I guess this is why they call it 'terrorism'

Today at work they're checking bags, in the completely half-assed way that's SOP here in the LOS. My job's at Central World. My girlfriends and I drink and shop at the Lumpini Night Bazaar. We were there on the 29th. (And the 30th.) I went to Central World to buy champagne on the afternoon of the 31st. The first bomb detonated half an hour after I left.

The international news, what little there is, says that New Year's Eve celebrations were canceled. That's a lie. PUBLIC New Year's Eve celebrations were canceled. But the Mandarin Oriental was charging US$450 a plate for fireworks and bubbly, and every other posh hotel in town was SRO for something similar. I stood with my friends on the roof of our building, 31 floors up, and watched the fireworks boom and blossom over the river. We drank champagne. We sang Auld Lang Syne. We watched the explosions and said "Fuck you" to whomever caused the other ones.

More than a half-dozen bombs exploded in Bangkok. It didn't merit a CNN "Breaking News" email to my mobile. Anyone remember how much ink was spilled on John Mark Karr when he was flown (business class! shrimp cocktail!) back from Bangkok? If the bombers REALLY want attention, I suggest falsely confessing to the death of a six-year-old beauty princess. Or perhaps they could murder their pregnant wife.

Almost everyone who loves me has phoned or emailed or sent text messages. They all say the same thing. The first: "Are you all right?" The second: "Are you afraid?" The third: "Be careful."
What does that mean, be careful? Don't use public transportation in Indonesia? What about London? New York? Don't go to work? Don't get my nails done? Don't walk by phone booths or trash cans or bus stations or or or?

I'm not careful. I'm not afraid. And I'm not even remotely all right.