Work in Progress

Students,

I got to feeling a tad philosophical today after it occurred to me that among my core of friends here and back home I must be by far the most irresponsible. I don’t have a mortgage, a marriage, a child or any other small animals, and I certainly don’t have any notions of acquiring these things in the distant future. As I mused I began to feel not so much troubled as liberated. Who wants to be tied down by life when one can live almost completely for pleasure… And perhaps be tied down in other ways while about it? Life is all theatre after all.

One thing I love about Thailand is the relaxed pace and general easiness of everyone with everyone else. This may all be surface, and underneath the country’s inhabitants are a seething mass of frustration, but as long as that stays unacknowledged I prefer it to the confrontations I found were part of my daily life in the UK. Perhaps it was my irresponsibility that didn’t fit with the culture there and I do remember an office assistant job that frequently resulted in my being reprimanded because my casual approach was not tolerated. Maybe I just don’t come from the mould of a ‘normal’ person who strives to climb the career ladder, buy property, and settle down. They have never been outcomes I’ve longed for. And then I look on Facebook and friends from school have ticked all the boxes… Should I feel old knowing such upstanding citizens or young because I’m their antithesis?

On occasion my wider family have struggled to understand my random drifting – and especially – my current location. Why am I here? Because it’s FUN. I have a blast every day; I see new things, meet new people, and have the privilege of being respected and smiled at in my work. The social life is amazing too. I don’t have to be guarded about my sexuality when out on the town or concerned that if I catch someone’s eye on the subway they will misconstrue that and get defensive (or offensive.) I can hold my partner’s hand if I want to and often hold his shoulder as we walk around in public. More than that though my life feels full and fast. I always have something to occupy myself and this makes me outgoing and involved with the world. I don’t feel like I’m failing even though I have faults. Where in the UK I would reach for some medication, here I reach for the phone and plan to be with my friends. Who don’t have marriages. Or mortgages. Or children. Or pets. And that’s all ok. We’re experiencing something else…

…People ask me all the time “When will you go home?” To that I tell them “Why would I want to?” Right here right now is what’s important to me and right here right now I have everything I need. I take responsibility for today and let the rest figure itself out. Scary? That is one of the benefits of being irresponsible. I realize now I’m not a failure or a quitter I just like doing things differently and not expecting all this stuff from my life. The unexpected feels like living to me and I love to live. Actually I think I’m a work in progress and maybe all this will sound daft when I look at it next time having changed my mind. But as I drift at the moment I get my drift. How about you?

Comments? Questions? Class you may be excused.

Homework: Expression not repression.

x Teacher

Picture Post - Out & About

Students,

I’ve been talking a lot about the social mores of Bangkok, but often words cannot do justice to the exciting times your devoted Teacher enjoys when not in class. Therefore I will stop talking and let you once more nosily peruse some snaps from my photo album. Below you will see another saucy image from my recent drama collaboration as well as assorted friends, lovers, and crazy colleagues.

Comments? Questions? Class you may be excused.

Homework: Hit the town.

x Teacher

Drama at the Disco

Students,

Some of you may have heard the rumours and the whispers in the streets of my return to the bosom of theatre. Yes sweetie darlings, the Drama Type is returned. Last Saturday night I trod the boards (or the dancefloor at least) in a piece I described as ‘expressive movement’ and some less-inclined teacher friends described as ‘a lot of posing and arm-waving…’ It is always a joy when colleagues heap platitudes on that which you are secretly rather proud of. Sigh. Sarcasm aside, the experience was most enjoyable. I had a great time, and a creative burst now and again is always welcome.

The venue was Luminous Bar, a three-floor club space in central gay town, Bangkok. The company was New City Collective, an assortment of artistes (no sniggering) from our native English-speaking community and led by a Mr. Jesuino. The party was organized by Trasher, a hippyish Thai troupe with whom I’d experienced an earlier night of colourful disco. And the piece itself was a devised work based around the party’s theme of Alice in Wonderland. It was non-speaking, lasted five minutes, and was set to a mash-up of trippy music.

Our group of five actors / ‘expressive movers’ began rehearsing over the few weekday evenings prior to the show. The drama ideas came thick and fast: larger-than-life physicality! Alice as a goth! Puppetry! …Yes, the dreaded ‘P’ word. Along with the dreaded ‘D’ word (dissertation) this did not make for whoops of joy from Teacher whom some of you may recall had to be coerced off a window ledge after choosing this topic for a university paper. My panic subsided however when, after one pained evening spent clutching a craft knife amid a mountain of polystyrene (‘styrofoam’ as I learned Canadians choose to call it), the looming ‘Queen of Hearts’ puppet was assembled and painted without my assistance. Mercifully I was also spared the operating of the thing save for helping to manouvere Mr. Jesuino who found himself groping around in the dark with his head up its skirt and his hands on its control rod.

My role turned out to be one of three hench persons trying to catch Goth Alice. We hunted her with a large white sheet hung from a bamboo rod. By dramatically rolling and unrolling the sheet we trapped her, spun her, and otherwise dazzled our club audience in a feast of fluorescent fancy! But the section of the piece that I found the most ‘real’ was when we hench persons began a choreographed routine with builders hard hats. This section was ostensibly to allow Goth Alice to hide under the Queen of Hearts’ skirt and change her outfit from black to white, but I think it was a remarkable coordination of efforts that channeled the best in YMCA glamour.

Witness the glorious pictures below and roll on the next show. The Drama Type is back... Sweetie darlings!!

Comments? Questions? Class you may be excused.

Homework: Dig out your spandex for a class routine.

x Teacher

Post VI - 10 Things I (Love) about (Me)

Students,

As I recline on the couch today I would like to share some things about myself you may not already know. Perhaps doing so will give valuable insight into the quick and brilliant mind of your beloved teacher. I have somewhat of a penchant for lists, in fact I make them all the time, and so this blog will follow that format. It may also take some time so you might want to grab a snack…

· The greatness of Great Britain or ‘Lie back and think of England’. I am very proud to be British, and more specifically English. While my home nation is actually quite irritating should you have a home there, it is wonderful in many many ways and as a Brit abroad any mention of it inspires warm feelings and the need to wax lyrical for a bit. I suppose what I particularly enjoy and yearn for is the ‘classic’ Britain with all the trappings of ‘proper’ society. I do not mind a bit if dumb Americans think we all live in castles or talk in faux Hugh Grant-esque sloane accents as long as they also notice such joys as tennis at Wimbledon, the ritual of afternoon tea, HRH the Queen, our fine theatre actors, history and beautiful architecture everywhere, clipped vowels, and our cutting sense of humour. I plan to remain an English gentleman to the core because I put to you the world is a better and more civilized place because of us. This means that I will never be heard telling unnecessarily dirty jokes or (shudder) discussing bodily functions, specifically pooh. I remember times after sharing this information where irritating friends have began describing the messiest do-dos they have ever done done. My simple solution in these situations is to share back with some explicit descriptions of gay sex. Be warned!!!!
· Phobia of old persons. This all started a little while ago in Edinburgh with an unfortunate incident on a bus. One crisp dewy morning I was on the way to the theatre to partake in a tone meeting for a play I was directing. I was running late and Id/Ego/Superego were all bellowing in annoyance at people getting in my way. I had only been seated for a few moments when from behind me I heard some unhealthy wheezes then a loud sneeze. What followed was a sensation that still haunts me. A jet of cold sticky mucus hit the back of my neck with sickening force. I had the germs of an old person on my person. Ever since I have taken more note of the aged population and they continue to alarm me… Why do they wear heavy coats in summer?? Why oh why do they use the doctor’s surgery as a place to congregate and socialize?? Although the phobia – as my friend Rosie told me it was – has slightly abated, I still inform employers if any event arises that requires me to interact with someone who is 60+ I am not the right man for the job and this was made painfully clear when, also in Edinburgh, I gave a historical underground tour to a group from the WI (Womens Institute – another quaint British tradition of old biddies meeting weekly to bake and gossip). As we were underground and in the dark, several of the ladies required me to hold their hands (!) and talk to them IN A VERY LOUD VOICE so they could hear. Students I will just say that I can’t quite do justice to the violent thoughts of Id/Ego/Superego that day. Strange that (similarly to cats) even though I put out that I don’t like them, old people do like me… Let me be clear: old people (apart from my delightful grandparents) are unacceptable to me, they are not as dumb as they like to suggest, and they should not be in my personal space. Which leads to…
· Issues of personal space. It is a sad truth that people violate my personal space on a regular basis. These people are the type not to read my face or body gestures and so they must be stopped. The latest example of personal space violation was last night, and actually the incident not only combined this issue but also my aforementioned phobia. Let me explain. I was with some dear Lopburi friends and a not-so-dear old ‘exception’ / ‘penguin’ at a music gig when said old ‘exception’ informed me I was wearing a serious look on my face. Not realizing said look is reserved specifically for social interaction with him, the ‘exception’ then proceeded to enter my ‘intimacy’ zone. This zone is usually only reserved for occasional familial affection, affection from likeable dogs, and affection from agreeable members of the same sex. What happened next was shocking to say the least and I can only suggest was karmic revenge for my laughing at a Thai man who thought it ok to pick up and lift Brad so he could have more space to sit down. Anyway, the ‘exception’ took his chubby little shrunken hand and rubbed it across my face, pulling my features into a smile… My reaction to this is probably best summed up by the following smiley, since I have yet to find words to capture my true feelings: O_o Please now click on the diagram above for a handy guide but note that the distances displayed must be x3 for me. Easy. Now there are no excuses. However please also note for future reference that if you are someone who enjoys physical closeness with casual acquaintances and you try that shit on me then I am likely to use the same loud command I do on Thai dogs: “Back. It. Up.” That I did not use this command on the ‘exception’ or else connect my hand with his face (using a lot more force than he) is surprising. In the end all I was heard to mutter was “But I’m English…”
· Pointed shit pointing at me. As revealed to close associates earlier last night I am not fond of inanimate objects pointing at right angles to me. If you are lucky enough to lie with me on my bed you will note that nothing in the room is angled directly at me. I know this suggests OCD or addiction but it is not quite as bad as my teenage troubles with plug sockets. When I used to enter rooms and see them switched ‘on’ but have no plugs in them believe me it used to send me over the edge. Now my only addictions involve excessive consumption of water, excessive consumption of BBC World News, and (since ending the happy pills) excessive compulsion for ‘A’.
· Doodle dandy. Another bit of compulsion is my fondness for doodling triangles and stars at every opportunity (usually in my office when you’re talking and I’m not listening.) As the committed teacher I am I have referred back to Sigmund, co-founder of ‘doodleology’ and can tell you that my doodles are very masculine (hardly surprising, right?) as men tend to doodle geometric shapes. If you doodle human figures and faces you are a girl. Apparently my triangles suggest a logical, analytical mind (WTF??!!) while stars suggest I was emotionally deprived as a child (haha). So there, now you can never say you don’t learn things from my blog. Oh and Brad if you are reading this, there is only one interpretation of your doodles and that is that you sir are sick and wrong.
· Syllable satisfaction. One final bit of obsessive compulsion I will share (for if we go into issues of my competitiveness, inability to walk along the street with someone else without walking diagonally into them, and crazy driving rituals then I won’t have any readership) is my compulsion to count syllables when listening to others speak. If you are talking to me and you notice my thumb tapping the fingers of my right hand you can be sure I am counting the vocal syllables in your every word. This crazy shit has taken over my life on many important occasions especially back in the dark past when I was a student and really should have been listening in class. My syllable hell pales however when compared to the weird compulsions of many of my favourite students in England…
· Toxic teens. As Brad already knows I am possessed of a cloying soft spot for maladjusted teenage tearaways and would happily adopt any filthy street kid who came my way (as long as they are not a chav.) Now now students don’t worry, I am no paed. What I mean is that where some folk coo over babies and kittens I cannot help but be charmed by snarky back-chatting kids with behavioural issues. As a teacher I find that the students whom others call “a bad egg”, “nuts”, and just plain “satanic” are the ones I identify with and enjoy to work with most. This may be because I still remember my time at school and the cool stuff me and my gang (secretly) did as opposed to the squares that did such stuff as Young Enterprise – yawn! Never mind the bookish swots (American: nerds) bring on the hoodlums!!
· Sweetcorn. Even saying the word sends shivers down my spine. It is simply evil, my arch enemy, and a foodstuff straight from the bowels of hell. What is to like? It smells AWFUL, has a weird taste and consistency, cannot be properly digested, and not even fish want to eat it when you chuck it in the water (not using your bare hands of course) because you’ve run out of maggots as bait. What concerns me most is how it seems to turn up everywhere. As you may know I regard tuna as the food of the gods so finding those heinous yellow things mixed in does not make me happy. In addition when first coming to Thailand I particularly enjoyed coconut milk for dessert. But one lunchtime at school I was heard to let out a horrified “WHAT??!!” upon noticing that also occupying the bowl were (yet again) those heinous yellow things. Now I know some Thai food does not make a lick of sense but I ask you whoever thought that sweetcorn be used for dessert??? As I said earlier sick and wrong.
· Shy bladder. Yes it is what it is. I admit my bladder is shy. I must say also I have no hang-ups about my body or social nudity so there are no problems with standing at urinals for that reason. But I have had countless incidents of social awkwardness while trying to go in company and being unable to produce the goods and the sound of piss hitting the porcelain that they expect. The worst was the pain I felt after attending an Edinburgh Hogmanay street party night. Facilities there were troughs populated by a mass of men standing so close as to be physically intimate – problem! It was an impossibility for my bladder to withstand it and the result was a severe guttural pain felt until I could get home and piss like a Russian racehorse so offloading the several boxes of wine I had downed. The whole business is especially tricky if my fellow man commits the cardinal sin of talking to me while I’m straining to go or (as Thai men do) check out the cock to ascertain size. Nowadays I find it safer to pop to the stalls and have a (hopefully) eyes-free experience in there.
· I LOVE the swinging 60s. I find that a lot of what I especially like in life (and what Id wants) actually comes from the 1960s. This has always been the case. As a young kid I had an obsession with 60s technicolour TV including Thunderbirds, Star Trek, Lost In Space (yes I am a sci-fi gay) and the Hanna Barbera cartoons. In addition the 60s gave us flower power, the moon landing, Carnaby Street fashion, (cool) hippies, and Elvis. It also produced such British notaries as The Beatles, Sean Connery and Roger Moore (James Bond’s), Lulu and Cilla (!), Julie Andrews, Twiggy, and Diana Rigg. I simply adore the colours, fashions, absurdist movement in theatre, and any collectable knick knacks from that era. I happen to slightly resent my parents for growing up at that time and have told them as much. Although I haven’t ever gone so far as to dress totally 60s (though I did do 50s with my James Dean phase) be warned it may still happen. You bet if I had a time machine, you wouldn’t see me for dust.

So there students. How privileged you are. Now you can step back a bit.

Comments? Questions? Class you may be excused.

Homework: Do a little dance. Make a little love. Get down tonight.


X Teacher

Post II – Drama Types

Students,

Many of you may not know that I have had a ‘life in the theatre’. Yes I know. It’s true I was a Drama type. You could not tell, could you? Nowadays not a hint of flamboyance, not a single colourful sock in sight. But back then the world was different. England and Scotland were creative havens populated by kings and MANY more queens for whom the words “Turn down the lights, turn on the Commedia del’ Arte! Darling” would induce un-scripted orgasmic explanations to be quoted and remembered by an impressionable generation. Or something like that. So now this very blog pays homage to a homo’s icons of inspiration, elites of education, advocates of arse-licking. Ok, you get the picture. Now read this (affectionate) run-down from past -> present of id / ego / superego for a few Drama nutters. Some names changed for identifying purposes. Beware: like Harry Potter things go from cutesy to just plain scary. And the wicked witch is last.

5 or d
(i-s-c-o.) May-chelle
Most likely to exclaim:
“What happens outside the stage door stays outside the stage door ” (before launching into an uncomfortable emotional monologue about her personal life.)

Id.
Floaty scarf, pretty flowers, Strawberry Fields Forever. I love the nancy boy – shine a light on him! Hair up. Hair down. Hair clip. Wig. Head scarf.
Ego.
Oh darling I must acquire that patterned scarf so that I can float the school corridors with theatrical aplomb and flick it back over my shoulder as a character gesture symbolizing the shrugging-off of conformity. Oh my oh me I am the Ophelia child with student babes around me! I will inspire worship and devotion in my fairy follower by smiling as he wears long trenchcoats and make-up, and forcing a single rolling tear as he sticks the plastic knife to his heart. In every play in every lesson. Again and again.
Superego.
Shall I stay or go? Go. Gone.* Never forgotten…
* English mourns. Canada got her. Canadians suck. Cock.

4. On the floor. The Ram-age
Most likely to proclaim:
“I played Richard in Dumfries when you were still. An. Egg.”

Id.
Sex bomb. Sex bomb. You’re a sex bomb. Girls. Bard. Titties. Baaaaarrrdd. “Oeeeedipus. Rex.”
Ego.
Ego, moi?
Superego.
Like Hamlet I give myself over to it. That’s all. It’s a gift. Everytime. I feel it. I live it. It consuuumes me.

* The Ram-age wore hearing aids but a bigger problem was his blindness. Never once did he notice our group locking Erica in a room while playing ‘murder in the dark’, and on one particularly memorable rehearsal day he failed to realize that while he’d stepped out, Zainab had turned on the fire extinguisher, soaked the stage floor, and caused Alison a rather nasty mishap resulting in a bruised coccyx and her having to dry her crotch on the heater in a most suggestive manner.

3. Some. Ms. Tabbayabbadingdoo. The best Drama name. Ever. (Pseudonym close enough.)
Most likely to breathe: “The art liveth!! ”

Id.
Experiment. Evolve. Enlighten. Envisage. Anybody got anymore ‘E’s?
Ego.
What I want, easily gotten. Speak very slowly. Speak very quietly. Enunciate. R.P. darling. First open eyes wide then narrow eyes as if it’s like real deep. Word. Nod sagely with finger on chin. Only wear black, Greek widow black. When applauding always shake head from side to side and mutter something… even if you didn’t know what the f*ck that sh*t was all about.
Superego.
Right and wrong? The choice. The concept. The happening. The space. Physicality. Improvise. Adjectives. Go with it. Be IT!!!

­2. b or not 2. b. Ian The Shithead
Most likely to like lie: “ I dinnae ken ya wee rab” (“I don’t know guv’nor”)

Id.
­Ok. Priorities: Turn up, shake some hands like, perv on favourite male students. Avoid students who want to ask a question like about their degree thing-y. Oh! Call Scottish theatre bigwigs and schmooze like. Give a highly vague lecture and never fully give an opinion like ‘cos it’s all bullcrap really like… shhhh!!
Ego.
Ego? I’m a Scotsman. Yeah, right, use the accent. Yeah the brogue like. But lay it on thick like ‘cos then you sound down with the kids. Oh and chew gum always. Use the hands too like. And the arms like. And occasionally fling yourself violently around like to show that even though you haven’t got an opinion you are ‘feeling’ the drama. Like. And good one: if they start answering and making sense just get uncomfortably close to their face like and use YOUR face to squint, raise eyebrows up and down alarmingly, and move eyes left to right right to left. Backs ‘em off and works every time like.
Superego.
Right and wrong. It’s like all about the politics y’know. I used to do political theatre I know this shit like. They’re above you watching always like. It’s fuck or be fucked. Fuck ‘em up and fuck off. Ahem. Hands. Arms. Body. Gum. Brogue.

* (Yet) another issue with the above is the inadvertent slip that led to him christening me with a new nickname… ‘Pops’.

1. Love.
1. Hate. Lock
Most likely to bellow:
“The little fuckers aren’t doing a musical while I’m at the school!!!!!!!! ”

* What to say? Her often-downright evil machinations were sometimes a joy to behold especially as she picked off the weakest (and most square) members of the pack first with a sharp tongue-lashing or an eye roll. But you always knew she would get to you eventually. Or at the very least project her own ruthless competitiveness onto you, her victims, by turning friends against each other and intimidating others into sharing illegal gossip about who was getting-off with who. And she was a Nazi about paperwork. When she started to move towards you, speak in her baby voice, and call you some nickname you knew your days were numbered and the teaching fun was ending. And then it did. And the worst thing is it’s not over. I must return at some point in 2009 to face the Lock once more. Alone. And defenseless…

Id.
I am always on top. In life and in lov- Oh wait lov- No can’t say that word. Too bad. Yes I ride and I whip and my horse knows too well that if you try throwing me you get a damn good thrashing. Simple. I’m Lock. I AM the Drama. And I will write you a tragic conclusion if you cross me.
Ego.
What? Ego. No ego. No need. I do it and I get it. No-one will stop me. Not even brats with mentalist issues can knock me back. The ego is vain and I don’t have time. You do what I say and it’s your mind not mine that I’m interested in.
Superego.
I’m right. You’re wrong. Anymore questions? Hmmm?

There you have it. A lesson in life from the business of show. What a new concept. Yup yup yup sweetie yup.

Comments? Questions? Class you may be excused.

Homework: Drama teacher memories. It’s good to share the dysfunction.

Air kisses x Teacher