All parents worry about their child's development. Why isn't she sitting unsupported yet? Why isn't she crawling yet? Why can't she use her sippy cup? My daughter Joanna is six-and-a-half months old, and in my narrow-minded, self-centered view, she wasn't developing as fast I would like. If she could talk (another concern), she would tell me to relax, be patient, and enjoy her development at her pace. On Saturday, she could barely sit, couldn't crawl, and couldn't drink from her sippy cup. That all changed Sunday. Phuong and I happened to be watching as she slowly and very deliberately got up on all fours, moved her knee forward, and thrust her arm forward without flopping. In other words, she started to crawl and continued to do so until it was bath time. After the bath, she sat and watched The Itsy Bitsy Spider video on my computer. Yes, she sat and watched it. She must have been thirsty from all the crawling and sitting because she also used her sippy cup. Not perfectly, but she tried and got some water down her throat. We capped our successful Sunday with some dancing to the Itsy Bitsy Spider. We're so proud of our little girl. Milestones like these provide memories for a lifetime. My daughter Jessica took her first steps while I was in a hospital in Delaware, and was walking when I came out. My daughter Caroline rode a two-wheeled bicycle in Lafayette, Ind., by herself at age 4 (amazing); My son Jack didn't speak a lot when he was little, but he focused so intently on everything he did that he wouldn't flinch if you clapped in his ear while he playing. We had his hearing tested and he was fine. And I remember my youngest son Alec being able to dance before he could walk. He would stand and shake his booty whenever music played. Actually, he's a pretty good dancer to this day.
I don't have many skills, but I could always catch a ball, Frisbee, pack of smokes, or anything else thrown in my general vicinity. And I have this skill despite small hands and horrible eyes. On Saturday, I made the greatest and most important catch of my life. I was changing Joanna's diaper on our couch and reached up to the top of the couch for some lotion I bought in the U.S. -- it helps prevent diaper rash. As I reached, Joanna rolled in a flash and was headed toward our very hard tile floor. It would have been an ugly collision given the height of the couch and the hardness of the floor. Phuong gasped and yelled "Joanna!" I looked and saw Joanna heading toward the tile, and then reacted faster than I've ever reacted in my life. I reached out with my left hand and grabbed Joanna's shirt to prevent her collision with the floor. Phuong gasped again, Joanna cried for about three seconds, and I was breathing like I'd just run a mile. An incredibly scary moment with an incredibly fortunate and happy ending. Oh baby, what a catch!
Tet holiday was Saturday, and we had a nice dinner with Phuong's family. I've gotten into the flow of Tet better this year than ever before. Family is wonderful; the food is OK; and the atmosphere around town is pleasant on Tet. Phuong's mom and family made about 300 bean-type cakes or Tet cakes that they sold and profited from. We gave one to the Thuy Nga coffee shop staff, but I'll be going to other coffee shops for the foreseeable future. The waitresses there watched a lottery woman try to rip me off, and did nothing as I asked for their language assistance. Maybe they didn't understand what I was saying, but they understood what was happening and did nothing to assist me. Zero. I tip these folks well and bring them candy and treats. Those days are gone. It's not the first time I've been abandoned in difficult circumstances here (and elsewhere). White elephants and the White Monkey don't forget.
Lido is back on the walking tour.
Phuong is recovering nicely from her C-section and is looking sleek again. She's always beautiful, whether she's nine months pregnant or ordering me to do another load of wash after I cook dinner and do the dishes. Honestly, Phuong is remarkably reasonable and understanding, and that's why I feel so lucky, fortunate and blessed to be married to her.
Sunday, January 29, 2017
Sunday, January 22, 2017
Tet traffic; return to sender; Joanna slams her head
The Tet Holiday season is here and with it comes increased traffic, excessive shopping, gross overeating, and increased prices. Tet is like Christmas and New Year's rolled into one. It's also known as the Lunar New Year and celebrates spring and the coming year. It lasts about a week and consists primarily of overeating and over-drinking. There's family visitation with lots of overeating and over-drinking. Sound familiar? This year, I've noticed the traffic is more dangerous due to the increased number of cars. Each year I see more cars on the road as Vietnam experiences economic growth -- primarily from making high-quality "Make America Great Again" caps that are sold in the United States.
I've said it before -- car drivers have a motorbike mentality. They cut in front of other vehicles and pedestrians, they rip out of side streets onto the main roads without so much as a glance toward oncoming traffic, and generally have little regard for anyone's life but their own. And with Vietnam's nonchalant attitude toward drinking and driving, the danger factor is more frightening with more cars on the road. When people here aren't on motorbikes or behind the wheel of a car, they're hospitable and genuine. Unfortunately, most people spend lots of time on their bikes.
Our very important documents that we paid a lot of money to send to Cleveland, Ohio, were never delivered by courier service EMS. That's EMS. However, the documents were returned to us last week and we're trying again with FedEx. EMS hasn't returned our money and we probably have a better chance of getting locals to stop staring at me than we do of getting a refund. But if FedEx can find my lawyer's office in Cleveland, located near Quicken Loans Arena where the Cavaliers play, I'll eat the $40 or so EMS took from us. I'm sure EMS needs the money more than Phuong, Joanna and I do. Phuong got on the phone with an EMS representative in Hanoi and she asked Phuong if Kathleen Fish was her husband in Cleveland. Actually, Kathleen, who goes by Katie, is my lawyer. She's a wonderful person and really seems to have our best interests at heart.
The English language is a big, big problem for folks here. It's understandable, because Vietnamese is a big, big problem for me. People usually contort their faces when I try to speak even the most rudimentary of Vietnamese phrases, and then they'll correct me by repeating exactly what I said in the exact same tones I used. So these days, I contort my face when a Vietnamese person speaks English to me, regardless of how clear it is, and then I'll "correct" them with the proper pronunciation. I'll do this with all words, including "Hi" or "Bye".
A neighborhood kid said "Hey, mother-f----, what the f---?" to me in clear English as I got home from a stressful ride in Bien Hoa traffic after a stressful day of teaching. I threatened to slap his face if he ever said f--- to me again. He ran away. I'll have Phuong talk to his mom. He's the second kid to do this to me in the past few months. I don't think these kids would do this to Vietnamese men. I'm sure many of those guys would hit the kids, and the kids know it.
I have some time off work because of Tet, so I've decided it's a wonderful holiday after all. I'll spend even more time with Joanna, who is quite mobile now. She rolled off the bed (on purpose) last week and hit her head so hard on our matted floor that she just lay there motionless with eyes open for about 20 seconds. Clearly stunned, she was pretty cautious for the next hour or so. Then she smacked her head into the wall the next day while playing. Same stunned reaction, same recovery. She and Phuong are tough, which is yet another reason why I love both of them so much.
I've said it before -- car drivers have a motorbike mentality. They cut in front of other vehicles and pedestrians, they rip out of side streets onto the main roads without so much as a glance toward oncoming traffic, and generally have little regard for anyone's life but their own. And with Vietnam's nonchalant attitude toward drinking and driving, the danger factor is more frightening with more cars on the road. When people here aren't on motorbikes or behind the wheel of a car, they're hospitable and genuine. Unfortunately, most people spend lots of time on their bikes.
Our very important documents that we paid a lot of money to send to Cleveland, Ohio, were never delivered by courier service EMS. That's EMS. However, the documents were returned to us last week and we're trying again with FedEx. EMS hasn't returned our money and we probably have a better chance of getting locals to stop staring at me than we do of getting a refund. But if FedEx can find my lawyer's office in Cleveland, located near Quicken Loans Arena where the Cavaliers play, I'll eat the $40 or so EMS took from us. I'm sure EMS needs the money more than Phuong, Joanna and I do. Phuong got on the phone with an EMS representative in Hanoi and she asked Phuong if Kathleen Fish was her husband in Cleveland. Actually, Kathleen, who goes by Katie, is my lawyer. She's a wonderful person and really seems to have our best interests at heart.
The English language is a big, big problem for folks here. It's understandable, because Vietnamese is a big, big problem for me. People usually contort their faces when I try to speak even the most rudimentary of Vietnamese phrases, and then they'll correct me by repeating exactly what I said in the exact same tones I used. So these days, I contort my face when a Vietnamese person speaks English to me, regardless of how clear it is, and then I'll "correct" them with the proper pronunciation. I'll do this with all words, including "Hi" or "Bye".
A neighborhood kid said "Hey, mother-f----, what the f---?" to me in clear English as I got home from a stressful ride in Bien Hoa traffic after a stressful day of teaching. I threatened to slap his face if he ever said f--- to me again. He ran away. I'll have Phuong talk to his mom. He's the second kid to do this to me in the past few months. I don't think these kids would do this to Vietnamese men. I'm sure many of those guys would hit the kids, and the kids know it.
I have some time off work because of Tet, so I've decided it's a wonderful holiday after all. I'll spend even more time with Joanna, who is quite mobile now. She rolled off the bed (on purpose) last week and hit her head so hard on our matted floor that she just lay there motionless with eyes open for about 20 seconds. Clearly stunned, she was pretty cautious for the next hour or so. Then she smacked her head into the wall the next day while playing. Same stunned reaction, same recovery. She and Phuong are tough, which is yet another reason why I love both of them so much.
Saturday, January 14, 2017
Belly rubbing, lost my wallet, lousy delivery service
Strangers on the street in Bien Hoa have started rubbing my belly. I guess I'm flattered that they're concerned about my weight. Some people might take offense or get angry if strangers come up and rub their stomach. Not me. I'm trying to be more accepting of people's insanely intrusive and bizarre behavior. I think it's an affectionate thing or joking thing -- they're mocking my fatness in a good-natured way. I'm sure I could lose a few pounds, but the belly-rubbers would have a field day in the United States. If they think I'm super fat, they'd be in for a whopper of a surprise, so to speak, in my country. Anyway, no harm. Unfortunately, only men do this.
Phuong and I had a rare disagreement the other night, and I got so frustrated that I threw the credit card she got for me on her desk. The next day, I dropped my wallet on the street, but didn't lose the credit card because it was .... on her desk. I keep all my other super important documents in a super secret place in the house -- in my sock drawer inside my red Nike socks. I keep all my cash in my pants, but not in my wallet. So the lost wallet didn't mean a thing. A rare instance where a family disagreement was a good thing. We laughed about it later.
A new store opened on the street where I walk and it sells exotic fruits like prunes, blueberries, dates, figs and cherries. Well, it's fruit that's exotic and expensive here. I went there on Friday and they were out of prunes, blueberries, dates, figs and cherries. Must be popular. But I've noticed that when something new opens here, whether it's a coffee shop, fruit store or whatever, it's really busy the first few months. Then it slows down. Then it closes down. Then it's torn down. Then something new is built on the same site and the cycle of life and death continues.
But some stores having staying power. My coffee shops Thuy Nga and Lido have been around for ages, according to my wife. They take care of their customers, something of an oddity here. They're nice, prompt, and know your order if you're a regular. Of course, that's why they have regulars.
At Thuy Nga, the staff was worried about me the other day. Not because of my belly, but because I had two cups of coffee. That's right, TWO! They thought I might OD on caffeine. But I explained to them -- the best I could -- that I weigh about 600 pounds and can handle the caffeine even though the espresso-like coffee here is quite strong. They accepted my explanation and delivered my second cup. Those girls are the best.
Phuong and I needed to express mail a notarized document to our lawyer in Cleveland. We used EMS service, located at the Bien Hoa post office, and, of course, the document wasn't delivered. It's now on its way back to Vietnam. They said they couldn't find the office, one of the biggest in downtown Cleveland, and they don't have the time to call customers if there is a problem. I hope to God they don't lose the document because we had to go to Ho Chi Minh City to get it notarized at a cost of more than $100 (including travel) and pay another $60 or so to send it. The girl in the local EMS office said over the phone that we won't get a refund. Remember, folks, that's EMS in the Bien Hoa post office. EMS.
After the EMS fiasco, we went to a small bookstore to buy stickers -- stuff like Spongebob stickers, Disney characters stickers and so on -- for my students. We went there before and had good luck. So we walk in and Phuong and I ask for stickers. Phuong does most of the talking in situations like this. There's a 20-something guy working there, and he immediately starts barking (and there is no other word for it) "No stickers! No stickers! No stickers!" Phuong points to a wall full of stickers in the store, but I said forget it, time to go. The guy confronts me about leaving, so I point to the stickers and say "You told me there were no stickers, so I'm outta here." He denied saying "no stickers," which really angered Phuong, but I was already gone. The guy couldn't understand why I seemed angry. What a wing ding! We went to another bookstore and got our stickers. No worries.
While I was waiting for my soup order at a Korean restaurant, I talked with a couple of security guards. We discussed the dangers of motorbike riding, and both of them pulled up their pant legs and showed me ugly scars on their ankles and calves. A moment of sharing. We should have rubbed each others bellies.
Sunday, January 8, 2017
Wild, wacky and wonderful women in my life
I'll preface this blog by saying that many Vietnamese people I have met in my four years here are some of the nicest people I've met anywhere. Especially the women. My wife Phuong, my daughter Joanna, and mother-in-law Muon are numbers 1, 2, 3 in niceness. My coffee waitress could be No. 4. But ...
I was waiting in line at Metro supermarket to have my corn, apples and zucchini weighed by the produce lady. I was second in line and the family behind me struck up a conversation. The husband spoke adequate English, so we talked the usual stuff: Where do you work? Where do you live? How long have you been here? But while the husband and I were chatting, I noticed his wife sneaking around behind me and putting her stuff on the scale because the lady in front of me had finished. The wife had used her husband to distract me so she could cut in line. And she had a ton of crap. I was pissed, but I stayed cool. I simply removed her items from the scale and calmly told her that some Americans have been known to kill people for cutting in line. I also said that I wasn't one of those Americans, but that cutting in line was rude and that it really makes me angry. And I said this super calmly, really. The husband agreed, so I put my items on the scale, and everybody went home happy. Sorry, but I just won't accept line-cutting. I guess it's my "culture."
I'm not sure why everybody seems to be in a hurry in Vietnam. They ride their motorbikes on the sidewalks all the time to save a second or two going around a corner. I was hit two more times by motorbikes while walking on the sidewalk this past week, and both times the women who hit me laughed. I'm not sure I fully understand the humor here. But since I carry a cane every time I walk, the bikes can't get close enough to do any real damage, although I have to be wary of the bikes that come up from behind me on the sidewalk. One girl rode so close to me that I had to put my cane up in front of my fat, bloated, Biafran belly, and body, to protect myself. The mirror on the girl's bike hit my cane and was knocked a little crooked. She made ululation noises, just like the douchebag that hit me before Christmas. She acted like it was my fault, which I'm sure it was. I now realize I'm an a--hole for using the sidewalk to walk. It's hard to get respect when you're a White Monkey.
Phuong and I tried to walk Joanna in her stroller at 6 a.m., but motorbikes put the kibosh on that idea. We were crossing a street in our neighborhood so we could walk along the river, and this yerkoff and his shirtless toadie came around the corner so fast that the yerkoff's knee was almost touching the ground, like in a motocross race. They almost hit Phuong and Joanna, laid on the horn, and laughed at us. I begged them to come back so I could slowly and painfully kill them, but they don't have the ball bearings for that kind of confrontation. What really pissed me off is that I didn't have my cane and I let Phuong and Joanna get a few feet ahead of me in the street. Lesson learned.
Phuong, Joanna and I have been sick the past week, but we are finally getting better. Joanna was teething, and now has two bottom teeth to show for it. Phuong had the flu and her eye is almost completely healed, and I had a horrible cold sore in my mouth that refused to heal. But my friend Joy, who just moved ahead of my coffee waitress in the niceness race, suggested I treat the cold sore with a balm she gave me last Christmas. I found the balm, used it, and the cold sore was gone the next day. History. Out of here. Joy is now in my Hall of Fame, surely an honor she must be proud of.
Joanna will be 6 months old on Monday, Jan. 9. She rolls, sort of crawls, puts everything in her mouth, especially if it involves my computer wiring, and now stands when she holds on to something, like the side of the bed. She's so wonderful, and she's lucky to have such a dedicated, caring mom like Phuong.
My coffee waitress gave me flan on Thursday after I gave her a couple pieces of candy, which I do daily. So, life is good. I want to add that almost all of my classes are fantastic. The students, even the ones who hate me, are wonderful. I love teaching and my employer, VMG, is quite reasonable considering that the White Monkey can be very demanding.
I point out the negative stuff because of the danger factor and I need something to write about. Also, Americans love to complain. Just look at our president-elect. So, as Phuong loves to say to me: "John, listen, listen. SHUT UP!"
I was waiting in line at Metro supermarket to have my corn, apples and zucchini weighed by the produce lady. I was second in line and the family behind me struck up a conversation. The husband spoke adequate English, so we talked the usual stuff: Where do you work? Where do you live? How long have you been here? But while the husband and I were chatting, I noticed his wife sneaking around behind me and putting her stuff on the scale because the lady in front of me had finished. The wife had used her husband to distract me so she could cut in line. And she had a ton of crap. I was pissed, but I stayed cool. I simply removed her items from the scale and calmly told her that some Americans have been known to kill people for cutting in line. I also said that I wasn't one of those Americans, but that cutting in line was rude and that it really makes me angry. And I said this super calmly, really. The husband agreed, so I put my items on the scale, and everybody went home happy. Sorry, but I just won't accept line-cutting. I guess it's my "culture."
I'm not sure why everybody seems to be in a hurry in Vietnam. They ride their motorbikes on the sidewalks all the time to save a second or two going around a corner. I was hit two more times by motorbikes while walking on the sidewalk this past week, and both times the women who hit me laughed. I'm not sure I fully understand the humor here. But since I carry a cane every time I walk, the bikes can't get close enough to do any real damage, although I have to be wary of the bikes that come up from behind me on the sidewalk. One girl rode so close to me that I had to put my cane up in front of my fat, bloated, Biafran belly, and body, to protect myself. The mirror on the girl's bike hit my cane and was knocked a little crooked. She made ululation noises, just like the douchebag that hit me before Christmas. She acted like it was my fault, which I'm sure it was. I now realize I'm an a--hole for using the sidewalk to walk. It's hard to get respect when you're a White Monkey.
Phuong and I tried to walk Joanna in her stroller at 6 a.m., but motorbikes put the kibosh on that idea. We were crossing a street in our neighborhood so we could walk along the river, and this yerkoff and his shirtless toadie came around the corner so fast that the yerkoff's knee was almost touching the ground, like in a motocross race. They almost hit Phuong and Joanna, laid on the horn, and laughed at us. I begged them to come back so I could slowly and painfully kill them, but they don't have the ball bearings for that kind of confrontation. What really pissed me off is that I didn't have my cane and I let Phuong and Joanna get a few feet ahead of me in the street. Lesson learned.
Phuong, Joanna and I have been sick the past week, but we are finally getting better. Joanna was teething, and now has two bottom teeth to show for it. Phuong had the flu and her eye is almost completely healed, and I had a horrible cold sore in my mouth that refused to heal. But my friend Joy, who just moved ahead of my coffee waitress in the niceness race, suggested I treat the cold sore with a balm she gave me last Christmas. I found the balm, used it, and the cold sore was gone the next day. History. Out of here. Joy is now in my Hall of Fame, surely an honor she must be proud of.
Joanna will be 6 months old on Monday, Jan. 9. She rolls, sort of crawls, puts everything in her mouth, especially if it involves my computer wiring, and now stands when she holds on to something, like the side of the bed. She's so wonderful, and she's lucky to have such a dedicated, caring mom like Phuong.
My coffee waitress gave me flan on Thursday after I gave her a couple pieces of candy, which I do daily. So, life is good. I want to add that almost all of my classes are fantastic. The students, even the ones who hate me, are wonderful. I love teaching and my employer, VMG, is quite reasonable considering that the White Monkey can be very demanding.
I point out the negative stuff because of the danger factor and I need something to write about. Also, Americans love to complain. Just look at our president-elect. So, as Phuong loves to say to me: "John, listen, listen. SHUT UP!"
Sunday, January 1, 2017
Violence, holiday horror, fat as a pig
It was an accident. I swear. But pictures don't lie, and neither do I.
I gave my wife Phuong an ugly black eye when I "tossed" a wooden puzzle toward her in a toy store on Sunday. It was the craziest thing. We were shopping for Joanna when I wandered off and found a couple of puzzles that I wanted my daughter to have. Phuong was about 15 feet away at the register, so I motioned to her that I would toss one of the puzzles. Phuong said throw it because she thought it was styrofoam, not wood. I tossed it gently, but it floated like a Frisbee, picked up speed and hit her above her left eye. I heard a "thok" sound that I knew was trouble. Thank God I didn't hit Joanna. Phuong was clearly dazed. I ran to her, removed her hand from her eye and saw a golf ball-sized lump. The store owner looked at me in horror, like I was some kind of animal. A White Monkey, perhaps. I ran across the street to a coffee shop and was able to explain in Vietnamese to the young man working there that I needed a cup of ice. I ran back to Phuong, and helped her apply the ice to her eye. We did buy the puzzles and a bunch of other toys for Joanna. Phuong is such a trooper. She helped me assemble some of the toys when we got home and we rolled around on the bed playing with Joanna. Man, I love my wife and daughter. And I feel so stupid for what I did.
Unfortunately, the theme of violence in my life started a couple of days before Christmas. I got to work a little early, like always, and decided to walk to a nearby supermarket for some bread. I was walking on the sidewalk when some ass-clown with a young girl on the back of his motorbike decided to take a shortcut, and ran into my hip. I've been hit by motorbikes about a dozen times while walking on the sidewalks here, and of course it's always my fault. As a man of chi, I don't usually take serious offense. But this guy started screaming at me. His shouting didn't sound like any words or language I was familiar with. Actually, it sounded like the "ululation" of Lebanese women at a funeral. For whatever reason, I reacted without even thinking. My right arm shot out and the heel of my hand hit the clown in the chest. Maybe it's a chi thing. The loser on the bike almost fell over, but I caught him with my rapid right, and was able to keep the girl and motorbike upright as well. There was lots of staring, and gesturing, and babbling, and threatening from the ass-clown and his highly intelligent girlfriend. But things didn't go any further.
There's a perfunctory quality to Christmas and New Year's in Vietnam. It's acknowledged, but not really celebrated. Vietnam is all about Tet, which doesn't spin my beanie, but I'll respect the holiday because Joanna and I are guests in this country.
Christmas and New Year's expand the holiday season here, meaning there's more drunks on motorbikes and more aggressive people everywhere. The holidays seem to bring out chuckleheads all over the world. Go shopping on Black Friday in the United States if you really want to taste the nasty fat nasty. Anyway, drunken motorbike driving doesn't carry the same stigma as drunken driving in the U.S. It's not admired here, by any means, but there's almost a roll-your-eyes tolerance of the drunken motorbike driver. I hope that attitude changes. I also hope people stop littering, too. There's work to do.
My weight has become something of an obsession with some of my students and folks I encounter on my walk. At school on Friday, I taught a kids class for the first time time and when I walked into the classroom a little girl says to me: "You're FAT!" Ah, but I wasn't late.
Coming home from my daily walk I stopped to buy soup for me and Phuong to have for lunch. Two women who had just finished their soup came up to me to show off their English. After one or two awkward minutes of lame English, one of the women points to my stomach and says: "You're FAT!" Then she tells me she knows a man who will sell me some pills that will get rid of my gigantic, bloated, Biafran belly. I politely declined, but told the woman that the wrinkles on her face look like a road map. I suggested she use Nivea cream, which can be purchased at COOP Mart. She and her friend walked away.
Not all was lost for me the past couple of weeks. I played a guessing game in class. How old is Teacher John? One girl guessed 45 and another guessed 50. Those are some smart girls, and I must say they have bright futures.
I gave my wife Phuong an ugly black eye when I "tossed" a wooden puzzle toward her in a toy store on Sunday. It was the craziest thing. We were shopping for Joanna when I wandered off and found a couple of puzzles that I wanted my daughter to have. Phuong was about 15 feet away at the register, so I motioned to her that I would toss one of the puzzles. Phuong said throw it because she thought it was styrofoam, not wood. I tossed it gently, but it floated like a Frisbee, picked up speed and hit her above her left eye. I heard a "thok" sound that I knew was trouble. Thank God I didn't hit Joanna. Phuong was clearly dazed. I ran to her, removed her hand from her eye and saw a golf ball-sized lump. The store owner looked at me in horror, like I was some kind of animal. A White Monkey, perhaps. I ran across the street to a coffee shop and was able to explain in Vietnamese to the young man working there that I needed a cup of ice. I ran back to Phuong, and helped her apply the ice to her eye. We did buy the puzzles and a bunch of other toys for Joanna. Phuong is such a trooper. She helped me assemble some of the toys when we got home and we rolled around on the bed playing with Joanna. Man, I love my wife and daughter. And I feel so stupid for what I did.
Unfortunately, the theme of violence in my life started a couple of days before Christmas. I got to work a little early, like always, and decided to walk to a nearby supermarket for some bread. I was walking on the sidewalk when some ass-clown with a young girl on the back of his motorbike decided to take a shortcut, and ran into my hip. I've been hit by motorbikes about a dozen times while walking on the sidewalks here, and of course it's always my fault. As a man of chi, I don't usually take serious offense. But this guy started screaming at me. His shouting didn't sound like any words or language I was familiar with. Actually, it sounded like the "ululation" of Lebanese women at a funeral. For whatever reason, I reacted without even thinking. My right arm shot out and the heel of my hand hit the clown in the chest. Maybe it's a chi thing. The loser on the bike almost fell over, but I caught him with my rapid right, and was able to keep the girl and motorbike upright as well. There was lots of staring, and gesturing, and babbling, and threatening from the ass-clown and his highly intelligent girlfriend. But things didn't go any further.
There's a perfunctory quality to Christmas and New Year's in Vietnam. It's acknowledged, but not really celebrated. Vietnam is all about Tet, which doesn't spin my beanie, but I'll respect the holiday because Joanna and I are guests in this country.
Christmas and New Year's expand the holiday season here, meaning there's more drunks on motorbikes and more aggressive people everywhere. The holidays seem to bring out chuckleheads all over the world. Go shopping on Black Friday in the United States if you really want to taste the nasty fat nasty. Anyway, drunken motorbike driving doesn't carry the same stigma as drunken driving in the U.S. It's not admired here, by any means, but there's almost a roll-your-eyes tolerance of the drunken motorbike driver. I hope that attitude changes. I also hope people stop littering, too. There's work to do.
My weight has become something of an obsession with some of my students and folks I encounter on my walk. At school on Friday, I taught a kids class for the first time time and when I walked into the classroom a little girl says to me: "You're FAT!" Ah, but I wasn't late.
Coming home from my daily walk I stopped to buy soup for me and Phuong to have for lunch. Two women who had just finished their soup came up to me to show off their English. After one or two awkward minutes of lame English, one of the women points to my stomach and says: "You're FAT!" Then she tells me she knows a man who will sell me some pills that will get rid of my gigantic, bloated, Biafran belly. I politely declined, but told the woman that the wrinkles on her face look like a road map. I suggested she use Nivea cream, which can be purchased at COOP Mart. She and her friend walked away.
Not all was lost for me the past couple of weeks. I played a guessing game in class. How old is Teacher John? One girl guessed 45 and another guessed 50. Those are some smart girls, and I must say they have bright futures.
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