Mar 19, 2011 |
I’m beginning to miss three years old. Three year olds have no framework for naughtiness outside of their own. They’ve learned about “no no’s” and timeouts and consequences but it’s all about them. It’s one layered. Seven is different. At seven they get crushed beneath an avalanche of the realization that other people can be naughty too. Then they are forced to categorize really naughty, kind of naughty and naughty when people are looking while making decisions about just how naughty they should be themselves. It seems a bit much for a seven year old mind. I miss three.
Here’s a conversation that Rachel (7 and a half) had with her babysitter.
Rachel: There are some words that are not nice to say.
Babysitter: Really?
Rachel: Yep, and there are some words that it’s ok to say in some houses but in other houses it’s not ok to say.
Babysitter: Ok. Like what?
Rachel: Like the “F” Word. In some houses it’s ok to say but in others you’re not supposed to say it.
Babysitter: (eyes getting bigger and smiling on the inside) Uh huh
Rachel: Yeah. It’s ok to say it in our house.
Babysitter: (nearly biting holes in his lips) mmmm.
Rachel: My mom and dad say it, so it’s ok here but other parents might not want their kids to say it.
Babysitter: So what is the “F” word exactly?
Rachel: (reluctantly under her breath) Fudge.
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 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.
Feb 23, 2011 |
Do they really eat dog in China? This is a question that we are seldom asked and yet is often alluded to when we are speaking with people from home. The allusions most often come packaged in a valiant stab at cross-cultural humor such as, “Hey honey! Hide the dog, the Joneses are here (pause for comedic effect) and they live in China.” This is followed by obscenely loud laughter (usually restricted to the jokester) and an awkward moment of silence. When the comedian senses the joke is bombing he generally goes for the gold with his absolutely original attempt at speaking Chinese. “No seriously, Ahsooo. You riv in China. You speaka da Chineez. Ah ching chang willy willy bing bang bong.” To which my favorite response so far is “Really? You should have a doctor look at that.”
So the failed attempt at comic relief still leaves the question unanswered. Do they?
Oh if it were only that easy. There are so, so many cultural dynamics surrounding this powerfully loaded question that it becomes a challenge for most Westerners who have lived in China to answer without biting a hole in their lip. This generally leads to complete avoidance of the question and the types of people who might ask it or even worse, allude to it. It’s not that we wouldn’t love to give a simple “yes” or “no” it’s just that we know where this is going. More bad jokes. Unbearable. Must avoid at all costs.
Ok but do they?
Nice try but not so fast. I have yet to hear of a single instance of dog for dinner in the States. Scratch that. I have heard of a few, but only in the context of someone making brilliantly clever jokes about a Chinese restaurant. In good conscience though I can’t count those because I’m not sure if they meant to say “wing ching dilly dolly dong” or “bing ching dilly dolly dong” which, as we all know, means something completely different. So no verifiable dog dishes to my knowledge. Why? This is the least considered question surrounding the topic but it could be the most valid. Why don’t we eat dog? Answer: (say it with me) “Because that’s disgusting!!!” This surfaces another completely different question . . . “Why?” Why are we so disgusted by the thought of eating dog? Immediately thoughts rush our brain. Lassie, Benji, Max (my best childhood friend). Poodles with their Brady Bunch perms and those big monstrous dogs that carry a keg of beer around their neck to rescue skiers who have been lost in the Alps for weeks (evidently with no beer). Dogs are friends. They are family. They are heros and in our culture we don’t eat friends, family or heros. Why? Because that’s disgusting.
Just answer the question! Almost there.
So where does our concept of disgust come from? (said the writer, attempting to spark the most pointlessly philosophical discussion on dog meat ever). I believe it all started with the things in your nose. You heard me. You were three years old and there was something in your nose. You didn’t know what it was or how it got there but you did know you wanted it out. Now. “Oh look, I have a finger!” It’s as if God had specifically and strategically designed a special nose cleaning tool and placed it right on the end of your hand. He even equipped it with a little scraping mechanism for greater functionality. So you picked. Maybe you even ate. And your mother said calmly, “please child, don’t do that.”
“Why mommy?”
“Because it’s disgusting.” And there it began. The seed of disgust was planted and from that moment on it was watered and fertilized.
“Johnny ate a bug!”
“Ewww! Disgusting.”
“Billy kissed a girl!”
“Awww! Disgusting”
“Chinese people eat dogs!”
“Oooooo! Dis – gus – ting!”
The plant was trimmed and pruned until it grew into the fully blossomed, fruit bearing tree that has it’s roots buried deeply into the very fiber of your being. We don’t eat bugs or dogs. We do kiss girls. This fell off of the disgusting tree when puberty was allowed to do the pruning for a bit but most things stuck. So eating dogs is quite frankly . . . disgusting.
But do Chinese people eat them?
Maybe a better question would be are Chinese people disgusted by the thought of eating dog? In the interest of not speaking ignorantly on behalf of a billion and a half people I chose to discuss the topic with our assistant who is, in fact, a real life, 100% authentic, Chinese person and will therefore (for the purposes of my research) represent and speak definitively on behalf of all Chinese people (and possibly all Asians).
The conversation was rich and lively and funny and led us to an unexpected ending.
We discovered a list of thirteen meats that I had eaten and she had not (some in China, most in America). Here’s the kicker . . . some of them, she found absolutely disgusting (most likely because she also picked her nose when she was three). Evidently disgust goes both ways and I can’t help but think that somewhere in China there is a painfully unfunny, self appointed comedian cracking bad America jokes.
Here’s the list and yes . . . they do eat dog in China. Tastes like beef.
1. Deer
2. Frog
3. Alligator
4. Snake
5. Squirrel (highly protected by Chinese law)
6. Silk Worms
7. Shark
8. Bear
9. Moose
10. Lobster (she owned as a pet)
11. Veal
12. Chicken Fried Steak
13. Bologna (Ironic this doesn’t hit our disgusting scale)
Feb 18, 2011 |
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Sweet Valentines made by my Valentine Sweety
for her Sweet Valentine Sweety (that’s me)
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Like most other Western holidays, Valentine’s Day has landed in the Middle Kingdom and planted it’s flag of sticky sweet, chocolate covered commercialism. I was excited this year, one because I didn’t forget it and two because my wife and I were actually getting to go on a real date. After a lovely afternoon foot rub (one of the perks of living in China) and a quite pricy dinner at one of the city’s finest Italian restaurants, I found myself feeling woefully inadequate and riddled with guilt (which everyone knows is the underlying conspiracy behind Valentine’s Day that fuels the sticky sweet, chocolate covered commercialism). In the five minutes that it took us to find a taxi after leaving the restaurant we saw 37,000 young Chinese women carrying massive, gaudy bouquets of multi-colored roses decorated with sparkling sequins and glitter. Each stomped with a catwalk confidence and was followed by a pompous young man grinning with the pride that only comes when you get it just right. My wife, on the other hand, had very clean, relaxed feet and a full stomach, neither of which could be seen by the crowd’s of flower toting, love struck gloaters who were now laughing, pointing and high-fiving each other because the Western guy (who should know something about Valentine’s Day) didn’t even get his wife the massive, shiny bouquet. I was completely assured that China understands Valentine’s Day.
However, explaining the word Valentine is not so easy.
My Chinese friend asked me a simple question. “What is Valentine’s Day?”
“Well, it’s a special day for . . . umm ”
She helped me out, “It’s just for people who love each other, right?”
“Yes. It’s a day for people who love each other.”
“So what does it mean, ‘Will you be my Valentine?'”
I had never considered this to be a confusing topic but the more I tried to explain the more I learned otherwise. “Will you be my Valentine is kind of like saying I want you to be my girlfriend or my boyfriend but I would still say it to my wife who is already my wife so obviously she doesn’t have to be my boyfriend or girlfriend because she already is . . . my girlfriend . . . or was . . . before she was my wife . . . a long time ago, but she’s still my girlfriend, it’s just that we’re married now. And I can give my daughter some chocolate and a card, which I would also call a Valentine, that says “will you be my Valentine?” because I love her but obviously not in the same way that I love my wife but it’s still ok for me to give her a Valentine and be her Valentine. Also, she will take Valentines to her first grade class, that say ‘will you be my Valentine?’ and give them to all of her friends but not because she wants to profess her love for them or ask them to actually be her Valentine because she is not allowed to have a Valentine (in the boyfriend sense) until she is 28 . . . but she can have Valentine’s in the card and chocolate sense now, so in that respect a Valentine is just a nice thing to share with friends. So it’s not only for people who are in love but it’s still a special holiday . . . for people . . . who are in love . . . or love each other . . . but not always . . . sometimes . . . kind of.
I was glad to be able to clear that up for her. After further confusing discussions with others on the same subject it was my Valentine (the one with the clean feet, full stomach and lack of roses) who cleared up the dilemma of defining a Valentine.
What is a Valentine?
“It’s a noun.” Enough said.
