Blackeyes and Beer

I started this post shortly after returning from Thailand and have now just finished it.

Sorely disappointed that we missed the “real” Muay Thai fights in Bangkok, we were relegated to watch the “International Nice Fights” (as billed on the flyer) in Chiang Mai. Though Chiang Mai has a stadium devoted to Muay Thai kickboxing, the national sport of Thailand, we ended up at a bar on the canal, sitting in an audience of mostly farang.

We were escorted to our table by a lovely “ladyboy”, looking more feminine in her black halter and floral skirt than I had looked all week. Damn. We paid our 500 Baht (about $15, very pricey for Thailand) to get in and were handed the fight bill. A special “Ladyboxer” fight was on the bill and pictured was a woman in her early 20s in the requisite “hands-up-fight” pose, smiling prettily and looking more like she’s about to give you manicure rather than a right roundhouse kick to the head.

The fighters were teenagers…boys, really. They seemed eager to get in the ring and show off what they could do. I almost felt bad watching them combat each other…they took it so seriously yet the audience saw it as fluffy entertainment. Everyone who makes it in ring deserves respect. So what if the ring is in a farang bar…it still takes a fair amount of chutzpah to step inside a ring.

The “Ladyboxers” were next on the bill. I did a cartoon double-take when the fighters took center stage. They were pre-pubescent girls and couldn’t have been more than twelve years old. I asked our waitress how old they were and she said “Fifteen, sixteen,”. Uh-huh. I wondered who that older lady was that was pictured on the bill…their Mom, maybe?

One was scrappier-looking, shorter, with straight black hair. I saw her ringside, shadow-boxing, moving laterally, practicing moving in angles. The other girl was a shade taller, her long hair braided in two long pigtails. She had lip gloss on and pink shorts and red gloves. Because the world is so predictably unfair, I knew this girl would win the fight. Naturally, I rooted for the shorter girl to win and if John Hughes were ever to make a movie about little girl kick boxers, she would most certainly would win. I swear to Molly Ringwald!

I didn’t know how to feel about watching these two little girls fight. I waffled between being adamantly opposed to it but then I would find myself peeking through my fingers for fear of missing anything “good”. The short-hair girl was finished the second she started turning her back to her opponent. If I had a towel I would’ve thrown it in the ring for her…poor thing.

We left the bar after Main Event...a rather large German fellow fought and won against a Thai boxer, who looked a little bored during the first round. Not the most exciting matches I’ve ever seen, but then again I’d never been in bar where Muay Thai fights broke out.

Laptop Impressions

I woke up this morning at 5:15 am with a work hangover. My contact lenses have adhered themselves to my eyeballs, and now they have that gravel-y feeling that usually goes away with a good rubbing of the fist. I lift my head, which was resting on the corner of my laptop, and I think I probably have suffered some damage from evil electronic magnetic alpha rays. Feng shui books always tell you to sleep as far away as you can from cords, power outlets, anything emanating evil mojo. I’m probably doomed at the point.

I turn my head and see an empty wine glass and a bowl of crusted-over guacamole, evidence of last night’s lost battle with fatigue and frustration. I should’ve just gone to bed when I got home from the airport. The giant mental Post-it note to myself reminds me never to fly to Las Vegas on a late Friday night. Flights were delayed all evening including mine and the passengers on board were tired, excited, and many had already started “getting their drink on” at the Gordon Biersch brew pub next to Gate 74 at SFO.

It may be psychosomatic but the early stages Carpal Tunnel syndrome are setting in. Trying to type with my wrists bent at a 90 degree angle, with someone else’s head practically in my lap is not conducive to a healthy posture.

Finally, finally home…

On Friday night, I imagine myself waking up easy and late the next morning, stretching my arms out and yawning prettily to perk up. After a full eight hours of restful, blissful sleep, I would be ready to take on the day. But it rarely worked out this way. Most mornings I wake up with the imprint of my laptop on my forehead.