Really smart people can draw analogies.

We all know my aversion to being called “laowai”.

Here is an analogy that will help me resist the temptation to leap down the throats of those who call me “laowai” in the new year.

“Getting angry at people who call you “laowai” is like coming too quick. It’s premature ejaculation of the mouth (that’s an ugly visual). Maybe I should say of the emotions. If you’ve been in China for a while, you should know that Chinese are fairly intense people. And they don’t have the chance to touch many foreigners, so when they do, they want to give you a good feeling up. Do you come when a girl feels you up? You’re mistaking a feel up for a fuck. Be patient. You’ll know when the Chinese are trying to fuck you. Even then, be patient, it might be the best of your life.”

I can’t remember if I ever wrote about this girl I met a while back. It was before another night of clubbing. We went to eat street meat and I asked where the bathroom was. The boss said there wasn’t a bathroom, so I broke out some local dialect, got loud and loose - which Chendgu girls love - and before I knew it, I had a girl yelling “handsome guy” (that’s the rough, pretty corny/lame translation, but in Chinese it sounds cool…believe me) to get my attention.

Anyway, I started talking to this girl and her friend. They were semi-cute. I had my friends with me - two Chinese and another fo fo foreigner. The Chinese pretended to be Koreans and the girls ate it up, telling them how good their Chinese was, etc. It was fun and we exchanged numbers. One of the girls texted me and I set up a dinner with her and the friend. At the dinner, I was trying to make conversation and told her I wanted to buy a new phone and asked for her help. I wasn’t really too serious, but she was happy to help and set up a day and time to meet.

Anyway, the day was crazy because we took the bus everywhere and then back and back again and everywhere and I was just hungry. Feed me, woman! And I didn’t know her motive. I just wanted to go to a regular place, but she took me to a shady place and I got a cheap phone from her “friend”, but maybe she got a commission. I don’t know. HJ warned me about this this type of scheme when I first met him. It reminded me of high school when our mission was to get our friends with part-time jobs to “hook us up” with free socks, hamburgers, sneakers, whatever. As long as it was a “hook up” or a “plug”, we were happy. So I was a little nostalgic. Maybe for that reason and also because she is generally a cool girl to hang with her (she is fun and more relaxed with me than most Chengdu girls), I didn’t care her motive.

But the problem is this. She thinks my Chinese is better than it actually is. I gave her the wrong initial impression, so she just rattles of sentences in local dialect like it is nothing. Well, to her it is nothing. Actually, she can’t speak Mandarin, so maybe this is unavoidable. Maybe she has same idea, because once she said, “I’m not sure how much you understand?”. And, of course, just to perpetuate this whole thing, which is kinda amusing, I said 70% or more. Besides, if you tell people you don’t understand, they won’t speak to you and then you won’t learn Chinese. That’s my belief, at least. So just nod and smile. Or maybe it is grunt “Oh” if you are in Chengdu.

Anyway, we only met those two times, because after that I got into this 2005 50 Cent “Get Rich or Die Tryin’” phase and have been staying busy with work ever since. But, we stayed in touch by phone. A few weeks later my new phone broke. I can send messages, but not talk. The other end can hear me, but I can’t hear them. So I sent out this bulk text message saying that until further notice, everyone needs to text me or call my office. But this girl keeps calling my phone. Everyday. She refuses to send messages. But I won’t answer the phone because I have already given notice. It’s principle. It’s like Office Space. She didn’t get the memo? And I won’t send a text saying, “what do you want?” because I think if it is important, then she should text me.

After I bought a bike, I started scouting all the repair shops and making mental notes in case I had any problems (inevitable). Today my chain popped off and I couldn’t get it back on. I knew a place just a short walk away, so I went over. The take away wasn’t how to put my chain back on, but how enterprising the repairmen were. The shop, which isn’t really a shop, but rather a corner with a couple of chairs and toolboxes, is manned but two guys. They repair push pedal, electric, and motor bikes. And even cars. These dudes had cut down a power line, stripped back the protective rubber and were using the power to recharge car batteries. Classic.

What makes this all the more interesting is that the other night, while walking to dinner with my colleagues, we passed a tree with a broken/cut power line wrapped around it. I wondered, what the hell? Isn’t that dangerous? It was also on a corner. Maybe during the day that spot is also a repair shop?

我没有GPS所以找不到你的家！怎么办呢？！下一次我最好用古个（？）地图。我刚才发现自从我的上篇博客好多时间过去了。我不是故意的。小日子还没改变。找到几个新朋友。也丢了几个。一点儿也不会哭。这样很自然我觉得。有一起的经历就会知道他们性格怎么样。是不是合适。

今天是圣诞节但是我没感到一般的圣诞的感觉。在这边没有雪，没有家里人，没有圣诞气氛。有布置但是不让我老感觉。没办法。每个地方结果不一样。我想回国后也发现有感情再美国不感到。

HJ送给我一条冬天外套。是黑色的。真适合我。真有用， 我需要了。我有 两条但一条是生意的还有一条是不好的牌子。。咖啡的牌子的。我喜欢但穿的话别人给我很奇怪的看！这新的很不错！谢谢兄弟！那，提醒我。听说你兄弟的妻子叫兄嫂。是对吗？

你们可能觉得我的中国生活比较疯了是吗？常常喝喝就吵架。对“老外”我永远不会习惯，不会接收。有几个真喜欢的人叫我“老外”。对他们我很在意但不同意。反正，新年的目标是吃我的感情。有一个中国说话关于大肚子？？意思是应该吃／喝你的感觉。我已经忘了。

我看一下。。。我从来没用过但是我喜欢这个说：感情有茶当酒。 我想中文有很多这样的说话：短，听起来简单，但深刻。

最后是我中文水平。还很底。最近把很多词忘了因为 不复习。我词汇越来越少。口语还可以但听力。。。啊啊。。。听不懂！原因是本地人都方音／口音还是我的能我不知道。交流很辛苦。

Pics from my birthday dinner courtesy Zhang Jian Xin. Bump those stuffy banquets where you gotta spin the wheel of food. Hot pot is the perfect setting for birthdays or meals hosting large groups of people.
Me and the fellas fighting over a dumpling. 都那么帅啊！

The ladies. 都是姐妹儿！

中国的最好的设计师和我说： 日你的。。。

How to drink? Like this. 怎么喝呢？别是笨蛋喝这样。。。

The cake with cool candle.

“Pure gold passes straight through the body and ends up in your stool resulting in sparkly shit!”

I love J girls, but if one ever asks me to sit peeing down, she’s gone. Written off like subprime losses. She won’t be able to put her toes on my tatami, soak in my sento, knead my natto, or get past my genkan.

I just read this article. 40% of J dudes surveyed pee sitting down because “women hate it when urine sprays, so there appears to be an increasing number who are asking men to sit down on the toilet when they have to go”. This is another myth I gotta debunk for ya’ll - J girls are NOT submissive. Behind those cute smiles and peace signs are vicious women just ready to get you pissin’ like them. Resist, brothers, resist!!!

The Japanese just have to take everything to a new level don’t they? Kaizen (continuous improvement) has permeated every aspect of their society. They can’t stop at the car or the mini-skirt. With the most exquisite manners in the world, they have now set out to conquer man’s sanctuary. I’m cool with adopting their technology - the warm toilet seat and electronic washer; even the perfume thing on occasion. But this? むり！！！！ We must stop this from spreading. Take action. Take a piss…standing up.

When I first came here, I would see people rubbing money and putting it up to light, both methods to determine if it is counterfeit. I thought it was weird, especially when it was money coming from friends or a reputable business. Don’t they trust each other, I thought. Well, as time went on, I realized it’s less a matter of trust than it is the proliferation of funny money here in China.

I just came from lunch with a couple of friends. One paid for all of us. Her change came and she thought the bill was a fake. I did the rub test (Mao Ze Dong’s left shoulder has some small ridges in it. I like to say Mao has a chip on his shoulder. hehe) and confirmed. Change it, I told her. No, I’m afraid, she said. She didn’t want to make a fuss. French, she said, are always taught not to cause a stir (that seemed new to me;-). I agreed that in the US it’s the same (that’s probably new to you ;-), but insisted that this isn’t the US or France. In China, you should speak up. You must speak up, out. It’s a part of the culture. I did it for her and we got a new bill, but it still left me thinking why, when we clearly have the right, do we back home and in other nations, resist speaking out. Do we have “wa” like the Japanese? Or are we just afraid of rejection? Or, let me guess, you never censor yourself for the sake of harmony?

Think about calling the waiter in a restaurant. I love it in China. You don’t even look. Just call. And you can even say “hurry up”. It’s not offensive.This should be adopted everywhere. International standard. Serious. Because we are paying for their service; why should we wait for them to walk by to ask for the check or a refill of our water. So long as we don’t disturb other patrons, it should be fine. How about changing your position/seat in the subway? Afraid to ask that young guy to close his legs, so you can take that empty seat next to him? Or when the cabbie takes his tip out before giving you back your change? Will you ask for that buck 50? How about when you’ve been overcharged for something? Do bad service/manners deserve, as a response/reward, good service/manners? And why am I writing like this/that?

Officially, today is my birthday, but yesterday evening I wanted to treat my colleagues and friends to hot pot. We were 10 plus deep. While sitting at the table waiting for the rest of our party to arrive, I watched another group of folks drinking and doing the standard restaurant madness that I love so much. They’re table was next to ours, but I was on the opposite end, Chairman style. One dude, probably in his 40s, caught a glimpse of me. We made brief eye contact, and I knew his thoughts immediately. I’ve seen his type all over China. His next steps played out just as I anticipated. He didn’t hesitate. He yelled for my friend sitting at the opposite end of the table, closest to him. Stood up, shook his hand and then said something to him while looking at me. My friend hesitated. And then walked over to me. On his way, my other friends asked what that guy said. He responded and my friends all said, “no”. But he had to ask. “Jesse, that guy wants to drink with you.” “No”. He delivered the message and the guy couldn’t have gave more a standard response. He pulled out his ID (that’s the oldest move in the book), which must have showed he was a Police or other Government official. Like I care.

I really don’t understand the motivation. I mused before about the reasons young guys do it in a club, but I’m always perplexed at the older dudes. It isn’t friendly, that’s for sure. It’s not welcoming. It’s not polite. If you don’t know me or someone I am with, don’t approach me. There is this myth that Chinese are passive or shy, but the longer I stay the more situations I find them as aggressive, not just in language but in actions. Nearly every time I go out, I find myself in a conflict with some idiot. But it’s a game, almost. Not almost. It is a game. Usually I don’t mind. I don’t want them to lose face in front of their friends, but because this guy was discrete, the rejection had no impact beyond that to his ego. Sometimes I just want to impart common sense - I can fill and drain a cup just like them. But that’s never enough. At that point, you become a novelty.

Anyway, the dinner was good. We ate and drank a lot. My friends brought a wonderful cake and an exploding candle that played the birthday song. We decided to change places. Standing outside discussing the next move, a couple walked past and I heard the magic words - “laowai” (foreigner). You called me laowai? I’m not a laowai. I’m a visitor, a foreign guest, a VIP (in Chinese it sounds real funny because the second word for each of these is the same - lai bin, wai bin, gui bin. If you rattle them off in the right manner, it’s comical and effective). You have no manners!! You are rude!!! Not polite!!! He kept walking.

Food is tasty. Drinking is fun. Music makes me dance. History is interesting. But language….language IS culture. How people speak gives you insights into how they think, more so than any other so called cultural elements. And if you have any exposure to the Chinese language you know well that “laowai”, no matter how common it is, is not a friendly term. If you believe otherwise you’re either naive or in denial. It is the equivalent to calling a Chinese a chink. I was super pissed, so decided to go home. WF and some guys wouldn’t let up. Good friends are persistent. They forced me to go drinking. We went to a bar and started drinking and playing games, four guys. A girl came up to our table, glass in hand. Here we go again. Someone wants to toast. This reminds me of a story: I’d been to this place before and a girl came over to toast me (on a dare I guessed, because her giggling friends looked on from their table in suspense). I gave her face: smiled, drank, filled her glass and she left. I asked what was the polite response. WF told me I should go toast her table. Just one glass. So I went over. Her mates thought I was just toasting her and continued their laughing. But then I motioned my cup toward theirs and they were startled. Stumbling to fill their glasses, everyone stood up and I lead the toast. In Chinese, I wished them a happy national day. So surprised I could speak 5 words of their language, they nearly forgot to drink. I digress. Back to last night.

This girl came over. But her glass was empty. Mistake. We filled it and drank with her. She sat her self down. Mistake. Turns out, this was the bar’s CRM girl. Not a waitress, just someone who floats around and makes sure everyone is having a good time. Except she wasn’t floating. She lit her cigarette before the other guys who were lighting up. Mistake. Then, as the alcohol was drying up, she poured her glass first. Mistake. I thought - is this girl really working here? Can she be in customer service? No alcohol. Honestly, I’ve never been intentionally rude to people I didn’t know (if I know you that means I can be rude to you ;^) until I came here. I couldn’t help myself. I told her she was bothering us and that she needs to give us something for free. Free stuff is common here. Lots of places will give you free fruit or peanuts or something. I started the bidding for alcohol, and then fruit, then peanuts, and finally napkins (some places charge for napkins). Nothing. She said she didn’t have the authority. I couldn’t let up. I told her: You have the authority to come over here, sit down without being invited to, drink our alcohol, generally disturb us, but not give us some peanuts? We kept back and forth and my speech got more outrageous. I started giving her a lesson in etiquette, customer service, business, etc. Finally, she took me to see her boss (20 years old). I told him the same thing. He obliged and agreed to give us some fruit. Days go by…and still I think of fruit…no fruit. We’re going, I told her. Wait, if you go, I’ll lose face. Okay, 5 minutes. No fruit, NO FACE, we’re going, going, gone!

Anyway, this is a normal day. I can’t document all the absurdities, but figured I’d give you the birthday special.

Taking into account the time difference, by the time this gets posted and reaches the Ambassador’s eyes it will be Dec. 14th in Chengdu. And that means Birthday time for the Ambassador. And so on behalf of all of us here on staff, we wish our boss Jesse Ambassador Sestito a happy birfday!

Unless you want to make new friends and have lots of fun.

It’s important to start a long trip off with a memorable night. When I left the US, Ryo received me at the airport, brought me to his home, where I was given a shower, a comfy bed for a quick rest, and a super gourmet Japanese meal, all before an all-nighter in Roppongi where I met Shin, who treated me to my first Nabe (Japanese hot pot). It set the tone for the rest of my time over here. So, a few months ago, when I saw the opportunity to do the same, I grabbed it.

At Beijing immigration, a Japanese guy asked me what was going on. See, the trip from Tokyo to Chengdu requires a stop off in Beijing for immigration. But only a handful of passengers are usually making the whole trip (most are just going to Beijing), so the Chengdu bound folks are herded into a separate area. I told him not to worry, just standard operating procedure, not a massacre. We started to talk a little. Very little, because I’d forgotten all my Japanese and him all his English. I just knew that he was going to Nepal the next morning and had yet to find a hotel. And he didn’t speak any Chinese. Seemed that he was in for a troublesome night.

I told him he could stay at my place. He accepted. So for the next couple of hours I plotted an all-night itinerary. When we landed I had messages waiting for me. A couple of friends made a plan for dinner. We took a cab home, dropped the bags and rushed to dinner where my friends were waiting. They speak Korean and Chinese, but no English or Japanese, so we had no choice but to communicate with alcohol. Next stop was a bar. We drank a lot, and just when we couldn’t take anymore, decided to leave.

Walking out I received a call from a friend. Where are you? I am at XYZ. Me too. Turn around. There he is. He was with a large group of co-workers, maybe 10. Of course he wants us to drink. Okay, who am I to refuse. Besides, I like to see how Japanese and Chinese mix it up (my first experiment was a disaster. Will write about that some other time). The Chinese, of course, for as much as they say “I hate Japanese” (and they say it a lot. Bring up Sushi and they’re gonna tell you, “I hate Japanese”), were welcoming to my new friend. But I think that’s also because I’m the connection. I’m a good friend, so a good friend of mine is one of theirs, too. Actually, not a friend, but will at least give me face. Anyway, we drunk a lot more…I was thankful the Japanese guy could hold his own…not exactly a pro, but passable.

By then it was 3am. His flight was at 7am. There was no going to sleep. So we went to street meat for more drinking and food. He fell in and out of sleep as we drank and chowed. Gotta make it a memorable night. At 5, we went home and grabbed his bags. I put him in a taxi and off he went.

Last week I received another email from him. He’ll be back on the 18th and we’ll do it again, but maybe with less alcohol and some Japanese friends to help translate.

Before I visited Asia, I thought Monks represented spirituality, discipline, self-deprivation, and enlightenment. During most of my time in SE Asia my view was supported. But after being in China, I’m not just surprised at what I see, but disappointed. Monks with Beamer X5s. Monks smoking. Drunk monks. Monks at house parties. Monks with a lot of hair. And worst of all, Monks with chicks. Wait, no. Worst of all is aggressive Monks. Now, when I think of Monks, I think “what a fraud”. Especially when I see that Dalai dude. All the lies that must be wrapped in those robes.

None. No water pressure, that is. As the night of Dec. 7 spilled into the morning of Dec. 8, I found myself unable to sleep. I got up to use the restroom. Finished but unflushable. No water. Didn’t we pay? That’s probably not it, I assured myself. It’s a building thing. Maybe the water is turned off from 2-5 every night for conservation purposes, I thought. It was 4:30.

I was still awake at 6:00. Nothing. At 11:00 I left the building, still with no water. I checked the bulletin board in the lobby. A “water stoppage notice”. Didn’t see that before. Wasn’t paying attention, either. But at least they could post in the elevator, on each floor, or if they’re really worth the 150RMB monthly “Management Fee”, slide a reminder under our door.

I read on, finished, and looked at the bottom. Signed, “Building Management, Dec. 8″.

Better late than never?

If there is one thing that baffles me about Japanese people, it is their willingness to spend large sums of money on small portions of food that their mothers could prepare. Some say they are paying for the atmosphere and service. For others it is the ingredients and preparation. But for a country boy like me, I simply wonder, ‘you guys weren’t always eating in restaurants. Japanese food is, after all, and like other cuisines, home cooking. So why the urge to splurge?’ Finally, someone takes up the subject.