Bad Romance

Bangkok, 6/11/11

My plan was to leave immediately the following evening for Koh Tao, but Chris was right when he said the all-night-Thai-whiskey-Christmas-music-smoke-in-your-eyes extravaganza would make this difficult. Instead, upon waking, I head immediately back to Jason's house, where 40 of his friends are enjoying a BBQ of grilled chicken, fresh lychees, and chili cake. Plus more whiskey, this time the rubbing alcohol has been replaced with a dear visit from Mr. Johnny Walker.

Chris has been eagerly anticipating this night for some time now as his friend is DJing as special Lady Gaga club night in the fashionable Radio City Avenue (RCA) district. Half the house party gets completely changed for the occasion and we enter cabs looking like the Greenwich Village Halloween Parade. Although it's 11pm, it's practically light out on RCA due to all the neon, strobes, and spot lights. The street is bursting with energy as thousands of young Thais are dressed to the nines for a Saturday on the town. It doesn't help that the middle of the avenue has been converted into a massive inflatable concert hall where everyone's favorite MC, Flo Rida is holding court for the night. Flo's name is quite apropos for a Western tourist's backpacking vacation through Thailand considering all the spicy cuisine.

Gaga Night at Club Lead (which sounds like somewhere Stefon would go) has to be one of the most ridiculous experiences of the trip so far. Mama Monster, turned up to eleven, while thousands of little monsters prance around. The night includes a Gaga fashion show and a dance and singing contest, which most contestants (or contestant groups) have been clearly choreographing for months. The costumes are beyond elaborate, with one particular gentleman wearing full white face paint, zombie eyes, a complete wedding dress covered in blood, and 10'' stilettos. He majestically hovers over the dance floor like a half-dead ballerina on Quaaludes. Others wear dresses made out of kermit plushes, attach bloodied baby dolls to their asses, tin foil dresses, excessive amounts of glitter, skulls, cigarette sunglasses, S&M accessories, and elaborate self-made corsets. Jason looks like Malcolm McDowell in "A Clockwork Orange". Chris looks like a general in Elton John's army. One of their friends look like a sexed up version of Conan the Barbarian. Another wears an odd neon blue painted mustache and a hat with a working miniature train. Showing up at the party late, not knowing about the costume, I look like my normal self. And given what I'm wearing that's a pre-pubescent American Eagle shopper.

The evening clearly ends at Wong's for a second night in a row.

Keep it cool, what's the name of this club? I can't remember but it's alright, a-right

Baby, there's no other superstar you know that I'll be

I want your ugly I want your disease I want your everything as long as it's free

Paws up

 

Gives a new meaning to "Baby doll Dress"

You left me speechless

Me love you Wong time

Bangkok, 6/10/11

Jason's home is bigger than the Jim Thompson House/Museum, yet is starkly different in its lack of centuries old priceless art. The airy two bedroom, two bathroom house has a large open living room, two porches, and a tree-covered back yard. The price for this proper home is roughly a third of what I pay in New York. The fact that the price point includes and live-in maid and gardener just adds salt to my already gaping wound.

Jason and Chris are both American ex-pats and I'm meeting them for the first time, as Chris is a friend of a friend. The drink of choice I learn tonight is always Thai whiskey and soda water. Thai whiskey the cheapest alcohol on the market, significantly less than beer, and could be described a heady combination of paint thinner and snake venom. We drink until 1am and then head to Wong's Place, a gay-leaning dive bar which time, Thai closing time laws, and smoking bans seemed to forget. The bar is so unbelievably smokey, the next morning my eyes are practically bleeding. Between yellowed photos of random patrons, album covers, and endless amounts of tacky colorful kitsch (including a "Happy New Year" sign even though its June), Wong's interior design brings to mind a person trying his hand at arts and crafts after consuming an excessive amount of Thai whiskey. In addition to the New Year's sign, someone forgot to tell the DJ that it's June as Christmas music is on loop, broken only occasionally by the Spice Girls. The crowd is a mix of obvious ladyboys, who really seem to like me in addition to other male patrons who stare at me like hyenas in heat, and Thai locals playing Connect 4. There's one sad Austrian backpacker who is celebrating her birthday with a heavy shot of naivety as her birthday crush obviously has no interest in women and is flirting with all the men at the bar. I should buy her a copy of "He's Not That Into You". Or maybe just a pair of glasses.

We drink more whiskey sodas and Tiger Beers until the sun comes up at 7am. Wong's remains relatively dark in the middle of the day, so like a casino where time never passes, most customers continue drinking their whiskey, singing "Do They Know It's Christmas", not even knowing another day has sprung. But I'm hungry, so we head to a nearby hotel for fried eggs, toast, and bacon, sitting alongside a dozen police officers just finishing their night shift.