“I like to express myself through large, transformational projects.”

-Bharti Mittal
“A man grows a beard for the pleasure of cutting it off.”

-Garrison Keillor

Happy Mid-Autumn Day!! The festival, which falls each year on the 15th day of the 8th lunar month, is highlighted by eating tons of moon cakes (”yuebing”) that are packaged in really spiffy boxes. Why moon cakes? Well, because of the full moon. After some history (copy/pasted) on the festival, a few photos of how we got down in the office. Don’t just scroll past, either. Better read that!

The festival has a long history. In ancient China, emperors followed the rite of offering sacrifices to the sun in spring and to the moon in autumn. Historical books of the Zhou Dynasty had had the word “Mid-Autumn”. Later aristocrats and literary figures helped expand the ceremony to common people. They enjoyed the full, bright moon on that day, worshipped it and expressed their thoughts and feelings under it. By the Tang Dynasty (618-907), the Mid-Autumn Festival had been fixed, which became even grander in the Song Dynasty (960-1279). In the Ming (1368-1644) and Qing (1644-1911) dynasties, it grew to be a major festival of China.

Folklore about the origin of the festival go like this: In remote antiquity, there were ten suns rising in the sky, which scorched all crops and drove people into dire poverty. A hero named Hou Yi was much worried about this, he ascended to the top of the Kunlun Mountain and, directing his superhuman strength to full extent, drew his extraordinary bow and shot down the nine superfluous suns one after another. He also ordered the last sun to rise and set according to time. For this reason, he was respected and loved by the people and lots of people of ideals and integrity came to him to learn martial arts from him. A person named Peng Meng lurked in them.

Hou Yi had a beautiful and kindhearted wife named Chang E. One day on his way to the Kunlun Mountain to call on friends, he ran upon the Empress of Heaven Wangmu who was passing by. Empress Wangmu presented to him a parcel of elixir, by taking which, it was said, one would ascend immediately to heaven and become a celestial being. Hou Yi, however, hated to part with his wife. So he gave the elixir to Chang E to treasure for the time being. Chang E hid the parcel in a treasure box at her dressing table when, unexpectedly, it was seen by Peng Meng.

One day when Hou Yi led his disciples to go hunting, Peng Meng, sword in hand, rushed into the inner chamber and forced Chang E to hand over the elixir. Aware that she was unable to defeat Peng Meng, Chang E made a prompt decision at that critical moment. She turned round to open her treasure box, took up the elixir and swallowed it in one gulp. As soon as she swallowed the elixir her body floated off the ground, dashed out of the window and flew towards heaven. Peng Meng escaped.

When Hou Yi returned home at dark, he knew from the maidservants what had happened. Overcome with grief, Hou Yi looked up into the night sky and called out the name of his beloved wife when, to his surprise, he found that the moon was especially clear and bright and on it there was a swaying shadow that was exactly like his wife. He tried his best to chase after the moon. But as he ran, the moon retreated; as he withdrew, the moon came back. He could not get to the moon at all.

Thinking of his wife day and night, Hou Yi then had an incense table arranged in the back garden that Chang E loved. Putting on the table sweetmeats and fresh fruits Chang E enjoyed most, Hou Yi held at a distance a memorial ceremony for Chang E who was sentimentally attached to him in the palace of the moon.

When people heard of the story that Chang E had turned into a celestial being, they arranged the incense table in the moonlight one after another and prayed kindhearted Chang E for good fortune and peace. From then on the custom of worshiping the moon spread among the people.

I can totally relate. I have been practicing my signature since I was 6 or 7.

In elementary school I thought about how I should sign my name, not what I should do.

-Nobuaki Kakuda

By now, you’ve probably read that TimesSelect, the New York Times’ lame attempt at charging for online content, has been abandoned, effective last Wednesday. I heard the news, but didn’t think much of it in terms of how it would impact my life. But then, last Wednesday, I clicked on a story titled “Doha and Dalian“. Oh, I know those cities, I thought. I should have known something else, something better, or worse. I started to read and, I swear to you, two sentences in, I thought: ‘wait, I know this style. This writing reeks of “flat” talk’. I looked up and there it was, that hideous name that not paying had helped me avoid for so long - Thomas L. Friedman. I started twitching.

And again today. This time I didn’t even need to read the article, the title - “China in three colors” - was a dead give away. Only fried man would do it - break down China and the global warming using a box of Crayons. Him and his ’stache plop down in the third world for a couple of days and the result is, without fail, grand revelations. They assigned his Lexus book in Uni and I totally boycotted. To read that, and then discuss it…that’s cruel and unusual.

I beg you. If you want some insights into China, please do not read Tom. Read Howard French or someone else.

Another day, another story for a cocktail party. Life here is crazy, beautiful, exciting, unexpected.

Yesterday, as I was leaving the office and waiting for the elevator, a girl came around the corner, also to wait for the elevator. She said, “hello”. As much as I wanted to (because how does she know I speak English? I could be French.), ignoring her wasn’t an option because it was a business setting, so I said, “ni hao”. She asked me if I spoke Chinese, and I said “no, I don’t speak Chinese”, in Chinese, which always prompts a laugh and a little confusion. We exchanged introductions on the ride downstairs and, as we walked outside, I asked where she was going. She was grabbing lunch and asked if I’d like to join. I’d already eaten, but I told her I’d sit and chat. She wasn’t pretty, but neither am I, and I still talk to myself, so I figured it wouldn’t hurt. Besides, her personality was fun. Really a Chengdu girl…personality wise.

We sat down outside a small restaurant and she ordered and bowl of rice noodles. She talked and talked and talked. Her food came, but she kept talking. I fought to get a word in - only possible when she had to chew some meat. This girl was funny. 23, had lived and studied in Beijing, working in sales, etc. Totally casual, which made her kinda cute and made me start to think…. And she was patient with my Chinese, which made her even cuter. I should get a word in, I thought. Finally, I took over the conversation and dominated with all my background information and other random anecdotes about me - I have a bike, I live 10 minutes away, and I’m single. lol. Now, I know what you’re thinking…I’m gonna take this girl home with me, on my bike, right? No no no. That’d make for a cool story, but fact is always better than fiction.

Anyway, she finished eating and we got up to leave, her back to the office and me home. I arrived home and realized that my phone charger was missing. I remembered bringing it with me to the restaurant and setting it on the table, so I went back and asked the boss if he’d seen it. But this guy was especially unhelpful and rude. Not even speaking in local dialect. I think that shit was Shanghainese (they were selling bao zi) or Klingon (he looked like Worf). I could only understand 钱 (money) and 买 (buy) or was it 卖 (sell), because they both sound the same to my untrained ears. And he couldn’t even understand my 你有没有吗？(You have or don’t have?). I just played it cool and said I’d bring a Chinese friend so we could communicate. On my way to the office, I ran through all these scenarios of what happened to my charger…

Did they crush it up and use it for ingredients in bao zi?
Did he sell it to some random person who came by and saw it?
Did that girl come back and take it?

ZY accompanied me back to the restaurant and translated for me. You know what happened, right?

That girl didn’t pay for her noodles, so the boss was holding my charger hostage. Since I was so friendly with that girl, he explained, I was to pay if I wanted my charger back. Guilty by association. ZY explained that I didn’t know that girl. That we’d just met, in the elevator. But that didn’t matter to the boss. I felt where he was coming from, though. After all, 4.5 RMB (63 cents) is some make or break shit, right? So I gave him 4 RMB (50 cents) and they pulled my charger out from hiding. The exchange was smooth and no one got hurt.

I know you’ve heard me rant about how Chinese shouldn’t adopt English names because English speakers should learn how to pronounce their given names. That’s idealistic of me, right? I even felt bad for all my Chinese friends in the States and made a conscious effort to learn their “real” names. The whole time, ignorant to the “cool” factor associated with having an English name because, well, I never had a Chinese name. That is, until now. My Chinese name rocks, so I’ll help you along the way.

Given you’ve decided to adopt a Chinese name, there’s a couple of strategies you can take. First, select some characters that sound similar/have the same meaning as your “real” name. Second, select some characters that are common or have a good meaning, but have no relation to your “real” name. Third, a combination of the first two. Well, I ended up with the third, but not by my own choice. My Chinese given name ( i.e. first name) was given me by HJ. One day he said, you should call yourself 杰西 (Jie Xi). The combination, he said, means “hero from the West”, and it sounds similar to my “real” name. That’s hot, I thought, and agreed.

But my problem was that my “real” family name ( i.e. last name) was too long to adopt the phonetic approach. I asked others, but most said I should choose a family name on my own. HJ offered his, but I thought that it would ruin my chances with the girls in Chengdu, since he has a reputation as a color wolf But then, finally, in Shenzhen, while talking to ZY, I decided that 恐 (Kong) was right for me. Why? Well, 恐 (Kong) , which means dinosaur*, sounds the same as 孔 (Kong), which is the family name of Confucius. So, when I introduce myself to Chinese people, they become very impressed and say, “oh, wow, that’s a great Chinese name, 孔 Kong”. And then I reply, “oh, no, no. I’m Kong, like the ‘dinosaur’ Kong.” And then they start laughing and saying, “really? really? It works every time with girls. It makes them relax instantly - Oh, he’s just a dinosaur, they think, no need to worry. In addition, in China, if you are a boss, people address you by your family name and the suffix 总 (Zong). So, when I become a boss, everyone must call me “Kong Zong“. That sounds terrifying. Can you imagine the employees: “close out your email browsers, here comes Kong Zong“.

恐杰西

*It’s also slang for a man past his prime. An ugly or really lame dude.

Bad for my health. Good for my Chinese.

“Working with language is a means by which we can identify the bullshit within ourselves (and others).”

-George Saunders

Well, I don’t know where to start, because I just read that Japanese Prime Minister Shinzo Abe intends to resign. First question is: will the next PM visit Yasukuni Jinja? Nevermind. Yesterday, I attended my first ever soccer match. Chengdu is hosting the preliminaries of the 2007 FIFA Women’s World Cup and ZY’s friend, Alex, had extra tickets. FYF and I joined him for what many expected to be the best match of the entire Cup - USA vs. North Korea. And they were right. For me, an awe-inspiring experience. Something like losing my virginity…to Giselle

The match started at 5:00pm. We arrived 20 minutes before, but had to pass through security before entering. Slooooooooow. Like many others, we ran around the stadium looking for our gate. As we came closer, the excitement grew. Every “ooh” and “aah” heard from inside the stadium made us run faster. I can’t remember being this excited about an event in recent years. Michigan vs. OSU is big stuff and Christopher Hill negotiating nuclear agreements with KJ Il is fun stuff, but the former is between countrymen and I don’t get to bang on chairs when there’s a concession on uranium enrichment in the latter, so…. We missed the start of the game, but no goals. The place was packed - around 35,000 people - but not sold out. Clouds and rain covered the game.

I was wondering if there would be N. Koreans attending the game. The only other impression I had of them was when I was watching their women play Japan’s on TV. They had a section of guys (all guys), who looked like farmers, cheering like crazy. They won in a shoot out. To our left was a huge section of N. Korean fans, all dressed in identical uniforms - khaki pants, red shirts, white hats, N. Korean flags, and noisemakers filled with kimchi (serious, I smelled it). Someone pointed out that Kim Jong Il didn’t want to send people out of the country in fear that they would know what they were missing, so he sent money from that Macau bank (you know, the one that launders money for the DPRK) to the mainland and had some Chinese guys hire migrant workers from the countryside and dress them up, etc. But that’s just a rumor.

As you might expect, the Chinese were cheering religiously for North Korea. Chinese say they like Americans (but just not our government - but how is that possible since we are by, for, and of the people?), but we all know that’s not true (its an open secret we can say). And when it comes to allegiances, they’d choose their small, rabble rousing neighbor over the US anytime. No matter, I choose Japan, but we’ll get to that later. Every time a Korean player touched the ball, even if it was on the opposite side of the pitch, the crowd went wild. Really wild. Crazy. Bananas. Ape shit. Orgasmic-like. And the guy behind me kept say “好球” (good ball). I was thinking more like “好烦” (annoying). When the US had the ball, no one booed, but the sense of “oh, shit” filled the air. But that wasn’t often, because the N. Koreans did such a fine job of controlling the ball. As soon as we found our seats, they had a shot on goal, and it continued this way the entire first half. In fact, for those first 45 minutes I was feeling “oh, shit”. It was 0-0 at the half.

Finally, the USA scored the first goal and the crowd seemed overwhelmed with sadness. A big ‘ol “damn, Americans are so fucking good” kinda feeling. I played it cool. But soon after, the N. Koreans scored and the crowd exploded. Really exploded. I played it cool. Then the N. Koreans scored again. I played it cool. I’m a cool cat, what can I say? This whole time, Alex and FYF, who I clearly knew were pulling for N. Korea (even though they didn’t say it), were also playing it cool. I was surprised. Finally, the USA pulled through and tied the game at 2-2. I got fucking hyped!!!!

The game tied at 2-2. I have very little knowledge of soccer, so I thought there would be overtime period or, even better, some of those one-on-one kicks. But alas, no. This is tournament play and there ain’t none of that. So when I saw people leaving with 5 minutes remaining, I was wondering, ‘but why?’. haha.

Given all the political overtones (playing N. Korea, in China, on 9/11, etc) that the first game had, the second (Sweden vs. Nigeria) was something of a UN love fest. It was much funner. The “N. Koreans” changed back into their street clothes and revealed themselves to be local Chengdu people, who are funny as hell. Many cheers in local dialect and even that “o lay o lay o lay o lay” song. But those are the only words of the song people know…yours truly included. And I’ve never experienced “the wave” being done for so long on a continuous basis. Seriously, wave after wave after wave. 厉害!!!!! Most everyone cheered equally for both teams, with a slight lean toward Sweden, but maybe it’s because their scared of blacks? Yes, I said what you were already thinking.

Oh, wait, politics is everywhere. Before the second game, the broadcaster announced the names and home countries of the referees. I saw this information written on the scoreboard (in English) before the announcement. I saw that the first three were from China and the last from Japan. I wondered what the response would be to the announcement of the last one. Okay, I didn’t wonder, I knew, but I didn’t want to be a product of my environment - pretentious - so I waited. The crowd exploded for their compatriots, of course, as would I. And finally, a collective “boooooooooo” of the Japanese. But, hey, even if Abe is resigning, they are still a staunch US ally, helping us refuel ships in the Indian Ocean, etc. So, first in Chinese, then in honorific Japanese, I yelled, “Japan, yeaaaah, Japan, Japan, wooooooo Japan”. lol…It was great, especially in Chinese. People were looking really befuddled, but not angry. It was great.

Sweden and Nigeria tied 1-1. Japan and England, playing somewhere else, tied 2-2.

One misty evening in Chengdu…

Two teams got it on…

Americans repped to the fullest…

Jeff, Steve, and Pete. These guys really rocked. A lot of fun.


They were like rock stars at half-time. Everyone was coming up to take pictures with them. They didn’t turn anyone away, even old men. They usually held the flag behind them, as a backdrop, but realizing that wasn’t good enough, they they draped it over this girl in a perfect example of ‘chicks dig red, white, and blue guys’. Way to spread the culture guys! You are the real Ambassadors!!

Feng Yao Feng (FYF) and Alex

Get cha’ wave on!

I never understood the impression by some that Americans are lazy. Do they think we became the ass-kickers we are just by shirking? The numbers don’t lie.

“Good service doesn’t always come with a smile. And neither does equal treatment.”

I can’t recall anyone ever being afraid of me. That is, until I came to China. Sure I got plenty of ‘not a chance’ looks from girls at University when I had long hair and scruffy beard, and some older folks in Japan wouldn’t sit next to me on a train, but those reactions are rooted more in vanity than fear.

But here, when I stop a group of young women to ask for directions and they scatter, or when guys grab their girlfriends’ hand as I walk past, I really begin to wonder what people think of me. Are they scared stupid or just stupid to be scared? On some level it’s funny - I’m not the overgrown oaf they imagine us all to be. I’m 5′7″, 160 lbs (okay, 165) and all smiles. Is there really a need to cross the street or bring their purse closer? On most levels, though, it’s sad, because the absolute worst are not strangers, but people I consider “friends” or, at least, “associates”. When I reach to pull a piece of thread from their shirt and they jump like an abused dog to a raised hand, I feel not like a friend, or even a foreigner, but like an animal.

I remember, while in Japan, if I found myself walking a narrow street after dark, behind a woman, I would move to the opposite side, pass her, and return to the original side. Troublesome? A little. Worth it? Absolutely. Why? Well, it’s Wa. If I were in her heels, that is what I’d want. But what did I do recently when faced with a similar situation? I didn’t alter my behavior in the slightest bit. I kept my pace and position. Turns out, we were going to the same apartment complex, so for 10 minutes her every move was shadowed by mine. It felt great each time she looked back, trying to catch a glimpse of my position, that object in my hand. What was it? A knife? A gun? A rope? Oh, an ice cream. Well, the interesting thing about being treated like an animal - it makes you curious what would happen if you acted like one. Maybe the next time a guy holds his girl closer, I’ll clobber her over the head with my laptop and drag her back to my cave by the hair.

Seriously, this does underscore something that’s been on my mind for the past month - how the people here, on a whole, treat me. To be honest, most people are not scared of me. Most people are friendly. They stare in a non-hostile manner, spark up conversations, and are extremely friendly.  As a foreigner, I’m often doted on, treated to meals, guided to places, and hauled in front of family and friends. As an American, all these gestures signal genuine friendship. I made more “friends” in 3 months than I could in 3 years back home. So, it wouldn’t be a far reach to say that the Chinese, on the whole, are the friendliest people I’ve met. But that’s when we go strictly by the definition - characteristic of or befitting a friend. But “friendly” can be separate and distinct from those who are “polite” or “considerate”.

But let us not get wrapped up in definitions, because this is less a matter of adjectives and more one of psyche. The basic reality is a simple one - people here treat me like an animal. Sometimes I am dog - they like to walk with me on the street or play with me in the park; an accessory to attract attention. At others I am a cat - a faithful listener they can always rely on. And recently I’ve become a bird - because I can use the same words as them, they often show me off to strangers - “Speak Chinese”. A monkey who can do things just like them, eating with chopsticks or bringing his bowl of rice to his mouth. In business I am a mouse - small, but clever, so they set traps for me. A guinea pig to be fed and to see his reaction. For some ladies (only the cute ones), a teddy bear to snuggle with. A snake to agitate. An alligator to gawk at from afar. A cow to milk. If the treatment wasn’t so pervasive (> 90%), I wouldn’t feel compelled to write this. But when even friends treat me as an animal, it is somewhat disparaging and draining of my spirit to learn the language and dig deeper into the society.

A few examples:

Whenever I go dancing, a group of guys would invite me to drink with them. Outside certain types of places, I can’t imagine this happening in the US. After three or four times, I knew this wasn’t coincidental. But why? Maybe they wanted to practice English, I thought. But in a noisy nightclub? No way, besides it is mostly girls who want to “practice English”, not guys. Maybe they wanted to see how much foreigners could drink? Maybe, but I doubt it. I think our reputation as good drinkers is in tact. Finally, I asked all my Chinese friends why this happened. Of course, I got the de facto response: because Chinese people are friendly. They want to welcome you to China. Maybe, but it struck me as odd. Alas, I met another ex-pat who had a year under his belt and he gave me the most surprising, but accurate response. It never occurred to me that these guys think if they have a foreigner with them, they can attract more girls. Me? This face is more repellent than a magnet.

And another:

About a month ago, I went to lunch alone. I yelled for the boss and ordered, all in Chinese. A young man and young woman were sitting at the table adjacent to me. The guy leaned over and, eyes popping out of his head, asked if I could speak Chinese. I said no. But, of course, he’d heard me speak six words of Chinese, so in his mind I was fluent. He asked if they could sit with me. I said yes. We talked and when the bill came, they insisted on paying for my meal. I objected, but to no avail, obligatorily promising that the next one was on me. After exchanging telephone numbers, the guy tried to take my picture with his mobile. I covered my face. Friendly? Certainly. Friends take pics. Considerate or polite? Definitely not. Did I feel like I was in a zoo, my meal the fee they pay in exchange for my picture? Absolutely.

Some foreigners bask in this sort of attention. They’re advantage is being the anomaly. But they’re still animals, elephants in the CCP circus. I wanted to experience being a foreigner, but instead I am discovering what it is like to be apart of another species altogether. When I left the US, I resolved not to miss anyone or anything. And I don’t. Not a food, a place, or a soul. I only miss being treated as a human being. Luckily, I am blessed with the company of a few Dr. Dolittles who can understand my barks and chirps and more than counteract those who I referred to above. One told me that I should follow my own advice. What advice is that, I asked. The advice Americans give to their politicians, he said. If you want a real friend, get a dog.

Shots from the office.

Part of People’s Park up top

Tianfu Square and Chairman Mao in the background