Tag: Dragon

Reality bites

It’s Sunday. Jamming Sunday.

Singer-musician-owner of Van’s Unforgettable was kidding, after a round of live and unrehearsed performances that we should just play a commercially released CD  since we at times failed at recalling certain lyrics.

He had a point. The age of automation and atomization is here.

Each of us, with headset and  in private should just entertain ourselves.

IN THE COMING DECADES WE WILL EXPERIENCE A KIND OF NEUROSES THE WORLD HAS YET  HAD A CURE FOR.  Knowing everything yet not knowing anything.

Spying on everyone yet not knowing anyone.

Data rich, content poor.

Socially connected, but emotionally isolated.

Like the song by the Foreigner, “I want to know what love is…why don’t you show me”.

Mobile and cloud computing, with semi and soon full automation assembly, will lower the costs and increase personal computing power. Yet no eye- contact, no time for organic relationship.

The lost art of  the start : “Hi, my name is….”

In the 60’s, the anti-war group was cool “Hell No WE won’t go”.

In the 70’s, the me decade.

In the 80’s, the politicization of religious America (as a reaction to Iranian Islamic revolution). The We there was meant for many splintered groups, not just the Moral Majority.

In the 90’s, chip speed gets faster while at the same time, we  “got mail”.

So instead of getting inter-connected, we end up with the atomization or re-individuation this time mobile-enabled.

By 2020, we will have lived in a world utterly foreign to our parents.

The narcissistic propensity comes in full circle. First, in looking at his reflection in the water that Narcissus felt in love with himself.

Then, the witch looked at the mirror (who is the fairest of them all).

Now, it’s the crystal – Samsung or Apple – screen which is our digital mirror or still water.

People are using mobile phones to put on make-ups, to take pics of themselves etc…

To “friend” and “Like”.

Mostly, as a recent study by Solis, to project onto others that which happened to be theirs in the first place.

Sort of Paris-Hiltonian world. “Nobody f… with my family and gets away with it”.

She is our new “Godfather” personified:  famous and furious.

Lethal combo.

Sex symbol and icon of a new age. The age of virtuality. Of 4-hr work week. Of instant access and gratification.

The Orwellian world has arrived, except this time, it’s so democratized that you don’t recognize it.

So put on a CD. Click on play, replay and instant replay.

Puff, the magic Dragon. No wonder music has also evolved, from Peter Paul and Mary (communal 60’s) to Madonna’sMaterial Girl (greed is good) to Gaga, At the edge of Glory.

Who cares about attempts at creativity, or our feeble memory. The chips will do all our memorizing and processing. All we have to do is “amuse ourselves to death”. Sit back, relax, and take a pill. Protest not. And even if you do try, you won’t know how. The machine and the men behind it have it all figured out in their races to world’s domination. Wake up checkers in this new attrition war. This time  it’s neither cold nor hot. Just virtuality vs reality. A fight to the death – the mother of all realities.

My Cuore

If you look, you shall find. In my case, that little book by Edmondo de Amicis, translated of course.

It made an indelible impression on my little mind and heart. Years later, it still does. That is, after I have come in full circle, have travelled and traversed the geography of the heart. That “diary” genre though fictional, is more potent than Ann Frank‘s. To read it, you put on an Italian shoes of a school boy.

Bully, respect for others, compassion and empathy. Even patriotism (not trendy today).

To set this book, and its content, against the backdrop of school shooting, let’s say in Newtown, CT, or failed attempts else where, is to contrast night and day.

I went to French school. So this translated version must be one of those first Vietnamese books I read, besides Adventure of Tin Tin and The Three Musketeers.

In Cuore, you have enormous respect for the teaching vocation, and how it does take a village to bring up a boy. In our Facebook dominion, I am not sure how old values can fan out in cyber space. Do we bring old clothes to a poor classmate? Visit an old teacher (friending him?)

Subliminally, those values have triggered my many humanitarian action.

Now I trace back to its source, My cuore. Not the Italian heart, but  the human heart. It is translated into many languages, many outside the US. Perhaps it wouldn’t “sell” there. Not in the land of xtreme sports, female wrestling and lately, imported “girl with the Dragon tatoo”.

I rebloggd yesterday on Small is Still Beautiful. It was an old book from college. Today,  Cuore, an old book from Middle School. Both are still unpopular, yet both are still influential, to me. I hope you will at least wiki them, see what they have to say. The first book was Economics as if people matter. The second, we live among, with and for others. It is apt to coin the term Global Village, since we all go to school, get online and go home at the end of the day on Spaceship Earth. What if it is damaged, attacked or invaded?

We have enough resources, technologically, to solve human problems.

Now, do we have the courage and cuore to ennoble ourselves with bold action!

Yesterday’s Tet

Tonight is New Year‘s Eve (Giao Thua) here in Vietnam.

Senator McCain and Lieberman are also here on their SEA trip.

But many years ago, McCain probably heard the sound of firecrackers. Tonight, there won’t be firecrackers, but everything should happen just as it has for centuries: visit ancestor’s graves or ash stored next to a church or a temple), wash one’s scooter, do one’s  hair and nail, clean the house, and set up the household altar (the Jews could relate to this since they observe Pass Over just as strictly).

Retail stores even gave their mannequins a change of clothes.

Supermarkets cleared out inventories and flower vendors are holding fire sales.

If I can turn back the clock, I would be the one shining the bronze set for the altar, get the confiture tray  and watermelon seeds in the middle of the coffee table.

Red (lucky) envelopes are also stuffed with brand new money.

A friend of my mother, also a teacher, made an indelible impression which has stayed with me for years. Instead of gifting me big denomination paper money, she had me hold out my hands to receive two-handfuls of shiny coins. The act of giving is more important than the gift itself.

Great Uncle, always seen with a beret, would be the first to show up on New Year’s day. His name was Mai, which was the same as our flower of choice.

My brother, a few days before, tried to get a date with his eventual first wife. Two couples and a young boy (me) packed into a Simcar.

At that Flower Festival, we got separated. I immediately with a red balloon, found my way back to and then stood on top of the Simcar.

Needless to say, we are now drifted apart and it would be silly for me to hold up a red balloon every time I want to be found.  To me, Yesterday’s Tet was just as warm and full of memory as it is now.

It’s an occasion to make concessions, to reconcile and to move forward.

New Year’s Eve doesn’t just usher in another calendar year. In fact, the year gets renamed and rebranded (Year of the Dragon).

By the time the next cycle comes around in twelve years, I hope we are all still here, looking back to this one as Yesterday’s Tet.

We will still be laughing, and crying at the same time, for some of us won’t probably be around. Yet Tet goes on, like a line in Reflections of my Life “the changing, of moon light, to sun light, reflections of my life”.

That song was played while Senator McCain was in Hanoi Hilton.

It is no longer known among the next generation of music lovers.

But to those who paid a dear price during the time when Vietnam was synonymous to war, the line between life and death was undeniably thin.

I hope the Senator find a new Vietnam, full of noise, except for firecrackers and firearms. It’s more peaceful now, and just as joyous as ever.

With Tet, I don’t have to exercise selective memory that much. It is happening again, just like a long-lost friend, showing up predictably with set habits and hobbies. Yesterday’s Tet or tomorrow’s: same.

Saigon rocks!

The night before New Year’s Eve (year of the Dragon), Saigonese and expats got a choice to watch the rehearsal at formerly known as Independence Palace, or nurse a beer at Acoustic.

Years ago, this neighborhood was a hang-out place for privileged kids who attended nearby French lycee. Today, at least in this den-like corner, privileged kids shifted their interests to Punk and Hard Rock: we got graced with expat singers’ numbers mixing with local rockers.

At Independence Palace, the rehearsed dance filled the large stage with flags and poles, movement and au parleur, lighting and majestic surrounding.

At Acoustic, it’s the sound, the up-close vibe and all hair.

Collectivity vs Individuality, co-exist and share the same space.

Groupies, bartenders, and some expats who I.D. themselves as being from Portland, OR.

Our mean-looking Black rapper singer turned out to be the mushiest of all with his “Tears in Heaven” number.

Then, of course, “I hate myself for loving you“.

I on the other hand did not hate myself for being there.

I enjoyed it as much as I did years ago, on or off stage.

I am glad the spirit and essence of Rock has found new expressions and entertainers.

Still against the wind, without flag, but gotta to have hair.

I missed my dying friend who belonged to Saigon Rock generation 1.0.

He would agree with me it’s time for a new wave to emerge, even with glowing bass-guitar strings. Those Portlanders kept shouting “One more” because the booze must be accompanied by the band. I bet for a moment however short, they immersed themselves in the company of young and eager music fan, forgetting where one was from, and heck, even where one was going!