I love to watch dogs interact . . . the subtle choreography of canine social intercourse. Before I left my little Northern city I saw this one.
My Dirty-Smelly is a substantial dog, at least forty pounds, but when he was a pup he was badly roughed up by a neighborhood dog. He was bitten, and he bled, and he retains a morbid fear of the other dog to this day. The dog in question is a little white dog, very, very aggressive, very territorial, all far out of proportion to his size.
The little white dog is quite the martinet; he does not walk, he struts; he is a bully to dogs, cows and chickens alike. I don't like him one bit. He has a concubine, a very attractive black and tan bitch. She will join in the bullying of other dogs, especially Dirty-Smelly. She's a nice looking dog, but I don't like her either.
Lately I had noticed another dog in the neighborhood, a large brown, white and black male with huge, bone-crushing, neck-crushing jaws, jaws like a Pit Bull, like a real fighting dog. Very stately he is, almost noble, no owner, I'll warrant, just passing through, he'll stay as long as he can find food. He must weigh sixty pounds, a real canine Hercules.
On the day in question I was idly sitting, reading and drinking, in that order, in the mid-afternoon when I heard a clamour from the dodgroverse. First a whining sound, like a chastised, submitting dog, 'that will be Dirty-Smelly' I correctly guessed. I looked up and saw the black and tan bitch go by, followed closely by the new dog, who was in turn followed closely by the little white dog, who was growling impressively but not showing any teeth at all, not even the tip of one.
The new dog was obviously interested in the bitch, he was following her closely. She proceeded as though disinterested. The little white dog was growling so furiously that it was a little disturbing to listen to. Sometimes he would walk around in front of the new dog as though to impede his progress, thrusting his snout to within an inch of the snout of the new dog and growling, I swear, malevolently.
The new dog would pause momentarily, look away, clench his vast, dangerous jaw muscles, stand still with his ears and tail held high, then turn slightly and begin again to follow the bitch as though the little white dog were not there. The little white dog would then take a few steps off and claw at the ground with desparate energy; then he would begin to growl again and go back to following the new dog.
When I am witness to scenes like this, whether it is dogs, or birds, or whatever animals are involved, I feel witness to the pre-verbal communications of my own kind: the hominids. We were once thus.
The bitch was saying: you boys work it out.
The little white dog sayeth: please don't kill, me but this is my bitch.
The new dog said: the bitch is nothing to me, and you can growl all you want, but if you show me your teeth this is your last day on earth.
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
Signing In Late
All Thai schools have a system of the teachers signing in every morning. There are clipboards out for the various grades or departments, you find the one with your name on it and sign in. In fact, you sign out too. "Fred Ceely . . . //s// . . . 7:00 . . . //s// . . . 16:30." The times are always the same. The sheets are then collected and binderized and preserved for all time on a bookshelf in the admin office.
So it was no surprise that I sign in here at Ramkhamhaeng. It's the same kind of sheet, the required time entries are 6:00 to 16:30, although no one gets here before 8:00, except me, because I am afraid of the traffic after 7:00.
(Bring up Twilight Zone music . . .) Yesterday I ran into the department secretary. She's the one who set me up with the sign in procedure. Well, it seems that I've been doing it wrong. It took some time for me to understand my error, partly due to the language barrier but mostly due to the incredible nature of her new instructions. My mistake: I've been signing in every morning for that day, like sign Monday morning for Monday. No, no, no.
I must, she explained to me, wait until tomorrow to sign in for today, that is, sign in for Monday on Tuesday. Please no more signing in today, for today. Even better, wait until next Monday and sign in for this whole week, which will be last week.
And people wonder why I love this country. It's a bottomless pit of fascination for one thing.
So it was no surprise that I sign in here at Ramkhamhaeng. It's the same kind of sheet, the required time entries are 6:00 to 16:30, although no one gets here before 8:00, except me, because I am afraid of the traffic after 7:00.
(Bring up Twilight Zone music . . .) Yesterday I ran into the department secretary. She's the one who set me up with the sign in procedure. Well, it seems that I've been doing it wrong. It took some time for me to understand my error, partly due to the language barrier but mostly due to the incredible nature of her new instructions. My mistake: I've been signing in every morning for that day, like sign Monday morning for Monday. No, no, no.
I must, she explained to me, wait until tomorrow to sign in for today, that is, sign in for Monday on Tuesday. Please no more signing in today, for today. Even better, wait until next Monday and sign in for this whole week, which will be last week.
And people wonder why I love this country. It's a bottomless pit of fascination for one thing.
Saturday, December 15, 2007
Mr. Fred's Poetry Corner: "Manchurian Dream."
This new job allows me lots of spare time. Here's proof:
Manchurian Dream
I was alone the other day,
Describing things in my own way,
Then everyone’s favorite Manchu,
The glamorous Professor Dr. Fu,
He visited poor little me.
He was a sorry sight to see,
No little smile, no arching brow,
He was as stood before me now,
A shadow and an echo of
The Fu Manchu that we all love.
I said, “my friend! How good of you!
You have so very much to do,
Come in! That is if you have time,
I’ll get some snacks, perhaps some wine,
Come in and sit down by the heater,
And let me go turn down that speaker.”
He sat and looked down at the floor,
I thought, shit! I can take no more,
“Please tell me friend,” I took his hand,
“What’s up? I’ll help you if I can.”
He wrung his hands and shook his head,
And finally looked up and said,
“I’ve been so bad, and for so long,
And now it is the same old song,
Closeness of death, mortality,
It forces all of us to see,
The foolishness that was our life,
Did we bring happiness or strife?
Who wronged we and by whom were wronged?
You see? It is the same old song.”
“Dear Fu,” I said, “this will not do!
Long years of life are left in you,
In fact, my friend, if I recall,
You’ll last much longer than us all.”
“Oh! Cruel remembrance of those rites!
I sought escape from that cold night,
But I succeeded only too
Prolong the night. Oh! Stupid Fu!
Nearness of death, for you goes quickly,
I’m there forever! Or, damn nearly.
For I have made a long dark night
To hold my deeds up to the light,
Yes now, dear friend, I must explore
The things that I have done before.
The pain and death, can words express?
Yes, now, in old age I confess,
Old age! For me it is old ages!
I confess, these are my wages,
For all the evil I have wrought,
The cruelest fate is all I’ve bought.
All thoughts of England make me sad.
I made those Englishmen so mad!
And all the women, and the slaves,
I’m terribly sorry for the slaves,
The people that I killed return,
I see their faces and I burn
With dread, for sure when we next meet,
It’s me who will confront defeat.
I’m sorry now for all my wrong,
You see it is the same old song!”
“Fu, don’t put up so great a fight,
For who’s to say what’s wrong or right?
The things you did were yours to do,
No need to cry now, dearest Fu.
You were an instrument of doom,
And doom will all the world consume,
Yes with your help or now without,
So stand up with me now and shout!
I’m different now! I’m a new man!
And offer all the help you can.”
“So do you think that all will fade,
And cancel out the bad I’ve made?”
“Yes! Through the lens of greater deeds,
The so-called evil will recede,
And you’ve so long to recompense
The things that you have done come hence.
It’s up to you though, you old sod,
I’d still be proud of your score card.
Some things perhaps were importune,
But it was other’s misfortune.”
“Thanks dear friend! You’ve helped me see
That life’s not over yet for me.
I’ll take that snack now, and the wine,
I see now that I have the time
To give things to the world I’ve wronged.
Great gifts unique to me belong,
And rites I know that can impart
Great happiness to human hearts.
I’ll be a friend to all, no lie,
And hardly anyone will die!”
Manchurian Dream
I was alone the other day,
Describing things in my own way,
Then everyone’s favorite Manchu,
The glamorous Professor Dr. Fu,
He visited poor little me.
He was a sorry sight to see,
No little smile, no arching brow,
He was as stood before me now,
A shadow and an echo of
The Fu Manchu that we all love.
I said, “my friend! How good of you!
You have so very much to do,
Come in! That is if you have time,
I’ll get some snacks, perhaps some wine,
Come in and sit down by the heater,
And let me go turn down that speaker.”
He sat and looked down at the floor,
I thought, shit! I can take no more,
“Please tell me friend,” I took his hand,
“What’s up? I’ll help you if I can.”
He wrung his hands and shook his head,
And finally looked up and said,
“I’ve been so bad, and for so long,
And now it is the same old song,
Closeness of death, mortality,
It forces all of us to see,
The foolishness that was our life,
Did we bring happiness or strife?
Who wronged we and by whom were wronged?
You see? It is the same old song.”
“Dear Fu,” I said, “this will not do!
Long years of life are left in you,
In fact, my friend, if I recall,
You’ll last much longer than us all.”
“Oh! Cruel remembrance of those rites!
I sought escape from that cold night,
But I succeeded only too
Prolong the night. Oh! Stupid Fu!
Nearness of death, for you goes quickly,
I’m there forever! Or, damn nearly.
For I have made a long dark night
To hold my deeds up to the light,
Yes now, dear friend, I must explore
The things that I have done before.
The pain and death, can words express?
Yes, now, in old age I confess,
Old age! For me it is old ages!
I confess, these are my wages,
For all the evil I have wrought,
The cruelest fate is all I’ve bought.
All thoughts of England make me sad.
I made those Englishmen so mad!
And all the women, and the slaves,
I’m terribly sorry for the slaves,
The people that I killed return,
I see their faces and I burn
With dread, for sure when we next meet,
It’s me who will confront defeat.
I’m sorry now for all my wrong,
You see it is the same old song!”
“Fu, don’t put up so great a fight,
For who’s to say what’s wrong or right?
The things you did were yours to do,
No need to cry now, dearest Fu.
You were an instrument of doom,
And doom will all the world consume,
Yes with your help or now without,
So stand up with me now and shout!
I’m different now! I’m a new man!
And offer all the help you can.”
“So do you think that all will fade,
And cancel out the bad I’ve made?”
“Yes! Through the lens of greater deeds,
The so-called evil will recede,
And you’ve so long to recompense
The things that you have done come hence.
It’s up to you though, you old sod,
I’d still be proud of your score card.
Some things perhaps were importune,
But it was other’s misfortune.”
“Thanks dear friend! You’ve helped me see
That life’s not over yet for me.
I’ll take that snack now, and the wine,
I see now that I have the time
To give things to the world I’ve wronged.
Great gifts unique to me belong,
And rites I know that can impart
Great happiness to human hearts.
I’ll be a friend to all, no lie,
And hardly anyone will die!”
We Are the Krue Farang
We are the Krue Farang, and life is good. In most aspects, we are not like teachers at all, we are just accessories to the Thai teachers that we work with.
We cannot really talk to students. Even my Masters’ Degree law students miss most of the simple sentences that I say to them so slowly and carefully. The Thai teachers can talk to the students, and do, including about us, in our presence, even if we can understand a little, they know it’s just a little, and they can function as real teachers, at least they know a lot more than the students do, a teacher only needs to be a week or two in front of the students after all.
One of us said, it seems so long ago now, that his co-teacher told him that he was like a tape recorder, the teacher pressed play and he spoke the English words, and he found this attitude confusing and aggravating. But it’s true.
We are just accessories to the Thai teachers, and for them. We don’t participate in the real processes of education, grading, evaluation and counseling, not really, and we are not invited to the meetings, all because the language barrier is almost never successfully crossed.
But life is good for the Krue Farang, although it is an incomplete experience of what it appears to be, much like the kept woman is an incomplete image of a wife. But, the champagne is chilled, the flowers are fresh, the rent is paid and we are only required to be beautiful when called upon to do so. The rest of the time we must only smile and put in our hours, waiting to serve. Like the woman cares for her hair and skin, figure and nails, I bide my time reading and writing, I do love the so-called English language, really an archaic dialect of German onto which has been grafted most of Latin and French, plus a vast treasure trove of words from all of the four corners of the globe. Like the woman I wait patiently and try to be useful when called upon. Not called upon I retreat, I have learned not to step forward too frequently to remind people of their inadequacies.
We are the Krue Farang.
We cannot really talk to students. Even my Masters’ Degree law students miss most of the simple sentences that I say to them so slowly and carefully. The Thai teachers can talk to the students, and do, including about us, in our presence, even if we can understand a little, they know it’s just a little, and they can function as real teachers, at least they know a lot more than the students do, a teacher only needs to be a week or two in front of the students after all.
One of us said, it seems so long ago now, that his co-teacher told him that he was like a tape recorder, the teacher pressed play and he spoke the English words, and he found this attitude confusing and aggravating. But it’s true.
We are just accessories to the Thai teachers, and for them. We don’t participate in the real processes of education, grading, evaluation and counseling, not really, and we are not invited to the meetings, all because the language barrier is almost never successfully crossed.
But life is good for the Krue Farang, although it is an incomplete experience of what it appears to be, much like the kept woman is an incomplete image of a wife. But, the champagne is chilled, the flowers are fresh, the rent is paid and we are only required to be beautiful when called upon to do so. The rest of the time we must only smile and put in our hours, waiting to serve. Like the woman cares for her hair and skin, figure and nails, I bide my time reading and writing, I do love the so-called English language, really an archaic dialect of German onto which has been grafted most of Latin and French, plus a vast treasure trove of words from all of the four corners of the globe. Like the woman I wait patiently and try to be useful when called upon. Not called upon I retreat, I have learned not to step forward too frequently to remind people of their inadequacies.
We are the Krue Farang.
Friday, December 14, 2007
Thank you!
I'm getting some positive feedback, both on these pages and on others. I just want to say that it warms the cockles of my heart, and those of you who know me well know that my cockles always need warming.
Thank you all very much.
Thank you all very much.
A Regular Perry Mason
There are three kinds of lawyers. No, not bad, evil and Satanic, really, there are three kinds of lawyers: 1) office lawyers; 2) book lawyers; and 3) courtroom lawyers.
I won't comment on the quality of my work, the statute of limitations has not run on everything, but for better or for worse I was a courtroom lawyer. I was there all the time. I did lots of trials and appeared at hundreds upon hundreds of motion hearings, not to mention bullshit hearings like name changes and even one "hearing to correct a mere accounting error." Plus all of the depositions, arbitrations, mediations. I was out there.
Now that I am on the Faculty of Law of a "Worldwide University," their words, not mine, I am surrounded by academics, Thai academics; most are in category two above, some in category one, I may be the only one in category three. It makes me even more fascinating. Not only am I Farang, but I am also a real-world-experienced lawyer. This means that I have seen the dark side of the law, like I have had to tell a client, yes, we lost, and yes, you will lose your house, and yes, you still owe me the rest of the money.
I feel about lawyering about the same as I feel about growing up in New York City: I'm glad it all happened, but please god don't make me go back.
I won't comment on the quality of my work, the statute of limitations has not run on everything, but for better or for worse I was a courtroom lawyer. I was there all the time. I did lots of trials and appeared at hundreds upon hundreds of motion hearings, not to mention bullshit hearings like name changes and even one "hearing to correct a mere accounting error." Plus all of the depositions, arbitrations, mediations. I was out there.
Now that I am on the Faculty of Law of a "Worldwide University," their words, not mine, I am surrounded by academics, Thai academics; most are in category two above, some in category one, I may be the only one in category three. It makes me even more fascinating. Not only am I Farang, but I am also a real-world-experienced lawyer. This means that I have seen the dark side of the law, like I have had to tell a client, yes, we lost, and yes, you will lose your house, and yes, you still owe me the rest of the money.
I feel about lawyering about the same as I feel about growing up in New York City: I'm glad it all happened, but please god don't make me go back.
Monday, December 10, 2007
Thrills, Chills and No Spills
Ramkhamhaeng has twenty-one campuses, and I found out today that if one of the Ajans wants to drive to one, they don't waste any time doing it.
BKK to Lomsak, Petchabun (that's Jason S's old stomping grounds), five hours including a long lunch stop at a gai-yang place, a real OG moo-bahn gai-yang place, that's the chickens from the yard, the big ones with the tough, usually tough meat, this stuff was pretty good.
This guy drove like I drove my taxi in the 70's, like anybody drove a VW Beetle, either full throttle, to the floor, or brakes jammed up tight. The car was a pretty nice Volvo, natural gas no less, fast anyway, who knew? What passing technique this guy has! On the main road, with a couple of lanes to work with, we passed everybody, we passed other vehicles like a skier passes slalom gates, left and right. My favorite was the smaller, two lane blacktop roads, where he would flash his lights and pull out to pass even if there was a car passing someone in the opposite direction at the same time. Get outta Denver, baby. That's four abreast on a two lane road with small shoulders and a combined, "collision" speed of about 100 mph, as close as you can get to two solid objects occupying the same space at the same time. Hey, we're law professors, we don't know from no laws of physics.
After lunch all three passengers were sleeping and he really poured it on, singing and whistling along to a Karaoke video, you read that right, semi-naked women on a video screen in the console.
We made it, I knew we would. This guy does it all the time, there are no marks on his car. You have to learn to trust your fellow man.
BKK to Lomsak, Petchabun (that's Jason S's old stomping grounds), five hours including a long lunch stop at a gai-yang place, a real OG moo-bahn gai-yang place, that's the chickens from the yard, the big ones with the tough, usually tough meat, this stuff was pretty good.
This guy drove like I drove my taxi in the 70's, like anybody drove a VW Beetle, either full throttle, to the floor, or brakes jammed up tight. The car was a pretty nice Volvo, natural gas no less, fast anyway, who knew? What passing technique this guy has! On the main road, with a couple of lanes to work with, we passed everybody, we passed other vehicles like a skier passes slalom gates, left and right. My favorite was the smaller, two lane blacktop roads, where he would flash his lights and pull out to pass even if there was a car passing someone in the opposite direction at the same time. Get outta Denver, baby. That's four abreast on a two lane road with small shoulders and a combined, "collision" speed of about 100 mph, as close as you can get to two solid objects occupying the same space at the same time. Hey, we're law professors, we don't know from no laws of physics.
After lunch all three passengers were sleeping and he really poured it on, singing and whistling along to a Karaoke video, you read that right, semi-naked women on a video screen in the console.
We made it, I knew we would. This guy does it all the time, there are no marks on his car. You have to learn to trust your fellow man.
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