‘Wat Jed Rin’, looking for basic info, when it was built, etc. It’s as undiscovered by Google as it is by touri. There was only a single entry; an announcement about places within the city holding Songkran festivities. Running a few optional spellings brought up two more sites, but little information was available. Once site noted that the wat was mentioned in the 15th century in the Niras Hariphunchai document, a narrative poem from the Early Ayutthaya Era in which the poet makes references to historical events and places. Alternate spellings of the wat’s name include Wat Nong Jed Rin, Wat Noing Jalin, and Wat Jed Lin Tung. Since two of the maps I had both went with the traditional Wat Jed Rin, so have I.

Finally, a monk appears and makes the courtyard shot.

Discovering little hidden treasures is one of the joys of taking a stroll around Chiang Mai and surveying its wats. But if you want to take off with a destination in mind, go check out Wat Jed Rin. And don’t forget to take along your camera.

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Things That Begin With The Letter ‘B’

22 Tuesday Nov 2011

Posted by Bangkokbois in It's A Gay World

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That's Gay

I almost took my first picture of an airline meal recently. Using this blog and the need for photos as an excuse, I came real close. But blog or not, there are some lines you just shouldn’t cross. Vacation photos of less than memorable meals is one of those.

Being a photography buff, when friends want to show me their snapshots from their latest holiday, I’m all for it. When one of the first pictures is of their on-board meal, I make an excuse about a just remembered meeting or date and flee. I don’t get those shots. I mean I could understand it if it was your very first airline meal. Or if you knew in advance all the American carriers were gonna start charging for meals, then a shot of your last ‘free’ one would make sense. In a humorous way. But regular meals don’t cut it. It’s not like airline food is anything to write home about. So you shouldn’t be snapping a photographic record of them either.

You still get free meals on international flights. In the front of the plane, they still make some concession to fine dining. But their bar has been slowly eroding and now it’s a lot closer to what you used to get back in steerage. EVA, the carrier I use flying into Asia, used to offer a pretty nice presentation. But they’ve quit trying. On my most recent TPE-BKK flight, breakfast was served. On Asian flights for breakfast you usually have a choice of Western or Asian fare. I’ve seen the Asian food, so always order Western. In the future, I’m gonna just order coffee.

The hot dish on the tray was a pair of hash brown squares, a pile of what was either one piece of scrambled eggs or an omelette, and a piece of what they call a sausage in Asia but is more of a half-size hot dog. Since EVA is a Taipei carrier and not Korean, the processed meat probably isn’t actually dog though. Topping the whole thing off was a nice big scoop of beans. Pork and beans. Like what comes out of a can. I don’t know if the bean idea was thanks to one person who should be fired, or a committee that needs to be disbanded, but it was a bad call. Canned beans barely qualify as food. Serving beans to a plane load of people who depend on recirculated air to live is just plain cruel.

Western and Eastern palates are a bit different. Flying an Asian carrier means even the Western meals will be a bit foreign. They make a noble attempt at getting it right, by the Asian cooking staff really doesn’t understand why we in the West eat what we do, or what it is that we really eat. That, I have to assume, is why a big serving of pork and beans landed on my meal tray. For some odd reason those in charge of the menu also think Westerners love spinach. I think they’ve seen too many Popeye cartoons.

I can take or leave spinach when it is prepared correctly, but a watery mess of overcooked frozen spinach as a topping on (fill in the blank because they seem to think it is the perfect accent to any dish) kills my appetite and makes me gag. That culinary boo-boo has become so routine on EVA flights that as soon as they start serving the in-flight meal I check to make sure my seat has been issued a barf bag.

Of course it’s not just badly prepared crappy food that can trigger a guy’s gag reflex. Yup, and I knew that’s exactly where ya’ll’s minds would be going . . .

The good news is that scientists have been busy solving the problems that often plague us. This time they’ve come up with a answer to that age old question of what to do when your partner starts making non-romantic noises during his efforts to please, uh all, of you. An awkward moment in any tryst, do you boldly push on and ignore the sounds, or back off, disappointed once again? Now you have a third option, a simple trick that researchers have confirmed can turn off the gag reflex in an instant.

According to a study done way back in 2008, by simply forming a fist with your left hand, tucking your thumb in and then squeezing it, you’ll disengage your gag reflex. (The same gesture seems to be of use for pain when you flip your partner over, too. But right now we’re dealing with gagging, not whimpering.)

The gag reflex is your body’s natural defense against choking on foreign objects. Sometimes you need to take a risk and open wide. Though an estimated 30% of men do not have a gag reflex, those that do often find it engages when their job is only halfway done. The scientific community is not sure why the thumb in fist squeezing gesture turns a bad job into a good one, but it works. So who cares how?

Surprisingly, or not, another simple trick to get past the point of no return is to hum. And yes, that’s why it’s called a hummer. Not only will humming turn off your gag reflex, but it’ll feel good too. You do, however, need to consider your song selection carefully. The theme to Jaws, for example, is probably not a good idea.

For those planning on turning pro, you may not want to rely on temporary tricks of the trade and instead condition yourself for whatever assaults you. That means lots of practice. Not that you’ll get any better at it, but the practice will be fun. When you’re ready to address the real problem, get rid of your date and cozy up to your toothbrush instead:

· Find out where your gag reflex starts. This can be done by simply using your toothbrush to brush your tongue. The point nearest the front of your tongue that makes you gag is where you want to concentrate.

· Brush your tongue right where your gag begins. Yes, you’ll gag. It will be unpleasant, but not for long. Spend about 10 seconds brushing that area (and gagging), and call it a night.

· Repeat the process over the next few nights in the exact same spot. You’ll notice you gag less each time you do it.

· Increase the brushing area. Once you can touch your toothbrush on that spot without gagging, it’s time to move the toothbrush further back. Try brushing 1/4-1/2 inch behind where your gag used to begin. This is your new starting point. Repeat the process as you did in the first spot.

· Continue moving the brush further. Each time you move the toothbrush back, your gag has been desensitized in the previous spot. Keep moving it further and further back until you’ve reached the furthest visual point of your tongue. Eventually, the toothbrush will come in contact with the soft palate, if it hasn’t already.

· Be persistent. This whole process should take approximately a month to complete. When it’s all said and done, you should be able to face any challenge without gagging. You might have to re-do the process from time to time, as your reflex may return if you don’t.

The side benefit to learning how to not gag is that you’ll also learn how to swallow. Once you’ve learned how to open the door to the entree, handling the dessert is a breeze. Your new found talents will be much appreciated and your popularity is guaranteed to soar. And maybe your partner will ignore the fact you just got off a plane that served beans for breakfast.

But What Cost Love?

21 Monday Nov 2011

Posted by Bangkokbois in Dancing With the Devil, The World of Thailand's Gay Gogo Bars

≈ 8 Comments

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Gay Bangkok, Gay GoGo Bars, Money Matters, Offs

Undoubtedly the most frequently asked question on the gay Thailand message boards is one of price. Newbies always want to know how much a night of their wildest dreams will cost them. Some are concerned over the amount, most want to not be seen as a cheapskate. Or to be taken for a ride (well, at least not a financial one). The posted responses run from ridiculously low to ridiculously high but are probably a true reflection of the scene. The most worthless advice – but also the most accurate – is that it is up to you.

Actually the most worthless advice is the typical smug, “Try using this board’s search function, we’ve answered this one before.” Too late for this year, but I think my next year’s New Year resolution will be to try and be the first person to post that reply to every such query across the boards. It’s good to have a goal in life. Sure, that info is already out there, hell it’s already on this blog too. But ‘old’ info posing as up to date info is one of the internet’s biggest faults. It’s understandable that any newbie preparing for a trip should be trying to find out what the current price is. Armed with that info, or at best a basic idea of the acceptable spread, the gay gogo bar first timer can then delve into a more appropriate concern: the question isn’t what cost love, but rather how to best seal the deal. Because that’s where fantasy and reality collide.

I know. I know. You’re going, “yeah, yeah, but how much!?” Um, try using this blog’s search function, we’ve answered this one before.
(Sorry, just practicing.)

A lot of advice from those willing to answer the ‘how much’ question is that you should talk to the bar boy first; the matter of price should be fully discussed while still at the bar. That makes sense. If you were in Kansas. But this ain’t Kansas anymore, if you hadn’t noticed Dorothy. You dumb cunt. Sitting in a gogo bar and having a full and frank discussion about how much you’ll pay and what the boy will do is impossible. For several reasons.

First, the 70s greatest disco hits soundtrack will be blaring so loudly that neither you or your conquest for the evening will be able to hear each other. Second, your bar boy really doesn’t speak English, he’s just learned a few common phrases guaranteed to earn him a big tip. Third, the blood required for your brain to function rationally and to form complete sentences, thanks to the hot piece of Thai sweetness rubbing your leg, has all rushed to where it is needed the most: your other head. But then maybe that’s a good thing. If you were capable of speaking in complete sentences it’d only jinx the deal anyway. Verbosity in a gay gogo bar is the quickest route to disappointment.

What idiot – who obviously has little clue about the workings of the Thai bar boy mind – came up with the idea that you should set out a sliding payment scale for him to chose from? I recently ran across a post where the infamous proverbial ‘guy that I know’ was attributed with that idea and honored as being that idiot. The post claimed: I know of one savvy foreigner who says in the bar, “look, I want to take you off tonight. I’ll pay you 500 baht for massage only. 1,000 baht for oral or 1500 for everything for short time. It is up to you what you want to do and I’m happy with any of them. Would you like to go off with me or do you have other plans?”

Seriously? You really thought that soliloquy was going to uncomplicated matters? The poor bar boy is busy trying to guess just how expensive of a cell phone he’s gonna be able to get you to buy him, and you’re playing corporate board room negotiator? If he was even listening, the only thing he heard was 500 baht, 1000 baht and 1500 baht. Thai bar boys may not be skilled at English, but they are great at math. And you just promised him 3,000 baht. And an iPhone.

And oral? You actually think you should ask a boy if he performs oral? Do you really think a Thai bar boy knows that term? Here’s one of the few Thai words you’ll ever need to learn: Sa-moke. And guess what, all Thai bar boys smoke. So why are you even asking?

Part of the ‘up to you’ paradigm is the potential for a large tip. Even if you agree to a specific amount at the bar, your boy is going to be hoping for more. And he’ll agree to whatever amount you state – within reason – knowing that opportunity exists. Part of being Thai is never having to make a decision. Flight attendants on Thai Air know this and never ask a local if they prefer chicken or beef. They just hand them a food tray. You should follow their lead. Following the ‘savvy’ advice of the negotiator instead, you’ll not only ask an either or question, but an either or question with a follow up or. Good luck with that.

The same pundit suggested asking “do you want to go with me tonight?” Let me save you the effort. The verbal answer will be yes. Internally, the answer is: look you old fat disgusting buffalo, I’m straight and you are the furthest thing from my ideal sexual partner. If I had a choice I’d rather fuck a dead soi dog, but mange infested dogs don’t pay as well so instead I’m sitting here in my underwear acting like I’m falling in love with you while you’re busy trying to get reassurance that you are an acceptable sex partner. My only hope is that you’ll come quickly, preferably with the lights off, and that I can then flee back to my friends rather than have to listen to you snore and fart in a freezing room all night.

Some questions are better left unasked.

Verbal communication isn’t all that. Watch for nonverbal clues instead if you feel the need to be accepted. If the bar boy is turned away from you, hasn’t touched you and pulled away when you touched him, it’s probably a no go. If the bar boy is busy watching the show – cuz he’s never seen his bar mates fuck on stage before – it’s probably a no go. If you asked the mamasan to send #18 over and he fled screaming into the back room, it’s probably a no go. Any other reaction is a yes, he will go with you.

While still at the bar, should you discuss the specifics of what you want to do once back in your room? Sure. I guess. But follow that age-old rule of wisdom: KISS (Keep It Simple Stupid).

If you are a bottom – unless you are a real dumb bottom and picked an obviously gay boy who can out bottom you any day of the week – whether or not your bar boy d jour will fuck you is not a question. Yes. He will. That’s why they invented Viagra. If you are a top and want to fuck the boy it becomes a bit more problematic. Unfortunately even if you ask in the simplest of terms and use your hands to pantomime the act to ensure he understands, seldom will the answer be no. Usually it will be, “I do everting”. Which actually means, “I’ll do everything that you should expect a straight bar boy to do. Which does not include allowing you to mount me.”

In a perfect world (that’d be a world where Thai bar boys can communicate in your mother tongue) all details of a night’s off would be settled before you and the boy head back to your hotel. In the real word communicating is probably the #1 cause of miscommunication. At best you may be able to signal to the boy what he’s in for. A guarantee on performance just isn’t part of the deal.

You’re in lust and want him to say yes to whatever you propose. And he knows that. So he’s going to say yes and make you happy. The details will work themselves out later. That easily paves the way for disgruntled customers. Your best bet is to cross your fingers and hope for the best. Give the pre-sex negotiations a try, but do not assume you just established the program for the night. And then be happy with whatever happens. One way or another you’ll get a happy ending out of the deal. If it wasn’t quite what you had planned, consider your good fortune in experiencing whatever acts you did get to enjoy. You could, after all, be in Kansas instead.

Bangkok’s Hot Male Quotient Set To Rise

20 Sunday Nov 2011

Posted by Bangkokbois in Dancing With the Devil, Eye Candy

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Gay Bangkok, Nude Dudes

2010 Mister International Ryan Terry

Tired of spending your nights drooling over totally naked guys strutting their stuff on stage at your favorite gay gogo bar in Bangkok? Then mark your calendar, Bangkok will play host to the Mr. International competition on December 17th this year. For a change in routine you can spend your night drooling over partially naked guys strutting their stuff on stage instead.

This was the runner up in the Mister Brazil International pageant. Foul!

Mister International is an male beauty pageant held each years since its inception in 2006. Last year’s competition, with 40 countries participating, was held in Jakarta; Ryan Terry of Great Britain was the winner. This year’s contest is expected to have over 50 countries represented by their finest in male meat.

I’m really not into blondes, and Mr. Belgium needs to spend more time in the gym, but he has that ‘come fuck me’ look down pat.

The pageant will be held at the Patravadi Theatre in Bangkok. The Patravadi is located on the banks of the Chao Phraya River, opposite from the Grand Palace and adjacent to the Royal Temple Wat Rakang. A stylish, open-air theater it was established in 1992 by Patravadi Mejudhon, an award-winning actress, stage director and playwright.

Ngo Tien Doan of Vietnam was the winner in 2008.

The roughly 50 contestants will be judged in three categories: swimwear, evening wear and interview, as they vie for the coveted title of Mister International. Direk Sindamrongsi, Mister International Thailand 2011, is not pictured here because even though I’d like to root for the home team, he looks like a little kid compared to the other contestants.

Mister Panama has a smokin’ bod. Shame about the face though. No problemo. Paper bags are cheap in Panama.

As with most beauty pageants, the organizers and contestants act like it really isn’t about flesh. Sillies. Of course it is. Goggling the guys’ names who will be representing their countries in Bangkok should provide tons of beefcake shots. No such luck. Most only come up with head shots. A few shouldn’t even do that: they are butt-ugly. And some did provide shirtless photos when keeping that puppy on and buttoned would have been the wiser choice.

Mr. Phillipines needs to wear less clothes.

I narrowed your preview shots down to the hunky shirtless ones, with the exception of Mr. Philippines. Even with too many clothes on he’s still a cutey. I’d do Mr. Indonesia in a heart beat. And may have. Mr. Slovenia, however I want to marry. So you get two shots of him.

Cvet Zan, Mr. Slovina; my future husband, or houseboy. I’m easy to please.

Cvet’s got a nice bod to go with those dreamy eyes.

Additional details about the finals were sketchy on the ‘net. Some sites listed the pageant as scheduled to be held in Pattaya and not Bangkok, though everyone seems to agree on the date. If you’re gonna be in Thailand come December 17, it’d be worth tracking down the info so you can attend. There’ll be some 49 losers in need of consolation . . .

Mr. Indonesia

Mr. Brazil

Mr. Mexico

Mr. Honduras

Mr. South Africa

Mr. Spain

End Of The Week #14

19 Saturday Nov 2011

Posted by Bangkokbois in End of the Week, It's A Gay World

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Nude Dudes

Let There Be Light

This week Herman Cain dropped out of the lead spot of crazy presidential nomination contenders thanks to his inability to stop playing with staffers’ asses. Newt made a quick grab for the empty spot but then the million+ he took from Fannie Mae surfaced and he ended up looking like an ass. Nothing new for the Newt. Sooner or later they gotta let Ron Paul take the lead. They’re running out of candidates and will eventually have to admit the only one they have they can run is Mitt for Brains. President Obama must be sleeping pretty well these days.

100% of the Occupy movement in the U.S. got their asses handed to them this week. Municipalities across the nation cracked down on the protests, moving the squatters out of the numerous public places they’d been ~~camping~~ protesting at. I think the movement may have more luck in other countries; in America the 99% really don’t want to beat up on the 1% too bad because we all have this deep seated belief that we too one day could become one of the lucky few.

And it’s that little ray of light that serves as muse for this week’s End of the Week. And a fine end it is . . .

And It Feels Good . . .

19 Saturday Nov 2011

Posted by Bangkokbois in It's A Gay World

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That's Gay

I ran across these shots the other day. Looks like a collection of extreme cum faces. Turns out they’re all professional divers at work. Who knew diving required such emotion? Don’t remember if Greg Louganis ever made a face like these. But then I don’t remember ever looking at Greg Louganis’ face either.