G.I. Jordan

For some reason that I can not clearly define, the Vietnamese would not shave my head. This was disconcerting and annoying. I am now left with a bad semi-military inspired haircut that is by no means complimentary to my facial structure. This episode all began when I arrived in Ho Chi Minh City, formerly known as Saigon (pronounced Sigh Gone for anyone begging a pronunciation guide). I subcontracted a taxi driver and he left me in the downtown area without a place to stay. So, I started walking around and stopped in a few places to inquire about room prices. All were full or expensive. I wasn't too worried though, so I continued to wander aimlessly through the streets. I decided that I needed a confidence booster, so I stopped in a hair parlor. This enterprising business doubled as a pedicure local (the Vietnamese are famous for their pedicure expertise). So, I assumed that one of these beautiful Vietming would cut my hair, but to my chagrin they called a young lad from the back who performed the hair cut. It was strange and very awkward because this guy was cutting my hair and there were 5 girls in matching blue dresses sitting on a couch staring at us. I requested that the lad buzz my head so that I would resemble a G.I., he proceeded to give me the worst hair cut of my life. I looked like a Saved by the Bell reject extra in a scene at the Max. I left the saloon with little confidence intact, for the small fee of $2.

I finally found a place to rest my head. I was settled in and ventured out to find a computer and notify my parents of my safe arrival. I entered a park where the locals were courting on their bicycles, no lack of public affection. It was late at night and trepidation began to run through my body. I crossed a street where I noticed a large hotel that undoubtedly housed an email facility. As I was crossing, a very pretty Vietcong girl pulled up on her moped. She was dressed nice and I was startled at first, 1) because she almost hit me with her moped and 2) she obviously was a woman of the night. Her English was broken, but she basically told me to get on the back of her moped and that she would take me somewhere and then bring me back. I looked at her incredulously, my eyes indicating my loathing of her abominable suggestion. She persisted and like Joseph of old, I ran. I raced across the street and to my astonishment, she flipped a bi--- and continued after me. I stopped, turned to her, and shook my head. she finally got the point and drove off. I succeeded in emailing my family and went home, but not before one other strange thing happened. I was shocked when in the market a lady endeavored to sell me some gum and cigs. Abruptly, a uniformed cop walked by and ripped the items out of her hand leaving her staring after him. I was grateful that I had not purchased anything from her incessant nagging.

The next day I went on a tour of Vietcong caves and was bombarded (much like this area that had been peppered with American bombs) with anti-American sentiment and propaganda. Understandable, but part of the tour included a documetnarty that denounced "evil Washington D.C. and their bomb dropping". The facts were hard to stomach of the killing (3 million Vietnamese) that happened during that time. I was the only American in the tour group and sunk a little lower in my chair as the movie progressed. The caves were cool though and the tour guide asked for any young and strong people to volunteer . I raised my hand and said, "I am young, and I am strong." He beckoned me to crawl100 meters underground in the underground tunnel. I accepted his challenge. I was followed by a young Korean boy who is in the accompanying picture. We couldn't see anything when we went down the steep stairs so I got out my camera for light to lead us through the dark until we came across some other lights. Later, the Korean lad, a mere 14 years of age (13 American, they start age the year they are born as 1 already) indicated to me that he had just followed me and was a bit nervous. I had been nervous myself when I undertook the journey.

We left the tunnels and got back to Saigon. I exited the bus and walked down the street and entered another hair cutting saloon. I decided to give it another go. Yet again I was greeted by an attractive young Vietnamese girl and she called a young man from the back to cut my hair. I told the guy I wanted my hair buzzed and even indicated it, with sound effects and all, but to no avail. I was in for another standard haircut in Vietnam. At least it was shorter this time. So, that is how I got 2 haircuts in as many days in Nam, and now I look like a G.I.

Dark Knight

Out of everyone that I know I am the first first to see the new Batman movie. Batman is released one day earlier in Hong Kong and it is 14 hours ahead of home, so I was in a good position. All that I can say is that it is very dark and I cringed on more than one occasion due to the violent nature of the film. I was also not aware of two-faces long appearance in the movie. It was a surprise, but a good one. The movie was rather long as well and climaxes and then dives into a more intricate storyline. All in all I thought it was a great movie, and I could not even tell it was our good friend Heath under all that makeup. Luved it!

Failed Finger Foods

Last night I reverberated to juvenile humor in attempts to be the "life of the party" at a work event. I retrospectively condemn my failures and describe some of them in detail here.

First of all I thought it funny to write summer intern on my name tag and introduced myself as summer intern throughout the whole night. This act got a few chuckles from my fellow Cathay Pacific colleagues, but others just looked confused. I think my sarcastic and feeble humor attempts were lost on many.

Now I have to explain my demeanor and actions at parties. I am always eating. If you have ever attended a party with me I will be lurking by the food at all times. I don't know why I do this, but I always like to be eating something or have something to eat when I am mingling with people.

So, next I saw some beautiful females and on further discussion learned that they were Japanese. They were dressed far better than most at the party and I was intrigued when I first saw them. I started with the same bad jokes about being 18 and attending a hair school in Hong Kong for the summer. These were failed bits of dialogue and I again felt cheap in my comedic actions. I righted myself a little bit and talked normally for once to these beautiful ladies and then finally moved on to other tom-foolery.

My next try at being funny was eating as much as possible. A small plate of brownies came by and I grabbed three at one time and threw them into my mouth at the bewilderment of three Indian females standing on the other side of the platter. One of the ladies kept pointing out to me the rest of the night whenever the brownie plate was being taken around. I made a huge mistake. Throughout the rest of the night I would grab food and call over the waiters instead of them coming to me. Why I thought this would be funny I don't know, but I regretted it in more than one way. I was bemused at my follies for bad humor and my stomach was in shambles all the way home.

I guess that I dodged a bullet though, they would probably not be prepared for my eccentric dancing.

Are you Mormon?

This past Monday I was in Taiwan running around the city and having a great old time. I wandered to the Chiang Kai Shek memorial and tried taking pics of myself. The pics didn't turn out how I desired, so I asked a man if he would take a picture of me in front of one of the beautiful memorials. He accepted my proposition and asked out of nowhere if I was a Mormon. I gaily laughed at his inquiry and said, "why yes, I am a Latter-day Saint." I asked him how he knew and he attempted in vein to respond coherently. Something about him seeing a Mormon bible in the U.S. once upon a time when he studied there. His English was not entirely understandable, but I found his question humorous. I would never ask someone out of the blue if he was a Mennonite, or Presbyterian. How is it that someone would ask that. I was dressed in a white shirt and tie, but so were hundreds of other people in the city. If I saw a man in an orange smock I would assume he was Buddhist. If I saw a man in a brown tunic I would assume he was also a clergy man, or perhaps a friar if it was 500 hundred years ago. These are generalizations, but I believe they are quite obvious. The audacity to ask someone if they are of a particular sect is peculiar to me, but then we are a peculiar people. I took the question in good spirit and later was pleased that I was recognized for what I am and what I was portraying. This was a lesson in comportment and more significantly countenance and demeanor. What an honor to be asked such a question. However, I don't believe that I will ask the next person I see if they are Lutheran. There is no way to tell the difference, but I'm glad the world recognizes a Mormon in a group of faces.

Jump guy jump

As a single white male I have a rare gift that not many others in my demographic share. I can jump really high. Now to give you some background info, this ability stems from stem cell research ironically, where I have genetically altered my calves to feed off themselves and grow exponentially stronger. At 6'4 you may think that I'm not jumping high at all, because of my long torso, or lanky arms, but I assure you that the jumping is all real and that these photos have not been doctored in any way (except for the doctor who took the pictures, his name is Dr. Maelstrom). A jump is measured by where the crotch line is, and as you can see in the final picture, I blow the competition of other single white males out of the water. Sometimes I'll jump clear over someone while they are standing there. This has been my trademark move and fascinated scores of people. There is nothing better than running and jumping clear over a Chinese lady in the middle of a Hong Kong park. Over and out . . .

Intern Musings

There has been a long line of predecessors that have walked the intern line, I don't know if it is a straight line, but a pathway nonetheless. There has been the famous temp from The Office who rose to the heights of management, there have been interns on boats performing various labors as depicted in The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou, and there have been countless of real interns all over the world getting that oh so precious on the job training. As an intern I have made some observations. 1. If you do an internship in HK everyone will assume you are British. As far as I can tell, out of the 3,000 employees at my place of work I am the only young American boy. In fact, I have been accused of being the famous Prince William on more than one occasion. I have endeavored to learn British to cover for my Western drawl. Words such as peckish, lift, rubbish, brilliant, and cheers have entered my word arsenal throughout the day to assimilate me into the British role I am assumed to be playing. 2. Interns can ask any question and do anything. In the short period that I have been here I have asked every stupid question that you could possibly think of and will only continue to do so. "So, do you like work?"; "Those guys fly the planes, right?"; "What time do we leave?" Most of these questions are followed by me smiling and the other person laughing. Brilliant! I really am getting the hang of this. 3. Interns get special privileges. So in this week I have been to airplane simulations, watched flight attendant trainings and briefings, witnessed where the meals and items are prepared before the flights, and many other things. I know what ISM, FP, and Y3 stand for. I know protocol and procedures, safety and service standards. It has all been a wonderful opportunity. 4. Interns sometimes go a long time without talking to other humans. Finishing work at six and heading home leaves me with few options. I get to my flat at a retirement/wealthy community and my options become limited. I could take an hour bus into the city, read, run, or write blogs. All enticing options, but monotonous after a few days. I think I regularly go 10-12 hours without talking to anyone. Dreadful, but it opens up a lot of time to reflect and ponder. All is well. Those are some of the intern scrutinies and joys that I have found in this first week. Cheers!

Driving Me Crazy

Today I found that I have a fear that I had never previously considered. A fear that is plausible, but never considered feasible. While driving to my new flat on th gold coast, courtesy of one of the many lovely buses of HK, I became intent on the actions of the driver. The man could not go more than 10 seconds without rubbing his eyes are hitting himself on the back of the head. I found the bus drifting out of the lane on several occasions while this went on. I had never seen a man fight o hard to keep his focus and stay out of delirium, other than witnessing various students attempting the same feat in tedious poly sci classes at the Y. My curiousness into the matter elevated as my dear old friend led our entourage into a torrent of rain. The veerings into other lanes got worse, and as he endeavored to pass a truck I thought for sure that we were going to collide. To my astonishment we arrived unscathed at our destination and the driver embarked to his next destination with a prayer from me that he arrive safely there. Perhaps I underestimated the prowess of this man and his keen sense of the dimensions of his vehicle, however, when it comes to avoiding collisions with other vehicles, I prefer a sober, coherent driver.