Erasing old voice mail

Hey all, I'm blogging again too. woo hoo.

Nothing too exciting. I deleted my voice messages today, from the last two months. There was the undergrad engineering student in my stats class that asked for my help with minitab, that I help only once.

That got me thinking: There was this older guy, seventy, kind of hard of hearing, definitely very social unaware, interrupting the professor, asking really random questions and random answers, who seem to be from the middle east. Even the professor told me how annoyed she was by him.

But after reading Kite Runner, I don't want to rule out that any older immigrant may have been in a position of power or a prominent figure in the community, who was forced by war to become, just another poor working class immigrant in the U.S. I love how reading can expand your mind and expose you to a deeper awareness.

I know in class this man had a fondness for generals. His statistics knowledge was great, but he was scared to use the computer. I wish he were able to get more help, I wish I was able to help him, but alas I was struggling to do just my own work. I wanted to him ask what he did back in his home country, but never got the chance. Maybe he will be in my program, if I ever get back in.

Then was also the phone message about the interview for the lab manager position at Stanford. That was a disaster. The first question was a killer, "Why is there a four year gap on your resume?" I never recovered. I don't know why they brought me in. but it wouldn't have been a good job for me, it was too far away and it wasn't going to be exciting enough.

Besides, I've got some work. I'm teaching my first GRE course on Sunday. hopefully I'll be prepared. there was also the message about ACT tutoring that I couldn't take, because The Review didn't train me to teach the ACT. next time, I'm just going to lie and say that I can teach it, buy a book, take the business and don't tell the Review. Please, if you work for the Review (Big Brother), please make a comment on my blog, so I know not to share. so far I swear, I haven't done anything inappropriate professionally.

E.g. Facebook says I should add a cute former student as a friend, but I have no idea why it suggests her? seems kind of random to me, thoughts on why it suggests her as a friend to me? those that have facebook expertise please chime in. don't worry, I'm not going to add her. although she is legal. Peace out. Safe travels. Safe parenting.

Musings on My first day in Ho Chi Minh City

The first thing you notice is the traffic. I don’t understand how half the city’s population has not been maimed or killed in a traffic accident. "Utterly crazy", does not even begin to describe the situation. It helps to understand that there are eight million people in Ho Chi Minh, and five million scooters. All the drivers care about is getting from point A to B as quickly as possible.
Almost anything is fair game on the road or sidewalk. Yes, the cars and scooters will go up on the sidewalk without warning. That is just how they roll. Walking is an extreme sport when you are in Ho Chi Minh.
Scooters are also willing to drive head first into oncoming traffic. If the scooter wants to go to a store on the other side on the street they just start going into oncoming traffic like it is no big deal. Magically, the cars and other scooters just go around them like there is nothing out of the ordinary. I was in a taxi today and we had scooters going the wrong way on either side of us.
However, nothing quite compares to the task of crossing the street. Possibly it is like the scene in Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade where Indy has to cross the invisible bridge using his faith. When you cross the street, you just start walking into traffic with the understanding that everything will probably avoid running you over. You literally just start walking into the intersection regardless of the traffic. As long as you steadily walk forward you are safe; if you hesitate you are more likely to get hit. More to come.
Peace Out

This is Why I'm Phat

The Good Word on Pork Rinds

We all had a superior 4th of July in Missouri, especially the shortest member of the family. My uncle got us box seats to a farm-league ball game and my cousins set off some alarmingly big fireworks. That is how they do in the MO. And of course the food was great. My cousins actually made their own orange-infused, ho-made marshmellows for ho-made rocky-road ice cream (more on this see PurpleHouseDirt).

Another notable comestible was born in a moment of whimsy when a day-old, half-eaten bag of pork rinds happened to be sitting on the counter next to the bowl of excess hollandaise sauce. The newest addition to the Comfort-Fusion pantheon.