Some of my Favorite Christmas Carols

The Prayer

(Celine Dion & Josh Groban | Andrea Bocelli & Celine Dion)

Breath of Heaven (Amy Grant)

O Come, O Come, Emmanuel (Enya | ThePianoGuys)

In the Bleak Midwinter (Gloucester Cathedral Choir)

What can I give him, poor as I am?

If I were a shepherd, I would bring a lamb;

if I were a Wise Man, I would do my part;

yet what I can I give him: give my heart.

Little Drummer Boy

Acapella Group

Come they told me, pa rum pum pum pum

A new born King to see, pa rum pum pum pum

Our finest gifts we bring, pa rum pum pum pum

To lay before the King, pa rum pum pum pum, rum pum pum pum, rum pum pum pum,

So to honor Him, pa rum pum pum pum, When we come.

Little Baby, pa rum pum pum pum

I am a poor boy too, pa rum pum pum pum

I have no gift to bring, pa rum pum pum pum

That's fit to give the King, pa rum pum pum pum, rum pum pum pum, rum pum pum pum,

Shall I play for you, pa rum pum pum pum, On my drum?

Mary nodded, pa rum pum pum pum

The ox and lamb kept time, pa rum pum pum pum

I played my drum for Him, pa rum pum pum pum

I played my best for Him, pa rum pum pum pum, rum pum pum pum, rum pum pum pum,

Then He smiled at me, pa rum pum pum pum

Me and my drum.

Click here to listen to Dengue Fever

VERY, VERY FUNKY, SLINKY COOL!!  Some scenes of their award-winning film SLEEPWALKING ON THE MEKONG by the amazing John Pirozzi were filmed from my old apartment on Sisowath Quay.  I had the privilege to attend the premiere at the Museum of Modern Arts in Manhattan in 2007.

- Theary

One thing for sure about Dengue Fever’s slinky cover of the 72-year-old classic “Little Drummer Boy” — pa rum pum pum pum is pa rum pum pum pum in any language. The song is the latest wrinkle from the one-of-a-kind, L.A.-based sextet whose fusion of psychedelic rock, Cambodian surf-pop and Afro-beat music has won them worldwide acclaim. On “Little Drummer Boy,” you don’t need a Khmer translator to hear the pleading innocence in Cambodian singer Chhom Nimol’s vocals, and there’s something celebratory in the tasty horns from David Ralicke. “We wanted to put a spin on something familiar,” drummer Paul Smith says of the song. “Using Nimol’s voice instantly adds a new dimension to the track, so we just kind of turn downed the lights and went for one, really. The song had room for David Ralicke to do what he does best, and so the horns definitely brought a certain weight to it all.” Dengue Fever, comprised of Nimol, Smith and Ralicke along with Senon Williams and brothers Zac and Ethan Holtzman, earlier this month unveiled a “Girl From the North” on their own newly launched Tuk Tuk Records — three songs that solidify their place as one of the most distinctive bands around.

. . .

THE GIFT OF THE MAGI

a popular Christmas story about love and sacrifice.

The work is one of the most famous stories by O. Henry, an American writer

One dollar and eighty-seven cents. That was all. And sixty cents of it in the smallest pieces of money - pennies. Pennies saved one and two at a time by negotiating with the men at the market who sold vegetables and meat. Negotiating until one's face burned with the silent knowledge of being poor. Three times Della counted it. One dollar and eighty-seven cents. And the next day would be Christmas.

There was clearly nothing to do but sit down and cry. So Della cried. Which led to the thought that life is made up of little cries and smiles, with more little cries than smiles.

Della finished her crying and dried her face. She stood by the window and looked out unhappily at a gray cat walking along a gray fence in a gray back yard. Tomorrow would be Christmas Day, and she had only one dollar and eighty-seven cents to buy her husband Jim a gift. She had been saving every penny she could for months, with this result.

Jim earned twenty dollars a week, which does not go far. Expenses had been greater than she had expected. They always are. Many a happy hour she had spent planning to buy something nice for him. Something fine and rare -- something close to being worthy of the honor of belonging to Jim.

There was a tall glass mirror between the windows of the room. Suddenly Della turned from the window and stood before the glass mirror and looked at herself. Her eyes were shining, but her face had lost its color within twenty seconds. Quickly she pulled down her hair and let it fall to its full length.

Now, Mr. and Missus James Dillingham Young had two possessions which they valued. One was Jim's gold time piece, the watch that had been his father's and his grandfather's. The other was Della's hair.

Had the Queen of Sheba lived in their building, Della would have let her hair hang out the window to dry just to reduce the value of the queen's jewels.

So now Della's beautiful hair fell about her, shining like a brown waterfall. It reached below her knees and made itself almost like a covering for her. And then quickly she put it up again. She stood still while a few tears fell on the floor.

She put on her coat and her old brown hat. With a quick motion and brightness still in her eyes, she danced out the door and down the street.

Where she stopped the sign read: "Madame Sofronie. Hair Goods of All Kinds." Della ran up the steps to the shop, out of breath.

"Will you buy my hair?" asked Della.

"I buy hair," said Madame. "Take your hat off and let us have a look at it."

Down came the beautiful brown waterfall of hair.

"Twenty dollars," said Madame, lifting the hair with an experienced hand.

"Give it to me quick," said Della.

The next two hours went by as if they had wings. Della looked in all the stores to choose a gift for Jim.

She found it at last. It surely had been made for Jim and no one else. It was a chain -- simple round rings of silver. It was perfect for Jim's gold watch. As soon as she saw it she knew that it must be for him. It was like him. Quiet and with great value. She gave the shopkeeper twenty-one dollars and she hurried home with the eighty-seven cents that was left.

When Della arrived home she began to repair what was left of her hair. The hair had been ruined by her love and her desire to give a special gift. Repairing the damage was a very big job. Within forty minutes her head was covered with tiny round curls of hair that made her look wonderfully like a schoolboy. She looked at herself in the glass mirror long and carefully.

"If Jim does not kill me before he takes a second look at me," she said to herself, "hell say I look like a song girl. But what could I do--oh! what could I do with a dollar and eighty-seven cents?"

At seven o'clock that night the coffee was made and the pan on the back of the stove was hot and ready to cook the meat.

Jim was never late coming home from work. Della held the silver chain in her hand and sat near the door. Then she heard his step and she turned white for just a minute. She had a way of saying a little silent prayer about the simplest everyday things, and now she whispered: "Please God, make him think I am still pretty."

The door opened and Jim stepped in. He looked thin and very serious. Poor man, he was only twenty-two and he had to care for a wife. He needed a new coat and gloves to keep his hands warm.

Jim stopped inside the door, as immovable as a dog smelling a bird. His eyes were fixed upon Della. There was an expression in them that she could not read, and it frightened her. It was not anger, nor surprise, nor fear, nor any of the feelings that she had been prepared for. He simply looked at her with a strange expression on his face. Della went to him.

"Jim, my love," she cried, "do not look at me that way. I had my hair cut and sold because I could not have lived through Christmas without giving you a gift. My hair will grow out again. I just had to do it. My hair grows very fast. Say 'Merry Christmas! Jim, and let us be happy. You do not know what a nice-- what a beautiful, nice gift I have for you."

"You have cut off your hair?" asked Jim, slowly, as if he had not accepted the information even after his mind worked very hard.

"Cut it off and sold it," said Della. "Do you not like me just as well? I am the same person without my hair, right?

Jim looked about the room as if he were looking for something.

"You say your hair is gone?" he asked.

"You need not look for it," said Della. "It is sold, I tell you--sold and gone, too. It is Christmas Eve, boy. Be good to me, for it was cut for you. Maybe the hairs of my head were numbered," she went on with sudden serious sweetness, "but nobody could ever count my love for you. Shall I put the meat on, Jim?"

Jim seemed to awaken quickly and put his arms around Della. Then he took a package from his coat and threw it on the table.

"Do not make any mistake about me, Dell," he said. "I do not think there is any haircut that could make me like my girl any less. But if you will open that package you may see why you had me frightened at first."

White fingers quickly tore at the string and paper. There was a scream of joy; and then, alas! a change to tears and cries, requiring the man of the house to use all his skill to calm his wife.

For there were the combs -- the special set of objects to hold her hair that Della had wanted ever since she saw them in a shop window. Beautiful combs, made of shells, with jewels at the edge --just the color to wear in the beautiful hair that was no longer hers. They cost a lot of money, she knew, and her heart had wanted them without ever hoping to have them. And now, the beautiful combs were hers, but the hair that should have touched them was gone.

But she held the combs to herself, and soon she was able to look up with a smile and say, "My hair grows so fast, Jim!"

Then Della jumped up like a little burned cat and cried, "Oh, oh!"

Jim had not yet seen his beautiful gift. She happily held it out to him in her open hands. The silver chain seemed so bright. "Isn't it wonderful, Jim? I looked all over town to find it. You will have to look at the time a hundred times a day now. Give me your watch. I want to see how it looks on it."

Instead of obeying, Jim fell on the couch and put his hands under the back of his head and smiled.

"Dell," said he, "let us put our Christmas gifts away and keep them a while. They are too nice to use just right now. I sold my gold watch to get the money to buy the set of combs for your hair. And now, why not put the meat on."

The magi were wise men--wonderfully wise men--who brought gifts to the Baby Jesus. They invented the art of giving Christmas gifts. Being wise, their gifts were wise ones. And here I have told you the story of two young people who most unwisely gave for each other the greatest treasures of their house. But in a last word to the wise of these days, let it be said that of all who give gifts, these two were the wisest. Everywhere they are wisest. They are the magi.

. . .

Lead With Wisdom

Public released for Feb. 2014

. . .

How is the National Assembly Formed?

What the Law Says

I am sorry, but on this issue of legality of the current CPP-formed National Assembly and the CPP-formed Government, it is PRIMA FACIE (on its face) UNCONSTITUTIONAL.

The legal analysis quoted by the media, e.g. Phnom Penh Post, has been REALLY, REALLY SHODDY and EXTREMELY ELEMENTARY on this matter.

For those who care, please read HOW IS THE NATIONAL ASSEMBLY FORMED? -- my legal brief on the Constitutional provisions, Constitutional Council's decision and spirit and intent of the matter, focusing particularly on the 1993 formations.

This legal brief has been tweaked a few times, but here's the most recent version: https://app.box.com/s/rmvge0099mhbr08zjdnq

https://app.box.com/s/rmvge0099mhbr08zjdnq

Demonstrating with Suong Sophorn, immediately behind Sam Rainsy and Kem Sokha, 23 Oct. 2013

Hanging out with friends after a long day at work, 28 Oct. 2013

. . .

The Final Performance of

Eccc (pronounced "icky") the Clown

My LIVE interview with Al Jazeera at the Eccc the Clown's

(Thursday, 31 Oct. 2013)

Today (Oct. 31), I was reminded again how people WANT me to be the "classic victim" of the Khmer Rouge who they can relate and be superior to--dress in a certain way, act in a certain way, speak in a certain way--the victimized victim, if you will, even if they would never consciously admit or articulate it in those ways.

Because a "victim" should be pitied, not be their equal, and certainly not their social superior in education or any other status indices. Sorry, not going to happen with this "victim".

Continue to expect the stilettos and the dark shades!

For more photos and captions, go to my Facebook pages.

Cambodia Trial Ends, Court Looks to Future

Al Jazeera | 1 November 2013

'Political interference'

"The court is necessary, but here it’s not sufficient, it’s deficient, mainly because of political interference," Theary Seng, a human rights lawyer, told Al Jazeera. "The court process is controlled by the current government, which includes former Khmer Rouge, the prime minister, the president of the Senate and the president of the National Assembly. And the list goes on. It’s resulted in donor fatigue, senior resignations and has created this limping court that, to me, is a sham." A former civil party to the court - her parents were killed by the Khmer Rouge - Seng withdrew from the process two years ago.

. . .

Feature-length Documentary Film on Nuon Chea's Defense Team

Theary being interviewed by Dutch film crew working on a feature documentary on Victor Koppe, Nuon Chea's defense lawyer (Phnom Penh, 2 Nov. 2013)

* * *

Christian Classics Ethereal Library

MANY free downloading of complete books -- the CLASSICS !

Including my two all-time favorite novels: The Brothers Karamazov and Crime and Punishment!

. . .

The Country that Stopped Reading

Education through Imagination:

A Closed Mind is a Beautiful Thing to Lose

Theary C. Seng, June 2007

Read. Read. Read.

A critical component of the development of the imagination is reading. We Khmers need to read, read, read and read some more. When we read, we prepare ourselves for any and all opportunities which otherwise would pass us by. The Chinese have it right it defining 'success' by combining the character for preparation (internal individually determined) with the character for opportunity (externally determined).

The majority of Khmer live in a harsh reality of abject poverty, crimes and abuse. More than ever we need to keep in mind that reality can be 'beaten with enough imagination'. Imagination, then, is the gateway to wisdom and change, and ultimately to personal and social development.

. . .

Losing our mother tongue

Opinion by Soprach Tong

The Phnom Penh Post, Feb. 9, 2013

Some young people seemingly pretend to be unable to speak their mother tongue...

But when writing in Khmer, which is their native tongue, no one seems to care about accuracy. Even if the dictionary of Patriarch Chuon Nat is installed on their computer, they never bother to open it...

"Khmer citizens must know the national language clearly, in both oral and written form, to ensure it survives."

. . .

Rare reading materials in the Khmer language that have been edited for clarity and easy comprehension!

With the scarcity of available reading materials in the Khmer language in electronic form where I can edit to raise my larger point of the NEED FOR USE OF PUNCTUATIONS, I am glad I can illustrate using the Khmer Bible.

If you ONLY know English, and this is how you have been habituated to read English, how far would you go in your education?

For the KHMER reader, click here and read this chapter from the book of JOSHUA.

(The verse numbers are acting as a punctuation, but without them, the chaos would be UTTER CHAOS.)

For the ENGLISH reader, click here and read this chapter, but imagine there are no proper nouns (no capitalized words) and no punctuations except for the full stop.

The vocabulary (translation) is very good -- as it done by a committee with checks and rechecks, unlike most of the other translations being produced in the whole of society. But without commas and other punctuation, is the Khmer chapter clear and understandable?

This is how Cambodians read the Cambodian language. For Cambodians with means or an opportunity to rely on another language, after they're stuck with the Cambodian language (which is very early on), they rely on their 2nd language for knowledge.

But for the MAJORITY of Cambodians who do not know a 2nd language, they have to fight the printed page and mangled language (of misspelling, of "creative" texting-style punctuation, or just run-on phrases) to get even a scant piece of knowledge.