Tag: Florida

The racist that is us

The world mourns for a beacon that was Mendela.

It rains in the stadium and inside the heart.

Racism was an ingrained system up to the Civil War, fought in World War, struggled in the 60’s and onto the 90’s in Apartheid.

We simply don’t like color folks, first in speech, than in hush-hush, now only in thoughts. Keep it to yourself.

But if it’s the Huxtables (neighbor, doctor and well-mannered) than it’s OK.

Recently down in Florida, it still happened when a nephew of a resident got shot in a struggle. Zimmerman got off free, than later, in jail for beating up his girlfriend. A diametrical replay of Rodney King who also got arrested for other charges after the LA riot.

Man inhumanity to man spreads across the color line.

What Nelson Mendela did which made him great? He simply went to a ball game (just like Rosa Parks who chose to sit in front of the bus), and not a soccer game, but a Rugby game (lilly-white). He refused to be drawn into a downward spiral, the mean streak of violence piling on top of violence, which eventually destroys both sides. This cycle polarizes us, and perpetuates itself,  inflating the dark side in each of us, the racist part. Studies show that fear passed on from generation to generation, that includes the fear of the bogeyman.

For me, Mandela was more than a symbol of reconciliation, or racial struggle, or political triumph.

He was and remains my symbol of hope. Of thought leadership. Our Gandhi. Creative problem-solving, while setting aside personal feelings (and the urge to take revenge).

27 years of honing his thoughts and feelings in confinement.

Of nursing the dim light of hope. Of  life-long learning.

Then, boom! Stadium and podium, concert (Bono) and ball game, Bishop and President.

Sometimes, in traffic, a minute is too long for us. And when pre-judging someone, 5 seconds are too long.

The racist in us needs a re-education. Be it 27 years or life time. But start now. To understand and be understood. What if you were born dark-skinned? or white for that matter. The burden is on us to reach out, to say “Hi, my name is….. Good to meet you”. I know a friendly person when I come across one. Don’t you? Because if we don’t, we simply transfer that fear to the next generation, and before we know it, history repeats itself due to our ignorance or inertia. Then, some facist or racist leader will rise (hopefully with another style of greeting if he/she is creative enough) and recycle those stirring speeches we all know so well ” they took our jobs, they come with strange ” costumes” etc…”.

Then the crowd will nod, and the crowd will call themselves the Majority vs the Other. And mass hysteria will take over

The right to bear arms etc… and our children will have to do it all over again. I hate that, don’t you. So mourn, but not too long. Mendela would rather see us take action, smile at strangers regardless the size of their bodies or the color of their skin. It only takes a small effort to reach out, to click on the mouse and send a text or endorsement. Recognize the racist that is us, and manually override it. Let not your small inherited fear dictate how you behave in today’s world. I hope that world is full of Mandelas, full of hope and humanity. We got work to do. Let not the small stuff steal  our game of Rugby.

2012? Almost

For those who are now living in Tent City due to Sandy, 2012 does seem like a doom-prophecy year i.e. INVOLUNTARY departure from their homes. Others in 20 States, mostly Red, willingly sign a petition to secede (VOLUNTARY departure from the Federade).  Essentially, they want to vote again.

Grow up.

We do have to zoom out and see where we are: globally and ecologically.

A warmer temperature means melting snow for the penguins. A butterfly in the Amazon still has that connection to Sandy, however small. (In the US, one can drive out of any house, to arrive at any person’s driveway; the power of inter-connectedness).

I was walking into a restaurant last night when the power  was suddenlyy out. For a quick moment, I knew how  people affected by Sandy must have felt.

To us, 2012 is just another calendar year.

To them, it’s dooms day.

Once again, the nation is showing its solidarity as in the days following 9/11.

Governor Chris and Cuomo, of Garden State and Empire State, were seen touring alongside the President.

A show of unity and solidarity.

People are hurting.

Groping in the dark.

Tested and bewildered

It happened before in Florida, then down in the Gulf with Isaac and Katrina.

People moved on, but those regions bore the marks of being whipped.

Bent out of shape (tourists would conveniently cherry pick the best spots in the world to spend their hard-earned dollars).

The hypocrisy of pleasure-seeking.

Since when do you hear a doctor take his/her vacation to give vaccine to an emerging nation? I only read about Melinda Gates Foundation doing this.

Meanwhile, we are in wait for another round of doomsday prophecy, often comes at year-end.

Futuristic stuff that may or may not fan out.

Yet we believe. We want an edge, to position ourselves for profit, or to hedge our bets.

Good luck with the rest of 2012. We have yet seen the end of it.

Still with a good two months to go.

I would line up my all-star team right around this time.

To charge out of the gate. To win. To seize the day, the year.

To plan that next play. Winning is easy when planning was hard.

2012 is not over until the planning for 2013 is complete.

Outside the bubble

When you are inside, you are hard-presed and unable to think.

But when you are out of the bubble, it’s illuminating.

You are able to look back, to gain perspectives.

Bubble by definition is that which encompasses those who subscribe to its rules (deposit here, withdraw there).

We got the Tulip mania in Holland, Ponzi scheme in Florida, dot.con and most recently, housing.

In fact, more are in the making (student loan, green tech etc…).

High stakes and high rewards.

But then, who would want to jump in to that which has already been proven 100%.

There is always “acceptable loss” “sot and hard trend”.

But what is acceptable to one is not acceptable to the other.

So we could never really be outside of a bubble.

We are inter-linked with others: friends, families, and co-workers.

They will be the ones who whisper “it’s just between you and me”.

Few  were able to foresee this past housing crisis.

Now we all are on this side of it, with some residues and long tail effects.

What lessons learned? Take-aways?

Are we wiser while poorer?

A friend’s Dad has just passed away.

At my last visit, his words were “let me sleep a little bit”.

The drug had taken its effect.

When we are in a bubble, perhaps we “sleep a little bit”.

Why think?

Social proof ( the majority are always right).

So we let down our guards, exercise not our survival instincts.

We forgot to fight, the way gladiators used to each day.

Our sense of “flight or fight” has been put to sleep.

After all, it’s the bank, the rating agencies, the press.

All well-regarded institutions, with huge marble lobbies and high ceilings.

I heard of more lay-offs (Motorola under Google, Newsweek gone under for the second time etc..).

Not a  good sign!

To shake all off, takes some time.

Just like healing and grief process, maybe all we need is time.

The bubble crushed dreams. Just like Fukushima and earthquake.

We just don’t see it in that “disastrous” light, but its tolls are the same, if not deeper.

When we recover from a bubble, we lost that which made us successful in the first place: self-confidence.

To restore that takes baby steps.

One small win at a time.

But those baby steps are outside the bubble, not huge strides we made inside.

What an irony. Should have been the other way around. In hindsight!

But with each baby step, the strength will come back, for the long journey ahead.

Watch out for another bubble on the horizon. No risks no rewards.

Imponderables

Dead Valley is known to be the hottest place on Earth.

Yet millions have traveled pass there on their way to Las Vegas.

Venture Capitalists are also well versed in what’s so called “valley of death” i.e. when a start-up moved pass its honey-moon stage, and simply cannot sustain the burnt rate.

Yet people keep trying.

Then, aside from “death” rate, we got divorce rate.

Yet people keep falling in love, and getting married.

Hint: more shopping and spending for a family of two and more.

In America, there is no shortage of imponderables.

I am starting to read Paterno bio. I could barely get through the first few pages.

Something quite imponderable there (despite the lucid prose).

After all, what happened in America, stayed in America.

Sex shops, butcher shops.

Churches and strip clubs, sometimes near each other.

Schools and parks (for homeless people) near fast-food and donuts joints.

Dental office next to candy shop.

And 24-hr gym (all you can lift)  near Hometown Buffet (all you can eat). Go figure.

America spends a large chunk of change on incarceration, pornography (hard and soft e.g. NYT best-seller list, top 3 are taken by the same author who caters to women taste for escapism), guns and amos (especially amos, modeled after HP cartridge business model), medical marijuana and spirits (that get you on a downward spiral).

My name is Thang. And I am not an alcoholic. So help me God.

Somewhere somehow, the line has been moved: the incarcerated are better cared for than the non-incarcerated.

The top 1% refuses to pick up golf balls, while the rest can’t afford meat balls.

Kids aren’t learning (slipped in ranking), while workers need to but can’t get it paid for by the employers or government.

Politicians are talking, but leaders aren’t leading.

We are bidding for time, for election, for miracles, and are freezed like deers in front of approaching head lights.

Actors are either making quiet retreat (Sundance Festival), or gone overboard (Eastwood and Samuel Jackson).

It’s the best time to be in  late-night comedy.

But SNL fans can’t stay up late (wrong demographic for that time slot).

Voting booths seem to always have problems in Florida. (Voters should be required to have an eye-exam). We are enjoying our time on the deck, but forgot to check the ship’s name. ( Titanic ?).

Even if it’s free, no ride lasts forever.

Every once in a while, we need to check the navigating instrument. No such thing as auto-piloting (Google unmanned car?).

Not in this age of post-innocence. Not at this time of austerity. Not now. Not ever. We need to be vigilant against those who quack like a leader, walk like a leader, but in fact, are not leaders at all. Leadership comes with a price. They come to take credits. This is the root of all imponderables: those who can’t lead, lead. Those who can, refuse to stay in the game.

30 years on

USA Today celebrated its 30th anniversary issue, with bolder graphics and fonts (thanks! we can use larger fonts now).

Those papers we pick up outside our hotel rooms when traveling on business  (to be left behind at airport lounges).

Anyway. This issue features some “futurists” in each sector: urban architecture, space travel, transportation (Ford), internet (Twitter’s founder) etc…

A quote that jumps out of the page: “in the future, the world will be divided into two classes: those who are told by the machine what to do, and those who tell the machine what to do”.

Wow! unmanned cars which Google is currently test-driving. Electric cars = computers on wheels.

Information will be ubiquitous, like those electricity plugs we scarcely notice.

We will be 30 years older (just think back to 1982. Back then, a friend was “experimenting” with his personal computer).

Back then, we were transiting from cassette to CD, from a weak America into a stronger one (Carter was quoted as saying:” we have a crisis of confidence”), from being a debt-free nation into a debtor nation.

Now, Iran came in full circle.

30 years on.

A lot has happened, but then, nothing has been off-script: we still have an election, the economy is still in the top 3 along with the Arab Spring went south. Hatred incites, love unites. We need Buscalia (love Guru) and Moon (matchmaker).

30 years ago, we got the Concorde, Mc Donald Douglass and McDonald. Now only McDonald (even the Burger King near me was closed). A bounty is still out for the head of Rushdie, the writer in exile.

I heard in Detroit, houses were foreclosed section by section, and sold for 5K, but no one dared to come in and be the first penguin.

30 years on. Where would you be after paying off the house and college loan. Will you be driving an EV?  a domestic?

Will we do away with laptop as we now do with desktop (BTW, the father of laptop has just died. He brought friendly design to computers ).

It’s in the American character to “make things happen” instead of “letting history happen to you” (quoted Marc Andreessen).

30 years on. We will all be writing our memoirs (lots of time on hand). WordPress will be bought out by other photo and video sites, perhaps Google. Then when we search for someone or some place, it will show all the tweets and Likes, Linkedin’s profile and blog, video,  Google photos and Facebook social graphs).  

Our “ego-sphere” will be stored in the Cloud (reminds me of Augustinian line “our soul is anchored in the heavenly, no wonders we feel restless unless we find rest in Thee). Deep search will  not be just for private investigators.

Then we will have privacy issues just as in Electronic Medical Records. In an accident, the EV will pop up our medical conditions for first responders to attend to. It’s a bold new world. Can’t wait to grow old. Aging will be a cool thing, and not jeered at (especially when we can afford spare artificial organs) (see my other blog on NEVER LET ME GO) . We will stay active in the cities and don’t have to move to Cocoa Beach, Florida (home of the USA Today founder). 30 years ago, even while escaping to Bali or Bahamas, we couldn’t wait to get online (You’ve Got Mail). 30 years on, we can’t wait to get offline. Maybe the hotel still leave a copy of USA Today outside the door. This time, definitely in bolder prints.

Sand and Storm

Isaac is sweeping through the Keys in a Northwest arch as seen in previous storms.

Paradise bills come due. This summer we have seen an eerie absence of tornadoes (too dried to happen).

Paradise’s sand box are put on high alert.

The last time, a political convention that got that much press attention before it gets started was Chicago 68.

This time, the National Guards are also mobilized, but for a different reason: to help with eventual and possible evacuation.

Grab your bag. Essentials only: toothbrush, toothpaste (shared), eye glasses, underwear and change of clothes. Well, maybe a paperback, normally for beach reading.

I used to have my class do an exercise in forced ranking: what if you could only bring five things to an isolated island.

It makes for group discussion, collaboration and debate.

What would you bring if you were to live in the Keys this morning?

Tow that camper away with everything in it and sit in traffic?

Remember not to forget the I-phone charger, for storm tracker.

I know I would bring my daughter’s pics, even though they are already in a flash drive.

I heard of DropBox. Maybe I should open an account (a safe?) there in the Cloud.

Valuables and all that remains.

A lifetime of memory and momento.

What is life?

Play time and work time, hurt and healing?

Sand storm and sand box.

Some of us are defined by crisis, others crown.

The higher the climb, the steeper the fall.

Just part of the roller-coaster ride.

In other time, Florida Keys are picture perfect. You can’t get enough of it.

But then, one has to live with these North-ward weather patterns, as if everything “negative” seems to have come from somewhere South, if it fits your prejudice. People who reached a certain maturity have come to accept that trade-off : you can’t have paradise without penalty, sand without storm, at least in this life, at least on this Earth.

toss-up

Theme from Mahogany has a line “so many dreams just slipped through our hands”.

Then “do you know where you’re goin to, do you like the things life is showin you”.

I first heard that while drifting on Wake Island  summer 75.

Back then, I had one thing in mind: departure for the US.

Now, the table has turned. It’s a toss-up for me to come back States, or keep staying here in Vietnam.

I like it here, with all its problems and pain.

Perhaps I could identify with these folks more than with those “snow birds” in Florida. One of whom , in a public library, drew her LV purse closer by reflex (what had they done to her up in New York?) just as I was walking by.

Today, one can catch an Inter-Continental flight and be on the West Coast in less than a day.

They even have Yahoo VN here (along with Yahoo UK, Yahoo Philippines), just to get localized.

Broadband-enabled.

Instant snap shot, then instant transmission = Instagram.

Voila!

Sharing the moment with friends across the pond.

Do you know where you are sending to?

Do you like the things the Ipad is showing you?

I-pod got miniaturized, while a USB could be plugged into a portable speaker on the go.

When osmosis is complete, we will see more VietKieu like myself  stay for the longer term.

Already a new breed of  “snow birds” are forming, starting with repatriating singers and musicians.

(our own Nguyen A Chin, on the other hand, in-shorring to play in front of a homegrown audience of 500 in Virginia last month).

Yes, dreams slipped through our hands.

But if we hold on to at least one, right at dawn,  and make it a reality, then that’s ours for keep.

Do you like the things that life is showing you, do you know?

It’s a toss-up yet a step-up from my one-way nightmare on Wake Island back then.

It’s like I have finally arrived at the real Wake island on my mind. Free to go and free to stay.

two-step back

A laid-off Coca Cola delivery man gave a bank teller a note, demanding one dollar so he could go to jail and get healthcare.

A Florida retiree robbed a bank to pay his mortgage.

New York sex workers told investigative reporters they went on-call to pay back college tuition.

Something is not right with our time: those who are entitled don’t get entitlement, and those who aren’t do. Government grew in size, while big businesses shrunk or off-shorred. One could wait for ever in voice-mail jail hearing occasional “someone will be right with you” (yesterday’s prospect is today’s customer, hence, a lower priority).

What happened to Moore’s law (speed of processing double every 18 months)?

We can’t see the forest for the tree because we did not step back far enough.

Years of instant noodle, fast food drive-in, personalized search and pizza on delivery have lulled our sense and slow down our reaction.

Wind came from the Southwest, but we keep looking into our GPS (which might fail us).

First, the elephant (IBM) can’t walk. Then, it’s voted most innovative company, on the same Dean list with Apple, which had been rejected by investors just a decade ago.

Nokia and Motorola fell behind while RIM couldn’t keept its field advantage.  Google, who got tired of Search and Social, also got into phone, glasses and unmanned vehicles

We now need the Audacity of Austerity, not of Hope.

And please, don’t blame technology for London burning .

(It’s like blaming the Rodney King riot in LA on black and white video footage ).

This blog is my first from a children’s library. I am surrounded by school children playing games. Will they grow up learning how to connect the dots in this vast data-driven world?

Will they be able to step back to see the bubbles coming their ways?

Or many will fall through the cracks, with  few options such as bank robbery and escort service.

These are rhetorical questions which seek solutions to inflationary measures not inspirational messages. We all can see for ourselves, which is the tree, and which is a forest. We have stepped back at least two-steps in the last four years. Now it’s decision makers’ turn to see the forest for themselves.

Buddha was purported to do just that, with his first walk among the commoners. It’s called reality check. It’s called enlightenment.

Viet-Am Third Migration

First wave: 1975, 4 “ports of entry”: Arkansas, California, Florida and Pennsylvania.

Second wave: 1978 -2008 South Westward to California and Texas.

Third wave: joining everyone else during this Recession to the Lone Star State, where 8% unemployment still looks better than 12% and 10% in Florida and California, respectively.

Part of the American Dream is mobility: chasing the tornado to find the rainbow in the end. If it’s out there, we will hunt it down, dead or alive.

So begins our journey, to the moon and into the cave (found one recently near Lao’s border in Central Vietnam – see latest National Geographic).

Like Gordon Gecko in Oliver Stone‘s latest installment, Viet-American, over a bowl of Pho in Hong Kong Mall, Houston, says, “it’s a game, a game between people”.

I have yet seen a set of more competitive people. They push their children and themselves to achieve and acquire: straight A+’s for the kids, Lexus’ for moms and Heineken for dads.

Pajamas culture in collision with Long Johns’. At least, both extol strong work ethic. Size apart, third-wave Viet-Ams (mostly in Houston and Dallas) found natural affiliation with Texan (machismo) in dominion over the land (agrarian bent), the sea (Galveston) and exploration of natural resources (oil).

Herd instinct kicks in. Warmer weather, Sun Belt migration pattern which already started since 1978 (with one hiccup during the oil burst in early 80’s – to preticipate Silicon Valley dot.com burst 20 years later).

No wonder they opened another Vietnam consulate there in Houston to ease Visa processing. It’s time to roll that dice again, Texan style. There was a Rock and Roll band already stationed there. The CBC, after a stint in Hawaii, are content to stay put (instead of “born to be wild”). The aged fan base got two phases of the past all mixed up: ball room dancing (French influence) with R & R (GI’s influence during the War).  Oh Suzie Q! Napalm girl now turned 40.

For the Viet-Am Catholics, this would be their fourth and final migration: 1954, from North to South Vietnam just to join every else in 1975 and later years out to seas, and risk becoming pilgrims at the mercy of pirates while looking for paradise.

Their sons and daughters now have Anglicized names. Some ran for office, others turned accomplished journalists. One of them had a piece on NBC Nightly News . Thanh Truong covered a fire-causing death of hobos’ in New Orleans.

Ending his report in a note of empathy, Truong commented “they came here seeking shelter which turned to be a memorial”. Let’s hope the same comment won’t apply to Third Wave Viet-Am U-Haulers to Texas these days. Just another untold tale from a lingering Recession.

early imprints

I ordered my breakfast instinctively. And it’s 8 in the morning in Vietnam.

Already I feel the heat and humidity. Through the Australian school yard, I saw teachers in ao-dai. Could have been the ghost of my mom’s past.

Children are obviously better fed these days. And they have gone on to game 3.0 (playing less at internet cafe, but at home as broadband penetration has been on the rise).

There is less space between motorcycles, because the city was originally built as a French colonial city for a 10th of today’s size.

No one walks anymore, and certainly not in the heat of mid-day.

The game players keep the game designers employed.

The office workers keep the shopkeepers’

children fed. A family-operated coffee shop opens all day all night.

Three shifts in one. Blessed are the poor for they shall inherit the earth.

But not earth. They chose cities, and not any city. It has to be Ho Chi Minh City. A few office towers got fully booked the day they let the tenants move in. Broadband was connected.  Zoom zoom.

If it weren’t for the absence of the double-decker, I would mis-take it for Hong Kong. Prepare to lose some weight here. And most importantly, stay alert when crossing the streets. My survival instinct kicks in, and not just because of the tropical storms.  I used to live here, schooled here and had my first love here. Except, we used to have more elbow room in traffic. It’s good that we wear helmet, glasses and mask.

It saves us from the embarrassment of  being stared at up close.

It’s awkward as well in Florida with the Lexus and BMW’s revving at the intersection.

But then it’s good that we found ourselves side by side as fellow travellers on our journey to work or home. Home is where someone is waiting for you.

It’s not a place geographically speaking. It’s your comfort zone. 1st place.

No more facade. Or acting up. Costume off. Hair down. And you are addressed by your rank in the extended family. Uncle Thang, good to see u.