Having gone to sleep slightly after the stroke of 12 on New Year’s Eve, I woke with the dawn the next morning. Champoo, my little dog, was dying for a walk and I tiptoed through the sprawled bodies of my wife’s guests. They had had too much food and drink unlike me. I was nearly stone-sober.

My fingers were cold and so were my toes.

It wasn’t a heart attack.

Only winter in Pattaya.

72 Farenheit.

I went back inside for a leather jacket and escorted Champoo through her AM routine of sniffing every urine stain on the soi. She is an epicurean of eau de chien pee-pee. The larger dogs on the soi kept their distance. The large stick in my hand was an old friend. Ten minutes later I returned to the hosue.

No one was awake.

I watched 3 episodes of Star Trek ENTERPRISE.

Champoo growled for food, as the Vulcans betrayed Star Fleet. We had bacon and eggs. My wife’s sister came into the kitchen to cook rice, spare ribs and vegetables. She’s a peasant rice farmer with two front teeth. One look at the farang concoction had her muttering something disrespectful about western cuisine. I’ve learned to deadened my hearing to Thais, otherwise my jai yen would be burning like an overloaded reactor 99% of the time.

New Year’s Day.

Bright and sunny with a chill in the air.

My wife and daughter asleep in the bed.

Everyone in Pattaya nursing whiskey hang-overs.

And I’m feeling fine.

A friend of mine once said that your year will be determined by wahtever you do on the first day of the year.

Sober, full, and loving my daughter.

I will love my daughter for the rest of the year, but the sober will not last long.

Not in Pattaya or Bangkok or anywhere else in the world.

Happy 2008. enjoy it well, because supposedly the world ends Jan. 19, 2008.