Dating in Bangkok 102: The Toothbrush Factor

A couple of months ago, I wrote about a guy I was dating who kept a number of pastel-colored toothbrushes in a rather discreet shelf above his bathroom mirror, obviously for his many paramours. I never did get my own toothbrush. I got out of there faster than you can say “toxic bachelor”.

He has since been dumped and presumably recycled. Since then, I’ve developed a kind of wariness for wayward toothbrushes. I know because it was certainly the first thing I watched out for, the first time I paid a visit to The Boyfriend’s place. I did get a quite a scare, at first. A quick trip to the bathroom after watching The Virgin Suicides revealed an electric toothbrush and a pink one of the plastic, manual variety. Obviously, he owned the electric one. But who, pray tell, owned the pink one? And really, pink?

Needless to say, my fears were unfounded. He actually owns both toothbrushes, though he prefers using the pink one, for some reason. It was probably that, more than anything, which allowed the relationship to move forward without too much drama on my end.

The toothbrush fairy tale doesn’t end there, however. I’ve been regularly spending the weekend with The Boyfriend since, and human as I am, I did the unthinkable one weekend – I forgot my toothbrush. I was about to take a quick trip to the 7/11 across the street when he takes out the virtually unused electric toothbrush, unwraps a brand new toothbrush head, and gives it to me. And, as if that wasn’t monumental enough, days later I found my toothbrush head still attached to its body, standing on his bathroom shelf like it totally belonged there. Like I totally belonged there. How did I know it was my toothbrush head? It had my name on it – literally. In bright red ink. (His toothbrush head also has his name on it in blue.)

To this day, my toothbrush head still stands sentinel on his bathroom sink. I like to think it’s watching over my man while I’m away, though I’ll never tell him that because he’ll probably freak out. Anyway, getting one’s own toothbrush head with one’s name on it prominently displayed on a shelf for all to see is a colossal step for all single women, not just in Bangkok, but the entire world. (Think Carrie getting the pink toothbrush head from Mr. Big in Sex and the City, except that it didn’t have her name on it, ha!)

So now I’m finally ready to answer that question that I asked months ago, to much controversy and judgment: Are there still farangs in Bangkok who aren’t just out to dip their wicks in as many Asian crevices as they can? Indeed, there are, and they don’t hoard pastel-colored toothbrushes. Instead, they would give you one of your own, possibly with your name on it. And if you’re lucky, one of them is probably right under your nose all along. I know I was.

Wander with Me: Kanchanaburi

It was a trip of many firsts. Though my own country is rich in waterfalls, rivers, and mountains, I have never been inclined to visit them. As a serious beachcomber, I have always chosen the sea over the mountains, and it was a first for me to have agreed on this trip instead of going to Koh Samet, as what was originally planned. It’s the first time I’ve ever been to quite a historic place, as well. It was also the first (and hopefully not the last) trip with my man – the object of my affection, who shall be referred to from this point forward as The Object.

The Object and I left his apartment in Don Muang bright and early on Saturday morning, with the intention of getting settled in Kanchanaburi by lunch time. Unfortunately, we chose the wrong route and ended up being stuck on a bus along Phahon Yothin Road for almost 2 hours. It was almost 11 AM by the time we got to the bus terminal in Pinklao, and a further 3 hours before we finally made it to the River Kwai area in Kanchanaburi.

 

A very amiable songthaew driver recommended the Sugar Cane Guest House, and we were not disappointed at all. We were lucky enough to get a cottage on a raft right on the river. For 550 baht a night, it was absolute perfection. The resort was quite a long walk into the center of town but our floating accommodation more than made up for it. Personally, I was happy with the arrangement. I’ve been cooped up in my apartment for too long eating sugary buns. I totally needed the fresh air and the exercise.

 

But I digress. We intended to walk to the Bridge Over the River Kwai after lunch. Unfortunately, it was drizzling in what was supposed to be the second driest province in Thailand, so we headed back to the guest house and waited for the rain to stop on our lovely veranda. I amused myself by anxiously gazing into the dark green waters, hoping to catch a glimpse of any animal larger than me. I wasn’t so lucky.

Eventually, the rain subsided and we walked to the Bridge Over the River Kwai about a kilometer away. (If anybody’s wondering why I can’t just say the River Kwai Bridge or something, it’s because I can’t. Everybody calls it the Bridge Over the River Kwai, no doubt because of the movie, so I’m joining the bandwagon. Deal with it.) The Bridge, no, the entire railway, for that matter, was supposedly built by POWs back in the Second World War, The Object’s own grandfather being one of them. It’s a rather sad bit of history, actually, and I’m not about to go into a lengthy account of it in here. It’s much too depressing. The view was stunning, however, and the air was cool and pleasant.

A train came by while we were on the bridge and it was quite scary. I had a picture in my head of the bridge collapsing with the weight of the train and all the tourists and we will all plummet into the river and I’d come face to face with an animal larger than myself. Ahhh…to have such an imagination.

But once again, I digress. The Object and I made it to the other side of The Bridge (in one piece) and wandered away from all the tourists. We peered through cages of exotic birds, among them peacocks, and made our way to a grassy spot on the riverbank where we sat for a while and took in more calmness and fresh air. I honestly did not know how much more serenity I could take, but The Object seemed quite contented so I found myself relaxing little by little.

We were back on our little house boat before sunset. I showered, put on the ridiculously expensive dress I got conned into buying in Phuket, and settled on the veranda to watch the sunset. I was disappointed when I didn’t see a spectacular one. The Object was tired and wanted to rest for a bit. I did a bit of writing and amused myself by listening to our next-door neighbor going at it (you get the picture), watching the floating restaurants go past, and vainly hoping for a reptile to make an appearance. Eventually, the novelty wore off and I was bored out of my eyeballs. It was useless trying to talk to The Object because he was half-asleep and rather unresponsive, the way people who are between consciousness and unconsciousness are. The silence was deafening. I hated it because I found myself thinking of things that I did not want to think about, like where the relationship was going, how scared I was about falling, where my life was going, etc. My thoughts were too serious, too intense. I wanted to avoid that because when I think, the floodgates open and I start baring my soul, potentially humiliating myself. I think I must have, a little. I certainly know I asked a lot of questions. I can only hope that The Object really was half-asleep and therefore can’t remember much of the conversation that night. Finally, I was able to rouse him enough to convince him that he was hungry enough to walk to town with me for dinner. I found a used bookstore and the German owner gave me a discount because, according to him, I was the prettiest girl he’s seen for a long time. I didn’t know how true that was but I couldn’t complain. After dinner, we gave our next-door neighbors a run for their money. (Sorry, I couldn’t help squeezing that in.)

Again, we were up bright and early the next day. We had booked ourselves into an all-day tour (990 baht each) and we were both pretty excited. I had the best breakfast ever, the best since I moved to Thailand, and it was the perfect way to start what was to become a fantastic day. We were picked up by a mini bus with the rest of our tour group for the day. First stop, Erawan Falls, some 65 kilometers away. It was a rather scenic drive all the way to the park where the waterfalls were. Erawan Falls had 7 waterfalls, 3 or 4 of them you can swim in. We separated ourselves from the rest of the group and explored on our own. The Object is quite a nature buff and we were always stopping every so often to look for wildlife. It’s amazing how much he knows about birds, lizards, snakes, etc. It was like being in National Geographic or something.

On the 4th tier, people were sliding on huge boulders into the water and it looked like so much fun. An unbelievably fat Western woman in an unbelievably skimpy bikini was about to slide. She changed her mind halfway through and tried to climb back up the rock while her bikini slipped and exposed half of her huge ass. She was thrashing and screaming and by the time she plummeted into the water, locals and tourists alike were in hysterics. That was one of the tackiest and most pathetic things I’ve ever seen.

I finally convinced The Object to take a dip with me. The water was cool and it felt so good. I think the fish felt quite good too. They were certainly having the time of their lives eating (or should I say, sucking) the dead skin on my ankles, toes, and, umm, butt. Both of us weren’t very good swimmers, so we had to stay close to the rocks where the fishes congregated. Indeed, The Object and I made our contribution to the environment by being fish food.

After we’ve had our fill of the water, we attempted to climb further into the 5th tier. We never made it, though. It was much too muddy and I was sensibly wearing flip flops. The Object and I decided to make our way back into the park to rendezvous with the rest of the group for lunch. In an effort to dry myself out, I didn’t put my shirt back on and was walking around in my bikini top. It was a miracle I didn’t get stoned to death. Apparently, Thai women don’t wear bikinis, even in beaches. I never knew that until then and when I thought about it, I realized that I was the only Asian woman shamelessly walking around half-naked in Phuket, Phi Phi, and Ao Nang. That explained the dirty looks I’ve been getting. After all, nobody can ever tell I wasn’t Thai until I opened my mouth. I wasn’t about to be deterred by that revelation, however, and I carried on like normal, impervious to the dagger looks I was getting. Why? Because I’m shameless that way, that’s why.

After lunch, we drove on to our next destination. We cruised on a wooden raft along the river Kwai Noi and it was quite pleasant. It ended too soon, though. I felt that if we carried on a bit longer, we might have seen something exciting, like maybe a crocodile swimming alongside the raft or something.

My disappointment didn’t last long, however. We were going on the elephant trek next, and I was looking forward to that more than anything. I’ve seen quite a few elephants in the area where I live in, but they’ve always looked so sad that they just break my heart each time I see them. This time however, I was going to see elephants that, though captive, were in their own natural habitat. I was quite sad to see wounds on one of them but all in all, they looked quite happy. The elephant The Object and I were on was quite special. She was a massive and healthy-looking female. I was quite apprehensive when her handler left us on her while he took our photographs, but I need not have worried. She was very obedient and she actually posed once or twice. It started drizzling again and I was handed an umbrella. I was on an elephant with an Englishman and what could pass for a parasol. All I needed was a gown. I felt so colonial, indeed.

We left the Wang Pho Elephant Camp shortly thereafter and we were driven to Krasae Cave and the Death Railway. The Cave was used as a medical barracks of sorts back in the war but it was now a Buddhist Temple. We took a walk on the rather precarious railway. It was uneventful. Nobody fell off or anything, but The Object did refer to me as his “lady” on a phone call with his friend. There I was precariously dangling 50 feet above a river on a rickety railroad track with the most depressing history imaginable and I was ridiculously happy. We then rode the train over the same rickety track, got picked up by the mini bus a couple of stations away, and were driven to the Bridge Over the River Kwai, where The Object and I had a leisurely cup of coffee.

Dusk found us on our veranda once again waiting for a sunset. There was one, but it was mostly obscured by thick clouds, so, once again, I was disappointed. We passed the time talking and this time, I wasn’t the only one opening up. It’s amazing what silence could do. I didn’t have all of my questions answered, but I found out enough to know that The Object and I were on the same wavelength all along. There really might be something good here, something that only time will really tell.

We had a late dinner in a bar called No Name and I was introduced to proper English food. I had a steak and mushroom pie and the most amazing mashed potatoes I’ve ever had in my entire life. A proper English meal with a real Englishman – what more could I ask for? The food was fantastic, the company even more so. I was quite sad that we were leaving the next day.

The next morning, I ordered the same breakfast because God only knows when I will ever have eggs, bacon, and toast again. We have since decided to take the train back to Bangkok because we’ve both never done it before. To do that, we had to catch the train from the River Kwai station to Nam Tok near the Burmese border, wait for about 10 minutes, and take the same train back to Bangkok. The train was late, and after a grueling 8-hour journey, we finally pulled into Thonburi station. Though it was pleasant at times, none of us is going to try that again in a hurry.

It was one of the best weekends I’ve ever spent for as long as I could remember and I wish it could have lasted even just one day more. Once again, my eyes were opened to how beautiful the world really is and how glad I am to be alive. I needed that, considering that I was seriously thinking of finally going home. Indeed, there are still so many things and so many places I want to see in Thailand. And if that isn’t reason enough, well, you can guess what other reasons there might be.

Iris, umm, Fired

I didn’t come to Thailand with delusions of grandeur. I didn’t come here to get rich or to become famous. I was just another girl trying to make my way through the world, daring to go beyond the confines of my own backyard. I’ve been brave, yes, and I take pride in that more than any other.

Teaching has been something I dabbled with for the past year or so. There were the unsuccessful forays into corporate training and the unfinished professional education course. It was something I always wanted to do, but it never came naturally to me the way writing always has, so when I was offered a teaching job in Thailand for the first time, I left my comfortable office job and took the challenge. I knew I had a lot to learn but I was determined to succeed. With the constant assurance and encouragement of the person who hired me, I believed that, given time, I would become a great teacher. Everyone around me kept telling me to take it slow, that I’ll get used to it in time. How was I supposed to know that time will be cruelly taken away from me? I never really had a chance.

For the past couple of weeks or so, my blogs have endured an upsurge of criticism. What used to be two obscure little websites with barely 15 visitors per day suddenly gained immense popularity – and not in a good way. Along with my loyal readership of good friends and family, strangers have found their way into my little sanctuary, strangers who dare to judge and hate somebody who have never done them or anybody wrong. I have suffered the indignity of being labeled some very choice words from the English language, but I didn’t care. After all, to each his own, right? These are my blogs. I can write anything that I want on it and anybody can comment as he/she sees fit. That’s how the free world supposedly works.

Imagine my surprise when last night I received a rather cruel email (didn’t even bother with the courtesy of calling) from my employer terminating me from the school after a week of labor because of an article I wrote days before I got the teaching job. My lifestyle apparently does not conform to the acceptable teacher’s way of living (if there’s such a thing). They were afraid that at some point I’d start writing about the school and tarnish its precious and rather inexistent reputation, and I wasn’t a good enough teacher.

For one thing, why would I write about a school? Who wants to read about some stuffy private school in Phahon Yothin Soi 37? The thought of writing such a piece is enough to bring me to a kind of stupor. For another, I was not aware that teachers were not allowed to have private lives. If they were worried that students will come across my blogs at some point, they’re gravely mistaken. The Thais are so ingrained in their own culture that they really can’t be bothered to read 2 obscure English blogs from an unknown person. They spend their time reading Thai comic books and perusing websites in Thai, for crying out loud. Honestly, most Thais don’t exactly exert extra effort (The 4 E’s were not intentional.) to make English a part of their lives. Why do you think we’re here teaching English in the first place? And as for my capability as a teacher, I made it clear right from the start that I was virtually inexperienced in the field of education and have had no proper training, but I was told by the person who hired me that with my language skills, I can do it and I will be given enough time to adjust and prove my worth. I wasn’t even made to do a teaching demo, he just hired me outright. Looking back, a teaching demo could’ve saved everybody a lot of grief.

Though these were the surface reasons given for my immediate termination, reading between the lines of the fateful email suggests otherwise. The person who hired me is a farang. I believe he and his friends took the article I wrote as a personal attack on farangs. That is simply unfair. The piece was written about one person and one person only. I have nothing against farangs. Heck, most of the friends I’ve made in Thailand are farangs. I find most of them intelligent and interesting. Conversation is never dull, which has always been something that I valued. The world is a huge place and I believe people from different races and cultures have a lot to learn from each other. When I wrote: “Honestly, is there still a farang in Bangkok who isn’t just out to dip his wick in as many Asian crevices as he can?” it was meant to be a question (question mark, duh!) and not a generalization (as my boss labeled it on his email). It most certainly isn’t a concrete statement saying that all farangs are scum because they’re not. Though I may not have met many, I know there are still some good guys out there. And contrary to what most of my detractors believe, I am not here to have sexual relations with every farang in Thailand. I date, I have fun, and if I feel its right, I consent to sex, which is not often at all.

The double standard is appalling. They say the world has come a long way from the middle ages, but to be honest, it hasn’t. When a man sleeps around, he’s a bachelor or a playboy, but if a woman does the same thing, she’s a slut, a whore. If I was a man, I would be having my hand shaken and my back patted right now. I am, however, a woman, so having casual sex makes me a pariah. And as if being a woman is not bad enough, I also happen to be Asian, which puts me in the lowest possible minority. I have been insulted in the worst possible way, and though I’ve been encouraged to reveal the school’s name and the person behind all this, I will not sink to the same pathetic level of disrespect that they have shown me because I, at least, know how to respect without judgment the choices that other people make to live their lives. That alone makes me worth ten of them put together.

But I will say this to a Ben Thomas (the person who sent my boss the links to my blog via email) and Aussie Jake: It is people like you who will never amount to anything and I pity your sad, sorry existence. I also want to say something to Melody, the jackass Aussie’s girlfriend, who supposedly discovered my blog. So we come from the same city. You’re possibly my age and probably feeling just as lost as most single girls our age are, but really, why do you put up with your pig of a boyfriend? Look at how he and his friends treat Southeast Asian women in general. You deserve better than this chauvinistic Neanderthal. We all do. And that’s what I’m here to advocate.

The piece I wrote was meant to be quirky and funny, the way most of my pieces are. It’s just too bad that some people are too backwards to realize that. I will not shut down my blogs. That will be like asking me to cut off my limbs. I will, however, protect my posts, my babies from those who wish me ill. Some of my pieces, especially those that are sexual in nature, will be password-protected and may only be accessed by a select few. To request for a password, email me at irisgodd3ss at yahoo dot com and I’ll decide if you’re worthy to enter my private domain. It kills me to have to do this but this is for survival’s sake. I made the mistake of speaking out and baring my soul in a place where people are not ready for it. But no, Iris and Wander Girl are not going anywhere.

So here I am in this foreign land with no job, no prospects, and very little money. I have a choice. I could cower, get on the first flight home, and expect my mommy to fix everything for me. Or I could lick my wounds, gather my thoughts, and keep on fighting until all hope is lost. I know I will never forgive myself if I admitted defeat and went home now. Things are looking bleak, but as long as I still have a single baht to my name, I’m not going anywhere. I may have been beaten, but I will not lose.

I may not be a particularly good teacher but by God, I can write. If I ever doubted that before, all this fuss has just confirmed that I can be a very powerful writer if I want to be. And yes, I want to be. Thank you for the comments, nasty or otherwise. Thank you for getting me fired. And most of all, thank you for finally giving clarity to what it is that I’m supposed to be doing with my life.

Dating in Bangkok 101: How To Tell If The Seemingly Boyfriend Material Farang You Are Dating Is Not, In Fact, Boyfriend Material

For almost 2 weeks now, I’ve been seeing someone. Being a semi-normal single girl, I did spend the requisite few minutes thinking of the possibilities – in this case, a hell of a lot longer than my usual 5 minutes. This guy is so amazingly likeable that I permitted myself a full hour and a half of inane daydreaming. Thankfully, my jaded and slightly cynical self intervened before I started thinking of white lace, table centerpieces, and carnations.

The timing couldn’t have been more perfect. I could usually tell within 5 minutes what a man wants from me, but this one was particularly tricky. The man in question is sweet, smart, attentive, funny, and seems to be made of the same stuff that good boyfriends are often made of. Manifestations of the horny male caveman genome were not immediately evident. After three dinners and much scrutiny, however, I was able to discover that my promising new find might not be as promising as he seemed. This is an account of my findings, not necessarily in order of severity.

1. What’s on his CD player? Don’t get me wrong. Though it’s not my personal preference, I have nothing against house or techno music, or anybody who likes them, for that matter. It is my experience, however, that men who like them are usually up to no good. The man is obviously a party animal, or a clubber, or whatever it is they call people who frequent clubs nowadays. (Damn, I’m getting old.) This kind of man, farang or otherwise, deliberately puts himself in close proximity to drunk, scantily clad, gyrating women on a regular basis, and this being Bangkok, he will, more often than not, take one home with him. That is, after he calls you to say good night. To give him a little credit though, at least he’s not lying when he says he’s going to bed. Cross your fingers and hope he changes the sheets afterwards.

2. Strawberries. Be warned. I will be thinking aloud mostly at this point. We went to the night market in Lumphini Park on our first date. I was laughing at the outrageous t-shirt prints when he suggested I look for a t-shirt that says “one-night strawberry”. Apparently, the Thai phrase for one night stand literally translates to that. I heard the first of many warning bells in my head but I decided to file that information away for future reference. Days later, lying in bed half-asleep after we had sex for the first time, I tentatively probed for the first hint of where the whole thing was going. The response I got? ”There are still plenty of strawberries in that box, yes?” I still have absolutely no idea what that meant. The closest I could come up with was that I’m no one-night strawberry. I’m several-nights strawberry, or at least, until my box runs out of strawberries. I’m not entirely sure when and how that could happen. Another thing worthy of mention but may not be relevant to this article is the fact that he actually orders strawberry milkshakes. I always thought only 12-year-old girls drank strawberry milkshakes. Mental note: I must try to bring up the strawberry discussion while he’s sipping his milkshake. Maybe it’ll make more sense.

3. The unanswered phone calls. I have long since put my days of riffling through a man’s mobile phone behind me. (Yes, I used to do that, shoot me.) It’s hard to ignore the mobile phone, however, when it’s sitting right in front of you. He has one of those fancy phones that’s also some sort of GPS navigation device, so he puts it on a nifty little holder on the dashboard, right where it can’t escape my 20/20 vision no matter how hard I try. There is always somebody calling Mr. Popular. Sometimes he picks up. Most of the time he doesn’t. For a while, I thought it might be because he didn’t want to be rude, but I’ve told him countless of times that it’s perfectly okay if he took the calls. I’ve noticed that the calls he picks up were either from his buddies (I can tell from the guy banter) or from work. He won’t pick up calls from Aof or Apple, both probably Thai girls, judging from the frequency of the phone calls. Seriously, these Thai girls can’t get a clue. They’d call about 15 times and send angry and almost incoherent “Why you not answer me?” messages in between. I pretend not to notice, and it’s amusing because he actually believes it. I once brought it up out of nowhere and he visibly panicked. He then told me the sad story about Apple, a Thai one night strawberry who he claims to have repeatedly told to go away. Right.

4. The screensaver. Still on the subject of the prominently displayed mobile phone on the dashboard. As fancy as it was, the GPS navigation thing once conked out in the middle of a long drive. He cursed, restarted the offending gadget, and there in its full glory was his wallpaper literally smiling at me – a picture of a wide open vagina up close. It took every ounce of self-control I had not to burst out laughing. Flustered, he explained that it was a picture he downloaded off the Internet. It’s funny how this guy thinks I’d buy everything he said like I was born yesterday.

5. Mood lighting and music. His apartment is nothing out of the ordinary. It’s a typical bachelor’s pad – a little messy, a little smelly, and very basic. He does, however, own an extraordinary number of lamps that just screams sex. I couldn’t help but roll my eyes at the setup. He even played music while we were doing the deed. Not house or techno, mind you, but much, much worse. It was one of those instrumental, electronica ones that movies use in scenes where the heroine is doing something domestic, like washing the dishes or gardening. At least, he was too busy to see the expression on my face.

6. The candy-colored toothbrushes. Apart from the fact that he keeps his plates and cutlery in it, his bathroom looks completely normal. Or so I thought. I took a shower the morning after and I had to climb into the tub. It was elevated so I got to see the bathroom from an entirely new vantage point. There is a shelf high up above the sink that only he could probably reach, being 6’6” and all. The shelf had a water glass with 4 pink and purple toothbrushes in it. It’s quite tacky. How could he tell which toothbrush belongs to whom? I figured he had them tagged or something. One thing’s for sure, I’m glad I take my own toothbrush everywhere. At least, my tartar is my own. Enough said.

7. The condom wrappers. In this day and age, nobody should have sex without a condom, especially in Bangkok. Though condoms are revered and venerated enough, the condom wrapper is possibly one of the most neglected and unappreciated things in history. Once opened and the lovely surprise inside extracted, condom wrappers suffer the indignity of being discarded like the rubbish that they are. The morning after, I was looking for my red patent-leather stilettos that have seemed to run off without me. I was on all fours, looking under the bed when I found them – not just my shoes, but 4 discarded condom wrappers looking all sad and forlorn and gathering dust. “Why’s that a big deal?” you may ask. Well, so far, we’ve only used up two condoms, so unless he’s been blowing them up into balloons, you get the picture. It’s tacky, really. If you’re going to screw around, you might as well clean up after yourself. However, let’s give the man another credit for practicing safe sex.

8. The scheduled phone calls and meet-ups. I always know when he’s going to call or not. The guy evidently keeps after a schedule or something. He always calls between 5 to 7 PM. If he doesn’t call within that time frame, then he won’t call at all. What little anxiety level I have at waiting for him to call is confined to within those 2 hours. He did surprise me one time, however, by calling at 10 PM to tell me that he was going to bed. It probably had something to do with house music (see number 1). One thing I can really appreciate about this guy is the fact that he books his dates in advance. At least, he doesn’t expect me to drop whatever it is I’m doing for him. That works for me. Obviously, that works for him too.

Dating a Western man is a tedious exercise. It is even more so in Bangkok. Honestly, is there still a farang in Bangkok who isn’t just out to dip his wick in as many Asian crevices as he can? That’s what I’m here to find out.

Ahhhh…the things I do in the name of research.