THE PHNOM PENH CONVENING

Finally, the docket was sealed, the rooster finalized, the arena booked with a downpayment in lieu of a framework agreement, and the entry requirements submitted and approved as weeks of uncertainty and negotiations converged at the 25th floor of Fairfield by Marriot along Russian Federation Boulevard to snatch a wacky group selfie amidst a possible security situation. 

A phantom buzz almost ruined Sessions 1-3 (ASEAN's energy cooperation, defining transition in the transport and agriculture sectors, money matters and taxonomy), silenced as Session 3 (community-owned renewable energy) predicated four workshop outcomes and the inauguration of an online policy library prior to Session 4 (gender, the banks, and Mekong hydro projects), reincarnated as a spooky voice intruding into the conversations for a communique.

This is the text between the close (superb Khmer lunches near Mao Tse Tung Boulevard) and open (a craft beer taste test at Street 29) parentheses of the Phnom Penh regional CSO convening...  

...where The Winds blew a $40 dinner on Monday that is why I urinated Teutonic beer on Tuesday because Ganzberg is a German brand that is only available in Cambodia on Wednesdays from courtesans who can't read under a a red light where the local band entertained a floating retaurant on Thursday before being introduced as the muses of the Botanico Craft Beer Garden on Friday night as August segued into September for two more regional events in Vientiane.  

It was my first and probably my last in-person I-JET PMU meeting although it is still uncertain if the Phantom Biker will consider wearing the colors of the Tara Climate Foundation or Rainforest Action Network, or both.

The post-surgery prognosis was exhilarating despite the rains in Quezon City and our disqualification from a social service program in exchange for the emerging possibility of OPLAN SCM-SWDO. 

I was welcomed with ginisang monngo, sisig and pork barbecue by the Tursday Group and I wonder what the MILF of Bakal 2 wore under the orange towel, which is probably why I dozed in the middle of an apparently bigoted homily in Cabanatuan City.