From Dark Desperation Comes American-Asian Memoir Gold!

Okay, I admit it. As with many Tar Heels, I'm not taking Coach Smith's death too well. So, I have decided to do what I always do when I'm experiencing pain. I'm turning to the funny. It's Freud's forgotten defense mechanism. You just laugh and laugh and laugh, and in doing so, you push that hurt down just a little bit farther. That's completely healthy. Been doing it for years. What's the worst that can happen (prerequisite twitching eyelid, shoulder tick ensues)? It's why the most successful comedians tend to be tortured souls. Or, cocaine addicts. I'll lean toward "tortured soul" because I get a little jittery when I drink a cappuccino. Probably should avoid the Blow.

This idea dates back to the early 70s (the funny, not the drugs ... no drugs in the 70s). For those from Mayberry and a select few Gen X'ers at UNC, you are aware of the legend of Norm and Jay. It is a powerful, powerful force that cannot be explained with words. It can only be experienced. For those not versed in Mayberry lore, Norm is my childhood best friend. Pretty much inseparable until this whole marriage/career thing got in they way. I would tell you Norm's real name, but I'm not fully sure I remember it. Maybe it started with a "B"? No that was Bryan Lynch, no, wait, it was Bryan King ... or was it Bryan Lowe? Levering?  Was Brian/Bryan the only name available to Surry County parents in 1972/73? Let's just stick with Norm.

What many back home may not know is the fact that Norm and I shared a front yard for about 9 months while Pa was building the current Lowe Homestead back in '77. As you could imagine among 5 year-old boys, there would come times when one of us would get hurt. Typically, if I remember correctly, this involved one of us falling off the swing set. You would assume this would compel the other to run and fetch an Emma or a Janie for help, but since it was most likely the not-hurt Jay or Norm that caused the accident, this would never happen. Instead, in order to avoid severe grief and punishment, the non-hurt Norm/Jay would immediately begin a comedy routine to shape the tears of pain into tears of unmitigated laughter and joy.

It was a formula that worked for decades, well into our adulthood. Not ironically, in my time of sorrow, it was Norm that IM'ed me to make it all better on this past Malaysia Monday/Lynchburg Sunday. And, it did. Granted, I was in the middle of class and probably should have ignored the FB ding of doom. But, it was Norm. I wish I could have IM'ed the rest of the afternoon, but it was late in Lynchburg. Also, have I mentioned I had a classroom full of kids? It was short, it was quick, but it was oh-so-therapeutic. So, to Norm, I say thank you. As always. Mark March 13th as your day to celebrate Norm. I suggest making t-shirts to commemorate the day. I know a vendor that can get them direct from China on the cheap-cheap. Same guy who sold me the $15 Beats headphones for Christmas. And yes, all three sets are already broken. But the shirts ... oh they are very nice! Good price! (I'm becoming an elderly Chinese street vendor)

I've been trying to decide what my next steps should be in this crazy life turn I have taken (in case being an elderly Chinese street vendor does not work out in the saturated Malaysian market). Some have suggested I write a book after reading the previous blogs. Though flattering, I'm pretty sure the great authors of our day were probably pretty well read. I do manage to read from time to time, but much to Lowanda's chagrin, I'm not really what you would call an avid reader. Lowanda Badgett, of course, is the "first name basis only" figure in the annuls of North Surry English lore. At best, I'm a "read the back of the book and pretend I might read it ... nah, probably not" reader. Or, a "book looker" as it might be. Okay, I drink coffee at Borders once in a while.

I've got a collection of stories that would bring Augusten Burroughs and David Sedaris to their collective dysfunctional-memoir knees. Granted, I have never read either of their works, but I have experienced them second-hand through Jill's love for both. From what I understand, they basically just embellish the details of their past and make lots of money on it. Apparently, Burroughs used to run around with kitchen shears or something, and that makes for a great read that lady book clubs eat up. Of course, I'm not a gay man. I think this is possibly a prerequisite for a great memoir writer. I have gay friends. I voted against Amendment One. Maybe I could write a dysfunctional novella?

I have a family tree that sort of interweaves. That has to provide some potential for a good memoir. I was fat when I was young. People love fat kids. That might sell. I have all kinds of wacky stories from my ultra-White, rural upbringing, actually. I'm pretty sure watching the Jeffersons and Good Times was as close as we got to minority exposure in Bottom, short of playing baseball with Charles Tucker. Okay, maybe I don't have the goods for a sizzling childhood memoir. What else is selling now?

Ah yes, middle aged, mother-of-two-point-five soft porn. That's burning up the shelves these days -- and you've got to think about the movie rights! Pretty formulaic. Easy. Twelve Shades of Chartreuse ... that's catchy. Obviously doesn't take a lot of talent (again, haven't read it, but based on what I hear, it makes grocery store romance novels read like ol' Bill Shakespeare).

I guess I could write about my days in public school classrooms ranging from Hillside to Cedar Ridge. There's plenty of stories from my coaching days. Not a lot of wins, but plenty of stories. Or, there's this private school gig I've got going now where we have monkeys, geckos and kids getting dropped off by "Driver" in a Mercedes Benz. Now that I think about it, I have a few stories about a lot of my life, but not a lot of stories about specific aspects of my life. I guess that's why great authors need to read ... so they can find inspiration. It's kind of like Sam Smith listening to a lot of Tom Petty records for "inspiration" if you hear me (wink-wink).

I do like to read comic books! Well, I used to. That's what we used to call graphic novels. Today, we just call them blockbuster movies with recovering drug addicts featured in John Hughes' movies in the 80s (but not the 70s ... no drugs in the 70s). I could take all the best of my Marvel Comics recollections and work that in as well. Maybe I could get a consult with Joss Whedon just to be safe. Okay, this is coming together. What if it goes something like this ...

DARK DESPERATION by Jackson Lau

(how's that for a clever pseudonym ... no one will EVER figure out it is me) -- the following description will be found on the back of the book:

Norm Edwards Smith is a man on the run. Unbeknownst to his colleagues at the prestigious Bon Kara International School, the girls' softball coach has more on his mind than just bringing home a championship to the Geckos. His mutant powers successfully suppressed by a controversial procedure developed in the Research Triangle Park, he must travel throughout Southeast Asia to track down clues to his past. Since a traumatic head injury incurred in a sex dungeon, Smith has had to live his life as a slightly overweight gay Black man in hopes of recovering the missing pieces of his forgotten life. His only reasons to hold on to hope -- a mysterious note from a secret benefactor known only as "Uncle Grandpa" and the recurring thought of fish frying in a kitchen and beans burning on a grill.

Well, that's all I got. Remember, I don't actually read anything past the back of the book. That will have to do for now. I will be available for a (back of the) book signing at a Borders somewhere near you this summer. I'll take great care not to spill coffee on it.

Boys' Day Out, Part Deux

While Mamacita is away, the hombres play ... ah yes, it was another typical, crazy weekend for the testosterone driven wing of the Lowe household. Jill, in an attempt to show her true altruistic side, volunteered to go with our school's tennis teams to Myanmar (pause to allow for Google Maps search ... up, up, to the right of India ... no, not quite that far ... no, that's Laos ... there it is!). Because both coaches are males, they needed a female chaperone to basically do bed checks for the female players at night. Forget the fact she got a big ol' fat travel stipend and an all expense paid trip to see the world's largest gold temple in Rangoon, it's for the kids, people. She truly is a saint.

Would you rather ... boys' weekend or go here? Duh! No brainer. 

So while Jill was gallivanting around the land-once-known-as-Burma, the boys and I realized it had been too long since I had written a good ol' fashioned "My, how things are different here" blog, and we took off to explore the big city. Now, those of you who are regulars here at the "May to Malay" Blogosphere know that food is a big part of the Malaysian experience. We returned to the site of one of our first bloggable moments, the Kuala Lumpur City Centre, or KLCC as we call it here, and we decided to make a day of it. Luckily for you, there was just a whole slew of blogtastical stories to share -- and that was just during lunch.

PART ONE: Traditional Gringo Lunch

So, the last time we went to KLCC, the regular readers might remember that the only "American" food we could find was Belgian waffles. Well, this was because expats, in the first month of living in a new country, have a disease known as "Chain food blindness" and it's serious. It affects countless half-dozens of people -- semiannually. Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie have (thought about, in passing) foundations to bring awareness of the affliction. Sarah McLachlan would sing about it if she didn't have to change litter boxes all day. 

For only pennies a day, you can help a Gringo see Potato Skins again.

For, you see, in those first critical days in KL, we never saw Chili's at that mall. I know, I know ... those of you in Durham right now are probably thinking, "What? That's like not noticing that new Hillsborough Road Krispy Kreme!" And, people in Mayberry are thinking, "What? That's like not seeing, uh, the Chili's on 601!"

In fairness, Chili's does not have a "Hot Now" sign to stop traffic. 

So, our Chain vision restored, we sauntered into Chili's, needing some legitimately Gringo-esque food to start our day at KLCC. The first thing you should know about U.S. chain restaurants in KL (and we've got 'em all from Applebee's to TGIFriday's to Outback Steakhouse) is that they don't serve pork products. Oh, you can get pork products in this country, just not at American restaurants. Typically, you can get pig in restaurants that serve European food (enter ironically witty "no-go zone" Fox News joke here). So, if you're going to get your back-home-favorite appetizer, expect it to come with beef bacon. No, not turkey ... that's non-Halal, too. Beef bacon cheese fries. You get used to it. I mean, at least it's not good for you, right?

The concept of the 'Murican chain restaurant in Asia is so fun to examine. It makes you wonder just what's on the minds of these corporate trainers who convince local Malay folks to act SOOOOOO out of character to make us, "feel at home" at Chili's. I mean, I felt so comfortable, I could have closed a Dunder Mifflin/school system paper account right on the spot (despite Jan's attempts to ruin the deal). 

You need some for instance? You need the examples? Do you? Do you? I thought you might. So, as per usual in blog-o-rific settings, I took a few notes on the 'ol iPhone 4 for enjoyment. Here you go:

1. American portions! -- In Asia, you kind of get used to the fact that portions are a portion of the portion that you are used to getting in the United States. It's why the people at your favorite Chinese restaurant snicker when you order two entrees. You know that weightwatchers.com commercial you saw about gluttony on Super Bowl Sunday? You might as well show an Asian an episode of Hee Haw -- either way they have no concept of what is going on. That is, UNLESS they go to an American chain restaurant! Ethan and I both ordered the Honey Chipotle Chicken Fingers. I'm pretty sure 1/3 of the Malaysian chicken population had to be sacrificed to fill both our plates. He's a pre-teen -- he has been known to finish off 2500-to-3000 calories in a single setting these days. He barely knocked a dent in it after eating for about 15 minutes.

You mean, they ordered TWO servings ... of the same thing? Why did I open an American chain restaurant?

2. Bottomless soft drinks! -- First off, don't order a soda in Asia unless you fully intend to drink a virgin Gin and Tonic. It's "soft drink", and you have four options in most places -- Coke, Coke Light, Sprite and Fanta. Yes, Coke may get its butt handed to it domestically, but globally the company that invented Santa Claus and the polar bear have a monopoly in restaurants that feature fountain drinks. Fountain drinks are about as rare in this country as people who look like Junior Samples (that's another Hee Haw reference for those playing at home).

Junior, with a belly full of Fanta Grape straight from the fountain.

You get a can drink, or a bottle drink, and you sip it gingerly until your food comes out ... UNLESS you are at a US chain restaurant! Then, somehow, you are transformed into carbonated royalty whenever your glass gets more than half empty. They have a wait staff specifically trained to sniff out a half-full (half-empty? ... you decide) glass. These special ops trained warriors swoop in and take your glass, hurry away, and come back with more glorified bubbly corn syrup than you could even imagine.

Soft drink ninjas, hurry! A glass is half full ... uh, empty ... uh, just hurry!

3. 'Muricah talk! -- That's right. Those corporate trainers who come from across the globe want to make sure we expats notice no difference in our dining experience. They even train the wait staff to use awkwardly placed colloquialisms when asking how your glass became inexplicably half empty (wait ... last time I said half-full; should I see a therapist?). Now any good Southerner knows that his/her tip-o-meter raises exponentially when Helen down at the Waffle House uses the words, "Hon," or "Sugar" or "Sweetie" when asking if you need more low-octane coffee. 

"What else can I get for you, Shug?"

But, when a middle aged Chinese Malaysian man comes up, puts his arm around your 12 year old son and says, "How about some more soft drink, handsome?" you have to believe that something was lost in translation along the way. After about 5 minutes of uncontrollable laughter, we were able to settle ourselves, Ethan's cheeks returned to a bit less pink hue, and we continued to watch ...

4. Sports on TV! -- Who hasn't enjoyed a good rugby match or badminton tournament when chowing down on an Ol' Timer burger at Chili's? Huh? Oh, no one? That's just a Malaysian thing? I guess I've been gone too long.

And the Chili's crowd goes wild because (I think?) this is something good. Maybe?

PART TWO: Afternoon Boy Bonding

Maybe it's because I now have two boys in double-digit ages, or that Ethan is just a couple of months away from being a teen-ager -- perhaps Nationwide Super Bowl commercials have made me realize my kids could die at any second -- whatever the case, I feel like every moment with the boys is precious right now. I can't believe how quickly they have grown up. So, you look for those moments when you can just experience life with them. Whether that is watching Chinese New Year Dragon dances, or pushing away old men trying to sell you stolen iPhones in the park, these are the moments you'll treasure for a lifetime. That's why, when your two babies tap into their youth and ask you to play hide-and-seek tag in the largest park in Malaysia ... in 95 degree heat ... in the middle of the day ... with about 10,000 people around ... you say yes.

Heat and humidity are relative in this setting, right? 

You realize that your knee aches, and that your back is stiff, but you say yes because they want to play tag. They aren't asking for money or XBox time, or asking where babies come from (we covered that already) or why their friends are all making out behind their parents' backs. They are wanting to be kids. So, you say yes and you love every minute of it. For those of you who are not familiar with what a "Jared" is, let me try to explain. A Jared is the perfect blend of every slightly devious trait found in the Lowe/Hiatt/Gentry/Hudson gene pool, wrapped up in a curly haired, dimpled-cheek package of awesomeness that can be nerve-wracking from time to time. When you are playing hide and seek with a Jared in the largest park in the country that features about 20 (no exaggeration) different play sets, you realize that playing tag with a Jared may not have been the best idea. Then, there's an "Ethan" -- this is what you get when you mix all the neurotic traits of the Lowe/Hiatt/Gentry/Hudson genetic cocktail into a stick-skinny package of constant worry.

Yep ... this pic pretty much says it all about my boys' personalities.

I found Ethan first. He later admitted that, while I was chasing him relentlessly through the trees, branches and occasional city workers' lunch break, he was smiling the whole time. Not because he was enjoying unadulterated fun with his father, but instead because he didn't want anyone to think I was a pedophile chasing young boys for sport, or an abusive father about to beat him incessantly. That's my Ethan. Now then, where was my Jared? That boy takes his competitions seriously. He wasn't about to be found and probably would have stayed put until the sun went down if I hadn't found him sprinting between hiding spots. He took off running for the base and gloated in his victory just before I started to pop a Xanax and prep my speech entitled, "I know, Granny, but they wanted to play tag".

We played a couple more times (with much, much smaller boundary areas) and just collapsed into a pile of sweaty, happy exuberance after trekking across the plastic urban jungle side.

Just a fraction of the hide-and-seek opportunities!

With just another hour to wait until our movie started, we decided to lay down (amongst the fire ants and mosquitoes) and stare up through the trees at the Petronas Twin Towers and a beautifully bright blue afternoon sky. As I lay there soaking in a moment of happy daddy bliss, Jared waxed on about how everyone in Malaysia smokes and Ethan worried that we were going to get in trouble for lying on the grass. Yep, these are the moments, for sure. After a quick trip to see "Into the Woods" and veg out on cheap movie snacks (2 popcorns, 2 sodas, 2 bottled waters = $6.85 USD), we headed back home for a FIFA tournament on the XBox and Ethan-prepared cheese quesidillas. My boys are growing up. 

All in all, I'd call that a pretty successful boys' day.