Vale Mary Agrey (Nee Anderson)

My loving but anally retentive grandmother. Fierce protector of your cubs. A practitioner of frugality, who had a shopping addiction and bought everything on sale you didn't need. A devout Seventh Say Adventist christian who studied the bible for at least 2 hours a day.

With your dementia and your short term memory being shot, you couldn't remember what you had for breakfast, but amazingly you could recite any verse from the bible by rote, that's pretty damn impressive. There was no listening to music on Sabbath, nor any dancing. Yet, apparently you weren't afraid to die grandmother, and for that I give you my highest respects because you are a braver person than I.

I will always remember the pictures of disgust on your face when we took you to Hooters for lunch in Vancouver. Yes, you had the dignity to still eat their curly fries and not complain, but the look on your face was priceless.

I will always cherish the months I lived with you in Canada. Me, a wayward, surly teenager, with no direction, no social skills, and certainly no job prospects. You cared for me, with my Aunt, Uncle and Grandfather. You provided a feeling of family like I had not experienced before. Your meals were wonderful, your care profound. We may not have agreed on certain subjects, but at least we could sit at a dinner table and enjoy our family time. We just avoided the topics of, sex politics and religion… thats how every good dinner party plays out, isn't it?

You faithfully packed healthy lunches for me and my grandpa, so we whities could go pick berries for the Pakistanis making $3 dollars an hour, but have something nutritious to eat. Yet making money wasn't the point, spending time with you and my grandfather was.

There will always be one instance I will never forget. I think I was 12 years old and my dad had let me have a glass of wine with dinner… after you badgering him about something (I think providing a minor with alcohol), and me being imbed with the warm feel of fermented juice… I said "Grandma why is there such a large bee stuck up your ass?" … your face kind of turned into a sour prune then, dad laughed, and we said nothing for the rest of the meal.

The next morning I was contrite and felt awful for what I had said, but you accepted my apology, with grace and all went back to how it should have been (I wish this could have always been the response to my drunken inappropriateness as the years went on, maybe there is something to that religion of yours and the no alcohol rule).

As that 12 year old you let me fossick through your purse, and look at all your peronalables, most people would find this rude, but you acquiesced thinking it an inquisitive part of childhood nature. You said our townships names with the weirdest pronunciations thinking they were quite beautiful appellations, while I could do nothing but laugh, because they were actually quite parochial.

You gave me a bible as your going away present… i tried to read it but after all the begets, and beget and begets, I found it handier as a door stop… sorry, no disrespect.

I met you when I was 4, but actually the first ever memory I have of any contact with you was when a big box arrived from Canada, and a big white fluffy bunny was pulled out. He was promptly named Snowy… I still have him. I met you after i got Snowy. I didn't have much of a concept of dad's family before then.

You lived in an apartment, and you and grandpa, mum, dad and me would go to the park and eat the berries we would pick off the bushes, which were right in the park. It astounded me, because I had never seen anything like it before. We also watched some fireworks together, I think it was the 4th the of july ones. And then we went to Christian camp together (god knows how my dad survived that one, I think he must have smuggled in a bottle of Jim Beam or two). We celebrated my birthday there, and you all gave me my first doll - her name was Cherry Blossom. I loved her until I was 9 and some horrid little child came to visit our place and with a biro, drew all over her face. She was imperfect then, and I was hysterical. I could never get her back. But I loved her right until she was imperfect. At that camp my grandpa taught me how to whistle… "you know how to whistle don't you Aer?… you just put your lips together and blow, ha yeah"… and I learnt. Slowly but surely.

My grandmother Mary, a quaint representation of 1950s domesticity, you never quite changed. You always woke up with your hair rollers in, how you could sleep like that I will never know, years of practice I presume. You always wore pantyhose and demure clothing. You cooked the food I loved, you cleaned a place making it more sparkly than it ever could have been, and you provided me with my favorite food source ever… canned raspberries.

Grandma, I want you to know how much I love you. We may have been continents apart, and I may be a really crappy grandchild, who seldom kept in contact, but I don't want you to feel like that it was just you, because i'm like that with everybody. And even though your death was not unexpected, it was still a shock, because in my mind, I was going to see you again. I am sorry I did not make the service, but I will see you soar into the air in summer surrounded by your loved ones when we come together to celebrate your life.

Most of all grandmother, I thank you for my father, for without him, I would not be the person I am today. I don't know what you did to him, and I know he didn't come out the way you wanted him to, but thats the peculiarities of life isn't it?

VALE MARY AGREY. This salt water is for you.

Kidnapping Pete Shelley, lead singer from the Buzzcocks (seminal punk band) in Bangkok

Ok, so we probably had the BEST night out EVER recently. It started with this email I got from my husband:

mike parsons to Luke, me 22 Nov

buzzcocks live next saturday

Thailand

Date: 28th November 2009 (Saturday)

Venue: Club Culture, Bangkok, Thailand

Doors: 9pm, show starts at 10pm

Prices: 650 Baht (advance/pre-sale), 800 Baht (at the door) – inclusive of 1 drink

Tickets: Available at Club Culture on Sri Ayudhaya Road, DJ Siam at Siam Square Soi 4 and The Tube on Coco Walk Ratchetewi BTS

Come saturday, (I think I had forgotten about it all together by then) I get a phone call, "we're going to the Buzzcock's tonight, so can you find out where they are playing" (always a fun chore in Bangkok I have to say, mainly a wife's job - things are delegated into blue jobs and pink jobs here; domestic servants, speaking the language and directions fall into the pink category), cue google maps. I think it is on the Sukhumvit BTS line, but if we go a bit later than peak hour traffic, but before saturday night traffic, I guess we can cab down Petchburi. Again, not something you want to be doing on a saturday evening, if you want to arrive anywhere on time. It's completely unpredictable.

Before we leave the house though, we all get a quick education on who The Buzzcocks are, and by we, mainly I mean Cara and myself. Why yes, I do recognize their songs, but not sung by them, I am sure that was covered by Belinda Carlisle, no …wait while I google, It was the Fine Young Cannibals (a musical obsession of my parents for a couple of months as a child) - I thought I recognized it. My ignorance is scoffed at, because not only are they a seminal punk band, but they opened for the sex pistols, and some other really famous people who went to some really famous gigs, a long long time ago in Manchester.

Ok, I get it, they were young, you were young. You all came from a poor place, at a time when there was no jobs, so everyone played an instrument, and got good at it, because there was fuck all else to do. Some of them became famous, and their music forms the sound track of your lives. For me, when I got depressed at 15, I listened to Micheal Jackson's Off The Wall. Before the kiddy fiddling, and plastic surgery.

Of course we leave the house early - I never feel good getting into a cab in Bangkok with a map, and not quite enough Thai to get me to the exact place I want to go, it's just feels so… tawdry and unprepared. When we arrive the doors to the venue CLUB CULTURE *shudders* aren't even open yet. But the crowd is milling around, and includes everything between new wave punks with super hair sprayed mohawks and weird ass clothing to wrinkly old bald guys in jeans and t-shirts. I went as far as jeans and a studded belt. I know, you don't have to tell me, I have become incredibly conservative in my old age *insert snore*.

After ensuring our night of destiny by purchasing our tickets, Mike and Luke were insistent on drinking beer, and I was insistent on food. So Cara and I find a divey joint around the corner, where we go eat… surprisingly, the food is not as bad as I thought it would be. Midway through our meal: phone call, what else - accusatory "you took the tickets" - well duh. You wouldn't eat, so I took the tickets. Ensuring them we would trudge the whole 50 meters returning to the venue in the next 5 minutes. The doors still not open.

What I didn't realize was the absolute punk protocol which goes into these events. Apparently, as soon as you walk in the door, you claim your table, for Mike and Luke, it was right up the front. For us, it was way down the back with chairs. Time goes by, Mike comes over and says, "Hey, why don't you bring your chairs up the front, you guys will be the only chicks in the crowd on seats" - ok, good idea I guess… for now.

The DJ is playing some ambient shit, then some support bands come on. I sigh. Waiting for the moment when it all starts. Another support band comes on. This one the lead singer is French. I lost my voice because Luke and I we're screaming some weird Simpon's reference at him "Say Chowder, Frenchie" in a poofy accent. It amused us, what can I say.

As per usual, along the way, Mike befriends strangers, chatting up some French female journalist, who hasn't been spoken to by a white guy in at least 3 weeks. He tells her she can't come near his speaker, something about a base speaker and a guitar speaker. She is super disappointed when she finds out he is married. I think I am beginning to understand how slightly demented in the head these punk people are. Another cover band… Eugh, will it never start/end.

Mike brings over some Guy with an Oilers Tshirt on. Obviously Canadian, I say hi Alberta, Edmonton, and whatever else passes for conversation, kind of hard yelling over music. He tells me he thinks his friend is gay, married with kids and all, because his friend is shlepping around the dance floor feeling up mens asses. "not that there is anything wrong that", I reply. Sure enough, I lean over to look, and there he is feeling up my sons butt. Edmonton Oilers jerks his thumb over, and says, I think that kids gay. I have to laugh, "Nah, that's my son, he isn't gay, He gets more pussy than you ever will, he is just friendly". Canadian dude is suitably embarrassed, and I have to laugh.

I turn around, and at some point, randomly, Fuck Me, Barnaby is standing behind me, out of nowhere. I didn't even know he was coming. Already he had missed the Friday nights rendezvous due to work, so I was somewhat taken aback. It made the night all the better. Mike and Luke had abandoned the table and were now all about protecting their territory right up the front, so having Barnaby stand by us, in what was becoming a crazily packed venue, and a little fervid for my liking was reassuring. I don't like wide cramped spaces, crowds, loud music or "The Others".

Mike demands I go buy him beer, because he is not leaving his speaker, Luke either. He points to some dude with a bad haircut, and demands I buy him one too. I trudge off to the bar, that had previously run out of beer before the real band had even started, to acquire some luke warm Heinekens for them. I return, and the Buzzcock's have appeared, and have started playing. I sit with 4 beers I don't want in front of me. I take some photos of the mosh pit. It looks somewhat crazy.

For some insane reason I decide to take mike and Luke'e beer into THE MOSH PIT for them, mainly because the beer I just bought for them would go warm and be wasted, I hate that shit, wasted money and all. Not a sane decision, by any means - 49 kilo girl up against big fat white old dudes trying to hit each other in the head??? I cannot understand people who do moshpits. It's like some weird hive mind that likes beating the shit out of each other for fun. As a little person, I get carried around a bit, but their beers are delivered, eventually. Assholes. Of course I can't find the random guy with the bad haircut, but thats ok, because the band is playing the one song out of the three I know.

It was when I found Bad haircut guy that the night went south for about an hour and a half. I will gloss over this bit, because he kind of killed at least an hour and a half of my time. First in complete shock horror, that someone you buy a beer for, would back hand you, give you a fat lip, then deliberately pour the beer you just bought him, all over you (can I just mention here I have an OCD about food and drink fluids being spilt on my clothing). Response: where is the fucking humanity people? Mike wouldn't let me punch him the face though because he said it wasn't fair to punch someone so non compos mentis out. Believe me, I really wanted to.

I decided to sit the rest of the concert out downstairs. Fuck being around morons who like bashing each other up for fun. About 30 minutes later, it's all over and people are streaming down the stairs (apparently they only had a few big hits). Thank god.

There is some socializing, some bitching, meeting people, hearing them talk about the good old days, yadda yadda. Then Mike and Luke disappear, and this when it started to get interesting.

What followed was a completely spontaneous, totally unorganized boisterous night had by all. Mike and Luke had wrangled themselves upstairs into the band's after party. Mike had the biggest shit-eating grin on his face as he was sitting there drinking the Buzzcocks' rider. Nothing like a bit of Moet on top of ten thai beers. I talk some boring shit to Pete Shelley, who is the most gracious person while listening to some random woman talk absolute crap about living in Bangkok to fill in an awkward silence (as I know butt fuck about their music).

After some time, the "Club Culture" - ooh lala, kicked us out because it really had closed. We go downstairs, and decide to go out, you know, out out. For some reason Pete Shelley is totally into being highjacked, kidnapped and shown the sites of after-hours bangkok by us. I was somewhat surprised, but I think he has done this before, many many times before.

Armed with some bad thai, we search for some open venues. I thought he might like a trip down to Pat Pong, where the fruity bars are. We get there - closed (whats new, apparently there is a new sheriff in town). Another cab, Spicey? ugh Spicey, horrid club, but not much choice, arrive - closed. You, there, Driver, take us to an open establishment. Minutes later we fall out of the Taxi and get ushered into some seedy little bar, where the drinks are 200 baht for everything, including water. Kind of pricey, but at least open. I had absolutely no idea where we were, yet everyone seemed happy. We were now a group of 6, I think.

Pete Shelley was incredibly fun and affable, and awesome to be around. I was ecstatic because for the first time in I don't know how long, I got to see Mike really FUCKING happy. He had his son by his side, while he got to jabber with one of his punk idols. It was so awesome to watch. My son (all of 7 and a bit years younger than me) and myself made the proprietors of the establishment feel uncomfortable while we got our sexy dance on in front of the renta girls. They didn't seem to like that too much. We laughed when we got chucked off stage. The girls weren't hot, we would have made heaps more money.

From there, we decided that our usual spot of Sukhimvit Soi 11 would be good. Well actually, it's more like Soi 7, where ever the Subway "restaurant" is, because the Subway food factory has the best toilet around, only 10 baht to use it. Perfect, particularly for the ladies.

There were some 'Twats' around - whats new?, (mainly white expat Dickheads playing Beatles covers) but we take our usual table with our usual waitress, and I paid some Thai guy 200 baht (he just made a days wages in half an hour) for the use of his guitar, so my son could entertain us with cover songs. At one point we had two guitars, and we got our very own rendition of Orgasm Addict sung by Pete Shelley and Luke Parsons.

I knew it was kind of getting bad, when the sun was fully up, and the garbage trucks where coming to collect the trash. Our little street cafe had packed up all their tables , and we were the last cliental. I don't think many people have been kicked off the side walk of Sukhimvit at 9 o'clock in the morning, but they did have to pack up so the market stalls selling their crip crap could set up.

It was possibly the best night I have had in a very long time. Mostly because my husband and son had one of the best times of their lives. Pete Shelley was one of the most good natured, liveliest people I have ever met. I asked Mike what other night was his favorite night ever, he could't remember, however I do know it wasn't our wedding night.

This is a very late dated post and long blog, I don't really expect anyone to read it. But it was an experience that none of us will ever will ever forget.

Bangkok rocks.

Oh, and these picture are of Pete Shelley taking footage of me and Cara making out, we are laughing because we expect the footage to end up on you tube at some point. We did't even know he had a video camera on him until he stealthily pulled it out of his bag when we started making out.

I <3 Sons of Anarchy.

An Open Letter to Kurt Sutter (writer, creator and EP of Sons Of Anarchy): You are my FUCKING hero, dude. Not since Deadwood season two (where I had to go to the video store midway through to hire the last discs so I never had to stop watching) have I watched such brilliant writing, such wonderfully crafted characters, embodied by such an eclectic and talented cast of actors. Fucking brilliant.

Extraordinarily courageous, finely nuanced, complex people, whose extensive back stories build upon and create total believability in the woven tales you tell. Yet by no means does this group, which has grown and flourished from your minds eye, represent the moral compass of "normative" society. Quite the opposite really, which is just the fucking bomb. I can empathise, sympathise, and relate to them, because I too, would consider myself a fringe dweller, (I'm not really into bikes though).

So, for all you people who think you are part of a counter culture, subculture, fringe dwelling, anarchists, raging against 'the man'. Yes, and for you also…you, the arbitrary fetishists who get a "muff chubby" for men who wear leather and ride big bikes. For film lovers, well told story admirers, acting junkies, who are starved for good content, which, lets all admit, is fucknuck hard to come by these days. For any one who doesn't consider themselves part of a standard, day to day, 9 to 5, seven eleven suburbanite, The Sons of Anarchy is for you. And probably for a few others too, particularly for those of you who love your god given right to bear arms.

Each actor, and therefore character has a crystal clear objective, action, activity, and obstacle they play throughout the story arc. The art direction is detailed, poignant, and well thought out. The writing is exquisite, and if you read Sutter's blog, which details the biker community's response to the show, they say - "It might be a soap, but it's our soap". Unlike most soaps (I've seen soaps, and it's not something I would call a soap), it's far from soporific though. The show is addictive.

It's made on a lean budget, with what Sutter calls "Guerilla film making techniques". They have seven day shoots, focusing on being totally filmic in style. I imagine the locations and plot lines will widen and diversify, once viewership grows, giving them money to play around. But they really work with what they have.

For me, watching SAM CROW (you too will know what this means when the obsession overtakes) is like eating an insanely delicious feast, where the table fare is so delectable, you can't help but inhale the food with the help of your grubby little fingers, shoveling it into your greedy little pie hole. At the end, as you crave for more, your tongue smears the plate, your extremely provincial and uncultured self licking every bit of food remnant off, for your entire dinner party to see, but just not give a shit.

If you live in a country where you can either buy DVD's of series, or get cable, I urge you to be one of the viewers who sits through advertising, or buys the actual series outright. This is purely selfish reasoning though, as mainly I want to see all of the seven seasons it has been contracted for, being made.

Tenjuberrymud

This is an email, published in the Far East Economic Review as stated below. I'm not the author, but after experiencing the phone service here, I do understand it.

For us who were "fortunate" to experience phone service. You need to read this aloud (for full effect). Just say any unfamiliar words phonetically.

It's amazing, but you will understand what "Tenjuberrymud" means by the end of the conversation. This was nominated for best e-mail of 1999. Following is a telephone conversation between a hotel guest and room-service at a hotel in Asia (just for the record, I'm also from Asia). The call was recorded and later published in the Far East Economic Review.

Here goes ...

Room Service (RS): "Morny, Ruin Sorbees."

Guest (G): "Sorry, I thought I dialed Room Service."

RS: Rye...Ruinsorbees...morny! Djuwish to odor sunteen?

G: Un...Yes...I'd like some bacon and eggs.

RS: Ow july den?

G: What?

RS: Ow july den?...pry, boy, pooch?

G: Oh, the eggs! How do I like them? Sorry, scrambled please.

RS: Ow july dee baychem...crease?

G: Crisp will be fine.

RS: Hokay. An san toes?

G: I don't think so.

RS: No? Judo one toes??

G: I feel really bad about this, but I don't know what "judo one toes" means.

RS: Toes! Toes!...Why djuw don juan toes? Ow bow inglish moppig we bother?

G: English muffin!! I've got it! You were saying "Toast!" Fine. Yes an english muffin will be fine.

RS: We bother?

G: No...just put the bother on the side.

RS: Wad?

G: I mean butter...just put it on the side.

RS: Copy?

G: Sorry?

RS: Copy...Tea...Mill?

G: Yes, coffee please and that's all.

RS: One minnie. Ass ruin torino fee, strangle ache, crease baychem, tossy inglish moppig we bother honey sign, and copy...rye??

G: Whatever you say.

RS: Tenjuberrymud.

G: You're welcome.

Film Stuff.

This week Bangkok is holding it's 'International Film Festival', and with it comes the standard film industry seminars. I have been attending some, because well, it's about film. I like films - I like making them, I like watching them.

Today's seminar, held in arctic conditions, because it's totally fashionable to dress in a full piece suit in the tropical climes of sunny Bangkok, was about "protecting your project in a digital age" or some craply aptly named thing.

Oxymoronic if you ask me.

I had a couple of questions which I didn't bother asking, and they were covered in a studio tow-the-line propagandic type of way. As you can expect of three piece suit men, clutching onto an old system, living in fear their big money lifestyles, and golden parachutes are coming to an end.

I was wondering how can 'big film business' stem piracy, when popular torrent sites (apparently the industry's biggest threat, but least broached upon subject for the day) are being shut down, yet the next day, three more pop up in their place. And why not take on an offensive attitude by putting more money into embracing a comprehensive, equitable, and universal digital distribution model, rather than spending shit loads on trying to kill off piracy, before losing what little hold traditional distributors, such as studios, have left.

And why, when a person can download a decent or watchable copy of a film, not to be released in their territory in the near future, and be able to watch said copy in the comfort of their own home, through a media server, projected onto a large screen, or a 72" plasma, would a person bother to go to the cinema, or buy a hardcopy of DVD at an overly inflated price, months later.

Especially when the majority of films being distributed are questionable, mostly regarding the quality of reductive writing and rehashed story lines, AND by assuming their audience has the intellect of a 7 year old. Because Transformers 2 was really challenging, as was the new Terminator (insert number here)

We have come to a day in age where viewers are dictating the terms of distribution, how they want it, when they want it, and what format they want it in.

Apparently the 'good' Suits in the well paid but redundant positions (mainly because they can't make the old model work anymore) are working on a solution. One which probably means a combination of sponsored ads, and paying a minimal fee for watching a film, which will be digitally distributed over the internet. But the amount of time they are doing it in… well it kind of confounds me. They say it's going to take another 5-10 years to resolve itself.

Another 5 - 10 years of them trying to retain their jobs and lifestyles in my opinion. But, that could just be my anti-the-man upbringing talking.

The film industry is clearly flailing about, while it tries to resolve how to get its product out whilst still "maximizing profit". What becomes abundantly clear is someone is going to have to pay.

My question is, why does it have to be us, the poor people? Because clearly they want it to be us, and they expect it to be us. Why should we support their hyperbolic lifestyles, which they are obviously in great fear of losing? And this starts at the above the line talent, who I think are grossly over paid and generally under skilled, following on to those *ahem* 'producer' types who take an incredible fee out for doing sweet fuck all. The under the line budget which actually gets the film made, is proportionally a lot smaller, once these tossers are paid.

Look, I understand the concept of "show business", but fuck, wake up people, like the other guy said, "the 80s are OVER".

In the end I had to agree with the independent documentary film maker who totally offended the whole panel, and all the money grubbing whores in the crowd. Maybe a $120 million dollar film's real worth is reflected in the price you would pay for an illegal copy - about $3.00. Because with the type of shit Hollywood is putting out on a regular basis, price point doesn't count. A $120 million dollar pile of shit, is still, just a pile of shit.

And yeah, maybe my take on the situation might be an oversimplified one. Sure, major piracy using hard copy counterfeited discs, probably involves a level of heavy organized crime, world wide. But a large part of it comes down to bit torrent sites, the Industry's self proclaimed biggest threat, which is what they should be focussing on. You aren't going to be able to stop people file sharing, but if you stopped being such greedy cunts, maybe you could profit from digital distribution more quickly.

I can't help but think, hurry up and revolutionize the system. Because whether they like it or not, it's being revolutionized for them.

I also bet every one of those audience members had a pirated copy of something in their collection, because in Asia, it's virtually impossible to find a real copy of anything.


Give it up people… Apple is going to kick your ass.

Edit: I think this subreddit has some valid points about internet piracy

http://www.reddit.com/r/IAmA/comments/9rqh3/i_was_an_internet_millionaire_ama/

along with some of the notions in this one:

http://www.reddit.com/r/AskReddit/comments/9omc8/how_do_you_rationalize_downloading_movies_and_tv/

Koh Samet.

Belated Posting.

I had 2 requirements for accommodation.

1. hot water

2. own bathroom.

First night the cheapest and worst hotel - 500 baht: No hot water, no aircon, own bathroom but not connected to our room and when I went in to use it, the dankness made my skin crawl, a fan which oscillated, no top sheet but a 'blanket' and a bed like wood. 2/10 for comfort. We moved.

Second night, twice the price of the first hotel, but "half of what it was on weekends" (their maths doesn't add up): hot water - tick, half decent bed - tick, own bathroom inside - tick, television - tick, aircon - tick, bedding - mmmmmm... a fucking deluge of small biting ants which besieged our room, bed, shoes, clothes, bags - totally fantastic. We moved. I left several imprints of my tacky henna tattoo on the sheets. Whoops. 6/10 for comfort.

Third night, little huts on a secluded beach at 1500 baht a night (recommended by a friend and quite picturesque): own bathroom - yes, hot water - no, a lamp for reading - woot, aircon - no, fan which oscillates - yes, a towel like blanket - yes, a plague of mosquitos - yes, leak in the roof which dripped straight onto my head when it poured down, excellent. Winner of the lot due to Mike coming out of toilet from his morning shit with a dirty bot bot saying "I can't reach the toilet paper because there is a snake in the way". Awesome. Unscorable. Like paying $80 bucks a night to stay out at Tuntable.

It was a bit too close to a camping experience with the biting insects, the indoor reptiles, the leaky roof, the hard beds, the bad sunburn. And because I spent the first few years of my life communing with nature and living in tents - I have a policy of no camping.

By then end of the three days and waking up to a snake in the shitter, I was quite eager to pack up my shit up and get the fuck out.

Returning to my own creature comfort bedroom, with my own bathroom and a hot shower - total relief. Luxury, it's like being on holiday.

Koh Samet the Island. Quite beautiful. Prices - 'Tamada' (meaning normal/neither here nor there). Snorkeling much fun, being with friends who are as moody as I am, pretty cool. I don't recommend the oil massage on the beach, think sand paper on sunburn. It's why I could never understand the notion of copulating by the seaside. The food was surprisingly good, but we mostly ate at one restaurant, its menu spanning the cuisine of about five nationalities. Next time I would look around, and stay in a more expensive place, making sure I could get as close to my bedroom as possible.

Have formatted pics into 'comic style' sans humour, and pithiness, purely because I am lazy, and it's easier to post 13 jpgs rather than 100.

What The Fuck.

What is wrong with this picture? Cheap Charlie's, Sukhumvit Soi 11, 11.30 PM, last Friday night.

Fucking Films, Not Fuck Films, Just Films are fucked.

I think it's deplorable what money hungry accounting assholes who run hollywood have done to films. Mainstream films have become a vapid, soulless, in-transformative, un-uplifting experience, dumbed down with models who can do nothing but hit marks and deliver, sorry, repeat lines. I'm saying nothing original or new here, I know, *sighs*, thought I would complain anyways, as there is fuck all I see these days where I think the performance was something to get excited about.

I get worried when I have seen movies which have been reviewed well, but turn out to be an absolute pile of shite or worse even. Worried that we have been accepting mediocrity in films for so long, it is now the accepted norm. How do you educate the youth of today, that it wasn't always shit, when they don't even realise it is shit they are being subjected to.

Here is some vomiting of vitriol describing people in films I have seen recently.

Eliza Dushku, hot when stabbing vampires at 16, but can't play anything other than yourself, ever - The Alphabet Killer, what the fuck? You got old quick and look like you pumped out a footie team of kids, when you've had none. To say nothing of your counter part Buffy, her voice will always grind in my ears.

Other serial offenders include: Liv tyler - snooozefest, always the same, come to think of it I haven't seen anything with her in it recently, but always fucking etherial, naive and full lipped when I do. It's boring. Be a cunt for once.

Bradley Cooper, not done much, but consistently plays type A asshole. I did laugh throughout The Hangover, so props, but the last 3 things I have seen you in - *shrugs* ...Asshole.

Amy Adams, yeah you might be an 'emotional being' emoting with your eyes and all that jazz, but unfortunately I'm sitting on the fence until you do something radically different. Change the high pitch nicety of your voice for once you good girl. I'm yet to see Julia and Julia, but it looks like sitting through it will hurt my ass while I wait for the end. Sunshine Cleaning and Doubt, interesting films, not much character development from you, apart from a costume change, and I still eagerly awaited the end.

Jennifer Garner, same same, do you know how to play anything other than your cutsey, self assured, I assume what passes for your regular, everyday personality? Mathew McConaugh*hyuck hyuck*, put a fucking shirt on, and try to act for once. Both of you should be ashamed, remakes of Dickens's Christmas Carol a No No. Please spare us the eye raping.

Julia Roberts, I'm sorry but your day has come and gone, time to leave the building because you would be what is known as "long in the tooth". Suggestion after watching Duplicity: retirement and look after those babies you had with your paid for divorcee husband. You, like Tom Cruise, are watchable, but neither of you can ever really get past yourselves. True and ongoing transformative powers elude you for the star status you seem to claim. And the large corresponding pay check you insist upon - waste of money.

Jennifer Aniston, Puh-Lease, understand you can not, repeat CANNOT play Rachel in every role you agree to and call yourself an actress or, for that matter, have a burgeoning career. It's like feeding us shit on a plate and telling us it's Foie gras. Marley and Me – Rachel. The last 5 films you have been in – Rachel. I now, and for some time, try and avoid anything you have signed your name to, knowing I will be served shit on a plate. That is time I will never get back.

Keanu Reeves. Swallow the fucking pill already. Your face is looking strangely plastic Ted. You can't act can you? Not really. You look good in black leather circa 10 years ago. Go be gay somewhere else already.

Jim Carrey, you get older and do the same shit, but your co stars get younger, and it's creeping me out. Yes Man, Particularly your big fake white teeth, and the halitosis I imagine you have, while you stick your tongue down their throats, making me cringe, because there is absolutely no chemistry happening what so ever. Try drama for a change. It worked once didn't it?

It's not all bad news though, there a few films which have had either stand out performances, or combined efforts worth talking about. Here is some of the ones I can remember at this moment.

Good Dick, not a fantastic movie but a one woman show – directed, acted, written by Marianna Palka, which for me was somewhat inspiring. I had to fast forward through the filler where stagnation happens (somewhat typical of a chick flick I find), and although I didn't entirely agree with the premise of the film, the overall ensemble performances where honest, and her work ethic astonishing. Even so, the film grossed $40 000 overall, so an effort all for naught really, as her IMDB page suggests she is doing nothing new, shame.

Tom hardy for performance - Bronson. A beautifully shot, and somewhat deranged film, boring in bits. I hadn't noticed this person before, but was amazed at his acting capabilities, Fucking awesome performance, no shitting you. A true character actor. Especially when looking at photos of him in different roles. I googled fervently after watching this film.

Michele Williams, the only one to make it out of Dawsons Creek alive. Incendiary - I believed you as a british slapper, east end housewife, the acting is good, even if you are the spit image of Billy Piper, but please pick better films, ones which have a point. Was it thriller, drama, comedy, love story? whatever it was, overall, there was no meshing.

Steve Coogan, haven't seen you for a while, but there has been at least 3 films in which it has only been half way through where I have realised who it is. I commend you. I recommend you, I would watch anything you are in... well nearly anything.

Heath ledger, fuck what a shame. Someone worth watching. I liked your gay cowboy eating chocolate pudding. It took me three years to watch the film, but it was worth it in the end. I put you in here, because the mother of your child reminded me of you. I don't think I want to see Gilliam's newest mess though, where you died mid film.

Christian Bale, highly strung, but extremely versatile. Has been for a while. I don't care how eccentric or abusive you get, your character adaptations make it worth while.

Robert Downey Junior, Sam Rockwell, Clive Owen, Gerard Butler, and sometimes Collin Farrel. All somewhat transformative, and what they lack in that, they make up for in manliness. So kudos there boys.

TV shows where the writing is good. Lets face it, TV is the writers medium, so most of the best stuff is actually being produced on TV. True Blood, Anna Paquin, I would have liked to see you play many other character types before committing to southern drawl Sookie in her short shorts. I'm concerned it might pigeon hole you. You are however good, and I have seen you change.

Sadly, it seems harder to come across female talent who don't have a problem with getting ugly, playing it real, or being horrid. Meryl Streep at 60 still seems to be outshining everyone else. Typical. Stop modeling women, modeling does not pass as acting, take a class already, get an objective, have an action, an activity, and fucking feel something already. Putting on a prosthetic does not mean you deserve an Oscar either.

Fuck me.

*For films I hated, I used Wiki links, believe me, you wont care about the spoilers. For the ones I thought watchable or *ahem* liked, I put the real links in so you're safe.

Filling Time and Escaping Reality.

Whilst I spend my waking hours (generally between 2pm and 7am at the moment) trying to amuse myself, or amuse myself quietly (poorly I might add) so my husband, the household breadwinner, can sleep (wakes if you move more than a centimeter), I cruise the interweb looking for time fillers and avenues of escapism.

I do this to stem the dull roar of silence which harbors endless internal questions – existential, philosophical, or just plain obsessive – keeping me from sleeping properly, or, indeed, if at all. The lights turned out before exhaustion sets in, is akin to going fucking mental.

Must find hobby, creative outlet, purpose to life. Or drugs.

Hmm, on second thought, maybe, they are all inclusive.

Here are some of the better time wasters.

www.reddit.com - better than Digg in so many ways. Quicker than Digg too, in every sense of the word. You can find out, on a daily basis, how fucked our leading countries of world economies, and by default, the leaders of the world are.

America - flagship nation of sex offense laws "wont somebody think of the children". I am astounded by the shit that goes on there. Peeing in public is the new one. Once you are on the sex offenders list, your entire life is pretty much fucked. This includes all the teenagers being done as child pornographers for sending nude pics of themselves or for having underage sex (usually with someone a year younger than them).

Current political debates point out the redneck right of the US liken Obama to Hitler because he wants to pass a national healthcare plan. Although, I have to say, he is quite good at speeches. Download Obama ringtones here - thanks reddit.

UK... no fucking better. The Biggest Bother of them all. Most policed nanny state in the world, where you are on film daily. Is it 20 000 times whilst shopping downtown? Say cheese. Now forcing parents to take parenting class, and arresting people because of their height. Passing 7000 new crimes in the last year. Can anyone say 'thought police'?

There is a myriad of shit on reddit which makes you both laugh and cringe. Like this , or this, informative like this or banal yet funny like this. Only yesterdays examples. Anyways, it's a veritable interweb buffet.

My all time favourite for time wasting are the celebrity bashing sites. A true leveler. Post more fatty cellulite pics I say. And wrinkly faces of 40 year olds, which haven't been photoshopped.

www.perezhilton.com first and foremost. Has become less bitchier the more popular he becomes, *sighs*. Bring back the white pen vandalism. When he runs out of shit flinging, or horrid self promotion of himself and his friends I then go here, getting more desperate as things run out, I then turn here, then disgust myself by going to this lame PG rated site out of Canada . Ending off with this. Needless to say self loathing has set in by this point.

So anyways, thats a couple of hours of good entertainment there, and thats before hitting the blogs.

A site found which I thought could be quite promising due to my lack of English speaking contact here in Bangkok, was Omegle, where you can talk anonymously to strangers. But since I am probably now one of the 'older generation' on there – no seriously, I find myself having discussions with closet atheist teenagers who have the attention span of a gnat. One guy was an Australian with the email of greasywog@yadda, living in the western suburbs of Sydney, with his schizophrenic mother, drug dealing since he was 15, having girl problems and pining for rehab because of his gambling and drug addiction. I suggested a 12 step program.

After the first couple of times, the hit rate was like one in 30 before you could get something that resembled a conversation going. Many non native english speakers on there, using you for practice, *snores*. Mostly it just makes you feel old though, since everyone is in fucking high school. As soon as you tell them your real age, they seem to freak out a bit or lose interest. Not to mention, I now have to watch what I say, "wont I think of the children?"... *pukes*. So not as exciting as one may hope.