Tag: Public Broadcasting Service

What’s eating the man up inside

Instead of more career choices, he now faces 20 choices of jeans.

People are debating about a gender-free society (painting nail polish on his son’s toes).

When he finally got his tie collection under control, they went “business casual” on him (Steve Ballmer couldn’t cope with this).

Even though it says “Facebook”, most people just post a long-shot photo of themselves.

The financial crisis is now a film treatment i.e. we can now objectify the pain with some distance in between since. Money crisis, job crisis, health crisis, environmental crisis, security crisis and even marital crisis.

That’s what’s eating the man up inside.

Still he rises to the occasion. He is after all our 21st-century man. Armed with I-pod and I-pad, he can be a Spartan against the invading army of machines (see my other blog on “machine and me”).

He can text, chew gum and walk at the same time.

He shows up at the gym at first light.

Talks to no one in particular (men are not chatty, although they don’t mind leaving you a voice mail).

He is the opposite of Barbara Streisand (in a Star is Born). He wants to conquer, but frustrated because the Colosseum is now packed with competition: foreigners inshore and BRICS that chip away business, machines with intelligent softwares that cut down work load, material sciences that lessen the heavy lifting, women in NFL, ESPN, NASCAR, Air Force commanding (Libya), and worst of, advances in bio-med which prolong life (he can’t die, just get eaten up inside).

So, the rise of the rest (no offense, but I can’t help noticing Indian faces on TV, from PBS to CNN). There are discussions about “outsourcing blog”, a logical extension of what is digitized can be outsourced.

Obama, during his state visit to Britain, even commented on the rise of China and India. Something to do with “America leadership is now” (instead of passe).

Luckily, there is a phenomenon called “middle-income trap”, which kept countries like Malaysia and Thailand at bay, for a while.

What’s eating up the man inside? He hit the ceiling. Too soon and too fast (at least previous generation of boomers got a good run, starting from 1950 until now). He couldn’t cope with role reversal ( Palin’s husband Todd holding the baby at press conference to denounce rumors of cheating “look, he has been home watching the kids all along).

So our man goes target-shooting. At least, it gives him something/someone to focus on.

The rest, the rise of the rest, are hard to pin down.

He can’t quite put his finger on it. The phenomenon is once called Future Shock is here now.

It’s like Bush hearing the news on 9/11 morning, in a state of shock and stillness in that Elementary classroom (incidentally, he got another shock when a recent ball player followed an out-of-bound ball to get within inches).

The doctor can’t tell what’s eating the man up inside. He wants more tests done.

He wants to put on the white glove. More trips to the pharmacy. More waiting. Agitating. That’s what eating the man up inside. He is inherently impatient. The business of “the beginning of the end” sidelines him (CIA officers tend to die within their first year of retirement).

Like America, our man wants action, heroism, around the clock (24-hours like Jack Bauer).

Unfortunately, the rules have changed. It’s time for drones not drills, nation building not “terminating”. He can’t “be back”. He has to father one more. He can’t even be put and stay in jail. The Supreme Court says “No”, you can’t double up prisoners. Triple up on the outside is their business. But not inside.

So the unwanted prisoners in California got off early and easy (whoops, per computer errors). All dressed up, and no place to go.

21-century man scratches his head. He doesn’t understand the rationale behind 20 choices of jeans, while there are only a few career choices (being a nurse or a teacher has traditionally fallen under the domains of female and gay, while construction of new home or soldiering are both winding down). Maybe he should start painting his toe nails. And accept the fact that we are moving toward a gender-free society. Eat, pray and love. Text, chew gum and walk. 21st-century walking man walks on by.

My Japanese tutors

Ishiguro, Fukuyama, Kawasaki and Murakami. I read Ishiguro in bed, watched Fukuyama on Charlie Rose, watch Kawasaki interview on his latest book Enchantment and dream on with characters in Murukami’s novels.

Multi-media tutors. They might look Asian, but speak and write perfect English. Best of both worlds. Like Singapore or Hongkong.

Ishiguro penned beautiful prose and plot, that even Amazon’s founder must admit, the Remains of the Day was one of his favorites. In Never Let Me Go, the author portrays a love triangle out of the most unlikely of circumstances (among the donors of organs, our sci-fi characters). The mood and textures were so alluring. These supposedly “sub-humans” ‘ were made available as spare parts. “We let you experiment with arts to prove you had souls at all”

(and if they could demonstrate that they were in love, they might get a deferral – like college graduates who got their student loan deferred).

On to Fukuyama. who banked on the End of History (or marking) on the creation of Democratic Institutions e.g. those of the United States of America.

(a wiki check showed his family was in State College, PA “We Are”).

He answered Charlie Rose succinctly, and never missed a beat (about Arab Spring etc..).

Quite a professor, deserving his Standford upgrade.

Then on to the Enchanter. The smile in the eyes says it all.

He kept mentioning Charles Branson, of Virgin group, who stooped down and shined his shoes to win him over (to Virgin frequent flyer). To Guy, one needs to live as if there would always be a tomorrow (in contrast to what Fukuyama commented about America ” who has partied as if there were no tomorrow for the past thirty years”).

Reciprocity rules the universe. So is Karma. We saw that first-hand last Sunday with Bin Laden.

Murukami’s world is dreamy, with male characters who struggle with his own sexual and social identity (Murukami himself is a long-distance runner and writer. I wonder if his next novel would be about the Boston Marathon tragedy, as he once worked on the Tokyo’s rail cultish subject).

Murukami blends romance, cultism and eschatology in one fell swoop in 1Q84, his blended best.

By mentioning these accomplished authors, I am hoping the Asian gene pool rub off on the  second third generation of Vietnamese American. And I hope to live to watch one of my own on Charlie Rose, commanding public attention and admiration. It doesn’t matter where you came from and how humble (or horrible) the circumstances surrounding your beginning (in America). The only thing that matters is where you end up, in this case, undeniable success of my Japanese tutors.