Thang Nguyen 555

Since 80 % of communication are non-verbal, we are better off “listen” with our eyes (Ailes’ “it’s a visual medium. Turn around”).

In films, establishing shots set the context (where), music (when), and close-ups reveal emotions (who) more (when a couple gets intimate over candle-lit dinner – two shot – we know they are going to kiss, or when they introduce a gun, or gasoline someone will use it e.g. Broken Mirrors and Path to War.

In the court of law, prosecutors place people on the stand to get at the “truth”.

In life, we also “place people on the stand” to get a feel for what’s unsaid and left out.

Filmmakers show fidgeting hands, clammed up knees or giggling ones as well played by the late Philip Seymour to move the plot along (heightening the suspense with mock-up assumptions, conflicting argument vs contradictory clues …). Fake left moves right.

Ad Age used BOLD typefaces and unconventional paper size. With more gadgets and competing apps, every ad is now a mini billboard (grab you by the throat e.g. dog licking baby’s cheek plastered on the side of a bus making a left turn).

The internet favors hyper extraverts and loudmouth hecklers. It’s “citizen” communication age of unhinged amateurism. Every Spring an Arab Spring. Messaging that flashed fast wins. The screen is now Times Square, appeals and assaults our senses, with quick disclaimer for compliance to the FCC.

Like anything in life, after scratching the surface of the Internet, the elite (like Liquid Death does to water) will cordon and colonize, monetize and expand their digital brand. So far, it’s just a foreplay i.e. lost leaders to beta test to bait/switch; then moving up the food chain to high-brow exclusivity: membership fees, subscription and pre-paid firewalls, advanced booking, and selective Ivy-League e.g. LinkedIn, Reddit, Facebook, Instagram (not controversial TikTok). In London, you can board a train to go around the world (impoverish world) in 100 days. It would be weird to look out from the likes of Oriental Express to see natives sitting on top of crowded buses next to live chicken.

Netflix now goes overseas for markets. Eyes balls are eyes balls as long as could be translated to dollars. After all, they (next gen) will become purchasers of excess and surplus products, produced en mass via conveyor belts and better consumer research.

An Internet that divides, not democratized; publicly exposed vs privacy guarded. We keep seeing more FTC and FCC “fines”, which only be a dent to Big Tech.

Imagine the Internet as a high school where students at lunch form cliques, clubs, even “gangs” (Barbeque).

Can’t handle the truth.

Can’t get the whole world in his hand!

Stop the spin, the TED. I want to get off.

Facebook-a holism follows the law of diminishing return (one selfie, two selfies, naked selfie … all dull and duller). This planned obsolescence happened to TV, cable TV, DVDs, Roku and Tiktok.

My name is…. and I am a face a-holic.

(the FBA held “church” in a digital cathedral, reinforced and reassured its members he/she was on the way to recovery i.e. rediscovering nature (Walden 2.0), of one’s right to be left alone, of stoicism and sabbath, back to the land and organics living (Bob Dylan in Woodstock), engaging with people who invest time in mutual caring and issues that matter e.g. memory creation.

We are nearing the end of Web 2.0 i.e. one to many (Web 1.0), many-to-many (Web 2.0) where “free” sharing = free ranting (lowest common denominator, racing to the bottom of civility). 3.0 would be the age of a few-to-a-few selectively. Tribalizing and homogeneity. Enough “selfies” and millions of “impressions”.

Anthropologists have a treasure trove of data to extrapolate about human behavior, and how not much has changed since the days of old (cigarette ads to vapor ones).

The hard part for marketers is how to deal with skip-ad. Permission ads. Messaging must grab one’s throat, be in your face to get throughput. When Biden “gets it” we’ll all get it. (Turn around, it’s a visual medium). Even a robust State of the Union (a relic from Wesley Tent rally) could not bump his ratings.

BOLD headlines, sprinkled with intermittent and recurring machine-like encoding. Communication is repetition and redundancy (Chinese water-dripping torture). The crowd and the chant, the color and the caricature, herding and de-individualizing. Blood sweat and tears. Rinse and repeat.

Our current age of short attention span “hey, It’s Joe!”

See me. Feel me. (Roger Daltrey w/ his swinging microphone like a rodeo reeling in the Woodstock chanting crowd). On Dan Rather interview, Roger mentioned the need for immobility, for reflection and letting creativity find its foothold.

We’re back to where we started, with Morse codes and Maritime SOS. Listen with our eyes, using binoculars to scan the horizon. The revenge of analog (and the return of vinyl and lighthouse). Flash! Flash! Sending out an SOS, sending out an SOS. Message in the bottle.

80% of communication are non-verbal.

Whenever possible, zoom in for a close-up. The body and all its parts, fake or real, tend to give themselves away e.g. fidgeting and wiggling (unintended message sent).

Lighting sets the mood, music the tone and the stage context. The unseen is more impactful, the unsaid speaks louder.

Life, the internet and our own existence hover in drone-like speed, over the surface; hopping from one tip of the iceberg to the next, forming patterns and eventually to make sense of reality. Itself, reality, unfortunately is ever shifting and alluding, so we have to make it up as we go along, as if we alone can “fix” the coherent narrative, whose middle often is most ballooning (we can’t control our beginning and ending, unless you subscribed to C.S. Lewis’s conviction that one can control the ending).

The best we can do is secretly and silently put people in a “box”, zoom in for a close-up, a snapshot so authentic that even the best of actors can’t hide (in Oscar-winning Unforgiven, Clint Eastwood’s vengeful eyes after succumbing to a drink on the cause of his partner (Morgan Freeman) was bludgeoned to death by town sheriff (Gene Hackman). Again, close-up.

No one ever cries with their ears. Hence, the eyes are two-way mirrors, to the soul.

At some point, we will cut through the noise (ignoring audio signals) to solely trust our eyes, piercing through all attention-diversion, smokes and mirrors. We’ve been cheated and grifted. Isn’t it time to learn? Suckers in Chief.

Since the invention of light, then the internet: we adapt. Down to nano secs.

Communication today has to make allowances for SKIP AD and Ad sense (search).

Too bad you can’t read my mind. I only have good intentions and just want good company in readers, being old, straight, Asian and all.

What an insulting caricature once portrayed in Breakfast at Tiffany, the photographer guy from upstairs (Mickey Rourke in Kimono) who can’t sleep through all the decadent parties. Those parties lasted until sunrise, with blood-shot eyes covered by the pair of sunglasses Audrey Hepburn wore while munching “breakfast” croissant and window-shopping at Tiffany? (poor man’s version of Breakfast at Tiffany).

Can’t turn around in my kimono for a close-up even with plenty of Roger-Ailes’ insight (that’s it’s a visual medium).

Sorry.

Summer of 1982, she came with my Mom to my graduation. My father had been without a trace for 7 years.

But I was happy as I had ever been. And it was not the first time she filled in a parental role.

Fall of 1960, she dropped me off on my first day at school.

Guardian, mentor, moral leader and career woman, she pushed herself : traversing the East-West pole, just as my Mom and she earlier in North-South migration.

April 29, 75 ” People are roaming the curfewed streets…we must brave the curfew”.

Wherever she was, there was my home, albeit in statelessness or with naturalized citizenship.

The smell of cooked xoi (sticky rice) with thin slices of Chinese sausage on top, from Shirlington to Braddock, from Khai Xuan to Ban Co long stays with me.

The food (sweet potato) the gathering (gio) the memories (free ice cream for being her petit chaperon on dates) – all the same and resided in her DNA ( she even cleaned house for my step mom).

On my first trip back to VN in 2000, she wrote “make sure you don’t trip over, since the sidewalks there are not even as over here” ( Indeed I saw a Western tourist so busy looking at traffic that he tripped up). Advanced warning and frequent watching over for my welfare since the day she had me as her baby brother to practice her motherhood (turns out pretty good seeing the fruits of her bosom. She often got her first son’s name mixed up with mine).

In war or peace. Asia or America, she stayed steadfast, relentless and resilient.

A fall here (front teeth) a fall there (left eye), yet she dusted off then pulled ahead, like a stubborn buffalo sign she was born into: pulling the plow in merciless field, ploughing though life with not a trace of decadence and indulgence.

I owed a big part of my life to her who had more faith in me than I myself. from my first day of school till graduation as shown.

Her ubiquitous and observing glance ever present, because she was adamant and would not accept or allow someone in her circle to even fall short .

Snippets of my standard bearer and the only sister one could ever wish to have.

East and West the twain shall never meet. As the saying goes. From war to peace, it’s a asymmetrical competition for supremacy and survival. Only time can tell.

From Nixon’s China card to Mexico import (to the US) that outweighs China’s; East and West are still at odds (TikTok open to US bidders) and arm’s length cooperation.

Both cultures however celebrate and retain what deemed intrinsically precious.

Born in a high-context culture (extended family bonding and shared ancestry via thousands- year history), I was shocked when first arrived in low-context campus (planning, precision and high-structured) e.g. students wouldn’t stand up when their lecturer arrived. Conversely, upon returning to Vietnam first time in 25 years, the sound of moped’s honking all night and all day came as a reverse culture shock.

In high-context culture, most things are sous-entendu (insinuation, gossip and third-party arbitration – hardly there was a need for lawyers).

Here, in the US, things need to be overtly and succinctly communicated “Why don’t you spell it out for me, as President Bush tilts:” we don’t do nuances”. Yet even with transparency as S.O.P., we still find S.O.B. self-conflicting street signs, multi- tiered speeding tickets and yes, software-download Terms of Agreement in real fine print that kept updating (apparently, programmers themselves could not figure it all out).

The only time non-verbal (sign language) were used in low-context environment perhaps was when SEALs took down Bin Laden (after divulged thick training manuals) and multiple viewing of Spielberg’s Munich.

Artificial Intelligence barely grasps these non-verbal nuances (Google CEO had quite a rage with Gemini). Its architect was based on 1 and 0, straightforward Yes-No combo.

Meanwhile, women universally are endowed with sensitive, intuitive and relational skills, with one side more “Tiger Mom” than the other, both “re-raise
their slacking husbands.

American women, per WWII, were desperately needed outside of home: We Can Do It (showed n propaganda poster).

Vietnamese women, via the Diary of Dang Thuy Tram, are under-acknowledged and appreciated (not to the extent of living under the Taliban Ministry of Vice and Virtue). Incidentally, Thuy Tram was a medically trained doctor, who out of romantic love, volunteered to enlist and endure hardships during her “American War” to stay close to her pledged lover.

That is not to say men in my families are to be discounted. My uncle was a martyr while a cousin of mine, although married to a French woman, shared half of his earnings to native students found living under the Seine bridge (Paris by Night college days).

Women of both cultures generate more in social values besides obvious biological ones.

Juggling many balls in the air, high-context women had to appease and please the in-laws, their own parents and siblings (hush hush spending money), keeping the wheel well-greased, while fulfilling professional KPIs. Just ask who are represented the most at PTA meetings or on the Asian American bookshelves: from Amy Tan to Amy Chua (with Iris Chang and Usha Vance in between).

And how well their children turned out (a direct product of high-context society). Of the 130,000 or so first-wave Vietnamese refugees, with Guam or Wake Island stop over, one finds pharmacists, doctors, dentists, real estate and insurance brokers, pod casters, poets, teachers, writers, historians, a unique Yalie (to teach our Vietnamese language and again, a very high-context Tales of Kieu), architects, filmmakers and financial planners albeit skewed by STEM.

Out of the bad comes good, ash phoenix.

Still, the mystique is there. Tiger Mom?

Ao Dai’s at Tet festival: socially well-integrated yet domestically traditional (Asian American women are more socially adaptable and accepted than male counterparts – whose legacy was ingrained Yellow Peril (coolie) evidenced in interstate railway. Hollywood picked up on that thematic undercurrent (slanted-eyes depicting Madame Butterfly – heavy make-ups in dimly lit stage…Far East and near West ..the twain shall never meet).

Diary of a high-context woman would see fewer self-inflated and superficial half-truths. Au contraire, its acknowledgement (rightly so) often references others in her network – teachers, priests and parents. Gratitude as virtue, not “yuhuh” in V shape showing unshaved underarms.

Low-context culture ignores or discount non-verbal (pink phone message slips at work). Time is money. What empathy or bonding (the emotional reserve that makes forgiveness possible)? How else could it be – given its shorter history, from the Civil War on – still lingered with paranoid (they took advantage of us, let’s circle the wagons) and high-strung knee-jerk reaction (9/11 long payback) every time the US starts to relax. Again, asymmetrical warfare.

This explains the rise of superficiality and sensationalism on social media where hype and sensational “breaking news” grab our attention (female shooter at Lakewood Church in Houston). Quantity trumps quality. Bombastic bluffing. In a numbers game, per in-house quants, every bit counts (advancing the ball).

In high-context culture, candidates on campaign trail avoid overtly tooting their own horns, for fear of backlash i.e. perceived as arrogant and braggy (harmony is key). They do, however, through paid or unpaid help e.g. large extended families and clans. In today’s environment, it’s top yelp comments (to outsmart Page rank and bury negative or attack ads at the bottom (watch the Candidate, played by Robert Redford).

With more money spent on asking for donation (the Law of the Average), the quant’s algorithms double down on extremist base to stoke and troll. High-context culture, low budget and long history, taps into existing and extended network i.e. cigars dealing and tribal relationships (tit for tat).

Did I say something wrong? Let me apologize in advance (at wedding and funeral, the canned opening remark: “Due to unforeseeable circumstances …please forgive us in advance “.) Fake lest go right.

By contrast, in the age of A.I. and assumed anonymity, we feel less inhibited and more confident to “share”, knowing accountability and blame are diffused in wider digital global village, with “wisdom of crowd”, its Likes and impressions.

Meanwhile, quietly, face-covered women just go about raising children, teaching them in-language and keeping them in line in lane, with strict monitoring of guardrails and common sense. BTW, multi-lingual folks, per studies, tend to be more tolerant, excel at various skillset and more optimized brain power.

American women hardly teach their children a foreign language they themselves don’t know, except for first wave immigrants (in that case, it’s English that is a second language). Low-context mothers neglect physical bonding in abundance of hospital nurses, strollers, walkie/talkies placed in separate rooms, I phone, camera and child seats in minivan…resulting in unwanted de facto abandonment. ‘

They can’t be blamed since they themselves had started out with Barbie and Ken, not real siblings (nuclear family) in private rooms.

The East exists, the West lives. Shame vs guilt culture. Inductive learning vs deductive reasoning. A go-between/translator vs direct confrontation. People vs Purse.

I have tried and tested both, pushing the envelope and rigging the alarm e.g. going against the grain (burning the candle from both ends) till I maxed out my social credits (West) at the same time, falling far from the tree (East) and safety in groups – the deposits needed in case it’s rain e.g. identity, significance and reciprocity.

I once even thought I was “White” (Incarnational Theology) practicing “white” missionary work in Asia/Africa. The East-West tension and incongruence drove me mad (how could I stand by and let my mom go “unsaved” and not baptized? by immersion).

Luckily, my aspiration and ambition come home to roost albeit short of my mom’s trait and truth (she stayed mono-cultural; all set in her ways even after having resettled in snowy America).

In years past, I would be yelled at by now, for not attending to the altar, cleaning the dining table (one was for the dead, the other the living) and whatever trash on the floor in anticipation of Tet.

Continents and cultures away, the sound of tribal drumbeats, of firecrackers (to drive out evil spirits) and music in waltz. “Ah, Ah, Ah, Ah….muon nguoi hanh phuc chan hoa” still echo.

On rare occasions we of high context culture switch to low context, verbalizing and self-revealing at the risk of embarrassing ourselves at the same time ostracized by the group (similar to X-evangelicals or “Here I am” by Jonathan Capehart).

Traditional Asia hardly shows affection in public. Perhaps in the dark and at deserted riverbank. But at New Year’s countdown East meets West or during Tet in exile when firecrackers join fireworks in competition. Push them back (the Devil) way back.

The twain shall once in a while meet (half-way), just for high-context women to press reset, having been in America, land of Apple pie, to find out that last year’s Ao Dai no longer fits. Let the music start, and the graceful dance begin, but body language? Only using the fans and the risks, the swaying of ao dai and scarfs to reinforce Oriental Mystique.

Time evolves from bound-feet to bound-waist.

We can do (diet) it.

It’s here.

Year of the Dragon.

Known for swirling around, playfully. But like anything else, it has to stop, for a rest or reward (li xi).

All sensory perceptions come into play: the Dragon dance, the li-xi in mini red envelope, New Year wishes, traditional food and drink, and mostly, the added age: older, but wiser?

I am entering that phase when in our Asian society, one got a bow and a pre-fix “Cu”, for being senior.

Had it been in previous centuries, I probably would have been long dead. Thanks to all the vaccines and vitamins, I am here and healthy still.

Back in the 80’s, we watched Nightline with Ted Koppel, covering the Iranian hostage crisis, and Dr Fauci (younger back then) talking about the AIDs epidemic.

On top of the fear of Third World War (nuclear), the public faced a crisis of confidence. 444 days of hostage crisis (as opposed to one day on Sept 5 at Munich).

Inflation was through the roof and fear in the air. Even Bob Dylan was flirting with religion “You’ve got to serve somebody”….

Back then, I did not have a heart for Tet. I was concentrating on my studies, on my career and making a living (with Mom in tow). My dating life was soured. My hope of ever seeing my dad dashed.

Just coast. Doing the same thing day in and out, hoping for a different result (insanity).

The 80’s was a lost decade. Even the Challenger blew up on live TV. People I admired like Peter Jennings, eventually died right after 9/11.

No one talked about Vietnam. Certainly not the GOP (Nixon’s war).

Then arrived a bunch of movies, all fictionally adapted screenplays. It was painful to be apologetic about the past. Go along and get along. Gyms weren’t even popular, except for Jane Fonda’s aerobics (and Madonna’s underwear worn outside).

Then a Tet here, a Tet there, Tet everywhere. A Vietnamese American community emerged out of nowhere, in Westminster, CA then San Jose (electronic industry) and finally Houston (as oil price recovered).

Pharmacy, doctors and dentists’ office, law office (mostly immigration) and restaurants. The religious groups also got some head start with denominational factions competing for “sheep”. The Buddhist temples struggled to find their foothold in a strange land.

Shaved heads and yellow ca-sa (robe) barefooted in suburban America (unlike the Harikrishna at the airport) did not seem to fit in.

But America has always been a strange place, with strange people. Politicians need votes, public school students and public work tax money.

So a compromise made possible the proliferation of ethnic centers.

From there, the arts among which culinary arts flourished.

Tet festivals at a community college, then Tet festivals at County Fairground, and finally, in Virginia, at an Expo center.

Tet everywhere, all at once. Slowly, then suddenly. Two-way facetime, greetings across the pond and time zones. All paid-for by program sponsored (Loi noi khong mat tien mua). Why not. Our version of Fortune Cookies well wishing.

Back in early 90’s, MCI advertised a future forwarding service: video phone to connect extended families. Now that vision is here. Free. And much more than that, every man woman and child can now podcast, putting the likes of Alex Jones and Tucker Carlson to shame (in-language too).

Tet everywhere. The name no longer held a stigma of previous cease-fire violation (Tet 1968). Even inter-racial marriages saw “white” sons-in-law wearing Vietnamese Ao-Dai at Temple’s Tet.

Welcome to a new Century. Hi tech, low cholesterol. I am talking about my favorite subject here: the intersection of tech, cultures in modern times. At some point, Dylan will be back with an A.I. version: “You’ve got to serve somebody”. “You” here is the machine, always on time, no quarrel and eager to please. (even sweeping the floor in anticipating tons of guest). But first, let’s celebrate these 3 days of Tet. Tet Everywhere, far or near.

With the Dragon, it’s only a matter of time before it shows up at our doorsteps. Just for a drink. Preferably for an envelope (li xi).

Cung Chuc Tan Xuan.

Peace on Earth.

It rains in the forecast. Another day with poor sunlight translates into a less colorful day.

We are practically prisms that soak up light. Sunlight to moonlight (if it’s too dark out, just show them your teeth).

Sparks of divinity and specters of humanity.

All conjoined in bi-pedalists, heralders and destroyers of the truth.

Ambassadors of good and not ill will.

All the while, neglecting to display our true colors.

Think Lighthouses, think Rainbow.

The romantic self is still there waiting to show itself. (Champagne and soft rock please).

We have been too busy, making a living and causing trouble along the way.

We control the external at the expense of the interior.

I am not advocating a monkish and sabbatical existence.

I merely want to point out a positive side . We’re all gifted. some realize it sooner than others. But We are not numbers on the Fed’s quarterly reports (CPI).

Society pushes for low-inflation and high-tech.

But that’s for the economists to worry about. We’re to interact with what’s out there, while preserving what’s in here. Traditions are always challenged by innovations . The Past withered away at the wheels of modernity.

More weaponry, more deception (AI generated calls). The “world” gets smarter. Even the bombs get smarter, while our schooling gets dumber. In Florda and Texas, they reshuffle curriculum priorities, shoving Sociology and Diversity down the tank.

No rote learning. No conformity or safety in numbers. Do expect higher returns on social and emotional investment. Because we’re all the poorer when not all turn out and pitch in.

People as prism. Reflect light and display a full color spectrum.

It’s beautiful because together and become light, we can see better.

In film production, every time we move the shot, the lighting has to be re-set: key, soft and back light.

And when it’s near-perfect, the subject or stand-in gets “white-balanced” to optimize the image.

Beautiful because of the shadows. You, me. We all are, given a chance. When it’s our turn, when we hear “Action”, don’t hesitate, wart and all.

Chin up (think K Hepburn) and eyes wide open (think A. Hepburn). I am afraid sunglasses are called for (after staying up all night like the opening scene in Breakfast at Tiffany). You are great, divine, beautiful all in your own way and on your own.

The color spectrum is out there, because there’s always been light, albeit hidden.

People as throughput of heavenly light that shines. Not liars or predators and twisters of Truth. When you stay in the light and be the light (in smaller case), truth will emerge.

I love it when my Dad asked me to show some light (flashlight) on a problem he was trying to repair. Even a lighting assistant gets a kick out of solving a mystery, much less being the light itself.

It is you, with both shade and shadow no one else possess, that the world on such a gloomy day is most in need of.