McNamaste

 

In the immortal words of Bart Simpson: can't sleep, clown will eat me.

I don't know about you, but to me Ronald McDonald makes a higly unlikely Buddhist.  And that expression isn't helping.

This unnerving figure guards an outlet of his eponymous restaurant at a mall not far from the hotel, and even the swank lounge-style seating beyond couldn't tempt me into any venue associated with such a demonic spokesperson.  Dairy Queen, on the other hand, was just 'round the bend, and while out and about this afternoon I had my now-traditional Bangkok Blizzard.

I also discovered a rather beguiling iteration of my favorite genre of public art in this mad city, the I'm So Happy to be Food mascot:

Jaunty Mr. Hot Pot Buffet (I wonder if he's any relation to Ursula and Phoebe?) looks pleased as punch to be an anthropomorphic shabu-shabu pot.  I've never been all that fond of do-it-yourself restaurant food, but hereabouts there seems to be an almost limitless market of customers happy to sit 'round pots of boiling broth, apparently unaware that they're in essence devouring Mr. H.P. Buffet's brains.  You can just count me out.