Wreckage #2

I am an idiot, pure and simple. I need to learn to slow down. And enjoy the ride. Where the hell am I going that I need to be driving fast all the time? The scenery is so much prettier when you stop to smell the roses instead of constantly seeking an opportunity to pass the guy in front of you.

My 2nd wreck in as many months. What, do I have a death wish? Absolutely not. I really hope I can learn from this. And learn to be patient. I am patiently waiting for the bill from the motorbike repair shop. I am cringing at the thought of wiping out my savings, but it will be what it will be.

At least I didn't break anything. Or anyone else. It was a collision of magnitude. We both went down. It was one in the morning. No police were involved. Just a lot of curious and generally helpful Vietnamese. I didn't even see the guy coming until I was on my way to the ground.

We were both fortunate. I know I took the light as soon as it turned green. My impatience got the best of me. But I also know he ran a red. But everyone here runs reds. Even I do. It's as common as public nose picking. The question is, did he have his lights on? The answer is it doesn't really matter.

Eye boogers

They're endless in Vietnam. I can't even keep track how many times I am wiping the most enormous, the dirtiest, the darkest, the slimiest eye boogers from my eyes every day. It just has to be done. Any time, any place. Wipe them on the bed sheets, on my clothes or any other convenient location.

The eyes are absolutely working overtime. I just learned that we have this "organ" called the plica semilunaris around our eyes. It secretes a sticky fluid that collects any debris that has made its way into your eyes. And this debris is surrounded by the boogers to prevent our corneas from being scratched.

If it weren't for the plica semilunaris, I'd be blind by now. My corneas would be scratched beyond recognition and I'd be a foreign beggar on the streets of Vietnam. All of a sudden, I'm grateful for the slime that makes its home in the far reaches of my eyes. Thank you my friend!

The Academy

I work for two schools. This is one of them. The American International Academy Center. I love their signs.

Working out

Yes, things are working out. But that's not what I was going to talk about. Today, I joined a gym. It cost me 2,280,000 VND for six months, which amounts to around $24 a month. A far cry better than a lot of the gyms around here charging $100 a month and catering primarily to the expat contingent. Of course, it's a far cry worse than the $10 a month I pay back home.

Today was my first workout in approximately eight months. I am weak and out of shape. Not that this was any news to me. But it's even more obvious now that I've gone to the gym and seen my small muscles barely take shape in the mirror when they were fully contracted. That is sad.

I almost felt like I could have been anywhere. Once inside this facility, I could have been back home for all I knew. I also reconfirmed the notion that I hate gyms and the feeling of going through the motions. But the post-workout bliss overrides the blasé feeling that consumes me during the majority of my time in any gym.

It's almost like meditation. I have to not think about anything and let my mind blur into this oneness to get me through the experience. Treadmills, for example, are awful and one of the least appealing contraptions to set foot on. A little better than the squat rack. So, in order to even make it for 20 minutes on said machine, I have to let my mind go far away and let my feet blur into the movement of the conveyer. And if I'm lucky, I'll wake up and it'll all be over.

English teachers

Just a quick post about English teachers. They run the gamut. From highly-qualified professional folk to highly-unqualified unprofessional folk. As you might imagine. Anyone just trying to get by to make their living. I figure I fall somewhere in the middle and I'm ok with that.

One guy I know, who I actually like, just got a job paying around $19 an hour. Since he is from South America, English is not his native language and he has a discernible accent. He can't be in higher demand than me, can he?

Anyway, he told me he had a room available in his house. I was intrigued because it was a proper place to live. And it was cheaper than my guest house. And I would be farther away from the masses of expats that make up District 1. I told him later I was definitely interested in checking it out this weekend.

He responded back with a text. He needed to check with his roommates.

Ok ill talk with this guys

This guys? Or the guys? As it turns out, I was only happy for a minute. The next morning he sent me a text stating that the aforementioned room had been taken. It was the way this second text was written that was more cause for concern.

Hi friend sorry but the other room its already took

Yes, well, the quality certainly varies. I just hope he's not teaching grammar. He's still a good guy, but let's just hope he's teaching the ABCs or 123s. I think he can manage that.

Classroom games

I did not have a strong repertoire of games to play with my classes. That was in the beginning. It was clear that just playing hangman and tic-tac-toe was not going to cut it. So, I asked other teachers and the students themselves what they liked to play. Then I asked them how to play them. I still don't know that many games, but my ability to make things entertaining has increased ten-fold.

Of course, there were games I just forgot about. Like charades, pictionary and bingo. Then I learned of others, like snake, stop the bus and hot seat. There is no point in telling you how to play these games or what they are about. Today I learned a variation on hangman that makes the game a hundred times more exciting, especially when played with kids.

Instead of just playing and having nobody ever die as per usual, one of the kids came up and put another kid's name on the board and drew an arrow to the noose. Everyone's energy picked up when they knew one of their own was on the line. And it was fun to try and draw the kid's likeness when the guesses were wrong. And to see the kid slither down in his chair and put his book over his head in despair. I enjoyed seeing him writhe in discomfort.

That's who I am I guess. A prick. Then, the aforementioned kid got his chance. He put the other kid's name on the board and started calling out X and Z and J amongst other seldomly used letters. He knew what it was all about. The other kid narrowly avoided being hanged and the kids got a kick out of either trying to save or trying to send their fellow student to their demise.

Finally, it was my turn. The kids put up some dashes up on the board and I played the fool guessing X and J and Y and Z and Q and G and whatever I could to generate the most body parts under the noose without actually getting X's for eyes. It was a good time and quite heartwarming to see these kids blatantly yelling me the answer not wanting to see their new teacher die.

Kim's Guest House

This is where I'm staying. It's down the alley, hem 13, off of Co Giang Street in district 1. It's between Co Giang and Co Bac. You know where to find me. And right now, I'm at a coffee shop within walking distance of my place. I'm normally teaching at this hour, but we had a big storm and the school had a power outage. Just as well because I really didn't want to get soaked.
This is the view from my front door looking out over my "balcony" - a lot of corrugated tin roofs. Or is it rooves. I know it's not, but it should be.
This is the view in the opposite direction. Out my back window. Pretty exciting stuff, I know. I actually like the views. I'm jealous of the roof top patios. For sure.
And finally, this is the view out front, but looking down at the small pagoda. Or is it a temple? Or just a shrine? I like when I can hear the gong or smell the incense because it seems to happen so infrequently.

Fruit of the dragon

This is dragon fruit. In case you've been wondering. You know you have.

Tai Pierce

I just learned something new. As you do from time to time. Most people's names in Vietnam mean something. This I already knew. A lot of people have the same name meaning flower, power, sunset, spring, or some other arguably cool thing to be named after.

Western folk, on the other hand, tend to be named after other people, who were so named because somebody liked the name, which never meant anything in the first place. Or maybe it did, but nobody knows anymore. Like me, for example. Tyler. Means nothing, but has a decent ring to it.

If it does mean something, please enlighten me. But not if it means 'dickface' or something like that. I'd rather not know. So, what did I recently discover? Well, the Vietnamese name Tai is the closest sounding to my name. I haven't actually met anyone with this name, but I will adopt it nonetheless.

It means 'ear'. You can see why I haven't met anyone with this name. Who wants to be named after an ear? But for me, it's appropriate. I mean, come on, Ear Pierce. Isn't that cool? Don't tell me you're not amused. Because if you're not, well, you just have no sense of humor.

Testing my patience #199

It is now Thursday morning, the day after "Testing my Patience #198" went down. I am still in Vung Tau and I have finally settled down after missing my dinner the night before. I am in a coffee shop on the hillside overlooking the ocean. It is a beautiful spot. I order a mango shake, but sans the milk. My friend translates my butchered Vietnamese into something intelligible and away we go.

The waiter comes back and says no mango. Ok, papaya I say. He comes back with a rather pale looking papaya shake, which I instantly recognize as dairy contamination. I take note of this and voice my concern. My friend asks for clarification. Yes, there is milk. What the fuck? Did I not just ask for no milk? Ok, mistakes are made. It's okay. Settle down. They'll make me a new one.

Only they didn't. They left that one on the table. Sorry man, we fucked up, but this one is on you, they seemed to be saying. I ordered an iced coffee and waited for them to take away the milk shake that was elevating my blood pressure. In the end, they finally took it away. It wasn't about the money. Because it was peanuts. It was and is about principle. If you fuck up, it's on you. That's the way it goes.

But not here. The bill came and there it was. I couldn't do anything, but suck it up and accept that things are different here in Vietnam. You can't expect things to be the same way as they are back home. I have to quickly accept that if I'm going to keep my cool. It's taking me some time. It's really hard to stay cool when it's so hot. And when you're right, but you're really wrong.

Testing my patience #198

Let me take you back a few days. It is Wednesday night. I am in Vung Tau. I am heading out to dinner alone. My friend did not enjoy dinner with me the night before so she opted to meet me after I finished. I think I smacked my gums when I ate. Or chewed with my mouth open. Or corrected her English too often. I think I was just an annoying bastard!

Anyway, I found this place close to the ocean. There were not many customers. I ordered my food and a beer and waited. And waited. And had another beer. And waited some more. My food typically comes out in five minutes. Mi xao chay, otherwise known as fried noodles and vegetables, is a cheap and easy dinner. And usually delicious. This place was taking their sweet time.

I finally asked about my order. Yeah, it's coming they gestured and they walked to the kitchen and put in my order. No, no, no! I'm not waiting if you haven't even started! I gestured for the bill and angrily walked away, already late in meeting my friend and no food down my gullet to comfort my soul. I did what I could to show my displeasure, such as not making eye contact on my departure and accelerating quickly into traffic.

Of course, I wasn't really mad at them. Well, I was, but more at not being able to properly communicate with them and place a proper order. Obviously at some point during my order - probably when I said 'no fish sauce' - they thought I changed my mind. In my mind I was thinking how can you be so stupid! but of course I realize in retrospect that shit happens. A lot of shit happens. Especially in a foreign country where you can't speak the language.

The bar scene

I am not a big bar fly because that is not my scene. But I do frequent them on occasion. A friend and I try to go to a new place every Monday night. A couple weeks ago we popped in to this place called Lili's. Some bar girls swarmed to us like flies on shit. Hmmm...what kind of bar is this? Not all bars have women like this. Sure, it's nice to have the attention, but at what cost?

Some places have women purely to get the male clientele to stick around. Others have side businesses. What was this place? One of the women brought out the place's business card, as pictured above. Oooooh, pretty colors, I thought. Yes, that's nice indeed. Fancy schmancy. Who is the graphic designer?

Then she proceeded to show me what other services the bar offered. As if I couldn't guess. I must say, it is pretty creative. Sure, maybe a little tacky, but you have to admit, you didn't see it coming, did you now? That wasn't enough to keep us around. I mean, the girls have to at least be attractive. I'm being an ass. I'm joking. We enjoyed our beers and left the girls in the same questionably pristine condition as when we arrived.

Driving around the seaside

On my first full day in Vung Tau, I drove up the hill to the big statue of Jesus. I climbed the hill, realized how out of shape I was and exclaimed "Jesus!" Still far better shape than most of the people making the pilgrimage, but I can't be proud of this. I can't compare with others, only myself. Once I was in the arms of Jesus, I felt at peace, both loved and in love. My life now has meaning. Then once I rehydrated, I realized I was in a state of delusion and I ran down the hill as quickly as possible.
I peeled out of the motorbike parking area and drove around the waterfront to take in the scenery Vung Tau had to offer. Apparently, they like their statues. This one was the Virgin Mary, I think. Another ginormous monolith looking out to the sea. For some reason, as I was driving by, I was singing "Mother Mary comfort me, speaking words of wisdom..." Only now, I realize I had it all wrong. It really goes "Mother Mary comes to me..." Whatever. Let it be.
They definitely liked their statues. All forms of religion seemed to be present. There was probably a statue of Allah on the other side of the hill, but I did not venture any further. I had my fill of these monstrosities. It was time to let the breeze fill my spirit and lift me away to my own special place. Wherever that is, I don't know, but sometimes I find it and that's good enough for me.

Phuc Thinh hotel

Please pronounce this in your best American accent. This is where you take your lover. Or something. This isn't that funny. Maybe? Oh, come on.

White boy on a motorbike

The sun is harsh over here. That much is clear. Knowing this, I prepared myself for my trip to Vung Tau. I worse a scarf around my face and a long sleeve shirt to protect my arms. I was not as smart as I thought. I left on my trip under the strongest heat of the day. Of course any exposed skin was going to get burned. Especially my pasty white skin.

I kind of realized as much during the ride, but didn't want to lose any ground to my fellow motorbikers. I was winning this race and was only going to stop to refuel. Typical me, never stopping to take in the scenery. But at the same time, trying to prevent unncessary exposure by just plodding along. So, I blasted full throttle at times, tears filling my eyes.

I made it in decent time. I really had no idea where I was going other than a general direction. But I can now say I have manipulated the highways of Vietnam. Or at least this one highway. And I learned it is necessary to wear pants when driving a motorbike for extended periods. And to apply some sunscreen on my hands. Or wear gloves if I can find any that fit...

Teacher Tiler

Cockroach

Why does that word make me shudder? I hate it. Makes me narrow my eyes and grit my teeth. A combination of two foul words in and of themselves. A cock. Fairly displeasing to think about. And a roach. Again, nothing pleasurable in that. Combine the two and you have yourself something really unpleasurable.

I had one of these little fuckers in my room last night. Only he wasn't little. Every time I tried to chase him down, he scurried away or flew straight at me. Made me scream like a baby. And run away with my arms flapping at my sides. Eventually, my feelings of compassion for living creatures gave way to my desire for a restful night of sleep.

I only wanted to stun the guy with a little whip action from my bathroom mat. It is what I want to believe what happened. It may be true after all. But I think I maimed the guy. Or gal. And he or she laid in submission writhing in pain. Then I scooped "it" up, because I turned he or she into an object, and threw "it" out the window. Out of sight, out of mind. It's what we do.

Sore throat

I am sick. It all started on my day off this past Wednesday. A tickle in my throat. The initial manifestation of something more serious. I hate tickles in my throat. Harbingers of future distress, they are. I don't think I've ever used that word. I mean, why would I ever use the word distress? Well, except when I have diarrhea. It's fortunately been a while.

Anyway, back to me. Bring back the spotlight. I'm not finished yet. I went home early on Wednesday night. And Thursday. And Friday too. And last night was an early nighter as well. And I can forsee the future. Tonight is no different. But it's alright. It's kind of nice not to wake someone up to bring my motorbike inside. And it's also nice to see the morning goings on. My favorite time of day, when I'm up for it.

I think I'm on the up and up. We'll see tomorrow. I'm drinking lots of water. And hot beverages. And gargling with salt water. And slowly dissolving mentholated tablets in my mouth to soothe the inflammation in the derriere of my throat. And I'm actually napping. Trying to nip this one in the bud. Because it's awful difficult to teach with a swollen throat. Be gone already!

Am I just a picky bastard?

Or does this tailor just suck? I went to them in the beginning because they were open late. It was near midnight and I needed a dress shirt for my class in the morning. To my amazement, they actually had one on the rack that fit me. I negotiated the price because that is what I do. And because it was a little dirty and was missing a button that was easily replaced.

Then the occasion presented itself again. I went in one late evening and bought the pink one off the rack. I didn't want pink, but the salesgirl said it looked nice and that's all it took. A lie. And I was sold. And of course, this shirt was negotiated for as well. It's hard when I'm used to buying my clothes at Ross Dress for Less and REI's major clearance sales.

I decided to get some shirts tailored. Some shirts that would truly fit me. Problem is I can't decide on anything for the life of me. Especially when there are rows upon rows of fabric. That doesn't look like a shirt! I just cannot envision it unless it is in fact an article of clothing. So I toss and turn and crinkle my face and narrow my eyes and eventually come to a decision. One that is still easily overturned in my head.

My first two shirts were really nice. They only messed up one thing. The length. Kind of an important thing. They would ideally be a few centimeters longer so they don't come untucked as often as they do. But they fit good and at $10 a pop, the price was right.

I went back for some more. Same as before, but longer. They jacked them up. They forgot to add the additional length. And my choice of fabrics was somewhat regrettable. These people were upset they screwed up the shirts. Blame was placed here and there and I thought I might see ladies brawl. But I calmed them down before any hair was pulled. They redid the shirts and they came out ok. I still look at them and cringe a little.

Recently, I was in need of some trousers. It's hard to find anything that fits that is pre-made. Well, aside from some nasty, pleated khakis that I had regrettably purchased a while back. I was willing to pay a lot more for something I actually liked. So, after checking around a little and feeling the vibe of various tailor shops, I went back to the old standby.

It was just easier. They already knew I was a picky bastard. But it was hard nonetheless to show my face in this place again. I said during the measurements, that I didn't want them tight. I don't want them chaffing my quads. They turned out as tight as my other pairs. Exactly what I didn't want! So, to my dismay, I had to have them redo them. They are now resting comfortably in my closet. But again, I am questioning my choice of fabric. I am starting to dislike going to the tailor. If only Vietnamese people came in my size!

A trip to the tailor

I just went to the tailor. This old guy remembered me from my last visit when I had some pants altered into shorts. His prices were higher than I wanted to pay, but I kept hearing you get what you pay for in my head. I envisioned a higher quality of pant than I was used to so I contemplated longer than usual. Which means I was there for too long.

He ended up talking to me about the beautiful women here in Vietnam. And he mentioned his younger girlfriend. Then he started tinkering with his phone and I realized he had something to show me. It was a video of his girlfriend. Naked. 16 years old. Lying on the bed. Covering her face. And he was proud. I decided to take my contemplation elsewhere.

To be a kid again

It's like clockwork. Plus or minus ten minutes. It's almost guaranteed that the heaviest rains of my life will fall around 5pm. You'd think I'd learn from this. Instead, I watch the skies darken and ponder what to do with the rest of my afternoon. Should I get my errands done? Or should I tinker with my new toys? I have a new phone and new speakers for my laptop. Adult toys I guess.

I procrastinated too long. I am in until the rains cease to fall. And who knows how long that will last. If I turn down Mr. Cash then I get to hear the kids playing in the rain. And I get to hear the rain too. Both enjoyable sights and sounds. To be a kid again. I'd take some of it, but leave a lot of it behind. Is it ok to try and have the best of both worlds?

I just want to play and be a kid and never grow up. To laugh and not let the little things bother me. Of course they do though. But then I want to enjoy the adult side of life too. But what exactly does that mean? I mean, if it means get a career, then I take it back. On the other hand, if it means occasionally partaking in the consumption of mind-stupefying beverages and pleasures of the flesh, then that's what I'm talking about.

Out of gas

Last night, on my way home from work, I ran out of gas. I was borderline empty when I left for work so it was no surprise when my motorbike started sputtering. I had just cut through a gas station a minute prior to the onset of the laborious breathing. I was reminded then of my need for fuel, but figured I'd make it to the next spot down the road. I was wrong.

At the next red light, the engine gave me nothing. I was being passed by honking cars on my left and motorbikes on my right as I pushed myself through the intersection whilst remaining seated. Then I made my way for the curb. I barely had time to think through my options when a man, reclining on his motorbike, started motioning me to push my bike. Yes, yes, I thought. I will push it to the next gas station.

No, no, that's not what he meant. He came over and proceeded to gesture to me that he was going to push me with his foot to the next gas station. Genius, I thought! That's why I always see someone's leg up on someone else's motorbike. Either they're low on gas or out of it. My new best friend put up his leg and down the road we went.

The first gas station was under construction. Or something. No gas was available. Onward ho! Honking we went down Nguyen Dinh Chieu. I was laughing all the way. Well, inwardly laughing. The next gas station was closed as well. Something strange was in the air. This guy new his way around. We continued past Cach Mang Thang 8 and turned right somewhere and there it was. An open gas station. I rolled in.

Obviously the guy wanted money. And he was definitely going to get it. I immediately grabbed my wallet and handed him 50,000. It was graciously accepted. I filled up my tank, started up the engine and was off again into the starry night. Well, I'm sure there were stars somewhere. I went off with a smile and a slightly lighter wallet, but far richer indeed.

I got beer stuck between my teeth

It is Saturday night in Saigon. 10:22pm. I am lounging on my bed that sags heavily in the middle. I am out of gas. It has been raining since about 2:30 this afternoon. And because of said rain, there is a puddle on the floor in my room. I'm not overly concerned.

I feel quite abnormal today and I can't explain it. I feel like I'm on drugs and I really don't like it. Like a bad trip, if I could guess what a bad trip was like. It all started after I consumed the 7up and the bucket of sugared popcorn.

I knew it was a bad combination. I was going to be all hyped up for work. However, it seemed to have the reverse effect. I was exhausted. After a couple of near misses on the motorbike, I arrived at work and could not stop wiping the boogers from my eyes.

Yes, there is a lot of crap in the air, which creates the most enormous eye boogers the eye has ever seen. The eyes are working overtime and wearing glasses only seems to cause more problems. The debris bounces off my face, gets trapped behind my glasses and then ricochets back into my eyes.

After my first two classes of the afternoon, I find myself fading slowly. My eyes will not stay open and I am wiping slime from them every 15 minutes. Something is amiss. I go get an iced coffee and some Mentos. On my way back, a gang of Vietnamese men force me to chug a beer.

This does not help things. I feel better, but even more wiped out. Then I drink my coffee and eat my Mentos. I think I have overdosed on sugar. Then I "teach" my class - perhaps the worst performance in my short-lived career. It doesn't help when the computer won't start and when it does, the DVD won't play.

Now, I'm back at home, too exhausted to attend a friend's housewarming party. Instead, I've consumed a couple Tigers, some peanuts and some vegetable chips. I think I was trying to balance out my sugar intake with the appropriate amount of salt.

And oh how that shortening, monosodium glutamate and other shit I'd normally never consume tastes good. Mentos? Come on, I haven't eaten those since 1983. 7up? I stopped drinking soda in 1995. Chips? I really don't partake in such activities. Beer? Same same. Ok, obviously that last one is a complete and utter lie.

What I'm saying is that I haven't got a clue what I'm actually babbling on about. All I know is that my eyes are about to seal themselves shut and I wish I had some air conditioning. And maybe that I didn't have to wake up for class in the morning. But it is what it is. And it is all good. Good night.

How to ride a motorbike

The most frequent advice I hear on how to best drive in this city is "drive slowly." It's probably in the top three. I'd have to say "pay attention" is number one. Followed by "expect the unexpected." Cause if you don't pay attention and you drive slowly, you're still going to get dinged. And if you don't expect the unexpected you're in for one hell of a surprise.

Clearly my number one fault is driving too fast. I wouldn't say I'm speeding just perhaps going too fast for the speed of traffic. Throwing off the flow. But I'm certainly not the only guilty party. It does, however, create a nuisance for some folks, who clearly don't know how to drive, but have adjusted to the frenzied "fuck the rules" style of driving here in Vietnam.

Two weeks ago today, I got in my first wreck. I am fine and dandy. Last week, this guy got clipped just ahead of me and I saw the wreck unfold before my eyes. I stopped and watched the guy writhe on the road before the clipper came back to tell the clippee why it was his fault. I couldn't do much and felt like I was the person at fault so I just took off.

Two days ago, a friend of mine went down. He said he was going too fast. The guy he hit got up and took off. My friend fortunately got up, collected a few random bits from his motorbike and made his way to the side of the road. Nobody else stopped. They just veered around and/or gawked from the side of the street.

Last night, as I was making a left turn with the rest of Ho Chi Minh City, the girl in front of me got clipped by a taxi. She wasn't going that fast, but fell off her bike to the right and I nearly ran over her hand. Fortunately, my bionic vision saw that this was going to happen and I crammed on the brakes and narrowly missed her hand.

Then I assisted in picking up her bike all the while staying on my own. Bionic strength, I guess. Or maybe it was the two other guys. Again, I felt like I was at fault for helping and because I couldn't say anything. Well, I could have said "I'm sorry" but it wasn't my fault so I didn't.

Good times. Accidents happen. Shit happens. You combine the amount of motorbikes in this city with the number of reckless drivers, bad drivers, women drivers and increasing number of automobiles and well, I'm kind of surprised I'm not seeing more carnage. Fortunately for me, I haven't actually seen blood and guts.

I was just kidding about the women drivers. It's usually some punk ass male swerving in and out of traffic. And it's that same guy who gets a nose in front of you and then swerves into your spot. And that's the truth. Pay attention. Expect the unexpected. And drive slowly. If you combine the three, they basically say drive safely.

-Written on Tuesday, July 1

Friday night

My Friday night is just another night. I work from 6-9pm. I have my most hated class from 6-7:20pm, a 20 minute break and then my most loved class from 7:40-9pm. Then I typically go home and change into more casual attire and go grab a late dinner. Tonight, I am having an Indian curry and orange juice. The curry is too hot so I have decided to continue writing.

My early class is in a large classroom and I have 24 students. They are stupid. Actually, I don't really know. They are just teenagers. And really obnoxious ones at that. I don't even like trying anymore. They talk over me. Most of them completely disinterested in learning English. Or so it appears that way. Tonight, I told them that teaching them English was like trying to feed a dead person dinner. Impossible.

So, I left them a little early with no goodbye and barely a glance in their direction. Got downstairs, fumed a little and went for a short walk in the rain. Then I regrouped and regained my almost-always-nearly-lost composure and taught my next group of students. They are at a lower level, but clearly more advanced. And respectful. And fun. And quiet. And want to learn. And they balance out the lows from earlier in the evening.

And then I hope on my motorbike and fly home as quickly as possible. And here I sit, enjoying my curry and orange juice and pondering how quickly this night is going to be over. It definitely won't be a late one because I teach at 8am on Saturday. Fortunately, I teach kids and they are mostly fantastic examples of how we should be leading our lives. Enjoying and living in the moment. Experiencing the here and now. Or so I like to think.

Random #111

Written the other day on my balcony (as if you cared)

There seems to be a huge storm brewing in whatever direction I'm facing. I love the storms. I just hope I'm not caught in the downpour like I was last night. It was still fun, but probably only so because I was ready for it. Driving to work wearing flip flops and my pants rolled up to my knees with the rain hurtling towards the ground at a ferocious speed. It was tough trying to keep the raingear covering as much of my body as possible and trying to squint through the raindrops and fog covering my glasses.

I don't really care what happens. If it rains, it rains. I get wet, I teach wet. No big deal. It would just make class more interesting. So, here I lollygag around drunk on a Thai curry and jackfruit, wiling away the hours before I must go and teach. Not a bad way to spend the afternoon if I don't say so myself. It is rather hot, but when in the south of Vietnam, you can't really expect much else. Praying for a gentle breeze.

Day #19

Oh yeah, yesterday I finally had a day off. My first day off in twenty days. I can't complain much about working only three hours a day, but having no work at all makes a world of difference. Having nothing to prepare for, absolutely nothing to worry about for an entire day was a fantastic experience and I forgot how much I missed the feeling. Now, I will have that feeling at least once a week.

I canceled my Wednesday evening class last week. I will miss some of those kids, but am happy to say goodbye to some of the others. Schmucks. When I canceled my class, the scheduler asked if I could possibly teach if she couldn't find a substitute. No. I can't. I won't. I got my schedule last Friday and took a passing glance and it appeared that I had the day off.

Then this Wednesday rolls around and I'm getting phone calls and texts about my whereabouts. Why? Apparently I didn't look at the schedule that thoroughly. But I wasn't about to ruin my day and go teach the same class I had said my goodbyes to the week before. So, after much begging and pleading on the part of the scheduler, she finally gave in, told me she hated me (in jest) and ultimately hung up the phone.

I felt bad, but I had plans. And I gave them a week's notice. And I wanted a life and I was having one and wasn't about to give it up. It was too good of a bike ride for someone to throw a stick in my spokes. I just wouldn't have it. And now, I feel relatively sane again and am making plans for my next day off already. I can't wait. Always working for the weekend.

Nice people

Vietnam is full of nice people. So, when I pulled up to the traffic light and this guy smiled at me, I thought nothing of it. Just another nice person. He kept smiling. Then he said, "I love you." I laughed it off and said "You love me?" eagerly waiting for the light to turn green.

He repeated his declaration of love. I smiled uneasily and watched as he repeatedly gestured with his tongue against the inside of his cheek. I tasted vomit when I heard the smacking sound of his gums. He said something about my hotel, but I was already up, up and away before he even got the words out.