The Stinky Inkpen Goes to Jail

The Man with the Inky Octopus (Randall) succeeded in framing our hero, Stinky. Stinky, as a result of an outraged jury, was sent to jail and assigned a seat in the electric chair. Randall, under the guise of catching the elusive villain, Stinky, has taken his own seat as the right-hand-man of Mayor Graphite. As Stinky's execution draws closer, Randall's plot begins to unfold. Mayor Graphite's health slowly deteriorates as Randall carefully and slowly poisons him with the ink of his octopus. Even though Stinky catches wind of this plot, his fallen reputation with the town prevents him from doing a thing to stop the evil cackle in Randall's underwater laboratory.

The day of Inky's execution finally arrives, and Randal awaits with a devilish grin on his face. His last meal finished, Stinky steps nobly up to the electric chair and sits, eyes closed. Three. Two. One. Flip. ZZZZIIINNNN! The chair doesn't harm Stinky. Rather, Stinky seems to be absorbing power from the electricity! Stinky stands up and rips off the shackles. He shoots lightning from his fingers and kills the prison guard to escape. [Personally, I think that was murder, but who am I to judge.] He flies faster and farther than he ever has before, straight to Mayor Graphite's seaside manor! He bursts through the wall of the mayor's bedroom. [Overkill, Stinky, overkill.] Randall and Stinky stare into each others eyes. "You're dead, Randall," Stinky says ferociously over the din of the still collapsing wall. FIGHT! Booom! Bam! Zing! ELECTRICITY SOUND! Thwap! Splat! Splat! Splat! Hee-Haw! Bang! Kaapow!!!

Randall is dead. Stinky rushes to the bed of the Mayor, who is trembling in fear at Stinky's ("the evil villain") invasion. Stinky with his new-found powers, bends over the Mayor's would-be death bed and plants a single healing kiss on his forehead. What ensued next was a really awkward minute or two. But as Mayor Graphite's health slowly returned, awkwardness subsided. Stinky explained to Mayor Graphite the circumstances of his deteriorating health. Stinky reclaimed his name and his position within the community. Until the world needs him next, Stinky waits, ready.

I feel like this is a bad (AWESOME!) Ernest movie. Seriously. (That was me giving credit, by the way.)

The comics are finished. And so are the finals and the semester, for that matter. It's been a busy week of correcting and giving grades. I will be leaving the school tomorrow for Chiang Mai, where I hope to obtain my India visa (going March 17 through April 12, by the way) before I travel to Bangkok to meet my father. The comics are not quite what I expected from the rough drafts and hero ideas I received at the beginning of this project, but they are definitely fun pieces of work. My last love being sent from Phayao:

There are many more where this came from.

Goodbye, Phayao!

I will miss the friendships and the place.

Just not so much the school, its policies, and its more permanent employees!

When I run around the lake

The countryside around my school is, well, pretty. And although it is difficult to capture the beauty of it in a photograph, I will try 5 photographs to give you a more thorough picture. Sights when I go for a walk or for a run:

This place was green when I arrived... I should have taken photos then.

They dam rivers because they would starve without their second rice crop.

Baby rice!

Dead adult rice!

The circle of rice life is neat.

Welcome to Scouts, soldiers!

It's the last week before finals, when Teacher Brian James planned to review for finals and to give the students ample time for comic book completion. "Due to circumstances beyond my control" (there's a shout-out for you), Srinagarinda The Princess Mother School Phayao instead decided to turn its boys into men and its girls into womyn--for my feminist readers.

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Reader, take a moment, a serious moment, and contemplate what Scouts means to you. What do Scouts do on overnight camp outs? What valuable survival skills should a Scout demonstrate? Think... and some more... construct some vibrant mental imagery...

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Now, picture this:

A group of girls, not-yet-ripely aged, donned in matching light blue, loose-hanging pajamas tromp through the mellow tans of the dry season rice paddies. In their hands they carry with faux importance forked sticks, reddened by their dripping blood--oh poot len, kidding, they painted them red beforehand--, and upon their heads rest forest green fisherman's hats. The midday sun beats down on their matching black backpacks, each emblazoned with the school crest, and disguises the distant mountains, each with their own set of browning foliage, behind a hazy foreground. Forty pairs of effulgent ivory eyes reside contrastingly behind forty dark countenances, disguised in earthen clays reminiscent of a long-gone tradition, an odd but modernly idolized tribal hunt.

I wait with four comrades, taking cramped yet cool refuge in a dilapidated bamboo hovel. The nearly impenetrable heat reduces us to idol onlookers, gazing lazily across the heat distorted remains of the previous rice crop. A train of blue, red, and black figures appear ant-like near the horizon, gathering girth with step, their impending nearness a menace to our languorous spirit. When the spectacle arrives, the forty individuals assemble as if trained and await an unexpectedly puerile set of tasks.

What we do with these Scouts after they arrive:

1. We force them to construct a teepee with their (walking?) sticks. Then, we knock it down and tell them it did not meet our standards.
2. We make them perform a song and dance number for us. We tell them that it was atrocious and that they must do it again with our suggested quickly crescendoing and flamboyant "Hey!" at the end.
3. We have them play a game during which their goal is to grab a fellow Scout's finger when the word "rabbit" (krathai) is spoken aloud.
4. We direct them to the location of the next station, where the food will be served and where the tents, fire, water, showering area, and a new set of clean pajamas have been prepared for them.

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*Two slow shakes of the head for objective-action misalignment*

At least, they seemed to have fun.

The Trials and Tribulations of Beej in His Cubicle

Zach and Clare called me Beej. I thought it was funny. I still laugh about it, because I am bored.

Five days a week I sit in my cubicle. There is nothing to do. Tap. Tap. Tap.

Take Monday, for example. I have three periods out of eight in the work day. That's a lot of free time, especially when class is regularly cancelled for seemingly unimportant things--like cheerleading practice. Daa Da Da Dumb Dee Doo Hmmmmmm.

Sometimes I read. Sometimes I surf the interweb all day long. Sometimes I go to my room and sleep. ZZZzzzzz.

I drink a lot of coffee. It's instant coffee. Cousin Bradley, you would love the bitterness of each refreshing cup. (I feel like need to clarify now -- refer to point number 4.)

I like to download things on the incredibly slow internet and watch the bit rate fluctuate. 8 kB/s. 3.4 kB/s. 4.6 kB/sec. 23 hours remaining.

Downloading is challenging because the internet expires every six hours. I make it a game to re-login exactly when it expires, meaning I have to note the time and watch my clock carefully.

I stare into space. I see how many seconds I can keep my eyes open and fixed on a point before I lose interest or tears well up. It's hard because I always have to urge to look at my watch. 39 seconds.

There are tiny ants all over my desk and work area. I like to hunt.

One day I was home

This past Saturday made me feel like I was at home.

We did very "Brian" activities (I only call them that because I employed some persuasion though they were done willfully enough, and because they are things I love to do).

During the day we went to a lake and swam and sat about. At night we celebrated the full moon with our own "full moon party": we trespassed and made a fire in an open rice field next to a hut and drank to our hearts content.

The moon lit up the open field and the mountains in the background.

It was a glorious day.

Remember when I thought I was an English teacher?

I started off as a new teacher in a foreign land, disillusioned into believing that I could change the whole education system. Brought to Earth, I set my goals more realistically when I hoped to help a few students in my classes. Then, I quickly realized that there were more important things than being an English teacher. I became more of a babysitter-camp counselor hybrid to bring home the paycheck, biding my time until my big break. A bribe here, a quickie in the office there, and just like that, I was a movie star. "The White Guy" in the feature film of the year, even the angels sang praises.

At the top, I could do anything and go anywhere, and of course I easily transitioned into the modeling world and dazzled the masses. But I lost control. The fame eventually got to my head and it all came crashing down during a week of binge eating and crying out to my classes through the sobs, "I am beautiful, waahhhh..." all with yellow cake on my chin. I retreated into my room fearful of light and awaited my transformation. This week I emerged again, chest proudly puffed, as I took on the new role: host and tour guide to American visitors.

I have to say, compared to most of the other weird tasks at the school, this one was quite enjoyable. I got to eat special lunches at the school because the Americans couldn't know what the actual lunches were like, I got to travel to Chiang Mai and Chiang Rai for free and visit a few places I haven't been along with some repeats, and I got to hang out with Zach and Clare, who were both intellectually stimulating and enjoyable individuals. In this post are some pictures of our workweek adventures, for which I missed half of my week's classes on an order/suggestion from the principal. Strangely enough, the Americans were here to visit the principal, who stayed at their home in America a few years ago but he went to Korea instead of meeting with his invited guests. Oh well, crazy Thais. I benefited from this one. Since I am being way too positive: Ugh! We drove so much! (We really did. 8 or 9 hours in a day to see a few different places.)

Since my metamorphosis, my step seems to possess a new spring. Still as I approach stardom again, I proceed with caution. I will keep my pride and manic behavior in line. I will I will I will I will I will.

(Yes, that is an elephant drop kicking a soccer ball.)