You should all know this blog is about entertaining Thailand, not entertaining in Thailand.

But I wasn't sure you'd understand.

I'm sorry.

One hour until I load my body and its baggage onto the Amtrak. My train is slightly delayed so I'm having a brew at B&C, of course learning all about potato foam from Dane as he sips his own frothy flagon. I was excited to have a solid pre-train poo before I left here, but rounded the corner to find the men's bathroom tagged with the notice: Out of Order, please use women's restroom. But the lady's water closet was also marked out of order, and beyond that, the door was locked! The toilets appear to be backed up and not draining, and I'm not going to risk leaving a poo in their floor drain just as I abandon my beautiful work-home for a month. Julie would never forgive me. Karen would have to clean it up, and I could never forgive myself for that.

Getting ready to do this feels a lot different than heading off to Peru. Because it's not a first. Even though it absolutely is.

I hope Thailand likes me. I hope I'm a good and satisfactory hostess. I hope Thailand enjoys its stay.

I'm going to become a woman in Thailand.

I will never become a woman.

I'm becoming a drunk little white boy in Nebraska right now, and Thailand is waiting to meet me. For me to greet it, and welcome it into my home. I'm going to entertain it, well and good!

All for now, can't stop thinking about wanting to have the farewell poo. Maybe I'll walk someplace else. But it won't be the same.

Pretty dang soon, nothing will be the same. Again! Maybe I'll become a writer. Maybe I'll learn how not to abuse my guests. Maybe Thailand and I will have lady-boy non-penetrative erotic play. Maybe I'll become a singing star. Probably.

I love you, Nebraska and Lincoln. The weather treated me just right this evening on the Critical Mass ride, and a delicious sweet potato quesadilla at Pepe's. Good company with Steven and Taylor. Crab apple sneaky sweet delight. And now it's farewelling me with a thunder storm of the century. It's REALLY coming down as they say. As red-beard just said, the cinnamon roll night baker. I had a dream about shaving off his crayon-red beard a few weeks ago. I miss that dream.

I wish I was more psychotic. Maybe this trip will make me psychotic. But not violent. I hope The Compound actually happens. Dark feelings tell me it won't.

Shucks, Thailand. I've gotta get some sleep or I'll be in no mood to keep you properly and zestfully entertained. I'll see you soon, my love.

I'm glad things are good with my parents now, before I leave. Wish I couldv'e seen AJ. Things are good though. I got to see everybody. Leaving on good notes. In a key of C. Can-knee Can DeWitt does it again. Strikes again.

Sorry people who might read this. I'm drunk and not even in Thailand yet.



Just you WAIT!


Dearestly,
Kanky

Well, family, dearest friends, it's the night before I embark by train upon the grandest adventure this century, or any other, has ever seen. I'm anxious, excited and eager. A little twitchy, but some freaks are twitchy and all twitchy freaks are twitchy freaks. It's like how cogs in a watch or a clock can be greased, just caked and filthy with grease, and still not turn smooth. Or smoothly would it be?

I'm so excited to listen to that Amy Sedaris book but I can't believe I was just exploring that same source of inquisition, ever since I found, fell in love with, and began my violent, aggressive adherence to Emily Post's Guide to Entertaining, by Elizabeth Post. I started self-injuring!

The book, Emily's not Amy's, struck me initially for its title and author. It seemed odd Elizabeth would change her name so slightly in the title of her very own informational memoir, but later or maybe just now, I'm thinking maybe she's actually just part of some kind of well-mannered dynasty, Emily being the first and namesake, and now all the daughters following suit one after after upon the other.

I want to order people with the same excruciating preciseness and specificity to behave in ways that I find for some undefined reason, utterly necessary. And relevent!

For example, Thailand, if you expect to be my guest for the next 20 days, I have a few stipulations. Unfortanately I cannot allow any children under the age of six to suck living fist-sized octopus babies down their throats in my presence.

Also, Thailand, you should know that I am probably not now and pretty definitely won't be all that interested in being sold or purchased into slavery, but I will happily be purchasing one or two slaves of my own. Specifically I'm interested in a couple of house boys to manage the chicken coop I'm building this year. They should be no older than 11 and with impossibly high-pitched, sing-song voices. "Just browsin', gennelmen, wokka wokka!"


More soon! Pictures and dances, and vegetables and paper masks!


Yours for one more day America,

Kanny