Fun | The Culture Blend

Obama Learns to Hock a Lugey

May 21, 2011 | 6 comments

You know that noise you make when you’re trying to transfer mucus from the back of your throat into your mouth so you can spit it out? It’s the disgusting sound of forced air and snot violently vibrating your whippy snappy thing (see diagram below). In medical terminology it is called “hocking a lugey” (from the Latin hocem lugoris meaning “dude, that’s gross”). It’s not a pretty sound really, but it’s one of the common things you learn to block out when you live in China. It can even be a bit freeing to know that should you be in a position to genuinely NEED to hock a lugey (or even just really want to) . . . you can . . . and no one will look at you funny.

Last week on our return walk from taking Sissy to the bus stop an older Chinese gentleman walked past us and hocked a good one. Judah (now 20 months old) took this as a learnable opportunity and (in a moment that made his old man proud) hocked his first lugey . . . and then his second . . . and his third. Actually I’m not sure there was ever actual lugage but he had the sound down pat. The older gentleman and his wife thought it was the best thing they had ever seen and proceeded to give my son hocking lessons, laughing loudly every time he repeated.

We then had the now famous conversation (see “On Being Black in China) regarding Judah’s dark skin and curly hair and arrived at the inevitable conclusion once again. “Ahhhh, he’s like Obama” (the only logical point of reference for someone with a both black and white birth parents). So each morning this week Judah has met this same sweet elderly couple who run to his stroller, get nose to nose with him and with perfect whippy snappy execution, make hocking sounds and wait. Judah never lets them down. He hocks. They laugh. Then they pat him on his curly head and say loudly, “Obama! Obama!” and walk on.

Next lesson: The Snot Rocket (also commonly blocked out by expats in China)

“That Stink is Awesome!” – Explaining Slang to My Chinese Friend

Apr 29, 2011 | 2 comments

I stumbled across an application on the web today that blew me away. As I watched the tutorial I got more and more excited and my Chinese assistant worked harder and harder not to laugh.

“Sweet . . . no way . . . aaaaahhh . . . stink!” That was the one that pushed her over the edge and triggered the now famous (in our office at least), “Whaaaat?” Realizing this was not going to be an easy or a boring conversation (click here for knocking people dead and Chinese Valentine’s) I jumped in head first.

Me: Stink.

Her: What’s this mean?

Me: (taking a deep breath and calculating my approach) Well . . . stink . . . it means something that smells bad.

Her: You mean like poo poo?

Me: Yes. Exactly. Poo poo stinks. Buuut, you can also say it for anything that is bad. Like if you said to me, “my father is sick” I would say, “oh, that stinks”. Aaand, you can even use it for something that is good. For example, if you say, “I found 1 million RMB (Chinese dollars) and I get to keep it, I could say, “that is stinking awesome!” or I could even just say “stink” as in “stink, that is awesome!!” Ooor if you’re really upset you can say “stink!” as in “stink! that stinks.”

Her: very, very confused look.

Me: (trying again) It’s like a catch all word that just adds emphasis. So if I see someone who is really big I can say, “did you see that guy? He was stinking huge.” Or if it’s a really nice day you can say, “It’s stinking beautiful out today.”

Her: Whaaat? Reeally?

Me: Oh yes.

Her: (giving it a shot) “That stink is awesome?”

Me: No, no, no, “That’s stinking awesome.”

Her: So can I say, “Have a stinking nice day?” or “It’s stinking nice to meet you?”

Me: No, you only say “stink” around people you already know and never in business. Please don’t tell our clients to have a stinking nice day.

Her: Ok. (starting to get it) So . . . can I just say “stink” if something really stinks?

Me: (starting to get confused) I suppose you could but it wouldn’t mean stink anymore. If you say, “stink that stinks” about the poo poo the second stink means stink but the first stink just means that the second stink stinks really bad.

Her: I can say Jerry is a stinky awesome boss?

Me: (giving her the “ha ha, very funny” squint) Make sure you pronounce the ing . . . but yes . . . you can say that . . . a lot.

Her: Thank you teacher. That’s stinking good.

Me: You’re stinking welcome.

I Love This Gaem: NBA Jersyes on Sale Just in Time for Plyaoffs

Apr 28, 2011 | 1 comment

This is probably one of my favorite snapshots of China. Not because of anything it represents culturally or politically or socially. It just cracks me up. Every single NBA team is misspelled EXCEPT the Houston Rockets, home of China’s pride and joy, NBA superstar, Yao Ming.

You know you want one. Especially you Laekrs fans.

China Bans Michael J. Fox

Apr 27, 2011 | 4 comments

Marty McFly’s time warping DeLorean has been impounded by the Chinese government along with Bill and Ted’s phone booth and Dr. Who’s . . . what was it that Dr. Who drove? China recently banned time travel (not the real kind, that would be silly). Movies and shows including “time travel, bizarre plots, absurd techniques, fantasy and mythical stories” (or as we say in America – “everything”) have all landed on the China “do not watch list”. We haven’t actually heard anything about this from anyone in China but the Western media is on it like piranhas on a capsized meat boat.

There is sooo much Culture Blend content here. I could go at least 50 different directions with this but I’ve been reading about what makes blogs awesome. Turns out 50 points about stuff nobody but the writer cares about didn’t make the list. So here you go . . . short and punchy, to the point, three quick thoughts on this fascinating story that you should all be more interested in. Slackers.

1. East is not West: You heard it here first. One thing I’ve noticed in the Western uproar against this blatant censorship (present blog post included but only to make an ironic point) is an oblivious outcry against the unthinkable banishment of, wait for it . . . Western time traveling heros. As if the travesty is that 1.4 billion Chinese people cannot have a Back to the Future marathon at their church youth group lock-in. Two newsflashes – One, 1.39 billion Chinese have never heard of Back to the Future and Two, the ones who have can still buy it for a dollar at the neighborhood, pirated DVD shop or download it for nothing on the neighborhood, pirated internet. The government move was actually a response to a whole new (wildly popular) genre of Chinese drama in which modern people travel to ancient times and fall in love. Censors worry that heritage is being disrespected and (more realistically) may be concerned that modern life leaves something to be desired. Not so much a Communist plot to crush Quantum Leap (I loved that show).

2. Values Vary: This is where I could write a book but people don’t read books anymore. They read blogs. It’s true. I read it. On a blog. Freedom (or at least the appearance of it) is the highest value in many Western countries. We live it. We breath it. We rename our junk food after it and go to war for it. In our minds freedom is the most important thing and in that context censorship is deplorable. In contrast, the highest value in China is harmony (or at least the appearance of it). Collective symbiotic, unitarian well oiledness. Everything works together and authority is the glue that keeps it from falling apart. In that context censorship is a non-issue.

3. It was a Police Box: That’s what Dr. Who drove through time and if you knew that you are a nerd. Don’t worry though, if you are indeed that much of a nerd you can probably figure out a way to travel back in time and become cool.

Unless you live in China.

Then you’re stuck.

Watch this. It made me laugh.

My Mother the Felon or The Many Misspellings of Adidas™

Apr 19, 2011 |

My dear sweet mother never once in her entire life smoked a single cigarette or sipped a single drop of alcohol. To my knowledge she never even said a cuss word except the one time she read a Van Halen t-shirt out loud which doesn’t count because she was asking me what it meant. She married the only boy that she ever kissed and kept her vows until death did they part. She taught Sunday School and took meals to sick people and visited little, old ladies and wrote books for her grandchildren and crocheted (not joking here) Christmas cards every year for everyone she knew (and some she didn’t). She was the supreme epitome of absolute uncorrupted purity, selfless compassion and life-long humility. But she had a dark side. A dark side that could have landed her in prison had the feds caught up with her.

She was a bootlegger (not the moonshine kind). A knockoff artist. A copyright infringer of epic proportions. There was a time in my life when I wanted nothing more that a pair of Nike’s™. Those were the days when black and red Air Jordan’s™ broke the lid off of what retailers would dare ask for a pair of shoes. I didn’t dare ask for those. All I wanted was something, anything with a swoosh™. It was reputational suicide in the fifth grade to wear anything but Nike’s™ and I wore Traxx™ . . . from K-Mart™ . . . with suction cups on the bottom that popped when I walked down the hall at school (which I now call the Green Mile™). I begged and pleaded and I’m pretty sure I even prayed for a pair of Nike’s™ but my tender, compassionate mother’s only solution was, “Let’s just get the plain white Traxx™ and I’ll paint the Nike™ swooshie™ thing on them.” She had no grasp of how much that would NOT solve the problem.

Had it been an isolated incident I’m sure any judge would have been lenient considering her otherwise pristine record. But it wasn’t. When she discovered fabric paint at Joann Fabrics™ she jumped headfirst onto the slippery slope of brand replication. By the time I was in high school I had a Chicago Bulls™ sweatshirt, a Cubs™ cap, a crocheted Nerf™ basketball hoop and a hand painted t-shirt with my name and basketball Jersey number on the back which bore an uncanny resemblance to the shirts that the rest of the team (the cool kids™) wore . . . until you looked at it with the lights on. Her illegal endeavor to trip the retail system was relentless but her reasoning, I believe, was solid. Although she never quite articulated it quite this way her position was simple. The real travesty is a society so consumer driven that shoes cost more than a small car and fifth graders would sell their siblings to wear them. Not a bad point really.

My mother would have truly connected with China. Not so much for the constantly growing presence of Gucci™ and Prada™ and Louis Vuitton™ and the thousands of young Chinese consumers who can now afford them. On the contrary she would have instantly bonded with the producers of Guppi and Praba and Louise Vutton. She would have proudly associated with the multiple millions who either remain too poor to buy the real thing or quite frankly think it would be downright stupid as long as there are stores that sell perfectly good fabric paint. China takes the heat for their lax enforcement of copyright infringements, piracy and cheap knockoffs which is only fair if they want to play on the global stage. But mom would have loved Abibas™.

Speak Chenglish or Get Out!

Apr 3, 2011 | 3 comments

Something really interesting happens when speakers of one language try to learn another. They make mistakes.

There is a theory that says a person must make one million mistakes to speak a language fluently. I proved that theory wrong last week when I hit one million and one. When I first arrived in China I tried to tell the girl at Pizza Hut that I wanted my order to go (Wo yao da bao). She looked at me funny when I said “Wo yao dao gao” or “I want to pray.” I recently told my landlord that I needed to go because my plane was leaving in two weeks. I routinely call taxi drivers dead chickens (see Chinese Taxi Drivers and Fat Foreign Girls) and I once called the front desk of my hotel to ask for a blanket and promptly received a coffee cup. This list goes on and on for several years. Being one of the chiefest of language fumblers you might think that I would know better than to laugh at other people who make mistakes as well. Not so. I now laugh even harder. What has changed is my haughty arrogance when I laugh (see Loffing at the Chinese). I’ve surrendered all rights to look down on anyone because they fumble my language. We are one, them and me. Card carrying members of a club whose only rule is that you mess up . . . daily . . . a lot. I’m thinking of running for club President

. . . or Emperor.

Translations from Chinese to English often get bumbled and the results can be quite humorous. There are a number of factors from honest mistakes and difficult grammar to knockoff brand names and cheap electronic translators but it’s always good for a chuckle. So start by taking a humbling dose of “how’s my Chinese?” Then enjoy these pictures.

*Originally Posted in our other wildly famous but now retired blog: “Keeping Up With the Joneses”

Classic example of your basic grammar translation issue.
Sounds funny but you still get the point. I understood perfectly
at “Snake!”

Notice this one and the next one have the exact same Chinese
Characters (don’t hurt yourself). This one however, seems to be
translated by an extreme workaholic who feels the need to throw
in the extra step of UN – recycling.