I have lost almost 20 pounds since I left the US. That means either I am eating a lot less or I am exercising more or I have come down with some horrible wasting sickness. I hope to lose about 10 more pounds before beginning a more vigorous exercise regime than my 10 to 20 minutes swimming a day. Maybe I will start lifting weights and try to replace my 70-year-old gut with a 70-year-old six-pack, then again maybe not.
Yesterday I published my first piece in a political blog. I was very excited. The blog is the one that Bill O’Rielly called the most evil in the nation. He seems to believe the contributors to the blog are those same people who used to attend demonstrations criticizing and ridiculing the President. Of course that only made it the blog I would attempt to write for first.
Actually it is all quite simple you just sign up and write away. Nevertheless despite the simplicity, I found trying to write the first piece daunting, fearing that whatever I submitted would be ridiculed by somebody thereby destroying my confidence and rendering me incapable of gong out in the daytime. After writing and erasing a number of attempts at composing the miserable little three or four paragraph comment, I gave up. To divert myself from my frustration, I started rummaging through the few documents that I had brought with me from the US after disposing of everything else I own. In addition to two diaries from the 1960s containing some horrid poetry and the musings of an evil, self-absorbed pissant, I came across something entitled “The Fred Harris Campaign Handbook,” perhaps the last copy in existence. For those who are too young or who may have missed it, Fred was very briefly, a candidate for the presidency of the United States on the Democratic ticket during the 1972 and 1976 presidential campaigns. Fred campaigned as the populist candidate on behalf of the little people of America.
I was his issues chairman for the California primary, and as such prepared the Handbook. It was organized by issue, containing Fred’s writings or speeches on each topic so that campaign workers could respond in the candidate’s own words to inquiries about where Fred stood on an issue. As it turned out the Handbook was never needed because Fred never made it to the California primary in 1976 where we were convinced that he would clinch the nomination and I would be up for an appointment as Secretary of State, Attorney General or a nomination to the Supreme Court or at least an indictment. No, Fred lost big time in the New Hampshire primary and was forced to drop out of the race for lack of money. When asked by the press what happened Fred responded, “Well I guess the little people were too short to reach the lever by my name”. (For those of you too young to know, before the invention of fire voting machines required a voter to pull down a little lever by the candidate’s name in order to record the vote)
Anyway, I thought since I was not confident in my own words, I would use Fred’s and add my own witty comments and insights to elucidate and relate Fred’s thoughts to the current political situation. That worked quite well and I submitted the piece and was quite pleased to see it published.
I was even more pleased when the next day, there were a number of positive comments on my submission and nary a negative. One articulate gentlemen’s comment contained only the word “awesome”.
Almost immediately my pleasure passed when I realized that I had to write a follow-up and that just had become much more difficult. It was like when I was much younger and did a little bit of acting on the stage, if the audience liked my performance, I could not go on the following night unless I was pushed onto the stage because I was paralyzed with fear that I would not be able to repeat the previous night’s success.
Anyway, what ever happened to Fred? Well, he dutifully campaigned for Jimmy Carter in California. Fred and his wife La donna spent election night at my house in San Francisco and when Carter accepted Ford’s concession I looked at Fred and could see that the light had gone out of his eyes in despair over the ending of his political ambitions. Either that or he was dead drunk and about to pass out. Come to think of it, it was probably the latter since I seem to recall that thhttps://josephpetrillo.wordpress.com/wp-admin/post-new.php?post_type=post#titledive next morning we found Fred asleep in my back yard.
History is great isn’t it? They should start teaching it again in High School.
EXCERPTS FROM DIARY PRIOR TO POST:
WEDNESDAY APRIL 21, 2010 11PN
Again I cannot get to sleep and so I turn back to writing this diary. Before going into my trip to Chiang Mai and its aftermath I thought it would be a good idea to to paste here some of my more interesting correspondence of the last four days.
First is a response to an email from Irwin,
“Yesterday I learned a few things.
First fat women should not wear Brazilian thong bikinis.”
Second, the dammed water festival goes on until tomorrow.
Thinking the madness was over and feeling a bit bored before my trip to CM, I decided to make the one mile or so down the road to Hell (Pattaya) for dinner and to see the action. So I dressed in pressed pants and shirt and set out in an unprotected songtheuw for an evening in Hell. Within the first 50 yards we ran into the revelers and by the time I arrived at the outskirts of Hell I was drenched as though I had dove into the condo pool and very pissed. I found a falafel shop and sat near the spit to try to dry off while I ate. Still damp, I set off on a walk around Hell.
In Hell you can buy anything you want from whatever sexual perversion fit your tastes, food of all cuisines, various medical treatments, goods services and so on. And it is all exhibited on the streets and alleys for examination and sampling. Although Hell was fashioned by American soldiers during the Viet Nan war from a sleepy Thai fishing village,there are now many ethnic sections in Hell. The Muslim section has good food and Hookahs (the kind you smoke, not the kind that smoke you although there are plenty of them also). The Russian section, which appears to be a new phenomena, seems to specialize talking loudly and huge white bodies.
The Main Street in Hell is called the Walking Street. It runs along the shore and automobiles are prohibited. Each side of the street is lined with food and flesh establishments that draw to it the underbelly of the world. All the establishments are open to the street, one even has a Thai boxing ring set up where you can watch professional Thai boxing matches while drinking beer with one hand and exploring the pleasure available under the waitresses costume with the other.
Hell reminds me of the Island of Lost boys that Strombolli takes Pinocchio and his friends to smoke cigars, play pool and engage in other manly pursuits like that. Of course in the end they all turn into donkeys. But, is that any worse than being swallowed by a whale and turned into a living boy to enjoy the miseries of life.
After a while I stopped at one of the bars, ordered a beer and watched the doings on the street. One of the bartendys (What Thais call female bartenders) caught my eye and so I asked her how much she charges to spend the night pleasuring me. The quoted price was a little under $30. Having been away from Hell for so long, I no longer knew if that is a good price or not, so I got her number and promised to call back.
I then left the bar and went to the Shark Club a so called Go-Go bar where one of my former employees was a featured dancer. In the Shark Club totally naked women, except for a small ruffle around the waist that did not quite reach the pubic area and which sported a number by which you can order up that particular lady for the night, danced around some poles on the top of the bar.. Lek my friend’s number was 1. They also had a hot tub where the ladies removed their belt, lathered themselves up and danced on the edges of the tub.
This club was strictly look and pay to take out and not one of the clubs offering ladies smoking cigarettes, shooting darts into balloons or ping-pong balls off the walls or drawing out strings of razor blades all from their very well trained vaginas. (The legendary fucking a donkey on stage only happens in Tiajuanna if at all I am afraid). Another type of bar that is quite popular is one in which you can sit at the bar drinking a beer and talking to a buddy about football or whatever and a window opens in the bar in front of you and a woman sticks her head out and gives you a blow job.
Anyway my friend Lek is the star at Shark’s. When she worked at my bar, although she always had a great tiny body her face was marred with acne scars and was too moon shaped to be successfully bought out very often. But she went to Hell, had the scars removed and the shape of the face adjusted and now is a ravishing beauty. Anyway after watching her dance on the hot tub for me and arranging for dinner after my return from Chiang Mai, I left to return to paradise.
I piled into a songtheuw with a lot of Russians and their big bodies sheltered me from the worst of the attacks of the water fiends.
And today is another day and I have to figure out how to get to the bus station this evening without getting drenched.
The second is my follow up “This and that…” post
“I am writing this from the overnight bus to Chiang Mai. I am heading back to my suburban paradise to pick up some of the things I left there when I moved to Jomtien Beach Paradise, which is located about a mile down the road from Pattaya, a city clearly on the outskirts of Hell.
Last night feeling a bit bored, I decided to travel the road to Hell for dinner and to look around. I dressed for my night out in freshly pressed pants and shirt only to discover that the Songkran festival was still going on and would continue through today. In any event, by the time I arrived at the outskirts to Hell I may as well have jumped fully clothed into the pool. I found a falafel shop and huddled near the spit to dry off, with little success. After eating, I walked around OOL (OUTSKIRTS OF HELL) . Although OOL was created out of a little Thai fishing village to provide RR for American service men during the Viet Nam War, it has developed a number of ethnic areas such as a Muslim section containing good food and water pipes to smoke and the new Russian tourist area that appears to specialize only in loud talking and giant white bodies.
Just about anything you could possibly want and a lot that you would not can be obtained in OOL for a price and it is all exhibited right there in front of you. The main street of OLL is called the Walking Street, it runs along the waterfront and all the establishments open on to the street so that, like the Plaka in Athens. You sit in front of the bars drinking your Retsina (in this case Beer) and watch the doings.
I strolled around for a while, stopped by a Go-Go bar called “Sharks” to visit a friend who used to work as a bartender in my bar in BKK and now is a featured dancer and then returned home.
This morning I awoke and realized that the suitcase I was going to bring with me to CM in which to pack my things was too small to carry everything I needed. Also after I left to go to the Bus station, I discovered that the Songkran festival was not only continuing but that this was to be the “big day”. As I set off to purchase an adequately sized suitcase and go to the bus station I found that the road was so jammed with partiers that it was impassable and no covered conveyance was available. So, I had to walked the mile or so distance to the turn from the beach road onto the street that would take me into Pattaya where I could buy some cheap luggage, do some banking and hopefully get to the bus station on time all the while praying that I could avoid getting too wet. I arrived at the junction depressed that my dry run of two days ago seemed a complete failure and pleased with the rationalization that probably without the dry run things could have been much worse. Although I avoided most of the water, I was drenched in sweat anyway. (Today’s photos show a bit of the madness).
Unfortunately, the intersection had the inflammatory situation of being the locus of a collection of gay, transgender and straight bars, hysteria and costumes and everything was…well, rampant. Also large water trucks, not the pickup trucks with barrels of water in the back but real tankers were parked in the middle of the intersection with their operators gleefully spraying the overheated revelers with hoses.
Anyway, although I worked my way through the intersection mostly successfully, about 300 yards further along the road I came upon a particularly nasty knot of bleached white caucasians and a few Thais gleefully wetting down anything that moved. I gingerly made my way through the crowd shouting “no water, no water”. The Thais complied. As I explained previously, when you signaled to a Thai that you did not want to be drenched they would desist or politely ask you to let them anoint you for the sake of the festival and if you agree they gently throw a few drops of water on you. Not so with the european contingent who seemed to determined to use the festival either as an occasion to practice for total war or an opportunity to demonstrate their racial dominance.
So just as I was about to pass beyond this particular group I was struck violently in the back by a jet of water from one of those plunger operated water cannons I described in my previous email. I turned and saw a rather large male with his faux penis erect and dripping and pointed directly at me. He stared at me in triumph looking a lot like a water buffalo in heat. I wagged my finger at him. He clearly interpreted it as a challenge and sprayed me again with his cannon this time drenching my front. Well, I immediately saw that this was going to become an epic challenge for leadership of the herd and so I strode back to him and pored much of the cola drink I was carrying over his head. He retaliated by spraying me again, so I threw the remainder of the drink into his face. That’s when I learned he was Australian because he could not say ‘fuck’ properly, pronouncing it something like ‘fawrk’ and he threw more water on me and thats when I bitch slapped him up-side his head as they say (In a later post I will explain why a bitch slap is often better than a closed fist punch). Anyway that elicited a number of ‘fawrks’ from him and the others. Satisfied with my manly response to the challenge, I turned began to walk away fairly confident there would be minimal retaliation because men everywhere are usually dumb as stones when challenged. Suddenly a woman (the brighter and quicker of the sexes) yelled “Are you going to let him get away with that” and I was pelted on my rapidly receding but now heroic back with a few more bursts of water and a lot more ‘fawrks’.
Flushed with pleasure from the adrenaline high and happy with that pleasure generally experienced the males of the species whenever they are able to beat their chests and roar over doing something stupid and worthless, I jumped on the next songtheuw, got even more thoroughly drenched, bought my cheep one trip luggage ($20), did my banking and purchased a change of clothes, a pair of pants too big in the waist and too short in leg and a polo shirt from a company appropriately named “Geek” .
(as an aside I must mention one of Joe’s rules:
“Doing something incredibly stupid and getting away with it can make your whole week.”
So Joe’s advice is do something stupid at least once a week, it’s better than Prozac)
I arrived at the bus station in plenty of time to change. I got on the bus and am ready to sleep pleased in the knowledge that had I been a little smarter and had a little more foresight, I would have missed the events of the day and had no story to tell. G’night.
I did not sleep well on the bus and when I arrived in CM I was very tired and exhausted from the day before. I noticed that several times during the events related in the above emails, I was so exhausted that I could not hold a drink in my hand without the hand shaking uncontrollably.
I had my usual arguments with the taxi drivers over the fare (they wanted 300 baht for the two mile drive from the bis station to the subdivision while the 5 or six hundred mile bus fare cost only about 200 baht meal included). Anyway, I dragged my new luggage over to a songtheuw and took it to the Central shopping center (20 baht) and switched to another for the ride down the CM-Hangdong highway to the entrance to the subdivision (Actually we went a bit past the entrance before I realized in when we passed the pottery village mega-pot and I got off and walked back). I walked to the school and visited briefly with Choti who was very busy. As I walked to the house I met the missionaries on their motor bikes talking Micah to school. We talked about the Hayden situation and they volunteered to take him in if N. would let her. Then as we separated she gave me a hug saying this is how we do it in Georgia. Her husband gave her a strange look.
I then walked to the house. Pi Newan opened the gate and I went directly upstairs and began packing. I took a pillow from the master bed and some bedding along with my things. There was more than would fit in the new suitcase and my travel brief case so I packed the rest in plastic bags. After dumping a bunch of q-tips into the toilet and taking a cold shower, I changed out of my travel clothes and wrestled the luggage down the stairs. Pi Newan appeared surprised I was leaving. She showed me the electric bills that N wanted me to pay.
I left everything in front of the door and walked to Jerry’s house where I found him sitting in his usual chair reading. I gave him the computer games and audio books for the school and we talked for a while mostly about the Hayden. We then agreed to go to lunch at the buffet he had recommended to me several times.
We went on his motorcycle to the school to pick up the car. We stopped in to see Choti. She was sitting in her office with one of her teachers discussing Hayden. We spoke for a while and the missionary’s wife came in. As I described the Hayden situation, I noticed tears flowing down my cheek. I was embarrassed. Jerry and I left and went to the Buffet which was quite good.
On the way back we stopped at the airport to get my return ticket and then went to the immigration office to talk to the immigration officer that Choiti suggested. It was unhelpful. We then went to Lexus-Tesco to buy a small piece of luggage in which to put the my things that I packed in plastic bags. By then Cordt called and agreed to pick me up at the house and drive me to the airport. Jerry dropped me off and I went upstairs to lie down while waiting for Cordt. While I was resting the electricity was turned off presumably for non payment.
Cordt arrived. I went down stairs and loaded my luggage into his car and then wen back to Pi Newan, gave her 1000 baht said good-by and gave her a hug and left.
We decided to stop at the coffee shop before going to the airport. Cordt explained that he wanted my advice for his sister who was an in house labor attorney for Pfizer and had been laid off. We then started discussing Hayden and I could not stop crying. He said that the always believed N. was crazy and had a split personality disorder.
I got on the plane, after paying a 600 baht charge for excess baggage weight, I dozed o the plane.
When I arrived at Don Muang, I found that I did not have enough money for a taxi to Jomtien Beach and that there was no bus from the airport to Pattaya. I took a taxi to the bus station rather than taking me to the Erkamai bus station the driver took me to Mo chit station that he said had buses to P. and was a less expensive taxi ride. I did not trust him and so did not tip him. To my chagrin, he was right and I was wrong.
Paid 130 baht for the ticke to Pattaya and wrestled my three pieces of very heavy luggage onto the bus platform and left for Pattaya.
When I arrived, I again had my usual argument with the songtheuw driver. I tried to get onto the vehicle. He said “where are you going?” I knowing that he wanted to charge me farang rated responded that I wanted to go wherever the vehicle was going and make my way from there. This infuriated him and her tried to charge me an additional amount for my luggage. I walked off and found a driver who would take me to my door. Although is still is a lot (more than the bus fare from BKK) by now I know the expected prices and after all it was all the way to my door,
I got to my condo and began unpacking. I received a call from Tai. I asked her why she was calling and why did she do what she did to me. She refused to answer then said that she still loved me but that the baby cost 20,000 baht per month and she had to work although she was not working now. I asked who pays it now and she said that it was the father. I pointed out that I could not see her problem, she could live with me as planned and if she wanted to work I would care for the baby. She said the baby should have a nanny. I responded that we would have enough money for that. She said that I did not understand. I finally I got fed up and terminated the conversation. I called her back after a few moments and told her that I would rather she not call me until she was willing to speak truthfully, hung up and went to bed.
Today I woke up exhausted. The maid came to clean the condo and someone came to fix the sliding glass door. I spent most of the day dozing. This evening before beginning this I read one of my diaries from 1962. More about that later.
THURSDAY APRIL 22 2010 1 PM
I am in the lobby waiting for someone either very attractive with large knockers and butt and quite feminine with something extra or a tall, ordinary looking prostitute. Exciting isn’t it?
She was the former but the extra was not fully functional. She has the usual story.
Plan to meet Gates tonight.
Lek called, OK dinner Sunday.
Returned from night in Pattaya with Gates and his Persian night club owning client. Stopped in bar for a beer then went to Persian Restaurant for dinner (Just OK). Then to Something Witch Go-Go bar. Threw ping pong balls at dancers, had a few come and sit with us, joked with the waitress drank beer and Coca -Cola. Persian paid. Got bored and left. They went to a soapy massage place and I went home.
FRIDAY APRIL 23, 2010 12 NOON
Need to resolve visa issues. Anxiety attack. Need to calm down.
Went out to Bank and then to Pattaya to meet up with Gates, Roy the San Jose persian night club owner, Mike the stiff and Gary the weight lifter. Mike and Gary accumulated some wealth in their careers and held on to it. They now live in Pattaya. We met at a pub called Queen Victoria located on soi 6 road 2 in central Pattaya. Gary arranged for someone to meet me on Monday to assist me with my immigration problems. After dinner we walked up and down soi 6. Soi 6 is not near the main tourist districts of Pattaya but is lined with girlie bars on both sides of the street just like along the Walking Street. According to Mike and Gary, the women here are much less expensive than those working the bars along the Walking Street.
We went into one whose name I cannot recall, Miss Saigon I believe. Immediately one of the bar girls came up to me and began rubbing my cock. I decided to take her upstairs for a bang. Mike and Roy decided to take girls upstairs also.
We undressed, showered then lay on the bed where she began to blow me. After awhile it was clear to me at least and I suspect to her also that I was not cumming, so she put a rubber on me then climbed on me sort of reverse cowboy style in that Thai crouch and pumped up and down until came. (Cost for drinks, bar fine, girl and tips 1450 baht)
Later we decided to go to Super-girls and see Lek perform. When we got there we found out that Lek had been bought out. I was getting tired and so I left them there and took the songtheuw home.
SATURDAY APRIL 24 2010 9 PM
Did little today. Stayed close to home. Had breakfast at Cafe Le Mar. The man who eats breakfast there at the same time that I do and reads the Bangkok Post while I work on my computer told me a new road in Pattaya collapsed because of the recent rains.
I returned to my building and completed the “Fred Harris” diary for Kos and sent it off. I was pleased no end in seeing it published on the blog. Emailed missionaries name of Limoncello Restaurant, Called Gates told him I was sticking close to home today but would try to see him tomorrow when I take Lek to dinner. Wrote emails to Nikki, Jessica and Cordt. Responded to Ruth’s email regarding resigning bishops. Took a brief swim. Began the second Fred Harris diary. Took a shower and am now ready for bed.