Is white right? 'Beautiful' isn't most important adjective

White skin is considered chic in Vietnam. If you go into the beauty shops, which I do on occasion, there are countless skin whiteners or lighteners on the shelves. The billboards feature light-skinned Vietnamese women with equally white teeth, and the outdoor advertisements and posters for local English language centers show smiling, blonde-haired, blue-eyed, white children studying English. Everyone knows that the sun can damage your skin, but I think that many white wannabes here are more afraid of darker skin  than they are of skin cancer. I have no statistical evidence to support this, but I think the preference for white skin explains why folks go to remarkable lengths to cover up by wearing hats, hoodies, gloves, long pants, and scarves on their faces in 90-plus degree heat. White was the preferred skin color in Peru, as well. The lighter the skin, the higher the caste in many people's eyes. How ridiculous.  In the U.S., a lot of people go to great lengths to have darker skin, or a tan. Go figure. I find darker-skinned Vietnamese and Peruvians and African-Americans more exotic looking. In other words, I think they're hot. My wife Phuong has fairly dark skin -- not super dark, but certainly darker than mine. And Phuong is very pretty, in my eyes. Our daughter Joanna has light/white skin, and that seems to attract a lot of attention in town. But an older, wiser White Monkey realizes that looks and appearance don't mean much after a while. Qualities such as kindness, generosity and intelligence will give a relationship longevity. Physically "beautiful" people aren't physically beautiful forever.
I tried to explain my philosophy about beauty to a couple of my classes with an adjectives exercise. One of the tasks: Use three adjectives to describe your favorite person. Every student, and I mean every student, used the adjectives "pretty, beautiful and handsome" and then were at a loss for words. They had used up all their adjectives to describe people. So I asked about their moms. One girl said "fat" and another said "short."  I told them their mom isn't their favorite person because she's "short" and "fat" or tall and thin or ... beautiful. Maybe she's chic, but hopefully she's a child's favorite because she is kind, caring, generous, thoughtful, nice, smart, loving. These are adjectives, by the way. And these are traits that don't erode over time, like physical beautiful can. I believe a couple of the students actually understood the point I was trying to make. When teachers make students think, they're doing their job. So maybe I actually earned my paycheck this week.
I'm loving my walk and coffee shops these days. The corner coffee shop, where I take all the traffic pictures, has great coffee and nice waitresses. The owner is very nice as well. And Lidos by the river has cleaned up the riverbank and added a nice waiter and waitress. Since I walk almost every day, almost everyone knows me. I shake hands with some of the security guards and car wash employees, and wave to coffee shop waitresses and vendors. When they're not on their motorbikes, the Vietnamese are some of the nicest people I've ever met anywhere. Especially the ones that are pretty and have white skin. Ha ha.
My son Jack recently passed the bar exam in the United States, which means he's an honest-to-god lawyer now after graduating from New York University Law School No. 3 in his class. I'm so incredibly proud of him. Of course, I'm proud of all my children -- Jessica, Caroline, Alec, Jack and Joanna. But this is Jack's time in the spotlight. Congratulations, son. I love you and admire you.

"Peanut" head, healthy living, "Dollars"

Phuong's dad has a nickname for his granddaughter Joanna. It's "Dollars" because Phuong and I dropped a bundle last week on the world's most beautiful baby. We bought a stroller and high chair, more toys, cool pants and shirts, and fancy diapers. We spent millions (of dong) and it was worth every dong.  We also dropped more money on Joanna for medicine, but we don't even consider that spending. Phuong is so proud of our daughter that she doesn't just push the stroller and walk in the morning; she struts and strides with stroller in hand. You can see that Phuong is waiting for the neighbors to come and admire Joanna. We had trouble leaving the mall because shoppers wanted to look, touch, and kiss Joanna. The White Monkey, once the  darling of the female crowd in Bien Hoa,  is no longer the star of the show. Joanna, the little "Peanut",  has made the White Monkey an afterthought. I started calling Joanna "Peanut" because I always have a nickname for kids -- and Joanna's head is kind of shaped like a peanut. My friends Tommy and Tony have also used that nickname for Joanna without knowing Phuong and I also use that nickname. We'll drop the nickname when she gets a little older (and when her hair grows to cover her head).
Joanna now rolls over routinely -- back to stomach only -- so we have to keep an extra sharp eye on her. Her first turn was stomach to back, but she freaked a little because her head bounced on the bed when she landed on her back. I poked around on the internet and saw that the average baby who is 14 weeks old weighs 6.5 kilograms and is 61 centimeters long. Joanna is 14 weeks old, 7.5 KG and 72 CM.  She's tall and really stands out here, so to speak. Joanna is going to be someone special because her mom is someone very special. I'm jealous of both of them.
My body has made a rapid recovery from surgery, thanks primarily to Phuong's cooking. She bought a pressure cooker and has stopped using any oil in her cooking. We eat beef, pork and chicken with steamed potatoes, carrots, corn on the cob, onions, and anything else we can buy from the vegetable man. I still have yogurt and cookies for dessert, and everything has been just dandy.
I've pretty much cut coffee from my diet. I have a small, watered-down cup late morning during my walk, and that's it. I used to have at least three hearty cups a day.  And since I don't smoke anymore (7 months now!) and never drink more than one beer at a time, the White Monkey is not only healthy, he's incredibly boring. Phuong is happy, and that's what matters most to me. Well, that and Joanna and my four fantastic children in the United States: Jessica, Caroline, Jack and Alec.
I saw a motorbike accident last week. A guy turned right from the center lane and clipped the bike in the right lane, knocking the rider to the ground. The rider on the ground rolled quickly and avoided having his head hit by a fast-approaching bike. Typical stuff here. No one slows, no one yields, and nobody stops their bikes to help a victim. Pedestrians will help, but motorbike riders only seem to care about getting somewhere fast.
I ride very slow these days so even if I'm in an accident, the damage hopefully will be minimal.
I returned to teaching a week after surgery and I've had some great classes ... no, I wasn't great, but the students were. One class in particular on Monday night was hilarious but focused. We laughed and learned the entire 90 minutes. These types of classes remind me why I got into teaching in the first place.

White Monkey's doctor leaves no stone unturned

 The most difficult part of having my gallbladder removed was being separated from my daughter Joanna. Everything is happening with her now -- she's three months and one week old. She baby babbles at everyone; she can kick like a mule; she has a great smile, giggle and belly laugh; and she uses her hands to grab toys and my glasses. I missed all that for four days last week when doctors in Ho Chi Minh City poked, prodded, tested and eventually sliced and diced the White Monkey to remove a sack of stones next to my liver that was impersonating a gallbladder. The process was a little too long but the doctors and nurses were competent enough. I went to the hospital on a Monday, was sent away, returned Tuesday for some testing, had more testing and waiting on Wednesday, surgery on Thursday, and finally, more waiting on Friday. Most unpleasant was when the nurse stuck a quarter-inch wide, 3-foot long plastic tube up my nose and then gagging-ly guided it down my throat and into my stomach. The tube stayed there 12 hours -- before, during and after surgery --  and was quite uncomfortable. Another challenge was my noisy roommates, two loud, talkative women who turned on a bright spotlight at 3 a.m. for god knows why. I also had to shave my chest and stomach with a cheap razor that left about 11 cuts on my torso.
Phuong was incredible throughout the entire process. She acted as translator, facilitator, nurse, doctor, counselor, accountant and dietician. Of course, she never stopped being an incredible and caring mom for Joanna. I couldn't live without Phuong and every day I thank God she's in my life. And Phuong made sure to get my gall stones from the doctor after the surgery so I could share an image of them with all my Facebook friends, whether they liked it or not. I love that woman so much. Phuong's mom and dad were also there, getting food and drinks, watching Joanna, and being supportive in every way possible.
I'll have three small scars on my stomach where a tiny camera and cutting tools were inserted into the White Monkey to remove the bladder. The pain is fairly minimal -- nothing like the last two motorbike accidents. And as I noted on Facebook, the pain that has been dogging my back, shoulder and ribs for more than a year is gone.
Right before surgery, while under the pleasant influence of drugs, I started thinking of all the puns I would use in my blog (for the benefit of legendary punsters Lucy Baker and Andy Vincent). I thought of stuff like listing my new favorites -- actors: Rock Hudstone and Stoney Curtis; activity: getting stoned; drink: anything on the rocks; TV show: The Flintstones; city: Boulder;. and movie: Rocky. 
I'm sure my diet will adjust to no gallbladder, as will my body.  Everyone says cut down on fatty foods, which are my favorite, but otherwise, it's business as usual. Phuong is a great cook and she'll take care of the White Monkey. Since I'm returning to the U.S. soon, I want to be able to eat some of that great, greasy American food that my bloated body has been missing for the past year, and drink a few quality beers with my buds.
And most of all, I want to see my children, who I miss so much while living here. I'll eventually get my wife Phuong and daughter Joanna to the U.S. where they can meet my children Jessica, Caroline, Jack and Alec. Phuong and Alec met earlier this year and hit if off super well. I can't wait for everyone to get together. Let's rock!

Doctor will remove body part from fat teacher in burka

I taught a class of young teenagers last week that I hadn't taught in a few months. We were becoming pretty good friends before I was taken off the class, and when I finally returned, the class dynamic had changed. Now there are only two girls in the class of 11 students, and one is new. One or two of the boys are new as well. The new girl was friendly and chatty, and quickly became concerned about my weight and a scab on the side of my head. The scab is the remains of a big lesion that was removed by laser. Anyway, when I had students write five sentences with "should" and "shouldn't", the new girl gave me the business:
1. Teacher John should lose weight and have a good body.
2. Teacher John shouldn't eat so much and be so big.
I'm glad this girl didn't see me when I was eating Vietnamese donuts every day. Or see the lesion on my head before the laser treatment. Several staffers where I worked asked about the scab on my head as well. I'm considering wearing a burka (burqa?) so I don't have to field questions about my face or body, both sensitive subjects for the White Monkey.
Being confined in a small area is also a sensitive subject for the White Monkey. That's where I found myself when I got stuck in the elevator at work recently. I never take the elevator, however on this day I was running just a little bit late (because the copy machine was struggling) and I was teaching on the fifth floor. So I joined a couple of kids who were taking the elevator to the second floor. When they got off, the doors closed and everything stopped working. The elevator didn't move and the doors wouldn't open. I was worried the elevator would plummet to the lower levels and damage the White Monkey. I called the front desk and the girl who answered had no idea what "stuck in the elevator on the second floor" meant. She handed the phone to an intern who "translates" for the front desk girls, and I think he asked what location I was in -- we have three or four branches. After much discussion, we decided I was in the same building as he was. A very nice man who does a little bit of everything at the school showed up with a crowbar and eventually pried the doors open. I was in the very, very warm elevator for 18 minutes -- I timed the whole affair. The students laughed at me -- and with me -- about the incident when I finally showed up to teach. Another day at the office.
I haven't had a cigarette for more than six and a half months, and what I saw the other day makes me so happy I quit. At the beginning of my walk near our house, a man was holding a young baby with a lit cigarette in his mouth. I presume it's his son. When I returned from the walk, I saw the same man holding the same baby with another lit cigarette in his mouth. I was gone an hour, so this guy could have smoked a bunch of cigarettes in that time with a baby in his arms. Even in my worst smoking days, I can't recall ever holding a lit butt and baby at the same time. Maybe my ex-wife could produce a videotape of me smoking during child care. If she does, I'll feel like Donald Trump.
Phuong, Joanna and I are going to the hospital in Ho Chi Minh City tomorrow so I can get my gall bladder removed. I've got some real stones ... in my gall bladder ... and I've been in much pain lately. I've learned to embrace pain after my two motorbike accidents, but the stones are causing pain in my stomach, back, and other places not worth mentioning. After the mini-surgery, I want the doctor to give me the gall bladder and stones so I can put them in jar and take them to class for show and tell.
I wonder what the teenage girl would write then:
Fat Teacher John shouldn't bring his disgusting body parts and stones to class.
Doctors should cut more out of Teacher John so he isn't  fat.
I booked my plane ticket to the U.S. today. Of course, my wife and daughter won't be coming with me. We've hired an attorney who will deal with the Embassy. Phuong was completely truthful throughout the visa application process. It'll take time, but we have nothing to hide or fear. 

If the marriage is legit, they must acquit

If the marriage is legit, they must acquit. (Credit to the late Johnnie Cochran). Denying my wife a visa to come to the United States was bad enough, but U. S. consular officer "KN" decided Phuong's marriage was a fraud and that she submitted false documents in her effort to get a visa. He's dead wrong, of course, but the ruling -- stronger than a simple denial or rejection -- possibly bans my wife Phuong from ever getting a visa to come to the U.S., which means our daughter, American citizen Joanna, and her dad (American citizen me) would most likely only visit the U.S. because living there would separate us from our Vietnamese wife/mom Phuong. We are retaining the services of immigration lawyer Robert Brown of Ohio, and we've had contact with U.S.  Sen. Sherrod Brown of Ohio. Generally, I'm a passive fellow. I don't often return bad meals at restaurants, I don't complain too much if my coffee is cold, and I don't usually correct others when they make stupid or incorrect statements. But a cruel consular officer has lit a fire under this White Monkey's butt. I don't want to become obsessive, like Lenny Bruce, but right is might. Thanks for your help and support everyone, especially Jack, Lynda, Andy, Jane, Randal, and everyone else.
Joanna got two vaccinations, and she was a trooper both times. The first vaccination was the 5-in-1, which we asked not to have but were given anyway. Joanna didn't cry, but turned her head and buried her face in my arm when the needle went in her thigh. It was so cute that even the nurse smiled. The nurse said the second shot, for hepatitis B, would hurt. Joanna cried when the long needle went in her thigh, but she stopped crying 15 to 20 seconds later and resumed her usual baby behavior. Tough kid, and she's got the size to back it up. She's about 15.5 pounds already and pretty tall, but it's difficult to get an accurate length because she still has the frog leg posture at this point. Although Joanna's only two months and three weeks old, she rolled over for the first time on Sunday. I think it was a case of all the stars aligning just right: We put her on her stomach with her elbows close to her body; she was agitated to begin with; she lifted her head up high and then used her head and left leg and elbow to kind of topple over. I was shocked but Phuong took it in stride. But that's my wonderful wife. She's cool, calm and collected when the unexpected happens.
I've met a nice vendor on my daily walk. She's close to the Hu Tieu girls, so that makes for a pleasant stretch of the stroll. The young lady sells fruit, and she doesn't try to rip me off. I've posted pictures of some of the fruit I buy from her on the right. She's sold me mang cau; bon bon; nhan; mango, apples, and bananas, and Phuong's mom, who I trust, vouches for the quality and price.
I've mentioned before that people don't know how to drive cars here. They'll put on their right turn signals when making a willy-nilly U-turn (the U-turn is always to the left, so the motorbike riders  behind the car are confused and in real danger of getting killed or maimed). Also, the drivers will just drive up on the sidewalk and park wherever, which is one of my favorites when I take a walk. So it's no surprise these morons wash their cars in the rain. I've seen this on numerous occasions, so maybe it's easier to get the dirt off when it rains. Hell if I know. These people probably have no problem getting a visa.

Sen. Brown, U.S. government please read this blog

People in power have two choices. They can use their power to help, guide and teach others. Or they can use their power to humiliate and belittle others. The consular officers at the U.S. Embassy in Ho Chi Minh City have made the wrong choice. They've gone out of their way to embarrass my wife Phuong and treat her like she doesn't deserve a fair hearing or the same rights as others.
My wife was denied a tourist visa on Thursday to accompany me with our daughter to the United States. It's her fourth rejection.  The officer asked her if she spoke English. When Phuong replied "a little," the man made a "ch" sound and rolled his head back. Make your own interpretation of that professional behavior. Then he wanted to see our marriage license. He left Phuong alone at the table for 10 minutes, then came back and said her marriage was a fake and gave her a rejection letter. When Phuong started to challenge his outright lie, the man put his hand up in front of Phuong's face and waved in the next visa applicant. She wanted to know if  he thought our baby was a fake, also.
It's interesting how the same people accepted our marriage license a few weeks earlier when they made our baby Joanna a U.S. citizen.
On Thursday, Phuong had the deed to our house that proves she is the owner, and she had my work contract. Both are evidence we would return to Vietnam from the U.S., but the consular officer didn't ask for either. He was too busy fabricating an outright lie about our marriage.
I understand there's a vetting process involved with immigration, but denying a visa on a false premise sounds like a criminal act to me. I think that clown may have broken the law. We've written letters of protest and have received a response to each. Of course the world is powerless to overturn the incorrect judgment of someone who makes false accusations. After all, it's HIS judgment, we were told, and that embassies all over the world never overturn a visa denial ... even if it's based on a lie, I guess.
The Embassy did say we could apply again, but that once a visa application is denied, it's very unlikely it would be approved at another hearing unless there was a dramatic change in circumstance. I would assume the truth isn't strong enough. So why apply if their minds are made up? Well, they probably want the application fee of $160.
We'll keep sending letters, we'll get an attorney of course, and I've reached out to U.S. Sen. Sherrod Brown of Ohio to help us, since Phuong will eventually be trying to immigrate to the U.S. with me and Joanna. There is no way in hell I'll let the prejudices and arrogance of some embassy flunky tear apart our family. Brown's office has already responded (I did vote for the man), and Phuong and I are hopeful we'll be able to raise our American daughter in the United States. Phuong is an incredible mom and wife, and we won't accept being separated. She was stunned and fought back tears after she was rejected. If the consular officer showed any compassion and gave her a reasonable explanation as to why she was denied a visa, maybe we wouldn't be so riled up. But this guy treated Phuong with no respect or dignity. He was dismissive and churlish. It's on, bro'.
If this farce continues, we can either try to stay here or seek asylum in another country. I love the U.S. and I know my wife and daughter would too if they can ever get there. So why is this happening?

Phuong's mom 'takes' my money; all lives matter

Phuong's mom is very helpful. She brings us food, sews our clothes, buys diapers for Joanna, and brings over lots of toilet paper for me. But ... God love her ... she speaks very little English and understands even less. The other night I needed to make change for a 500,000-dong bill.-- we're paid in big bills at work, just like Peru, and street vendors and some shops struggle to make change, just like Peru. So I gave the big bill to mom, and tried to explain in Vietnamese that I needed change, or smaller money. Mom looked so happy. She smiled and said in OK English: "Thank you, John."  Then she put the bill in her pocket and went home. That money was gone, never to be seen again. I told Phuong and we laughed about it. Her mom is so nice. I'm more than happy to donate to the cause. 
But I'm not happy to donate to VinMart or Bien Hoa Market vendors anymore. VinMart is a weird supermarket that's part clothing store. It's a healthy walk from our house and I've gone there in the past to get Q-tips and soap and some exercise. The supermarket is on the second floor and they sell the usual supermarket stuff, except they don't sell bread.  I asked "co banh mi" (have bread) in Vietnamese and the older ladies looked at me like I'm a White Monkey or something. No answer from them. They spoke to each other in Vietnamese and laughed at me. This is the all-too-frequent interaction I have with the real locals here. But a younger girl who happened to walk by asked in poor English what I wanted. I responded with my Vietnamese bread question and she said "khong co" (don't have). I thanked her profusely. When I checked out with my Q-tips, soap and three boxes of cookies and no bread, the girls took my money, gave me a receipt and then gestured that I go to the next register. I'm not sure what was going on, but I played along. I had my bathroom stuff in a bag in my hand, but they had the cookies. The girl started to put the cookies in another bag, but I motioned that I'd put everything in one bag, and started to jam the cookies in the bag with Q-tips and soap. The girl called security and he rushed over to me and sternly motioned for me to take the cookies out of the bag. You know, this is crap, so I demanded my money back, which I got, sarcastically thanked the clerks and security guard, and went home, where my ears are still dirty. Bien Hoa Market does the same bullslip that San Camillo Market in Arequipa, Peru, did. Try to cheat the White Monkey for a dollar or two and not care about future business. There's a language barrier, to be sure, but there's also an intelligence barrier. The low-life cheaters think they're smart, but I've got a paper signed by a psychiatrist that states my IQ is 107. Soooo ..... nah-nah-nah-nah-boo-bee.
A few odds and ends from the  week:
* Every time Phuong calls for a taxi, the driver has no idea how to get to our house. We're near a couple of huge coffee shops which are well known. We're two turns off one of the biggest streets in Bien Hoa. It takes at least 30 minutes and at least two phone calls for the driver to find us. Then we have to describe where we're going ...
* Joanna got a vaccine -- taken orally -- for her stomach. The doctors/government here gives you a 5-in-1 vaccine for a bunch of other diseases, and warns you that your baby could develop a fever from the multiple vaccines in one big shot. We opted to pay money to have the vaccines separated to reduce fever risk.
* Phuong has her interview at the U.S. Embassy this week to get a visa so she and Joanna can join me in the U.S. this November and December. Fingers crossed.
* Joanna likes to raise her right fist and focus on it. (See photo on right.)  Joanna, mom and dad believe black lives matter, white lives matter, Vietnamese lives matter, all lives matter.