I know I sound like a broken record, and I recognize that I lost all credibility a long time ago, but still, I apologize for the delay.
-Random Cultural Tidbit of the Day-
As a way to make some easy cash while maintaining their image at home, big time celebrities and athletes will shamelessly endorse not-so big time products. Case in point, the other day I was waiting in line at the neighborhood convenience store when I perused the giant display of condoms (*cultural tidbit- Due to the one child policy in China and under availability of medical care for other forms of birth control, condoms are a HUGE industry here) and was shocked to be a greeted by a familiar face; plastered across a Chinese brand of condoms was the sultry pout of Britney Spears. (Really, talk about an Al Pacino-in-the-Godfather-like transformation. Six years ago she was the world’s most famous virgin hosting the Nickelodeon Kid’s Choice Awards, and now she is endorsing China-brand condoms).
On another occasion I was walking down the main street when I noticed another familiar face above a little store. The brand is called “Athletic” and they specialize in basketball apparel. So, who should they pick as the face of modern basketball? How about early 1990’s NBA star Clyde ”the Glyde” Drexler! So, atop every Athletic Store is the blown up image of the 55 year-old Glyde in full uniform, giving his most imposing AARP-game face. And, of course, this is all completely normal to Chinese people.
-Lunch Lady Barbara-
One ‘perk’ of working at Kid Castle is that it provides its employees with dinner on weeknights and lunch on weekends. As was the case with my ill-tempered cleaning lady, once again Kid Castle’s magnanimity towards its employees has had some unforeseen consequences. The next colorful character whom I’d like to introduce to you adds some spice to my life both literally and figuratively. Around the `Castle she’s known as Lunch Lady Barbara.
A stout woman on the wrong end of middle age, Barbara epitomizes the lunch lady stereotype. She is ornery, confrontational, and, naturally, an awful cook. Needless to say, I find her absolutely terrifying. A typical meal of Barbara’s consists of some medley eggs, weird meat, some grassy shoot-stuff, more grassy noodle-shoots, question mark dish vegetable dish, carrots and/or potatoes (both look the same after she is done with them) Chinese meatballs, and rice (even the Chinese people don’t like her food..which is really saying something). If I were a rabbit with a predilection for unidentifiable stringy meat I would be in heaven.
So, given my disinclination towards eating things that ‘look and smell funny,’ and Barbara’s unparalleled ability to prepare foods that ‘look and smell funny,’ it did not take long to establish ourselves as mortal enemies. This wasn’t always the case though. Initially, our relationship had potential to be great. To Barbara, a person’s worth is measured solely by how much they like her cooking, which in turn is a function of how much food one eats. So, given that I am the largest person in the school and thus theoretically able to consume the most food, Barbara had high hopes for me. The first weeks at the school our encounters were borderline pleasant. The typical meal would proceed as follows:
I would hesitantly go to the cafeteria with Matt. During this time, I still felt culturally obligated to eat the food and pretend to like it. So, as soon as Matt informed me that the food was in fact not dog or cat, I would shovel some on my plate and make a go of it. Within ten minutes of ‘eating’ the meal, Barbara would sneak out into the cafeteria and look at everyone’s plate to see how much they had eaten. Since she doles out the portions, she knows precisely the quantity of food that everyone took. So, she can deduce exactly how much everyone has eaten. For the first week or so, I blamed my lack of appetite on my inability to use chopsticks (really. how is someone honestly expected to eat a slab of meat with two sticks?! ) At this point, she was growing suspicious of me, but our relationship was still cordial.
After the chopsticks excuse wore thin, I began trying to pass my uneaten food off on other people’s plates. I would intentionally distract my coworkers and students, then move a slab of meat from my plate onto theirs, then run and turn in my plate and sprint out of the cafeteria. Also weary of Barbara’s wrath, other people did not take kindly to this maneuver of mine, and quickly caught on to this move. Whenever I would pull it, all the students would rat me out to Barbara, which made me look even worse.
Then, something magical happened. I learned how to say “ I don’t want” in Chinese. So, whenever she asked me if I wanted something, I would respond with “bu yao.” Everyone in the cafeteria was greatly amused by this, except for of course, dear old Barbara. From then on, before every meal was over, she would come and mock me and scream at me to leave for not eating her food in her broken Chinese dialect (* every region of China has its own dialects. Unlike dialects in America where you can still understand people from other regions, Chinese dialects are virtually separate languages. It is not uncommon for people of one region to not be able to understand people from another region).
In response to her publicly lambasting me, I just stopped going to the cafeteria. On a few occasions she would come to the office and scream at me to come eat, but I generally refused. I had won the feud. Or so I had thought.
Unbeknownst to me, that sly fox Barbara was hiding one last arrow in her quiver. As it turned out, Barbara was in cahoots with my other great nemesis: the cleaning woman. Together, they began to conspire against me. The cleaning woman would come and report to Barbara every little embarrassing tidbit she could about our apartment and our possessions. In turn, Barbara would so graciously volunteer this information to everyone during meal time. So, for a few weeks, everyone got know exactly how messy my room was, exactly how many pizzas I had ordered, what my laundry smelt like, if I had showered or not, if we had spent the previous night drinking, etc. It was terrible.
To make matters worse, I was being attacked on both sides by my terrible foes. The cleaning woman would partake (I swear) in semi-deliberate acts of sabotage and then report them to Barbara, who would then tell everyone who would listen. One such example was how our socks, continue to this day, to ‘vanish.’ Currently, I have exactly three pairs of socks, all of which I have been forced to buy since I’ve been here. As a result, there have been many days where I had to wear mismatching socks (a black and a white one) because those were the only ones I could find in the entire apartment (since I was wearing long pants I didn’t really think it mattered anyway). Well, the cleaning woman reported my sock-iniquities to Barbara, who, then in front of everyone one day randomly walked up to me and pulled up my jeans to see if I was wearing matching socks. When she discovered to her great disappointment that my socks were indeed matching that day, she explained to everyone how I don’t always wear matching socks. Our feud is beyond ridiculous.
With that last straw, our relationship has morphed into what is characterized by a mutual disliking expressed through passive aggressive comedy (well, actually, she is just aggressive but I can’t understand a word she says). So, as a subtle act of defiance, at every meal now I ask Barbara if she has pizza or not (I ask in Chinese). Then, when she emphatically responds no, I ask her why not, and if she will have pizza the next day. To which, she screams at me in Chinese to get out of the kitchen.
Thanks again for reading. Please feel free to leave comments or questions. Take care.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Colorful Characters Part I- The Cleaning Lady
Colorful Characters Part I
Readers: Since no blog-worthy events have transpired since my previous entry (or at least no blog-propriate blog-worthy events), I’d thought it’d be nice to introduce you to some of the more ‘colorful characters’ that I interact with (albeit usually not voluntarily) on a regular basis.
The Cleaning Lady
As an act of gratitude to our service to the Kid Castle Educational Institute, the owner recently hired a cleaning woman to come to our apartment five times a week. Not only did her duties include cleaning and doing our laundry, but the owner informed us that any errand or task we needed done (i.e. go grocery shopping, cut our toe-nails, braid our hair, be the goalie as we practice taking penalty kicks) she would do for us. If it were circa 1870 in the Deep South she would be called an ‘indentured servant.’ So, given our early twenties-gross-guy slovenliness, we were both quite pleased when we were presented with a real life Chinese lady-slave. Of course, as is the case with most things in life, things haven’t worked out quite like we expected.
Our cleaning woman is a middle-aged, uneducated local with a mannish bowl cut. She mopes around the apartment with her head cocked downwards with a look of numb indifference. She’s the living picture of someone who has lost all hope, and has grudgingly acquiesced to living a life of futile servitude (to be fair, I would be a little irked too if were picking up after a kid half my age, who made 10 times as much money as I did). So, needless to say, her visits are like big bright rays of sunshine in my day.
Unfortunately for all involved parties, her vast eagerness to please is eclipsed only by her inability to do anything right (random tangent- Incompetency coupled with a solid work ethic is the most frustrating combination to deal with in people. Because even though their shoddy work elicits some anger, you can’t get mad at them because they are doing the best they can. Then, as is the case with our cleaning woman, throw in the fact that she costs us nothing and is relatively impoverished means that I have absolutely no right whatsoever to get outwardly mad at her. It’s so maddening. Sometimes, I leave small amounts of money out in hope that she might steal it so I can legitimize my anger, but, of course, just to piss me off she never takes it). Never in my life would I have ever imagined that I would cringe when someone came to my house to clean up my filth (and for those of you who’ve had the ‘pleasure’ of living with me, you know there’s seldom a shortage of it).
My loathing for her was forged from her very first day on the job. After having come and inspected our living quarters to assess its cleanliness, our cleaning woman informed us to put everything on the porch that we didn’t want, and she would throw it out. As was the case, the porch was already littered with junk. There were pizza boxes, empty wrappers, and several trash bags of the cocaine addict’s rain-soaked gross shoes and clothes. Matt and I really didn’t have a lot of trash, so, I don’t think we put any additional stuff out there put anything else out there. That is, of course, for my soccer cleats. Unfortunately, I made the terrible mistake of playing soccer the previous day. And out of common courtesy for Matt, I placed them on the porch to air out (you see where this is going…)
Well, the following day around 12:30 I heard the door creak open. It was her. The previous night we had been out late, and I was feeling absolutely exhausted. I distinctly remember having this internal debate as I lay in bed:
“I left my soccer cleats on the porch I should really get up and tell her to not throw them out. No, it will be okay. No way is she that dumb that she would throw out a nice pair of cleats. They clearly aren’t with everything else, and are not trash.”
So, naturally, an hour and a half later I got out of bed and lo and behold, none of the trash on the porch is gone- except for my cleats. There were still the gross bags of clothing, pizza boxes, used toilet paper (well, no, but you get the point)everything… except for my cleats. I furiously ran down to the garbage can outside of our building, but it had already been picked up. Once at work, I had my boss call her and ask what happened to the cleats, and she said she had put them in the trash. They were gone. On her first day at work, she managed to throw out a pair of cleats that were equal in value to almost two months of her salary. And to make matters worse, I have absolutely no right to get angry at her. She did exactly what she said she was going to do. Nothing makes me madder than not being able to get mad.
Since, things have only gotten more frustrating. Since she comes so frequently, there is seldom a lot of work for her to do. There are never more than two dishes to clean and two pairs of clothes to wash. But, of course, she stays for at least an hour every day. In an effort to stay busy, Matt and I have discovered that there is absolutely nothing this woman will not wash once. If any piece of laundry is left in plain view she will wash it despite how clean it may be. There have been several instances when she has come into my room and motioned if I wanted anything washed. I usually tell her no, it’s ok. Five minutes later she reappears in my room and savagely starts grabbing clothes off my floor to go wash. I’ve literally had to chase her down and rip the clothes out of her hands to stop her. Normally, I wouldn’t mind my clothes being washed so much, except that here in China no one has dryers in their homes. Instead, everyone hangs up their clothes outside. While practical in warm summer months, air-drying in near freezing temperatures isn't very effective. There have been times when I haven't had anything to wear because she has washed it all and it is flapping against the chilly wind outside (stuff can take a few weeks to dry).
Moreover, as a further testament to her insanity, when she washes our clothes she refuses to use our brand new washing machine. Rather, she hand washes everything. When she is here I can hear here scrubbing violently on the floor in the next room on my already clean shirt. If my clothes could talk they would be screaming for their lives.
Another favorite game of hers is to play her version of capture the flag called 'clean Peter's room.' When she first started coming and I was home, I would motioned to her to not clean my room. In spite of my objections, she persisted and I generally acquiesced. I recall one time I was pretty adamant about her not cleaning my room, and like an OCD person on crack, she began furiously picking up little pieces of garbage off my floor. It was as if she derived some sort of sick satisfaction from picking up candy wrappers and q-tips. So, now, when I tell her not to clean my room or make my bed (yes, she has tried multiple times to make my bed when I am in it…don’t ask) she hides and waits for me to leave - even if just for a moment. As soon as I let my guard down and get something from the kitchen or go to the bathroom, like a predator stalking its prey she pounces. And before I even realize what's taking place, everything is already misplaced and rearranged in the least sensible places in my room. The battle is lost.
But, of course, she is just doing her job, so I have no right whatsoever to get angry- which is so infuriating.
---
Next week I will give a profile of the Barbara the lunch lady. As always, thanks for reading.
Readers: Since no blog-worthy events have transpired since my previous entry (or at least no blog-propriate blog-worthy events), I’d thought it’d be nice to introduce you to some of the more ‘colorful characters’ that I interact with (albeit usually not voluntarily) on a regular basis.
The Cleaning Lady
As an act of gratitude to our service to the Kid Castle Educational Institute, the owner recently hired a cleaning woman to come to our apartment five times a week. Not only did her duties include cleaning and doing our laundry, but the owner informed us that any errand or task we needed done (i.e. go grocery shopping, cut our toe-nails, braid our hair, be the goalie as we practice taking penalty kicks) she would do for us. If it were circa 1870 in the Deep South she would be called an ‘indentured servant.’ So, given our early twenties-gross-guy slovenliness, we were both quite pleased when we were presented with a real life Chinese lady-slave. Of course, as is the case with most things in life, things haven’t worked out quite like we expected.
Our cleaning woman is a middle-aged, uneducated local with a mannish bowl cut. She mopes around the apartment with her head cocked downwards with a look of numb indifference. She’s the living picture of someone who has lost all hope, and has grudgingly acquiesced to living a life of futile servitude (to be fair, I would be a little irked too if were picking up after a kid half my age, who made 10 times as much money as I did). So, needless to say, her visits are like big bright rays of sunshine in my day.
Unfortunately for all involved parties, her vast eagerness to please is eclipsed only by her inability to do anything right (random tangent- Incompetency coupled with a solid work ethic is the most frustrating combination to deal with in people. Because even though their shoddy work elicits some anger, you can’t get mad at them because they are doing the best they can. Then, as is the case with our cleaning woman, throw in the fact that she costs us nothing and is relatively impoverished means that I have absolutely no right whatsoever to get outwardly mad at her. It’s so maddening. Sometimes, I leave small amounts of money out in hope that she might steal it so I can legitimize my anger, but, of course, just to piss me off she never takes it). Never in my life would I have ever imagined that I would cringe when someone came to my house to clean up my filth (and for those of you who’ve had the ‘pleasure’ of living with me, you know there’s seldom a shortage of it).
My loathing for her was forged from her very first day on the job. After having come and inspected our living quarters to assess its cleanliness, our cleaning woman informed us to put everything on the porch that we didn’t want, and she would throw it out. As was the case, the porch was already littered with junk. There were pizza boxes, empty wrappers, and several trash bags of the cocaine addict’s rain-soaked gross shoes and clothes. Matt and I really didn’t have a lot of trash, so, I don’t think we put any additional stuff out there put anything else out there. That is, of course, for my soccer cleats. Unfortunately, I made the terrible mistake of playing soccer the previous day. And out of common courtesy for Matt, I placed them on the porch to air out (you see where this is going…)
Well, the following day around 12:30 I heard the door creak open. It was her. The previous night we had been out late, and I was feeling absolutely exhausted. I distinctly remember having this internal debate as I lay in bed:
“I left my soccer cleats on the porch I should really get up and tell her to not throw them out. No, it will be okay. No way is she that dumb that she would throw out a nice pair of cleats. They clearly aren’t with everything else, and are not trash.”
So, naturally, an hour and a half later I got out of bed and lo and behold, none of the trash on the porch is gone- except for my cleats. There were still the gross bags of clothing, pizza boxes, used toilet paper (well, no, but you get the point)everything… except for my cleats. I furiously ran down to the garbage can outside of our building, but it had already been picked up. Once at work, I had my boss call her and ask what happened to the cleats, and she said she had put them in the trash. They were gone. On her first day at work, she managed to throw out a pair of cleats that were equal in value to almost two months of her salary. And to make matters worse, I have absolutely no right to get angry at her. She did exactly what she said she was going to do. Nothing makes me madder than not being able to get mad.
Since, things have only gotten more frustrating. Since she comes so frequently, there is seldom a lot of work for her to do. There are never more than two dishes to clean and two pairs of clothes to wash. But, of course, she stays for at least an hour every day. In an effort to stay busy, Matt and I have discovered that there is absolutely nothing this woman will not wash once. If any piece of laundry is left in plain view she will wash it despite how clean it may be. There have been several instances when she has come into my room and motioned if I wanted anything washed. I usually tell her no, it’s ok. Five minutes later she reappears in my room and savagely starts grabbing clothes off my floor to go wash. I’ve literally had to chase her down and rip the clothes out of her hands to stop her. Normally, I wouldn’t mind my clothes being washed so much, except that here in China no one has dryers in their homes. Instead, everyone hangs up their clothes outside. While practical in warm summer months, air-drying in near freezing temperatures isn't very effective. There have been times when I haven't had anything to wear because she has washed it all and it is flapping against the chilly wind outside (stuff can take a few weeks to dry).
Moreover, as a further testament to her insanity, when she washes our clothes she refuses to use our brand new washing machine. Rather, she hand washes everything. When she is here I can hear here scrubbing violently on the floor in the next room on my already clean shirt. If my clothes could talk they would be screaming for their lives.
Another favorite game of hers is to play her version of capture the flag called 'clean Peter's room.' When she first started coming and I was home, I would motioned to her to not clean my room. In spite of my objections, she persisted and I generally acquiesced. I recall one time I was pretty adamant about her not cleaning my room, and like an OCD person on crack, she began furiously picking up little pieces of garbage off my floor. It was as if she derived some sort of sick satisfaction from picking up candy wrappers and q-tips. So, now, when I tell her not to clean my room or make my bed (yes, she has tried multiple times to make my bed when I am in it…don’t ask) she hides and waits for me to leave - even if just for a moment. As soon as I let my guard down and get something from the kitchen or go to the bathroom, like a predator stalking its prey she pounces. And before I even realize what's taking place, everything is already misplaced and rearranged in the least sensible places in my room. The battle is lost.
But, of course, she is just doing her job, so I have no right whatsoever to get angry- which is so infuriating.
---
Next week I will give a profile of the Barbara the lunch lady. As always, thanks for reading.
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Nightlife and Drinking Culture Part II
-KTV-
For the first month or so of being in China, I continually saw all these neon signs of ‘KTV.’ Since they certainly didn’t seem like bars or clubs from the outside I concluded that ‘KTV’ must be a very prominent local television station. As to why they seemingly had stations on every city corner, I just wrote it off as another ‘crazy China thing’ and didn’t give it anymore thought. That is until Matt informed one Sunday evening after work that we were going out with a group that night to KTV.
( If the people of China were put on trial for insanity, their maniacal obsession with KTV would be the proverbial 'bloody glove.' Really. They are all completely out their minds. ) I think the conversation went something like this:
Me: I mean, okay. Why are we going to a television station on our night off?
Matt: Dude, no. KTV is karaoke-television. You go into private rooms and sing karaoke.
Me: Dude, what’s so fun about singing karaoke alone?
Matt: Trust me man. It’s so much fun. You have to come. It’s a cultural experience.
So after my typical “I’m not sure, just go without me. I’ll be fine here. Really, just go,” I ended up going and naturally, had a fantastic time. Matt and I met up with our American friends Kris and Zach Giglio (Mike’s little brother), and a bunch of their cohorts from the World English School. After playing with several puppies (I mean really, we’re singing private karaoke for one another- what do you expect?), we met the group at the KTV at about 10. The building itself was very new and massive. The place was like a hybrid between a four star hotel and a trendy nightclub. There were neatly dressed attendants seemingly at every corner, eager to assist us. After Matt told an attendant what party we belonged to we were quickly ushered up some stairs and down a maze of hallways to our designated room. The room itself was lavishly decorated, replete with a large flat screen (where the karaoke was displayed) plush leather couches, and a top notch sound system. Already waiting for us were Kris and Zach and their cohorts and their significant others. Also in the room were a few computer screens where one selects the song they would like to sing to on karaoke. For the first 30 minutes or so, people were a little apprehensive to take the microphone (random cultural tidbit- all Chinese people can sing. While they have a terrible sense of rhythm, and can’t catch a ball to save their lives, they all can really belt it out). But after people had played with enough puppies, the willingness to perform was only outpaced by the decline in the quality of the singing (think Grandpa singing Christmas Carols at Midnight Service at Church after having a jug of wine). For the next few hours everything was a blur of ridiculous Chinese songs (which I understood nothing), and the occasional English (usually performed by me) song. I do vaguely recall Matt rapping an Eminem song, and me serenading some random Chinese girl I with All-4-One’s 1994 hit “I Can Love You Like That .” The experience as a whole was a lot of fun. And I highly recommend that you try it if given the opportunity.
Our experience with KTV wasn’t, by Chinese standards anyway, a typical night at there. While KTV certainly caters to the more family crowd during daytime, at nighttime it becomes very adult oriented. In China, and throughout all of Asia, people go to KTV and hire girls there to sing with them. Yes, you read that correctly. Groups of guys go to KTV, and hire pay girls obscene amounts of money to sing private duets with them. For a little extra money, the girl will then go home with you.
Moreover, in many Asian countries, KTV is the go-to destination for business-men to make deals. They will go into a KTV room with girls (oh, did I mention that when selecting a girl to sing with you, you aren’t assigned a random girl. Rather, they literally have a line-up of girls and you pick out the ones you want) talk business, perform with the girls for a while, then sleep with them (sounds better than playing a round of golf).
Another offshoot of the KTV culture is that girls who work at KTV scour the bars on their off nights to try to clandestinely gain clientele. Matt has told me that numerous times he has talked to pretty girls at bars for long periods of time only for them to invite him to their KTV place the following night. (on that note, the sex industry, while technically illegal in China, is rampant throughout all of Asia. Since Asian people lack the puritanical based we have, the sex industry isn’t demonized like it is in America). As a result, much of the nightlife of meeting people at bars has eroded away. Literally every girl at a bar is either with there with her boyfriend, or a girl looking to make a dollar one way or another. This problem has become so prominent parts of Asia that some places are starting to ban KTV. South Korea recently outlawed all KTV on account that it was eroding away its culture. All in all, KTV is a lot of fun, and I encourage all of you, if ever given the opportunity to try it out.
Hope everyone had a Merry Christmas. As always, thanks for reading.
For the first month or so of being in China, I continually saw all these neon signs of ‘KTV.’ Since they certainly didn’t seem like bars or clubs from the outside I concluded that ‘KTV’ must be a very prominent local television station. As to why they seemingly had stations on every city corner, I just wrote it off as another ‘crazy China thing’ and didn’t give it anymore thought. That is until Matt informed one Sunday evening after work that we were going out with a group that night to KTV.
( If the people of China were put on trial for insanity, their maniacal obsession with KTV would be the proverbial 'bloody glove.' Really. They are all completely out their minds. ) I think the conversation went something like this:
Me: I mean, okay. Why are we going to a television station on our night off?
Matt: Dude, no. KTV is karaoke-television. You go into private rooms and sing karaoke.
Me: Dude, what’s so fun about singing karaoke alone?
Matt: Trust me man. It’s so much fun. You have to come. It’s a cultural experience.
So after my typical “I’m not sure, just go without me. I’ll be fine here. Really, just go,” I ended up going and naturally, had a fantastic time. Matt and I met up with our American friends Kris and Zach Giglio (Mike’s little brother), and a bunch of their cohorts from the World English School. After playing with several puppies (I mean really, we’re singing private karaoke for one another- what do you expect?), we met the group at the KTV at about 10. The building itself was very new and massive. The place was like a hybrid between a four star hotel and a trendy nightclub. There were neatly dressed attendants seemingly at every corner, eager to assist us. After Matt told an attendant what party we belonged to we were quickly ushered up some stairs and down a maze of hallways to our designated room. The room itself was lavishly decorated, replete with a large flat screen (where the karaoke was displayed) plush leather couches, and a top notch sound system. Already waiting for us were Kris and Zach and their cohorts and their significant others. Also in the room were a few computer screens where one selects the song they would like to sing to on karaoke. For the first 30 minutes or so, people were a little apprehensive to take the microphone (random cultural tidbit- all Chinese people can sing. While they have a terrible sense of rhythm, and can’t catch a ball to save their lives, they all can really belt it out). But after people had played with enough puppies, the willingness to perform was only outpaced by the decline in the quality of the singing (think Grandpa singing Christmas Carols at Midnight Service at Church after having a jug of wine). For the next few hours everything was a blur of ridiculous Chinese songs (which I understood nothing), and the occasional English (usually performed by me) song. I do vaguely recall Matt rapping an Eminem song, and me serenading some random Chinese girl I with All-4-One’s 1994 hit “I Can Love You Like That .” The experience as a whole was a lot of fun. And I highly recommend that you try it if given the opportunity.
Our experience with KTV wasn’t, by Chinese standards anyway, a typical night at there. While KTV certainly caters to the more family crowd during daytime, at nighttime it becomes very adult oriented. In China, and throughout all of Asia, people go to KTV and hire girls there to sing with them. Yes, you read that correctly. Groups of guys go to KTV, and hire pay girls obscene amounts of money to sing private duets with them. For a little extra money, the girl will then go home with you.
Moreover, in many Asian countries, KTV is the go-to destination for business-men to make deals. They will go into a KTV room with girls (oh, did I mention that when selecting a girl to sing with you, you aren’t assigned a random girl. Rather, they literally have a line-up of girls and you pick out the ones you want) talk business, perform with the girls for a while, then sleep with them (sounds better than playing a round of golf).
Another offshoot of the KTV culture is that girls who work at KTV scour the bars on their off nights to try to clandestinely gain clientele. Matt has told me that numerous times he has talked to pretty girls at bars for long periods of time only for them to invite him to their KTV place the following night. (on that note, the sex industry, while technically illegal in China, is rampant throughout all of Asia. Since Asian people lack the puritanical based we have, the sex industry isn’t demonized like it is in America). As a result, much of the nightlife of meeting people at bars has eroded away. Literally every girl at a bar is either with there with her boyfriend, or a girl looking to make a dollar one way or another. This problem has become so prominent parts of Asia that some places are starting to ban KTV. South Korea recently outlawed all KTV on account that it was eroding away its culture. All in all, KTV is a lot of fun, and I encourage all of you, if ever given the opportunity to try it out.
Hope everyone had a Merry Christmas. As always, thanks for reading.
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
The Nightlife and Drinking Culture Part I
In line with everything else about China, the nightlife here is insane. And by 'insane,' I don't mean Bourbon-Street-on-Mardis-Gras kind of insane, rather, I mean these-people-could-be-institutionalized kind of insane. For example, an ideal night out for the typical Chinaman would involve taking numerable shots of grain alcohol at a bar, followed by private karaoke performed with hired girls, then perhaps a late night massage/prostitute. Let me explain:
-The Bar Scene and 'Ganbei'-
As one would imagine, there is a thriving bar scene in China. Unlike the most parts of the world where the bar scene centers around the weekend, in China, any given night is liable to be full of people. Another difference from the United States is that people go to bars to hang out with friends and get really drunk- not so much to meet people. (due to the omnipresence of 'massage parlors' (honestly, there is one in every strip mall..it will be like drug store, furniture store, massage parlor, restuarant), and their relative social acceptance drastically cuts down on guys meeting girls at bars). Typically, bars are about 3/5 guys, and the 2/5 of the females usually are there with their boyfriends (and subsequently become disgusted with them when they drink too much and start dancing around singing obnoxiously (see? we're really not that different after all..)).
My favorite aspect of Chinese bars is the 'ganbei' culture. Chinese people don't sip their drinks at their leisure like normal human beings. Rather, they pore themselves tall glasses of beer, and cheers ('ganbei')one another every time they drink. Unlike America where a token sip will suffice for a cheers request, in China, it is expected that you drink your entire drink. Moreover, what makes things really fun, is that if you ganbei someone, they are culturally obligated to drink. Really, it's the best system ever. It's like everyone is a pledge, hazing each other all night.
So, due to my outgoing nature and obvious language barrier, I find great amusement to go around at bars and ganbei everyone there. for the most part, the chinese people love that they are being cheersed by a foreigner (again, as white people here we are like pseudo-celebrities (on that note, today i was at the chinese equivalent of target, and i saw all this lotion chinese people use to make their skin whiter..so strange ). However, on occasion my brash American ways have inadvertently made me some enemies.
One such case happened a few weeks ago at this club named BaiDu. The boys and I had just come from KTV (more on KTV later in entry), and we were, to put it mildly, pretty buzzed. I immediately began on my regular routine of ganbeing every person in the club. At one particular table of 10 people (half girls half guys), a particular couple wouldnt honor my ganbei request. So, naturally, they were met with a big 'thumbs down' right in their faces as i began loudly booing them (again, language barrier). In hindsight, the fact that i, a foreigner, gave this guy a thumbs down for not ganbeing, made him lose so much what the chinese call, 'face' in front of his girlfriend (essentially, i made him lose a lot of street cred and made him look like a weakling in front of his girl and friends).
So, after i boo him, his face turned a bright red and he vigorously began pouring shot after shot and ganbeing me. I happily accepted the free alcohol, and in my state, was oblivious to the 'tension' between us (might i add i was a lot bigger than he was). A few minutes later after the ganbeing had ended, matt bumps into him accidentally, and in a desperate attempt to gain some face back, he tries to fight us. Luckily for his sake (really, i dont pretend to be a tough guy, but he was just really small) his girlfriend pulled him back and began saying 'sorry' in broken english. As it turned out, their relationship must have really been on the rocks bc as the couple were leaving the club the girlfriend turned around and blew me a kiss...
While there certainly exists a thriving bar scene in china, the hands down most popular nightlife entertainment is the cultural phenomenon known as KTV...
-Look tomorrow for my entry on KTV. As always, thanks for reading.
-The Bar Scene and 'Ganbei'-
As one would imagine, there is a thriving bar scene in China. Unlike the most parts of the world where the bar scene centers around the weekend, in China, any given night is liable to be full of people. Another difference from the United States is that people go to bars to hang out with friends and get really drunk- not so much to meet people. (due to the omnipresence of 'massage parlors' (honestly, there is one in every strip mall..it will be like drug store, furniture store, massage parlor, restuarant), and their relative social acceptance drastically cuts down on guys meeting girls at bars). Typically, bars are about 3/5 guys, and the 2/5 of the females usually are there with their boyfriends (and subsequently become disgusted with them when they drink too much and start dancing around singing obnoxiously (see? we're really not that different after all..)).
My favorite aspect of Chinese bars is the 'ganbei' culture. Chinese people don't sip their drinks at their leisure like normal human beings. Rather, they pore themselves tall glasses of beer, and cheers ('ganbei')one another every time they drink. Unlike America where a token sip will suffice for a cheers request, in China, it is expected that you drink your entire drink. Moreover, what makes things really fun, is that if you ganbei someone, they are culturally obligated to drink. Really, it's the best system ever. It's like everyone is a pledge, hazing each other all night.
So, due to my outgoing nature and obvious language barrier, I find great amusement to go around at bars and ganbei everyone there. for the most part, the chinese people love that they are being cheersed by a foreigner (again, as white people here we are like pseudo-celebrities (on that note, today i was at the chinese equivalent of target, and i saw all this lotion chinese people use to make their skin whiter..so strange ). However, on occasion my brash American ways have inadvertently made me some enemies.
One such case happened a few weeks ago at this club named BaiDu. The boys and I had just come from KTV (more on KTV later in entry), and we were, to put it mildly, pretty buzzed. I immediately began on my regular routine of ganbeing every person in the club. At one particular table of 10 people (half girls half guys), a particular couple wouldnt honor my ganbei request. So, naturally, they were met with a big 'thumbs down' right in their faces as i began loudly booing them (again, language barrier). In hindsight, the fact that i, a foreigner, gave this guy a thumbs down for not ganbeing, made him lose so much what the chinese call, 'face' in front of his girlfriend (essentially, i made him lose a lot of street cred and made him look like a weakling in front of his girl and friends).
So, after i boo him, his face turned a bright red and he vigorously began pouring shot after shot and ganbeing me. I happily accepted the free alcohol, and in my state, was oblivious to the 'tension' between us (might i add i was a lot bigger than he was). A few minutes later after the ganbeing had ended, matt bumps into him accidentally, and in a desperate attempt to gain some face back, he tries to fight us. Luckily for his sake (really, i dont pretend to be a tough guy, but he was just really small) his girlfriend pulled him back and began saying 'sorry' in broken english. As it turned out, their relationship must have really been on the rocks bc as the couple were leaving the club the girlfriend turned around and blew me a kiss...
While there certainly exists a thriving bar scene in china, the hands down most popular nightlife entertainment is the cultural phenomenon known as KTV...
-Look tomorrow for my entry on KTV. As always, thanks for reading.
Friday, December 19, 2008
Apology
Dear Loyal Readers (Mom),
I apologize for my habitual tardiness of my posts. In spite of the general sloppiness of the entries, I actually spend a great deal of time composing them. For whatever reason (perhaps my recent binge of puppy playing?) everytime I've sat down to write this week's entry I've had some serious writer's block. I have a great story to share with you, and to hastily jot down a bullet-point summary of the event would be a disservice to you, the reader (my mom).
Currently, work right now is quite hectic on account of the christmas party we are having for the kids tomorrow evening. After this weekend, and after matt leaves for america on monday, i will have ample time to catch up on my blogging.
so, as an olive branch to you, disgruntled reader (Mom), i swear on Bruce Lee's grave a two-entry super addition next Tuesday, as well as the pictures from China Idol, ok? ok.
As always thanks for reading and feel free to leave comments.
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
China Idol
-China Idol-
So for the previous few weeks Matt's friend Michelle or 'Loopy' as everyone calls her, has been trying to convince Matt and myself to attend this 'singing competition show' at the tv station she works at. Since the show tapes on Saturday nights, Matt and I were usually too tired from the 9 hours of playing Simon Says and teaching the letter "T" to attend. But two Saturdays ago, the stars must have been aligned, because for whatever reason we decided on a whim to go at the last minute.
After pounding a couple of beers (* upon request from my mother, I promised not talk about alcohol so much in the blogs. So from here on out I will refer to drinking as "playing with puppies.") After playing with 5 or 6 puppies a piece in the parking lot of the tv station, Loopy informed Matt and myself that we needed to go inside and take our seats. As it turned out we were seated at the very end of the front row of a packed house of 400 avid fans. Seeing our white faces, the producer came over and introduced himself to us. Following our conversation, he promptly made some random Chinese dude switch seats with us so we could sit directly behind the judges (random cultural tidbit* aside from the huge cities like Shanghai and Beijing which are full of foreigners, most of china remains extremely racially homogenous. (here in Jiaxing, a city of 3 million, there are probably no more than a 100 non-Chinese people living here). As a result of limited to no direct contact with foreigners, the typical Chinese person forms their opinion of white people through the movies they see and the tv shows they watch. As a result, it creates for almost like a ‘reverse’ prejudice. People here treat us like we’re celebrities. It’s wonderful. On several occasions when i‘ve had to wait in-line at a checkout counter one of the clerks have opened up a new register just to serve me.) So, after our re-seating I ended up sitting no more than 4 feet from one of the judges. Our close proximity to Paula-ming, Randy-chung, and Simon-shao meant that we were on tv every time they were taping the judges.
The show began promptly at about 7 pm and was executed extremely professionally. As it turned out, Matt and I were at the finals, so there was a lot of ‘drama.’ The show itself was absolutely ridiculous, and what was even more absurd was how serious everyone else in the audience took this ridiculous show. On one occasion, one contestant was kicked off the show, and the girl judge began crying. Naturally, Matt and I thought that it was hysterical. Then we looked behind us, and to our astonishment an entire row of homely looking teenage girls (honestly I’ve seen maybe 10 overweight girls in china, of who at least 6 of them were sitting together in that row) sobbing. It was too much. Matt and I were falling out of our seats laughing. Of course, since the producer had us sitting practically next to the judges, we were shown on tv laughing hysterically during the most somber parts of the show (the producer must have really hated us).
Another highlight of the show was the incorporation of interpretive dancers. Every singing performance was accompanied by an interpretive dancer. These dancers were all girls who, because they watched MTV asia and dressed like they were homeless, fancied themselves to be some kind of hip-hop performers. One dancer, who matt called hoopz for her gold hula-hoop sized earrings, would always incorporate the robot into her interpretive dances. It was so funny. it was off the charts on the unintentional comedy scale.
Another amusing aspect of the show was when the audience would try to clap along to the beat of the performances. I didn’t realize it until I got here, but chinese people have NO sense of rhythm. When one of the producers would want the audience to start clapping, he would stand in the front and try to set the tempo. Not only was the original tempo off the beat of the song, but a lot of the people couldn’t even follow the incorrect tempo set by the producer. This resulted in a general cacophony of out of beat clapping.
The real highlight of the night came early on after the contestants performed their first round of songs. After having paid attention to a tv program of which I understood nothing for nearly an hour, I began feeling a little antsy. So, when a pretty cute chinese girl took the stage, I asked Matt how to say “I love you” in Chinese. After her song was over, I began hollering in my best obnoxious American frat-boy chanting voice “Wooo I nee! Wo I neee.” She blushed, and then in English said ‘thank you.’ It was great. In china, it is customary to receive flowers after performances. So, loopy turned to me and asked me if I wanted to be the guy that ran up and gave her flowers. Having played with so many puppies earlier I was still a little inebriated (though quickly sobering up), I said, “sure,” and before I knew what was going on Loopy was pushing a bouquet of flowers into me telling me to run up on stage. Like a dog being told to go outside of his invisible fence I hesitated for a second. But before I knew it my legs had carried me up on stage under the bright lights. Normally the position of ‘flower-boy’ is reserved for some studio troll whose sole mission is to deliver the flowers as hastily as he can, and be as invisible as possible. I realized this only after watching several flowers boys later on in the show.
Rather than passing off the flowers and scurrying back off stage, I walked up to her and handed her the flowers and kind of stood there for a second expecting something to happen. After a moment of internal debate, I did something that was totally not appropriate in the least- I leaned in and gave her a hug, and then kissed her on the cheek. The whole audience erupted in a “OooooooOoo!” Upon hearing the audience Ooooo, I retreated to my seat, nearly slipping on a puddle of water that was left on stage.
All in all, the contest was a lot of fun. My girlfriend ended up coming in second place (she was robbed!!). Also, unbeknownst to matt and myself, apparently this show is a big deal locally. So a lot of our students at the school told us that they saw us on tv.
Anyway, I need to go eat dinner now. I have a bunch of pictures from the night, including pictures of me up on stage, but i am having trouble posting them. I will be sure to post them sometime in the future. Expect the next entry this time next week. Thanks for reading!
So for the previous few weeks Matt's friend Michelle or 'Loopy' as everyone calls her, has been trying to convince Matt and myself to attend this 'singing competition show' at the tv station she works at. Since the show tapes on Saturday nights, Matt and I were usually too tired from the 9 hours of playing Simon Says and teaching the letter "T" to attend. But two Saturdays ago, the stars must have been aligned, because for whatever reason we decided on a whim to go at the last minute.
After pounding a couple of beers (* upon request from my mother, I promised not talk about alcohol so much in the blogs. So from here on out I will refer to drinking as "playing with puppies.") After playing with 5 or 6 puppies a piece in the parking lot of the tv station, Loopy informed Matt and myself that we needed to go inside and take our seats. As it turned out we were seated at the very end of the front row of a packed house of 400 avid fans. Seeing our white faces, the producer came over and introduced himself to us. Following our conversation, he promptly made some random Chinese dude switch seats with us so we could sit directly behind the judges (random cultural tidbit* aside from the huge cities like Shanghai and Beijing which are full of foreigners, most of china remains extremely racially homogenous. (here in Jiaxing, a city of 3 million, there are probably no more than a 100 non-Chinese people living here). As a result of limited to no direct contact with foreigners, the typical Chinese person forms their opinion of white people through the movies they see and the tv shows they watch. As a result, it creates for almost like a ‘reverse’ prejudice. People here treat us like we’re celebrities. It’s wonderful. On several occasions when i‘ve had to wait in-line at a checkout counter one of the clerks have opened up a new register just to serve me.) So, after our re-seating I ended up sitting no more than 4 feet from one of the judges. Our close proximity to Paula-ming, Randy-chung, and Simon-shao meant that we were on tv every time they were taping the judges.
The show began promptly at about 7 pm and was executed extremely professionally. As it turned out, Matt and I were at the finals, so there was a lot of ‘drama.’ The show itself was absolutely ridiculous, and what was even more absurd was how serious everyone else in the audience took this ridiculous show. On one occasion, one contestant was kicked off the show, and the girl judge began crying. Naturally, Matt and I thought that it was hysterical. Then we looked behind us, and to our astonishment an entire row of homely looking teenage girls (honestly I’ve seen maybe 10 overweight girls in china, of who at least 6 of them were sitting together in that row) sobbing. It was too much. Matt and I were falling out of our seats laughing. Of course, since the producer had us sitting practically next to the judges, we were shown on tv laughing hysterically during the most somber parts of the show (the producer must have really hated us).
Another highlight of the show was the incorporation of interpretive dancers. Every singing performance was accompanied by an interpretive dancer. These dancers were all girls who, because they watched MTV asia and dressed like they were homeless, fancied themselves to be some kind of hip-hop performers. One dancer, who matt called hoopz for her gold hula-hoop sized earrings, would always incorporate the robot into her interpretive dances. It was so funny. it was off the charts on the unintentional comedy scale.
Another amusing aspect of the show was when the audience would try to clap along to the beat of the performances. I didn’t realize it until I got here, but chinese people have NO sense of rhythm. When one of the producers would want the audience to start clapping, he would stand in the front and try to set the tempo. Not only was the original tempo off the beat of the song, but a lot of the people couldn’t even follow the incorrect tempo set by the producer. This resulted in a general cacophony of out of beat clapping.
The real highlight of the night came early on after the contestants performed their first round of songs. After having paid attention to a tv program of which I understood nothing for nearly an hour, I began feeling a little antsy. So, when a pretty cute chinese girl took the stage, I asked Matt how to say “I love you” in Chinese. After her song was over, I began hollering in my best obnoxious American frat-boy chanting voice “Wooo I nee! Wo I neee.” She blushed, and then in English said ‘thank you.’ It was great. In china, it is customary to receive flowers after performances. So, loopy turned to me and asked me if I wanted to be the guy that ran up and gave her flowers. Having played with so many puppies earlier I was still a little inebriated (though quickly sobering up), I said, “sure,” and before I knew what was going on Loopy was pushing a bouquet of flowers into me telling me to run up on stage. Like a dog being told to go outside of his invisible fence I hesitated for a second. But before I knew it my legs had carried me up on stage under the bright lights. Normally the position of ‘flower-boy’ is reserved for some studio troll whose sole mission is to deliver the flowers as hastily as he can, and be as invisible as possible. I realized this only after watching several flowers boys later on in the show.
Rather than passing off the flowers and scurrying back off stage, I walked up to her and handed her the flowers and kind of stood there for a second expecting something to happen. After a moment of internal debate, I did something that was totally not appropriate in the least- I leaned in and gave her a hug, and then kissed her on the cheek. The whole audience erupted in a “OooooooOoo!” Upon hearing the audience Ooooo, I retreated to my seat, nearly slipping on a puddle of water that was left on stage.
All in all, the contest was a lot of fun. My girlfriend ended up coming in second place (she was robbed!!). Also, unbeknownst to matt and myself, apparently this show is a big deal locally. So a lot of our students at the school told us that they saw us on tv.
Anyway, I need to go eat dinner now. I have a bunch of pictures from the night, including pictures of me up on stage, but i am having trouble posting them. I will be sure to post them sometime in the future. Expect the next entry this time next week. Thanks for reading!
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
First Impressions II
First and foremost, I apologize for my tardiness again in updating my blog. Between working/being exhausted from working, drinking/recovering from drinking, sleeping and eating I have very little free time in which to keep my blog up to date. So anyway, from here on out I will make sure to update my blog every Tuesday (so, it should appear late Monday night to Tuesday morning in the Mother country).
Anyway, to make amends for my inexcusable tardiness, I offer you an extra long entry:
-The Birthday Party-
Thus far in my oriental odyssey I’ve successfully avoided eating anything really gross- no dog, no cat, no shark fins or even an ox testicle. While there have been several instances of gagging and funny faces (a la mom’s meatloaf circa 1993), I’ve been able to stomach everything thus far All this changed last Sunday with a seemingly innocuous invitation to a student’s birthday dinner.
After a long day of work (we work 9 hour days on the weekends), the unofficial golden boy of Kid Castle Educational Institute invited the director of the school as well as Matt and myself to his birthday dinner that evening. ‘Frank’ (all Chinese people take an anglicized name for themselves) has been at the school since its inception, and is very smart but a serious wise-ass. Needless to say, everyone loves him.
So, about 5:30 that evening, on a whim Frank invites us to come have rooster with him and his family. I’ll admit, I was initially a little apprehensive about going to dinner. Since I had never had rooster before, I didn’t want to discover that it made me throw up like the Avian flu in front of the school’s most beloved student and family, my boss, and the owner of the school. But, I strapped on my balls, pulled up my skirt, got over myself and went.
The place Frank selected for his birthday dinner was a ‘hot-pot’ restaurant. Very popular in China, hot-pot restaurants get their name from having boiling pots built into each table. Guests then cook all their own food in the pot and eating is an ongoing process. At this dinner, Matt I and sat with Frank and his friend Jason at one table (thank God), while the adults sat at a table across from us. By the time Matt and arrived, the rooster was already cooking in the pot. (Random cultural tidbit- Chinese people are obsessed with eating fresh food. At the supermarket there are very few frozen foods and a massive section to buy fresh vegetables and meats. That being said, many restaurants here kill animals on site). I knew for a fact that this restaurant happened to be one of those that butchered animals on site, because sitting next to the pot was a bowl of the rooster’s entrails soaking in its own blood. Upon making this observation I immediately began drinking. At this point in time, Frank and Jason began playfully teasing about putting the entrails into the pot with the rest of the rooster. I assumed by their playful nature that they were indeed just teasing. That is, of course, until they dumped the entire bowl of liver, intestines, and a pint of rooster blood into the pot.
With the addition of the blood, the water in the pot turned a deep reddish-brown color. Within a few minutes the water began to boil which signified that the meat was ready to be eaten. I watched as Matt fearlessly dipped the ladle into the murky depths of the pot to pull out strange chunks of rooster meat. When people eat in China say they are having rooster, they don’t mean the breast and legs; they mean the whole thing. This fact became painfully apparent to me when I dipped the ladle deep into the translucent blood bath to pull out a boiled rooster head ( ) along with a rooster talon (with the claw still intact). I felt like I was on fear factor (let me take a moment to formally apologize to my Grandma Shirley for refusing to eat your pot-roast. I now see how immature and ridiculous I was being. I am very sorry). To make matters worse, everyone around me was thoroughly enjoying the meal (I mean the kid picked this place to have his birthday dinner. That implies that the following conversation must have occurred:
Frank’s parents: Frank, you can have any kind of food you want, what would you like to have? Frank: Rooster talons!).
Having noticed my lack of appetite, in-between chewing on a rooster testicle (seriously), Frank asked me how I liked the rooster? “It’s wonderful,” I replied as I gagged down a token piece of some unidentifiable part of the rooster. Thankfully, we added a lot of other foods to the pot and I was able to scrape together a passable meal (and by passable I mean almost believable to those around me) of noodles, peanuts, and lamb. ( I found if I filled my plate with a variety of food, and ate only token portions of each I could create the illusion that I had eaten a full meal without having too much of any one thing to make me want to vomit ).
All in all, the night ended well. Frank’s mother was concerned that neither Matt nor I had had enough to eat or drink (in China it’s considered rude to NOT get your guests really drunk). But we quickly assuaged her fears and we all happily parted ways.
-------
I had originally intended to make this a two part my blog, but as you can see, the first part got a bit long. The next entry is a real humdinger, and to hastily jot something down in 20 minutes wouldn’t do the story justice. That being said, while there is an outside chance I may write it tomorrow, in all likelihood expect it next Tuesday. Thanks for reading!
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