Pictures, Pictures, Pictures

You’ve asked for them, so now I’ll deliver them.

I’ve put the pictures from my first four months in China up on Flickr.  While Flickr is quite possibly the least organized and understandable website I have ever utilized, it seems like the best way for me to share my photos with everybody.

This link will connect to a page with the sets that my pictures are in.  I have not put any descriptions up, or given titles to any of the pictures, so you will have to figure that out on your own (although, you will see that some of them match stories you have read), but I hope that you enjoy them nonetheless.  If you have any questions about them, feel free to send me an e-mail.

As an aside, I recommend that you only view the pictures from the sets, as using the ‘photostream’ link is incredibly complicated and unapproachable.

Enjoy!

My Weekly Run-Down: 12/27/2009

Five Things I’m thinking about This Week:

Christmastime in Yanji:

From my vantage point (which, I’ll admit, does not include many other places outside America) Yanji is a very bizarre and interesting city.  On one hand it is a developing city in the middle of the Chinese tundra.  The streets are a mess, there are clumsily fashioned shacks on the road from downtown to our school, and it doesn’t take long to walk out into the countryside and literally be in the middle of nowhere.

Conversely, the downtown square in Yanji seems like it is an area that is desperately trying to be modernized and ‘Western’, but really doesn’t know how.  There is a mall where you can buy many products just like in America (I bought an awesome North Face coat there); there are brand name stores like Nike, Adidas, and KFC in the square; there is a billboard in the square of LeBron James; there are restaurants that attempt to serve western food (key word, attempt). 

I believe that a lot of the things we see in Yanji are Chinese people trying to imitate their perception of America (or, Western cultures in general).  While this is easy for people in a city like Beijing where westerners are prevalent, or wealthy Chinese people have actually been to America; most people in Yanji have never been to America, and don’t really know anything about Americans.

Christmastime makes for an even more unique example.

While there are churches in Yanji (at least one Catholic and one Protestant), I believe that the majority of the people in the city know what they do about Christmas from what they see in American pop culture.  Some stores here have signs that say “Merry Christmas” (actually written in English), some restaurants and stores put up Christmas trees and lights, and I even saw a Chinese Santa Claus trying to entice people on the street to eat at his restaurant (I’m kicking myself for not getting a picture of this).

I guess when it comes down to it, the biggest difference between Christmas in America and Christmas in China is that the people in America at least have some basic understanding of WHY Christmas actually exists.  I would imagine that most Americans that celebrate Christmas probably go to some sort of Church (maybe I’m wrong), and that even if these people aren’t particularly religious, they could still tell you the story behind the holiday.

My feeling is that in China, most people only know Christmas as an American holiday.

This Candy is From America:

Three of my favorite people in Yanji are our friends that own the small restaurant that we go to once a week.  When we went to dinner there this week, I walked in wearing my Santa hat and gave them some Candy Canes and Christmas chocolates.  It was really cool to see how surprised and happy they were to receive the candy from America. 

I sometimes think that the people at the school, the students and other teachers, have grown to expect this sort of thing from the American teachers over the years.  It was pretty much expected that we got them things.  It is doing the unexpected things that are a lot more fun.  That is why I loved giving candy to our friends at the restaurant, and it is probably why they are my favorite people here in China: they don’t expect anything from us just because we are Americans.

There are no Denny’s in China:

While I’ll probably write more details about my Christmas Day experiences later, I did spend much of the week showing Christmas movies to my students.  I showed my first year students Home Alone, my second year students Elf, and my third year students The Santa Clause, noticing things in each film that I never noticed before.

First, I noticed that these movies are filled with a lot of jokes that you would not understand if you did not grow up in America.  The Santa Clause and Elf especially have a lot of these types of jokes.  Even something as simple as Tim Allen taking his son to Denny’s for dinner on Christmas Eve is a joke that the people here could not understand even if they are completely fluent in English.  Insofar as I can tell, there are no Denny’s in China.

These types of jokes are ALL OVER these movies.  There were so many times last week when I was sitting in the back of the dark classroom laughing out loud as all of the students turned around to look at me.  Things that I found hilarious, like Tim Allen’s dialogue, they just didn’t get.  Imagine watching The Santa Clause if you had never seen Home Improvement.  Is the long-term ability for this film to be a Christmas classic entirely dependent on the memory Americans have of the sitcom (something that is fleeting)?

Second, I realized how dependent Christmas movies are on the circumstances surrounding when you watch them and who you watch them with.  Almost every Christmas movie is about people being reunited with friends and family.  At the end of Home Alone, Kevin is reunited with his family; at the end of Elf, Buddy is finally united with his family; at the end of The Santa Clause, Allen’s family (including Neal) finally learns how to live with each other.  If you are watching these scenes with family and friends, they are incredibly happy; but if you are watching them in a classroom full of Chinese kids, they are incredibly sad.

Luckily, I did not cry when Kevin’s Mom makes it home on Christmas Day or when Mr. Norwall said, “By Buddy, hope you find your Dad.”  I almost did though, so who do I have to thank for that?

Urban Legend:

If somebody had told me a year ago that a coach of a major college football program would resign for health reasons, Urban Meyer would probably be the last person that I would think about.  I’d love to say that he’ll be back, but I don’t think he will be. 

I wonder what position he will take with ESPN.

It’s Sunday, Pancakes Day:

A couple weeks ago, the head English teacher was asking me if I have any talents that I could share at our Christmas Party (more on this later, I hope).  I tried to explain to her that all of my talents were in things that really couldn’t be appreciated in China, things such as my English writing ability; or my knowledge of movies, television, American politics, and American sports.  The only talent I (might) have that can be appreciated here is my ability to drink more alcohol than any 133 pound person should be able to drink.*

*Ironically, I suppose, we found out this week that our Chinese teachers thought that weight has no impact on how much a person can drink.  They thought that I should be able to drink just as much as Gavin, just because (even though he has at least 40 pounds on me). 

I realized, however, that there was one other talent I have that people here can appreciate: I can make pancakes.

I guess I was first taught how to make pancakes by my parents all those times over the years.  I probably got decent at making pancakes on Boy Scout camping trips (although the conditions were not ideal).  I became good at making pancakes over the past year standing next to my friend Brad (as he made the bacon, and I the pancakes) most Sundays.  So, this morning, Gavin and I made breakfast for the priests and brothers that live at the school, and I made pancakes (with mix sent to us from America). 

My pancakes were great, everybody loved them, but now we are out of mix.  This isn’t a problem, however, because I am pretty sure that I now like making pancakes more than I actually like eating them.  This is ironic because I have probably seen my Mom make pancakes hundreds of times more than I have seen her eat them, and I have probably seen my Dad make pancakes infinitely more times than I have seen him eat them.

Rising up My iTunes Play Count

Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas: Bing Crosby—The last of my often-played Christmas songs, was one of three (along with Father Christmas and All I Want For Christmas Is You) Christmas songs to enter my Top 25 most played songs on iTunes this holiday season.  While I’ll probably play the Christmas songs a little bit more until New Year’s Eve (when I leave for my travels), Christmas season is now winding down, and these songs won’t be played much more until next year.

I know I’m not in America because . . .

. . . as we plan our two month vacation, we are not only considering taking trains, but are planning on it.

Hypothetical Question of the Week:

Suppose a new miracle pill is discovered.  If you take this pill, you will never be sick again in your life.  You will not get cancer; you will never get the Flu; you will be immune to the common cold, and you will never have a fever.  However, if you take this pill you will never smile or laugh again in your life.  You will ostensibly be incapable of having fun.

Would you take this pill?

Meal of the Week:

This week Gavin and my Chinese teachers invited us to dinner with another teacher.  We went to a restaurant (similar to ones I have described before on this blog) where you are served raw meet on skewers and you heat it over coals in the center of the table.  I love these types of restaurants because all you really eat is meat and drink beer.

The interesting thing about this meal was the group of five people.  There was me, an English speaker who understands some Chinese (as well as Spanish).  Then there was Gavin, who speaks English and Chinese (as well as Italian, and some Spanish).  My Chinese teacher speaks Chinese and Korean.  Gavin’s Chinese teacher speaks Chinese and some English, and the fifth teacher (Brother Savio) speaks Korean, knows Chinese (although Gavin says it is very difficult to understand), and thinks he speaks English (but we can never really understand him).

While this would NEVER happen in America, here in Yanji it seems to happen all the time.  We were at a meal where nobody could fully understand what each of the other people at the table were trying to say.  I’ve been at meals before where there have been four or five languages flying around the table.  These meals can get really crazy and confusing, and it’s just something else we have to deal with by living here.

Quotation of the Week:

“You look so cute.” –Everybody to me, when they saw my Santa hat this week

Picture of the Week:

This was my Christmas dinner in 2009.  I don’t really know what most of it was, so don’t ask:

A Christmas We Can Believe In

Twas the night before Christmas, when all over the hill,

Not a lawmaker was filibustering, nor writing a bill.

The stockings were hung by the rostrum with care,

In hopes that health care soon would be there.

The democrats were nestled all snug in their beds,

While visions of super-majority danced in their heads.

And Pelosi with her gavel, and Reid with his math,

Were trying their hardest to blaze a new path.

When out on the mall there arose such a clatter,

Glenn Beck waved his arms, as mad as a hatter.

A party he led, but there was no tea,

Nor rational folks, far as the eye could see.

“TYRANNY” they yelled, as if they had no choice,

But an election last year, they sure had their voice.

Then what to my wondering eyes should appear,

A brand new campaign season soon would be near.

A new force set out, constantly going rogue,

Whose politics mattered not, but whose style was in vogue.

Their party was floundering, about to diverge,

When a legion of leaders began to emerge:

“Now Romney!  Now Gingrich! Pawlenty and Cantor,

On, Barbour! On, Huckabee! Oh please raise the banter.

To Iowa and New Hampshire, to states large and small,

Now dash away, dash away, dash away all!

While over at the White House, Obama did sleep,

The bright shiny Nobel would be his to keep.

But off in Kabul, no peace would be near,

The troops saw the medal, but the mission was clear.

In for a while they’ll fight as a surge,

Those feisty terrorists we all hope to purge.

But should all the fighting continue too long,

They’ll just come back home, could that be too wrong?

And over in London some servers were hacked,

It turns out that science isn’t quite based in fact.

Regardless in Denmark they sought a solution,

To make the world safer from carbon and pollution.

Back home on Wall Street the banks have improved,

But investors, their worries have hardly been soothed.

In Detroit and elsewhere the economy is bleak,

Creating more jobs needs some new technique.

Just then, back in Washington, the President awoke,

His sky-high approval ratings had gone up in smoke.

The challenges were great, but his message was greater,

Change has not come, and we can’t wait till later.

The prison was still open at that infamous Bay,

While gays could not serve, at least not openly today.

The lobbying firms still had much power,

And the pork-barrel projects still taste quite sour.

He needed a win to bring back the support,

At least now on health care they shouldn't fall short.

On what other promises might he deliver?

What he needed was help, from a jolly Christmas giver.

Then out in the Rose Garden, a loud “Ho Ho Ho!”

The President’s face, it started to glow.

Quickly he ran through the residence with speed,

Hoping Saint Nick could help in this time of need.

Emerging from the colonnades he saw a big sleigh,

He had arrived too late though, it was flying away!

His family did join him, in pajamas with glee,

“It’s a time to be happy,” his daughters did plea.

The polls did not matter, the issues could wait,

Regardless of how much now sits on his plate.

This day would be simple, just family and toys,

Like those cherished years back home in Illinois.

On Monday these issues would matter again,

But for now all these problems can wait until then.

So he went back inside, where he said with delight,

“Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night!”

Power Rankings, Actually

There I was roughly one year ago, sitting at a table mostly full of people I had just met, and nobody seemed to know what to say.  It was ironic considering that the people at this table were there because we ALWAYS had things to say, we were opinion columnists at the school newspaper and this was our Christmas dinner.

The interesting thing about the Viewpoint section of The Observer is how detached it is from the rest of the paper.  Viewpoint columnists essentially write their columns, e-mail them to our editor, and never really come into contact with other people from the paper.  While the rest of The Observer is a tightly knit group (just like any organization), the Viewpoint staff is this fragmented off-shoot whose members know nobody else at the paper (even if they are also the most well-known people with the paper).

Because of this, there was a level of tentative awkwardness at our Christmas dinner last year.  While certain writers knew others through other organizations (or, by chance), the group as a whole did not know each other at all.  In an attempt to get the whole table into a conversation together (and to help everybody get to know one another), I started asking questions to spur discussion.

At first, I started by asking people about the obvious thing we had in common, our columns.  After going around the table talking about responses to our work, and what we thought about everybody else’s writing, the conversation began to dry up.  What we really needed at the table was a spirited debate about something that everybody would know about, yet something that nobody would get angry about (so politics was off the table).  Being the holiday season at Notre Dame, the question seemed obvious:

“So, what is everybody’s favorite storyline in Love, Actually?” I asked, assuming that they all had seen the movie.  Conversation was sparked quickly with one guy mentioning the Liam Neeson storyline and another guy mentioning the Emma Thompson storyline.  I added my opinion about the superiority of Hugh Grant’s Prime Minister storyline, and a light-hearted holiday debate began.

Then, however, I realized something. 

While there were five guys and five girls sitting at the table, only the guys were talking about their favorite storylines.  Thinking the girls might just be a shyer crowd, I was individually asking them their opinions when I figured out that NONE OF THE GIRLS HAD SEEN THE MOVIE.  Here I was at a table with ten college aged men and women, and while all of the men had seen this romantic comedy; none of the women had seen it.

This was Love, Actually we were talking about.  The Ultimate Romantic Comedy.  This movie is tailor made for girls.

As I expressed my shock at the fact that none of the girls at the table had seen the movie, I realized that it was not only ironic that all the guys at the table had seen the film, but also a very telling thing about Notre Dame guys.  These were five different guys that collectively knew a lot of different people on campus, and each of us had made the assumption that Love, Actually was a movie that every Notre Dame Student Likes. 

This was the day when Love, Actually cemented its position on the list of Things Notre Dame Students Like (see #69), and also one of my favorite anecdotes about the movie.  Each of the guys that day had their own opinion about which story was best, and in honor of that, here are my rankings of the storylines in the film:

Dishonorable Mention: Mark’s Story

The worst storyline of the film is not even deserving of a ranking on my list.  While it is certainly well acted, written, and directed; the actual story and what is going on it are really quite despicable.  As you might remember, Mark (Andrew Lincoln) is the best man at Peter (Chiwetel Ejiofor) and Juliet’s (Keira Knightley) wedding.  He is Peter’s best friend and orchestrates an amazing send-off for the new couple at the conclusion of the wedding. 

Everything is going great in this story, until we discover that Mark is somehow in love with Juliet.  This plot twist is completely ridiculous.  No self-respecting best friend could manage to ‘fall in love’ with the girlfriend of his best friend (let alone THE WIFE).  Most bros even see ex-girlfriends of best friends as off-limits (except, ironically, in the Bro-Code driven world of How I Met Your Mother where Robin is passed between Ted and Barney like some sort of pipe).  If you find yourself on the wrong end of a love triangle: GET OUT!!  It is disgusting to me that Mark had to secretly profess his love for Juliet, AND get a kiss from her before he finally said, “Enough now.” 

What is most amusing about this storyline is that I have had people (girls) tell me how much they like it.  A female friend once said to me, “You can’t help who you fall in love with,” trying to defend Mark’s actions.  I find this to be absurdly inaccurate, and believe the real reason most girls like the story is because they view it from Juliet’s perspective.

While Mark is essentially cheating on his best friend, and Peter’s presence in the story is nearly nonexistent; Juliet is presented with a grand romantic gesture that makes every girl envious.  These girls just can’t understand how horrible it is because more than likely they don’t know what it’s like to be a best friend.  Just as the rest of the stories in this film are about love, this story is essentially about jealousy, hate, backstabbing, and sleazy actions: things I refuse to endorse.

8) John and Judy

The story of the movie stand-ins isn’t necessarily a bad storyline, but it is probably the weakest of the ones in the film.  Sure it’s somewhat interesting that they meet on a film set where they are pretty much naked the entire time, but their characters are essentially one-dimensional.  There is never any conflict between them, they are only tangentially connected to every other storyline, and there is no aspect of love broached in their storyline that isn’t covered in others.  While it is nice filler between the grander storylines, it’s not surprising that all of their scenes are removed without notice from certain (censored) versions of the film.

7) Harry and Karen

One of the core four stories of the film, the story of Harry (Alan Rickman) and Karen (Emma Thompson) is one about a love for their children.  Harry acts as a complete idiot throughout the film as he ‘emotionally cheats’ on his loving wife with his ever-seducing secretary.  Is this ironic because he gives advice to Sarah about Karl?  This story is highlighted by the spectacular acting of Emma Thompson who must put on a face of happiness for her kids when she has been crushed by her husband’s actions.  In particular, I love the scene when she runs into her brother back stage of the play: a very underrated, yet emotional scene.

6) Colin and the American Girls

Yes, American girls like British accents, and while Colin’s trip to Milwaukee might be over the top; it is probably what would happen in real life.  I wish the same would be true of American’s visiting London (or China, I suppose).

5) Sarah and Michael (and Karl)

I don’t think this story always gets the credit it deserves.  While it is somewhat heartbreaking to see Sarah (Laura Linney) give up a chance with her supposed dream guy (Paulo from Lost), it works well in the end when we discover that she probably needs her brother more than he needs her.  I like it because it shows that even though we sometimes have to sacrifice things for the people that we love, we ultimately make these sacrifices because we want and need these people more than anything else.

4) Jamie and Aurelia

The second of the major storylines in the film, the story of Jaime (Colin Firth) and Aurelia depicts the barriers that love can overcome.  It is a story of subtleties for the most part as the acting, writing, and emphasis is minimal.  This minimalism, however, paves the way for its epic climax where Jamie marches through the streets of Marseilles to ask Aurelia to marry him.  With the music keeping the pace and crowd getting larger, probably the best moment of the entire film occurs when Aurelia responds to his  question in English; showing that even though the two could not communicate, they still forged a strong bond with each other.

3) Daniel and Sam (and Joanna)

This story changes from sadness to happiness in an instant as it depicts Daniel (Liam Neeson) worried about his step-son to helping his step-son deal with the love of his life.  I love the fact that Daniel is very passive throughout the story, even though he is dealing with the death of his own true love, but is shown to reemerge from all the pain by the conclusion.  Joanna, in a way, helped Sam and Daniel get over the loss of their wife/mother, and sang a rousing rendition of a great Christmas classic as the film reached its climax.  You also have to love Sam’s run through the airport.

2) Billy Mack and Joe

While this story is about a different type of love, the bro-love that I wish Mark and Peter had, and these two characters have no connection with the others; I think it is the funniest storyline of the entire film.  Billy Mack is probably the best built character in the movie, and he has several great lines in every scene that he appears.  His mannerisms are hilarious, his lines are funniest, and his coming together with Joe at the end is neither over-the-top, nor unrealistic.

1) David and Natalie

What can I say, I’m a sucker for Hugh Grant . . . or not.  In fact, this is the only Hugh Grant film I actually enjoy, but his storyline here is my favorite scene-for-scene storyline in the entire film.  His dance moves are funny (considering he’s in 10 Downing), his door-to-door search for Natalie is a grand romantic gesture (even though the Prime Minister would NOT have to walk door-to-door to find somebody), and there is even some politics to make it all more interesting.  For her part, Natalie has a certain underrated beauty quality to her which is augmented by other characters calling her chubby.  She is definitely the most likeable of the female leads.  What puts this storyline on top, however, is the awesome speech in the middle of the film touting all of the things that are great about Britain.  Whenever I see that scene, I wish I was British just so I could jump off my couch and do some fist pumps.  In my opinion, this is probably a top-10 movie speech (which is saying something for a romantic comedy).  Oh, and this storyline also features Bad Santa himself (Billy Bob Thornton) ostensibly playing Bill Clinton.  Awesome.

My Weekly Run-Down: 12/20/2009

Five Things I’m thinking about This Week:

27 Outfits

I heard a story once about a guy that was getting ready to leave for college.  As he was packing, he asked his mom, “How much underwear should I take?”  Her response was (as the story goes) that he should pack all of it because he was moving to college.  Setting aside the point that going to college is a decidedly different process from moving, the larger idea is how much stuff should be brought on different length trips. 

When I was first packing for China, I figured that I would need a lot of stuff.  Not only would I be here for a year, but I would be experiencing vastly different climates, and I was unsure of what type of goods and clothing I would actually be able to purchase here.  If I had any doubts about something, I just brought it, because I was (after all) moving to China. 

Needless to say, I brought too much stuff.

Did I really think I would need FIVE* sports jerseys here?  Four pairs of jeans?  That brown button-up short sleeve shirt I found on the clearance rack at J-Crew that my mom, sister, and every female friend tell me looks atrocious?  A copy of The Brothers Karamazov?  I had to know that I’d never read that book.

*Notre Dame (#9), Chicago Bears (G-Reg), FC Barcelona, Everton FC, and my 40s Jersey.  By the time I left, the Cubs had already collapsed in August, and I figured I wouldn’t need that one.

The real reason why I brought too much stuff, however, was something that I didn’t figure out until I actually got to China.  While I have six Polo shirts of varying colors (bright green, dark blue, light blue, white, red, and grey) most of the teachers and students at our school seemingly wear the same outfits to school every single day.

In America, you have to be really good friends with a person to start noticing specific articles of clothing or outfits that they wear.  Even if you see a person every day, it might take several months before you can name certain articles of clothing off the top of your head.  Here in Yanji, most of the teachers and students have roughly two outfits that they wear—total.  This means that they might go an entire week, wearing the same thing every day. 

I probably have enough tops here (Polo Shirts, sweaters, sweatshirts, t-shirts, jerseys) that could last me upwards of twenty days without repeating.  The thing is, however, that nobody would actually notice if I wore one of these shirts every day for a week.

Hockey Night in America

Over the past four years (since my stint in the Notre Dame Hockey Band ended) I’ve probably watched roughly 1.5 full games of Hockey.  I went to one ND game as a sophomore.  I watched about a period of last year’s Winter Classic (only to see what a hockey rink at Wrigley Field looked like), and I watched less than 1 minute of three other Notre Dame games on TV.

So, I’m not a big fan of hockey.

This is why I am endorsing the Simmons plan (his third to last entry in the link) for the NHL.  The plan involves scaling back the NHL to two 12-team conferences.  One would be the America conference and the other would be the Canadian conference.  This would make the Stanley Cup Finals a BORDER WAR between the US and Canada, something I would actually been intrigued about and probably would watch.

Last Cigarette Ever

A couple weeks ago I wrote about a situation where I arrived at my class to find that the doors were locked and several kids were asleep in the corner of the room.  After pounding on the doors and windows to the room, the kids didn’t wake up, so we moved the class to another room.

This week, the problem escalated. 

When I got to the same class on Thursday, all of my first year students were again standing in the hallway.  Arriving at the room, I found that there were again kids in the corner of the room, but this time they were awake.  After unsuccessfully pounding on the doors, I again sent a student to get another teacher.  However, before the teacher could come, the students let us in the classroom and left (ostensibly because there was a teacher coming, I don’t really count). 

I started class as if nothing had happened, but then started to notice things.  Some of the students said they smelled smoke or something, but I didn’t pay much attention because I didn’t smell anything (mainly due to the fact that my nose has been running for two months straight because of the cold).  I then started to notice that it was uncharacteristically cold in the room.  In fact, it was frigid.

Thinking that a window might actually be open, I opened all of the curtains to try to get sunlight in the room, and to make sure that all of the windows were actually closed.  When I got to the back of the room, I smelled the smoke.  Right where the kids had been sleeping two weeks prior (I actually doubt they were really asleep that time) I found a hole in the wall with a bunch of cigarettes in it.

The kids had been locking themselves in this room, smoking in it, and opening the windows to keep the smell out.  This made the room frigid.  Because they weren’t my students, I really didn’t know who they were, so I couldn’t do anything.  I told the other English teachers later in the day, but it didn’t matter. 

They better not do it again though.

Best of the Decade

One of the best things about the run up to New Year’s this year is that we are approaching the end of the decade, and this means that we have been treated to a litany of “Best of the Decade” lists scattered across the internet.  I’m not going to put links to all these lists (although SI.com and Newsweek have particularly taken up a lot of my time) but I have thoroughly enjoyed many of them.

What I am thinking about, however, is when the year 2000 began.  Many people were afraid of Y2K, while other people talked about the end of the millennium.  Some people, however, insisted that the millennium doesn’t end until the end of 2000.  These people claimed that because there was no ‘Year Zero’, the millennium (being 1000 years) could not end until the end of the year 2000.

For me, this begs a question about what the best of the decade lists looked like at the end of the first decade.  If there really was no Year 0 (as Wikipedia states), then was the first decade AD just from 1 AD - 9 AD?  How could it have been a decade if there were only nine years?  Did they include events that happened in 1 BC to their lists?

Because of this, I think that the people who insisted that the millennium did not end until the end of 2000 are full of shit.  The new millennium had to begin when the year 2000 began because each decade of this millennium will begin with years ending in 0 and end with years ending in 9.  I believe that the discrepancy can be accounted for simply by assuming that the first millennium was actually a year shorter than it should be. 

While this makes very little sense, consider the fact that my 2009 will be a day shorter than it should be (because I never experienced September 4^th) and my 2010 will be a day longer than it should be (assuming that on January 1^st 2011 I am in America).

My Very Own _______

This week I received an astounding four packages from America.  The first came on Tuesday, and it was a box of cookies that a couple friends had baked.  The next three all came on Wednesday at the same time.  I was sitting in the English office of the school when three students walked in each holding a box.  When they put the boxes down on my desk I felt like Scott Calvin when he walks down after shaving to find a room full of boxes.  Why did I have so many boxes?

It turned out that two of the boxes were from my parents.  They contained some Christmas presents and supplies, which I was expecting.  The third box was from one of my friend’s parents.  As I opened the box, not knowing what to expect, the first thing I saw was what appeared to be a Chicago Cubs fleece blanket.  I took it out of the box, still rolled up, and set it aside. 

The next thing that caught my eye was a seemingly random piece of cardboard that was in the box.  “What is this?” I wondered to myself as I picked up the piece of cardboard.  When I turned it over to see what it was, my face lit up like—well, like a little boy on Christmas.  It turned out that the Cubs blanket was not a blanket at all . . .

It was a SNUGGIE!!!!!!

I remember the first time I ever heard about the would-be phenomenon of the Snuggie.  It was last October and I was at Between the Buns in South Bend with some of my friends.  This was early on in the life of the trivia team known as Jessie and the Rippers, and we were still reeling from our heartbreaking loss due to the infamous 4-H question. 

Anyways, about midway through the trivia game that we played every Tuesday, we saw an incredibly cheesy infomercial appear on one of the televisions at the bar.  For all I know this was the first time that anybody had ever seen the commercials for the Snuggie, and I like to think that my friends and I were at the forefront of this cultural phenomenon.

Over the next several months I was pretty much indifferent towards the Snuggie.  While friends of mine tried to get their own Snuggies (they were on back-order) I merely used the ‘backwards robe’ as fodder for newspaper columns and comedy shows in churches.

Flashforward to Christmas 2009 and I have my very own Snuggie to keep me warm in the cold nights of Yanji.  Thanks.

Rising up My iTunes Play Count

Father Christmas: The Kinks—I couldn’t really tell you how it happened, but a couple years ago this became one of my favorite Christmas songs.  I’ve rather unsuccessfully tried to ‘get into’ The Kinks on several occasions since, but I’m not a huge fan of much of their other music.  I just like this song.  It’s a lot more unique and original than other Christmas rock songs.

I know I’m not in America because . . .

. . . of the lack of ventilation in our apartment.  Gavin was vacuuming the floor the other day and he asked me (sort of rhetorically) why dust accumulates so quickly in our apartment.  I immediately realized that because there are no vents in our apartment and the heat supposedly comes through the floor (supposedly), the only way for air to circulate through our apartment is when we actually open the windows (which is something we aren’t going to do until June).

Hypothetical Question of the Week:

Suppose that you knew today that you were going to lose every game you played for the rest of your life.  It wouldn’t matter if it was poker, Madden on X-Box, fantasy football, Scrabble, pickup basketball, chess, GoldenEye 64, Candy Land, computerized Hearts, pickup basketball, Sorry, or Mario Kart.  If you play the game, you will lose. 

Would you stop playing all games?

Meal of the Week (but not really):

Aside from teaching my students, I also tutor a university student whose mom is a Chinese teacher at our school.  A couple months ago she took me out to lunch at a ‘hot pot’ restaurant.  I had never been to a hot pot restaurant before this, and have not been to one since (although I wouldn’t necessarily be opposed).

Hot pot food is essentially what the name sounds like.  The tables at the restaurants have big pots of boiling water sunk in the center of them.  You order a lot of raw meat and other items, and put them in the pot of boiling water to cook them.  After cooking the food, you essentially eat it straight out of the pot of boiling water (or at least this is what I did).

The first problem with my student (since named Erica) taking me to the hot pot restaurant is the fact that hot pot is inherently a food that should be eaten with at least four people.  Since all the food comes in large quantities, it would be improbable impossible for two people to eat all the food that she ordered, but she ordered it anyways.

Because I usually take my cues from the person who is paying when it comes to ordering alcohol at restaurants, and she wasn’t drinking, I forewent beer in favor of Coke with my meal.  This is important because the ensuing meal was one of the hottest meals that I have ever had and beer would have been soooooo much better to wash it down than Coke.

We began eating the food, and it immediately was scalding my mouth.  Not only was it hot as in hot food, but coming out of the boiling water it was just plain hot.  While the meat that I ate was certainly good and tasty, it was so hot that I was drinking Coke like it was my job.  There were also rice balls (or something) that were literally so hot that I could not tell if they tasted good or not.  As soon as I put them in my mouth it was a struggle to chew them enough and get them down my throat fast enough where they didn’t burn something along the way. 

By the end of the meal my eyes were tearing, my nose was running, and I had amassed a small collection of Coke cans on the table next to me.  Before we left the restaurant she offered me some sort of pill because she said my stomach was going to hurt.  Confused, I told her that I wouldn’t need the pill (while I wondered to myself why a person would go to a restaurant when they knew they wouldn’t be able to handle it later). 

As I walked home from the restaurant, I really, really regretted not taking the pill.  

Quotation of the Week:

“I told to my friends I have two American friends, and then it makes envy among them.” –What my student, Erica, wrote in her Christmas card to Gavin.  I never said I was a great teacher.

Picture of the Week:

 This is me with some of our students in front of the Catholic Church in Yanji after Sunday mass.  Don’t let the minimal amount of snow fool you.  It is really, really cold.  

Look Both Ways Before Crossing the Street (or not)

One of our first weekends in Yanji, before we had internet access at our apartment, Gavin and I slept at the house attached to the school on Saturday night so that we could watch the Notre Dame Football game the next morning and eat breakfast with the Salesians.  After breakfast, one of the brothers offered to drive us back into the city and drop us off at the Catholic Church in the city.  We obviously accepted the offer and soon enough we were sitting in the backseat of their small SUV as he drove us down the main north/south street that comes into Yanji from the countryside. 

The street was under construction at the time and there was really nothing that resembled lanes.  Cars were literally moving in every possible direction, turning into traffic, merging into traffic, and barreling ahead.  Soon enough we came to a point of congestion (the only congestion I’ve seen in Yanji in the four months since) and two lines of cars had to merge together.  The street was a haphazard mess, and we were stuck in the middle of it not really in either line.

To our left was a long bus that was going into town and to our right was a truck.  These vehicles weren’t moving parallel to each other, but were merging into each other—and we were between them.  Confounded by what was going on, and wondering why our driver was still moving the car forward,  I quickly figured out what I would do if the car actually became pinned between the bus and the truck.

After determining that I could climb out the sun roof while the sides of the car compacted in on each other, I figured that I would have plenty of time to safely run off the back of the car and out of danger.  Luckily, I didn’t have to do this because the traffic seemed to magically work its way out, and we made it to the church safely. 

This was my first of many harrowing experiences on the wild and crazy streets of Yanji. 

***

Walking across the streets of Yanji is like playing a game of Frogger (not that I’ve ever actually played Frogger, I just remember that infamous Seinfeld episode).  Because stoplights are ignored, cars turn at crazy angles, and crosswalks don’t really mean anything, the best way to get across the street is to just start walking across whenever you feel like it.  If there is an opening in the traffic, you just go for it.

The interesting thing about this strategy is that it is not necessarily beneficial to look both ways when crossing the street.  Sometimes, it is actually in your best interest to just start walking.  You see, while the cars here move in an incredibly unpredictable manner, the drivers of these cars seem to assume that pedestrians will move across the street in the most predictable manner possible. 

When I walk across a busy street in America (when I jaywalk, I suppose), I make sure to look both ways.  I only walk when there are no cars coming, and if cars are coming quickly I make sure to run.  Here in Yanji, however, it’s not a good idea to run if cars are coming.  Because everybody just seems to walk across the street, oncoming traffic will swerve out of your way as you cross.  However, if you just walk across the street you also have to keep moving at the same pace and in the same direction.  If you see a car coming and try to run, you might get hit as a car tries to swerve around you.

Furthermore, the sidewalks in Yanji are not safe from the wild unpredictability of cars.  Not only do cars seemingly drive down the sidewalk whenever the drivers feel like it, but the sidewalks are also seemingly used as parking areas for cars.  If a car needs to get into a certain restaurant or store, they just park their on the sidewalk in front of the place and leave it there. 

In other words, automobile traffic here in Yanji is like a lawless post-apocalyptic wasteland (albeit one that has plenty of gasoline).

***

Since most people in Yanji seemingly don’t have their own cars (which made things very awkward when my Chinese teacher asked me how many cars my family owns), the teachers get to school by being picked up by a bus that the school owns; a bus that we call the teacher bus. 

Gavin and I get on the teacher bus at the last stop, and most days every seat is taken.  Because of this, we usually end up standing in the aisle of the bus and watch as the driver deftly makes his way through the traffic as the bus leaves the city and enters the countryside where our schools is located (there’s no suburban area to pass through). 

The driver smoothly moves from left to right around trucks, motorcycles, bicycles, tractors, and horse-pulled carts.  He never worries if there are any cars in the other lanes and he never worries about signaling.  He just flows from lane to lane and side to side without noticing what the cars behind him or next to him might be doing.  Sometimes he honks to ostensibly let the cars in front of him know that he is about to pass, but he never seems to be stressed or worried about the chaos around him.

I, however, AM worried about what is going on around him. 

Every time the bus starts to drift from one side to another I think that he is going to sideswipe another vehicle or plow over some grandmother walking back from the market.  I pay attention to the cars in front of us, and can’t believe some of the indescribable maneuvers that the bus and other cars make.  I oftentimes find this bus ride to be legitimately scary.

At first I thought it was weird that nobody else on the bus seemed at all concerned about the chaotic driving and the inherent danger in it, but then I realized what should have been obvious: most of the other teachers have probably never actually driven cars.  Sure, some of the teachers might have spouses that have cars, but more than likely these teachers have never, and will never drive their own cars. 

I haven’t driven in three and a half months, but these teachers have probably NEVER driven a car.

***

Aside from the teacher bus (and the minibuses that are even more terrifying), the other main way that we get around Yanji is by taking cabs.  Now I spent all of my senior year at Notre Dame riding with my own crazy Chinese cab driver, but nothing could have prepared me for the insane things that happen every time I enter a Chinese cab.

One morning when we had to take a cab to school we hailed it in front of our apartment and it drove out towards the main street.  Cars have to turn left onto the main street from our apartment to get to school, and on this particular morning the cab driver was having trouble finding an opening to enter on the far side of the road.  It wasn’t that he actually waited at all to find an opening; he just turned straight out into oncoming traffic as soon as he got to the intersection. 

Then, instead of waiting in the middle of the road while cars swerved around him (as they were doing), our cab driver decided it was a good idea to just start driving down the wrong side of the road until he found an opening to merge into. 

As we watched the cars coming straight towards us and swerving around us, I reached for the seatbelt.  Quickly remembering that the back seats of cabs in Yanji HAVE NO SEATBELTS, I braced myself for the collision that was bound to occur.  I remembered what one American had told us at Thanksgiving Dinner: “I’ve come to terms with the fact that I am going to die in a Chinese taxi.”

I don’t want to die in a Chinese taxi . . . this is crazy . . . there are cars coming straight towards us . . . what rational person could think this is a good idea . . . is there any real process for granting drivers licenses here . . . are there any traffic laws?

Luckily, or maybe just normally, we survived that ordeal and many other adventures on the wild ride that is a Yanji taxi. 

***

Eventually, I found out that there is an important and substantial difference between the driving practices in China and those in the United States.  When a car is merging into traffic in the United States (like on a highway, or when turning onto a busy street, or when simply changing lanes) the cars that are going straight always have the right of way.  If you want to merge you have to check your blind spots and make sure that there isn’t a car coming towards you.  If you are turning onto a busier street, you have to wait until there is an opening.

In China, things are the complete opposite as merging cars have the right of way.  This means that if you are driving straight and a car turns out in front of you, you need to either slow down or swerve out of the way to avoid them.  If a car starts to merge towards you, you have to slow down to let it in.  Apparently the logic behind this is that it prevents merging cars from waiting forever.

While this makes some sense in theory, it doesn’t make any sense in practice.  Not only does it completely overcomplicate the entire organism of traffic, but it wastes plenty of energy in braking.  These cars might flow lawlessly from lane to lane, but the way they do it makes no sense and has to cause more deaths by auto accidents.

Wondering about this, I decided to do a bit of research and turned to the one place that any college graduate would turn: Wikipedia.  Shockingly, on the Wikipedia page for Auto Collisions I found this graph that shows an indistinguishable difference between the per capita traffic related deaths in the United States and China.  How could this be?  Do their chaotic traffic customs and terrifying drivers actually result in the same level of safety as the United States? 

Pondering whether this was just another cultural difference that I would have to accept, or if Wikipedia had actually failed me for once, I realized that the above graph is the wrong statistic.  Of course per capita traffic related deaths in China are going to be low—there are over billion people here, and most of them evidently do not own cars.  So I found the right statistic: deaths per 10,000 motor vehicles.  Using this statistic, which is much better to gauge how dangerous they drive, I found that China has 13 times as many deaths as the United States does.

But what does all this mean?

Many of the things I experience in China that I find to be strange or bizarre, I just chalk up to cultural differences.  Sure the toilets are different, or we can’t control our own heat, or there are complicated customs related to drinking beer; while I might find these things weird and frustrating, they are just cultural differences that I need to be able to accept if I am going to live here.  The American way of drinking beer isn’t necessarily better, it is just different/

I can’t pin everything on cultural differences however, or even accept that things are just different here.  When it comes to driving and the chaotic roads, I believe this isn’t a mere case of cultural differences, but an instance where the way that we do it in America is just plain superior.

So unlike other things that might be worth considering, trying, and experiencing; with the traffic and the roads, I just have to do my best to survive—because I have no intention of dying in a Chinese taxi.

Endnote: After reading through this, I realized that I probably make things out to be worse than they really are.  While I certainly didn’t lie about anything here (or even really exaggerate anything), I just want you all to know that I am not in any mortal danger here.  Please don’t fear for my safety after reading this—Merry Christmas.

My Weekly Run-Down: 12/13/2009

Five Things I’m thinking about This Week:

My New Haircut--  Most of you know about my hatred for getting haircuts.  In 2009, I had my hair cut on five occasions (which is one more than I had the previous year), and I notoriously went a full year in high school without cutting my hair.  A mere perusal through my Facebook albums show fluctuations of my hair length that rival those of Mike Huckabee’s weight and the quality of the Coen Brother’s films.

Essentially, my strategy when it comes to haircuts (assuming I don’t have big events coming up like Graduation or Spring Break in PCB, the reasons for extra haircuts in 2009) is to let my hair grow out until ‘it’s time’.  There’s really no reasoning behind my determination of when ‘it’s time’; I just know. 

Usually, 2-3 weeks after people start telling me that my hair does not look good—when it is mopped up under my ND baseball hat—I know.  Soon after one of the other English teachers at our school made comments about my hair, I figured that it was time to chop it off.  Last weekend, I went to the hair cutting place to get my fifth haircut of 2009.

Knowing that I would have trouble telling the person what I wanted my hair to look like, I took a picture off my wall that depicted me about a week after a haircut.  Gavin was going to the post office, so he stopped at the hair cut place and helped me explain what I wanted.  Figuring everything was going to be fine, he left and they brought me over to a station where my hair was washed.

After my hair was properly shampooed (the first time I’ve had my hair shampooed by somebody else in more than a decade) I sat in a barber’s chair and a Chinese guy with WAY over-styled hair began to work on mine. 

He started by putting some clips in the back of the mop that was probably two inches long at this point.  I wasn’t too sure what he was clipping (since all I really wanted was a quick buzz all the way around, that’s a little longer on top) but he probably had six hair clips on the back of my head. 

He then began to slowly and methodically cut off a couple centimeters of hair at a time.  This alone would have been frustrating, but to make matters worse this guy had fingernails that were nearly an inch long.  Every time he pulled more hair back and repositioned his clips, I would become squeamish as his claw-like nails grazed the back of my neck.  It was one thing for me to be getting a haircut, but these nails were absolutely terrifying to me (I’m the guy that cuts his fingernails more often then he shaves).

Realizing that this guy had no clue what I wanted him to do, and upset because of the nail situation, I started to get frustrated.  It wasn’t an angry-frustrated though, but a laughing-frustrated though.  Knowing that I was helpless to impact my situation, and that there was really know way I could communicate to him that I just wanted him to shave it all off, I just started laughing to myself.

About 15-20 minutes later, my hair still looked about the same as it had when I walked into the store.  There was nothing resembling the drastic change that I was looking for, and I was quite irritated.  I tried to show him the picture again, but he clearly seemed to think that the picture depicted something different than I did.  Luckily, Gavin arrived, and after much deliberation, was able to convince the hair cut guy what I wanted.

After a painful 45 minutes in the barber’s chair (I’m not shy about the fact that I’d rather go to the dentist then to the haircut), my haircut was complete, and actually looked better than I thought it would. 

I think I’ll try to do it myself next time.

He Wasn’t What We Thought He Was—In the spring of 2008, there was a shooting outside of a business that is owned by Marvin Harrison.  As we all remember, the gun that was apparently used was owned by the former Colts receiver, and Harrison was actually identified by witnesses as the shooter. 

With just one report, a man that I thought was one of the more classy individuals in the NFL was embroiled in controversy.  My friends and I talked about how he was secretly a gangster, and we even went so far as to swipe a poster from the Notre Dame Library that depicted the receiver holding a book and the word “READ” in big letters across the top.

When it happened, my friends and I talked about how Marvin Harrison was probably one of the athletes we would never expect to become embroiled in such a controversy.  I wasn’t that surprised with Vick’s troubles, or Plaxico’s, or Pacman’s; but Marvin Harrison secretly being a gangster was completely unexpected.  At the time I thought about what athletes would really shock me if they turned out to not be the classy individuals they come across as.

Tiger Woods would have probably been at the top of that list. 

Much has been written about Woods in the past couple weeks, and I don’t really have anything to add right now, so I’m just going to go ahead and list the top five athletes that would most surprise me if they turned out to be less than the classy individuals I have been meant to believe they are.  In other words, I would be most surprised if these five athletes were involved in an unordinary incident involving guns, drugs, rampant sex, alcoholism, dog fighting, or murder.  We’ll call them my Thanksgiving Tigers:

1)       Peyton Manning

2)       Phil Mickelson

3)       Derrek Lee

4)       Kurt Warner

5)       Tim Duncan

Here We Go Again—On Saturday morning I woke up like it was Christmas morning [that simile will never get old] because I knew that the Brian Kelly press conference would be ready for me.  As I jumped out of bed and opened my laptop like it was a gift on Christmas morning, I found something even more wonderful: A Simmons Mailbag entirely about Tiger Woods!!!

Anyways, I spent most of Saturday reading and listening about Brian Kelly and Tiger Woods.  All I have to say right now about Kelly is that I fully expect him to be a successful football coach.  Will he win a championship within the next five years?  I don’t know, but I expect that our boys will be competitive in BCS games very soon.

Sweet Home Alabama—I was really surprised when I found out that Mark Ingram is the first Alabama player to win the Heisman Trophy.  This was like when I found out that Bo Schembechler never won a national championship.  Very surprising.

Goin’ Rogue, Yanji Style—One of the most difficult parts about learning Chinese is actually working on talking to people.  Since I am here as an English teacher, the expectation is that at school I only speak English.  Seeing as I hardly know Chinese, this isn’t a problem, but as I attempt to learn the language my speaking skills are lagging far behind my listening skills.

Because of this, I took a gamble on Thursday and went out to dinner by myself.

There is a small restaurant that is in the building next to ours that Gavin and I have been going to at least once a week for the past couple months.  Since the place is about as far from our apartment as Recker’s was from Banana Quad, it is nice if we don’t want to cook dinner, but also don’t want to walk very far in the cold. 

The restaurant is owned by a Chinese family that actually lives in the back room.  The dad is the cook, his daughter (roughly 20 years old) is the server, and his wife sometimes helps out if she is around.  While there are sometimes people in this restaurant, usually when we eat there it is just the two of us talking with the family that runs the place.  Gavin talks to them, and I try my best to follow along (and am actually starting to get good at it).

On Thursday, Gavin was going out to dinner with his Chinese teacher, so I would have to eat on my own.  As I briefly considered an easy dinner of Ramen Noodles and scrambled eggs, I then realized that I could go to the restaurant and attempt to talk to the Chinese family on my own.

So I did.

While I don’t know that many words, I was able to talk to them quite a bit; and I even took out my books and looked up some words to fill in blanks.  This amused them as they went through my notebooks and looked over all of my futile attempts to draw (or write) Chinese characters.  The daughter went through my book and corrected some of my characters, and I was actually able to practice a little bit.

It wasn’t much, but it was a start; and probably much more beneficial to me than going rogue was for Sarah Palin last fall.

Rising up My iTunes Play Count

Have I Got A Present For You: Toby Keith—The second album I purchased this winter to beef up my Christmas selections was the soundtrack to Stephen Colbert’s Christmas Special.  While the soundtrack has some misses (the songs by Feist and Willie Nelson) most of the songs area actually pretty enjoyable.  I think this track by Toby Keith was pretty underrated last year when we were all obsessing over John Legend’s ode to nutmeg. 

I know I’m not in America because . . .

. . .when the school had a talent show this week, many of the girls did choreographed dances that were more risqué than Marissa Tomeii’s performance in The Wrestler (except that the girls remained clothed).  The Glenbrook North Pom Squad had nothing on these dances the girls did, and I was truly shocked.  At one point, a group of girls was on stage, and actually ripped off a layer of shirts while thrusting their hips and what not. 

It was awkward.

Hypothetical Question of the Week:

Inspired after reading this New Yorker piece by Malcolm Gladwell about concussions in the NFL

Suppose that you are a top 5 O-Line prospect for the NFL Draft.  You can sign a contract with a team and make $40 million dollars for the next five years.  However, if you play these five years you also know that you will not live to see your 50th birthday (as a result of the head trauma).  Assume you know this ahead of time; it WILL happen if you play these five years.  

Do you still play football for those five years knowing that you and your family will always be financially secure, but that you will die 20-30 YEARS before your wife, and you will not see your children graduate from college?  

Meal of the Week:

After we met a shocking number of westerners on Thanksgiving, one of them invited us over to dinner at his place later on.  After a couple weeks passed by and we hadn’t heard anything, we didn’t think much of it.  Then, he invited us on Friday, so we figured we had to go.

We entered his apartment (which was far warmer than our own) and immediately met a Michigan grad, a Michigan State grad, and a Boston College grad.  Not surprisingly, the college football talk began in earnest.  For the next four hours we talked with seven others about the topics that Chinese people just will never be able to understand.  We talked college sports, pro sports, politics, the economy, and even hit on some movies.  Despite the fact that some of these people have been in China so long they are incapable of properly telling stories (I never knew when their stories were over), it was great conversation. 

While the rare conversation with Westerners was great, the meal was better.  I don’t know where he found it here, but our host had grilled steaks with baked potatoes.  I happily used my knife and fork for the second time in the past month, and cherished the meal. 

Quotation of the Week:

In my Second Year Class (the girls are 17 year old students):

Jane: “Oh, new haircut, very handsome.”

Annie: “You look like . . . uh . . . Beckham . . . David Beckham.”

Picture of the Week:

This is a view out the window of one of my classrooms: