There has been an earthquake in the sea between China and Taiwan which has severed major telecommunications lines to the mainland. I have an assignment due on the 5th which relies on online databases and newspapers for source information. I can barely access any foreign internet sites and it could be like this for weeks. Can anyone spell 'extension' ?!
For some reason blogger is still plodding away...
Thursday, December 28, 2006
Wednesday, December 20, 2006
Today I almost went crazy at the supermarket checkout
Today I almost went crazy at the supermarket checkout. The comsumption driven drive of thousands of Chinese flocking to buy had weakened my sanity, and beeping, mini-laser beam sounds of scanned goods almost threw me over the edge. Well, not really, but I had a moment of serious passive aggression which culminated in me sticking my tongue out at a young dude who was walking past the other way. Why do you ask? Because the cunt stuck his tongue out at me first when he released I was staring back at him.
And now someone is drilling into a wall below me and this mass-housing apartment block makes it sound like he is drilling directly into my eyes. Trey is shouting at the air to make it stop. Cars are beeping. I just got another fucking text message weather report which I never wanted and don't know how to get rid of. The fucking mobile company sends you sms spam here. Fuck.
Feeling better after that,
WV
P Fucking S. As I was about to post this entry the power went out in my entire block. We studied for today's listening class by candlelight. There was a traffic jam outside my house this morning and people just started beeping. Everyone started beeping. It was like monkeys banging an abandoned ant hill.
And now someone is drilling into a wall below me and this mass-housing apartment block makes it sound like he is drilling directly into my eyes. Trey is shouting at the air to make it stop. Cars are beeping. I just got another fucking text message weather report which I never wanted and don't know how to get rid of. The fucking mobile company sends you sms spam here. Fuck.
Feeling better after that,
WV
P Fucking S. As I was about to post this entry the power went out in my entire block. We studied for today's listening class by candlelight. There was a traffic jam outside my house this morning and people just started beeping. Everyone started beeping. It was like monkeys banging an abandoned ant hill.
Monday, December 18, 2006
DURKL what?!
I have a bone to chew about mainstream trends in contemporary 'cutting edge' young fashion. It doesn't mean anything. It is the antipathy of meaning. This would be ok, if it was anything new. But Warhol was doing it half a century ago. Its like these companies are striving for originality in unoriginality. I will sound cynical but I blame ultra-capitalism. Style can be bought, from the same company. A first hand price for a purposely manufactured second hand piece of clothing. The following is the 'about me' bio from a clothing company I stumbled across on the net today called DURKL.
The company ethos outlined in the following paragraphs sums up the absolute self mutilating masturbation of thought, creativity and culture these companies represent. If it sounds like your kind of deal, then sadly, I'll see you at the beach with your atkins diet breath, aviator sunnies and latest coloured plastic sandles. I'll be wearing my high school PE shorts and my dad's old sunnies. And you better not fucking judge me.
"The road:
Like most brilliant companies, DURKL was dreamt up over a few sixers of Zima and a pack of Kool's. Finding a word that rhymes with Steve Urkel was tough. We did it though. We simply smashed the word "dogonit" with "urkel" to form DURKL. Its obvious right? We all got sick of saying "dogonit Urkel," so we simplified. Pretty hardcore I know, but hey, we grew up on the wrong side of the traXXX.
After sobering up from all them Z bombs, the DURKL style and mentality coalesced. Clothing, and more, that would be ultra-sweet, even to 'droids. If androids dig your threads, then you know you are doing something right. Cyborgs are a totally different story though. Don't mix the two up, please. 'Droids drink Sunny D and have no sideburns, whereas 'Borgs prefer Capri-Suns and wear black leather fanny packs.
In early 2004, DURKL set out to design and print shirts that combined whit with past/future absurdities. As a result, the DURKL lifestyle infected and is still infecting people in the know throughout the world. DURKL delivers you a dose of hard reality with a side of the sleazy. Our threads can be found all over the US, Australia, Italy, Sweden, Turkey, England, and North Korea.
DURKL bought white tigers in early 2005.
The man behind DURKL is a trilingual breakdance, kung-fu, and bird calling legend from Washington D.C, a nationally known fresh juice aficionado, a local designer, and a duel Guinness Book of World Records holder. He held and still holds the Guinness Book record for the most expensive orthodontist bill as well as the record for spiking the most Middle School punch bowls. He has stolen a hell of a lot of lunch money and roller bladed a hell of a lot of miles. He claims to have had a hand in changing yoohoo from being an attention-grabbing-word into a chocolaty beverage. His weapon of choice is lazer beams, and his favorite human being is J-C.V.D."
Sunday, December 17, 2006
Why China is amazing
This afternoon, I'de just stepped out of the newsagent having purchased some stationary. The hope is that a few nice pencils and a writing pad will make my research assignment more bearable.
Squating on the buisy pavement, on his or her little ownsome, was a child of 'nappy wearing age' adjusting with one hand a small plastic bag (the kind you get when buying small groceries) around his/her bottom area, calmly involved in the process of releaving oneself. In the other hand was a furry, fluoroescent pink cuddly toy, which, after the plastic bag was properly positioned, once again become the child's centre of attention.
The concept of the decadence of the West really comes to mind here.
Go the toddlers of China...
Squating on the buisy pavement, on his or her little ownsome, was a child of 'nappy wearing age' adjusting with one hand a small plastic bag (the kind you get when buying small groceries) around his/her bottom area, calmly involved in the process of releaving oneself. In the other hand was a furry, fluoroescent pink cuddly toy, which, after the plastic bag was properly positioned, once again become the child's centre of attention.
The concept of the decadence of the West really comes to mind here.
Go the toddlers of China...
Wednesday, December 13, 2006
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
A different world view
A different world view (click for audio) from what you hear on the news. Click here for transcript.
Saturday, December 09, 2006
Half of the people can be part right all of the time,
Some of the people can be all right part of the time.
But all the people can't be all right all the time
I think Abraham Lincoln said that.
"I'll let you be in my dreams if I can be in yours,"
I said that.
- The Freewheelin' Bob Dylan, Talkin' World War III Blues
(thanks James for this one)
Some of the people can be all right part of the time.
But all the people can't be all right all the time
I think Abraham Lincoln said that.
"I'll let you be in my dreams if I can be in yours,"
I said that.
- The Freewheelin' Bob Dylan, Talkin' World War III Blues
(thanks James for this one)
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
My sister said that it is illegal to sell round fishbowls in France because it makes fish go insane. My fish is in a roud fishbowl and me thinking whether it is going insane, whether what my sister said is true, whether it is depressed, is making me go insane. But only a little.
I have become a disgruntled person. I react to cars beeping outside my window by shouting at the air. I sit here and rearrange my balls, stretch my testicle sack and think about how my butt is getting sore sitting on this seat. Now I wonder what being sexually frustrated actually translates to. The weather is cooling and my feet are cold.
I had chronic diaoreaha for like most of a day on saturday. Diaorreaha, apart from being imposssible to spell, becomes part of normal operations here. A friend of mine keeps getting the runs from this street food savory pancake lady outside uni but he just keeps going back. Thats just the way it is.
Have you ever looked at a solid poo you've just produced and felt really proud of it? Like you've really achieved something? I have, and do. That's what living here does to you. This morning I plopped out a well-formed cylindrical, digested poo and I stood up, turned around and marveled at it. It made me smile. It made my day better. It was like waking up on the right side of the bed.
I have 8 email accounts now. Three with gmail, 2 with hotmail 1 with yahoo and one with my uni. One day I aim to consoidate them all into one spectacular conglomerate of accounts but right now I just can't commit to a single provider. I also worry whether people will try to contact me on old addresses.
Oh yeah, with the diahorrea thing, I hade a train of thought thing going there. Sometimes when I'm sick I think about dying. I'm like, what if I die from this illness? What a shit way to go. And then a little bit later I always end up telling myself, oh well, not much you can do about it, sit it out you little sicko. And then being ill becomes a bit more enjoyable again. I've always thought that when I've gotten sick. Ever since I was really young. Do other people get that?
Has anyone who previously thought they were incapable of producing music learnt an instrument or learnt to sing as an adult? I want to know.
Good movies I've watched recently: Thankyou for smoking, The Departed
I have become a disgruntled person. I react to cars beeping outside my window by shouting at the air. I sit here and rearrange my balls, stretch my testicle sack and think about how my butt is getting sore sitting on this seat. Now I wonder what being sexually frustrated actually translates to. The weather is cooling and my feet are cold.
I had chronic diaoreaha for like most of a day on saturday. Diaorreaha, apart from being imposssible to spell, becomes part of normal operations here. A friend of mine keeps getting the runs from this street food savory pancake lady outside uni but he just keeps going back. Thats just the way it is.
Have you ever looked at a solid poo you've just produced and felt really proud of it? Like you've really achieved something? I have, and do. That's what living here does to you. This morning I plopped out a well-formed cylindrical, digested poo and I stood up, turned around and marveled at it. It made me smile. It made my day better. It was like waking up on the right side of the bed.
I have 8 email accounts now. Three with gmail, 2 with hotmail 1 with yahoo and one with my uni. One day I aim to consoidate them all into one spectacular conglomerate of accounts but right now I just can't commit to a single provider. I also worry whether people will try to contact me on old addresses.
Oh yeah, with the diahorrea thing, I hade a train of thought thing going there. Sometimes when I'm sick I think about dying. I'm like, what if I die from this illness? What a shit way to go. And then a little bit later I always end up telling myself, oh well, not much you can do about it, sit it out you little sicko. And then being ill becomes a bit more enjoyable again. I've always thought that when I've gotten sick. Ever since I was really young. Do other people get that?
Has anyone who previously thought they were incapable of producing music learnt an instrument or learnt to sing as an adult? I want to know.
Good movies I've watched recently: Thankyou for smoking, The Departed
Thursday, November 09, 2006
things i hate about sanya, and in a broader context, china
- I am a walking, white, male, human size 100 renminbi note, thus, I am treated like a walking, white, male, human size 100 renminbi note.
- taxis drive on the pavement beeping at me.
- Noodles are shittier and three times more expensive than they are in kunming.
- Holidaying Russians can't dress or operate a good nightclub. Thus the nightlife is reduced to badly dressed Russians in bad, overpriced nightclubs.
- Everything has a price on it.
- Re the last point, the showers at the beach are 10 kuai
- People drive petrol sand buggies up and down the beach.
- The Chinese can't swim.
- It's takes a long time for street food to get from the wok to my table. As in a long time, like more than 5mins.
- the mosquitos hide on the floor. ON THE FUCKING FLOOR. Big white walls and they hide on the floor.
- It's dirty.
- There is disgusting, kitch, beach highrise hotels jutting into the sky like big fat, dry white shits with absolutely no urban planning whatsoever. Except the architectural shape of the buildings is worse than if they actually resembled the physical structures of foeces.
- There are private beaches
- You must pay for deck chairs on the beach
- I cant take anything valuable down to the beach beacuse it will probably get stolen
- just Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck,
WV
- taxis drive on the pavement beeping at me.
- Noodles are shittier and three times more expensive than they are in kunming.
- Holidaying Russians can't dress or operate a good nightclub. Thus the nightlife is reduced to badly dressed Russians in bad, overpriced nightclubs.
- Everything has a price on it.
- Re the last point, the showers at the beach are 10 kuai
- People drive petrol sand buggies up and down the beach.
- The Chinese can't swim.
- It's takes a long time for street food to get from the wok to my table. As in a long time, like more than 5mins.
- the mosquitos hide on the floor. ON THE FUCKING FLOOR. Big white walls and they hide on the floor.
- It's dirty.
- There is disgusting, kitch, beach highrise hotels jutting into the sky like big fat, dry white shits with absolutely no urban planning whatsoever. Except the architectural shape of the buildings is worse than if they actually resembled the physical structures of foeces.
- There are private beaches
- You must pay for deck chairs on the beach
- I cant take anything valuable down to the beach beacuse it will probably get stolen
- just Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck,
WV
Thursday, November 02, 2006
The Laowai Chant
This is a little song we been working on. Especially satifying singing it to our chinese flatmates. Muahahahaha,,,
中文：
老外，老外，老外,
我现在找女朋友。
老外，老外，老外,
比中国人厉害。
老外，老外，老外,
中国女生都爱。
老外，老外，老外,
每天喝酒很快。
[chorus]
awhhhhhh!
Hello, DVD. Hello, DVD!
pingpongpingpongpiiiing!!!
Pronunciation:
laowai laowai laowai
wo xianzai zhao nupengyou
laowai laowai laowai,
bi zhongguoren lihai
laowai laowai laowai,
zhongguo nusheng dou ai,
laowai laowai laowai,
meitian he jiu hen kuai!
[chorus]
awhhhhhh!
Hello, DVD. Hello, DVD!
pingpongpingpongpiiiing!!!
English translation:
Foreigner, foreigner, foreigner,
I'm looking for a girlfriend.
Foreigner, foreigner, foreigner,
I'm stronger than Chinese.
Foreigner, foreigner, foreigner,
All young Chinese women love me.
Foreigner, foreigner, foreigner,
I drink beer very fast every day.
[chorus]
awhhhhhh!
Hello, DVD. Hello, DVD!
pingpongpingpongpiiiing!!!
中文：
老外，老外，老外,
我现在找女朋友。
老外，老外，老外,
比中国人厉害。
老外，老外，老外,
中国女生都爱。
老外，老外，老外,
每天喝酒很快。
[chorus]
awhhhhhh!
Hello, DVD. Hello, DVD!
pingpongpingpongpiiiing!!!
Pronunciation:
laowai laowai laowai
wo xianzai zhao nupengyou
laowai laowai laowai,
bi zhongguoren lihai
laowai laowai laowai,
zhongguo nusheng dou ai,
laowai laowai laowai,
meitian he jiu hen kuai!
[chorus]
awhhhhhh!
Hello, DVD. Hello, DVD!
pingpongpingpongpiiiing!!!
English translation:
Foreigner, foreigner, foreigner,
I'm looking for a girlfriend.
Foreigner, foreigner, foreigner,
I'm stronger than Chinese.
Foreigner, foreigner, foreigner,
All young Chinese women love me.
Foreigner, foreigner, foreigner,
I drink beer very fast every day.
[chorus]
awhhhhhh!
Hello, DVD. Hello, DVD!
pingpongpingpongpiiiing!!!
Sunday, October 29, 2006
halloween pub crawl
You know those times when sitting down to write a long overdue entry just seems like the most uninteresting, dificult to achieve activity you could possibly do? This is how I've felt recently. Even though right now it's a choice of write, watch another video, sleep or delete old emails.
Anyway, we had a party and I've got some photos. So I'll at least show you them. It was a friday night halloween pub crawl. We decided to do it the week before, got out fliers on the wednesday and finalised costumes on friday afternoon. We would have been happy with 20 people. There ended up being more than 80, with some seriously cool dress-up effort:
This is Trey, my good friend from Texas. Very appropriately dressed as a nerd and preparing to explain the rules of the pubcrawl.
Awww, nice photo. Extra points for couple costume pairing.
Mark came as a tribal man, considering he hasn't cut his hair in 8 months he didn't really have to try that hard to dress up. Chrissy came as wednesday from the addams family. Ups to both of them, they made the aniseed liquor jelly shots, provided the weed sprayers and generally did most of the organising.
Group photo with the koreans and a few europeans thrown in for good measure. Off the top of my head there were, over the course of the night, representations from Australia, America, China, Korea, Japan, Thailand, Vietnam, Slovakia, France, Italy, Austria, Spain, Norway, Sweden, Taiwan, Germany, Quebec, Canada, Laos, etc.
The last person out of each bar after the whistle was blown had to carry a 10kg watermelon to the next bar. Here's one of our Italian friends getting stuck with the first stint. Her boyfriend ended up carrying it for her and got more and more disgruntled as we walked. Mission accomplished :)
The Russian dolls from Quebec. Awesome costumes and extra points for team effort. These guys were hillarious.
Trey waiting at the door penalising people who didn't walk into the bar backwards (this was one of our rules) with sprays of cognac mixed with iced tea.
I was already quite drunk by this stage and still two bars to go. Trying to look zombie in photo with old flatmate bree. We had a few pirates, whose swords came in handy when I had to fight off an attack of peanut throwing from the balcony of Chapter One. The sweet smell of revenge came as I jabbed various protruding body parts with that plastic sword...I think its broken now.
Here's limbo. This Korean friend of ours was one of the tallest guys there and he won. This is him warming up, he flipped over more than vertical and beat all the short little girls. The men celebrated especially hard, remembering far too well past limbo defeats at the hand of short, flexible, competitive women.
Here go the Russian dolls. Hillarious.
Now, the particular method Trey used to hold the limbo pole/pool stick this was starting to get a bit worrying. Especially seeing as I was on the pointy end of the cue. Luckily, I managed to escape physically unscathed, but not quite aware of the extent of my mental damage.
Never underestimate the power of alcohol to increase your yoyoing skills dramatically. Look at that rock the baby!
And to finish, another great photo of everybody's favourite couple. These two just oooooz style.
Build it and they will come ;)
Anyway, we had a party and I've got some photos. So I'll at least show you them. It was a friday night halloween pub crawl. We decided to do it the week before, got out fliers on the wednesday and finalised costumes on friday afternoon. We would have been happy with 20 people. There ended up being more than 80, with some seriously cool dress-up effort:
This is Trey, my good friend from Texas. Very appropriately dressed as a nerd and preparing to explain the rules of the pubcrawl.
Awww, nice photo. Extra points for couple costume pairing.
Mark came as a tribal man, considering he hasn't cut his hair in 8 months he didn't really have to try that hard to dress up. Chrissy came as wednesday from the addams family. Ups to both of them, they made the aniseed liquor jelly shots, provided the weed sprayers and generally did most of the organising.
Group photo with the koreans and a few europeans thrown in for good measure. Off the top of my head there were, over the course of the night, representations from Australia, America, China, Korea, Japan, Thailand, Vietnam, Slovakia, France, Italy, Austria, Spain, Norway, Sweden, Taiwan, Germany, Quebec, Canada, Laos, etc.
The last person out of each bar after the whistle was blown had to carry a 10kg watermelon to the next bar. Here's one of our Italian friends getting stuck with the first stint. Her boyfriend ended up carrying it for her and got more and more disgruntled as we walked. Mission accomplished :)
The Russian dolls from Quebec. Awesome costumes and extra points for team effort. These guys were hillarious.
Trey waiting at the door penalising people who didn't walk into the bar backwards (this was one of our rules) with sprays of cognac mixed with iced tea.
I was already quite drunk by this stage and still two bars to go. Trying to look zombie in photo with old flatmate bree. We had a few pirates, whose swords came in handy when I had to fight off an attack of peanut throwing from the balcony of Chapter One. The sweet smell of revenge came as I jabbed various protruding body parts with that plastic sword...I think its broken now.
Here's limbo. This Korean friend of ours was one of the tallest guys there and he won. This is him warming up, he flipped over more than vertical and beat all the short little girls. The men celebrated especially hard, remembering far too well past limbo defeats at the hand of short, flexible, competitive women.
Here go the Russian dolls. Hillarious.
Now, the particular method Trey used to hold the limbo pole/pool stick this was starting to get a bit worrying. Especially seeing as I was on the pointy end of the cue. Luckily, I managed to escape physically unscathed, but not quite aware of the extent of my mental damage.
Never underestimate the power of alcohol to increase your yoyoing skills dramatically. Look at that rock the baby!
And to finish, another great photo of everybody's favourite couple. These two just oooooz style.
Build it and they will come ;)
Friday, October 20, 2006
Today was another good day in Kunming. I woke up to the sound of cars communicating to the rest of the world at around 7:30am this morning. Pressed the snooze button on my alarm a couple of times. Began the slow jive into conciousness which led me to the realisation that I had two exams to sit before 12am.
The exams came and went and I was back in bed before midday. Woke up at 3, ate half a tuna, lettuce and mayo sandwich and James decided we were going to go to a driving range. Arrived at the driving range at around quarter to four and lo and behold, the driving range was a sports stadium.
Stadium had a school carnival going on so we sat and drank coke and complained about how long they were taking to clear out of the stadium. For about an hour and a half. Then we walked downstairs and told the girl we were tired of waiting. She told us to wait till 6. So I said, 'I've waited so long my shit is dry' (in Chinese - I love this saying). Anyway, she wasn't pleased, and either were me and james, so we blew that joint.
Thoroughly dissapointed but too high on life to let it get to us, we browsed a sports store before beginning a walk to the central french supermarket that has luxuries like deodorant, uncle tobies muslie bars and durex condoms. Started raining though, so we high-tailed it to the Holiday Inn. Thai restaurant, 18th floor, city view - fine dining Asia style.
After consuming a much delicious meal of green thai curry, tun yum soup, beef strips, thai spring rolls, fried vegetables and crappy Chinese wine, we caught a taxi back home.
Which is were I am now. The evening promises to be a good one. Going over to someone's house for predrinks then out on the town. The thais are playing mazhong in the living room and I'm blasting scissor sisters.
Happy days,
WV
The exams came and went and I was back in bed before midday. Woke up at 3, ate half a tuna, lettuce and mayo sandwich and James decided we were going to go to a driving range. Arrived at the driving range at around quarter to four and lo and behold, the driving range was a sports stadium.
Stadium had a school carnival going on so we sat and drank coke and complained about how long they were taking to clear out of the stadium. For about an hour and a half. Then we walked downstairs and told the girl we were tired of waiting. She told us to wait till 6. So I said, 'I've waited so long my shit is dry' (in Chinese - I love this saying). Anyway, she wasn't pleased, and either were me and james, so we blew that joint.
Thoroughly dissapointed but too high on life to let it get to us, we browsed a sports store before beginning a walk to the central french supermarket that has luxuries like deodorant, uncle tobies muslie bars and durex condoms. Started raining though, so we high-tailed it to the Holiday Inn. Thai restaurant, 18th floor, city view - fine dining Asia style.
After consuming a much delicious meal of green thai curry, tun yum soup, beef strips, thai spring rolls, fried vegetables and crappy Chinese wine, we caught a taxi back home.
Which is were I am now. The evening promises to be a good one. Going over to someone's house for predrinks then out on the town. The thais are playing mazhong in the living room and I'm blasting scissor sisters.
Happy days,
WV
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
Mr Ill Dropped the Bomb
Ever thought to yourself, 'I'm gonna need a serious porn addiction to get through this one'?
I just did.
In other news, Lost is a long, painful, constipated shit of a tv show. And I'm being forced by my sister to watch the first season again. Because she lives in Japan. Because she's removed from the rest of the world. Because she's addicted to television and I'm addicted to the internet, which incidently, is in the tv room.
I have one more day in this small little city called Aomori at the top of Honshu before heading down to Tokyo for a few days. Photo-blog will come upon my return to the middle kingdom. Get excited.
I just did.
In other news, Lost is a long, painful, constipated shit of a tv show. And I'm being forced by my sister to watch the first season again. Because she lives in Japan. Because she's removed from the rest of the world. Because she's addicted to television and I'm addicted to the internet, which incidently, is in the tv room.
I have one more day in this small little city called Aomori at the top of Honshu before heading down to Tokyo for a few days. Photo-blog will come upon my return to the middle kingdom. Get excited.
Friday, September 29, 2006
Chinese wisdom for friday
wintervacation says:
- A thousand pre-arranged agreements on price will not sway the rip-off minibus driver from ripping you off.
- The no-smoking sign in a Chinese net-cafe is like China's socialism. It's there, it exists, but it might as well not.
- A thousand pre-arranged agreements on price will not sway the rip-off minibus driver from ripping you off.
- The no-smoking sign in a Chinese net-cafe is like China's socialism. It's there, it exists, but it might as well not.
Thursday, September 28, 2006
Wednesday, September 20, 2006
Chinese wisdom for the day
james: yeah. socks in your ugboots. good idea.
me: yep.
james: yeah, you don't wear socks and your ugboots get all stinky. and too hot. defeats the purpose of ugboots if your feet are too hot and really smelly.
me: yeah.
me: ah, the cat has been let of of the hat
james: isnt it the cat has been let out of the bag?
me: yes! but cat rhymes with hat goddamit!
me: yep.
james: yeah, you don't wear socks and your ugboots get all stinky. and too hot. defeats the purpose of ugboots if your feet are too hot and really smelly.
me: yeah.
me: ah, the cat has been let of of the hat
james: isnt it the cat has been let out of the bag?
me: yes! but cat rhymes with hat goddamit!
Sunday, September 10, 2006
Saturday, September 09, 2006
I stumbled across a toga party at the Speak Easy last night
I stumbled across a toga party at the Speak Easy last night. Thinking back, Ancient Greek clothing, American college party tradition and a Chinese nightclub make for a good time.
Liquor crawls into my mind and taps his little finger on the attic door of my brain. The thoughts I've stowed away from myself arouse and blink their eyes in the haze. A few hours later they are fully awake, popping out all over the damn place!
Liquor crawls into my mind and taps his little finger on the attic door of my brain. The thoughts I've stowed away from myself arouse and blink their eyes in the haze. A few hours later they are fully awake, popping out all over the damn place!
Tuesday, September 05, 2006
Well. This is the first time in my life I've felt really moved by the death of a person I didn't know, in person.
Steve Irwin was an anomally. A rare reminder that our reality is our reality. We don't have to be what the human world tells us to be; what the human world judges as right and wrong.
I remember looking forward to the crocodile hunter on schoolday weeknights. It was the kind of show you could indulge in alone. Laugh to yourself secretly, laugh at him, with him - the great majority of the time, at him. The guy had an unique comic presence about him which he seemed oblivious to. But he wasn't an idiot. I'de see him running from a goannah or holding a venomous snake by the tail, over-emphasising something along the lines of, "Now. Look at him. He's getting angry. He reeeeally wants to bite me. Wow! Look at that!", while he seemingly pissed the animal off even more. But he had this little twinkle in his eye which said, 'I know this is comic genius, I know I'm entertaining and getting my point accross at the same time".
He was bastardised in the media. But yeah, a story's a story. Whatever. He stuck to his beliefs. He knew what he was doing was right. And he kept doing what he was doing. Fame nor public pressure destroyed him. In the end it was nature, and I'm sure if he had to die prematurely, he wouldn't have had it any other way.
He was a good guy.
Steve Irwin was an anomally. A rare reminder that our reality is our reality. We don't have to be what the human world tells us to be; what the human world judges as right and wrong.
I remember looking forward to the crocodile hunter on schoolday weeknights. It was the kind of show you could indulge in alone. Laugh to yourself secretly, laugh at him, with him - the great majority of the time, at him. The guy had an unique comic presence about him which he seemed oblivious to. But he wasn't an idiot. I'de see him running from a goannah or holding a venomous snake by the tail, over-emphasising something along the lines of, "Now. Look at him. He's getting angry. He reeeeally wants to bite me. Wow! Look at that!", while he seemingly pissed the animal off even more. But he had this little twinkle in his eye which said, 'I know this is comic genius, I know I'm entertaining and getting my point accross at the same time".
He was bastardised in the media. But yeah, a story's a story. Whatever. He stuck to his beliefs. He knew what he was doing was right. And he kept doing what he was doing. Fame nor public pressure destroyed him. In the end it was nature, and I'm sure if he had to die prematurely, he wouldn't have had it any other way.
He was a good guy.
Monday, August 21, 2006
the long march
the journey began with an official salutory photograph with chairman mao - mandatory upon leaving university for summer holidays.
this was fallowed by a salute to my own vanity, totally appropriate in Hong Kong, where the place literally breaths status and noveau richness,
we went up one big building and got to see another. That one on the left is the international finance centre - one huge symbolic prayer shrine to virility for the impotent, money hungry men and arrogant security guards who work inside what is otherwise known as 'The World's Largest Penis Inferiority Complex',
these people had all congregated here to see me because I'm white. I signed a few autographs before escaping to burn my tongue on some beefy canto noodles,
this is the view from a hanglider I hired and flew off Victoria Peak - the big hill in Hong Kong. It was so hillarious watching all those sucker tourists below me who had to scrounge for a spot to grab a photo at the lookout point, and then wait for an hour for the tram, which hasn't been uprgaded since the opium wars, to take them back down the hill. Suckers!
this dude had just thrown a cheezel up in the air and was trying to catch it with his mouth...I can't remember if he caught it or not,
the head of this dried fish is a macau speciality. The rusty hooks give it a distinctly metalic flavour. Make sure you've had your tetnis shots,
this looks like a harmless budhist shrine but it was acutally a liquid explosive bomb. I disarmed it though. Thanks McGyver,
this is modern china in one picture,
these babes kept giving me the eye while I was waiting for the bus to go back to Macau. But when I went over, they played all hard to get, telling me to speak up cause they couldn't hear what I was saying. And they just stood there like prudes, I think they were fridget - one of them couldn't stop shaking. So I ditched em,
this is me assimilating with chinese culture,
thse kids all have giadhia now...if they didn't have it already,
I took this girl out for dinner cause she said she'd split the bill with me but when I got back from the bathroom she'd eaten all the food.
Lucky she was damn hot, otherwise there woulda been trouble,
muslims congregating, do i need to say more?
I stumbled accross this factory with all these old statues. They were all pretty crappy though. Dirty, old, and lots were broken. And they weren't even for sale!
I pooed on the road here - I thought it was the culturally appropriate thing to do.
Saturday, August 19, 2006
blogger unblocked in china!
That's right folks! Who knows how long its gonna last! But one things for sure, this blog's about to get a whole lot more interesting...NOT.
Friday, August 18, 2006
net cafe edit: edit
I like Chinese. Well, I like them as much as I like any 'race', but thats another issue. In case it was/will be taken wrongly - sarcasm ppl, sarcasm. And if you still don't understand, 练习你的英文.
Thursday, August 17, 2006
net cafe edit:
Chinese pop music mufucking bites. It's making me an aggressive rascist. I'm pretty sure it was passive until now. But right now I want to break something...and everything around me has made in china on it.
Chinese net cafe
Dude next to me is playing some kind of dance dance revo shit and smoking a cigarette. In fact this whole cafe is one big, young, culturally revolved, fag toting 'work unit' of chinese youths wearing fashionable clothes and getting fat on kfc.
The train from shanghai to xian smelt good for the first ten minutes until I noticed the soft scent of stale urine eminating from my head pillow. Although I could have been mistaken. It could as easily have been wafting up from the rather rotund looking nappy of the young baby two beds bellow.
Im going to see the teracotta warriors tomoz. I know I'm gonna be dissapointed. In fact, I already am. Teracotta-warrior, what was that narcissistic little chinese emperor thinking? Those two things don't go together! Who makes a warrior out of the material your mum uses to pot her geranium, pave her patio!? Make it out of steel, or bronze for fucks sake! Louzzzzzzzzzzzzy.
Mcdonalds has become my tummy's new friend. Ronald's fear of getting sued has made his premium big macs the perfect recovery food for my stomach, which has been struggling with the cocktail of bacteria you recieve free of charge with most restaurant meals in china.
I'm out!
WV
The train from shanghai to xian smelt good for the first ten minutes until I noticed the soft scent of stale urine eminating from my head pillow. Although I could have been mistaken. It could as easily have been wafting up from the rather rotund looking nappy of the young baby two beds bellow.
Im going to see the teracotta warriors tomoz. I know I'm gonna be dissapointed. In fact, I already am. Teracotta-warrior, what was that narcissistic little chinese emperor thinking? Those two things don't go together! Who makes a warrior out of the material your mum uses to pot her geranium, pave her patio!? Make it out of steel, or bronze for fucks sake! Louzzzzzzzzzzzzy.
Mcdonalds has become my tummy's new friend. Ronald's fear of getting sued has made his premium big macs the perfect recovery food for my stomach, which has been struggling with the cocktail of bacteria you recieve free of charge with most restaurant meals in china.
I'm out!
WV
Saturday, August 12, 2006
shanghai email
Sooooooooooooooooooooooooooo.
Stefan's been in China forawhile. Where's the email? Where's the email? Where's the email stef? Whatya been doing? How many Chinese wife's you got? Do they know you're not a communist yet? Have you worked out how to make billions of dollars out of billions of chinese so we can all buy a pacific island and live happilly ever after, naked and frolicking in nature, like we were supposed to do?
The truth. The truth! I'm a foreigner in a familiar land. The three syllables, "wai-guo-ren", float around me like a unique body odour. Waiguoren means foreigner, and as I walk down the street, climb the mountain, wonder why I have to show my passport at the internet cafe, this word surrounds me. It jumps out of the irrepresible little mouths of young children like a cat out of a hat, "Look. Mum. Waiguoren!". It is muttered by old couples, by families. Jesus - the dogs who used to bark at me, only me, at my apartment block every day, seem now to have been secretly barking my fellow residents to attention: "waiguoren, waiguoren, waiguoren!". Sometimes I will hear it and jump to attention, turn my head, hoping to shock the
person who uttered the words, thinking that this will maybe make them more wary, that I do understand, that I am not a totally oblivious vessel from a different world.
But then, The East is advancing toward The West. Or the west is seeping into the east like algae growing in a stagnant old pond - depending on how you look at it. Old classic American hits waft out of record stores. Department stores have top brand fashion outlets, coffee chains, toilets that don't require you to squat. In Shanghai, Pepsi and Coke battle for streetscape supremacy. Pepsi signs line the streetlights of a boulevard here; a six-storey coke bottle on a building corner there. In this sense, it's all a bit like home really.
So yes, I'm a foreigner in a familiar land. And I feel, well, I feel pretty good. Don't think I could do it forever, but right now (stomach issues, and me being a cultural anomaly, aside) China is an enjoyable place for stefan to be.
BUT I WANNA GO HOME!!!! HELP!!!!!!!!!!
...just kidding ;)
Stefan's been in China forawhile. Where's the email? Where's the email? Where's the email stef? Whatya been doing? How many Chinese wife's you got? Do they know you're not a communist yet? Have you worked out how to make billions of dollars out of billions of chinese so we can all buy a pacific island and live happilly ever after, naked and frolicking in nature, like we were supposed to do?
The truth. The truth! I'm a foreigner in a familiar land. The three syllables, "wai-guo-ren", float around me like a unique body odour. Waiguoren means foreigner, and as I walk down the street, climb the mountain, wonder why I have to show my passport at the internet cafe, this word surrounds me. It jumps out of the irrepresible little mouths of young children like a cat out of a hat, "Look. Mum. Waiguoren!". It is muttered by old couples, by families. Jesus - the dogs who used to bark at me, only me, at my apartment block every day, seem now to have been secretly barking my fellow residents to attention: "waiguoren, waiguoren, waiguoren!". Sometimes I will hear it and jump to attention, turn my head, hoping to shock the
person who uttered the words, thinking that this will maybe make them more wary, that I do understand, that I am not a totally oblivious vessel from a different world.
But then, The East is advancing toward The West. Or the west is seeping into the east like algae growing in a stagnant old pond - depending on how you look at it. Old classic American hits waft out of record stores. Department stores have top brand fashion outlets, coffee chains, toilets that don't require you to squat. In Shanghai, Pepsi and Coke battle for streetscape supremacy. Pepsi signs line the streetlights of a boulevard here; a six-storey coke bottle on a building corner there. In this sense, it's all a bit like home really.
So yes, I'm a foreigner in a familiar land. And I feel, well, I feel pretty good. Don't think I could do it forever, but right now (stomach issues, and me being a cultural anomaly, aside) China is an enjoyable place for stefan to be.
BUT I WANNA GO HOME!!!! HELP!!!!!!!!!!
...just kidding ;)
Thursday, August 03, 2006
So utterly fucking bored right now
Sitting in a net cafe in Macau, grounded like a paraplegic basketball player who's just fallen out of his chair. There's a typhoon on the way to China and all transport has been cancelled. Two and a half hour fucking bus journey cancelled. Hundreds of thousands of people without transport. The slow, iron wheel that is the Chinese mainland transport system has ground to a soggy halt.
Earlier this morning,the smell of our geriatric air conditioner woke me like a swift fist to the middle of the face. Well, not really. I was woken by the monotonous buzzzzz of my feshly purchased, plastic smelling, Palm TX PDA. But the first reason sounded more romantic.
The truth is. Macua is as much a Portugese enclave as Sydney is home to the Koori Aborigines. The difference being that in Macua's case, the Portugese were the colonial power, not the other way around. Thus, the old buildings with their old-wood stench of regality, religion, cuisine and white picket fences remain for travelers to marvel at.
Macau's main present day attraction is its casino's which cater to Hong Kong residents on weekends. They surround the old part of town and new monstrosities are popping up everywhere. China's well greased iron wheel of money never stops. At least not here.
Which reminds me. Fuck pretentious security guards. I don't care if it's in your job description, or if some fat-fuck jerkey muncher reported it to you from behind a security camera monitor. Go check the toilets for bombs instead of asking me to move my backpack closer to the wall so the fucking 'public space' aesthitics aren't compromised while I wait for my girlfriend to go to the toilet. Shiiiiit.
What else? Oh yeah. Iraq, sixty people died the other day. There was an article heading a week ago that read something like, "14 people die in day of relative calm in Iraq". I though last night, "shit, what if 14 people being killed in a day in my country was normal, or was a good day". Anyway, must suck being Iraqi.
peace
WV
Earlier this morning,the smell of our geriatric air conditioner woke me like a swift fist to the middle of the face. Well, not really. I was woken by the monotonous buzzzzz of my feshly purchased, plastic smelling, Palm TX PDA. But the first reason sounded more romantic.
The truth is. Macua is as much a Portugese enclave as Sydney is home to the Koori Aborigines. The difference being that in Macua's case, the Portugese were the colonial power, not the other way around. Thus, the old buildings with their old-wood stench of regality, religion, cuisine and white picket fences remain for travelers to marvel at.
Macau's main present day attraction is its casino's which cater to Hong Kong residents on weekends. They surround the old part of town and new monstrosities are popping up everywhere. China's well greased iron wheel of money never stops. At least not here.
Which reminds me. Fuck pretentious security guards. I don't care if it's in your job description, or if some fat-fuck jerkey muncher reported it to you from behind a security camera monitor. Go check the toilets for bombs instead of asking me to move my backpack closer to the wall so the fucking 'public space' aesthitics aren't compromised while I wait for my girlfriend to go to the toilet. Shiiiiit.
What else? Oh yeah. Iraq, sixty people died the other day. There was an article heading a week ago that read something like, "14 people die in day of relative calm in Iraq". I though last night, "shit, what if 14 people being killed in a day in my country was normal, or was a good day". Anyway, must suck being Iraqi.
peace
WV
Thursday, July 27, 2006
These are the days that define us.
When we sit here after three coronas and a little tipsy cause we haven't drunk much alcohol in a long time. When we hear our best friends have got a cheap flight to come visit us and we suddenly remember just how good friends they are and how many good times we've had together. It's exciting.
When we realise it's better to write without inhibitions. To write is enough. My friend got up and sang 'Let it Be' in a Chinese karaoke bar tonight. She sung it hopelessly, but she got up and sung it. And she's a better person because of it. A better person than me.
To live is enough. As long as living means not forgetting who you are. Not forgetting that getting up and singing a hopeless karoake song is better than looking cool. Not forgetting that somewhere along the line you did forget. Things became hazy. You began to believe other people and their view of the world. You listened to your teachers. You got a job. You drank beer. A fart became a social misdemeanor. Tears took years to come. You grew up...a little...every day. Imagination sank into your subconcious. The world was explainable, but somewhat less complete, less understandable.
But luckily you, I, remember. I have friends who still say 'fuck it'. Who smoke weed because it feels good. Who sat with me at the top of the hill while we waited to throw oranges at the bus. Who will go to eat pies at 2am in the morning, cause fuck, pies are tasty, and the company is good, especially in the middle of the night.
Feel good.
We're rich motherfuckers, and not just in monetary terms.
Now some photos
When we sit here after three coronas and a little tipsy cause we haven't drunk much alcohol in a long time. When we hear our best friends have got a cheap flight to come visit us and we suddenly remember just how good friends they are and how many good times we've had together. It's exciting.
When we realise it's better to write without inhibitions. To write is enough. My friend got up and sang 'Let it Be' in a Chinese karaoke bar tonight. She sung it hopelessly, but she got up and sung it. And she's a better person because of it. A better person than me.
To live is enough. As long as living means not forgetting who you are. Not forgetting that getting up and singing a hopeless karoake song is better than looking cool. Not forgetting that somewhere along the line you did forget. Things became hazy. You began to believe other people and their view of the world. You listened to your teachers. You got a job. You drank beer. A fart became a social misdemeanor. Tears took years to come. You grew up...a little...every day. Imagination sank into your subconcious. The world was explainable, but somewhat less complete, less understandable.
But luckily you, I, remember. I have friends who still say 'fuck it'. Who smoke weed because it feels good. Who sat with me at the top of the hill while we waited to throw oranges at the bus. Who will go to eat pies at 2am in the morning, cause fuck, pies are tasty, and the company is good, especially in the middle of the night.
Feel good.
We're rich motherfuckers, and not just in monetary terms.
Now some photos
Tuesday, July 04, 2006
I got a pocket full of arcade game coins and a head full of bad memories.
An American friend of mine went home yesterday. He loves WoW. In fact, he loves anything computer-gamey at all. So we went to dinner, then went to a games arcade, then did karaoke till six in the morning. Some of the highlights included Sweet Home Alabama, Twist and Shout, Locomotion, O bla di o bla da and so on in that vain.
Shiiiiit where AM i going with this?
An American friend of mine went home yesterday. He loves WoW. In fact, he loves anything computer-gamey at all. So we went to dinner, then went to a games arcade, then did karaoke till six in the morning. Some of the highlights included Sweet Home Alabama, Twist and Shout, Locomotion, O bla di o bla da and so on in that vain.
Shiiiiit where AM i going with this?
Saturday, June 24, 2006
So yes. Yesterday evening involved drinking.
Chinese kids in b-boy dress-up sat at the table opposite me looking cool.
I'm really pissed with the last two lines of that poem. Anyone think of a better word that rhymes with window?
A girl from uni knitted me a scarf. How can I show my appreciation? I can't knit, I can't really make anything in particular.
I'm vegetarian in China from now on.
There are wealthy people in Kunming. You'll see a porsche boxter or an Audi S6 drive past a donkey pulling a peasant's trolley full of produce fresh from the countryside. On my street, in the city.
'Socialism with Chinese Characteristics' - Deng Xiaoping, Leader of China, 1978-89. More like 'Capitalism with Socialist government...and Chinese Characteristics.' There were no beggars thirty years ago.
It's been raining all morning. Patting away my little thoughts and anxieties.
Supposedly there is a whole community of American families living in northern Kunming. With nice apartments, swimming pools, children dressed in white and church on Sunday. We never go there, they never come here.
My listening class teacher got married last weekend. It was a Christian wedding.
Hi China, I know you're still here, somewhere...
Chinese kids in b-boy dress-up sat at the table opposite me looking cool.
I'm really pissed with the last two lines of that poem. Anyone think of a better word that rhymes with window?
A girl from uni knitted me a scarf. How can I show my appreciation? I can't knit, I can't really make anything in particular.
I'm vegetarian in China from now on.
There are wealthy people in Kunming. You'll see a porsche boxter or an Audi S6 drive past a donkey pulling a peasant's trolley full of produce fresh from the countryside. On my street, in the city.
'Socialism with Chinese Characteristics' - Deng Xiaoping, Leader of China, 1978-89. More like 'Capitalism with Socialist government...and Chinese Characteristics.' There were no beggars thirty years ago.
It's been raining all morning. Patting away my little thoughts and anxieties.
Supposedly there is a whole community of American families living in northern Kunming. With nice apartments, swimming pools, children dressed in white and church on Sunday. We never go there, they never come here.
My listening class teacher got married last weekend. It was a Christian wedding.
Hi China, I know you're still here, somewhere...
Come on baby light my fire
alcohol consumption is:
- fuck you I'm playing the doors loud at 3:53am
- fuck I'de like to fuck you
- my head hurts
- I should drink water
- I'm sitting at the computer naked in the dark
- and it feels great
- fuck you I'm playing the doors loud at 3:53am
- fuck I'de like to fuck you
- my head hurts
- I should drink water
- I'm sitting at the computer naked in the dark
- and it feels great
Wednesday, June 21, 2006
'there is no such thing as illegal immigrants, only illegal governments' Asian Dub Foundation - Colour Line.
Friday, June 16, 2006
The world beneath my nose
In the world beneath my nose
Runs a valley to my toes.
I’ve found a tree and stolen time.
A useful strife,
one splendid chance to ponder life.
The wind is slight,
My music plays,
Green foliage softens the sunlight.
Thoughts awaken, stretch
And stroll into consciousness.
I close my eyes.
Tiny hidden insects tickle my skin.
But my mobile calls,
And brings a sky of sorrow.
Reminding me of an unquenched desire
To throw it out a window.
Runs a valley to my toes.
I’ve found a tree and stolen time.
A useful strife,
one splendid chance to ponder life.
The wind is slight,
My music plays,
Green foliage softens the sunlight.
Thoughts awaken, stretch
And stroll into consciousness.
I close my eyes.
Tiny hidden insects tickle my skin.
But my mobile calls,
And brings a sky of sorrow.
Reminding me of an unquenched desire
To throw it out a window.
Monday, June 12, 2006
Tuesday, May 30, 2006
to my readers
It's sad. I thought my blog would be more interesting because I was living in China. Silly little me. In actuality, I give you the same boring rants, but now they are an extra few thousand miles, and few thousand years of cultural difference, removed from your daily life. So what do I do? Because this is public domain, not a private journal. I want and expect people to read it.
I've tried photos, I've tried poetry, I've even tried storytelling. Now I think I'll try me.
I'm slouching in front of a tv I don't understand. But still it comforts me like a pet you've had for years lying in the corner of the room. Although I'de never know, the closest pet relationship I had was with a tortoise in my pond who bit my finger when I stuck it in the water and hibernated sporadically for months every year. But I can imagine. Whenever I think of pet/human relationships my mind conjures up the image of an old widow sitting alone in her house knitting woolen sweaters with a cat in her lap. Now that's cultural conditioning.
We've had no hot water for three days. We survive on solar and its been raining since thursday. Bree braved the cold to wash her hair. She hasn't washed in two days- it can wait till tommorow morning. I showered at the gym thankyouverymuch.
I've stopped to watch a feature show about hamsters on CTV7. It's mesmerising. Closeups of hamsters running on wheels, running through plastic mazes, eating a peanut out of a woman's hand. Her finger looks like it has been specially nail-polished for the camera. White petals on pink nail.
Sam's talking to me on msn...just remembered, must listen to guns and roses when I go to bed tonight.
Enjoy life. (Is that a Coke slogan?)
I've tried photos, I've tried poetry, I've even tried storytelling. Now I think I'll try me.
I'm slouching in front of a tv I don't understand. But still it comforts me like a pet you've had for years lying in the corner of the room. Although I'de never know, the closest pet relationship I had was with a tortoise in my pond who bit my finger when I stuck it in the water and hibernated sporadically for months every year. But I can imagine. Whenever I think of pet/human relationships my mind conjures up the image of an old widow sitting alone in her house knitting woolen sweaters with a cat in her lap. Now that's cultural conditioning.
We've had no hot water for three days. We survive on solar and its been raining since thursday. Bree braved the cold to wash her hair. She hasn't washed in two days- it can wait till tommorow morning. I showered at the gym thankyouverymuch.
I've stopped to watch a feature show about hamsters on CTV7. It's mesmerising. Closeups of hamsters running on wheels, running through plastic mazes, eating a peanut out of a woman's hand. Her finger looks like it has been specially nail-polished for the camera. White petals on pink nail.
Sam's talking to me on msn...just remembered, must listen to guns and roses when I go to bed tonight.
Enjoy life. (Is that a Coke slogan?)
Saturday, May 27, 2006
We can actually read and write some Chinese now. This is our flat advertisement, supplemented by a wonderful drawing by Matilda.
It's peach season. As I walk down my street I dodge the flying peaches. Discarded in the custom of taking one bite, tossing the peach, and then continuing with the bargaining process for basket after basket of peaches direct from the countryside.
It's peach season. As I walk down my street I dodge the flying peaches. Discarded in the custom of taking one bite, tossing the peach, and then continuing with the bargaining process for basket after basket of peaches direct from the countryside.
Saturday, May 20, 2006
Experience
Oh joy, the life of a traveller. Yesterday was a splendid trip down memory lane. It took me all the way back to Berlin, New Years Eve, 2002.
Oh the memories! Some time that afternoon I shifted my nonchalant gaze from a featureless beige ceiling to the only window in the room, intent on inspecting the festivities from a viewing pane which provided a glimpse of a few building rooftops and a rather unexplosive sky. I could hear the fireworks though. The consistent pop of disturbed air glided into the room and left me reflective. The world was going on. Somewhere, nearby, lots of people were having lots of fun, together. I knew what I was missing but it didn’t make me sad. Three weeks of travelling alone and three days in hospital had already dulled my already weak sense of social purpose.
I’d purchased and eaten vegetarian spaghetti from a kebab house down the road from my hostel. The Accused. When I sat down to eat it I was tired, lonely and cold. I’d walked round Berlin all day. Peered at the street lights reflected in the ice sheets forming over a small waterway and shivered; visited a big, dark, empty gothic church; walked around the German parliament and its memorial to the Jews and Nazi Germany. I peeled off the steamy plastic take-away container and peered at my meal. Jabbed at it with my fork a little. Sighed inside. It had little bits of beef mince in it. Crap, fuck, fuckwit shop owner. Two voices of reason wriggled into my consciousness, my Mother’s, of course, and the Do’s and Don’t’s section of my Lonely Planet. But at the same time a voice which has been with me long before I could understand my mothers tongue, and one which I personally have always found hard to resist, ordered them silent. It was My Stomach and he ordered me to eat. Bad move. He regretted it.
I spent the next twelve hours alternating the two holes which mark the beginning and end of the digestive process over a toilet bowl. I couldn’t even return to my room, it was too far, there was an extra door in the way. Brief pit-stops were spent on a conveniently placed couch outside the bathroom. In the morning, I walked downstairs and fell asleep on a pile of beanbags. The receptionist came and brought me a cup of tea. I drank it, then went upstairs and sat on the toilet again. When I came back down he told me I should go to the hospital, I could walk there, it wasn’t far. It wasn’t far!? I’m explosive man, come on! But I went, there wasn’t really anything left in me anyway. I felt like a lost ghost drifting down the street, but I found it and after a while, was admitted.
They almost took my appendix out, I was on a drip for four days, I didn’t eat or go to the bathroom for three days, I woke up one night covered in my own blood after my drip fell out. But that’s another story. I’m meant to be talking about yesterday.
Yesterday I’d been sick for two days. My nostrils were a tributary of green slime. My throat was as sore as I can remember in living memory. My whole body ached and I was struck by the kind of lethargy which made it difficult to get up and get a glass of water. I wasn’t getting any better either. So I called a friend. Smart move Stefan, smart move. She has almost finished studying to be a paediatric nurse here, she’s from Beijing originally but has been in Kunming for a while, she got me my teaching job. I met her at the hospital and we went and saw a doctor.
Yun, that’s my friend’s name, walked straight in and found one of her teachers, me in tow quietly assessing the general appearance of the place, which you really shouldn’t do in China, because huge cracks in the floor and dirty walls doesn’t necessarily mean it’s a bad hospital here. I also caught a glimpse of a young female doctor with a surgical face mask on, who struck a striking resemblance to an assassin you’d see in a Japanese ninja movie. So I got my first little bit of paperwork and went and saw a doctor.
One remaining constant about my foreign hospital experiences is that there always seems to be an invisible woman dying awfully loudly in a bed in the same room which I am admitted. She does not receive any treatment, not even a side-glance, while the doctors calmly assess the patients with runny noses and mild fevers.
I explained to Yun what was wrong with me and she communicated it to the doctor and then the doctor asked me what was wrong with my anyway, as doctors do, and should do. So I explained. Did I have a fever? I don’t know, don’t think so. She took me temperature, 38.5. Hmm, yes, I had a temperature and suddenly felt it, geez it was hot in that cramped room with the invisible woman writhing in agony behind me. I wiped my brow. She took a look at my throat and mumbled the Chinese word for serious, then told Yun to come have a look. Yun made a noise I interpreted as a bad noise, she agreed. At that point, I also explained that I’d just got back from Thailand and had been bitten by lots of mosquitoes. Malaria, maybe, no? No, throat infection, but we’ll do a blood test.
So off we went. I had to wait behind a little boy and his father at the blood test clinic. He saw me and stared. Fair enough little boy, I know I look different, I know what you’re thinking, ‘foreigner, foreigner, god, foreigner, look, foreigner, so different, foreigner, so strange, foreigner…’ and so on. I’ve felt that look a thousand times. But I got my revenge. He cried, he bawled, just like any little boy or girl from any country would, when faced with the gross, unexpected injustice of a needle prick in the finger, followed by blood extraction from that prick. So blood test and then a ten-minute wait for the results. You can actually watch them peering into the microscope and mixing samples from behind a glass dividing panel from where you sit. China - like restaurant, like hospital. Then back to the doctor.
No malaria. But I needed antibiotics and a drip, oh the wonderful drip again! So we went off and paid for my consultation, $4, and my antibiotics and 4 drip bags and blood test, $25. Collected the little vials of medicine stuff, went here, went there, got pushed in on a couple of times, were told this little bit of paper wasn’t complete, this other one wasn’t clear enough, so on. At this stage I just couldn’t stop thanking Yun enough, she revealed to me her foreign friends had come to call her Supernurse, I concurred.
Eventually we found a bed in the outpatient department and they paired me with another waiguoren (foreigner), a seventy nine year old German man with a fever, sore throat and aweful hospital temperament. Over the course of the next four hours he’d raise himself like a mummy every fifteen minutes and demand to go home. The absolutely lovely head of the Chinese Medicine Department, who had worked in Germany for two years and could speak German, was overseeing him and would plead with him to no avail ‘bitte, bitte!’, before ordering him in terse German to lie back down, to which he reluctantly obliged.
She was hilarious, every time she had to deal with him she would mumble in Chinese about how troublesome and difficult this old man was, how she wanted to hit him, asking me and Yun if we agreed, we would nod and laugh. It was Friday evening, she had plans, she was working overtime for no extra pay, so this one patient could talk German to someone. I found out that every Chinese hospital has a Chinese Medicine Department. She made me Chinese medicine tea and felt my pulse for five minutes to assess my heart, my health, my general well being. She gave me my first acupuncture I’ve ever had. A needle in each earlobe - pressure points for the throat.
So yeah, I got a shot of penicillin in the bum and my drip started flowing. I even got some noodles. Bree and Matilda, Aussie classmates, came and saw me, and then had to evacuate the room when the old German went to piss in a container. But they came back and stayed for a while, which was nice. Yun stayed the whole time and even dressed a blister on my foot – lifesaver, Supernurse! Then I went home with a little red receipt and some Chinese herbs feeling a whole bundle better. I’m going back today for some more drips, they love their drips here; give them out on a whim.
So there you go, be a little afraid, but don’t be bored. You’re sick, you can’t do anything about it. Enjoy the hospital experience. I do, if I can.
Oh the memories! Some time that afternoon I shifted my nonchalant gaze from a featureless beige ceiling to the only window in the room, intent on inspecting the festivities from a viewing pane which provided a glimpse of a few building rooftops and a rather unexplosive sky. I could hear the fireworks though. The consistent pop of disturbed air glided into the room and left me reflective. The world was going on. Somewhere, nearby, lots of people were having lots of fun, together. I knew what I was missing but it didn’t make me sad. Three weeks of travelling alone and three days in hospital had already dulled my already weak sense of social purpose.
I’d purchased and eaten vegetarian spaghetti from a kebab house down the road from my hostel. The Accused. When I sat down to eat it I was tired, lonely and cold. I’d walked round Berlin all day. Peered at the street lights reflected in the ice sheets forming over a small waterway and shivered; visited a big, dark, empty gothic church; walked around the German parliament and its memorial to the Jews and Nazi Germany. I peeled off the steamy plastic take-away container and peered at my meal. Jabbed at it with my fork a little. Sighed inside. It had little bits of beef mince in it. Crap, fuck, fuckwit shop owner. Two voices of reason wriggled into my consciousness, my Mother’s, of course, and the Do’s and Don’t’s section of my Lonely Planet. But at the same time a voice which has been with me long before I could understand my mothers tongue, and one which I personally have always found hard to resist, ordered them silent. It was My Stomach and he ordered me to eat. Bad move. He regretted it.
I spent the next twelve hours alternating the two holes which mark the beginning and end of the digestive process over a toilet bowl. I couldn’t even return to my room, it was too far, there was an extra door in the way. Brief pit-stops were spent on a conveniently placed couch outside the bathroom. In the morning, I walked downstairs and fell asleep on a pile of beanbags. The receptionist came and brought me a cup of tea. I drank it, then went upstairs and sat on the toilet again. When I came back down he told me I should go to the hospital, I could walk there, it wasn’t far. It wasn’t far!? I’m explosive man, come on! But I went, there wasn’t really anything left in me anyway. I felt like a lost ghost drifting down the street, but I found it and after a while, was admitted.
They almost took my appendix out, I was on a drip for four days, I didn’t eat or go to the bathroom for three days, I woke up one night covered in my own blood after my drip fell out. But that’s another story. I’m meant to be talking about yesterday.
Yesterday I’d been sick for two days. My nostrils were a tributary of green slime. My throat was as sore as I can remember in living memory. My whole body ached and I was struck by the kind of lethargy which made it difficult to get up and get a glass of water. I wasn’t getting any better either. So I called a friend. Smart move Stefan, smart move. She has almost finished studying to be a paediatric nurse here, she’s from Beijing originally but has been in Kunming for a while, she got me my teaching job. I met her at the hospital and we went and saw a doctor.
Yun, that’s my friend’s name, walked straight in and found one of her teachers, me in tow quietly assessing the general appearance of the place, which you really shouldn’t do in China, because huge cracks in the floor and dirty walls doesn’t necessarily mean it’s a bad hospital here. I also caught a glimpse of a young female doctor with a surgical face mask on, who struck a striking resemblance to an assassin you’d see in a Japanese ninja movie. So I got my first little bit of paperwork and went and saw a doctor.
One remaining constant about my foreign hospital experiences is that there always seems to be an invisible woman dying awfully loudly in a bed in the same room which I am admitted. She does not receive any treatment, not even a side-glance, while the doctors calmly assess the patients with runny noses and mild fevers.
I explained to Yun what was wrong with me and she communicated it to the doctor and then the doctor asked me what was wrong with my anyway, as doctors do, and should do. So I explained. Did I have a fever? I don’t know, don’t think so. She took me temperature, 38.5. Hmm, yes, I had a temperature and suddenly felt it, geez it was hot in that cramped room with the invisible woman writhing in agony behind me. I wiped my brow. She took a look at my throat and mumbled the Chinese word for serious, then told Yun to come have a look. Yun made a noise I interpreted as a bad noise, she agreed. At that point, I also explained that I’d just got back from Thailand and had been bitten by lots of mosquitoes. Malaria, maybe, no? No, throat infection, but we’ll do a blood test.
So off we went. I had to wait behind a little boy and his father at the blood test clinic. He saw me and stared. Fair enough little boy, I know I look different, I know what you’re thinking, ‘foreigner, foreigner, god, foreigner, look, foreigner, so different, foreigner, so strange, foreigner…’ and so on. I’ve felt that look a thousand times. But I got my revenge. He cried, he bawled, just like any little boy or girl from any country would, when faced with the gross, unexpected injustice of a needle prick in the finger, followed by blood extraction from that prick. So blood test and then a ten-minute wait for the results. You can actually watch them peering into the microscope and mixing samples from behind a glass dividing panel from where you sit. China - like restaurant, like hospital. Then back to the doctor.
No malaria. But I needed antibiotics and a drip, oh the wonderful drip again! So we went off and paid for my consultation, $4, and my antibiotics and 4 drip bags and blood test, $25. Collected the little vials of medicine stuff, went here, went there, got pushed in on a couple of times, were told this little bit of paper wasn’t complete, this other one wasn’t clear enough, so on. At this stage I just couldn’t stop thanking Yun enough, she revealed to me her foreign friends had come to call her Supernurse, I concurred.
Eventually we found a bed in the outpatient department and they paired me with another waiguoren (foreigner), a seventy nine year old German man with a fever, sore throat and aweful hospital temperament. Over the course of the next four hours he’d raise himself like a mummy every fifteen minutes and demand to go home. The absolutely lovely head of the Chinese Medicine Department, who had worked in Germany for two years and could speak German, was overseeing him and would plead with him to no avail ‘bitte, bitte!’, before ordering him in terse German to lie back down, to which he reluctantly obliged.
She was hilarious, every time she had to deal with him she would mumble in Chinese about how troublesome and difficult this old man was, how she wanted to hit him, asking me and Yun if we agreed, we would nod and laugh. It was Friday evening, she had plans, she was working overtime for no extra pay, so this one patient could talk German to someone. I found out that every Chinese hospital has a Chinese Medicine Department. She made me Chinese medicine tea and felt my pulse for five minutes to assess my heart, my health, my general well being. She gave me my first acupuncture I’ve ever had. A needle in each earlobe - pressure points for the throat.
So yeah, I got a shot of penicillin in the bum and my drip started flowing. I even got some noodles. Bree and Matilda, Aussie classmates, came and saw me, and then had to evacuate the room when the old German went to piss in a container. But they came back and stayed for a while, which was nice. Yun stayed the whole time and even dressed a blister on my foot – lifesaver, Supernurse! Then I went home with a little red receipt and some Chinese herbs feeling a whole bundle better. I’m going back today for some more drips, they love their drips here; give them out on a whim.
So there you go, be a little afraid, but don’t be bored. You’re sick, you can’t do anything about it. Enjoy the hospital experience. I do, if I can.
Wednesday, May 17, 2006
another day of bombings and shootings
Just in case you'de forgot, people are still dying in Iraq. Keep on rocking free world.
Sunday, May 14, 2006
A thought occured to me the other night, patience and stubborness often come together in a person. I think they are often a manifestation of the same base quality, an internally generated willpower which shuts off external influences/concerns.
I should be studying.
Here's a poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay:
The True Encounter
"Wolf!" cried my cunning heart
At every sheep it spied,
And roused the countryside.
"Wolf! Wolf!"—and up would start
Good neighbours, bringing spade
And pitchfork to my aid.
At length my cry was known:
Therein lay my release.
I met the wolf alone
And was devoured in peace.
and another,
Grown up
Was it for this I uttered prayers,
And sobbed and cursed and kicked the stairs,
That now, domestic as a plate,
I should retire at half-past eight?
How's life people?
I should be studying.
Here's a poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay:
The True Encounter
"Wolf!" cried my cunning heart
At every sheep it spied,
And roused the countryside.
"Wolf! Wolf!"—and up would start
Good neighbours, bringing spade
And pitchfork to my aid.
At length my cry was known:
Therein lay my release.
I met the wolf alone
And was devoured in peace.
and another,
Grown up
Was it for this I uttered prayers,
And sobbed and cursed and kicked the stairs,
That now, domestic as a plate,
I should retire at half-past eight?
How's life people?
Saturday, May 06, 2006
The land of tourism
I got angry at Thailand this morning. She was too nice. Too inviting. Her waters too shallow and warm. Tourism is supreme here and it's making people angry. The burden of a service lifestyle, service culture. I feel like I'm walking through a kind of upside down China town world. By this I mean the following:
China town is a place in a foreign country where Chinese people go, with Chinese stores catering to expat Chinese as well as a little of the local population. Thailand is a place where foreign people go with foreigner orientated stores catering to foreigners, with the odd pocket catering to Thais.
Then, this afternoon I slowly forgave here as I spent two hours floating in the warm water bath of ocean outside my bungalow.
China town is a place in a foreign country where Chinese people go, with Chinese stores catering to expat Chinese as well as a little of the local population. Thailand is a place where foreign people go with foreigner orientated stores catering to foreigners, with the odd pocket catering to Thais.
Then, this afternoon I slowly forgave here as I spent two hours floating in the warm water bath of ocean outside my bungalow.
Friday, May 05, 2006
Been diving and snorkeling and eating seafood the last week, life's tough huh? Gonna give the diving a break cause my sinuses are playing up and we kinda seen most of Koh Tao's dive sites anyway. Done 9 dives, 2 on the back of a massive hangover sustained while drinking 'buckets' with a british boy and girl.
Dive sites are good, but kinda sad, the human influence is ever present. Over fished and over dived. Lotsa fish, but no real big ones, no squid, no lobster, rubbish, etc.
Mark's good, but he's been overtaken by mosquito bites, scratching them feverishly every now and then. Malaria, oh oh! I think also the punishing reality that it really is too hot and humid to study here, unless you first achieve some kind of buddhist zen state/find a table near aircon, is making him a little perterbed (god, that word looks as horrible as it sounds).
But yeah, it really is beautful here.
How's life people?
and now for the photos,
Dive sites are good, but kinda sad, the human influence is ever present. Over fished and over dived. Lotsa fish, but no real big ones, no squid, no lobster, rubbish, etc.
Mark's good, but he's been overtaken by mosquito bites, scratching them feverishly every now and then. Malaria, oh oh! I think also the punishing reality that it really is too hot and humid to study here, unless you first achieve some kind of buddhist zen state/find a table near aircon, is making him a little perterbed (god, that word looks as horrible as it sounds).
But yeah, it really is beautful here.
How's life people?
and now for the photos,
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