It is time for me to recount the final chapter of my trilogy on the social rejects and degenerates I lived with in the west of Ireland. As is the way of things, fate saved the worst until last. Towards the end of my stay there, one of my two sane housemates had to leave. His room was taken by a Burmese man, whose name was Ed, but actually was Thang. At first glance, he was a marked improvement on the previous addition to the house, as he washed both his body and his clothes. He seemed to possess social graces, and he offered us vodka in an attempt to develop some camaraderie with his new housemates. Some could take umbrage to that, as they may consider camaraderie amongst men a sign of chauvinism. Can men have camaraderie yet still remain respectful towards women, you might ask? I didn't ask, as it's such a boring question, worthy only of someone eager to have people flock to their Twitter page (a sign of an exceptionally low character).
We first caught a glance of Ed's underbelly when discussing the secrets of the bedroom. I can assure you now that neither I nor my housemate brought up the topic, but Ed was eager to regale us with detailed information on the sensitive spots of the female anatomy. He then divulged that women could never be truly satisfied, as they couldn't be filled. Both I and the other listener could only nod at this information, as we were unprepared for such an insight.
While initially fazed by the strangeness of the new addition to the house, the anthropologist inside me eventually decided to take advantage of the opportunity and explore Burmese culture through the portal of Ed. Even though I had only one member of his culture to study, and despite my academic lens being smeared by revulsion for the man, I felt I could achieve an objective and accurate analysis. Here are my finding, as jotted down in a notebook, shortly after leaving Galway:
The Burmese man's libido is charged with an efficient exigency, leading him to habitually solicit prostitutes. Even in unlikely circumstances, such as I have observed in Galway — where the level of precipitation discourages the business of selling oneself on the street — the Burmese man can seek out and easily discover a warm body in which he can pay to insert himself. The bond between Burmese males is strong, presumably to the detriment of forming relationships of mutual respect with women. When sexually satisfied, the male never hesitates to boast to the other members of his troop. One assumes that among his fellow Burmese males, the successful consumer of flesh would be lauded, but we were never afforded an opportunity to put this assumption to the test, and our ethnocentricity kept us from truly appreciating this phenomenon.
Deep at the heart of this race is a laziness, at least among the males. When confronted with even the least taxing of chores, the frontal lobe of the Burmese male secretes an anaesthetic chemical that numbs the part of the brain controlling hard work. One most likely will find crusty pots and dusty floors in the decor of the Burmese household. This laziness most likely accounts for their cultural arrest. The Burmese still admire the BeeGees and ABBA to a degree that should have expired over recent decades. 1 Perhaps the greatest evidence of this cultural stagnation is the great religious intolerance. Our subject, who subscribed to Roman Catholicism, considered Jews manipulative and untrustworthy, while slandering "aggressive" Muslims. "The cloth of the Church has never been wrong", we were told, in a sentiment that most likely explained his censure of homosexuals, who were "very stupid" (an expression that is inextricable from Burmese culture). Burmese censure extends to arbitrary and peculiar targets as well, such as that which is dependent on the fortuitous sway of luck. During the 2006 World Cup, Ed regarded every missed shot on goal as contemptuous, allowing an innumerable amount of "so stuh-pid" utterances to slip from his mouth during games.
While Burmese culture is a sordid complex of mendacity and deviancy, it can be quantified in a value system derived from recurring patterns. My research enabled me to produce the following key for approximating Burmese values:
We first caught a glance of Ed's underbelly when discussing the secrets of the bedroom. I can assure you now that neither I nor my housemate brought up the topic, but Ed was eager to regale us with detailed information on the sensitive spots of the female anatomy. He then divulged that women could never be truly satisfied, as they couldn't be filled. Both I and the other listener could only nod at this information, as we were unprepared for such an insight.
While initially fazed by the strangeness of the new addition to the house, the anthropologist inside me eventually decided to take advantage of the opportunity and explore Burmese culture through the portal of Ed. Even though I had only one member of his culture to study, and despite my academic lens being smeared by revulsion for the man, I felt I could achieve an objective and accurate analysis. Here are my finding, as jotted down in a notebook, shortly after leaving Galway:
The Burmese man's libido is charged with an efficient exigency, leading him to habitually solicit prostitutes. Even in unlikely circumstances, such as I have observed in Galway — where the level of precipitation discourages the business of selling oneself on the street — the Burmese man can seek out and easily discover a warm body in which he can pay to insert himself. The bond between Burmese males is strong, presumably to the detriment of forming relationships of mutual respect with women. When sexually satisfied, the male never hesitates to boast to the other members of his troop. One assumes that among his fellow Burmese males, the successful consumer of flesh would be lauded, but we were never afforded an opportunity to put this assumption to the test, and our ethnocentricity kept us from truly appreciating this phenomenon.
Deep at the heart of this race is a laziness, at least among the males. When confronted with even the least taxing of chores, the frontal lobe of the Burmese male secretes an anaesthetic chemical that numbs the part of the brain controlling hard work. One most likely will find crusty pots and dusty floors in the decor of the Burmese household. This laziness most likely accounts for their cultural arrest. The Burmese still admire the BeeGees and ABBA to a degree that should have expired over recent decades. 1 Perhaps the greatest evidence of this cultural stagnation is the great religious intolerance. Our subject, who subscribed to Roman Catholicism, considered Jews manipulative and untrustworthy, while slandering "aggressive" Muslims. "The cloth of the Church has never been wrong", we were told, in a sentiment that most likely explained his censure of homosexuals, who were "very stupid" (an expression that is inextricable from Burmese culture). Burmese censure extends to arbitrary and peculiar targets as well, such as that which is dependent on the fortuitous sway of luck. During the 2006 World Cup, Ed regarded every missed shot on goal as contemptuous, allowing an innumerable amount of "so stuh-pid" utterances to slip from his mouth during games.
While Burmese culture is a sordid complex of mendacity and deviancy, it can be quantified in a value system derived from recurring patterns. My research enabled me to produce the following key for approximating Burmese values:
So, after some time in Ed's company, the Smellbag and I bonded over our mutual disgust. I went home that summer, as school was out, and I never returned to study in Galway. I heard that Ed was expelled from the university for ignoring several letters warning him not to watch porn on campus.
I sometimes sit and think about my time in Galway and the many strange people I shared a roof with. There is no doubt in my mind that had I stayed in the windiest and rainiest place I have ever known, I would have cohabited with many more peculiar creatures. Alas, I forfeited my PhD, returned home, and halted my descent into a fatter, poorer, wetter, and more incredulous being.
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| It was either this or a picture of Galway Hooker beer. |
1 I was willing to make allowances for the cultural gap and the fact of English being his second language, but knowing me, knowing you, there was nothing I could do.
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