The title is the mainstay, but this is a sort of father’s day post, plus a roundup of stuff for my membership of 800.
As an introduction, when I woke up Sunday morning Thai time, I noted that tomorrow USA time is Father’s day. It somehow corresponds to some new woke “holiday” I don’t give a runny shit about. Fuck off. I made a mental note to call my 84-yo vibrant dad, even though I just chatted with him a few days ago.
Then late Sunday night happened for me, and into early Monday morning, which was Sunday morning for dad. He and I have a common thing lifelong, which is high blood pressure. I texted him to show my 106/64 BP.
Because hard and sustained-erection Dick Drugs which are OTC in Thailand and used by everyone recreationally—and the chicks encourage it…go figure. Ironically and non-intuitively, the lower your BP, the tougher your dick and the loger it sustains.
So 61 yo Richard had to tell 84 yo dad that, tongue in cheek, and how. I’ll spare details.
No specific reply from him on anything about sex ever. I love to taunt him, though. Monday morning, as it was Sunday evening there, I remembered.
I intended to do a bit of a roundup post but after I set this aside yesterday afternoon and went out to engage in activities via helmetless and maskless motorbike, everything I was vying to put in the post was fucking boring this Tuesday morning. So I closed all the tabs that longed in the waiting.
Enough fucking drama?
…One aside. I have a longtime reader of this blog who lives in New York. Rural. He has no longer any TV, phone, internet, anything like that. He comes in from his farmland and has recently begun sending me an email once per week. From the library or internet cafe, I suspect. I love it because it’s like the old days when you mailed a letter and were thoughtful. Each message is rather a joy. He’s no dummy. Used to be in finance, insurance, and investments as I recall from way back comments here. He keeps earned income under $6,000 per year to escape the requirement to file taxes.
It feels to me like he loves his life on earth more than most out there complying. Plus, he’s misanthropic and those are generally my favorite people.
What’s not to hate?
…Well, it’s not entirely beyond me to show a few things to love and adore. If you’re going to do something, make it fucking lovably wild.
Six weeks ago, Don from Oregon leased this place and made it a cool environment (see the headline pic). Next door is a tapas place; Spanish; sexy-looking proprietor, and her husband is French. I don’t do Spanish, but she does French, so we converse in French and English. But they have two daughters, mid-age, like 8ish. They speak Thai, French, English, and Spanish.
The funniest thing of all and you’ll like this: All the children here who’re of the expat community, thousands bilingual in Thai and English…they all speak English like an American; every single one. Even if their farang dads have heavy accents from wherever anywhere. All my English friends profess that it doesn’t piss them off. I know they’re lying about that.
I know why that phenomenon prevails. Care to venture a guess in comments?
…Joe, the nose to the extreme right in the banner pic hadn’t seen me in a while. “You’ve lost a lot of weight.” Indeed I have. Reveal at a later date.
…So here’s the place Don set up. Mind you, go to maps Google or whatever, and punch in Rawai, Phuket, Thailand and then expand outward to see how remote this is. Minutes motorbike away from my house.
…I was with Martin, Mikey, and Joe…along with Tony, the owner of FlipSide pub. Tony went home, the other three headed out and told me where they were going, but only that it was a craft brew place and expensive. “But where?”
“It’s close to Happy Jack”…a place I know well, owned by the Belgian Peter. Friend of mine who’s young and sexy Thai wife died about a year ago. Crazy sad. He’s overcome at times. He’ll make it.
That was enough info, I did a couple of rounds and abouts to check in with friends, and showed up later.
I was like a giddy child when I saw the Black Butte Porter. ON TAP!
I’ve drank gallons from bottles over the course of the last decades—particularly after hang-gliding activities.
It’s on tap, which I’ve never had? It’s 5 minutes from my house in such a remote place in a corner of the world? It’s hugely expensive for a pint at $8.50, but less than I’d pay at The Daily Grill on Union Square in San Francisco?
I went head down. First the Black Butte Porter, then the SqueezyRiderHazy, then the Obsidian Stout in a bottle. Glad I didn’t eat any dinner because this is all bread in a glass to me.
I read this back and sort of wonder how many American dudes are going like WTF, man? Check out our local brew pub and we’re fine. Fuck off ok? 😉
I get that. My “baby” brother is an accomplished ale brewmaster. Long time. I send him stuff like this and he’s like, “cool.”
I’m not much of a beer drinker but I’ve found the occasional stop for a dessert not far from home.
…Efforts continue on the fundraiser which bores me, bores readers, and bores members. But it’s not finished, and I have to finish it. So I’m still working it. It requires my hundreds of members to pitch in a little bit. 5, 10, 15, 20 bucks. All 800 of you. Now, not later. We have clothing orders to make for the opening 1 July. Now, please.
I’ve got to have your support this way.
Right now, this second. Right now. Do it now.