The Culture Blend

A Valenwhat? Explaining Valentine's Day to a Chinese Friend (repost)

2012-02-15T08:42:00.000+08:00

I'm starting a petition to ban Valentine's Day in China. Judah and I had to wait 6 hours (gross exaggeration) to buy two red roses for our girls yesterday. It was much better when us foreigners were the only ones who felt the pressure of blowing it and all of the Chinese people stood back, stared and laughed. Now the flower shops are packed with frightened Chinese men who dare not return home empty handed. Sorry about that China.

Anyway - here's a fun repost from last year.

Sweet Valentines made by my Valentine Sweety for her
Sweet Valentine Sweety (that's me)

Like most other Western holidays, Valentine's Day has landed in the Middle Kingdom and planted it's flag of sticky sweet, chocolate covered commercialism. I was excited this year, one because I didn't forget it and two because my wife and I were actually getting to go on a real date. After a lovely afternoon foot rub (one of the perks of living in China) and a quite pricy dinner at one of the city's finest Italian restaurants, I found myself feeling woefully inadequate and riddled with guilt (which everyone knows is the underlying conspiracy behind Valentine's Day that fuels the sticky sweet, chocolate covered commercialism). In the five minutes that it took us to find a taxi after leaving the restaurant we saw 37,000 young Chinese women carrying massive, gaudy bouquets of multi-colored roses decorated with sparkling sequins and glitter. Each stomped with a catwalk confidence and was followed by a pompous young man grinning with the pride that only comes when you get it just right. My wife, on the other hand, had very clean, relaxed feet and a full stomach, neither of which could be seen by the crowd's of flower toting, love struck gloaters who were now laughing, pointing and high-fiving each other because the Western guy (who should know something about Valentine's Day) didn't even get his wife the massive, shiny bouquet. I was completely assured that China understands Valentine's Day.

However, explaining the word Valentine is not so easy.
My Chinese friend asked me a simple question. "What is Valentine's Day?"
"Well, it's a special day for . . . umm "
She helped me out, "It's just for people who love each other, right?"
"Yes. It's a day for people who love each other."
"So what does it mean, 'Will you be my Valentine?'"
I had never considered this to be a confusing topic but the more I tried to explain the more I learned otherwise. "Will you be my Valentine is kind of like saying I want you to be my girlfriend or my boyfriend but I would still say it to my wife who is already my wife so obviously she doesn't have to be my boyfriend or girlfriend because she already is . . . my girlfriend . . . or was . . . before she was my wife . . . a long time ago, but she's still my girlfriend, it's just that we're married now. And I can give my daughter some chocolate and a card, which I would also call a Valentine, that says "will you be my Valentine?" because I love her but obviously not in the same way that I love my wife but it's still ok for me to give her a Valentine and be her Valentine. Also, she will take Valentines to her first grade class, that say 'will you be my Valentine?' and give them to all of her friends but not because she wants to profess her love for them or ask them to actually be her Valentine because she is not allowed to have a Valentine (in the boyfriend sense) until she is 28 . . . but she can have Valentine's in the card and chocolate sense now, so in that respect a Valentine is just a nice thing to share with friends. So it's not only for people who are in love but it's still a special holiday . . . for people . . . who are in love . . . or love each other . . . but not always . . . sometimes . . . kind of.

I was glad to be able to clear that up for her. After further confusing discussions with others on the same subject it was my Valentine (the one with the clean feet, full stomach and lack of roses) who cleared up the dilemma of defining a Valentine.

What is a Valentine?

"It's a noun." Enough said.

"Hey Fatty" and other Chinese Greetings

2012-02-09T06:23:00.000+08:00

After five weeks in America it was good to see our friends in China. Until they called me fat.

Last week I was walking home and ran into Lotus. She's our friend who runs the vegetable shop in our apartment complex. She's also the one who said my son (who is half African-American) looks better when he's white (click here) and organized a community event to help me find a cure for my diarrhea (click here). Lotus is genuinely one of the hardest working and sweetest people I have ever met. From early morning to mid evening, seven days a week, she spends her time organizing her little shop and delivering fresh oranges and broccoli to families in the more than 20 buildings in our complex (who are too busy or too cold to walk to her well organized little shop). Always with a smile, usually with a laugh and generally with a bit of free fruit if there are children involved.

Ironically, when I saw her she was coming from our apartment. She had dropped off our oranges and broccoli and my wife had given her the small gift that she had thought to buy for her little boy in the States. Her smile was bigger than usual and she stopped her bike to chat.

"Ohhh Jerry, it's so good to see you. Welcome to come home!"

Me, "Hey Lotus! Good to see you too. We've missed you."

"Yes, I just go to see your wife. I'm so thankful for your gift."

I wasn't actually aware that we had given her a gift but obviously we had since she had it in her hand even though I couldn't make out what it was. "mmm. Oh yeah . . . we're happy to give you that ummm . . . so how are you? Did you have a good Spring Festival?

"Oh yes, it was very good. How about America?"

"Very good. We had a wonderful time."

"Good! I'm so happy to see you. And I'm so happy for the gift. My son will love it!"

Again with the gift that I was still clueless about. "Ohhh gooood . . . all little boys need one . . . of those . . . things . . . that we got for him . . . Ok see you later."

"Ok see you! You look a little fat!"

Caught off guard for the second time in a 20 second conversation I stumbled around in my brain for something to say. I gave an awkward laugh and said the only thing I could think of . . . "Yeah well I've been in America. Zai Jian."

"Zai Jian"

As I walked away I realized that I had just fed the Chinese stereotype that all Americans are fat which is obviously not true. That's like saying all Chinese people have black hair. Oh. Wait.

I'm afraid that I may have contributed to the gross misconception that there is something in American oxygen that immediately causes people to reproduce fat cells or even worse that Americans shovel food into their faces, like barnyard animals, straight from a feed trough. I could imagine that she had a mental picture of restaurants with multiple tables the length of the room overflowing with every conceivable fattening food sopped in butter and gravy with massive Americans piling plate after plate full showing little or no restraint. I felt it was too late to run after her and scream, "Noooo, you're only thinking of a midwestern Chinese buffet!" I also thought it might be a weak argument to tell her we have other restaurants . . . with steak . . . the size of my torso."

China has much less of a weight problem than most Western countries and consequently less of a stigma. No one wants to be fat but it doesn't seem to be socially obsessed over from Kindergarten on here. In the West we build a massive, albeit contradictory, piece of our culture around fatness. Greasy fast food and high intensity workouts are both equally marketable products and feed off of each other (no pun intended). "Here . . . eat this. Now do a supercrunch. That'll be fifty dollars."

We publicly label being overweight as the absolute worst possible state of being. We make jokes about it (your Momma's so fat). We make movies about it (Shallow Hal and most Eddie Murphy movies) where the moral of the story is always, "it matters what's on the inside" but the first 98% of the story is fat jokes, (or fat momma jokes). We laugh about it. We complain about it. We even acknowledge that its a problem (Supersize Me) BUT time itself comes to a screeching halt when it gets personal. Children, in an effort to be cruel write poems (fatty, fatty boombaladdy) but once you reach the 6th grade you should know that it is physically dangerous to draw attention to anyone's heavy-setedness, big-bonedness or even their pleasingly plumpedness. And by the time your married you should know that the only acceptable response to, "do these jeans make me look fat?" is to fake a heart attack.

In China they just call you fat. It's not an insult. It's not a compliment. It's a statement. However, we don't generally hear what people say until we filter it through who we are. China can be a challenge for the Westerner whose greatest, unspoken pain is being bigger than they want to be and I've heard some shocking stories from people who have come face to face with a perceived blunt response to their weight (which I dare not post on the internet without permission). If you live in China and you're big, you're different than the norm and they'll tell you. If you live in America and you're big, you're not quite so different and no one will ever say a word . . . until you leave the room . . . and then they'll make a fat joke.

So which way is better? To say "you're fat" and think nothing of it OR to not say, "you're fat" and think, "fatty, fatty boombaladdy"? I personally prefer the second one (especially when I'm the boombaladdy) but that could be because I'm an American . . . and pleasingly plump.

Anyone got a fat in China story that your not afraid to post on the internet? Go for it.

I Think I Might Be Amish

2012-02-05T16:03:00.000+08:00

I could totally pull off the Amish look, don't you think?

I felt strangely amish today . . . in a bizarre, science fiction, alternate universe, I live in China where there are no Amish people kind of way. From now on I will be blogging by candlelight.

I grew up in a part of America that we call the midwest. Actually, if you look at a map, most of the "midwest" is geographically closer to the East coast but no one in that particular part of the country prefers to say they live in the Middle East . . . so we call it the midwest.

Midwestern values are simple. Sit up straight, don't cuss in front of your mother, buy American and don't stare at people. Like all values though, there are exceptions. For example as important as it is to buy American products (we start riots over this) it is acceptable to buy imports if and only if said imports are 1. cheaper . . . 2. better quality . . . or 3. closer to where you live. Hence Wal-Mart . . . and Toyota . . . and everything else.

The two exceptions to the "no staring" rule are as simple as the value itself.

1. Staring is allowed if the person or persons being stared at are obviously unaware that the staring is taking place. It's a little known fact that Midwesterners have distinctively over developed neck muscles and a keen sense of peripheral vision. The neck muscles are developed by repeated "glance aways" which is the proper response when one is caught staring. The peripheral vision allows them to intuitively sense when it is all clear to turn back and commence staring.

2. It is acceptable to stare if the person or persons being stared at are the exact combination of really strange AND not a threat to your physical well being. Ironically "strange" can encompass a broad range of traditionally non-midwestern characteristics but non-threatening is pretty cut and dried. For example, large tattoos on a pasty white teenager with orange hair and multiple face piercings leaning against the wall outside of the mall smoking a Virginia Slim cigarette. Ok to stare. Large tattoos on a huge, bearded man with a pony tail and black leather jacket that is embroidered with a human skull and the words "Kill em' all, let God sort em' out" straddling a Harley Davidson, smoking a Marlboro Red . . . Look away. Determining who fits the exception and who doesn't is complex and confusing to the outsider but for the midwesterner it is second nature.

The Amish fit perfectly into exception number 2.

They are a fascinating group of people who migrated to the States from Europe in the 18th century and have been led by their religious convictions to live the simple life, free of modern technology such as electricity, automobiles, telephones and iPads. They also embrace very simplistic, non-commercial fashion guidelines similar to that of Ma, Pa and Laura from Little House on the Prairie (all of which makes them really strange . . . at least in the spying eyes of the common mid-westerner). They are famous for outstanding craftsmanship, building barns in one day, long beards and non-violent, pacifist living (which makes them non-threatening and even a little bit cuddly).

Prime for staring at.

When I was a kid we would occasionally drive through "Amish country". There was a giddiness that came with the trip. My mother, who was generally the prime enforcer of the "no staring" rule, would transform into some kind of Amish marketing rep. "We're in Amish country Jerry . . . better look out the window we might see one . . . I wonder how many we'll see today". Now that I have kids I realize that this was just a sneaky parent trick to buy a few minutes of peace and quiet but it worked like a charm, every time. I would sit with my face pressed against the window waiting for the adrenaline rush of a big black horse and buggy. Just being in proximity where I knew we MIGHT see a real, live Amish person was electric. In my mind I drifted to a strange place, dreaming of how awesome it would be to live the Amish life and knowing full well that I wouldn't like it one bit.

"There's one! There's one!" It's like we were whale watching.

Dad would slow down and as we passed I would wave as excitedly as if they had been Mickey and Minnie themselves. They waved back with less enthusiasm than I would have expected from the Disney's but still . . . they waved.

Several times on our recent trip to the States we had an occasion to drive through the Amish communities and the magic lives on. The moment I would see the big yellow horse and buggy sign I would have the kids perched on their lookout. "There's one! There's one!" One day we counted eight. Good times.

I live in a Chinese community that is also home to a lot of foreigners (like me). While we come from all over the world most of the foreigners around here share two characteristics. We are really strange and generally non threatening. Walking home today I saw a mother grab her daughter and playfully whisper something into her ear. The little girl laughed and looked at me.

It wasn't hard to figure out what the mother was saying . . . "There's one! There's one!"

Nothing new. That happens everywhere we go. It's the price of being strange and non-threatening but I wonder if it's different around our apartment where so many the foreigners live. Do Chinese parents elbow their kids and say, "hey we're in foreigner country, pay attention you might see one"? Do kids keep track of how many they see? Do they dream about what it would be like to live the life of a foreigner and know that they would never like it?

As they passed the little girl smiled and gave me the all too familiar, "HALLO!" I smiled back and with the enthusiasm of an Amish Mickey Mouse said, "HALLO!"

Sometimes its good to see myself through the eyes that I use to look at the rest of the world. I'm so Amish.

What if China met Texas?

2012-01-14T16:52:00.000+08:00

I got a steak the size of my own torso for Christmas. At least it was the size of my torso before I ate it. Now my torso has grown considerably and the steak is . . . well . . . gone. This incredible piece of beef alone was worth the trip back to the States but the cultural insight that came from the experience along with my smoking hot date made for a phenomenal night.

I love me a good ol' Texas steak house but tonight I couldn't help thinking what it would be like to bring a Chinese friend into a place like this.

Let me back up and say that part of my job is to help foreigners (and by foreigners I mean people who are not Chinese) make a healthy transition into life in China. Part of that part of my job is to talk about restaurants. Foreigners (like me) often get overwhelmed by the volume and the chaos of a Chinese restaurant (see diagram). In the West we like our space. We like to talk at a reasonable level to the person or persons at our table and we lay unspoken claim to the airspace around us. It's considered inappropriate to even listen into another table's airspace. That's called eavesdropping and if you get caught you could be arrested or even worse . . . given a dirty look. On the flip side it is your responsibility to maintain a volume level that makes eavesdroppers work for their reward. Get too loud and management will say "Sir, I'm gonna' have to ask you to keep it down or leave the premises." In Texas they just shoot you.

In China restaurants are typically loud. The meal is often a family, office or community event and it's common to see large groups gathered around a massive round table with all of the food placed in the middle and spun around for easy access. You can have your space but there is no obligation on the part of anyone else in the room to stay out of it. If you want to be heard . . . talk louder than the person at the next table. If you don't want them to hear you . . . wait until you get home. Restaurants in China are not designed for starry-eyed, candle lit romance or personal conversations about chaffing. A challenge for most Texans who are of course known for romance . . . and chaffing.

That said, I think the Texas Roadhouse would throw most of my Chinese friends into some type of cross-cultural cardiac arrest. Open the door and BLAM! Loud speaker Country music. . .

"SHE THINKS MY TRACTOR'S SEXY!!!"

I'm imagining trying to explain to my Chinese friend (over the volume of the loud speaker) the concept of sexiness and how that can apply to a farm vehicle. At the same time a group of senior citizens are hovered around a barrel filled with peanuts which they are sucking the salt off of, eating the nuts and then throwing the shells on the ground. In fact the entire entry way floor is layered with spit covered peanut hulls. "This is why we don't take our shoes off in America." 200 people are wading through the peanut shells while they wait for a table and a dozen twenty year olds with matching t-shirts and headsets are working like ants to push them in and out.

BLAM! Country music "WAY DOWN YONDER ON THE CHATTAHOOCHEE NEVER KNEW HOW MUCH THAT MUDDY WATER MEANT TO ME"

Me explaining . . . "See the muddy water is actually a good thing because it's kind of a symbolic reminder of his childhood when he learned how to swim . . . and about girls . . . and probably beer." A twenty year old with a head set leads us to our seat in a room filled with enormous moose and buffalo heads and big screen TV's all playing different versions of ESPN except for the three over the bar which are all playing the exact same version of ESPN. None of them can be heard however, because . . .

BLAM! Country music "I WANNA' CHECK YOU FOR TICKS . . ."

Explaining again . . . "A tick is a tiny little parasitic bug that lodges onto your skin and sucks your blood until it swells like a balloon and can give you lyme disease . . . or mule fever . . . or fresh water malaria unless you yank it out and crush it with a spoon which makes it splatter all over. But the singer is really trying to be romantic because . . . what he's trying to say is . . . um . . . I like you."

Our uber-friendly server bounces to our table "Hey folks, my name is John Bob are ya' ready to order, or do ya' need a few minutes? If you'd like I could start you off with drinks and some Rattlesnake Bites."

Frightened look. "Not what it sounds like."

BLAM! Country music "I GOT FRIENDS IN LOW PLACES WHERE THE WHISKEY DROWNS AND THE BEER CHASES THE BLUES AWAY . . . Cunningham party of three, your table is ready!"

My inquisitive friend asks, "Why does he want to chase blue away with alcoholic drinks? He doesn't like blue?"

"Yes. That's exactly right. He hates the color blue and in some parts of Texan culture it is believed that the only way to chase blue away is to pour massive amounts of alcoholic beverages on it. In other parts of the country they use chocolate and ice cream but in Texas, mainly alcohol."

"WHHHOOOOOP! "WHHHOOOOOP!" A parade of twenty year olds with headsets and identical t-shirts emerge from the kitchen clapping and yelling loud enough so they can be heard over the music and the thousands of people who were already trying to talk loud enough to be heard over the music. "HEY EVERYBODY PLEASE JOIN US IN SAYING HAPPY 50TH BIRTHDAY TO JOE BOB. ON THREE LET'S GIVE HIM A BIG YEEE HAAAWWWW! ONE! TWO! THREE!"

And a whole section of people screams "YEEE HAAAWWWW!"

Confused look. Running out of explanations, "I think 'Yee Haw' means Happy Birthday in some parts of southern Tex . . . never mind."

BLAM! Country music "CAUSE IT'LL FEEL LIKE THE WHOLE WIDE WORLD IS COMIN' DOWN ON YOU. BROUGHT TO YOU COURTESY . . . OF THE RED, WHITE AND BLUE."

Raised eyebrows. "um . . . you ready to order? They've got a steak the size of my torso."

Culture shock shows no favoritism.

One Man's Trash is a Little Girl's Playground

2012-01-13T09:48:00.000+08:00

Grandpa has a junk pile that puts Disney World to shame. For at least two months we have been gearing up for this trip to the States and the most anticipated spot in the country for my daughter has been the hill behind her Grandpa's shed where old machinery goes to die. Ironically this is the place where her imagination comes to life.

Her excitement dates back two years to the time we restored a 1956 Chevy Tricycle that we pulled out of a tree (see pics below). Actually it was a compilation of at least three trikes and we had a blast making it shine and painting it blue (as all tricycles should be). It was a brilliant father daughter bonding project which all of the books on how to be a good parent encourage. It builds confidence. I'm afraid that parenting strategy may have backfired on me though. We did such a great job on the tricycle restoration that she now wants to dig pieces out of Grandpa's junk pile to build a working Go-Kart or a moon rock retrieving rocket that explodes on the way down so you have to see if you can find the freshly retrieved moon rock. Who is this child?

Next visit we're going to build Disney World.

The Tricycle Project
BEFORE

BONDING

AFTER

International Travel Tip #13: When Flying - Embrace Bad Parenting

2012-01-12T14:46:00.001+08:00

My wife and I have decided that we become freakishly horrible parents when we are traveling. And we're ok with that.

I noticed it first on the 13 hour 39 minute and 24 second plane ride from Hong Kong to Chicago. This is the flight that I have been dreading for months. The mere thought of it has caused me to instantly break into full body hives with violent eye twitches. Our two year old doesn't sit in a taxi for five minutes without kicking out a window and now we're going to lock him in a flying tube with 500 strangers from all over the world? What are we thinking?

I was thrilled to see that each seat on the plane was equipped with "Video on Demand."  Personal television screens mounted just above the tray table, each with access to more than 100 movies, 4000 video games and 11 million episodes of Friends all at the push of a button. It didn't relieve all of the stress but at least there was hope that he would be partially distracted. As we took off I consciously decided that this precious child, whose mind and welfare have been entrusted to me by God Almighty, could watch television without interruption for more than half of an entire day as long as he didn't kick out a window. I was fully aware how bad of a parent this made me but I did not care.  I was flashing back to the episode of Twilight Zone (up there) where Captain Kirk went nuts on a plane and got sucked outside at 20,000 feet. Hives. Twitches. TV.

Somewhere over Russia I had an epiphany.  I realized I was no longer a good parent. My son had developed a full blown addiction to the Mickey Mouse Club and I was both his enabler and his dealer. For the first 4 hours I tried to get him to watch something else but 10 minutes into any show and he would beg for Mickey. I would insist in my authoritative Daddy voice and he would begin to cry and eyeball the window like he was Chuck Norris.

Mickey it is.

Occasionally he would get restless and I would try giving him a cookie, or his juice or some cash.  If nothing worked we would take a walk to the back where he would jump and dance and charm the flight attendants out of cookies, juice and cash. I quickly discovered that the only way to get him back to the seat was by saying "Hey you wanna go watch Mickey." Enabler. About 8 hours in he was saying "Mickey dancing, Mickey dancing." I realized that now we were not just stuck on one show but I was actually rewinding to the 1 minute and 13 second segment where Mickey dances. "Please son! Can we please, PLEASE watch Umi Zoomi or Scooby Doo or Friends for crying out loud?!!"

"MI . . . KEEE DANCING!!"

"ok." (rewind)

What was I gonna' do? Put him in time out?

We survived the ride and it was worth every hive but we've completely given up on responsible parenting.  As we have traveled we've thoroughly enjoyed letting him stay up too late, eat too many cookies, fight with his sister and run in the house with a fork in his hand.  It has been a blast to watch him connect, for the first time in his memory, with two sets of Grammagrampas (all one word in his vocabulary) and more cousins than he could have ever dreamed.   I think the greatest epiphany in the whole story is that we've got these kids for a while. As much as we want them to be well-rounded, well disciplined, well-mannered and well . . . perfect, we also want them to remember the year we went home for Christmas . . . and it was awesome!

We'll go back and clean up the bad parenting mess later.  We thought we might try today so we insisted that our son eat his breakfast which ended in an epic battle of the wills that lasted an hour into lunch. A crowd of senior citizens gathered at the Wal-Mart McDonalds just to stare at the horrible parents trying to feed their kid a cold piece of sausage before they would give him his Happy Meal. I am proud to say that we arose victorious (alive but badly wounded) and he finally ate the tiny piece of meat that he had loudly refused for half of the day. Then we gave him his Happy Meal . . . and some donuts . . . then he stopped eating his Happy Meal because he wanted more donuts . . . so we alternated (young parents take note). I looked at my wife and said, do you realize we're bribing our son to eat Chicken McNuggets . . . with donuts? She looked me square in the eye and said three of the sexiest words I think I ever heard her say.

"I don't care."

I love my wife and I love my kids and I love the story that we're building together.

Tomorrow we find out what happens when two year olds drink Red Bull and play with Grammagrampas duct tape. I'll probably blog about that.

Second best Twilight Zone ever.

English Overload

2012-01-09T16:59:00.001+08:00

I really miss speaking Chinese. As much as I routinely butcher it, I miss it.

We've been visiting friends and family in the States for three weeks now and my senses are still being blasted. It happens every time we come back. It's like a switch gets flipped and all of the sudden I can understand everything. Every song. Every talk show. Every tabloid. Every bathroom stall (seriously, you people have some issues with your bathroom stalls). It's English overload, especially considering that for the past several years I have been straining to understand anything. It's like I'm a doctor with my stethoscope pressed tightly against the chest of a Chinese taxi driver concentrating intently and focused entirely on understanding what he is saying. I have to mentally shut out all other noise and hone in . . .

ba bum

ba bum

ba bum

and then the plane lands in America and Rush Limbaugh screams into my stethoscope. "THE CHI-COMS ARE COMING!" and the news guy yells, "50 PEOPLE EXPLODED TODAY AND SOME MORE ARE GOING TO EXPLODE TOMORROW!" and the radio blares "RED SOLO CUP!" and the tabloids shout, "ALL THE FAMOUS PEOPLE GOT FAT AND DIVORCED AND SOME OF THEM EXPLODED!!" and in all of the insanity you would think a guy could escape to a bathroom stall for some peace and quiet but . . . seriously . . . issues.

I am thoroughly enjoying being home and I am soaking up the experience but my metaphorical eardrums are still ringing . . . metaphorically. And I'm missing Chinese.

So I went to the Chinese restaurant in the small mid-Western town we are staying in with hopes of striking up a small conversation in Mandarin to stay fresh and impress them with my mad China skills. Yeah, that didn't work. I always forget a key component that never fails to be present in this scenario. This is it . . . I feel like a big doof.

In my mind before I arrive it goes something like this . . . I walk in and in perfect Chinese say, "Good evening, I am pleased to meet you, may I see your menu please?" and they say "Whaaa, your Chinese is so good, please be our friend and accept a free large order of General Tsao's Chicken as a token of our appreciation for your awesomeness and your ability to connect with us by speaking in our native tongue."

But then I arrive and I get all nervous because the place is packed and I realized that there is essentially no need to speak Chinese because the girl taking my order sounds like she was born and raised in Iowa. So the scenario in my head changes to . . . I say, "ni hao" and they say "seriously dude? we were born and raised in Iowa . . . don't you have anything better to do on a Saturday night than to come in here and make fun of the people in the Chinese restaurant? Racist doof." And then all of the small town American customers get out of their seats and the big hairy one says. "you don't look like you're from around here boy but we don't take kindly outsiders pokin' fun at our local Chinese restaurant proprietors. Maybe you just ought to get your General Tsao's Chicken and mosey on out them doors."

So I ordered my food. In English.

But before I left I worked up the nerve to at least strike up a conversation. In English.

The best I could come up with was, "so, where you guys from?"

That's it. That was my big opener to spark a deep cultural exchange. The girl with the Iowanese accent looked at the cook who had come from the back and wordlessly exchanged a glance that spoke volumes. "um" she paused and bit her lip just a little . . . "China." She spoke with this tender, compassionate tone. The kind you use when you're speaking to a small child or a complete moron. It was like deep in her heart she really wanted to say, "we're from Zimbabwe! Can't you tell from our straight dark hair our Asian eyes and the enormous glowing sign outside that says CHINA KING?"

From there I tried to explain that we actually live in China and . . . it was just awkward.

I miss speaking Chinese.

Congratulations St. Louis Cardinals, 2011 World Champions . . . of the "World"

2011-10-30T19:25:00.002+08:00

My wayward daughter and I at her one and only Major
League game two years ago in St. Louis.

Since I was 9 years old I have been a Cub fan . . . but not the disgruntled kind. I'm not mad that the team I pledged my lifetime allegiance to in the prime vulnerability of my pre-pubescent youth hasn't been to the World Series since World War II (stupid goat). I'm not even frustrated that they haven't actually won since the early 17th century. I'm not that kind of Cub fan. I'm not so petty that I can't extend a congratulatory high five and a good, firm slap on the back to my unenlightened friends who root for our arch rivals and sworn enemies as they celebrate toppling the Rangers to win the Series . . . for the 11th time . . . since our one. I'm not bitter.

Really. I'm not.

My eight year old daughter has decided to be a Cardinal fan. I have chosen to love her anyway. That's how not bitter I am. She is free to follow any team she chooses and like the majority of fans in the world she has taken the easy road. Don't judge her harshly. She is young and naive and doesn't yet fully understand that being a fan is not about winning . . . it's about almost winning and never quite getting there. It's about the faint glimmer of hope that someday, somehow your team will do something, anything good, dipped in the cold, unspoken reality that they just probably won't. Being a die hard fan is not about jumping up and down when your team wins . . . anyone can do that. It's about hollow dreams, misguided passion and freakishly stubborn resolve even when you don't win . . . for more than a century.

All things considered, it was fun to watch game 7 with her all the way over here in China and cheer her Cards on to victory. Watching big American championship games in China is always fun but lacks the atmosphere and buzz of being back home. Superbowl parties generally begin around 7am and include pancakes but may not include commercials. We saw the Cardinals win about 8 hours after it happened but were still able to enjoy it without knowing who was going to win. Just me, my Card fan 8 year old and my 2 year old son who was cheering, "Go CUBBIES!" I lost one . . . I will not lose the other.

So Congratulations Cardinals on once again winning the World Series . . . wait, I mean "World" (finger quotes) Series. Don't for a moment let it steal your joy that of the world's 234 nations only 2 are eligible to compete in this self proclaimed "world" event or that those two nations represent about 5% of the people in that world. Take heart redbirds because 25 million people tuned in to watch you win!! That is significant St. Louis. That means that on the entire planet only 99.6% of the human population were not watching. You are indeed world champions . . . in your own little way. And to you fans of the "World" Champions, hold your head high. Don't let the numbers get you down because really . . . no one likes a bitter fan.

I would like to point out however that in real life a bear (even a baby one) would maul and eat a bird (even a red one with a big bat). Next year.

The End of My Blog: Everything You Want to Know About China

2011-10-25T20:58:00.000+08:00

Here it is. Everything I want to tell you about China in ten minutes . . . with pictures. No need for me to keep writing. Well done piece. Enjoy.

You May Not Actually Be Cool: Please Read This Before You Get a Chinese Tattoo

2011-10-20T02:51:00.000+08:00

This poor guy thought he was getting a very cool "OUTLAW"
tattoo but instead came away with "HIDING CRIMINAL"
which basically carries the meaning "RAT FINK".
Not as cool.

I have never been cool. I've spent nearly 4 decades just behind the trend curve and the closest I have come was that mullet just four years after mullets were hot (and they were hot). I used to blame my mother who said no Nike's in the fourth grade, no rat tail in the fifth grade, no parachute pants in the sixth grade, no red, pleather, Michael Jackson zipper coat in the seventh grade and no earring . . . ever. She just didn't see the value of cool.

Now I am thankful. If it had not been for the absolute inability to be cool that she planted deep in the core of my very being I'm guessing I would have a tattoo by now. That thought cross-referenced with the trend over the past decade and my connection to China would lead me to think that my tattoo would be (like all of the cool kids these days) a Chinese character . . . or the Fonz . . . or the Fonz with a tattoo of a Chinese character. How cool would that be?

Here is the problem . . . Translation is a vicious beast.

Speaking Chinese is hard (go here and here and here to learn more about that) but translating is a whole new level of pain. If speaking Chinese is a bear then translating it is a fire breathing T-Rex with laser beam eyes and a big tattoo that says "Bears taste good" (in Chinese). The cardinal sin of translation is that the translator makes the mistake of thinking language is words. Language is actually layer after layer of grammar and structure and rules and exceptions to rules and culture and history and emotion and . . . that list goes on for a while. So when you ask, "what's the Chinese word for 'I love you baby cakes?" you might end up with something that actually means "Your child's flap jacks are loving and generous to me."

The "filth room" is the Janitors closet at the
hospital down the street from our home.

Expats in China get a lot of giggles out of poorly translated Chinese (go here for "The Onion Explodes the Mutton and Other Fine Chinese Dishes") but the translation beast eats Western food too. There are multiple thousands of very cool looking Chinese tattoos out there that would cause a Chinese crowd to laugh out loud (not with them . . . at them).

At least they're not alone.

Here's an excerpt from the NY Times on the subject:

"Marquis Daniels, of the Dallas Mavericks, thought he was getting his initials in Chinese characters but what his arm actually says is "healthy woman roof," . . . Shawn Marion of the Phoenix Suns was under the impression that his nickname, "the Matrix," was tattooed on his leg, but the inscription translates as something like "demon bird moth balls." . . . Britney Spears . . . reportedly got a tattoo she thought said "mysterious" but actually meant "strange."

I also heard a rumor that one of the Spice Girls tried for a "Girl Power" tattoo and ended up with "Electric Woman". No idea if that's true . . . but it's funny.

Just for fun I've taken up translating. These are the love songs that I would have tattooed on my body by now . . . if I was cool. I translated them into Chinese using iciba.com (a Chinese online translator) and then back into English using Google Translate

1. I'm everything I am, because you loved me (first dance at my wedding) = "Because you believe me because you love me that I"
2. You are the wind beneath my wings = "You breeze in my arms under"
3. I got you babe = "The same car with the boys" (?)
4. Nothing compares to you = "You . . . unparalleled" (actually cooler)
5. You light up my life = "You light up my life" (about the same cool only it probably really means "you set me on fire")

So pretty please . . . before you tarnish your body for life with a Chinese typo . . . send me your text and I'll have it proofread by real live Chinese people. If I can't be cool, at least I can help you be.

Check out these sites for more translations gone horribly wrong:
Hanzismatter.blogspot.com
Engrish.com

The Day Grandma Got Us Kicked Out of Mexico

2011-10-18T00:42:00.000+08:00

My dear Grandma (who is presently enjoying heaven) was once described by my mother (her own daughter) as being (and I quote) "about as cheerful as diarrhea". She rarely spoke (and she was rarely not speaking) without mentioning someone who had recently passed on or someone who was about to pass on or how she felt like her time to pass on was coming up quickly. She had a certain offensive obliviousness to her that allowed her to completely insult an entire room full (possibly a city full) of people and genuinely have absolutely no shred of a concept that she might have alluded to something even remotely unpleasant. When we told her we were adopting a child from China her first response was . . .

"Couldn't you get one from America?"

Then I think she said something awkwardly invasive about the working order of our reproductive systems. It was weird. She redeemed herself, however, after we adopted Rachel by telling her Korean doctor (who proudly displayed a picture of her own daughter on the office wall), "You ain't got nuthin' on me . . . I got me a little Chinese girl too. She's my granddaughter!"

I never once sensed an ounce of sincere hatred in her heart for any group or race of people (except for maybe Southern Baptists) but by today's standards she would register on the polar opposite end of the scale from politically correct . . . or polite . . . or acceptable in public.

IRONICALLY . . . I think it might have been my grandmother who planted the first seeds of cross-cultural curiosity in me. Grandpa was a WWII vet and then a General Baptist Pastor (not Particular . . . not Reformed and most certainly not Southern Baptist . . . bite your tongue heretic) for more than 50 years. He and Grandma made several trips to the Holy Land (the General Baptist one) and when they did they took the chance to see some other parts of the world a bit. When I was five they were the only people in my life who had seen any parts of the world a bit which made them my superheros. I had a stuffed camel from Egypt, some wooden shoes from Holland and a "My Grandma and Grandpa went to Jerusalem and all I got was this stinking t-shirt" t-shirt. I was king for three straight weeks of show and tell.

When I was 12, it was Grandma who led me on my first authentic cross-cultural adventure. My cousins and I went on vacation with my grandparents all the way to California. They crammed us, along with the luggage, into the back of a 19 seventy something, Chevy Station Wagon where we laughed and fought and blew southern winds for 12 hours a day (Grandma's euphemism . . . not mine . . . "Did you boys blow another southern wind? Alva stop this car, somebody needs to go sit on the toilet"). We stopped to visit distant cousins once removed in Yuma, Arizona which just happened to be right across the border from . . . a whole other country. I had never been so excited in my life.

I can't remember if I begged or not but I so wanted to go to Mexico. In my mind it would make me the coolest kid in Illinois. "Where'd you go for summer vacation? oh really? Iowa? That sounds nice . . . me? Oh no place really . . . just MEXICO!! The whole other COUNTRY!! where they eat TACOS!! and they speak MEXICAN!!"

I didn't say I was savvy. . . or in touch with reality. Just curious.

So we went . . . and it was amazing. It was at least 150 degrees (Fahrenheit, Celsius . . . doesn't matter at that point). The streets were dusty because it hadn't rained in over a century. There were burros in the middle of the road and men with massive hats leaned against the shade trees taking naps or playing enormous guitars (in the interest of integrity I should mention that my memory is actually a bit fuzzy and some of this may be coming from Speedy Gonzalez cartoons) . . . but it was amazing.

I do remember very well one shop owner shouting, "COME IN! COME IN! WE HAVE AIR CONDITIONING!" That was the man who would soon hate my grandma. He welcomed us in to look at his hand sewn, Mexican purses . . . from Mexico. Grandma found one she liked and asked if he would accept U.S. dollars. "Of course! Of course, anything for you lady!" And then it began . . .

"How much?"

"For you lady . . . $14"

smiling because she knew in her heart what she was about to do "no no . . . I'll give you 7"

smiling because he had no idea the force he was reckoning with, "Oh lady . . . for you, 13."

"Nah . . . 7"

"Oh come on lady . . . I come down you come up . . . I'll go 12"

squinting confidently with a smirk "mmm . . . how about 7?"

squinting in disgust "you give me 10 lady"

nothing but a grin

He continued "9! . . . 9 dollars, that's my lowest price!! You give me 9 dollars, I give you the purse. Come on! You like the purse! It's a good purse! 9 dollars . . . . (long pause) . . . . EIGHT DOLLARS!! You give me EIGHT DOLLARS! COME ON LADY!!"

I swear this happened. My Grandma said "5".

"FIVE DOLLARS?!! YOU ALREADY SAID 7!! YOU CAN'T SAY 5!!

Still grinning. "Yeah, I think 5 now."

pulling out handfuls of his own hair. "LADY I GIVE YOU YOUR PRICE, SEVEN DOLLARS!!!"

"hmm . . . nah . . . five."

"OK!! OK!! OKAAAY!! FIVE DOLLARS!! YOU WIN YOU WIN, YOU *something I think was a Mexican cuss word.*

And I swear this happened too . . . My Grandma said, "nah."

And she walked away. Seriously, she walked away. She successfully bargained a man nearly 30% below her own starting price . . . and she walked away. I looked back and saw the man turn cherry red starting at his feet and rising to his head. His eyes bugged out, steam came out of his ears and he blew his sombrero off like a train whistle (that may have been from Speedy Gonzalez too but I really don't think it was).

We shopped for a few hours and then finally came back around to the same little store.

"COME IN! COME IN! WE HAVE AIR CONDITIONING!" He locked eyes with my Grandma. "Oh you . . . GET OUT!!!!!!"

I miss you Grandma. Thanks for planting (in a way that only you could) a seed in me that has led me all over the planet and given me two of the most beautiful kids in the world . . . Oh yeah . . . we adopted again . . . remember that African-American doctor you had? (I think you called him colored) . . . well he ain't got nuthin' on you."

Zai Jian Jezza

2011-10-16T07:05:00.000+08:00

Jezza eating scorpion in his first week in
China. That's when I knew I was going to
like him.

I love the sweet simplicity of "goodbye" in Chinese.

"Zai Jian"

Go ahead . . . You try it. I'll wait . . .

Nope, you said it wrong. The "Z" actually has kind of a "dz" sound to it and then the "AI" sounds like "eye" and the "Jian" sounds more like a girl named "Jen" than "gee Ann" or "gee on" . . . that means "a chicken who can't sit still" and frankly, that's just weird. It's ok. Everybody get's it wrong the first time. Go ahead and give it another shot. Ready . . . "DZEYE JEN" . . .

Um . . . No . . . Your tones were wrong (click here for more about tones). You said "I'm in between places" which is a little confusing without context. Are you literally standing in between two places? more figuratively stuck between a rock and a hard place? looking for a job? just broke off a relationship but looking for a new one? Maybe try waving your hand when you say it and then pointing to yourself and the door. Just don't stop in the doorway because then you would actually be between two places that would just add to the confusion.

But really . . . when you say it right (which you're obviously not going to do today) it's actually quite nice. "Zai" means "again" and "Jian" means "to see". "See you again." I like that.

Especially on weeks like this when we say farewell to our intern Jeremy. You can call him by his Australian name Jezza (even though he's not Australian). You can also try to call him by his Chinese name "Jie Li Mi" but we've seen how well you do with "goodbye" and there's a good chance you'll actually call him "Secret Plum Festival" . . . which is weird. Jeremy has been here for a year and will be going home Tuesday (at least for a few months) leaving a cavernous hole in our existence (guilt trip intentional). He has become a vital part of our company and a fully functioning member of our family. He has taken on every task we have assigned him without complaint and done it well. He has changed my sons poopy diapers, lost several limbs in light saber battles with my daughter and gotten us to world 6 on Super Mario. He has fully engaged China and the expat community in its many forms and he will be deeply missed.

Thankfully this is not "goodbye" it is only "zai jian." So go love on your other family for a bit and then get back here as soon as you can.

See you again Secret Plum Festival. We love you.

The Day Doritos Came to China

2011-10-15T00:09:00.000+08:00

There was much rejoicing and jubilation the day Doritos came to China. I remember it vividly because my fingertips were stained orange for weeks. I was deep in the trenches of my first battle with culture shock andlonging, begging, aching for something . . . anything, remotely American. Seeing those crispy, cheesy ultra-hydrogenated triangles smothered in powdered, cheddary goodness tripped my switch like a Pavlovian dog and I drooled puddles all over aisle three of the Changsha Wal-Mart. The bags were half the size of the ones from home . . . so I had to buy ten of them. The next day my stomach hurt . . . but I'm pretty sure I bought ten more.

People like to talk about the pros and cons of the rapid fire changes thatare reshaping China. Are theygood? Bad? Ugly? Can an ancient civilization withstand the impact that comes with freakish economic growth? Is Urbanizationoffering new hope to the impoverished countryside or creating uncontainable socialdisturbances? Is Westernizationbreathing new life into a struggling system or slowly corroding a magnificent,ancient culture? If you said yes (or no) (or maybe) (or how should I know?) (or I don't give a whoop) to allof these, you are probably right.

Flag Square

When we first moved to Qingdao I went on a walk, with my family through Flag Square. Flag Square embodies the very heart of the new, globier China more than any place I've seen. 204beautifully displayed national flags representing the 2008 Olympic gathering ofthe entire world in a nation that has barely been open for business with most of those nations for threedecades. From the square (which is actually a circle) you can see the enormous Olympicrings overlooking the harbor that hosted the sailing venue and the four-story torch is rarely notsurrounded by picture snapping tourists. On the right day you can even catch theinspirational Olympic anthems like OneWorld One Dream and I Love Beijing blaringthrough the loud speakers although these days it's more likely you'll hear Taylor Swift or Randy Travis (seriously . . . Randy Travis . . . in China). This onespot is a picture perfect emblem of China gone global.

Iwas pushing my baby in his stroller (pram, buggy etc.) with my 6 year old daughterand my wife when right in front of me two cars pulled up (where cars are notsupposed to be mind you). Car numberone? A cherry red Porsche driven by a doe-eyed, teenage girl. Number two? Maserati. Teenage boy. There was nothing about this picture that waseven remotely thinkable a generation ago in China. They stopped for just a moment. She looked back at him and gave a flirty little, "can't catch me" giggle. Then she drove away. You could physically see the testosterone oozing out ofthe Maserati. He was trying to play it cool but any man who had ever survived puberty could see exactly what was going on.

What happened next definesthe paradox of globalization for me. Hestomped on the accelerator, spinning this gorgeous machine into a perfect,screaming circle. The stench of burning rubber was thick and in a flash he was off like a hormone driven teenage Cheetah in pursuit of the gazelle in the cherry redPorsche.

Iwas furious. He spun dangerously close to my10 month old baby. I threw up my arms indisgust and pointed to my son as he zoomed past. I tried to think of something mean to say in Chinese but I didn't get to that lesson yet so I just growled . . . like an angry lion whom as you know, eat Cheetahs for breakfast (it's true, I think I saw it on the National Geographic Channel).

My daughter sensed my frustration and tried to be the peacemaker. “Dad. I don’t think he made such a good choice, did he?” Still fuming I barked,“No honey, he sure didn’t.” She cameback with a reassuring, “Dad. If I had that car I would never do that.”

She got me.

In the middle of my disgust and anger I was forced to admit that thatwas absolutely, 100% the coolest thing I had seen all day. $120,000 (maybe double with import fees) worth of pure Italianperfection, driven solely by pubescent, Chinese machismo smokes its tires intoa flawless donut (that I swear was on fire for just a moment), surrounded by the flags of countries who, just 30 years ago,were vehemently uninvited to even stand in the very spot that it was happening. In the interest of an vulnerable, teachable moment I responded to mydaughter, “That’s great honey. Iprobably would do that . . . but I would make sure there were no babies aroundfirst.”

NewChina is both amazing and infuriating. It’s exciting and maddening. It’sthrilling and painful. It is the bestbits of Western culture that came over on the same boat as the worst bitsand now live together with the best and worst bits of the East. It’s a wonderfully challenging mix of “Areyou kidding me?!” and “That was incredible!” It's jubilation and a stomach ache. It’s Doritos.

Thank You Adoptive Mothers for Getting Rid of Osama Bin Laden . . . Again

2011-10-13T00:44:00.000+08:00

This just in . . . A courageous band of mothers who have adopted from China have taken down Osama Bin Laden.

I still consider myself a rookie when it comes to this blogging thing but I'm having a boatload of fun with it. I think the truest quote I have heard so far is "Blogging -- Never before have so many people with so little to say said so much to so few." Still . . . I'm getting a kick out of writing, playing with the newest gadgets and watching the stats. However it has been just a little bit disconcerting that since May 4th when I posted "Turn Off the Light Stupid: What China Thinks of Bin Laden" that I have had a picture of said Bin Laden right over there on the right side of my blog (where my kids and the Angry Bird are now). Not entirely my fault, I just plugged in the gadget that automatically lists your top three posts and Osama got more attention than anything else (I blame my readers mostly). So there they have been . . . pictures of my perfectly precious daughter, my Obamish, beefcake of a son and the iconic face of global terrorism. Try as I might I just couldn't come up with anything that would attract enough hits to knock him off of his perch (sounds familiar).

Then it happened. In one day a repost on China Adopt Talk.com drove more than a thousand hits (small potatoes for good bloggers but a big day for me) to my site and pfft he was gone. Nicely done ladies (gentlemen too . . . but mostly ladies). We salute you.

If you want to read about some very cool adventures of families that were brought together through the beauty and chaos of adoption in China then click here . . . and here . . . or here . . . and here too . . . or go to China Adopt Talk.com and poke around. And if you want some brilliant insight into what it is like to really live, really love and foster a beautiful baby in China then you should definitely try walking to China . . . the blog . . . not the actual hike . . . that would be silly.

One more thing -- I'm realizing the irony of a post celebrating the removal of a picture of Osama Bin Laden which also includes the exact same picture of Osama Bin Laden but I read somewhere that irony tricks more people into reading your blog. I'm also realizing that if I trick too many people into reading this post then Osama's picture will once again be in the top three and right over there with the angry bird which would be even more ironic . . . and trick even more people into reading my blog. I told you . . . this is fun.

AAND . . . the true irony? My son (who replaced Osama as #3 on the top three list) . . . his birthday?

(pause for dramatic effect)

September 11th. Whoa.

Thanks for reading

You Want Birds With That? Humbling Moments for a Language Faker

2011-10-11T02:04:00.000+08:00

I got blasted with a dose of my own indignance this week.

Chinese is tonal. If you haven't tried to learn it then that means nothing to you. It's pointless trivia, like "celery has negative calories" or "bats always turn left when they exit a cave". All true (verified via the internet) but knowing it adds zero value to your life (maybe negative . . . like celery . . . and calories). If you have tried to learn Chinese however, then the overwhelming significance of these three words just made you vomit a little bit in your mouth.

A Quick Chinese Lesson for the Vomitless:
If you say "ma" it means "mother" (stink - Chinese is easy! what are you whining about?). However, if you say "ma" it means "horse" and if you say "ma" it means "anesthesia" and if you say "ma" it means "hemp" and if you say "ma" it means "tingly and numb" and if you say "ma" it means "sesame" and if you say "Ma" you may be speaking to a guy named Mr. Ma . . . or you may be trying to speak to Mr. Ma but you're actually calling him "Mr. Sesame" and if you're introducing him to your mother you may actually be saying "Hey Mr. Sesame this is my horse" or "this is my anesthesia" or "this is my hemp" for which you could be arrested and possibly executed (see here for more on that) all because you used the wrong tone.

It's the most felt challenge of living as a foreigner in China. Not so much the threat of execution but the daily, blood boiling, teeth grinding irritation of knowing that you are saying the right word and getting nothing but a blank stare. I have seen some of the sweetest, tenderest, most loving souls I know transformed into screaming, blubbering freaks because the taxi driver just can't understand their well rehearsed Chinese.

"SESAME STREET! YOU MORON! SESAME STREET! SESAME STREET! SESAME STREET! CAN YOU PLEASE TELL ME HOW TO GET TO SESAME STREET?!!"

And the driver stares blankly because all he hears is, "Mother Street! Horse Street! Anesthesia Street! Can you please tell me how to get to Tingly and Numb Street?!"

Hence the vomit.

The result is a heavy dependence on context. Maybe my tones are off but if I can get the surrounding words to make sense then generally the Chinese listener will graciously figure it out. "OOHH - This is not really his horse, in fact she is not a horse at all . . . he probably means his mother." However the Ma of all frustrations is when the context is crystal clear, the phonetics are spot on, the tones are just slightly off and there is still a total failure to communicate. "I SO know that I am SO close so why can't you understand me?!"

Checking into a hotel in Beijing last week I got the tables turned on me. I was holding up the line as the front desk girl and I flipped through my family's passport books searching for the right visas and stamps. Her English was rough but I was catching most of it. My Chinese was rougher but she was gracious. Finally we got the visa issues settled and she looked me straight in the eye and said . . .

"How about birds?"

You know that moment when you have no clue what is going on but your mind races to make something up? I got stuck there. I was certain I misheard her so I questioned, "I'm sorry?"

"Birds"

In about three seconds this was my thought process, *are there birds in the room? I don't think I want birds in my room. I've seen birds for sale on the street, do they sell birds here? Is there some type of giveaway that I don't know about? This is a holiday weekend, maybe they give birds to customers for Chinese National Day. That would be really strange considering this is an airport hotel and most of the customers will be flying home soon. Do they expect us to take birds home on the airplane with us? You can't do that. I know China's basic view on animal rights is different than where I come from but really? Birds? In my suitcase? They are so going to stop me at security. I wonder what color they are.*

"I'm sorry . . . what?"

She repeated, "Birds."

Blank stare.

"Do you want one or two birds in your room."

I was so thoroughly confused. *My two year old son will never go to sleep if we have any birds in our room. Why would you put birds in my room?!*

I could sense her frustration but still smiling she said, "Chuang."

"OOHH Beds!"

Dear China: I'm sorry for snapping at your taxi drivers and thinking bad thoughts about you because you don't understand my tones. You win.

For more about the pain and joy of learning Chinese go here:
Confessions of a Language Faker
The Diarrhea Clinic and Why I Think it's Funny

Lost and Found in Translation: Baby on Road

2011-09-24T23:47:00.000+08:00

Go ahead . . . date yourself. Do you remember when "Baby on Board" signs first started popping up on rear windows? Remember that one summer when they were on every other car and everyone drove just a wee bit safer. It was like a traffic trump card that gave the bearer total immunity. The official Rules of the Road clearly state that if someone cuts you off you are legally entitled (and in some regions obligated) to (and I quote):

a. shake your fist violently
b. scream obscenities mindlessly
c. flip the bird

Not only does the law support your irritated actions but every, single, other driver on the road will cheer you on because you are clearly justified in your rage and they feel your pain. You are the hero of the highway.

However, stick that little yellow sign in the back window and the tide turns instantly. You are no longer shaking your fist at the moron who cut you off but you are in fact, threatening violence . . . to a BABY! What kind of a sicko are you? Watch your mouth . . . there's an infant in that car and don't even think about the bird . . . put the bird away . . . destroy the bird! But whatever you do, DO NOT flip the bird . . . at an infant.

Brilliant. Hence the fad, short lived as it was. U.S. sales went through the roof in 1985, about a year after the signs were introduced. In 1986 they plummeted because the only thing Americans love more than a traffic trump card is a corny joke. "Mother in Law in Trunk" signs killed the trend.

The irony is that the original sentiment has continued to thrive globally in places where vehicle population is increasing and sarcastic humor remains . . . well . . . not funny. The double irony happens when the original sentiment is mistranslated. "Baby on Road" stickers haven't yet hit 1985 B.O.B. status but I've seen an increasing number lately here in China. Granted, to the foreigner (like me) the translation sounds either horribly sadistic or really funny but for most Chinese people I'm sure the thought is clear and very sweet.

I tried to explain to a Chinese friend how horrible it sounds that the baby is on the road while the mama is in the car but my humor was lost in translation.

My Second and Last Blog About Diarrhea: The Movie

2011-08-03T20:30:00.001+08:00

Yeah so the very least of my writing aspirations is to become known as "the diarrhea blogger"

"Hey do you know Jerry Jones?"

"The owner of the Dallas Cowboys? Yeah sure."

"No, not the real Jerry Jones, the other one."

"There's another one?"

"Yeah the guy who writes the blog about culture . . . "

blank stare

"He talks about China (nothing) . . . and faking Chinese (zip) . . . and adoption (nope) . . . and diarrhea"

"OHHHH Yeah the diarrhea blogger! He owns the Dallas Cowboys?! I did not know that."

Such fame is not even on my radar . . . but this is too rich to pass up. Following my last post (The Diarrhea Clinic and Why I Think it's Funny) this video was shared with me further proving my point that while diarrhea may not be funny to every culture it is indeed funny to our culture no matter what culture speaks (or sings) of it.

Watch it and try not to laugh but don't stop watching before the song. You won't regret it.

And I promise - no more diarrhea anytime soon. At least on the blog.

The Diarrhea Clinic and Why I Think It's Funny

2011-08-03T07:07:00.000+08:00

This clinic is a short walk from our home. I laugh a
little every time I walk by (don't judge me). I find it ironic
that "diarrhea" is spelled correctly in a country where the
rest of English is not. I only know because I have
spell check.

Know how to say "diarrhea" in Chinese? Want to?

Your answer to that question speaks volumes about you.

Some of you are saying "Stink YEAH I do! Tell me tell me tell me!" You're the ones who have already skipped ahead in your mind to the people who are going to crack up because you can say a word that you can't even spell in a language which you know zero other words. You're going to say, "yeah . . . I speak a little Chinese" and they'll say, "yeah me too, 'ching chang willy willy bing bang bong'" and you'll be like, "no, seriously I know some real Chinese like the kind they speak in China" and they'll say "oh yeah? like what?"

And then you'll say it.
And they'll say "what's that mean?"
And you'll say "Diarrhea!"

And you will laugh so hard your ears hurt. You know who you are.

Then there are those of you who are saying, "that's disgusting and I cannot even believe that you would squander my valuable time and so desecrate internet space with such a juvenile, repulsive proposition . . . no I most certainly do NOT wish to defile my brain cells with such blatant and utter tomfoolery."

You are sophisticated, refined and fooling no one but yourself. It's time to take a look deep inside my friend. NO ONE doesn't want to know how to say "diarrhea" in Chinese.

How we handle things like flatulence and diarrhea speak volumes about our culture (if you just made a joke in your mind you're proving my point). Why are natural, normal, universally experienced bodily functions just plain funny? Is it inherent or inherited? Nature or nurture? Is it from repeated exposure to cultural cues or does it run in the jeans? (sorry).

I was recently standing in the vegetable market near our home. Just me, Lotus (our friend who runs the shop) and one older woman in a tiny little shack filled with fruit and veggies. Lotus knew that I had been sick and asked me what my afflictions were (she regularly does this because she likes to look after the foreigners who know nothing about which foods treat which ailments). I told her I had a headache and then in a quiet, embarrassed tone I waved my hand over my stomach, squinted and grunted as if to say . . . "eehhhh you know . . ." She looked confused for a single moment and then the light went on. "Ohhh" her eyes opened wide with understanding, "you have diarrhea?" She spoke in Chinese but I know that word so I shook my head to confirm.

Then it began.

She wasn't quite sure which pickled vegetable or spiced root to recommend so she shouted to the old woman. "Hey, he has diarrhea, what should I give him?" And the old lady said, "Ahhh DIARRHEA . . . Hmmm." While she was thinking it over another person entered the shack who was obviously a friend. " Oh you would know . . . the foreigner has diarrhea, what do you eat for that?" The new lady was baffled and shouted out the door, "Hey honey! There's a foreigner in here who has diarrhea! do you remember what's good for that?" One by one they piled in and I swear (this is how I remember it) in less than three minutes more than 400 of my Chinese neighbors were crammed in a building the size of two Buicks to openly discuss my loose bowels. I could only understand half of the conversation but the part I caught loud and clear was diarrhea, diarrhea, the foreigner has diarrhea.

And no one . . . not a single person . . . laughed . . . but I was biting my lip because as much as I wanted to crawl under a rock and pretend that I did not, in fact, know the Chinese word for diarrhea . . . I wanted to laugh even more.

Volumes.

"La duzi" (Try pronouncing it "Lah doodzuh"). That's how you say "diarrhea" in Chinese. Enjoy that.

author's sidenote: when I wrote "does it run in the jeans?" I laughed so hard my ears hurt.

A couple of videos - just to prove my point. Millions of people have watched these (including you?). And they have all laughed.

Yao Ming What?! Say it Isn't So

2011-07-09T12:12:00.005+08:00

Yao Ming has informed the NBA and the Houston Rockets that he will retire however he has evidently not informed China. According to reports from Chinese news agencies the rumors of his retirement are not verified and not true. In other words . . . It isn't so.

"We have not got any news about Yao's retirement . . . we were surprised by the news spreading around here today."
-Talung Lin, China's market manager for the Rockets

Yao is the poster child for globalization. From the American side he's that big Chinese guy who plays in the NBA and the only Chinese name that most people can pronounce (Jacky Chan and Bruce Lee don't count). From China, however, he is infinitely more iconic. He represents a nation that has moved from a being blip on the global radar to being absolutely impossible to ignore. His story is, hands down, the most public picture of the polar opposite ideologies (Communism and Capitalism) that are co-existing quite well (depending on who you ask) in China. His career has exploded the NBA brand throughout Asia and has shown the West that Chinese people don't just play ping pong (although they are quite good at that too). What began as a point of national pride 8 seasons ago has blossomed into millions of young Chinese ballers (and wannabe's) who know more about team and player stats than Marv Albert. All perspectives considered it makes sense that breaking news in Houston is slower to break in Beijing.

His retirement will have a huge impact on China . . . when it happens . . . someday . . . in the future.

Yao has served to bridge the cultural gap between East and West and while the implications are impossible to fathom and the impact would take decades to fully explore, it seems that the gap is still just a bit broader than 2.26 meters. Sorry . . . 7 feet 6 inches. Case in point.

Call home Yao. Your mother is worried.

I know I've posted this before (see "I Love This Gaem")
but it bears repeating. Houston Rockets is the only
Jersey at the Chinese"wholesale market"
(in our city) that is not misspelled.
Now that's a legacy!

How Not to Get 28 Enormous Hickeys on Your Back: More Confessions of a Language Faker

2011-07-09T01:20:00.001+08:00

My back - post-therapy

As a follow up to "Confessions of a Language Faker" I thought I might share a story . . . you know . . . for the children . . . in hopes that they will learn from the error of my ways and stay far, far away from the slippery slope of fraudulent linguistic aspirations (if you pretended to know what that is, it may already be too late).

I had lived in China for just more than a year when I developed an acute case of vetebral subluxation. What does that mean you ask (and if you did there may be hope for you yet). It means I threw my back out (not uncommon). My vertebrae were conspiring to realign themselves into horizontibrae and I was in excruciating pain. Thankfully it only hurt when I breathed.

There is a phenomenon in China known as "blind massage." Just in case you don't understand (and are afraid to admit it) let me break it apart for you. "Blind massage" is this . . . people who are blind . . . that give massages. Simple right? Just like it sounds. But wait, there's more. If you're looking for a relaxing, tension relieving, "Calgon, take me away shoulder rub . . . stay away from the blind massage! However, if your need is genuine relief from back pain and you are prepared for a deep, DEEEP tissue, elbows into your pancreas, spine gouging therapeutic treatment . . . then you cannot find a more painfully healing option. [You have been warned] However, desperate times call for desperate measures and I find that I am at my most desperate when I am curled into a fetal position, unable to move without squealing like a baby pig (with vetebral subluxation). So I went.

The massage was painful but my lack of understanding was even more so. My masseuse may not may not have been able to see me but the fact that I was a foreigner was High Definition clear. He spoke slowly and loudly (much like a flight attendant on an international flight) but I still was only catching bits and pieces of his Chinese. I did understand, "sheesh, you're spine is messed up dude" and "hold still, I'm gonna' dig my elbow into your pancreas" but beyond that I was clueless. However I was willfully choosing NOT to fake it. I just kept saying, "ting bu dong" (which roughly translated means, "I see your mouth moving and I hear noise coming out but I do NOT comprehend your meaning"). Then he got all urgent on me. You NEED blabbedy blabbedy blabbedy blah"

"Ting bu dong"

Louder and slower, "YOU NEED blabbedy blabbedy blabbedy blah!"

Still, "Ting bu dong"

So he pointed to his list of services sign.

"Umm . . . Kan bu dong" (same thing as "ting bu dong" only it means, "not only do I not understand what you are saying . . . I can't read either)

So he violently started poking the sign and speaking even louder, slower and in Spanish (I swear most of this is true) "YOU NEEDO EL BLABBEDO BLABBEDO DEL BLABBEDO BLAH . . . Senor."

And I cracked.

It was a moment of weakness that I would soon regret but I realized that he wasn't going to give up. I pretended to understand his Chinese. "Ohhh . . . ok then, I'll buy that." And he left the room.

He came back with a rolling table full of glass globes, a stick dipped in rubbing alcohol and a cheap lighter. One by one he lit the stick and held it into the upside-down globes pulling all of the oxygen from the inner part. Then he strategically attached them to my back in an effort to pull out the toxins in my blood, remove the fire in my body (that's another blog) and realign my twisted spine. The result was 28 massive (although perfectly round) hickeys and a back that felt great . . . until the next day when I returned to the fetal position.

So heed my warning children. When in China, swallow your pride. Stick with "ting bu dong" or even better, learn Chinese but fight the urge to fake it. You may get away with it once . . . twice . . . maybe a dozen times or more . . . but one day you'll wake up and realize that you slipped on the slope and you might just have a problem. You might also have 28 massive hickeys on your back. I tried to tell you.

read more here about Chinese fire cupping

First World Problems

2011-07-07T00:33:00.000+08:00

I think my dad went to school with Bill Cosby's dad. He once showed me the road that he walked to school as a boy (after he milked the cows, slopped the hogs and butchered the chickens). I can't explain it but it really was uphill . . . wait for it . . . both ways. Freaky. I remember having a discussion when I was a teenager, wondering what we would have to complain about when we got older . . .

"When I was a kid we rode the bus to school . . . uphill . . . sometimes. We had to wear red leather jackets with dozens of zippers . . . that went nowhere! We had to play Atari 2600 and wear pants made from parachutes . . . AND WE LIKED IT."

Yeah . . . times were tough back then. Thankfully though neither my father's generation nor mine had to suffer through the realities of the contemporary Western (first world) teen.

This video says it all

Confessions of a Language Faker

2011-07-05T02:11:00.000+08:00

"Hi my name is Jerry and I'm a Chinese faker."
"Hi Jerry"

There I said it. I feel so free. I pretend to speak Chinese. Not like the typical American Chinese faker with the "ching chang willy willy bing bang bong" or the hilarious jokester who mistakes fake Chinese for fake Japanese (see "On Eating Dog in China" for more about those people). No no . . . my offenses are far darker . . . I regularly pretend to speak Chinese . . . wait for it . . . to Chinese people.

Don't judge me.

It's never intentional it just kind of happens. Usually with taxi drivers and it always starts with a legitimate Chinese conversation (the real kind). So before you go pointing your bony little, "I only speak real languages" finger at me there are two things you should know:

1. Chinese taxi drivers are easily impressed: Unlike most Americans who tend to assume that all foreign people speak perfect English and are shocked when they don't (see "Dear Unnamed American Airline" for more about those people) I have found that most Chinese taxi drivers (and Chinese people in general) assume that non-Chinese people speak zero Chinese and are shocked if we do. Need a confidence boost? Jump in a taxi and say, "ni hao!" (hello). You're bound to get the smiley thumbs up with the "WHAAAA your Chinese is SOOO GOOD!"

"Why thank you very much . . . I've been practicing my 'hello'."

2. Chinese taxi drivers are never as impressed as you think they are: It took a good, long while but I finally caught on. What they really mean is, "WHAAAA your Chinese is SOOO GOOD . . . wait for it . . . for a foreigner.

This is how it starts. I begin a conversation. They tell me how great I am. I say, "no no no." They say "really, you're Chinese is VERY good." I say, "well, I guess you would know, you are Chinese." They ask me where I'm from . . . I say "Illinois" . . . they say, "huh?" . . . I say "Chicago" (even though I'm not) . . . they say "Ohhhh, Michael Jordan" . . . I say "Yeah!" and we laugh and now we're friends. So we talk about our families and our jobs, they ask me about Obama and how many guns I own and how much money I make and then they go on a rant.

And they talk.

And they talk.

And somewhere along the line the limits of my Chinese vocabulary get stretched to absolute nothingness. So there I sit. Clueless. They might as well be saying "ching chang willy willy bing bang bong" because I'm catching zip . . . but we've built this relationship. We've bonded. They told me my Chinese is great and evidently they thought it was great because now they're not even pausing long enough for me to tell them I stopped understanding back at "Obama".

The worst part is this. Chinese is grammatically designed to enable fakers. Sentences are often finished with a "yes or no", "right or not right", "ok or not ok" question to which the correct response is a simple "yes or no", "right or not right", "ok or not ok".

It's a fifty - fifty chance. And sometimes taking it is easier than starting the conversation all over again. So I take it but for all I know they could be saying, "you sell nuclear warheads to Swedish vegetarians . . . right or not right?" And with big deer in the headlights eyes I pause . . .

"uhh . . . right?"

And they say, "yeah that's what I thought" and continue talking.

Occasionally, however, I have been busted. Their jaw drops to the steering wheel and they say "WHAAAT?! You sell nuclear warheads to Swedish vegetarians?!! What kind of a person are you?! Who does that?!?" That's when I play the foreigner trump card and say, "wait, what? did you say sleepless veterinarians? Uhhh, I don't understand, my Chinese isn't very good" So they smile and say, "no, no, your Chinese is very good."

But I know what they're really thinking. And they're right.

All of that to say. Learning Chinese is hard. But admitting I have a problem is the first step . . . right . . . or not right?

The Changing Face of Communism: Seeing My America through Their Chinese Eyes

2011-07-03T00:04:00.001+08:00

Beijing: A worker cleans a portrait of Mao Zedong,

the founder of the People's Republic of China, at

Tiananmen Gate

Photograph: Guang Niu/Reuters

When I moved to China I had big dreams of being arrested by Communist soldiers just for being an American Christian. They would tie me to a wooden chair in a gray, dingy room and demand that I say bad things about God and George Bush. I would squint at them through swollen, purple eyelids and with my best Clint Eastwood grin break into a chorus of "God Bless America." Then (cue music) B.A. Baracus would smash the black van through the block wall and the A-Team would shoot all of the Communist soldiers (in the feet of course), pull me to into the van, crash through another wall and drive off into the sunset leaving a room full of angry, hopping bad guys shaking their fists and shouting Chinese (prime-time approved) obscenities.

Ok, I threw in the A-team for dramatic, blogging effect but suffice it to say my expectations of China (especially Communist China) were painted and tainted by both incomplete, historical facts, and action packed, Hollywood fiction. Walking through Chinese customs the first time was nerve-wrenching. I braced myself for the trip to the back room for questioning and light torture. I resolved in my mind to go peacefully as long as they did not harm my family. I handed the uniformed "soldier" our passports . . . heart pounding . . . sweating profusely. He opened each one carefully, studied the pictures and looked back at each of us . . . one by one. This is the moment. Will this Communist let us in to Communist China or send us to a Communist re-education camp? I'll never forget what he said . . . "thank you." He returned our passports and motioned for us to move on. It was only then that I noticed the "please rate my service" buttons on his desk. I pressed "very satisfied".

"Arise, all people of the world, to topple Imperialist America!

To topple Soviet revisionism! To topple the reactionary parties

of all nations!" (Chinese poster, 1969)

bold text corresponds to blackened characters

Last week I made a quick trip back to the States. Checking in at the Beijing airport I noticed an older Chinese woman. I know she was Chinese because she jumped in front of the entire line . . . and she spoke Chinese (I have finely tuned skills of deduction). It was obvious that she was not accustomed to airport protocol and I assumed (right or wrong) that this was her first trip to America. I could only imagine what she was dreaming of and I pondered what facts and fiction had painted and tainted those dreams. She had obviously lived through the Cultural Revolution, a time when America was projected as enemy number one and a vicious, Imperialist threat seeking to overthrow the world and destroy the noble values that her generation was dying to uphold. She had also lived in a China where, for many, the highest aspiration has been a new life in a Western nation. Was she anxious? Nervous? Excited? Afraid? Did she have the Communist Party A-Team on speed dial?

I didn't see her again until we landed in Chicago where I made the rookie mistake of using the restroom before getting in the customs line. When I came out the end of the line was in Iowa. Armed police officers were moving everyone to the back by loudly and bluntly insisting,

"Everyone move to the back of the line. This is not the line. Please move to the back of the line quickly. The back of the line is no longer in Illinois. It's in Iowa. Please go there now!"

Everyone settled in for the long march and immediately began striking up conversations with total strangers so we could vent about the rude police and the long line. Then the police (still armed) returned and began yelling again,

"Visitors! Any non-U.S. passport holders, please come with us. There is another line for non-U.S. passport holders only."

We were jealous and continued venting.

One at a time they herded foreign passport families and marched them away. That's when I saw the Chinese woman from the airport. She was completely dazed and confused, as was the rest of her family. The officers approached and asked to see their passports. When they didn't respond the officers grabbed the passports from their hands and said "come with us." They were even more confused. (I could tell because I have mastered the "I have no idea what you are saying" look over five years in China [and I have finely tuned skills of deduction]). I jumped in to help and told them in Chinese, "You can go with them." They were obviously still confused so I repeated myself, "You can go with them." And so they did.

It wasn't until later that I had time to process the whole scene through her eyes. This poor woman understood nothing that was happening. All she saw was people being pushed to the end of a long line by loud, demanding "soldiers" (with guns). Then the "soldiers" singled her and her family out, looked at their papers and said, "come with us!" which sounded like "flooby shooby doopie poo!" until a big white guy with a thick American accent said, "you can go with them." It sounds like a scene from Schindler's List. What was she thinking at that very moment? Back room? Interrogation? Light torture? "Is this Imperialist shipping us to an Imperialist re-education camp?" And so went her first twenty minutes in America.

Honestly . . . that was more of what I thought China might be like. I'm hoping the customs agents were nice to her and that she got a chance to rate their service.

Three statements and I'll shut up.

1. The gap between assumption and reality is often broader than it need be.

2. Seeing yourself through the eyes of the people you are looking at (no matter how Communist) . . . couldn't hurt.

3. Little, old Chinese lady: If you ever stumble across this blog and you have learned to read English (or use Google translate) I just want you to know that I am truly sorry for not being more reassuring about where you were going and I hope that once you got in you enjoyed my country as much as I have enjoyed yours. God bless America. God bless China.

Dear Unnamed American Airline

2011-07-01T14:13:00.001+08:00

Dear Unnamed American Airline, (no relation to the real American Airlines™)

I recently flew with you from Chicago to Beijing and have one small suggestion that might improve the quality of your service. Please consider banning Chinese people (especially older ones) from boarding your planes.

It quickly became obvious (and more painfully so over the course of our 12 hours and 6 minutes together) that the cultural challenges of dealing with Chinese passengers (especially older ones) were both distracting and irritating to your flight staff. Repeatedly, flight attendants were placed in an awkward position requiring them to roll their eyes, flare their noses, grit their teeth, raise their voices and repeat themselves over and over and over again. This level of stress cannot be healthy and I believe should be avoided in an effort to protect your valuable human resources.

May I take a moment to commend you, however, on your commitment to bridging that gap. It was obvious that your staff had been well trained in the SATLTAD (scream at them like they are deaf) method of communicating across a language barrier which we all know is the most effective way to help people understand a language they don't speak.

"Sir you need to sit down the 'fasten seat belts' sign is illuminated. SIR. SIR. SIR You're going to need to sit down NOW. SIR. SIR You NEED TO SIT DOWN the SEAT BELT SIGN IS ILLUMINATED . . . IL-LUM-I-NA-TED. SIR! SIR! Aw forget it, just stand up."

It may be helpful, however, to refresh your staff in the more advanced methods of pretending to speak Spanish (to deaf people). "El SEAT BELTO . . . DE LA SIGNO . . . ES ILLUMINATO!" Just a suggestion.

I understand the concern of losing ticket sales and am sympathetic to your bottom line so I also have a second option for consideration. You may consider requiring culture and language training designed to bridge the most obvious barriers and overcome the most common challenges. I feel that adding this as a mandatory protocol for all Chinese passengers (especially the older ones) would be worth the investment in that it would make the entire flight more palatable and enjoyable for your flight attendants which would in turn lead to fewer disgruntled employees, lower turnover and increased profit margins. Brilliant.

Your position is a challenging one and I do not envy you at all. Faced with the global financial crisis that has wreaked havoc on the airline industry you are forced to make the difficult decisions that will give you the greatest return and an edge in a viciously competitive market. Obviously costly details like translating the safety instruction video into Chinese are unaffordable luxuries in this economic climate but I have one final suggestion that would, no doubt, bring a predictable return. Simply include in your branding the mantra of the ugly American: "Speak English or Go Home."

Wait . . . scratch that . . . they were going home. Ok try this: "Speak English or Fly Asiana."

I Miss You America

2011-06-30T02:31:00.000+08:00

Dear America,

It was great to see you again and even though we didn't have much time to catch up I realized how much I have missed you. They say that absence makes the heart grow fonder and frankly . . . I think that's bunk. I am convinced though, now more than ever, that being away for so long has opened my eyes to a whole load of qualities that I never knew I loved about you. I love your baseball and apple pies but who doesn't? I miss your purple mountains majesty and your fruited plains but China has those too. Ok, I'm not sure they have purple mountains but to be honest I haven't seen yours either I was just saying that. Where are they exactly? I bet they're cool. Point is, I'll always miss your big stuff but it's your cute little quirks that really got to me this time.

I miss your gas stations. I really miss driving a car but it's more than that. I feel at home in your filling stations. We have a bond. I know that whether I am traveling your highways or trolling your cities I am not far from a giant, well lit sign with removable numbers that inexplicably add an extra decimal point to your currency. Three dollars and forty three point nine cents for a gallon of gas? You don't see that in other countries. I also know that I will be warmly welcomed by at least eight different flavors of coffee, a shining wall of refrigerated carbonation and multiple thousands of bags and boxes of sicky sweet, uber-hydrogenated, ultra-processed, slickly marketed variations of corn, wheat, meat and chocolate surrounded by t-shirts and fake license plates that offer brilliant wisdom with proverbs like "There's too much blood in my alcohol system" and "Did you eat a bowl of stupid for breakfast?". I miss you America.

I miss your waiters and waitresses. I miss that little speech at the beginning of a meal that goes something like, "Hi, my name is Alan and I'll be taking care of you tonight." You know why I miss that so much? Because I really believe that Alan will indeed take care of me. He frequently asks me if "WE"RE doing okay over here" even though I am the only one at the table. Why so plural Alan? You know why? Because Alan is in this thing with me. We're connected he and I and he is genuinely and deeply concerned about how I am doing over here. And if I am not doing okay then WE are not doing okay. I miss that. Some people say it's about the tip. Cynics. They don't know Alan like I do. He told me as he gave me the bill (and I quote), "if there is ANYTHING else I need" just let him know. That's a true friend. Out of respect for Alan I refused to cheapen our relationship by leaving a tip . . . or should I say a bribe? Alan would never take money to be my friend . . . I know because as I walked away he waved and though I could not read his lips he gestured, "you're number one!" No sir my friend. You are. I'll miss you Alan and I miss you America.

I miss your loud mouths. I have a confession to make America. On previous trips I have been overwhelmed and even annoyed by your news anchors, your "investigative reporters" and your radio talk show host. Your obsession with presenting the conflicting argument no matter what the original argument is has, at times, seemed to be spinning out of control. Maybe it was the brevity of my trip but this time I found myself chuckling and even entertained. In China the news is accepted with little public outcry but not in you America. You accept nothing. You expose it and crush it and beat the living daylights out of it and when there is no daylight left in it you hoist it on a stick and march it through the city streets. Sure someone fed homeless people but how much did that free soup really cost the taxpayers? Sure someone's pet goldfish dialed 911 and saved an elderly man who was having a heart attack but should the price of fish food be covered by medicare? I miss you America.

It was good to hang out again America. It was good to be reminded that a nation is not the sum of its stereotypes. It was nice to remember that you are so much more than the face I see on the news and the conversation I have with Chinese taxi drivers.

Hang in there. You are missed.

Royal Schmoyal - Now THIS is a Wedding!

2011-05-31T23:14:00.003+08:00

Did you watch the Royal wedding a few weeks ago? BOOORINGGGG!! No fireworks. No marching band. No confetti cannons. And in all of the pomp and circumstance, among all of the Dukes and Duchesses, Mickey and Minnie Mouse were noticeably absent. The nerve.

China knows how to celebrate a marriage. Caught this one with my cell phone last week coming in the front gate of our apartment complex.

Waiting patiently
I always had a hunch that Mickey was Chinese but I had no clue that Minnie was a man or that Tigger was a chain smoker. Live and learn.

A Confused Groom

I have no idea what is happening here. I can only assume that the groom has been drinking and thinks this is Daisy. This marriage can't last.

Engaging the Senses
A deafening marching band standing in a smoldering fire started by leftover firecracker gunpowder and confetti. Do not attempt this at home (as if you've got a confetti cannon . . . or a tuba)

No horns please . . . Oh wait
My wife pointed out the irony of this picture considering the sign . . . and the trumpets.

Congratulations Mr. and Mrs. Chinese Newlyweds. Maybe you could pass your wedding planners number on to the Royal Family.

On Smoking Dope in China

2011-05-31T01:52:00.003+08:00

Betcha' didn't know. Tommy Chong (of Cheech and
Chong dope smoking fame) was born the son a a
Chinese truck driver.

Crack kills everywhere but especially in China. Make a note -- drug trafficking is on a list with 67 other offenses that are currently punishable by death in China (you might also want to jot down espionage, smuggling nuclear materials and killing a panda). With such harsh punishments you might presume that China would be one big drug free zone. However, illegal drug use is a growing problem that is fueled by a growing economy. More expendable income and more free time equal a higher demand for a "higher" state of consciousness.

I had a riveting conversation with two groups of young Chinese professionals last week about drugs in China and here's what they had to say:

It's a rich thing
Both groups immediately mentioned pop singers and movie stars (another industry growing rapidly with China's new found wealth). They then extended the list of users to business people and others with more money than they know what to do with. They laughed when I asked if poor people used drugs too.

It's a party thing
KTV (karaoke bars) and discos are where the cool kids hang out. Clubbing is another growing fad and just like the rest of the world clubs and drugs go hand in hand.

It's a "them" thing
Out of sixteen people that I spoke with none of them had ever tried drugs. I tried to imagine a random group of sixteen urban professionals in the West who had never once even smoked a joint (inhaling or not). I couldn't. I probed a little further and discovered that none of them even knew anyone personally who had ever tried drugs. I've asked this question to at least dozens (maybe hundreds) of Chinese friends and always get the same results. Obviously China has a growing drug problem but it still hasn't hit the mainstream.

It's a new thing
The sixties, in China, were a time of unbelievable challenge, famine and painful revolution. Not a lot of time for smoking pot or dropping acid. In contrast, remember the sixties in America? Then you weren't there (sorry - old joke). China may or may not be experiencing a new drug awakening but the drug culture is young and living it up. They haven't yet been blasted by the fallout from widespread addiction and abuse. High crime, poverty, homelessness, prostitution and panda killings are not yet driven (at least on a large scale) by an unquenchable craving for highness.

Drugs may seem new and sexy now but this is far from China's first bout with substance abuse. The last one ended with millions of Chinese opium addicts, two major and horrific wars, the loss of Hong Kong to the British and a grudge that may have fueled more than a century of hatred for the West.

It also prompted the passing of a law allowing the death penalty for drug traffickers. Hmm.

Scotty and Lauren Got Nothing on These Guys

2011-05-25T21:14:00.002+08:00

Just in case you need a quick break from Idol Mania, here's a taste of what's hot in the Middle Kingdom (that's China). Gong Li Na was a popular Chinese folk singer already but this song has gone uber-viral on the internet making her a household name. The song is entitled "Tan Te" which means "perturbed, fidgety or mentally disturbed" (you'll understand when you watch). The lyrics are actually untranslatable into any language and hard to describe but listen a couple of times and they'll be stuck in your head for the rest of the day. Sing them for the rest of the day and everyone around you will be perturbed, fidgety or mentally disturbed. Enjoy.

This song (like anything popular) has opened the door for knock-offs, remixes and spoofs. This one is my favorite. Same song . . . Milli Vanilli style (I miss the eighties).

Cause' You Can't Make One? What China Thinks About Adoption

2011-05-25T01:38:00.005+08:00

My family is a walking confusion storm in China. Big white guy with a gorgeous white wife holding hands with a seven year old Chinese girl speaking freakishly advanced English (10th Grade according to her 1st grade SAT scores) who frequently hugs and kisses a chunky, 20 month old, extremely well tanned, highly intense little boy consistently, yet inadvertently screaming obscenities in English and possibly Chinese (we don't know those words yet). Yeah . . . people stare.

Our family was built by adoption and we love that. We celebrate it and we teach our kids to do the same. We knew when we signed on though that we would be different and different is in the eye of the beholder. You don't have to convince me that my family is beautiful but one man's beauty is another man's confusion storm. Seeing our blended family through China's eyes has been the most refreshing and the most challenging part of our life here.

The one thing I have learned (and hope to learn deeper) is that no matter what or how much you understand about someone's else's perspective . . . there is always more to it.

Lucky Babies

The first thing you hear when you adopt a child in China is "lucky baby." It's a great lesson in the power of interpretation. At face value (through culturally dense ears) it would be easy to hear, "Oh look at the sweet little Chinese baby who gets to go live a wonderful life in America (or Canada or Australia or England or with some other rich, white people) free from the chains of Communist oppression." Confession time . . . that's what I thought "lucky baby" meant. It doesn't. I wish I could say with precision what it does mean but I do know there are a world of cultural dynamics packed into those two words.

What does luck mean? Where does human value come from? Lucky because they get out of a bad life or into a good life? What makes a life good? Money? Education? McDonald's three times a week? What makes life bad? Seriously, this list goes on for days but it's safe to say, regardless of your first interpretation . . . There's probably more to it.

What's Adoption?

One of the shockers for us has been the difficulty explaining adoption to our Chinese inquirers. It rarely seems to be a given that our two kids, who look nothing like us, are adopted. There is always an explanation and even though our pronunciation is horrendous we know how to say, "adopted" in Chinese. Still nothing. "Adopted." Nothing. "Like from an orphanage." "Ohhhhh." The lights go on and the deeper questions can finally begin.

For us it seems baffling. "Seriously? What part about us doesn't scream adoption." In contrast though, adoption is not so commonplace in China and when it happens the child generally looks a whole lot more like his or her parents than ours do. It's fair for us to be baffled but fairness, by definition, goes both ways. For me it helps to imagine meeting a Chinese couple in middle America walking hand in hand with a seven year old blonde haired, blue eyed white girl speaking 10th grade Chinese and hugging a chubby Mexican baby (inadvertently screaming Chinese obscenities). Baffling huh? That's us.

But there's probably more to it

You've Got a Good Heart

When the lights go on the most common response is a big thumbs up with a hearty, "Ahhhh, you have a good heart!" I like that one. Makes me feel warm and fuzzy. If it were up to me we would just leave it there. I would say, "thank you, you're too kind" and move on. Unfortunately . . . there's probably more to it.

The Rescuer Mentality

Wrapped up in the "goodness of our hearts" is an underlying statement that we have saved these children. The idea is that without us they would have a hopeless existence so we swooped in to snatch them from certain despair and give them hope . . . and McDonalds three times a week. The less noble truth is that we adopted because there was a hole in our family. We weren't complete and it made us sad. As much as Rachel and Judah needed us . . . we needed them. They are our children not our project.

I would love to point my bony finger here but the truth is I probably began with a rescuer mentality. I think a lot of adoptive parents do and I'm sure a lot hold on to it. It's a heated topic among the adoption community but for us rescuing our kids from where they were is kind of like biological parents rescuing their children from the womb. Yeah, they'd be miserable if you left them there . . . but so would we (ok mostly mom in that situation but when momma ain't happy . . . ).

Sidenote - We have several friends who are fostering or have adopted children who would have, without question, died had they not stepped in. They are my heroes. They are beautiful, wonderful people with hearts the size of a bus but I bet even if you offered it to them, none of them would take the title of Savior. I get it though. When I look at them I can understand why it is common for Chinese to lean that way (if only on the surface).

But there's probably more to it . . .

Pronouns Are Key

"Is this your child?"

Our answer, of course, is always a resounding yes. From there we get a myriad of responses from, "Impossible, he's so black" to "are you sure? her hair looks like a Chinese girl." It's the "your" that gets them. I think generally speaking a possessive pronoun carries the weight of biological birth. Semantically speaking they are asking, "did this child come from you?" We know what they mean but we're not about say no, even for the sake of cultural understanding. We don't hide from the adoption issue at all but we do let them squirm for a moment while they try to figure us out. Usually it leads to a nice conversation but when our kids (Rachel at this point) are uncomfortable we politely move on.

In our hearts Rachel and Judah could not be more ours. We have done the up all night feeding, changed their poopy diapers, watched painfully stupid DVD's a million times, worried sick over a fever, a seizure, a bloody nose, 62 mosquito bites and a clash with the coffee table. We got ticked about the mean kids, laughed at jokes that weren't funny and darn near cry at the thought of college already. Of course they are ours.

A few weeks ago we were asked what they call us. We answered, "they call us Mama and Baba." "Ahh . . . that's good . . . do they know they're adopted?" It is times like these that I remind myself that sarcasm doesn't translate and there is probably more to it.

Your Parts Don't Work?

One of the first experiences I had with the China view of adoption was before we moved China. An employee from the Panda Express (fake Chinese buffet) was puzzled because my little girl looked Chinese. I said, "yes, she's adopted." "Ahhh" still puzzled, "cause' you can't make one?" I could not think of a single response that would not plunge me even deeper into this abyss of awkwardness. What do you say to that? "Well, we have . . . um . . . you know, tried. And the doctor said everything was . . . uh . . . ok. . . and wow . . . I do not know who you are."

We've learned that reproductive systems are fair game here. I mean for conversation. So we've gotten a little more comfortable but still . . . awkward.

China is still under a "one child" policy with exceptions for many countryside citizens and minorities. So, when adoptions do happen it would be an extremely rare case that did not involve infertility. Therefore its only natural to assume . . . well . . . that you can't make one.

But I bet there is more to it.

Losing Face

I once saw a special report on Chinese adoptions in which a couple went back to the village that their daughter was from and posted a sign with her picture looking for the birth parents. With good intentions they actually shamed the parents, the village, the culture, the nation and destroyed their chances of ever finding who they were looking for. Saving or losing face is everything in China and no one wants to be known as the people who abandon their children. Face cannot be grasped by the Western mind. It's deeper than embarrassment and more impacting than shame but that's another post.

In 2007 China tightened up on adoptions making it much more challenging to adopt and greatly increasing wait times. Their reasoning was that they just did not have the children to meet the demand. Some would say they were becoming known as a nation with abandonment issues and needed to save face.

Maybe? Probably? Ok.

But I bet there is more to it

We love adoption

We are profoundly blessed to be Rachel and Judah's mama and baba. Living as foreigners in China with adopted children has helped us process who we really are as a family. The challenge pushes us to know where we stand and it has helped us develop our understanding of which issues are worth wasting emotions on and which ones just aren't. We will probably never fully grasp what they think of us but we love China. We love the people. We love the culture. We really love the food. Put that together with the fact that we love our kids more than you could possibly imagine and that's all there is to it.

Some other posts about our awesome, little, multi-ethnic life:

Obama Learns to Hock a Lugey

And I'm Both: On Being Chinese but Not Really in China

On Being Black in China

On Being Black in China: Part 2

Baby's First Stitches

The "F" Word: As Taught By an Insightful 7 Year Old

When Bad Things Happen to Good Hamsters

Would Someone Please Tell Us the Next Time the World is Going to End?

2011-05-22T14:20:00.001+08:00

We just noticed yesterday morning that the world was going to end. That would have been nice to know.

Best part about living in China? The "on/off" switch. We can watch the news . . . when we want. We can follow politics . . . when we want. We can check in on Hollywood . . . when we want. When we don't however, we can turn it off and never hear another word.

I honestly don't miss the constant bombardment of trending news events deemed relevant by massive media corporations and public opinion polls. It's actually quite nice to not feel completely consumed by what CNN and Fox News are arguing about . . . every single moment of every single day. Charlie Sheen's "winning", Barack Obama's birth certificate and Arnold Schwarzenegger's love child(ren) are stories we can access at will or remain blissfully ignorant of. The trade-off is that we are blissfully ignorant. By Western standards we are painfully out of touch with what's hot in the news this week. In my opinion that is the definition of a "fair trade."

However . . . considering the fact that we are 12 hours ahead of Eastern Standard Time and therefore theoretically subject to the end of the world at least a half day before most of our family and friends, could we bother someone in the Western Hemisphere to mention that next time? Post it on Facebook? Send us a note? I'm just sayin'. And for scratching our back . . . we'll let you know a half day in advance when the world doesn't end as predicted.

It didn't yesterday.

Obama Learns to Hock a Lugey

2011-05-21T10:51:00.000+08:00

You know that noise you make when you're trying to transfer mucus from the back of your throat into your mouth so you can spit it out? It's the disgusting sound of forced air and snot violently vibrating your whippy snappy thing (see diagram below). In medical terminology it is called "hocking a lugey" (from the Latin hocem lugoris meaning "dude, that's gross"). It's not a pretty sound really, but it's one of the common things you learn to block out when you live in China. It can even be a bit freeing to know that should you be in a position to genuinely NEED to hock a lugey (or even just really want to) . . . you can . . . and no one will look at you funny.

Last week on our return walk from taking Sissy to the bus stop an older Chinese gentleman walked past us and hocked a good one. Judah (now 20 months old) took this as a learnable opportunity and (in a moment that made his old man proud) hocked his first lugey . . . and then his second . . . and his third. Actually I'm not sure there was ever actual lugage but he had the sound down pat. The older gentleman and his wife thought it was the best thing they had ever seen and proceeded to give my son hocking lessons, laughing loudly every time he repeated.

We then had the now famous conversation (see "On Being Black in China) regarding Judah's dark skin and curly hair and arrived at the inevitable conclusion once again. "Ahhhh, he's like Obama" (the only logical point of reference for someone with a both black and white birth parents). So each morning this week Judah has met this same sweet elderly couple who run to his stroller, get nose to nose with him and with perfect whippy snappy execution, make hocking sounds and wait. Judah never lets them down. He hocks. They laugh. Then they pat him on his curly head and say loudly, "Obama! Obama!" and walk on.

Next lesson: The Snot Rocket (also commonly blocked out by expats in China)

On Getting Robbed in China

2011-05-21T01:17:00.000+08:00

Shame can be a strong theft deterrent.
I've never seen this in China but writing
"Thief" on your chest and sticking you in
a public place seems like it might be an
effective rehabilitation for kleptos.
One time in China . . . someone broke into my hotel room and stole a camera and some money from a friend and I. The worst part is we were both in the room when it happened. Ok that's the second worst part . . . the real worst part is that we both slept through the whole thing. In our defense, it had been a long day. In the thief's defense, he walked clear across the room and practically had to step over me to get to my wallet. The hotel said we could call the police if we wanted to but ensured us it would be a waste of time.

One time in China . . . a guy stuck a knife in my wife's face and growled at her. In his defense she was rather rudely insisting that he stand still and go nowhere. In her defense, he had just taken her purse in a crowded supermarket and she kind of hoped store security might step in and take over. She let him go with a warning. Security arrived and told her to stop crying.

One time in China . . . I left my wife's brand new, DSLR, stinking nice camera (read more about stinking things) at the airport. I went back to the airport and stood in a tiny hut with 20 chain-smoking policemen staring at a ten inch black and white television replaying the security tape of me . . . forgetting my wife's camera as I loaded the rest of our bags into a taxi. We watched it 37 times and each time they pointed out the part where I got in the taxi and drove away. Had I paid attention I'm sure I would have learned the Chinese word for "moron". Three hours later I was standing in a Korean hair dye shop on the opposite corner of a city of 8 million people. The hostess asked me if I wanted my hair dyed black or light black. The manager then handed my wife's camera to me. I went back to thank the airport security team. They said, "yeah, yeah" (only in Chinese). And then they probably said, "moron" again.

One time in China . . . we left our computer in a taxi (coming home from the airport). That was a bad day. We thought for sure it was gone forever along with every, single picture we had ever taken of our daughter (no we hadn't backed up our files . . . don't lecture me). Three days later our friends, friends, cousin who was a policeman at the airport walked through a line of a hundred taxis, found the one we described and asked him if he had a computer in his trunk. He said, "yep" (again in Chinese).

Theft is big here. I know people who have had their bicycles stolen . . . seven times (same person - seven different bikes). The fact that stealing happens doesn't shock me at all. Stealing happens wherever there are people. The cultural dynamics flip my lid though. The police would be a "waste of time?" "Stop crying?" "Go to the Korean hair dye place?" "Yeah, yeah?" I am so confused.

But there is a bright side of theft in China. I don't personally know anyone who has been killed, beaten or even threatened for the sake of robbery. Sidenote . . . my wife doesn't count because she was threatened only after he gave her purse back. She was threatened for the sake of freedom, not robbery. Big difference. I have yet to find a neighborhood that I would be afraid to walk through, even at night, in a pink tutu and I have never heard of a single case of drug related theft or armed robbery (there are reasons for that but we'll talk about that later). It is a kinder, gentler thievery. Every bit as selfish and only a fraction as violent.

I've never seen this in America either but
evidently shame is a cross cultural reformer.

One time in America . . . someone broke into our car and took our ipod, our video camera, my wife's stinking nice DSLR camera (same one) and our computer (same one). The hotel asked if we wanted to call the police and I said, "no it will just be a waste of time." They looked at me funny. I said, "oh yeah, I mean yes of course, let's call the police." So we did . . . and we never saw that stuff again.

Our Intern the Superstar

2011-05-14T11:12:00.000+08:00

Hoods off to the best intern in the history of interning and the most famous expat in Qingdao this week. micMAC was proud to claim a grown man in green tights as one of our own last weekend. Jeremy came to China in October to spend a year with us and recently landed the lead role in the community play put on by the expat community. He nailed it. Robin Hood has never been cooler and Robin Hood has always been cool.

Has No One Noticed that Obama and Osama Rhyme? An Update on What China Thinks About Bin Laden

2011-05-14T11:03:00.001+08:00

"Bin Laden is not dead." I have it from a reputable source. In fact a whole room full of reputable sources. I spoke with some more Chinese friends this week and got the down low on what China thinks nearly two weeks after Osama Bin Laden's death (or should I say . . . his "death" you know . . . with finger-quotes). What I discovered is that American's no longer have the market on conspiracy theories or rapidly changing opinions (see what they thought last week). Makes sense really . . . you can get the same theories and opinions in China for a fraction of the price.

Sorry. Too political. Here are some of the theories we discussed . . .

Bin Laden is not dead but this is a strategic move to get America's guard down so he can return when we least expect it.
Bin Laden has been dead for several years but Obama took credit for it now because his approval ratings are down.
Osama and Obama are working together and made a deal to fake Osama's death so Obama can get re-elected which will ultimately help Osama . . . and Obama.
The U.S. actually killed an Osama decoy but by the time they realized it they had already announced the news so they buried him at sea quickly to cover it up.
George Bush has masterminded a brilliant plan to spike Obama's approval ratings early enough for a fickle American public to hate him by November 2012 and elect Donald Trump who is actually a robot controlled by Osama Bin Laden . . . who is actually a robot controlled by George Bush.
Ok I just made that last one up. They have no idea who Donald Trump is and they would never call George Bush brilliant.

So what's your theory?

Turn Off the Light, Stupid: What China Thinks of Bin Laden

2011-05-04T03:02:00.000+08:00

“We believe the death of Osama bin Laden is a milestone and a positive development for international anti-terrorism efforts,”

-Jiang Yu,

Foreign Ministry Spokesperson for the People's Republic of China

"Americans are happy today."

-My barber

"We don't like Bin Laden, but he's better than America."

-Some Guy Interviewed on Chinese News

"Laden was the greatest national hero in Arab history using his own power to fight the most powerful country in the world, America"

-Zhang Xin

Director of the China Central Television’s National Security and Military Channel

In my quest for an answer to the question, "what does China think of Osama Bin Laden, today I was reminded how potentially dangerous curiosity can be (you heard about the cat right?). I think a quest for truth is never not good but a quest for an answer will come up short every time. The problem with an answer is once you've got it you stop looking. There is ALWAYS something more. Always another angle. Always a different opinion. Always something that you missed before. If we could have it our way (mmmm . . . I miss Burger King) we would have our answers cut and dried and served on a platter (mine with a Whopper please). What does China think? They're glad he's dead. They said so. Next.

But there is so much more.

Here are some themes that I caught today on my quest but if you want the real truth you'll need to come talk to a billion and a half more people yourself. You can sleep on my couch.

A Big Indifference

This is a monumental moment for America but while the implications are blatantly global, Bin Laden has never really been China's biggest problem. It's fair really. Every nation feels their own pain much deeper than the any others. China felt the pain of 9-11 much the way that many Americans felt the pain of the 2008 Sichuan earthquake (which had a death toll of more than 20 times that of 9-11). It's was horrible. It was sad. We were eager to help. But it was on the other side of the globe. Glad it wasn't us. Is that China speaking about 9-11 or America about the earthquake? Yes it is.

The funniest moment of my day was when my assistant explained the Chinese translation of Bin Laden's name. Ben Ladeng. I said, "'Ben' as in stupid?" She laughed and said, "no a different 'Ben' but it sounds the same." Then she laughed slightly harder and said, "Ladeng can mean to turn out the light, so we sometimes say, 'Ben Ladeng' like we are saying "turn out the light . . . " I finished for her, "Stupid?" She giggled again . . . "yes, it's like a joke." I laughed hard and said, "you have no idea." Even in her joking, though, there wasn't that sense of harshness or slammingness or you're mama's so fatness that American humor is so famous for. For her . . . "it just sounds funny, so we say it."

I think that helped me grasp the indifference. Something that tapped my emotions, my pride, my anger, my cynicism my sense of justice and my sense of humor all at once, just sounded kind of funny to her. We have different filters.

A Realistic Concern

Several times today I was asked if I was afraid of what might happen next. "Bin Laden has many followers. Are you worried?" Obviously they are not the only ones to pick up on the impending threat but they have some history on both sides of that coin.

Xia Minghan was a hero of the early Communist Revolution in China. He was arrested by the Nationalist Party and penned a now famous poem that was quoted to me today with a really rough translation: "It doesn't matter if you cut my head off as long as there is true doctrine. Kill me and there will be others." (it sounds way more poetic in Chinese). Xia was killed two days after his arrest but his legacy was a part of the fuel that helped the Communists drive the Nationalist Party to Taiwan and take control of China even after a long and nearly terminal struggle. Point being, Osama is gone but there are plenty of others. Point taken.

An Attention to the Bottom Line

I read a great article today that said, "I’ve often heard Chinese friends muse that China’s unimpeded rise over the past decade owed, in a small, strange way, to the fact that the U.S. was so preoccupied with Islamic terrorism that it didn’t have time to notice." Wow.

Al-Qaeda and the likes may not be a front burner issue for China but anything that scrapes the global economy won't stay on the back of the stove for long. You can be sure that there are plenty of wealthy Chinese business people watching to see which way the arrows point on the stock market today.

An Ironic Sense of Justice

Justice may be the most written word in the past 48 hours but it is very much a perspective word. It's a 'good guys finally gets the best of the bad guys' word and it relies very heavily on the understanding that I am the good guy. However, you might not have noticed, but not everyone in the world labels America as the good guy. China's perspective on America has changed dramatically over the past 30 years. We have successfully climbed from Imperialist Devils to Best Imperialist Customer Devils but we've got a long way to go to reach Good Guys. From what I can see most of China leaned toward sympathy when they saw the towers fall in New York, but for some . . . that was justice. From what I can see most of China also still sees the U.S. as a rich and powerful nation which likes to start wars and police the world.

A Complicated Big Picture

To sum it all up, you just can't sum it all up. China is vast and diverse and while they may make a public statement that is rarely challenged openly that doesn't paint the whole picture. There is no lack of personal opinion or position. You can speak to a taxi driver, an office worker, a police officer and a beggar and you will get the same story from four beautifully different perspectives. It's like the more people you talk to the more the lights come on. Or you can take the first answer you get and draw your conclusion. That's kind of like turning off the light . . . stupid.

Watching the World Change From the Other Side of the World

2011-05-02T22:32:00.000+08:00

I was in Taipei, Taiwan when President Clinton gave the second most famous speech of his presidency:"Ok maybe I did have sexual relations with that woman" (second only to his previous "I did not have sexual relations with that woman"). I remember that day vividly because it was the first time I really caught a glimpse of my own culture through the eyes of another one. It's an experience I have since come to love. There's something brilliant that happens when you sit on the visitor's side of the gym.

When Senator Obama changed his name to President I watched it online from a training center in Northeast China and I was the only one interested. I was just a few hundred miles away when Michael Phelps won 8 golds (although most people around me were 100% convinced he was doping). Over the past several weeks I have had several conversations with Chinese taxi drivers regarding President Obama and while I can't understand every word I can always decipher "Li-bee-ya", thumbs down and flatulence noises. Seeing your home through the lenses of the world doesn't always change your position but it never leaves your position unchecked. It grants a fresh perspective that pummels your pride, tests your patience and in the end, forces you to either open your eyes or be painfully conscious of your choice to keep them closed.

Today was another world changing day. Looking forward to riding in a taxi tomorrow.

Next Post: What China Thinks of Osama Bin Laden.

Any guesses?

"That Stink is Awesome!" - Explaining Slang to My Chinese Friend

2011-04-29T22:19:00.000+08:00

I stumbled across an application on the web today that blew me away. As I watched the tutorial I got more and more excited and my Chinese assistant worked harder and harder not to laugh.

"Sweet . . . no way . . . aaaaahhh . . . stink!" That was the one that pushed her over the edge and triggered the now famous (in our office at least), "Whaaaat?" Realizing this was not going to be an easy or a boring conversation (click here for knocking people dead and Chinese Valentine's) I jumped in head first.

Me: Stink.

Her: What's this mean?

Me: (taking a deep breath and calculating my approach)  Well . . . stink . . . it means something that smells bad.

Her: You mean like poo poo?

Me: Yes. Exactly. Poo poo stinks. Buuut, you can also say it for anything that is bad. Like if you said to me, "my father is sick" I would say, "oh, that stinks". Aaand, you can even use it for something that is good. For example, if you say, "I found 1 million RMB (Chinese dollars) and I get to keep it, I could say, "that is stinking awesome!" or I could even just say "stink" as in "stink, that is awesome!!" Ooor if you're really upset you can say "stink!" as in "stink! that stinks."

Her: very, very confused look.

Me: (trying again)   It's like a catch all word that just adds emphasis. So if I see someone who is really big I can say, "did you see that guy? He was stinking huge." Or if it's a really nice day you can say, "It's stinking beautiful out today."

Her: Whaaat? Reeally?

Me: Oh yes.

Her: (giving it a shot)  "That stink is awesome?"

Me: No, no, no, "That's stinking awesome."

Her: So can I say, "Have a stinking nice day?" or "It's stinking nice to meet you?"

Me: No, you only say "stink" around people you already know and never in business. Please don't tell our clients to have a stinking nice day.

Her: Ok. (starting to get it) So . . . can I just say "stink" if something really stinks?

Me: (starting to get confused) I suppose you could but it wouldn't mean stink anymore. If you say, "stink that stinks" about the poo poo the second stink means stink but the first stink just means that the second stink stinks really bad.

Her: I can say Jerry is a stinky awesome boss?

Me: (giving her the "ha ha, very funny" squint) Make sure you pronounce the ing . . . but yes . . . you can say that . . . a lot.

Her: Thank you teacher. That's stinking good.

Me: You're stinking welcome.

I Love This Gaem: NBA Jersyes on Sale Just in Time for Plyaoffs

2011-04-28T23:39:00.000+08:00

This is probably one of my favorite snapshots of China. Not because of anything it represents culturally or politically or socially. It just cracks me up. Every single NBA team is misspelled EXCEPT the Houston Rockets, home of China's pride and joy, NBA superstar, Yao Ming.

You know you want one. Especially you Laekrs fans.

China Bans Michael J. Fox

2011-04-28T01:03:00.001+08:00

Marty McFly's time warping DeLorean has been impounded by the Chinese government along with Bill and Ted's phone booth and Dr. Who's . . . what was it that Dr. Who drove? China recently banned time travel (not the real kind, that would be silly). Movies and shows including "time travel, bizarre plots, absurd techniques, fantasy and mythical stories" (or as we say in America - "everything") have all landed on the China "do not watch list". We haven't actually heard anything about this from anyone in China but the Western media is on it like piranhas on a capsized meat boat.

There is sooo much Culture Blend content here. I could go at least 50 different directions with this but I've been reading about what makes blogs awesome. Turns out 50 points about stuff nobody but the writer cares about didn't make the list. So here you go . . . short and punchy, to the point, three quick thoughts on this fascinating story that you should all be more interested in. Slackers.

1. East is not West: You heard it here first. One thing I've noticed in the Western uproar against this blatant censorship (present blog post included but only to make an ironic point) is an oblivious outcry against the unthinkable banishment of, wait for it . . . Western time traveling heros. As if the travesty is that 1.4 billion Chinese people cannot have a Back to the Future marathon at their church youth group lock-in. Two newsflashes - One, 1.39 billion Chinese have never heard of Back to the Future and Two, the ones who have can still buy it for a dollar at the neighborhood, pirated DVD shop or download it for nothing on the neighborhood, pirated internet. The government move was actually a response to a whole new (wildly popular) genre of Chinese drama in which modern people travel to ancient times and fall in love. Censors worry that heritage is being disrespected and (more realistically) may be concerned that modern life leaves something to be desired. Not so much a Communist plot to crush Quantum Leap (I loved that show).

2. Values Vary: This is where I could write a book but people don't read books anymore. They read blogs. It's true. I read it. On a blog. Freedom (or at least the appearance of it) is the highest value in many Western countries. We live it. We breath it. We rename our junk food after it and go to war for it. In our minds freedom is the most important thing and in that context censorship is deplorable. In contrast, the highest value in China is harmony (or at least the appearance of it). Collective symbiotic, unitarian well oiledness. Everything works together and authority is the glue that keeps it from falling apart. In that context censorship is a non-issue.

3. It was a Police Box: That's what Dr. Who drove through time and if you knew that you are a nerd. Don't worry though, if you are indeed that much of a nerd you can probably figure out a way to travel back in time and become cool.

Unless you live in China.

Then you're stuck.

Watch this. It made me laugh.

My Mother the Felon or The Many Misspellings of Adidas™

2011-04-19T22:46:00.000+08:00

My dear sweet mother never once in her entire life smoked a single cigarette or sipped a single drop of alcohol. To my knowledge she never even said a cuss word except the one time she read a Van Halen t-shirt out loud which doesn't count because she was asking me what it meant. She married the only boy that she ever kissed and kept her vows until death did they part. She taught Sunday School and took meals to sick people and visited little, old ladies and wrote books for her grandchildren and crocheted (not joking here) Christmas cards every year for everyone she knew (and some she didn't). She was the supreme epitome of absolute uncorrupted purity, selfless compassion and life-long humility. But she had a dark side. A dark side that could have landed her in prison had the feds caught up with her.

She was a bootlegger (not the moonshine kind). A knockoff artist. A copyright infringer of epic proportions. There was a time in my life when I wanted nothing more that a pair of Nike's™. Those were the days when black and red Air Jordan's™ broke the lid off of what retailers would dare ask for a pair of shoes. I didn't dare ask for those. All I wanted was something, anything with a swoosh™. It was reputational suicide in the fifth grade to wear anything but Nike's™ and I wore Traxx™ . . . from K-Mart™ . . . with suction cups on the bottom that popped when I walked down the hall at school (which I now call the Green Mile™). I begged and pleaded and I'm pretty sure I even prayed for a pair of Nike's™ but my tender, compassionate mother's only solution was, "Let's just get the plain white Traxx™ and I'll paint the Nike™ swooshie™ thing on them." She had no grasp of how much that would NOT solve the problem.

Had it been an isolated incident I'm sure any judge would have been lenient considering her otherwise pristine record. But it wasn't. When she discovered fabric paint at Joann Fabrics™ she jumped headfirst onto the slippery slope of brand replication. By the time I was in high school I had a Chicago Bulls™ sweatshirt, a Cubs™ cap, a crocheted Nerf™ basketball hoop and a hand painted t-shirt with my name and basketball Jersey number on the back which bore an uncanny resemblance to the shirts that the rest of the team (the cool kids™) wore . . . until you looked at it with the lights on. Her illegal endeavor to trip the retail system was relentless but her reasoning, I believe, was solid. Although she never quite articulated it quite this way her position was simple. The real travesty is a society so consumer driven that shoes cost more than a small car and fifth graders would sell their siblings to wear them. Not a bad point really.

My mother would have truly connected with China. Not so much for the constantly growing presence of Gucci™ and Prada™ and Louis Vuitton™ and the thousands of young Chinese consumers who can now afford them. On the contrary she would have instantly bonded with the producers of Guppi and Praba and Louise Vutton. She would have proudly associated with the multiple millions who either remain too poor to buy the real thing or quite frankly think it would be downright stupid as long as there are stores that sell perfectly good fabric paint. China takes the heat for their lax enforcement of copyright infringements, piracy and cheap knockoffs which is only fair if they want to play on the global stage. But mom would have loved Abibas™.

"Abibas"
I'm going to assume it's because of the nearly identical "a's"
and "d's" but I don't think there is another brand that is so
frequently or with such variety "knocked off" in China.

"Daidds"

"Daldds"

"Aaidds"

Foreign Devil, Foreign Monkey

2011-04-12T22:15:00.000+08:00

Maybe you've heard the term "foreign devil".

The Chinese word "guilao" can be literally translated as "ghost man" and it dates back several thousand years to a time when European barbarians invaded China and made a really bad first impression. The term has been carried down through generations as a candid description of unwelcome outsiders. It is certainly still in circulation today but China is changing rapidly and with the changes comes a shifted view of foreigners. We have rarely heard (or felt) the term "foreign devil". However, there is a newer term that better describes the opinion of the outsiders like us.

"Laowai Houzi" or "Foreign Monkey"

The general idea is that the foreigner goes on display and draws a crowd. You don't have to live in China for long before you get to play the monkey. It's generally well intentioned, much appreciated and often an opportunity to show that you're a good sport and build a relationship. Westerners, however, often let their arrogance cloud their vision. "Wow, these people really like me, I must be a superstar!" They haven't yet learned that these people also really like monkeys.

We haven't seen a lot of real monkeys in China but when we do we are sure to snap a picture.

Originally posted in our now retired family blog: Keeping Up With the Joneses

Monkey on her back

Trainer gets 10 kuai (about $1.50). Monkey gets a piece of popcorn.

We get a beautiful, lifetime reminder of the one moment that my

wife let a real, live furry beast climb on her back without screaming.

I think we got the best part of that deal.

Monkeys for Charity

This was a three man, two monkey operation

that we saw on the street in Qingdao. The trainer

fed (and whipped) the monkeys while they did tricks.

Notice the disabled boy on the side who watched the

show. The third man was in the crowd with a tin can

making sure spectators paid for the pictures

they took.

Monkeys on Motorcycles

This was a show on Monkey Island. A short ski lift ride from

Hainan island in the south China Sea it is inhabited with literally

thousands of monkeys and is a popular tourist attraction. It comes

complete with monkey shows, monkey swimming pools, monkeys

chained to the ground and a monkey prison for bad monkeys who

attack guests and steal their bananas.

When Bad Things Happen to Good Hamsters

2011-04-09T22:19:00.000+08:00

"Scramble Pentagon Jones"

Avid Runner, Beloved Rodent, Trusted Friend

2011-2011

Scramble and his (or her) brother (or sister) Scrabble came to live with us just two weeks ago and today he was laid to rest near our apartment in a medicated chest rub box. It was a lovely ceremony and a sobering reminder of little things that mean a lot.

In fairness Scramble was purchased with a disclaimer. Not from the pet shop - the only information they offered was the calm assurance that we were not, in fact, buying mice, or rats or squirrels or beavers (I went through every rodent in the Chinese-English Dictionary just to be sure). The disclaimer was mine to my daughter and it was simple: "Honey, hamsters die." Turns out I was right (which I traditionally enjoy) but I thought it would be poor timing to gloat. The "hard facts about pet ownership" talk was strategically designed to soften the blow when the inevitable day arrived but it was of little consolation this morning when I broke the news. Tears.

Here's the kicker. I first realized Scramble had passed last night, seconds after reiterating the "hard facts" talk. Rachel had forgotten to feed and water her pets (which I can safely say was not the cause of death) and in an effort to drive the point home I said exactly this . . . "Honey, if you do not feed and water them they will die." I didn't yell. I didn't even raise my voice but I was just forceful enough to feel like an absolute heel when she rushed like a paramedic to get water and I noticed that Scramble was, as I had practically predicted, dead. I quickly reviewed my next move options and chose not to go for, "see, I told you so." Instead I chose, "it's past your bed time, no time to play with the hamsters right now, go to sleep." What?

All of this comes on the heels of a far more painful encounter with death. Our little community of expats was shocked to its core two weeks ago when our dear friends 11 year old son fell from a significant height and did not survive. He was as sweet and tender as a 5th grader can possibly be. Is there anything more refining than death? Everything you say and feel and believe is beaten to a pulp when someone so young and so good and so promising dies so quickly and so unexpectedly. Every cliche is challenged, every philosophy is purged, every idea about life and death and God is pummeled with a baseball bat until all that is left is what was too strong to be destroyed. I'm proud to be a part of a community that has been beaten senseless and shown that things like real faith and real hope and real love (especially love) never, ever, ever fail.

Rachel's eulogy notes: (Translation) "Scramble P. Jones, I
loved you. I will miss you. I will be lonely with no friend.
Hope you're buried good. Love Scrabble. S.P.J.

I'm also proud to have a daughter that knows how to take care of her pets . . . even when they die.

There was some concern that scoundrels and looters
might bother the grave site. Ra thought a note might help.
"Ded Hampster. leave
aLONE. Scramble Pintgon Jones."

Mythbusters: All Chinese People Look the Same

2011-04-07T06:37:00.002+08:00

Originally posted in the now retired "Keeping up With the Joneses"

Be honest (no one will know) - have you ever said something like, "All Chinese people look alike"?

Now be honest again. How many Chinese friends do you have? Wait - Don't count them unless you know their name (without looking at their nametag) AND they know yours. Don't worry this is not another guilt trip or an effort to shame you into being more globally alert. Living in China, however, has given us the opportunity to get the inside scoop on real live Chinese people. What I'm about to share is sensitive and may not be suitable for everyone. Are you ready? Are you sitting down? Chinese people are . . . people.

It's true. You can check Wikipedia.

We have absolutely fallen in love with so many of our new friends. We have also learned that you can't apply a lone characteristic to an entire nation full of people whether it be how they look, how they act, how they think or what their agenda is. People are vastly and beautifully different and yet somehow all very much the same.

So here are some pictures to bust the myth once and for all. Chinese people do NOT all look the same and if you look closely you even get a taste of their unique personalities. These are from our first year in China and feature some of my favorite and funnest students. And friends.

And I'm Both: On Being Chinese (but not really) in China

2011-04-06T01:33:00.000+08:00

As we were leaving McDondald's this week Rachel had her "I'm about to confess something" look (she's recently decided to come clean on every single white lie, stolen cookie or minimally rebellious thought she has had since conception). "Dad, that lady asked me if I was from America." She paused and switched to her "I'm a little afraid this might get me in trouble" look and finished with a shaky voice . . . "I said yes." Me, being the predictably dense father with no clue what lurks beneath the surface of the female mind, said something profound like, "hmm, grab your nuggets and let's go."

"But Dad," she stopped me, "I'm not sure if that's true."

Rachel's daily existence is confusing for mere mortals. She was born in Western China and obviously looks Chinese (even when she's not doing the finger thing with her eyes). However she was adopted by white people from middle America and lived there for two years. Then she moved back to China (only to the South this time) where she lived for a year before moving to the Northeast for two years. Then she spent a year in the States in the back of a Buick driving north, south, east and west and finally landing on the southernest tip where her white parents adopted her half caucasian, half African-American brother (see "On Being Black in China). Now we all live together in Eastern China where people daily ask us questions with no clear cut red, yellow black or white answers. Tough questions like, "where are you from?" Ok, simple for us, but a bit confusing for our little TCK.

I'm realizing that my reading audience is split right down the middle here. One of you is saying "aw geesh, if I hear another thing about TCK's I'm gonna puke" and the other one is saying "a TC what?" For both of your sakes, I'll be brief in the explanation. A TCK (Third Culture Kid) is the kid who isn't fully connected to his or her parents home culture because they don't live there but they're also not fully connected to the culture in which they live because they are not from there. They don't fit neatly into a box of one or the other so they develop a "third culture" with unique characteristics that they share with the millions of TCK's growing up cross culturally around the world. One of those unique characteristics is not knowing how to answer the question, "where are you from?" There are many more.

I could drone on for days about the depth and insightfulness of Third Culture Kids and maybe I'll post some more about that later but what I really want to say is - Rachel is awesome. I love watching her face get all scrunched up while her brain processes the complex dynamics of multiple cultures in a blender. Her response to the daily inquisition is sometimes frustrated, often confused but always honest (even if she's not sure she's telling the truth). Our hope and prayer for her is that she loves and embraces her Chineseness and her Americaness and her TCKness and her adoptedness and her freak show of a family because all of them play a role in molding her into who she is . . . awesome.

We were proud yesterday when the lady selling turtles on the street asked her where she was from. She responded in perfect Chinese. "I'm American . . . and Chinese."

Here are some brilliant resources for and about TCK's for both of you:
wikipedia on TCK's: good place to start
Libby Stephens: super wise TCK expert and speaker
Interaction International: tons of resources
US Dept of State on TCK's: interesting facts and some good links
tckid.com: social network specifically for TCK's
Denizen Magazine: online mag designed for TCK's

Speak Chenglish or Get Out!

2011-04-03T11:03:00.000+08:00

Something really interesting happens when speakers of one language try to learn another. They make mistakes.

There is a theory that says a person must make one million mistakes to speak a language fluently. I proved that theory wrong last week when I hit one million and one. When I first arrived in China I tried to tell the girl at Pizza Hut that I wanted my order to go (Wo yao da bao). She looked at me funny when I said "Wo yao dao gao" or "I want to pray." I recently told my landlord that I needed to go because my plane was leaving in two weeks. I routinely call taxi drivers dead chickens (see Chinese Taxi Drivers and Fat Foreign Girls) and I once called the front desk of my hotel to ask for a blanket and promptly received a coffee cup. This list goes on and on for several years. Being one of the chiefest of language fumblers you might think that I would know better than to laugh at other people who make mistakes as well. Not so. I now laugh even harder. What has changed is my haughty arrogance when I laugh (see Loffing at the Chinese). I've surrendered all rights to look down on anyone because they fumble my language. We are one, them and me. Card carrying members of a club whose only rule is that you mess up . . . daily . . . a lot. I'm thinking of running for club President

. . . or Emperor.

Translations from Chinese to English often get bumbled and the results can be quite humorous. There are a number of factors from honest mistakes and difficult grammar to knockoff brand names and cheap electronic translators but it's always good for a chuckle. So start by taking a humbling dose of "how's my Chinese?" Then enjoy these pictures.

*Originally Posted in our other wildly famous but now retired blog: "Keeping Up With the Joneses"

Classic example of your basic grammar translation issue.
Sounds funny but you still get the point. I understood perfectly
at "Snake!"

Notice this one and the next one have the exact same Chinese
Characters (don't hurt yourself). This one however, seems to be
translated by an extreme workaholic who feels the need to throw
in the extra step of UN - recycling.

And this one was obviously translated by a pessimist.

Sidenote: Puma (Pamu) seems to be one of the top three
mistranslated brand names in sporting apparel. Next to
Nuke (above) and Abibas of course.

Warning signs are almost always humorous. I've also
seen, "Carefully Fall Into River" and "Slowly Walk
Into It"

My Second Favorite Daddy and Daughter in China

2011-04-02T23:31:00.002+08:00

Me: Who's the President of China?

Rachel (my amazing 7 year old): That's right.

Me: What do you mean, "that's right"? I said who's the President of China?

Rachel: Exactly.

Me: (frustrated) Exactly what?!! WHO IS THE PRESIDENT OF CHINA?

Rachel: Yes! Hu is the President of China!

Me: THAT'S WHAT I'M ASKING YOU!!

Rachel: No, DAD! You don't get it. The President of China's name is Hu! Like your name is Jones. His name is Hu. H - U . . . Hu. Not W - H - O. It's Hu. That's his name!

Me: (proud that we got as far as we did) Honey, it's funnier if you don't throw that part in there.

Rachel and I have been working on our comedy routine since she was three. Still needs some fine tuning but there's talk of an HBO special. It's one of the things we love to do on a Daddy-Daughter Date and Daddy-Daughter Dates are one of my favorite things in the world. It's not just because she's a cheap date (although that doesn't hurt). I love DDD's because at 7, she loves them even more than I do. I've heard the rumors about what happens to kids when they become teenagers and as of right now Rachel is forbidden to turn 13. For now I'm marinating in the fact that she still thinks I'm cool . . . and funny . . . and would choose me over any guy in the world (unless he had a DSI [Google it if you don't know] and hey . . . fair enough).

You rarely see an affectionate Daddy Daughter relationship in China. Father's love their girls but it's just not very mainstream Chinese culture to show affection or encouragement once they pass the toddling stage. That's why I have so much respect for my good friend Yu Lao Shi (Teacher Yu). He crushes the mold of the Chinese father stereotype. His only daughter just started college this year and more than any Chinese father I have met he is not afraid to let her know that she is his pride and joy. He's not sappy sweet or big on PDA and as far as I know they don't yet have a comedy routine but when I told him I take Rachel on dates he couldn't wait to go ask his daughter out. It must be working because when she comes home from school she wants to hang out with him which coincidentally is my greatest hope for Rachel. Scratch that . . . would be my greatest hope if I had any intention of ever letting her leave the house.

The beautiful side-note is that Teacher Yu is impacting Chinese parents and families in a way that both affirms and transcends culture. He challenges them to look beyond what feels natural and love their kids openly and vulnerably . . . and they do. Pretty cool guy. Just ask his daughter.

So here's our new routine . . .

Rachel: Hey dad, who's your favorite dad in China?

Me: You mean besides me?

Rachel: Of course besides you.

Me: Yu

Rachel: Me?

Me: No Yu.

Rachel: That's what I said . . . me?

Me: No, not You. Yu.

Rachel: I'm not a dad!! WHO IS YOUR FAVORITE DAD IN CHINA?!

Me: No. He's the president. Yu is my favorite dad in China.

Rachel: I IS?!

Me: No. Yu is.

Rachel: Oh . . . I get it. Yu is his name huh?

Me: (proud)

Communism & Capitalism: Does it Blend?

2011-03-31T23:24:00.000+08:00

The most searched name in Chinese cyberspace this week is Yao Ja Xin. Yao is a 21 year old college student who accidentally hit a woman with his car and then not so accidentally stabbed her eight times until she died. His reasoning? He feared "the peasant woman would be hard to deal with." Now he's dealing with the fury of millions who are disgusted by the pompous attitude of China's rapidly growing, rookie rich kids.

Thirty years ago China began the complex process of changing absolutely everything without changing anything. They remained Communist and embraced Capitalism. That's like remaining standing while you sit down. The two were thought to be unblendable and depending on where you grew up one of them has been the world's greatest evil while the other has carried the answers to all of the world's problems. However, in three very short decades China has become the world's largest manufacturer, exporter and consumer of everything on the planet which has shifted their global status from poverty stricken and starving to an imminent superpower with a chunky midsection. The benefits for China are obvious: wealth, power, status and nice cars. The downside? Entitled 21 year olds who drive nice cars and value the cushiness of their sheltered lives more than the actual lives of the "peasants" around them.

Communism first sounded like a good idea in China because of the blatant disregard for lower class life. Mao Zedong traveled from farmhouse to farmhouse with the enticing prospect of levelizing the classes and rallied the "peasants" on the idea of a world where the rich kids couldn't pick on the poor kids . . . or hit them with their car . . . or stab them to death. Now the social gap has returned with a vengeance. Millions have made the shift from rags to riches in less than a generation and millions more have traveled from the countryside (still in rags) to build new buildings for the new rich people and their new cars. Tensions are high and while incidents like Yao Ja Xin are extreme, they're certainly not isolated. Maoism may have been flawed but I can't help but think if the Chairman were around today he might be gloating, "I told you so".

So if Communism and Capitalism had a baby what would it look like? More importantly . . . would you babysit?

Husband and 2 year old son of Zhang Miao
who was killed by Yao Jaxin.

On Japan, China and Things That Matter Even More When Disaster Strikes

2011-03-20T16:45:00.001+08:00

"We fully empathize with how the
Japanese feel right now"
Wen Jiabao, Chinese Premier

Some people are laughing out loud at Japan right now. No, not Gilbert Godfried, the long-time voice of the most annoying duck on the planet. He quit laughing last week when Aflac canned him for tweeting tasteless tsunami jokes (sidenote: Thank you Aflac). Ironically, he was immediately hired as the new voice for the most annoying comedian on the planet . . . Gilbert Godfried. In China, however, it goes deeper than just a spineless, moronic, wannabe funny-man trying to cash in on the suffering of broken people. Some in China are laughing at what they call karma.

Hatred for Japan dates back to atrocities like the 1937 Nanjing Massacre where hundreds of thousands of Chinese civilians were killed (or much worse) by the Imperial Japanese Army in a matter of weeks. It's one of those dark pages in the history books that stretched the parameters of what evil men are capable of. Decades of downplaying or denying the event haven't exactly served to boost Japan's tainted reputation in China.

However, even though some are laughing, I'm standing by my previous post (On Japan, China and Things That Don't Matter When Disaster Strikes)" with one slight revision. When disaster strikes grudges carry more weight than ever. When your arch enemy is brought to their knees it's like the world holds it's breath and waits for your next move. Will you kick them in the face or help them get up? Granted, there are plenty of Chinese who, by their gloating, have voted to kick Japan in the face but the vast majority and the nation as a whole have opted for a more noble response. China was one of the first responder's when the earthquake and Tsunami hit and continue to hold out their hand to their fallen foe. To a friend, that action means a lot. To an enemy, so much more.

There is something pure and beautiful and right about loving your enemies.

The "F" Word: As Taught By an Insightful Seven Year Old

2011-03-19T11:20:00.000+08:00

I'm beginning to miss three years old. Three year olds have no framework for naughtiness outside of their own. They've learned about "no no's" and timeouts and consequences but it's all about them. It's one layered. Seven is different. At seven they get crushed beneath an avalanche of the realization that other people can be naughty too. Then they are forced to categorize really naughty, kind of naughty and naughty when people are looking while making decisions about just how naughty they should be themselves. It seems a bit much for a seven year old mind. I miss three.

Here's a conversation that Rachel (7 and a half) had with her babysitter.

Rachel: There are some words that are not nice to say.

Babysitter: Really?

Rachel: Yep, and there are some words that it's ok to say in some houses but in other houses it's not ok to say.

Babysitter: Ok. Like what?

Rachel: Like the "F" Word. In some houses it's ok to say but in others you're not supposed to say it.

Babysitter: (eyes getting bigger and smiling on the inside) Uh huh

Rachel: Yeah. It's ok to say it in our house.

Babysitter: (nearly biting holes in his lips) mmmm.

Rachel: My mom and dad say it, so it's ok here but other parents might not want their kids to say it.

Babysitter: So what is the "F" word exactly?

Rachel: (reluctantly under her breath) Fudge.

Is It Racist in Here?

2011-03-18T13:43:00.002+08:00

Had an interesting discussion on the bus today. Here are the questions in question:

Part One: Are different races different beyond appearance?
In other words, is there any evidence that one ethnic people group is genetically predisposed to a specific activity. Are Asians better at math? Can Kenyans run faster? Can white men jump? Or can all of these ideas be explained away by more nurture based reasoning like study regimens, work ethic and numerical systems, lung capacity from higher elevation and . . . why is it that white men can't jump?

Part Two: If you said yes, are you racist?
The idea of one race being better than another has fueled centuries of really bad ideas such as (but certainly not limited to) holocaust, genocide, slavery and imperialism. Has the constant barrage of racially charged news items created a culture of hypersensitivity or is it just best to tread lightly (or not at all) considering a long history of atrocities and deplorable acts carried out in the name of hate . . . or ignorance . . . or fear? Is it harmful or disrespectful to assume differences beyond mere appearance or is it ok to say "different" without saying "better"?

What do you think?

On Japan, China and Things That Don't Matter When Disaster Strikes

2011-03-16T23:33:00.000+08:00

Like so much of the world our hearts are shattered for Japan this week. Disaster has a way of breaking otherwise unbreakable barriers and exposing what we once thought was most significant as small, petty and irrelevant. Wealth, prestige, political agendas, even deep seated, generations old prejudices are all smashed on a level playing field when thousands of people die.

China hates Japan. Ok, that's an intentionally overstated generalization but there are a LOT of hard feelings in this part of the world. I have watched some of the sweetest, gentlest, most loving Chinese people I know grow fangs and spit venom at the mere mention of Japan. It's a hatred that dates back decades but it's a grudge that many are unwilling to let time heal. And yet, this week, even China has a shattered heart.

It's a shock for us Western folk who thought that Japanese and Chinese were pretty much the same people but just a hint for future travelers . . . NOT the same. Take a look at the pictures below. Two elderly gentlemen, one Chinese and the other Japanese. They may look very much the same to you but they couldn't be more different at their core. They have a different heritage, speak a different language and have watched history unfold from very different perspectives, most likely pledging allegiance to clashing ideals. Given their age it might even be safe to say that if they had met at any point in the last 60 years there would be much swearing if they were in a good mood. One picture was taken this week in the aftermath of the earthquake/tsunami and the other was taken in 2008 following the South China earthquake that killed more than 70,000 people. Can you tell or do they look the same to you? I kind of wonder if maybe this week . . . they feel the same too.

Think you know? Leave your answer as a comment first and then click the links to find out. No cheating.

Chinese or Japanese? Click here to find out.

Why My Son is Cute and Justin Bieber is Not

2011-03-15T12:31:00.002+08:00

The Chinese word for cute is "ke ai" and Judah hears it a lot. His curly locks (a rare commodity in China) and toothy grin more than make up for his confusing skin tone. Nearly every person who walks past him glances, grins and mumbles "ke ai". The one exception, of course, being little old ladies who stare, scowl and scold us because he's too cold . . . or too hot . . . or too fat . . . or too black but deep down inside, even the grumpiest little grandmas know that this kid is just plain ke ai.

Justin Bieber, on the other hand, is not ke ai. Granted our grasp of (and exposure to) Western pop culture is dramatically (and thankfully) reduced because we live in China but as far as we can tell from this side of the ocean he is the latest in a long succession of teen heart throbs who inherit the coveted responsibility of setting the global standard for "cuteness" (a title held by an elite number including the likes of Shaun Cassidy, Kirk Cameron and that kid from Home Improvement (the middle one) ). In fact just last week "oh my gosh, Justin Bieber is soooooooo cute!" became the the most uttered phrase on the planet (at least the American planet) among girls from 9 to 17 and ironically 28 to 32 year old women suffering from Post Adolescent N'Sync Withdrawal Syndrome (PNS). But not in China. Nope. Not cute at all.

It's not because he is any less dreamy. On the contrary, milky white skin, blonde hair and enormous puppy dog eyes are all coveted and attractive qualities in the stereotypical Chinese eye. However the word ke ai (although translated "cute") doesn't catch all of the meanings that we would attach to cuteness. So a baby is most definitely ke ai but a teenager (no matter how cute) is not. A puppy . . . cute. A pair of heels with a matching purse . . . not cute. Fluffy kittens clinging for life by one paw on a poster that says "hang in there" . . . (doesn't translate but still) so cute. Tiny, elderly couples in matching t-shirts holding hands and scooting slowly along the beach . . . hard to believe but not even a tiny bit cute.

So who defined cuteness for you when you were a teenager?

China's Changing Healthcare (Warning: Graphic Images)

2011-03-08T23:17:00.002+08:00

Four years ago I got a root canal . . . kind of. Did you know that your tooth can have more than one canal and consequently more than one root and consequently still hurt like a booger even after a root canal? Long story short my $36 root canal consisted of yanking a raw nerve from my mouth hole with zero effective novocaine and then strategically placing a filling on top of two other raw nerves in the same tooth. For four years, I haven't eaten on the right side of my mouth, nor have I been in the same room as a dentist without curling into a fetal position. Until now.

So what did my new Chinese dentist have to say about the other Chinese dentist when she saw the x-ray of my botched, four year old dental work? "It was not done well."

This Christmas Eve my wife sliced her hand on an open can of mushrooms (I know, gross right?). In medical terms it was flat out nasty. We made a quick trip to the ER so the doctor could, in the stitching process, put a needle through her tendon and cinch up a previously undisturbed nerve with zero effective anesthetic. We wouldn't know this, however, until a second surgeon would reopen the wound, release the nerve and tendon and sew together another nerve that had been 80% severed by the mushroom can lid in a state of the art, absolutely cutting edge (no pun intended) surgery. Before that all she knew was it hurt . . . like a booger.

So what did the second Chinese surgeon have to say about the first Chinese surgeon when she saw the stitches? "Oh my God!" (Her words, not mine).

BEFORE: LaWanda's hand following the first set of stitches
that also pulled a nerve and tendon together. 6 stitches
"cha bu duo" (give or take).

AFTER: Following sugery. 20 some stitches.

Health care, like everything, is changing rapidly in China. The empty half of the glass hurts (very much like a booger). It is overcrowded, substandard hospitals with less than hygienic surroundings, oversized smoking areas and potentially under-qualified medical staff, often driven by saving face instead of patient care. However, I think it is safe to say that ten years ago we would have been hard pressed to find a doctor or a dentist to fix our earlier mishaps and we have ten good (or at least non-eventful) medical stories for every one horror story. So keep it up China. You're moving in the right direction in more ways than one.

Anyone else got an interesting, international medical story?

"My $36 Root Canal" or "Who Needs Novocaine?" (Repost from March, 2007)

2011-03-08T23:07:00.001+08:00

note: this blog was originally posted in March of 2007 following what turned out to be a 25% successful dental procedure. It was also written before U.S. healthcare was declared a civil war. I have reposted as a partner to my next post: China's Changing Health Care.

For years I have been frustrated and baffled by the racket we call health insurance. It's not so much the impossible to understand hmo jargon or the whole, "sorry, the only doctor left in your network is a first year nursing student at the community college." The biggest irritation for me has always been the annual 27% premium increase (can I get an amen?)

I have found the answer!

Ready for this . . . Here it is . . . Move to China. Simple as that. I have crossed over into a new world of dental, health care options. No long hours in the waiting room just walk right in, take a seat and bzzzzzzzzzzz root canal!

The entire process took about three weeks, each one a little less painful that the previous and the final bill . . . that's right . . . 36 bucks. Granted there were a few teeny tiny downside details like that shot of novocaine that, with frightening precision, numbed the entire right side of my face except the actual tooth and corresponding nerve which were then drilled and impaled with a scrapy, picky tool. The bad however, was far outweighed by the priceless education of the whole experience. For instance, it took me no time at all to learn the Chinese words for RRRAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!! THAT HURTS!! and did you know that if the little spit sucker thing doesn't work you can stuff a patients mouth with cotton balls to sop up the puddle of saliva pooling in the back of his throat? Seriously . . . I never knew that.

So, I hate to come off like an insurance salesman but if you're tooth hurts but you're worn out with the mind numbing nightmare of hmo's, inadequate copays and the endless political debate surrounding it all . . . call your travel agent right now (don't wait) grab 36 bucks and some novocaine if you've got it and we'll pick you up at the airport.

Just one quick disclaimer for integrity's sake. The picture above, although strikingly similar to my experience, is not actually me. I cannot tell you how much I wanted to pull out my camera phone and snap a picture but I just couldn't get up the nerve. Must have been the novocaine. Oh wait.

The Beggar Question: Give, Avoid or Buy a Cheeseburger?

2011-03-08T01:50:00.000+08:00

One of the most talented (and well paid) beggars I have ever seen.
Absolutely amazing.

When Rachel was three years old she loved to give money to beggars. In fact she once went through a brief phase of wanting to be "one of the people who asks for money" when she grows up. I loved it. It was one of those moments that I wish I could pretend would never go away. She had yet to attach a single stigma to the street beggars. They weren't less or pitiful or dirty, they were just people with a really cool job. She didn't do that thing that big people do when they see a beggar. I don't mean swing wide to the right and try to position it so someone else has to make direct contact as you walk by avoiding awkward eye contact. The other thing that big people do. The rational thought process that let's you off the hook. "They'll probably just spend it on crack or crank or ice or some other drug I know exists because I saw it on CSI Miami." "They probably make more money than I do and I'll bet they've got a house in the suburbs with a swimming pool and a hot tub and a pony." "Pretty sure I read something about that once." There was none of that. It was a pure moment, to see a child who had not yet been tainted by rational thought. To her it was just a brilliant business plan. You ask people for money . . . and they give it to you. Now that's rational.

China is low on crack addicts but they still have their share of beggars and rational thought. It's not uncommon to see a burn victim playing the erhu (Chinese two-stringed instrument that you would recognize if you heard) or a legless child pushing himself around on a makeshift skateboard. Sometimes a deaf person (and we only know they're deaf because they give us a piece of paper that says they are and we choose to trust them) will try to sell us a pack of tissues or a mother and her beautiful child will latch on to our sleeves and not let go. Each time I rationalize. Sometimes I give. Sometimes I don't. Sometimes I feel guilty either way. However with Rachel, I nearly always give her money to share. My rationality? At this point in her life (although she's now seven and figuring out the way things really work) I want her to be giving way more than I want her to be discerning. She'll be tainted with rational thought soon enough but how cool would it be if she always looked up to the beggars just a little bit?

So how do you handle the beggar issue? Give? Avoid? Buy a cheeseburger?

Knock Em' Dead, Break a Leg and Other Violent Ways to Encourage People

2011-03-06T15:11:00.000+08:00

English is like a great joke. It works so much better if you don't have to explain it.

As I was leaving the office this week I said to our Chinese assistant (who was on her way to a teaching gig), "Knock Em' Dead." Her eyes grew a bit and she gave her trademark, "Whaaat?" (she says that at least hourly working in an office with us). The explanation began.

Me: Yeah, knock em' dead. It means, "do a good job"

Her: Whaaat?

Me: You know "to knock?" It means "to hit." punching myself in the hand. And em', that's short for them.

Her: unconvincingly, "mmmm ok."

Me: And "dead", like "to die" or "to kill". So . . . it's kind of like saying . . . "hit them until they die"

Her: blank stare

Me: But it really means "do a good job." realizing as the words left my mouth that I had never once considered the violent nature of our affirming words. So knock em' dead and while you're at it . . . break a leg.

Her: Whaaat?

The Onion Explodes the Mutton and Other Fine Chinese Dishes

2011-02-25T00:17:00.000+08:00

The truth is a hard pill to swallow sometimes. I was actually disappointed to discover that real Chinese restaurants (and by that I mean restaurants in China) don't serve the entire menu on a heated buffet table complete with sneeze guards and a pizza or chicken nugget option. They also don't serve crab rangoon or offer fortune cookies with your check. Free refills? Forget about it. There is a simple reason behind this madness . . . None of these things are Chinese. They are however the result of brilliant, Chinese, immigrant entrepreneurs who understand a little something about business and globalization. When in Rome, do as the Romans do. When in America, give them a cookie. It's business 101.

This willingness to bend probably makes or breaks a lot of Chinese restaurants outside of China. I don't think the consequences are quite as dire for restaurants in China which makes it a much appreciated gesture when they go the extra mile and try to do something with me and my kind in mind. Even though I am the foreigner, the visitor, the outsider and I represent less than a fraction of one percent of their target market they still make an effort to connect.

Pictures on menus are a huge relief when an illiterate (at least in Chinese) outsider like me sits down to a real Chinese meal. Translations in English are even better but hands down, the absolute best, are menus with pictures and horribly translated food titles. They are the result of translators armed with nothing but a Chinese/English dictionary who take a "word for word, this equals that" approach. The thought is nice but language is so much more than words and even the words themselves don't translate easily sometimes. It's a simple and understandable mistake but the results are just plain gut busting (or more literally "bursting the intestines").

So next time you're bored with Moo Goo Gai Pan or General Tso's Chicken, stop by and we'll take you out for some authentic "The Garlic Burns the Stomach Strip" and "The Shredded Meat Burns the Long Eggplant." Mmmmmm! Now that's real Chinese.

Here are just a few more selections from (of all places) LaWanda's hospital menu.

On Eating Dog in China

2011-02-23T21:30:00.000+08:00

Do they really eat dog in China? This is a question that we are seldom asked and yet is often alluded to when we are speaking with people from home. The allusions most often come packaged in a valiant stab at cross-cultural humor such as, "Hey honey! Hide the dog, the Joneses are here (pause for comedic effect) and they live in China." This is followed by obscenely loud laughter (usually restricted to the jokester) and an awkward moment of silence. When the comedian senses the joke is bombing he generally goes for the gold with his absolutely original attempt at speaking Chinese. "No seriously, Ahsooo. You riv in China. You speaka da Chineez. Ah ching chang willy willy bing bang bong." To which my favorite response so far is "Really? You should have a doctor look at that."

So the failed attempt at comic relief still leaves the question unanswered. Do they?

Oh if it were only that easy. There are so, so many cultural dynamics surrounding this powerfully loaded question that it becomes a challenge for most Westerners who have lived in China to answer without biting a hole in their lip. This generally leads to complete avoidance of the question and the types of people who might ask it or even worse, allude to it. It's not that we wouldn't love to give a simple "yes" or "no" it's just that we know where this is going. More bad jokes. Unbearable. Must avoid at all costs.

Ok but do they?

Nice try but not so fast. I have yet to hear of a single instance of dog for dinner in the States. Scratch that. I have heard of a few, but only in the context of someone making brilliantly clever jokes about a Chinese restaurant. In good conscience though I can't count those because I'm not sure if they meant to say "wing ching dilly dolly dong" or "bing ching dilly dolly dong" which, as we all know, means something completely different. So no verifiable dog dishes to my knowledge. Why? This is the least considered question surrounding the topic but it could be the most valid. Why don't we eat dog? Answer: (say it with me) "Because that's disgusting!!!" This surfaces another completely different question . . . "Why?" Why are we so disgusted by the thought of eating dog? Immediately thoughts rush our brain. Lassie, Benji, Max (my best childhood friend). Poodles with their Brady Bunch perms and those big monstrous dogs that carry a keg of beer around their neck to rescue skiers who have been lost in the Alps for weeks (evidently with no beer). Dogs are friends. They are family. They are heros and in our culture we don't eat friends, family or heros. Why? Because that's disgusting.

Just answer the question! Almost there.

So where does our concept of disgust come from? (said the writer, attempting to spark the most pointlessly philosophical discussion on dog meat ever). I believe it all started with the things in your nose. You heard me. You were three years old and there was something in your nose. You didn't know what it was or how it got there but you did know you wanted it out. Now. "Oh look, I have a finger!" It's as if God had specifically and strategically designed a special nose cleaning tool and placed it right on the end of your hand. He even equipped it with a little scraping mechanism for greater functionality. So you picked. Maybe you even ate. And your mother said calmly, "please child, don't do that."

"Why mommy?"

"Because it's disgusting." And there it began. The seed of disgust was planted and from that moment on it was watered and fertilized.

"Johnny ate a bug!"
"Ewww! Disgusting."
"Billy kissed a girl!"
"Awww! Disgusting"
"Chinese people eat dogs!"
"Oooooo! Dis - gus - ting!"

The plant was trimmed and pruned until it grew into the fully blossomed, fruit bearing tree that has it's roots buried deeply into the very fiber of your being. We don't eat bugs or dogs. We do kiss girls. This fell off of the disgusting tree when puberty was allowed to do the pruning for a bit but most things stuck. So eating dogs is quite frankly . . . disgusting.

But do Chinese people eat them?

Maybe a better question would be are Chinese people disgusted by the thought of eating dog? In the interest of not speaking ignorantly on behalf of a billion and a half people I chose to discuss the topic with our assistant who is, in fact, a real life, 100% authentic, Chinese person and will therefore (for the purposes of my research) represent and speak definitively on behalf of all Chinese people (and possibly all Asians).

The conversation was rich and lively and funny and led us to an unexpected ending.

We discovered a list of thirteen meats that I had eaten and she had not (some in China, most in America). Here's the kicker . . . some of them, she found absolutely disgusting (most likely because she also picked her nose when she was three). Evidently disgust goes both ways and I can't help but think that somewhere in China there is a painfully unfunny, self appointed comedian cracking bad America jokes.

Here's the list and yes . . . they do eat dog in China. Tastes like beef.

1. Deer
2. Frog
3. Alligator
4. Snake
5. Squirrel (highly protected by Chinese law)
6. Silk Worms
7. Shark
8. Bear
9. Moose
10. Lobster (she owned as a pet)
11. Veal
12. Chicken Fried Steak
13. Bologna (Ironic this doesn't hit our disgusting scale)

A Valenwhat? Explaining Valentine's Day to a Chinese Friend

2011-02-18T15:03:00.000+08:00

Sweet Valentines made by my Valentine Sweety for her Sweet Valentine Sweety (that's me)

Like most other Western holidays, Valentine's Day has landed in the Middle Kingdom and planted it's flag of sticky sweet, chocolate covered commercialism. I was excited this year, one because I didn't forget it and two because my wife and I were actually getting to go on a real date. After a lovely afternoon foot rub (one of the perks of living in China) and a quite pricy dinner at one of the city's finest Italian restaurants, I found myself feeling woefully inadequate and riddled with guilt (which everyone knows is the underlying conspiracy behind Valentine's Day that fuels the sticky sweet, chocolate covered commercialism). In the five minutes that it took us to find a taxi after leaving the restaurant we saw 37,000 young Chinese women carrying massive, gaudy bouquets of multi-colored roses decorated with sparkling sequins and glitter. Each stomped with a catwalk confidence and was followed by a pompous young man grinning with the pride that only comes when you get it just right. My wife, on the other hand, had very clean, relaxed feet and a full stomach, neither of which could be seen by the crowd's of flower toting, love struck gloaters who were now laughing, pointing and high-fiving each other because the Western guy (who should know something about Valentine's Day) didn't even get his wife the massive, shiny bouquet. I was completely assured that China understands Valentine's Day.

However, explaining the word Valentine is not so easy.

My Chinese friend asked me a simple question. "What is Valentine's Day?"
"Well, it's a special day for . . . umm "
She helped me out, "It's just for people who love each other, right?"
"Yes. It's a day for people who love each other."
"So what does it mean, 'Will you be my Valentine?'"
I had never considered this to be a confusing topic but the more I tried to explain the more I learned otherwise. "Will you be my Valentine is kind of like saying I want you to be my girlfriend or my boyfriend but I would still say it to my wife who is already my wife so obviously she doesn't have to be my boyfriend or girlfriend because she already is . . . my girlfriend . . . or was . . . before she was my wife . . . a long time ago, but she's still my girlfriend, it's just that we're married now. And I can give my daughter some chocolate and a card, which I would also call a Valentine, that says "will you be my Valentine?" because I love her but obviously not in the same way that I love my wife but it's still ok for me to give her a Valentine and be her Valentine. Also, she will take Valentines to her first grade class, that say 'will you be my Valentine?' and give them to all of her friends but not because she wants to profess her love for them or ask them to actually be her Valentine because she is not allowed to have a Valentine (in the boyfriend sense) until she is 28 . . . but she can have Valentine's in the card and chocolate sense now, so in that respect a Valentine is just a nice thing to share with friends. So it's not only for people who are in love but it's still a special holiday . . . for people . . . who are in love . . . or love each other . . . but not always . . . sometimes . . . kind of.

I was glad to be able to clear that up for her. After further confusing discussions with others on the same subject it was my Valentine (the one with the clean feet, full stomach and lack of roses) who cleared up the dilemma of defining a Valentine.

What is a Valentine?

"It's a noun." Enough said.

Baby's First Stitches

2011-02-11T22:37:00.001+08:00

So who had 17 months in the "How Long til Judah Gets Stitches" pool? Congratulations. You win.

Another trip to Qingdao Municipal today for my son's inevitable first stitches. Two to be exact, after a headfirst dive into the corner of the coffee table. It seems you don't get to live in China long without having a painful and sometimes humorous health care story to tell. Thankfully, this one is not ours. However, just a month and a half after the ER doctor sewed my wife's nerve to her tendon with no anesthetic we walked in a bit apprehensive (that is our painful health care story by the way). On a tip from a friend we discovered that the ER surgeon was not the only option for stitches and asked to go to the Dental Clinic section of the hospital (not sure why we didn't think of that before). There we met a delightfully skilled surgeon and following a few brief moments of horrific screams (see above) Judah was stitched good as new (see below). Now we're trying to figure out how to keep him from rubbing bananas in his bandage.

Sidenote - the whole trip cost about 20 US dollars which is five dollars less than our copay in the States (the upside of Chinese health care).

Other Sidenote - Our Stateside copay is about one one hundredth of the cost for my wife's stitches factoring in three trips to Beijing and a surgery to fix the first, botched attempt (the downside).

One More Sidenote - Great article on why toddlers and coffee tables don't mix.

Welcome to the World Ridley Merritt

2011-02-11T20:34:00.000+08:00

We are sometimes asked what the most difficult part of living in China is. Is it the daily struggle of communicating in a second language? The deep cultural contrasts? Being stared at everywhere we go? The absence of thick, juicy ribeye steaks smothered in mushrooms and onions with a baked potato on the side soaked in butter and sour cream . . . what were we talking about?

Oh yeah, the tough parts. No. None of these hold a candle to missing out on the special days like today when my beautiful niece Shandi and her stud of a husband Stephen said hello to their amazing 8 pound 8 ounce bundle of love, Ridley. Welcome to the world little man. Love you more than steak (you too mom and dad).

The Paradox of Tightly Packed Gun Powder

2011-02-10T05:11:00.000+08:00

I may quite possibly be the biggest fan of Chinese New Year in China. Ironic, I know. You would think the biggest fan would be an actual Chinese person but it's not. It's me. The fireworks display at midnight is completely unexplainable to those who have not experienced it. Massive explosions literally shake the air around you. Countless bursts of color and fire fill the sky in every direction. Children twirl their sparklers while grown men light washing machine size boxes just a few meters away. Deafening strings of firecrackers pause only long enough for someone to light another. Chest pounding with every boom, eyes stinging from the smoke, nose burning with the smell of gunpowder, ears ringing, every sense is overloaded. When 1.3 billion people play with tightly packed gunpowder at the exact same moment it is awesome.

The element of danger enhances the experience. The thought of how ridiculous it is to be standing directly beneath a display that dwarfs my hometown's fourth of July (which was ignited from a mile away by trained firemen surrounded by emergency medical professionals) somehow makes it even better. When canons aimed up tip over and shoot straight along the ground, everyone grabs their children, scurries for a safe spot and when it is obvious that no one is hurt, there is a relieved "whoa!" followed by an amazed laugh and an instant retelling of what just happened by all parties involved. The reality of danger is occasionally present but conveniently easy to ignore.

Unfortunately, even the diehardest of diehard fireworks lovers, like myself, must at some point admit that ignoring the danger doesn't change it's reality. Below is a picture of a five star hotel just a couple of blocks from where we lived in Shenyang. It was taken around 12:30 am this New Year's. Thankfully everyone got out safely but obviously tremendous damage was done and this was not an isolated event by any means.

This Year in China

11,800 reported fires (up from 7480 last year)
$8.5 Billion (56 Billion RMB) in damages
At least 40 fireworks related deaths

I think fireworks in China are representative of the much bigger picture of living cross culturally and possibly just life in general. They are wonderful and dangerous and beautiful and harmful. They create awe inspiring displays and overwhelming challenges all at the same time. One side doesn't cancel other. Seeing one side and not the other (depending on your choice) can either get you hurt badly or cause you to miss something really good. Learning to live in paradox on the other hand, can give you a deep appreciation for the beautiful and a sobering respect for the challenges. That's kind of how I feel about living in China.

China's Monster City

2011-02-01T00:36:00.000+08:00

If you have never lived in China be honest. Ever heard of Shenzhen? Tianjin? Guangzhou? (please don't attempt pronunciation without help). How about New York? London? Tokyo? There are around 400 cities in the world with a population of more than one million and 160 of them are in China. Compare that to America's 9. Rumor has it that there is one new Chinese mega-city on the horizon that you shouldn't be able to ignore.

City planners in South China are laying out plans to create a massive new city that will be, hands down, the largest in the history of the galaxy. By merging 9 cities located around the Pearl River Delta the new monster-city will cover a huge portion of China's southern manufacturing center that accounts for about one tenth of the Chinese economy. How big you ask? Great question. 16,000 square miles with a population of 42 million. Just to put it in perspective.

52 times the size of New York City and more than five times the population
More people than live in Wyoming, Vermont, North Dakota, Alaska, South Dakota, Delaware, Montana, Rhode Island, New Hampshire, Maine, Hawaii, Idaho, Nebraska, New Mexico, West Virginia, Nevada, Utah, Kansas, Arkansas, Mississippi, Iowa, Connecticut, Guam, The U.S. Virgin Islands, The Northern Mariana Islands and American Samoa combined
Nearly twice the population of Australia
26 times the size of London
3 million times the population of my High School Class

Chinese Taxi Drivers and Fat Foreign Girls

2011-01-28T23:27:00.000+08:00

It's common knowledge that the most frustrating experience in the world is trying to find a taxi anywhere in China at 5pm. It's a dual force at work. A billion people are getting off of work and need a taxi and the other 350 million (or as we call them here, taxi drivers) are right in the middle of a horribly placed, strategically annoying shift change. Supply and demand explodes and available drivers switch into hyper-selective mode, only accepting passengers who are on their route. The result is a pile up of wannabe passengers waving at every taxi driver who in return offers one of three responses: 1. The complete ignore 2. The "no no" wave or 3. (and this one is the worst because it offers such hope and then crushes it) the window roll down "where to?" followed by the "no no" wave. Add cold weather, heavy groceries or small children to test your ability to survive lethally high blood pressure.

Another natural result is that drivers (who are now holding all of the cards) will "double up." That is, even though you have finally landed a ride they will stop, roll down your window, lean over your lap and ask other potential customers where they are going. On the way? "hop in, I just have to drop off this foreigner first." Not on the way? "no no" wave.

Tonight I was rejected only a few times before a compassionate cabby told me to hurry up and get in. As we passed through an area that was completely saturated with dejected passenger hopefuls my guy slowed down for two sets of young ladies to offer hope and then crush it with his "no no" wave. This was the conversation that followed:

Quick Chinese Lesson: One of the terms for taxi driver is "siji" however, foreigners (like myself) often use the wrong tone when pronouncing and inadvertently call the driver a "dead chicken."

Siji: (elbowing me) Did you see those girls? They were very pretty.

Me: (laughing and thinking, "You leaned over my lap to talk to them through my window, how could I not?) Yes I saw them.

Siji: I was hoping to give them a ride.

Me: So if they weren't pretty you wouldn't have stopped?

Siji: Exactly right. Chinese girls are very pretty.

Me: (thinking, since we're in China couldn't you just call them girls) hmmm.

Siji: Yeah, foreign girls are too fat.

Me: hmm.

Siji: (showing me with his hands) They have really fat legs.

Me: (biting my lip) Yes. Yes I suppose some of them do.

Siji: Is your wife Chinese?

Me: No. She's American.

awkward silence

Me: She's not fat though. She's also very beautiful.

Siji: hmmm. . . You speak good Chinese.

Me: No, not really. Just a little

awkward silence

Me: So . . . this is my stop (exchange money)

Siji: Good night.

Me: Good night Dead Chicken.

On Being Black in China: Part 2

2011-01-27T02:15:00.000+08:00

Lotus, the lady who runs the veggie shop at the front gate of our apartment complex, told me today that Judah looks more and more like me everyday. That's exactly what every dad wants to hear even if their children are adopted. And a different race. She could have stopped there but she felt compelled to explain. "In the summertime, his skin is so black, now he looks more like you." Again. Good place to stop. But no. With a big smile on her face, and the pride that comes from knowing she is giving us both a huge compliment she said, "now is much more better."

I thinks it's funny how disconnected the head and the heart can be when it comes to deep cultural issues. I know what she was saying. I know the heart behind it and the thoughts connected to it. I grasp the social and economic dynamics that have shaped and honed and fine-tuned the stigma into its present form. I teach this stuff and still . . . I was immediately offended. My mind, in a split second, flashed through every racially charged concept I had ever understood. Martin Luther King Jr. and Amistad and Kunta Kinte and Bobby (the single African American student in my small town high school who was treated really poorly) all hit me like a water balloon in the face and for that split second I wanted to rise up and fight oppression and hatred and prejudice and the man. When the second was over though I saw Lotus smiling again and I smiled back.

It's changing (as is everything) in China but for years, maybe centuries dark skin has been associated with involuntary exposure to the sun, which is associated with hard work outside, which is associated with being poor, which is associated with low education, which is associated with not being smart, which is associated with . . . this keeps going for a while. In my culture it's offensive to attach a stereotype to a person based on the lightness or darkness of their skin and thank goodness it is (it's been a long time coming). But jokes about people with red necks are just plain funny. After all red necks come from over exposure to the sun, which comes from working hard outside, which comes from being poor . . .

My perspective: "What a narrow-minded, bigoted remark. How dare you insult my son."

Her perspective: "What a beautiful boy and I wish for him a prosperous, healthy, secure life. Here, have an orange."

Loffing at the Chinese

2011-01-26T16:53:00.000+08:00

When I first came to China I loffed and loffed (that's a laugh with a scoff) when I found out that some phone numbers cost more than others. My Chinese friend tried to explain that 8's are auspicious (although I don't think he used that word), as are 6's but 4's sound like death so you want to stay away from them. Also, easy to remember numbers are good so the ultimate phone digits would be 8888-8888. Loffing I asked, "How much for that one?"
"You couldn't afford it."
The longer I live here the more I am amazed at the cultural impact of things like 8 and red and cabbage. However, I'm noticing I loff less than I used to. Loffing involves a thought process (conscious or not) which inevitably arrives at a conclusion that we would never do things that way and therefore frees us up to laugh. . . and scoff. Pay more for a phone number with 8's? Seriously. Give me all 4's if it's cheaper? Plan your wedding to land on the 8th? Um. No. Start your Olympic opening ceremony on the 8th day of the 8th month in the year 2008 at 8pm (only because the television networks wouldn't go for 8:08pm)? Not my Olympics. We would never be so swayed. It is to loff.

Last year I was back in the States when the woman standing in front of me at the convenience store nearly passed out when her total was $6.66. She bought an extra pack of gum.

July 7, 2007 (7.7.7.) was a record setting day in America for weddings and lottery tickets

Ever been in an elevator and noticed a missing 13?

I told some of my Chinese friends about these things. They just loffed.