Tag: Sunday

Van’s Cafe pt II

Last Sunday morning was my first time at the jam session here.

Today, my second. It is getting better, sweeter and with more substance.

Thanksgiving weekend with friends and music lovers. It’s game weekend in the US. Or shop til you drop.

Here jazz music permeates the air we breathe.

Unrehearsed of course.

But it flows. The energy, the passion and just a good passage of time together.

I feel jazz. It’s warm, sweet and penetrating.

It makes us human. Playful and painful at the same time. The headache and heartache.

Share it brother!

Hi five.

We take a rest to be real audience.

Forget the bills, the business of life.

Just celebrate it while living it.

Being In love.

Being confused.

And being here.

Join me. I probably be here next Sunday. My friend won’t be. He is doing his numbers now, but will fly back to San Francisco, where he plays in the SF Jazz band.

I am glad he is here this weekend. So I don’t have to be all the way back across the pond to hear him.

Of course Hung brought his amplifier, and guitar. Dat (blind) on the piano and the KC band on drum and base guitar.

They play well together. Jam session.

The audience too. Very selective. Very very much in love with every note, every expression of seeing open soul on display.

“Sometime when we touch, the honesty too much”.

I don’t feel alone here, even at an empty table. They are after all up there jamming.

Beer half-opened and I sip mine slowly, for fear that their number will end too soon.

The Heineken you can reorder, but friendship and the mutual love for music will never die.

I wish you can be here. Not the kind of canned “I wish you a Merry Christmas” you hear all the time.

But I truly wish you an experience as valuable and unique as this one.

Pop, Jazz, French mix.

Like the city itself. Old Saigon, always adapting and thriving on chaos.

I love this city, it’s people and its multiple expressions however unrehearsed and unprepared.

It’s our best and it’s best in my eyes.

 

Brunch w/ a bunch (of jamers)

It’s my first time at  Van’s Cafe, 46 Pham Ngoc Thach, District 1 Saigon on Sunday morning. And I found myself walking into the door with 2 musicians I know: Mr Hai, on base guitar, and Quoc Dat (blind but extremely gifted jazz pianist, and a student of my now deceased friend.).

Before I knew it, people with guitars, chains in their jeans, rings in their ears, started to fill the room.

It’s a very rare place, if not, the only place where everybody knows your name (Saigon version of Cheers) . But you have to shout over their perfectly set acoustic.

Two sweetest Singaporeans, twice my size, recommended “banh mi bo kho”on the menu (that was before the owner, Khac Trieu, also multi-talented: drummer, vocalist, guitarist, clarinetist and keyboardist, ordered beef wasabi, Van’s Cafe new item).

The lead vocalist is named Rex, from the Philippines. He sings in English, Korean and Vietnamese (or trying).

My fear of  being new at Sunday jamming was dissipated, when Quoc Dat, with my help to get to the piano, started his jazz numbers.

World-renown photographer showed up, with Vietnamese wife and his daughter (who I had eye contact with to help me jump-start my Beatles‘ Imagine number). Other expats followed suit.

You can never guess what would happen at Sunday Jamming, or at night on the 2nd floor with scheduled Rockers, French singers (BTW, Christophe is in town here in Saigon this weekend), DJ at half time and open-mike jammers at midnight.

That’s when I met our regular clubbers-turned-friends like Willie and Warren, Danny and Bill.

And of all people, my friend from childhood also showed up. Apparently all roads lead to Rome for music lovers.

So come, for the food and the fun, the music and musicians. You won’t be disappointed as I have found out.

But don’t come too early. Live music starts at 9:30PM 7 nights a week. With Sunday morning, we can call it 8 days a week at Van’s Cafe here in HCMC. See you one of these beautiful sundays or, if you want to dance too, then after 9:30PM 7 days a week.

“You may say that I am a dreamer. But I am not the only one. We hope someday you’ll join us…..”

The ME who could’ve been

It’s Chinese New Year morning. Except there weren’t a lot of Vietnamese around.

They were here yesterday, and last week. But apparently, on this cold Sunday morning,

gym wasn’t their priority. Attention is devoted to festivals and festivities at the Temples, in the park and at the fair.

Like in-country counterparts, they would put on new clothes and carry li-xi envelopes ready to be dispensed, like an eager college freshman with stacks of condom supplies.

Here in Orange County, the festivities have only just begun. Bands were busy rehearsing, and bottles pre-ordered (up scale wine and dine).

I thought to myself, what a wonderful world.

Had I stayed my entire time in Vietnam, what the Me would have turned out?

– I wouldn’t show up at the gym on the first day of Tet either (none would be opened) and

would still fight the hang over from the New Year Eve’s celebration.

– I would drink strong cafe sua da (iced latte), perhaps from the only Starbucks in town.

– Sometimes people go the movies during Tet (since there aren’t a lot of entertainment venues that could accommodate an entire extended family). This year, Die Hard is opened on New Year’s Day in Vietnam.

Ten days before, they showed “My Nhan Ke” (femme fatale), complete with sword fighting and Crouching -Tiger Matrix-like effects.

– I would stay home early in the morning, for fear of being the first visitor to friends’ houses. Who would want to be blamed for the bad outcome of their entire year!.

Banh Chung (green-bean cakes) and pickled onion would be my brunch, since restaurant workers also stay home to celebrate their own Tet.

Then comes the dreaded part: the unwanted relatives.

They would want to reorder my life’s priorities by matchmaking attempts.

I would burn incenses for my deceased parents, offering fruits and flowers along with Banh Chung and confitures.

Tet in Vietnam or in the US is the same.

But the man I used to be (the Me in relation to others e.g. uncle, brother-in-law, etc…) has changed.

I work out, I read, I blog and frankly, I have become atomized and adapting to both virtual and western world.

My motto is to observe, filter and retain only necessary data (handling spam mail) for survival.

I want to connect the dots or else others would do it for me.

Instead of being the mini-we in We, I have become the Me on my own, with legs to stand on.

It’s like the spirits of the Dust Bowl. Rebuilding after the gathering storm, all on one’s own.

We are evolving into new creatures of the Web, where Who We Are is influenced by what we view, like and whom we share it with.

It won’t happen overnight, but it is evolving. The same way our taste for music and fashion by osmosis once shaped by our next up of kin (or closest friends).

Or else, how would we explain an entire generation falling in love with American Pie, Vincent, Say You Say me.

My friend mentioned Lionel Richie‘s line “easy as Sunday Morning”.

So it’s Sunday Morning. The Vietnamese who would otherwise show up at the gym, have taken it easy “like Sunday Morning”.

It’s new year. It’s a celebration. Time for feasting and eating. To broker marriages and business relations.

Even to forgive trespasses both from the religious (Sunday)  and cultural (Tet) stand point. Let us not fall into temptation. I am sure after these three days, (with gambling and drinking involved) many would find above prayer more meaningful if not personable. The Me who could’ve been should have taken it easy like Sunday morning.

Instead, I end up going to the gym all these three days and only take small bites of the bean cake. It’s brand simple, but a winning entry for our national contest for the throne. Back when the general consensus was that the Earth was square. And that it’s not good for a man to be alone on this very day. He has to be a mini-we in the context of a larger batch that hatched into a tribe called Lac Viet, ancestors of today’s Vietnamese. No wonder those “Individualized” stairmasters remain unoccupied on this New Year’s morning: everybody is reclaiming what’s they once were.

The guitarist

A Quoc Tri could be heard at Cafe Vuong Tron, GoVap on Sunday morning and M-evenings.

Other nights, you can catch him at Cafe S, near Du Mien, in Phu Nhua District.

This morning his band mate commented him on letting his hair out, and not pony-tailed.

We even took an I-phone pic of him, with LOVE on black T.

His style diverse, his manner unassuming.

He recycles his musician(s) often, but only on Sundays.

The only constant is that synthesizing box.

“I am a believer”, with harmonica by A Tri.

Then his guest musician went on with Oh Mon Amour by Christophe.

During rescess, he asked the establishment to turn on recorded music.

Except this morning, we already had a funeral band next door to fill in the silence.

I wasn’t in the mood this morning (last night’s storm kind of rubbed off on me).

But I was glad I came.

His guest guitarist told me he played regularly on Bonsai (Japanese tree), a cruise in Khanh Hoi (ticket up to $39 per guest, including buffet and live entertainment, mostly Filippino).

“Not a lot of people still request Reflections of my life“, said he.

Yes. I was freezeframed in that time and that period.

Sort of Kafkaesque. Man’s fate. My fate. The execution order has already been issued. Just waiting.

Meanwhile, one more stanza.

One more Cafe Sua Da (Iced coffee milk).

One more Beautiful Sunday.

Younger crowd tried to engage, looked interested.

They listened and watched at the same time (one long hair guy, the other with John Lennon‘s glass, both w/ guitars and mikes, like Cosby, Still and Nash).

Teach your children well.

Many knew not what had preceded. War and Peace.

But for now, I want to rest. Want to let the singers do the singing, and guitarists do the strumming.

At least people showed up. Morning show. Weekly. Under the gazibo. Under the trees. Under the umbrellas. Please keep in touch. Please keep on playing.

One constant in a world in constant flux. A Quoc Tri, 8 shows a week.

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!

My Saigon

Like Trinh Cong Son‘s Diem Xua, I got my own imprints of what  Saigon was like.

Especially on Sundays, like today.

Shaded streets, short strolls and sweet smiles.

Who needs all the executive shirt with designers’ emblem on it.

Instead of shirt, just smile even when you are not on camera. “Cuoi len di em oi” Just smile.

Le Sourire.

Flowers for the graves, flowers for the grade school teachers.

Lots of laughters, lots of tears “Ta chi can mot nguoi cung voi ta doi chet moi ngay”

Just a person to pass the time with while awaiting death inevitable.

Hence, Saigonese put on their best.

Last night, at a friend’s private birthday party, I sat outside on the balcony, looking into the glass door, taking in the scene, as if it were a movie set. Was I there, or just watching myself being there?

Am I in or in but not of it?

They say you can take a Texan out of Texas, but you cannot take Texas out of a Texan.

Perhaps the same holds true for Saigonese like myself .

Something about the French cafe, the Vespa, the Chinese noodle, and now, the KFC.

Saigon is a synthesis.

We “cao dai (unitarian) every strand of thoughts and expressions.

No one knows or is let in to our core. Double protection.

Suspicious of foreigners yet embrace them all.

Like on LinkedIN.

Like on Facebook.

Like on Twitter.

Just smile.

Le sourire.

Lots of laughter and lots of tears.

Just one life time.

But in mine, I have seen Saigon live multiple lives.Try every dish, every taste: bitter cucumber or  pickled lemon.

We take everything and leave out nothing.

During my entire life interacting and learning about Saigon , I have yet seen Saigon lose out.

It blends and synthesizes everything.

To the point where you could only recognize it by its smile.

Then the younger generation takes over.

You see the resemblance but can’t put a finger on it.

Turns out it’s that smile underneath the facade.

They smile when they are happy and when they are sad (see Understanding Vietnam).

Saigon’s smile is more of a reaction than an expression. “You always smile but in your eyes your sorrow shows”.

My Saigon. Cuoi len di em oi, du nuoc mat rot chet vanh moi. Smiling while swallowing tears.

Microphone Sunday

Yesterday I saw Mike from UK play

Bieber-like and adoring

This morning I managed to have him in front of the mike at Cafe Vuong Tron

Inter-generational and inter-cultural Sunday coffee house at the outskirt of Saigon

The featured singer would take a break and Mike went to the mike

He just let go “Broken-hearted”

College students started to snap their I-phones and Samsung

We looked at him and saw our former selves

The cafe-sua-da got him shaken a bit

But the raw elements were there: vulnerability and the invitation to connect

It’s universal

Music that is.

I am sure people there this morning felt they were having a rare treat.

It’s just a beautiful Sunday morning (and a Q Tri played that song as well)

Another American TESOL student was there as well

You can tell he enjoy the surprise

After all we turned “groupies” now

Guitar case and pick / microphone and wire

As simple as that: time passed but friendship gained

There is no better time to make new friends than now.

UK US or us

Just the chords

The melody

And your yesterday’s self ( I am half a man I used to be  – Yesterday)

When I saw Mike at the mike I know there will be  many more Mikes

who keep coming and discovering that people have hope-love-and fear everywhere – whether it’s cold and snow – or hot and rainy.

We are people with just a heartbeat away from eternity. No wonder we find its restless until we found that final rest in the Heavenly. For now being among friends and music lovers I felt at home already.

Male figure

We all need a hero. Someone to look up to.

Even subconsciously.

Most of the time, it’s our Dad.

When mature enough to know there are shades of grey and our Dad had been far from perfect, we grew confused.

The same happened when our leaders betrayed us.

From coach to banker, from monk to priest, they failed us one by one.

I remember a ranking that had lawyers, politicians and used-car salesmen at the top (of low trust) and physicians, teachers and firemen on the other end (of high trust).

My Dad (and in his younger version, me) was far from perfect.

He carried on simultaneously two families, fathered and nurtured two young kids (me and my half-sister).

But until I have a free weekend, seeing the Pho (noodle soup) place next to a Catholic Church (Bac Ha)  that memories flushed back. I understood now that he had struggled with his own moral dilemma. And however short,  those times he did spare for me, were quite special (Sunday breakfast, fried donuts and book browsing). Those outings to me were like Proust‘s A la Reserche du Temp Perdu. Time waits for no man.

I saw the list of “Icons we lost in 2011”.

I know the male figures of our time are far from being perfect: if they are not ill (Steve Jobs) then they acted on those self-destructive impulses

(Madoff), or both (Sandusky – and to a certain extent, Paterno).

My Dad breathed his last with us at his death-bed.

I saw him struggle. Indeed I had seen him struggle all his life.

Heroes don’t exist in a vacuum.

In fact, we need heroes in spite of their problems.

Those naive enough to think that this world exists for us need their heads reexamined.

There will always be a Hitler, or a Bin Laden.

But there will also be Churchill, Gandhi  and Nelson Mandela.

TIME’s person of this year was the Protester.

A few years back, it was YOU (me).

What happened there? The YOU in digital forms stopped being heroes, leaving only a small portion of dissenters (who called themselves 99 percenters) out there in the impersonal public square.

When people feel strongly enough to die for a cause, it’s time our leaders pay attention.

Maybe we have failed one another.

Maybe we are all immature, like ancient popes who insisted that the sun orbit around the Earth.

Male or female,  we all fell short of our own expectations.

My Dad certainly did.

I certainly am, and just recently admitted that to myself.

I have learned to think for myself, outside of the box and bubble. For the first time in  my  life, I understood my nearest male figure.

I am on my way to accepting him for who he truly was, and with redemption, who I have become.

I hope the next generation will also come to that same realization:

that we all fall short. And that we are mature  enough to forgive ourselves and others, including our leaders, or those male figures  in the news lately.

The analog attachment

Years ago, I was fascinated with the California flea market.

Back East, we got garage sales or moving sales. But the Bay Area markets sold vinyl albums, “flower” clothing, books and even gourmet meals on wheels. A Vietnamese family even offered sugar cane juice next to a hot-dog stand.

Fast forward 20 years. A random walk down a flea market today found all things analog, for a dollar:  books, cell phone accessories and cleaning products.

People even tried to sell Sunday papers there (while the NY Times now offers membership package for its online version).

First we downloaded some music for free. Then we paid 99 cents.

Then comes the free online news. Now we have to pay a subscription fee for more exclusive content.

It’s fair, especially for mobile download apps etc…

Many will disagree with me.

But how would journalists feed their children, especially when they have to travel overseas on assignment (and got injured, tortured and kidnapped).

We evolve once again into a two-tier society online, just as we have off-line.

Financial Times, Rupert Murdoch’s News for I-pads, WSJ and now, NY Times

all go for paid content.

The developing poor got an analog version (the other side of the digital track), http://www.nytimes.com/2011/03/20/fashion/20Cultural.html?src=me&ref=homepage

the middle class  enjoy free “coach” content, and the high-class, paid content.

We seem to have reached a compromise in this Pro-Am emergence. The digital divide is coming to clearer focus.

When I was in school, all I knew was that we lived in a world of 4 Billion people.

Now, it’s a 7-Billion digital play ground.

And many of us will watch movies on Facebook, in-mail each other on Facebook, and recommend news on Facebook.

Netflix, last year’s number one company, will have a run for the money.

Meanwhile, Rackspace and Amazon lead the way to the cloud.

We finally move up the value chain, where software apps rule.

IT admin guys will be the new Maytag men.

I remember clearly voice analog people spread the word that VoIp was quite choppy, hackable etc.. until people can dial 911 from their mobile phones,

which put the nail on the analog voice coffin.

Now, a walk down the flea market will find many CPU’s, servers  for sale because companies will have made a leap to the cloud. Moore’s Law wasn’t about the time it takes to double the speed of chips.

It’s more about how quickly we need to let go of our attachment to all things analog.

No wonder agriculture farms in Idaho and Dakota (cold weather) now give ways for server farms (cut down on the electricity needed to cool the cage).

Heartland America once again thrives after losing a horde of people during the Post Dust Bowl era. There is no turning back to One-hour photo or even Red Box.

That’s how fast change has arrived. Wake up to the new digital reality. If you don’t believe me, then visit your nearest flea market to see what ‘s on sale. Gadgets you now embrace at home.

If so, then it’s time to go shopping. And by that, I mean online shopping, not to Circuit City. It has been out of business.

globalize, empathize and digitize

It’s Kitchen God day in Asia.

Super Bowl weekend here in Miami.

And the DOW is down across the board.

Oh when the Saints oh marching in….

People were guessing, just like Mr Watson, that maybe the world can make use of a few computers, or move to digitization perhaps 15-20% of current load. Well “you’ve got news”: when e-government and e-MR digitization finished their conversion, we will be in for a surprise: perhaps more than 50%-80% current work load will get digitized (the more service-oriented the economy, the higher the percentage).

At this rate, we will be tutored by online English and Math in-pat teachers (as opposed to expats).

Pepsi decided against participating in the Super Bowl, a move which signifies the fork on the road: the online world now commands huge Corporate dollars traditionally allocated to the big Three over the past six decades.

New Orléans will celebrate, no matter what. Just showing up this Sunday has already been more than a boost for this Katrina-ridden town.

Next weekend, more than a billion and a half will celebrate the year of the Tiger.

On top of that, we got Valentine and President Day here in the US.

A warm spot in the midst of uncertain news and unwelcome weather.

Hold it: Defense, defense, defense.

For three hours this Sunday, I will join in and try to forget all bad news.

And I trust that our Kitchen God will bring full report Upstairs.

In Asia, we got our priorities right: food comes first. It brings harmony and social cohesiveness.

You eat soup, not Campbell, but from a huge common broth (Pho).  It’s up to you to throw in your basil leaves.

But on a cold evening, the context which gave rise to the Noodle King in Japan, there is nothing comes close to a shared bowl of Pho with friends.

New Orleans also knows how to celebrate, to put emphasis on food and drink (French Quarter). No wonder the Colonial theme pervades, both Hanoi and New Orleans : the coffee and pastries. Bon Vivant. After all, the French are now factoring in Happiness into their GDP equation, to count what really counts, according to their worldview.

I can empathize with that. After all, I learned my conjugation charts and early childhood songs, deciphering on the map where Lyons,  and Marseilles were. I know in this globalized world, we evolve, and borrow brilliance. We might try to solve one problem and end up generating a host of others.

The French got their shares. So have we. But this Sunday, some of their descendants will march and cheer. And I “want to be in that number, Oh when the Saints are marching in.” Today and tomorrow, Best Buy will sell a lot of HDTV‘s. Build it (digitizing), they will come. Still cheaper than going down there (or stuck in a snow storm with canceled flights), secure tail-gate parking, get to the stadium and not even sure you could get that kind of close-up views.

If you put TV and computer screen time together, we are on the way to be couch-potato nation. That’s one thing the world has in common, World Cup or Super Bowl, besides Katrina-size disasters.