I don’t write the news. I think I know how to put that fancy little accent mark over the “e” in expose, but I’m too lazy to do it. Journalists don’t use I when they write.
I do.
Why is it then that here in Cambodia everyone knows me as a journalist or a member of the press? If the press has meetings, secret handshakes, or mottos, I don’t know about them. I don’t have a press pass. I don’t want one.
The problem is no one knows what a freelance writer is. Here’s how I introduce myself:
“I’m Kelsey Timmerman, a freelance writer from the USA.”
Then whoever I’m talking to scratches their head as they try to figure out what a freelance writer is. I…
In honor of Cambodia’s countless Non-Governmental Organizations, which seem to do some pretty darned good things and employee boat-loads of Cambodians, I’m announcing a new contest…
Create Your Own NGO!
(Am I the only that hears/reads “NGO” and starts singing Clap! Clap! “N-G-O” Clap! Clap! “N-G-O…And BINGO was his name-oh!”?)
Fight poverty, fight injustice, or fight your pet peeves, you just gotta fight for something. In the comments of this post, tell me a little about your NGO: what it does, who it does it for or to, where it will be based, why it is needed, why it only employees retired circus clowns, etc.
For an idea of what I’m looking for, refer to my recent post where I layout the details for my imaginary NGO,
Paul has won a t-shirt I received while walking in Bibi Russell’s parade during the Bangla New Year. It’s small, almost muscle-shirt tight. I thought it was pretty cool having a t-shirt with Bangla on it. And Then I wore it one day and a friend asked me where I got the shirt advertising toilet paper. Hence, congratulations Paul. You deserve it.
Paul, email me your address and I’ll send you the shirt in the near future. Note: It’s currently in Cambodia with me, so it could be a month or two before you get it.
REID
Who single-handedly brought sexy back and then sexy vomitted…
I’m in Battambang trying to figure out why there are so many aid organizations here. Hopefully, I get a chance to see a couple of the good ones in action.
I will be visiting the former Khmer Rouge capital of Pailin tomorrow with a fella from MAG, one of the mine removal organizations in the country.
The mine fields are well-known and marked, so no, mom you don’t have anything to worry about. Mostly we will be talking to the villagers about how the mines and/or their removal changed their lives.
I’m going to say NOW that I’ll be away from the computer, but the widespreadness of the internet never ceases to amaze me. Who knows? Maybe you’ll hear from me tomorrow….
Not sure I’m digging Phnom Penh. I know it’s too early to make the call on Cambodia as a whole, since I haven’t been to the countryside, but here in PP there are a lot of foreigners who give the rest of us foreigners a bad name.
I just saw a man that should be walking with a walker being helped down the street, arm-in-arm, by a beautiful Khmer girl between the ages of 18-22. Quite the ladies man. Who cares if you can’t control your bladder when you still got what it takes (dollars) to land a little hottie? Walk proud old man, walk proud. Or should I say, hobble proud old man, hobble proud.
The bird man taps the open, wood cage against the concrete rail overlooking the confluence of the Tonle Sap and Mekong rivers. A woman who paid the man a few thousand Cambodian riel (not much) watches.
Two-thirds of the birds took off within a second or two of the cage door being opened, but a few stragglers aren’t so sure about the free world. Eventually they flop out, open their wings, and off they go.
This is a Buddhist thing. I’ve seen it before in Nepal. The purchaser tries to tip Karma in their favor a bit by freeing the birds. If I were a bird I would much prefer this river setting in Phnom Penh over the gritty chaos of Katmandu. But I’m not…
This motely crew on their underwear: Reid’s made in Macau zebra striped thong provides just enough support and makes him feel like a real animal.
Janelle and Melissa like that “barely there” comfort they find in their made in Sri Lanka panties.
Annie enjoys the spaciousness and sexiness of her favorite made in Honduras underwear.
Judge’s Comments: Her wedding held hostage, Annie (holding granny panties) is forced to embarass her co-workers. One question: Should I be worried that Reid (the dude wearing zebra stripes) is wearing my fiances underwear, and that they fit?!…
The address I had for my underwear was not actually a factory, but a buying house. In Bangladesh, the factories don’t have marketing and sales staff so they rely on buying houses to link them with buyers.
The buying house that acted as the middle man with Briefly Stated, the company that bought my boxers, just happened to be Linmark, an international company that is one of the largest buying houses in all of Bangladesh. They work with the big boys: Wal-Mart, Target, Kohl’s, you name it. They also work with countless factories, and trying to determine which one made my underwear 10 years ago would be impossible considering that factories are often making t-shirts this…
In what appears to be just another one of those things that isolates us Americans from the rest of the world, our cell phones are locked to work only in our country. Where the rest of the world can swap SIM cards in and out depending on what country they are in, we cannot. Why would we want to leave our country anyhow?
I arrived to Bangladesh with my locked Motorola phone. Good thing too, because I was referred to Dalton Zahir, the GM of the Motorola store in Dhaka. Dalton and I immediately clicked. He’s a writer, photojournalist, author, and businessman, although he doesn’t like to talk about that. Dalton took me to his home village where I played…
Who single-handedly brought sexy back and then sexy vomitted…
