Like It's Hot

We joke a lot about how studious Mac is. Give him a hard time for spending too much time with the books, ignoring his friends, and generally never having any fun. And now, this delicious story from Bobby, roommate of Mac two years running. Last year, their toilet was clogged for awhile. No one knew why. Well, there were many hypotheses but no one was sure. Until the plumber came. And removed a pencil from the toilet. Yes, someone had dropped a pencil into the john. It takes a brave man to face up to such an act, but a brave man he is. Mac admitted to doing his homework on the toilet, and maybe dropping in a pencil at the same time.

I missed so much last semester.

My Summer Pie

I am leaving the 'burbs for the 'Bo in about an hour. And I am still not completely packed yet, though I'm not sure what I've forgotten to pack. I guess I'll just have to be surprised when I get on campus. Hey, look, my TI-86. I think I need to pack that. But before I put that and Dakota the Computer away, some farewells.

Goodbye hard coffin bed of China, mosquitoes, and being woken up by phone calls from relatives every God-forsaken morning. Goodbye cousins, first, second, and third, aunts and uncles distant and near. Goodbye squatters square and oval, and grounds in the hole- I think I hate you. Goodbye Ningxia lamb, taxi rides, and lima bean porridge- only one of you will be fondly missed. Goodbye Chinese card games, magic tricks, junk food, and the folks I shared them with- you guys got me through the summer. And goodbye receipts- I have no reason to keep you.

Goodbye to my luxurious life at home- sleeping late, showers, and sudoku, feeling lethargic, eating leftovers, being lowkey. Air conditioning, softest bedding, very, very light reading.

Hello to endless hours transcribing, reading, writing, in the lab, on the computer, without sleep but among friends. Band Man, Riles, 104, and bio lab reports- I'm not ready, but here I come.

It's Not Easy

Sweet and sour ribs ain't easy. But Mother makes the best kind. Just as Dan's mother is queen supreme over cookies, so Mother makes the best sweet and sour ribs I know. They're not like the restaurant kind. Or the kind other moms make. They're dark, dark brown and wonderful. So this week, I asked Mother to make them. And today, she gave in, after letting us eat nothing but leftovers for one too many meals.

Her recipe is simple. Ribs, soy sauce, vinegar, sugar, and a bit of ketchup. Today, the bottle of normal ketchup (i.e. supermarket brand red ketchup) was mostly empty, so Mother tried something adventurous. She reached for the bottle of green Heinz ketchup I miraculously convinced her into buying a few years back, during a period in my life when I thought green ketchup was cool. ("But we've had that ketchup for years, I was still in high school!" I said. "So? Ketchup doesn't go bad.") Because my mother is freaking awesome and thought well, green ribs will taste the same anyway, and maybe the change will look cool.

Unfortunately, it didn't. And no amount of soy sauce or the last vestiges of normal ketchup could save it. The ribs tasted fine (a little off the A-game today, too much ketchup, but great nevertheless) but looking at it, I felt like I was eating rotten meat. Forgive me for being unimaginative, but that's the only other circumstance when I've seen green meat.

Peter Pockets

We have a ping pong table in the basement. In fact, my father cares about ping pong so much that he bought a ping pong server just so he can play against the machine instead of be disappointed with the poor athletic acumen of his offspring. We also have a washer and dryer in the basement. And because we don't care for ping pong as deeply as my father, we often dump the contents of our pockets there when we're about to do laundry. It's not uncommmon to find tissues, spare change, little plastic toys, and scraps of paper on the ping pong table after one of us has done laundry. I like to scoop up the change and keep it for myself.

This morning, I went downstairs to finally claim my clean clothes from the dryer after four days and discovered these items on the table. I think they belong to my brother:

An old hatchet. A plastic bag. An orange CD case in three pieces. An unopened envelope containing what is presumed to be a bill. And the top two tips of some decorative and harmless spear. A black leather belt. A fork. And a copy of WIRED magazine.

He must have really big pockets.

Wayback Machine #12

These pictures come from my first day in Beijing, before I went into the northwest. My mother and I visited Tian Tan (the heavenly palace) and then the National Palace Museum. The first two pictures are from Tian Tan and I hardly took any pictures in the Museum. Mostly, I was just hot, tired, and sick of the paint fumes. I would have gladly traded the history lessons and the thousands-year-old artifacts for a nice cup of bubble tea and kept telling my mother that, but she wouldn't listen. Something about once-in-a-lifetime opportunities and appreciating your roots. I don't know. The last picture is from the People's Square, across from the Palace Museum. I had seen that image many times elsewhere, in movies, on TV, and in books and finally there I was, standing by the square. And it occured to me then, "I'm really in China." Then, a second later, I realized that being outside wasn't a quarter as nice as being in the AC'ed car and wanted back in. But no, we went to the Palace Museum instead.

Come On, Party People

I am not cut out for party planning. Last week, Tim and his Chu brothers (though we did not know all of them as that at the time) hosted a few Boston BCF'ers for a most excellent barbecue. By the way, spellcheck just wanted me to replace BCF'ers with bugbears. Awesome. Anyway, it was a great affair and our only regret was that it was too short and we didn't do enough catching up.

So, this week, with Tim finally out of the State, I suggested we all hang out again, this time to catch up some more and talk about the Chus. I, of course, don't actually live in Boston, so I came up with the grand idea of having Ranwei both host and cook for us. Because I am generous and great at planning like that.

Fastforward now, to the night of the event. Ranwei and I are sitting in her room, watching the Food Network and waiting for folks to arrive:

Ranwei: So who's coming? People got back to you, right?

Moi: Oh. I don't know. I assumed they'd tell you, since we're at your place.

Ranwei: I didn't call anybody. I thought you were organizing.

Moi: Oh.

In the end, our lovely get-together consisted of four whole people. And watching Lethal Weapon I on Spike TV. And listening to nerdy Greydon explain how Snakes on a Plane is more fun if you bring your own copy of the audience participation script with you and teach all you fellow theater patrons ahead of time. Did I mention that he works with computers? To salvage the night, Ranwei offered us peach crisp with hand-picked peaches from Outlook Farm. The crisp was splendiferous.

After all that poor planning, walking to the T-station, I just happened to see my roommate-to-be. Out of all the people and all the places in the greater Boston area, I bump into Amy. It was amazing. And once again, proof that God plans things a lot better than I do. Maybe from now on, I'll assign the party planning to Him.

Laughter's Labor Lost

At dinner with family and Friends of Brother-

Friend O'Brother: In sewing class in middle school, we learned to make boxers and [I forget what she else said].

Moi: Yeah, I made boxers, too! I made boxers and a pillow.

Brother: When I was little, I sewed Nike sneakers at school. And on top of that, they paid me 14 cents a day. It was awesome.

Moi: That's 'cause you weren't good at math, or else they would have promoted you to the crack class. That's what I got to do.

Brother: Sweatshop jokes are funny.

Wayback Machine #11

Beijing, China. Middle of June.














Chinese city-dwellers love parks and public squares. It's where they go to stroll, hang out, and cool off instead of turn on the freaking air conditioning. (To be fair, I had an aunt who was good about turning on the AC, but she was evil and made awful porridges so I still didn't like going to her house.) The parks can be quite crowded anytime past 6pm on a summer evening. The elderly especially like congregating in parks to dance, practice Tai-Chi, and socialize, early in the morning and/or at night. It's quite common, and always adorable, to see large groups of old women and men moving to music. Here, in Tian Tan, a slightly more sophisticated group (they've got fans) is striking a pose for me.

"Suffer a Little, Save a Lot"

Not only does Building #19 sell 'slightly' expired foods at low costs, it also manufactures its own cereal. Cereal that my mother happily purchased. That's right, we are the proud owners of the breakfast of cheapskates. This Jerry-O box is actually the 'new and improved' version. The original had a topless Jerry which consumers complained about, and no random synchronized swimmers.

Note how they put no effort into the re-drawing but simply scribbled some brown over the original naked body.

Sarah: Did your mom buy this as a joke?
Moi: Oh, I wish she did.

No Adspace Unturned

 I snapped this in Shuzhou, China, about an hour's drive from Shanghai. That's classy, McDonald's, very classy. Advertising on tricycles. 

Hairspray, Meet Gospell

This is my father's hair on a Sunday night, when the hair is at its messiest and my father at his most tired. The last time his hair was this long he was about my age, and thought the long hair, thick-rimmed glasses, and mustache looked good on him. I thank God daily that my mother was able to look past the ridiculous surface and marry him. He would have much preferred another picture, which showed a bit of his face and the Reader's Digest condensed novel he was reading, but hey, it's not his blog to decide. At this point on Sunday night, the radio reports on the Red Sox were still bringing comfort to his weary soul.


About three years ago, my father started a new church. Not a new church in the way of the Rev. Sun Jung Moon, but a plant church to the one he was pastoring at. The original church was in Massachusetts, and seeing the ever growing Chinese population across the border, my father felt called to establish a church in New Hampshire, the first Chinese church in the area.

Now, many moons have passed and it is time for the church to seek a building of its own instead of renting space from a local church. In fact, the church urgently needs a building of its own for growth and for the fact that the space they're using is to be torn down and renovated very, very soon. A few times these past months, they came close to finding their ideal church, but in the end, the deals always fell through. It has been some intense months of prayer for my parents and as a sign to his rather moderate congregation of how serious and committed he is about finding a church building, my father has announced that he is not getting a haircut until his church has a new, permanent home.

Styling tips and prayers welcomed.

Moi: So what do your congregants think about your hair?
Father: They're afraid to comment.

Lion's Mane

 

A shot of my mother's hair. It is black, almost always curled, and its colour changes by the day between gradients of brown, black, and gray. Her hair is among the shortest in my family, second only to me. She hates to be photographed and would rather be concentrating on the DVD of My Own Swordsman that I bought her. 

Oh My Darlie

 
 
 
























These toothpastes have long been known to, and made fun of by the Asian expat community the world over, or visitors to Asia. But for my sheltered friends, I bring you these pictures I snapped in Taiwan. Darlie Toothpaste. In Chinese, the brand translates to 'Black Man Toothpaste' (Hence the White Man ripoff below). In less PC times, the picture of the black man was more offensive, and Darlie was called Darkie. But we've moved on since then. And now, Darlie doesn't just come in the plain yellow tube it was offered in for decades, but all kinds of snazzy packaging and flavours, like herbal, special whitening, peroxide, and whatever the blue and gray box says.

White Man's Burden

Once upon a time, my brother gave Mother a book as a present. And now he's asking for it back, because she never reads it anyway and he'd like to. My mother, behaving in an equally classy manner, cannot locate the book, recall what it looked like, or even repeat the title. She's never even read the whole cover.

 
 


























Oh, the picture. A ripoff of the well-established Darlie brand toothpaste, long-popular all over Asia. White men or dark men, the toothpastes are used by Taiwanese folks like me. 

Rock-a-bye Ranwei

"Yeah, Tim likes older women."

Said Ranwei, referring to herself, Ellie, and me. Tim's brother had innocently asked if we'd all graduated (Tim hasn't), and out came Ranwei's reply, followed by awkward chuckles all around.

Best inappropriate line of the summer.

Dusty With Us

I thought we were already friends... didn't I declare it on Xanga or something?

The Last Supper

The night before I left for home, in those last wee hours of the darkness, the mosquitoes of Beijing feasted on my body and blood one last time before we parted ways. No one knows the hour I'd return again, not even me. That had a certain blasphemous ring to it. I'm sorry. But I digress. It wasn't just one last sumptuous for the gang of mosquitoes, there was a show as well. The Itchy & Scratchy Show. Which kept me up for most of the night, so that I was only really asleep for three hours tops. That, however, was time aplenty for them to partake of my blood.

Here are some of the damage:


Three on the right forearm.

And three on the left back arm.

Plus one to the right elbow, one to the left forearm (they're symmetrical, you see), one on the back of each hand, five on the fingers, and three on the palms. And just so the legs don't feel left out, one on each thigh. These were not just mosquitoes at work, they must have been operating in conjunction with some other bugs. I mean, who bites the palms of the hands?! Oh, and these were not normal insects we were dealing with, in case you couldn't figure out by the twenty-one bites in three hours, but they're special action movie terrorist bugs. Because they either flew in through the window at nine floors high, or came in through the air ducts of the air conditioning that never worked (hence the plethora of bugs), either way, very cunning of the bugs. And either way, I've been in miserable itching pain for the past three days.


In other news, the old and infested hotel-dormitory that I stayed at the last night was my cousin's place (I got the place to myself because she was gone for the weekend, which meant that I alone suffered through the bugs) and she had the tiniest roll of toilet paper I'd ever seen. It was adorable. And soft. And made me feel like I was wiping with gauze bandages.

Sticking It To The Cat

Finally, some pictures from Chinar. Eventually, I hope to post a lot more here, when the wireless signal at home doesn't fail me every other second. And I'll post even more on my flickr site. What? Didn't know I had a flickr account? Oops.



This is my boy Pamn. He is my grandfather's late sister's great grandson. Or my mother's cousin's grandson. I don't know what that makes him and me. Second cousins? I always forget what a second cousin actually is, and just label whoever I can't think of a second cousin. I've only met him twice, but both times he was very well-behaved adorable and wearing this shirt. I like it. Pamn. It's got attitude, challenging the authority of all the so-called 'legitimate' brands. A curse to them and a knockoff all in one. PAMN!



This is Pamn's great uncle to the left and the headless body to the right is Pamn's grandfather. And that's a whole lamb in the middle, that they brought when the whole group of them came to visit. And conveniently split right in the kitchen so the lamb would fit into the fridge. And that's blood you see, dripping on our kitchen floor. The whole splitting of the meat took less than ten minutes. These people are really, really good at their butchering. It was just one of many, many, many whole dead lambs I saw in my time in Chinar.

Welcome Back, Blogger

I heart Japan. And its tolerant government that allows me to see my blog for the first time in over two months as I try to kill time during my layover. Hooray sketchy wireless network that allows me to not use the pricey* Narita Airport connection. O, the risks I go to for you, blogger.

*I'm not actually sure if it's pricey or not. I don't know the exchange rate. I just assume that it is, since we're in Japan. And I buy things from airport cafes and boutiques with reckless abandon, just guessing at the prices until it's printed for me on my credit card receipt. I. Love. Grants.

in other news, I'm pretty sure these are my last few hours in a squatter country and I'm pretty psyched all around. I'll catch you on the flush, I mean, flip side of the globe.

Fisher of Men

When I say that this is a godless country, I do not mean it as an insult. I am not intoning anything else. Godless country. No public and free faiths or religions. Especially in an isolated region like here, most people have very little encounter with religions.

And so when I pulled out my dad's card to show my two nephews (adorable twins entering seventh grade), they got a bit confused. They had been excited to examine all the contents of my wallet, to go through the ID cards and paper bits, and to find that my dad's name card was in two laguages.

"Pastor?" They read the Chinese portion aloud. "He's a pastor?!" They asked again. Just like it is in English, the Chinese word for pastor has roots from the word 'pastoral.' Thus, making the connections in their own heads, they asked in a slightly disappointed voice, as if they had bigger hopes for Father, "Well, what does he herd, sheep or cattle?"

"No, no. A pastor takes care of people, not cattle."

Shining Shimmering Splendor

I think I'm ready to go home to the States (T-3 days), then I check my email and read a story like this in the NY Times. And I think 'Huh? What country or planet are these people from?' (May have to sign-in for the link- so it's for pretentious readers only.) I forget sometimes that the Times don't actually talk about real people. Oh, and Israel? Lebanon? Lieberman? What? The only news heavily discussed here is the ever-lowering price of watermelons. Really, these may be the cheapest watermelons anywhere in the world. It's too bad that I chose watermelons as my least favorite fruit. I have to disappoint people by turning down their watermelon slices, chunks, and halves at least four times a day.

In other news: I am so done with squatters. And countries with weak flush systems (that means you too, UK). Just 3 more days.

No Room for Proctor

You know all that crap you hear about how the Chinese people value their families a lot? I know Mr. Duffet liked to talk about it, and always turned to me expectantly and asked for me to concur. I think he half-expected me to bow when I said yes. You know what my relatives do when they get together? Gamble and drink. That pretty much sums it up. Sometimes, they throw in some karaoke, but gambling and drinking covers most of it. Sometimes, there is food. But have I mentioned gambling and drinking? Chinese families are not very suitable for young children.

And how have I adjusted to all this? I am fed a lot of beer. And I turn down even more cups of beer, though I manage to slip off the hook when it comes to the vile spirits that they drink. And yes, even in China, people like to laugh when your face turns red after a few sips of beer. I do not play mah-jongg, because I'd lose too much that way, but have learned a couple of popular games with playing cards that I manage to be halfway decent with. And I always pretend I don't understand what they're talking about when they start mentioning playing for money.

In other news, I saw an authentic, traditional Chinese wedding in the farmlands, a badminton competition, and lots of people burning incense in hopes of receiving a son, but not all at once.