Thang Nguyen 555

Cultures on Collision Course

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With relief work in Asia/Africa in and after graduate school, Thang’s earned a B.A. at Pennsylvania State University. M.A. in Communication at Wheaton Graduate School, M.A. in Cross-Cultural Communication at Gordon-Conwell Seminary, Boston. In addition, he has been certified with a CELTA – classes taken in Hanoi for cultural re-immersion.
  • Tet everywhere

    Tet everywhere

    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.

  • Why are you still here!

    At Apple, per Jobs’ biography, a director reported a problem perhaps with Foxconn or one of their contractors in China. The meeting moved on to next item…when Steve Jobs suddenly turned around, “Why are you still here”.

    That Director of the Far East bounced out of his chair, went to the airport and took the next flight out.

    We are creatures of comfort. Meetings often take on their own time line, go on for hours and follow protocols with fruitless results.

    Once I was in the library, thinking I could just take it easy…then a picture in Newsweek set me on a course of activism: Boat People crisis.

    Today, we never lack in drama per Internet and 24/7 news cycle e.g. Hamas, Hezbollah and Houthi. Why are we still here! All overloaded, anaesthetized and desensitized.

    More (stimuli) means less (action).

    Between stimulus and response, our delay stretches out longer. The PAUSE.

    Like Mitch’s “freeze up” in mid sentence. A frozen state of mind.

    Researchers are trying to save coral reef by deep freezing them for future revival. Back in Austin Powers days, Dr Evil could be deep-frozen for years and came back to take charge. Today, he cannot use the same script (caressing a white cat).

    Time has moved forward fast.

    The digital generation is ” killing me ‘Swiftly’ with her fingers”. Girls take charge, take the Grammys and take over. Period.

    I feel for the Afghan girls and women, who had tasted the honey (freedom) which once again is denied.

    Like bound-feet women of China past not free to spread their wings.

    Current Earth population can use all the help, male and female. Double the productivity, less reliance on machine.

    We’ve got work to do, from supply chain to humanitarian aids.

    Why are you still here!

    I have seen those water containers (yellow) given out by UNHCR. I have experienced first hand how desperate people are for needed supplies.

    For Steve Jobs, the question was not even rhetorical. It’s a statement of awe, given his mindset “stay humble” etc.. He could not have understood why someone, anyone, would “do the same thing, day in day out, knowing he only has a few days or weeks left to live”. (per Commencement Address).

    (BTW, the same could be said about the definition of insanity, and I paraphrase “sitting day in and out in a box, talking about ‘thinking outside of the box’” hoping for a different result.)

    In that Apple Director’s shoes, I wouldn’t even try to mumble a reply. I would just pull a Mitch -a freeze – a long pause, in hope Steve’s stare-down would soon past (an unplanned trip overseas requires more than just a travel kit).

    We’re all guilty of inaction and complicity. For not questioning the state of things. Social media caters to our lowest tastes, requires a brain of a child (with lots of after-school time on hand). Machine-aided and machine-nudged, we are to “amuse ourselves to death”.

    Meanwhile, with limited tools to face today’s complex reality , world leaders are like deer facing oncoming headlights : where is that Fail-Safe point!

    Judge not. The moral arc keeps on churning. Perhaps we need to get out of the way and out of our seats. Time goes faster when one is busy. Otherwise, just join the whole 8 Billion and ask:

    Karma, why aren’t you here just yet!

  • People as prism

    People as prism

    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.

  • Wings of wax

    While hurrying out of Saigon on its last day, I got new wings. Let me explain.

    As soon as we stepped foot on an aircraft carrier (after an all-night ordeal, more on this in My Sliding Door) an unhinged chopper blade flew toward us. All faces flat on deck. Cold and wet floor . Back hair raised in animal survival mode.

    Then I imagined my head tore from my body as the whoops passed. From that moment on , I have lived an Icarus life, full of pretense and hubris.

    Flying with both wings while on fire. Like a candle on its wick end. I learned to pre-surrender at times, too easily. Just let go. My identity, my belief, and whatever I held dear of Earthly life.

    Everything was blocked out. Blotted out. Instant amnesia. Who am I? Where am I going?

    With a clean slate and a blank stare, one can either do damage (self-inflicted Survivor’s guilt ) or do good (out of empathy and compassion for others).

    I chose the later. I chose to be pastoral: to visit the shut-in (nursing homes), to attend to my old Mom’s need (sorry, I can’t take your job offer), to hand out much-needed hygiene supplies to the Boat People (who were quarantined in a Hong Kong make-shift prison camp) and to show solidarity with our fellow African men ( w Africa). Here comes the Sun. The higher away from Earth, the closer to the warmth that melts the wax of one’s heart- like a George Harrison ‘s line ” a long and lonely Winter”. Mind in full alert. Instincts (survival) kick in. Memories flood back..

    Past and present intersect with background noise of chopper blades in slow motion. Wings of Wax were propelled by Winds of War.

    Panic. Paranoid. Fear.

    People in motion. People in motion. Many of whom did end up in San Francisco, without wearing a flower in their hair.

    Gentle people, sleeping in closets. Eating whatever handed-out. A banh mi, a cup of coffee (Caphe Sua Da). And on pay day, a bowl of Pho.

    Their wings, also made of wax, are also melting just as mine, as the Sun comes up from Santa Monica Boulevard.

    The brave, the fearless and stateless. Looking for food, clothing and shelter. Then love at long last.

    No longer a Mr. Lonely flying solo. Unhinged and unattached. No dreams, no nightmares. No future no past. Just the wind and the Sun. With each moment and each mile gained equals a chapter lost.

    My Mom urges me to keep learning, keep spreading my wings. Learn, learn, learn.

    I couldn’t hear from afar since my motto is Fly Fly Fly….all the way until the whole thing crashes.

    To be oneself from beginning to end from flooring to flying.

    With wings made of wax.

    What good is there for humanity to exist! What good is there for us to stand by and watch ourselves withered away. I looked up to the sky, like in Encounter of the Third Kind and saw an Icarus-like creature temporarily blocking the light.

    Then I have this premonition that it’s me. In a very near future, melting and dropping out. Till death due us part. Me and my other Me. The meek and the brave. The actual and the ideal. The compromised and the principled. Forever like shifting shadows on a spectrum.

    People couldn’t place me on the dial (channel). I meanwhile consider myself fortunate enough to have survived, to slip through that fateful sliding door and grab hold of a future which is now.

    Could you please put on Frank Sinatra’s soundtrack…where he sings….” My Way”.

    Wings made of wax. What else can one ask for, given his start on a cold wet floor of an US aircraft carrier out in the open South China Sea! I am grateful . So grateful that I ticked the Organ Donor’s box I.e. my remaining wax – can be recycled and continue to-burn over and beyond.

  • Hanoi reaches new high

    Hanoi reaches new high

    In an exile song …there is a line “Hanoi, whose dream reaches out higher than Heavenly high” (Mong voi tay cao hon Troi).

    Every generation of refugees, whether it’s Jews from Germany, or Polish from Poland, Cuban from Cuba or Vietnamese from Vietnam, find new ways of expression. Most settled for cuisine, nostalgia and ethnic enclaves e.g. Brooklyn, Bolsa (for Viet-American) or Miami (Cuban-American).

    The geo/ethnic/cultural niches are our second incubator e.g. Little Italy, Little Tokyo and Little Saigon: all are hatching either a return or moving on – after a few failed trials (of returning to the place that wasn’t there anymore).

    Remarque of “All Quiet on the Western Front” was an expert on this phenomenon. Neither here nor there. The last romantic. Promised Land and Shadows in Paradise.

    Romanticizing that which once was ugly (war and destruction) then life in exile (false papers and names on document). He remarks that ” the new land is surrounded by walls, not of steel, but of papers and chain document.”

    Right now, as we speak, it’s ironic that the winning side of the North (of Vietnam) produces a new generation of ambitious young men. Back packers, walkers sans borders. CNN reports this latest emigre trend facilitated by human traffickers i.e. Chinese “coyotes” who charge a hefty price of around 20,000 dollars per head for these underground tourists whose final destination would be where else beside the Southern Border of the US. These “backpack people” (as opposed to Southern Counterpart Boat People in the 80’s) transit via a third-country like Canada, Nicaragua, then Mexico where remnants of Ukrainian counterparts still linger since the start of the Russian war.

    https://www.cnn.com/videos/tv/2024/01/08/china-migrants-culver-pkg.cnn

    Chinese have had influence and connection in Africa and South America, where rare Earth were plenty Now, it expands to connection, the route and the territory know-how.

    It’s like they are working the base, extracting first some hard currency (raw material), then working their way toward softer ones (traveling through and bribing those connections).

    Back to Food destination with Hanoi on top. The irony did not escape us. Nixon’s “bomb Hanoi” (to the Dark Age) then, and Travelers’ Choice Top Food Destination, now (while its owns trying to flee).

    All in one generation. From 4 million tons of Bomb dropped to the late Anthony Bourdain’s top taste (sitting on a stool sharing a “bun cha” with former President Obama.)

    What a nightmare for Secret Service.

    For now, for us non-White to blend in with some false pretenses is still very hard (“poisoning the blood?”) just as it once was around 1944 for Remarque’s characters. It’s much easier for returnees/ tourists: just consul Travelers’ Choice, then take United or American via Japan or Nippon Air. Hanoi and its famous 36 streets is welcoming patrons. Eat eat and eat. Drink the egg coffee. Try the “bun cha”, “mien ngan”, pho Vuong (all the plates are square) and of course, the “banh tom” (fried shrimp cake) Ho Tay.

    I spent one whole month there late 2008 (when news of Obama’s as President was announced ). That month, I wandered the streets after class (Cambridge CELTA?) trying to take in the scene, the smell and sensation of winner’s Capital.

    What did my Mom do there back in the early 50’s (obtaining a teaching job to support my sister and brother)? Did she feel at a loss or at home? How different a generation makes, between hers and mine. The Northerners always fight harder, trying to survive harsher weather and meet higher expectations, culturally.

    It’s not the bombing, or the British Invasion (via Armed Force Radio that shaped my musical taste). It’s the geo political of a larger global interest that set us apart. Someone, somewhere keeps looking at the S-shaped map and devise a scheme to draw the battle line. Sort of Five-O-Clock follies.

    We were all the worse for it. Among my fellow classmates, one lost an eye the other had spinal injury .Others like myself still are scattered into the four winds, longing for a home that was no longer.

    Refugee life. ” All we have is time”. To wait, to reminisce. What can you do with the rest of your life while carrying that stigma – being on the war-losing side. Drifting and rebuilding into some resemblance of your former life, via cuisine and culture.

    Then top destination for food is staring at you. Hanoi, whose dream reaches out higher than heaven. No matter how far and how long your being away, social media is just a click away. But take it from the expert, in Shadows in Paradise, Remarque concludes that ” One can never go back, nothing and no one is ever the same”. That longing and sadness stay with all, because “everything passes and because man is the only animal who knows it”.

  • Lone survivor

    Lone survivor

    We had 7 Billion just about a decade ago. Last week it’s 8 Billion.

    Quake, Covid and “surgical” drones only took out a few millions. That leaves us survivors until the next cycle of election. Democratic election, “peaceful” transition of powers, an US diplomatic selling point.

    Long ago, it’s the Wild West, where matters were swiftly settled by a draw of a gun. Afterward, it’s the spoils of war: wool, women (widows), children, horses and chicken.

    John Wayne played both Wild West and Green Berets (WWII) icon.

    Despite his scripted injuries (then swift recovery on screen), the audience rooted for an inflicted hero more than Identification with a Superman (too UFO-like).

    Blood-thirsting. Barbarian. Border-line savage. yet we can relate better. Higher abstract notions such as “world order” and “equality and justice for all” somehow are “lost in translation”. Democracy moves and flows , wobbling like a three-legged stool throughout the entire span of population growth: 3, 4, 7 and now 8 Billion.

    Will the dominoes fall? Tilted to what side (of the Cold War).

    “Tear down that wall”.

    “Build that wall”.

    Only to see Climate Change broke the dam, collapsed the roofs and tilted buildings.

    In a House of Cards our lives are not “like a candle in the wind”, but matches in a match box.

    Reptilian brain functions in reptilian body. Nth generation machines 1st generation minds.

    Without moral guardrails, conscience and yes, rules of Law, we default into Barbarian Life.

    It’s easier that way: no shopping , no shaving, no supply chain.

    Life expectancy? perhaps low 40’s (Earth’s 3 Billion at best).

    Live it up, live it out. Conquer and conquest. War spoils and Peace but with guns at the ready.

    NRA, NRB etc… As long as we employ loaded words (with loaded guns as back-ups) like Patriots, National, Crusading, Conquest and – I hate to say this – Kill them all. Settle the matter. Quickly and with deniability. International tribunals, hunting of the perpetrators etc… that’s for the noose of justice to tighten as time goes on.

    Meanwhile, like a Dylan’s song goes, “you might be an Ambassador….taking bribes on the side”.

    We all serve somebody, some “causes”. It maybe the Lord, it maybe the Devil…

    Where is justice, when millions tons of bombs, spent cases of M-16’s ….descended upon the people whose “hearts and minds” we seek to win over against the advance of Communism. Let them have all the Polish sausages. Just keep the rice. Even then, we can’t even handle the truth.

    Per Nixon, our railroad switchman Rusty (Calley) got off with 3 years house arrest. If Rusty were to be casted in a Western, Hollywood would have found the right role for him to match with ethos of the times. You’ve got to serve somebody. But “You can’t handle the Truth”. Again, take 2.

    That’s a get out of jail free card, in sending the whole train of 504 into an equivalent of Nazi’s death camp. With each war, we need a new Nuremberg. Try them. Nail them.

    Let empathy and reciprocity work both ways. And let it be known, there will always be a price for everything, including inaction. No wonder of late, another generation (among the new Billion) get emboldened, and think they can get away with it. To come out, to pump their chests, utter primal scream. A catharsis from deep down, finally finds release. “Jews will not replace us”.

    All spent. Like Stallone shooting up computers and data servers. Do we get to win this time? Sir!

    Meanwhile, our lone survivor goes about assessing and repairing the damage. What’s left after the fire and the quake. After the Insurrection (a Koran representative was cleaning up broken glasses – ironically incited by the once Law-and-Order NYC Mayor).

    To mourn and rush through the five stages of grief. How does one manage to rush to closure? To accept the unjust terms of a contract one did not sign. The more the merrier? Ask ourselves if supply chain can now accommodate 8 Billion souls on this freaking Earth, where every moment on the Internet, we learn of new revelations and saw new bits of data, facts and fiction that alter our assumption and entice our consumption.

    Social history seems to catch Alzheimer early in life. We already forgot the names and faces of yesterday’s victims. Justice delayed is justice denied. And the Statue of Limitations seems not long enough for the wheel of justice to play catch-up.

    We’re all under house-arrest while waiting for drippy charges, delivered to our in-box and mailbox. Until the house itself is no longer safe. Foundation – moral and legal- first. For survival. Everything else, bonus. In Storm of Steel, the author depicted horrors like,… even the dead got killed twice (cemetery got bombarded and corpses blown up).

    The living had to play dead while the dead got jolted

    Be a survivor. Join the human race and be counted in. That makes 8 Billion of us in 2024.

    Let the dead bury the dead. Self-deleting. There is an aftermath and a price for everything that happened.

  • The irony that makes art

    If you recall an old movie in which an Armed Forces DJ was the main character, you would figure out right away….. Yes, it’s “Gooooooooooooooood Morning Vietnam”.

    (other song would be “I feel good” to depict the era).

    At the end, it’s Louise Armstrong’s What a Wonderful World to accompany visual of lush-green fields (riddled with bombs and bullets on the ground) from a helicopter gunner’s POV.

    In all, during the Nixon administration, a total of 4 million tons of bombs were dropped in South East Asia. Enough to “deny the enemy his sanctuary”. So much that the finally-late Kissinger had to blurt it out “let’s end this charade quickly” (and in a White House photograph of the final hours of Saigon, he was showed hi-fiving still in tux, interrupted his evening at a Kennedy Center reception).

    James-Bond like (I’d prefer Kurt Russell’s as Dr. Grant in Executive Decision), Dr. Kissinger gave talks and hand-shakes in a world in disarray.

    He was once quoted as saying “the chaos in the world has exceeded diplomacy capacity”.

    Perhaps he was right, given his expertise and experience.

    Goooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooood bye Saigon then.

    It’s a wonderful world. For looters and profiteers ever since Indo-China came into being; as people under French colonial rule, everyone learned to exist as victims, to be multi-faced (as Viet Thanh Nguyen’s latest title).

    Sympathizers, two-faced and double agents: “liberal front” this and that.

    Yet, none has been more ironic than the movie itself (there was one student portrayed a sleeper terrorist): people there couldn’t sleep after a long night of bombing and bombardment. Yet, our high-spirited Garp-like DJ, soon after having logged in his shift, started his broadcast: “Gooooooooooooooooooooooooooooood Morning Vietnam”.

    I remember seeing a CBS documentary showing shirtless G.I.’s in the jungle, with transistor radio dangling on a tree, playing “Reflections of my Life” (oh, I don’t want to die…).

    It’s irony that makes art. Wonderful World, and awful war, long sleepless night greeted with Good Morning from a loud-mouth ally.

    Lush green fields, yet all cratered and buried with Unexploded Ordinances.

    Princess Diana once advocated humanitarian efforts to unearth and do away with those above mentioned (only to later tragically die of paparazzi’s exploded flash-bulbs in a Parisienne tunnel).

    Irony makes art.

    When we feel bored and there seemed to be nothing on the internet, no friends who are calling. Just remember, it could have been worse: burning monk, naked napalm girl, double-assassination, untried shot terrorist on camera, last chopper out and first tank rolling in what’s once called Saigon.

    Then you’ll know and feel what those young G.I.’s felt in the thick of mosquitoes riddled jungle.

    Of railroad switchman Calley (“Rusty”) who ordered (or had followed order) to shoot at anything that moves.

    There are always a price to pay for entertainment. A price to pay for arts. And most of all, a hefty price to pay for human sacrifice. Each man’s death diminishes me, for I am a part of humanity.

    The irony lies in the fact that our diplomacy capacity seemed to be outstripped by the chaos in the world, where bombs and bullets seem to be a quicker way to end a conflict. War will have no end.

    At least in my short-lived life . I felt a lump in my throat just to think back to all that was happening back there and how ironic it is for Armstrong’s sound track to underlay the Mekong green as part of God’s creation. 4 millions tons of bomb (more than the 2 WW’s combined) ! What a Wonderful War.

    No wonder Sec of Defense under Ford outright disobeyed a Presidential order to send planes for evac (those in the know had already vacated the premise – in one case, with furniture intact to Taiwan). To not cut-off the charade at some point would have been an ultimate irony and insult. Not after the Sec of State celebrated with his high-fives as shown in an Oval Office photograph (Kissinger later admitted he had not been aware that there still were some US personnel on the ground).

    Irony. Contradiction. Two-minds, two-faced. Part of life. Depends on where you stand to look (from a chopper’s view, or victor’s tank). Even the event of the same day sees different interpretations. And it’s the irony that makes art. With a jumble mind comes a heart beat.

    It’s the only real thing. And there is no need to analyze that which the heart feels. “I feel good”…………………………………….

  • Our modern times

    Our modern times

    Countdown “Ten, Nine, Eight…”

    Press and drop to Usher in the New Year.

    Mechanically predictable! the law of physics:

    e.g. Trains arrive on time, auto-payment, life expectancy.

    Flip over another calendar page.

    Set the alarm.

    Direct withdrawal.

    Punch in and out mechanically just as the machine at work.

    Auto-reminder, preset dental appointment.

    Ours has been a clocking society (data quants know this).

    Homo Sapiens are behavior-modified and clocking regulated….to fit and function in a mechanical and technical society (the train will only stop at predesignated stations at a certain time for only a certain minutes).

    Forget “hunters and gatherers days”. Stay put. Amazon Prime will deliver.

    Man in turn adapts and speeds up just to keep up…e.g. a tennis star hitting those machine-spit balls like McEnroe or Charlie Chaplin lab-lunch eating corn on a self-mechanized rolling feeder (to shorten break time).

    We used to have Recreational Hall (Rec Hall) – where at least, we bump into fellow joggers (“excuse me”, “Pardon me”). Now it’s just a gym, loft-type ceiling and individualized cubicle station. Work culture has spilled over to non-work, warehouse-style (re-industrializing our individual lives).

    On top of it, people use their own devices to atomize music and audio books, ignoring gym etiquette (everything is now wearables). Even the big screen TV’s and big popcorn buckets can’t make it nowadays (unlike shared moments of grief of the past when bystanders stopped in front of an electronic store to watch an unfolding event e.g. Dallas 1963 or Moon Landing 1969).

    Atomizing. Atomic Habits. Mass-Customizing. Starting with paperbacks that fit in one’s pocket, then phones that fit. Strangers mumbling or facetiming to someone through the ethernet, the other side of Earth, in-language.

    Slowly then suddenly, we acquired machine-immunity while machine cross-adapts (per evolving algorithms) to human (our “Likes”, comprehensively converted into data stream and customer profiling to be auctioned and bought by highest ad bidder).

    Voila. Our modern times.

    Man, and machine meet each other half-way, no longer alien to each other – it’s us human who are.

    We are people of “low-tech” and high-cholesterol in a high-tech low-cholesterol society.

    No longer do the mass tune in to mainstream news broadcast at 6PM (900 million on Sept 5, 1972, when PLO took Israel Olympic team hostages) or to catch a Connecticut commuter train, before a ride in “maximum occupancy” elevator of the Twin Towers … That social context and shared common e.g. gray flannel suit/hat in Richard Yates novels are bygone.

    Instead, we avail ourselves with flex and freedom @WeWork i.e. sharing cubicle and software. The later eats everyone’s lunch (remote workers’ 35% more likely be laid off). As of this edit, IBM and Tesla try to reverse remote work in our post-Covid era.

    The inflection point. Yes, we’ve got some setback (Y2K). But machine learns to learn. VC’s also learned. Society sifts and filters to force-rank talent like a Yelp rating. The measures of a man.

    It’s easier for man-machine, than for East- West (man-to-man) – so called the Last Few Inches – to relate. So big Tech exploit the minutia, the minutes and the brain power of the mass: massive Supply Chain. Economy of Scale. Zero-marginal cost economy and social media.

    You may watch a Kung Fu, interrupted frequently by YouTube’s Cyber Monday ads. That is, if you had not ordered your groceries from a personal shopper … that which used to belong to Beverly Hills concierge class (Warren Beatty type).

    Machine conforms to people’s wishes having known almost everything about them.

    Apple evolves to its 17th version, but users are still on their nature-born 1st-version. Our sensory perceptions get inundated while we amuse ourselves to death, this time, not via Television, but Twitter (now X) and Tik Tok. Gone were the days of searching for cave painting and hunters’ arrows.

    Last century called for an ethical decision: to press or not to press (the nuclear button). Now, it’s him/her who presses what and when, to destroy where/whom via drones. We’re busy watching “unprecedented” reality TV, “the like of which we have never seen before”. Again, sell the sizzle not the steak. Let the red phone ring-no-answer and go to voicemail (sorry, but your voicemail box is full).

    This is huge. An existential matter. How are we going to measure the worth and value of each transaction that adds up (Walmart self-check-out: the usual bait-switch, pushing Holidays purchase as if they care for sabbath).

    We have access to data which grow exponentially at Moore’s Law speed. But we don’t know how to extract them to exploit nuances (nutrition) for a usable narrative that serves our core needs: who am I, what am I put here for? where am I going eventually.

    Like a non-stop machine, we also sift, extract and de-fragmentize. But currently we’re confused and desensitized per deluge from the sewage and feces our of 8 billion + people, all turned “creators” from being “creatures” of recent one-way broadcast blast. All are returning this time to lost (digital) Paradise (again without shame of being naked like a Rodin statue). Our passport is our log-in code and command are at the speed of thoughts.

    All of a sudden, it’s not Charlie Chaplin that makes us laugh. It’s us who entertain ourselves to numbness. By morphing and conforming to machine, we have become what we made, all Frankenstein, or a religion of make-believe i.e. the more Likes, the more ego on passing our inevitable journey from the Here/Now to the Here After.

    Machine and man waltzing and stepping on each other while the Titanic is sinking, an inch at a time toward the center of the Earth in icy cold data deluge. Sink or Swim: Without an acquired skill set on how to calibrate and curate in an age of information excess (long ago, scarcity is key motivation).

    “If you missed the train I am on, you’ll know that I am gone” (smoke and sound of steam engine gaining speed as it pulls out of Istanbul station). Then Sydney Lumet would say “Print”.

    That mechanical society and its associated melancholy: steam (stimulus and substitute for tears) now belongs in the industrial past.

    “You will hear the whistle blow a hundred miles”.

  • Just an act

    We have seen the carnage played out. Almost to its final act.

    We came, and have yet conquered. Yes, the land perhaps. But not hearts and minds.

    I am not referring to Vietnam. I am talking about America. Its young history, fickle ambition and shifting shadow of past glory.

    We should have paused and enjoyed our bounty right after WWII. Instead we have to dip in all the pots in the name of this and that. The world barely recuperate from Covid and have yet caught a breath. Then bang! two hot wars, and a bunch of court cases (91?) that surely distracting like Hell.

    It were as if we had outsourced our shooting to Prague and elsewhere. “Send them ammunition”.

    The manufacturers of gun powder would care less who the target was. As long as the chuck chink sound is heard at the cash register. So are the ad men/women, search-technology assisted. America is going back to school in legalese and euphemism. A long saga and winding charade.

    The Wild West exported and outsourced overseas.

    Kids (in foreign land and in state) lost their lives, limbs and outlook for the future. “Last Christmas, I gave you my heart”… This year, save me some tears, I ordered it from Amazon and have it delivered at the front door.

    We don’t grow old. We grow more cynical as we can hardly believe anything said, unless it’s done. And even then, action got to bear consequences.

    Recent examples I have in mind include Santos and Guilianni.

    Both are out of a job and perhaps a place of dwelling.

    A desperate attempt to stay relevant, in the news and sensational Fox. Then a steep fall from grace.

    Riding the wave of drama. As if life and career is just an act, a trans beauty contest.

    (Both by the way, put on either make up or hair dye).

    And so it goes. Life in the 21st century. Everyone is dress-rehearsed, like the night before the wedding. Except we talk to ourselves, seeing ourselves reflected in the mirror (the screen, made in China).

    It’s just an act. Solo act. Like the King of Cool Steve McQueen after another failed escape attempt in Papillon, throws and catches his old baseball against his familiar solitary confinement.

    Just an act. But it needs to be performed. The audience is waiting, egging on as the laugh soundtrack is Ever ready when you are “Frito lay”.

  • About to say

    Kennedy was about to say in his undelivered speech in Dallas on November 22, 1963 (per Theodore C. Sorensen):

    ” Words alone are not enough….Where our strength and determination are clear, our words need merely to convey conviction, not belligerence. If we are strong, our strength will speak for itself. If we are weak, words will be of no help”.

    We almost missed a great speech, if it weren’t for historian’s preservation. Apparently, the torch (which had been passed on to a new generation just a thousand days earlier) was then quickly handed over, a heartbeat away, to President Johnson, who along with all, graced with his predecessor’s wit and wisdom, taste and class, elegance and briefly “Camelot”.

    Unlike today.

    Unlike anything we’ve seen so far: the descent at speed uncontrollable (the Viking man at Mike Pence’s still-warm podium).

    The Constitution seems to be able to speak for itself, but the Capitol (building structure) needs defending. Shattered glass, shattered hope.

    “If we are weak, words will be of no help”.

    I learned about strength from observing and benefitting from my Dad’s defending me against the neighborhood bully and his father.

    The non-verbal and take-no-prisoners body language oozed out of my Dad speaks for itself.

    From that confrontation on, I had a smooth ride in a rough area throughout my childhood.

    Back to our leaders, whose torch keeps getting passed on “It’s just another job” quoted Obama. Have they lived up and paid up their debt of honor and oath? We saw immediately after that undelivered speech, a lot of happenings: quagmire in Vietnam, break-in at the Watergate (Kissinger was quoted as saying to Haigh “We’ve got to end this charade as quickly as possible”, or as Ford put it “…our national nightmare is finally over”…but not quite… until a Presidential Pardon was granted – a nice way around and out of admission of guilt).

    Then on and on. Words and action. Misquotes and misconstrued rhetoric. “I could be Presidential”….

    When an office holder, act like an office holder. When an office seeker, speaks like an office seeker. Attack, attack. Where is the weakest link? The English-as-a-second-language speakers? Wetback?

    Come harvest times, who are going to work the orchards. Come supper times, we can order from AI (Would you like to have fries with it? What else) but someone somewhere with a nickel-and-dime wage would have to fulfill the order, put it on the conveyor belt for door-dashers to deliver and send the proof photo to our inbox.

    Voila. Blood poisoning. Food poisoning. The swam is here, in us, as our words “will be of no help”.

    I invoke myself to the defense of truth i.e. action over words, strength in vulnerability and risk-taking.

    I wish my Dad were still alive, to stand up one more time – like father like son – facing the force of tyranny and bullies. But then, “the torch has been passed to another generation”.

    Most of us, if not all, are not descendants of a Native American tribe. Perhaps with the exception of our former First Lady, whose jacket – on her assigned trip to the border = says: ” I don’t care, do u?”.

    Words alone are enough, in this case.