The power’s out, so our private room is lit by a collection of tall candles, held in place by the beer bottles we’ve already emptied. The feast isn’t traditional Christmas Eve fare, but it’s certainly one of the best meals we’ve had in awhile. Fish, deer, noodles of questionable origin—“It’s made from a plant,” my friend Daisy translates imprecisely—vegetables, cold and hot.
A small Christmas miracle, our set menu includes shrimp and some meat supposedly gleaned from a cow—delicacies that stand in for my mom’s “surf and turf” Christmas Eve spread. A bigger Christmas miracle, there’s a downpour of snow blanketing the streets, which is beautiful for the ten minutes before it gets covered in perpetual pollution dust. Perhaps not miraculous, but simply amazing: Some guy is moonwalking in the street when we rush to the window to watch the snow fall.
Sara, another teacher from Drake, celebrates her birthday on December 24, and her university’s kitchen made her a fantastically huge cake to share with eleven people. As we ate, I played Christmas carols from my cell phone. The students we invited were wide-eyed with entertainment (or fear?) as we bounded cheerfully through “Let it Snow, Let it Snow, Let it Snow!” and turned momentarily somber when “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” came on.
I thought by now I’d seen all of Chengde’s seedy corners—there aren’t many corners at all, and few of them are exceptionally seedy—but Sara’s desire to dance lead us to the “KoKo Love,” Chengde’s only dance club. The building looks like an old bank or something similarly stately. I fell walking up the fake-marble staircase. Twice. Once when we unknowingly tried to go up without a ticket, and again after we purchased them. So, let that stand in for the inevitable slipping on the icy ramp that would have happened at St. John’s in Houghton on Christmas Eve. That’s probably the last parallel I can make between this experience and the other twenty-two Christmas Eves in my life.
The marquis behind the DJ flashed “Merry Christmas!” every few moments, as slightly chubby Chinese men threw their weight back and forth on the dance floor. A floor which, like many things around here, felt like it was about to snap and drop us into a sweaty, dusty pile on the first floor. Thankfully the men were less forward than American guys at a bar—no groping, grinding, etc—they just stood nearby and rocked their chubby bodies while smiling creepily at us. “These Chinese guys, they’re really just too much sometimes. Really, honestly, Too Much,” was Richard’s expert analysis of the situation. He, as the only foreign guy with four foreign ladies, may have made this comment after some gangster tried to buy the four of us from him. But I can’t be sure.
Sometime shortly before midnight, I covertly stole a basket of popcorn from a nearby table where a couple was making out. Cate promptly spilled the basket all over the floor, and Becky followed it up by accidentally dashing her half-full bottle of beer on top of it. Yes, at the stroke of midnight Christmas day, I was dancing in a pile of soggy popcorn, beer and broken glass while Lady Gaga was remixed China-style in a smoky club. Happy Birthday, Jesus.
Monday, December 28, 2009
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
"Tell the truth, tell the truth, tell the truth. -Liz Gilbert"
A month's worth of novel-ing left me less committed to verbatim honesty and more interested in entertaining myself with my writing. Early feedback on my most recent post suggests that a disclaimer is necessary.
While I did my best to elaborate upon my understanding of economics for Mr. Lei, I did so with humility and assured him that I am by no means qualified to break down a nation’s economic policies. He’s an incredibly smart individual and I know I’m not his primary source for information.
Although it would have entertained me greatly, I did not tell Mr. Zhang that all republicans think humans had pet dinosaurs back in the day. And I certainly didn’t bring up sexuality. But I could have.
When my students ask me, “What’s good?” I do tell them what I think is good, or, if I’ve gotten to know them well, I can better consider what they might think is good. While an entertainment critic could be inclined to disagree, I feel there’s nothing more subjective than one’s choice of media diversion. My students are bright. I think they get this.
My intention in the post was to convey the absurdity I feel when constantly responding to inquiries as though I’m a lifetime Gallup employee. Although I often feel like it is expected of me, I don’t presume to represent 304,059,724 Americans with my every whimsical statement.
While I did my best to elaborate upon my understanding of economics for Mr. Lei, I did so with humility and assured him that I am by no means qualified to break down a nation’s economic policies. He’s an incredibly smart individual and I know I’m not his primary source for information.
Although it would have entertained me greatly, I did not tell Mr. Zhang that all republicans think humans had pet dinosaurs back in the day. And I certainly didn’t bring up sexuality. But I could have.
When my students ask me, “What’s good?” I do tell them what I think is good, or, if I’ve gotten to know them well, I can better consider what they might think is good. While an entertainment critic could be inclined to disagree, I feel there’s nothing more subjective than one’s choice of media diversion. My students are bright. I think they get this.
My intention in the post was to convey the absurdity I feel when constantly responding to inquiries as though I’m a lifetime Gallup employee. Although I often feel like it is expected of me, I don’t presume to represent 304,059,724 Americans with my every whimsical statement.
Monday, December 14, 2009
The Perks of Being a Foreign Expert
“America is a very powerful nation. It seems to me, you are very strong and wealthy. So, can you tell me why the economic collapse?”
“Well, um, there were many reasons…”
“Yes, but I don’t know any. Please explain it to me.”
Mr. Lei summarizes the American conundrum in three almost-grammatically-correct sentences. You’re very powerful. You’re strong, and you’re wealthy. How could you let things go to shit like this? I’m not an economist. And the degree I hold didn’t automatically make me a journalist, so I can’t even claim that. I’m just an English teacher, but here I go.
“Well, there’s this thing called predatory lending… and there were all these bad mortgages that led to foreclosed homes…why don’t we have jobs? Well, sir, they’re all here… Yes, did you know we owe you, with your charade of being a poor, underdeveloped nation, billions of dollars?”
It took several days and one invasive, uncomfortable medical examination, but shortly after arriving in China I was presented with a miniature passport, sealed by the P.R.C.’s State Administration of Foreign Experts Affairs. I am, by government decree, an expert on all things foreign. Mr. Lei is only one of the university professors who expects me to spell out America’s problems in black and white, to defend with clarity the confusing mess that is my homeland.
“I think democracy is great, don’t you? Our situation sucks, we are not allowed to represent ourselves, only one party, one group to make decisions… power corrupts. Absolute power, corrupts absolutely. So we are very corrupt, and can’t do anything about it.”
Mr. Zhang, an English teacher his students have dubbed “Mr. Right” because he is so opinionated, is expressing all of this to me on a crowded city bus. Curious about how much China has changed since the age of Mao? Mr. Zhang is the perfect caricature of a newer, more outspoken minority, though certainly not representative of the unwaveringly patriotic majority. Jason was so uncomfortable, he alternately answered questions and then pretended to have fallen asleep—on a 15-minute bus ride—to avoid going too deeply into the topic of democracy in public.
“If you are in a political party, which do you choose?”
“Democratic.”
“So you support Obama? Why?... How can you be so sure?... What is wrong with the other party?”
“The other party represents some views that I agree with, but I believe it’s been co-opted by religious fanatics who think humans had pet dinosaurs 4,000 years ago, and that religious figures who have spent their entire lives suppressing their sexuality are authorized to tell me what to do with mine…”
As you can see, there is ample room for me to indoctrinate on my own terms, and I simply can’t help it. When you’re asked these questions around the clock, giving P.C. answers becomes exhausting. Foreign expert-dom allows me to pass off all sorts of personal beliefs as legitimately, quintessentially American, and therefore trendy and desirable.
Among the students, I abuse the privilege by recommending my favorite movies and musicians when they ask for suggestions about what’s popular with American college students. I honestly have no idea, and rarely had any idea when I was in college. You want action movies? Watch the Borne trilogy. You want a musical? Try Across the Universe. Two of my sophomores are three seasons deep in Grey’s Anatomy. Because it helps them learn medical vocabulary, of course.
This week Jason & I taught Christmas carols. I’m sure the students would prefer the N’Sync Christmas album, but we’re going all classic—heavy on the Gene Autry, a touch of Judy Garland, and Nat King Cole. Some classes just look confused—this isn’t what pop music sounds like on the Internet—but a few choice students look like they might understand what it means to rock around the Christmas tree with Brenda Lee.
“Well, um, there were many reasons…”
“Yes, but I don’t know any. Please explain it to me.”
Mr. Lei summarizes the American conundrum in three almost-grammatically-correct sentences. You’re very powerful. You’re strong, and you’re wealthy. How could you let things go to shit like this? I’m not an economist. And the degree I hold didn’t automatically make me a journalist, so I can’t even claim that. I’m just an English teacher, but here I go.
“Well, there’s this thing called predatory lending… and there were all these bad mortgages that led to foreclosed homes…why don’t we have jobs? Well, sir, they’re all here… Yes, did you know we owe you, with your charade of being a poor, underdeveloped nation, billions of dollars?”
It took several days and one invasive, uncomfortable medical examination, but shortly after arriving in China I was presented with a miniature passport, sealed by the P.R.C.’s State Administration of Foreign Experts Affairs. I am, by government decree, an expert on all things foreign. Mr. Lei is only one of the university professors who expects me to spell out America’s problems in black and white, to defend with clarity the confusing mess that is my homeland.
“I think democracy is great, don’t you? Our situation sucks, we are not allowed to represent ourselves, only one party, one group to make decisions… power corrupts. Absolute power, corrupts absolutely. So we are very corrupt, and can’t do anything about it.”
Mr. Zhang, an English teacher his students have dubbed “Mr. Right” because he is so opinionated, is expressing all of this to me on a crowded city bus. Curious about how much China has changed since the age of Mao? Mr. Zhang is the perfect caricature of a newer, more outspoken minority, though certainly not representative of the unwaveringly patriotic majority. Jason was so uncomfortable, he alternately answered questions and then pretended to have fallen asleep—on a 15-minute bus ride—to avoid going too deeply into the topic of democracy in public.
“If you are in a political party, which do you choose?”
“Democratic.”
“So you support Obama? Why?... How can you be so sure?... What is wrong with the other party?”
“The other party represents some views that I agree with, but I believe it’s been co-opted by religious fanatics who think humans had pet dinosaurs 4,000 years ago, and that religious figures who have spent their entire lives suppressing their sexuality are authorized to tell me what to do with mine…”
As you can see, there is ample room for me to indoctrinate on my own terms, and I simply can’t help it. When you’re asked these questions around the clock, giving P.C. answers becomes exhausting. Foreign expert-dom allows me to pass off all sorts of personal beliefs as legitimately, quintessentially American, and therefore trendy and desirable.
Among the students, I abuse the privilege by recommending my favorite movies and musicians when they ask for suggestions about what’s popular with American college students. I honestly have no idea, and rarely had any idea when I was in college. You want action movies? Watch the Borne trilogy. You want a musical? Try Across the Universe. Two of my sophomores are three seasons deep in Grey’s Anatomy. Because it helps them learn medical vocabulary, of course.
This week Jason & I taught Christmas carols. I’m sure the students would prefer the N’Sync Christmas album, but we’re going all classic—heavy on the Gene Autry, a touch of Judy Garland, and Nat King Cole. Some classes just look confused—this isn’t what pop music sounds like on the Internet—but a few choice students look like they might understand what it means to rock around the Christmas tree with Brenda Lee.
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