Greetings, reader. My name’s Bangkok Seven and this is my blog. Normally I’d be writing something self-indulgent about life in the red-light scene in TLOS, but thanks to the coronavirus, I’m currently trapped in Los Angeles. In fact, as I write this, I should be in transit on a Philippines Airlines flight back to my home in Silom. Instead, I’m in my mum’s living room watching Trump’s press conference about “slowing the spread.” The flight was cancelled, and that idiot Prayut has closed the border except for those with a health clearance—a thing that’s impossible to obtain here in the US.
Though as it turns out, the gogos are shut anyway. So apart from what would be sporadic and semi-paranoid masked visits from my harem, quarantine here isn’t much different from quarantine there.
And so, since I’m not able to write about the red-light, and in an effort preserve my sans-sex sanity, I offer the following: a report on safe-at-home life here. Coronavirus in California, or coronafornia if you will.
It ain’t pretty.
I arrived on March 9. At that time, American news coverage of the coronavirus was minimal, woefully behind, and inaccurate, as virtually every outlet was telling people there was nothing to worry about. Having come from Asia, I knew better, so I packed my mom into the car and trucked up to the grocery store for supplies. She and everyone else looked at me like I was a crazy person. Two days later, everyone else was doing the exact same thing. And after four weeks of self-quarantine, with the death toll rising and economy collapsing, the collective emotional state teeters between frantic and neurotic—at least among the non-retarded. There are still throngs of pinheads congregating together at places like Baskin Robins and taco trucks, as if the virus will give them a reprieve because they’re just out for a snack.
All day every day, the TV news reports the grim statistics, and the people’s paranoia grows proportionately. Toilet paper has been absent from store shelves for a month, along with Vitamin-C, water, and pain killers. It’s interesting that panic buying began here before Thais adopted the practice, since coronawareness (coronavirus awareness) came to BKK months earlier. But I suppose it’s because people react directly to talk of quarantine. At the moment, both LA and BKK have she same stay-at-home orders, though there’s no curfew in place yet here. If or when Bangkok installs a 24-hour curfew, it will surpass the measures taken in the US.
If I’d been trapped in Bangkok by this mess instead of my mum’s house in California, I’d be alone in my apartment, painting oil on canvas paintings, drinking bad wine, practicing ukulele, and watching pirated movies. Here in Los Angeles, I watch Youtube, eat home-cooked meals, drink excellent wine, and put on weight. And that’s it. Sometimes I walk my mum’s dog. Once a week I buy more wine. I’d sit in the back garden, but the weather’s been absolute shit nearly every day. Rainy, windy, and cold, with brief, sporadic sunshine. Every day is like the one before. I wake up, watch the news, eat, watch more news, take a nap, watch the news, eat, watch the news, go to bed.
One positive thing to come from all this is, it’s reaffirmed my belief that I’m not marriage material. Being stuck in the house all day, forced to listen to my family speak, has been the most torturous aspect of the whole pandemic. I can imagine that husbands, wives, boyfriends, and girlfriends are going through the same thing. The difference is, once this nightmare is over I can go back to being blissfully alone, with only the sound of the laughter of my harem girls to break the blessed silence. In the meantime, I’m self-medicating with wine.
Before the pandemic, I’d planned to come back to Cali for a pleasant family visit, but more importantly for a trip to the Central Coast for some heavenly wine tasting at a list of wineries from Buellton to Paso Robles. That route includes Solvang, Los Olivos, Edna Valley, Pismo, Templeton, and the greater Paso area along both east and west regions of Highway 46. You didn’t ask, but my favorite wineries on said route are, in linear order, Lafond, Gainey, Lincourt, Foley, Arthur Earl, Epiphany, Consilience, Tessa Marie, Kelsey Sea Canyon, Kynsi, Baileyana, Tolosa, Wild Horse, Dover Canyon, Opolo, Tablas Creek, Justin, Peachy Canyon, Tobin James, Eberle, EOS, Treana, and Victor Hugo. And yes, I taste at all of them when I go. But rather than wallow in a pool of my own depressed tears at the thought of missing out on all that great vino, I made it a mission to scour the wine shops in the Valley to scoop up any of the above labels that were scoopable. Success has been about 50-50 so far.
There’s just one small problem: sharing said wine with my mother and brother, who it suck down like there’s no tomorrow. Oh, the irony! When I buy substandard wine in Bangkok, I have it all to myself. When I finally get my hands on some good stuff, the bottle’s empty before I can finish one glass.
Perhaps the worst aspect of this nightmare is my lack of access to my harem. They send me daily tearful messages begging for cash and asking when I’m coming back. I tell them I don’t know. Then they send me sexy selfies and TikTok videos to remind me what I’m missing, most of which I post to my Twitter (@BangkokSeven). The sheer frustration is driving me mad.
At any rate, that’s where things stand over here in California. Like the worst Groundhog Day ever. I’ll post an update next week. In the meantime, keep your mask on, your hands washed, and if you’re trapped in your apartment in BKK or Pattaya or Hua Hin, be thankful you can at least get some tail in what is still the greatest country in the world—Thailand.