Ctenophile

If you know me, you know that I've never been too in to haircuts. I mean who cares, right? I'm no Kardashian, no Beckham or Ronaldo. Those jerks wouldn't know what to do with a comb if it was one of their fingers anyway. Regrettably, my current obsession seems to mirror their occupational narcissism. In fact, in the past my coif has been the last thing I trouble to worry over, if it even ranks as a worry at all. For the most part my philosophy has remained to let nature takes its course, for better or worse (the latter most often prevailing in the form of nature's beloved mullet). But recently I've altered my position. I've taken to my comb with a fervor not known to any object in my life, save for my iPhone. Why the change you ask? I can't say. My cowlick remains as bothersome as ever, and I don't particularly enjoy spending the extra time grooming myself before leaving the house.
Nevertheless, I seem to breathe merely to style the fine strands of hair that I feel so lucky to possess. Maybe it's phalacrophobia, or maybe I just never knew how good I could look (no, that's not it; I've always known that). Maybe it's a way to ensure my beautiful girlfriend doesn't walk out the door in seek of a less unkempt man. I'm not sure, but I seem to feel that serendipity went to work on me during a recent viewing of O Brother Where Art Thou and a subsequent 3 AM haircut that Peter gave me after a No Bunny show. Maybe it was a longtime latent infatuation with John Dillinger. No matter though, this turn of events has taken place, and, with my new residence, I fear there is no turning back. For a mere 40,000 đồng, the equivalent of $2.50, I can get a hair cut, a shave, and little manhandling on my neck and shoulders.
Observe.

Up Up And Away

Following an excessively close game seven and a back to back championship win for LA (yes, that is what is important to me), we departed for Vietnam in the wee hours of a Friday morning. Goodbyes are never fun, but they must be done. And after many hugs were exchanged and promises made to visit, we set out on a nineteen hour voyage across the Pacific Ocean to our new home Hồ Chí Minh City, still known as Saigon to many both in the city and abroad. We flew from San Francisco to Taipei, Taiwan on the always unpleasant jumbo jet that one takes on such a journey. But our flight could have been worse, and has been in the past. With the help of an eat me and a drink me, we more than willingly fell down the rabbit hole into a ten hour slumber, only to wake to the equivalent of an SD to NY flight to navigate before we touched down in Taiwan for a two hour layover.

Layovers by nature rarely warrant any amount of excitement, but it's amazing how exciting free WiFi can be these days. I made some Skype calls and some Google Voice SMS's all for the extremely reasonable price of free. Just that word tends to excite me. I know, blah blah blah, get on with it already. So we did make it to Nam and found immigrating an easy task. We were met by an extremely nice woman from our school named Ms. Nga who was hanging out playing with her new iPhone just outside the airport (I will be able to reattach myself to my brain extension ASAP). Next we piled our belongings into a car and headed to District 1 where we are staying in the Hotel Lan Lan 2. It must be good if there are two, right?

Anyway, the driving situation in this country will never cease to amaze me. Watch the video below and prepare to be blown away. People just go. It doesn't matter your mode of transport. Whether you be bound by foot, bicycle, cyclo, motorbike, car, or bus, as long as you keep an even pace the rule of thumb is to just go. I can't wait for people to visit us. It will blow your mind.

Fond Farewells

Quality of life really is a relative term. Some quantify their toys, while others keep a running total on their coin. Nevertheless the ones who have it right (don't question me; I'm a teacher and know what's right) measure it neither by the make of their car nor the placeholders in their wages, but rather by how visceral their experiences play out, by how much discomfort they pass through to learn the secret pleasures of the myriad cultures of our planet. And the companions we choose along the way make all the difference.

I don't collect Corvettes, US dollars, or Rolex time pieces. Not that I don't enjoy them all as an ends to a means, but the means cannot elude the ends. The purpose must remain at the core. Like dollars, experiences have the ability to pile up if you keep your eye on the prize, but what do you want to accumulate? Benjamin Franklin and US Grant or Andrew, Sacha, Yves, Mihn, Yungmi, Mackenzie, and Nicoli? I prefer the latter. A song lyric immediately comes to mind, "make new friends, but keep the old, one is silver and the other gold." I'd go as far as to say get some bronzers in there. Acquaintances factor just a crucially to the stock piling of experiences as the silver and gold do. However, essentially the only precious metal for me is metaphorical, and the only money I need is to spend on sustenance and adventure.

So, with that short lecture, I depart from my homeland to continue my pursuit of happiness, but my door will remain forever open to the silver and gold of my life. Friendship shines like a golden tooth.