It's raining, it's pouring, metaphorically speaking

No, actually, it's just raining like it pays outside. My feet are muddy and so, so, so grossly mosquitofied. What's up, dengue? Are you happening or not? I'm starting to feel unglamorous. I have three dollars and assorted riel on my person and nothing in the fridge. I saw an apartment today which would have high ceilings if you were a 4 foot 2 Khmer lady. It's like a brand new, tiled, barred window rabbit warren. Or mole hole. Mole hole? Mmmm, molé. Larry the mole! Where's Darnell when you need him?

My tum is full of yummy Thai food from lunch.

I remember it was pretty hard to feed myself at first in Fez. That is, until I moved into the riad and enjoyed Gerby's rabbit-orange-cinnamon-okra stews every night. We didn't have a fridge or a pantry yet I cooked more often than I do here. I have made Korean ramen twice, per HLP's tutelage (and the instructions on the bag) and that is it. Oh wait, I heated up day-old Indian take out twice. Mmm Indian. Dan/Sam, I should have joined you in the Bombay Commune. That would have been the thing.

Now I think my thing might be finding a village out in the provinces and staying there for a few weeks. No internet, no boring underperforming job, no constant emailing to everyone I know of "what do I doooooo??!" I'll take my laptop, my doxycycline, and my bright green raingear and blend in with the foliage. I'll eat rice and whatever. I'll write a novel. It will be called The Rainy Season and it will be angsty and orientalist and feature a strong female protagonist.

When we put Maddy down I imagined I'd aimlessly drive South and be alone and mourn my dog or something. Instead, I stayed around the house, babysat and don't remember much of the summer. In the Fall, I watched a lot of Animal Planet (Animal Cops, Animal Precinct) and bonded with my poetry professor over our common recent loss. 5 years later I'm in Cambodia, feeling the same instinct to retreat.

Bob LoBlaw fishcakes

Miss Teen South Carolina believes she has "a good character" and was raised well and, despite a total inability to form coherent sentences, won 4th place in Miss Teen USA 2007. She is dumb as rocks and believes stomping around in a bikini is a competition. And yet, "she has a good character." Which is better? Would I be happier with a smart child or a simple one who had "good character?" Can that mean anything if you are too dumb to be self-aware? Are we talking about robots?

I'm meeting another PiA affiliated person for dinner and waiting for my Phonecall of Judgment and Failed Expectations.

Minimum Operating Standards

Cambodia has not solely been a vanity suck-fest. I have to have something else to show for this. For the money and the investment and the IWentToTheOtherSideOfTheWorldAndOnlyWantedToComeBack-ness. I think it's the wanting to come back. The wanting of something. The finding the right cliff and jumping off it. I am too old for this shit.
This is what I know:

I need a network
I am bad at being bored
I am limited by nothing

In the interest of entertainment: I was roused from a possible dengue febrile delirium yesterday evening by the nightguard, Kimhour, and his 6 buddies having a soup and sugarcane liquor party during some serious monsoon rains. I'm not going to make any general statements about Asians, but yo they were toasted in 5 minutes. Literally. Doing the whole "we toast to....Sopheap from Ratnakiri, yea! And to....the soup guy, yea! And to...tasty cow ankle parts, woo!" and getting sloppy but quick after a cup and a half. Meanwhile, my roommate told the story of sleeping with the other roommate and now his previously unmentioned girlfriend is visiting from America on Friday and no one can tell her. Yeesh.

Also, never email me. I thought maybe you all were concerned, but seriously, I am not in need of confirmation of my self-worth or anything. Total radio silence is preferred.

I feel tired and weak but my elephant memories sustain me

Future posted photo captions:

A) Blowing into an elephant's trunk.
B) Communing with a macaque
C) Cambodian Bambi
D) Leopards at the edge of their forested enclosure eye-kill the caged macaque on the back of our truck
E) Mr. Asiatic Black Bear waiting for the bus (or a coconut)
F) I scratch the shoulders of a frickin' huge tiger, aka, "Eponymous."

Phnom Tamao was awesome. So very hot. I have never wanted so badly to bathe with an elephant but their ginormous size and the likely high bilharzia concentration in their pond prevented it.

The photo uploading takes forever so it may be a while before the shots described above go up here. Also, this weekend I hung out with some HIV+ orphans and made a new life plan. Details to follow.

My Vietnam, my historical memory

If I left here early, would it be "an ignominious end to a misguided [trip to a] war [-torn country]?" What would the record show? Since I can't get out of the conditional mood inside my own head (until I do), I can only find new questions to ask. Would a different job help? Is staying for the sake of not quitting virtuous? Would I feel guilty no matter what? Will I run out of time if I wait until I am 26 to come back to America to find the job I want? Will property values in Leslieville survive the market crash?

Sidebar - the IT guy working on the printers has "Don't Stop Believin'" as his ringtone. Awesome.

One of these days soon I'll write something descriptive about Phnom Penh. In the meantime, because I won't have internet tomorrow (going to see Chhouk the baby elephant at Phnom Tamao Wildlife Rescue Center with Socheata), HAPPY BIRTHDAY SARAH! You're a JD. You're on your way. I salute you.

Little by little the bird builds its nest

Oh! Hedgehog Man:
Moroccan crazy with a deep knowledge of flight attendant monologues, in search of the English translations of your curious personal mottoes - How I long for an avocado shake and your infinite wisdom in the comfort of a Fassi love cafe. I would settle even for an over-sweetened Nescafe in a man cafe. Or a piss-water Flag Speciale in the Zalagh man bar. Then the bleach guy loudly making his rounds through the medina at 5am, inexplicably. Sigh! - the shower of doom, where every ablution began with the panic-inducing lighting of the gas water heater. Rocks through the kitchen window, those pen-loving neighborhood kids. Winter, the cold, barbary ape in my hair instead of dead mouse. Red team, Gerby and Goon, couscous party. Applying Arabic grammar constructions to English speech. John, you sa-understand. Night train, gin-rummy, Magic Bark. Birthday twin, the war when it started, before Nathan enlisted and was killed.

What I mean to say is I looked at apartments today and didn't want to live here.

Hey guys, come back!

I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be such a downer! It's cool, I'll be fine. I'll try to swear less.

I'm going to do some things before I leave. I suspect I will leave anyway, but I'm going to do some things first. Things like maybe give blood (to the children). And wait for my boss to return from her second extended vacation of the summer so I can write about the ridiculous things that come from her botoxed lips. And set other goals.

First, I have to share this, though, because, as promised, it gave me a hearty laugh to start my day. Thanks, Dad.

Knowns, known and unknown

The bullshit continues...

I am seriously considering packing it in and saying goodbye to this place. It feels like the right thing to do, but also kind of shitty. I think there are a million places I'd rather be and things I'd rather be doing and I have already figured that so what in the name of squat am I doing here? IT IS SO GODDAMNED BORING!

I could pretend it's boot camp or some sort of test or obstacle to overcome but it's not and I think I am wasting my life.

Also, I will die alone.

I warned about the bullshit.

In and out of the belljar

I haven't posted since Wednesday since I try not to blog angry/depressed/bored. I just had three cups of coffee in a bar that has occasionally functioning internet so I am PUMPED right now and ready for story-time.

Last night I had Khmer night at the mall. It all happened by accident and was totally awkward but in the end, as I waited for my Khmer coworker Socheata's dad to pick us up outside Paragon mall and remembered the awesome old days of shame train trips to Del Monte Center and middle school nights at Borrones, I had a bit of a moment. After work, Jules the office casanova, Socheata (pretty, young Khmer gal that works with Jules, has two rhinestones on her front teeth) and I piled onto his orange vespa (that's cozy), and headed across the Japanese Friendship Bridge to Snowe's, a darkly lit, bell-filled shack tipping into the river that is my favorite bar in town.

After, Jules and the gf were heading home with take out so I awkwardly asked to be dropped off where I could get a moto home and then awkwardly got let out at Paragon (Thai mall chain) with Socheata and then awkwardly went into the Black Coffee Hut to get pad thai take out and then awkwardly ended up sitting down with her and awkwardly realized she was eating there so awkwardly changed my order to eat-in and awkwardly rambled about how she should go to the Youth Congress something or other in Quebec City cause Canada is awesome, awkward. But it was nice and then her dad came and I got a ride home and maybe a Khmer friend??

Also - custard apple:

This was the moment at CADP however many days ago. I wanted to memorialize it. That's my hunk of custard apple (tastes like an apple flavored spaghetti squash). Those are my toes in my fabulously comfortable Earth Shoes. And I think those are radish plants near my hand. Not exactly food porn, but better than Man Band?

For today, I am looking up.

The things I did today

I contemplated going to rehab in India. To, like, diet and yoga and stuff.

I looked at airfare from here to Delhi ($363!) and Chennai ($466!) and San Francisco ($931).

I almost applied to several jobs at Google CA.

I read the recaps of a VH1 reality television series called Man Band that features over the hill former Boy Band fatties like Chris Kirkpatrick and one of the non-Lacheys from 98 Degrees. Oh, that was funny.

I ate ginger chicken and rolled my eyes at my coworker's version of "rape jokes as button-pushing sense of humor" at lunch.

I imagined the DVDs I will consume this evening and the mild guilt I will feel for participating in the piracy of artistic product.


But I'm not one of these guys, so I guess it's OK.

I am bored. I am hot.

Remember the good times?

The puppies! The herd of puppies!

Puppies don't have rabies!

My religious experience

So I went to CADP in Koh Kong for a few days and I don't know if I can really talk about it yet. I learned to ride a motorcycle and encountered swarms of puppies. There was monsoon and cold showers and wooden plank bed and ground nuts and custard apples and naked babies and so much Hebrew. I was told I "belong there." By an Israeli! When does that happen, eh? I think it happens when they are trying to recruit more women. I'll post photos tomorrow. On Saturday. When I am in the office.

Pete: yes, Zack totally pwns this blog name.

Also, at dinner they played "Hello, is it me you're looking for?" at least 3 times. And my favorite Israeli band, Keveret, playing my favorite song "Hey Yo Ya!"

Hipsters but no trivia? No guff!

Man, I meant this to be the content for my first post, since it had just happened when I founded HiC (does that brand of juicebox still exist?), but I kept forgetting and so here it is now:

Last week I met up with a friend of a friend of a friend from Yale (that is an exact calculation) for drinks/dinner at an honest to god Phnom Penh hipster bar. It's called Cafe Ya, it's tiny and down the street from sketchy-looking guesthouses, and the owners were doing needlepoint at the table next to us. The other patrons: A middle-aged tattoed dude, a permanent expat/journalist who looked like Stanley Tucci, and an Asian-American chick with an asymmetrical haircut who asked me to be in her punk band. Need I say more?

It was awesome and we're hanging out again! Friend!

Part 2: after such monumental coolitude, a disappointment was sure to follow. I rallied my housemates to triv it up at the Lazy Gecko at the lakefront (backpackerville) on Thursday. While my veggie burger was tasty and the crowd inittowinit-looking, the "registration handout" was my first hint of dissatisfaction. It explained the format: 5 rounds, 10 questions each with "categories" like "TV and Movies," "Geography," and, worst of all for its sheer lack of elan, "Random Trivia." At least they asked for team names. I could tell I didn't have the groundswell of support necessary to name us LGBT Soundsystem, though it's now my permanent default in all competitive situations requiring self-nomenclature, so we went with Dr Rithy's Rejects, a nod to the questionable level of care offered at the "western" "clinic" in town.

You know what? The level of disdain I am feeling for the content of this post so far is requiring me to cut it short. I'll give you two exemplary questions and 2 quotes from the organizers.

1. What is the name of James Blunt's debut album?

2. What does a somnambulist do?

1. "We get the questions from a book and the book says Greenland's a country."

2. "After __ round(s), __ points for 'An Idiot Says What'...what!" (every time!)


I worked myself up pretty good and was thoroughly let down by the PP trivia scene. There's another bar in town that is apparently much better but I think perhaps nothing beats home.

Koh Kong delayed, afternoon diversion

Ping Serey, who is kind of like the office Danny Concannon character on Studio 60, with less Black List-era infotainment content (food coma...inhibiting reference ability), just sent me a video clip of a young girl bashing her dad in the balls with a baseball bat. It's less than 10 seconds long and from the UK. I don't know what to skypechat back. That was funny? That was...an education? Yeah. Yeah? Yeah.

Off to Koh Kong

In a complete 180 from yesterday I have something cool to do at work. I'm going down to the CADP site (Community Agriculture and Development Project) in Koh Kong Province to do their 3 month report for USAID. I'm riding down with the kibbutzniks this afternoon.

And, just cause I miss Carl and nice boys in general, here's this:

One more for the day, cause I CALLED IT!

Spoiler alert!

I totally called Harry Potter. I wish I'd had money on that.

A New Day, A New Format, A Special Way of Being Afraid

This looks much better.

I was asked today by a British coworker if I'm a "closet Trekkie type" when I mentioned I had bought the Season 1 Battlestar Galactica DVDs. I knew that would happen! That's why I felt shame when I made the purchase! It's not really sci-fi, it's a metaphor for our troubled times! Wait, that pretty much defines the sci-fi genre. Frack.

In any case, I'm learning to live with the TV geek I have become. I am not a Trekkie by any stretch of the imagination, but I appreciate the fine work of Edward James Olmos. Stands With A Fist is also great. I could do without the hallucinatory robot sex.

To make up for the pretentious post heading I will admit that when the title first popped into my mind I thought maybe I was remembering the name of a Shins album.

Where you are from? Inti min aslak Suri?

Dudes, the Israelis are up in this piece. It's like Allenby Bridge Part 2. Ah, I jest. But seriously, the ex-kibbutzniks here at WildAid are all about quizzing the new girl with the Arab name. Dany "interrogated" me in Arabic for like 20 minutes yesterday and Oran loves greeting me each morning with "sabah al khayr." Oh the Semites and their off-puttingness. Whew.

So, guys, this is my blog

Destiny fulfilled and all that. Mom said "blog," etceterata...

I'm an executive assistant in Phnom Penh. That feels decidedly less like a "destiny fulfilled." More like "personal failure." Poor life decision? It remains to be seen.

Just so you're all aware - the name of my blog is not just a lazy, boring, couldn't-think-of-anything-else kind of thing. It's a clever play on the Dead Kennedys' song. I wanted to make that clear.

Also, that pic is me and Molly at Tina's wedding. I think that's a relative of Tina's. It is the most recent picture taken of me.

My stories:
Yesterday the internet was out for the whole office for about 6 hours. The whole office except Ping Serey, that is. The router is near my desk so a crowd had gathered (apparently the power source had been fried?) and Serey came in, wondering why his internet still worked. This made no sense since without the router, the whole office should be offline. It was confirmed, however, that Serey had internet access. I'm not caring too much because without the internet the only possible diversion for my brain is minesweeper (computer minesweeper in Cambodia! Windows is so insensitive) and I'm absorbed. Then I hear Noel, one of the Filipino accountants, deadpan that the only explanation for Serey's internet access is that "he must be the only son of God." That's funny! The Philippines is a Catholic country! That's really funny! I laughed.

If you're still reading my blog you've probably heard the cat/rat story because you are my parent or hetero life partner, but I'll tell it here for posterity:
I'm cat-sitting for the time being and my third or fourth morning here I was awoken at 5am but one of the cats, Contoi, gleefully tossing a dead mouse in my hair. In my bed. Like, under the sheets. It took several minutes to get the cat and rodent corpse out of my bed. Gross. That is all I have to say about that (tm FG).

The highlight of my life is Harry Potter at the moment, imported from Singapore by an Aussie coworker who went there to see The Cure. "They played for three hours and rocked out!"