The case against tom yum goong

On November 21, 2006, prime minister Surayud Chulanont claimed that the main source of insurgent funding came from a chain of Thai restaurants operating in Malaysia, which sold Thai spicy shrimp soup.

Alhough Malaysia responded by calling this claim "baseless," it really does seem like the only reasonable explanation for the apparent indomitability of the brutal Muslim insurgency in Thailand's south.

The case against tom yum gung

Thai cuisine is some of the best in the world. Its unique dishes combine sweet, sour and spicy ingredients to create a deliciously diverse variety of flavors. Thai restaurants are everywhere, their presence increasing with the spread of Thai immigrants.

Most people don't even think about where their money is going when they buy a delicious bowl of curry or a plate of freshly grilled satays. Some may even assume it is being used to pay for things like the the staff's salaries, water and electric, or other expenses of running a restaurant.

On November 21, 2006, prime minister Surayud Chulanont claimed that the main source of insurgent funding came from a chain of Thai restaurants operating in Malaysia, which sold Thai spicy shrimp soup.

the snail's final plea

there are three small frogs
who saw the snail drown
and they all attest
to his dying song

"as the poor snail sunk," says frog number one.

"in the seeping muck," croaks frog number two.

"his eyes opened wide," moans frog number three.

and together they sigh, "oh with great might he cried:"

"I've lived a long life in many a place,
I've seen cities built and other erased.

I was around for the dawn of mankind,
I watched the first monarchs burst from inside.

I saw great winds destroy Khan's mighty fleet,
and Hitler's grimace at a plate of red meat.

I spoke in rhyme with the great kings of time,
in their gold palaces of grand design.

I watched the towers dissolve in mere hours,
while flowers of all kinds were devoured.

Over all the years, the battles and tears,
There's one thing I do that calms all my fears.

I think of some things, not a lot, just a few,
I think to myself, what is false, what is true?

I know what I am and know what I've been,
but most truths could fit on top of a pin.

Though it may be futile, hopeless and tiring,
pursuit of truth is a thing worth admiring.

So I beg of all with my final breath,
remember Truth," and with that, the snail left.

love letters for the illiterate part 2

a happy day
have you ever been smiling?
a cup of coffee
add a little creamy good feeling for a start
dip a little sugary heart
sprinkle a little warm and honest part
that's how wondeful coffee tastes

today's special menu is love
encouragement topping with caring thought
anyone care for a dish?
i'm not the hungry ghost just cheering you up and bothering your heart
when we're apart we miss each other
when we're closer our hearts will shiver
when i'm hungry i think of you

what is 2x2?
tell me and i'll treat you to the movie
how old is saddam?
tell me and i'll buy you sausages
i'm looking for my heart
i think i dropped it off somewhere near yours
waiting it's full of hateful craving
longing for you love to come back
darling

Regarding Mothers, Flowers, Clichés and Words

Mother’s Day, like most Days, is a fairly ridiculous thing. On Earth Day, we celebrate our planet and appreciate its grand fragility by recycling our plastics and driving SUVs to environmental awareness gatherings, where we declare our disgust with the wastefulness of mankind. On Memorial Day, we remember the many young men killed in the name of glorious freedom, and how wonderfully tragic it is that they are dead and we are free because of it. On Mother’s Day, we dedicate several hours out of the allotted twenty-four to buying gifts and Hallmark cards to give to the person who sponsored our attempt at existence. So, in reluctant observation of this tradition, I have decided to write a few paragraphs, consisting mainly of words, about the touchingly laughable holiday known as Mother’s Day. Dedicated to my own mother, I feel it will be a most acceptable recompense for the two hundred thousand odd hours of thoughtful love and care my mother has given me.

The problem, of course, with writing about things like boundless love and infinite gratitude, is that that it’s hard to do without slipping into sappy clichés. Clichés have a nasty habit of taking perfectly good emotions and butchering them in the name of comfort and comprehensibility. They inspire feelings only by tapping into pre-existing emotional sockets already well-lubricated by a lifetime of use. At some risk of sacrificing lucidity, I’ll attempt to minimize my use of clichés while I explain what is, in my opinion, the best way to show gratitude towards our mothers, not only on this one day and its twenty four hours of succinct appreciation, but over an entire lifetime.

In spite of Mother’s Day being, as previously mentioned, a ridiculous thing, it is somewhat important to at least attempt to rise to the occasion, a feat which many believe is best accomplished through buying things and then giving them to your mother. I, personally, cannot shake the feeling that perhaps a mother is a thing best appreciated less with roses and more with putting to proper use the life which they have given us. A life well-lived on the part of a child would likely make for an even better gift than even the most marvelously clever greeting card or luscious box of chocolates. The feeling of a job well done is one of the best sensations in the world, and particularly so, I would imagine, when the job is so complex a one as nurturing a small, barely sentient creature into a self-sufficient human being. It follows, then, that the best gift a son or a daughter could give their mother is to live their own life to its fullest potential. I myself have decided that in order to properly honor my mother, I will live from this point onward in a manner of complete perfection. In this way, I will be sure that not one more fraction of a second is wasted squandering the gift she has given me. I have recently sworn a vow to reinforce this attempt at flawless living, and attached a written copy to this essay. I recommend to all those who read this, if they have a mother, to read the attached vow and do the same.

In accordance with my newly affirmed oath, I will live as pristine a life a human can manage, and in doing so, I will be able to do justice to my mother and the fantastic gift of being she has bestowed upon me. For a mother is first and most importantly a vehicle to propel her children into the world, and a child is just the force behind the resounding ripple of such propulsion, which mingles with similarly caused ripples creating the churning undulation in the eddying current we have come to call life. I could continue to allude to metaphors about life and its similarity to large bodies of water, perhaps even branching out into drawing comparisons between humanity’s existence and various stages in the water cycle, but given my earlier condemnation of clichés it may be a bit hypocritical. The point, however, is that a mother’s life is both reflected in and completed by the life of her child, a life she has been so kind as to make possible.

Other than using it to its fullest potential, how do you thank someone for a gift which has an infinite and unfathomable value? If the meaning of life is so goddamn elusive, how is it possible to properly thank the person who gave it to you? In the face of this absurd conundrum, we do the best we can, which often involves such trivialities as roses and words. Some words I am particularly fond of were spoken by a Thai lady-friend of mine. “You are good person Eli,” she said. “I say thank you for your mom, your dad.” I would like to echo her thanks now (for my mom at least, my dad would be quite an inappropriate person to be thankful for today). So, thank you mom. Thank you for giving me this life of mine. It’s something I quite enjoy on occasion, and I’m learning to live it a little bit better every day.

My vow:


I will never be hungry.

I will never feel sad.

I will never grow tired.

I will never get mad.

love letters for the illiterate

menu
fried thoughtful love in spicy soup
and supper tonight a pink-hearted pie, seal sundae
forecast today my cloud of thought starts flowing to you
soft misty wind kisses the blue sky
open up your heart door to the travelling love
day rainy days flash and dreamy thought about you
rainy day rainy days feel like dancing and singing with you
to rest and lay in your homely truth