Tabloids

Quick story...

One night in Kuala Lumpur, I am headed home around 1am after bar hopping to a couple trendy little spots I'd wanted to check out. Found some good ones. I think my hotel is just around the corner to I start to cross the street. I notice a guy, also crossing the street, with a tight hot pink shirt, expensive haircut and nice shoes. Awesome, there's probably a gay bar nearby! So I follow this guy across the street just to get a peek at where he's headed. He's on his cell phone and seems to make no notice of me. I am incognito. Right... So he stops in front of a bar and is still talking on the cell. Hmm, this is not a gay bar. It is an upscale wine bar with a glass facade and a selection of imported cigars that many business men and women seem to be enjoying. I am looking inside and all of the sudden he is standing right next to me.

"Iknewyounotknowwhereyougoing!" What? He is standing right next to me, speaking to me but I can barely pick up a word he is saying. He continues, "Ihjoeirj;oidfj;erhqawfgfojidf;aldkjdfwop--saw you--lskdrldksfj;aoiww;irtj;weirjtwsro--followed you!" I stare at him blankly. Wait, he is following me? So I try talking to him but he is speaking so fast. I think I must sound like an American cowboy to him, provincial. I discern that he is Brazilian, moved to Thailand to compete as a kickboxer, has lived in Phuket for the past four years, has moved to KL to open a bar with his friend.

Now his accent makes sense. It's English spoken with a Portuguese pronunciation and a slight Thai accent but more with Thai speed. Thais string words together so that one sentence is spoken as if it is one word. Thaisstringwordstogethersothatonesentanceisspokenasifitisoneword. And that one word is spoken fast!

So kickboxer, eh? I'm going to hear some stories. I sit down and order vodka. I tell him I've sliced open cadavers so don't hold anything back. But his phone rings. He starts talking...could be any language at this point, I give up. And he's still talking. I notice that he has magazines he was carrying on the table and I grab one. It is an English translation of a Malay tabloid. Not gay, really? I am flipping through it. I learn that the Black Eyed Peas are touring Asia and everyone loves Fergie's legs. How could you not? I also learn about some Asian pop stars. There is an article about a young woman named Xeng. "Though known for her great number of fashion mishaps, she is proud to be the new spokes model for the clothing line Soda. 'I just try to stay positive and nothing can hurt me,' Xeng said.'"

This is fantastic!!!! I am sucked in, sipping vodka at some random bar in KL--nevermind the Thai kickboxer who is still on his stupid phone--and I am loving this trashy magazine. US Weekly and People are like film before technicolor compared to the superficial-ness of this magazine. I read it cover to cover, there is only ice in my glass. I shove 20 ringgets under my glass, stand up and grab the rest of the kickboxer's magazines. I figure if you invite a girl to a drink and talk on the phone the whole time, she should get to take your magazines. I catch his eye and in one movement, give him a little wave and hail a cab. I am down the block in two seconds, headed to my guesthouse.

The cab stops and there is banging on my window. "This your friend?" the driver says? I see a pink shirt with muscles bulging out of it, muscles that say 'I care more about my workouts than my friends or family.' I tell the driver, it's okay to unlock the door. I slide the magazines down in between the seat and the door beside me.

Kickboxer gets in and is talking at the speed of light and I don't understand a thing. "I'm tried, I'm going to bed," I say. He keeps talking and all I got was, "OhIhatemyfriend!!" So I just repeated myself, "I'm tired, I'm going to bed." He apologizes (I think) and I have the cab pull over again and drop him off.

The cab driver looks at me in the mirror as we drive away. I read the magazines on the plane the next day. They were gloriously indulgent.