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You wanna know what I ate today?I forget. 4月30日 Vietnam: Where Are All the Americans?I've been here exactly one month now and I've only met five Americans. (Peter met one other one morning when he went for coffee without me.) There are a decent number of foreign travelers here, but they're all from France, Australia, England, Canada, Germany, New Zealand, Switzerland, Belgium, or South Africa. Peter commented that it used to be easy to identify American travelers, but we've been surprised every time we hear a suspected American speak. I think we can safely attribute this to the pace at which fashion trends now sweep the globe and the degree to which cross-pollination happens. Hipsters across the globe look more or less the same, though I've noticed that older Europeans don't often fall victim to the khaki shorts, white socks, fanny pack and baseball cap combo.
From conversations we've had with other travelers, it seems the European economy is probably suffering more than America's. Besides, anyone who would have decided to fly here in the first place probably had the means to do so regardless of the hit on their mutual funds. I honestly have no idea if Vietnam or Southeast Asia has ever been a popular destination for Americans. Judging from some of the emails in my Inbox, I guess Mexico and South America are probably doing a better job wooing American travelers. It's a real shame because Vietnam's such an interesting place. It's definitely a bit challenging if you're not an adventurous eater, if you need to stick to a firm itinerary, or if you don't speak any Vietnamese, but it wouldn't be impossible even if you had to deal with all those things. And although the flight here is long and a bit expensive, the tickets I saw for Vietnam were cheaper than the ticket I bought to Argentina. The cost of everything here is even cheaper than it is in Argentina, too!
While it's sad there aren't more Americans here, I suppose we do have a reputation for finding ways to taint the places we visit or at least sh*t all over them for the ways that they're not like America. It's probably for the best that we're not running into Tom and Sally from the good old USA because, God forbid, they could be talking real loud on their cell phones, moaning about how even the sandwiches here are weird, while they unfairly burdened a cyclo driver or rolled their eyes at a waitress because her English isn't perfect... 4月29日 Vietnam: Turning VietnameseI think I've mentioned it before, but it's a strange place to be: straddling that line between being Viet Kieu, Vietnamese-American, and straight up American. Being able to assume a role as circumstances require is certainly convenient, but it's not something I'm doing without considering the implications.
Do I smile blankly or pretend not to understand when hawkers call out to me, "Chi, oi"? Almost always. Do I feel a slight twinge of fear when ticket vendors ask if I'm purchasing a ticket as a nguoi Viet (Vietnamese person)? Yes, though I am by at least some definitions. Did I bristle when the curator/ticket checker at the Museum of Trade Ceramics in Hoi An questioned the validity of the Vietnamese-by-association ticket that I had purchased for my husband? Of course I did. Do I ever wonder if someone's talking to me even when they're just on the phone with someone else? All the time.
It's awkward, trying to claim some legitimacy as a Vietnamese person by heritage even though I can't claim it by country of birth. I have always thought of myself as Vietnamese. I LOVE it when, after a decent conversational exchange, people ask if I'm a tourist from Saigon, but I'm then immediately both embarrassed and relieved to explain that I'm from America. I guess I prefer to be the first in line to be dismissive of myself if anyone's going to be, but I also hate to spoil my fantasy that I could be accepted here... I also know that there's a lot about me that is distinctly and irrefutably American and I don't want to have to hide that.
And I don't just say that I'm visiting from America. I specify that I was born there. It's how I try to excuse my poor manners and even worse language skills. I also always say that my Dad's from Hai Duong, a town in the North, and that my Mom's from the South, near Ben Tre. This absolutely helps because it wins me favor with people whether they are on one side of the camp or the other. At the very least, it at least helps them understand why my vocabulary and pronuncation are an ungainly hodgepodge of both. I should mention that I've gotten blank stares and uncomfortable silences with quite a few people from mien Trung (the central provinces), who seem to require as much concentration to understand me as I need to understand them.
But I am Vietnamese if my parents are Vietnamese and I grew up steeped in the culture (albeit in a new incarnation), right? But is that claim not my birthright because my parents defected? Because I never lived in Vietnam and can't possibly know what it really means to live here? I can't help but wonder anyone would ever challenge me by doing something so simple as requesting to see my passport and then chewing me out because mine's blue and clearly states I was born in the States. And I don't think I could be sufficiently indignant if I had to defend myself in Vietnamese instead of English. Am I really "coming home," as I typically state, or am I just another foreigner to the people who live here? Naturally, there's no clear answer.
Tonight, we had the most amazing meal. The chef-owner sat with us at the end of the evening and told us about how his life led him from Vietnam to America to places all over the world, and then back to Vietnam. He said he came home, in part, to get back in touch with his roots, to really immerse himself in the language and culture so that when he had kids, they'd really be Vietnamese. Keep in mind this is a guy who was 17 when he left the country, only to make his initial return only nine years late. At one point, he described how much it pissed him off so much when he saw Viet Kieu come to Vietnam and pretend not to understand Vietnamese that he wanted to pop those people in the jaw whenever he sees them. He's Viet Kieu himself. It had never occurred to me that anyone might have witnessed this kind of behavior and formed an opinion about it, especially such a strong one. I couldn't help but interject to describe to him how it so often feels easier and safer to pretend you're just a generic foreigner. It's at those times that you aren't in a special class reserved especially for "traitors" or people who owe anyone else here anything in exchange for their having found a more comfortable life. For me, it says I'm someone who never had to make a choice between staying, leaving, or coming back. This is simply my first visit to Vietnam. Full stop.
This won't be my last visit to Vietnam, but I suspect that before I pack up and move here, I'll have to more clearly define and accept that I'll play significantly different oles in each place whether I like it or not. Not ideal, but still easier than trying to tackle those difficult and highly subjective questions. 4月15日 Vietnam: This Is How We Do ItI've been in Vietnam for a little over two weeks now and there are some cultural differences I'd like to note.
Dining
- napkins: people don't use them at home. Instead, everyone shares a wet washcloth at the end. When entertaining Westerners, hosts might produce a roll of toilet paper or a box of Kleenex or newspaper. You will be presented with wet wipes whenever you eat in a restaurant (as opposed to a street kitchen), but you'll be charged for them. If you don't use them, the cost can be deducted from your bill. Dry "napkins" (typically toilet paper encased in a plastic barrel) are free.
- detritus: in someone's home, you can just put fish and meat bones on the table. Anywhere other than the nicest restaurants (I suspect...haven't been to one yet), you just deposit any and all your trash on the floor. You put your beer bottles and cans here, too, to account for the number of drinks you've had at the end of the night. Like napkins, if you order a drink you don't open, you can have it deducted from the bill.
- bill: when you're ready, just holler out to any passing waiter or across the room to the cashier when you want your bill.
- menus: lots of places don't have them. Or, if they do, they don't necessarily have prices. I also suspect they have different menus for Vietnamese, Viet Kieu, and other foreigners.
- serving yourself: you never serve yourself until you've verbally invited everyone else to eat. The order in which you do this is important, too: eldest male followed by eldest female, and so on and so forth. Wait until the most senior person has picked up their chopsticks before you pick up yours.
- frequency with which people eat: maybe it's just because we're being entertained by family a lot of the time, but people eat all day long. We've had some fairly unbearable days when we've eaten a meal on our own, and then had to eat lunch at our aunt's house, followed by lunch at our uncle's house, followed by snacks at another uncle's house. You also see people at street kitchens all throughout the day.
- types of restaurants: There's a hierarchy of places to eat and prices vary accordingly. There are nha hang, restaurants housed within a proper building. I'm assuming prices are high because you pay for their electricity, fans, and stoves.
- stoves: gas plumbing is a luxury most people don't seem to have. I've only seen people cooking over coals or propane burners.
- low stance: we eat on the ground or near it a lot of the time. Furniture is another luxury good. Platters are used as tables and newspapers an extension of them when necessary.
Bathrooms
- toilet paper: carry your own. In someone's home, you can use the do-it-yourself-bidet (aka bucket with scoop next to the toilet) or a sprayer coming out of the wall.
- soap: even when a public bathroom has toilet paper, it doesn't have soap. Carry Purell.
- sinks: bathrooms in people's homes don't have a sink.
- wet showers: no shower curtains or doors = less mildewed surfaces to scrub. It's humid here. Bathroom floors are always wet. You just wipe your feet on the towel or mat on the floor on your way out.
Social interaction
- pushing: I think I've mentioned the pushing. Absolute strangers have no problem whatsoever with pushing you out of the way. Nowhere is this worst than when boarding a plane. It's like people think they're going to be left behind if they don't get on straight away.
- thank yous: you're not expected to say "thank you" for much, especially not when leaving a shop or when a family member's done something for you. I've been called out a number of times for saying "thank you" to my aunts, uncles, and cousins. It's an oddity they say isn't necessary because we're family. I've received thank yous only after giving someone a cash gift, presumably because it's a bigger gesture to them than all the things they've done for me day-to-day.
- addressing others: social hierarchy rules are complex. It's okay to guess how to address someone based on their age, but to be safe, call them by a denomination that connotes respect. Sometimes, this means both of you call each other "older sister," which makes no sense, but is at least polite. If you call someone "Di" (aunt on your mother's side) when they're "Mo" (older aunt) or "Chi" (older sister/cousin) when they're "Em" (younger sister/cousin), they'll correct you.
Driving
- laws: I'm assuming there are laws, but pretty much anything goes. My cousin has even driven down the wrong way on a one-way street.
- scooters: there are more scooters than cars. Cars are a rarity. Most that you see are taxis. There are designated lanes for scooters, not that lane markings mean much.
- speed limits: because of the number of cars and the amount of passing that happens, the speed limits all throughout the country, even on highways, are low. We haven't broken 80km/hr even in the dead of night on long stretches.
- right of way: like Brazil, you are only responsible for being aware of what's happening in front of you. Everyone behind you is responsible for not crashing into you as they work their way around you. This means you can start a turn or lane change whenever you want as long as you do it slowly.
- pedestrians: cross the street by looking for any kind of opening and then just walking across in a predictable fashion, stopping only when absolutely necessary.
- honking: there are different types of honks, but people honk regularly to alert other drivers of their presence. Horns are loud, especially when you're a pedestrian.
- maps/street names: no one here uses a map. All the street names are the same from town to town. Pretty much anyone you ask can direct you to where you want to go.
Flesh baring
- kids vs. adults: people are obsessed with kids' genitals. I've seen adults and other kids run over and grab a baby's package (lovingly) and have been invited to do so myself. Kids get undressed for portraits when they're really young. These portraits are displayed proudly by all. Toddlers will walk around in the street bottomless. Adult women, on the other hand, don't bare their shoulders or chest.
Leisure activities: they don't have them.
Sexism: I'll have to save that for an entirely separate post altogether. 4月14日 Vietnam: Crap from AmericaI thought I might be able to escape the "Viet Kieu" designation seeing as to how I wasn't actually born in Vietnam and am therefore not returning to it, but there doesn't seem to be much sense in trying to explain myself because everyone would still treat me the same way. It's interesting how everyone you meet wants to know, first off, where you're from. "O ngoai (from outside)?" is what they usually guess before I even get a chance to answer. That threw me the first couple times I heard it because, while nonspecific, it definitely sets up a subtle us-versus-them dynamic immediately.
People here also ask, in undisguised disbelief, if I really speak "tieng minh (our language)". I do and I don't, depending on who you ask. Sometimes, they're shocked that I speak any at all, but then they're not impressed that I can read and write a little. It's as though, duh, of course you would if you speak it. Other times, after I've set expectations by telling them I speak only a little, that my vocabulary is not great, people are dismissive and say to each other, "Oh, she doesn't actually speak it at all." It's a little frustrating. I'm learning some useful new words, but for some reason, I still understand the comedy skits on those Vietnamese variety shows better than I do some of the conversations I'm a party to here... Accents are pretty strong. Some cousins speak very quickly, others very softly. A lot of the time, they have in-jokes already and I don't understand enough of the wordplay to get what's so funny, but I'm always happy as hell when I do catch on and can think of something funny to say myself.
I had an interesting experience at the roadside roast corn stand out in the countryside. One of cousins drove me out there on her scooter. We sat down with the vendor and a gaggle of women. She seemed to know all of them (small town, you know?). Everyone stared at me the entire time. I didn't sense anyone had made any particular judgments about me besides noting that I couldn't handle the jungle heat. I'm a profuse face sweater, especially when I eat. But as we were about to get up an leave, a new lady sat down and started chatting. After a minute or two, she noticed me and asked who I was. My cousin told her I was there visiting, so I smiled and said hello. She visibly jumped and then asked my cousin (not me; this is common, being alternately stared at and ignored), "She speaks our language?" I jumped in with my usual response. The lady asked my cousin how long I'd been away. My cousin exclaimed, "She was born there!" "Born there? She was born in America, but she looks so binh dan." I'd seen "com binh dan" on restaurant signs all over Saigon and I'd read in the guidebook that those are places where lots of ordinary Vietnamese people eat if they eat out, so I knew it connoted something like "ordinary" or maybe "like us". Even so, I clarified with my mom when I got back to my aunt's house because the phrase wasn't in my dictionary. My mom confirmed it meant "regular" or "typical". At this point, my cousin had come back in the room and I told her, "I didn't know if that woman was complimenting me or criticizing me!" I get the sense that a lot of Vietnamese people come back here with resculpted noses, laden in gold, and carrying designer handbags to show what they've made of their lives "over there". Meanwhile, I was just wearing linen capri pants and a mustard-yellow tee-shirt. No makeup. Hair pulled back. Lots of sweat and lots of bug bites. As my mom would say, "I looked like crap from America." I think the lady was a little dissapointed, but I took it as a compliment. I'm not flashy at home, so why be so in a place and situation where it would only serve to set up an even greater disparity between me and everyone else? There's already a Grand Canyon's worth of differences separating us that I have to sit with and have yet to fully sort out... 4月9日 Vietnam: Food and FamilyMeeting family has not been nearly as emotionally ravaging as I thought it would be. Mainly, I thought my mom would be a big ball of tears the whole time but she's been fairly stoic. I think she's listening to this one side of the story and is preparing to take in the other sides before she decides anything. I'm quite proud of her for that. After all, she's heard countless times from her other siblings that she shouldn't send any money home to the one aunt I've just met because that aunt is supposedly wealthy. (While she's certainly not destitute, I wouldn't call the house she lives in with her daughter, son-in-law, and two granddaughters a palace. Land is not cheap in Saigon and I think they paid what amounts to $30,000 USD for it. It's approximately 15-20 feet wide by 12 feet deep and two stories tall. I'm pretty sure she sleeps in the livingroom, a space that is considerably smaller than the bedroom where I spent most of my childhood and teen years and which also serves as the famiy room and diningroom. The space is devoid of all furniture except a small plastic stool and an entertainment unit where they keep their medicines, glassware, pillows, blankets, altar, and TV, among other things.) You know how it is with family. Everyone's got one side of the story and it always features them as the long-suffering soul.
There were a few tears when we first pulled up in front of my aunt's house. The visit was supposed to be a surprise. As far as everyone knew, we weren't due in for at least another day. Because of the ambush, there was more laughter than tears. My aunt is goofy like my mom. She poked her head out the door to see who it was, yelled, and then ran back inside the house. While my mom was still doubled over, my aunt came running back out and gave my mom a good smack on each butt cheek. Anyone who knows my family knows this is something we do to each other with regularity. I walked into her house and she did the same with me! It was such a familiar way of greeting someone you've never met that I couldn't help but be won over immediately. Even sweeter was the way my little niece Thuy Duong ran up to me and my mom and gave us big hugs in turn. She's only three, so it was a "bear hug around the legs" variety.
My cousin Diep, my aunt's eldest daughter, showed up minutes later on her scooter. She came in the house and smacked me on the arm first thing when I greeted her as "Di", which means "aunt". "Di? I'm your chi!" "Chi" is "older sister". Diep immediately went into the kitchen and came out minutes later bearing loads of food and fruit. We have eaten so much everyday we see them. Even if we've already eaten, they make us eat more. Diep's been a cook at a restaurant and really is a great cook. The amount of fruit has been insane. And it's all so so good. After every meal, we eat a bunch of soursop, dragonfruit, mango, pineapple, watermelon, bananas, or fruits I don't even know the name of.
Anh Hieu, Chi Diep's husband, is the person we spend the most time with because he's our designated driver. He won't let us go anywhere on foot or by taxi if he can help it. It's sweet, but unnecessary most of the time. His job is to drive tourists around, so we'll pay him for his time at the end of the trip. That's the only way I'd be okay with this, but in general, they all fall all over themselves to do everything for us. Hieu is softspoken and such a sweet person. His daughters are both a little louder like Chi Diep, but sweet too. I love the girls because they're so smart and loving, but they are smart and therefore a handful. The youngest is hell on wheels. I'm about to get in a car with her for a couple hours and not so sure if I'll make it... She climbs all over the place whether in the car or in the house.
Because we spend so much time at their house, I'm not at the hotel or near a computer nearly as much as I like. That situation's about to get considerably worse because I'm leaving with my mom for the countryside in a little bit. We're going to the family homestead in preparation for my grandma's memorial service. My mom says this is going to be the true test. She says she'll really bawl like a baby when she sees "the old people" (especially her oldest brother, who's blind and ill now) and the family farm. I kind of think of my aunt as old, so I didn't know at first what my mom meant by "old people"... My aunt is only ten years older than my mom. Hearing my mom called "Grandma" by my nieces has been a little weird. So has being called "Aunt" by them and the older nieces I met the other day. I've never been anybody's aunt before... I like it. 4月8日 Vietnam: Second ThoughtsWhen we first got up North, my first thoughts were that I preferred it completely. I could understand better when people spoke. (The regional accents here are way more distinct than I thought they would be. Think of the Southern dialect here as a bit like the regional accent in "The South": words are drawn out, a little slurred, and lots of words aren't pronounced the way they look on paper. I speak a mix because my mom is from the South and my dad is from the North, but I prefer the Northern accent, however hoidy-toidy and affected it may sound. It's the dialect Vietnamese news people speak after all.) People were far more likely to be exact when answering a question. There seemed to be fewer cars and people. The chaos seemed ever so slightly more organized.
Out on the street, though, faces appear a little more unfriendly, but I think that's just my mom rubbing off on me. She is mildly afraid of...everything. It's a bit exhausting because I am afraid of almost nothing. (I should note here that she has been a great sport! A really, really great sport.) We've actually had a number of very funny and pleasant exchanges with folks who are titillated by a couple of Nam (Southern) women from "outside" visiting their part of the world. Still, you do get the sense that everyone is all business here even when they are not. I guess it feels a little like if there's any crime here, it might be more menacing. I am thinking of Hai Phong, which is where we are now until we go back to Saigon tomorrow. I liked everything about Ha Noi except the stubbly hotel sheets. Regardless, we explored nearly every nook and cranny here today. It was very walkable.
When we walked around Ha Noi, my mom said she thought people looked poorer. I didn't see it there, but I see it here in Hai Phong. There are lots more people on bikes and the scooters are older. There are plenty of fancy new cars too. We even took a picture of my mom in front of a Mercedes stuffed into one of the tinier alleys. Despite the apparently higher level of poverty, or maybe as a side effect, people up North are way more fond of wearing (fake) designer gear. We've mostly seen "D&G" tees.
I have lots more to say, but the computer situation at this hotel is a little weird and my mom would die if I left the hotel, especially if I did it without her. Also, I am getting attacked by mosquitoes. 4月3日 Vietnam: First ImpressionsThe first thing I noticed about Vietnamese is that there's not much sense of personal space. In line at the airport, at the bank, wherever you queue up, bodies slowly creep closer and it seems like everyone's trying to overtake you. At immigration, I saw two men (apparent strangers) standing so close to one another that they looked like they were spooning standing up. Not so good for my paranoiac tendencies with regard to my bulging backpack and dangling messenger bag. People don't seem to mind pushing each other out of the way at all, but that totally wigs the Western me out!
The deliberate wa that immigration agents insisted you pass through their gates stood in stark contrast to the mayhem just down below in baggage claim and then in customs. I've never seen a carousel so full or stopped so many times. Only one x-ray machine was open at customs ad it was every man for himself as people piled their bags high in the rush and crush to get out of the airport and into the loving arms of family outside. One lady I recognized from my flight, though, was nice enough to help me heave my huge duffel onto the belt. Then again, the bemused look she gave me suggested she mostly was trying to show me I'd never find an opening if I was going to be polite instead of shoving my way in... I tried to hand the customs agent my customs form, but she waved me on through the gate without so much as a glance at my paperwork or my bag, not that anyone could have known whose bag or box was whose in that mess.
Anyone who's done any research into traveling to Vietnam has heard about the notoriously bad cab situation. Bad cabbies, rigged meters, highjacker fares. Seeing as to how I was an hour and a half late, I never expected my driver to still be waiting, especially not after the rude awakening I'd gotten at the money exchange counter. (You see, I'd been summarily warned by family that everyone here's just out to make a buck. To that, I kept saying, "Pshaw! We can't possibly be any more evil a people than any other!" But then, the lady at the money exchange counter tried to hang on to $100,000 VND of my money, not thinking I'd notice. My math skills are bad, but not that bad!) Anyway, proving that not everyone in the tourism trade is out to get you (or kidnap you and chop you up into little pieces before making like a cannibal with your remains, as my mom and aunt would have you believe), my driver was sitting patiently among the throngs of people. (I should mention that the cabbies and greeters at Tan Son Nhat airport were the least noisy and pushy of any arrivals hall crowd I've ever encountered.) If I were a cab driver, I'd be out getting other fares instead of sitting around waiting for some stranger who's going to pay them a set--and not overly outrageous--fee. I felt bad about the fares he might have lost out on while waiting for me until we got to the hotel and the receptionist gave him $200,000 VND for his trouble.
If I hadn't confirmed up front that the hotel was going to pay the driver a flat fee, I would have been considerably more alarmed about: 1) the seemingly roundabout way he was taking to get us to the hotel (including taking a street that was apparently closed for sewer work and that required him to drive onto the sidewalk, between a tree and a storefront with an inch to spare on either side); and 2) the broken door handle on the rear left passenger door! Classic cab driver kidnap maneuver, right?? Lock your passenger in so they can't get out when you arrive at the abattoir! I felt bad even imagining that maybe this guy's taken passengers hostage for extra cash in his lifetime, but why else would you drive a cab with a broken door handle?? I haven't yet decided if I was stereotyping him or not.
The hotel where we're staying is definitely an older one (built in 1945), but it's nice enough. It is definitely roomy and I can see why the manager/owner kept harping on that in our conversations over the phone and in email. The floors and bed were clean enough, but I did take care of some detail work in the bathroom with the Lysol wipes I'd brought along. I did pack them, after all... The A/C is one of those in-room European jobs, but clearly an older model. Even after cranking for hours, it only dropped from 30 degrees Celsius that first night to 26 in the morning. I just position myself in the path of the air flow and it's surprisingly comfortable.
The sheer number of cars and motorbikes and people is a little hard to take. I keep thinking motorbikes are going to crash into each other or into cars, but I haven't witnessed any accidents yet. It was quiet enough when I hit the sack the first night and I prided myself on finding a quiet hotel in the midst of all the madness that is Pham Ngu Lao, but the sound of cars and horns started up before it was fully light out. It turns out we're staying in the De Tham part of Pham Ngu Lao (the backpacker area), which is in fact close to Thai Binh Market, just like my dad said it would be. We're close to everything, including lots of cheap food. And the place is totally crawling with white people. Well, maybe not crawling, since the Vietnamese still outnumber them by about 100 to 1, but it's still more than I thought there would be.
It's been interesting to see the variety of Vietnamese faces. I always thought I could pick out a Vietnamese face from other Asians, but I can't claim there's a standard "look." And it's funny, but my mom and I have totally been passing as non-Vietnamese. Cyclo, motorbike, and cab drivers have asked if we're from Singapore, we get lots of "ni haos" and I'm sure still others assume we're Filipina. When it's convenient, my mom and I speak English. Based on the first day's rip-offs, which I'll elaborate on in another post, it really does seem the price gouging is a bit less severe when they think you're not Viet Kieu (returning Vietnamese). We're not good about it, though. It's too easy to slip back into Vietnamese. And I never did practice mispronouncing common phrases like, "Cam on" and "Bao nhieu?" like Peter suggested.
It's a little disconcerting to see the number of prostitutes. It's pretty obvious who they are. I no longer worry anyone's going to assume I'm one when Peter gets here and we start walking around together. They're often with guys that aren't too awful looking, though we did see one dude today who defined "putz". Counting money out at a sidewalk cafe in front of a bunch of lookers-on (obvious, too!) and wearing shorts with Nordstrom labels all over and white socks pulled up to here! There's one guy wandering around Pham Ngu Lao who totally seems like he's just looking to get laid. He's given us a number of lecherous looks already. He even tried to reach out and shake my mom's hand when we were walking past him yesterday. He's young and not bad looking at all, so I don't know why he's so hard up! I'm a little embarrassed for him! He should probably just resort to a hooker instead of trying to hook up with other Vietnamese women... It'd be less sad to me, I think.
Anyhow, the hour is up, so we'll be heading back out into the muggy heat to play a real-life game of Frogger. More on our second day tomorrow! 3月30日 Trip of a Lifetime (TM)*I'm about to spend the next 32 days in Vietnam. My mom is making her first trip back since she left 34 years ago and I'll be there for the homecoming. This month also marks the 40th anniversary of my maternal grandmother's death. If nothing else, this trip will be extremely emotional.
This trip is wholly unlike any trip I've ever taken, starting with all the preparation. I've been reading guidebooks twice a day and taking notes. I've been visiting blogs and forums daily, contacting bloggers and posters requesting answers for my specific concerns. Rather than wait until the night before, I've spent the last week packing and repacking. I've spent hours reassuring myself that I've arranged a legitimate hotel stay. I carefully scripted my route from customs to the cab stands, contingencies included. I even made a visual packing list for my backpack so I know where everything is in the pack! While it's been stressful trying to think of everything, I know that having a handle on the details now will ease my stress later.
Obsessing about the logistical details is also a legitimate excuse for not worrying about the psychic toll this trip will have on me. I think I'm in for some life-changing revelations. I suspect it'll be hard to meet aunts, uncles and cousins and not feel guilty about we've never spoken before. I don't even know all their names or what they look like. I'll grapple with ideas about how best to help them out even as I live my comfortable life halfway across the world. Not to mention how I'll be struggling to imagine how differently my life could have turned out.
Slightly less heady but equally interesting to think about: what will it be like to be among so many Vietnamese? How much conversation can I really make with my pathetic Vietnamese vocabulary? How differently will I be treated when I'm traveling with my mom and sisters versus how I'll be treated when I'm traveling with Peter? Will the schemers and opportunists really be any worse than they are in any other tourist spot? Will we be going back?
As I get closer to my departure, the nerves I've been feeling since I bought my ticket earlier this month are finally being replaced by excitement. Though some of the challenges of this trip will be unique (and somewhat difficult to explain to someone who's not Vietnamese-American and not as thoroughly neurotic as me), I'll probably be able to handle anything that comes my way just as capably as I have on any other trip.
Now seemed like a good time to resurrect the blog because I imagine I'll be processing some pretty serious thoughts over the next month. On this particular trip, I hope my travelogue will be less of a catalog of what I ate and what I saw (though there will be some of that) and more of a meditation on what I'm learning and how my perceptions of Vietnam and Vietnamese people change over the course of the trip. I have a feeling this experience will explain a lot about my parents and my relationships with them, too. I hope to try a little something called "editing," too, so my entries are actually readable and entertaining. Access to the Internet should be pretty easy to come by, so I look forward to staying in touch with everyone while I'm gone! * Thanks to Beth for giving this trip a nice, succinctly descriptive name! 10月15日 Red Beans and RiceRight now, I'm eating a lunch composed of an Indian black-eyed pea masala, channa masala, and a side of cashew rice with coconut and ginger, and thinking about how, with some tweaks, these ingredients could be used to make Vietnamese food. Vietnamese dessert, that is. If you've ever watched a movie in which the story features the hilarity/calamity that ensues when Chinese(-American) and Western worlds collide, you know that non-Chinese are weirded out when they find red bean paste in their dessert. Not so for me. The first time I saw "Double Happiness" and there was a scene about red bean buns, my reaction was, "Ooh! That sounds good." There aren't many movies about Vietnamese people, so you might not know that our desserts take full advantage of the fruits of the legume world.
My parents don't usually offer dessert after dinner, but whenever my mom cooked and presented dessert, it was usually because she felt it was time for a vitamin boost. I'm not even talking about dairy or vitamin D. And before I learned anything about cooking and nutrition, I thought she was probably just kidding.
At my parents' house, whenever we ate dessert, we typically feasted on soupy and often syrupy desserts called che. (For some che p*rn, go here.) Che typically contains some combination of ingredients that never fail to surprise the uninitiated. Some of the more "unusual" ingredients that come to mind include:
This is only the beginning. Don't believe me? Wikipedia's entry on che lists a bunch of varieties I had completely forgotten about. I can't say I recall ever having eaten che with Chinese sausage, though. That one sounds bunk. What's funny about all this is that the first time I ate a chickpea while away at college, it finally occurred to me that chickpeas are not unique to Vietnamese food. A chickpea has American names! Americans and lots of other cultures eat chickpeas, albeit not usually in their desserts. Sometimes, my mom would buy hot ginger syrup with silken tofu for dessert. Or, we'd snack on glutinous rice with coconut flakes or boiled peanuts. And I can't forget to mention those deep-fried sesame-covered rice balls with mung bean paste in the middle. Although, I think that is one dessert we share with the Chinese. My dessert today (came with the curries) was a warm milk soup with tapioca and cashews, not unlike che. The world is such a small place sometimes. That thought warms my heart. 9月22日 Gimmicky Crossword PuzzlesThe first time I encountered an unconventional crossword was in an in-flight magazine sometime last year. It frustrated then angered me when I realized that the writer expected me to use numbers in some of my answers. I don't often do crosswords so maybe this is actually a popular trend I'm not aware of, but I hate when crossword puzzle writers employ gimmicks. For example, who said it's okay to require more than one letter per box?? Though, I suppose having seen a similar gimmick before did help me figure out today's/yesterday's Sunday crossword theme and then ultimately solve the thing (likely with some wrong answers) for only the second time in my life. It's hard to see, but the theme was "Year-Round" and the abbreviations "Jan", "Feb", "Mar" and so on and so forth are roughly laid out in a circle. For example, see how I squeezed "Sep" into ONE box in the lower left quadrant to come up with "Joseph"?
(I'm not normally so messy. I did most of this on my lap during the drive home from Orcas Island.) 9月17日 Memory Lane Needs Trash Pick-UpPeter and I just had a couple of storage units delivered to our house. I'm embarrassed at the sheer amount of junk that we've had in storage for so many years. I've always been unreasonably attached to "stuff", but I've finally reached a point in my life where getting rid of some of my stuff won't kill me. Unpacking the storage units and sorting through our possessions with a more rational mind has been an interesting exercise. We're holding a giant garage sale at the end of the month and, for the first time, the garage sale will be more cathartic than traumatic (as long as I don't find my prized cassette tapes in the mix!).
Most of the stuff we had in storage was pure garbage and ended up there only because we ran out of time to sort through everything before the house remodel THREE YEARS AGO. There were, however, a few nice finds. My favorites include:
There's one thing I haven't found that I am dying to find: my wedding dress. I found the ao dai that Peter and I wore in the Buddhist ceremony, but I knew where those were all along. For whatever reason, my wedding dress wasn't stored in the same place... Anyway, we are swimming in stuff and encourage you to come to our garage sale if you have any need for a dish drying rack or two, a French press coffeemaker, a Pyrex baking dish or pie plates, a knife sharpener (we had THREE, but I'm keeping one and giving one to Tina), a metal roasting pan, red silk roses, an old Tivo, a like-new bathroom scale, a tube TV, peripherals for your ancient Toshiba Tecra 8100, an Epson inkjet printer, men's dress shirts, women's clothing from the 90s, or any other miscellany that we might decide to put out on the lawn. 9月6日 Summer 2008 in PhotosThis summer was the busiest of my life and the most eventful, too.
June
We rented goats! The yard was scarily overgrown and we dreamed up the idea of renting goats while sitting on the deck one late night/early morning.
I arranged a bachelorette party for Beth in Portland. In this photo, we were either about to or just had gone to a club where Beth danced in a cage and then we all did lots of shots.
July
Our house was broken into and we got caught up in a media blitz! Our story was featured on the evening news two nights in a row! We also made it into the paper and were mentioned as part of a morning news radio broadcast.) Inside Edition called our house. It was the most surreal two days of my life.
I hosted a bridal shower for Beth at our house, taking full advantage of the newly furnished deck. (Photo courtesy of Sarah, seeing as to how our camera had been stolen.)
The next night, we hosted Beth and Mark's rehearsal dinner BBQ. They hired the people from Armadillo Barbeque. (Photo below taken from their website.)
The day after that, Peter and I participated in Beth and Mark's wedding at the DAR's Rainier Chapter House.
We hosted five houseguests that weekend!
After all this, because we were finally done working on the house in preparation for the wedding festivities, I worked my ass off at work the rest of July. And all of August.
August
However, we found time to celebrate six years of marriage/together-foreverness...
We spent a Saturday in West Seattle, picknicking on sweets from Sugar Bakery and mayo-heavy sandwiches from George's (a Polish deli), and meandering along the waterfront with the dogs. Oh, I also learned how to ride a skateboard! Sort of.
The next day, we drove to Fort Dent State Park to ride our bikes on a desolate and bucolic trail.
That night, we indulged in nine courses of decadent goodness at The Herbfarm. (None of the food photos do the meal any justice, so you get these instead.)
We hosted Peter's brother Bill for several days, and did our best to showcase the Pacific Northwest so that he might move here. The guys went on a road trip along the Olympic Peninsula while I slaved away at the office. When they got back, we explored the city together.
I went to my first PAWMA camp, where I spent six hours a day engaged in various martial arts. I am now obsessed with using Poekoelan and Aikido techniques to do takedowns! No pictures, not even of the bruises, but perhaps I'll take some next year.
We drove with the pups to and from the ranch for Labor Day. While there, Peter taught me how to ride a motorbike!
September
After the most extreme weeks of sleeplessness I've ever experienced, my boss finally returned from five months of maternity leave and I went back to working just "one" job. I subsequently had the best review of my life thus far and, more importantly, major kudos from our VP and our new GM! Since then, I've been walking on air. I've reacquainted myself with my husband, slept, baked cookies, made two batches of ice cream, finally got a haircut, saw my friends, returned to kung fu, and woke up drunk on a Friday morning. September is shaping up to be a lovely change of pace and I still have nearly two weeks of comp time in my back pocket to use whenever and however I see fit. Boo yah! 6月30日 13.1 miles, Longer Than My Drive to WorkI'd never watched any kind of footrace until Peter's cousin Angela flew out to participate in a half-marathon in San Francisco back when I was still in college and living in the Bay Area. While watching the race in Golden Gate Park with Peter and his aunt, I said to them, "I can't imagine ever wanting to do this. These people are crazy." Why would anyone ever subject themselves to that kind of torture, much less PAY to participate?? I'm still not sure of the answer to this, but yesterday, I became one of those crazies.
About once a month, for the last couple months, Gina and I would talk about doing the SeaFair Half-Marathon, but neither of one of us actually committed to doing it until we signed up a few days ago, just barely making the online registration cutoff. In fact, when Beth said, on Saturday afternoon, "You know, we won't judge you if you decide not to do it" I briefly considered backing out. So that just shows you my level of commitment to the race. Thankfully, my level of commitment to Gina was stronger, so I was ready when she came to pick me up at 6am on Sunday.
Keep in mind that neither one of us has been out for any kind of run since January (Gina, a jog with the baby and dog) or April (me, a 5K fun run). Gina has at least been going to kung fu. I haven't even been to kung fu since I sliced open my finger and then subsequently sprained my toe (two months ago!). Beth was right to worry about me on Saturday. I was worried about me too. Knucklehead...
Gina set some ground rules on Friday. Our goals were: 1) to finish, 2) to not injure ourselves, and 3) to run at least some of it (ie., not walk the whole way). She also stressed that we shouldn't push ourselves or each other. (See my earlier comment about neither one of us having trained.) I was really grateful to her for that last thing because Gina was once a really bad-ass competitive runner. That was back in high school, but she is still a bad-ass. I didn't want to let her down or slow her down, but I also had my knees to think about.
I didn't want to break any of the ground rules for the sake of some time goal. In my mind, I did secretly want to finish in under 3 hours and really thought we could, but it didn't quite happen because of my knees. My left knee started bugging me at mile 4. I wrapped it and then carried on. Around mile 7, with the big hill, we stopped following our interval pacing. After that, we were totally sporadic about which intervals we would run and which we'd just walk. If we'd kept up with the intervals, I think I would have had to finish the race in a wheelchair if at all. At mile 10, I started to wonder if I would be able to jog at all anymore because both my knees felt sore. My right hamstring was also acting funny. I think my right leg got worked trying to compensate for the left. By mile 10, though, the heat was getting unbearable and there was less shade, so I couldn't bear the thought of us just walking the rest of the way. So, we jogged short stints. Jogging actually loosened up my muscles a bit, which made up for any pain it brought my knees.
My only regret is that I wasn't able to jog more of the last mile. If I'd taken the time to do the math, I would have seen that we were close to the 3 hour mark and would only make it under 3 if I picked up the pace. In the end, I'm not even too sad about that because I feel surprisingly good today and I wouldn't have if I'd hurt my knees. The only soreness is in my joints where my thighs meet my hips. Lord knows I've felt much worse after a 3 mile run at the gym. Taking the time to draw a hot bath, ice my knees, and pop some naproxen sodium pills really helped.
Memorable moments from the race:
Unless I feel completely horrible tomorrow, I would happily do this again! P.S. I think we ran about 8 miles total and walked 5. Some of those 5 miles were long, horrible uphill stretches. 6月12日 SYTYCD: The ReturnSPOILER ALERT (if you didn't watch last night's SYTYCD)!
I have had no time to blog, but this'll be a quick one, so I'm going to bang it out now though I have no business doing this when I have approximately five million work items hanging over my head and should totally have been working through lunch...
Based on last night's performances, I think these will be the top ten dancers, five boys and five girls. Why do they call them "boys" and "girls", anyway?? I'm sure my opinions about this will all change next week when they do their second set of routines, but for now, my guesses are:
Twitch (Broadway with Kherington)
Joshua (Hip Hop with Katee)
Thayne (Cha Cha with Chelsea T)
Mark (Contemporary with Chelsie H)
Marquis (Smooth Waltz with Suzy)
Chelsea T (Cha Cha with Thayne)
Chelsie H (Contemporary with Mark)
Comfort (Jive with pasty Chris)
Kherington (Broadway with Twitch)
Katee (Hip Hop with Joshua)
Picking the fifth guy was hard. I went with Marquis because he did a good job with the waltz and they'll need a guy like that in the top ten.
I tried to pick the bottom three couples for tomorrow and I couldn't narrow it down beyond the bottom five. Unfortunately, one of the dancers I really liked in the auditions, Kourtni, will probably be down there. If I could choose, I'd send Suzy (Smooth Waltz) home first. The judges probably feel that way, too, seeing as to how the old-looking, no personality-having chick got a really boring dance in the first episode. I don't dislike any of the guys, but I think either Jamie (Hip Hop) or Gev (Disco) will go first.
My feelings about the first official episode were...mixed. Cat won me over all over again. I loved the couples. The pairings were brilliant. I wonder if they gave it some thought while picking the top 20 for the show. What Matt or Kourtni will do with a short partner, I don't know...
The costumes were not fug, though Chelsie's poufy dress was way too poufy. Cat didn't look like a rich bag lady either, though I guess they usually save the crazy dresses and weird hairdos for the end.
The shameless mugging still bothers me, as does Mary's need to rehash quips and grasp desperately for new ones. I'm still embarrassed by Nigel's perviness. I still wish Tyce didn't pick such weird music because I tend to really like his routines otherwise.
I wanted to be wowed by the dancers, but I wasn't really blown away by any of them even though some of the routines were great. I especially liked Mia's. No surprise, since the only dance she's choreographed that I dislike was that Dad one with Lacey. I can't say that anyone danced poorly because they all did good or even great, but I kept thinking about how much better each routine would have been with Season 3's dancers. I thought the caliber of talent on the show was going to be way, way up this year, but I think the judges went for looks or personality over talent in too many instances. For example, Twitch is good, but I think I like him most because he was the first to hug everyone who came back from the judge's table when they were whittling down the top 20 in Vegas. He should have done better in the Broadway routine. Jessica? I think they picked her because they needed a redhead. Similarly, they picked Katee over Natalie because they needed an Asian (part-Asian, anyway) and Natalie was another redhead. It's hard to see myself forming attachments to too many people, but I guess I already really like Comfort. Not only is she a killer krumper, she nailed the jive, plus she's a riot at the judge's table.
I'm dying to see how the season pans out, but the following weeks will surely happen too fast as it is. 5月22日 Rough and TumbleI used to be a very girly girl. I did not like being sweaty. I did not enjoy anything that had the potential to mess up my hair or required me to wear unflattering clothing. I avoided cuts, bruises, and scrapes at all costs. And yet, yesterday, I played my first games of touch football and soccer! In the pouring rain! And I loved it!
When I signed up to play games at my team's "Day of Games" morale event, I must have thought we were going to play board games, video games, or even the trust exercise-type games they sometimes make you play with your co-workers. It never crossed my mind that there'd be a bunch of computer geeks out on a sports field playing sports! I was randomly assigned to play football, soccer, and badminton. Of these, I'd only ever played badminton, and poorly at that. I had to confess to my poor teammates that I haven't ever even watched a game of soccer or football (unless you count hanging out by the buffet at a Super Bowl party as "watching football").
There was minimal instruction on how to play each of these games before we started, so I definitely spent a fair amount of time looking lost and being on the wrong side of the field. Luckily, we wore color-coded vests so at least I avoided passing the ball to the wrong team (which I've been known to do)! For the most part, though, I had SO MUCH FUN. Too much fun to care about feeling too dumb. In the end, that's what makes a game fun instead of frustrating.
I found out that I'm better at football than I am at soccer, but I prefer the constant running required by soccer. There was a little too much standing around with football. (It was cold and wet out on the field. I might feel differently if it had been hot yesterday.) I did manage to intercept a couple passes and "tackle" once. I even got to run five yards with the ball after one of my interceptions!
Sadly, I still can't kick a ball worth crap, which made me a bad soccer player. (I was always one of the last ones to be picked for kickball and now I remember why.) I solicited advice from my teammates between halves. One guy said I should put my foot in the right position and then kick. Another guy was a bit more helpful and said I was kicking too low, that my foot shouldn't be close enough to the ground to scrape the grass. I practiced a little and got better, but it's hard to apply what you've learned when you're running around fast, people are coming at you, and you are simply very uncoordinated with your legs and feet. After the soccer game, one of the guys said my positioning on the field was good. I don't know if that's like saying, "You totally showed up!" or what, but I liked the way it sounded. I didn't really know what I was doing, but I followed other people's lead. Once I discovered I can't kick, I kept out of the way of the ball in crucial moments. Instead, I concentrated on blocking the other team from getting the ball and helped steal the ball from them a couple times. I even tried to hit the ball with my head once, but I misjudged and completely missed. Thank God.
Somehow, I've gotten way better at badminton since the 8th grade. I was even good enough to play while holding a beer in one hand!
I didn't reinjure my finger, but now I have a bit of a limp. At one point during the game, somebody stepped on my foot with their soccer cleat, so one of my toes is a little purple and swollen. I didn't notice the pain until after the game. I hope it's not broken. I also nearly split my lip and most definitely bumped my forehead in a couple collisions during football. I guess I play rough, but only because I don't want to be accused of not trying. Also, I like to win. I also like trash-talking, taunting, hooting and hollering, and cheering. There's lot of that in team sports and that's probably why I'll find my way back onto the field before too long! 5月19日 9021... No... What??!?When I saw a teaser for this the other night, I thought it was a joke. It's not. They are bringing "90210" back, no doubt belatedly hoping to capitalize on the success of shows like "The O.C." and "Gossip Girl". That promo pic of the gang looks so cheesy, though, that I wouldn't be surprised if they recycled moded storylines like the one with the slumber party where the girls learn that even the prettiest and richest girls aren't perfect or the one where Scott accidentally shoots himself at his own birthday party. Or maybe there'll be an episode where the mob rigs Dylan's dad's car to explode. I can only hope the gang continues to hang out at The Peach Pit After Dark for old times' sake. 5月16日 Guilt-Free FridayToday is Seattle's "Ride Your Bike to Work Day". The weather is perfect today. I couldn't have asked for a better day to make my inaugural bike ride to work. I was a little queasy at the thought when we got ready this morning and dragged my feet a lot more than I should have. I even suggested we make breakfast instead of eating cold cereal.
By the time we got out the door, it was already 8:35, well after the 7am departure I'd floated the night before. We didn't even get out of bed until 7:30 this morning. It was an uneasy night of sleep. I went to bed at 2am after I'd finished some chores, but I woke up in a panic at 5:50. (Though I welcome it, the adjustment from entire days of what feels like near-total darkness in the winter to light blue skies at 4am in the summer is not something I think I'll ever get used to.) I would have slept more restfully if Peter had reminded me of how manageable today's ride would be. About a mile into it, he said, "I'm not worried about this because we've done the ride to my office and back. That's more distance than we'll cover today." Duh. I don't know why I hadn't thought of that, but I immediately settled in and started feeling really good about our decision to ride in.
I felt just as gassed slogging up the hills immediately east of the I-90 bridge as I have every other time we've tackled them and had to wonder if I'm actually any fitter now than I was last summer. (Thinner's one thing, but fitter's something else altogether. I'm fully aware of that.) I got the answer to my question when we made the climb from Factoria Mall past Honda of Bellevue and past the Eastgate Park and Ride. That .95 mile stretch was one of the longest of my life. At one point, about halfway up, I really really wanted to get off the bike, saw my legs off at the hip, and throw those bloody stumps over the fence onto the freeway below. The wolves could chow down on the rest of me and I'd be better off for it. Or so it seemed at the time. Luckily for me, the only gas-powered tools in sight were leafblowers belonging to office park gardeners. Though I was tempted, I didn't get off the bike. The last time we took this route, I was going so slow that I ultimately had to stop and walk the second half. Today, my speed was a miserable 4 miles per hour on that stretch, but I rode it! That's all that matters. And better still, at the top of that hill, after we finally stopped at a light to take a swig of water, I actually felt re-energized. Even though the next stretch was still a bit of an incline, it actually felt easy. I never say that about hills, not even when I'm a pedestrian going up the little ones.
When we got to Peter's office, I quietly cursed him while kissing him goodbye. He was done. I had another five miles to go and they were an unknown. Luckily, the only part of that ride that was uphill was a short stretch on Lake Hills Boulevard, from 156th over to 164th. 164th was easy street all the way to the back side of campus and I got there in much less time than I'd budgeted.
And now, the numbers, thanks to the handy-dandy whiz-bang bike computer Chirag got me for my birthday (oh man, you really shouldn't have, Chirag!!)... The 16.44 mile trip took 1 hour 39 minutes and 57 seconds. My average speed was about what I'd suspected: 10.19 miles per hour, but my maximum speed was a mindboggling 37.40 miles per hour!!! I must have had my eyes closed for those downhill runs because the fastest speed I actually witnessed on the display was 28.5 mph.
Two hours after I got in, I was completely RAVENOUS. I went to the cafeteria, looked at everything, even pretended to consider the salad bar, and then got exactly what I knew I would. And I felt 100% guilt-free about eating that jeera rice (basmati rice with toasted cumin, black mustardseed, and green peas), chapati (wheat flour flatbread), spinach curry, vegetable korma (vegetables in a curry and coconut sauce), and carrot payasam (like warm Indian rice pudding except instead of rice, you have carrots with that wonderful cardamom)! 5月13日 Wave/Crinkle-Cut of MutilationWatching "Top Chef" cost me a quarter-inch from the middle finger on my right hand. Sunday morning, after watching a back episode of the aforementioned show, I set out to cook something simple and relatively healthy for breakfast, but I challenged myself to elevate the dish by making it particularly pretty. After a survey of ingredients, I decided to make a cold Japanese soup with cucumber, ham, egg, and purple buckwheat soba. Since I had radishes on hand, I thought I'd give my noodle dish a twist and add more color and texture by incorporating slices of crispy pink and white. With more to prep, I figured I might as well bust out my rarely-used mandoline to make quick work of the vegetables.
I share my mom's perfectionism in the kitchen. With her, it's always important for food to look as good as it tastes. She chops and dices everything uniformly and so do I. In teaching myself how to do so, I've gotten pretty adept at using a knife. I can use a sharp knife to produce paper-thin slices of beef, cucumber, radish or whatever, but I'm not terribly fast and not every slice comes out perfectly. If you're careful in how you use them, mandolines can make up for your lack. If you're not careful, you can look forward to spending a couple hours in the emergency room holding the tip of your finger on to the rest of your finger with a bloody paper towel.
They said it was a very clean cut. (Of course! Mandoline blades are very, very sharp.) Still, because my fingertip had been detached completely, they wouldn't bother sewing it back on. They didn't think it was likely that the tip would reattach. They couldn't just "glue" it on either. (I was pretty sore about this because I had gone to the trouble of putting my fingertip back on exactly as it was and had figured that, because I'd been pressing on it the whole time I waited for the doctor, the capillaries would find each other and begin to rejoin.) They didn't think my fingertip would grow back to look normal again, either.
The dressing they put on my finger after they cauterized the wound is huge. It's not only cumbersome, it's really loose, so I've had to attach it more securely with, variously, a rubberband, Scotch tape, and a wire twist-tie. When I write or type, it looks like I'm flipping you off. I remove the dressing and wrap plastic wrap around my finger before I get in the shower. My finger throbs and itches at the same time! It's maddening! It sucks that I can't just ignore the fact that I disfigured myself. When I look at the scabby end of my finger, I can't quite imagine how it's going to look when it finally heals. Weird, I think, but hopefully not too apparently so. I guess I'm grateful that it wasn't worse and that at least it happened to the ugliest of all my fingers... 5月5日 Push-UpsA few months ago, I read this article in the New York Times that made me feel unusually wussy. I'm not someone who often feels wussy, but according to this article, "Based on national averages, a 40-year-old woman should be able to do 16 push-ups and a man the same age should be able to do 27." I was aghast. Shame kept me from writing about this here. I kept saying to myself, "You'd think that training in kung fu would get me more than four push-ups ahead of your average forty-year-old woman!!"
I don't know who these people talked to, but I know a fair number of women under forty who can't even do ten push-ups, so I've always thought I was ahead of the curve. I've been able to do at least ten since the first day my fifth grade class began training for the Presidential Physical Fitness Test. It's a shame I haven't done more than double that number in the years since, but many of the intervening nineteen years were spent tweezing my eyebrows, shopping at the mall, drinking beer, and eating Cheetos.
Since March, I've quoted the 16 push-up average to lots of other people who think the number is bunk. And maybe that number is bunk, but what if it's not? Maybe Curves is putting middle-aged moms head-to-head in push-up contests and they're messing with the average!
But the reason I wrote this entry in the first place is because of another push-up related event that led me to this article again. Thursday night, at book club, Peter challenged us all to stability ball push-ups. I thought he meant the kind of push-up where you put your feet on the ball and lower yourself even further than you would just using your toes. But, no. Someone in his office introduced him to an exercise where you form a triangle with your hands, place them on the stability ball, and then do push-ups at an incline. After all the guys flunked out, I didn't expect to fare any better. I might have even suggested they were an impossible, made-up exercise before I made my attempt. (I did some research and found out that they are real. While researching, I ran across that New York Times article again.) Anyway, I took it slow, but I can do them! So can Gina! Apparently, kung fu helps with something, even if that something doesn't make you capable of twice as many push-ups as the "average" forty-year-old woman! 5月1日 EtiquetteThe following exchange went down in our kitchen last night.
Me: This morning, I sat next to a woman on the bus who smelled like bong water. It was very distracting, so I didn't get much reading done.
Peter: You should have said, "Puff, puff, give! Don't keep that bong in your purse, lady!"
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