A Funny Thing Happened in the Forum

Bored as ever, Mukloi took a tour of the online forums this month, where, surprisingly, a tiny speck of meaning glinted from the cesspool. Cambodia, it seems, is like a Rorschach blot, simultaneously a haven for cheap sin and a cultural gem striving to re-invent itself. A brief spat was ignited by the claim, originally published in the Phnom Penh Post, that Western women have a hard time finding worthy partners here. As a paid up chauvinist and always anxious to join an altercation, Mukloi waded into one of the more urbane forums to heap criticism on the female reporter’s work. Though this miniature battle of the sexes was a good five-minute diversion, the shame of anonymously assassinating someone for merely expressing their opinion is hard to shake. Why do people enjoy slinging sneering insults online? Like Mukloi, many are probably under-worked consultants eking out their miniscule work quota over a long day. But some—usually the failed policeman, goose-stepping, Trotsky-worshipping moderators—have a much more major malfunction.

These guys, at least on the forums that egregiously see themselves as ‘edgy’ and ‘counterculture’, are the dictionary definition of failure; divorced from their podgy wives, parted from their terraced brick coffins, and slowly succumbing to their mercenary sweethearts and the evils of drink. Their almost-touchingly illiterate harangues, which masquerade as ‘front page articles’, are nothing short of tragic.

These self-important rants mark a new low in vanity publishing, their a-grammatical invective plumbing the depths of both embarrassing insecurity and sheer god-awful writing. Usually beginning with a convoluted miasma of obscure adjectives, over-intricate pseudo-leads sinuously slip out of the uninterested reader’s grasp like a slimy eel, words misapplied with infantile naiveté to appallingly simple concepts. Coherent through-lines are as common as hen’s teeth.

Like the red-faced, panting porkers they are, ‘writers’ like “keeping_it_riel” – an English teacher at Street 51’s New World school – tend to run out of steam after the first few paragraphs, resorting to blunt metaphors unskillfully lifted from Jeremy Clarkson’s swaggering columns. Yet, while Clarkson’s inimitable excoriation of modern life can at least raise a smirk, the plodding prose of these most amateur of also-rans can only inspire a depressing mix of boredom and pity. Their choice of subject, either ‘girly bars’ or infuriatingly simplistic restaurant ‘reviews’, is symptomatic of a constrained and frustrated life; these are the highlights of existence, paraded on a pedestal for friendless, fawning acolytes to praise.

Commas are dropped left and right, and full- and semi-colons a mysterious sorcery. Why, one might ask, would someone spend hours laboriously typing with a single finger—regularly halting to hit ‘shift F7’ to make their regrettable account all the less readable—such odious garbage?

The simple answer seems to be insecurity. With few friends and the social skills of a retarded orangutan, these social lepers lack an audience willing to stomach their puerile truisms. Indeed, despite being subject to the utter contempt of those in the media industry, the worst offenders seem to be laboring under the erroneous belief they have talent enough to become a professional, repeated knock-backs and ridicule only fuelling their laughable claims that such risible dreck is ‘too real’ for publication. That is when they’re not getting fired for gross incompetency…

Still, these deluded ignoramuses should receive our sympathy rather than our ire, clinging as they do to their fantasies of unrealized success. Perhaps the Guardian’s Charlie Brooker, writing back 2006, most eloquently summarized the bizarre mentality that pervades these online sewers. “[Forums] appeals to the “lab rat” part of your brain,” he wrote, “the annoying, irrepressible part that adores repetitive pointlessness and would gleefully make you pop bubblewrap till Doomsday if it ever got its way. An unfortunate few, hooked on the futile thrill of online debate, devote their lives to its cause. They roam the internet, actively seeking out viewpoints they disagree with, or squat on messageboards, whining, needling, sneering, over-analysing each new proclamation—joylessly fiddling, like unhappy gorillas doomed to pick lice from one another’s fur for all eternity.”

So, if you’re reading this forum jockeys, the above is how to pen a generalized character assassination without once referring to the facts. Now you know.

MukLoi can be contacted at loyface@gmail.com

UPDATE: Looks like someone rattled the cage over at the online sewer. Cheers for the hits guys! One mistaken name has already been put forward as MukLoi’s alter-ego—WRONG!—but please feel free to try again…

The Media’s Misguided Misappropriation of History

The recent scramble to explain our current economic debacle has seen some admirable but doomed analogies and some very suspect massaging of statistics. Worst of all, though, is the ill-informed shoe-horning of misunderstood historical precedents into modern clothing. Take this gem, which discusses the possibility that greater globalization leaves a greater vulnerability to catastrophes, from the Reuters wire this week.

“Analysts point out that when the Black Death hit Europe in the 14th century, killing around a third of the population, society did not collapse, because economic and social systems were relatively simple and so insulated from shocks.

By contrast, a plague that hit the Roman empire in the 2nd century, with a similar death rate, caused chaos—Roman society was much more complex and economically advanced.”

Quite apart from the use of unnamed ‘analysts”—a mere lazy half-step away from the terrible “many believe,” or indefensible “some fear”—and a terrible lack of commas, there is a wealth of historical inaccuracy.

Let us begin with the second paragraph. The late medieval age, a full millennium after the classical Roman period, was, to negatively paraphrase the author, far less complex and economically advanced. Fact, apparently. How then are we to explain the yawn-inducingly complicated system of feudalism and Episcopal Baronies of Europe? The bones of these administrative systems are in fact quite similar to previous Roman incarnations, with the caveat that they are all the more complex for being (at least subtly) different in every state, with far more independent states than the homogenized Roman provinces. Indeed, the Roman system, based as it was on the comparatively simple concepts of slavery and patronage, levied far fewer soldiers and saw far lower agricultural yields than the state in the late middle ages, two major causes of repeated instability.

Worse still, the medieval system was far from “insulated,” as peasant laborers, previously satisfied with a residence and the right to work, sought movable wealth (usually in the form of cash) for their (now much more in demand) services after the Black Death’s decimation. Though not a complete societal collapse, this basically spelled the end of feudal society, and was arguably an early social driver of the renaissance a century or so later.

We can actually refute the author’s claim without recourse to such theoretical deductions, as the Roman plague outbreak that may have “caused chaos” (the death toll is a matter of debate), certainly did not result in the collapse of Roman Empire, as the author implies through comparison with the apparently completely different medieval case.

The hijacking of muddled history to support mixed-up conclusions only further muddies the already murky waters of the media. It should be stopped.

MukLoi can be contacted at loyface@gmail.com

Over Complexity in the Generation of Ignorance

The generation gap, even for those of us who have yet to hit 30, is yawning. Scrolling through the detritus of a well-known social networking site after a comatose Khmer New Year, out of the ream pointless updates and tedious accounts, one user’s material outshone all others in its imbecilic absurdity. We’ve all seen them: Peppered with “C U 2nite,” amongst other nonsensical ‘timesavers’, this unashamed chav seemed to be repeatedly lauding her contempt for education, language and reason of every kind. But, taking a look elsewhere in my (meagre) ‘address book’, I noticed that this horrific virtual lobotomy is thankfully restricted to those of a certain age: children of Thatcher’s Generation X, rather than the ‘little shits’ (or tweenagers/Generation Why to use two semi-official terms). It dawned that—like the un-vandalised UK public phone boxes that no longer stink of stale piss—the world has for the most part moved on from the bizarre Franken-English that the first generation of mobile phones, cursed as they were with non-predictive texting, forced onto a slothful and technophobic public.

This generational disparity reaches even into historical investigation, it seemed, as the infuriatingly patronising Josh Bernstien once again ‘investigated’ (read defiled) a subject with his trademark wide-eyed incredulosity. Visiting the admittedly breathtaking remains of Pompeii in search of “the truth behind Gladiators,” scratched graffiti was explained as “kind of a Roman website.” Do today’s youth no longer scratch crude caricatures of teachers into their desks? Where are the anatomically doubtful but undoubtedly obscene toilet sketches of yesteryear? Can we really explain the simple concept ancient graffiti (the word is derived from ‘scratchings’) using a vastly more complex and substantially different concept?

Of course, explanation and analysis are not Discovery Channel’s raison d’être, which is why the occasional accidental profundity is all the more, well, profound. Half-watching some drivel about snakebites (when are these guys going to run out of superlatives?), MukLoi happened across an unlikely American intellectual twin. Wild-eyed and incoherent through a combination of loneliness, thin blood and personality disorders, a crumpled country pastor stubbornly misinterprets a passage from the bible to justify his use of venomous snakes during services. But this being the Appalachian Mountains, a remote backwater noted for poverty, inbreeding and the one of the most archaic forms of spoken English, many of these services are sparsely attended. In fact, rev. Venom reveals, sometimes there is no audience at all. Undeterred, he apparently continues as usual, happy in the knowledge that the Lord is noting his good work. One labourer working on a road outside the chapel apparently asked this loon why he had held a two hour service with no audience. The rely? “You heard it.” MukLoi was immediately struck by the similarity between preaching to nobody and writing a blog that no-one reads. Why do I inflict these pages of nonsense on an uncaring internet? Probably, like our Appalachian friend, a mixture of boredom, inbreeding and mental illness.

MukLoi can be reached at loyface@gmail.com

Self Sailing Guy

The downturn is forcing Cambodian men to be creative in their attempts to support studies. A “Self Saling Guy” actually put an ad on a local classifieds board, where he states that,
“I am a 22 years old guy,I am a student of university in second year but now I have stoped stuying because my family very poor so I need to find money to continue studying but now the job is verry difficult to find so it force me to choose this way.My self price is 100$ up I think it is only alittle bit of money for the rich woman that her husband never care of her feeling of sex so I can help her better.Please contact me 017 33 44 52
BongThom-ID: 37469
Category: GENERAL – For Sale
Location: Phnom Penh
Price: $100.00
Brand: handsome and cute
Contact: Panha
Address: Phnom Penh
Phone: 017 33 44 52″

Mad Dogs and Englishmen meet Grandpa Scrooge

Whilst everyone has been aware for several decades that a weatherman is not required to be aware which way the wind blows, one is required to repeatedly predict showers that universally fail to show, driving heat maddened expats to tears of rage, much to the amusement of Cambodian neighbors.

Yes, that’s right: the ‘hot season’—as savage an understatement as MukLoi has ever heard—is here again.

For those not privy to the searing dustbowl that is Cambodia until June, a trip is perhaps worthwhile just for the experience of feeling like a vampire (no mean feat considering the creatures exist only in fiction). Not that there’s any kind of Goth scene here (thank god) or any of the new school of spiritual pussies lampooned in Southpark. Just that a trip across town midday is like being in an 80’s ‘bratpack’ vamp film, something along the lines of the Lost Boys. The unforgiving sun beats down with superhuman fury, instantaneously sending dark coloured trousers to flesh searing temperatures. A preternaturally hot wind blasts dust into eyes and mouths, scorching away any traces of moisture. Within minutes, steam begins to hiss—at first lazily, then with ominous bubbling intensity—as the expat’s pallid flesh crumbles into clumps of grey ash. Often mistaken for desiccated dog turds, these pitiful remnants dot the streets of the capital, an oft overlooked tribute to those who have bravely fallen on their way to Lucky. Probably.

The more fat-arsed of Cambodia’s expats avoid such considerations altogether. These most wasteful of bloodsuckers stew the day away in big SUVs, mostly emblazoned with the name of an orphanage (read embezzlement farm) or grossly exploitative pseudo business. But is it worth the crushing blow to self esteem that joining these terminally conceited self-satisfied cretins, who belch out exhaust fumes at almost the same rate as their patronizing trusisms?

No, of course not. Drive a motorcycle. When someone points out how dangerous it is, just agree. Motorcyclists are left in no doubt as to how they will die, you can say. What a relief. They also carve through the clogged streets like a machete through a banana tree, able to mount pavements and take short cuts through markets. Unlike cars, number plates and tax are strictly optional, as, if the police notice your blatant lawbreaking (unlikely), you can simply run away. Everyone secretly wants to be Steve McQueen in the Great Escape, not the simpering, wait-in-line-for-the-train English.

Of course, expats with Khmer wives will protest that biking it is not an option for those with “face” to uphold. That’s where A Christmas Carol comes in.

Buy a copy of this timeless fable, hopefully with garish pictures. Then explain the story with a Khmer slant thusly: The virtuous Scrooge (Scrooge can even become your grandfather. This is good for the ‘ancestor respect’ factor) dutifully squirrels away his money so that he can buy gold for his wife (she stays at home cooking and cleaning). Scrooge’s lazy and greedy employees always nag him for more money (look that one has such bad karma that his son is crippled). Evil ghosts try to trick the blameless Scrooge with fear and sleep deprivation until finally he loses his mind and gives his money away. Bingo! All you need to do is refer to this tale of woe every time she eyes a friend’s car with envy.

And for those who scorn MukLoi’s cynical ploy? “Bah!” he cries, shaking his skeletal fist, swathed as it is in graying tattered rags. “Bah humbug,” he grimly adds, barely audible over the metallic clatter of a motorbike engine that barely coughs into life.

MukLoi can be reached at loyface@gmail.com

Refuseniks & Scofflaws Shrug It Off

The French, vilified by Anglophones as corophilic collaborators, more for their stubborn pomposity and sneering condescension than for any historical grudge, tend to hit back where it hurts: in the culture. Cheese that stinks like a dead man’s boots and tasteless bread with so little roughage it could give a tortoise the shits are peerless gems of France’s lofty civilization, the froggies bellow, benefits that, thanks to their 18th century megalomaniaical cruelties and failed colonial ambitions, we can all enjoy.

Well, MukLoi, beady of eye and a fan of far-fetched inference, has spotted another, far more valuable addition to this catalogue of infamy: The shrug.

We’ve all seen those crumpled and morose caricatures, their wrinkled faces screwed up like a haughty bulldogs, blithely batting away conventions and responsibility with comedic ease. And, like their conceited cuisine and obsfucatory laws, the onion-peddlers have spread this vague anti-establishment vibe everywhere in their once-meager fallen pseudo-empire. But while the hard-working Vietnamese shunned the wasteful Gallic ‘Je refuse’ attitude, the seed found fertile ground in the indolent Khmer mentality.

The Khmers, as might be suspected, take the concept to its logical limit.

Take motorbike helmets. A crackdown in Nigeria, a poverty-stricken nation that is, like Cambodia, rife with corruption, forced motorcyclists to adopt a gamut of comedy substitutes. Coconut husks and cut up car tyres with string chinstraps might seem pretty comedy (all right; they are) but the fact remains: people were trying to comply with the law. A similar crackdown in Cambodia, despite the fact the Big Man himself pleaded (not threatened) for the populace to obey, yielded an initial estimated compliance rate of 70%.

Yeah, yeah, I hear the moaning, overpaid NGO know-nothings at the back. “Carmbohdiarrrh is ahrrrctually very poor,” they whine in their nasal aristocratese. Well, according to a recent report, that’s dropped back to 50%. That means Cambodians are actually taking their helmets back off.

It’s a similar story with mirrors. Having been forced into the indignity of fitting wing mirrors (“How dare they?”), Khmers will point them inwards, permitting an extremely useful view of the middle of the chest, but not much else. Rather than accept their mistake and make use of these clearly handy additions, they churlishly sabotage themselves like a sulky toddler.

So what if Cambodians choose to stick their bottom lip, huffily cross their arms and take their football back home? It’s their country right? Well, this refusenik attitude seeps into other, more serious areas. Tax? No thanks. Red lights? Don’t believe in them. Perhaps most serious of all is the presence of the ‘la-la-la, I-can’t-hear-you’ factor in government policy (GDP predictions that encompass papaya trees anyone?).

But why here and not elsewhere? If we believe the theatrical beginning to this piece (I don’t), the difference lies in the contrast between the buttoned-down banality inflicted on the world by the English, and the French foot stamping, flag-waving repudiation of reality.

Of course, any proper account of such phenomena should consider at length that Cambodia’s society is based on the familial unit, as opposed to more communal concepts in Vietnam and elsewhere, as well as the repeated failure of successive governments undermining people’s faith in authority. But I refuse to do so. I don’t see why I should.

MukLoi can be contacted at Loyface@gmail.com

NagaWorld, Jolie and the Black Economy

Looming over the nearby National Assembly like a half-remembered nightmare, NagaWorld, the only legal casino in Phnom Penh, is for many emblematic of Cambodia’s continuing reliance on income sources that could be generously described as unscrupulous. A louche palace of gaudy baubles and crass décor (the Italianesque murals in one restaurant are simply nauseating in their crudity), this sprawling repository of secret sin is much-beloved by the kingdom’s oafish nouveaux riches.

And given the persistent rumours that Cambodia’s banks are about to be flushed down the swanny, along with most other sectors of the economy, where better to hold a banking conference?

Yes, that’s right: without a single whiff of irony, industry figures from around the region last month traveled to a casino to discuss what a safe and secure bet Cambodia’s banks are. In a CASINO.

In fact, NagaWorld itself could be seen as a concrete embodiment of contemporary Cambodian business: a glittering façade shoddily erected over a bubbling cesspool of stinking effluent.

The tragic circus begins even before you’re inside. NagaWorld, despite having the cash for 700 hotel rooms, a spa and numerous other money-losing boondoggles, has decided to appropriate half of the neighbouring National Buddhist Centre’s parking lot. NagaWorld’s only ostensible donations to this under-funded but surprisingly useful organisation seem to be inconvenience and air pollution.

A stroll past the glaringly ugly side walls, where the haphazard brickwork is scarily reminiscent of a squatter’s hovel (“Don’t bother finishing those; the rich come in by the front entrance”), and a pool of stagnant water masquerading as a fountain (cost a cool million apparently), brings those misanthropes too poor to afford a car to the threshold.

And, taking a deep breath, you enter the vulgarity.

Past the heel-clicking cold marble, past the empty gaming tables where bored dealers wear glum Saturday-shop-girl faces, up the broken escalators (natch’) and in.

Into the tacky ballroom; a study in slapdash compromises, with its suede walls and Christmas-cracker chandeliers spewing red light. Latecomers, like naughty children, must stand at the back for want of chairs. The whole place is a bad joke told badly.

The speeches begin. No mention of the Khmer Rouge gold that originally backed the riel, no mention of the rice fields confiscated by unscrupulous microfinance institutions to boost their portfolios. Just good ole-fashioned backslapping and self-congratulation.

Who is better looking; Cambodian women or Angelina Jolie? No, not MukLoi’s Homer Simpson-style attempt to retreat inside his own head in the face of stultifying boredom, but a genuine topic. ‘Cambodian girls for sure!’ says one local mogul, listing this as one of Cambodia’s assets (Yes, really!). They’re certainly nice, but not more beautiful than Jolie, argues another big cheese. Angelina Jolie has a house here, he adds, so therefore Cambodia must be stable and a good bet for investors. Several foreign guests are head-in-hands embarrassed.

The stalls outside aren’t much better. Fingerprint-taking, iris-scanning automated cheque processors? Wow! Now all my customers need to do is learn how to read! Over-complex, overpriced software ‘solutions’ to problems that don’t exist? Yes please! Where do I sign?

Of course, this pantomime is nothing new in Cambodia; only the costumes have changed. Before it was the royals and aristocrats who lounged around squandering poor people’s livelihoods. Now it’s the nepotistic scions of the civil war, who have blindly staggered into big business. Even the name Naga has ominous connotations. The mystical serpent said to guard the treasures of the earth has been reborn for the 21st century, it seems: a greedy fat snake gobbling down cash and smearing the kingdom’s already woeful reputation with its excrement.

Mukloi can be contacted at loyface@gmail.com