Hello, my name is Lynn and I am a Hansonaholic

When I was 14, I had a dream that my favorite band in the world, Hanson, came to Thailand and I ended up missing their appearance because I had an exam on the same day. Well, fast forward seven years later, and guess what? That dream came true! AGHHHHHHHHH (NOTE: that cry was a cry of distress and anguish, not of joy and jubilation, mind you). I had NO idea that Hanson were going to be coming to do a brief appearance and meet-and-greet session last Saturday, and so I completely missed it. MISSED IT. I guess I can credit this to the fact that I no longer check their website for updates ten million times a day like I used to when I was in tenth grade, and also because I was busy typing furiously away at my computer the week before (damn you, stupid thesis paper), and so I haven't really been up to date with all the latest BKK events. So anyway, what happens when I finally emerge from my academia vortex three days later? Hanson pop on by BKK and leave without me even knowing, dammit! (AGHHHHHHHH.)


Everyone and anyone who knew me back in high school knew that I was a big Hanson fan. I was thee Hansonaholic of the Class of 2000. There were your gifted athletes, talented musicians, smart geniuses, and then there was Lynn the Hanson Freak. Granted I don't have little teenybopper crushes on them anymore, and I don't circle their birthdays in my calendar like I used to when I was 14, but I'm still a really big fan. I love the music. I love the lyrics they write. And I love the spirit that radiates through their voices when they perform live.


I'm sure that everyone used to have a favorite band, singer, celebrity, athlete, or movie star that they looked up to and adored when they were a teen. You might have done fanatical things, like fly halfway around the world to see one of their concerts (um, guilty); beg the guy at Tower Records to give the store's front window life-sized cardboard cut-out of your favorite band to you, so that you could prop it up outside your bedroom door like a Buckingham Palace guard (guilty, and it's now collecting dust in the storage room under the stairs); memorize all their lyrics word for word, and spend weekends plucking out their songs on your piano (guilty); buy a guitar in hope that you would someday be able to strum those strings like a pro, just like Isaac your favorite band member (guilty, but I can only play three chords); and maybe even call up your local radio station ten thousand times a day so that your favorite band could be number 1 that week, and so that those loser Backstreet Boys could get shoved back down to number 2 where they rightfully belong (ahem, guilty again).


I look back at that teenage self and half-cringe, half-laugh at all the preposterous things she did. Now, when I see clusters of teenage girls at Asia Books, oohing and aahing at magazine pictures of Westlife and Justin Timberlake, I know exactly what that bubbly, giggly sense of joy feels like. Had I had the chance to meet Hanson when I was 14, I might've done something really embarrassing, like gape unattractively, burst into tears, hyperventilate... or maybe even propose. OK, I'm just kidding about the latter bit (or am I?). But now, seven years later, had I known that Hanson would be stopping by BKK, I would have liked nothing more in the world than to go up to them, shake their hands, and thank them for making such brilliant music - music that inspired a little 14-year old teen in more ways than they can possibly imagine - and for making her smile (and squeal).


So I missed their appearance, but I'll live. Still, I am sad. =( I hear they might be coming back again at the end of the year for a full-fledged, plugged-in gig, so I'm keeping my fingers (and toes) crossed!


HANSON IN THAILAND
(Photos courtesy of Sony Music Thailand)


"Hi, I'm Mr. Beautiful Boy Hanson, and I have the remarkable ability of looking gorgeous, even after a long 16-hour trans-Pacific flight."


I wish I were a baby elephant so that beautiful American boys could feed me bananas.


And I wish I were a baby elephant so that beautiful American boys could touch my, um, trunk, too.


OK, now I really, REALLY wish I were an elephant. =X
Think that Harry Potter or Severus Snape will be willing to lend me some Polyjuice Potion?

~*~

The boys being interviewed by Channel V Thailand's VJ, Terng. (Mind you, this isn't a completely accurate word-for-word recounting of what went on, but is the general gist of it.)

TERNG: So what’s your ideal girl like?
TAYLOR: My wife, Natalie, she's just amazing.
ZAC: My girlfriend.
ISAAC: This might sound kinda cliché, but looks aren’t a top priority. There's really gotta be that emotional and spiritual connection…
ZAC: Go be a monk!
(Laughter)
ZAC: But seriously, once that Viagra affect disappears with age, there's gotta be a relationship and connection there.

Ya see why I love these boys?

TERNG: So if a movie were to be made about your lives, who would you want to have star as you?
ZAC: Does the person have to be living? Because I would choose Chris Farley! He was kinda chubby and really fun, and I’m like that.
ISAAC: Brad Pitt!
(Laughter)
TAYLOR: Tiger Woods.
(Silence)
TAYLOR: Because he knows how to drive that ball.

And that's all I have to say about that.


~*~

Every year, there is a traditional Thai college farewell party that's thrown for graduates by their roon nong (younger classmates in their freshman, sophomore, and junior years), and accordingly, it is called a "Bye 'Nior" (Bye Seniors, get it?) party. Last week I went to the Bye 'Nior party that my roon nong held for my fellow classmates and I at the Than Settakij Building, and it was loadssss of fun. Lots of laughs, sappy, sentimental speeches, and picture-taking. Our roon nongs really worked their butts off to arrange and coordinate everything for us... ขอบคุณน้องๆ ทุกคนที่ช่วยกันจัดงานให้กับพวกพี่ๆ นะค่ะ! พวกเราคงไม่มีวันลืมงานคืนนั้น และคงไม่มีวันลืมความทรงจำเก่าๆ จากปีก่อนๆ So thanks once again, na ka. =)


~*~

On Saturday, I went to Emporium with my mom to do a little shopping. No, let me rephrase that. I went to Emporium on Saturday so that my mom could do a little shopping, and so I could help her lug all her shopping bags around. =P


One of her friends owns this boutique, called Kenzo, on the ground floor, and her friend said that she'd give my mom a 50-70 percent discount on any article of clothing in the shop. So hmm, wow, not a bad deal, eh? Yeah, well, that's what I thought so, too. However, when we got there, while my mom's friend helped her choose some selections, I stealthily and casually sneaked a few peeks at some of the price tags. Holy friggin cow! 12,000 baht for a stinkin' blouse??? Never mind that the blouse is stunning and I want nothing more than to rub my face against that soft-as-a-baby's-bum fabric, but 12,000 stinkin' baht??? Hmm, well, let's try that rack over there beneath the 50% discount sign. Ladidada... Oooh, what a pretty little dress this is. Now, let's just flip that price tag over - Sweet Jesus! 39,000 baht!! And this is after the 50% discount??? You do the math!


The clothes were G-O-R-G-E-O-U-S. Straight from Paris and hand-picked by my mom's friend herself. Dazzling colors, beautiful fabrics, and nothing but awesomely hip and original designs. Man, oh man. After much browsing, fitting and trying, my mom ended up with two blouses and a pair of pants. There was a really sweet, vintage leather jacket there, but I didn't mention it to my mom; the price was too preposterously sky-high to even bother doing so.


I later took my routine stopover at Books Kinokuniya, bought three books (go find a way to procure a copy of Dan Brown's Angel and Demons, now!), popped over at CD Warehouse, bought the latest albums by The Calling and Alanis Morissette, and later diddle-daddled with my mom at the Estee Lauder, Clinique, and MAC counters on the ground floor. We had fun with the Estee Lauder Skin Scanning Device, and got to see images of our sweat pores, all blown up a couple of thousand times. Not too attractive, people.


Later, when we were leaving Emporium, guess who we ran into on our way to the parking lot exit? Mr. Prime Minister himself! I spotted him first, because he was walking right behind us, and coincidentally I saw his reflection behind ours in the Rolex shop window as we were walking past (how can those Rolex folks fit so many diamonds onto a watch face??). To my horror, my mom turned around and then they suddenly started talking. Coincidentally, my mom had just met Thaksin the week before at a seminar, and so I guess he recognized her. I know that they've met a number of times already in the past, since my mom and uncle are acquainted with his brother and sister, but it was pretty darn surreal for little ol me. I mean, it's not everyday you see the Prime Minister strolling around Emporium with his wife, Khun Ying Pojama, on a Saturday afternoon. But I kept my cool. I might've nearly forgotten to wai him and his wife, but other than that, nothing really drastic happened. They were very normal people, in case you were wondering. Very friendly, very courteous, very casual, and looking very much like an ordinary couple out for a little weekend shopping. Yes, very normal, you see, if you didn't take into account the numerous bodyguards that surrounded them. As I stood waiting for my mom while she conversed with the prime minister and his wife, the clad-in-black bodyguards suddenly began to swarm me... literally. One of them was practically stepping on my toes, another was flanking my left side, and another was practically pressed up against my back; you'd think I were about to whip out a gun, give a sinister cackle, and take Mr. and Mrs. Prime Minister hostage before whisking them away into the smoggy underground parking lot or something! But other than that, they were really nice and normal people.


~*~

On Sunday evening, I went to a wedding at the Dusit Thani Hotel. This is the FOURTH wedding I've been to this past year and a half, and believe me, the novelty tends to wear off after awhile. Don't get me wrong – I love weddings. But many of the wedding receptions I've been to in Thailand seem like carbon-copies of the other; they all take place in fancy, snazzy hotels and generally follow the same old routine (what happened to getting married under the sea or at the North Pole?). My brother was in a foul mood that night. You see, the reception was on the same night as the Linkin Park concert (who also happen to be his numero uno most favorite band in the world) , and even though he'd gotten tix weeks before (they were quickly sold out a few days later), he was forced to give them up and sell them to a friend so that he could go to the wedding reception instead. My brother grumbled about not seeing the point in going to the reception of some people he didn't even know ("Because they're our friends' daughter, and one day, when it's your turn to get married, they'll be at your wedding, too! And also because they've flown all the way here from California to have this reception, and we've known her parents since way back during our Fremont Thai temple days, and family friends are more important than a rock band!"). So yeah, since he's currently stuck at that angsty, hormonal teenage juncture right now, he wasn't exactly Mr. Friendly that night.




My brother and I basically suffered from a bout of incurable boredom that night, especially since we didn't know anyone at the reception and also because our parents had been sucked into the crowd and were busy talking to friends and socializing. So, we decided to just park ourselves by a row of chairs by the cocktail table and do a little people-watching. Later, in the middle of our perceptive social observations and commentary, we were abruptly disturbed by a very unwelcome distraction.

JASON: Um, did you fart?
LYNN: What? No! Why, did you?
JASON: No, but someone definitely did. Can't you smell it?
LYNN: No, I don't smell anyth- (sniffs in canine-like manner as olfactory nerves are voluntarily revved up a notch) No, wait... aw, man, who dropped that one? Talk about nasty.
JASON: I know, it deserves a WMD* classification.
LYNN: Well, if you say it wasn't you, and I say it definitely wasn't me, then who was it?
JASON: (peering casually over left shoulder before lowering voice) I think it was the lady in the pink dress.
LYNN: (attempting, but failing horribly at peering oh so casually over Jason's shoulder at two elderly women engaged in light conversation)
JASON: See her?
LYNN: (whispering) Which one? There's two of them in pink dresses.
JASON: The one with the big hair.
LYNN: (whispering) They both have big –
JASON: The one with the big feather in her hair.
LYNN: (still whispering) Oh, yeah, I see her. Are you sure it's her?
(HOST suddenly asks the crowd to rise and toast to the bride and groom.)
CROWD: CHAIYO, CHAIYO!!**
BIG-HAIRED, FEATHER-WAVING FART-SUSPECT-CLAD-IN-PINK: (sits down after toast)
JASON: Awww, DUDE. She did it again.
LYNN: Again? I still don't smell anyth-
JASON: Give it a second...
LYNN: (not bothering with the whole whispering bit at this point) Aww, gross! Ew, ew, ew.
(HOST asks the crowd to rise again to toast to the bride and groom’s parents this time.)
CROWD: CHAIYO, CHAIYO!!
BIG-HAIRED, FEATHER-WAVING FART-SUSPECT-CLAD-IN-PINK: (sits down after toast)
LYNN: Lemme guess, she dropped another one?

*NOTE: WMD = Weapon of Mass Destruction
**TRANSLATION: Chaiyo = Hooray

With the exception of the big-haired, feather-waving fart-suspect-clad-in-pink, I thought that the wedding reception went beautifully. The bride was gorgeous, the groom looked great, and seeing as how the reception was held at the Dusit Thani Hotel's Napalai Ballroom, the decorations and embellishments were stunning. The food tasted great, even though I was slightly wary about the caviar (stick to chicken eggs, people, and try to steer clear of fish eggs). I was introduced to more people than I can remember, waied folks I'll probably never see again, and now know that big-haired, feather-waving fart-suspects-clad-in-pink should always be avoided at all costs. Trust me on this one, folks, for your olfactory nerve will thank you immensely.


Check out the Tower of Babel cake!


And here we are, valiantly braving some very lethal FART FUMES.
(Had Donald Rumsfeld been able to get a hold of said fumes, I'm positive he would've been able to hole Osama bin Laden out of hiding ages ago. But that's just my personal, humble opinion.)

(And, sadly, it must be admitted that throughout the entire reception at the Dusit Thani, my Hansonaholic self tried so very hard not to think about the fact that just one measly week before, Hanson had been sleeping under that very roof. Just ONE WEEK before. Oh, the injustice.) =(


Have a good week everyone!

Currently Playing: Stupid by Sarah McLachlan
Currently Reading: Angels and Demons by Dan Brown