10:15am *Ring! Ring!*
Peter: Hello?
Me: Hi. What are you doing?
Peter: Sleeping. I'm going to work in an hour. What are you doing?
Me: Teaching. My student is weird.
Peter: Cool. Ok, bye!
Me: Ok, bye!
12:42pm *Ring! Ring!*
Peter: Hello?
Me: What's going on tonight?
Peter: Nothing.
Me: 80 said he was going to cook me General Tso's Chicken.
Peter: No, we're not doing that.
Me: Uh, ok. Hey, a bunch of people from work went to your shop for dinner last night. They said it was good. I gotta go.
Peter: Ok, bye!
2:53pm *Ring! Ring!*
Me: Hello?
Peter: The Cessna sales office in Singapore doesn't have anyone who speaks Chinese.
Me: But the web page said their territory was China!
Peter: I know! They can't speak English, either. I was trying to give her my email address, I was all like "K for kill you, u for underwear, v for very fat, B for boy," and she was all like, "What?"
Me: Ok, I'll call them. I'm can do bad English. Hey, do Chinese people get ear infections?
Peter: Why?
Me: I think I have one.
Peter: Then why does it matter if Chinese people get them?
Me: I need the medicine, of course.
Peter: Er, I gotta go.
Me: So, for sure no dinner tonight?
Peter: Yep.
Me: Ok, bye.
6:10pm *Ring! Ring!*
Peter's cousin (in Chinese): Peter forgot his phone again. I'll get him to call you.
Me: Ok, bye.
6:27pm *Ring! Ring!*
Me: Hello?
Peter: Where are you?
Me: I just left the pharmacy.
Peter: Did you get the medicine?
Me: Maybe. I gotta go home and google it.
Peter: Are you coming to the shop?
Me: You said no dinner. Do you want me to come?
Peter: 80 didn't come to his shop today, so he can't cook for you, but you can come if you want to.
Me: I'll come if you want me to come.
Peter: You can come if you want to come.
Me: Yeah...I'm going home. I have a headache.
Peter: Do you want to go to Cauliflower's birthday party later?
Me: No, I have to get up early to go to the bank.
Peter: Ok, you go home, I'll pick you up later and we'll spend that gift card.
Me: Ok, bye.
6:41pm *Ring! Ring!*
Peter: What are you doing?
Me: I'm at home.
Peter: Cool. Hey, 80 wants you to come and eat General Tso's Chicken.
Me: You said he wasn't there today.
Peter: He wasn't! I didn't think he was coming in. Do you want to come?
Me: Uhhhh...
Peter: You don't have to.
Me: It'll take me forever to get back there. What's easiest?
Peter: Er...
Me: My ear is full of medicine. I think.
Peter: We'll do it tomorrow.
Me: Sorry!
Peter: Never mind. Bye!
Me: Ok, bye.
10:37pm *Ring! Ring!*
Me: Hello?
Peter: What are you doing?
Me: Sleeping. I'm sorry I missed 80.
Peter: I'm sorry I'm still at work.
Me: I love you.
Peter: I love you, too.
Me: Ok.
Peter: Bye.
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Monday, July 04, 2011
Salute to Fireworks
In honor of the Fourth of July, here's some Chinese firework footage. The first is a video from Wuhan in 2006, from the top of the building I lived in. This was taken on Chinese National Day, which is October 1st.
These two photos are also from National Day 2006. Some friends and I went to see the city's display of fireworks, set off not near but actually on the Yangtze river.
Oooh! Ahhh!
Happy Fourth!
These two photos are also from National Day 2006. Some friends and I went to see the city's display of fireworks, set off not near but actually on the Yangtze river.
Oooh! Ahhh!
Happy Fourth!
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
A Look At The New Restaurant
Sorry for the hiatus! Peter has sold the stand that previously housed Three Sisters Rice Noodles. The new, larger location, was formerly an SPR coffee; a Chinese chain that ripped off Starbuck's so badly that Starbucks actually won the lawsuit. Peter, his cousin, and Dickey (I tried really hard to give him another English name, but Peter named him that when they were in high school, and it's stuck) are operating Thousand Flavor Foods. The name sounds much better in Chinese, I promise. Here's a look at it. You may only watch this video if 1) you agree to bear with me through my unique, Blair With Project style of cinematography and 2) you promise to believe I am actually much hotter than I look in this video, and 3) you bear in mind that my Chinese is much better than it appears in this video. Peter's mom is asking me what I am doing, but I don't know how to say "webcam," "upload" "email" or "youtube" in Chinese.
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Teach a Man to Fish, and he'll be Terrified for the Rest of his Life
More fish tales. If you want to read the beginning of the fish saga, click here.
Me: What is your favorite food?
Vincent: Seafood. But I don't like to eat fish.
Me: So, you mean you only like shellfish--crab, lobster, etc.
Vincent: Yes. I really don't like to eat fish.
Me: You don't like the taste?
Vincent: No, I'm afraid of fish.
Me: Again? Er, I mean, I don't like it when I can see the fish's face. I only like headless fish.
Vincent: It's not that. When I was young, my uncle used to chase me around with a whole, raw fish.
Me: But why?
Vincent: For fun?
Peter and I are in a Thai restaurant. We're in a booth beside a decorative fish tank, which is filled with large goldfishy-type fish. They make kissing faces at us.
Me: The fish here are nice.
Peter: Sure.
Me: Oh yeah, can you believe it, I had another student today who's afraid of fish?
Peter: Warily eying the fish tank. I can believe it.
Me: Are those fish creeping you out?
Peter: No.
Me: What if one of them were to, you know, rush at you?
Peter: Maybe.
Me: Really??! Why are so many Chinese people afraid of--
Peter: Never mind. I lied. I am not afraid of fish and I never was.
Me: Really.
Peter: Yes. What do you want to eat?
Me: The lime chicken. You?
Peter: The, er, fish soup. Ground fish soup.
Me: Do you feel safer if they're ground up?
Peter: Did I say ground fish soup? I meant I want the ground Christense soup.
Me: What is your favorite food?
Vincent: Seafood. But I don't like to eat fish.
Me: So, you mean you only like shellfish--crab, lobster, etc.
Vincent: Yes. I really don't like to eat fish.
Me: You don't like the taste?
Vincent: No, I'm afraid of fish.
Me: Again? Er, I mean, I don't like it when I can see the fish's face. I only like headless fish.
Vincent: It's not that. When I was young, my uncle used to chase me around with a whole, raw fish.
Me: But why?
Vincent: For fun?
Peter and I are in a Thai restaurant. We're in a booth beside a decorative fish tank, which is filled with large goldfishy-type fish. They make kissing faces at us.
Me: The fish here are nice.
Peter: Sure.
Me: Oh yeah, can you believe it, I had another student today who's afraid of fish?
Peter: Warily eying the fish tank. I can believe it.
Me: Are those fish creeping you out?
Peter: No.
Me: What if one of them were to, you know, rush at you?
Peter: Maybe.
Me: Really??! Why are so many Chinese people afraid of--
Peter: Never mind. I lied. I am not afraid of fish and I never was.
Me: Really.
Peter: Yes. What do you want to eat?
Me: The lime chicken. You?
Peter: The, er, fish soup. Ground fish soup.
Me: Do you feel safer if they're ground up?
Peter: Did I say ground fish soup? I meant I want the ground Christense soup.
Sunday, April 24, 2011
Here's What Happened (not related, I just like that title)
The things that get you most in China are the things you never realized were subject to culture.
Blame, for example. The Chinese blame each other much differently than we do. Does that sound petty? Go get someone to mess with your sense of blame, then come talk to me. You never know how much a thing like that can bother you until it's happened to you.
So there I was, coming home from school, feet swollen up like marshmallows. The weather? The arthritis? The day? I don't know why. This morning student scheduled for two back-to-back classes (four hours), beginning at 8am, did a no-show. I ate a very salty bowl of spinach noodles and walked 30 minutes in the hot part of the day to get to my second class of the afternoon. After two hours standing up talking about Moo Goo Gai Pan, I was bushed. I wanted to get home and put my (marshmallows) feet up.
Hunting through a forgotten box for my summer shorts, I stumbled upon a long-forgotten bag of Dead Sea salt. Score! My feet soaking in simulated Dead Seawater, I propped up my laptop and watched and old episode of Star Trek TNG. And when that was over, dagnabit, I watched another. ("Darmok" and "Ensign Ro" for those that want to know.)
Later I was looking up the names of really, really big numbers (could I borrow a quattuordecillion dollars, please?) to teach to my students, when the phone rang. It was Maia, from my school.
Maia: Are you on the way?
Me: To where?
Maia: To school. Wang Fei is waiting for you.
Me: You must be mistaken. I don't know any student called Wang Fei, and when I checked my schedule this afternoon, there was no class tonight.
Maia: There wasn't?
Me: No.
Maia: Well, could you come here, and tomorrow I will ask the scheduler about it? The student is here waiting to have class.
(Here I should point out that it's 45 minutes into a two hour class. I don't know why she waited so long to call me, but by the time I got there the class would be half over. Nevertheless, I don't know what to do. I've been here long enough to second- and third-guess my first instincts, because what I think it the right thing to do is often not--not at all--right in Chinese culture. Peter's not home; I wish he were so I could call a sidebar for a culture conference.)
Me: Well, I don't think I can. I don't know anything about Wang Fei, and I don't have a class prepared.
Maia: Oh. Okay. Well, do you have class here tomorrow?
Me: Yes, in the afternoon.
Maia: Okay, can you come see me?
Me: Sure.
Phone call ends. I feel disquiet within my soul. The American in me is saying, If you go to school now they'll think they can just call you in whenever they want. They'll get sloppy about scheduling, you'll never have any peace again. Besides, it's not your fault. Any class you'd teach would be useless, anyway.
It's long, hard-won, and I don't particularly like it, but important for any person living or working outside their own culture for an extended amount of time is a sense of justice in that secondary culture. My sense of Chinese Justice keeps hitting the replay button on Maia (who is one of the good ones) going in to tell the unknown Wang Fei that there would be no class tonight.
I call Peter. He's wrapped up in some noodle caper and can't talk. I go back to reading giant numbers, not as amused as I was five minutes ago.
Fifteen minutes later my phone rings again. I'm briefly afraid it's Maia again, or my boss calling to tell me I've committed some grave offense and I must duel Maia to the death. After this long, I believe anything can happen in China.
It's just Peter, though. I sketch the problem for him.
Peter: You should have gone.
Me: Really??
Peter: Yeah, really.
Me: But it's not my fault. I shouldn't have to rush in and teach some crappy, slapdash lesson just to cover for someone else! It's not fair to the student to get half a lesson.
Peter: That makes perfect sense...in American culture. In China you have to help her out, and then tomorrow you can figure out what went wrong. It's better that the teacher comes late than that you don't come at all.
Me: (I can hear his facial expression) It's too late. She's already sent the student home by now.
Peter: Okay, well, never mind.
Me: Is it bad?
Peter: No, it's not that bad. Just talk nice to Maia tomorrow.
I hang up. Mixed emotions. I picture myself, arriving to class an hour late. I'd apologize, because I am genetically encoded to do so; I'd apologize and then hate myself for it. Alternately I picture Maia, explaining to the student that there won't be any foreign teacher class tonight. I'm not sure what she's telling the student. White lies are a perfectly acceptable and essential part of Chinese culture. The student is not happy. These kinds of things don't go over well. Some students can be very demanding...at least, the Chinese teachers think so. I've never had any trouble with them. But I don't always get the real.
The bottom line is, coming in late, I'd look wrong. Me not coming, the school would look wrong. I am no longer sure what part this blame formula played in my split-second decision to tell Maia I wasn't coming to class. I am displeased. I pull on Peter's old sweatshirt and go downstairs to buy a soda.
Later, Peter comes home. I am on the bed pretending that I am planning a lesson, but really I am flipping listlessly though Facebook. Peter's birthday is on Wednesday, so I don't take much notice of the package he's carrying, wrapped in pink paper. (Pink doesn't mean anything. "Real men wear pink" started in China.)
The package is for me.
Me: Why?
Peter: Why not?
Me: I haven't done the dishes.
Peter: I know. You had a bad day.
Me: Your mom made fun of my lunch.
Peter: No one but you thinks those noodles taste good, baby.
He hands me the box. I set it on the bed in front of me. After generous pause, he takes it and loosens the wrapping paper, as if demonstrating. I take it back and finish the job.
The outside of the box says...
Me: Lose your life?
Peter: Love your life.
Me: Much better that way.
I open the box gingerly. My husband is not a giver of spontaneous gifts. It could be anything: a gag, something he thinks I'll love but I'll hate, something wildly inappropriate...or something perfect.
Out of the box comes a plastic model of a stone, the size of a large grapefruit. An electrical plug comes out of the back of it. On top there's a small round patch of green fuzz. Emerging from the fuzz are three wires tipped with LED lights. Each light is shaded by a tiny lampshade, one white, one blue, one orange. In the box is a small card with instructions in Chinese, and a brand name: Avatap. My husband has Avatapped me.
Quick, I think to myself. Say something appreciative. You want to encourage this kind of behavior. He'll be embarrassed if you don't like it, so say something that you'd say if you liked it. Make him believe you know what's going on.
Me: Oh...great.
Peter: It's a light!
Me: Yeah, I see that. Cool!
Peter reaches into the box and pulls out a handful of artificial foliage and flowers. He briefly consults the card.
Peter: See? You can poke these in here (indicating the green patch) anywhere you want, and make it beautiful.
Me: Anywhere I want. Neat!
Beat.
Peter: You don't know what it is, do you?
Me: It's a light. A neat-o light.
Peter: You wanted a lamp for beside your bed, but we never found one your liked. I was going to buy you a new handbag, but I didn't know what kind you wanted. I thought this was better for you. Do you recognize it?
Me: It's a hairy lamp. It's great!
Peter: This lamp is a piece of that planet, Avatar.
A long pause.
Me: Oh...oh...OH!
Before my eyes it transforms. The three little lamps are mushrooms. The foliage starts to look familiar. The green fuzz is a patch of moss, in which the plastic daisies will pretend to grow. Oh!
I've had a vague dislike for Avatar ever since I heard that the movie caused a strange phenomenon. People were actually becoming clinically depressed because they wanted to go live on Avataria (whatever, I can't remember the actual name) but they couldn't because it was, after all, not real. To me, that seemed to be totally missing the point of the movie. But I'd enjoyed it otherwise, especially the glowing flora. If that movie had come out when I was twelve, I would have been totally hooked.
Peter: So, you like it?
Me: Now that I know what it is, I totally love it.
Peter: And the LEDs are earth friendly!
Me: Yeah, sure. Let's plug it in!
As we bask in the blue-white-orange glow...
Me: So are you mad at me about the school thing?
Peter: Of course not. You can't be more than you are, baby. Whatever else you are, you're an American.
Me: Do you think the school is going to make a big deal about it?
Peter: No. Just talk to Maia tomorrow. Tell her you're sorry.
Me: Do I have to be 100% sorry?
Peter: No. Ok?
Me: Ok.
Blame, for example. The Chinese blame each other much differently than we do. Does that sound petty? Go get someone to mess with your sense of blame, then come talk to me. You never know how much a thing like that can bother you until it's happened to you.
So there I was, coming home from school, feet swollen up like marshmallows. The weather? The arthritis? The day? I don't know why. This morning student scheduled for two back-to-back classes (four hours), beginning at 8am, did a no-show. I ate a very salty bowl of spinach noodles and walked 30 minutes in the hot part of the day to get to my second class of the afternoon. After two hours standing up talking about Moo Goo Gai Pan, I was bushed. I wanted to get home and put my (marshmallows) feet up.
Hunting through a forgotten box for my summer shorts, I stumbled upon a long-forgotten bag of Dead Sea salt. Score! My feet soaking in simulated Dead Seawater, I propped up my laptop and watched and old episode of Star Trek TNG. And when that was over, dagnabit, I watched another. ("Darmok" and "Ensign Ro" for those that want to know.)
Later I was looking up the names of really, really big numbers (could I borrow a quattuordecillion dollars, please?) to teach to my students, when the phone rang. It was Maia, from my school.
Maia: Are you on the way?
Me: To where?
Maia: To school. Wang Fei is waiting for you.
Me: You must be mistaken. I don't know any student called Wang Fei, and when I checked my schedule this afternoon, there was no class tonight.
Maia: There wasn't?
Me: No.
Maia: Well, could you come here, and tomorrow I will ask the scheduler about it? The student is here waiting to have class.
(Here I should point out that it's 45 minutes into a two hour class. I don't know why she waited so long to call me, but by the time I got there the class would be half over. Nevertheless, I don't know what to do. I've been here long enough to second- and third-guess my first instincts, because what I think it the right thing to do is often not--not at all--right in Chinese culture. Peter's not home; I wish he were so I could call a sidebar for a culture conference.)
Me: Well, I don't think I can. I don't know anything about Wang Fei, and I don't have a class prepared.
Maia: Oh. Okay. Well, do you have class here tomorrow?
Me: Yes, in the afternoon.
Maia: Okay, can you come see me?
Me: Sure.
Phone call ends. I feel disquiet within my soul. The American in me is saying, If you go to school now they'll think they can just call you in whenever they want. They'll get sloppy about scheduling, you'll never have any peace again. Besides, it's not your fault. Any class you'd teach would be useless, anyway.
It's long, hard-won, and I don't particularly like it, but important for any person living or working outside their own culture for an extended amount of time is a sense of justice in that secondary culture. My sense of Chinese Justice keeps hitting the replay button on Maia (who is one of the good ones) going in to tell the unknown Wang Fei that there would be no class tonight.
I call Peter. He's wrapped up in some noodle caper and can't talk. I go back to reading giant numbers, not as amused as I was five minutes ago.
Fifteen minutes later my phone rings again. I'm briefly afraid it's Maia again, or my boss calling to tell me I've committed some grave offense and I must duel Maia to the death. After this long, I believe anything can happen in China.
It's just Peter, though. I sketch the problem for him.
Peter: You should have gone.
Me: Really??
Peter: Yeah, really.
Me: But it's not my fault. I shouldn't have to rush in and teach some crappy, slapdash lesson just to cover for someone else! It's not fair to the student to get half a lesson.
Peter: That makes perfect sense...in American culture. In China you have to help her out, and then tomorrow you can figure out what went wrong. It's better that the teacher comes late than that you don't come at all.
Me: (I can hear his facial expression) It's too late. She's already sent the student home by now.
Peter: Okay, well, never mind.
Me: Is it bad?
Peter: No, it's not that bad. Just talk nice to Maia tomorrow.
I hang up. Mixed emotions. I picture myself, arriving to class an hour late. I'd apologize, because I am genetically encoded to do so; I'd apologize and then hate myself for it. Alternately I picture Maia, explaining to the student that there won't be any foreign teacher class tonight. I'm not sure what she's telling the student. White lies are a perfectly acceptable and essential part of Chinese culture. The student is not happy. These kinds of things don't go over well. Some students can be very demanding...at least, the Chinese teachers think so. I've never had any trouble with them. But I don't always get the real.
The bottom line is, coming in late, I'd look wrong. Me not coming, the school would look wrong. I am no longer sure what part this blame formula played in my split-second decision to tell Maia I wasn't coming to class. I am displeased. I pull on Peter's old sweatshirt and go downstairs to buy a soda.
Later, Peter comes home. I am on the bed pretending that I am planning a lesson, but really I am flipping listlessly though Facebook. Peter's birthday is on Wednesday, so I don't take much notice of the package he's carrying, wrapped in pink paper. (Pink doesn't mean anything. "Real men wear pink" started in China.)
The package is for me.
Me: Why?
Peter: Why not?
Me: I haven't done the dishes.
Peter: I know. You had a bad day.
Me: Your mom made fun of my lunch.
Peter: No one but you thinks those noodles taste good, baby.
He hands me the box. I set it on the bed in front of me. After generous pause, he takes it and loosens the wrapping paper, as if demonstrating. I take it back and finish the job.
The outside of the box says...
Me: Lose your life?
Peter: Love your life.
Me: Much better that way.
I open the box gingerly. My husband is not a giver of spontaneous gifts. It could be anything: a gag, something he thinks I'll love but I'll hate, something wildly inappropriate...or something perfect.
Out of the box comes a plastic model of a stone, the size of a large grapefruit. An electrical plug comes out of the back of it. On top there's a small round patch of green fuzz. Emerging from the fuzz are three wires tipped with LED lights. Each light is shaded by a tiny lampshade, one white, one blue, one orange. In the box is a small card with instructions in Chinese, and a brand name: Avatap. My husband has Avatapped me.
Quick, I think to myself. Say something appreciative. You want to encourage this kind of behavior. He'll be embarrassed if you don't like it, so say something that you'd say if you liked it. Make him believe you know what's going on.
Me: Oh...great.
Peter: It's a light!
Me: Yeah, I see that. Cool!
Peter reaches into the box and pulls out a handful of artificial foliage and flowers. He briefly consults the card.
Peter: See? You can poke these in here (indicating the green patch) anywhere you want, and make it beautiful.
Me: Anywhere I want. Neat!
Beat.
Peter: You don't know what it is, do you?
Me: It's a light. A neat-o light.
Peter: You wanted a lamp for beside your bed, but we never found one your liked. I was going to buy you a new handbag, but I didn't know what kind you wanted. I thought this was better for you. Do you recognize it?
Me: It's a hairy lamp. It's great!
Peter: This lamp is a piece of that planet, Avatar.
A long pause.
Me: Oh...oh...OH!
Before my eyes it transforms. The three little lamps are mushrooms. The foliage starts to look familiar. The green fuzz is a patch of moss, in which the plastic daisies will pretend to grow. Oh!
I've had a vague dislike for Avatar ever since I heard that the movie caused a strange phenomenon. People were actually becoming clinically depressed because they wanted to go live on Avataria (whatever, I can't remember the actual name) but they couldn't because it was, after all, not real. To me, that seemed to be totally missing the point of the movie. But I'd enjoyed it otherwise, especially the glowing flora. If that movie had come out when I was twelve, I would have been totally hooked.
Peter: So, you like it?
Me: Now that I know what it is, I totally love it.
Peter: And the LEDs are earth friendly!
Me: Yeah, sure. Let's plug it in!
As we bask in the blue-white-orange glow...
Me: So are you mad at me about the school thing?
Peter: Of course not. You can't be more than you are, baby. Whatever else you are, you're an American.
Me: Do you think the school is going to make a big deal about it?
Peter: No. Just talk to Maia tomorrow. Tell her you're sorry.
Me: Do I have to be 100% sorry?
Peter: No. Ok?
Me: Ok.
Sometimes I'm Smart, Too
Tim and I are playing Catchphrase. This is why it's hard to get good directions in China.
Tim: This word means what you should do if you don't know something.
Me: Research? Look it up? Dictionary?
Tim: No. Someone asks you, but you don't know the answer.
Me: I've played this game a quadrillion times with various students, so I know what all the words are. Tell a lie?
Tim: That's right!
Me: That's sad.
Amamda and I are playing Catchphrase.
Me: When you see something beautiful and you want to remember it, what will you do?
Amanda: Potato!
Me: Potato?
Amanda: Potato. Potato...photo! Take a photo!
In a class of 12 students, we are playing a game called "What did I do yesterday?" The class has decided where Stuart went (Walmart) what he thought about it (crowded) and what he bought (shampoo). Just a note here: Peter says Wal-Mart smells like China.
Stuart: Did I go somewhere in China?
Class: Many countries have this place.
Stuart: Disneyland?
Me: It's a big store from America.
Stuart: Oh, Wal...Wa...wo er ma!
Me: Yes, Wal-Mart.
Class: What did you think about it?
Stuart: Confusing.
Class: No!
Stuart: Smelly?
Me: Yes, but no.
Class: Like riding the bus at 6pm.
Stuart: Crowded!
Later in that class, Michael approaches me. There's about an hour left of this four-hour class.
Michael: I'm sorry teacher, I have to leave early. I have something to do. (This is a standard Chinese excuse. I guess they don't feel obligated to make up an actual lie.)
Me: Okay, that's fine.
Michael: Okay, teacher, thank you so much.
Me: Tell your girlfriend I said hi.
Michael: How did you know?!
Tim: This word means what you should do if you don't know something.
Me: Research? Look it up? Dictionary?
Tim: No. Someone asks you, but you don't know the answer.
Me: I've played this game a quadrillion times with various students, so I know what all the words are. Tell a lie?
Tim: That's right!
Me: That's sad.
Amamda and I are playing Catchphrase.
Me: When you see something beautiful and you want to remember it, what will you do?
Amanda: Potato!
Me: Potato?
Amanda: Potato. Potato...photo! Take a photo!
In a class of 12 students, we are playing a game called "What did I do yesterday?" The class has decided where Stuart went (Walmart) what he thought about it (crowded) and what he bought (shampoo). Just a note here: Peter says Wal-Mart smells like China.
Stuart: Did I go somewhere in China?
Class: Many countries have this place.
Stuart: Disneyland?
Me: It's a big store from America.
Stuart: Oh, Wal...Wa...wo er ma!
Me: Yes, Wal-Mart.
Class: What did you think about it?
Stuart: Confusing.
Class: No!
Stuart: Smelly?
Me: Yes, but no.
Class: Like riding the bus at 6pm.
Stuart: Crowded!
Later in that class, Michael approaches me. There's about an hour left of this four-hour class.
Michael: I'm sorry teacher, I have to leave early. I have something to do. (This is a standard Chinese excuse. I guess they don't feel obligated to make up an actual lie.)
Me: Okay, that's fine.
Michael: Okay, teacher, thank you so much.
Me: Tell your girlfriend I said hi.
Michael: How did you know?!
Friday, April 22, 2011
Here's What Happened
Imagine, if you will, yourself, at home alone on boys' night out. (If you are a boy, please either imagine yourself as a girl or change "boys' night out" to "girls' night out.") You're having a grand ol' time watching reruns of the Big Bang Theory, pretending it is research for new class material.
An onion ring makes an appearance. Your mouth waters. Your loins quiver. You try not to remember that you can make awesome onion rings.
You continue watching for a reasonable time, until transition to sleepytime is practical, but you can hold back the truth no further. You bought an onion two days ago, right before Peter called and announced you were going out to eat. It sits in the icebox, awaiting you. (Yes, I know onions don't live in the icebox. I like to think outside the box. Or in it.) You have the flour--you always have flour, Betty Crocker. The bodega downstairs doesn't close for another 15 minutes.
It's meant to be.
Off you trot in your PJ's (people stare no matter what, might as well be comfortable) and return with a bottle of Xi'an's cheapest. The pile of dirty dishes in the sink only slightly dampens the mood. You're whistling (well, you would be if you could whistle) as you forage for cleanish dishes and line seasonings up in a row. Down, down to the deepest depths of the cabinet you delve for that all-essential but rarely used flour.
Hmm.
You remember the flour clearly. You remember insisting on buying it about nine months ago, the flour and an airtight plastic tub (ridonkulously expensive in China) to keep it in. After using about nine tablespoons of it, you decided on a new organizational system. You wrapped it and a bag of rice up in a cleverly arranged network of zipper bags, then filled the tub with cleaning supplies. Tub and flour parted company.
Hmm.
A phone call to your husband establishes that he doesn't remember what he did. More talking establishes that he remembers taking the rice, and only the rice, to use in his noodle shop. (No, that's not supposed to make sense.) The karaoke music in the background is getting distracting, but even more talking establishes that he is sincerely repentant for an offense he does not fully understand. He holds firm on the fact that the rice and rice only left the house with him, and quickly follows up with a promise of piles of golden-brown onion rings at his shop tomorrow (presumably made from rice...?).
It is tempting. His onion rings are better than yours. So much better, you're not even jealous. And he's truly sorry. Yep, he's a keeper.
Nevertheless, it won't help you tonight. You let him off the hook and ask him to sing Poker Face for you (again).
Plan second is the world's most awesome smoothie: pineapple-mango, FTW! There's just enough stuff left to make a really good one. The mangoes are wrinkly...which means they're in perfect ripeness. Their smell is intoxicating. Funny, I've never seen pineapple like that before. I wonder what it tastes--oh. Where's the trash can?
So, to recap, you've got no onion rings, no delicious smoothie, and the taste of overripe-and-not-in-a-good-way pineapple in your mouth. Sigh.
But! You've still got your Big Bang Theory research to do (that would be a lot more auspicious if it wasn't capitalized) and you do, after all, have the beer!
Which is warm.
An onion ring makes an appearance. Your mouth waters. Your loins quiver. You try not to remember that you can make awesome onion rings.
You continue watching for a reasonable time, until transition to sleepytime is practical, but you can hold back the truth no further. You bought an onion two days ago, right before Peter called and announced you were going out to eat. It sits in the icebox, awaiting you. (Yes, I know onions don't live in the icebox. I like to think outside the box. Or in it.) You have the flour--you always have flour, Betty Crocker. The bodega downstairs doesn't close for another 15 minutes.
It's meant to be.
Off you trot in your PJ's (people stare no matter what, might as well be comfortable) and return with a bottle of Xi'an's cheapest. The pile of dirty dishes in the sink only slightly dampens the mood. You're whistling (well, you would be if you could whistle) as you forage for cleanish dishes and line seasonings up in a row. Down, down to the deepest depths of the cabinet you delve for that all-essential but rarely used flour.
Hmm.
You remember the flour clearly. You remember insisting on buying it about nine months ago, the flour and an airtight plastic tub (ridonkulously expensive in China) to keep it in. After using about nine tablespoons of it, you decided on a new organizational system. You wrapped it and a bag of rice up in a cleverly arranged network of zipper bags, then filled the tub with cleaning supplies. Tub and flour parted company.
Hmm.
A phone call to your husband establishes that he doesn't remember what he did. More talking establishes that he remembers taking the rice, and only the rice, to use in his noodle shop. (No, that's not supposed to make sense.) The karaoke music in the background is getting distracting, but even more talking establishes that he is sincerely repentant for an offense he does not fully understand. He holds firm on the fact that the rice and rice only left the house with him, and quickly follows up with a promise of piles of golden-brown onion rings at his shop tomorrow (presumably made from rice...?).
It is tempting. His onion rings are better than yours. So much better, you're not even jealous. And he's truly sorry. Yep, he's a keeper.
Nevertheless, it won't help you tonight. You let him off the hook and ask him to sing Poker Face for you (again).
Plan second is the world's most awesome smoothie: pineapple-mango, FTW! There's just enough stuff left to make a really good one. The mangoes are wrinkly...which means they're in perfect ripeness. Their smell is intoxicating. Funny, I've never seen pineapple like that before. I wonder what it tastes--oh. Where's the trash can?
So, to recap, you've got no onion rings, no delicious smoothie, and the taste of overripe-and-not-in-a-good-way pineapple in your mouth. Sigh.
But! You've still got your Big Bang Theory research to do (that would be a lot more auspicious if it wasn't capitalized) and you do, after all, have the beer!
Which is warm.
Thursday, April 21, 2011
Middle Earth in the Middle Kingdom, or How my Students are Smarter than Me
I am teaching a lesson about Chinese food to Jeff. I've just shown him a picture of a bowl of Egg Flower Soup made in the good ol' USA.
Me: So, is this like the soup in China?
Jeff: Kind of. The eggs look wrong.
Me: What's different about them?
I know very well what's different, but it's good practice for Jeff to explain it to me, so I play dumb. How can he complain about his food in the States like a true American if I don't teach him now?
Jeff: In China we add more...um...checks dictionary...it's not in my dictionary.
Me: Maybe you can describe it to me.
Jeff: It turns blue when you add iodine.
Me: Um, what?
Jeff: Iodine?
Me: Iodine...
Jeff: Yeah, when you add iodine to it it turns blue.
Me: The only food I can think of with iodine is salt.
Jeff: No, not salt. When we add it to Chinese soup it makes it thicker and the shape of the eggs is more beautiful, really like flowers.
Me: Thinking of Peter cooking. Starch? Corn starch?
Jeff: Yes! Starch. We add more starch.
Me: You know, iodine is not where I would have started trying to explain cornstarch.
Jeff: You're welcome.
Talking with Stan before the Chinese food lesson. This conversation took place in Chinese.
Stan: I really like blah blah blah.
Me: You like hot and sour diarrhea?
Stan: I like hot and sour soup. SOUP!
My students aren't always clear on the difference between "hobby" and "habit." They mix up both the words and the meanings. Occasionally, my nerdly heart soars when they ask me:
What's your hobbit?
Bruce is Party Animal's best friend. The two of them are going to London together to study English and then go to high school.
Bruce: I like cars, but I don't like buses.
Me: Why is that?
Bruce: Have you been on the bus in Xi'an? Those drivers think they're driving race cars, not buses.
Me: I couldn't have said it better myself.
My last lesson with Party Animal. We are doing a lesson entitled For or Against? The legal driving age in China is 18, and there is no age limit for buying/drinking alcohol or buying/smoking cigarettes.
Me: Are you for lowering the driving age to 15?
Party Animal: No.
Me: But if it were lowered then you could drive.
Party Animal: I don't think I can see over the steering wheel. (It's true.)
Me: Oh...er...so, what do you think the legal age for driving should be?
Party Animal: 20.
Me: Really? I know you like cars. That's a long time to wait to drive.
Party Animal: I know. I'm not ready. My mom wouldn't let me drive, anyway.
Me: Probably true. Are you for or against a legal age for smoking cigarettes?
Party Animal: For. I think it should be twenty as well. They're not good for young people.
Me: Well, they're not good for anybody.
Party Animal: Yeah, but by 20 if they don't know better it's too late.
Me: Do you think there should be a legal drinking age for alcohol?
Party Animal: What's alcohol?
Me: Beer wine, and hard liquor like baijou. (Baijou tastes like coconut flavored nail polish remover and is the way the Chinese punish unsuspecting tourists.)
Party Animal: I think the drinking age should be 20 also. No, wait...
Me: Yes?
Party Animal: I think it should be 20 for beer and wine and 30 for hard liquor.
Me: Will you be running for president any time soon? I think I'd vote for you.
Apparently-Not-Such-A Party Animal: Leaping to his feet and running to the window. Dude! I just saw a Lamborghini!
Me: So, is this like the soup in China?
Jeff: Kind of. The eggs look wrong.
Me: What's different about them?
I know very well what's different, but it's good practice for Jeff to explain it to me, so I play dumb. How can he complain about his food in the States like a true American if I don't teach him now?
Jeff: In China we add more...um...checks dictionary...it's not in my dictionary.
Me: Maybe you can describe it to me.
Jeff: It turns blue when you add iodine.
Me: Um, what?
Jeff: Iodine?
Me: Iodine...
Jeff: Yeah, when you add iodine to it it turns blue.
Me: The only food I can think of with iodine is salt.
Jeff: No, not salt. When we add it to Chinese soup it makes it thicker and the shape of the eggs is more beautiful, really like flowers.
Me: Thinking of Peter cooking. Starch? Corn starch?
Jeff: Yes! Starch. We add more starch.
Me: You know, iodine is not where I would have started trying to explain cornstarch.
Jeff: You're welcome.
Talking with Stan before the Chinese food lesson. This conversation took place in Chinese.
Stan: I really like blah blah blah.
Me: You like hot and sour diarrhea?
Stan: I like hot and sour soup. SOUP!
My students aren't always clear on the difference between "hobby" and "habit." They mix up both the words and the meanings. Occasionally, my nerdly heart soars when they ask me:
What's your hobbit?
Bruce is Party Animal's best friend. The two of them are going to London together to study English and then go to high school.
Bruce: I like cars, but I don't like buses.
Me: Why is that?
Bruce: Have you been on the bus in Xi'an? Those drivers think they're driving race cars, not buses.
Me: I couldn't have said it better myself.
My last lesson with Party Animal. We are doing a lesson entitled For or Against? The legal driving age in China is 18, and there is no age limit for buying/drinking alcohol or buying/smoking cigarettes.
Me: Are you for lowering the driving age to 15?
Party Animal: No.
Me: But if it were lowered then you could drive.
Party Animal: I don't think I can see over the steering wheel. (It's true.)
Me: Oh...er...so, what do you think the legal age for driving should be?
Party Animal: 20.
Me: Really? I know you like cars. That's a long time to wait to drive.
Party Animal: I know. I'm not ready. My mom wouldn't let me drive, anyway.
Me: Probably true. Are you for or against a legal age for smoking cigarettes?
Party Animal: For. I think it should be twenty as well. They're not good for young people.
Me: Well, they're not good for anybody.
Party Animal: Yeah, but by 20 if they don't know better it's too late.
Me: Do you think there should be a legal drinking age for alcohol?
Party Animal: What's alcohol?
Me: Beer wine, and hard liquor like baijou. (Baijou tastes like coconut flavored nail polish remover and is the way the Chinese punish unsuspecting tourists.)
Party Animal: I think the drinking age should be 20 also. No, wait...
Me: Yes?
Party Animal: I think it should be 20 for beer and wine and 30 for hard liquor.
Me: Will you be running for president any time soon? I think I'd vote for you.
Apparently-Not-Such-A Party Animal: Leaping to his feet and running to the window. Dude! I just saw a Lamborghini!
Thursday, April 14, 2011
A Bit Fishy
I hit a busy spot so I have been absent, but I'm back with a few recent excerpts. Let's start with a mistake about a traditional Chinese dish.
Kaelee: I like to eat hot pants.
Me: What?!
Kaelee: Oops, I mean hot pot.
Sherrie: I am afraid to go scuba driving.
Me: Scuba diving.
Sherrie: Oh, sorry. Scuba diving.
Me: I tried to go scuba diving. but I chickened out. I don't like deep water.
Sherrie: Oh, I don't mind deep water. I love swimming. I'm just really afraid of fish.
Me: Wait, you're afraid of fish?
Sherrie: Yes.
Me: Fish?
Sherrie: Fish.
Me: Why?
Sherrie: I don't know. They just freak me out.
Me: The scales, the unblinking eyes...?
Sherrie: Yes. Ew.
Me: Can you eat fish?
Sherrie: Yeah, I like to eat fish.
Me: So it's just looking at fish that creeps you out.
Sherrie: I don't like to see them when they're alive.
Me: So Finding Nemo must have been like a horror movie for you.
Me: Honey, today my student told me she's afraid of fish. Fish!
Peter: So?
Me: Isn't that weird? Have you ever heard of that before?
Peter: Yeah, sure. A few people.
Me: Seriously? Is that common in China?
Peter: I guess so.
Me: You guess? Are any of your friends afraid of fish?
Peter: Well...I am. I was, when I was younger.
Me: When you were younger?
Peter: Well, until I was like, fifteen.
Me: Fifteen?!
Peter: It's really not that big a deal. Look, can we talk about something else?
Me: Finding Nemo?
I am very pleased this show is catching on in China.
Claire: I like to watch an American TV show called The Big Bang Theory.
Me: I love that show. You said your major is physics, right?
Claire: Yes.
Me: So can you understand the physics they mention?
Claire: Some of it. The vocabulary's very technical.
Me: So what's your opinion?
Claire: Sheldon is very interesting.
Kaelee: I had the phone interview with the American high school I want to go to.
Me: Which one was that?
Kaelee: Scared Heart High School.
Me: Sacred Heart?
Kaelee: Oh, yes.
Me: So did you feel nervous?
Kaelee: No, I felt great.
Kaelee: I like to eat hot pants.
Me: What?!
Kaelee: Oops, I mean hot pot.
Sherrie: I am afraid to go scuba driving.
Me: Scuba diving.
Sherrie: Oh, sorry. Scuba diving.
Me: I tried to go scuba diving. but I chickened out. I don't like deep water.
Sherrie: Oh, I don't mind deep water. I love swimming. I'm just really afraid of fish.
Me: Wait, you're afraid of fish?
Sherrie: Yes.
Me: Fish?
Sherrie: Fish.
Me: Why?
Sherrie: I don't know. They just freak me out.
Me: The scales, the unblinking eyes...?
Sherrie: Yes. Ew.
Me: Can you eat fish?
Sherrie: Yeah, I like to eat fish.
Me: So it's just looking at fish that creeps you out.
Sherrie: I don't like to see them when they're alive.
Me: So Finding Nemo must have been like a horror movie for you.
Me: Honey, today my student told me she's afraid of fish. Fish!
Peter: So?
Me: Isn't that weird? Have you ever heard of that before?
Peter: Yeah, sure. A few people.
Me: Seriously? Is that common in China?
Peter: I guess so.
Me: You guess? Are any of your friends afraid of fish?
Peter: Well...I am. I was, when I was younger.
Me: When you were younger?
Peter: Well, until I was like, fifteen.
Me: Fifteen?!
Peter: It's really not that big a deal. Look, can we talk about something else?
Me: Finding Nemo?
I am very pleased this show is catching on in China.
Claire: I like to watch an American TV show called The Big Bang Theory.
Me: I love that show. You said your major is physics, right?
Claire: Yes.
Me: So can you understand the physics they mention?
Claire: Some of it. The vocabulary's very technical.
Me: So what's your opinion?
Claire: Sheldon is very interesting.
Kaelee: I had the phone interview with the American high school I want to go to.
Me: Which one was that?
Kaelee: Scared Heart High School.
Me: Sacred Heart?
Kaelee: Oh, yes.
Me: So did you feel nervous?
Kaelee: No, I felt great.
Saturday, April 02, 2011
The Orange Chicken Recipe
I've been promised a good meatloaf recipe in exchange for Peter's Orange Chicken recipe. I post it here for those who asked for it. The Chinese don't measure, so all amounts are approximate. Feel free to experiment and modify to fit your tastes. If you like it I wouldn't mind getting a few of your best recipes in return.
- Take 2-6 boneless, skinless chicken breasts and cut into one inch square pieces.
- Roll the chicken pieces in flour. (Peter prefers cornstarch, but it gives the meat a mushy texture I dislike.)
- Fry your chicken pieces in one inch of oil in a wok or heavy saucepan. Yes, deep fry. Chinese food is not healthy. (You could probably use grilled chicken if you wanted to.)
- When cooked through, remove the chicken from the oil and and drain on a paper towel.
- While the chicken is cooking, zest and juice one orange. Or more. Or maybe a lemon. Tangerine? Set zest and juice aside.
- In a wok or large fry pan combine two parts frozen orange juice concentrate with one part water. (adjusting this ratio of water to concentrate will make the chicken more or less orangey.)
- In the pan add the juice of the orange. Add a dash of salt. Don't leave the salt out. Add 1-3 tablespoons of good marmelade (marmelade is a little bitter, so if you're not used to it go sparingly or leave it out.)
- In a separate bowl mix some cornstarch with water, one part cornstarch to two parts water. Ish.
- Place the pan containing the orange mixture over medium heat. Bring to a gentle simmer. Using a wisk, add the cornstarch mixture in small amounts until the sauce is thickened to a pleasing consistency.
- Add the cooked chicken to the sauce and let simmer for a minute.
- Taste. If it seems like it "needs something" add a dash more of salt, garlic powder,sugar, rice vinegar or a dab of chicken broth..
- When it's done remove from heat and sprinkle on the orange zest.
- Serve with rice and stir-fried spinach or cucumber salad.
The International Bank of Peter
My salary is long gone, eaten by the bills, so I've been bumming from Peter and his noodle proceeds.
Me: Honey, I need some more cash.
Peter: How much do you want?
Me: How much am I worth?
Peter: Here's 150RMB.
Me: This is all in tens and fives.
Peter: So?
Me: Don't you need change for the shop?
Peter: No, I've got too much. That's why you get it.
Me: I can't walk around with all these small bills. People will think I'm a stripper.
Peter: It's not like you'll be going around making purchases of 50RMB.
Me: So this is how you control my spending.
Peter: Not at all. For the right pair of shoes, you'd risk looking like a stripper.
Me: I want a divorce.
Peter: Can you get a divorce for 150 RMB?
Me: Maybe!
Peter: Your lawyer will think you're a stripper.
Me: Rats.
Peter: So, no on the divorce?
Me: Not today. Maybe tomorrow.
Peter: Great. Can you make some popcorn?
Me: Honey, I need some more cash.
Peter: How much do you want?
Me: How much am I worth?
Peter: Here's 150RMB.
Me: This is all in tens and fives.
Peter: So?
Me: Don't you need change for the shop?
Peter: No, I've got too much. That's why you get it.
Me: I can't walk around with all these small bills. People will think I'm a stripper.
Peter: It's not like you'll be going around making purchases of 50RMB.
Me: So this is how you control my spending.
Peter: Not at all. For the right pair of shoes, you'd risk looking like a stripper.
Me: I want a divorce.
Peter: Can you get a divorce for 150 RMB?
Me: Maybe!
Peter: Your lawyer will think you're a stripper.
Me: Rats.
Peter: So, no on the divorce?
Me: Not today. Maybe tomorrow.
Peter: Great. Can you make some popcorn?
Saturday, March 26, 2011
I Though Pregnant Women Were Supposed to be Forgetful
Crap! She remembers!
In November I had the following conversation with a pregnant woman who sells fruit on the street near my house. I am bundled up in Peter's old sweatshirt buying some apples from her, and she is chatting me up about the cool weather.
Fruit Mamma: That's 8.50 RMB.
Me: Here you go.
Fruit Mamma (pointing to the bag in my hand): Did you get that sandwich to go?
(Stop.
The critics might argue that I should have known she wasn't talking about my sandwich. After all, it was already wrapped up in a bag, clearly "to go." My rebuttal is that Captain Obvious is alive and well in China. I offer today's conversation with a taxi driver as proof. This conversation took place in Chinese.
Me: Please take me to the New Oriental on the Second Ring Road.
Taxi Driver: Where?
Me: New Oriental School. The one on the Second Ring Road.
Taxi Driver: There's a New Oriental on the Second Ring Road?
Me: Yes, the main campus. It's right where Hanguang Street crosses the Second Ring Road.
Taxi Driver: I'm not sure I know where that is.
Me: Just head that way. I know where it is, I can tell you.
Taxi Driver: You're sure you know where it is?
Me: Of course I do. I work there. I'm a teacher.
Taxi Driver: Okay. (Beat) How long have you been in Xi'an?
Me: A year.
Taxi Driver: Are you here for work or travel?
Me: Maybe I should get another taxi...
So. Obvious questions? All a part of the game. Cut back to me and the Fruit Mamma.)
Fruit Mamma: Did you get that sandwich to go?
Me: Um, yes?
Fruit Mamma: Cool. Me too. How many months?
Me: Huh?
Fruit Mama: When will it be born?
(At this point, the sluggish part of my brain that speaks Chinese reminds me that the slang for "baby" and "to go" sound awfully similar to me. I do some fast thinking.)
Me: Uh, July.
Fruit Mamma: I'm due in February. Maybe our "to go"s can be friends.
Me: Yep! Okay, bye!
Fast forward to today. I haven't seen Fruit Mamma in awhile, because women are usually confined to the house for the last month of their pregnancy and the first month of motherhood. It's considered unhealthy to go outside during this time. There's a host of other superstitions that go along with this.
At the time of my original mistake we had plans to move to another neighborhood before my mythical baby was to be born. Those plans fell through, however, and Fruit Mamma's back today. As I buy a bag of tiny, delicious mangoes she looks me up and down and says:
That baby's coming soon, huh?
I experience a lurch of vertigo as all of the above, which I had forgotten, comes crashing back to me. I should have planned for this. Of course she'd remember; the strongest bond two heterosexual women can form is that of being pregnant at the same time. I have a deer-in-the-headlights moment as I try to think of a plausible way out of this situation and come up with nothing. Crap. What due date did I make up? I guess:
June?
She looks me up and down and says dubiously:
Really?
I cannot resist trying to read her eyes to see if she thinks I look like I am more or less than six months pregnant. I am afraid it is more. Or maybe she's doing some math and figuring out that my pregnancy is lasting an unnatural amount of time...because as I am thinking this I realize my initial calculation may be off. Did that sandwich conversation occur on a warm night in fall or a cool night in summer? Am I pregnant with a rhinoceros? What's wrong with those crazy Americans? Did you know they actually bathe and go outside less than a month after giving birth? I feel the tendrils of panic creeping around me, so I blurt out:
Yep! Okay, bye!
Safely at home, I have Peter, the tiny delicious mangoes, and barbecued fish to comfort me. We concoct a plan (Peter and I, that is, the fish has no feasible suggestions). When next I see Fruit Mamma I will pretend that I thought she was asking me about when I was next going home to America. For some reason I find this mistake much less embarrassing than the actual mistake I made. I guess I'd rather have her think I mistook "go home and eat tacos" for "give birth." It's believable. After all, I did mistake "to go" for "baby."
Sigh. I think I'll be ordering that Rosetta Stone software on payday.
In November I had the following conversation with a pregnant woman who sells fruit on the street near my house. I am bundled up in Peter's old sweatshirt buying some apples from her, and she is chatting me up about the cool weather.
Fruit Mamma: That's 8.50 RMB.
Me: Here you go.
Fruit Mamma (pointing to the bag in my hand): Did you get that sandwich to go?
(Stop.
The critics might argue that I should have known she wasn't talking about my sandwich. After all, it was already wrapped up in a bag, clearly "to go." My rebuttal is that Captain Obvious is alive and well in China. I offer today's conversation with a taxi driver as proof. This conversation took place in Chinese.
Me: Please take me to the New Oriental on the Second Ring Road.
Taxi Driver: Where?
Me: New Oriental School. The one on the Second Ring Road.
Taxi Driver: There's a New Oriental on the Second Ring Road?
Me: Yes, the main campus. It's right where Hanguang Street crosses the Second Ring Road.
Taxi Driver: I'm not sure I know where that is.
Me: Just head that way. I know where it is, I can tell you.
Taxi Driver: You're sure you know where it is?
Me: Of course I do. I work there. I'm a teacher.
Taxi Driver: Okay. (Beat) How long have you been in Xi'an?
Me: A year.
Taxi Driver: Are you here for work or travel?
Me: Maybe I should get another taxi...
So. Obvious questions? All a part of the game. Cut back to me and the Fruit Mamma.)
Fruit Mamma: Did you get that sandwich to go?
Me: Um, yes?
Fruit Mamma: Cool. Me too. How many months?
Me: Huh?
Fruit Mama: When will it be born?
(At this point, the sluggish part of my brain that speaks Chinese reminds me that the slang for "baby" and "to go" sound awfully similar to me. I do some fast thinking.)
Me: Uh, July.
Fruit Mamma: I'm due in February. Maybe our "to go"s can be friends.
Me: Yep! Okay, bye!
Fast forward to today. I haven't seen Fruit Mamma in awhile, because women are usually confined to the house for the last month of their pregnancy and the first month of motherhood. It's considered unhealthy to go outside during this time. There's a host of other superstitions that go along with this.
At the time of my original mistake we had plans to move to another neighborhood before my mythical baby was to be born. Those plans fell through, however, and Fruit Mamma's back today. As I buy a bag of tiny, delicious mangoes she looks me up and down and says:
That baby's coming soon, huh?
I experience a lurch of vertigo as all of the above, which I had forgotten, comes crashing back to me. I should have planned for this. Of course she'd remember; the strongest bond two heterosexual women can form is that of being pregnant at the same time. I have a deer-in-the-headlights moment as I try to think of a plausible way out of this situation and come up with nothing. Crap. What due date did I make up? I guess:
June?
She looks me up and down and says dubiously:
Really?
I cannot resist trying to read her eyes to see if she thinks I look like I am more or less than six months pregnant. I am afraid it is more. Or maybe she's doing some math and figuring out that my pregnancy is lasting an unnatural amount of time...because as I am thinking this I realize my initial calculation may be off. Did that sandwich conversation occur on a warm night in fall or a cool night in summer? Am I pregnant with a rhinoceros? What's wrong with those crazy Americans? Did you know they actually bathe and go outside less than a month after giving birth? I feel the tendrils of panic creeping around me, so I blurt out:
Yep! Okay, bye!
Safely at home, I have Peter, the tiny delicious mangoes, and barbecued fish to comfort me. We concoct a plan (Peter and I, that is, the fish has no feasible suggestions). When next I see Fruit Mamma I will pretend that I thought she was asking me about when I was next going home to America. For some reason I find this mistake much less embarrassing than the actual mistake I made. I guess I'd rather have her think I mistook "go home and eat tacos" for "give birth." It's believable. After all, I did mistake "to go" for "baby."
Sigh. I think I'll be ordering that Rosetta Stone software on payday.
Thursday, March 24, 2011
The Odd Couple
Peter and I are watching TV. Except, as usual, we're not so much watching it as sitting in front of it ignoring it and talking. We are watching an episode of Mythbusters about the 5 second rule.
Peter: What's the 5 second rule?
Me: That you can eat something off the floor if it's been there less than 5 seconds.
Peter: I would never do that.
Me: I used to believe in that.
Peter: Why'd you stop?
Me: I stopped right around the time I became responsible for cleaning my own floors. Would you eat off your grandma's floor? She's really clean.
Peter: She is, but I wouldn't eat off her floor, because she's crazy. She does mop twice a day, though.
Me: Really?
Peter: Yeah, everyone on that side of the family does. They're a little anal. My grandfather used to yell at me for watching TV and reading the newspaper at the same time.
Me: Why?
Peter: He said it was a waste of electricity. Also he wouldn't ever let me sit on the bed with my pants on.
Me: Pardon?
Peter: He said the only thing that should go on the bed is your body in pajamas. Your street clothes are dirty. He also didn't let me put my school bag on the bed. Or any food.
Me: Is that why everyone takes their pants off whenever they go to your grandparents' house?
Peter: Yeah. Anal. I never told you before, but it kind of bothers me, too.
Me: You told me before.
Peter: I did?
Me: Remember when I was packing to go to America and I put my suitcase on the bed?
Peter: It had been in storage for a year!
Me: I dusted it! You're turning into your grandfather.
Peter: Maybe.
Me: Wait a few more years, then you'll start turning into your father.
Peter: What's wrong with that?
Me: Nothing, but I'm turning into my mother.
Peter: So it'd be like your mother was married to my father...
(beat)
Me: Yeah, that wouldn't work at all.
Peter: I think we discovered where divorce comes from.
Peter's family are lovely people. They have a quirk or two, like the rest of us. Pants are generally removed only when wearing long johns underneath, in the winter, which is not (too) unusual here. My mother and his father are lovely, caring people, but definitely not made for each other!
Peter: What's the 5 second rule?
Me: That you can eat something off the floor if it's been there less than 5 seconds.
Peter: I would never do that.
Me: I used to believe in that.
Peter: Why'd you stop?
Me: I stopped right around the time I became responsible for cleaning my own floors. Would you eat off your grandma's floor? She's really clean.
Peter: She is, but I wouldn't eat off her floor, because she's crazy. She does mop twice a day, though.
Me: Really?
Peter: Yeah, everyone on that side of the family does. They're a little anal. My grandfather used to yell at me for watching TV and reading the newspaper at the same time.
Me: Why?
Peter: He said it was a waste of electricity. Also he wouldn't ever let me sit on the bed with my pants on.
Me: Pardon?
Peter: He said the only thing that should go on the bed is your body in pajamas. Your street clothes are dirty. He also didn't let me put my school bag on the bed. Or any food.
Me: Is that why everyone takes their pants off whenever they go to your grandparents' house?
Peter: Yeah. Anal. I never told you before, but it kind of bothers me, too.
Me: You told me before.
Peter: I did?
Me: Remember when I was packing to go to America and I put my suitcase on the bed?
Peter: It had been in storage for a year!
Me: I dusted it! You're turning into your grandfather.
Peter: Maybe.
Me: Wait a few more years, then you'll start turning into your father.
Peter: What's wrong with that?
Me: Nothing, but I'm turning into my mother.
Peter: So it'd be like your mother was married to my father...
(beat)
Me: Yeah, that wouldn't work at all.
Peter: I think we discovered where divorce comes from.
Peter's family are lovely people. They have a quirk or two, like the rest of us. Pants are generally removed only when wearing long johns underneath, in the winter, which is not (too) unusual here. My mother and his father are lovely, caring people, but definitely not made for each other!
Monday, March 21, 2011
Panamobama
I lost my internet access for a few days, but I'm back now! If you're interested, I finished reading The DaVinci Code and wrote a short review on Goodreads, which you can read here. If you're on Goodreads, or you like reading, you should become my friend. I want more people to talk about books with me.
Here are some conversations I've had recently.
Me: What is most important to you?
Harmony: My family. And books.
Me: I knew I liked you.
Me: Why'd she let you answer her phone?
Howard: She was too drunk to answer it. We had been drinking Pee...peer...beef... no, beer!
Me: When? This morning?
Judy and I are guessing words, Catchphrase-style.
Judy: I don't live in a house, I live in an apart...
Me: Apartment?
Judy: Yes.
Me: Okay, go on.
Judy: That's it. The word is "meant."
Me: Do you know what it means?
Judy: I'm supposed to know what it means?
Me: Of course.
Judy: Whatever. I still got you to say it.
I am showing Harmony pictures of American holidays.
Me: Do you know what day this is?
Harmony: (Mentally translating from Chinese) Thank You Day?
Me: Close. It's called Thanksgiving.
Harmony: English words too many long.
Me: I agree. (Showing a picture of a plate of cookies laid out for Santa Claus) Do you know what day this is?
Harmony: There is Cookie Day in America?!
Me: There should be. I think I like your holidays better.
Harmony: You welcome.
We are looking at a map of the world.
Michael: Where's Panama?
Gene: In the White House.
Abbot: That's Obama, genius!
Gene: There's two?
Here are some conversations I've had recently.
Me: What is most important to you?
Harmony: My family. And books.
Me: I knew I liked you.
Me: Why'd she let you answer her phone?
Howard: She was too drunk to answer it. We had been drinking Pee...peer...beef... no, beer!
Me: When? This morning?
Judy and I are guessing words, Catchphrase-style.
Judy: I don't live in a house, I live in an apart...
Me: Apartment?
Judy: Yes.
Me: Okay, go on.
Judy: That's it. The word is "meant."
Me: Do you know what it means?
Judy: I'm supposed to know what it means?
Me: Of course.
Judy: Whatever. I still got you to say it.
I am showing Harmony pictures of American holidays.
Me: Do you know what day this is?
Harmony: (Mentally translating from Chinese) Thank You Day?
Me: Close. It's called Thanksgiving.
Harmony: English words too many long.
Me: I agree. (Showing a picture of a plate of cookies laid out for Santa Claus) Do you know what day this is?
Harmony: There is Cookie Day in America?!
Me: There should be. I think I like your holidays better.
Harmony: You welcome.
We are looking at a map of the world.
Michael: Where's Panama?
Gene: In the White House.
Abbot: That's Obama, genius!
Gene: There's two?
Sunday, March 13, 2011
Self-Esteem FAIL
Sheri: I'm going to go to high school in California.
Me: Which city?
Shari: Sack...er...Sack...
Me: Sacramento?
Shari: Yes!
Me: Do you know the name of your high school?
Shari: Loser High School.
Me: Say what?
Shari: Loser High School.
Me: Umm...
Shari: You know, it's spelled L-U-T-H---
Me: Oh! Luther High School!
Me: Which city?
Shari: Sack...er...Sack...
Me: Sacramento?
Shari: Yes!
Me: Do you know the name of your high school?
Shari: Loser High School.
Me: Say what?
Shari: Loser High School.
Me: Umm...
Shari: You know, it's spelled L-U-T-H---
Me: Oh! Luther High School!
Busted
About a week ago I had a Who's on First-style discussion with Saul, whose job it is to help me with class-related issues. You can read the original conversation here.
Saul: Oh hey, Christense, I found out that you probably do need a specific textbook for that IELTS class.
Me: Great, what is the name of the textbook?
Saul: Sorry, I don't know.
Me: How can I buy the textbook if I don't know the name?
Saul: Yeah. I'll try to find out for you.
Me: The class manager at the IELTS center could probably tell you.
Saul: Yeah, I should go back and ask him again.
Me: I happened to be at the IELTS center this morning. I talked to the class manager myself, and he said there is no textbook for that class.
Saul: Oh. Really?
Me: Yes. So you don't need to bother talking to him "again."
Saul: (Sincere) Great. Let me know if there's anything else I can help you with.
Me: I sure will.
Saul: Oh hey, Christense, I found out that you probably do need a specific textbook for that IELTS class.
Me: Great, what is the name of the textbook?
Saul: Sorry, I don't know.
Me: How can I buy the textbook if I don't know the name?
Saul: Yeah. I'll try to find out for you.
Me: The class manager at the IELTS center could probably tell you.
Saul: Yeah, I should go back and ask him again.
Me: I happened to be at the IELTS center this morning. I talked to the class manager myself, and he said there is no textbook for that class.
Saul: Oh. Really?
Me: Yes. So you don't need to bother talking to him "again."
Saul: (Sincere) Great. Let me know if there's anything else I can help you with.
Me: I sure will.
The Uniforms Would be More Interesting
Emmy: Your student Harmony is going to have an interview to get in to a private high school in Florida.
Me: Great!
Emmy: If she doesn't get in, her family says she will have to go to the anime.
Me: Anime?
Emmy: Yes, go to the...anime?
Me: Enemy?
Emmy: Take part in the anime...anime...you know, where they make the soldiers?
Me: Oh, the ARMY!
Me: Great!
Emmy: If she doesn't get in, her family says she will have to go to the anime.
Me: Anime?
Emmy: Yes, go to the...anime?
Me: Enemy?
Emmy: Take part in the anime...anime...you know, where they make the soldiers?
Me: Oh, the ARMY!
Friday, March 11, 2011
My Chinese is Getting Better...Great
To be fair to the Chinese, this is not an insult in China. Not all the time, anyway. This conversation took place in Chinese, except my first thank you. He caught me off guard.
Punk Sitting on the Curb Drinking a Bag of Milk: Hey, look at that fat foreigner.
Me: Thank you. Xie xie.
Punk: Dude! She speaks Chinese!
Punk Sitting on the Curb Drinking a Bag of Milk: Hey, look at that fat foreigner.
Me: Thank you. Xie xie.
Punk: Dude! She speaks Chinese!
Monday, March 07, 2011
A Little too Progressive
12-year-old Judy and I are playing Catchphrase with words from a list that I made. Note that a lot of teachers in China begin class by saying, "Are you ready?"
The word is "ready."
Me: Before class, the teacher will ask the students are you...?
Judy: Are you students?
Me: Probably not a bad thing to ask, but no.
Judy: Are you female?
Me: What about the boys?
Judy: Oh yeah.
Later, the word is "alive."
Me: What's the difference between a plant and this desk?
Judy: Plants are green.
Me: What if the desk were green?
Judy: It would be ugly.
Me: What's the difference between this desk and an animal?
Judy: The animal is more interesting.
Me: Ok. Animals can run, play, eat and poop because they are...?
Judy: World citizens.
Me: What are they teaching you in school?
Judy: I don't know. Our desks are brown.
The word is "ready."
Me: Before class, the teacher will ask the students are you...?
Judy: Are you students?
Me: Probably not a bad thing to ask, but no.
Judy: Are you female?
Me: What about the boys?
Judy: Oh yeah.
Later, the word is "alive."
Me: What's the difference between a plant and this desk?
Judy: Plants are green.
Me: What if the desk were green?
Judy: It would be ugly.
Me: What's the difference between this desk and an animal?
Judy: The animal is more interesting.
Me: Ok. Animals can run, play, eat and poop because they are...?
Judy: World citizens.
Me: What are they teaching you in school?
Judy: I don't know. Our desks are brown.
Sunday, March 06, 2011
Refrigerator Physics
Two days ago I scrubbed the heck out of my refrigerator. For those of you who don't know, The Heck is a fungus that lives in the refrigerators of lazy people. You've probably heard of it, every so often somewhere in the world someone opens a refrigerator and says, "What? The Heck is in here!" and someone else says, "Get The Heck out of my fridge!" If that's not ringing a bell for you, you may be asking yourself "What The Heck is she talking about?" You'll just have to take my word for it.
So I scrubbed the refrigerator within an inch of it's life (In An Inch Of Its Life is the best cleaner available for getting The Heck out of your fridge) and now it's all pearly and shiny. However, because I have a memory like a---what's that animal? Well, like something---I forgot all about it until I opened the fridge tonight. I don't get in the fridge often because all that's in there is an iffy ear of corn, a package of bacon and a pitcher of ice water. So it was nice to surprise myself with cleanliness. It beats the heck out of a dirty fridge.
Seriously. Surprise is very toxic to The Heck. Ta ta!
So I scrubbed the refrigerator within an inch of it's life (In An Inch Of Its Life is the best cleaner available for getting The Heck out of your fridge) and now it's all pearly and shiny. However, because I have a memory like a---what's that animal? Well, like something---I forgot all about it until I opened the fridge tonight. I don't get in the fridge often because all that's in there is an iffy ear of corn, a package of bacon and a pitcher of ice water. So it was nice to surprise myself with cleanliness. It beats the heck out of a dirty fridge.
Seriously. Surprise is very toxic to The Heck. Ta ta!
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