No baby, trash hoagie, lipstick craze

The big news with our baby is no news … yet.  Phuong is huge and she gets an occasional contraction. But no signs of honest-to-God labor. The due date remains July 4, but doctors don’t expect the baby to wait that long.  Of course we’re anxious, hoping and praying for a safe delivery and healthy baby. No choice but to keep waiting.

I altered my walk route because motorbikes kept hitting me when I walked on the sidewalk. I was going to get into a fight and clobber somebody – or get clobbered – if I stayed the course on the sidewalk. Sad, but that’s how it is.  So now I walk along the railroad tracks. It’s trashy, but there’s a little bit more nature and green. There’s still a motorbike or two on the paths next to the tracks, but not like the sidewalks, where people suddenly pull in and park their motorbikes to patronize the shops.

 The other day during my walk, I saw something that shook me up. There was a man  ahead of me squatting next to the tracks and it looked like he was rummaging through some stuff. You see people looking for recyclables this way all the time. But when I got next to him I saw that he was filling a loaf of bread with discarded food that had been sitting next to the tracks. He was making a kind of trash hoagie that I assume he was going to eat.  It smelled rancid. Maybe I’m wrong, but countries like the United States and England seem to do a better job of hiding and segregating their poverty. In countries like Peru, Bolivia and Vietnam, the poverty is more visible, and is readily seen alongside the well-to-do.

It’s a fashion statement that’s blowin’ up in Bien Hoa. Young girls all over town, from ages 12 to 30, are wearing red lipstick. You betcha. Lipstick has come to Dong Nai province in Vietnam. I noticed my coffee shop girls wearing it. Staffers where I work are now wearing it. So are students. I even see random lottery girls and food stand girls wearing lipstick. This fashion “craze” has taken off in the past month or so. The girls aren’t shy with application. They’re still learning, I think. Personally, I’m not enamored with lipstick. In my opinion, Vietnamese girls are pretty and don’t need this kind of embellishment, but it’s not like I have a voice or say in the matter. People will do as they please, and if slopping red wax around your mouth makes you happy, then go for it. I wanted to get some pictures, but I couldn’t figure out how to get close-ups and not look perverted at the same time. I’ll work on it when I can.

I had more to write, but the internet is brutally slow so the blog stops here.

Park is the place for White Monkey

I spend more time in the park near our house because it's relatively clean (compared to the city) and there aren't many motorbikes, although an occasional duckface will race his motorbike on the park's concrete paths to get somewhere really important, like a coffee shop or video gaming room. I can do tai chi in the park, though, and passersby don't seem to really care. It reminds me of Hong Kong. The Vietnamese stare at me less in the park when I do tai chi than when I walk on the sidewalk to my new, favorite coffee shop. In the park, there are wedding photo shoots, which are rather pleasant, a few birds in the trees, and lots of butterflies. All of this is serenaded by unseen cicadas. The litter is minimal, and the park workers always smile or nod at me. All in all, a good scene. The canal near the park can smell sometimes, but since it's rainy season the water gets flushed out, so to speak. I'm mystified by the guys who fish in the canal. I don't think you can catch anything there except a serious skin rash. When I went to the park at dusk, I saw lots of birds zipping around the trees and canal while I worked out. Phuong was with me and said no big deal, they're bats.
An old friend Eric suggested I walk myself back to health after my two motorbike accidents. And he's absolutely right. Actually, I've been a walker for some time. I'm completely recovered from the motorbike accidents thanks to Phuong's massages with Chinese oil, walking, tai chi, and not smoking. Yes, I'm closing in on three months without a puff. Smashing your ribs and lungs on concrete is a drastic method for quitting, and I don't really recommend it, but whatever works.
Sadly, my walk is not a pleasant experience. A motorbike rider banged into my back (the fourth time this has happened) as I walked on the sidewalk near this craphole market next to the train tracks. No damage to me, but I was popped pretty good and stumbled a bit. The rider's reaction? He laughed at me. I approached this fishface with my cane in hand, ready to swat his ugly pug into next week. I showed restraint, however, and merely screamed curse words at him so loudly that the losers who work in the market gawked at me even more than usual. The guy rode away -- on the sidewalk. Three days later, I smacked a girl's bike with my new cane when she was about to hit me as I crossed the street with a pregnant lady (in a crosswalk). Really. The girl didn't make eye contact with me when I asked her "What's up, apeface?"
Speaking of pregnant ladies, my beautiful and lovely wife Phuong looks ready to give birth any moment. Phuong is incredible: 9 months pregnant and she's still cheerful and beautiful. The baby keeps moving, but it's obvious there isn't a lot of room for the baby to maneuver. We'll see elbows and knees and feet and hands move across Phuong's BIG belly.  And when I curse, which I do on occasion, Phuong tries to cover the baby's ears by putting her fingers on her stomach. You'd have to see it, but it's cute and quite funny.
The rainy season has cooled things off ever so slightly -- it's 92 or 93 every day instead of 97 or 98. But the humidity is brutal. I went into the staff room at my school and a Vietnamese staffer was tutoring a little Vietnamese girl.  I go in there to get my attendance folder for class and organize any papers I have for class. The Vietnamese staffer had the air conditioner on 32 degrees celcius, which is 89.6 degrees farenheit. That's warm in any culture. I prepared for class in the hallway, where it was probably a brisk 85. I understand it's all genetics, physical stature and such, and the heat doesn't bother these folks as much as the White Monkey.  But when a 210-pound White Monkey is wearing dress clothes and a tie and teaching in an 88- or 90-degree classroom, life becomes a sweaty mess. I don't do my best work. A student wearing a micro-miniskirt asked me why I was sweating in the 89-degree classroom when I was teaching. I responded: "Because I'm wearing clothes, I guess."
I included a few pictures of bikes cutting into oncoming traffic or riding against the grain to make a turn. Signals aren't necessary when riders pull this stunt. It's really shocking I've had accidents here, isn't it?
I've got some great kids and teen classes these days. For whatever reason, I relate to these guys. Maybe it's because they're young and their minds are open to new ideas, new ways of thinking, and new points of view. They get over their shyness pretty quickly and will try to speak English in class. I love that. Youth is great.  

An explosion at home; baby wants out

We had a crazy kitchen incident last week. It was a near miss that could have been horrible. Really. Phuong was using the percolator to make my morning coffee. I went to the fridge to get milk and Phuong was washing some spoons in the sink when the percolator blew up. And I mean BLEW THE HELL UP. Coffee grounds were everywhere -- the walls, the ceiling, the kitchen table, in the fridge, on Phuong, on me. Crazy. Phuong got sprayed with a tiny bit of hot water, but she was mostly out of harm's way. The percolator handle was across the room. The screwed-on top had blown off and was on the stove. It sounded like a bomb. Phuong's dad came over and with a smirk on his face said it was like the war. I knew what he meant and we laughed together. Funny, but a really scary moment that could have been much worse.
I'm happiest here when I'm with my wife or in the classroom teaching. Phuong is a remarkable companion, great cook and funny person. When I broke one of the free bowls we got with a purchase of spaghetti sauce while I was doing dishes, Phuong immediately said, "I guess my dear didn't like their promotion." She made an incredible dinner of salmon and shrimp with cream sauce on Saturday night. That's typical. She always prepares unique vegetables. And she's pampered me through my motorbike injuries. Remarkably, I'm all better now and pain-free. No easy feat with two sets of banged-up ribs and a mashed right ankle. She's an incredible woman and I'm a lucky man.
Almost all of my students and classes are wonderful. I have to clamp down on some of my little kids classes early, but they get it and their English improves quickly. Kids -- and teens -- are like sponges. They soak up the language, including the pronunciation. I'm happy to report that teens exhibit similar behavior all over the world. They pout, sulk, push the limits, disrespect the White Monkey, and love to curse. I've tossed a few teens out of my classes, but only when they violate a school or White Monkey classroom policy. But the teens and practically everyone else here never hold a grudge. I've booted teens out of class and the next time I see them we're laughing or joking or sharing a moment. I believe that will continue. In more than three years living here, only one chucklehead -- a co-worker -- will not speak to or acknowledge me after an incident two years ago that was clearly his fault and/or responsibility. That's actually a pretty good testament to the Vietnamese people. Too bad they're chuckleheads when they're riding their motorbikes or behind the wheel of a car.
The motorbike has become the bane of my existence here. I don't like it and I don't trust the people who ride them. Many folk have their left turn signals on and then turn right. The positive -- sort of -- is that very few people use their turn signals. Nobody yields at intersections. I walk much more these days, but motorbikes ride on sidewalks and I've been hit by bikes (not real hard) while walking at least five times. And the bike riders glare at me like I'm the ass clown for using the sidewalk to WALK. (This is why I carry the cane even though my body has healed.) At night, about 10 percent of the bikes have no lights whatsoever and about 50 percent have no rear lights. Kids drive stupid and weave in and out of traffic. Bikes come out of side streets onto the main roads and never yield or give a rat's rump about oncoming traffic or right of way. In short, motorbike riders follow no rules or laws, have no etiquette, and care about no one but themselves. Sadly, I've chatted with two people at Metro Supermarket who told me their children were killed in motorbike accidents. And two students told me about family members they lost in accidents. It really upsets me when I hear these stories, but I'm not shocked since I have first-hand experience with how dangerous the bikes here can be.
The rainy season has arrived and, of course, our new house floods. In fact, just about every house seems to take on water. The streets flood quickly because the litter blocks the drains. The temperature isn't quite as high -- in the low 90s -- but it's very humid. It's a real treat when the power goes out, which happens about once a month for three-hour stretches. (Peru was much worse in terms of power outages. And some of us who lived in California know about Enron.)  So, the motorbikes and weather are practically killing me - literally -- but I've got the best wife in the world and awesome students.
Phuong's belly is huge and it's only a matter of weeks -- if that long --  before she gives birth.  She now has weekly hospital visits and so far, so good. The baby is quite active, kicking and stretching. I think it wants out of there.

Bad language and purple toenails

The Vietnamese language is a real enigma for me. My wife and mother-in-law understand much of what I say in Vietnamese (God bless ém). But when I go to a coffee shop and order "cafe sua nong", which translates, more or less, to coffee milk hot, the young girls and guys working there look at me like I'm speaking Swahili, or Klingon. I get the hand waves in my face, and screwed-up looks like I'm the biggest butt face in the world. That may be the case, but my Vietnamese isn't as bad as these folks act. Sometimes, I become irritated and get up and leave. The kids couldn't care less if the White Monkey is a satisfied customer or does business there.  But if the owner happens to be in the vicinity when I order, the kids shockingly show more patience and understanding trying to understand the White Monkey. In fact, the kids suddenly seem to understand what I'm ordering. Hot coffee with milk. After all, it's maybe the most popular drink in the coffee shops, so what the hell else would I be ordering .... a double chubby chuck burger?  On three occasions, at three different coffee shops, the owners gave the waiters or waitresses hell for treating me like, well, a White Monkey. And that's the God's truth. The owners understood my order and barked at the kids to stop acting stupid and get my cafe sua nong. I love those guys. And at Hanh Phuc bakery today (May 28), the girl said, "Your Vietnamese is very good."  By the way, I love that girl, too. I'm surprised I get ridiculed as much as I do because I am trying to speak the language, but perhaps some people enjoy having the upper hand over someone like me who they perceive as wealthy, arrogant and condescending. Well, other than wealthy, they're on the mark. But all that said, what I really want is a HOT COFFEE WITH MILK.
The doctor told Phuong to cut back on her eating a little because our baby is getting quite big. The baby weighs more than six pounds and there's more than a month until the due date of July 4. The doctor also said the baby could come any time before July 4.  It's difficult to say. We don't know the sex, which shocks the locals, but I feel we're having a girl. I'll say it again and again: We don't care boy or girl as long the baby is healthy and normal and all goes well with the delivery. Phuong is doing everything in her power to make that happen. God, I love that woman.
Phuong looks great for a pregnant woman. But I'm a mess. My back is hurting all the time since my second motorbike wreck. I can't lay down without pain, so I can't really sleep. I watch Richard Quest on CNN all night and try to nap during the day. Pain and lack of sleep have almost destroyed what little patience I had in the first place. Again, Phuong is incredibly understanding. No one else gives a crap and I don't blame them. I'm bored with me as well. And here's a weird item. The nails on my two big toes have turned  purple because the shoes Phuong bought me here are too tight. But they're the biggest size they sell so I'm screwed until I go to the U.S. in November. I won't post a picture of my purple toenails because I want people to look at my blog.
The other day I was doing some tai chi in the park and a young girl selling lottery tickets -- these girls are all over town -- approached me.  But to her credit, she didn't interrupt me. I was so impressed with her behavior that when I saw her on my way home, I bought a lottery ticket from her. I put on my headphones, got in my post-chi groove and continued on my way. Then, in an alley near my house, I unexpectedly felt a hand on my shoulder. I almost crapped my pants and had a heart attack, in that order. I spun around and there was the lottery girl with a lottery girl buddy. The buddy held out a cell phone to me and from what I gathered, wanted to exchange phone numbers. I waved her away. The whole scene was a little too weird. That's what I get for being nice, I guess.
And damn-it, I'm still not smoking cigarettes.
I'm calling "slow life", "Hollygood", and "summarize" Phuongisms. These are Phuong's way of saying American words and phrases ... in her style. A new Phuongism is "smash potato" instead of mashed potatoes. Unbelievable!

Selfies in the park; back on the bike

I finished my daily walk on Sunday in the usual fashion. I stopped at the park near our house to do some tai chi in an ongoing effort to relieve the pain in my back and ankle from my recent motorbike wrecks. Sometimes, there will be photo shoots in the park of couples who are going to get married. One couple even wanted a picture with me in it, so we all stood in front of a tree and the photographer snapped away. It was quaint. On Sunday, a guy was taking pictures of a girl while another girl with them stood off to the side taking selfies. That girl took selfies for more than 20 minutes -- the time it takes me to do yang style long form. Amazing. How many selfies can you take in 22 minutes?
The reactions I get on the walk are always interesting. Hostile stares, plain old boring stares, blank stares, some smiles, an occasional  thumbs-up. I see the same folks every day -- and I've seen them daily for more than two months. I'm always amazed at folks who show no recognition or acknowledgement of someone they see every day over an extended period of time. People are like this in the U.S. My town, Yellow Springs, Ohio, can be either very friendly or very snobby. And  I'm one of those morons who always says Hi! and smiles when I pass by someone. I get snubbed quite a bit, so I don't do it as much as I used to. But the more I walk here, the more people acknowledge me. I don't think they're snobs here, just a little confused and disoriented by the sight of a White Monkey in Bien Hoa.  And people here seem a little shy. This is especially true with students who lack confidence in their English. They won't even make a guess if it requires speaking.
Many of the people I pass are working at little stands selling sandwiches, pork, chicken, duck, bread, fruit, and vegetables. The heat always makes me wary when I buy at the market or on the street, and I give whatever I want a thorough inspection before money changes hands. The people I buy from always say hello or nod when I walk by. The others just stare.
I went into a gift shop to buy a small present for Phuong -- just because. I picked out some plastic flowers in a fancy cup that said I Love You on it.  A sticker on the cup said 60,000 dong (about $3). I went to buy and the little girl working at the store pulled the flowers out of the cup, and the flowers had a sticker on them that said 50,000. So I said 110,000 dong in my very mediocre Vietnamese and smiled while pulling out my money. I'm not sure why, but the girl got agitated, gave me the hand wave in my face that really pisses me off (I don't accept that element of the culture), and said "NO, NO, NO." Then she said 110,000 in pretty much the same way I said it. I repeated what she said, and she responded with more NO's. I put the flowers and little cup down and walked out without buying, the money still in my hand. But I've noticed that people here don't care if you buy or not. I guess they don't need the money, or it's more important to humiliate the White Monkey than to take his money. I'm not a particularly difficult customer, but there about 12 businesses and restaurants I  won't do business with here. Just like Peru or the U.S., it's usually the younger kids that have the attitude, but a lot of adults don't mind being ass clowns either.
Sorry, Phuong, but no plastic flowers for you today. But Phuong has other things on her mind. Her stomach looks like a basketball. Really. It's round,  brown, and beautiful. The heat isn't making her pregnancy any easier, but she's tough and completely focused on doing what's good and right for our baby. It's just another reason why I love this woman so much. The doctor doesn't think the baby will wait until its due date of July 4.  He believes mid- to late June is more likely. We don't care when, or if we have a boy or girl. We want a healthy, normal baby, like any other expecting parents.
I'm approaching 20,000 views for this blog. For the numbers geeks out there, here's the top viewing countries with number of hits on the blog: United States 7,972; Vietnam 5,462; Peru 1,264; Russia 841; Germany 484; Australia 467; France 286; United  Kingdom 218; China 173; Ukraine 140.
I'm half  Ukrainian, so I was happy to see the Ukraine make the top 10.
I've said it before, but I'm proud people read my blog. I try to put some thought into it and I care. I'm a concerned ass clown.
Speaking of ass clown, the White Monkey is back on the motorbike. Really, I have no choice if I want to go anywhere outside of walking distance from my house, like a grocery store.  Phuong and her family worry whenever I leave on the bike. I worry, too, but screw it, I've got to do what I've got to do. And Phuong lets me use her bike, a Honda Air Blade, which is bigger and much nicer than the bike I destroyed, a Honda Wave. The Air Blade has an automatic clutch and shuts off automatically when the kickstand is dropped down. Let's ride.
I celebrated two months of not smoking cigarettes by not smoking another day.  Phuong has the White Monkey trained quite well.

Another wreck; motorbike for sale

Call me a taxi.
OK, White Monkey, you're a taxi.

Sorry for the lousy humor but my motorbike is for sale, with the profits going to a good cause: my father-in-law who has been going to the pharmacy for me daily to buy painkiller.
Yes, I had my second motorbike accident in six weeks, another rib-crushing, hip-smashing, elbow-burning spectacular on Vo Thi Sau, one of the main streets in Bien Hoa. The accident occurred at about 7:20 p.m. as I was scurrying between classes on my job.  I was riding from one site to another to teach when a woman pushed her bicycle loaded down with candy into my path as I went around a couple of cars. I hit the bike and flew over the handlebars onto my back in the street. I was told the woman lay down on the street during the accident. (Actually, after I finished my first class I was in a hurry and forgot to put on my helmet as I started up Vo Thi Sau on my bike. I realized my mistake, pulled over, put on the helmet, and crashed about 45 seconds later.)  Back to the accident: I lay on the road screaming the f-word (sorry, students) because of the pain.  Loads of locals came out from nearby restaurants to help me and see the carnage. They tried to pull me to my feet right away, which I refused. I needed to catch my breath, deal with the pain and continue screaming the f-word. I eventually got to the sidewalk and thought I had killed the woman with the bicycle. Three men were carrying her to a cab, presumably to take her lifeless body to the morgue. By this time, I would estimate the crowd at the scene to be about 150. I stood alone in something of a state of shock, and then some co-workers and bosses from my school, VMG, showed up. A man approached me and urged me to talk to the woman I crashed with. She was alive, after all, and didn't go to the hospital.  She wanted money. I called my wife Phuong, who arrived three minutes later with her brother and father. Phuong was absolutely amazing. When she approached the scene, the crowd got the hell out of her way. She was like Moses parting the Red Sea. She immediately checked on the White Monkey. I was good enough, so Phuong turned her attention to the "victim."  Phuong literally chased away a couple of women who were telling the "victim" how much money to ask for.  Phuong gave the woman two options: X amount of money, or we all go to the hospital together. Phuong wanted to close down this circus and send the crowd home. The woman wanted more money, but the police told her to back off and take what was offered ... or go to the hospital. The woman wanted no parts of a hospital because, really, there was nothing they could do for her at this point. She took her money (it doesn't matter who's at fault when the White Money, I mean Monkey, is involved) and everyone went their way, including the victim.
A big thanks to VMG, which is very understanding when I keep calling in sick. Funny thing is, I hate missing class (and being late). A big thanks to the staffers who stopped to express their concern. But for me, Phuong was amazing. She cleared the crowd, dealt with the knuckleheads, and got me the hell out of there. After the accident, two witnesses said the crash was all the woman's fault. But no one at the scene stood up for the White Monkey. Finally, I urge all bike riders to wear a helmet. My head was bouncing on the street like it was being dribbled like a basketball. No helmet and I would have been looking at some serious brain salad surgery.
My bank, U.S. Bank, has shut down my ATM card, leaving the White Monkey with no access to his money. The bank issued new cards with a security chip. I called the bank a month ago requesting my card not be shut off when the new cards became effective. (Mail can be difficult to receive in Vietnam). The guy assured me that U.S. Bank wouldn't shut down my card. ..... pants on fire.  Skype reacted by suspending my phone payments. I had an account which let me call the cell phones of family and friends.
I've had better weeks.

Good-bye handsome; another accident; odd place

My son Alec left Vietnam on Thursday last week, breaking the hearts of countless girls and women in Bien Hoa and beyond. I really enjoyed seeing him ... up to a point. What bothered me was how everyone said that Alec was handsome, good-looking, and even, ugh, beautiful. And handsome. And even worse was the fact that no one credited Alec's dad with passing on the good looks. Alec and I got massages together at "New Style."  Our cots were side by side during the massages, and my massage girl kept staring at Alec while rubbing my right forearm, which gives me no problem whatsoever. That really ticked me off. My girl was drooling over Alec, while his massage girl was touching his tattoos like they were the Ark of the Covenant. The girls mumbled something about "old" and then focused even more on Alec. I told the girls he was 25, and joked that I was 26. One girl fired back that I was 62, not 26. I hate a smart-ass. Other than a few stomach issues for both of us, Alec's visit was awesome. I really miss him and our long walks and talks and coffee together, and I look forward to seeing him and my other wonderful children this Thanksgiving.
I had two fantastic classes Saturday night, but afterwards when I was going home at 9:15 p.m., a motorbike rear-ended my motorbike and cracked my back light cover.  Two young dudes were on the offending bike. They were both wearing long black pants and long-sleeved white shirts, which is the uniform here. I was turning left from the left-hand side of the right lane with my lights and turn signal on. What an idiot I am. I'm not sure what the hell the guys behind me were doing, but I heard their mouths running and tires skidding just before impact, so either they didn't see me or they chose to hit me. No big deal. They didn't flee like the other two ass clowns that hit me, and they even apologized. I asked if they were OK, they said yes, and we went our separate ways. I had no ill effects from the accident, although my ankle still bothers me from the previous wreck.
Sunday, I saw a good deed that brightened my day. A bike with a dad, mom and son on board  was cruising along when a gust of pre-rain wind  blew off the boy's cap. An elderly lady riding behind the family stopped her bike in the middle of the road, picked up the boy's cap, waved to the family to return, and gave the boy his cap. We all smiled at each other as I rode by.
The rainy season is getting under way here, but the heat continues to be unsettling. Even my patient, beautiful, Vietnamese wife is complaining about the heat, which peaks at 99 F daily with a "feels like" index of 109. And it's super humid. Adding to the air quality is the daily trash burning in Bien Hoa. There's nothing like the smell of melting plastic and styrofoam on a 99-degree day.
Vietnam continues to be a real yin and yang for me. I see the good samaritan elderly lady stop for the hat, and on the same trip I see some guy on a bike throw his plastic coke bottle in the street while riding next to me. What a turd. But there are turds everywhere, which explains the trash in the street, the plastic bags in the water and all over the beach at Vung Tau. Some people here are so kind and generous and thoughtful, while others seem to live to cut in line and litter. Of course, this isn't just Vietnam, which has been through so much over the past decades. Besides, schizophrenia is everywhere. But right now the White Monkey is here, so this is what I write about.
One of my favorite coffee shops, Vangs, closed. It was replaced by the Texas Coffee and Tea Shop, or something like that. The new place looks like a Starbucks and I'm not sure why there's a Texas reference, but what the hell do I know? I'm more familiar with Texas steak.
Phuong is in her eighth month of pregnancy and officially lost her belly button on Friday. Well, she didn't actually lose it, but her "innie" became an "outie". No matter. I'll always love her.