Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Dear America vs. Asia
And Dear Expat,
Why complain so much? Sure there are real issues wrong with one country or another, but instead of worrying about poverty and human rights violations and organ harvesting the biggest complaints are over being ripped off two bucks by a taxi driver. You who have a job only because of where you come from and make ten times more money than the locals; poor you who get the wrong food ordered at the restaurant and they don’t give free refills. Such a tragedy that it isn’t exactly like the country you left. How dare a nation of billions not accommodate you. Of course, we all have our own special and unique priorities.
There is something to be said of the foreigner’s objectivity. Fresh eyes can see flaws in the culture the programed masses perhaps cannot. You may make some good points when it comes to the hygiene, for example. Or then again you may just be perpetuating programming if you never admit the home country’s flaws either…
I mean, everyone in the world is crazy in one way or another. Nowhere is perfect, and for that matter some places are far more imperfect than others. But wouldn’t it be great if world-travel brought about the promise of being open-minded? If we could see the world and grow the better for it? Experience some other points of views and all come together as a human race.
Instead it often does the opposite. Retreat back into the old culture, complain, and reinforce the old stereotypes and programings all the more. Hang out with everyone who speaks your language and complain and complain and complain.
Still fun though.
If not unfortunate.
So let us be objective, if such a thing exists. Imagine if you will, being one of these expats. Perhaps, say, in China. And imagine not going back to the home country of… let’s say America and let’s say not being there for two years. What do you think?
My friends, forgive me for being so trite and pretentions and sixteen year-old melodramticy to say it, but am I tired of America? Has the opposing small-mindedness taken over me, am I over the American dream and content to never return?
When I came to LAX and my friends drove me down the 405 to Long Beach, it was as if I never left. No reverse-culture shock, not even nostalgia exactly. Just everything exactly as it was. To be sure, it was a wonderful gift of life to see my friends and family, from Long Beach to Echo Park to Hollywood to Indianapolis to Cincinnati to Berkeley to San Francisco… but the geography just doesn’t impress me anymore… the background noise is uninteresting… and I dare say I like Shenzhen better.
Over LA, over spending money, over California beaches. Sick of everyone around me having the same accent and lack of dynamic construction and clean streets. No language challenge, minimal street food, and having to drive a car to get anywhere. I will never be over my friends, but I can be over a lot of other things.
Next time, you visit me in China ok?
----------------------
Some fun facts juxtaposing China vs. America!
(and I do like the US of A, just look and see)
-What is similar about Hong Kong and the East LA Echo Park/Silverlake area:
Being in an English-speaking country and being the white minority, being able to get by but still most people around me speak another language… sometimes in the world its Spanish sometimes in the world its Cantonese…
-What I like about the states in general:
Vegetarian food! Respect of vegetarianism and no restaurant arguments over meat!
-What I like Southern California specifically:
Mexican food, the Mexican culture’s gift to the planet Earth and absolutely the greatest food in the history of the world.
-What I like about Northern California:
Pizza’s pretty good. And, it’s so easy to by entheogenic mushrooms at that Golden Gate park…
-What I don’t like about the states:
Being asked if I’m gay all the time.
-What I do like about the states:
Not having to see shitting babies everywhere.
-What is similar about Long Beach and Guangdong Province:
Ah, to live in the center of the world. Now, downtown Long Beach appears to me to be the central of Southern California. This metropolitan locale has a plethora of bus convergance like no other: Long Beach Transit, OCTA, LA Metro – busses and the LA subway system, and even Torrance.
And that’s nice, and I do indeed dig gay-bar hopping and taking public transit to all manner of Southern California delight. Thank you Long Beach, I can go from Compton to Huntington Beach.
But on the bigger macrocosmic scale, there’s Shenzhen and there’s Guangdong Province. The economic center of the biggest province of the most populated country in the world set to take over said world. All the crap in your house was probably made somewhere nearby. Shenzhen Special Economic Zone boasts convenient travel distance from ancient city Guangzhou to glorious Hong Kong, and Dong’guan where the factories that make all that crap are, and even another touristy economic zone next to a former colony ala Zhuhai and Macau.
There’s Cally surfer accent, and then there’s Cantonese dialect.
There’s Hollywood movies and there’s Hong Kong cult cinema.
I mean, sure, California is like Guangdong, and they’re both hot and they’re both great.
Each has a special place in my heart and I’m blessed to have lived in both, but I can’t live everywhere.
So, faced with opportunities galore, which one would you choose in the end…?
Saturday, August 28, 2010
My brain
My brain always seems to be getting better, as it should always be with these things, but its still *my brain* and all that has every entailed.
My brain wants to be a know-it-all, and yet has never been so good at that.
My brain, the one filled with hundreds of Chinese characters and minimal conversation skills. My brain, sorry, has no memories of that time in high school when that thing that is found to be so interesting happened; and yet my brain of lovely science fictional theories and trivialisties. Brain of neurological deconstructionism and rejection of perception, brain of stew and flavour.
My brain has always preferred the abstract to the pragmatic, and virtual reality to "so-called" reality.
Media files vs. experiential data vs. neither!
We like what we like. Don't judge. Read books and drunken conversations later, brain still works.
My brain, its alright—
Anyways, I think the central point is this: I find that my memory is quite good when it comes to virtual information that I read in a book. Then I find my memory is quite bad when it comes to personal experiences that happen to me in the 'real' world. What does that mean? Which is more real?
My brain wants to be a know-it-all, and yet has never been so good at that.
My brain, the one filled with hundreds of Chinese characters and minimal conversation skills. My brain, sorry, has no memories of that time in high school when that thing that is found to be so interesting happened; and yet my brain of lovely science fictional theories and trivialisties. Brain of neurological deconstructionism and rejection of perception, brain of stew and flavour.
My brain has always preferred the abstract to the pragmatic, and virtual reality to "so-called" reality.
Media files vs. experiential data vs. neither!
We like what we like. Don't judge. Read books and drunken conversations later, brain still works.
My brain, its alright—
Anyways, I think the central point is this: I find that my memory is quite good when it comes to virtual information that I read in a book. Then I find my memory is quite bad when it comes to personal experiences that happen to me in the 'real' world. What does that mean? Which is more real?
Many more Shenzhange video tubages
Adventures in ordering food, and Chris Garneau show
'My Chinese Sucks' with ray
Chinese kids, my English class =)
TV Party!
'My Chinese Sucks' with ray
Chinese kids, my English class =)
TV Party!
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Monday, June 1, 2009
Sino-American Relations, or How to break up with your Chinese girlfriend
You’ve been dating for months, and you’re a bit worried about being a cliché. You see it everywhere, at the mall, on the street: sub-par average white guy holding hands with the cute young Chinese girl. Common enough these days, but here it brings an entirely different connotation than it did back home. It’s not really cool or progressive, its more … “loser Western guy can’t get girl in home country so he comes to Asia.”
Still, you’re happy enough, but not without a certain distance that comes with such an intimate cross-cultural exchange. Oh, she speaks well enough English, and you can talk about movies and pop music and hang out at the bar. But she’s not big on conversation. She doesn’t like hanging out with your friends, and she prefers to sing those Taiwanese songs at the KTV and you’re just not good enough at Chinese to join in.
At first, the lack of introspective conversations is a relief. You never have to feel guilty for forgetting and anniversary, and that “where is our relationship going?” speech never comes. She doesn’t introduce you to her parents, even when they’re visiting. And yet somehow, there’s an anxiety. It’s not that you particularly want to go through the awkwardness of having dinner with her parents and practicing your broken Chinese as they practice their broken English. But … you’d like to asked. You’d make up an excuse not to go, of course, but you’d just like to be asked.
And there was just one fight, and all of a sudden she stops returning your calls. Not even a text message. Maybe you saw this coming for a long time, but you’re surprised at how very depressed you get. It’s not a good feeling to be disliked.
You finally confront her, and tell her she can’t ignore you like this. You go to her apartment, and you have that uncomfortable conversation. She’d rather you just leave, but you need this. Because back where you’re from, they call this closure.
And you see her from time to time, and you’re civil, and you smile, and you miss her, but you know it’s over. You hate to bitch and moan, but you’re from a therapy-ridden culture, and so your friends console you. Your hip Westernized Chinese friend tells you, “Chinese girls just want to try the foreigner guy, and when they’re finished they want to go back simple Chinese life.” Your cynical American friend who’s been through it before tells you, “Chinese girls aren’t as sentimental. They’ll just forget about you one day.”
You go to the bar, and you look at girls, maybe aim higher for a fellow foreigner girl you can get along better with, and you chalk it up to experience, and you get over it. It’s a cycle that you go through in life from time to time, but now you’ve done it in China.
You wonder if we’ll ever reconcile these subtle differences between China and the West. You wonder if we can ever truly understand each other. Will we always be destined to meet halfway, have fun, but only glaze the surface? We can get along just great, but will we ever truly connect? Well, one supposes this question can go for the whole mixed up world, but today you’re asking it in China …
Still, you’re happy enough, but not without a certain distance that comes with such an intimate cross-cultural exchange. Oh, she speaks well enough English, and you can talk about movies and pop music and hang out at the bar. But she’s not big on conversation. She doesn’t like hanging out with your friends, and she prefers to sing those Taiwanese songs at the KTV and you’re just not good enough at Chinese to join in.
At first, the lack of introspective conversations is a relief. You never have to feel guilty for forgetting and anniversary, and that “where is our relationship going?” speech never comes. She doesn’t introduce you to her parents, even when they’re visiting. And yet somehow, there’s an anxiety. It’s not that you particularly want to go through the awkwardness of having dinner with her parents and practicing your broken Chinese as they practice their broken English. But … you’d like to asked. You’d make up an excuse not to go, of course, but you’d just like to be asked.
And there was just one fight, and all of a sudden she stops returning your calls. Not even a text message. Maybe you saw this coming for a long time, but you’re surprised at how very depressed you get. It’s not a good feeling to be disliked.
You finally confront her, and tell her she can’t ignore you like this. You go to her apartment, and you have that uncomfortable conversation. She’d rather you just leave, but you need this. Because back where you’re from, they call this closure.
And you see her from time to time, and you’re civil, and you smile, and you miss her, but you know it’s over. You hate to bitch and moan, but you’re from a therapy-ridden culture, and so your friends console you. Your hip Westernized Chinese friend tells you, “Chinese girls just want to try the foreigner guy, and when they’re finished they want to go back simple Chinese life.” Your cynical American friend who’s been through it before tells you, “Chinese girls aren’t as sentimental. They’ll just forget about you one day.”
You go to the bar, and you look at girls, maybe aim higher for a fellow foreigner girl you can get along better with, and you chalk it up to experience, and you get over it. It’s a cycle that you go through in life from time to time, but now you’ve done it in China.
You wonder if we’ll ever reconcile these subtle differences between China and the West. You wonder if we can ever truly understand each other. Will we always be destined to meet halfway, have fun, but only glaze the surface? We can get along just great, but will we ever truly connect? Well, one supposes this question can go for the whole mixed up world, but today you’re asking it in China …
Sunday, May 3, 2009
Education is truly its own reward
I try not to be one of those people who have nothing to talk about except their work, because these people tend to have boring conversations. But the truth is, I don’t really have much else to talk about except work. Sadly, the time to grow up and be one of those who are defined by their job.
And what a rewarding job that is. Teaching kids day in day out, with no idea how much they’ll retain and how much they care. With few exceptions (the ones that do care, and make it all worth it) these private school one-child policy products don’t really care. Foreign teacher English class is just a recess time for them to yell “Waijiao!” and “Hello!” and not pay attention. They’ll forget what little I’ve taught them the month after I’ve gone. But whatever, a job’s a job. At least I bring some entertainment value in the grueling Chinese kindergarten education system.
The last week-and-a-half has been focused on the simple English sentence “I like to eat _____!” and then pointing at the subsequent sandwich or fish picture, and magically the kids can construct a complete sentence.
And after days and days of conditioning them to say “I like to eat” without processing what that means, I have moved on to drinks. “I like to drink ____!” and then they are to say “water” or “orange juice” or whatnot.
But it can’t be that easy, because then they can’t help but saying “I like to eat-drink tea!” “I like to eat-drink soda!” I can’t get through . . . argh . . . “Bu shuo eat-drink,” I say. “Shuo I like to DRINK!” “I like to eat-drink,” they answer. “EAT-DRINK, EAT DRINK, EAT DRINK.” It’s so frustrating. I am driven crazy. Of course, it’s easiest to just do the job and go through the motions, not give a damn and teach a few nouns to show off to their parents and get a paycheck. But it’d really be nice to know that being a teacher involves true teaching.
In other news, the even smaller preschool kids are learning to say “Please” and “Thank you,” followed by “Xie xie!” And it’s so damn cute I just want to hop up and down. It’s not all bad.
Then the weekend, and I get thoroughly socialized at any number of Shenzhen bars, and then back to the cycle on Monday. But my camera is at the factory to be repaired (another frustrating story), and with my memory so hazy by dawn, hence there’s no record.
Its all quite fun, it really is. Ah, the minor adventures of everyday life. Then I wait on the bus and practice text-messaging in pinyin.
Soon it will be summer, and I’ll have to be all responsible with money and stop wasting it on taxi rides and impulse dvd purchases. I’ll have to fend for myself in the uncertain Shenzhen future. Then I’ll get a new job, and talk about that.
And what a rewarding job that is. Teaching kids day in day out, with no idea how much they’ll retain and how much they care. With few exceptions (the ones that do care, and make it all worth it) these private school one-child policy products don’t really care. Foreign teacher English class is just a recess time for them to yell “Waijiao!” and “Hello!” and not pay attention. They’ll forget what little I’ve taught them the month after I’ve gone. But whatever, a job’s a job. At least I bring some entertainment value in the grueling Chinese kindergarten education system.
The last week-and-a-half has been focused on the simple English sentence “I like to eat _____!” and then pointing at the subsequent sandwich or fish picture, and magically the kids can construct a complete sentence.
And after days and days of conditioning them to say “I like to eat” without processing what that means, I have moved on to drinks. “I like to drink ____!” and then they are to say “water” or “orange juice” or whatnot.
But it can’t be that easy, because then they can’t help but saying “I like to eat-drink tea!” “I like to eat-drink soda!” I can’t get through . . . argh . . . “Bu shuo eat-drink,” I say. “Shuo I like to DRINK!” “I like to eat-drink,” they answer. “EAT-DRINK, EAT DRINK, EAT DRINK.” It’s so frustrating. I am driven crazy. Of course, it’s easiest to just do the job and go through the motions, not give a damn and teach a few nouns to show off to their parents and get a paycheck. But it’d really be nice to know that being a teacher involves true teaching.
In other news, the even smaller preschool kids are learning to say “Please” and “Thank you,” followed by “Xie xie!” And it’s so damn cute I just want to hop up and down. It’s not all bad.
Then the weekend, and I get thoroughly socialized at any number of Shenzhen bars, and then back to the cycle on Monday. But my camera is at the factory to be repaired (another frustrating story), and with my memory so hazy by dawn, hence there’s no record.
Its all quite fun, it really is. Ah, the minor adventures of everyday life. Then I wait on the bus and practice text-messaging in pinyin.
Soon it will be summer, and I’ll have to be all responsible with money and stop wasting it on taxi rides and impulse dvd purchases. I’ll have to fend for myself in the uncertain Shenzhen future. Then I’ll get a new job, and talk about that.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
A fine fine day in Hong Kong
Much of my time in Shenzhen is uneventful, a routine of work and minor pleasures rushed through until the relief of a wasted weekend, which comes with the familiar territory of Monday thru Friday jobs, dating back at least to Hong Kong. Still, I try to make the time for novelty, and often enough a change in the formulae comes with my monthly sojourns out to Hong Kong.
Again with the visa bureaucracy, but at least I got Monday and Tuesday off work. But first, let us begin with my Sunday night. I read in the Shenzhen Daily that a Beijing pop punk band, Recycle, would be playing a show here at the Base Bar, and even though it was a school night I’d been looking forward all week. It didn’t prove disappointing, the best rock show I’d seen yet in the fourth-and-one-half months outside of the West. Lots of friends were there, sweaty pogo-dancing and bruised moshing, expensive drinks compared to 7-11 prices but relatively cheap when I do the math and convert to US dollars. Like, thirty kuai to get in, which my first instinct is to complain but then I realize that equals less than five dollars.
Being a Sunday night, it cleared out quick. Midnight and empty, and I played pool with Olivia – two bad pool players makes for a game that takes forever, but I won for once, by virtue of the preemptive eight ball shot – and then hanging out outside smoking with Chris and talking about youtube movie ideas.
Unfortunately I got home late, and had to wake up very early the next day. It takes about two hours to get from Louhu to Tsim Sha Tsui in Hong Kong, waiting in line for customs and that nervousness when they stamp the last entry of the visa because there’s a chance they won’t let me in the country again. At least I gave my girl the spare key in case of emergency.
Tired and hungry, I went to the Sikh travel agent and paid 2000 Hong Kong dollars. Something I’ve done every two months since I’ve been here, but this time I was promised a six-month multiple entry for my troubles. No more L’s, I was to get an M! And be free! Now I had nothing left to do but wait until noon the next day to get my passport back.
Time and time to kill. By virtue of google, I’d finally learned of some American comic stores in Hong Kong, and took the train to Causeway Bay. Now, there is of course an abundance of Japanese nerd culture in Hong Kong, but most of this is translated into a language I am only in the marginal beginner stages of. Occasionally I’m lucky enough to get DVDs with poor English subtitles. But this time, I might actually catch up on Green Lantern, finish up Final Crisis, and fill the gaps in Justice Society.
It was heaven, but I spent all my money. All in all, plus buying the English editions of Naruto manga and the fascinating McMafia nonfiction real book, I spent about a thousand Hong Kong dollars (maybe 150 US), and this ever reminds me of the immense difference between my mainland Chinese salary where everything is cheap and how much things cost in a fully developed rich country. But I do what I must, and always spend too much money on books when I go to Hong Kong. Its worth it, and I make up for it in cheap bootleg DVDs back in Shenzhen.
Still, no matter how busy and cool a city, it can get quite boring in Hong Kong when I wander the same touristy Kowloon and HK Island locales every damn trip. I rarely have time to wander to the beach and surrounding islands and the more authentic Cantonese experience. I went wandering at Golden Fish Market looking for souvenirs, and window shopped all the cool anime toys in Mongkok. Eventually I met up with the couchsurfing.com people.
I was hoping for a free place to stay that night, but it was too last minute and I ended up only making it for drinks. I had sushi with Laetiticia and met up with some guys from the Netherlands and Thailand, and it was too much fun going out late at the wine bar and talking about US and Chinese politics. Well after 1:00 AM I was stranded, but I’ve been in cities before with no place to stay at this time of night and it always seems to work out. I found a cheap guest house, inbetween a hostel and motel, and it was only 150 (about twenty bucks US). With African guys drinking beers outside and call girls holding hands with Indians, it was not a good place to stay for a long time but the mattress in the small room was just right for my needs. I even got to watch some Hong Kong television.
Late at night is the only time to call overseas, and I used my HK phone to call back home. Mom wasn’t home, and I woke up Dad and talked for a while. I don’t even know how to call the US from the mainland, but I assume it’s more expensive and honestly I’m fine not talking to my family for month-long durations. It’s a nice buffer. I talked to Dad for a few minutes to catch up and say “hi I love you,” but I have the great excuse that it’s a pricey call and can’t talk long. Then I decided to call Raven, and talked for an hour. It was great; the only time I’ve called someone who wasn’t a family member, and well worth the keeping up with her. There are many friends I miss, and I try to email everyone on occasion, and Facebook is good for minor stupid comments just to remind you all that I still exist, but sometimes I require a long gossipy conversation like the old days. Raven was always my favorite to chat with.
The next day I checked out and went to get my visa. There were no complications, and I finally had it. My six-month pass, level M, with only thirty-day durations of stay but infinite multiple entries. For the next six months, I don’t have to worry. After all the troubles with the two-entries that I have to update every two months, and having to get my new passport in Guangzhou when the old one expired, and when they almost didn’t let me into Thailand, and finally I am free! No more bureaucracy until September! And we’ll just have to see where my life is at by then, and where I want to live...
I went shopping, I mailed some stupid Bruce Lee shirts back home, ate the last chance of delicious Western food before back in greasy mainland, and took the train ride back to Shenzhen thru the Louhu border. I had plenty of reading material along the way, so it wasn’t boring. With minimal problems with the new visa, though they did doublecheck to make sure it was real, and I went home. Another errand, I had to get a bank account – which the didn’t let me do because of the expired visa but this time it worked out – and then finally I was done slugging the super-heavy backpack and I was back at my apartment. It was only the morning before when I left, but it felt like I was gone for weeks. I proceeded to be completely lazy for the rest of the day, and I read some comics.
Now it’s back to the dull routines. I go to work at the different schools, I teach simple English to uncaring Chinese kids, I study Mandarin, I read on the bus, and I watch DVDs at home. And I beat myself up for not being more productive in the meantime. Really, I should work out more, meditate, do some writing. Sometimes I go to my girl Dawn’s house, sometimes she comes here, but mostly the weekdays are just a wait-out period until I can do something for myself by Saturday. This weekend perhaps ye olde expat pub, or a show, or simply catching up on my to-do list. I’ll fulfill all the social obligations, and I will checkmark the days on my calendar until the next vacation, and hope for the new, the novelty, the something interesting.
Again with the visa bureaucracy, but at least I got Monday and Tuesday off work. But first, let us begin with my Sunday night. I read in the Shenzhen Daily that a Beijing pop punk band, Recycle, would be playing a show here at the Base Bar, and even though it was a school night I’d been looking forward all week. It didn’t prove disappointing, the best rock show I’d seen yet in the fourth-and-one-half months outside of the West. Lots of friends were there, sweaty pogo-dancing and bruised moshing, expensive drinks compared to 7-11 prices but relatively cheap when I do the math and convert to US dollars. Like, thirty kuai to get in, which my first instinct is to complain but then I realize that equals less than five dollars.
Being a Sunday night, it cleared out quick. Midnight and empty, and I played pool with Olivia – two bad pool players makes for a game that takes forever, but I won for once, by virtue of the preemptive eight ball shot – and then hanging out outside smoking with Chris and talking about youtube movie ideas.
Unfortunately I got home late, and had to wake up very early the next day. It takes about two hours to get from Louhu to Tsim Sha Tsui in Hong Kong, waiting in line for customs and that nervousness when they stamp the last entry of the visa because there’s a chance they won’t let me in the country again. At least I gave my girl the spare key in case of emergency.
Tired and hungry, I went to the Sikh travel agent and paid 2000 Hong Kong dollars. Something I’ve done every two months since I’ve been here, but this time I was promised a six-month multiple entry for my troubles. No more L’s, I was to get an M! And be free! Now I had nothing left to do but wait until noon the next day to get my passport back.
Time and time to kill. By virtue of google, I’d finally learned of some American comic stores in Hong Kong, and took the train to Causeway Bay. Now, there is of course an abundance of Japanese nerd culture in Hong Kong, but most of this is translated into a language I am only in the marginal beginner stages of. Occasionally I’m lucky enough to get DVDs with poor English subtitles. But this time, I might actually catch up on Green Lantern, finish up Final Crisis, and fill the gaps in Justice Society.
It was heaven, but I spent all my money. All in all, plus buying the English editions of Naruto manga and the fascinating McMafia nonfiction real book, I spent about a thousand Hong Kong dollars (maybe 150 US), and this ever reminds me of the immense difference between my mainland Chinese salary where everything is cheap and how much things cost in a fully developed rich country. But I do what I must, and always spend too much money on books when I go to Hong Kong. Its worth it, and I make up for it in cheap bootleg DVDs back in Shenzhen.
Still, no matter how busy and cool a city, it can get quite boring in Hong Kong when I wander the same touristy Kowloon and HK Island locales every damn trip. I rarely have time to wander to the beach and surrounding islands and the more authentic Cantonese experience. I went wandering at Golden Fish Market looking for souvenirs, and window shopped all the cool anime toys in Mongkok. Eventually I met up with the couchsurfing.com people.
I was hoping for a free place to stay that night, but it was too last minute and I ended up only making it for drinks. I had sushi with Laetiticia and met up with some guys from the Netherlands and Thailand, and it was too much fun going out late at the wine bar and talking about US and Chinese politics. Well after 1:00 AM I was stranded, but I’ve been in cities before with no place to stay at this time of night and it always seems to work out. I found a cheap guest house, inbetween a hostel and motel, and it was only 150 (about twenty bucks US). With African guys drinking beers outside and call girls holding hands with Indians, it was not a good place to stay for a long time but the mattress in the small room was just right for my needs. I even got to watch some Hong Kong television.
Late at night is the only time to call overseas, and I used my HK phone to call back home. Mom wasn’t home, and I woke up Dad and talked for a while. I don’t even know how to call the US from the mainland, but I assume it’s more expensive and honestly I’m fine not talking to my family for month-long durations. It’s a nice buffer. I talked to Dad for a few minutes to catch up and say “hi I love you,” but I have the great excuse that it’s a pricey call and can’t talk long. Then I decided to call Raven, and talked for an hour. It was great; the only time I’ve called someone who wasn’t a family member, and well worth the keeping up with her. There are many friends I miss, and I try to email everyone on occasion, and Facebook is good for minor stupid comments just to remind you all that I still exist, but sometimes I require a long gossipy conversation like the old days. Raven was always my favorite to chat with.
The next day I checked out and went to get my visa. There were no complications, and I finally had it. My six-month pass, level M, with only thirty-day durations of stay but infinite multiple entries. For the next six months, I don’t have to worry. After all the troubles with the two-entries that I have to update every two months, and having to get my new passport in Guangzhou when the old one expired, and when they almost didn’t let me into Thailand, and finally I am free! No more bureaucracy until September! And we’ll just have to see where my life is at by then, and where I want to live...
I went shopping, I mailed some stupid Bruce Lee shirts back home, ate the last chance of delicious Western food before back in greasy mainland, and took the train ride back to Shenzhen thru the Louhu border. I had plenty of reading material along the way, so it wasn’t boring. With minimal problems with the new visa, though they did doublecheck to make sure it was real, and I went home. Another errand, I had to get a bank account – which the didn’t let me do because of the expired visa but this time it worked out – and then finally I was done slugging the super-heavy backpack and I was back at my apartment. It was only the morning before when I left, but it felt like I was gone for weeks. I proceeded to be completely lazy for the rest of the day, and I read some comics.
Now it’s back to the dull routines. I go to work at the different schools, I teach simple English to uncaring Chinese kids, I study Mandarin, I read on the bus, and I watch DVDs at home. And I beat myself up for not being more productive in the meantime. Really, I should work out more, meditate, do some writing. Sometimes I go to my girl Dawn’s house, sometimes she comes here, but mostly the weekdays are just a wait-out period until I can do something for myself by Saturday. This weekend perhaps ye olde expat pub, or a show, or simply catching up on my to-do list. I’ll fulfill all the social obligations, and I will checkmark the days on my calendar until the next vacation, and hope for the new, the novelty, the something interesting.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Thrashin in Shenzhen
Thrashin’ in Shenzhen
by Ray H
Among the shops of Shenzhen’s electronics district of HuaQiangBei, one can find more than just discount iPods and pirated Windows XP software. A short walk down the street will lead to Fat Tongues, the city’s sole skateboarding specialty store. Full of shoes and boards and hip hop themed t-shirts, it’s easy to forget that this is China, and an expat might mistake themselves as back in their hometown’s suburban mall.
The owner of the shop goes by Xiao Feng – meaning Little Wind – but like most Chinese he also has a Western name that’s easier to pronounce. His expat friends call him “Thrasher,” he’s twenty-five, in debt, and determined to give his scene a voice in Shenzhen.
Running his own business since he was nineteen, he found local investors and started his own place. “When I started I had no information. Just for three years, push, push, and push more.” Thrasher, who taught himself English from watching American movies, pessimistically describes his industry with a sense of humor. “Business is so bad. (I had) no experience.” And he’s not optimistic about the future. “(Most) only come to my shop to buy shoes.”
Shenzhen had no specialty shops of the kind when he began skating at twelve, and he had to buy his wooded skateboards at the sporting goods market. “Shitty boards,” he says. Even just a decade ago China was decidedly less open, and his parents were not supportive. “I have to hide my skateboard, (when I lived) at home. The culture here . . . the parents stop you. ‘You can’t.’ ‘It’s dangerous.’” Cynical of China’s government and culture, he’s not shy to criticize. “Education sucks. Everyone (is) brainwashed.”
But Thrasher also makes money as a professional skater, sponsored by Gift Skateboards and Shanghai-based Quicksilver. Hopeful to get an Adidas contract soon, he periodically films his own videos for the sponsors. And while there may be no official skate-park in the city, that’s never stopped kids from skating where they want anywhere else. “At the park, Book City . . . not one spot.” Shenzhen, full of young buildings and marble parking lots, even boasting a naive police force that has yet to give out tickets for loitering, has quickly become a haven for skaters across the country. “Every pro-skater comes to Shenzhen,” Thrasher smirks the Shenzhen local.
But when it comes to getting shredded on the street – injuries being a source of price to skaters the world over – Thrasher isn’t a fan of the average Chinese citizen’s attitude. “Chinese people have no respect. If you do something different, they just watching. When I fall, 80% people laugh at me. They don’t fucking respect. ‘You try,’ I tell to them. ‘Motherfucker,’” he laughs.
Still, his shop has survived for the last six years, and is even expanding with plans to build a mini-ramp on the property. While it isn’t easy to set up plans with China’s notoriously bureaucratic local government, it’s obvious that Thrasher isn’t in it for the business glory. China’s economic future may depend on businessmen and entrepreneurs raising the national GDP, but the culture on a whole may be better served by values deeper than high profit margins. Some are in because they love what they do, and that can be enough. “I don’t give a shit,” Thrasher proudly rips. “I just skate.”
Saturday, January 24, 2009
Bureaucracy Part II
It’s a nerve-wracking feeling to know, that if you don’t do the paperwork just right, you may be kicked out of a country.
But I’m alright now. I know you worry though, so here’s the ever-progressing story:
After my near-bust Hong Kong trip last month, where the countdown timer on my exploding passport began to tick away, I had only three months left. I proceeded to book an appointment online with the American consulate in nearby Guangzhou. Because there is no American embassy in Shenzhen, I had a choice between familiar HK, costing me one duration-of-stay stamp, or go to the new city and stay in the proper mainland People’s Republic.
Guangzhou. The third-largest city in China. For some reason it used to be called “Canton” by the old British Imperialists, though I don’t see the phonetic similarity. Or maybe that goes for the province of Guangdong, but it still doesn’t sound right. Of course, this is where “Cantonese” comes from, the English butchering of Guangdong hua. Anyways, they speak Mandarin, or rather Pudong hua, in Shenzhen. I don’t know the etymology of “Mandarin” either.
Time to explore Canton. I woke up at 6:00 AM on January 22nd hoping to make it to a 2:00 appointment in the neighboring town. Half-asleep, I took the 83 bus down to the Louhu border train station, anxious to could figure out all this travel in time. It turned out to be simple enough; the trains come every fifteen minutes and 80 kuai later I took the 45-minute above-ground railway passage. The only word I needed to know to buy the ticket: “Guangzhou.” Smoother than waiting in line in customs to get to Hong Kong.
The security guy woke me up and I found myself in a new Chinese city. East Guangzhou Station. 9:00 AM. Hours and hours to kill. Wasn’t difficult to get around. More people speak English, good English, even the cashier at McDonalds. I could get by on my Mandarin too. And a much cleaner city than Shenzhen. The taxis have rules posted on the back. Not so much litter. I guess this is an average Middle Chinese city (like Middle American), but I prefer SZ’s zaniness.
After my Egg McMuffin breakfast, I bought a tourist map and just walked about. Shopping centers are boring in the morning, until I found a big bookstore. It’s no Hong Kong here, so the best I could hope for were English-language classics for Chinese students. I bought Dickens’ A Tale of Two Cities.
For lunch I met my workmate friend, who’s back in her hometown for the Spring Festival. Went to a mall. Ate Italian food. I don’t like Chinese malls, for the same reason I don’t like American malls, and here they’re even worse. Bigger, shinier, plasticyer. Why go to a mall in China, when there are so many dirty open-air market to haggle for knock-offs in?
My workmate buddy helped me get to the American Embassy, and it turned out to be right back next to the train station. Good to know for the next time. I made sure to be there an hour early, and wandered around some more, and got lost in Ikea. Finally, I filled out the paperwork fifteen minutes before my scheduled appointment. I’d been putting it off for a week, but like a college paper due in the morning, the last-minute always seems to bring a motivation I can never find anywhen else.
The fifth floor of the office building, filled with travel agencies and currency exchanges, led me to the American Consulate. Filled with white Americans, even a few black people, and Chinese-speakers with American passports, I went through the metal detector and took a number and waited in line. After all that nervousness and they rushed through my paperwork and 2 x 2 photos like a toll road booth taking your three bucks during rush hour. They were in such a hurry they barely looked at my form. Unlike waiting in line with the Chinese bureaucrats, they could have cared less what I was doing in the country. My whole rehearsed “I’m not working, just staying with a friend . . .” line was an unnecessary memorization. The Americans just want you to pay the fees and get through to the next guy, and apparently they don’t care if I’m paying my taxes or not. Hell, I’m not sneaking into their country am I? The only rule was to turn off your cell phone.
I was directed to wait in the other line at the cashier station, where they take RMB, and then waited back in line # 35 again, and then I was told to come back in a week to get my sparkling new passport. I do get to keep the battered old one in the meantime. I’ll have to somehow make the time to return soon, possibly miss work for it after holiday ends. Well, no problems, otherwise done and done, so I thought about more time to kill.
The day was still on, and I looked at the tourist map and thought about my workmate’s suggestions, and decided to do a bit more sightseeing while somewhere new. Took a metro to the Chen Ancestry Temple, and watched some of the inauguration news on the subway TVs. My only chance to see Obama on a TV screen these days. Then it was time to absorb some traditional Chinese culture. It’s so rare to see pointy buildings in modern China, always an exciting observation. The folk museum was alright, amazing art, and English translations of ancient Cantonese history. I took pictures. Bought postcards. Then it was dark, then I took the train back, went to a shitty vegetarian restaurant, read my Gibson paperback, and nodded off on the return train ride to SZ.
Back home, there was dog drama to deal with. My neighbor couldn’t take care of my girlfriend’s dog after all, something about fighting with cats and lots of pee on the floor you see, so now I get to have a dog for a week. XiaoYu (Small Rain), a cute pup, albeit very needy, and now I am to be a responsible dog owner for a week, while Mommy is off to Changshu for the Spring Fest. Such a good boyfriend, eh? I’d like to think.
So now I wait for the last few steps in my visa-bureaucracy adventures. As noted: it’s back to Guangzhou in the coming weeks for a passport that doesn’t expire this year, and then finally to Hong Kong for that treasure-at-the-end-of-the-rainbow (or light-at-the-end-of-tunnel, just pick your clichés) . . . to my promised six-month multiple-entry visa.
I’ll actually be able to relax for the next half-year, and know assuredly that I get to stay here. And meanwhile, I’m also going to Thailand next week, because I have to leave the country once a month anyways, and it only right there. Tickets are cheap and work is off and the sirens of travel sing to me. It’s the last chance of a new stamp in a proud old passport, you do see, soon to be put to the rest, but deserving of one more foreign ink blot. Like the New Year’s killing of the Mouse and coming of the Cow, all things must end, and there comes the time to build on the new. I’ll miss the old girl, but such is this life game, and I’m ever-anxious for the new.
But I’m alright now. I know you worry though, so here’s the ever-progressing story:
After my near-bust Hong Kong trip last month, where the countdown timer on my exploding passport began to tick away, I had only three months left. I proceeded to book an appointment online with the American consulate in nearby Guangzhou. Because there is no American embassy in Shenzhen, I had a choice between familiar HK, costing me one duration-of-stay stamp, or go to the new city and stay in the proper mainland People’s Republic.
Guangzhou. The third-largest city in China. For some reason it used to be called “Canton” by the old British Imperialists, though I don’t see the phonetic similarity. Or maybe that goes for the province of Guangdong, but it still doesn’t sound right. Of course, this is where “Cantonese” comes from, the English butchering of Guangdong hua. Anyways, they speak Mandarin, or rather Pudong hua, in Shenzhen. I don’t know the etymology of “Mandarin” either.
Time to explore Canton. I woke up at 6:00 AM on January 22nd hoping to make it to a 2:00 appointment in the neighboring town. Half-asleep, I took the 83 bus down to the Louhu border train station, anxious to could figure out all this travel in time. It turned out to be simple enough; the trains come every fifteen minutes and 80 kuai later I took the 45-minute above-ground railway passage. The only word I needed to know to buy the ticket: “Guangzhou.” Smoother than waiting in line in customs to get to Hong Kong.
The security guy woke me up and I found myself in a new Chinese city. East Guangzhou Station. 9:00 AM. Hours and hours to kill. Wasn’t difficult to get around. More people speak English, good English, even the cashier at McDonalds. I could get by on my Mandarin too. And a much cleaner city than Shenzhen. The taxis have rules posted on the back. Not so much litter. I guess this is an average Middle Chinese city (like Middle American), but I prefer SZ’s zaniness.
After my Egg McMuffin breakfast, I bought a tourist map and just walked about. Shopping centers are boring in the morning, until I found a big bookstore. It’s no Hong Kong here, so the best I could hope for were English-language classics for Chinese students. I bought Dickens’ A Tale of Two Cities.
For lunch I met my workmate friend, who’s back in her hometown for the Spring Festival. Went to a mall. Ate Italian food. I don’t like Chinese malls, for the same reason I don’t like American malls, and here they’re even worse. Bigger, shinier, plasticyer. Why go to a mall in China, when there are so many dirty open-air market to haggle for knock-offs in?
My workmate buddy helped me get to the American Embassy, and it turned out to be right back next to the train station. Good to know for the next time. I made sure to be there an hour early, and wandered around some more, and got lost in Ikea. Finally, I filled out the paperwork fifteen minutes before my scheduled appointment. I’d been putting it off for a week, but like a college paper due in the morning, the last-minute always seems to bring a motivation I can never find anywhen else.
The fifth floor of the office building, filled with travel agencies and currency exchanges, led me to the American Consulate. Filled with white Americans, even a few black people, and Chinese-speakers with American passports, I went through the metal detector and took a number and waited in line. After all that nervousness and they rushed through my paperwork and 2 x 2 photos like a toll road booth taking your three bucks during rush hour. They were in such a hurry they barely looked at my form. Unlike waiting in line with the Chinese bureaucrats, they could have cared less what I was doing in the country. My whole rehearsed “I’m not working, just staying with a friend . . .” line was an unnecessary memorization. The Americans just want you to pay the fees and get through to the next guy, and apparently they don’t care if I’m paying my taxes or not. Hell, I’m not sneaking into their country am I? The only rule was to turn off your cell phone.
I was directed to wait in the other line at the cashier station, where they take RMB, and then waited back in line # 35 again, and then I was told to come back in a week to get my sparkling new passport. I do get to keep the battered old one in the meantime. I’ll have to somehow make the time to return soon, possibly miss work for it after holiday ends. Well, no problems, otherwise done and done, so I thought about more time to kill.
The day was still on, and I looked at the tourist map and thought about my workmate’s suggestions, and decided to do a bit more sightseeing while somewhere new. Took a metro to the Chen Ancestry Temple, and watched some of the inauguration news on the subway TVs. My only chance to see Obama on a TV screen these days. Then it was time to absorb some traditional Chinese culture. It’s so rare to see pointy buildings in modern China, always an exciting observation. The folk museum was alright, amazing art, and English translations of ancient Cantonese history. I took pictures. Bought postcards. Then it was dark, then I took the train back, went to a shitty vegetarian restaurant, read my Gibson paperback, and nodded off on the return train ride to SZ.
Back home, there was dog drama to deal with. My neighbor couldn’t take care of my girlfriend’s dog after all, something about fighting with cats and lots of pee on the floor you see, so now I get to have a dog for a week. XiaoYu (Small Rain), a cute pup, albeit very needy, and now I am to be a responsible dog owner for a week, while Mommy is off to Changshu for the Spring Fest. Such a good boyfriend, eh? I’d like to think.
So now I wait for the last few steps in my visa-bureaucracy adventures. As noted: it’s back to Guangzhou in the coming weeks for a passport that doesn’t expire this year, and then finally to Hong Kong for that treasure-at-the-end-of-the-rainbow (or light-at-the-end-of-tunnel, just pick your clichés) . . . to my promised six-month multiple-entry visa.
I’ll actually be able to relax for the next half-year, and know assuredly that I get to stay here. And meanwhile, I’m also going to Thailand next week, because I have to leave the country once a month anyways, and it only right there. Tickets are cheap and work is off and the sirens of travel sing to me. It’s the last chance of a new stamp in a proud old passport, you do see, soon to be put to the rest, but deserving of one more foreign ink blot. Like the New Year’s killing of the Mouse and coming of the Cow, all things must end, and there comes the time to build on the new. I’ll miss the old girl, but such is this life game, and I’m ever-anxious for the new.
Saturday, January 3, 2009
the album should have been called “Chinese Bureaucracy"
Do the Chinese visa hustle. It's the latest craze. And when you live in the nightclub that is Shenzhen, you got to learn the steps quick. Lately I've become an expert in this dance . . .
First you go to Hong Kong to get a Category L permission slip, then you stand in line at the LouHu port and fill out arrival/departure cards, and it helps if you memorize your passport number.
When I first arrived here in the People's Republic I mailed my passport to the travel agency in San Francisco via my company sponsorship, and they did all the work. But thirty days later I was unfortunately informed that my time was already up. So I had to start shuffling my feet. My Canadian neighbor hooked me up with the agency she prefers, down in nearby pseudo-sovereign Hong Kong, and since then I've done it all myself. The school didn't do a thing but reimburse me the 1500 HK Dollars weeks later on payday. Such are the hazards unlicensed English teaching.
I got a six month, two entry, thirty day duration of stay. With the bureaucratic ripples of the Beijing Olympics still trickling, it's hard to stay in the country indefinitely. Though the rules change every few months, unpredictably but hopefully more lax each time. But for me and my lack of a work visa - being paid under the table without declaration to the mainland Chinese government - the overnight visas us Americans can get wasn't the best of deals. It says six months, but if I wish to stay in the mainland the entire time it's really only two, because a six-month pass only works in thirty day durations, and two entries was the maximum at the time.
I must stay overnight, take the train back, wait in customs lines, and two months later do it all over again. Cut to last week, my sixty days up: I learned the rules had been slightly changed. Americans can now get six months with multiple entries, meaning that although I have entertain the hassle of bouncing from the mainland to pseudo-abroad Hong Kong every thirty days, I can purchase just this one visa for the whole six months.
But there was another option, a new dance riff to jump to. One can also go to the local immigration office to apply for an extension on one's duration of stay. Best to stretch this out, and apply for another twenty days. And this too first requires registration at the DongXiao police station as a foreign resident before applying elsewhere. Armed with paperwork procured by a kind Chinese friend, I took off work on Monday the 29th to hitch a taxi up to my district's police station. Filled out more paperwork, mercifully the forms in English, lied about my employment, and they stamped my 2 X 2 photo. I was now officially in the system.
Step eighteen: at the government office near the iconic Di Wang Da Sha building - Shenzhen's tallest structure - I took a number and waited. And waited. And when they finally called up "F08" the English-speaking office worker told me . . . presently they will not do extensions for Americans. The rules might change in the future, but they just don't do that right now. You'll have to go to Hong Kong tomorrow and get a new visa.
At least I planned for this contingency. Pushing this to the ultimate last minute, the HK travel agency would be open on the 30th and 31st but closed on New Years day. So I called off work once again and made the old tourist trek to busy Nathan Road in touristy Kowloon. With little sleep and lots of waiting, RNB Travels took my money for the urgent one-day clearance, and all that was left was to wait for the next afternoon. I made sure to take a receipt.
New Year's Eve, the day representing the closing of the year of 2008 by way of Gregorian A.D., not the Chinese New Year yet though. And in what I hope is not prescient of next year's patterns, this day was defined by further bureaucratic fumbling. It turned out that my passport expires in five-and-one-half months. Therefore I couldn't get the six month multiple-entry. I could only get a three month two-entry.
I recall ten years back when I was sixteen, and I ordered this passport from the Post Office in the suburbs of Cincinnati. In the years since I've earned stamps from Ben Gurion, Kansai, London Gatwick, and Hong Kong International. These decorated pages will be gone soon. A more sentimental man might be nostalgic. But I have more cynical things to worry about, because just my luck, the passport had to expire while I was already living abroad.
So while I'm safely in my SZ apartment today, having arrived just in time to party at midnight last Wednesday, I know I have to get this taken care of in the next few weeks. The American consulate was closed in Hong Kong that New Year's Eve, and while there isn't one in Shenzhen the next town over of Guangzhou has an American flag raised somewhere high. The sixty day counter is ticking.
I can only hope the school will reimburse me this many times over. While other foreigners with teaching degrees get to relax comfortably, as their schools take care of the work visas - Category Fs I believe - I'll still have to do this all myself. It's not very professional. But it's all worth it to continue the experience life here in China; and the bureaucratic dance is just another part of the culture to study. Hope I can keep up the pace.
First you go to Hong Kong to get a Category L permission slip, then you stand in line at the LouHu port and fill out arrival/departure cards, and it helps if you memorize your passport number.
When I first arrived here in the People's Republic I mailed my passport to the travel agency in San Francisco via my company sponsorship, and they did all the work. But thirty days later I was unfortunately informed that my time was already up. So I had to start shuffling my feet. My Canadian neighbor hooked me up with the agency she prefers, down in nearby pseudo-sovereign Hong Kong, and since then I've done it all myself. The school didn't do a thing but reimburse me the 1500 HK Dollars weeks later on payday. Such are the hazards unlicensed English teaching.
I got a six month, two entry, thirty day duration of stay. With the bureaucratic ripples of the Beijing Olympics still trickling, it's hard to stay in the country indefinitely. Though the rules change every few months, unpredictably but hopefully more lax each time. But for me and my lack of a work visa - being paid under the table without declaration to the mainland Chinese government - the overnight visas us Americans can get wasn't the best of deals. It says six months, but if I wish to stay in the mainland the entire time it's really only two, because a six-month pass only works in thirty day durations, and two entries was the maximum at the time.
I must stay overnight, take the train back, wait in customs lines, and two months later do it all over again. Cut to last week, my sixty days up: I learned the rules had been slightly changed. Americans can now get six months with multiple entries, meaning that although I have entertain the hassle of bouncing from the mainland to pseudo-abroad Hong Kong every thirty days, I can purchase just this one visa for the whole six months.
But there was another option, a new dance riff to jump to. One can also go to the local immigration office to apply for an extension on one's duration of stay. Best to stretch this out, and apply for another twenty days. And this too first requires registration at the DongXiao police station as a foreign resident before applying elsewhere. Armed with paperwork procured by a kind Chinese friend, I took off work on Monday the 29th to hitch a taxi up to my district's police station. Filled out more paperwork, mercifully the forms in English, lied about my employment, and they stamped my 2 X 2 photo. I was now officially in the system.
Step eighteen: at the government office near the iconic Di Wang Da Sha building - Shenzhen's tallest structure - I took a number and waited. And waited. And when they finally called up "F08" the English-speaking office worker told me . . . presently they will not do extensions for Americans. The rules might change in the future, but they just don't do that right now. You'll have to go to Hong Kong tomorrow and get a new visa.
At least I planned for this contingency. Pushing this to the ultimate last minute, the HK travel agency would be open on the 30th and 31st but closed on New Years day. So I called off work once again and made the old tourist trek to busy Nathan Road in touristy Kowloon. With little sleep and lots of waiting, RNB Travels took my money for the urgent one-day clearance, and all that was left was to wait for the next afternoon. I made sure to take a receipt.
New Year's Eve, the day representing the closing of the year of 2008 by way of Gregorian A.D., not the Chinese New Year yet though. And in what I hope is not prescient of next year's patterns, this day was defined by further bureaucratic fumbling. It turned out that my passport expires in five-and-one-half months. Therefore I couldn't get the six month multiple-entry. I could only get a three month two-entry.
I recall ten years back when I was sixteen, and I ordered this passport from the Post Office in the suburbs of Cincinnati. In the years since I've earned stamps from Ben Gurion, Kansai, London Gatwick, and Hong Kong International. These decorated pages will be gone soon. A more sentimental man might be nostalgic. But I have more cynical things to worry about, because just my luck, the passport had to expire while I was already living abroad.
So while I'm safely in my SZ apartment today, having arrived just in time to party at midnight last Wednesday, I know I have to get this taken care of in the next few weeks. The American consulate was closed in Hong Kong that New Year's Eve, and while there isn't one in Shenzhen the next town over of Guangzhou has an American flag raised somewhere high. The sixty day counter is ticking.
I can only hope the school will reimburse me this many times over. While other foreigners with teaching degrees get to relax comfortably, as their schools take care of the work visas - Category Fs I believe - I'll still have to do this all myself. It's not very professional. But it's all worth it to continue the experience life here in China; and the bureaucratic dance is just another part of the culture to study. Hope I can keep up the pace.
Monday, December 22, 2008
China Cultural Review: How do you say "Bah Humbug" in Chinese?
Here in this land of minimal Christian influence . . . with few white Europeans, a Christian migrant population is almost nil, a and government interference heeds religious expression in the public sphere.
And yet, in the spirit of neo-capitalist progressiveness, never is there a shortage of Santa Claus-esque marketing. Global Economic Crisis or not, the spirit of Christian Consumerism fills the shopping malls and department stores - with sales, gimmicks, and children begging for toys. Completely void of respect for Jesus’ birth, the bright red colors of the Coca Cola approved Saint Nick abounds the freeways and shop walls, with holiday muzak tunes classy restaurants, fake Christmas trees where palm trees grow, and even cardboard cut-outs of snowmen in a city that has never seen snow.
I could be speaking of Southern California in the above, but this is Christmas time in Shenzhen, China. The Spring Festival and Chinese New Year approach, but in an attempt to modernize, and, of course, get people to buy shit, here I witness some strange facsimile of a Western Christmas celebration, in the very city that all those ‘Made in China’ toys are made in.
It all seems so unnecessary. An expat American foreigner in China might have expected to be spared of this annual ritual, but that would have been naïve. It doesn’t matter if anybody goes to church, just like the States, it only matters that we buy presents. While more about souvenirs and cheap DVDs than a big turkey dinner with your family, the unnecessary caroling by primary school children rings somehow hollow. “We wis yoo a mewwy Kissmass!” in broken English accent. The missionaries here must wonder: how saved are these souls?
But its not all homesick Holiday cheer here; there are still at least two clear differences remaining between a Christmas in Los Angeles and Shen Dan in Shenzhen. One: without a politically correct media and substantial Jewish population, we are spared the required “Happy Holidays” over “Merry Christmas.” There is no knowledge of Hanukkah in this town. No Menorah next to the reindeer ads. No scrounging for Hanukkah symbols in the name of equal time. Difference Number Two: Most regrettable of all, I still have to work on Christmas day. Yet, for a Jew familiar with the old-time tradition of eating Chinese food on December 25th when everything else is closed, it’s not so bad.
Ah well, the Chinese love to buy and receive gifts, and yet another cultural export amongst the hip hop videos and Hollywood movies is as good an opportunity as any. It always comes down to globalization in Shenzhen, and this bootlegged holiday is only one of many Western infiltrations into ancient Middle Kingdom culture. As long as it doesn’t detract too much from the domestic flavor of local flair, there are worse fates than Cathay. So off I go, to search the malls of Mixx City, bargain for knockoff namebrands in Dongman, dig for electronics in HuaQiangBei, and haggle down the yuan for that scarf on sale at the streetcorner on Buxin Road, and if anyone asks what Santa Claus has to do with Jesus, well, you should’ve known better than to not have expected that question. It’s not just that secular American holiday anymore, it’s a global shop day. Mewwy Kissmass.
And yet, in the spirit of neo-capitalist progressiveness, never is there a shortage of Santa Claus-esque marketing. Global Economic Crisis or not, the spirit of Christian Consumerism fills the shopping malls and department stores - with sales, gimmicks, and children begging for toys. Completely void of respect for Jesus’ birth, the bright red colors of the Coca Cola approved Saint Nick abounds the freeways and shop walls, with holiday muzak tunes classy restaurants, fake Christmas trees where palm trees grow, and even cardboard cut-outs of snowmen in a city that has never seen snow.
I could be speaking of Southern California in the above, but this is Christmas time in Shenzhen, China. The Spring Festival and Chinese New Year approach, but in an attempt to modernize, and, of course, get people to buy shit, here I witness some strange facsimile of a Western Christmas celebration, in the very city that all those ‘Made in China’ toys are made in.
It all seems so unnecessary. An expat American foreigner in China might have expected to be spared of this annual ritual, but that would have been naïve. It doesn’t matter if anybody goes to church, just like the States, it only matters that we buy presents. While more about souvenirs and cheap DVDs than a big turkey dinner with your family, the unnecessary caroling by primary school children rings somehow hollow. “We wis yoo a mewwy Kissmass!” in broken English accent. The missionaries here must wonder: how saved are these souls?
But its not all homesick Holiday cheer here; there are still at least two clear differences remaining between a Christmas in Los Angeles and Shen Dan in Shenzhen. One: without a politically correct media and substantial Jewish population, we are spared the required “Happy Holidays” over “Merry Christmas.” There is no knowledge of Hanukkah in this town. No Menorah next to the reindeer ads. No scrounging for Hanukkah symbols in the name of equal time. Difference Number Two: Most regrettable of all, I still have to work on Christmas day. Yet, for a Jew familiar with the old-time tradition of eating Chinese food on December 25th when everything else is closed, it’s not so bad.
Ah well, the Chinese love to buy and receive gifts, and yet another cultural export amongst the hip hop videos and Hollywood movies is as good an opportunity as any. It always comes down to globalization in Shenzhen, and this bootlegged holiday is only one of many Western infiltrations into ancient Middle Kingdom culture. As long as it doesn’t detract too much from the domestic flavor of local flair, there are worse fates than Cathay. So off I go, to search the malls of Mixx City, bargain for knockoff namebrands in Dongman, dig for electronics in HuaQiangBei, and haggle down the yuan for that scarf on sale at the streetcorner on Buxin Road, and if anyone asks what Santa Claus has to do with Jesus, well, you should’ve known better than to not have expected that question. It’s not just that secular American holiday anymore, it’s a global shop day. Mewwy Kissmass.
Monday, December 15, 2008
China Cultural Review: the Cathays, Pornography, and Bootleg DVDs
China, like any land worth being written about, is a land of contradiction. Simultaneously utterly conservative and yet rushing into modernization, the dinosauric Communist authority waddles far behind the rapid economic development. Somewhere in-between lies the social evolution of the average Middle Kingdom citizen.
Nowhere is this more apparent than the "Special Economic Zone" that began this headlong rush into neo-capitalist moderndom: Hong Kong's experimental sister-city Shenzhen. Founded by the great reformer Deng Xiaoping less than thirty years ago, the Southernmost city boasts a highest per-capita income than Beijing. A city where everyone is from somewhere else, here to make money, and quite a younger demographic. And they like to get off.
As any media analyst of the internet will tell you, as good a benchmark as any of a culture's shifts in attitudes is pornography.
How is media-sexuality represented in Shenzhen? Unlike nearby Hong Kong, with its still British western attitude and laws, there are no Penthouses for sale in the liquor stores of Shenzhen. There are few sex shops, admittedly, but they require immense digging to uncover. No "classy" Hustler Store. No hipster porn scene to shop at with your girlfriend. No erotica section of the bookstore, no backroom of the family video store.
Still, the oldest profession is barely obfuscated beneath the shadiest of massage parlors. Though most of them quite legitimate - the Chinese do like their spas - there is an obvious subtext to the ones with skimpy outfitted girls in shoddy neighborhoods. But prostitution and hand-jobs are not the subject of this writing.
A culture is as defined by its media as it is by its call girls. Yet China has some ways to go before they have a homegrown media of their own to be proud of. Hong Kong cinema aside, and the occasional internationally renowned mainland film by Zhang Yimou or Chen Kaige, the bloody history of this post-Communist nation has stilted the growth of an adequate film/tv/pornography industry.
Hence bootleg DVDs' immense popularity. On every street corner you will find openly sold in flat paper cases: Hollywood blockbusters still in theaters, American B-movies never released in the States, every season of your favorite show, Hong Kong action stars on display, and Japanese anime for the kids; all burnt at home, the studios not making a dime in residuals, and purchase at your own risk because it might not even play when you get home. But this is no problem when several movies over costs ten to thirty yuan, amounting to only a handful of dollars.
This neo-Capitalist attitude of movies on demand, legality be damned, certainly extends to porno as well as the mainstream. Purely for research purposes, this writer felt it necessary to purchase these street-corner illicets. The stack of boxes might innocent at first, but give the seller a second look and he may show you the secret stash underneath.
A random set of discs was purchased, the title in unreadable Chinese. Cute cartoon girls on the cover. Upon going home and inserting into the laptop, it was discovered that for only ten yuan - one dollar something - two discs were in possession a total of eight hours of hardcore animated pornography. Each film with completely random language selections; some with homemade Chinese subtitles, some even English dubbed and bootlegged from the American exports, and most only in untranslated Japanese. This other Asian culture, homegrown and unique, is known for their strange fetishes, and violent sexual images of school girls and dungeons and fantasy and tentacles and animated penises were all presented before the modest 14 inch laptop. Suffice to say, while perhaps not turned on, one can be very morbidly fascinated by these things.
And here in Shenzhen it is against the law to sell such. But, in the spirit of capitalism and modernism, the Chinese do not care. Powered by the dynamic spirit of human freedom, and the still-evolving media technologies of cheap DVD burning, the modern Chinese youth have broken free of past conditionings by society and state, and have joined the global culture. The globalist dream, extending to America's famous export of Hollywood, and Japanese porn as well.
Nowhere is this more apparent than the "Special Economic Zone" that began this headlong rush into neo-capitalist moderndom: Hong Kong's experimental sister-city Shenzhen. Founded by the great reformer Deng Xiaoping less than thirty years ago, the Southernmost city boasts a highest per-capita income than Beijing. A city where everyone is from somewhere else, here to make money, and quite a younger demographic. And they like to get off.
As any media analyst of the internet will tell you, as good a benchmark as any of a culture's shifts in attitudes is pornography.
How is media-sexuality represented in Shenzhen? Unlike nearby Hong Kong, with its still British western attitude and laws, there are no Penthouses for sale in the liquor stores of Shenzhen. There are few sex shops, admittedly, but they require immense digging to uncover. No "classy" Hustler Store. No hipster porn scene to shop at with your girlfriend. No erotica section of the bookstore, no backroom of the family video store.
Still, the oldest profession is barely obfuscated beneath the shadiest of massage parlors. Though most of them quite legitimate - the Chinese do like their spas - there is an obvious subtext to the ones with skimpy outfitted girls in shoddy neighborhoods. But prostitution and hand-jobs are not the subject of this writing.
A culture is as defined by its media as it is by its call girls. Yet China has some ways to go before they have a homegrown media of their own to be proud of. Hong Kong cinema aside, and the occasional internationally renowned mainland film by Zhang Yimou or Chen Kaige, the bloody history of this post-Communist nation has stilted the growth of an adequate film/tv/pornography industry.
Hence bootleg DVDs' immense popularity. On every street corner you will find openly sold in flat paper cases: Hollywood blockbusters still in theaters, American B-movies never released in the States, every season of your favorite show, Hong Kong action stars on display, and Japanese anime for the kids; all burnt at home, the studios not making a dime in residuals, and purchase at your own risk because it might not even play when you get home. But this is no problem when several movies over costs ten to thirty yuan, amounting to only a handful of dollars.
This neo-Capitalist attitude of movies on demand, legality be damned, certainly extends to porno as well as the mainstream. Purely for research purposes, this writer felt it necessary to purchase these street-corner illicets. The stack of boxes might innocent at first, but give the seller a second look and he may show you the secret stash underneath.
A random set of discs was purchased, the title in unreadable Chinese. Cute cartoon girls on the cover. Upon going home and inserting into the laptop, it was discovered that for only ten yuan - one dollar something - two discs were in possession a total of eight hours of hardcore animated pornography. Each film with completely random language selections; some with homemade Chinese subtitles, some even English dubbed and bootlegged from the American exports, and most only in untranslated Japanese. This other Asian culture, homegrown and unique, is known for their strange fetishes, and violent sexual images of school girls and dungeons and fantasy and tentacles and animated penises were all presented before the modest 14 inch laptop. Suffice to say, while perhaps not turned on, one can be very morbidly fascinated by these things.
And here in Shenzhen it is against the law to sell such. But, in the spirit of capitalism and modernism, the Chinese do not care. Powered by the dynamic spirit of human freedom, and the still-evolving media technologies of cheap DVD burning, the modern Chinese youth have broken free of past conditionings by society and state, and have joined the global culture. The globalist dream, extending to America's famous export of Hollywood, and Japanese porn as well.
Friday, November 7, 2008
God and HK
God really wants me to hate Hong Kong.
God doesn't care if I like mainland China or not. There have been no direct affairs into my life. Sometimes I have minor good luck, sometimes bad, but little happens that is interesting.
As the mainstream Christian/Western theology of Augustine states, God created this world and then let us alone. He doesn't care. He lets it be.
And this is why I don't care to write about Shenzhen. There is no divinity, good or bad. It just is.
Occasionally though, forces in the universe intervene, and you fall in love or have a rotten day or win money or get your shit stolen. Good or bad, you sense the supernatural.
That's why I like to travel. That's when I sense something. At home, wherever I happen to call "home" at the time" nothing ever happens.
So: fuck Shenzhen. Damn my life of walking to work and entertaining small children and minor drama. Oh, I could write about the mainland. I could write and write. About the slightly interesting people around me, the white and Asian alike. The Chinese work ethic than I can't live up to (the teachers here work far more hours for far less money and I don't know how they do it). The babies peeing in the streets like dogs. The beautiful smog. The lack of ADD diagnosis - a good thing - as all these loud brats here would be surely hooked on ritalin back in the dreary States. The vagueness of my curriculum. The mustering of energy.
And the evolution of the world, as predicted by Neal Stephenson (but sadly without the romantic flairs of an anarchic post-governmental structure, most likely) - our future as "Hi-Tech Third World." You know that's how it will be in America, and I assure its closer than ever here.
To those in the know: I swear I live in a bloody burbclave!
And yet there's a freedom here in not carrying my ID, my papers, never ever been carded by bars or by authorities; as opposed to communist America.
The lack of free media. The lack of porn. (As thoroughly documented and proven by the internet, all subsequent information technologies from Gutenberg up are to come with an exponential increase in pornographics. Yet the statist government blocks this natural progression) No porn here, and yet still those seedy massage parlors...
I need to get my own computer already, and do that proxy server thing I've heard about.
Anyways
God really wants me to hate Hong Kong.
But, I flatly refuse.
I came off the train way too early in the morning, after waiting in line at customs and buying expensive train ticket-cards. Hong Kong is basically its own country you see, with money to exchange and declaration lines to wade through. Its pricey there, in Hong Kong dollars.
So then I stepped out into the East Tsim Sha Tsui station, armed with tourist map and printed directions to the underground visa shop where I was to pay the Indian guy and get to stay in the country longer, and it was raining so bad.
Terrible downpour. The worst I'd experienced in years. This is tsunami land, and I'll probably experience worse yet soon, but dammit I was spoiled by California weather all those years.
I was drenched immediately. Rain like this is worse than being submerged fully clothed. Its sticky. It won't end. I'm fragile, I don't like.
So I had to buy an umbrella. Then I went to the Chungking Mansions and went to the travel company where you get to buy visas. There's something strange about it, but that's how it works if you live in Cathay and you're not from there.
Its Hong Kong, such diverse and international flair, and I waited in line behind the Africans and Hindis and Canadians. I like international towns. Again, Hong Kong is so different than the mainland.
And then it turned out that I didn't bring enough money. I was several hundred Hong Kong dollars short. And this was after exchanging every cent (yuan) I own. Apparently American passports are the priciest of all. I don't think being born in Israel helps either. And though its a six month visa, its only two months entry and I have to leave at least once a month, and that means every two months I have to do this all over again.
I had to go to a payphone, in the rain, and call my "boss" person. I didn't even know how to call long distance, I had to figure this all out asking random people. People speak English there though. So different. And, armed with no working cell phone here, I had to call a friend of a friend to borrow five hundred HK dollars from. Meet at a trainstop at 5:00 - hours and hours later - with no phone and hope it works out.
To do this visa thing you have to stay overnight. You pay extra just to get in processed in one day. I mean, I couldn't even go back and forth if I wanted to but I had to get in by the next day. Thankfully, Indian dude was nice and let me pay partial. They say because of the Beijing Olympics it was even worse a few months ago, but I hope they make the rules easier soon. What's the harm in just letting me stay in your damn country?
Soaking wet and stressed from the bureaucracy, I now had six hours to kill. Fun times. I know no one in this city. I'm almost totally broke. Ah yes, and I mean that with no sarcasm, its a good feeling and it was the time to explore.
Fed by cheap Indian food, with the rain mercifully having let up, I wandered. I took out my tourist map and train cartograph and scribbled places of recommended spots. I epically window shopped at Nathan Road. I looked outside the museums, and found a public library (a public library! They don't have those in the communist mainland), and I peed and read magazines and checked my email.
I found Avenue of the Stars. Its a bootleg Hollywood starwalk, but actually nice. With a statue glorious of Bruce Lee; and starprints of such Hong Kong cinema stars as Wong Kar-Wai, Jet Li, and Jackie Chan. I think I may have recognized more names than the outdated 1940s stars on the LA Boulevard.
Kowloon park where the junkies bug you and the birds are beautiful. Harbor City mall where everything is far too expensive for me to have a chance of buying anything. Took the train to the other side, Central HK island, found North Point. And many other places that I can neither pronounce nor recall how to spell.
I love Asian cities. They're so ridiculously huge. While the biggest thing in America is probably Times Square, compact crowds to drive you mad, a proper Asian city seems to have dozens of Times Squares. I can only speak for Shenzhen, Hong Kong, and Osaka, but none of those are even the biggest cities of their respective countries. Everywhere is a downtown, multistory, gleaming lights, rotting future. I like this cyberpunk science fiction landscape.
Hong Kong is an amazing country. As said, its basically its own country. Sorta China, not Britain anymore, its own thing with its own money and travel rules. Ethnically diverse, helpful to English speakers, but still weird and Asian. I can eat food. I'm not stared at as the only white guy (or at least, less so). And a diversity of landscapes: mountains and beaches and inlands.
I say this everytime I visit a new city, and I always mean it, but I really want to move here. Its so expensive though. But how did all these other people make it? Like, how does that guy from New Jersey working at the fast food place afford rent and travel? I need sponsorship, or something. I need an in.
And so at 5:00 I went to the last stop of that line at Chai Wan or somesuch, and met this lady and borrowed money. I get paid on Monday and have much to de-lend. Then I went all the way north to Tai Po market to meet at the couchsurfing.com pad I was to stay at. I played some video games up there, searched the new area, met some Austrian chicks that were also staying, ate junk food and so on.
Next day was shorter. I had a good couchsurf, wrote a review, and parted ways with the other travellers, and made my way back to East Tsim Sha Tsui. I paid and I made it. Another near miss for Ray. But it always works out. Who knows how close to deportation I was. It would have sucked, because all my stuff is back at the apartment. Ahhh... these minor adventures... like that time waiting in line in Israel to make sure I wouldn't be drafted just for being there, and when I forgot my passport but they still let me out of Mexico, and when that British guy yelled at me at Heathrow for having a ripped up passport and said he didn't have to let me in (I still have that same passport, but I've glued it since then).
The bureaucracy isn't over yet. I didn't get a receipt. I am a special kind of idiot, although this, unlike the weather and the economy, can only be blamed on me and not God. So I've emailed and called back and forth to get a scanned jpg version of receipt, and I might get reimbursed, but I still have much stuff to work out.
And then I caught a cold. No doubt from the rain I wasn't used to. Last night I had the worst sleep ever. I couldn't breathe. All night in a cold sweat half-awake with interrupted fever dreams. I felt like that scene in Trainspotting. Should be a fun weekend now.
Oh yes. And the voting. I must say there is a part of me that's glad I'm not in America and not forced to be a news junkie. Doesn't seem real. Well, good for Obama. There's not much I feel inclined to say. He's a lesser evil but he's no Messiah. I'm not comfortable with it. But whatever, much has been written already.
I wish my land the best, but I just hope America can stay cynical. Its our greatest cultural strength.
I mean, if we can't hate the President, than just what's the point?
So... America and all that... but I'm not there...
God doesn't care if I like mainland China or not. There have been no direct affairs into my life. Sometimes I have minor good luck, sometimes bad, but little happens that is interesting.
As the mainstream Christian/Western theology of Augustine states, God created this world and then let us alone. He doesn't care. He lets it be.
And this is why I don't care to write about Shenzhen. There is no divinity, good or bad. It just is.
Occasionally though, forces in the universe intervene, and you fall in love or have a rotten day or win money or get your shit stolen. Good or bad, you sense the supernatural.
That's why I like to travel. That's when I sense something. At home, wherever I happen to call "home" at the time" nothing ever happens.
So: fuck Shenzhen. Damn my life of walking to work and entertaining small children and minor drama. Oh, I could write about the mainland. I could write and write. About the slightly interesting people around me, the white and Asian alike. The Chinese work ethic than I can't live up to (the teachers here work far more hours for far less money and I don't know how they do it). The babies peeing in the streets like dogs. The beautiful smog. The lack of ADD diagnosis - a good thing - as all these loud brats here would be surely hooked on ritalin back in the dreary States. The vagueness of my curriculum. The mustering of energy.
And the evolution of the world, as predicted by Neal Stephenson (but sadly without the romantic flairs of an anarchic post-governmental structure, most likely) - our future as "Hi-Tech Third World." You know that's how it will be in America, and I assure its closer than ever here.
To those in the know: I swear I live in a bloody burbclave!
And yet there's a freedom here in not carrying my ID, my papers, never ever been carded by bars or by authorities; as opposed to communist America.
The lack of free media. The lack of porn. (As thoroughly documented and proven by the internet, all subsequent information technologies from Gutenberg up are to come with an exponential increase in pornographics. Yet the statist government blocks this natural progression) No porn here, and yet still those seedy massage parlors...
I need to get my own computer already, and do that proxy server thing I've heard about.
Anyways
God really wants me to hate Hong Kong.
But, I flatly refuse.
I came off the train way too early in the morning, after waiting in line at customs and buying expensive train ticket-cards. Hong Kong is basically its own country you see, with money to exchange and declaration lines to wade through. Its pricey there, in Hong Kong dollars.
So then I stepped out into the East Tsim Sha Tsui station, armed with tourist map and printed directions to the underground visa shop where I was to pay the Indian guy and get to stay in the country longer, and it was raining so bad.
Terrible downpour. The worst I'd experienced in years. This is tsunami land, and I'll probably experience worse yet soon, but dammit I was spoiled by California weather all those years.
I was drenched immediately. Rain like this is worse than being submerged fully clothed. Its sticky. It won't end. I'm fragile, I don't like.
So I had to buy an umbrella. Then I went to the Chungking Mansions and went to the travel company where you get to buy visas. There's something strange about it, but that's how it works if you live in Cathay and you're not from there.
Its Hong Kong, such diverse and international flair, and I waited in line behind the Africans and Hindis and Canadians. I like international towns. Again, Hong Kong is so different than the mainland.
And then it turned out that I didn't bring enough money. I was several hundred Hong Kong dollars short. And this was after exchanging every cent (yuan) I own. Apparently American passports are the priciest of all. I don't think being born in Israel helps either. And though its a six month visa, its only two months entry and I have to leave at least once a month, and that means every two months I have to do this all over again.
I had to go to a payphone, in the rain, and call my "boss" person. I didn't even know how to call long distance, I had to figure this all out asking random people. People speak English there though. So different. And, armed with no working cell phone here, I had to call a friend of a friend to borrow five hundred HK dollars from. Meet at a trainstop at 5:00 - hours and hours later - with no phone and hope it works out.
To do this visa thing you have to stay overnight. You pay extra just to get in processed in one day. I mean, I couldn't even go back and forth if I wanted to but I had to get in by the next day. Thankfully, Indian dude was nice and let me pay partial. They say because of the Beijing Olympics it was even worse a few months ago, but I hope they make the rules easier soon. What's the harm in just letting me stay in your damn country?
Soaking wet and stressed from the bureaucracy, I now had six hours to kill. Fun times. I know no one in this city. I'm almost totally broke. Ah yes, and I mean that with no sarcasm, its a good feeling and it was the time to explore.
Fed by cheap Indian food, with the rain mercifully having let up, I wandered. I took out my tourist map and train cartograph and scribbled places of recommended spots. I epically window shopped at Nathan Road. I looked outside the museums, and found a public library (a public library! They don't have those in the communist mainland), and I peed and read magazines and checked my email.
I found Avenue of the Stars. Its a bootleg Hollywood starwalk, but actually nice. With a statue glorious of Bruce Lee; and starprints of such Hong Kong cinema stars as Wong Kar-Wai, Jet Li, and Jackie Chan. I think I may have recognized more names than the outdated 1940s stars on the LA Boulevard.
Kowloon park where the junkies bug you and the birds are beautiful. Harbor City mall where everything is far too expensive for me to have a chance of buying anything. Took the train to the other side, Central HK island, found North Point. And many other places that I can neither pronounce nor recall how to spell.
I love Asian cities. They're so ridiculously huge. While the biggest thing in America is probably Times Square, compact crowds to drive you mad, a proper Asian city seems to have dozens of Times Squares. I can only speak for Shenzhen, Hong Kong, and Osaka, but none of those are even the biggest cities of their respective countries. Everywhere is a downtown, multistory, gleaming lights, rotting future. I like this cyberpunk science fiction landscape.
Hong Kong is an amazing country. As said, its basically its own country. Sorta China, not Britain anymore, its own thing with its own money and travel rules. Ethnically diverse, helpful to English speakers, but still weird and Asian. I can eat food. I'm not stared at as the only white guy (or at least, less so). And a diversity of landscapes: mountains and beaches and inlands.
I say this everytime I visit a new city, and I always mean it, but I really want to move here. Its so expensive though. But how did all these other people make it? Like, how does that guy from New Jersey working at the fast food place afford rent and travel? I need sponsorship, or something. I need an in.
And so at 5:00 I went to the last stop of that line at Chai Wan or somesuch, and met this lady and borrowed money. I get paid on Monday and have much to de-lend. Then I went all the way north to Tai Po market to meet at the couchsurfing.com pad I was to stay at. I played some video games up there, searched the new area, met some Austrian chicks that were also staying, ate junk food and so on.
Next day was shorter. I had a good couchsurf, wrote a review, and parted ways with the other travellers, and made my way back to East Tsim Sha Tsui. I paid and I made it. Another near miss for Ray. But it always works out. Who knows how close to deportation I was. It would have sucked, because all my stuff is back at the apartment. Ahhh... these minor adventures... like that time waiting in line in Israel to make sure I wouldn't be drafted just for being there, and when I forgot my passport but they still let me out of Mexico, and when that British guy yelled at me at Heathrow for having a ripped up passport and said he didn't have to let me in (I still have that same passport, but I've glued it since then).
The bureaucracy isn't over yet. I didn't get a receipt. I am a special kind of idiot, although this, unlike the weather and the economy, can only be blamed on me and not God. So I've emailed and called back and forth to get a scanned jpg version of receipt, and I might get reimbursed, but I still have much stuff to work out.
And then I caught a cold. No doubt from the rain I wasn't used to. Last night I had the worst sleep ever. I couldn't breathe. All night in a cold sweat half-awake with interrupted fever dreams. I felt like that scene in Trainspotting. Should be a fun weekend now.
Oh yes. And the voting. I must say there is a part of me that's glad I'm not in America and not forced to be a news junkie. Doesn't seem real. Well, good for Obama. There's not much I feel inclined to say. He's a lesser evil but he's no Messiah. I'm not comfortable with it. But whatever, much has been written already.
I wish my land the best, but I just hope America can stay cynical. Its our greatest cultural strength.
I mean, if we can't hate the President, than just what's the point?
So... America and all that... but I'm not there...
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
what matters is all and naught and inbetween
There appears to be a microcosm of everyone's life sucking - at least in my family - and a "as above, so below" thing of the world sucking. And while my brother is a drug addict and my sister is crazy - and while the world's economy goes asunder and everyone's worried about the End of America - - - who bloody cares?? Its alright. Because its not that big a deal.
So I shall go dancing tonight in western downtown. I am lucky enough to have friends to drive me around. I shall fly to China on Friday and then perhaps life will be totally different. Meanwhile in time's other linear direction, yesterday I checked out Indianapolis and hung out with my Indiana family. Eh, not much to report. They are happy, they are sad, they are distant, and I argued a whole lot with my father. I love him so. Happy Rosh Hashana!
Yet, it is good to get these social obligations out of the way. No man may escape his genetic heritage. Though I think I get along best with the in-laws I'm not technically related to. And, as said, my brother is the biggest stoner in the world. He's not unique in that regard. He's just another kid in a world filled with loser bored kids who fuck and get high and do the bare minimum in slacker jobs and community college. Can't blame him. Only a product of his environment. Just do not be surprised. Eh, he'll be alright.
And I am no better, though THC is not preference, I was digging the midwest area for some psilocybin mushroom experience. I may not get another chance over in that communist country you understand (and they better not read this). But he sold me some acid, for a fair familial price, and just don't tell my dad.
I went to the woods and I await a night of dancing, one more hit hidden in my cigerette packet, and I guess I should draw something brilliant or write something obscene (does this count?), but instead I think I'll read some comics or something. Then go home and watch sitcoms. Contemplate the universe inbetween. The one-ness of the mundane.
Surely, if the mundane is divine than nothing is divine. Whether or not divinity is an abritrary linguistic emptiness of my own subjective judgment, or just maybe on the chance that divinity is objective reality. Lysergic acid diethylamide, show me the way!
And I wonder why I don't get anywhere? So so so, I'll read American Born Chinese and Hagbard Celine and stare at these library people. The adolescent black girls doing homework. The dumb teenage kid on Facebook next to me on the left. To my right, an old man looking at gay craigslist ads. I am nosy. Be careful when you sit next to me. I shall post it to all.
"What to do with oneself," I ponder . . .
No depression, but I will admit to a little bit of anxiety. Sexually, politically, socially, artistically, creatively, aesthetically; it is all the same:
LUV LUV LUV
like that song
I want to fall in love with everybody and I want the truth to be infinite and I want everybody to understand and then only then everybody would fall in love with me and if everbody shifted their reality tunnels with highway byway connections maybe we'd get along, but if we got along all those politicians would be out of the job, and my dad wouldn't get to hate those other people on that other side of the war, and we'd have nothing to talk about, and talking about shit when you disagree is kinda fun
ANYWAYS,
there is some kind of unspeakable truth under the surface. Can you not feel it. Do linguistics not fail us?
How can we connect?
Ignore me, I rant
///ray
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Riding the Synchronicity Wave
My last days in Long Beach weren't stressful, but they should have been. I didn't care, and took my time packing. When you pack to move, its not worth doing so unless you do it at the last minute. I mean, you need your computer. You need to wear your best clothes. Listen to music. Keep all your stuff for as long as you can hold on.
I was told we'd be leaving on the 12th, a Friday, but then J.D. turned it into the 10th, a Wednesday. Finally we left on the 11th, a Thursday. (There would be much obstacles to scheduling on this trip, and all I can ever to is to happily flow with it.) Fine compromise. Ominous day . . . 9/11.
My hair, unwashed. I rushed to finish my comics from the library - Y The Last Man and Alan Moore's Wildcats. I packed my books except for a pile to take on the road, and began my re-read Illuminatus (which I last re-read on the train to California three years ago). First I packed my media mail, two days before leaving. Tons of books and a few movies and cds; and also art and printed writings that I could fake as media mails. Heavy trip to the post office later, and I'm 150.00 poorer. Then at the last minute - before learning the last minute would be delayed a day - I shipped my clothes and computer and UPS wasn't the cheapest after all so it was another 200.00 post office to mail that shite. It all only just arrived at my mother's house recently.
I would have liked to have a party, but nobody wanted to come. Raven called me on the phone, and Jenn came down to Long Beach to visit. I said bye to Alex and Alan and Ramsey multiple times before leaving for real, and then one Thursday afternoon J.D. called me on my phone as he lay at my doorstep in a ridiculously tightly packed little Volvo.
And there was a cat! I didn't realize we'd be traveling with a cat the whole time. My allergies. Actually, Mia was a good cat and I got along well. Often times I find myself crashing at a friend's house with cats and I sneeze and such at first, horridly uncomfortable, but by the time I wake up I'm relatively cured. Some cats I can get used to, and Mia was indeed one of them. Even though she had to stay within the front seats the entire week-long trek, standing on my lap, meowing nicely, but few sicknesses.
We drove and drove and drove. 22 to 605 through Orange County (no LA-Hollywood pit stops unfortunately, no more goodbyes) to 10 through Riverside. Somewhere outside of Indio I had to use my food stamp EBT card to buy a hundred bucks worth of dry junk food, as it was my last chance within the state of California. And we switched off driving, and had to dig for local radio music and AM talk shows to sustain us. Funny story: first we had the portable CD player but we couldn't find batteries. Then when we found batteries we bloody couldn't find that CD player at all. J.D. is a DJ and had a million CDs and tons of music files on his computers/external hard drives, but no iPod/mp3 player. Although we could play from his laptop, and lovingly did (although it was burdensome on the passenger rider's lap), but then the plug-cigarette lighter didn't work and the laptop ran out of power too. Finally bought one at a Wal Mart in a small town in Texas (one of those super centers that take over the whole town, which I'd hate to shop at but its J.D.'s bag). Late into the trip, finally a music choice. J.D. played his four-hour mix, and I also enjoyed Infected Mushroom.
First state: Arizona. This route would introduce me to many new states. We went to J.D.'s dad and stepmom's beautiful home outside of Phoenix. It was cumfy at night, but in the day quite hot. An elegant house in the desert. Lots of lizards. Super-kind family who really wanted to feed the hell out of me.
Sometimes I'm uncomfortable around rich people. These people weren't that rich I suppose, but way more middle class than I'm used to and it really was a beautiful house. But lately I wasn't so uncomfortable around such people. In fact, the whole universe seemed on my side of late. Its hard to contextualize, but in certain regards there was no more anxiety, just a smooth riding of the synchronicity wave that brought me to Arizona in the first place. I had nice conversations with everyone, except maybe the bratty little sister, and they seemed to like me, and they even had cable TV which is a luxury I've missed for years now. Watched cartoons and the news mostly.
But the biggest obstacle of all: Hurricane Ike. Why must the very first time I ever stay in Texas I have to worry about hurricanes? Well these things always take longer than planned, though we planned as safely as possible, and decided to not even leave until late so we could specifically get there on Sunday when the storm might pass. Later we went to J.D.'s friend's place nearby, as I learned that almost all his friends are cat-people. Mia, who had a big problem not peeing on the road, got to use a litter box. It was cool to hang out for a bit around Phoenix but we didn't crash, and we checked the weather carefully, and then we began the long drawn-out drive to Texas.
Fourteen hours of endlessness. You hallucinate on the road. You truly do. J.D. dozed off next to me and I counted away the hours, one cigarette every :30, and begged for something decent to come on the radio. I became very grateful for decent reception of the plainest oldies station. Perspectives flattened, lights on billboards turned into cars. Clouds turned into trees. Sizes didn't make any sense. Four hours in and I had to wake my buddy up, tell him to drive.
In the morning we pulled into Fredericksburg, where cell phone reception was minimal, and drove through the small town desperate to communicate with Sarah to figure out how to get to her ranch. Somehow we made a connection, and she'd meet us in a corner, and then we waited a while and the cat walked around outside and then I met Sarah.
I don't really like nature. Its dull. Its a nice scenery to be sure, and then you're over it quick, and then I'm just bored. But I should embrace what I can, wherever I am, especially when letting go of control and going wherever I am taken. So the flow took me to a ranch in Fredericksburg and that's where I hung out the next two days. Sarah's parents were ridiculously nice, like many Middle America people on this trip (I'm so very not used to it), and fed the hell out of me. We all went hiking, and smoked cigarettes and other things, and observed the unique plants and animals and there was giant piles of cow shit everywhere. Sarah was nice, and I guess she used to be a raver chick back in her and J.D.'s college heyday but nowadays she seemed more nerdy and shy. Kind of an anime geek, and I can totally relate.
Fourteen hours of endlessness. You hallucinate on the road. You truly do. J.D. dozed off next to me and I counted away the hours, one cigarette every :30, and begged for something decent to come on the radio. I became very grateful for decent reception of the plainest oldies station. Perspectives flattened, lights on billboards turned into cars. Clouds turned into trees. Sizes didn't make any sense. Four hours in and I had to wake my buddy up, tell him to drive.
In the morning we pulled into Fredericksburg, where cell phone reception was minimal, and drove through the small town desperate to communicate with Sarah to figure out how to get to her ranch. Somehow we made a connection, and she'd meet us in a corner, and then we waited a while and the cat walked around outside and then I met Sarah.
I don't really like nature. Its dull. Its a nice scenery to be sure, and then you're over it quick, and then I'm just bored. But I should embrace what I can, wherever I am, especially when letting go of control and going wherever I am taken. So the flow took me to a ranch in Fredericksburg and that's where I hung out the next two days. Sarah's parents were ridiculously nice, like many Middle America people on this trip (I'm so very not used to it), and fed the hell out of me. We all went hiking, and smoked cigarettes and other things, and observed the unique plants and animals and there was giant piles of cow shit everywhere. Sarah was nice, and I guess she used to be a raver chick back in her and J.D.'s college heyday but nowadays she seemed more nerdy and shy. Kind of an anime geek, and I can totally relate.
We shot guns while drunk, my very virgin first, a .22 caliber rifle. We drove around the acrage in a beaten-up ol pickup truck which had a broken right door. I checked my email on their old computer, a priority. Observed the old Texan architecture. Ate fresh tomatoes. We watched Independence Day the first night while I was a bit altered-stated and I wouldn't shut up, deconstructing the hell out of it. J.D. went to his Grandma's the next day, and I switched up my luggage and stuff to her car.
I was kind of confused. Did Sarah live here? I wanted to go to Austin too. Turned out that Sarah was only here for the weekend and indeed lived in North Austin. After being fed homecooked meals yet again, we went down there. She drives really fast. Manual, something I still have yet to learn how to do.
J.D. had a ton of music stuff to do with his college buddies in Texas, and I was to crash at Sarah's place for the following two weeks. I depend so much on the kindness of acquaintances lately. To give me a floor and a roof, to buy me beers, to drive me around. Right now at this juncture in my life, though I very much make sure I make it up to people in gas money, I am quite a freeloader. But Karmic balance isn't about paying back the exact amount you were given to that particular individual, its about knowing that someday you'll do the same for someone else. That's why Raven lived with me for two months and didn't pay rent. That's why CouchSurfing is so great, to host and to surf (of which I've done exactly one time of both). That's why we all mooch off our parents and know that one day the next generation will do the same to us.
Anyways, the first night into a real city Sarah knew some friends going to a little redneck bar in North Austin, and I was invited along to play pool or whatever. Her friends were cool I suppose. One thing to note: while overall everywhere in America is pretty much the same there is one inherent difference between people in Austin and people in Hollywood. Sarah has a friend who's a professional drummer and toured with Poison recently. She was the one who mentioned it, and I hung out with the guy and he didn't name-drop at all. There is no question that if I was hanging out with musicians in Los Angeles they would casually bring up their amazing contacts within the first minute of conversation. There was definitely a different mindset here, though subtle, but to be appreciated.
Played pool, and I lost, as usual. Drank beers. Sarah got consecutively drunker. I met a black comedian there, and I got to talking to him, and he told me his dream to perform at the redneck bar: "I know its an all-white redneck bar, but I want all you guys to give me your best nigger jokes." Yeah, sometimes I love not being in the West Coast.
This guy really wanted to smoke out with us, and afterparty at Sarah's house, and after a few detours of waiting around in front of some ghetto house we all went to Sarah's and played guitars and chilled. I observed that bud in Texas is much crappier than in California. Dark and twiggy and rough, not the bright green smelly shit the Pacific Ocean accustoms one to. And that is 100% fine by me, because strong pot always freaks me out. It got later and later, and wasn't Sarah supposed to work in the morning? About 4:00 or 5:00 she kicked everyone out (except for me), and had to go to bed. "Isn't this a great introduction to Texas?" she boasted. To some degree, I suppose, but actually my whole life these last few years has nights like these in all sorts of cities, and honestly I wasn't that terribly impressed just yet.
I set up my stuff in guest room. Slightly awkward - Sarah sleeps naked and you have to go through her room to get to the bathroom at night. (Interjection: J.D. joked about me hooking up with her, and possibly staying in Texas indefinitely, and I sort of gave it serious thought. But, sleeping in the nude or not, she wasn't my type that way and we were just to be friends.) The next morning, hungover, Sarah called off work. She's a librarian by the way. It worked out for me at least, and now I got to have a guide for daytime Austin.
Woke up at noon and helped wash her car and went on some errands at the post office. She took me to a super-cool comic store. We went to a toy store near UT. Lots of cool stuff on Guadalupe near UT. Ate healthy Italian food. Neal Stephenson would be doing a book signing at a Book People the following week. Listened to Kimya Dawson and Connor Oberst and Tom Waits at the record store. The next day I discovered a truly amazing pad: Brave New Books; a conspiracy/9/11 Truther/Alex Jones/Ron Paul/Libertarian stronghold, and there was conversation there.And, oddly, there was no sign of Hurricane Ike damage. There would be all the way in Cincinnati, but nothing here. Just a cumfy breeze was commented upon. I rather dug Texas.
Then we went to famous 6th St where it was really hard to park. Right near the Congressional building (is it correct to label as 'Congressional building'?). I wonder how it is that this hipster Texan oasis just happened upon the Is there a link? So we hung around differing bars, watching blues music, and there were Miller Lite girls to give us more free booze. Truly, it was too much.
But I left too early. I didn't get to find MySpace friends. I didn't get to stalk Alex Jones. I didn't get to network with CouchSurfers. I did however, get to have my picture taken at the amazing Daniel Johnston mural of Jeremiah the theological frog, at the very last minute as J.D. whisked me off away. There was some drama between J.D. and Jessica, and he felt he had to go soon and whisk her off away.
It was unfortunate. Just as I was let loose on my own to wander the town by myself, taking the bus and reading Jodorowsky graphic novels, it wasn't meant to be. Expecting to stay for two weeks - and broke - I even applied online emailing my resume to a few places, just to work for a week, and one called me back! But I couldn't do it! So we repacked and said bye and had to go. I know I shall return one day. Austin is too cool not to.
We went all the way to the next town over (Belton or something it was called?), and then stayed the night there. Another of J.D.'s college friends, another cat-person, but it was great in that there was a quite a high novelty of intelligent conversation. His buddy Andrew had a lot to say on the subject of personal research into atheist philosophy and Judaism (even tried to bring me back into the fold), and his own direct experience of learning that secret society's invent their own history. I recommended he read Foucault's Pendulum. And, of course, all conspiracy theory researchers - and true philosophers - need to read Robert Anton Wilson.
There was much drinking and staying up late and even talk of suicide (why must the most intelligent people in the world be both depressed, and also college dropouts?). And I crashed early and J.D. crashed after me, and there was free food again, and then the real driving was to take place.He seemed impressed by me, a mere film school dropout, with my self-taught well-readness. People seem to think I'm smart for some reason. I don't know why.
J.D. was pulled over three times. He laughed it off, good for him, even as there was pot in the car and one time an open container (but a car that packed, nobody would search it and nobody did). I didn't get pulled over, just drove at cruise control 70mph. We ran out of gas at in the morning at a nowhere Arkansas hotel (hate to say I told you so but I told him to get gas the night before). I spent about 180.00 on gas, every other fillup. Drove through Bill Clinton's birthplace. Fretted over his cat not peeing. Went to Memphis' Beal street for waffles and such. J.D. went through Kentucky for the first time. Finally, my territory.
And then, after showing off the coolness of Louisville by highway, slowly but surely due North, 80 turns into 71, only a few more hours left, I thought it was early at midnight but actually I lost an hour in the timechange, and 1:00 AM there was the Cincinnati downtown beautiful cityscape. Home? I suppose I can call it that. And what did we find there?
Also, I learned that I am going to move to China soon.
I still haven't washed my hair.
I still haven't washed my hair.
----------------
August 29th, a Friday, Black Rock City:
It was good to see her though. There was minimal drama, and lots of love. But they had a lot to talk about and it wasn't for me to listen in too closely . . .
The next morning we stuffed into the Volvo, me driving and her on his lap. Went to Frisch's for breakfast. I inadvertently put my foot in my mouth when I told Jessica that she better treat J.D. right. I only wanted to be a friend, but this caused much doubt. Whateva
I got to my Mom's house, they had to go sign for a one-month apartment, and I was officially here!
Mom's house still had no power from the hurricane! Everywhere the streets are filled with rubble and tree branches. Who knew this city was so disastrous?
And its nice to visit Mom and my little little sister every once in a while, but its a bit hellish to be here indefinitely. Hugs around, then the novelty ends, and its constant bickering. Every morning I sleep at 4:00 and am waken up by arguing at 8:00. Nowhere to go but to walk to the library to read and to use the internet. When Mom works I can't use her car. Nobody wants to come here. Kenwood/Madeira drains my soul. Fuck it though, I won't let it succeed, and this is my philosophy right now.
But I don't care. I refuse to be depressed. Even among all the mosquitoes, I refuse to let it get me down. Its interesting, after the mystical experience described above I haven't felt that hollowness the way I used to everyday. The 3D world is screaming at me to fall into despair, because I am a loser and everything sucks, and I just cannot muster the reaction to take it seriously anymore. I may be surrounded by crazy immigrants I am related to, old friends are recovering junkies, I have no money, and yet the universe remains such a joke I find it so obvious that it will work out just fine.
Well, the first few nights out and everybody bought me beer. Hung out with my cousin, saw old friends (some recovering junkies), and had conversations at bars. Jeremy and Randolf's mansion. Randolf's music show. The beautiful Jen drove me around. I talked to her about children. Chloe doesn't want to communicate with me. Talked to Zac on the phone. Seeing Trevor was trippy. Seeing Joel is cool but sad. J.D. had a dj gig already and Jen took me to a little rave in downtown. Cousin Leah drove me around and wasn't feeling the party scene at all. I got a girl's phone number at the hipster bar in Northside (and what am I to do with it?). And so on and so forth. Guess I could write a more detailed play-by-play schedule of each little subadventure but I don't really feel like it.
Overall, Cincinnati is on the up-and-up. Just a microcosm of LA, and everybody hates it here just like there. But all cities in America are pretty much the same, I can assure you, and I've checked this very thoroughly. This is just as good a place as any. Just not for me, right now.
Many people I know are doing great. Some aren't. They are evolving. They are paranoid. The world seems to be coming under (must I repeat the news?), but that's no excuse to not do well.
Currently I am doing very little. I argue with my sister to use the computer. I ignore the chaos field of my family. And my credit score is very terrible, and I refuse to give a fuck.
I am re-reading Illuminatus! and the Invisibles concurrently and this no doubt contributes to my naive assurance of the world as illusion.
Do not worry that I am lost. I prefer being lost.
Feminist critique of his-story states that the male experience of orgasm has led us into this lifestyle of preparation-to-goal-to-resolution-to death, and then repeat the Jesus process all over again. But Alan Watts has a Zen perspective that maybe life is more like a dance, with no particular goal in mind but a flow all the way . . .
Do you see what I'm getting at?
Everything is pretty cool in the universe. There is nothing worth taking seriously.
It is all arbitrary. It is all fun.
We must all move to China every once in a while, and disconnect. And reconnect. And we'll all make it big if only we'd allow ourselves to. Its difficult, but its also easier than you may think.
Just smile, you're in hell, and you've finally figured out how to work it.
Does information lead to wisdom? Maybe. Or maybe I'm just stupid.
;)
I was having a mystical experience in the desert and I met a guy at a firepit. He told me he lived in China for a while. I asked him how he went about that . . . and if I could ever do the same. Needed contact information.
"Can we get this man a pen, so I can ship him to China? Seriously!"
September 19th, a Thursday, on the road in some godforsaken state that I don't recall:
Still haven't washed my hair since the mystical experience, but the playa dust now long dried out, and I'd been emailing some Chinese people about the possibility of teaching English in Shenzhen. Emailed my resume, sent my number, answered questions. And then I got an overseas phone call.
"Hello is this Ray He-ch-t?"
Talked for about a half-hour about the program. To teach small children. Don't need to know Mandarin or Cantonese. Not a lot of pay, but lower price of living. Room and board payed. The economy is doomed here and you know it; move to Asia.
Okay!
And the following week was a week of bureaucracy, of mailing my passport to a travel agency in San Francisco, getting visas, figuring out flight times, reimbursements and such, and finally its all confirmed.
Perhaps I shall live in Asia not just for the four-month semester but indefinitely, and nomadically travel and work where I can. Put the novelist thing on hold. Lean a bunch of languages. Pretend I'm Christopher Doyle (look him up), cuz it seemed to work for him finely.
So far this works out very well, because honestly I cannot bloody stand being at my Mom's house.
You ever get in that ambitious conversation while drunk/fucked up. "Yeah, let's do this!" And then you inevitably never get around to doing it. Well this time I got around to doing it . . .
And this is Riding the Synchronicity Wave, for I have let go of control in my life. I must allow whatever will be to just occur, and enjoy the ride. No expectations. No structure. No plans. Unless the universe wants to figure it out for me.
And if J.D. didn't cut our trip short I would still be in Texas and this may not have worked out.
See. The cosmos knows what its doing. The Buddha always provides.
Anyways, the first night in I tried to show J.D. that Cincinnati could be a cool city. The downtown lights were good for my argument. And then we went to Hamilton to go to Jessica's. Butler County, I assure you, is no kind of example for anything. Poor Jessica."Can we get this man a pen, so I can ship him to China? Seriously!"
September 19th, a Thursday, on the road in some godforsaken state that I don't recall:
Still haven't washed my hair since the mystical experience, but the playa dust now long dried out, and I'd been emailing some Chinese people about the possibility of teaching English in Shenzhen. Emailed my resume, sent my number, answered questions. And then I got an overseas phone call.
"Hello is this Ray He-ch-t?"
Talked for about a half-hour about the program. To teach small children. Don't need to know Mandarin or Cantonese. Not a lot of pay, but lower price of living. Room and board payed. The economy is doomed here and you know it; move to Asia.
Okay!
And the following week was a week of bureaucracy, of mailing my passport to a travel agency in San Francisco, getting visas, figuring out flight times, reimbursements and such, and finally its all confirmed.
Perhaps I shall live in Asia not just for the four-month semester but indefinitely, and nomadically travel and work where I can. Put the novelist thing on hold. Lean a bunch of languages. Pretend I'm Christopher Doyle (look him up), cuz it seemed to work for him finely.
So far this works out very well, because honestly I cannot bloody stand being at my Mom's house.
You ever get in that ambitious conversation while drunk/fucked up. "Yeah, let's do this!" And then you inevitably never get around to doing it. Well this time I got around to doing it . . .
And this is Riding the Synchronicity Wave, for I have let go of control in my life. I must allow whatever will be to just occur, and enjoy the ride. No expectations. No structure. No plans. Unless the universe wants to figure it out for me.
And if J.D. didn't cut our trip short I would still be in Texas and this may not have worked out.
See. The cosmos knows what its doing. The Buddha always provides.
----------------
It was good to see her though. There was minimal drama, and lots of love. But they had a lot to talk about and it wasn't for me to listen in too closely . . .
The next morning we stuffed into the Volvo, me driving and her on his lap. Went to Frisch's for breakfast. I inadvertently put my foot in my mouth when I told Jessica that she better treat J.D. right. I only wanted to be a friend, but this caused much doubt. Whateva
I got to my Mom's house, they had to go sign for a one-month apartment, and I was officially here!
Mom's house still had no power from the hurricane! Everywhere the streets are filled with rubble and tree branches. Who knew this city was so disastrous?
And its nice to visit Mom and my little little sister every once in a while, but its a bit hellish to be here indefinitely. Hugs around, then the novelty ends, and its constant bickering. Every morning I sleep at 4:00 and am waken up by arguing at 8:00. Nowhere to go but to walk to the library to read and to use the internet. When Mom works I can't use her car. Nobody wants to come here. Kenwood/Madeira drains my soul. Fuck it though, I won't let it succeed, and this is my philosophy right now.
But I don't care. I refuse to be depressed. Even among all the mosquitoes, I refuse to let it get me down. Its interesting, after the mystical experience described above I haven't felt that hollowness the way I used to everyday. The 3D world is screaming at me to fall into despair, because I am a loser and everything sucks, and I just cannot muster the reaction to take it seriously anymore. I may be surrounded by crazy immigrants I am related to, old friends are recovering junkies, I have no money, and yet the universe remains such a joke I find it so obvious that it will work out just fine.
Well, the first few nights out and everybody bought me beer. Hung out with my cousin, saw old friends (some recovering junkies), and had conversations at bars. Jeremy and Randolf's mansion. Randolf's music show. The beautiful Jen drove me around. I talked to her about children. Chloe doesn't want to communicate with me. Talked to Zac on the phone. Seeing Trevor was trippy. Seeing Joel is cool but sad. J.D. had a dj gig already and Jen took me to a little rave in downtown. Cousin Leah drove me around and wasn't feeling the party scene at all. I got a girl's phone number at the hipster bar in Northside (and what am I to do with it?). And so on and so forth. Guess I could write a more detailed play-by-play schedule of each little subadventure but I don't really feel like it.
Overall, Cincinnati is on the up-and-up. Just a microcosm of LA, and everybody hates it here just like there. But all cities in America are pretty much the same, I can assure you, and I've checked this very thoroughly. This is just as good a place as any. Just not for me, right now.
Many people I know are doing great. Some aren't. They are evolving. They are paranoid. The world seems to be coming under (must I repeat the news?), but that's no excuse to not do well.
Currently I am doing very little. I argue with my sister to use the computer. I ignore the chaos field of my family. And my credit score is very terrible, and I refuse to give a fuck.
I am re-reading Illuminatus! and the Invisibles concurrently and this no doubt contributes to my naive assurance of the world as illusion.
Do not worry that I am lost. I prefer being lost.
Feminist critique of his-story states that the male experience of orgasm has led us into this lifestyle of preparation-to-goal-to-resolution-to death, and then repeat the Jesus process all over again. But Alan Watts has a Zen perspective that maybe life is more like a dance, with no particular goal in mind but a flow all the way . . .
Do you see what I'm getting at?
Everything is pretty cool in the universe. There is nothing worth taking seriously.
It is all arbitrary. It is all fun.
We must all move to China every once in a while, and disconnect. And reconnect. And we'll all make it big if only we'd allow ourselves to. Its difficult, but its also easier than you may think.
Just smile, you're in hell, and you've finally figured out how to work it.
Does information lead to wisdom? Maybe. Or maybe I'm just stupid.
;)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
