So there was this chick who lived on a mountain. And like most people she carried a sack of old shit around. Some of the shit had rocks in it and was painful to carry. There were several good reasons why she couldn’t even take the rocks out of the shit and throw them at the person who’d given the rocky shit to her. (Ok, she had thrown a couple. But she wasn’t going to fling the whole lot; that just wouldn’t have been nice.) Anyway, shit with rocks in it had certain uses. It was surprisingly educational, and sometimes taking it out and rolling in it could be fun in a kinky kind of way. Anyhow, one day this chick learned absolutely the last lesson that the rocky shit could teach. Don’t ask how she knew it was the last lesson. She just did. And it was quite a long time since she had enjoyed rolling around in it. So she decided to throw the shit off the mountain. But the shit was pretty damn sticky. It wouldn’t leave her hand. So, sighing, and after washing her hands, she sat down and had words with the rocky shit. “Go away,” she said, just like Josh Geller on alt.magick. “You’ve been a teacher, fair enough, but you’re dismissed.” Immediately - or almost immediately - the old shit turned into an old fart who bowed with his hands knotted in front of him and then ambled off down the mountain, no doubt with the intention of finding someone else to bother. The chick looked around her mountain. The scenery was fine. The sky was a lovely ethereal blue. There was not, just right then, even the slightest whiff of shit in the air.

Because I’m through with mine. It’s about as much use to me as my tonsils - less, in fact, as my tonsils still probably catch a few bacteria now and then, while my stupid uterus does nothing but bleed every month. As I don’t want children (never have, never will, don’t bother asking), I’d really rather be relieved of it and its inordinate demands on my blood supply. I’m well aware that, as female reproductive systems go, mine is far from the most troublesome out there, but I’m sick of these days each month when I turn beige and can’t think of anything except how nice it would be to take (yawn) yet another nap.

Ugh. I hate being stuck in a female body. Not that I want a male body, either, thanks - not with all the hairy bits and dangly bits. I’d like to put in a request for something in between. And maybe it could be fluorescent, too, like these pigs in Taiwan. Though I’d rather be purple than green.

Oh, wow. Just after I wrote this post, I clicked on Google’s latest headlines and saw this. Well, if they ever want a live donor, I’d put my hand up. They can do hysterectomies laparascopically these days. Maybe the recipient would pay the donor’s medical expenses?

I’ve been writing quite a bit lately. Well, I write pretty much every day, but I’ve been writing more than usual, which means I’ve been sitting still on my derriere bent over a computer more than usual, which means my back and neck have been getting stiff and sore. As I live in a country renowned as a place to get a good massage, it may sound surprising that I’ve never had a Thai massage, but I’m one of those people who would rather go in pain than be touched by a stranger, until the pain gets really bad. Then I put aside my personal space issues, and, in this case, pay up 200 baht (less than $10) for a 1 hour massage, swap my clothes for light flannel pyjamas that make me feel 8 years old again, and lie down to accept the ministrations of a big, strong lady.

How she got to be so big and strong becomes apparent as she presses down on my back many times with enough force to drive me breath from my lungs, attacks pressure points, bends me, stretches me, thwacks me, and slings my body around like a rag doll. She is also very nice, and, after my protest when she pulls one of my fingers till it cracks, obligingly agrees to an immediate cessation of all finger cracking. Actually, it’s a damn good massage. It’s rough and there’s plenty of mild to medium pain, and a certain degree of terror, but no real agony, and my back feels a great deal better. There’s hardly any stiffness next morning, either.

I was glad of the pyjamas, as this was full body contact massage. At one point she was sitting on me, at another she had me bent over backwards on top of her. Whenever a sleeve or leg slipped she was quick to smooth it back into place. Oh, and she did something to my right arm that made a weird rapid shock run down the nerve, which was kind of fun.

Speaking of electric shocks, before I had the massage, Stu and I had been playing pool in a bar where there was an electric mosquito zapper lying around. These wonderful devices, which look like small tennis rackets, are sadly illegal in Australia and the US, as it is said that you can make stun guns out of them. I turned it on and hit my leg with it to see if I would get a shock - I think I had vague ideas of employing it on my Thursday students - however, it seemed that a shock sufficient to kill a mozzie is not enough to register on a human being. It just felt like I was hitting myself with a tennis racket. I was still tempted to get one and bring it to class next Thursday, as any weapon would be better than none - but the kids would probably figure out how to make the stun gun. No prizes for guessing who would be the first victim.

Happy New Year from a somewhat bruised Bangkok - last night, several bombs went off here in the Thai capital, and one in nearby Nonthaburi, killing three people and injuring at least 36 others, both Thai and foreigners. No one has yet claimed responsibility for the bombs, which exploded in two waves, one in the evening and the second at around midnight, in assorted locations including the bus station near the large Victory Monument intersection, two police booths, a market in the port area of Klong Toey, outside a restaurant, and near the pedestrian flyover between two downtown shopping malls. A bomb at Lumpini Night Bazaar was found and disposed of, and another found on the first floor of Seacon Square shopping mall was removed to a parking lot where it exploded harmlessly.
Despite some reports that the second wave of bombs ‘targeted foreigners’, that seems unlikely, as there were no bombs in Khao San Rd (a suspected bomb turned out to be a false alarm) or any of the farang nightclub strips; it’s more probable that the tourists were caught in the midnight blasts because they’d missed the warnings to stay indoors after the first wave.

At this point, police are not connecting the bombs with the separatist insurgency in the south. Fingers - seeking political mileage, perhaps - are pointing vaguely at opponents of the military coup which ousted the Thaksin government last year; however, the simple fact is that at the moment the persons responsible are still unknown.

All official New Year’s Eve celebrations were cancelled after the first wave of bombs, and Stu and I decided not to head out to Soi Cowboy to party with the bar girls, just in case.
One’s own reactions are always worth observing on occasions like this. I’ve always been a pro-Palestinian, anti-Zionist, for example - and still am - but I feel like I’ve had just a small glimpse into what life might be like in those cities where bombs are a constant concern. I can see how, after quite a short time of this kind of thing, it would be difficult to feel anything towards the perpetrators other than a desire to stop them, however much you might intellectually sympathise with their cause.

Anyway, basically, taking the official advice to stay indoors today. I did go for a walk early this morning, and things were pretty ordinary, except for the occasional soldier around. Two very drunk Thai guys gave me effusive New Year greetings and tried to get me to come into their house. After I disengaged myself from their handshakes, a woman walking past shook her head and said, “Mao.” I figured that meant drunk, which my phrase book confirmed. So that’s my first Thai word of the year.