Where Are The Keys?

In Transit from Dallas To Houston

I spent the weekend at my parents. It's always a mixed feeling experience; one part joy of seeing my other siblings/nephews and one part pain because my dad can make critical comments about the slightest things. The worst this visit being an outburst about my brother having shaved off his hair.  Later the same day I lost the car keys. To make things more complicated, my mother's shop keys were attached and I ran over a nail and got a flat tire.

I've had many challenging circumstances in my solo travels.  What make this particular test more daunting than others however is that I feel I have my dad breathing down my neck the whole time. To top it off, I misplaced both of my mp3 players.

In times of stress s like this I try my best to pull from it something positive, perhaps a lesson. I ask myself "what can I use from this or learn from this"- a reminder that it's all relative; some guy is starving in Somalia.  This is nothing, yet it's my nothing.

While searching for my missing things I was searching for a common theme.  All of this had to mean something. I feel experiences are wasted otherwise. One of the reasons I keep this blog is to remind myself of the lessons I've learned in life. I'm a college drop-out so it's even more important to prove to myself that I can do well in life despite having made that decision.  Losing my keys doesn't help with that campaign.

My sister in law offered to take me back to my mom's deli, the last place I remember seeing the keys  and a miracle happened. Evidently, I had dropped them along with my card keys right in front of the deli door. I was ecstatic and thanked my lucky stars. Later that evening my nephew found my music players and I felt like the luckiest guy. Having retrieved these missing items I thought to myself, what else have I misplaced in my life and is there still hope of retrieving this things also? I thought of my relationships with certain friends and family members. I've been gone for so long.  Can I pick up where I left off?  Are some things lost forever? beyond replacement and repair? I'd love to hear what you think.


"Maybe redemption has stories to tell,
Maybe forgiveness is right where you fell"
- "Dare You To Move" by Switchfoot

Urban Animals Don't Wear Shoes

~~~Houston Hostel. Houston, TX. Review days 10-14 and 2 Week Review~~~

~1~ About a week into my time here in Houston I was driving home from a massage, tired, hungry and wanting to get home to call it a night. I was but two blocks from the hostel when I witnessed, what I believed to be, a UFO, except these where not flying saucers with gliding neon-green monsters. They were humanoids, decked in full rollerblading gear (helmet, pads, and one with a hockey goaltending stick) flying down the streets in a huge pack - very alien to me.
Unidentified sightings will give me a jolt more than expresso and I acted immediately, turning right instead of left, and following; tailgaiting (or tailblading, rather) them with my car, just admiring the lunacy of it all (it was well past 10 PM). Who were these nuts? More importantly, how could I join? I didn't want to be rude and scream out these questions from the safety of my car so I ditched it at the nearest street curb and ran after them on foot trying to catch up with the slowest of the group, a beautiful, 30'ish, woman with very long flowing blond hair, who I later find out is Kimber, one of the pack leaders (apparently, tail-enders are the most gallant of the group, he/she being the first to get run over in the unfortunate case a driver goes crazed at the sight of 30 and 40 year olds enjoying, in what most "adults" think, a pubescent activity).

I find out info from Kimber and decide to meet with them the following week. The following Thurs. (yesterday) I did meet up with them at an inconspicuous tavern (Big Easy's) and set off on my big adventure, a course totaling 10 miles of Houston asphalt. The team was the nicest bunch you could find, especially Harold who helped me immensely even showing me how to tandem-blade, something I have never seen done. I was thrilled, ecstatic, focused on how good I would feel at the end of 10 miles! Instead, I made it to the Walgreens down the street, and was already flirting with the idea of heading back. It was REALLY hard, these middle aged guys were animals!

After 6 miles, and lots of self-denial, I made it to the heart of downtown, happy, but in much pain, especially from the blister in my right foot (which, at the time, felt like a balloon, but after inspection the day after, turned out barely noticeable -- what a wuss!). I decided to bail out and take the train home, the only problem was that I did not bring any money with me and not even my telephone, thinking I might lose either along my trek. I didn't want to impose on Harold, my super-awesome-nice guy of a roller mentor, so I decided to wing it instead. The worst thing would be to walk bare-footed home 3 miles.

So there I was at the station weighing my options:
A) Call my sister -- oops no phone
B) Freeride the train -- potential fine: $70
C) Walk home -- potential mugging: this is the seedy part of Houston
I decided to spange (ask for spare change) instead (despite hating to impose on others). I found my first "target" a very approachable looking 20-something black girl. She was reticent but after I told her my sob story and tried to flash a winning smile, she couldn't help but give in. I asked for her name - Britni, and I realize there and then, it is the same Britni who responded to my personal on Craigslist! Holycowsonofabillygoat! Just then the train arrived and she took off, disappearing from my life...forever.

But forget romance, I was focused on getting a ride home. A thuggish-looking bunch of Latino guys approached the station, and there I was, decked fully, still, in roller-blade gear (helmet and all, minus the hockey stick) approaching these guys (now I realize how rediculous I must have looked). Somehow I was blessed that day and they gave me spange to by a ticket home. I thanked them by giving one of them my rollerblades. It just felt right, and besides, Urban Animals don't wear shoes.

Model Minority

Got pulled over for having too dark a tint on my windows and a "suspicious amount personal belongings". Not shi*, sherlock. I'm living out of my car at the time trying to make an adventure of my mundane days. He gives me a ticket, impounds my car.
~~~Policeman's exact words~~~ "Man, I've never met a Vietnamese so fuc*ed up." "Thank you for the, er, compliment, officer."

Parent's House - Sachse, TX "Hustling"

Well, I went with my little brother over to my older brother's house to help him break in his new house up in Denton, TX. On the way there, we had to take the tollway. In the name of Jefferson Thomas of Nantucket, it costs 75 cents at each toll collector and then there are four toll booths along the way to Denton. So brother and I scheme to play along with the system. We take mother's van, and mother, too, and pulled off the Great American Tollway Robbery.

This is how it works if you are interested in making easy cash. What you do is one of you plays the driver while the other plays the "hustler". The hustler stays in the back with next to the sliding van door and readies himself to hustle. As the driver pulls up and approaches to pay the 75 cent toll, the hustler slides the van door, preparing to pull of the "great heist". As the van makes a near-complete stop at the toll-collection unit, the "hustler" pulls the van door open and, at that time, makes a visial inspection of all the loose change that rookie coin tossers mis-manage to make it in the toll basket. You'd be surprised! It's like a goldmine! There's so much loose change, you can swim in it. Watered in emotion, I brought in 15 cents at our first stop. I could have gotten more, but was inhibited by my embarrassment, there was a car behind us.

All in all, I made almost 55 cents. Dude! Imagine the possibilities if one were to apply oneself. Now this is between you and me. If the authorities catch on to this scheme, we could be in big trouble.

Friend Profile: Jaime (From Wheatsville - Austin, TX)

Park Austin, TX
The following is a brief biographical sketch of a new friend.
Name: Jaime Age: 30For Money: Wheatsville Co-op, a community-oriented/owned health/politically concious grocery storeBirth Town/Hometown: Raleigh/North Carolina -- Anywhere, USADoB: August 9Title: Conversation and Conservation
Jaime believes in preserving/conserving our natural resources. For example, on another FnB* Wednesday public feeding, I smell something offensive, and at first thought I hoped it was not my asshole, for I was squatting in the traditional chinese horse stance, but as it turns out, it's fresh dog shit that has been smeard on the wet green grass of Republic Park. Worse yet, i get some of it on my hands and so does Jaime.
Naturally I run to the public faucet and wash it off good with soap becasue I was about to eat myself passing the bar of soap to my new friend Jaime only to look up and be perplexed as to why Jaime was choosing to rub the dog shit off with a patch of clean, green albany grass. Smeared the goondiewhopper all over his hand. I give him an inquisitive look, pause, and think to myself, "Hey, buttbrain, what do you think you're doing?" but I'm genuinely curious about this guy...he's otherworldly, so to speak, and ask him, "Jaime, why....why do you do things the way you do things?"
He smiles at me and asks...well, Dao, why do you think I do the things I do? "Is it because you like to do things differently?" I ask...He replies, "no." "Is it because you like to conserve water?" He replies with the same answer but with a chuckle. Still perplexed, I randomly throw out, "Is it because you're gay?" "Nope, that's not it either, but you're close.
The reason is that I figure dogshit contains, like most mammalian fecal matter, a high and healthy concentration of vitamins, minerals, and other essentials to aid in the accelarated propogation of plant matter...and I have absolutely no freakin' idea what I just said...but I thought it would make me sound cool...did I sound cool? I replied with nothing but a blank stare...whoa, I'm speechless...I have hit the oasis of the eccentrics amidst the desert of commoners. Austin. My love. My present home.
* FnB is an acronym for a volunteer organization I participated in here in Austin called "Food not Bombs."

Surge Cafe University of Miami

On Saturday I woke up feeling lousy...you know, it's a disturbing ache somewhere in you but you don't know exactly what or where it is to fix it. I was expecting a pretty bland weekend. There's a t.v. lounge here on campus and lately the N.C.A.A. (College Basketball for those unfamiliar) Championships have preoccupied me. I don't particularly follow one team. In fact, I don't even watch any sport on television until it gets down to the nit and grit of The End...the playoffs (basketball), cup play (tennis), world series (baseball), supremium bowl (pronounced with an Indian accent ...the finals for the sport of "cricket") I am not making that up...alright...I am, but I am sure there is such a thing as championship cricket, just dunno the name.

Anyhoo, there I am, kicking back with some munchies, my feet propped on a coffee table in front of me staring at the tube. I must have stared too hard, because out of nowhere a strange image appeared before me. It was a picture of a full-grown, 300 lb. Korean, female sumo wrestler showcasing, from each outstretched arm a sprawling, gawky, Japanese 8-year old. I was thinking, "What the heckeroo?" After a second to gather my senses, I look to my side and realize that the homeless-looking gentleman sitting to my right was volunteering my eyes (by placing in front of me) to a photo he had taken at the Asian World Summit. Strange things happen when you're not at home.

Vietnam Experiences Unfiled

So my best friend and I (who I met 18 years later in college) were born overseas in the same town in the same hospital, Bien Hoa, Ho Nai. I'll have to put in a map. pretty neat. They say it's a small world. That's evidence of the truth in that saying there.

So I was born March 10th in 1980 with a humungus mole on my right eyebrow. It appears a little smaller now since my head has gotten bigger but apparantly it was so hideous my grandmother took to a local remedy in shrimp peels and seaweed. She used this concoction to rub on my mole in hopes that it would disappear. It's still there. and the seaweed acted like a chia-pet agent, I have to constantly trim it to keep it presentable.

I don't remember much else about being born. My mother tells us that with each of her (six) kids, she had a different craving during her pregnancy. Sugar cane for my eldest brother. Mangoes for my older sister. I was the third child and she swears that she had no craving at all. I think that's because I was all that she ever wanted in life. The first two were just practice babies. It's true, she never outright says it, but everyone knows that I am her favorite, even with the narly mole.

I'll have to ask my mom more about the details of my early days. I can just imagine though. After the third child, wouldn't any sane person say no more, this hurts too much. But my mother, god bless her, is one tenacious lady, and I was blessed with three younger siblings.

other stories from vietnam
- three person motorcycle adventure get away involving local police.