Tag: Art

Bleed purple!

Red States Blue States United. Bleed purple.

Gotta to reach across the aisles.

Gotta to overcome complacency and condescending.

The time it takes to come up with a retort could be spent for constructive use.

Nobody has the right to the last word.

History is dynamic and constantly being re-written.

(If you read Church History you get one version, and in Howard Zinn‘s, you get a different one).

Your ex’s might say nasty things about you, but your kids might not.

Some high school buddies remember me for appearing on TV as part of the school’s dance group (incidentally, my daughter has been in the US number 1 hip hop team as well).

Back to Bleed Purple.

The nation and the world have waited.

For action, not talks.

For remedy, not diagnose.

We are all grown-ups caught in dire circumstance. Tonight, as I was leaving the gym, I saw a homeless man pushing a shopping cart full of garbage bags, all black, except for a guitar on top. He was pushing it up hill, but to nowhere in particular. Just keep moving.

Einstein says life is like riding a bicycle. You just have to keep pedaling.

When I jog in the park, I keep one foot in front of the other. And before I knew it, I was jogging.

I don’t understand bureaucracy, red tape and the politics of politics.

(Heard somewhere that it costs about a couple of hundred thousands for the government to create one job).

That money could raise a whole child in the US, put him/her through college and become an active participant in society (virtuous cycle).

Think purple.

Back to basics.

I heard the re-elected President recap on what made America great.

Among the core values was tolerance.

Bleed purple.

No more campaign after the election.

Now is the time to carry out those promises, those cheap sound bites wrapped in expensive ads.

Now is the time to reach out across the aisle and make those compromises.

Start early, like Walmart shoppers, if you want something badly.

The only time I saw the spirit of America was in the darkness of  morning (we call it Black Friday), yet the place was ransacked, with nothing left to buy except for Halloween candies (post season) and school supplies (also off-season).

Wonder if by the time politics is set aside there will be anything worthwhile to discuss or carry out. Or people simply got fed up, and dropped out altogether. Bleed purple. The sum of our strength is stronger than our personal weakness. Red or Blue, we got your Achille’s heels covered. No easy day.

Then came the rain

It rained on the book fair here in Saigon.

Word and water don’t mix.

But I must admit seeing young readers eager to browse anything and everything, even kissing the note books we handed out, warms my heart.

I can relate to why the Happiness Index listed top countries such as Costa Rica and Vietnam.

Money might not equate to happiness despite its buying power.

Except for things money can’t buy: loyalty, happiness, class, intellectual ability and natural talent in the arts. Yes, money can buy arts, but only commercial art.

We are nearing the Sunday evening gathering at my friend’s studio.

Not concert for Harrison, but for Long, our dear musician friend who had recently passed away.

Celebrating a life.  A pursuit of perfection. Of Art.

In my last conversation with him, I promised to live in full (as I always have).

A promise is a promise.

Long’s musician friends who still love him dearly, will have to perform early since they still have to make a living later that evening.

Books, music, and arts. We are here to make our marks in the world, to brand, to make it lasting and influential. To know and be known that we once existed.

Many held a low view of themselves. Others overshot their positions.

I know my friend well. He lived within his means, his range and his circle.

He left behind many people who are still endearing him.

And he had been one of the few with a smile that is hard to forget.

Thinking of Long, I associate a 7th grader with short-sleeves, playing bass guitar.

Time passing, but not dividing, lost but not forgotten.

I hope when I am gone, I can make a few dents like my friend.

Dents in people’s hearts, because they would be uncomfortable thinking of me. How the hell did he carry all those chips on his shoulders!.

I love Long because of who he was.

The rain has stopped. It served its unintended purpose: street washing. Now can my people go to the book fair!

Burning flesh, jasmine scent

I used to live just a few blocks from where it happened on that fateful day in 1963.

As an active kid, I joined the throng to witness history in the making: monk’s self-immolation as a peaceful act of protest against the Diem’s dictatorship.

The city had been permeated with the smell of tear gas on days leading up to this event http://www.time.com/time/world/article/0,8599,2043123,00.html

We rubbed lime to soothe our eyes’ sore.

When I read about Tunisians tweet and text to recommend Coke for eye relief, it brought back memories .

The jasmine revolution got its start from those similar flames. Flames of conscience objectors who preferred death to drift and dignity to dumb-down.

We have watched with incredulity how a Zippo flip from Tunisia could inflame the streets of Cairo.

And how quickly the scent of jasmine spread in carosene region .

People pray and people pay the price (thanks to the doctors who bandaged the wounded) to bring down Pharaoh. Instead of casting votes, they cast stones. As I can recall, it was serene and surreal at the intersection of Le Van Duyet and Phan Dinh Phung street . Young monks chanted quietly to send their master to Nirvana. There were a few hundred present at the event (including an award-winning NYT war correspondent).

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Peaceful and principled.

Every body knew what it was all about: the Diem’s family ruled the country: big brother was president, younger brother – head of internal security, and his wife, unelected spoke person for the regime. Madame Nhu was quoted in a press conference (perhaps on her shopping trip abroad, though not for as many shoes as counterpart  Imelda Marcos) “they are welcome to barbecue themselves ….”

History recorded that her husband and brother-in-law, dictators of former Vietnam, were assassinated on their way to the Chinese District. Their deaths weren’t honored and their departures not as peaceful as the monk’s. “What good for a man to gain the world and lose his own soul”.

If you were to witness that sudden burst of flame, and the resolute stillness of the monk, you, like I, would never forget. It will be the same years from now about that jasmine scent that floats from Tunisia to Egypt and onto Libya.

Use lime, it’s better than Coke.

 

white balance

Digital TV is here. Selected reality represented by a series of 1’s and 0’s. I miss the Indian-head
poster TV studios used to put up to “white balance” and signal align their cameras before each broadcast. The jump from analog TV to digital TV will be more significant than the jump from B/W to color TV. This time, we got mobility and speed, not to mention
accuracy and security. In the old days, opera houses hired claque professionals to start a string of applause. With digital TV, Nielsen will have less work to tabulate audience response (and advertisers with collection) .

With digital TV i.e. 24/7 news cycle when you want, where you want, one no longer has to warm up the TV dinner and wait for Ted Koppel at 6:30 PM to tell us how many days (444)  there had been since US hostages were taken at the embassy in Tehran (79).
One of these days, I might even upload some digital video on YouTube, by far, the best of  Web 2.0 apps, in my opinion.
After all, it’s a tech-enabled global society, isn’t it? Satellite transmission (vertical upload) renders the concept of gatekeepers (one-way information flow) kind of obsolete (well, I purposefully left out fire walls and all that IT stuff. Go IT go!). Just make sure that what’s being uploaded meet the standards of public decency i.e. tasteful and respectful.

Whatever the means, we still abide by the Golden Rules: air that which we ourselves would like to view.