Mar 15, 2011 |
The Chinese word for cute is “ke ai” and Judah hears it a lot. His curly locks (a rare commodity in China) and toothy grin more than make up for his confusing skin tone. Nearly every person who walks past him glances, grins and mumbles “ke ai“. The one exception, of course, being little old ladies who stare, scowl and scold us because he’s too cold . . . or too hot . . . or too fat . . . or too black but deep down inside, even the grumpiest little grandmas know that this kid is just plain ke ai.
Justin Bieber, on the other hand, is not ke ai. Granted our grasp of (and exposure to) Western pop culture is dramatically (and thankfully) reduced because we live in China but as far as we can tell from this side of the ocean he is the latest in a long succession of teen heart throbs who inherit the coveted responsibility of setting the global standard for “cuteness” (a title held by an elite number including the likes of Shaun Cassidy, Kirk Cameron and that kid from Home Improvement (the middle one) ). In fact just last week “oh my gosh, Justin Bieber is soooooooo cute!” became the the most uttered phrase on the planet (at least the American planet) among girls from 9 to 17 and ironically 28 to 32 year old women suffering from Post Adolescent N’Sync Withdrawal Syndrome (PNS). But not in China. Nope. Not cute at all.
It’s not because he is any less dreamy. On the contrary, milky white skin, blonde hair and enormous puppy dog eyes are all coveted and attractive qualities in the stereotypical Chinese eye. However the word ke ai (although translated “cute”) doesn’t catch all of the meanings that we would attach to cuteness. So a baby is most definitely ke ai but a teenager (no matter how cute) is not. A puppy . . . cute. A pair of heels with a matching purse . . . not cute. Fluffy kittens clinging for life by one paw on a poster that says “hang in there” . . . (doesn’t translate but still) so cute. Tiny, elderly couples in matching t-shirts holding hands and scooting slowly along the beach . . . hard to believe but not even a tiny bit cute.
So who defined cuteness for you when you were a teenager?
Mar 8, 2011 |
Four years ago I got a root canal . . . kind of. Did you know that your tooth can have more than one canal and consequently more than one root and consequently still hurt like a booger even after a root canal? Long story short my $36 root canal consisted of yanking a raw nerve from my mouth hole with zero effective novocaine and then strategically placing a filling on top of two other raw nerves in the same tooth. For four years, I haven’t eaten on the right side of my mouth, nor have I been in the same room as a dentist without curling into a fetal position. Until now.
So what did my new Chinese dentist have to say about the other Chinese dentist when she saw the x-ray of my botched, four year old dental work? “It was not done well.”
This Christmas Eve my wife sliced her hand on an open can of mushrooms (I know, gross right?). In medical terms it was flat out nasty. We made a quick trip to the ER so the doctor could, in the stitching process, put a needle through her tendon and cinch up a previously undisturbed nerve with zero effective anesthetic. We wouldn’t know this, however, until a second surgeon would reopen the wound, release the nerve and tendon and sew together another nerve that had been 80% severed by the mushroom can lid in a state of the art, absolutely cutting edge (no pun intended) surgery. Before that all she knew was it hurt . . . like a booger.
So what did the second Chinese surgeon have to say about the first Chinese surgeon when she saw the stitches? “Oh my God!” (Her words, not mine).
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BEFORE: LaWanda’s hand following the first set of stitches
that also pulled a nerve and tendon together. 6 stitches
“cha bu duo” (give or take). |
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| AFTER: Following sugery. 20 some stitches. |
Health care, like everything, is changing rapidly in China. The empty half of the glass hurts (very much like a booger). It is overcrowded, substandard hospitals with less than hygienic surroundings, oversized smoking areas and potentially under-qualified medical staff, often driven by saving face instead of patient care. However, I think it is safe to say that ten years ago we would have been hard pressed to find a doctor or a dentist to fix our earlier mishaps and we have ten good (or at least non-eventful) medical stories for every one horror story. So keep it up China. You’re moving in the right direction in more ways than one.
Anyone else got an interesting, international medical story?
Mar 8, 2011 |
note: this blog was originally posted in March of 2007 following what turned out to be a 25% successful dental procedure. It was also written before U.S. healthcare was declared a civil war. I have reposted as a partner to my next post: China’s Changing Health Care.
I have found the answer!
Ready for this . . . Here it is . . . Move to China. Simple as that. I have crossed over into a new world of dental, health care options. No long hours in the waiting room just walk right in, take a seat and bzzzzzzzzzzz root canal!
The entire process took about three weeks, each one a little less painful that the previous and the final bill . . . that’s right . . . 36 bucks. Granted there were a few teeny tiny downside details like that shot of novocaine that, with frightening precision, numbed the entire right side of my face except the actual tooth and corresponding nerve which were then drilled and impaled with a scrapy, picky tool. The bad however, was far outweighed by the priceless education of the whole experience. For instance, it took me no time at all to learn the Chinese words for RRRAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!! THAT HURTS!! and did you know that if the little spit sucker thing doesn’t work you can stuff a patients mouth with cotton balls to sop up the puddle of saliva pooling in the back of his throat? Seriously . . . I never knew that.
So, I hate to come off like an insurance salesman but if you’re tooth hurts but you’re worn out with the mind numbing nightmare of hmo’s, inadequate copays and the endless political debate surrounding it all . . . call your travel agent right now (don’t wait) grab 36 bucks and some novocaine if you’ve got it and we’ll pick you up at the airport.
Just one quick disclaimer for integrity’s sake. The picture above, although strikingly similar to my experience, is not actually me. I cannot tell you how much I wanted to pull out my camera phone and snap a picture but I just couldn’t get up the nerve. Must have been the novocaine. Oh wait.
Mar 7, 2011 |
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One of the most talented (and well paid) beggars I have ever seen.
Absolutely amazing. |
When Rachel was three years old she loved to give money to beggars. In fact she once went through a brief phase of wanting to be “one of the people who asks for money” when she grows up. I loved it. It was one of those moments that I wish I could pretend would never go away. She had yet to attach a single stigma to the street beggars. They weren’t less or pitiful or dirty, they were just people with a really cool job. She didn’t do that thing that big people do when they see a beggar. I don’t mean swing wide to the right and try to position it so someone else has to make direct contact as you walk by avoiding awkward eye contact. The other thing that big people do. The rational thought process that let’s you off the hook. “They’ll probably just spend it on crack or crank or ice or some other drug I know exists because I saw it on CSI Miami.” “They probably make more money than I do and I’ll bet they’ve got a house in the suburbs with a swimming pool and a hot tub and a pony.” “Pretty sure I read something about that once.” There was none of that. It was a pure moment, to see a child who had not yet been tainted by rational thought. To her it was just a brilliant business plan. You ask people for money . . . and they give it to you. Now that’s rational.
China is low on crack addicts but they still have their share of beggars and rational thought. It’s not uncommon to see a burn victim playing the erhu (Chinese two-stringed instrument that you would recognize if you heard) or a legless child pushing himself around on a makeshift skateboard. Sometimes a deaf person (and we only know they’re deaf because they give us a piece of paper that says they are and we choose to trust them) will try to sell us a pack of tissues or a mother and her beautiful child will latch on to our sleeves and not let go. Each time I rationalize. Sometimes I give. Sometimes I don’t. Sometimes I feel guilty either way. However with Rachel, I nearly always give her money to share. My rationality? At this point in her life (although she’s now seven and figuring out the way things really work) I want her to be giving way more than I want her to be discerning. She’ll be tainted with rational thought soon enough but how cool would it be if she always looked up to the beggars just a little bit?
So how do you handle the beggar issue? Give? Avoid? Buy a cheeseburger?
Mar 6, 2011 |
English is like a great joke. It works so much better if you don’t have to explain it.
As I was leaving the office this week I said to our Chinese assistant (who was on her way to a teaching gig), “Knock Em’ Dead.” Her eyes grew a bit and she gave her trademark, “Whaaat?” (she says that at least hourly working in an office with us). The explanation began.
Me: Yeah, knock em’ dead. It means, “do a good job”
Her: Whaaat?
Me: You know “to knock?” It means “to hit.” punching myself in the hand. And em’, that’s short for them.
Her: unconvincingly, “mmmm ok.”
Me: And “dead”, like “to die” or “to kill”. So . . . it’s kind of like saying . . . “hit them until they die”
Her: blank stare
Me: But it really means “do a good job.” realizing as the words left my mouth that I had never once considered the violent nature of our affirming words. So knock em’ dead and while you’re at it . . . break a leg.
Her: Whaaat?
Feb 24, 2011 |
The truth is a hard pill to swallow sometimes. I was actually disappointed to discover that real Chinese restaurants (and by that I mean restaurants in China) don’t serve the entire menu on a heated buffet table complete with sneeze guards and a pizza or chicken nugget option. They also don’t serve crab rangoon or offer fortune cookies with your check. Free refills? Forget about it. There is a simple reason behind this madness . . . None of these things are Chinese. They are however the result of brilliant, Chinese, immigrant entrepreneurs who understand a little something about business and globalization. When in Rome, do as the Romans do. When in America, give them a cookie. It’s business 101.
This willingness to bend probably makes or breaks a lot of Chinese restaurants outside of China. I don’t think the consequences are quite as dire for restaurants in China which makes it a much appreciated gesture when they go the extra mile and try to do something with me and my kind in mind. Even though I am the foreigner, the visitor, the outsider and I represent less than a fraction of one percent of their target market they still make an effort to connect.
Pictures on menus are a huge relief when an illiterate (at least in Chinese) outsider like me sits down to a real Chinese meal. Translations in English are even better but hands down, the absolute best, are menus with pictures and horribly translated food titles. They are the result of translators armed with nothing but a Chinese/English dictionary who take a “word for word, this equals that” approach. The thought is nice but language is so much more than words and even the words themselves don’t translate easily sometimes. It’s a simple and understandable mistake but the results are just plain gut busting (or more literally “bursting the intestines”).
So next time you’re bored with Moo Goo Gai Pan or General Tso’s Chicken, stop by and we’ll take you out for some authentic “The Garlic Burns the Stomach Strip” and “The Shredded Meat Burns the Long Eggplant.” Mmmmmm! Now that’s real Chinese.
Here are just a few more selections from (of all places) LaWanda’s hospital menu.
The Chinese word for cute is “ke ai” and Judah hears it a lot. His curly locks (a rare commodity in China) and toothy grin more than make up for his confusing skin tone. Nearly every person who walks past him glances, grins and mumbles “ke ai“. The one exception, of course, being little old ladies who stare, scowl and scold us because he’s too cold . . . or too hot . . . or too fat . . . or too black but deep down inside, even the grumpiest little grandmas know that this kid is just plain ke ai.
