Joginder

     I got a WhatsApp message from a friend a few days ago asking why I hadn’t been writing anything and I told her I’ve just been overwhelmed with...everything. I have very little to whinge about - family, health, relationships, finances - all good. But I've not found much elsewhere in the world recently to resemble anything that might evoke a twinge of a rainbow unicorn like feeling. In January, all of Australia seemed to be on fire. Then COVID-19 broke out in China and slowly spread. Much of the world went into some form of lockdown/quarantine, some more successfully more than others. Want some good news? The EU is opening up! If you're from Algeria, Morocco, Serbia, Montenegro or Rwanda or one of 9 other countries, you can travel to the EU. But, because some rugged individualists in the U.S. can't seem to wash their hands, socially distance and wear a damn mask and don't seem to want contact tracing, well, we're not on the safe country list. No travel for us! Then there was the recent spate of police violence. Ahmaud Arbery. Breonna Taylor. George Floyd. BLM. Seems like nothing has changed since 1992 when Rodney King said, “Can’t we all just get along?” In other news, locust plagues in East Africa threaten food security for millions, a fourth generation (and that's still just in this year) is on the way. The (necessary) trillions that the Fed and Treasury have flooded consumers and business with, along with the already high trillion dollar+ deficit and 22 trillion+ dollar debt will all have to be paid back sometime, somehow.  It’s been a no good, horrible, very bad year so far. And we’re just halfway through it. So I think and worry about it all. About people who have lost their jobs and businesses that won't be coming back. About people who don't have a familial safety net or transferable skills. About lines, miles long for people waiting for distributions from food banks. In the United States. The uncertainty of it all is unnerving and depressing.
     And then I got an e-mail from a colleague in Afghanistan, Joginder. He and his wife had just had their second child. They were thrilled. There was some hope, some happiness in the world. I felt as if the tip (just the tip, mind you) of a rainbow unicorn's horn had poked out from behind some of the nasty, dark clouds that so far have been emblematic of the year 2020.

     Joginder was always a joy to talk with. He has a PhD in political science, so many of our discussions trended in that direction. There was no subject off limits - arranged marriages in India, Indra Modi, Donald Trump, the aadhaar system to track citizens in India, Republicans and Democrats, value systems, religious and racial tolerance in multicultural countries (mostly India and the U.S. though) and how/what/why a government should function and provide for their citizenry. Not the type of chats you can have with the typical employee in Afghanistan, and I was always very grateful to have these talks with Joginder after work. Okay, sometimes during work too. He seemed to be well versed in so many different areas. But I was so very pleased to hear of his happiness that gave me a fleeting glimpse of the tip of a rainbow-unicorn's horn. So here’s to hoping everyone has some more safety and contentment in life and sees a little bit more of a rainbow unicorn - than just the tip of the horn -  in their future. 

A tale of two meals...

     As I was making my lunch, Gwyne started on dinner and I asked her what she was doing because neither of us like sharing a kitchen when we're in action. She said, "I'm getting ready for Sunday family dinner." I asked, "It's Sunday already?" I looked at my calendar, groused a little about being in the kitchen at the same time and uttered her second three favorite words, "I'll be quick." Her first three favorite words? "You were right." Mine too btw. My sandwich: some seeded bread, a layer of pesto on one side, tofu with Spike, sharp cheddar cheese, avocado, cucumber, onion, tomato, cilantro and broccoli sprouts. Two pickle slices rounded out my snack, it was wonderful.

     Gwyne's dinner? Japanese beef curry and funeral potatoes. It was a bit of an odd juxtaposition of her heritage and background. She discovered Japanese curry later on in life because her mother had it every day in school when she lived in Japan and never made it for her. Funeral potatoes? She went to University in Idaho and was introduced to midwestern fare - casseroles, pot roasts and things like funeral potatoes. After my relatively light lunch, I was feeling peckish around 1600. I tucked into the Japanese beef curry first and it was good. I told Gwyne how much I appreciated it and she said, "Aww, thank you." I'm a bit sparing with my food compliments. Then I had some of the funeral potatoes. And O.M.G. They were fabulous. What was going on? A second, nay, a series of compliments about Gwyne's cooking was forthcoming. Unheard of. I asked her what was in the funeral potatoes dish, she said, "Potatoes, butter, sour cream and cheese." Note: I have familial high cholesterol, so I have to watch what I eat, which may help explain the stream of expletives that flowed from my mouth after hearing the ingredients.

     I've said this many times before, you've never heard anyone eat a bowlful of sprouts and say, "Oh, that was so satisfying." Fat is filling. Bacon is popular for a reason. And that's the same reason the funeral potatoes were so.unbelievably.good. They were filled with fat.
     Gwyne just left to drop off the Sunday family ingredients to Miranda and Mariko. And as soon as she was out the door, I had another bite (or two) of the funeral potatoes. Completely worth it. Thanks Gwyne!

I am a very bad man

     And this blog will prove it. I received a bill a few weeks back from our insurer, Cigna Global. We pay all our bills on time, but this one took me back a bit. Cigna had overpaid the provider and was asking for a refund from us. I called the number on the bill to ask for some more information and was routed to a call center. "Hello, this is Cigna, how can I help you?" He said this in a signature sing-song Filipino accent and I guessed he was in call center in the Philippines, so I said, "Mabuhay, I just got a bill and want to pay it, but need to know where to send the check." The gentleman asked for my Cigna ID number and Claim Number and amount owed to Cigna and I gave him the information, told him I just needed the address and I'd send the check along quick quick. I probably spent about 20 minutes on the phone with him before he dredged up an address. I wrote a check, put it in the mail and thought that was that. It wasn't.
     I got a second notice for the same bill. I looked through our checking account and saw the check that I had previously sent hadn't cleared. Lost somewhere? Cigna gave me the wrong address? Dunno. That second bill, uncharacteristically, sat around for about a week. I was certain we had the funds in our account to cover it, must have been delayed, so I waited. Until today. Because today, I got the same e-mail from Cigna, for the third time, stating they had overpaid the provider and were requesting a refund from us. So I called. Again.
     I started out by saying enthusiastically, "Hiiii, I just got an e-mail stating you’re still requesting a refund from us, I’ve already sent in a check, but it looks like you didn’t receive it. I’ll cancel that and I'd like to pay now please." This time, it was a U.S. call center, and here's where I'm sure you will all agree, I am a very, very bad man. They asked for my Cigna ID Number and Claim Number and then they asked for the amount owed. I enunciated the next words VERY slowly: THIRTY....SEVEN.... CENTS.

     I asked her if we could pay in cash, because we have the money in our Piggy Bank and I’d put the coins in the mail today, but she said Cigna didn't accept cash. There was a long pause on my part until I sighed deeply and forlornly and I asked her if we could pay the bill by credit card. She said, "Yes, but I have to inform you there will be a 3% transaction fee added to the total amount. I asked, "You’re going to add a 3% transaction fee to the total amount we owe, which is THIRTY...SEVEN...CENTS?" She said, "Yes." I followed up with, "So, with the 37 cents and the 3% transaction fee, what’s the total amount we’ll be responsible for?” I was warming to the task at hand. She said she wasn't trained in credit card transactions and someone would have to give me a call back within 2 business days. I said, "Wait, I think I may be able to puzzle this out - do you round up or down if the 3% transaction fee is a fractional amount?" She again said she wasn't trained in credit card transactions and I said, "So you wouldn't be able to tell me if the total amount owed would be either 38 or 39 cents?" She said, "No, someone will call you back with that information." Then she gave me a reference number. I asked why we would need a reference number, she said, “Just in case you need to call back and ask about this case.” Now my 37 cent bill has a reference number! Seems so much more legit now. I thought about asking her if there was any grace period with job losses, Covid-19 and financial difficulties, but I had enough fun/frustration for the day. You can, however, bet your bottom 37 cents I'll engage in a bit more frivolity when someone calls me within the next 2 business days to collect their overpayment...what do you think the odds are of me asking for a payment plan? Prior to making your bet, please refer to the title of this blog.

Stress

     Stress. Pretty sure we all have a little more stress on our minds (and bodies) than we did way back when we were living in more tranquil times - January of this year, say. Ahhh, those were pleasant memories. We all deal with stress in different ways. Stress cooking and stress eating is pretty common. Hell, Gwyne cooked the other day. I do about 98% of the cooking in the house, so it was an uncommon sight to see her behind the stove. She made one of her childhood favorites, something called nikujaga. I stress ate what she stress cooked. There were some carrots in there, but it was mostly Japanese spiced ground beef and potatoes. She called her daughter who speaks Japanese and asked her what nikujaga meant and she said, “Well, niku is meat and jaga means potatoes.” Doh.
     If you’re not on lockdown now, you probably will be soon unless you are essential (and that varies wildly state by state). That’s going to disrupt everyone’s routine and it’s going to be stressful. I’ve done four separate contracts in Afghanistan, where you are mostly locked down. I’ve been on some big bases and some small FOB’s (Forward Operating Bases). On my second contract there, I was talking to a grizzled old vet who gave me some wise advice when he said, “Man, find yourself a routine.” Most of everyone’s routine there is working. 12 hours a day, 7 days a week. There was plenty of stress to start with there but the regular rocket attacks added to what was already a fairly difficult environment. I managed to settle into a rhythm there, I’d get up early, call Gwyne, go the DFAC (Dining Room Facility), have breakfast then take a 12 - 18 km bike ride, come back and put in my 12 hours.

Tour d’Bagram. Every morning, masked up.

Part of my evening routine was reading the Economist every week, I allocated certain segments for each day, that’s what I’d do at night. The stress was more tolerable (for me) when I was in lockdown and had a routine.
     I certainly did my share of stress eating in Afghanistan. I have a wee bit of a sweet tooth, and on one contract, you could tell what kind of day I was having by what time of day I was hitting the sauce (chocolate stash). If it was around 0830, then Alan was having a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. On another contract, everyone in the office knew of my sweet tooth, and in the beginning, I’d casually remark as I rummaged through the candy jar, “Hey, I’m a weak man.” It got to the point where I’d get close to the candy and say, “What am I?” And in Kenyan, Indian, Spanish and Southern U.S. accented English I’d hear back in chorus, “You are a weak man. A very weak man!” Might as well have some fun at work too, even in a stressful environment.
     But this is really different. Most of us are in our own house, hopefully not going out, or if you are, really practicing social distancing. And for those of us who are now on lockdown and have your routine disrupted, try to make a new routine at home. And yes, I know, it’s not easy. Some of us are able to work at home, that’s certainly helpful during the workweek, that occupies a chunk of time. But after work and during the weekend? Figure out what works for you and do it. Wanna stress eat? Go ahead. We can always lose a few pounds later. Some exercise? Go for it. There’s plenty of things you can do, light weights, resistance bands, learn some esoteric yoga exercises. Might help with stress. Reading? You should have plenty of time for it. House projects? There’s always something to do. Binge watch? I couldn’t make it through the first episode of Tiger King, but there’s plenty of other things to watch.
     But I think that now, more than ever, we should all be checking in with family and friends. We’re all in this together. So call them, e-mail, FaceTime, message - whatever. Things will be different when we come out on the other side of this, but for now, take care of your friends of family. That should be part of everyone’s routine now.

Zori

     Zori. That's the word used (or some derivative of it) in the Republic of Palau, Guam, the Commonwealth of the Northern Mariana Islands, Federated States of Micronesia and the Republic of the Marshall Islands for what most people from there wear on their feet. The Japanese colonized Micronesia for about 30 years, and that's where the word originally came from.
     I just did a 7 month work gig back in the Marshall Islands, and one of the things I regularly did was to walk on some of the lesser visited beaches on the Eastern side of the islands. I love picking through the flotsam and jetsam that the winds and waves had washed onshore. The amount of plastic and trash that's in the ocean is sickeningly staggering, but there can sometimes be some use there. When I lived on an outer island for a year as I was figuring out how to adult, my soft, sensitive white feet had hardened a bit, but I could never get used to walking on the coral lined paths without zori. I'd  sometimes wake up and find out someone had 'borrowed' my precious zori that I left outside my house. I'd sigh, get some water out of the cistern, strain the bugs and gecko shit out of it and start to boil it for coffee and then go and look on the beach for a mismatched pair that had washed up. There was always a variety on the beach right outside my house and I was on an outer island.  Sometimes, I'd have to walk down a little farther than I'd have preferred to find something that would  kind of fit, but what washed up is what was there. I don't care much now what people think about what I wear, and I cared much less then, if you can fathom that.
     So on the most recent work gig, I did what I always did - marvel at the daily changes on the beach. The sands had shifted from the night before, new pieces of coral, broken shells, high tide, low tide...and every manner of flotsam and jetsam, every day. To include zori. There were hundreds I found and left behind because I just didn't feel a good story in them. But there were some that I brought back with me. Who is Victor? He carved his name in his zori. How did he lose that one? Awwww, those sweet Hello Kitty zori. There were two of those, but different sizes, different colors. What winds and waves washed them towards me? The Popeye zori. Looks like a fifth grader's zori. Each one of those zori could have a fantastic story behind them. How they were lost, what they did to get home with one zori. Here is a link to a great short film about zori, and how terrible it is to lose one on an outer island done by a good friend of mine.

https://www.microwavefilms.org/zori.html

     I want to know everyone's story about how they lost their zori. How long it was in the ocean. What storms and currents brought it where. How it was somehow blown/washed to shore on Kwajalein in the Republic of the Marshall Islands. If anything bad even happened to you or even if you ever lost one of your zori, I hope your story had a happy ending.

 

     

Asshole buddies

      I try to learn something new every day, and the other day, I learned what an asshole buddy is. Typically, I’ll make a conscious decision about what I want to learn, as a few examples, last week, I brushed up on my knot tying skills or wrote for a prescribed period of time every day. Sometimes, I cheat a little by watching YouTube How It’s Made channel and chalk that up as what I’ve learned for the day. Go ahead, watch the one about how hot dogs are made and then let me know if you ever have one again. Other days, I’ll read some of the classics - I’m currently enjoying Guy de Maupassant’s complete short stories. I’ve explored how Bhutan measures GNH (Gross National Happiness), I’m also listening to a podcast that describes the personality and legacy of each of the 45 presidents, I’m up to William Henry Harrison now - that one should be pretty short. But a few days ago, completely by chance, I learned about asshole buddies.
     I’m in Santa Barbara, visiting my parents and we were chatting late in the afternoon about anything and everything.

The man, the myth, the legend, my dad

Then my dad said, “Let me tell you how the guys I lawn bowl with became my asshole buddies.” That got my attention. “Wait - what is an asshole buddy?” My dad seemed surprised I didn’t know what an asshole buddy was and then my mom chimed in and asked, incredulously, “You don’t know what an asshole buddy is?” I swear, this conversation actually happened. I said this is the first time in my life I’ve ever heard the term. My mom said my dad used the phrase all the time, he countered by saying he rarely used it, but it was common Philadelphia slang (where they’re both originally from) and it means you’re really good friends. So we quickly FaceTimed brother Ed for validation. I asked him to give me a thumbs up/thumbs down and posed the question - have you ever heard of an ‘asshole buddy’? He John McCain’ed it perfectly with a slow thumbs down in front of the camera and asked what was going on. I explained the context and then we had some follow on questions about just what an asshole buddy is and isn’t. Some of the questions asked were how does one become an asshole buddy? Do both parties know they are asshole buddies? Do you have to ask someone to be your asshole buddy? At that point, Ed leaned into the camera and seductively whispered, “Will you be my asshole buddy? Is that how it works?” As you may imagine, there was uncontrollable laughter during the discussion. My dad said that blood relatives could not be asshole buddies (really, there’s seems to be some codification on who can and can’t be asshole buddies). I asked him if male/female friends could be asshole buddies, he paused for a moment and then gave a terse ‘no’. I said I thought that was a very, very good call. Cue more laughter.
     The uncontrollable mirth down after a while, but still got an occasional chuckle from me just at the thought of the whole exchange. Later that night at dinner, we were talking about my upcoming trip to Thailand/Malaysia and who knows where else to get an annual physical, dermatologist visit and my 60th birthday colonoscopy. I said, “Hey, do you know who’s going to do my colonoscopy at Bumrungrad Hospital?” They said, “No, who?”  I said... “My asshole buddy.” That was an inaccurate use of my newly learned vocabulary, but we all thought it was pretty funny. 

Alex

     You get what you pay for in general and on Maui? Maybe even more so. My daughter has lived there for 10 years and I just visited her and my brother. She's become a part of the community because she's way more FOMO than I am, and it was so gratifying to see her run into people no matter where we were who she knew, hugs, kisses and this is my dad, he’s just here visiting, blah, blah, blah. Because Maui is not cheap and she’s been mostly in roommate situations, she lives in a crappy neighborhood. If any tourist ever got to the end of the road where she lives, it was by complete accident. So she's been looking for another place to live on Maui, and she answered a Craigslist ad...from Alex. Alex was a huckster of the first degree. He was trying to rent out two 'Ohana' units in upcountry Maui for $950/ mo each. Maui can be a lovely place to visit, but it’s not an easy place to live if you’re working there. If you can find an Ohana for $950 in upcountry Maui, you don't need the type of flowery prose Alex employed or pictures that were not representative of the bed spaces he was advertising, that Ohana will sell itself. Quickly.  Here’s the ad: https://honolulu.craigslist.org/mau/apa/d/pukalani-peaceful-ohana-in-kula-for/7068464609.html

Part of the main house. Where you can't go when his daughter is there. 

     So Ed, Celine and I made an appointment to take a look see because we like pretty pictures and flowery prose too. Yeah. Not as advertised. Alex had a shaved head, waxed mustache, square plastic rimmed glasses and gesticulated wildly as he was describing 'the possibilities' of where an outdoor kitchen might be, or where he could set up the ping pong table, if his daughter wasn't staying in the main house. Right. If his daughter wasn't there, then you could visit the main house, if she was there, then it was verboten. He took us through the property, and said some unusual things. “Look up! Not at the stars (it was about 2:45 pm, the only star visible was the sun), which are beautiful, but look up at the avocado tree! The tree knows when the avocados are ripe and that makes them taste like nothing you’ve ever tasted." Oh Alex. The avocado tree was situated directly above the the detached Ohana. The ripe avocados would have plummeted down in the middle of the night with a thundering BOOOOOOM on the roof of the tiny house like structure that would have raised the dead. Side note: I’ve had avocados that were picked un ripe and avo’s that dropped from the tree. I couldn’t tell the difference. Maybe he could. But he was special.
     You get what you pay for. I remember in my misguided youth after a fairly feral month in Sumatra I ended up in Singapore. I was looking for a knock off Walkman. Google it millennials, and yes, that's how old I am. I was in some mall and asked the proprietor of Indian descent if I could listen to the device before I plunked down my $10, he said with a disapproving wag of the head, "Baba, if you pay $10, you are going to get $10 quality." If you answer ad for an Ohana in upcountry Maui for $950 that ends with: Mahalo, have a beautiful day, and may the Universe smile kindly upon you....you're going to get what you pay for. Alex and his unique personality will be included at no extra charge.