It is a judgment face. The gravity of this face originates from a combination of who I the to-Thailand-want-to-goer am, who they the face-maker are, and what Thailand is.
Put in terms whose scientific nature is cruel, I am a straight white college-educated American male in his mid-thirties. I am neither fat nor muscular. I am neither short nor very tall. I have big dumb weird hair. I tend to dress in comfortable sportswear.
Much as my spirit prefers to adhere to facts in my writing of this nature, some urge yanks at my conscience. I do not want to go to Thailand for the hookers.
I want to go to Thailand because I know close to nothing about Thailand. Information on the subject of Thailand has fallen through my brain in my thirty-five years of life.
The action of its falling through my brain only deepened my affection for Thailand. That ruling feels good. When I was twenty-two years old, I moved to Japan. I took a job offer to teach English at a commercial school near Tokyo. Anyone could show up, sign some papers, buy a book of lesson tickets, and get some English. The book contained more lesson tickets than a single student could use in a year.
