Me and Andre Agassi...or that guy Elaine dated

I remember years ago when Andre Agassi shaved his head for first time. More than simply having short hair it became clear that he was going bald. And the world was shocked.

Last week I put the quarter-inch guard on the electric trimmers to shave my head for the first time in several months. (I think I last did it when I needed a thesis stress reliever at the beginning of the summer). Looking in the mirror that night after I managed to even things out after the trimmer broke mid trim, I saw that something had changed.

No, I’m not exactly going “bald” but for years I had been blessed by full, if not the least bit manageable, hair. My hairline is receding in such a way that it’s full in the middle but somewhere in line with the outside of my eyes, it disappears. Unless you’ve met the Bunker men or know my older brother, you might not understand this description but it eventually it may end up resembling a suburban, white guy Mr. T hairdo.

I guess this is what I get for giving Ben a hard time. Maybe if I’d mocked him for being too tall or popular or good looking some of that would have rubbed off on me instead.

Here and there

One of those traps I fall into when dealing with our new culture is that of comparing everything. Usually that means either painting everything here as so much better (the government, the availability of food and western products, etc) or, especially when I'm tired, everything as worse (the quality of the tools and plumbing products, the heat etc.)

But sometimes there are just those reminders of the other. Or you start to see some universal patterns. See what I mean:

The name of our old home city translates in this language as "love" or "passion."

The name our new home city translates in this language to "the three faults" (thankfully not in reference to earthquakes).

In my English thesis I referred to a certain major African rebellion. It would translate to "The Want-Want" or "Go-Go" Revolution here.

In any country, Coke always tastes better and colder in a glass bottle.

If you're going to buy food on the street, well-cooked meat on a stick is a pretty safe bet.

The time just before rainy season is never pleasant. It either means lots of flies or lots of heat.

Teenagers can have a way of making you feel like you're being made fun of, no matter what langauge they're using.

Young children, on the other hand, can be great language teachers.

College kids love to practice their language and are less offended by your culture mistakes.

People our age and their parents do not have the same culture if they live in an urban environment. (Unless they are from the extreme upperclass or extreme lower class.)

Walking everywhere limits your ability to see how big your city really is. But you also get to know your little part of the city much better than if you relied on a vehicle.

It is easier to learn a language when you are enjoying it.

Internet connections are never fast enough.

Give a little boy a stick and somehow always becomes a gun.

Packages from home always make life better.

Anyone who speaks English is your friend.

No one, in any country other than America, understands how to make really good pizza, hotdogs or BBQed anything.

Milk from a box just isn't something you want a big glass of.

During national vacations, when you actually have time to finish your to-do list, no stores or offices you need to visit are open.

The world's teeth are getting worse.

Small children from all cultures love watching animals.

The devolping world is not in need of your old T-shirts, especially if they have profanity or outdated American pop-culture references.

Hey, whatever happened to...

Facebook has gotten me a curious about many of the people I really hadn't thought about in years (I think mainly as I attempt to bolster my self-esteem with an attempt to increase the size of my friends list. Unfortunately, I'm a couple of years late for the Facebook rush so most of my generation is out of the loop.). But I realize I have lost track of many of the people who I once spent time with.



In the interest of posting content without substance, I offer you the following:



Do you know what happened to your:



College roommates? : Maybe a third of them. I could really only tell you specifics on one or two of them. One sends me a check every month (that sounds weird) and yet I couldn't tell you much more than his address. Others I catch wind of when a group of Campus house people get together and we ask the above question. I lost track of my freshman roommate by my sophomore year.



The members of your wedding party: Yes but only because most of are relatives.



Your prom date(s): Actually I do. Thanks to the internet, I just found out that one is a language teacher. The other is married and brilliant (at least if you equate college degrees with intelligence) but that was several years ago so she may be single and dumb by now.

The owners of the lockers were on either side of your locker in highschool: No, and I'm curious.

The school bully: There were several but one shot his wife while she attempted to protect their child. Cheery.

Your closest (geographically) friend in gradeschool: Jeff Huffman, whatever happened to you?



Anyone on whose yearbook you wrote "friends forever": Thankfully, I don't know that I ever wrote that.

Your highschool class's most likely to succeed/golden child: Not since a sport's injury ended his basketball carreer, forcing him to focus only on medical school. Poor guy.

Or any of the following:

Your favorite teacher.

Any foreign exchange student from your school.

Your first boss.

Any lab/group partners from college.

If you've read this far, consider yourself tagged.