Rage Against the Men

Many people have asked me about the men in Thailand. Their voices eager with the glittering hope of exotic Asian beauties or athletically toned bodies. The reality couldn't be further from their imaginations. Thai men, I will admit, are often times quite beautiful. But I do mean "beautiful" in a somewhat androgynous sense. Then there is the added problem of the gender-ambiguity coupled with the ripe truth that I find little difference between the physical appearance of the men and women aside from hair length and and make-up application. But even those theoretical give-aways are bent so frequently that you really can never assume anything. Blend in the fact that Thai men are generally about 6 inches shorter than me and 40 pounds lighter than me and the question about men in Thailand suddenly sounds like some sort of joke.

But there have to Westerners? you might be thinking. The American in men in Thailand (or at least the American men who have come solo and are over the age of 28) can only be described as mutants suddenly revered as gods in a land of blindness. Even the most foul, the most lecherous, the most unappealing White specimen is here considered god-like, a poster-child for all that is beautiful in the world.

A frequent sight is the consistently disturbing crusty 75-year old farang (white dude) feeling up his hot 20 year old Thai girlfriend who in turn looks bored and slightly irritated.

To set the scene even further. Every day Lauren and I eat lunch at the school cafeteria or canteen. Every day a group of about 5 absolutely horrifying American men morph into the eating area. They are a group of men who I might feel bad for at home, and who I will probably be struck down by the gods for physically condemning with such vehemence but their egos, their practices, and their self importance make me feel at least a pinch justified.

So the men morph in. Oozing into the cafeteria. Their paunches dripping out between the buttons on their shirts, their one solitary nostril growing hairs by the millisecond and their flipper like arms hanging awkwardly only reaching to about their nipples, which thank god I have not seen but which I am sure they would offer up for my viewing pleasure were I to say the word.

As they limp into the cafeteria on their orthopedic shoes their is a sudden intake of breath from the Thai women. Who are these godlike men?

The men's conversation generally goes something like this.

Man with bleeding ear lobe and lazy eye: Yea my girlfriend Gift isn't here this weekend. (sound of retainer saliva being retracted into mouth) She's got a modeling job in Bangkok.

Man with one yellow tooth and Hawaiin printed crop top: Yea Pim is modeling this weekend too. I wonder if they're both in Bangkok together!

I cringe silently over whatever rice dish I am eating and then quietly retreat to my blog to bash. I do feel a hint of guilt writing these words but then I think of Gift and Pim. Probably beautiful. Probably charming. Probably about the sweetest people you will ever meet and my words suddenly feel justified almost necessary.

In comparison to these leeches perhaps America really is the land of plenty. In America there are loads of men with arms at normal lengths, and shirts the right size for their pork-stuffed bellies. Every day in America I see men WITHOUT orthopedic shoes and crusted snot on different parts of their face. Now if only I could get the Thai women to see those men too.