Errrors! Why are you asking me? a fine whine; great friend

I know my blog often contains misspellings and grammatical errors, but I try to re-read to check for such mistakes. I had my former president's name misspelled with double "r" in Barack in my last blog; once I said a beer was a "Belgium beer" instead of Belgian beer; and I always leave out words, usually articles and prepositions: "May he rest peace." Someone once commented that I needed a proofreader. Hell, I just like having readers, whether they proof or not. Why do I mention this? Well, the Barrack [sic] error made me sick. Obama is the president I most admire and respect, and in in my opinion he's by far the best president in my lifetime. Yes, even better than Dernold Tramp ... uh,  Donald Trump. So I apologize to the greatest president of my generation for the second 'r' and I apologize to my readers for the many mistakes in this blog. I guess it's extra embarrassing for me because I worked in the newspaper industry as a writer and editor for more than 30 years. The mistakes I always made and make are no doubt why I was "let go" from my last newspaper. But hey, I'm a 64-year-old man with the mind of a 93-year-old. I've got wretched eyesight -- always had and always will. On the bright side, people tell me I don't look a day over 65.

* * *

My daughter Joanna loves the book "I Want My Hat Back" by Jon Klassen. In the book, a rabbit steals a bear's red, pointy hat. The bear asks other animals, including the rabbit who's wearing the hat, "Have you seen my hat?" The rabbit responds: "Why are you asking me?"  The bear also uses this line at the end of the story. Well, my daughter seems to have an excellent memory. Joanna cried when I tried to give her vegetables at dinner, so I pointed to a poster on our kitchen wall showing a boy eating vegetables, and asked her if she thought the boy cried when he ate his vegetables. Her response: "Why are you asking me?"  I guess I'm raising a flippant, clever daughter -- and I love it because she's always quoting lines from the books I read to her. However, Joanna's love of sweets is unparalleled and she'll rant "I want candy." Phuong's sister-in-law has a small store in her in-laws' living room, and of course the store has lots and lots of candy. This fact isn't lost on Joanna, who always wants to "visit" her grandparents and cousins and candy. Phuong had her two permanent front teeth and two molars pulled out because of a candy addiction. I'm a jerk with Joanna about things like her candy obsession and her constantly chewing on pieces of plastic  -- I get more upset than I probably should. Sorry, that's in my DNA.

* * *

-- The whine of the White Monkey, like a  Pinot Blanc from Alto Adige, Italy, improves with age. First, I'll whine about people burning trash every day. It continues to fire me up, so to speak. I wake up at 6 a.m. daily to the smell of burning paper, cardboard and plastic. I'm told I'm negative and say horrible things about people. Maybe I'll stop when people stop being idiots and doing stupid things, like squatting in front of a fire and feeding it plastic bags, construction material and paper. The trash trucks come every other day.

-- Secondly, I was with Joanna buying three Snickers bars, one loaf of bread and lettuce at the little VinMart store on Vo Thi Sau street  during our walk. The clerk rings up the candy bars and is about to ring up the other stuff when two Vietnamese women come up behind me with a ton of groceries -- more than I'd ever get in this store. So the clerk cancels my order, and starts ringing up the women's groceries instead of mine. I explained to the clerk that I was in line ahead of the women and that what he did was racist at worst, stupid at best. I pushed my candy bars, bread and lettuce toward the clerk and said I'll never return to the VinMart on Vo Thi Sau near Hancook restaurant. The staff apologized and then laughed at me as I left the store holding Joanna.

-- Finally, people here don't get the concept of a line or personal space. I'm at the checkout at Mega Market supermarket and the clerk is about halfway through our huge load of groceries. The guy behind us wasn't buying much, so after he put his items on the conveyor belt, he came and stood in front of me at the counter where my groceries were piling up. You pack your own groceries at Mega Market, but I couldn't pack them because the guy was standing right where I needed to be. I said "excuse me" politely and the guy turned his head away from me. Honest to God, I had to hip-check this idiot to get to my groceries. Incredibly, a woman with a small order behind the idiot moved up to stand next to the idiot. I'm banging hips with the idiot and rubbing asses with the woman just to pack my own groceries. The clerk made a half-assed effort to ask the idiot and ass-lady to move, and even another woman in line rolled her eyes at the boorish behavior of Thing One and Thing Two. After packing, I heartily shook the hands of the idiot and ass-lady, thanking them profusely for their patience. They laughed.

Cheers to a fine whine.

* * *

My great friend Andy is coming to visit us in Bien Hoa in a couple of weeks. I've got some really special activities planned for him -- shopping at the VinMart on Vo Thi Sau, where I'll never return, going to Mega Market to pack groceries, and waking up early to smell the fresh air. Actually, there are a lot of wonderful people here I want Andy to meet; there's excellent food to sample; and we'll visit some nice local sites as well as museums in Ho Chi Minh City. And most of all, I want people to meet and interact with Andy. He's one of the brightest and most considerate individuals I'll ever know. It's important to me that people in Vietnam realize that all Americans aren't as sour as the White Monkey. 

Holiday message; Joanna yelled at; games; 2 left feet

My Christmas message this year is a simple one: Have patience. My wife is the embodiment of this virtue, and it's changed my life and my life view. I thought of my dad, who like all of us, had his faults and then some. But even my dad changed his view of people of color when he was 94 years old -- primarily because of Barack Obama. Had he lived beyond 98 years old, he would have supported Hillary Clinton as well, even though he was also a misogynist in his day. I even saw my ridiculously stubborn and self-destructive brother, who died 20 months ago, soften his stance toward friends, family and food as he was dying. We may inherit some unsavory traits, but we have the ability to change our views and perspectives, especially as we get older ... or wiser. So, don't be too quick to judge. Try to have patience with people and life.
Happy holidays everyone from me, Phuong and Joanna!

* * *

Joanna and I go to the park about five times a week. We've been doing this for many months ... maybe even for a couple of years. Last week, the park security guard, who sits and watches YouTube videos, took offense to Joanna sitting on the little hedges in the park, which she's been doing for months. The guard yelled at her to stop and he was doing that asinine hand-waving the Vietnamese use for countless purposes as he rushed toward her. Joanna was stunned and scared. She burst into tears, and didn't stop crying until we left the park. Before we left, I tried to ask the guard (through words and gestures) why he yelled at toddlers but didn't pick up the litter in the park, or stop people from littering and riding their motorbikes in the park, or stop people from letting their dogs run loose and crap on the grass and sidewalks (signs prohibit motorbikes and littering). The guard smiled, then laughed and waved his hands at me. This same guard told my wife that he tried stop a guy from driving his car into the park and parking it. The driver became belligerent, according to the guard, who backed off and let the driver have his way. The guard said he didn't want a confrontation. My theory is that it's easier to bully a 29-month-old girl than control some guy in a car who probably makes a living intimidating people. I let the guard know I was pissed because he scared the daylights out of my daughter for doing something that she's been doing for months in full view of this guard and others. If it damaged the hedges and really bothered him, normal behavior would have the guard ask the parents to prevent their daughter from sitting on hedges. A couple of weeks ago, a guard yelled at Joanna when she pulled on a plant leaf. His method was sheer ignorance, but at least I agreed with his message that Joanna shouldn't pull on plants. When you live overseas in areas that are a bit remote and aren't frequented by tourists, you run the risk of encountering more situations like this. By the way, I've started picking up litter in the park since there isn't as much as before. I do this to set an example for my daughter, and all the other "children" out there who feel compelled to throw trash in the park and streets.

* * *

At the coffee shop where I read I see lots of folks staring hard into their laptops and iPhones. I always assumed they were texting, but when I started snooping I saw that they were playing video games. Three adult men will cram into the same side of a booth and play games, making their own sound effects. Strange stuff, in the White Monkey's narrow cultural view. I saw a young woman -- not a girl -- playing a game on Saturday. She played 45 minutes straight; I know this because I read 45 pages of my book and she didn't move.

* * *

Tai chi is my nightly ritual, as I've mentioned ad nauseam in this blog, but the other night my workout was really strange. I've had a balky knee for a while, but that wasn't the problem. My feet felt odd, almost awkward. I did some warm-ups without major issues, but when I did the form something was clearly amiss with my feet. My workout area is fairly dark, so I went inside where there's a better light and saw that I put on two left shoes. I own two pairs of kung fu shoes and guess I got them mixed up. I dance like I've got two left feet, and now I do tai chi the same way.

Will you still need me? a little litter; barking dog

If I'd been out 'til quarter to three
Would you lock the door?
Will you still need me, will you still feed me,
When I'm sixty-four?

My incredible wife Phuong tried to surprise me on my birthday, and did really well until I started snooping around the refrigerator, which I'm apt to do whenever I'm bored or hungry. And I'm usually bored and always hungry. As a result, I found a cappuccino birthday cake with my name and a "64" candle embedded in the icing. The cake was so big it was difficult to hide in the fridge. Besides, I knew something was up because Phuong didn't mention my birthday all day even though my super student Sam gave me a wonderful coffee/tea mug with her picture on it in the morning. The picture is actually a drawing of a rabbit, which is Sam's persona. She's a truly special friend. Anyway, Phuong cooked a wonderful chicken dinner, my favorite food in Vietnam, and we had cake and yogurt. Our nephews Vinh and Hai came over for dinner and cake, and along with Joanna's usual shenanigans  -- she danced non-stop to a disco-style version of Happy Birthday on YouTube -- it was a very nice gathering. I joked that the numbers on my cake were transposed and should have shown my age as "46".  I thought back to my 46th birthday in Bakersfield, Calif., and I recall waking up intoxicated and covered in newspapers on a city bench next to Guthrie's Alley Cat at 4 a.m. -- not a particularly proud moment, but a moment nonetheless. Life is short, folks, and in all likelihood I'm not the only person in the history of mankind to get drunk on his or her birthday.
(Also, thank you Jack, Tom and John for the birthday wishes. Very nice and thoughtful!)

* * *

The park where Joanna and I go four to five times a week has remained fairly clean. The threat of taking people's money for littering works wonders. But some scumbags still leave beer bottles and coffee cups and plastic water bottles under trees or on the walkways. One clown threw a bag of trash in the tree that produces the Jamaican cherries Joanna and I eat every time we go to the park (see photo on the right). But other than a handful of littering imbeciles, the park is a pleasant locale in this otherwise hardscrabble (this adjective is for you, Lucy) city.

* * *

I got into an argument the other night with my neighbor about a barking dog across the street from our house. The dog's barking was loud and relentless and went on into the wee hours -- easily past 1 a.m. My wife and I had to sleep in our daughter's room away from the street. When the barking started again the next night -- the poor dog was chained outside -- I asked my shirtless neighbor who was walking around in the street what the hell was going on with the barking dog. The neighbor told me it was protecting our neighborhood. And get this: The neighbor told me it was a cultural issue that I didn't understand. Maybe dogs are better trained in your country, he said, but it's part of Vietnam's culture for dogs to bark like this. It's not a big deal, he added. I told him I don't need the dog's "protection" and that his country's "culture" is pathetic if it's acceptable for dogs to be chained outside, bark all night and disturb the neighbors, and it is a big deal to me because I teach a private student English in the morning. There was no barking the third night, so I suspect some other neighbors finally complained, or the dog's owner/owners got sick of the barking. I also told my neighbor that it's part of my culture to play loud rap at 3 a.m. while drinking Hennessy ... it's no big deal, right?

* * *

Some odds and ends since the last blog:
* Remarkably loud karaoke drove us off the police tennis courts last week. We told the guy in charge of the courts that either the karaoke stops or we stop coming. The karaoke stopped last week, but who knows what the future holds.
* I go to the same coffee shop each day, drink a cappuccino and read for an hour. I've been doing this for a couple of months. Last week, one of the shop's employees who's waited on me for the two months asked me if I liked to read. Folks here have wonderful hearts but sometimes they really struggle to interact and communicate with foreigners. Nervous, I guess
* I'm trying to pick up a few more private students to get more disposable income to buy more books. I'll experiment and see if Amazon will deliver books to our house in Vietnam.

Christmas spirit seems more genuine in Vietnam than U.S

There are a lot of Catholics in Bien Hoa, but Christmas remains a low-keyed affair here. Some coffee shops and big stores put up a tree, and a few smaller shops are decorated with lights and ornaments, but overall Christmas is something of a little deal. This attitude has helped me enjoy and appreciate Christmas more than I ever did in the United States. I felt the same way in  Peru. The Christmas spirit seemed more sincere in Peru, probably because almost all of the people are Catholic. But the holiday was never shoved in your face. It's not shoved in your face in Vietnam either. Granted, Vietnam is communist and Buddhist/Taoist/Confucian, but since there are quite a few Catholics in Bien Hoa -- along with the fact that nobody loves money more than the Vietnamese -- I'm surprised that the excessive commercialism of Christmas hasn't caught on here. Probably, the proximity of Tet reduces the impact of Christmas along with the influence of communism and dominance of non-Christian faiths. Regardless, I feel more of the "real Christmas spirit" here than I ever did in the U.S. To show my sincerity, I put up a tree (artificial, of course, because of environmental concerns) and decorated it with some ornaments and anything else that was available. Phuong bought very nice lights for the tree. I want to introduce Joanna to Christmas and she's already absorbed with the tree, ornaments, lights and crazy decorations (including an empty tube of toothpaste). I haven't broached the subject of Santa Claus, but Joanna says "Jesus on the cross" when she sees the crucifix above the tree and wreaths. She may be a little young (29 months) to understand the birth, life and death of Jesus Christ, or the history and origins of Santa Claus, but she understands that something is afoot and that it's colorful and bright ... and includes presents. Phuong converted to Catholicism when she was 20, but I'm not sure she understands the importance and relatively recent tradition of making a buck off of a Jewish baby born 2,018 years ago. Phuong and Joanna can learn that lesson first-hand if we ever get to the United States together.

* * *

Given the tenuous nature of our immigration efforts to enter the United States, we're weighing our  options. Since my daughter Joanna seems to be bright and has a gift for language, we want her to grow up in a country with a decent educational system. We're researching now, but some contenders are Italy, Spain, New Zealand, Ecuador, Uruguay. I'm insisting on first world or first-and-a-half world. I'm old and a lot of countries don't like old people ... or Jewish people, or Islamic people, or black people, or brown people, or poor people, or foreign people. My wife is Vietnamese and my daughter is an American citizen who looks American, but is half Vietnamese, of course. Her American appearance has made her something of a curiosity here (call it White Monkey syndrome), and neighborhood kids don't want to play with her. That wouldn't have anything to do with the parents, would it?  So, when my pensions and Social Security kick in (if Trump doesn't end social security), we're moving somewhere with better weather and better opportunities for Joanna. Italy heads the list because so many Italians have been reading my blog. We'll visit Italy for sure, and maybe live there if my country shuns me ... and my wife and daughter. I want to thank each and every one of my Italian readers, if I can find them. And I want to meet Fabio Fognini.

* * *

Fabio is a wonderful segue into my tennis battles with Phuong. My reduced schedule due to trash burning in Bien Hoa has backfired, so to speak.  I thought my game would be rejuvenated. Instead, Phuong has more energy and I'm sluggish. She's won four straight since we started playing on Saturday and Sunday only, and I've been playing fairly well. She's been relentless. I fired my imaginary coach and I may have to get in touch with Fabio for inspiration.

* * *

I've just finished the last Jack Vance book I brought to Vietnam. I've read 13 Vance sci-fi books since returning from the U.S. in late August. I bought a few more online and had them sent to an address in the U.S. Can't wait to read them.