next best thing

If my fishing skills doesn't improve, I want to come back as an Eagle because on those nature shows an Eagle never misses when it scoops down to get a fish. You never see it fly up empty handed, looking longingly down at the water with an "oh crap" expression.

real value

My mother is all about the hunt. Every year for Christmas and every business trip that my brother Quoc goes on, he buys my parents a tea set. My mother never talks about the tea sets when friends or relatives come over. What my mother will brag about is this dwarfed lemon tree in the front yard, that gives about ten lemons all year old. I carted the lemon tree home on a borrowed wheel barrow for over a mile. Every lemon that dwarfed tree produces is worth more than 1000 exotic tea sets, at least to my mother the hunter.

morning thought

I know it's a time for giving and it's just a buck or loose change, but does anyone else avoid eye contact with the people that ring the bell outside of groceries store or malls?

lemons for tangerines

During fight 50,938 my mother asked why I have to get so angry.

I told her she shouldn't plant lemons and then get mad when they don't become tangerines.

She walked away without saying anything else to me because she knows she has the worst temper in the family. 1st fight ever with me getting the last word...bring on 50,939.

live bullets

I was a candy pusher in middle school. I used to get about 10 different kinds of candy for a penny at Amaco, but my biggest seller was the fortune bubble gum. It’s a stick of gum, in lucky Chinese red wrapper with a fortune inside. My mother drove me to Amaco once a week, I’d buy ten dollars worth and put them in bags of twenty five pieces and resold it for fifty cents a bag.

I never had to take into account the gas it took every week, the time spent in the car, time spent on separating the candy, the bags and rubber bands my mother paid for without asking for reimbursement. Every bag I sold, I made a quarter. Simple mathematics.

“There’s nothing in there, it’s not even live,” I protested.

The airport agent pointed to the sign about transporting ammunition and illegal goods.

“Can I send it? What if I send it?” I insisted.

The airport agent pointed to the sign prohibiting the mailing of ammunition and illegal goods.They got their stuff covered on this side of the gate, which is funny because I didn’t see any of these signs when I came into Saigon.

“You know the guy who sold this said I shouldn’t have any problems.”

Once again, he referred me to the sign.

Three bucks a bullet. Advertised as real authentic bullets from the Vietnam war (but in Vietnam it’s known as the American war). For an extra buck, I could get a keychain slapped on it. The bullets were sold all over the streets of Saigon. I bought six as souvenirs.

“So you’re saying, there’s no way these bullets are leaving with me out of Vietnam? Why is it even legal to sell?"

After ten minutes of protests, I unwillingly handed over the bullets. The airport agent dumped them into a box, filled with thousands of other bullets, the same bullets that he will sell to the vendors on the streets of Saigon as soon as his shift is over.

Three bucks a bullet, for an extra buck they'll throw in a keychain. Six souvenirs waiting for the next sucker. Twenty four bucks gone along with a piece of my faith in humanity. Mathematics, sometimes it's just not that simple.

morning thought

How come it took two astronauts to do repairs to the coolant system on the International Space Station, but it's taken as many as ten police officers to deal with a homeless guy jaywalking?

morning thought

Why do people put their best foot forward with strangers but show the ugly sides to their loved ones?

It's going to suck when I'm old. My memory is going to be crap, having to always put my best foot forward because I won't remember who I can be ugly to.

Cold turkey

About my father:

*When I was in the 4th grade, for Christmas I asked my father to stop smoking. He quit, cold turkey. No questions asked.

*I bought him my first gift in the 5th grade. A framed poster of a rooster standing tall and proud, and underneath it said,

"I'm the boss of the house and I have my wife's permission to say so."

Two months ago I saw him show it off to my little nephew with the edge of the frame all brittled and falling apart.

*In the seventh grade I made a lazy susan in shop class. Unlike other lazy susans which rolled evenly, mine rolled like a merry-go-around (not intentionally--it was off on a few measurements) low on one end and high on the other. My father put it on the table with soy sauce, chili sauce, kim chi and fish sauce, and held out his hands to catch falling condiments on every spin. Never complained once.

*In the 9th grade, my father bought me a brand new Sentra tennis racket with a fully enclosed bag, because I needed a racket for my tennis team. My father made $10 an hour at the time, the racket cost $60, no questions asked.

*When I was in college my father decided to lose weight. He lost over 30 lbs without ever gaining an ounce of it back. He started exercising and gave up 75% of his rice intake cold turkey.

*A few months ago I decided to take on a plumbing job. My father entered three hours later to a bathroom flooded with a mixture of water and drano and pipes laid about the floor. He tried to put the pipes back, but what I take apart no layman will be able to put back together. My father came back with a mop and towels and we cleaned up the mess while we waited for a licensed professional.

My father turns 70 tomorrow. For his birthday I'm giving up woodworking and plumbing, cold turkey---no questions asked.

Happy birthday dad!

runner up

The other day the lady sitting next to me on the plane asked, "do you speak English?"

Turned out she wanted to chat. Me, I would have opted for a different opening, something like, "how bout dem cowboys?"

It was ironic that it happened when it did because I had just spent four days with an old friend of mine from high school who kept telling me how I was the second whitest Asian in high school (Jamie Woo took first place). Next time if someone asked if i spoke English, i'm going to brag about my runner up trophy in the white washed competition.

morning thought

I wonder if anyone has ever bought a lottery ticket and think, "these numbers can't go all the way?"

leave out all the rest

"When my time comes,

forget the wrong that I've done

Help me leave behind some reasons to be missed.

Keep me in your memory

Leave out all the rest."

Dear Mom,

I know you will never read this, but I do want your memories to survive. I try, but you're making it harder and harder everyday for me to leave out all the rest.

morning thought

I'm going to start a business and call it "The Other Half." I will sell socks, but not as pairs but one sock because I have easily 50 socks at home looking for its mate.

making the team

True conversation in the car coming home from basketball try outs last friday the 5th.

"What do you think LT?"

"110 percent chance I'm going to make it auntie."

SIDEBAR: when you're young, percentages go from zero to infinity.

"Feeling pretty good there?"

"At any given try outs, the top five kids stand out, and the bottom five kids stand out, it's the rest of the field that the coaches have to weed out."

"Umm okay, and where did you get this from?"

"I'm just saying, that's how it works."

SIDEBAR: "i'm just saying" is code for pulled it out of my ass.

"Okay, you did a good job today of weeding yourself out."

"Your play doesn't have anything to do with it, because we are all pretty much the same level. But, I got it taken care of auntie."

"I'm scared to ask LT."

"I've introduced myself in email this summer, and I've been in his office to chat."

"Chat? Like see how his wife is doing? If he is diversifying his portfolio?"

"Aaaunntttiieee."

SIDEBAR: i have never Eddie Haskelled any of my teachers when i was younger, so i was only half kidding with the whole portfolio thing.

"Talked sports, 9ers, Giants, sports, relationship building stuff."

"Okay LT, no more day time talk shows for you."

"He knows more about me than he does the other kids auntie."

"Here LT, add this box of milk duds to the relationship building."

The list for the 2010-2011 basketball team came out on tuesday. My little nephew (aka little eddie as i refer to him now) made the final cut. Relationship building and milk duds, that's how the Trinhs roll, "i'm just saying."

morning thought

The more you read, the better you write.

Fifty pounds later, culinary skills just as bad.

Wish someone had warned me the adage is limited in it's application.

gecko returns

There once lived a beggar named Thach. Thach and his wife saved every penny they collected. One day as he was taking a bath in the river, he noticed a buffalo swimming upstream. According to legends, when a buffalo swims upstream, it is an indication that a famine is coming. When Thach saw this, he took every penny he had and bought all the rice he could.

The famine came and everything was normal for a while. People sold and bought things at the market like it was any other day, but not Thach. He held onto his rice, waiting for the right time to make his move.

Then one day, his village and the neighboring villages ran out of rice because there had not been any rain for the crops. Being the only person with rice, Thach could demand whatever price he wanted. He sold his rice at a very high price and was instantly rich.

He bought a house next to the king. He got servants and only the most expensive items were put inside his house. He bragged that besides the king, there was no one richer and that he had everything in the world one could imagine.

One day, the king's brother heard about Thach's boast and challenged him to a competition. The person that did not own an item that the other one possessed, had to give up his entire estate to the winner.

Each side had their advisers and the contest began. Thach asked for expensive pieces of jewlry and rare artifacts, the king's brother was able to produce the same thing from his house. The king's brother showed Thach famous paintings and lavishe furnitures, Thach had whatever the king's brother asked for. This continued back and forth for a week.

At the end of the week the king's adviser brought out a simple looking clay pot. A pot not made of gold or the finest material, but one made from clay used mainly by beggars and peasants.Thach and his servants searched and searched and searched their palace but could not find one, because he only bought the finest things. And when he couldn't produce the simple clay pot,Thach had to give up everything he owned to the king's brother.

Thach became a poor beggar again. When he died, Thach became a gecko. If you listen carefully to the gecko as his tongue slithers back and forth, you will hear him revealing himself to you. Thach thach thach, he says as he tries to find a warm place to sleep in your house.

---------

I'm sitting next to my mother staring at the fishing poles. Without a cloud to intercept the ray, the sun throws a perfect spiral of light and warmth on the piece of earth I am inhabiting.

My mother points and makes a move towards the fishing pole.

"No no, not yet," the guide tells her.

She edges back to her seat.

I move to the back of the boat, and lay down to the gentle rocking of the waves. With only seven hours of sleep total the past two days combined, the guide can "not yet" all he wants for now. Sleep comes first, fish a distant second, not the usual order in my life but sleep deprivation is throwing my priorities a bit out of wack.

After a few hours, my mother is still staring at her pole, resting against the holder. The guide had instructed her to leave it there,

"The red pole is yours," he had said.

Mine is the blue. Untouched by me.

"The Delta is a great place to fish," I tell the guide.

"You've been here before?"

"Yesterday!"

The tip of red pole kneels down to the water and rises, kneels and rise. My mother makes a move towards the pole.

"No no, not yet," the guide tells her.

A light gentle breeze brushes my face. My mother's hands are itching, itching to touch the red pole. Touching, feeling, snagging that's what you do when fishing.

"Did you catch anything yesterday," the guide turns back to the conversation.

"Did pretty good."

Rise, kneels, rise, kneels the wind, the currents, all natures way of toying with an amateur fisherman. If there is a fish, the tip of the pole bends without popping back.

I shake my head to let my amateur mom know to settle down, she's being played.

"Really, what did you catch?"

"Large mouth bass, striper bass, sturgeons and tons of nice size sun fish."

Rise, kneels, rise, kneels, the guide wants to be the one to hook the fish when the tip bends without popping back.

"I'll hook it and you can reel it in," he had said at the beginning of the trip.

But real fishing is about the fish in the cooler just as much as the fish that got away. Real fishing is about the feel of the sinker as it sets on the bottom of the water. Real fishing is about conquering the current, the wind the tides. Real fishing is about the sliminess of the bait, the wiggle it makes, the smell it leaves on your hand. Real fishing is the feel of the pole. Most importantly real fishing is the satisfaction of knowing a fish is really hooked and no way is it going to escape.

"Want to see?" i ask him.

I didn't wait for his answer. I pull out my phone.

"Eighteen large mouths!"

"Wow, nice size," he says.

"Two large buckets of sun fish about one and a half times the size of my hands," I boasts.

"You caught it here, at the Delta?"

"Right here, yesterday, but a bit more towards that way."

Rise, kneels, rise, kneels, I am about to hook me a guide into doing what I want.

"This picture, eight striper bass, caught about twelve but had to let four go because of size."

Rise, kneels, rise kneels, he wasn't going to get away.

He stands there with my camera up to his face, stunned. I remove the red pole from it's holder and i give it to my mother. She holds her pole for the first time all day. Not a word from the guide as I'm doing this because he knows I can hook a fish just fine.

If I come back as a gecko for my boastful ways, it's well worth it, because real fishing is about holding the pole.

be back

No more posts until after the World Series. Go Giants!!

morning thought

My mother was convinced my oldest brother was going to be a doctor. When that didn't happened, she put her faith on the next kid. When that didn't pan out, it all landed on me. Slowly she became disappointed and we slowly felt like we disappointed her... no one comes ahead when that happens.

I think there are two ways to remedy this.

A. Play the odds. That lady with 56 kids in Brazil or somewhere like that had it right. I mean with 56, one is bound to come up a doctor right, or at the very least a nurse.

B. Start small. When I have kids, I'm starting with homelessness.

do overs

Mrs. Johnson and Mrs. Brown were the two fourth grade teachers in my elementary school. I had Mrs. Johnson. I don't like to brag, but I was an excellent elementary school student.

When I went into middle school, I had Mrs. Brown for math class. Mrs. Brown said she was teaching sixth grade math because of a promotion, but i thought the whole thing had stalker written all over it because seriously, i was that good of an elementary school student.

Mrs. Brown had me and Son Bui (another kid at my elementary school) at a separate table, away from everyone. We were left on our own, unsupervised because she thought we were above what the rest of the class was doing. I did not turn in one math assignment or take a test the whole year. Easiest A ever!

My family moved in the seventh grade. For the first time ever, i struggled in something at school. Math builds upon itself, and missing a whole year of learning set me back. Math became my worst subject. The only class i feared in middle, high school and college. I avoided classes that had to do with math, majors that required math (engineers, chemistry, accounting, business).

______

I erased Long's entire math assignment.

"Do it over," I told him.

"But auntie," he whined.

"I told you LT, I want to see the work," cutting short his whine fest.

I watched as he wrote down the problems, then tapped his pencil slowly on the paper.

"You stuck LT?"

"A little."

He was more than a little stuck. His first quiz was a D. His first test was a D. He was failing math.

"Let's take it from the top okay," I said. We worked out the problem step by step. He never gets the answer on the first try.

"Another?" I asked.

He nodded without looking up.

He worked the second problem. Getting one step closer to the answer. He never gets the answer on the second try.

"Another?"

He nodded.

He worked the third problem. Inching one step closer to the answer. He never gets the answer on the third try.

"Another?"

He nodded, still avoiding eye contact.

He worked the fourth problem.

"Another auntie" he demanded smiling at me. When Lt looks up and asks for another, that's the sign that he's got it.

I've been doing a lot of math lately. Going online trying to get answers, tips and help on algebra. Reading and rereading my little nephew's seventh grade math book. Math is the first thing LT does when he gets home from school. He will call me to let me know he is done. I come over to check his homework, then we'd spend another hour fixing it. If I don't see all the work, I know he has checked the back for the answers. I erase it and make him do it over.

Lt's second quiz was a B.

"My teacher said great job Long in front of the class when she handed back the quiz to me" he said.

"Did that embarrass you?"

"No, it made me feel proud auntie."

Lt's second test was an eighty-eight percent. Not bad for a kid with a D average three weeks ago and a thirty-six year old who never excelled past elementary school math. I guess that just goes to show, you're never too old for do overs.

morning thought

Why is it called a conversation when one persons sentence out put outnumber the other like 30-1? I don't know about anyone else, but my attention span is a max of 7 straight sentences, after that you're just thinking out loud and i'm wondering what is missing in my tackle box for my next fishing trip.

a new day

The other day my friend of almost ten years said something to the effect of,

"Because of you, i can't tell when my subject verb agreement is off anymore."

Too bad cause her English used to be excellent. After years of trying to follow her lead, I've given up. A team is only as strong as its' weakest link. I've come to terms with being the weak link, the drano in a pipe of grammatical correctness.

New goal. Asianize Americans, one whitey at a time.

weighted knowledge

My father grew up in a little town along the Mekong Delta called Vinh Long. When I went there this summer, my father asked me to give my uncle a hundred dollar, which translates to about 1.6 million dong. To put things into perspective, a Nike factory worker along the Delta makes 200,000 to 300,000 dong a month. Therefore, 1.6 million dong should afford my uncle plenty of things, except maybe a pair of Nike.

The last time I saw my uncle was over fifteen years ago, so it's safe to say that i've packed on a few pounds here and there. Pounds that i like to think of as weighted knowledge. For example, a gallon of butter pecan ice cream is not good for the thighs. Weighted knowledge, now i know. Family bucket of KFC chicken, not meant for a family of one. Weighted knowledge, now i know. My body is nothing but knowledge, my butt, my cheeks, my hips, my chubby little fingers..i am a walking encyclopedia.

Anyhow, my uncle had nothing but fat comments for me the moment i saw him. There is just something ironic about fat jokes from a guy whose belly is a good foot and a half ahead of the rest of his body when he walks. So on my second day there, I decided to deduct a 100,000 dong for every fat comment he makes. The third day, when i said goodbye, i left him 600,000 dong. He lost a million dong. At that rate, had I stayed another day, he would have had to mortgaged his straw house to pay for his mouth.

el camino

There were three hermits sharing a cave. One day a horse came by. A year passed and one of the hermits said, "Pretty black horse."

Another year passed and the second hermit said, "It was white."

Another year goes by and the third hermit said, "I'm going to have to find a new cave if this chattering doesn't stop."

****

The Shockley boys (Clint, Jonathan and I can't remember the youngest brother) have been giving the Vietnamese kids a hard time for a while now. Jonathan (the middle kid) and I have been classmates since the seventh grade. He teased me about my eyes and the way I look from the time I first met him. If he wasn't so hung up on my nationality, he would have found plenty of other material to work with. I wasn't the smoothest kid in the world.

We just dropped everyone off. It's just me, Thong and Lai now. Cruising the streets of Wichita, KS at two in the morning. My parents are asleep, thinking I'm doing the same thing. When the statute of limitations for grounding runs out, I might tell them of my escapades.

Lai spots the Shockley's house and the El Camino in the driveway. He stops. Three teenagers, unlimited boredom and limited cash with a vendetta to pay. It's a bad night to be a Shockley.

My friend Lai is an honor roll student, all state soccer player and good looking guy. Thong can barf and crap on command. He is a great resource to have when you need a test postponed. All I have to do is ask, and he will leave something on the floor. They are my boys, my best friends.

They get out of the car. I scoot over to the driver side manning my post as the getaway driver. I see a stream of water emitting from Lai onto the driver's side of the El Camino. Thong is inside with his pants pulled down and leaving the remains of his dinner.

If the Shockley boys weren't such hermits, they'd realize that we listen to New Kids on the Block just like them. We get bored like all teenagers. We sneak out and grey our parents hair prematurely like they do. We struggle with our lockers especially on days we are running behind.

If the Shockely boys weren't such hermits, they'd have a better understanding of demographics. They would realize that Asians outnumber them by a few billion. If I were the Shockleys, I'd pick on the Croatians with a population slightly over 4 million. But if the Asians are too enticing, then they better lock their doors at night because the next time we will be packing some x-lax.

morning thought

I don't know how fish do it. A camera adds easily 20 lbs on me. Every portrait I have ever taken of a fish looks five lbs smaller. It's like I'm catching nemo. Gotta add more plankton to my diet.

vietnamese guilt

My mother is always trying to move on to her next life. I don't know why she is in such a hurry.

When she is mad at my dad, it's...

"I'm not going to get married in my next life."

I'm pretty sure my father doesn't want to be married in this life.

When she is mad at me, it's....

"I don't know where I went wrong, but I'm going to be better the next time around."

For those not familiar with Vietnamese guilt, it means that I'm the punishment for her sins.

I counter with,

"Dad doesn't want to be married to you."

Okay, I don't say that. But mom better watch out, I might not be so nice in my next life.

morning thought

How come I have never heard anyone say,

"Come Wednesday, I'm going on a diet?"

People always start diets on Mondays. I guess people are just not interested in losing the weight from Tuesday-Sunday. If you are 100 lbs overweight, can you really afford to be picky?

some hills

When I was a freshman in high school, my brother Quoc was a senior. He had a car, a job, money, and a locker on the first floor. I had a lunch card, a backpack, a third floor locker and five out of seven classes on the first floor with five minutes between classes.

Due to his urging, I joined the tennis team. Something about it being "good for my college resume." He never played a sport in high school, but a mental midget like me didn't see the irony in what he was saying.

Because Quoc didn't play a sport, he had to either wait for me after school until practice was over or go home and come back. He hadn't thought about how it would inconvenience him or I bet he wouldn't even have suggested joining the tennis team.

Mental midgets, that condition must run in my family.

When tennis was over I joined the basketball team. My brother complained and made rude comments everyday. It started at seven thirty in the morning with the ride to school and continued at five thirty after practice. It was constant pissyness. A month into my basketball season, I quit the team. I stopped riding with him to school. I woke up an extra thirty minutes every morning and waited for the bus. Didn't care how bad it made me look on my college resume. I'd go to a trade school if I had to. Welding, that doesn't require an athletic resume.

One day my friend Susie Stoner and I were messing around and missed our bus. Middle of winter in Kansas, cold and snowy. We were walking home in the snow, and yes, there might have been some hills when my brother drove past us. Made eye contact and kept going. When I tell people this story, I always say,

"And do you know how far my house was to the school? It was a heck of a long way." Yup, that's what I tell them. But from this day forward, thanks to mapquest, I can say it was 3.34 miles in the snow with possibly some hills.

It took over two hours to get home. I got sick and missed over a week of school, gave me plenty of time to read up on welding.

a cup of coffee

My oldest brother is four years my senior. We used to have these Monopoly marathons when I was a kid. I'd get up to use the bathroom and would come back to find him giggling.

"Put it back," I'd say.

"What?"

"I quit if you don't put it back."

Then my brother would take a house off of one of his properties or put five hundred dollars back in the bank.

"Okay, you happy?"

The die were in my hand, ready to be rolled. The air was still. My brother was the perp and I was the cold stone detective waiting for him to crack. He avoided eye contact. My hours of little sister training taught me to wait. The murmur of a giggle. It was time to read him his rights.

"Put it back."

"Okay okay," he begged.

Another five hundred goes back into the banker stash along with an electric company and another property from the orange neighborhood. This continued until he stopped giggling. Then I know he's given it all back.

****

The airplane is about to land. SFO to Vietnam is a long trip. Instead of handing out pretzels and peanuts, passengers get unlimited cup of noodles. When in Rome right?

It's hot and muggy, typical Vietnamese weather any time of year. Except, during the monsoon season--it's hot, muggy and rainy. I don't know if the change in weather pattern helps or hurts the locals, but to a foreigner like me the rain never helps anything.

I walk down the flight of stairs to wait for my shuttle to the main building. Lines to the Vietnamese are like stop signs to the Italians, mere suggestions. As more old people make their way down the plane, I find myself further back of the line. My mother always tells me to be nice to old people because their time on this earth is limited. It's safe to say I have been waiting for people to croak since I was a kid.

A short two minute ride leads us to the airport building. With only my backpack and fresh legs, I sprint past the line cutters down one corridor to another until I reach a big open room. At the end of the room sits the Customs Agents. I gather my visa and passport for the guy in the green uniform when he motions for me.

"Hey, whats up?" I ask the guy in green.

He inspects my paperwork.

"How long are you here for," he asks me in Vietnamese.

I give him a blank look. The blank clueless look is my greatest asset, gotten me out of almost every predicament I've been in.

"You Vietnamese," he asks in English.

I nod without dropping the look.

"You speak Vietnamese?" he continues.

I shake my head. Lack of speaking lends more credibility to the whole cluelessness.

"What kind of Vietnamese don't speak Vietnamese," he mutters in Vietnamese.

He stamps all the necessary documents and I'm free to go.

It's the line cutters turn. They gather their visas and passports. They make their way to the an agent. The line cutters greet the agents with much respect.

"Chao Chu," they always say. (Chao Chu=hello Mr. -- it's from the Vietnamese who don't speak from the Vietnamese dictionary. Those reading this might want to verify from another source.)

They are immediately toast. By speaking, they just broke the cardinal rule of cluelessness.

"Buy me a cup of coffee," the agent says.

The line cutters slide over the visa and passport. The guy in the green uniform opens the passport to find a crisp $20 American bill. The line cutters know that if the agent in the green doesn't get his bribe, he is going to make it difficult for them to leave the airport. They will be detained because something on the paperwork isn't right or certain items in the luggage is "illegal." It's just easier to buy him his coffee then to be detained for hours.

Everyone is trying to get ahead in this world. A twenty here, a hundred there, an Illinois card no one will miss, an extra hotel on Park Avenue, this kind of corruption happens every day at the airport in Vietnam. A government without a conscience hurts its own people. Line cutters are screwed over because no one from the top yells, "put it back."

a grandmother's perspective

My parents have taken care of my little nephew since he was one. Fed, clothed, changed diapers, monitored high temperatures, scolded, gushed about the kid for 3285 days straight. The summer after his 5th grade, he went to live with his dad in Vietnam. One day we drove past his elementary school and my mother said, "The school is a lot emptier this year."

morning thought

I'm really shocked that there hasn't been any attention given to doping in bingo. For those of you that don't know what I'm talking about, go to a bingo hall, get yourself ONE bingo card and try to keep up with an octogenarian with fifteen cards. They are juiced up on something in there.

I know the AARP is a powerful group, but Congress needs to intervene. I propose a special commission to investigate, maybe we can get George Mitchell involved as he has prior experience with the whole baseball/steroids investigation. The pressure to win and the lure of a $15 jackpot can be astounding when you are on a fixed income, but we need to do something to help the younger generations. The last thing we need as a society is to see 40 and 50 year olds emulating these poor decisions.

opportunities

Opportunity. If I had just one wish in this world, I'd wish for my little nephew to have a lifetime of opportunities.

At four my nephew wanted to be a grandmaster chess player. He skipped the whole, policeman and fireman obsession of most boys and went right to admiring guys name Kasparov, Botvinik and Fischer. It was cute at first, until he started kicking my butt. At one point, I made up reasons to ground him just to regain some sort of control. The worse the beatings, the more severe the punishments. One game he beat me in three moves. The kid didn't see daylight for two weeks.

At eight, he wanted to be a rapper. I was told that rappers write about what they know. I wrote this rap for him.

I wanted rice. Grandma gave me noodles.

She yelled eat-whatever the I give you.

Eight year old Vietnamese kid, didn't really give me a lot to work with there.

At ten he wanted to be a football player, a wide receiver. We'd play catch everyday after school. I told him I'd represent him for thirty percent. He did a google search and told me typical agents make between four to ten percent. I countered with twenty. He said he'll only go as high as twelve. Negotiations broke down, and we had a lock-out. Never played football again.

He currently wants to be an NBA player, a shooting guard. He has a nice smooth fluid stroke. I have the height advantage. We shoot hoops everyday in the driveway. Still think I can get thirty percent.

I'm not sure where this path of dreams will take him when he's eighteen or twenty-five or ninety-seven, but I hope that someone will always open the door when he comes knocking.

****

There is this guy named Mike. Comes in my shop every Sunday. I make him a cup of coffee, two spoons of sugar and a splash of half and half with a straw. He loves the San Francisco Giants. Told me once he was going to get married. I wished him the best of luck.

Mikes parents gave him up as a baby because back when he was born, that's what parents were encouraged to do with special needs kids. He was born without arms. His face is deformed, his cheeks are squeezed together so tight that his words are inaudible, unless you try really hard. And even then, there are no guarantees his thoughts are understood. He eats and drinks everything through a straw, because he has to.

He cheats at scrabble. He spelled zbinka on a triple word square. I didn't know what to do, so I gave him 2000 points for it. Then he tried to play off faqaor for another 1,000 points when my competitive side made him use it in a sentence. It was then did I realize that because of his condition, he can't see the letters on the little wooden squares. I looked at his letters, and have him spell out the words I saw. He didn't miss a single word. Final score 2150-89. He zbinka me in scrabble, worst defeat ever.

He likes music.

Yellow Submarine, The Beatles.

"1968," Mike said.

You send me, Sam Cooke.

"1957."

Heartbreak Hotel, Elvis Presley

"1955."

Mike can tell me a song, the artist and the year the song was released. I played nice though, stayed away from things like Snoop Dog and Lady Gaga, but who knows, he might have gotten that too. Never underestimate a guy who wins by over 2000 points in Scrabble.

Yesterday he came into my shop decked out in SF Giants gear.

"Game 162, Giants going home if they don't take it today Mike."

When he left, he approached me with a seriousness I have never seen before said,

"They got to win today, they're going home?"

That afternoon the Giants had the opportunity to take down the Padres. They took home the National League West title with a 3-0 victory. Doors don't open too often for guys like Mike. People don't normally answer when he knocks.

My favorite baseball team is the Tampa Bay Rays, winner of the American League East and has the best record in the MLB. If the Rays meet the Giants in the world series, I'm pulling for the Giants all the way. If that happens, I'm going to get Mike a cup of coffee, with two spoons of sugar and a splash of half and half and talk about the how the Giants are the 2010 world champs. Mike would love the opportunity for that chat, and so would I.

cats in the cradle

When I was in the eighth grade, my oldest brother Nhan, my parents and my mom's sister (thirty something at the time) went to pick my brother Quoc up in Boulder, Co. It's about an eight hour trip on a normal bladder, twenty four on my aunts. At the time, I thought my body and I went into an irrevocable contract to not ever be like my aunt.

I just turned thirty-six two weeks ago. Been on the comp for an hour and am about to go on my third bathroom break.

If life offers you a lemon, make lemonade. Too bad it doesn't mention anything about pissing it out every five minutes.

morning thought

11:50 at night doesn't really qualify as "morning," but when the ever elusive thought comes, I can't be too picky.

There's a saying that people start to look alike after they are married for a while. I was just thinking how much more efficient hill billies are. Marrying a first cousin cuts like twenty years out of the process.

hot commodity

My ex sister-in-law is what one can refer to as a F.O.B (fresh of the boat). She is like the a Clampett in Beverly (Hills that is).

Anyhow, Long, my little nephew's first day of fifth grade was a very traumatic day for the Trinh family.

"He's better off in Vietnam, he needs to be with his dad," my father told me.

Dad can be a bit dramatic in traumatic times. Me, I'd start small. New school. If that doesn't work, maybe another school system. Then work my way up to another city. A neighboring state after that. Then something within the same continent.

"What happened?"

"The principal sent Long home with a letter."

Minh Clampette took Long to school that morning. Because it was the first day, there was a meet the parents, check out the classroom, get to know the place kind of thing. Minh noticed this plump kid named Austin.

SIDENOTE: "Plump" kids are rare commodity in Vietnam, so the ones that are around get a lot of play.

Anyhow, Minh chased Austin around squeezing his cheeks and saying inappropriate things like, "You're so cute, so fat, so cute."

And Austin was running away screaming,

"Leave me alone!"

And Long was chasing his mom who was chasing Austin yelling,

"Mama Clampette, leave him alone!"

SIDENOTE: The last time I checked, Austin's therapist said he was progressing just fine.

So after work I went to my parents house. I wanted to check on Long, inspect the note and make the necessary travel accomodations for the kid.

"Long, let me see that letter."

The kid didn't move. So I figured he didn't hear me or was still in some sort of shock from the whole experience.

"Long, did you hear me, I want to see that letter."

Still nothing. His lack of attentiveness irritated me.

"Zimbabwe, somewhere remote, without electricity or running water, that'll teach you to ignore me," I thought.

But, before I have the kid deported, I decided to give him another chance.

"BLT (Bao Long Trinh), I said get me that paper," this time with a little more volume which could be misinterpreted by the next door neighbor as screaming.

The kid walked over, ever so slowly, bends down and said,

"There is no note."

A long pause on my part.

"What?" I mumbled.

"She embarrassed me auntie, I made the note part up."

An even longer pause.

"You made it up?'

He nods.

"Oh my god LT, that's brilliant."

He flashed me a smile. I guess he thought I'd be mad, but I am an rabid fan of all evil plans.

SIDENOTE: My therapist said I was progressing just fine.

"Okay LT, I have to get some stuff done for my catering, but I will be back to help you with the note."

LT didn't wait for me. When I came back from doing my errands, I was presented with this official document from a big Judge Judy fan.

Long explained to his mom that "Mr. Huff, the principal" said that if she signed the paper and said she is sorry and promised not to to mess with any other hot commodities, then she didn't have to report to his office Monday. Notice the signature and the words, "I'm sorry."

Welcome to Beverly (Hills that is) Mama Clampett.

new strategy

The premise behind "morning thought" came from my friend Ed.

"Write just one thought a day Han, just one thought."

Easy enough! Gotta love Ed, he never gives me more than I can handle.

THEN...

I looked at my blog and realized I haven't had a thought since Thursday. Four days nothing!

Time for a new plan, or a different friend?

morning thought

Why are old women viewed as "sweet" and "adorable" by everyone except the daughter(s) that they gave birth to?

My mother is a pill and not in the medicinal benefits sense of the word. She is more the side effect...the increase in blood pressure, dizziness, upset stomach and bouts with depression.

Please consult your physician before approaching mom.

remember when

I get all my stories second hand. I prefer it this way. None of the uncomfortable emotional baggage that comes from talking to the actual person it happened to. Anyhow, this story I'm about to relay to you is from my personal observations and fourth and fifth person accounts.

Remember When was a store on Niles Blvd for over twenty years. Before I came into the picture, it sold antiques. After I came into the picture, it sold beanie babies, hot dogs, ice cream, drinks and snacks. The proprietors were Sue and John.

I've been inside the place about thirty to forty times in the past six years. Sometimes by my own choosing. Sometimes by Sue's urging. I wouldn't say we were friends. I'd call us acquaintances.

A few observations about Sue:

1. She gave away too many freebies.

2. She has rubber band timing. Her store hours were perimeters. Actual hours vary.

3. She likes to talk.

A few observations about John:

1. Grumpy-once he told me he'd "rather be dead" when i asked him how he was doing.

2. Grumpy and mean-especially to his wife from several of my third and fourth sources.

3. He works for NASA in some capacity. It's not an observation, but the fact that he has a full time job is important to note here.

For as long as I've been in Niles, the consensus was that John was a jerk. He was unhappy to be at the shop. Unhappy to help her out.

About a month after the store was closed I found out that John had taken a second mortgage out on their house to pay for the shop. In all twenty years, the shop never made a dime. For twenty years John helped Sue out at the shop after work. For twenty years he was there almost every weekend.

"I could have retired five years ago if I didn't have to keep paying for the shop," John told a friend of mine.

The shop was Sue's life. You didn't need a first, second, fourth or tenth person account to see that. And underneath the grumpiness and meanness, Sue is John's life. I guess I just needed to chop down all the people standing in the way to find the truth behind this story.

karma

My number of bait used to actual fish caught ratio is pathetic. The bait shop at the Skyway Pier where I fish sells a dozen greenbacks (bait fish) for around three dollars. If I were to buy bait at that price, each fish I catch would cost me a thousand dollars and unquantifiable aggravation.

Not to jeopardize my retirement funds anymore, I decided to shell out two hundred dollars for a net. With each cast, I can catch ten to a few hundred greenbacks. The dollar per fish goes down exponentially with this method, but really does nothing with the unquantifiable aggravation factor.

****

The guy that's been fishing ten feet from me for the past two hours shouts, "Hey, are those greenbacks?" He hasn't said so much as a hello to me the past two hours, but I knew our paths would cross the moment my net drops.

He hurries over to my spot as I'm emptying my bait into my cooler.

"You got greenbacks?" he inquires again.

"Yeah, some."

"Hey, can I buy some from you? My buddy and I are running low. We just can't seem to keep them alive."

He stores his greenbacks in a bait well with no aerators. I had noticed this when I first arrived. Even with aerators, his fish won't live for more than a few hours, so it came as no surprise that his bait are all dead. I wonder what the guy's bait to fish caught ratio is.

"You can have some on my next drop."

My first cast yielded me about seventy small greenbacks with a few big ones mixed in. I'm here for another five hours, and unlike other fishermen, I don't bother to keep my bait alive. I ice it to avoid the body from disintegrating.

"You sure, you want a coke or a bottled water or something, we have lots of drinks."

"No thanks, I'm good," I tell him.

I came up with a better yield on the second drop, about a hundred sixty small greenbacks and ten nice large ones. By the way, I don't have Rainman like math skills in anything other than fishing. And for those (and when I say those, I mean my whole two followers), it could have been thirty fish total, but you know this is a fishing story so I'm trying to keep with the theme.

"Help yourself."

"This guy better not take all the big ones," I am thinking as I'm putting away my net.

"Your pole fell over," his friend coolly mutters.

The guy runs back to his spot. I look inside my cooler to find all the nice sized bait gone.

"What a dick," I mumble.

"That was my brand new pole!" the man who took all my large greenbacks and left me with nothing but small ones shouts at his friend.

While he was picking through my cooler, a fish took his bait, dragged his pole over the pier and into the Gulf of Mexico. And for the next thirty minutes, the man couldn't say anything other than

"Mother f---king big fish. That was one mother f---king big fish."

And ten feet from him, someone flashes a "Mother f---king karma" smile.

morning thought

There is just something brilliant about flies that land on your head. I bet that no violent act(s) against flies have ever been committed by humans while perched on someone's head. Is that brilliant or low standards on my part?

forfeiting heaven

My workday starts promptly at 7ish. My father rolls into the Cafe a little before 9. He helps me out if I'm a little behind, then helps himself to a cup of coffee and the newspaper. The phone rings around 10.

"Is your dad there?"

I look at my father. He shakes his head and waves his hand and returns to the tranquillity of the comics (Tranquillity is not a state my father experiences frequently in the presence of my mother).

"I don't see him mom."

With the exceptions of holidays and days off, I pretty much lie to my mother 340 days a year on behalf of my father. I'm not sure what the magical number is, but I'm pretty sure I'm over the limit of lies allowed to get into Heaven. Let's hope dad takes this into account when making out the will.

checking in

I had a guy tell me once that I am his worst nemesis, and that was before I started dating him. I was definitely not watching the signs on that one! I don't really have much to expand on that.

My friend Maria Moesch (I seem to attract the Marias of the world, so I thought it was worth noting) suggested that I should have a "web presence."

"What the hell am I going to write about?"
"Anything Han, a thought...write about the cafe, about your parents," Maria with the 13 year old daughter (yup, we're still on the same Maria) said.

Anyhow, my mind is blanker than usual today...but I did manage to dig up that tidbit about the whole nemesis thing.