Who's House...

I'll try to write about my trip to Ha Noi soon. Ben needs me to put together a case study on Chile by Sunday, so for the time being, although my heart, body, and soul remain in Saigon, the rest of me is in South America (including the part that writes blog entries, besides this one). Let of know he youre down.

Matt thich Ha Noi, nhung Matt thich hon Sai Gon. Matt vui song o Sai Gon, nhung neu Matt khong lam viec [report on Chile] thi Ben Smith khong cho Matt dong! Va Matt can dong lam! Troi oi!

Look forward to all this [and more!] in the next issue of Something Indescribable:
1. Ho Chi Minh's mausoleum.
2. Billiars with Thanh.
3. Land value in Ha Noi.
4a. Conversations with taxi drivers.
4b. The taxi driver who tried to charge me 60,000 VND for a ride that should've cost 12,000 VND.

Southern Comfort

This morning, as I was walking into Diamond Plaza to workout at the 13th story fitness center, I spotted a Korean businessman donning the finest of fine shirts exiting the rear passenger side of a Porsche Carrera. Leather portfolio and briefcase in hand, he moved with an air of confident urgency towards the elevators. He got off at the 7th floor: Korea National Oil, ConocoPhillips, and Cuu Long, the Standard Oils of Southeast Asia. "Damn", I said. "I just hung out with the Korean John Rockefeller. What a baller I am."

About half an hour later, I ran into my favorite Xe Om, who probably makes less than the guy who washes the clothes of the woman who opens the door for our hero's limo driver. He speaks a little English (and by "a little" I mean ten times as much as I speak Vietnamese), but the smile on his face says everything. It's always fun dreaming about becoming Vietnam's next Rockefeller, Carnegie, or Vanderbilt - and believe me, the opportunities are out there - but on the other hand, driving a motorbike around Saigon for 60-70k a day doesn't sound too bad, either.

Mmm... Neocolonialism

A few of us ventured over to Black Cat, the brainchild of a Jewish man from the lower East Side who arrived in Vietnam starving after 14 hours of inedible American Airlines gruel, wanted nothing more than a corned beef sandwich, a dill pickle, and a Dr. Brown's Black Cherry soda, couldn't find any of that, cried hysterically, cursed the day he ever let his wife convince him that "Vietnam would be just as much fun as Vegas", picked himself up, figured that he wasn't the only one craving a taste of Jewish Manhattan, and decided to open up Vietnam's best sandwich shop, serving everything from Smoked Turkey Clubs to Corned Beef Reubens. After meeting the owner, I'm 94% sure that's how it happened. Just to be certain, this place has nothing on LaSpadas, and it never will. But for a city where "chicken salad sandwich" usually means a couple of seared cutlets served over a bed of romaine lettuce and tomato slices, it's more than decent.

Thanh ordered a Reuben (which he loved) and I, a mile-high STACKED pastrami sandwich. Best of all, it was Men's Night, so those of us with penises were treated to 2-for-1 cocktails (show within a show, folks). On the way over there, I took some awesome pictures - once I figure out how to post them on Facebook, I'll spread the love. For the time being, enjoy the ones attached to this article. Hey, kinda looks like the Bellagio, eh? On a completely unrelated note, I've got a high stakes Chinese Poker game waiting for me at table 3, so peace up, A-Town down.

You won't hear me complain about neocolonialism for a while.

Sidenote: I was there the next night. I'm considering going back tonight. Oh snap, it's raining - do they deliver? Yes! Wooooooooooohoo!

Mad Props

As per my parents' advice, I will publish this post at a later date. For the time being, please enjoy my favorite nationalist billboards.

Under my Um-ber-ella... ella... ella... ella... ella... ella... ella... [head explodes]...

I decided to change my template because the last one had too much going on, and I didn't like knowing that a leaflet of incadescent olives might be overshadowing my writing.

This one feels more mature.

I've had the song "Umbrella" stuck in my head for the last 4 days. Well, that's not true - it's been in my head for about 2 weeks; I've been on a mission to remove it for 4 days. On Thursday, Suzy, one of my favorite Robertson Scholars and (coincidentally) my neighbor, was walking into her room when she saw me walking into mine. Our conversation:

Suzy: "Hey Matt!"
Me: "Hey Suzy! What's up?"
Suzy: "Ahh, not a whole lot, just heading in for [can't remember, probably to teach others how to be awesome.]"
Me: "Very nice!"
Suzy: "Yeah! Well see you later! [looks away] under my uuuum-ber-ell-a, ella, ella, eh, eh, eh..."
Me: "GAH!!!"

It's everywhere! Rhianna, where you at? You're in my head, that's where! And I can't get you or your freaking song out of it. Emancipate me with your dashing good looks! I'm writing from the top story of my favorite high-rise coffeeshop, Hideaway Lake. We'll see where this goes.

Meh, it didn't go much of anywhere. I don't meant to whine, but allow me a few lines:

grujgekibhgki35hutik35uhtigubh4ilu5gbw35ktvb3ju5tvb3jyuhgtb
tugqh24i9t875yhiktgbuki5bqglh35uitbh1o8943ujt3oiugheg
i3u4htiq3uthkignkeqjgq3lgtojp;3qo5itkp5yko;kjgml5kngq53kl;njg

Vietnamese. Translation: "My, how horrible it is trying to work in places that lack central air conditioning! The weather outside is comparable to that which you'd find in a rainforest! Ho, ho, ho!"

Alright, with that out of my system, it's time to write a bit more about authoritarianism in Chile. Dr. Smith gave me co-authorship of his next paper, and this case study is one of four that we're using. It's shaping up to be a fascinating article, and I'm thrilled to have my name on it. I'm not getting too excited yet because apparently, you're always an underdog to get one of these things picked up by a major scholarly publication. Yeah, but according to Florence, I was an underdog to make it past week 1 of this trip, so booyah! Did I just say "booyah?" Oy, I need central air conditioning.

Value(s)

At one point Scotty Nguyen popped out of his seat and said, “They get paid $5 million a year to hit a little white ball, and they can’t do it!” He was referring, of course, to the baseball game on the television across the room. He and Franklin were betting on the games, and Scotty’s team was losing. Someone asked Franklin how much he had riding on the game. “20,000,” he responded. Every time the Tigers got an out in the ninth inning Franklin gave a little cheer. As soon as the game ended Franklin hit Scotty up for his winnings. Scotty pulled out a thick bundle of hundreds, peeled off two, and handed them to Franklin. “I thought the bet was for 20,000?” someone said. “Yeah,” said Scotty, “20,000 Vietnamese.”

I couldn’t resist. Today, we had an interesting discussion about intellectuals and the media. I argued that, on balance, the commercialization of Vietnamese media would improve social welfare. Rylan, our RA and instructor, disagreed, stating that news sources should instead be funded entirely by public money. I countered by saying that having the government fund a newspaper is just as bad as having a corporation fund it because each scenario essentially produces the same undesirable outcome: biased reporting. He responded that several foundations donate to newspapers without trying to influence their substantive agenda. I replied that those foundations would immediately pull their funding if said newspaper were to actively criticize said foundations – he agreed. Finally, I extended my argument to say that governments act in a similar way, and that a publicly funded newspaper would feel existentially committed to preserving its beneficiary’s reputation, thereby diluting the quality of news in the same ways discussed before.

Ultimately, I think we agreed that the only way to become informed is to corroborate information with alternative sources. He still felt that the commercialization of media damaged society, and I still felt the opposite (I also used Imus as an example of commercialization producing socially beneficial outcomes), but the quality of our in-class debate was on-par if not better than any I’ve had at UF.

Speaking of quality… man, propaganda… too damn convincing. We went to the “War Museum” about a week ago and at the time, I felt like ripping up my passport. Walking from one exhibit to the next, one can’t help but feel terrible for what happened 30 years ago, and knowing that it was my government committing these atrocities… absolutely sickening. But once we were far enough away from the “museum” to question ourselves, I realized two things: first of all, I had just experienced an hour’s worth of hardcore propaganda, and second… it worked! If I understood half of what I read on the posters lining the streets of HCM City, I’m sure I’d trade in my flatscreen for a sickle and hammer and find a rice field to till. Ignorance is bliss.

Three Dimensions

It was only a matter of time before Thanh and I discovered that we’re both degenerate card addicts. A couple weeks ago, we sat down and taught each other a few of our favorites only to realize that one of his was essentially a more complicated and analytical version of one of mine. If No Limit Hold’em is chess, Chinese Poker is chessboxin’ (for my gangster audience) or three-dimensional chess (for everyone else). When I was in Vegas last November, I saw Minh Ly (coincidentally Vietnamese) and Eli Elezra playing this crazy game with “a billion” cards in the high limit section of the Bellagio poker room. At the time, I figured the game involved more betting and higher stakes than any of poker’s more conventional forms. But then I reasoned that my analysis was based on cultural biases about Vietnamese and decided that Chinese Poker was probably nothing more than a fancy term used by upper-echelon poker pros to differentiate themselves from average idiots like Adam Kol, Mike Horn and me.

Well, turns out I was right the first time; Chinese Poker, unlike the Chinese country, is the greatest game ever created. Thanh and I usually play right before bed (it’s unethical to take sentences out of context and put them on Facebook and/or AIM), and lately, I’ve been on a hot streak. I figure it’s only a matter of time before he breaks one of my arms while I’m sleeping. Until then, however, I prefer to put myself in harm’s way elsewhere, mostly notably on the backs of this city’s million-or-so motorbike drivers (Xe Om in Vietnamese). It’s on these brief adventures that I conjure up all the nonsense you see every time you log onto my blog – and here’s the latest:

I didn’t lead off with an anecdote about Chinese Poker just because I’m a degenerate – well, maybe I am… and maybe I did, but there’s a point: the only thing comparable to the flow of traffic in Saigon is three-dimensional chess; it sounds and looks really cool, nobody understands what’s going on (not even the players), and one wrong move might end you (sotto voce). But in the end, everything works out (and even looks brilliant). Some of the phrases I’ve come up with while riding around: “an orchestra of cacophonous horns”, “a strange traffic equilibrium”, “incentives and instincts”.

As I was walking out of the Vietnamese Language School, just before catching a ride home with my favorite Xe Om, I turned on my iPod and looked for a song that matched both my mood and the mid-day atmosphere. “Award Tour” by A Tribe Called Quest; worth a try, right? I rode home in complete and total ecstasy. It made me realize how much I love the different phases of my day in Vietnam: shadowy mornings with coffee from my beloved Lam and Sam, afternoons in coffee shops listening to businessmen moving billions of dollars; evenings with friends at fancy, underpriced restaurants; nights at bars throwing back beers I wouldn’t be able to drink in the states. I also started to think about something a Japanese businessman told me a few days ago. He was complaining that Vietnamese workers refuse to think for themselves; “they’ll do everything I say… but nothing more!” It’s funny how a trait that was once bred, lauded, and replicated is now generating complaints from the people responsible for driving Vietnamese growth (foreign investors). More on that later. For now, time to play tennis with Thanh and down some Pho Tai (Pho with beef brisket). Thanks for the read!