New remixes on Projectile Vomit
http://projectile-vomit.blogspot.com/2009/03/back-to-boards.html
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Touchy
Let me be frivolous for a second.
Aside from dicing with dodgy cyclo drivers and rambling up and down ancient temples Jo and I have found time in our SE Asian sojourn to indulge in a massage or two. Or five.
In fact, we could've called this trip Foot Rub 09 such was our dogged dedication to pampering our paws.
Massages are, as you all probably know, extremely cheap in Asia. They're also famous for unusual twisting, pulling and trampling and, of course, infamous for rubbing and tugging and massaging the baby.
When I settled in to try a Khmer (Cambodian) massage I thought I wouldn't be in for any nasty surprises. Furthermore, I was assigned a male therapist which led me to believe I probably would not be offered a 'happy ending.'
It started off innocently enough. Khmer massage is technically similar to Thai massage with similar manipulation of meridian points. Therapists also often clamber on top of you, using body weight to apply pressure with knees, thumbs and elbows. When my therapist began to crawl up the backs of my legs I thought, fair enough. He skipped over the gluteal region which was fine and started applying pressure to my lower back. So far so good.
He then proceeded to park his rear end directly onto my rear end with his package aligned neatly between my butt cheeks. He continued to massage my lower back requiring a forward and back grinding motion which made the situation in my butt a little bit like sliding a frankfurt in and out of a hot dog bun.
At this point a man begins to wonder just who exactly is going to get the 'happy ending' in this particular massage configuration.
For a gruelling sixty seconds I wondered whether my masseuse was in fact numb from the waist down and had no idea what was going on. I ceased thinking about my lower back spasm and instead concentrated on spasming my anal sphincter tight enough that if I had coal in my ass I'd poop diamonds.
I can guarantee you there was no tipping that night.
Aside from dicing with dodgy cyclo drivers and rambling up and down ancient temples Jo and I have found time in our SE Asian sojourn to indulge in a massage or two. Or five.
In fact, we could've called this trip Foot Rub 09 such was our dogged dedication to pampering our paws.
Massages are, as you all probably know, extremely cheap in Asia. They're also famous for unusual twisting, pulling and trampling and, of course, infamous for rubbing and tugging and massaging the baby.
When I settled in to try a Khmer (Cambodian) massage I thought I wouldn't be in for any nasty surprises. Furthermore, I was assigned a male therapist which led me to believe I probably would not be offered a 'happy ending.'
It started off innocently enough. Khmer massage is technically similar to Thai massage with similar manipulation of meridian points. Therapists also often clamber on top of you, using body weight to apply pressure with knees, thumbs and elbows. When my therapist began to crawl up the backs of my legs I thought, fair enough. He skipped over the gluteal region which was fine and started applying pressure to my lower back. So far so good.
He then proceeded to park his rear end directly onto my rear end with his package aligned neatly between my butt cheeks. He continued to massage my lower back requiring a forward and back grinding motion which made the situation in my butt a little bit like sliding a frankfurt in and out of a hot dog bun.
At this point a man begins to wonder just who exactly is going to get the 'happy ending' in this particular massage configuration.
For a gruelling sixty seconds I wondered whether my masseuse was in fact numb from the waist down and had no idea what was going on. I ceased thinking about my lower back spasm and instead concentrated on spasming my anal sphincter tight enough that if I had coal in my ass I'd poop diamonds.
I can guarantee you there was no tipping that night.
Thursday, January 08, 2009
Consumption: Singapore part 1
Singapore seems to be an island economy solely designed as the infrastructure to support a vast network of air-conditioned shopping malls. That's probably a little more cynical than it needs to be, but today, after nine days in Singapore the sheer magnitude of the consumerism at play in this buzzing, gleamingly clean metropolis hit me square in the gut.
(Nevermind that that same gut has been spoilt by a palate-widening smorgasbord of Asian meals. Bar two instances I have not yet had two repeated meals in nine days. Mee pork, rojak, mee siam, popiah...the vocabulary needed just to sustain proper eating here is staggering.)
Singapore is a consumer's paradise. For instance, I've seen more Charles and Keith (a local shoe store chain) outlets than MacDonald's. Once, I sat in the middle of one such store during lunch and observed the shopping frenzy unfold and the tempo was more suited to a dingy flea market than upscale mall. So dense are the shopping choices that it took my travel companions three hours to move twenty-five metres worth of shopping mall.
(Small aside: whilst trying to maintain my zen in the midst of the chaos I also tried to no avail to unravel the inner workings of the female mind when hunting for that most elusive pair of pumps. I had a Eureka! moment recently when I figured out the process to buying women's bags but this process of visualising feet in shoes co-ordinated to all possible outfits already owned by a woman is evidently far too many variables for the male brain to process.)
I was hoping for a similar level of choice when it came to local music but after asking around and then hunting through a few CD stores myself I found that the Singapore music industry is fledgling in scope. A few of the rock bands I was able to sample like B-Quartet, Electrico and GreatSpyExperiment have an international and progressive sound showing lots of promise. Local urban and hiphop talent is so far unrepresented on shelves.
Thus far, then, Singapore could be representative of the best and worst of Asian cultural excesses. Pragmatic governance delivers sturdy infrastructure to give the people what they need on a day to day basis: ultra-efficient public transport, construction that actually finishes, organized and ubiquitous food outlets, a large selection of the best in consumer products from around the region. In exchange there is a feeling, reflected by some Singaporeans, that there is some suppression of free speech and the pursuit of economic and academic goals over artistic and cultural endeavours.
In the midst of this I've found Singaporeans to be a mostly friendly people, even if I had to throw a few doubles takes to understand the wonderfully inclusive beast of a language that is Singlish.
Off to Bangkok tomorrow and Phuket after that. More thoughts on Singapore to come with more photos, as well as For Men: How Women Buy Bags.
(Me tasting durian for the first time: not recommended if the idea of a plastic/creamy/strandy fruit that smells like feet and makes you feel hot inside doesn't appeal to you)
(Kaya toast - wafer crunchy bread with a spread made of ?coconut)
(Rojak - a salad dressed with a thick sweet prawn based dressing coated in peanut)
(Nevermind that that same gut has been spoilt by a palate-widening smorgasbord of Asian meals. Bar two instances I have not yet had two repeated meals in nine days. Mee pork, rojak, mee siam, popiah...the vocabulary needed just to sustain proper eating here is staggering.)
Singapore is a consumer's paradise. For instance, I've seen more Charles and Keith (a local shoe store chain) outlets than MacDonald's. Once, I sat in the middle of one such store during lunch and observed the shopping frenzy unfold and the tempo was more suited to a dingy flea market than upscale mall. So dense are the shopping choices that it took my travel companions three hours to move twenty-five metres worth of shopping mall.
(Small aside: whilst trying to maintain my zen in the midst of the chaos I also tried to no avail to unravel the inner workings of the female mind when hunting for that most elusive pair of pumps. I had a Eureka! moment recently when I figured out the process to buying women's bags but this process of visualising feet in shoes co-ordinated to all possible outfits already owned by a woman is evidently far too many variables for the male brain to process.)
I was hoping for a similar level of choice when it came to local music but after asking around and then hunting through a few CD stores myself I found that the Singapore music industry is fledgling in scope. A few of the rock bands I was able to sample like B-Quartet, Electrico and GreatSpyExperiment have an international and progressive sound showing lots of promise. Local urban and hiphop talent is so far unrepresented on shelves.
Thus far, then, Singapore could be representative of the best and worst of Asian cultural excesses. Pragmatic governance delivers sturdy infrastructure to give the people what they need on a day to day basis: ultra-efficient public transport, construction that actually finishes, organized and ubiquitous food outlets, a large selection of the best in consumer products from around the region. In exchange there is a feeling, reflected by some Singaporeans, that there is some suppression of free speech and the pursuit of economic and academic goals over artistic and cultural endeavours.
In the midst of this I've found Singaporeans to be a mostly friendly people, even if I had to throw a few doubles takes to understand the wonderfully inclusive beast of a language that is Singlish.
Off to Bangkok tomorrow and Phuket after that. More thoughts on Singapore to come with more photos, as well as For Men: How Women Buy Bags.
(Me tasting durian for the first time: not recommended if the idea of a plastic/creamy/strandy fruit that smells like feet and makes you feel hot inside doesn't appeal to you)
(Kaya toast - wafer crunchy bread with a spread made of ?coconut)
(Rojak - a salad dressed with a thick sweet prawn based dressing coated in peanut)
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