屎发生 (Poop Occurs)

请离我远点，我有传染性的皮疹。

Please stay away, I have a communicable rash.

Pipe Dreams

Last week in Jinhua, Eastern China, it was reported that 22-year-old woman gave birth while squatting over a toilet, and “accidentally” flushed the baby. It is unclear how the umbilical cord was uncut, or how such an egregious error could have been made, but people in the building could hear the mews of the baby emanating from the plumbing. After rescuers were called in, it took them two hours to remove the L-shaped section of piping containing the infant. After chipping the pipe away, they found the baby was covered in sewage with the placenta still attached, but aside from a few minor abrasions, it was amazingly okay.

Some are quick to defend the mother, saying that accidental births happen all the time. However, the details surrounding the incident point to attempted infanticide. The woman admitted that the child was the product of a one-night stand. Because of embarrassment, she made a dedicated effort to conceal her pregnancy from her friends and family by wearing loose-fitting clothing. She could not afford an abortion, so it seemed her plan was to carry the baby to term, then flush it.

Now it has been reported that the woman is on the verge of mental collapse after the public backlash. It seemed her fear of social rejection as single mother is what caused to her to flush the baby. Now that her feeble attempt to get rid of the infant was foiled, people call her a monster for flushing it. Kind of a damned-if-you-do / don't situation. One would hope people would learn from this incident and relieve the social pressures that provoked this kind of behavior. But it causes one to wonder, how often does this kind of thing go on in China?

After all, there are restrictions to how many children people can have, due to the One Child Policy. Rural couples are only allowed two children if the first is female. Chinese couples have occasionally offed their female offspring in favor of a male. It's now having major social repercussions, as in some parts of the country, there simply aren't enough women to go around for all the men that wish to marry.

Anyway...

It's good to know that the toilet baby is recovering and in good condition. I'm glad he has been rescued from a potentially shitty future. I know if I got flushed down the toilet, I'd be pissed off. I mean, his whole life was going down the drain, but now, though he may look a little flush, he's sure to get better.

I'll stop.

Mainland Class

Last week, Vice Premier Wang Yang straight-up called-out Chinese tourists for bad behavior abroad. The list of offenses included talking loudly in public, jay-walking, cutting in lines, spitting, and as a result of the recent defacement of Egypt's Luxor temple, willfully carving characters on items in scenic zones. In other words, don't act like you act in China while in other countries. But it calls into question why certain behavior should be acceptable anywhere.

When Chinese folks get called-out for certain negative behaviors, some people are quick to say that it's a matter of education, or a result of sudden economic growth. They say that's what happens when people from poor environments receive their first share of wealth. Chinese folks do have much more money than ever before, so they can afford to tour various places for the first time. They may be simply unaccustomed to the social expectations beyond their borders.

But other people argue that is actually a cultural problem, and it's not that they don't know the expectations, they simply don't care. They point out that not all poor and uneducated people around the world behave this way. It's difficult to say for sure, as it would take only the most well-traveled people to make these kinds of determinations. The fact remains that as more and more Chinese people become global citizens, they may find themselves exposed to scrutiny that they were previously able to avoid.

Recently a video made round on the internet of a Chinese woman taking a dump in an elevator in Shenzhen. Her husband was polite enough stand guard while she took a squat right there on the floor. I too have seen Chinese folks squat in the middle of the road. Some of them may just be from rural areas, unfamiliar with the idea of finding an establishment that provides facilities. But what is most striking about this video is that the woman made no attempt to clean her mess.

Maybe she was just busy and had a lot of crap to do. Perhaps she was performing an interpretative dance. Maybe she just wanted to express herself, and had a few things she wanted to get out. So she gave her husband a hint, and hoped he would pick up on it. All he had to say was, “I can't believe this shit.”

Xi'ian's Finest

This was a photo from the Shaanxi Province, what was dubbed on Weibo (Chinese Twitter) as “Majong Gridlock.” I'd say it's about time to start installing some traffic lights and enforcing traffic laws, eh?

It's just like "Where's Waldo:" One of the drivers in this photo is a total asshole. 
Can you tell which one? Answer next week.

I Just Accidentally China... the Whole Thing!

你是草场上最大的屁篓子。

You’re the biggest fartbasket on the playground.

China Hipsterism

So, after a year-long break from updating this blog, I'm back to share more observations and adventures. As I'm soon to begin my third year as a teacher in China, I've found myself falling into a bit of what I'll call “China Hipsterism.”

It's no secret that the economy in the West is tanking. Despite the glimmers of hope that come with reports of a recuperating stock market, massive inequalities sustain. This being the case, Westerners are bound to look abroad for more opportunities. Hell, some aren't even looking for opportunity insomuch as relief. They just want to be able to afford food, rent, and utilities each month without maxing out their credit cards. The threat of massive unemployment, too much competition, and companies trying to get people to work for free just isn't that alluring anymore.

China has attracted some pretty well-adjusted, normal people. Some are just college graduates looking to kill some time while they wait for the economy to heal. Others are gristled stragglers, wrinkled perverts that found themselves washed upon the shores of the Middle Kingdom, after Western society vomited them up. You can find them at the local expat bars, smoking like chimneys and arguing in slurred speech. Every city has their own.

Hipsterism isn't a good thing, to be sure. But it's an attitude one begins to forge after living in China for more that a year. Every year, a drove of fresh foreign faces will descend on each city, bringing their cultural orientations with them. You can watch them go through the same phases of discovery, some of which are even included in this blog: “Wow, this whole street smells like shit!” “Whoa, what do you mean no toilets, that shits cray, cray!” You can watch them transition through the peaks of excitement, to the troughs of numbing disappointment: anger at poor service at the bank, or sitting through a lackluster cuisine.

After one becomes inured to the inconveniences: the sights, the smells, the rudeness, the shoddiness of everything, hearing those observations again can feel a little too redundant. Instead of the arrival of the new Westerners being met with enthusiasm, it is met with vague apprehension: “Oh, here they come again with all their noobie noobiness.” Thus, China hipsterism is born. It's not “I was in China before it was cool.” It's “I was in China before you, and I speak Chinese.”

And there is nothing wrong with someone being a tourist, really. Why get annoyed with someone for wanting to visit a foreign place? If anything I should be excited when more Western faces appear. I don't always like it when Chinese people gape at me like I'm a magical unicorn. If more white people show up, maybe the novelty will wear off. Maybe the next time I go out, no one will blink an eye.

But most people don't stay for more than a year. Nor do they have any plan to. They come, they get their fill, and then they go right back home, enjoying their more plush comforts.

As I went through the new Starbucks that opened in town, a number of noobies walked in and got in line behind me. We exchanged glances, and though they looked interested in conversation, but I wasn't in the mood for talking. Are all white people obligated to speak to each other when in foreign environments? I stepped down the way to wait for my brewed coffee. This white kid stepped up and asked for a “Raspberry White Mocha.” He didn't speak any Chinese. He just came up with his pissy Western expectations of customer service, and asked for a drink a teenage girl would fancy. I don't know why I found that so irritating. Perhaps it was because I was living perfectly fine without reminders of the things that used to annoy me while living in the U.S..

“Oh, would you like a pink tutu and sparkle wand with that, you fucking douche?” I shouted down the line. He gaped back at me with incredulity.

…

No, I actually didn't do that. But I wanted to.

I am Culturally-Modified Iron Man

When I heard they were making adjustments to the new Iron Man movie for Chinese audiences, I didn't know what to expect. The thought crossed my mind, what if they made Tony Stark into a Han Chinese male? What would he be like? Hmm. Would he actually develop technology on his own, or would he just use the internet to steal designs from the U.S. Government? Would he actually live in China, or would he do what other rich Chinese do, and move to the U.S.? Would women still throw themselves at him? Hmm.

As it happens, one of the main plots in Iron Man 3 is when Tony Stark is forced to operate with a broken-down Iron Man suit. I felt the story would go over really well with Chinese audiences because they know what's like when shit breaks down and they're forced to make-do with something crappy.

But in further attempts to pander Chinese audiences, Hollywood decided to add in some auxiliary scenes to the Chinese version of “Iron Man 3,” things the West never saw. These clips added Chinese actors that have no significant presence in the rest of the film. They bring in Wang Xueqi (王学圻) to play Dr. Wu, and Fan (Sex-face) Bingbing (范冰冰 ) to play an unnamed nurse. In the film, Dr. Wu is charged with the role of removing the shrapnel from Tony Stark's chest as a medical specialist. As if any wealthy American would ever go to China for that kind of treatment ever.

Fan Bingbing (范冰冰 ) Distressed.

But what was funny were the shots of Dr. Wu talking in his Chinese office. If you were to look through the windows, and you could see a run-down, polluted city skyline. I don't know why they wouldn't beautify the images to fit the style of the rest of the film, but whatever. If they were going to bolt-on unnecessary scenes like those, they could have at least been exciting. Unfortunately, they were dull bits of dreck. Overall, Chinese audiences found the additions insulting to their intelligence, as they were obviously superfluous. Most wanted to see the version the rest of the world sees. It all comes back to the Ministry of Culture.

The Ministry of Culture is a group of people that decide what is and what is not appropriate for Chinese audiences. They are appointed by the government to trim foreign motion pictures to their sensibilities. In many cases, their choices on what needs editing, or what doesn't, is rather inconsistent with what is already available in mainland Chinese entertainment. For example, they're not cool with violence in Western films, but there are plenty of Chinese kung fu films that are just as bloody. They will not tolerate foreign films where the bad guy doesn't face justice, though in Chinese movies, it doesn't always happen.

But the one thing the Ministry of Culture will not tolerate, under any circumstances, is bare boobs.

There was a fiasco earlier this year surrounding the release of Quentin Tarantino's “Jango” after they already had mutilated it and got it sanitized for release. On Thursday April 11^th, on what would have been the film's opening day in China, it was yanked out of theaters. Why? Officials were confronted by a brief sight of nudity when Jango's slave wife was pulled out of confinement. That ruffled the fuck out of their feathers. So to appease them, the film had to go back on the chopping block. After a few more modifications, they re-released the film, and guess what? No one bought a ticket. Everyone in China knew they'd be seeing a watered-down, neutered version of the film, so they just stayed at home and downloaded the unedited version off a torrent.

Though China is not a democracy, there are surely some democratic influences when the Chinese speak with their wallets.

Don't fuck with Lei Feng

Earlier this year, the Chinese government funded the production of a propaganda film called “Young Lei Feng.” If you don't know who Lei Feng is, he is considered the moral example for Chinese people. He was a PLA soldier back in the late fifties who is said to have behaved quite selflessly in the promotion of communist values. You will still find billboards endorsing his name around China that say, “学习雷锋” (Study Lei Feng). The Chinese government hyped the shit out of this film, setting release on a date they dubbed “Learn from Lei Feng Day.” After all the build-up, the commercials on billboards, internet and the radio, they got ready for opening day... and not a single soul bought a ticket. It seems that cynicism prevails when the Chinese government tells the public which kind of moral values to endorse. The government sheepishly pulled the film from theaters.

Going to films in China is much more affordable than in the West, especially for 3D features, but the one thing I dislike is how they turn out the lights and kick everyone out immediately after the credits start rolling. They don't seem to understand that the credits are also a part of the film, and there is a reason they are there, even if very few people may be interested. I waited all the way until the end of the Chinese Iron Man 3 for the Easter egg, and got nothing. There was no goddamn Easter egg in the Chinese version. All the while the Chinese staff was scratching their heads as to why anyone would stay after to watch the credits. I wanted my Easter egg.

Revelations

So now I'll share a positive experience I've had. Many of the items in this blog tend to lean toward the more critical side. And not all of my experiences in the Middle Kingdom have been bad. If that had been the case, I wouldn't have agreed to stay for three years. Every once in a while, when you're involved in the teaching field, there comes a time where something goes right. Perhaps a student will be awarded with some insight of some kind, and you will see the unmistakable expression of enlightenment on their face. It's those kinds of moments that make the gig worth it.

There was a young girl looking to get into a prestigious school in Singapore, and in order to do so, she needed to pass an interview in English. I got hired by her mother to help her out, and after reading all of her responses to possible interview questions, I sat with her to refine her introduction and materials. We practiced pronunciation, and I helped her understand the reasoning behind the items we wrote. I told her not to just memorize the sentences, just to understand what they meant and what she wanted to say.

A couple weeks later, I had completely forgotten about the project. I got a call from the girl's mother on her cell phone, and she said the girl wanted to speak to me.

The girl told me that she's been accepted out a group of fifteen other candidates. She said they seemed very impressed, and she couldn't have done it without my help. In a parting statement, I told her that it was her talent that got her into that school, and I was only the guide. She kept thanking me, over and over, until I told her I had to go.

I tend to have a rather cynical attitude about how helpful I am as a teacher at times. In my experience teaching college classes, there have been times when my students have made it more than abundantly clear that they have no interest in anything I have to say. They don't respect the idea of English as a mandatory professional requirement. But this wasn't one of those times.

This time, I felt I had finally done something worthwhile. I felt that my guidance had actually helped her, and it was more than a futile exercise. Who's to say where she would go someday, as a result of that interaction? Perhaps someday she will even be a future leader, someone who will do important things to shape her nation. I found myself getting a little choked up over the idea, even if I had agreed to help the girl under the precedent of financial gain. You never know you've done something good until it hits you like a bag of bricks.   

MFW Living in China

你看他穿得多土!

Just look at this fucking dork！

Getting Buff

I sometimes work out at the gym on the college campus where I live. You have never seen a more troubling assortment of overused gym equipment. The keen Chinese business-sense of the woman who manages the place includes the strategy of “never-upgrading-anything-ever,” while gladly collecting membership fees. There really aren't any other options for me if I want to get my hands on some free-weights, aside buying my own.

The leg press makes me fear for my life. It's like sitting under a guillotine, and whenever I climb out of it, I imagine the rusted steel restraints breaking. The weighted press would easily slide down and crush my legs. It's funny, because since I've been going there, I've seen more than one machine with a busted cable. One was a leg extender, another a row machine. I wondered exactly how much stress it takes before one of those cables wears out. Thirty years worth? Well, it wouldn't be a shock to discover some of those items have been there since the 80's.

The place is decorated with these oddly dated photos of body builders. Not sure if they're meant to be inspirational, but I noticed very few of them (if any) are photos of bulked-up Chinese males. Are males of European descent the only ones capable of exhibiting a desirable physicality in their opinion?

The Chinese dudes that go there do some pretty interesting things. Some of them arrive to work out wearing a jacket and jeans. I guess they don't own workout clothes or something. Other guys, after they have had the slightest bit of muscle development, start walking around with their shirts off. In my opinion, they are nowhere near the stage where they've got anything to be proud of, but that doesn't stop them. I sometimes feel embarrassed for them. Put a fucking shirt on.

I heard a couple of Chinese dudes by the bench presses making the loudest grunts as they worked, and when I turned, I saw they had the lowest amount of weight possible on the bar: five pounds on either side. I guess it was high time for them to graduate from lifting heavy writing utensils, like sharpies and highlighters and such. But that's the saddest part of the gym: many of the dudes there aren't getting the nourishment they need to support muscle growth. Protein is hard to come by in China, as they sprinkle meat into meals like a seasoning as opposed to a crucial source of nutrients. It seems they much rather fill their bellies with cheap rice or noodles. As it happens, I think most Chinese folks I come across are malnourished. If you saw the standard garbage considered edible on this campus you would understand why.

Every once in a while, I'll see the true Chinese meat-heads strolling into the gym. These guys have actually have found a way to bulk up despite the nourishment and environmental constraints that come with living in China. Needless to say, performance enhancing drugs are a likely explanation. I don't think that kind of growth would be possible without them. It really makes we wonder about substance control in this country. Someone told me recently in one of my classes that steroids are not illegal here.

Zhong Guo Hua

They say that moving to China is the best way to learn Chinese, hands down. After studying the language for a few years, I'm going to report on some of my personal experiences, and how my decision to live abroad has affected my learning:

I used to have a much more methodical learning process with which I approached the language. I would follow along with coursework, spend hours practicing my characters, and sit with a tutor. But as I realized the probability of mastery would call upon an astronomical degree of memorization, and I would never achieve a useful grasp unless I was able to absorb several words and characters at a time, I started to feel a bit overwhelmed.

It's not just the problem of reading a word, it's also memorizing the tones. And after you've memorized the tones, you still have to think about your accent and the way the Chinese traditionally use the word. And even if you've got that down, it doesn't mean that when a Chinese person says the word to you, you'll recognize it. And then you've got the whole issue of multiple dialects to consider.

Television tries to make things helpful by providing Chinese subtitles at the bottom of the screen. Even the Chinese don't always understand each other, but they hope that characters (different blotches of lines and shapes) will unify their experience. There have been times when I've been able to read whole strings of characters, and know the tones, and still not understand a damn thing. It's because different combinations of characters have a different meaning, and then the challenge is compounded by slang or weird idioms. Sometimes it feels practically impossible to figure shit out. “Get a Chinese girlfriend,” some people advised.

Let's just put it this way: if the Chinese language was graded by the criteria of how effectively it facilitates meaningful communication, it would get a D minus. Let's say that one day someone decides to create a language for the sheer purpose of concise and efficient expression: No one would come up with Mandarin. The language is a tradition of bad ideas that have been compounded by more bad ideas, strained through a sieve of simplification, then stratified by regions and hopeless variations. I visualize Chinese as a system that ties together circular strings of logic where English is designed to provide sturdy rectangular shapes. The manifold learning capacities it calls upon are so different, it's like practicing to ride a unicycle over a tightrope (while spinning a plate on your nose and juggling fish).

And it's unavoidable: after you come to know a few phrases and have the most basic vocabulary, Chinese people will attempt to engage you in conversation. And then you get to experience the joy of understanding only half of what is said, and looking like an ass when you try to reply. It never fails, whenever I get in a cab, I'll end up riding with Chatty Chang. He'll always want to tell me his whole life story. Or worse, he'll want me to describe the intricate details of my own. There are basic, stock phrases that I always have on hand, but I have to be careful. Inevitably, the conversation crosses into nebulous territory, where only the most skilled Chinese linguists may apply.

I was standing at a food stall, getting some grilled chicken. Some Chinese kid came along and started making snarky comments to the owner about me. I couldn't understand exactly what he was saying, but I knew that he was talking shit. He kept looking over at me, in that kind of loathsome manner that comes with Chinese player-haters. Eventually the food owner asked me a question about whether I wanted my chicken spicy or not, and I replied in Chinese.

The shit-talking-kid's eyes bulged. He said with incredulity, “你会说中文吗?” “You can speak Chinese?!”

I just said, “会.” “Yep.”

The kid swallowed, his face suddenly red. Lacking the courage behind his contempt, his buggy eyes darted back and forth before he nervously stepped away. Lesson learned. Don't assume that just because I'm foreign that I can't understand what the fuck you're saying. Even if most of the time I can't.

Comparisons

The kids in one of my classes wanted to ask me about comparisons of expenses between the US and China. I was explaining to them, “Unless you live in a rural area, where no one wants to live, and there are very few jobs, it is nearly impossible to get by without making over fifty-thousand dollars a year. At least that has been my experience. You can survive on about forty-thousand a year, but it would be difficult. And I'm talking about living comfortably at least, in a cheap apartment, with basic internet, utilities, a cell phone, some student debt, and making car payments. You would still live in toxic conditions, with some crime, surrounding poverty, and dangerous neighbors on drugs.”

My students were shocked. “Forty-thousand dollars a year?” they asked. “That is so much though!”

I shook my head. “That's not really anything. But it depends on where you live,” I told them. “In most places in the US, you will be broke making forty-thousand a year. And let's just pray that you can find a job that provides basic medical insurance, because if you don't have that, illness can destroy your financial life.”

“I guess that's one of the things I like about living in China,” I explained. “Things are relatively affordable. You can sustain yourself on about three hundred dollars a month if your rent is covered. Take for example this Pepsi bottle.” I held up a plastic bottle of “百事可乐.” In the US, you may spend as much as two dollars for this item. In China, you pay about three yuan (about fifty cents). Same goes for several other things in China. When I was living in the US, I was lucky to keep myself fed and healthy on less than one hundred and fifty dollars a week.”

“I guess China isn't such a bad place to live after all!” one of my students said.

I almost snickered, because in my head it was the equivalent of someone saying, “I guess the smell of poop isn't so bad after all!”

But that's just the thing: maybe it isn't, in comparison.  

Not a Single Fuck was Given That Day:

我求求你，赶快去洗澡，你身上的味儿比她妈的狗屎还臭！

“I'm begging you, please take a shower, you stink worse than goddamned dog shit!”

I was walking down the street when some kid swerved closely in front of me on his bicycle so that he could make it down the driveway into an office complex. There was no reason for him to cut it so close. He had plenty of room to get by comfortably without zooming two inches from my toes. The shape of his pointy skull coupled with his wanton lack of courtesy prompted me to yell, “Dickhead!” But he seemed inured by my curse. Actually, being a dickhead seems to be pretty ordinary in China, so the offended cries that follow are probably ordinary also.

Still, I shouldn't yell insults at people in public, even if most of them don't seem understand what I'm saying, let alone have time to take issue with it. I know that it's going to probably catch up with me sooner or later. It can just be a challenge to maintain my composure at times. I become disgruntled after Chinese males mindlessly bump into me because they can't be bothered to respect my personal space. I grow weary of the omnipresent symphony of clearing throats that seems to follow wherever I go. Everyone smokes, so the constant hocking of phlegm is like a national sport.

As it is, I think I've come to understand why the people in this country behave in the inconsiderate ways they do. In the States, we are raised to believe that individuality is valuable: that good things can occasionally come about from the enterprising efforts of a solitary soul. This idea of inspiration and initiative being rewarded has a tendency (in some cases) of breeding more gratitude. But here, it seems that people are raised to believe that the outside world has absolutely no obligation to respect your life, on the most basic level. The governing authority, the system of justice, it would just as soon crush you under its heel as look at you. And this contempt just seems to breed more contempt.

“Collectivist” culture, eh? They don't seem to care even a little about each other. They seem to perceive each other only as obstacles, things to be shoved aside or moved around, lest all the resources will be depleted. This is what keeps people behaving as though they are in the thick of scarcity and desperation when they are up to their ears in abundance.

Toilet Paper Privation

Most everyone in China can afford toilet paper, and at any corner store it is available. But you will not find a single square of it anywhere in Chinese public restrooms. Once I asked a Chinese friend why, and she told me it was because people would simply steal it. Who knows why they hell they would do that. I sure there are protective measures that could be put in place to dissuade people from manically heisting every last bit of it, but that's the way this culture is.

They can't trust each other enough to allow open access to toilet paper. Who knows how much money might be lost were public restrooms were to do so? Thieves from all over the Middle Kingdom would arrive to zealously plunder all of the loose amenities like swashbuckling pirates high on meth amphetamines.

Which brings us to the next order of business: Toilet privation. To the Chinese eye, toilets are luxuries developed for the ill and elderly. They think to themselves, “Why would someone need an something to sit on while taking a shit when it's so much more fun to sit on your ankles and squat over a hole?” So this is what we have in the place of toilets in China. The use of these kind of toilets is so embedded in the culture that sometimes, when Chinese folks encounter porcelain thrones for the first time, they may put their feet up on the toilet seat to get the dynamic 'squat effect.' So if you ever find dirty footprints on a toilet seat in China, you'll know why.

Overnight Celebrity

There are certain advantages at times to being a foreigner among a generally homogeneous population. Because some Chinese girls aren't used to having too many options, anything opposed to the norm becomes a breath of fresh air. It doesn't matter. You can be a moderately good-looking white male and still invoke awe among women when you're seen out in public, as though you're a Greek god. That's a pretty good feeling, and I highly recommend it.

I was seated a restaurant when I was approached by a family that wanted to take of a photo of me and their youngest son. The first time strangers ask if they can take pictures of themselves with you can be off-putting. There are times when I've felt like Mickey Mouse at Disneyland. But over time, as you begin to embrace your unofficial celebrity status, you can begin to derive some real satisfaction from being in this foreign land.

Sometimes, when I'm working, there have been female students that have come into my classroom to ask if they can get their picture taken with me. I don't know what the point is. What are they going to say when explaining the image to their friends? Other times I've caught my female students taking photos of me with their phones while I'm trying to teach. Maybe if they told me first I would have at least given them a few good poses. The lighting in the classroom is far from flattering.

It's not to say celebrity doesn't come with a share of weirdness. There was a time a couple of girls started to follow me as I made my rounds around campus. They were too shy to approach me, so instead they lingered five feet behind, giggling behind their hands as they watched me. I suppose I should have been flattered, but it was kind of eerie in a way when they didn't say anything. I imagined them having a creepy discussion about how my flesh would taste after sauteed in garlic sauce. Shivered.

Another night, my colleagues and I were invited to formal event with a high-ranking government official of the province. We were the stock white people present, to give the appearance that foreigners were indeed working in the area, and reinforcing the local economic development. It was a publicized event, with various video cameras and flashes going off around the room. The government official stopped by our table along with his entourage. He wanted the press to get some photos of him proposing a toast to the “foreign experts.” We took a moment to sip some wine with King of Shit Mountain before he went off to mingle with the rest of the commoners. Good times.

Where's the Beef?

Being in China I've had exposure to far more different kinds foreigners than ever before. Every region in the world seems to have representation on the campus on which I live. I remember one day all of the teachers and foreign students that live in my building on campus were invited by the faculty to something of a Chinese New Year celebration. Around that time of year I was feeling pretty agitated as it seemed that the vacation would never end, and things would never return to normalcy. All the local stores and restaurants were closed, making life something of a challenge.

I was seated in this dining hall with a couple other colleagues, and because there were no other available seats, my table ended up getting filled with East Indian kids. They were all medical students, and young, around twenty to twenty-one. Some of them were trying to dress cool to disastrous effect, and some of their hairstyles made me snicker. But they were friendly, and as the waitress started bringing dish after dish of obscure Chinese food to our table, we shared in the grotesque items politely. And then the table wine started to get in the mix.

Some Chinese lady wanted to get up on the center stage and use a mic to deliver a pointless speech over a sorry power amplifier. Her language was muddled and clumsy, and we just wanted her to sit back down. Was she trying to be inspirational or something? Because we were tipsy on table wine, my colleagues and I started shouts of exaggerated enthusiasm for every last sentence she attempted. After the woman finished antagonizing everyone and relinquished the mic, more odd cultural expressions followed. The Jordanian boys wanted to share in the holiday spirit, so they got up and started playing some warped ethnic music over the amplifier via a mp3 player of some kind. Then they all huddled together and started doing some kind of ritualistic circle-jerk dance, where they held hands in a ring and kicked their legs out.

It was the middle of the afternoon, and I didn't think I was drunk enough for that shit. I watched the Jordanian boys dance together with some degree of fascination. I imagined they were experiencing some kind of exclusive enjoyment that can only be afforded by coming from a homogeneous population. Because I'm an American, I will never know what that's like. I share my nation with fuckheads from all over the globe.

After the waitress brought out a dish, some of the Indian kids asked with concern, “Is it beef?” They exchanged glances, looking down at the meal with distrust. My colleague pointed out, “Oh right, because some of you are reverent toward cows, you don't approve of consuming beef.”

I said to them, “Well, for what it's worth, I think your god is delicious.”

I don't imagine I'll be invited as the key speaker for a cultural sensitivity course anytime in the near future.

Take Me To Your Heart

来到中国的美国人常常拿中国和美国比较，觉得中国有许多地方还相当落后。

"Americans who come to China often compare China to the US and feel that China in many respects is still considerably backwards."

I See Dead People

The semester was coming to a close, and as a final project, I had students bring some of their favorite music videos into class via flash drive, to tell us about some of their favorite actors, artists, or performers (in English). For the most part, their musical tastes didn't seem to be dramatically different than what one might expect from a group of Western students. Of course someone was going to mention Justin Beiber and Taylor Swift. Of course there were going to be presentations on Michael Jackson. I didn't expect a girl to express her fondness for Linkin Park, but it happened. But then there was one presentation that kind of freaked me out.

Some kid brought in a video by Danish band with the name, “Michael Learns to Rock.” He wanted to present a song by the title, “Take Me to Your Heart,” as if a more cliched song title exists somewhere. As he started the video, I couldn't really understand what was wrong with the audio. Perhaps there was some kind of phasing issue with the codec, because it sounded weird, as though certain frequencies had been omitted. And then the actual song began. The video opened with some kind of pretty boy with frosted blonde hair, singing the kind of lyrics a child would write. I sneered and thought, “You can't be serious.”

I couldn't put my finger on what was offending my sensibilities right away. I mean, the song is clearly dumb as rocks, but something about it was toxic. I realized: this music has no dynamics whatsoever. There is no building tension, no real release, it is just one long syrupy drawl leaving a strip of slime along the ground of my cognition like a snail. This is music for dead people: people that exist at such a narrow spectrum of human experience, they only understand the difference between pain and pleasure, and everything else is superfluous. And just as that thought crossed my mind, I turned and realized the whole room was singing along with the video! I was aghast! How could something so bland be so popular?

My only explanation is that the song is appeals to Chinese folks because the lyrics are simple and the words ring with the same cliches they enjoy. They can't pass up a song with the words “heart” and “soul” in it. I just want to know what was going through the heads of the creators. I imagine a bunch of wuss-bag Danes woke up one day and said, “Hey guys, let's start a band called 'Michael Learns to Rock,' but the trick is that our songs won't rock. They'll suck ass!” The rest of them said, “Neato!” And then they giggled and did some girlish high-fives.

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The other theme among the presentations was an expressed fondness for the show “The Big Bang Theory.” I was really hoping that they enjoyed the show in an ironic fashion, as if to say, “Americans are so dumb, they think this show is funny!” But that's not accurate. They actually laugh out loud at the jokes presented. I don't know if they've been hypnotized by the show somehow, or they've been conditioned by friends and family over time to believe the show was actually amusing, but they love it.

“Big Bang Theory” attempts humor in the same way I imagine extremely obese people attempt to make love. The comedy has no balls, and no teeth. It is so harmless and so polite when it casts off these stereotypical geek characterizations. Which is why I believe the show tones down the subject matter and delivery: the people that write it already know it's loathsome. It's contrived, formulaic garbage. But because it flies under the radar of any clear kind of offensiveness, the people who are disgusted with it may find themselves unable to explain exactly why. The trappings of lame comments followed by laugh tracks are too pervasive in modern entertainment. So yet, this is another example of Chinese folks enthusiastically embracing something bland, but at least they are not alone in this regard.

For what it's worth, I would pay at least a couple thousand dollars to see the characters on “Big Bang Theory” submitted to the same of tests of physical and psychological torture executed by Jigsaw from the “Saw” films. Now that would be some quality entertainment: Just to see that character Sheldon wake up in a cleverly concocted death trap, and none of his nasal idiosyncrasies could save him. A disembodied voice would explain, “I want to play a game.” … haha, that would be excellent.

At Da Club

So, you're not doing China right if you don't take the time to check out their upscale clubs. There are a few in the city that I really enjoy going to, and as you step inside: you'll realize that they are pretty similar to those you'll see in the West. There is loud, thumping music: the exact same shit you hear in the States. There are monitors displaying music video loops and animation. There are flashing lights, smoke machines, overpriced drinks. The big difference here is that the West pioneered this whole scene, while the East can only try to mimic it. The West is charged by being at the source of these kinds of cultural concepts, so China is left to try on whatever is left in the bargain bin, like secondhand clothing. No biggie. For what it's worth, they mimic pretty well.

They even get a little inventive at times, having live performances interjected into the musical lineup. Once in a while they'll have someone get on stage and sing a cover: sometimes Lady Gaga, sometimes Rihanna. What surprised me most is that when people get up and under the lights, the crowd actually gives them attention. I imagine if someone tried doing something like this in the States, people would just turn around and ignore it. But the club managers really do whatever they can to give the patrons the impression that “This is what's happening, and if you weren't here, you'd be missing it.”

One functional problem with clubs in China is that they have no designated dance floor. So you just have to dance at whatever table you are standing at and drinking with your entourage. And most of the tables are inconveniently close together. Once in a while, after alcohol gets into the mix, people may bump into one another. One of the staff might walk into you and drop an expensive bottle and a pitcher of ice. People might slip on the liquids and broken glass. But no point in trying to talk sense into anyone there, so you might as well accept this as the hazards of having fun in China.

Sometimes I'll go to the club, and you can tell that there are people really enjoying themselves. Other nights, at the same venue, it seems like they've completely forgotten. To me, having fun at a club should be such a straight-forward exercise that it goes without saying. But no, really, some people show up, get their alcohol, and just stand there drinking with a blank expression, as though their waiting for the good times to show up on their own. Maybe I'm just reading them wrong. Maybe while they seem reserved on the outside, they're having an absolute blast in their own heads, and they are wary of anyone else finding out. Who knows?

After I get my buzz, I'll sometimes find myself playing the role of cheerleader to a table full of mopey-faced Chinese girls. I walk up and start dancing in their general vicinity, and most of the time they will smile and start giggling, as if to say, “Oh yeah, that's what you're supposed to do here.” They just need a reminder sometimes. The other thing that most Chinese girls seem to know about (but are sometimes afraid to try) is the bump and grind. Because they know I am from a Western cultural orientation, they know I will not think it unusual if they come up and start bouncing their tiny rumps against my pelvic region. If you're a white male in China, you're bound to get targeted for these kinds of things.

Be careful though, because though Chinese males won't necessarily mind the idea of Western males taking Chinese girlfriends, they are not impressed at all with the idea of Western males using Chinese girls for casual sex. Who's to say why. They're not exactly the most respectful toward the ladies. I just believe the notion of outsiders having an advantage in the mating game really offends their sensibilities. Sometimes I've felt inspired to explain, “Hey, we live in competitive biosphere, bitch! Get over it.”

Nothing is more irritating than males that expect others to play the mating game with a handicap to make things more fair for them, like women have no say in the matter. Hey, you won't see me biting my nails when Chinese males show up at club in the States to try to scoop up on all the fly booty. I'd like to see them try.

A colleague and I were having a blast at club one night, and were just walking out to take a taxi, when a couple of Chinese dudes called out at us, “Hey! What you think you do with Chinese girl? You think you are to fuck them?” His broken, drunken English emphasized the word 'fuck' in a weird way. Made it sound like he was getting off on the idea.

We were both puzzled. There weren't any girls walking out with us. We didn't exactly understand the nature of their grievance. Quick to a combative stance as dudes that have been drinking could be, we walked over and called back, “What did you just say?”

They didn't appear hostile, just contemptuous. They repeated, “You think Chinese girls to fuck them?” There, he said it again. Weird emphasis on 'fuck.'

My buddy and I exchanged glances before he asked, “What's the problem? My girlfriend is Chinese. You have a problem with that?”

And their English probably sucked too much for them to understand when I told them, “And I fuck your mother all the time. She loves it.” A nice and stupid, drunken comment. They just blinked and kind of wandered away after that. It was such a weird confrontation: a random cry of jealousy in the night followed by sullenness. At no point were we actually concerned that they might try to brutalize us. It was like a mutual understanding between us that they didn't have the nerve to try.

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Another cultural difference I noticed when going to clubs in China is the weird kind of sexual repressiveness that is subtly tied into the interactions there. Despite the introduction of alcohol, there is still an occasional reluctance to be expressive: to openly show that you find someone attractive, or to reveal that you are turned on, and so forth. There have been times when something that might have ordinarily been fun in a Western cultural context turns weird.

One night I was drinking at a table, just enjoying the music as my entourage was off doing other things. A Chinese girl climbed out of the woodwork, and stood directly in front of me, gesturing for me to look at her. I had been drinking all night, so I just smiled. She wasted no time in taking my arm, turning and arching her back so her ass would connect with my crotch. Her body was certainly decent, and I wasn't about to complain. She then took my hands and started running them over her body. What was strange about the interaction, was that even though it was arousing, there was something about it that was off. It didn't feel like she was doing it for fun. It felt cold, like a business transaction.

Her body language was seemingly pleading with me, as if to say, “I just want to be touched, please! Please. Make me feel like something desirable! I just feel empty inside, and I think what we're doing is depraved and wrong. But, I need it.” These kind of thoughts swirled in my head along with a belly full of liquor. And after a while, she abruptly walked off, leaving me standing there with a stiffy and a strange sense of bewilderment. Why was that so weird? I just wanted to have good time that evening, and instead my buzz got blindsided by a haze cultural oddness. Whatever.

Other nights, you'll find girls that are perfectly Western in their own way, and don't have any of the hang-ups dragged along with traditional Chinese ideas of propriety. I spent an evening dancing with a girl in too-short jean shorts, and she and her friend wanted to take turns grinding against me. She fed me alcohol and fruit, and kept me standing near her table by wrapping her legs around me. I didn't know if she was a pro or not, and I wasn't too concerned at the moment. All I remember is her taking my phone from me to enter her name and number in it.

She held up the lit screen of my phone and with a cute little smile, she said, “I'm Candy.”

Remembering that line from the first “Highlander” film, I replied, “Of course you are.”

Bonus Story

It has been a while since I updated this blog, so I am throwing in an additional bonus story for fair measure. At one of the bars in this city, they keep an assortment of puzzles on the counter: just little items to toy with when you're wasted. One of those items is a Rubik's puzzle cube. One night, after drinking a few beers, I became totally enthralled with it. I don't know why. I was just sure that I could somehow figure the stupid thing out on my own without guidance. Problem was: I was wrong. Perplexed by this development, I found my own 3 x 3 x 3 puzzle cube a small store on the business street near the place I work.

I watched some you tube videos on how to solve it. I then wrote down the algorithms and started trying to apply them to different transmutations. Eventually I figured out how to apply each one to the different conditions the cube presented. A few weeks later, I could solve the puzzle cube on my own, without looking up the algorithms. I then returned to that bar emboldened by my new knowledge, eager to put that scrambled cube to a new resolution. I sat with the thing for twenty minutes. And after another twenty minutes, I still could not solve it. I didn't know what was wrong.

After studying the cube for a long time with a drink in my hand, I realized: someone had already tried taking the thing apart and putting it back together. Only thing was they put it back together wrong, so the stupid thing could not be solved! I felt ripped-off. And struck me as such a profound metaphor for so many other aspects of life, perhaps even the reasons that brought me to China to begin with. How often do we attempt to solve problems that can't actually be solved by the assumed course of action? Many times, I think.

Teaching In China

Herding Androids

I was attempting to describe my experience teaching English in China to someone, and they likened my descriptions to “herding lemmings.” I would describe it more appropriately as “herding androids.” Yes, I am often reminded of a scene from an episode of “Star Trek: the Next Generation,” where the android Data was considering the way humans perceive time. He tested the expression, “a watched pot never boils,” by heating a pot of water by himself. I don't have the exact transcription, but the conversation between Data and Riker went something like this:

Data: “I hear humans say that 'a watched pot never boils,' but as according to my internal chronometer, I see that the water always begin to boil at exactly six minutes and thirty seconds.”

Riker: “Had you thought about turning off your internal chronometer?”

This is what it's like teaching Chinese kids. They don't understand

sarcasm. They don't understand irony. They seem to have absolutely no creativity whatsoever. And if I don't outline every last step in a procedure, they will be lost. While it can be a challenge to get them to properly follow instructions, they also seem to be adroit at maintaining an utterly neutral expression at times, which makes me occasionally wonder if they're either deaf or brain dead.

When I ask them if they know something or not, or if they understand something or not, they often won't admit it if they don't, as it becomes a matter of “saving face.” They have an overwhelming fear of appearing to be dumb in front of their peers. This also means that when I ask them questions in English, they will speak so softly I'll have to crouch down right next to them to hear what they say. There are rarely times when they will speak loudly enough for others to hear their answers, so the prospect of getting them to speak English to one another often seems out of the question.

Magic Moments

One time I engaged my students in an activity where I would ask each of them to tell me about a famous person they would like to meet. There were some of them that listed basketball stars and singers, popular actors. One girl looked up at me and said, “I want to meet Michael Jackson!”

I believe I scoffed a little at that one and said, “Yeah, that will be difficult.” She looked a little puzzled by my response. Then I snapped my mouth shut. With wide eyes, I wondered, “Could it be possible that they haven't heard the news of his death? Oh my god!” I imagined the whole room beginning to weep after bombing them with news that the King of Pop is dead. I figured they were probably very fond of him. But after discretely asking a few students, I discovered that they actually did know he passed away.

I thought it was an unnecessary clarification, that I should have to ask someone which famous living person they would like to meet.

Unless of course, someone happens to have the means to exhume the corpses of celebrities and resuscitate them.

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My class and I were once having a discussion some of the differences between America and China. One student told me that the US has an advantage over China because it has democracy. I wasn't going to touch that one with a ten-foot length of bamboo. I am very cautious not to reflect unfavorable attitudes towards the Chinese government in my class. I did want to make one point though, “Though some people think that the United States is a democracy, it is actually a republic, which is not exactly the same.”

One girl in the front row started shaking her head. She said, “That can't be right. China is a republic! This is why we are called 'The People's Republic of China!'”

I found that comment to be very amusing. There were a dozen snarky remarks that popped up in my head at that point. The ones I really wanted to make (but didn't) was, “Oh yeah, then who did you vote for in your last election? Oh, what's that you say? (cupping my hand next to my ear) What election? What do you mean you couldn't vote?”

China calling itself the “People's Republic” is much like if Taco Bell was reformed and decided to call itself, the “Heavenly Haven of Ambrosia.” Just an eensy-weensy bit on the disingenuous side.

A Consolation Prize: The Smell of Ass

The building in which I work smells like poop. No joke. You see, the Chinese diet consists of certain ingredients that create the stinkiest of feces imaginable. You can spell the fester of human waste emanating from the restroom all the way down the hall to the classroom where I work. Sometimes I wonder about the janitorial service in the school, as in, why there doesn't seem to be any. In my classroom, I find random strands of long black hair on the floor that have been seemingly collecting there for years. Discarded plum pits, plastic baggies for abandoned snacks, dust bunnies, all are strewn about the classroom: occasionally making me want to gag.

One time in the middle of a lecture, one of the biggest cockroaches I'd ever seen made an appearance from under the wall next to me. It was as though it wanted to introduce itself. I imagined it waving it's leg at me and telling me with a course, New York accent, “Hey, I'm Frank! I'll be right under here if you need anything.” Sensing an unwelcome presence, it scampered back under the wall into the dank obscurity from whence it came.

But getting back to that restroom down the hall: sometimes I fantasize about putting on a hazmat suit and going in there with an industrial cleaning machine and a thousand deodorizers: spraying everything down with bleach. There is a chance that may not be good enough, and incendiary weapons would have to be implemented. It might take flamethrowers to kill the all the bacteria and quell the stench that has accumulated there. What evils hath been wrought?

An interesting side note about that restroom: there is not a single square of toilet paper to be found within. No hand soup or paper towels either. And I highly doubt my students are conscientious enough to bring toilet paper and soap with them. I'm pretty certain some are wiping themselves with their hands and simply rinsing them off... or just not wiping at all, and waiting for a hardening crust to develop in their nether regions. One afternoon I was doing a speaking activity where my students would step out in the hall to recite a dialogue. One kid stood next to me, and I gasped. His odor hit me like a punch in the face. It was as though he hadn't showered in weeks and had been sleeping in sewage.

I'm not going to bother telling you about their breath. You can imagine.

Oh, China

My Chinese neighbor occasionally likes to blast his music. I wouldn't ordinarily be bothered by that, except that he keeps playing a piano rendition of Celine Dion's “My Heart Will Go On.” You know, the theme from “the Titanic?” Every time I hear that noxious melody: God fucking dammit. I don't know if it's a Chinese thing, but they really seem to adore overly sappy, sentimental love songs. They really get into tunes where pansy dudes sing softy about how in love they are. It really strokes their inner clitoris if you will.

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One time while walking out of a supermarket in the city, I saw a woman crouch down with a little girl, holding the girl's legs up splayed in front of her. As soon as I realized that the girl wasn't wearing anything below the waist, I saw the trickle of her urine spilling out onto the asphalt. This is an an example of one of those what-the-fuck moments where my brain shuts down before I try to rationalize what I'm seeing. I just want to move on with my life as though as I'd never seen that. Bodily fluids in public places: China, you so crazy.

Observations from Shanghai and the Middle Kingdom

Holy balls, is there wealth here. Take a step into a major shopping mall in Shanghai, you will see more consumables on sale and being purchased than anywhere in the States. There are tablet computers, smart phones, advanced home theater equipment. It seems that middle class status has discretely packed up its things in the US and migrated to China. You can even see all the standard sights of any Western shopping mall: self-indulgent girls chattering on cell phones and carrying a designer handbags. Oversized advertisements featuring famous Western actors, endorsing crap. Starbucks, KFC, Pizza Hut, they all have their Chinese presence. In Shanghai it's possible to occasionally forget that you have left the West, but the US no longer has a city anywhere near as remarkable as Shanghai.

In Shanghai, McDonald's delivers. Drivers hop on motor-scooters donning red McDonald's helmets and insulated backpacks, dropping off fast food orders to their recipients. I'm thankful this concept of delivery has never been adopted into the Western business model, as I can imagine Americans abusing that kind of service. Many Americans use the drive through at McDonald's to avoid the agonizing discomfort of walking around. If they were to discover that they never have to leave home at all, well that could prove a fateful blow to Western civilization as other fast food chains would follow suit. I can already imagine McDonald's adjusting to their slogan to declare, “No, don't get up, fat ass! We've got you!”

Traffic

Chinese people love their car horns. And they honk the fuck out of them with great zeal. Let me put it this way: The Chinese people have a fever, and the only prescription, is more honking.

The Chinese also hate orderly traffic. If you have never seen a three lane road turn into five rows of traffic spontaneously, you will in China.

This is because the dashed line is only a suggestion. If you feel like riding down the middle of the road on occasion, you can just go ahead and do it. Feel like swerving between cars, and obnoxiously honking your horn like a jackass? In China, it's standard procedure. As soon as a vehicle hits the road, human decency evaporates. They will not brake for pedestrians. They will not wait for lights to turn the right color. There is no turn signal, they just swerve around people and traffic until they get to the place they want. That's how the Chinese get down.

Perhaps it has to do with a lack of regulation, or some kind of education issue. Perhaps China's economic growth has caused the country to get a little too big for its britches. The injection of wealth has put people behind the wheel that would have ordinarily been wheeling around a bicycle cart. Never does it seem to occur to them to say, “Hey guys, this is disorganized and dangerous. Maybe we should behave more cautiously.” Nope! Fuck that! Honk!

Going to the Doctor

Chinese medical care is another point of interest. I went to premium hospital in a major Chinese city to get a diagnosis for an ailment, and when I made into the doctors office, there were numerous people inside, all chattering at the doctor simultaneously. I have no idea why common sense wouldn't dictate that one patient should be seen at a time. Also, the room was filthy. The paint was chipping off the walls and the floor needed to be swept. I'm not going to go into detail about the diagnosis procedure, but let me just say that they are still using glass slides on old-school microscopes in their labs. Hilarious.

Which brings me to one of the strangest paradoxes of life China. How can a nation obtain this much wealth, yet still be marvelously obstinate about the most rudimentary aspects of modern life: such as basic hygiene, the sensibility of cleanliness, the importance of disinfectants, and how to stand patiently in line (for fucks sake)? The Chinese do not seem to get this wait-your-turn concept at all. This petulant rejection of common sense reminds me of an ill-tempered child having a fit at the dinner table. Someone needs to be sent to be bed without desert.

The Ladies

Let's talk about the ladies in China. For the longest time after getting here, it was very seldom that a woman would turn my head while walking around in public. I've heard other Western males declare, “C'mon, Chinese girls are hot!” But from my own shallow perspective on human beauty, I've felt that attractive Chinese women are few and far between. Most of them are shy, pale, mousy girls with glasses and skin problems. They're rail thin, seemingly malnourished, and most of them look like they're twelve years old regardless of their actual age. Very few appear to have fully developed breasts, and the only indication that they're over thirty would be a few gray hairs. They provoke the same sexual attraction in me as a four-foot-tall lamppost. And no, I have not developed a fetish for lampposts.

Then one night I went to a club in the city, and lo and behold, I discovered amazingly attractive Chinese ladies! They had incredible figures, fashion sense, and knew how to properly use cosmetics. Yes, attractive Chinese women do exist, at the right place and time. Unfortunately, in a later discussion, someone explained to me that all of those women (or most) were probably prostitutes. Oh. Well, they certainly didn't seem like they were there to dance or enjoy themselves. Then I started thinking about the way that if any girl in China possesses beauty, it is likely that she will be shucked like an ear of corn and thrown into the sex industry. That's some elegant stuff.