Halloween in 'Nam

here are pictures of some of the trick-or-treaters hobbling around saigon this halloween. except they don't say 'trick-or-treat' and they don't like candy (especially not anything orange-flavored ) as much as they prefer money. oh and they're here year round. enjoy.

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The Price of Enlightenment

100,000 dong (about $6.75) according to the "tour guide" at Giac Lam, the pagoda we went to yesterday. after showing us around the temple and revealing to us some of the beautiful Buddhist art and the peaceful principles contained within, he looked Carrie dead in the face and demanded more money. she felt that 50,000 dong would be enough, but i guess that only covers half, and who would want to be only half enlightened when full enlightenment is staring at you with open palm. i felt that zero dong would be sufficient compensation for his services, but that the situation was certainly worth its weight in irony. maybe if he had let us walk around in our shoes instead of having to take them off every god damn time we entered and left a holy room (i don't have sandals...). that woulda been cool. i'd have paid him for that.

so instead i paid for a round of drinks at the bar across the street from the pagoda and we called it even.

Peace and the Scales of Delicious

last night i had dove for dinner. after slurping up my fish bladder soup (which tastes like warm runny eggs and i'd definitely order again), the waiter brought out the main course. it looked like they had flash fried a skinned pidgeon and put it on a plate, as it was completely intact. i was surprised to see they left the head, but not nearly as surprised as that bird must have been just a few minutes before. i worked my way from the legs and thighs up to the wings and breast, which was quite good (it tasted way better than anus). but because there wasn't much meat, i was still hungry. so i looked the bird of peace in the eye... and then poked it out and ate it. not bad. but my evil mind then wondered what a peaceful mind tastes like so i cracked open the skull, squeezing it between my thumb and index finger, and searched through it looking for the brain. i couldn't find it.

...and that's why i believe peace is dumb.

Peeking Through Blinds In The Middle Of The Street

the fuck is everyone staring at?

there's only one street i've walked down where i haven't been completely hawked and gawked at, and that's the one where all the expats go to eat banana pancakes. everwhere else i've gone, and by that i mean everywhere outside these 2 blocks, the locals watch me as if i was wearing a cape and tights, and i'm about to jump into the air and fly away... and all they'll ever know of me are the stories from those lucky enough to have seen me.

the looks come mostly from the people out on the street (not necessarily homeless, there's a great street culture here where it seems most would much rather be outside, eating a bowl of noodles (pho) or having a drink with their friends, than indoors watching TV) but also from the hordes of motorbike riders that swarm every street with a presence that is totally unbelievable unless you see it for yourself. the only way i can think to describe it is imagine if you gave everyone in chinatown either a motorcycle or scooter. and i don't mean that because they're asian, although it is convenient for the metaphor, but that huge masses of people are trying to get from point A to point B and the lines intersect every which way, and most every rule of orderly conduct is completely disregarded. chinatown on wheels.

and they are all fascinated with me. and i'm not sure if it's because of my clothes, or cool hair, or my lazy eye, or because they think i'm frodo just passing through on my quest to destroy the ring, or michael j fox, back from the future where i had had parkinson's but now i'm somehow young and healthy again, or they can smell my club foot, or what. shit. maybe they should spend less time out on the streets and more time indoors watching MTV.

oh, and happy birthday salamanella, dr. eyebrow...tho i think it would be funnier if it were german: herr eyebrow

Who Wants To Be A Bajillionaire

to the more desperate vietnamese [and there are a lot of them, check out the other bloggers accounts of poverty here...especially the story about the filthy retarded (errr mentally challenged) 9-year-old HIV-infected heroin-addicted hug-ophile], i'm literally a walking dong, or more often, a sitting dong trying to enjoy a drink with friends.

for those who ain't in the know, one american dollar buys you about 15,000 dongs which is enough for a decent meal. now if you want to gorge yourself at an all-you-can-eat buffet it'll cost about 25,000 dongs...about $2 after factoring in the cost of a drink. no beer costs more than $1 (as blatt gets a hard-on) and it is good.

it's impossible for a bajillionaire like myself to walk down some streets without being solicited for a charitable donation via a thin veil of a transaction. whether it be a homeless cyclo driver (you sit in a bucket seat while a guy rides you around on a modified bicycle), the old ladies carrying around a stack of about 25 photocopied books (it's always the same stack), the ones selling lottery tickets [grand prize: $4,000 (a bajillion dongs)], or the kids, who prefer to beg while you eat, selling gum, flowers, and cigarettes. if i were a philanthropist i'd ride around in a cyclo all day, handing out flowers to all the pretty ladies while i chew gum and smoke cigarettes. and occasionally i'll take a break from all this philanthropy to check my lotto tickets to see if i finally hit the big one...and read my photocopied copy of 'catch 22.'

so how do i do it? not how do i have a bajillion dollars...any english speaker can come here to teach english and make enough to be a bajillionaire in no time. no, how am i able to shovel food in my mouth while shoo-ing away all the beggars?


A: i don't know but it's a tremendous feat in assholery...and i eat asshole for lunch [see previous blog's comments]

Scatology, Matology, and S'mother Bullshit

thank you all for your concern for the well-being of my bowels, but there's nothing to worry bout. at first i was cautious, but now i just don't give a shit. example: i'm typing this on a dirty, sticky, most likely disease-ridden keyboard with ants crawling around the monitor while i eat a tuna sandwich with fries. fingers on keyboard...fingers on fries...fries in mouth. mmmmmmm.... rung ning, bitches. ['rung ning' is phoenetically delicious.] ok, now: fingers on keyboard...fingers on tuna sandwich...sandwich to mouth, oops! some tuna fell out the side...can't waste that. down the hatch. oh shit there was some mayo on that piece of tuna and now it's on my fingers and there're no napkins around (more on this phenomenon later). better lick that shit clean. mmmmmm....rung fucking ning. and trust me, if this keyboard were biological it would have died of something long ago.

so yeah, i've surrendered, but the war is still being waged inside my body. white blood cells against the foreign plagues and i assure you democracy, i mean immunity, is on the march, and anyone who says otherwise is only emboldening the enemy. ['embolden,' by the way, looks like a shoe-in for my 'word of the year' award. last year's was 'weapons of mass destruction' (WMD) and the year before that was 'terrorism,' for various reasons.] my awesome american antibodies are kicking the shit out of charlie. you can continue with the metaphor if you'd like (picture tiny little viruses shouting in gook-talk just before a big fat white blood cell swallows a whole platoon...no really, do it), but i don't want to offend anyone.

ok so in vietnam, almost every meal involves 'mystery meats.' i don't discriminate and i'm generally willing to try just about anything... but some of it is really bad. i think i had some liver yesterday at a buffet, but that's just an assumption because it tasted like shit, and i assume liver has a smidgen of a shit taste, being in the digestive tract and all. the organs that produce shit taste like shit, no surprise there. so the only dish i'd be really unwilling to try is 'crap hot-pot,' an entree on the menu of a restaurant mike took us to. while i'm 99% certain it's supposed to be 'carp hot-pot,' this is something i'm just not taking any chances with. ("yeah, i'm a 'no' on the crap hot-pot but do you still have the fried field rat?")

so enough scatology, and don't sweat the matology because it's all bullshit.

'mout.

Respect, Thai-Style

In Thai, the polite way to greet someone is by putting your hands together and saying 'sweaty crap' (spelled phoenetically), crap. Actually, the polite way of saying anything in Thai is to append it with 'krap,' crap. This of course makes me giggle like a little school girl when i learn about it in class, crap. So yeah, I've begun the program and it's straight, crap. I don't think I'll have any problem performing or finding a job teaching english here, crap. That's a big relief, crap. Speaking of relief, I think my 200 some-odd pills of immodium will go to complete waste, crap. I don't think I've had to crap yet, crap. Seriously, crap. And the people I've talked to that have been here for a while haven't experienced any of the diseases or the torrential downpour of crap from their crapper that that shit-eating doctor told me about last week and almost made me crap my pants, crap. I'd like to crap on his desk when i get back, crap. But it's one of those things that I'd say I'd like to do but never actually would, crap. Like yoga, crap. Shit, crap.

Friends In Strange Places

Everyday I'm here it's like there's some Viet Cong constantly ramming his modest-sized (but firm) cock in my ear, and there's no way to let him know i feel violated because i don't know any vietnamese and even if i did i'd probably mispronounce it and he'd think i'm saying 'harder, my friend.'

this is my take on the situation.

if you'd like a less offensive/more enlightened take on life in Saigon from the western perspective visit my friends' alison, carrie, and mike's blogs:

Diddy Mow Bitches

You shouldn't traffick drugs into Taiwan because it's punishable by death. Likewise, in Vietnam there are several items punishable by death.

Trafficking undercooked food into one's body? death
Trafficking unpeeled, unwashed fruit into one's body? death
Trafficking unboiled/unfiltered water into one's body? death

Ok, so maybe most people are only charged with a bad case of drippy shits, but that hasn't stopped me from examining every morsel of food as if it had SARS smeared all over it, and regard ice cubes like they were solid blocks of cyanide.

nah honestly, the food here so far has been wayyyy better than i expected, and i haven't been sweating the disease situation so much, though it really really isn't encouraging when it seems everywhere i go somebody's either coughing or sneezing out an infected organ. oh, and the only hospital i seen looked like it was about to collapse. and the water tastes like peanuts and cheese doodles. but other than that, the only thing i'm sweatin' is the oldies...in the bars for westerners and tourists. eagles, whitney houston, and of course the beatles are local favorites apparently. i expected to hear a lot more wu-tang based on name recognition alone but no.

Anti-Gravity (pt. 2)

So upon landing, I'm happy to report that gravity does indeed exist on this side of the planet, though it seems to operate quite differently. For example, it seems to have an exaggerated effect on the eyes, squishing them down as if everyone is always squinting. And it must have no effect on cheeseburgers because I can't find them anywhere. Fucking gravity.

Limbo

Wednesday morning, T-minus 12 hours until I'm whisked off into Limbo, a place where time and space cease to exist. I expect Gary Coleman to guide me through a history of the world while clocks fly past me with the hands spinning the wrong way, and I'll ask him why the effect of time stops working on black child actors of failed 'cross-over' sitcoms from the 80's and he'll simply shrug his shoulders, and then I'll ask him where I can get a beer in this crazy place and he'll ask me for ID and only then will I be enlightened. And when I wake up, it won't be Christmas, and I'll learn that Christmas doesn't even exist, but somehow I am living in the future, because it's Friday morning when it should be Thursday, and all you New Yorkers will be standing upside down.

...Unfortunately Limbo coincides with a best friend's birthday so as a birthday present, Ken, just imagine me among a sea of Asians with a very confused look on my face...happy birthday, brotha.

Toothbrush and Underpants

3 days before leaving, i got some excellent advice: 'get some vaccinations before you leave.' so i stopped in at my local travel clinic, and had a nice talk with the doc. he said i'm gonna get sick. ima get the runs, but that's ok cause all i have to do is bring enough immodium for 8 months. but if my 'poopy' (clinical term) has blood in it, that means i have dysentery. so he wrote me a prescription for cipro that'll be good for 3 spells. so if i want to drink water, and i do, i'll have to put up with faucet butt.

moving onto food. i like food...but i don't like hepatitis A. luckily, there's a vaccine for that one and i got it. but it won't be all that effective cause i think i needed more than one. oh and i should stay away from chicken because it might be infected with bird flu. luckily, i'm human.

ok so food and water are out. what about pets. not to eat, although i hear it's popular, but to ummm pet.
"nope, rabies."
i said, "god damn jews."
"no 'rabies' not 'rabbis'."
oh, cujo-style...that means i should run like hell if i see any stray dogs, cats, bats, rats, or other mats. especially if they 'have that crazy look in their eye.' sal, i've been thinking about it and i think you should get checked for rabies...

he says, 'ok, now mosquitos...they carry malaria.'
'MALARIA SHMALARIA! i don't care about an itchy bug bite...my whole body gets covered in poison ivy once a year. shit, a little itch never killed me befo.'
'you never had to scratch the inside of your liver before.'
'i know of only one thing that can scratch that.'
'actually there are 3: bla bla bla, bla bla bla, and mefloquine which has the strangest side effects of the 3...'
'what's that.'
'possible psychological breakdown along with vivid nightmares, if you can get past the insomnia.'
'wait...did you say 'side-effect'? cause that's...nevermind. i'll go with the last one.'
so in addition to taking crazy pills i should bring 'as many cans of 100% DEET bug spray as possible,' 'avoid going out at night,' and get a mosquito net for my bed. but i figure it will just be easier to walk around in a beekeeper's suit and a fly-swatter.

so that's it as far as the things i can see wanna kill me. but i can still breathe right? i find it refreshing. breathing is nice.
'not if you wanna die.'
'but i have to.'
'with every breath you're basically throwing a free kegger in your lungs for typhoid fever, japanese encephalitis, sars, any number of flu variations, and polio.'
'i thought polio was gone forever.'
'In 'nam, nothing is forever.'
'...what does that mean?'
[(POKE)]
'there, you're covered for polio you crybaby'
'what about the others?'
'you'll be fine. oh yeah, by the way, don't have sex. whatever you do.

DO.

NOT.


DO.




IT.'

2 days til departure.

Anti-Gravity

I've said it before and I'll say it again: there is no conclusive evidence that gravity exists on the other side of the world. none. nada. noth. Therefore I've decided to travel to Vietnam in order to find out for myself whether this so-called 'gravity' is as ubiquitous as nerds and TV and nerds on TV claim. I find out October 22.

oh...so in the unfortunate event I am no longer bound to the earth by gravity and I float out into the cold dark expanse of space like a super-expensive NASA Whoops-Forgot-To-Convert-Those-Figures-To-Metric fuck up, don't feel sorry for me. It's how i wanted to go.