Jamie Doom...

answers his own rhetorical questions.

Chinese Cultural Intricacies

 

So, to protect the names of the innocent or the innocence of the names, I will use English names when talking about people in . Of course, if you happen to be one of the Expats working here at the college that have real life English names like Erin (real name) or Hope (real name), you’re screwed. Your name will be sullied and soiled like so much dirty laundry. Everyone will know when you get on my nerves. By everyone I mean the four people (including my mom and you guys) who read this Blog.

            On a side note, the age old habit of giving Chinese students English names (no doubt started hundreds of years ago by those silly tokin’ Brits when they were trying to bilk out of opium) bothers me somewhat. I keep meeting students at the college (it’s actually how I spend most of my free time). We chat for awhile. I use up all my Chinese; they use up their English; and when its time to depart, we exchange names. I say…I am Jamie (my real name) they say “my name is Betty (not their real name)” or “Alan (not their real name).” I then insist they give me their Chinese name. So they tell me, “my name is Xu Guo Bing (a real life Chinese name).” I then spend the next ten minutes mispronouncing their names to their laughter and glee. Finally they tire of this game and begin to assure me my pronunciation if flawless (not an actual fact).  After that, I quickly try to forget the names I have just learned because I need that brain space for important guy-brain-space-stuff like sports facts, cool movie lines and phone numbers of ex-girlfriends who don’t actually hate me. I think I got off track a little…but still…where’s the dignity in us pretending your name is Betty (not your real name) when we both know it’s a stupid name that one of the English teachers (Erin (real name), Hope (real name)) here at the college gave you. Probably Erin (real name) or Hope (real name) thought you looked like a Betty (not your real name). So anyway…I don’t normally take part in this silliness unless you have a cool English name like Jamie (my real name). However, for the purpose of my blog I will use English names for the Chinese students…unless I remember their Chinese names. (if your name is Betty and you read this Blog…I’m sorry but your real name is probably not Betty either)-

 

            I like when my side notes are longer than my not side notes. Background information and asides are all the really interesting stuff in the world. G.K. Chesterton takes issue with the phrase “the devil is in the details.” And whose gunna argue with G.K.C.? Not I.

           

            So on Sunday, we (some foreigners) met with a guy from CCTV (we’ll call him “Betty”) to talk about our upcoming movie roles. Basically he, Betty, needs some foreigners to be foreigners in an upcoming mini-series on CCTV Channel 1 (not one of the better Channels I gather, but still a nationwide Channel) that has foreigners in it. He was happy when he met us. He kept commenting that we all looked really foreign. As I mentioned in an earlier posting, I am playing the part of a foreign assassin. But now I have new information about my part. I am going to be the foreign assassin who specializes in knives. I think it’s interesting that I am the knife guy because when I was a young lad, I almost hit my then six-years old little sister with a lawn dart (one of the more safe and fun inventions of the 80’s). I haven’t really been able to talk about it until now. So obviously, it has all come full circle now, and I guess I’m, well, perfect for the role.

 

            Other details: We only shoot on the weekends because all the other foreigners are students or teachers. I will be doing a lot of scuba diving in my role. I also find this interesting because it’s really hard to tell a foreign scuba diver apart from a Chinese scuba diver. Since we are getting paid 500 RMB a day (non speaking parts) to 1000 RMB a day (speaking parts) and we get to do it in beautiful Sanya, I am not mentioning my scuba diving observation. I am going to save this money and use it for my Spring Festival trip to Anhui and Shanghai.

 

            Then entire set up seemed pretty cool until the CCTV guy, Betty, said that part of shoot would be in Haikou’s sewage system. Now Betty seemed like he had a wicked sense of humor, but I don’t find human waste funny (ok, actually I find it hilarious, but only when I’m making the jokes). However, if I am getting 1000 RMB for a speaking part, I should get 3000 RMB for a speaking part in a sewer. I can’t imagine a Hainan sewer. I mean, I often smell a sewer smell in seemingly clean Hainan places where no sewer smell should be present (like classroom building # 3 here on campus…I have always wondered what the classrooms at NC State (Moo U) smell like, well no longer) Simply put, the sewers are unimaginable. I’m not a namby-pamby kinda guy, but my contract will have a sewer proviso, or they can say good-bye knife guy! On a really short side note, I did make sure that the sewer scene and the scuba diving scene were not in fact, the same scene.

 

            The television mini-series is about a country filled with greedy white foreigners (maybe Iceland?) attacking a small helpless Island filled with Chinese people (maybe San Francisco?) for its rich oil deposits. I don’t know where they came up with this script (maybe CNN?), but I think this will be a winner. I can already see the reviews. “Can’t miss television event of the year”—Haikou Daily, “Award winning acting, especially by the knife guy. His accurate portrayal of oil-grubbing, SUV driving Icelanders should cause us to rethink our entire attitude towards Bjork.” San Francisco Chronicle.

           

            Well I was going to cover a lot of really important Chinese cultural intricacies in this posting, but I guess I got off track somewhere.

posted by: jmedoom at October 31, 2003 00:32 | link | comments (5) |

            Green Tea Whispers

 

  Hello, brave people who venture here to read my Blog. Some of you have intimated to me that you find the word “Blog” incoherent and too quasi-cyber trendy. You have said you want me to use Weblog instead. To you I say um…no. Also, sorry about my infrequent E-mail and blog postings the internet is often tricky here.

           

            It’s Wednesday in sunny, breezy Haikou. The weather is glorious. The rainy season seems to be officially over. The days are in the breezy high 70’s and the nights dip into the breezy low 70’s. It’s perfect weather for drinking tea outside under the stars, so that is what most of Haikou does every evening. The citizens of Haikou are decidedly not diurnal. During the day the streets are often barren and sleepy. In the evening it’s a different town. The streets are filled with card games and Majaing (a game similar to dominoes that I don’t understand). Sometimes it seems like Haikou’s main industry is food service. Each evening this myriad of restaurants and teas houses fill up, then overflow onto the sidewalks, then onto the streets. As new patrons arrive, shop and restaurant owners drag out card tables and pink and red plastic chairs that reflect the constantly flashing neon lights advertising foods from two dozen provinces. They bring out the tea first and sometimes a menu as well, but the tea is always a given. And the people here are a relaxed laughing smiling lot. And why not? Another work day is gone; the evening is cool, and the tea is strong and green.

 

            Men roll up their pants past their knees and hang their shirts over the back of their chairs. They are always leaning into each others with arms are hanging loosely around each others necks. Tea is poured and secrets are passed out among--all the nodding heads and stained tooth grins at night on the street, on any street, in Haikou. The men of Hainan have a certain, um, reputation. If you ask any Hainan girl about it, they will readily tell you. The men of Hainan are lazy. They don’t work very much, and they drink too much tea and wine and gamble too often. The women work, and work hard, sometimes supporting their families alone. The men wear this leisure like medals of honor. Of course I am the last person in the world who is going to instill a work ethic into Hainan’s men. Besides, they like me. Maybe they can smell the scent of sloth on me. I know I make them laugh though. They laugh at the very sight of me—the insaneness of me coming to China. They laugh at my poor Chinese. When I am eating in a restaurant, they will often catch my eye and raise their glasses—a salute to the guest. Sometimes they just give me that universal salute…the thumbs up. I am here and so are they. We are both happy at our good luck of seeing each other on this evening.

 

            So sometimes I go out and drink tea in the evening and one of my Chinese friends will lean into me. We will then tell universal secrets about things like losing face in front of a pretty girl or the problems money, work, and school. We both nod like brothers; we both laugh about the ridiculousness of life and love. “Life is funny and sad and beautiful and ugly?” We think together. “How do we do it?” Sometimes we whisper about philosophy, metaphysics and family, but usually we just laugh and shrug. “Women? Who can know?”

           

            I frequent a certain restaurant often. When I walk in, they move chairs, turn on fans, and motion for me to sit. As I become more comfortable with my food words, I go there alone more often. They bring me tea and the menu (even though I read no Chinese). I point at a dish written in Chinese on the menu, hoping I remembered correctly where I saw my Chinese friends point when we ate it before. Sometimes the owner will come out after he has cooked my supper, and we will fellowship by drinking tea, smiling and making broad hand motions. With my limited Chinese, I have gathered he is 33 years old (although he looks younger), married and from Szechwan. He and his family: his mother, young brother, wife, and sister run this place. The rice is always fresh and steaming when they bring it to my table. They are visibly happy when I venture out into new dishes. I once ordered the same dish (beef stew) eight straight visits. For a small restaurant, their menu is huge. I once accidentally ordered pig intestines, but smiled and ate as much as I could stomach. It wasn’t too bad. I wondered what the Chinese translation for Chitlins was. Last night I saw one of the sisters taking some fresh sliced apples to a table. I was eating alone (well not completely alone--I had a book), and I motioned that I wanted some apples before my meal. They gave me a funny look, said some things I didn’t understand and approached the table with the apples. The people at the table laughed and shook their heads, “yes.” Then the lady at the table looked at me, opened her purse, and took out two apples. The restaurant didn’t have any apples. These customers had brought their own apples in, and the restaurant sliced them up and served them before their meal. I realized what was happening, thanked the strangers, said I was sorry, and said I didn’t want their apples. They, of course, just laughed at me and gave the apples to the waitress to slice. That’s a typical thing in China—complete strangers giving away their apples because the foreigner didn’t understand. I knew have learned enough about Chinese culture not to even offer the table any money. They would have refused and then acted embarrassed at the thought of me giving them money. I thanked them and smiled and ate all the apples. They waved and said goodbye when they left. I thanked them again. For many people here, I am a guest. They quickly overlook my cultural bumbling and my linguistic ignorance. So last night some strangers gave me apples. My friends, the restaurant family, sliced them and taught me the Chinese word for apple. I only smiled and ate. That’s one of my chief duties while I am here—to get as much of this inside me as possible, smiling and taking large gulps of life.

           

posted by: jmedoom at October 29, 2003 11:23 | link | comments (2) |

And the Winner of the Dunk Competition is...

 

So this has been a pretty full week for me. On Tuesday, I officiated another basketball game which was fun for me. In China though, they can’t just have an intramural basketball game. No, no. People have to be invited and they have to sit a special table with nametags provided, like judges at the Olympics (Beijing 2008…yeah!). Then they have to play a wide variety of warm up music. After that all the VIPS at said table have to be introduced, then the referees must be introduced (enter another guy I play a lot of ball with and me). Fortunately, this game wasn’t too rough, and I didn’t have to blow my whistle a lot. I like to let them play a little bit ,and the other guy was of the same opinion as me. But the game got heated, and there was definitely a lot of fans out there cheering hard. The team that was the underdog came from eight down in the fourth quarter and took a one point lead with six seconds left. The place went crazy, but right as time was expiring a tall, awkward boy on the other team got fouled. I called the foul, which was obvious to me. One boy who was a better free-throw shooter (actually perhaps the best shooter in the whole school) tried to step to the line for him. I laughed at him and shoved him bodily off the free throw line. He laughed knowingly (can’t blame him for trying). We cleared the lane since no time was left on the clock, and the awkward guys steps up to the line and banks the first free throw in to tie the game. Heh Heh, the place went absolutely nuts. I had to clear the court so he could shoot the second free throw for the win. He missed it, and his team got blown out in overtime, but a good time was had by all. Most of the players came up to me after the game and thanked me.

 

The intramural basketball program here at the college is really a student-run league. The students are in charge of getting referees, announcers, water bottles, the PA system etc. Having said that, it’s all very well organized including even how the teams walk on the court together. I enjoy watching all the students take charge and plan the tournaments.

 

I also try to help them whenever I get the chance. So today (Thursday) they came to me and said they wanted me to take part in the closing ceremonies for the tournament. Well, I didn’t know what kind of ceremonies that the “Orientation Basketball Tournament” needed, but I said I would help however. They said they wanted me to be in a special three on three game during the ceremony where the players would “showcase their skills” (an obviously advanced English student translated that line for me). They wanted behind-the-back passes, fancy dribbles, crazy shots etc,--their version of an And 1 mix tape I guess. But this is where it all gets tricky in my mind. They want the fancy stuff, but what about the players on the other team losing face? I turned this question over in my mind a few times. Well we walked out to play, and fortunately I had one of the best student players in the school on my team. On the other team were some freshmen tall freshmen. The one who was guarding me is about 6’8” and a bit awkward. He came up to me before the game and got in my face and said. “Jame, I have been drinking too much beer” (most of the students here called me Jame not Jamie). I smelled his breath and agreed with him. So not only would I be showcasing my fancy skills against a young Chinese freshmen, but against an awkward tall drunk one at that. So, I threw some no-look behind-the-back bounce passes, dribbled between the drunk guys legs once, shaked and baked and threw myself a nice pass off the backboard. The other team managed to score once or twice too. It a short little “showcase” and mercifully it ended almost as quickly as it started. I think, all in all, it was about what the student organizer had hoped for.

 

After that they had a three point shooting showcase. There were some pretty good shooters. Then after that, much to my surprise they had a “dunk competition.” Now the only problem was that out of six thousand students, nobody can dunk. At least I had never seen it. The first guy up, was a little stocky little guy about 5’5’. I was thinking, there was no way this guy can throw it down. And you know what? I was right. But he did make some nice layups and he could dribble fast. But still, this was a dunk competition. So about three other guys tried to dunk, included the aforementioned inebriated tall guy who got the most oohs and aahs because people were scared he was going to hurt himself…while he was running. He never actually jumped that I can remember. (I wonder if anybody explained to him it was a dunk competition and not a drunk competition) In the end, the guy who was the closest (he pinned himself on the rim a few times) was declared the winner, and he got a prize. Also, much to my surprise, I was also presented by one of the school leaders with a gift (a poster of Chinese NBA Basketball player Yao Ming guarding Shaquille O’Neil). I thanked everybody profusely. The team who won the tournament, which I later learned was for freshmen only, received a nice big plaque which they paraded around the court. The parade was led by none other than…well you guessed it…their tallest player and most avid drinker. I would have to say it was one of the more interesting Chinese basketball tournament closing ceremony I have ever been to, and I’m not just saying that because it’s my first one.

 

Last night, I tutored Linda (four years old). Somebody asked me today if I tutored her every night. I shivered at the thought. Take a twenty-eight year old bachelor and leave him alone with a beautiful hyper ADDish four-year old little girl for one hour, and then return, and see who is in control. I’ll give you hint, it wasn’t me. I prepared a bag for her with lots of different things in it. I wanted her to take an item out and tell me its English name. Then, after she had taken everything out and lay it nicely on the floor, we would put it back in the bag and do it again and again, each time with more accuracy. It seemed like a good plan. She was interested, kinda, the first time through. After the bag was empty though, she looked at her spoils and decided to play another game. She had some peanuts in a baggy, some Oreo cookies in a baggy, a carton of milk, a bottle of water, a bowl and some chopsticks. Before I knew it, she had the Oreos and peanuts in a bowl and was poring milk and water on top of them. Then she began stirring. Fortunately this helped her learn the words for spill, tissue, wipe, trash as well as the sentence, “What are you doing?” Then she went to my bathroom to wash her hands. There we learned the words for soap, toothbrush, toothpaste and spit. She brushed her teeth, with my spare toothbrush, about twelve times. She had some clean teeth when her father came and picked her up. The scariest part of the evening was when she found my razor for shaving. I turned my back for one second, and when i checked on her she was digging the razor into her cute little four-year old cheek, whistling while she was “shaving.” She then learned words razor, stop, and the phrase “Oh, no! Are you bleeding?” She wasn’t and got upset when I took the razor away from her. I took the blade out and gave it back to her. She loooves shaving. She also used some scissors too cut paper into random shapes. I remembered not to let her run with them fortunately. By the time her father came, I was a tired, nervous wreck. The fact that she is about the cutest little girl on the planet and that she loves talking about how wonderful I am to everybody makes up for everything. She hugged me goodbye, and I said. “See ya next Wednesday.”

 

Sometimes I think I could stay in China for the rest of my life. Really, I love it that much at times. I would have to spend some time completely devoting myself to learning the language if I were going to stay long term, but it seems like a good idea at times. The past few days I have just found myself so completely happy and thankful and in awe of everything around me. I feel blessed to be here. Some of it is impossible to explain. There is this guy who lives two doors down from me who is an art teacher, and I happen to think he is one of the coolest guys in the world. The reason? He has never said one word to me. We pass each other; I sometimes nod or say hi. He just looks at me. He feels no need to talk to me. He doesn’t speak English and my Chinese is rubbish. But today he was hanging out with the guy who lives on the other side of me, and I was expecting him to say nothing to me… and sure enough, he acted like I wasn’t even there. For some reason, this made me happy. Some people just don’t have anything to say to me…that’s cool after feeling like I have to talk to everybody all day long.

 

The sunset tonight turned the moon pink. I was walking home from my basketball “showcase” and I had that happy tired feeling. I looked up and saw the moon and started to sing a song I was making up at that precise moment about pink moons, Grace, beautiful Chinese people, and basketball, and it all made sense.

posted by: jmedoom at October 24, 2003 10:33 | link | comments (3) |

Oreos and Ghandi...two powerful forces.

 

So I went back to the dentist again. They were expecting me this time, and I felt like I caused quite a stir when I walked in the clinic. Dental assistants momentarily stopped wiping the drool from their patients and looked up and whispered stuff in Chinese. I think if my Chinese is improving, I caught a snippet of something that sounded like “…and girlfriend, don’t even get me started on his gingivitis.” This time I didn’t have my interpreter, but that was ok, because we all knew why I was there. It went off without too much pain again. I think my dentist is digging me—subtle things like giggling when I spit and giving me extra Novocain. OK, enough with the dentist. I’m boring myself with it.

 

On the way back, though, I walked by a nice Western Style grocery store. As it turns out they had tons of imported Western food. Now, when I first came to China, idealistically, I thought I would blend in with the culture and not gravitate towards all things Western. I looked down on my weak, fellow Hemispheroids who couldn’t stay away from McDonald’s, KFC and soap. I have had the good fortune to travel some, and I pride myself with being flexible to my surroundings. All this is different in China though. China’s most endearing quality so far is that everything is so different. So I gravitate towards the familiar. I love China, but I am not Chinese, nor will they ever confuse me with being Chinese. For some reason, accepting all this has made things go a bit smoother. So immediately after I went to the dentist, I bought a bunch of Oreos and chocolate chip cookies. We must keep things balanced. No?

 

My ankle was feeling good enough for me to play some basketball today. It felt good to be out there again after my three day hiatus from hoops. I think everybody on the entire planet loves Michael Jordan. Sometimes when I’m wearing my Carolina shorts, they come up and say “Michael Jordan--very good.” This makes me proud, but being the evil person I am I can’t just agree. First I act confused about who Michael Jordan is. Then…as if finally pulling the obscure figure out of my brain…I say, “Oh, that old guy who used to play for the Washington Wizards.” So, like I said earlier, everybody loves Michael Jordan (except Knick’s fans). Michael Jordan is the Gandhi of the twenty-first century, except he probably eats more, and he represents a company that exploits labor in third world countries…but except for that. Gandhi.

 

It’s frustrating that China can not experience the younger, dunking Jamie. Instead they see the past-his-basketball-playing-prime-but-still-likes-to-talk-trash Jamie. I apologize for talking about myself in the third person. Reminiscing about the good old days (five years ago when I was 23) brings out the jock in me. Jamie will try to refrain from that nasty habit. Don’t be alarmed, mom. All my trash talking is good natured and down right cheesy. Unfortunately, being cheesy is one bad trait I can’t blame on the bad ankle. I say stuff like, “how does is feel knowing you are about the 1.4 billionest worst basketball player in your country?” And when I block one of their shots into the rice patties, I get a concerned look on my face and say in my crummy Chinese accent. “Hăo chī ma?” Which means roughly “delicious?” or “taste good?” This usually cracks em’ up, which is why I am in China after all.

 

I don’t draw quite as many spectators as before. I think the novelty factor is wearing off. I used to think I was drawing big crowds because they had never seen basketball played with such flair and panache, but then I noticed I was drawing the same sized of crowds buying lettuce at the market and getting my hair cut at the hairdresser. Foreigners are cute and playful, especially when they have shampoo in their hair and don’t know they are being watched.

 

Ok, I know I owe a lot of...er...all of you an E-mail. I promise I will get around to it. It’s just that each and every one of is very special to me… in… exactly… the… same… way. So rather than spoil some of you with a reply to your E-mail, but not others; I am choosing to withhold my love from all of you collectively. It’s really communism in its purest essence. (to anybody who is monitoring my blog in China understand “purest essence” is an American idiom for “best form of government”). This corny blog will have to do for now. I will be adding pictures soon, so check back to see some really neat pictures of me eating rice with Chinese people. You don’t want to miss it.

posted by: jmedoom at October 20, 2003 22:30 | link | comments (1) |

Dentists and Astronauts

Today I went to the dentist. I was scared at first because I have seen a couple of dentist offices around Haikou, and they consist of a dental chair out in the street and a pan to catch the blood. One time a friend walked by one of these, and the dentist was out front squatting in his chair cleaning his toenails with a drill. (And we allowed these people to join the WTO...) Anyway, I didn't go to one of those, I went to a nice large building that said Dental Clinic (a sign with the correct words spelled correctly..a good sign of things to come). I walked to the comforting, familiar smell of fluoride and that other dentist office smell I can never place.

posted by: jmedoom at October 19, 2003 18:48 | link | comments (5) |