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iPhone Friday #101
20 Friday Dec 2013
Posted iPhone Fridays
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Posted iPhone Fridays
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19 Thursday Dec 2013
Posted The 12 Gays of Xmas
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The U.S. gets a lot of grief from the rest of the world over our love affair with guns (and using them to kill innocent children) but at least we don’t sing about dead kids like the French do at Christmas time. Or force our rug rats to either. But if you are gonna jive to the Danse Macabre for the holidays, France is where you want to be. And the gruesome strains of La légende de Saint Nicolas are what deck the halls in the land of the Tricolor. Because nothing says Merry Christmas like a tale of cannibalism.
France’s popular Christmas carol is an ode to that jolly old elf himself. But this one is about the Greek version of Santa, Nikolaos Thaumaturgos (aka Nicholas the Miracle Worker), who like the Dutch version is credited with being the original St. Nick and who was, as FOX News’ Megyn Kelly will tell you, a real man. Though probably not quite as white as Miss Megyn would have you believe. The song dates back to the 16th century, the saintly Santa quite a few centuries before that. And like any saint worth his salt, it’s not enough that he was canonized, today he continues to be saint-like as his remains are believed to exude a fragrant liquid – often said to smell like roses – with miraculous properties; body fluids which are drawn forth by the faithful every year on Christmas (to be then sold at a nearby shop). And you thought egg nog was vile stuff.
A useful as his human remains have proved to be, Nicholas gained his original fame for the miracles he performed while alive, among which included feeding his entire city on but a small portion of wheat during a period of famine. His generosity too is fabled, with the story of his providing gold coins to a destitute family to save the clan’s daughters from a life of prostitution among the more famous. But the tale the French have zeroed in on is that of The Pickled Boys. Which you’d think would be the origin of hanging pickles as ornaments on Christmas Trees, but it turns out that was just an American marketing ploy. The pickled boys, however, were about a different kind of ploy.
As with every good legend, there are variation of the story. But the basics are always the same. The good saint finds himself at an inn where the inn keeper (sometimes called a butcher, which all things considered is an apt moniker) offers Nicky a bit of supper. In the song’s version it is first a slice of ham, and then a bit of veal. In others it’s not Nikita but some fellow travellers who are offered the meal. Regardless, either the Nickster himself or his hungry friends decline the food having sussed out that it isn’t pork or beef but rather the cooked remains of three boys whom the inn keeper/butcher had killed, gutted, dismembered, and pickled. Which really is a miracle because in those days meat was rare and children were not.
Less believable is the follow-through, even if it is the official miracle Nickolai is credited with. British composer Benjamin Britten, in his 1948 cantata, Saint Nicolas, has Nicolas call to the dead (and gutted, dismembered, and pickled) boys, “Timothy, Mark, and John, put your fleshly garments on!” and the boys come back to life, singing “Alleluia!” Which just goes to show you that the Brits with their fondness for boiling meat should not be trusted as cooks. Or with writing holiday songs. Older versions of the tale have He Who Shall Become Santa Claus bring the kiddies back to life by making the sign of the cross over their remains. La légende de Saint Nicolas – ‘cuz the French aren’t big on happy endings – bypasses the possibility of restored life in favor of the kids then being quite fine with remaining dead but getting to ascend to heaven. Even if it is in pieces. All of which is dispensed with in a singular stanza. While the actual murders and the visions of cannibalism take up the other eight.
So the next time someone forces you to join in singing Christmas carols – once the noise has died down ‘cuz no one can remember the words to the third verse of Jingle Bells – give the French a tip of your chapeau and bellow out these joyous words:
The butcher seized a knife straitway,
And did the little creatures slay.
He put them in a tub of brine,
In pieces small as they were swine.
It’ll be the last time anyone invites you to join in on their holiday singing. And that’s a miracle I can get behind.
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19 Thursday Dec 2013
Posted Holiday Gift Guide
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Boyfriend, Boy Special, the male prostitute I’m in lust with . . . whatever you call him, when a significant portion of your annual income is spent tending to the financial needs of a Thai lad someone really needs to ensure that your holidays are bright too. And it ain’t gonna be said boyfriend, boy special, or the male prostitute you fell in lust with. Sexpats and sex tourists alike need to take care of their own during the holidays. Even if that means a gentleman you’ve never met but whose boyfriend you’ve been diddling on a regular basis.
Trust, they say, is the most important thing in any relationship. And the one thing you can trust in is that as soon as your plane takes off from The Land of Smiles, that smile you fell in love with will be beaming at the next farang that walks into its bar. Not that those in love would ever believe that. But then at some point, just like that you have to tell your nephews that Santa isn’t real, you should tell the lovelorn that a faithful bar boy is just as much a figment of the imagination. And now, praise the saints, there’s an app for that.
Ho, Ho, Ho, you can now help your fellow farang easily spy on his favorite ho thanks to ThaiSpy, a revolutionary new digital product that monitors what his boy special’s thumbs are doing when he’s not in town. Bar boys today use their mobile phones for everything; it’s the one device that’s always with them. They make calls, text message, email, take and share photos, and check Facebook a million times a day. Wherever they are, their phones are; whatever they’re doing, their phone is with them. Mobile phones act as both a lifestyle and communication device, this makes it singularly perfect for monitoring their behavior, thoughts, and relationships. Yes, his boyfriend’s every waking minute can now be his too. Without the boy ever knowing it. And if that doesn’t say love, I don’t know what does.
ThaiSpy isn’t just any ordinary intrusive spyware. It’s so much more. Not only does the easy to stealthily install app track every use of his cell phone, thanks to its integration with Google Maps, it tracks his location too. Of course knowing he is at the local Hyatt doesn’t necessarily mean he’s up to no good. No problemo, ThaiSpy’s got you covered. With just one click you can switch on his phone’s microphone so you can listen remotely. You’ll hear everything that’s going – or coming – on around him. And once you’ve dialed in, you’re connected silently to every move he makes. You can even turn on his phone’s camera, so you can have a live eye into his sordid little world, anytime – anywhere!
Now just because you spend big bucks to fly around the world to engage in prostitution on a regular basis doesn’t mean you are completely lacking in morals. So you may think spying on your boyfriend is wrong. But as the makers of ThaiSpy explain it, it’s not about trust and honesty. At least not yours. It’s about culture. In Asian culture men have been trading love and sex for security and resources since the Garden of Eden. And if you’re providing your boy money and material gifts, then you surely expect him to uphold his end of the deal, willingly and honestly. What’s more, by spying on his every waking breath, you are doing your duty as a sugar daddy. Because a Thai bar boy needs to know he is being honored and appreciated. Even if he doesn’t know you have him bugged.
Of course like most farang who’ve committed to a long, loving relationship with a Thai bar boy, he probably speaks little English and there’s no good reason for you to learn to speak Thai. So even though ThaiSpy will capture all his SMS, Facebook, Email, Skype, Viber, WeChat, LINE and WhatsApp messages, it’ll all be Greek to you. So how will you know what’s really going on? ThaiSpy’s unique Integrated Human Thai to English Translation service is the answer. Any messages in Thai will automatically display a translate option that you can use to send to their dedicated translation team. Then, at a cost of just $2 per message, within 24 hours you’ll receive a translated version of whatever nefarious deeds he was up to. And that’s a lot of peace of mind for a very low cost!
But Wait! There’s More!
ThaiSpy understands that at your age you’ve probably only been able to master the important features of modern day cell phone technology. Like how to download porn. Having to gain possession of your true love’s existing target phone for the few minutes it takes to install their software is probably beyond your abilities, and actually downloading the app is a task your thumbs are incapable of. No problemo. The company also sells phones with their app pre-installed. And what bar boy would ever turn down the gift of a new cell phone? Especially when it comes gift wrapped. It’s like taking candy from a baby. Which, if you are a fan of Sune Plaza is probably an apt turn of a phrase.
ThaiSpy is not about deceit, it’s about improving your relationship. When you know what he is really thinking, you can prevent problems before they happen. Different cultures, the language barrier, or that he spends much of the year alone in Thailand . . . it’s easy to see how he may form other relationships that sometimes gets intimate. If not sexually then perhaps emotionally. Even worse, he may simply be resigning himself to a loveless fate and simply tolerating you while you still have value. ThaiSpy allows you to find out early and make changes for the better – before his thoughts become an unforgivable reality. Because reality is what every farang who has fallen in lust with a bar boy is all about.
(ThaiSpy is available for purchase at their website: http://www.thaispybangkok.com/thaispy.html at a beginning cost of just $29.95. Bulk purchases for farang who have more than one Thai boyfriend are available.)
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19 Thursday Dec 2013
Posted Absolutely Thursdays
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18 Wednesday Dec 2013
Posted The 12 Gays of Xmas
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I spent one winter living where it snowed. Just out of high school I moved to South Lake Tahoe in the summer with high expectations that come winter I’d be spending all my time on the slopes. I did get a lot of skiing in that year, but also learned valuable winter weather lessons such as that while owning a convertible in the summer is cool, when it’s snowing out, not so much.
Visiting the snow is fun. Living where it snows and dealing with that crap on a daily basis is not. Though I do have to admit the first morning I woke up to a landscape of freshly fallen snow, it was beautiful. Especially from inside my warm house looking out the front window. It was still a beautiful scene walking the two blocks to work that morning. Though wearing proper snow walking footwear really meant waddling. The return trip that night was more easily navigated, but after a day of cars throwing mud all over the place that pristine landscape of white that’d give the folks at FOX News a major chub looked more like the outer ring of Dante’s circles of hell. But then living where it snows 24/7 does have its benefits. You have the time to get much more creative with building snowmen. And there’s ample opportunity to perfect writing your name in the snow.
That’s not a joy everyone in the world gets to enjoy. I mean besides women who lack both the necessary equipment and perspective. I don’t remember what the subject under discussion was, but once I mentioned writing your name in the snow to my friend Noom. From his quizzical look, I knew I might have to explain. So I did. He thought about it for a minute and then asked, “Why you do dat?”
I’ve learned to take a page from his playbook and now – as then – when he asks for an explanation of what is unexplainable I give him a taste of his own medicine. “Because I farang,” suitably responded to his question without actually answering it. Besides, this is a man who has never met a public restroom he didn’t feel the need to mark his spot in. Which was a good follow-through thought, so I quickly added, “We don’t write our names in the hotel room’s bathroom.”
Few Thai guys ever get to experience the joy of signing their work in the snow. It does snow in some Asian countries, so the opportunity is there for men in China, Japan, and Korea. But it isn’t quite the pastime in those countries as it is in Western ones. Maybe that’s because cursive lends itself to a steady flow while the pictogram characters that make up Asian names don’t. Or maybe it’s because of the difficulty of writing with nothing more than a pencil stub. That too is a downside of winter weather. Your penis is much smarter than your brain and tends to seek warm shelter when it’s freezing out. And that ain’t good news when yours barely qualifies as an outie in the first place.
The good news is that if you don’t live where it snows, or are just too intelligent to be exposing your best buddy to frigid temperatures, you can still make your bladder gladder. First, for the traditionalist yellow snow fan, there’s a guy named Dave on the crowd source funding site gofundme.com who is trying to raise money for his 2014 Mt. Everest Expedition. For an entry contribution of just $5, when he summits he’ll write your name in the snow. Sure it’s not the same thing as doing it yourself, but it’s a much warmer option, you don’t have to risk death and disfigurement, and I think the resulting signature high atop the Himalayas kinda works like Tibetan prayer flags.
If instead you’d like to keep the job firmly in your own hands, and are not a traditionalist, Wacom has got you covered. The company’s XPee combines one of their pressure sensitive LCD tablets with an urinal so that you can set your inner artist free in a free flowing stream of creativity. You may not be Monet, but you can moan with the pleasure of relief from draining your kidney while expressing your artistic abilities. But please aim true and stifle your urge to create a pointillistic masterpiece on the floor.
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18 Wednesday Dec 2013
Posted Monk Shot!
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Monks on a baht bus are a fairly standard shot for me. Especially when in Chiang Mai where it sometimes seems there’s at least one monk on every baht bus you see. Sleeping monks, not so much. Which considering the Thai fondness for taking naps is a bit surprising. So when I spotted one young novice crashed out and catching some zzzz’s in the back of a pickup at Wat Chedi Luang, it was a photographic nirvana.
I never thought the shutter on my camera made much noise. But after about the fourth click, another youngster draped in saffron woke from his temporary bed in the bed of a neighboring truck. And then either out of the joy of seeing a camera pointed his way, or from the humor of being caught out, let loose with one of those smiles Thailand is famous for. And I scored a two-fer.
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18 Wednesday Dec 2013
Posted Wednesday Wetness
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17 Tuesday Dec 2013
Posted Eye Candy
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Years ago while shooting photos at Golden Gate Park’s conservatory in San Francisco I stumbled upon a show at the de Young Museum featuring the work of various French Impressionists, work that was on loan via a travelling show. Not being much of a fan of art, I must have been either extremely bored or stoned that day. Possibly both. In any case I coughed up the outrageous entrance fee, wandered in, and was immediately blown away.
My folks were born and raised in the mid-west. That’s not to say people from that area of the country lack culture, but crops played a much more important role on their life. So art was not something we were exposed to as kids. Other than Walt Disney’s. I assume at sometime during my education, possibly on several occasions, there must have been some attempt made at instilling an appreciation for art in my classmates and I at school, but it didn’t stick. Pictures of great paintings are all fine and well but they just don’t impart the same feelings as seeing the original piece in person. The image is captured, the sense of wonderment is not.
I can’t say Monet’s work did much for me that day. And while I appreciated the vividly bold usee of color in some of Gauguin ’s work, it looked a bit too reminiscent of the stuff I finger-painted back in the first grade. In my defense, I have come to appreciate their work more since. I think, however, there has to be some personal connection to the subject of a painting to spark that initial understanding of why a master is considered a master. A great painting has to speak to you before you recognize its greatness. And being both bored and stoned that day Degas’ L’Absinthe did that for me.
I found a large print of that painting and hung it on the wall in my living room. Which I’m sure raised a few eyebrows since blacklight posters of Jimi Hendrix, oil on velvet renderings of Elvis, and the ever popular dogs playing poker were all the rage in those days. Later, after my love affair with Polynesia – and Asian and Polynesian men – began, Gauguin became a favorite of mine and I finally grasped the importance of his often childish looking work; despite how one-dimensional some of his paintings were he managed to capture the beauty and essence of life in the tropics. I guess that’s why it’s called impressionism. Duh.
But back at the museum it was the realism and the incredible use of light in some of the artist’s work that impressed me. Rather than Gauguin’s lack of dimension, the painters’ ability to render a three dimensional scene on a flat canvas, and to bring those scenes to life, is what hit me. Even when the subject matter didn’t. Gustave Caillebotte’s Floor Scrapers (Les raboteurs de parquet) is not one of the more famous impressionist paintings (nor is he one of the more famous impressionist painters) but I can still vividly picture that piece in my mind. And, okay, it is of shirtless laborers. To be honest though, I doubt that I would have lasted long enough to discover Caillebotte’s work if I hadn’t seen L’Absinthe first.
I think art teacher in the lower grades would do better to find paintings that speak to their students first, and then attempt to hammer home what they consider important, brush work etc., later instead of the other way around. It works the same way with literature. Romeo and Juliet is not still popular with teenagers today because of Shakespeare’s mastery of the written word. It starts with the story. When the subject matter hits home, appreciation of how that story is told – whether by word or paint – will follow. Which is a long way around to getting to today’s eye candy post. But if there is one subject that speaks to gay men, it’s penis.
Lin Jinfu is a Chinese painter. Since my computer doesn’t speak Cantonese, I can’t really tell you much more about him. (Google probably can, but you’ll have to take that path of discovery yourself.) I found his work, or at least those of naked Asian men, at this link, and then followed through clicking my little heart out. I’m not sure why that turned into a post about my introduction to the impressionist painters. But then following a different link I found on his home page took me to a different presentation of his work that also covered his shows, his life, and – I’m assuming – some of the masters who influenced him.
It probably would have been too much to ask for L’Absinthe to have been pictured in that section, but there are paintings by several of the French Impressionists, as well as one by Monet that had been used for the posters announcing that exhibition I attended in San Francisco many years ago. So that journey down memory lane was gonna happen regardless. The artist probably would appreciate that even though it was penis that originally captured my attention, his work immediately reminded me of the master impressionists’. Though considering the subject mater it was either gonna be that or the work of another master in his own field, ChiChi LaRue.
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