After some 26 semesters at the University level, my brother, Kyle, has finally graduated with a PhD in Exercise Physiology. His advisor held a roast in honor of the occasion that none of us ever thought would come.
I missed it. My excuse: I was sleeping. And, oh yeah, I’m in Cambodia.
I really wanted to be there. There were a lot of friends and family that were attending the roast. I always appreciate when others join-in to help make fun of my big brother. Usually, I have to do all of the heavy lifting.
Despite my on-the-other-side-of-the-world status, I still contributed to the roast. From my hotel in Battambang, I recorded 3 minutes…
The bathroom attendant is wearing a red bow tie. When I walk in he bows, and not just a little bow, a big one. I consider urinals and opt for the one in its own private little nook. I unzip and I’m about to begin.
That’s when the shoulder massage starts.
What the @#$@#%!! If there is one rule that I’ve strictly maintained my entire life it’s that I don’t urinate if someone is touching me. Especially if that someone is giving me a shoulder massage. And most especially if he is wearing a red bow tie.
I look over my shoulder, the left one, as he kneads away. My face is twisted with violation. I shake my head no and then nod for…
What’s the first thing to go through a superhero’s head when his secret identitiy has been compromised? That’s right, O.S.H.I.T. It is O.S.H.I.T.’s mission to quickly relocate unmasked crime fighters, and to assign them new aliases in the event that their true identities are discovered by any of a variety of ne’er-do-wells.
If you haven’t entered, and I know you haven’t, do so now! Because like John Cougar Mellencamp said, “You gotta stand for something. Or your gonna fall for anything.”
UPDATE: Kyle aka Malaria Boy, my brother graduated from…
The Russian Market is truly a SWEAT shop – all of the shoppers are dripping in sweat. But it would take a lot more than a little heat to scare them away from the $5 Levi’s or the $3 GAP polo shirts.
The place is a labyrinth of crafts, junk, bikes, fruits and veggies, restaurants (I love me the fried bananas), and clothing shops. Two average-sized foreigners can’t pass each other in the narrow walkways without getting “friendly.” Clothes are piled on tables and hung from the walls and ceiling, hiding the actual structure of the building. The shopkeepers, like ET among the stuffed animals, can be seen if you look real close.
Each night I have a choice for dinner: Go Local or Eat something I can pronounce?
Last night I decided to go local. This decision was heavily influenced by the need to be temporarily relieved of my duties with KEWIC.
The western pub on the corner is filled with old men and their local lolitas and I can’t stand it. My foot grows sore from passing out the justice. If only the grilled fish and mashed potatoes weren’t to die for?
Anyhow, I passed on the fish and sought out a busy local place I’ve walked by a few times. They cook skewered meat and butter-drenched French bread over open flames. I was never able to id the meat, which was kind of off-putting (I think…
Wherever you are police blotters make for interesting reading. Here in Cambodia they are slightly more morbid, but definitely possess the one quality that makes any blotter worth reading – too much information.
This particular blotter covers 10 days of crimes, mostly murders. The clips I’ve included below offer a little insight into present day Cambodia.
Police suspected revenge was the motivation for the killing because villagers had been unhappy with Seav and had accused him of sorcery.
…shot him once in the neck with a homemade handgun.
…was murdered with a bamboo stick while riding home on a bicycle.
…was found hanging from a mango tree…Police said he probably hanged himself…He recently argued with his mother-in-law after he sold a bicycle for money to drink wine.
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.
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.
Who single-handedly brought sexy back and then sexy vomitted…