Fish story; age issues; laptop ruined; poverty

Everyone has a fish story. Here's mine:
Phuong's brother wanted to help, so he gave us a catfish for Joanna's new, improved and bigger fish tank. Her little fish tank was just too ... well, little, so we upgraded to a bigger tank with a pump. Anyway, we already had about 15 tiny tropical fish (we do live in the tropics and they're very cheap to buy here), so Joanna and the relocated little fish welcomed the big catfish into the bigger tank -- the catfish was about six inches long and really stood out among its one-inch neighbors. Phuong's brother assured us the catfish wouldn't eat the little guys, and gullible, novice fish keepers that we are, we believed him. For two days, all seemed well. The catfish acted hyper, but it stayed on the bottom of the tank, swimming fiercely back and forth but not bothering the little fish. But that restless "pacing" was an omen. When Phuong went downstairs Saturday morning to check on the tank, there were only two fish inside: a bloated, well-fed catfish and a super tiny baby fish.  Obviously, the catfish ate its neighbors, and it was most likely waiting for the baby fish to get bigger so it could eat it, too. Phuong and I had a good laugh over the catfish's tropical feast, although I'm sure the victims didn't find the situation funny. Joanna didn't care and focused her attention on the catfish. The catfish was sent to a pond on a property owned by Phuong's brother, and Phuong went to a fish shop and bought about 20 little fish for the tank. Water world is wonderful and peaceful again, except for Joanna constantly trying to climb inside the bigger tank. She actually laughs when I almost put her inside the tank in my pathetic effort to teach her a lesson. Joanna can smell a bluff.

* * *

I've had some physical issues lately related to past surgeries, accidents and lifestyle, and Phuong has mercilessly taken full advantage to reclaim to the No. 1 tennis ranking in our house, routing me in five of our last six matches. Age has clearly diminished the White Monkey's tennis skills and recuperative powers -- tai chi be damned -- but my excuse-making skills remain as strong as ever. Perhaps the brutal heat is a factor. It has taken the joy out of our daily walk. Sometimes, Joanna seems drained by the heat and humidity. She becomes a ball of energy when there is air conditioning, however, which means she perks up in the bedroom at night when it's time to go to sleep. I have to leave the room, or she'll never go to sleep.

* * *

The mayhem in our house has extended to the electronic world as well.  The lazy White Monkey rolled over rather than sitting up to get out bed last week, and my elbow crunched the screen of my HP laptop, creating a weird LSD-like effect on the now useless screen. All my school stuff and videos for Joanna were on the HP, so I copied everything to a hard drive and transferred the files to my MacBook Pro, which is finally getting some use. Since I'm back on the Mac, I've been downloading more music lately and buying books, which also means I'm spending more money. What a dope I am. Now I'll have to teach more private students, which can be problematic for reasons stated in one of my previous blogs.

* * *

Sometimes, the poverty here jolts you. I know I'm repeating myself on this topic, and that there are poor people everywhere, but difficult circumstances are so visible here. Just around corner from our house, a family lives on cots under a tree, and their little kids bathe in public with water from hoses that belong to a car rental business. That family lives next to two homeless guys who sleep under another tree. People rarely beg here. They're too proud for that, and even the poor will help the really poor. It's an unwritten code of sorts. The issues I occasionally face are nothing compared to what these folks deal with every day. Yet, they still smile and yell Hi! when Joanna and I go by on our walk. Makes me appreciate what I have even more, and once again, makes me realize how selfish my complaints are.

* * *

Finished another book: The Great Gatsby ... it wasn't that great, but it was a quick read. Now I'm reading A Tale of Two Cities ... it isn't a quick read.

Nice legs; what's your name? tattoo stigma; Joanna's fish

Two girls in very short skirts displaying tattoos on their upper thighs, which I find distasteful, were leaving the coffee shop I frequent just as I was arriving with Joanna. The girls, in their mid-20s, looked at me and then looked at each other, with one girl saying to the other in a very provocative manner: "What's your name?" It was for my benefit, of course, so I responded with that local conversational classic, also in a very provocative manner: "Where you from?" We didn't get to the intimate "How old you?" and "How much?" because I wanted a cappuccino and, like I said, I had Joanna with me. Oh yeah, and I'm married.
I've mentioned this before. Tattoos carry heavy significance in Vietnam. Women that have them often work in the "business" and men that have them are labeled "gangsters." My Vietnamese isn't good enough to know for sure if this is or isn't the case. I still don't believe it, but this country reminds me of the U.S. in the 1950s in a lot of ways. The stigma of tattoos, for example.
Many of the girls and women here wear very short skirts (now we're in the U.S. in the 1960s), but feign modesty when you look at their legs, which usually are very nice. The girls will try to tug their skirts lower -- good luck with that  -- when they think they're being stared at. If their skirts or shorts are simply too short to tug, so to speak, sometimes they'll put jackets over their legs. Bummer. They want to put their best features out there, but they don't want to look cheap in the process. Good luck with that. My wife, like most women here, has very nice legs. But she calls herself a "classical" person and wears longer shorts or pants. At tennis, occasionally she'll wear shorter gym shorts, and I notice a lot of the men who play soccer next door come over to watch us. I don't think they want to see my titillating forehand or sexy serve when they press their faces to the chain-link fence, although my forehand is titillating at times, and my serve is clearly sexy.

* * *

My daughter Joanna seems to be doing well enough. Everything is in English so far. She counts (to 19 without the 5 or 12), says the ABCs (with a few gaps here and there) and parrots much of what I say, which means I have to be more careful of what I say. The White Monkey will drop the occasional F-bomb, for example when I hit my head on low cabinets, spill water from the tiny sinks, don't have hot water, don't have electric, don't have coffee, wake up in the morning, go to bed at night ... you get the idea.
Joanna loves to finish words in stories: "Cat in the HAT!" She doesn't scream HAT! but she says it with pride and gusto. "The realm of magic BEASTS!" Some of the finishing words she says are multi-syllabic and I'm surprised when she says them. Her new trick is to do something bad, then preemptively say "no no no no no."
My daughter Joanna embodies the characteristics of so many people in my family. She looks like my mom and has my mom's expressions and determination; she possesses one of my daughter's fiery spirit and quick smile; my other daughter's kind and caring nature; my one son's intellect and wise judgment; my other son's likeable personality and good heart. She has Phuong's overall goodness, smartness and beauty. She has my family's and Phuong's family's stubbornness.  She has my height and size, and my temper. Uh-oh. She's become mommy's girl and doesn't care for dad, like all of my children. But I'm so proud of these kids and I hope and pray that Joanna becomes successful, smart and wise, like her half-brothers and sisters.

***

We got Joanna a fish tank with 10 tiny fish -- she counts them quite often -- and a soccer ball. These are birthday presents ahead of her second birthday. She'll turn 2 in July. Time does fly, especially when you enjoy life ... and get older.

Disposing of toilet paper; nouveau riche; lousy pharmacy

In much of the world, notably Vietnam in this instance, used toilet paper is not disposed of in the toilet. Instead, it is placed in a trash can next to the toilet. The White Monkey was not raised this way. If the trash can doesn't have a lid, the sanitation and smell are not up to code -- my personal code. I generally won't use those facilities, unless I've eaten Vietnamese food and it's an emergency. Some public restrooms basically have a hole in the ground -- no seat. That's it. Oh, and they have a trash can next to the hole for the toilet paper, but usually there's no paper. I've been told, and I've read on the Internet, that the plumbing pipes in Asian countries are too thin to handle excessive toilet paper. Makes sense. Many bathrooms don't have toilet paper, but they have a small hose next to the toilet. Use your imagination. Actually, it's amazing what you can adjust to when you're 63 and your personal plumbing has issues of its own. Really, I'm OK with all of it except the hole in the ground. Motorbike accidents have diminished my flexibility, so I really prefer sitting on a seat to squatting over a hole. I can do it, but the discomfort distracts from the business at hand. In the White Monkey's world,  I prefer flushing used toilet paper down the toilet rather than having it sit in a trash can in 100-degree weather all afternoon. I also prefer toilet paper to a hose and my hand. But at the end of the day (the most overused cliche in the world today), my preferences overseas don't mean sh#t.

* * *

Having been poor is no shame, but being ashamed of it is.
--  Ben Franklin
Many people who have recently come into money -- I think they're called the nouveau riche -- carry themselves with an arrogance that is unsavory at best, and cruel and vicious at worst.
 I've seen it in the United States, Peru, and now Vietnam. I wasn't in Poland long enough to witness it there, but I'm sure it existed. Maybe I resent these folks because I'm not rich -- but I know I resent their attitude more than anything else.
In Peru and Vietnam, these people park their SUVs anywhere they damn well please, talk loudly on their cell phones in elevators and restaurants, and walk across your tennis court while you're playing (more in Vietnam than anywhere else I've been).
I'm writing about this  because the economy is growing in Vietnam, there are more SUVs on the road, and really because some guy parked his expensive SUV in the park where we walk. The security guard asked him to move, and the guy said he was a cop, refused, and dared the security guard to call the cops. Some clown races his black SUV up and down our street every morning. At the coffee shop where I read, all the Richie Riches come out on Sunday. They'll grab chairs next to me without asking if it's taken. Sorry Phuong and Joanna -- it's called entitlement. They'll chat in the aisles, with or without cell phones -- and show no inclination of moving if you're trying to pass by.  I stood in line to get my cappuccino when a well-dressed guy came in, walked past me and blurted out his order to the girl behind the counter.  Line cutting is an art form for these folks. So I'll leave you with one more Ben Franklin quote about folks like this:
He that is of the opinion money will do everything may well be suspected of doing everything for money.

* * *

A young neighbor of ours died,  which I thought meant three days of loud singing and "music" outside of our house. It didn't happen. The mourning period was respectful, and the music minimal.The young neighbor was 39 and died from a stroke. He leaves behind a young wife and two children under the age of  four. He was a nice man and always smiled when I walked past his house with Joanna. Joanna would wave, the man would smile, and all seemed good. It's a sad situation now.

* * *

There's a big pharmacy on Vo Thi Sau street that I stopped going to because the girls who work there are weird, rude and just plain stupid. I asked for Band-Aids or adhesive bandages of some sort (the words were written on a piece of  paper in Vietnamese for these morons) and the girls laughed and shook their hands at me, signifying God knows what.  I showed them an adhesive bandage (Band-Aid is a trade name) on my finger and their dim lights flickered. They brought me a single adhesive bandage. I communicated that I needed more (remember, I shower four times a day now), and the girl rolled her eyes at me and brought me another single bandage. I went to another pharmacy where my needs were met hassle-free. I got a box of real Band-Aids with no hand shaking or eye rolling. And I'm sure no English was spoken at that pharmacy as well. I was walking past the big pharmacy on Vo Thi Sau a few days ago when an American approached me for help. He was in pain -- his neck was sore from a long plane trip. I went to the window with the man, pointed to his neck and said "pain"  and "need help" in Vietnamese. The two girls (it takes two girls to not understand and not help you) laughed hysterically. I guess they were laughing at my Vietnamese. The guy who needed help was clearly in pain. One girl laughed so hard she squatted down -- if there was a hole in the ground she could have peed -- and nearly fell over backward. The American was baffled. I wasn't. Those bags of douche have laughed at me a couple of times in the past when I've needed medicine. They hassled my mother-in-law as well. They need a prescription for their poor manners.

* * *

Public grooming is fairly common here and I see lots of women primping each other's hair at restaurants, in stores and in the street. I don't know exactly what they're doing. It looks like they're searching for lice. Not sure this is the most sanitary practice, especially in supermarkets and restaurants. I won't go into nail clipping and nose picking. Oops, too late.

,* * *

I'm picking up more private students, almost more than I can handle. Free time is gone, but I still make time to read. Currently finishing Anne of Green Gables. It's supposed to be a children's book, but I find myself enjoying the heck out of it. A wonderful story fit for all ages.

Too much help when Joanna goes ballistic; White Monkey gets cranky from the heat and sweating

I carried Joanna to the park on Monday this week, and for whatever reason, she was not a happy child. She refused to walk when we got to the park. That's our agreement (and dad's rule). I'll carry her on my shoulders everywhere except in the park. She gets it. But this time,when I put her down, she went ballistic. I tried distraction tactics such as pointing out birds, bugs, fish (across the street), but she was set. She's the only person I know who's more stubborn than her mother or father. Then she decided she wanted to go home to "mommy, mommy, mommy, 'yaa'." I'm not sure what the "yaa'' means, but Joanna always makes it the last word when she's upset.  So I picked her up, and she continued crying as we walked home. Some Vietnamese women who were watching us -- everybody spies on everybody here -- decided they would "help."  They came up to us speaking Vietnamese. Then they tried to console Joanna. That went over like a fart in church. Joanna was having none of it and continued screaming. Then a couple of other women started tagging along and offering "advice" in Vietnamese. I felt a little like the Pied Piper, or St. Patrick. Either way, I didn't want the company while I was dealing with a screaming toddler.
Maybe I'll call it "too much of a good thing" or "trying too hard."  The  Vietnamese folk in my neighborhood, for the most part, are extremely nice. There are a few creeps who will stare and glare at me, but most will stare and smile, or bow their head. But the Vietnamese love to help, to chip in, and then they always seem to know what's best for you and everyone else. Really, it's all good, except when you're taking care of a screaming child. I just wanted to get Joanna home and I didn't appreciate the advice in a foreign language. I know these folks were trying to "help," but this wasn't the time or place. Besides,  I see lots of parents hitting their kids here, so I'm not so sure I'm interested in local parental counseling. I know nothing about the women who tried to help me. They seemed nice, but since I don't speak the language very well, their efforts were misguided.
I'm pretty sure Joanna was having some teething issues. She's been getting some molars lately and has been particularly cranky and irritable. She wasn't herself for a week or so and  I was a little concerned, but for the past couple of days she's come back to her cheerful, chatty and stubborn self.

* * *

The White Monkey has been particularly cranky and irritable as well lately, and I know why -- the heat and humidity are unbearable here. I take a minimum of three showers daily --- morning, midday, night. I also shower after I walk with Joanna. I sweat when I do tai chi standing or sitting. I'm drenched when I do the tai chi solo exercise and sword form -- and must shower. I'm beyond soaked when I play tennis and have to wring out my shirts before putting them in a plastic bag -- and then I shower.  Phuong doesn't mind the heat as much as I do, so we eat dinner in our cool, 87-degree (F) kitchen -- then, I need a shower. Lovely. I'm sure the heat contributes a little to my sourness and cynicism, but I don't need much help with those traits. I sweat when my shower is over. I sweat when I use the bathroom -- for a number of reasons. Sweating has become a lifestyle for me. So has showering. I'm ready to leave this place, but we have a process to go through before that can even be possible. This makes me sweat as well. I see another shower coming.

* * *

Reading has become a serious hobby for me of late. I read at a local coffee shop daily after I finish teaching my private students. I'll have a cappuccino and book. Wish cigarettes weren't so nasty and harmful, or I'd have one of those with my book and cappuccino. I've ordered a  bunch of Jack Vance books that I'll pick up in the U.S. when I visit to have eye care and see my lawyer.

* * *

Good beer is getting harder to buy in Bien Hoa. If we're very lucky, Mega Market will carry Affligem Dubbel once in a blue moon (ha ha);. Vinmart stopped selling Leffe Brune and Blonde, and La Trappe Quadrupel and Tripel are gone. You can get all the Budweiser and Tiger you want. I'm starting to sweat. You can buy Chimay, but the prices are over the top. Time to get more books.

No. 1 health issue cured by chance; one hell of a book

Life's tragedy is that we get old too soon and wise too late.
-- Ben Franklin

Ben really is my hero. Anyway, I wish everyone who reads this blog a long, healthy and happy life. Long may be the least important, unless you're healthy and happy.
Well, I'm 63 years old and I'm still not very wise. And 63 is an age when things start breaking down. A year and a half ago, I had my gall bladder removed and I had a few undesirable side effects. I've also had four serious motorbike accidents, three that banged up my kidneys pretty good. Without being too graphic, I can say that going No. 1 became something of an issue after the accidents and surgery, unless I drank excessive amounts of beer. That treatment has its merits, but I just didn't think drinking excessive amounts of  beer was the optimal solution (no pun intended) to my problem. People suggested cranberry juice or pomegranate juice, but neither worked. I was pissed (pun intended). But I had an incredibly fortuitous meeting with a Chinese lady at the Chinese grocery store she owned in San Luis Obispo last July while I was taking care of my dying brother. I was buying a cool robe at her store (the robe was made in Vietnam, by the way) when we struck up a conversation. Somehow, and honest to God I don't remember how, my health problem was discussed. The woman said her mother could help me -- her mom, who was sitting in the store, was a Chinese herbalist and immediately diagnosed my problem as a kidney issue. She told me to do the following: Fry organic black beans in a pan until they begin popping (like popcorn). No oil, no nothing. Just the beans. Then soak the beans in organic vinegar for five days -- they can go in the fridge for the final two days. Then, eat 3 to 5 beans daily. She suggested I eat them indefinitely, meaning forever. I followed her instructions to a T, and sure enough,  no more issues with No. 1 whatsoever. Hell, I don't even get up in the middle of the night to pee anymore. And no, I don't wet the bed. There's only one Asian market in San Luis Obispo, so if you have health issues, it's worth a visit. I'm not sure they want visitors like this, but the whole family -- lady, husband, mom and dad -- were kind and friendly. I can't thank them enough.

* * *

Joanna and I were walking to the park last week when a Vietnamese lady made a remark that really bothered me. Joanna was on my shoulders -- she's gotten lazy in her old age -- and we walked past a woman who was with her husband and two kids. I smiled and bowed my head; she just stared back expressionless. When we got past her, the woman said in Vietnamese to her two children, "American, American."  (After five-plus years, I understand a little Vietnamese.) Joanna looks American, but she's half Vietnamese. Besides, what's the point? No kidding, Einstein, I'm not Vietnamese. So I stopped, turned, and said: "Look, Joanna, Viet, Viet." The woman acted offended, like I really care.

* * *

It rains daily at about 4 p.m. The rain is preceded and followed by stifling heat. We're still squeezing in two or three tennis matches a week. We're so evenly matched that the No. 1 ranking in the household is back up for grabs. The walk with Joanna is great fun, and because of it, we're thinking of putting Joanna in a "school" for half a day a few times a week. She saw some kids at a school/daycare/playgroup, and she really wanted to join in and play with the toys and such. Phuong will go to the international school this week to discuss price and schedule. A lot of people in town know Joanna now because of the daily walk. American, American

* * *

My private student Sam is a pesky Scrabble player. She gives me all I can handle when we play, and the only reason I  beat her this week is because I was able to play a 10-point Z.

* * *

I finished the book about the Vietnam War by Colonel William C. Haponski: One Hell of a Ride Inside an Armored Calvary Task Force in Vietnam. Powerful, emotional, and honest. I highly recommend this book because it's so honest. An excellent read.

Close to our house, two high school students reportedly killed when car plows into motorbikes on Vo Thi Sau

Two high school girls were reportedly killed on Vo Thi Sau street this past Sunday when a car crossed the center line and plowed into oncoming motorbike traffic. The location of the accident is very close to our house -- three or four  blocks -- and it was on a stretch of Vo Thi Sau that we travel nearly every day -- sometimes in a taxi and sometimes on a motorbike. We rode past the aftermath of the accident in a taxi on our way to tennis. The car knocked one motorbike and its driver shockingly high in the air, and another victim was dragged under the car. I saw a video of the accident online, and it's disturbing and upsetting. When I see stuff like this, I realize how easily it could have been Phuong, Joanna and me on the bike that was smashed into or run over. Joanna hasn't gotten to ride on the motorbike very much since I was broadsided a month or so ago. No information is being released publicly about the victims or driver of the car from Sunday's accident. Gossip and rumors are rampant. Alcohol has been mentioned as a factor; so has a flat tire. I'm not a cop or detective, but from watching the video, it doesn't appear the car was slowing down at all before impact. But that's just my perspective from watching the video. My heart goes out to the families of all of the victims. Many people here are unfazed by events like this. People still ride up and down our street at stupid speeds; you're still guaranteed to get cut off by the bike behind you when you both make a turn; and sure as hell you run the risk of getting hit by people running red lights. I use the word "reportedly" in the headline and first paragraph because, like I said, no information is being released. From seeing the video, it's difficult to imagine the two girls could have survived the impact, but I don't know anything for sure, other than the fact that drivers here -- of motorbikes, cars, busses and trucks -- are ridiculously foolish, reckless and dangerous.

* * *

Our application for an interview to get an I-130 spousal visa to the U.S. was submitted by our lawyer in Cleveland. I think it can take a year to get an appointment. Despite our impeccable character, we know we won't get the visa after this interview. But we hope to find out why my wife Phuong has the lifetime ban on coming to the United States.

* * *

No red-hot Joanna news. She's speaking more and more (English) and loves the walk with her mom and/or dad. When people approach her and make her uncomfortable, Joanna will immediately wave her hand and say "bye-bye"  in a high-pitched tone. You gotta love that.
Walking and tennis are being cut short by monsoon season, so I'm buried in a book about the Vietnam war called One Hell of a Ride Inside an Armored Calvary Task Force in Vietnam. I've had the book for quite a while, but I'm finally getting around to reading it. It's written by Colonel (Ret) William C. Haponski, who spent quite a bit of time in the Bien Hoa area during the war. It's the real deal, and the detail is rich. It's a good book that keeps me company when I go the coffee shop after I finish teaching my private students. It's part of my morning ritual.

* * *

We didn't have water in our house -- the third time in two weeks -- three nights ago after we had  a heavy monsoon rain. Water, water everywhere, but ... I'm waiting for the return of the skin rash. Our fitness continues to improve from carrying the heavy buckets of water upstairs. We're vanguards of the future. And the water carrying has helped my tennis. I've reclaimed the No. 1 ranking in our house after three successive victories.

No water again; walking with Joanna; women rule

Our house was without water again last week. The system was shut off for three days as workers installed PVC water pipes, replacing the iron pipes that may have predated Ho Chi Minh’s founding of the Indochinese Communist Party (ICP). There was a hose connected to the main water line in the street that we could access for water. We filled big buckets with water and carried them around our house (again) to bathe, do dishes, and flush toilets. Our fitness levels have clearly improved since we started carrying the buckets to the second floor bathrooms. Our hygiene levels ... not so much. I got yet another skin rash from the lack of hot water and showering with cold water from buckets. The cold water from the street line was refreshing, but warm water is obviously needed with all the sweating and grit in the air from the motorbikes and trash burning. The monsoon season seems to have started, but it hasn't done much to alleviate the heat. It's in the mid to upper 90s every day, with humidity around 80 percent. Rough stuff. The rain arrives about 3 p.m. and lasts until 4 p.m., increasing the humidity.
The electricity went off again for about an hour this week at about 8 p.m. I don't see well in the best of conditions, so when the house went pitch dark, I walked into a coffee table and banged up my shin and right hand. Blind, clumsy White Monkey.

* * *

 We've actually made a few friends in Bien Hoa in the past few weeks. We play a couple of guys in doubles at the county courts -- I can't beat Phuong there, so I've decided to join her. The two guys are quite friendly and they play at about the same level as we do. Our neighbor Minh wants me to cut the ribbon at her coffee shop when it opens on May 24. I think she's joking, but I'm not 100 percent sure. I've been nice to my sour neighbor's two teen kids -- a girl and boy -- and the neighbor has responded with smiles. I give the kids cookies that the coffee shop gives me. I'm a regular at the coffee shop with Joanna, so the staff showers us with little gifts.

* * * 

I take daily walks in the early morning or late afternoon with Joanna. She doesn't always like to walk, so I'll carry her on my shoulders. This seems to slow down the motorbikes a little when we cross the street. They'll speed up when I'm walking alone. Anyway, Joanna and I walk to the park, and then we visit a wall mural of Mickey Mouse and other cartoon characters. Then we'll visit a house that has about 15 rabbits in the yard. From there, we make our way to The Coffee House, where I buy Joanna a passion fruit pudding and I get a cappuccino. Then it's on to a nearby restaurant to see some live fish, followed by a return to the park, where Joanna doesn't have to be carried. Sometimes, she'll walk home from the park. Other times, she's on my shoulders. The whole trip takes about 50 minutes and it's not a bad workout for the White Monkey. I come back covered in sweat and Joanna doesn't fight her afternoon nap so much. Win win. Joanna doesn’t care for the attention she receives on the walk. She especially dislikes it when people try to hold her or pinch her cheeks. I don’t like it when people do this to me, either. Or pat my belly. On the other hand, Joanna get extremely excited when her cousins come to visit. For 22 months old, she’s pretty self-assured. She knows who and what she likes – money talks and you know what walks.

* * *

Females are pretty much dominating my life now, which isn’t such a bad thing. Phuong is the captain of our ship and Joanna is second in command. Me? I’m one of the expendable extras who’s assigned to swab the deck. It’s all good. One of my private students, “Sam”, finished the book we’ve been using, so we celebrated with milk tea, a cappuccino, and some pastries. She’s the boss of our class. The White Monkey knows his place.