I think I mentioned this before. It's the "Please Be Civilized, The Olympics Are Coming" campaign that Beijing is running, urging folks to follow common rules of courtesy. These posters are in a local subway station and probably will be until 2008.
March 25, 2006
The Olympics are coming
I think I mentioned this before. It's the "Please Be Civilized, The Olympics Are Coming" campaign that Beijing is running, urging folks to follow common rules of courtesy. These posters are in a local subway station and probably will be until 2008.
March 22, 2006
Words of a friend
I’m talking on the phone with my Chinese friend the other night when all the sudden she says something that just blows me away. First, some back story… how do I describe my friend, exactly? She’s a year younger than me—which makes her 22—teaches English in the Kindergarten with me, and is a real interesting gal. She likes to laugh, learn new English phrases she hears on her favorite show Friends, and she loves to make fun of me whenever possible. She’s my Chinese tutor this semester (though granted we haven’t had an official lesson together yet) and, for a good example of our relationship, she bought me this baby’s Chinese book so I can learn to speak better—picture me with this round, cardboard book with big colorful animal pictures on a plastic ring, saying “ba ba ba” over and over. See why we hit it off?
Anyway, we’re talking on the phone when all of the sudden she starts saying some familiar words: the passage from John’s book, chapter 3, line 16 that we all know so well. On Monday, she’d been asked to memorize this particular verse as she continues her study of John’s book. She had, she said it to me and then she says that she wants to memorize more, that she feels it is good to do and wants to know if I have more words to share with her. I tell her I do and set up a time to study Chinese and read some more from this book she's so interested in.
This friend doesn’t believe, but she has a real desire to learn more of His words and even to commit them to memory. I’ve been so, so humbled by being a part of a study she and some other girls have been attending (one of whom has already made a commitment!), to see their devotion and seriousness and their earnestness and willingness to learn. How many times do I find myself caught up in doctrine or theology, taking sides and uninterested in spending time with the Author of our faith, remembering His words and listening for more? Each week, as we’re now through John’s third chapter, the girls learn something brand new, and I find myself thinking, for all the things I know and have learned over the years about His Word and about what it means to live the life He calls us to, when it comes down to it, it’s still the simple things that mean everything: faith as big as a mustard seed, listening for the still small voice, a glass of water, a piece of bread, the love of a father, the birth of a child, and remembering the words of dear friend:
“For the Father so loved the world that He gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him will not perish, but have eternal life.”
Anyway, we’re talking on the phone when all of the sudden she starts saying some familiar words: the passage from John’s book, chapter 3, line 16 that we all know so well. On Monday, she’d been asked to memorize this particular verse as she continues her study of John’s book. She had, she said it to me and then she says that she wants to memorize more, that she feels it is good to do and wants to know if I have more words to share with her. I tell her I do and set up a time to study Chinese and read some more from this book she's so interested in.
This friend doesn’t believe, but she has a real desire to learn more of His words and even to commit them to memory. I’ve been so, so humbled by being a part of a study she and some other girls have been attending (one of whom has already made a commitment!), to see their devotion and seriousness and their earnestness and willingness to learn. How many times do I find myself caught up in doctrine or theology, taking sides and uninterested in spending time with the Author of our faith, remembering His words and listening for more? Each week, as we’re now through John’s third chapter, the girls learn something brand new, and I find myself thinking, for all the things I know and have learned over the years about His Word and about what it means to live the life He calls us to, when it comes down to it, it’s still the simple things that mean everything: faith as big as a mustard seed, listening for the still small voice, a glass of water, a piece of bread, the love of a father, the birth of a child, and remembering the words of dear friend:
“For the Father so loved the world that He gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him will not perish, but have eternal life.”
Our depth in center
You know you're addicted to Pirates baseball when you have a nightmare about losing outfield prospect Nate McLouth to some other team (yes, I'm calling it a nightmare). I remember specifically dreaming last night that Buccos General Manager, Dave Littlefield, made some sort of mistake and McLouth was out of Minor League options, subsequently he was claimed off waivers when DL tried to send him down. Maybe I'm reading too much about Spring Training and thinking too much about our depth in center, but now I'm a little worried (about the fact that I had the dream... and about losing McLouth). Check his options, DL!
March 21, 2006
Hao ting
Chinese popular music is, for the most part, as equally catchy as it is ridiculous. This song [click on the link in the title] is my newest favorite... and it's actually in Mongolian, so I understand the same amount of it you do. I heard this song Saturday night when I was shopping for DVDs, got the MP3 (or as Chinese people say: "M-P-san," which I think is real funny) from a friend Sunday and have had it stuck in my head since. It's called 吉祥三宝, in pinyin: Ji Xiang San Bao, which translates to "Three Lucky Treasures." As my Chinglish-speaking friends would say, have a listen!
I'm fond of telling taxi drivers when a song I like comes on, "hao ting," which literally means good listen or sound, but translates to: I like this music, turn it up, friend! Which they then do. Actually, Three Lucky Treasures is a bad example of Chinese pop music, because it has that "traditional" sort of sound. Most pop music here is like pop music in the States, times ten: really cheesy and is just plain not good, like the song which says: Like the mouse loves the big rice, I love you; we call it "Mice Love Rice." There's the band S.H.E. with the hit song Super Star, whose chorus suddenly says in English, Wo zhi ai ni (I really love you), "You are my super star." When they're not playing Western classics such as John Denver's "Country Roads," Celine Dion's "My Heart Will Go On" from Titanic, or the Eagles' "Hotel California," it's some crazy Chinese pop song played on an endless loop blaring in and from every store down every street. And I swear they've all got the same 5-track CD.
Hao thing, indeed.
I'm fond of telling taxi drivers when a song I like comes on, "hao ting," which literally means good listen or sound, but translates to: I like this music, turn it up, friend! Which they then do. Actually, Three Lucky Treasures is a bad example of Chinese pop music, because it has that "traditional" sort of sound. Most pop music here is like pop music in the States, times ten: really cheesy and is just plain not good, like the song which says: Like the mouse loves the big rice, I love you; we call it "Mice Love Rice." There's the band S.H.E. with the hit song Super Star, whose chorus suddenly says in English, Wo zhi ai ni (I really love you), "You are my super star." When they're not playing Western classics such as John Denver's "Country Roads," Celine Dion's "My Heart Will Go On" from Titanic, or the Eagles' "Hotel California," it's some crazy Chinese pop song played on an endless loop blaring in and from every store down every street. And I swear they've all got the same 5-track CD.
Hao thing, indeed.
March 17, 2006
Hello underwear!
A Chinese market is basically unlike anywhere else I’ve ever been before—especially somewhere like the frenzied Silk Street market on the east side of town. We were there tonight, checking on the ever-changing stock of DVDs and seeing if the spring load of t-shirts was in yet, and as the Chinese salespeople assaulted me with cries of everything from “Hello, look-a, look-a!” to “You need silk scarf?” to “Buy for your girlfriend!,” I found myself hearing one phrase that struck me as especially strange:
“Hello underwear!”
Sure it’s meant to be “Hello, sir, would you like to buy some underwear?,” but it comes out as two words, one phrase: Hello underwear! And I chuckled.
Shaking my head, I thought to myself as I eye-balled the selection of North Fake jackets, mass-produced Chinese dongxi [junk] and over-priced silk products from ties to scarves to Japanese kimonos, where else on earth could I hear the words hello and underwear yelled at me as I walk through a public place, fully clothed and minding my own business? Nowhere. Nowhere else. I asked my companions if they too found this odd and if they could think of any other scenario where this might happen besides here in China at a bilingual market full of vacationing foreigners and Chinese salespeople ripping them off left and right, and they couldn’t. I don’t think it’s out there.
I let the scene sink in and smiled, said another bu yao, xie xie [no, thanks] and was on my way. It’s moments like these I really want to remember, because chances are, I’ll never hear anyone yell “hello underwear!” ever again.
“Hello underwear!”
Sure it’s meant to be “Hello, sir, would you like to buy some underwear?,” but it comes out as two words, one phrase: Hello underwear! And I chuckled.
Shaking my head, I thought to myself as I eye-balled the selection of North Fake jackets, mass-produced Chinese dongxi [junk] and over-priced silk products from ties to scarves to Japanese kimonos, where else on earth could I hear the words hello and underwear yelled at me as I walk through a public place, fully clothed and minding my own business? Nowhere. Nowhere else. I asked my companions if they too found this odd and if they could think of any other scenario where this might happen besides here in China at a bilingual market full of vacationing foreigners and Chinese salespeople ripping them off left and right, and they couldn’t. I don’t think it’s out there.
I let the scene sink in and smiled, said another bu yao, xie xie [no, thanks] and was on my way. It’s moments like these I really want to remember, because chances are, I’ll never hear anyone yell “hello underwear!” ever again.
I could get used to this
Have I written about Sweater Cuts yet? I can never remember if I have, but I feel like I’ve opened at least another post this same way. Oh well. Sweater Cuts is a hair-cutting place just down the street that I go to for their 10 kaui ($1.25) head rub/shoulder massage/shampoo just about weekly. Sweater Cuts gets its name from these yellow Chinglish sweaters the employees are always wearing and I’m pretty sure it’s atypical to get the rub without an accompanying haircut, but we do it so often they’re used to it by now. I spent last night at Sweater Cuts with Ryan and we had a fun time teaching our masseuses some English and practicing our Chinese: a typical night here in Haidian Qu.
Last night my masseuse (I feel really strange saying that) was 26 and from Taiyuan, Shanxi Province, she told me. She likes cold water (most Chinese don’t, they think it makes you sick) and thinks Andy Lau (a Chinese pop star) is handsome. For dinner she ate fried noodles and liked them. (This is an example of the information I’m able to gather from a typical conversation…) And, she really likes blue eyes.
She kept saying that she thought my blue eyes were really nice-looking (actually, she said beautiful—consider that a translator’s edit for manliness) and I kept saying thanks, and I’m thinking, “Man, I could really get used to this.” I guess I’m constantly surprised when I remember that everyone in China looks the same. They all have black hair, brown eyes, the same facial structure, body build, etc… for the most part. There are minority groups and there are tall men or fat women, but not many. The typical Han Chinese is well, Han Chinese. So when a foreigner sits in someone’s Sweater Cuts chair and a girl sees blue eyes up close for maybe the first time, it gets a reaction. Similarly with my students, or my teachers every once in a while. A student will raise their hand simply to tell me, “Mr. Jon, I see blue eyes!” when we’re not playing I Spy. Or a teacher will say, “Oh, your eyes are blue!” And I’ll say, yes they are. (Chinese people are also fond of stating the obvious.) Anyway, it made me feel good for a night. That and the head rub/shoulder massage/shampoo.
Thanks again, Sweater Cuts.
Last night my masseuse (I feel really strange saying that) was 26 and from Taiyuan, Shanxi Province, she told me. She likes cold water (most Chinese don’t, they think it makes you sick) and thinks Andy Lau (a Chinese pop star) is handsome. For dinner she ate fried noodles and liked them. (This is an example of the information I’m able to gather from a typical conversation…) And, she really likes blue eyes.
She kept saying that she thought my blue eyes were really nice-looking (actually, she said beautiful—consider that a translator’s edit for manliness) and I kept saying thanks, and I’m thinking, “Man, I could really get used to this.” I guess I’m constantly surprised when I remember that everyone in China looks the same. They all have black hair, brown eyes, the same facial structure, body build, etc… for the most part. There are minority groups and there are tall men or fat women, but not many. The typical Han Chinese is well, Han Chinese. So when a foreigner sits in someone’s Sweater Cuts chair and a girl sees blue eyes up close for maybe the first time, it gets a reaction. Similarly with my students, or my teachers every once in a while. A student will raise their hand simply to tell me, “Mr. Jon, I see blue eyes!” when we’re not playing I Spy. Or a teacher will say, “Oh, your eyes are blue!” And I’ll say, yes they are. (Chinese people are also fond of stating the obvious.) Anyway, it made me feel good for a night. That and the head rub/shoulder massage/shampoo.
Thanks again, Sweater Cuts.
March 10, 2006
Konversations
Class has been fun this week. Examples: It's warmer in Beijing, so I've been happily ditching my winter coat for a fleece over a short-sleeve shirt or something of the sort—a pretty common thing in the States as winter turns to spring, but completely uncommon in China where the long underwear stays on til May—really. Anyway, I'd been playing outside with the kiddos before a class with Big Purple... a class full of corkers and trouble-makers (which happens to be the same reason they happen to be one of my favorites). The infamous Peter is in Big Purple, as are Allen and Kelly and lots of other crazies. Anyway, I was warm, so I shed my outer layer and was standing in front of the students in a short-sleeve polo, which from the reaction I got, you'd think I was either buck naked or clad in a brand new, fancy tuxedo. "Oh, Mr. Jon!" they exclaimed, part shielding their eyes and part way impressed. "Short sleeves" they start saying in Chinese... pushing up their sweater/long undie combo past their elbows. "Short sleeves!"
I'm telling the kids that they're crazy (in English) when Peter—the Peter—rises out of his chair, pushes up his sleeves and starts strutting around the room saying, "I AM MR. JON." The kids are laughing, I'm laughing and shaking my head as Peter does his best Mr. Jon impression. (Side note: While there's often conflict between me and Peter, there's also an unsaid camaraderie—partially because he's 5, I'm 23, and we don't speak the same language, but also because some bonds just don't need words to be real.) Peter's showing off his guns (must be what they thought I was doing) and starts stroking his chin, saying huzi, the Chinese word for beard—making fun of my goatee. I move to bop him and he takes his seat, I sit down in front of the kids and ask in Chinese if they like my huzi. "Oh yes, Mr. Jon," they say. "We like your huzi." And then Kelly, my most devoted and faithful little kid admirer, says in a dreamy sort-of 5-year old crush-on-your-teacher kind of way: "I like short sleeves." And then we started class.
Bus hasn't said "bus" this week, but I've come to realize he's an aficionado of all things transportation, not just buses. He's been pushing a tire around the playground at the Kindergarten all week, saying the Chinese word for taxi: chezeche. Literally, all week, every break we've had, he's been out there driving the streets of Beijing or overseeing his automobile factory or planning new China roadways or who knows what. I took my camera today hoping to get a shot of him and the tire, and there he was, pushing his tire, beeping his imaginary horn and smiling all the way. I taught him how to say "taxi" the other day and he yelled taxi to me and I yelled chezeche and he laughed and I took a picture. It's great to be a Kindergarten teacher.
Final story: If anybody pushes Kelly for the title of Top Mr. Jon Admirer, it's Lilly from Big Green. Lilly gives me a big old hug every time she sees me and she loves to talk to me in English, whatever she can say. We've been talking about things to do in our classes this week (my two current unit topics are "Free Time" and "Breakfast"—two of my favorite subjects in general) and one of the “things to do” we learned was swimming, along with roller-skating and riding a bicycle. We talked about what we liked and didn’t like and what was our favorite thing to do. Well Lilly was so excited to tell me something after we'd been talking about swimming, which she'd identified as her favorite... in fact, she was trying to tell me that she's going to her friend Megan's house this weekend to go swimming, which in her broken, second-language English comes out as "Saturday... neige, neige [this, this]... Saturday, swimming with Megan... Megan house" or something close to that. "Oh,” I say, “you're going to Megan's house to swim this weekend?" "Yes!" Lilly exclaims. "How great!" I tell her. I made sure to bring it up a few more times this week, including today when I told her and Megan, "have fun swimming tomorrow," and they understood, which I hope made them as happy as it made me.
I'm telling the kids that they're crazy (in English) when Peter—the Peter—rises out of his chair, pushes up his sleeves and starts strutting around the room saying, "I AM MR. JON." The kids are laughing, I'm laughing and shaking my head as Peter does his best Mr. Jon impression. (Side note: While there's often conflict between me and Peter, there's also an unsaid camaraderie—partially because he's 5, I'm 23, and we don't speak the same language, but also because some bonds just don't need words to be real.) Peter's showing off his guns (must be what they thought I was doing) and starts stroking his chin, saying huzi, the Chinese word for beard—making fun of my goatee. I move to bop him and he takes his seat, I sit down in front of the kids and ask in Chinese if they like my huzi. "Oh yes, Mr. Jon," they say. "We like your huzi." And then Kelly, my most devoted and faithful little kid admirer, says in a dreamy sort-of 5-year old crush-on-your-teacher kind of way: "I like short sleeves." And then we started class.
Bus hasn't said "bus" this week, but I've come to realize he's an aficionado of all things transportation, not just buses. He's been pushing a tire around the playground at the Kindergarten all week, saying the Chinese word for taxi: chezeche. Literally, all week, every break we've had, he's been out there driving the streets of Beijing or overseeing his automobile factory or planning new China roadways or who knows what. I took my camera today hoping to get a shot of him and the tire, and there he was, pushing his tire, beeping his imaginary horn and smiling all the way. I taught him how to say "taxi" the other day and he yelled taxi to me and I yelled chezeche and he laughed and I took a picture. It's great to be a Kindergarten teacher.
Final story: If anybody pushes Kelly for the title of Top Mr. Jon Admirer, it's Lilly from Big Green. Lilly gives me a big old hug every time she sees me and she loves to talk to me in English, whatever she can say. We've been talking about things to do in our classes this week (my two current unit topics are "Free Time" and "Breakfast"—two of my favorite subjects in general) and one of the “things to do” we learned was swimming, along with roller-skating and riding a bicycle. We talked about what we liked and didn’t like and what was our favorite thing to do. Well Lilly was so excited to tell me something after we'd been talking about swimming, which she'd identified as her favorite... in fact, she was trying to tell me that she's going to her friend Megan's house this weekend to go swimming, which in her broken, second-language English comes out as "Saturday... neige, neige [this, this]... Saturday, swimming with Megan... Megan house" or something close to that. "Oh,” I say, “you're going to Megan's house to swim this weekend?" "Yes!" Lilly exclaims. "How great!" I tell her. I made sure to bring it up a few more times this week, including today when I told her and Megan, "have fun swimming tomorrow," and they understood, which I hope made them as happy as it made me.
March 5, 2006
Conquering my fears one hot pot at a time
It's sort of hard to be afraid of meat and live in China. There are just way too many times when you have no idea what it really is you're eating and no choice other than to eat it (read: our school's cafeteria). However, despite guessing at this fact prior to my ex-pat days, I came to China deathly afraid of meat. Similarly, my mom successfully nailed the mantra into me: "if it's pink in the middle, it's done too little," and while I still live by these words, the interpretation has changed. Rather than fearing the unknown or seemingly underdone, I've learned to dive headfirst into that great mystery called meat. Two ways I've done this most successfully are two of my favorite types of meals here in China: hot pot and Korean barbeque. Both involve uncooked meat and lots of things I probably never would've done in the States.
Hot pot is what it sounds like. (The picture above is me enjoying hot pot Saturday night.) It's a big boiling pot of spicy soup into which you add vegetables, meat and noodles and cook them up yourself in the company of friends. My favorite hot pot items are potatoes, lotus root, and any meat I can get my chopsticks on. Plates of strips of uncooked lamb and beef are brought to the table where you toss 'em into the pot to let them cook up for a couple minutes, then take them out and eat them up. Some people rave about the peanut sauce for dipping, I prefer the taste of the hot pot alone.
The second is Korean barbeque, which I think you can find in the States. Actually, I think Matt Dodd in his Cabinet food column days reported on a Korean BBQ place in Beaver Falls. Like with hot pot, again, strips of meat (add chicken and pork) are brought to the table, all spiced up, and you throw it over a flame (hence the name barbeque) and let it cook up. We order veggies and it comes with a great Asian sauce of some sort. Delicious.
Though these meals may sound great to you, to me in my pre-China days I would've been petrified of the rawness, possibility of under-cookage and just well, of the meat. Fortunately my taste buds and my stomach have changed a lot since then and me and meat are a lot friendlier than we used to be.
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