Two wild and crazy guys

Until I get a new battery for the now-dried-out camera -- or, dammit, a new camera -- I'm going to have to rely on stock photography for the next few postings.

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I hang out for an evening with Greg, the burly-handsome university teacher who's headed back to the states this week. Greg is recuperating from the previous evening of debauchery, which involved far too many beers with an ex-Marine pal and something about a bar girl he took home and ended up getting into a post-coital fight with. He is also in the process of breaking up with two marriage-minded girlfriends.

Greg is a man of prodigious appetites, and our game plan for the evening is to hit the Japanese buffet at one of Bangkok's deliriously gaudy malls. I am his able wingman in this endeavor as we lay waste to entire schools of shrimp, calamari and other aquatic delights.

Interesting twist on the conveyor belt sushi model: we each have our own pot of boiling broth recessed into the counter in front of us. The raised conveyor delivers a continuous procession of raw seafood, veggies, meats and other ingredients; we simply grab whatever we want, dump it in our soup pot, and in moments, dinner!

After we've done our damage -- and we are lightweights compared to many of the petite fellow diners around us, who can really pack it away -- Greg takes me on a tour of the mall, turning his rampaging-bearlike charm on every sweet young thing he sees. But here's the thing: he always scores a positive reaction.

Greg explains: "You gotta realize, we are nowhere near Silom or Sukhimvit of Banglamphu. There are very few farang in these parts. Hell, we might be the only white guys in this whole mall. We stand out, and that can work to our advantage."

In marketing, we call this product differentiation.

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The next day I venture into Silom to check out my new school. At the bottom of the skytrain station platform I run into the entire Thai army in full battle gear, waiting for the Redshirts to arrive. Meanwhile, citizens go amiably about their day, chatting on cell phones as they casually step around the concertina wire. It's as though a picture of a military deployment was Photoshopped into a Bangkok street scene. For a moment I stare goggle-eyed at the REAL MACHINE GUNS and then retreat back to Metropark, or specifically to its swimming pool.