I selected a black suit with slim lapels construed by my tailor Lucky Ricky, a matching silk tie, and white shirt with French cuffs.
Ready to do battle with the fashionistas I checked out the image in the mirror, voila mes amis, totally retro straight out of 1965.
Rolled off sky train, crossed skybridge to the mall. Greeted by GG, author of titles LENNON IN AMERICA, DARK HORSE IE GEORGE HARRISON, BLACKBIRD RE PAUL McCARTNEY. My favorite bio remains the Brian Jones saga, PAINT IT BLACK, one of the fistful of sources used by film director Stephen Wooley for STONED, his brilliant film about the meteoric rise and fall of the founder of the Rolling Stones .STONED was the hit of the Bangkok Intl Film Fest two seasons ago.
I was escorted to the wine bar by the daughter of the author, Avalon and her husband Adrian, a cool Brit-Thai bloke who is an assistant director on a Korean fill shoot here. Avalon is an author in her own writ, having written REVOLVER, a secret history of the Beatles with pops. The attractive Thai bird at the bar pours me a glass of French wine as Beatles cover bands take to the stage pounding out note for note renditions of the Fab Four
GG takes me aside to show me a rare treasure. It is an unpublished photograph of John Lennon taken by Andy Warhol. GG asserts he has film footage of Warhol shooting Lennon. Warhol shot the photos at Tittenhurst, estate of Lennon back in the day; the work of Warhol fetches prices equal to Pablo Picasso on the contemporary art market. I am impressed.
A documentary film crew rolls up to film this marvelous event .GG is in his pomp as the shoot navigates around the art, and he reels off info in his charming and ingratiating way. I repair to the wine bar, the wine is from California I am informed by the lovely bartender, I toss it back, it is better than the French. Time to blow this honky tonk and catch the 3.10 to Yuma baby.
Western women believe
It is sunset on Pattaya beach .The sun is tingeing the horizon of blue sky, white clouds, and aquamarine water with scarlet and gold. I reflect on the assertion by Frederick Nietzche that he could not believe in a god that could not dance, as a mélange of divine colors dance on the waves. It appears as if a tipsy god spilled a cocktail of Tequila Sunset on the world. John Roberts aka JR hits the set.
We meander to a terraced bar across the street and order vodka tonics. JR going to take me to HOTMAN, where the birds go to buy guys. We kill time; drinking and eating till the night is in full flower, then jump into his silver Honda to pick up our escorts, Tuk and Meaw. They live in a modest Thai crib on the other side of town and work in a go -go bar downtown. It is their night off.
The birds jump in, we roll to HOTMAN. The venue has a squadron of young hunks outside, to the untrained eye it looks like a gay bar. The blokes are polite, well dressed and handsome. We are ushered inside and take a table .It is full up with birds, many are office workers in their late twenties or mid thirties. Professional women of a certain age abound, as do young demimondaines who work the bars and go-go parlours.
The joint hots up as several dozen lean, mean dudes with great teeth and rock star hair hit the stage to posture and pose. The audience is literally creaming in their knickers. Tuk and Meaw select two blokes to join our table. They are charmers, light the bird’s cigs, pour their drinks, and entertain them like royalty .The mating game is now sexed up, Meaw pays the bar fine for the man of her dreams and hits the road.
JR explains that Tuk is not unlike many geezers who come to Pattaya not to buy sex but to look for love in all the wrong places. Tuk wants one of the studs to fall in love with her; she does not want to pay for sex, just as Western men will retire and financially support a bargirl. Thai women will do the same for a hotman. Tuk flirts but does not close the deal.
What is in it for JR, Tuk is so excited by the ambiance that as we leave she sexually assaults JR in the car. I can dig it baby. I am reminded of the anthropologist Margaret Meade who studied the sexual mores of the South Seas. She observed the whyte men brought the missionary position to the natives; blissfully unaware the natives had cultivated coital positions from the Kama Sutra and the discourses to the Yellow Emperor by his concubine. Untainted by Western organized religion, they scratch their heads in wonder at the sexual hang-ups of whyte people. Check out NY hip hop gangsta shite cos I am rollin deep.
Links from Geoffrey Giuliano