Cronyism

I put sasha on the bus this morning. She is off for her first day at Massage School. I wrote on a little piece of paper for her:
"Chan Meeow pai Wat Po" or, "I would like to go to Wat Po."
"When you want to come back take the 53 bus." I explained. "If you are not sure then you can say: 'Chan Meeow pai Khao San'. "
"How do you say 'hello' again?" she asked.
"Sawadee Kaa"
I told her she was going to make a lot of nice new friends at school. She made a face.
"But I don't like anybody but you."
I laughed.

We are still a little jet lagged and have been napping in the afternoon. Yesterday we went to sleep at 4pm and didnt wake up until 8:30. Even then it took all of our efforts to get out of bed. Our hotel room is cozy, in the back, with a nice bird that sings at dawn. We have a color tv and there is Star which plays only western movies all day and never any commercials. There also is a little swimming pool.
"Pom meeow pai wai-naam." I would like to go swimming (you have to ask at the desk for a ticket.)
"Pom meeow pai wai-naam." Sasha repeated.
"No, no, no me pom, you chan." I clarified for her.

Last night I had a dream that I had been contacted by a little publisher. The agent told me that they had decided to publish my novel version of The Iron Horse. It was a minor imprint, but all the same I was quite pleased. They were going to publish sixty new authors in one go as part of a publicity scheme. When the books were ready we were all to meet in the forest behind Dawn Clements house for a group picture on Camp Hill. I showed up and they had set up a long table at the crest. In the place setting in front of every chair was every authors book. The books were cheaply made with mediocre graphics on the cover. Never the less I was excited. I looked and looked for mine. Then I saw it. Instead of print my book was to be released in liquid form. It was in a white plastic bottle with cheap red ink silkscreened on it. It looked to be about three quarters of a litre. On the back was a blurb written by the publisher about what a genius I was. Everyone else had a book except for one other guy who also had a cylindrical white bottle at his place setting. He looked equally displeased. I left without saying anything. There were not even any instructions on how you were supposed to read this thing. Like, do you pour a capful at a time into a tray or something?
"Maybe it was some kind of Videodrome thing where you drink the book and you actually experience it. That would be cool." My cousin Ray offered. They had prepared a party for me back at home and were equally confused.
"I really don't give a shit." I said. "I just wanted a book."

Bangkok is having some kind of election in August. There are two main canidates it seems. One has short plastic black hair and is wearing some kind of white naval uniform. Behind him is the temple at the royal palace. There is Thai script imprinted on the sky over his head in a watery semi-circle, giving him a coin like halo.

His rival is a woman with an equally stiff looking beehive. She has a brown textured wedding photograph background, also with a back-light produced halo. Beneath her are six pictures in two rows, each one with a dour mug-shot of one of her cronies.

The admirals cronies are pictured together in what appears to be Cub Scout uniforms.

Both of them look like corpses. Yes the photos are hand colored or they are made up to look like they are interred at a funeral home. It just goes to reinforce my belief that all politicians are goons.