Tales in the Crypt
Like the cliche retort given to a lover who's been caught cheating. When they finally rip themselves away from performing a little of the old in-out in-out on a weeping young devotchka they had there before us, and scream, "Baby! Wait! It was an accident!" We think, "What? You slipped? And fell? And fell again? On his cock? Or in her vagina? Which ever? I'm so angry? I don't even know? What gender you are?"
Implausible. But I did it. I did it on un-qualified journalism.
And un-qualified journalism gives toothy head.
You see that last thing I posted way back in October? That was a piece I had written for a magazine here in Turkey. I was asked by the editor of this magazine, who, by the way, was taking a chance on me as he was under a severe deadline, to write an 800 word peice on the current Turkish political situation in the next 48 hours.
Mistake #1: Taking a chance on Rob MacGregor
He told me to go nuts. Do whatever I wanted. Just so long as I was sure not to insult Turkishness.
Mistake #2a: Telling Rob MacGregor to go nuts.
Mistake #2b: Telling Rob MacGregor not to insult something.
I told him, "Tell you what I'll do. I'll whip my cock out and throw it on the table. I'll leave it up to you to chop it down to a manageable size."
He said, "Perfect!"
Mistake #3: Saying the word "perfect" within 17 seconds of Rob MacGregor mentioning his own cock.
So, the next day the editor had what I posted way back in October in his inbox. The day after that I received an email that they wouldn't be using my services for this issue.
What went wrong?
So I decided to publish it anyway. Whatevs. It's brilliant. Someone needs to read it.
This month I was approached by the same editor and asked to pitch a new piece. God bless his masochism. Unfortunately, I was in South-east Asia at the time researching some articles I was charged to write on Malaysian IT and telecoms for work and would have two days to conceive, research and write what it was I wanted to pitch. He was cool with it. His cool was almost a dare. I can't welch a dare. I took the assignment.
Since that conversation, I've written four pieces for this editor in as many days. Of the four, only one had been found unusable. It was an 11th hour article he asked me to write on my trip to Malaysia. It couldn't be used because he was looking for something along a more "business standpoint than a noodle standpoint." (Honestly...that's one of the greatest notes I've ever been given) Keeping with my last piece, I figured I should post the unusable one here. Afterall, it should be read by somebody. And this undapants doesn't seem to be used for anything other than a dead article repository.
Enjoy the unusableness...and noodleness.
I’ve always had a burning interest in Asia, particularly the Asia of the far- and south-east variety. When I was a kid, my family, consisting of my mother, sister and myself, didn’t make a whole lot of money. In fact, we were skint as navel lint, especially considering that my mom had to pay a mortgage on the huge, five-bedroom house my father left us (in which my mother was determined to stay), while sending my sister and me to private school (in which my mother was determined we stay). While we didn’t have any cash to throw around, we did have plenty of space in our house to let. So, to help subsidize our income, my mother began renting out spare rooms to international exchange students who were studying at the local university.
During that time we hosted myriad students from across the globe. The ones with whom I identified most, however, were the students from the far-east. Maybe it was their rich and mysterious cultural history. Perhaps it was their customs, which differed from anything I knew at the time. Really, though, I think it was, out of all other nationalities, our Asian guests received the best care packages.
And the fact that I was into karate, too.
Seriously…the care packages were amazing. Never before had I seen such a medley of fascinating and, dare I say, alien foodstuff: melon flavored candy; shrimp chips; seaweed-flecked chewing gum? Really? The fishy teas and weird, paper confections and…oh, good lord! The endless varieties of instant noodle bowls. I was hooked on this captivating culture and its delicious cuisine that almost seemed based on a dare.
Chiefly the instant noodle bowls.
So when my company asked me to fly out to Malaysia for two weeks on business, I not only jumped the opportunity, I spinning roundhouse kicked it in the face! Until now, even with my deep-seeded fascination with the east, the closest to it I had ever been to it was the Ikea on the other side of the Bosphorus. It was time for me to experience the region from whence my childhood guests and their intriguing vittles came first hand. I packed my bag and caught a direct flight to Kuala Lumpur.
The first thing anyone will notice about Malaysia, perhaps even before they disembark from the plane, is that it’s hot. Hot with an eleveny-jillion percent humidity. Right now, being the rainy season, not only will you start sweating the second you step outside air-conditioned walls, the sweat that you sweat will sweat as well. One should pack light. Being an ex-Boy Scout of America (“Be prepared” and all that) I packed a couple of sweaters. Don’t do that! The mere sight of them balled up in a useless mass in the corner of your hotel room, in the Malay mug, will cause you to start leaking from pores you never knew you had, regardless of whether you have the AC dropped to theoretical degrees below Condoleezza Rice.
The second thing to become apparent is that the cost of living is decidedly lower than you’d expect. Sure, certain necessities like beer are competitively priced to Western standards, but one can get by on a modest budget in Malaysia. I was there for two weeks, had a suitably memorable time (if my employers are reading), did some modest shopping and walked away with only spending US$600. My thriftiness was aided by the fact that movie admission prices are insultingly low. US$2.25 per feature and US$1.00 for a large Coke? Is this country a hidden camera show?!? Where’s Drew Carey?
The third thing that anyone will notice is that the people in Malaysia are, on a whole, ridiculously friendly. From the first person that assisted me at the airport when I arrived to the last cabby that dropped me there as I left, I was greeted with smiles and never treated like a stupid tourist, which I found a trifle disarming as much of Kuala Lumpur’s population comprises a multi-cultural mish-mash of expatriates. This phenomenon lead me to believe that perhaps the benevolent nature of the populace is due to endemic variables. Maybe it has to do with the fine infrastructure and low cost of living. Maybe it has to do with the fact that most everyone there speaks English (an indubitable boon to any mono-cum-quasi-lingual American traveler) so we all understood each other.
Or maybe their friendly nature can be attributed to Malaysia’s delectable, sundry and ubiquitous selection of instant noodle bowls.
The third thing that anyone will notice about Malaysia is its delectable, sundry and ubiquitous selection of instant noodle bowls, which, really, is why I was there. Good thing, too. As I was in KL on business, and it isn’t much more than a business center, I never had the opportunity to see anything more interesting than my hotel room and the local 7-11 where I purchased the delicious noodles to take back to my hovel and devour greedily like some pathetic Tolkein character falling off the Atkins diet wagon.
I’d give you details of each variety of noodle I ate, from the sumptuous goreng to the disappointing “Curry Delight”, but a gentleman never discloses what goes on behind closed doors. That, there, is between me and my noodles. But I do entreat you to experience the mysterious East for yourself, particularly Malaysia.
But, seriously, stay away from the “Curry Delight”. That cuisine’s not based on a dare. It’s based on sadism.
posted by rob at 5:46 AM
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