Post-It Note - Exorcising Ego

Students,

A lot is changing in the life of Teacher just now. You may note that I am trying to find peace in my feelings and experiences as opposed to trying to find meaning in thinking and analytical reflection. It is what Thais and/or Buddhists would call ‘Sati’ – to remain aware with skillful attentiveness. This change in me also necessitates a change in the format of my blog. From now on the only drama described will be the amateur theatre opportunities I hope to pursue with a group in Bangkok. The mental drama I can see I have been creating with my unfulfilled life situation has to go. I will still find it is there of course but I will observe my struggling mind with its doubts and problems and not let it become me, my identity. I aim to live free of control from my own worst enemy and all its negativity. I think this will greatly improve my interaction with others and the world I inhabit.

When I talk of mind I refer of course to Id / Ego / Superego. Freud was certainly ahead of his time but now I believe that rather than simply identifying the way we are, he was actually identifying a problem common in our behaviour as humans. I learned a lot reading Eckhart Tolle’s book The Power of Now. Even though his prose was occasionally overblown, the main theory that we as a species should relinquish control from our mind and accept what is if we are to find personal and collective happiness and balance is one that makes sense for me.

For the reasons detailed I am exorcising Ego from my life. I am guilty of saying things in conversation that bolster my image or score points. I think everyone does this to some extent because it is a symptom of a ‘dog-eat-dog’ society. It is not a useful practice because the satisfaction you get is fleeting and comes from a place of self-doubt and vulnerability. Upon recognizing this for what it is I have found it becomes very easy to speak freely, know that you could never be seen as ‘fake’ or ‘phony’, and also it is great to feel that you truly are at one and expressing your feelings.

The format of the blog will change so that the text is less ‘smart’ and, even though a lot of what you might call my ‘self-promotion’ is done in jest and for those who know me personally; I am going to be more open from now on and have less resistance to describing my feelings. I will cut back on the snark, observe, and accentuate the positives. Let’s call my 12 numbered blog posts a ‘12-step’ to recovery and acceptance and a farewell to the dirty mindedness of Id / Ego / Superego. Students, I hope you enjoy what is to come. I am feeling creative.

Comments? Questions? Class you may be excused.

Homework: Stay tuned in.

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 V –

Id(iot) likes planting Seed

Students,

It has come to my attention that some of you may have observed myself and ‘good time’ girls Lady Tara and Lady Jasmine getting what the Thai locals call “mow” and what you may call pissed. Lady, I’d like to tell you you’re wrong, but that could lead to sticky situations and more than my story coming undone. In short, such lies would necessitate spankies. Our dear friend Sigmund may have been wrong about some issues (I have personally never thought of my mother in that way) but on matters of the greedy id when he is right he is right, right? And so for our blog today I wish to detail the (some say) wicked temptations in this monkey-sex town of Lopburi. One in particular comes to mind and that one is Seed Pub, a late-night establishment that students should - not ever – care to attend (but annoyingly, do.) At this point, a word or 160 from Ego, mistress (or Mr.) of ceremonies:

Ego: As the rational lez in this mind (f*ck) sandwich, may I beseech you to remember the high moral character I embody between the ‘anything goes’ Id(eas) and the yes sir/no sir top -> bottom imbalance of (NOT SO) Superego. Teachers have a duty to be everything to their students while fresh of face, young of spirit, and strict in action… (That’s action not in-action.) What must be kept frontal lobe is the oft-quoted “Work hard, play hard(er.)” Which, it is certain, is what this dili-gent teacher enjoys. “Youth is wasted on the young” is another of those academic sayings that drifts into my mind space from time to (closing) time. The point(s): “Learn it before live it.” “Work before play and play before work.” But separate the two. Always. Cooking in Hell’s fires is the result if you don’t… There that’s all the flogged-to-death analogies from me for now. Don’t have nightmares.

Now. To Seed. I would describe this Lopburian lounge as a place (It’s) Britney (bitch) would call home. As you see from her photo above, students she is an example of an individual of upmost class. Much like Seed. And, like Id, she would no doubt savour the crush of sweaty young bodies, appropriately inappropriate gropage while en route to the water closet, the series of catwalks populated by nudish nymphs bopping to stimulating (read: erotical) beats, and the hot (in the dark) waiters responsible for much of aforementioned gropage…

Saturday P.M./Sunday A.M. with my Ladies was tame compared to previous visits. You see I would never have came across this special devil’s playground were it not for my keeping company with some naughty (but nice) Thai associates. This gaggle of gays spirited me off there once, and I’m proud to say before we had the mainstream (as evidenced by my students) blocking the dance floor (read: dance square.) Back in the golden days of yore (not quite when all was still in black and white but not yesterday anyhow) it offered even more. It was simply Seedier. One could rub shoulders (and other body parts) with pimps and their prostitutes, various gender benders, and very many model-esque young upstarts in very little attire…

Possibly my favourite Seed-y night can be seen amid the photos of my earlier Picture Post, though sadly this does not quite do justice to an experience that saw Natalie mowed with the mo’s, Brad re-applying his clothes, and myself declaring “Anything goes!” Well actually I had a little (or big) bit more to declare but that’s best left as memory for the poor sober ladies of 7/11… At this midway point the gag will be removed from Id’s mouth so he can spew some muck:

Id: I’m a go-er that’s for damn sure. What goes on (with) the head is why I’m in this race. And the Thais they loves that honey, too. You gotta keep awake in this heat, see? Gotta be active not passive else you’ll be sleeping on the job. I am cock-sure about one thing though and that’s the education those students will get if they keep on going. No, I won’t be the provider. Nor will the TV… Unless of course it’s a different kind of TV…

Insightful. But students, what this really comes down to is the ‘A’ grade fun one can have as part of the after-dark crowd. While I cannot guarantee vampirism will provide you a tonsil-tickling social circle, what I will say is that the Thais do know how to party. And I will play Peter Pan on the club scene as long as I can. The Lost Boys would expect nothing less. Given my recent unfortunate (read: ‘A’aaaaaaaaaaa(h)!) ‘A’ge change, my only concession is rule #1: 'not on school nights.’ At this (jumping off a bridge) point the final thought is with the alter-ego, Superego:

Superego: (As you know) I swing both ways. But I dress just one way. To the left. Debauchery is all good and proper, but will somebody please think of the children?? Oh good. Job done then. Be a man, agreed? Go Seed!

Comments? Questions? Class you may be excused.

Homework: Just say “No!”

Further reading: Today Teacher believed that the id of Student Chen could not possibly be heard from on a Creative Writing exam paper. How wrong. In answer to a question on using verbs to explain what you do at different times of day, under his ‘Evening’ heading he wrote ‘Having sex in bed.’ But it didn’t end there… In answer to a question on using 3 adjectives to describe Beyoncé, Chen chose ‘beautiful’, ‘sexy’, and ‘fucking hot.’ I of course expect him to achieve his usual high marks.

x Teacher

Post III - The Pleasures and Horrors of New Year

Students,

In a (rare) insight into my personal life I am going to give you a blow-by-blow account of my New Year. If you need the toilet go now. So it was all planned and would be very different from previous New Year’s with my beloved wife in Jersey. This time Khon Kaen in north Thailand. No crowds, few foreigners, and for Brad and myself lots of fun to be had with the natives. While Natalie, ever the sport, was happy in her role as Social Director (this meant her id had food and booze and sleep in pleasingly large quantities.) Looking back, I can say that we had a total blast and a lot of fun. With some exceptions. This blog is of course above personal attacks so the main ‘exception’ (read: old git) will not be discussed. So let’s be terribly Freudian and British and focus on the positives, shall we?

The city was very nice but the best thing was the weather. We were not treated to rain but it was cooler than a furnace for once. This meant I could bring out of the closet my new DKNY jacket that id and butch ego had had such a fight over buying in Bangkok (obviously id won.) In addition the locals were very friendly (Brad certainly found so…) I would like to tell you that during our time there we saw many tourist sights, but unless (hot) gay hustlers and one gap-toothed old dyke hooping and hollering after us count, all we really did was eat, sleep, drink, laugh lots, gossip, avoid the ‘exception’ already mentioned, and drink some more. In fact Social Director and I were so spirited with our spirits that after a while our bodies would not physically allow us to get wasted anymore and we had to move on to dancing instead.

My favourite things about Khon Kaen were of course sampling the local delicacies including ‘McChicken Sandwiches’, and the exciting bars we toured. The supposed gay bar was little more than a dark techno trash room with neon lights (yes I know what else is a homo disco?) but this one suffered due to no class (guys were huffing paint in the toilets) and no actual queers in sight. Much better was the Harem club where a near-nude lady gave me a lap dance and Brad a look of horror. But on New Years Day morning no less, our intrepid trio visited a bar populated only by police that had a bathroom our Social Director succinctly described as “looking like a dead body has been thrown around and bounced off each wall.” This bar was. Very. Exciting. At the time I felt like zzzzzzzzzzz. Kidding. No, it wasn’t a favourite highlight and at this point I would like to ask id / ego / superego to briefly explain why on New Years morning I had what Brad describes as “a deteriorating mood”:

Id.
No hoochie koochie, honey. One motherf***ing year older. Not “mow” (English: intoxication).
Ego.
The combination of being a quarter of a century old as of a few days earlier, and the ‘exception’ who does not obey the rules AND being peni deprived (read: depraved) led to the bad ‘A’ word: angst. I should know I’m a muncher.
Superego.
Knowing what was wrong who was right? As you know I go both ways. I had no right to be moody (apologies), it was right of y’all to leave me be, and it was wrong wrong wrong that ‘exceptional’ circumstances made us leave the boogie club and head to the grim reaper’s karaoke bar. Be a man, rise above it.

But back to business. What was the least fun and not favourite thing about our trip? (Though amusing nonetheless). Answer: the trip itself. Getting there was fine save for the near-death minibus collision but that was nothing compared to the purgatory of the trip back. There we were perched on a shelf at the back of a crowded bus with a never-ending TV ‘variety’ concert that had more panpipe musical numbers than Ireland has ever heard in its history. However. This trip took 8 HOURS. And it didn’t end there…

When we reached Saraburi, half an hour from Lopburi, we had to leave the first bus to catch a local one back home. But there wasn’t one. Unless we wanted to sleep on a bench with some monks and teenage prostitutes we had to check into the local hotel. This hotel was described by Natalie as “The Bates Motel”, by me as “Hell Hotel”, and Brad could only nervously giggle before regaining composure and informing us - and showing me - our neighbours in the next cell’s Nazi flags and describing how he believed our cell’s ceiling panels (one of which had a hook hanging from it) would be removed after-dark so that disfigured mutants could climb down and snatch us and fillet our corpses. As well as (aptly) having only a show about a mortician to watch on TV, we had to bear the many strange noises, suspicious stains on almost every surface, and the shower. We were afraid to use this after Brad (again being helpful) suggested should we peer down the plug hole we may hear the whimpers of a small child imprisoned at the bottom of a well. Thankfully we all made it out alive and intact after having been woken from our ten-minute slumber by a family of pigeons socializing on the window grills above our heads. It was a huge relief to get back to my hotel home where Natalie and I closed the trip in style by drinking beer in the pool and generally getting a bit rowdy.

So now the New Year is here and I have described our adventures, we will end the blog by hearing from id / ego/ superego once more with resolutions for the year ahead:

Id.
Another ‘A’ word to go with the others: Addiction. Think with brain not c*ck says a wise friend. I says keep ‘em coming. Honey.
Ego.
It’s 2008 not 2000 and ‘ate’. Cut the carbs. Keep at the gym. Do those lunges. Inclince those flys. Perv those pecs. And the fit man inside will out. Inner->outer. Healthy body, healthy mind.
Superego.
As you know I go both ways. Keep on top of the ‘addiction’ situation and don’t bottom out. As a teacher you are a moral centre. So be a man’s man.

Comments? Questions? Class you may be excused.

Homework: Fill me with your love.

Answer to homework from Post I = #3 is the one who came through in the end. Teacher got A*

x Teacher

Post 0 - The Making of a Blog

Students,

Welcome to my xclassx blog. The first thing to say is it is damn hard to do a blog. I am one of those types to start these things then get bored at the sound of my own angst and give up. I’m sure any readers would do the same if they had to decipher the back-and-forth contradictions of my mind. Not only am I not straight, I am not straight-forward. So that is why until now I have not done much cyber-sharing. But here I am in Thailand, far from my native friends, and still with plenty to say for myself and situations (usually involving our gang of miscreant Lopburians and naughty monkeys) to describe.

As mentioned, I don’t want to give you update monologues about me and my life and ‘where I’m at’ for we already have such shows as Dawson’s Creek and such warblers as Celine Dion (sorry, I know I should have put a warning before THAT mention) to give us that brand of introversion should we need it. And if you DO need that – or use your free time to pursue enjoyment (shudder) of either of the above – may I recommend medication. Or a gun. But I digress. What I’m trying to say is there will be no anal probing in this blog (though I’m sure even before the end of this post my favourite ‘A’ word after ‘arse’ will be used once more.)

But you see, why would I use this opportunity to attempt to unlock the mysteries of my inner and outer worlds when there are MANY more important things to discuss e.g.:

WHO will I bump naughties with next?
WHAT in the name of holy Hell is happening with Britney?
WHERE on (God’s) earth are those pesky missionaries gonna pop up next?

WHEN will I ever taste decent lasagne again?
WHY does it (never) rain on me? (was it because I lied when I was 17?)
And…
HOW exactly do Thai males AND females think they can look good with a
m-u-l-l-e-t??!

After a recent ‘iffy’ (read: shit) class I gave to my university students on Sigmund Freud (!) I have decided that the sex-obsessed, and therefore relatable, old fool may have been onto something. So that we can get to the bottom of all my questions (so to speak) from now on some of each blog post will be divided into comments from each part of my mind: the id, the ego, and the superego. To top it all off (so to speak) I will also very occasionally probe the MINDS of others to see what makes them tick…

Firstly though, so you know what I am on about we need a quick bit of cod psychology. Here comes the science bit…

Id = Our basic “I want!” instincts (sex, food, sex, drink, sex, toilet, sex, bitch, sex.)
Ego = Our rational mind. Seeks answers to those elusive questions and tries to help the Ego get what it wants.
Superego = Our decider of right and wrong. The conscience. Or the devil / angel thing. (Some of us) feel guilt here (some of us.)

So you will hear from my two blokes of the head and one questioning lady…
…What? I have a feminine side you know even though to look at I am All-ManTM. Matter of fact I think the lady may be a bit… dyke-y… but we’re all lovers not haters, right?

There. That was a great lesson, wasn’t it? And not even a lick of inappropriate innuendo. Please come back next time for the first official blog post. No homework this blog.

x Teacher