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After months of training, my roommate Josh ran the Bangkok marathon this morning. He ran very well (especially considering that this is his first marathon), coming just a second shy of his school record at 2 hours, 37 minutes 42 seconds.

There are pictures here:
http://www.eateggs.com/gallery/main.php?g2_view=core.ShowItem&g2_itemId=1052

On a more random note, I came across another Bangkok blog with a post on the gruesome pictures included on every Thai cigarette package. Here’s the link:
http://www.mangosauce.com/archives/000409.html

Here’s a random, vacuous post for ya:

I was arrested (heh) by a most interesting sensation today. Stealing wireless internet outside the Dome building on campus today, I had been sitting in a lotus-esque position with my laptop well beyond the point of my legs losing all circulation and going to sleep. When my internet was rudely cut off, I threw my laptop in my bag, got up, and took about two steps before the full reality of technically-dead legs set in. Suddenly, I was completely unable to move my legs. I wasn’t in any danger of falling over, but I felt rather statue-esque, as though my legs and the ground were carved from the same piece of marble, and were in fact quite joined together.

Standing, stupidly, at the top of a set of stairs, I found myself thinking this is silly! It’s just a mental sensation; I can walk just fine. So I tried to take a step. And nearly toppled over. The legs definitely were more attached to the ground below than the brain above.

And so I stood, for perhaps a few minutes, feeling completely stupid, an enduring that amazing tingling sensation that always comes with the flood of fresh blood to temporarily dead body parts. Eventually, I was able to control my legs again, and walked off, but not before noting what a queer occurrence it had been.

Today has been completely non-productive, but ultimately rather enjoyable just the same. I remember vaguely thinking something to the effect of “I’d better fall asleep quick, or the sun’ll be up before I’m asleep” around 5:40 this morning… or some time around then. I found myself on the roof of my apartment at 5:00 this morning, a combined effort of too much caffeine, startlingly cool weather, and the undying appeal of my guitar. I can’t describe how pleasant it was: there was a breeze blowing, which was so cool that I almost felt slightly chilled, in my t-shirt and shorts: a wholly welcomed sensation indeed!

(A kid wearing a shirt emblazoned with a large swastika just walked out of the ‘net cafe I’m in. It’s certainly not the first time that I’ve seen that type of shirt around Bangkok… I don’t understand)

I woke up around 11:30, and basically spent my day reading, interspersed with two trips down the street to the nearest restaurant, and one hour-long trip to the park for some quality time on my slackline.

And that’s been pretty much it. Goodness, I’m such a hermit.

Last Wednesday was Thailand’s annual Loi Krathong festival: a holiday for dedicated to the rivers– mae naam, mother water— expressing gratitude for its life-giving renewal, and apologizing for using it and polluting it.

The holiday is celebrated by setting krathong (literally, baskets), carrying incense and candles, afloat on the river. Although, traditionally, every family would make their own krathong, in the age of consumerism, Wednesday’s streets were filled with vendors selling pre-made baskets, such as these:

The festival is to Thailand as the Fourth of July is to the United States– everyone comes out to celebrate it; I’ve never seen Bangkok’s streets so full people. An estimated 1.26 million krathong were released in Bangkok alone (down from last year’s 1.46 million, the decrease owing to an increase in the number of families and other groups releasing a single, large krathong rather than many smaller baskets). For myself, I joined up with a Sun (far left), Nam Pueng (to right of Sun) and a few other international students.

This photo was taken on the ferry we took out onto the river, near the Rama IX bridge:

The river, where millions of krathong were released, was also the scene of the holiday’s Thai-style parade. Countless ornately decorated boats (or floats, at it were..), each representing a different organization, went up the river, in a spectacular array of pyrotechnics, glowing neon and larger-than-life depictions of scenes from the Ramayana, such as Thammasat’s float, below:

Another random float:

According to tradition (of which I have more to write), you’re supposed to make a wish when you release your krathong. If it stays afloat (and doesn’t tip over), your wish will come true. Of course, I’m not a sentimentalist, and couldn’t even think of a wish to make, much less remember to make a wish while trying to drop a basket with a flaming candle on top into tumlutous water from a rocking boat such that the basket didn’t tip over… Although the candle went out immediately, the basket didn’t tip, and I suppose I could glibly note that, par consequence, I now have everything that I wished for. =)

The traditions around Loi Krathong extend beyond the river. Loi Krathong also doubles as Thailand’s version of Valentine’s Day, and couples who don’t release a krathong together often release separate krathong, with the belief that if the two float side by side down the river, the lovers’ relationship will be steady for a long time to come. Conversely, if the krathong drift apart, so will the two who set them afloat. Amusingly, Josh noted that he observed someone plunge into the river to reset the course of a wayward krathong with another’s. The Thais will also often include a little hair on their krathong, but to do so this year they would have needed to plan ahead, since Loi Krathong fell on a Wednesday, and it’s bad luck to cut your hair or fingernails on a Wednesday (in fact, some barber shops don’t open on Wednesdays).

Later in the evening, I had a chance to spend some time looking out from the roof of my apartment down onto the canal adjoined by a park below. Out on the Chao Phraya river, where I released my krathong, only the most hearty of candles stayed lit for more than a few seconds, owing to a slight breeze and the multitude of boats moving through the water, tossing the krathong like toy boats on choppy seas. Unlike the Chao Phraya, however, few boats passed through the canal near my apartment, and I had the privilege of, for maybe two hours, watching hundreds and hundreds of krathong– only distinguishable as a spot of light in the darkness, floating down the canal as little beacons of light, looking something like (below), gradually tapering from multitude of little yellow lights to a solitary one or two where the glass-like canal joined the tempestuous river…

(not my photo)

My favorite part, however, were the miniature hot-air balloons that some people released instead: maybe two feet across and five tall (think the size of a 55-gallon barrel), they were basically bags made out of a super-light cloth with some sort of sterno-esque burner clipped to the bottom. When released, they would shoot up in the sky, a brilliant-yellow, fast rising explosion of light… going up countless of hundreds and perhaps thousands of feet in the air, becoming one with the stars before running out of fuel and falling back to earth…

—

Of course, Loi Krathong wasn’t all just happy people happily releasing beautiful little boats into the river. Although down from last year’s 25%, an estimated 20% of the krathong released this year were made with a Styrofoam bottom, rather than the heavier, traditional banana-tree ring. Although the city did its best to clean the river after the festival (it is rather ironic, that they would apologize to the river for polluting it by… filling it with pretty pollution), I haven’t been able to go near the river or a canal without seeing the aftermath of putting some 250,000 pieces of Styrofoam into the river.

Like Valentine’s Day in the ‘States, Loi Krathong is a very popular time for young couples to go and shack up, so to speak (and is, I’m told, the most common day for a girl to lose her virginity). To try to counter this woe-some moral decay, Bangkok’s Minister of Social Development and Human Security, Watana Muangsook, created police checkpoints equipped with spotlights outside of 58 of Bangkok’s more popular hotels, with the purpose of shining a spotlight on young couples as they entered the hotel in order to embarrass the young couples into not having sex. (This came a few days after Watana’s proposal that wives “should prostrate themselves before their husbands to foster love and happiness within the family.”) This was not only is this an egregious invasion of privacy, but also an abuse of power well beyond Shanawa’s constitutional limits. Of course, no one does anything. They just say “yeah, that sucks. Too bad there’s nothing we can do about it.” And, of course, this is all taking place with the Prime Minister’s sanction: PM Taksin has become natorious for his frequent and drastic cabinet re-shuffling, but Shanawa’s position seems to be quite secure.

Last weekend Nam Pueng took me to her “village home” in Ayudthaya, which is 80km or so north of Bangkok. The trip itself was enjoyable, and I especially enjoyed feeling like I was actually in Thailand. There are pictures here:
http://www.eateggs.com/gallery/main.php?g2_view=core.ShowItem&g2_itemId=521

I owe an account of last Wednesday’s Loi Krathong festival, in addition to the latest list of governmental abuses, but it’s getting late, and I need to get up early, so I’ll leave off here.

As the holiday season approaches (or so my calendar says– you wouldn’t know it here!), I guess it’s time for me to announce I will not be participating in Christmas this year, for several reasons. Obviously, there is the logistical issue to consider, and my dislike for the holiday in general, but I think there is something more to be considered this holiday.

I don’t want to turn this into a guilt trip (which is isn’t), so I’ll simply state that: I will be taking the money that I would otherwise have spent on Christmas this year and donating it to an appropriate organization (or, as is my hope, applying it more directly in January). Similarly, I ask whomever of you to likewise; if you would have bought me a gift, I would ask that you instead make a donation to an organization that is participating in Pakistani humanitarian relief.

Thanks.

Edit: As a related note, for those of you who don’t already know, I will be flying home on April 5th, 2006.

When I return to Montana State in the fall of 2006, I will live on campus, hopefully in Quad E. And if you’re reading this, odds are that I’d like you to live there, too. Here’s a few of my reasons:

In short, living off campus this semester has made me realize how much I loved living ON campus. Specifically, the community on campus is something that can never be replicated elsewhere. In truth, living in the quads strikes me as a sort of utopian community: people living, playing, studying, sleeping, recreating… and doing it all with mutual respect (except for LBU, of course =P), helping each other along with that extra cup of coffee at 3:00am, or that warm smile and easy laugh at the end of a shitty day.

Admittedly, given the choice between living in the Hedges and off campus, I’d choose off campus in a heartbeat: Hedges is a lot like an apartment with more rules, not a utopian living community where everyone knows and loves everyone.

Living in an apartment sucks, really. Granted, I have an awesome roommate, but not even the best roommate in the world can, in and of his/herself, equal the company of the community of 23 fellow quadlings. My roommate and I live in a locked concrete room inside of an anonymous concrete building of strangers– strangers who, even if you do happen to see them occasionally in the elevator, couldn’t be spared the time of day. There is no community: only isolated individuals 24-hour security stack of cement shoe boxes. I miss that sense of being with like-minded people, being connected, having a community and a home. I’m going to live the rest of my life in an apartment, for all intents and purposes.

No-where off campus can you organize an impromptu game of Ultimate and be playing in five minutes, or play No-Holds-Barred. At present, I don’t even have a yard, much less a big, grassy and well-lit courtyard where to have epic snowball fights, build colossal snowmen…

I want a piano. I can’t afford a piano. I can’t move a piano: if I tried to tie one of top of my car, I’d end up with a lot of broken class and a big bill from the auto repair shop. I’m probably not going to be able to find a piano off campus, much less a place where I can play at 3:00am without bothering people (too much, that is).

And then there’s the question: why NOT live on campus? In response to the most obvious answer: most of you will be 21 next year, anyway. Yeah, maybe money: but for me, by the time I buy the essentials: a refrigerator, bed, 27″ television, DVD player, dishes, cooking equipment, desks, chairs, etc, any financial incentive is gone. Even in a fully furnished apartment, things like TVs and cable internet don’t come cheap, and there will never be ten couches to hold you and all your friends on Monte Python night. Getting rid of LBU? Yeah, well, you have a point there, but it might be easier to convince him to move than for everyone else to move away from him. And food? Yeah, food service isn’t five star cuisine, but it’s generally edible, healthy, cheap and plentiful. Cooking takes time. Fast food is expensive and unhealthy. I’m taking a full course load and working part time, I’m not going to want to be worried about cooking myself three meals a day. Being able to just walk over to food service, get some grub and keep working is priceless.

You can’t beat the location. You’re two minutes away from many of your friends, in the middle of a huge intranet which lends itself perfectly to impromptu lan parties, you’re five minutes away from class, and if you work on campus, like I do, you’re five minutes away from work. At present, I spent at least an hour of my day just going to and from campus. And naps between classes? Forget it!

Granted, in terms of activities, you can do everything off campus that you can on campus, but everything off campus requires so much work and planning. You want to play ultimate? Fine. Call everyone you know, and hopefully they’ll be willing to drive to the park. Or… go stand in the Quads courtyard for five minutes with a frisbee. Consequently, at best, I’d play a mere fraction of the games off campus that I would living on campus.

I also miss feeling connected to campus. Thammasat feels more like a job than a university: I go, put in my hours, and go home. University events, rallies, sports (football!!), all of that… doesn’t really exist for me right now. I’m off campus, displaced from campus.

There’s nothing special about living off campus: I’ll have the rest of my life to live off campus. As a matter of fact, after next year, I’ll never be able to live on campus again (unless, for some strange reason, I did during grad school, but that would be just a little strange). Rather, I view living on campus as a sort of wonderful once-in-a-lifetime experience: something that only comes once, and if you miss it, it’s gone. I don’t intend to miss it, and I hope you’re there to share it with me.

As much as I often sometimes (ok– often) complain about my classes here, I must count myself as being so grateful that I’m not in any of the many other classes that I walk past where the teacher sits at the front of the classroom and, in a monotone, speaks into a microphone. Half the time, it seems like the teacher is reading, rather than lecturing, and just sitting OUTSIDE of the classroom leaves me feeling quite bored. By comparison, my classes are all wonderfully interesting.

I went to Kanchanburi again last weekend with my Thai language class for a “language camp” of sorts. We spent two days in Erawan National Park, which is the Yellowstone of Thailand, so to speak. The highlight of the weekend was the fifteen or so minutes that I had to myself while (waiting for the rest of the group to return from the waterfall) spent basking in the sunshine in the green grass in front of my bungalow. I miss the sun, really. It’s not the same in Bangkok. And I miss the quiet. And that sense of, after a fashion, oneness with nature. And for fifteen minutes, I had that. Quiet. Rest. Nature. Grass. Sunshine.

This is the 7th tier of the waterfall that we hiked up to: (–which was wonderful in and of itself– to be hiking. Using my legs. Walking through trees. I miss that.)

That aside, it was more or less what one would expect out of a language camp– language activities, Thai food, etc. I was with a fun group of other international students, which made the trip enjoyable. It would have been even better if I had slept on Friday night… by 11:00PM on Saturday night the Thai language activities were beginning to lose their appeal.

We also did a Thai cooking activity, which was a pleasant confirmation to me of the fact that Thai cooking is just a matter of having an intuition of knowing how much of which sauce to add to what meat. If I were to write a book, patterned after Nietzsche, it would be titled: Thai Cuisine, or How to Cook With a Blowtorch.

We passed the three hour bus ride back singing songs that we all knew. Even though, at one point, we were forced to resort to the Backstreet Boys, it was quite delightful. =)

As an observation that will receive no explanation, I might remark that too often the best of intentions are killed for an excess of thought and a want of action– but equally worthless is an excess of action and a want thought.

The end of the semester is coming up quickly, which means that I may actually be pretty occupied with schoolwork over the next few weeks, with end-of-the-semester essays and the like coming due. I have a research paper due tomorrow for my 400 level British and American Thought class. I … read the prompt this morning. It’s 2:50PM now. I’ll get started on it… sometime. Yeah. Some things never change. =)

It seems to me that all I ever write about is my laptop, and I’m hesitant to write about it on that basis, but I suppose I will anyway. So I’m on motherboard three or four or something, and my volume control buttons don’t work. It’s not really a big deal to me– of course, it would be nice if they worked, but being forced to —horror— click on the volume control is an endurable torture, and there’s nothing else wrong with the laptop. So I’m torn. Part of me thinks that its a shameful waste to have Dell replace the motherboard yet again just because a couple non-essential buttons don’t work– motherboards are not cheap, after all. But on the other hand, I’m really frustrated by the fact that, three motherboards later, I’m still having problems– the same problems that I’ve had with the previous three. So I dunno what I’m going to do. Ug.

Well, that’s about the news around here. It’s still quite warm, although cooling into the mid to upper seventies in the evenings.

Oh, did I mention? I discovered an amazing video store near campus– just a little hole in the wall, really, but with literally thousands of titles and a huge selection of independent foreign films. I’ve never encountered a video store (netflix aside, of course) in the ‘States that has a selection half as good. For example, they have an entire Clint Eastwood section– like fifteen or so Eastwood films. And international films– Fellini, Rossellini, Godard, Bergman, etc. Anyhow, after class today, I’m headed yonder there with my film-guru Modern British History prof, and he’s going to give me “viewing assignments” of sorts. If I don’t write an essay tomorrow, I’m thinking I may just shut the shades and go for my first movie marathon of the semester. Speaking of which, tomorrow is Friday. Huh. How cool.

Bovard sent me this link to a letter to the editor printed in Bozeman’s Daily Chronicle, quote in full below, which I felt compelled to respond to.

I was disgusted to see that the United States was sending aid to Pakistan for the earthquake recovery when here at home we have our own hurricane victims needing help. I have nothing against aiding other countries in times of need, but when we have our own disasters that need attending to, we need to prioritize.

At the moment it looks as if the reputation of the United States is more important to President Bush than helping his own people here at home. Although there were not as many to die in the hurricanes as the earthquakes, a major city needs rebuilt so people can return to their homes. Our oil refineries need rebuilt because gas is part of everyday life here in the U.S.

We have so many people jobless and with no money because of the hurricane, but yet the money sent to help Pakistan cannot be used to help these citizens of the United States of America. Something is wrong with this picture. Could it be that the United States is not prioritizing what is most important?

I would hope that each and every one of you would ponder this and think about what is most important. If enough of us can convince the government to take care of our fellow people, maybe we could make them see what a mistake they have made.

Laura Stoneberger

Bozeman

Response (ar! 300 words is IMPOSSIBLE!):

In response to Laura Stoneberger’s letter (Nov. 7th), I must also express my dismay at the United States’ response to the catastrophe of the October 8th earthquake in Pakistan, or lack thereof. It is not my intent to marginalize America’s tragic loss of over 1,000 lives, but I would like to try to place this number in perspective of the global community that we share with Pakistan, who, after Hurricane Rita, gave America $1.5 million dollars worth of aid supplies and money.

At present, the death toll in the earthquake’s wake is over 58,000 people. Worse, this number may more than double or triple during the coming winter if sufficient aid is not provided to the over three million Pakistani earthquake victims who are now without shelter to protect against the impending cold. Some two million of these are women and children. Pakistan is not a warm country; winter time in the mountainous, most affected northern region is exceptionally cold and harsh. Already, devastated mountain villages are being cut off from any and all aid by heavy winter snows, snows that will outlast people without shelter, food and medical supplies. While Americans contend with high gas prices, an estimated 2.3 million Pakistani earthquake victims don’t know where their next meal will come from.

And yet, in spite of the manifest and staggering need in Pakistan, the United States has only allocated $50 million dollars of aid: less than half of 1% of the estimated $200 billion dollars that President Bush has pledged to the reconstruction of New Orleans and surrounding areas. In New Orleans, the danger is passed, and people are in the process of moving back, rebuilding, and continuing to live their lives. In Pakistan, the gravest danger is yet to come.

Although Hurricane Katrina’s attack on New Orleans couldn’t have been prevented, the starvation and death by exposure of hundreds of thousands this winter can be, but only with the generous support of nations and individuals. Without, those who die in Pakistan this winter will not die from an unavoidable natural disaster: they’ll die from a failure of human agencies to adequately respond.

Respectfully submitted,
Mark Egge
Sophomore, MSU

O.A.R. (of a revolution) recently released their fifth studio album, Stories of a Stranger. I’ve included my thoughts below, as much for my sake as for the sake of anyone interested.

From the first words of the album’s first track, Heard the World, there is a marked departure from O.A.R’s previous studio releases. Most notably, Marc Roberge’s voice is strangely void of his characteristic, raspy intimacy which instantly enraptures the listener, and seems to add something of depth or humanity or passion to even the most mundane of lyrics. (In a random survey, one out of one music connoisseurs identified the lead singer of Stories of a Stranger as being a different singer than the lead singer of 34th & 8th.) I don’t know how to account for this sudden change in Roberge’s tonal quality, but it spans the entire album. Although at times hinting to that distinct vocal character so obvious on 34th & 8th, on balance Roberge’s lead vocals are smoother and more polished, –seemingly abandoning one of O.A.R’s greatest assets. And I did say lead vocals: Stories of a Stranger introduces female backup vocals to the mix, which does nothing to detract from the overall sound, but at the same time fails to add any appeal.

The vocals, however, are where the album’s consistencies end. Heard the World opens the album with O.A.R’s typical genre spanning style, also present in the third track, Wonderful Day (previously released in live format on 34th & 8th) and the album’s final, reggae sounding 52-50. The tracks in between, however, are as diverse as O.A.R. has ever produced. Not unlike Dispatch’s Four Day Trials album, Stories of a Stranger seems to explore a number of distinctly different musical genres. The album’s title track, The Stranger, strikes the listener as sounding overtly like a pop song. Lay Down and One Shot belong to yesteryear’s Ska genre. Program Director reflects a strong reggae influence, in both its Caribbean beat and its rhythmic lyrics, “program director / on the radio / won’t play my record / ’till a caller tell him so.” Perhaps the most surprising track on the album, Nasin Joon invokes a distinctive blues style, fitting for a laid-back coffee house, but not O.A.R’s familiar frat-house scene. The album’s ninth track, Daylight the Dog, calls to mind classic American rock’s distinctive electric guitar and vocals; O.A.R. is “ready to roll,” employing the verbiage of a decade long past. Finally, with Dakota, O.A.R. affects a style reminiscent of Sean Mullins’: quiet, intimate lyrics interplaying with the simple acoustic accompaniment.

In terms of lyrical content, I find Stories of a Stranger to be lacking, but perhaps appropriately so. The songs that are most similar to O.A.R’s typical style are also the songs that conform most closely to O.A.R’s previous themes of home, steady friendship and strength of character. For the other tracks, however, O.A.R. seems to have adopted the typical motifs of each successive genre they explored through the album, with all the convincing of an outsider attempting to imitate a natural grown style– O.A.R’s Nasim Joon is to Barry Manilow as a Mannerist print to that of a Renaissance master. Not that I’m opposed to this: even Picasso made his own renditions of the greats who came before him, but these themed paintings certainly aren’t remembered as being among his best. With this exploration of genres, I’m not surprised that the lyrics are less than compelling.

My initial reaction to the album was, honestly, abhorrence– finding it a rejection of the themes and styles that I’ve come to love and appreciate O.A.R. for. In fact, Roberge’s vocals and lyrics were, at times, were so markedly different that I found myself wondering if Roberge had been replaced by a lesser musician. After a second and a third listen, however, I’ve found the album to grow on me, although I doubt that even a thousand listens will place this album among my favorites. I’m hopeful, however, for future releases. Now eight years old, it seems that O.A.R. is exploring and questioning their style and direction as a band. Just as Four Day Trials preceded Bang Bang, I’m expecting a more confident and well defined O.A.R. with the band’s next release.