floorpie

I used to have this theory that the reason we (where by “we” I mean you, me, and possibly that other guy) always felt that American travelers were so loud and boisterous was because we spoke English. Meaning that, the only language that we really understand comes in louder and clearer than any of the others.

Upon closer inspection, however, the old hypothesis is true: Americans are loud and obnoxious.

Sitting in my hotel room with the TV on, I could hear loud talking through my door. This is a nice hotel… I never hear loud anything through my door. Curious, I padded over to the door and looked out of the peephole. I have a perfect view of the elevators and I, of course, saw three westerners talking loudly about their morning, crazy Chinese customs, and breakfast. There was no reason for them to be so loud. They were standing right next to each other in a bunch, there wasn’t any construction noise in the background, and they all looked young enough to not be suffering any crippling hearing defects. That’s just the way (some of us) we are.

What is that? Bravado? Ego? Low self-esteem? Is it generally louder in America so that we’re conditioned to speak in near-shouts? I don’t get it. .. but it’s definitely embarrassing.

In these, the industrialized portions of China, there is an evident push to make things more “Western”. Between the factory and the hotel we passed at least 2 McDonald’s… there might have been another one behind me when I wasn’t looking.

And the hotel itself is really nice. Rooms are large by Chinese standards, and they have a lot of standard Western amenities that weren’t typically found prior to all of this overseas business. Like what? you ask.

Like the “Do Not Disturb” sign.

The DND sign is electronic, like most mundane things here in China… gadgetized. There’s a little switch near your bed and an associated DND sign out by the front door that lights up. Convenient, right?

The thing is, though, it’s one of those things culled from observations of Western culture without really taking the meaning along with it. The reason I say this is because, despite the sign, someone knocks on my door, or calls my room at least 4 times a day. First, the laundry lady who can only smile and say, “Laundry? Laundry?” No thank you, bu xie. Next comes the housekeeping lady who can only smile and say, “Housekeeping? Housekeeping?” No thank you. Then, the call. “You need housekeeping?” (said with an audible smile). No, no thank you. Then, the evening turndown service (no thank you). And then sprinkle in a few random visits that I can’t figure out due to my deficiencies in Mandarin. Maybe they’re just trying to figure out if I’m still alive, and why I’m apparently so anti-social.

Why why why the Do Not Disturb sign if you don’t actually intend to not disturb the person inside?

OK, the thing about China… and there are a lot of things about China because I’m fairly certain that I’ve started a number of posts in the same way… is the food.

Me, despite my notorious in some circles weak stomache, I’ll eat anything. There’s just so much else in life to be scared of, like clowns, that I just don’t have the motivation to be nervous about anything within the same neighborhood as edible. Which is why I always look at Fear Factor with a smirk. FEAR really? Just for eating worms?

But I digress.

Besides the obvious weirdness of food over here (which, I offend even myself by saying. The food’s not weird, it’s just not McFood like westerners are used to).

But I digress again.

The thing about the food in China is how you eat it. First of all, consider your available resources: no less than half a dozen small plates and bowls (all pristine white), a set of chopsticks, and your hands. There are no forks, obviously, which isn’t really a problem as I’m pretty adept with the sticks… but there are no knives, either, which means that the only way you’re going to rend that large beef rib into manageable chunks is by sticking the whole thing in your mouth (via chopsticks), and biting off a chunk. This doesn’t sound terribly difficult when referring to a hunk of meat, but this same rule applies to everything. Everything.

This, basically, is the key to eating Chinese food in China: throw everything into your mouth, and then let your tongue and teeth sort it out.

Somehow, though it’s apparently rude to use your bare hands to eat with, it’s cool if you chomp down on an entire chicken and then spend the next 15 minutes spitting bones onto one of your pristine white plates (better make sure it’s the right pristine white plate, of course).

This suits me fine except that there are apparently unseen rules for eating the same thing depending on where you are. The whole shrimp we had at lunch were apparently “peel ‘n eat”, even though it required using your hands. The whole shrimp at dinner, however, were decidedly different. Those, you put head first into your mouth, biting said head off in one quick chomp and then spitting it out so as to turn it around and nibble at what would be the lower cortex. Then, systematically bite down on the shelled body (legs and all), and move it around in your mouth until you’ve seperated enough meat from the shell that you can now start spitting exoskeleton all over the table. Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

I couldn’t figure out the subtleties in this case, and am still at a loss as to why these weren’t also peel ‘n eat, but some mysteries are best left unsolved.

Also, I totally ate chicken feet today, to the great respect and admiration of my hosts. For those you who have yet to experience it, here’s a tip: bite the toes off cleanly. Let your teeth and tongue sort the rest out.

Show me the money

This isn’t something I normally ever do, but I’m going to ask you for money now.

Maybe you should sit down.

<Shilling> It’s not, strictly for me, though, so there’s at least that. Basically, I’m doing a 100-mile bike ride from LA to San Diego to benefit the MS Society. Between you and me, I’m not exactly sure how my riding a bike with 2,000 other people helps cure MS, but at least I’m getting some fresh air.

Anyway, should you care to make a fully tax-dedctible donation, please visit the MS Bay to Bay website, click Donate to a Rider on the left, and then enter in my name, David Kleeman (goodbye thinly veiled internet anonimity).

Any amount, should you choose to participate, would be greatly appreciated.</Shilling>

More importantly, there is apparently something called the Pole-a-Palooza at the Bellagio Hotel in which, err, dancers compete in… advanced calculus pole dancing. Someone should really send out a memo about these things.

Here’s the thing… I’m going to China (again).

Time to start filling up the pages. Which, by the way, is really the only thing I’m upset about losing (or having it stolen) my last one. Multiple trips to China, Hong Kong, all over Europe and Mexico. Ah well, I’ll just have to take another lap.

As far as freak (minor) accidents go, I’d say that flicking toothpaste into your eye while applying it to your toothbrush ranks pretty high up there. My eye stings like a mofo… and feels minty fresh.

This whole cell phone thing is quite the phenomenon. I remember my mom making me carry a quarter in my shoe and memorize my home and Dad’s work numbers… just in case I had to make an emergency call. Now, I can’t leave my cell phone in another room without feeling disconnected and having a minor panic attack. I mean, what if I miss a call?!

Horrifying.

As they say, communication is the key, and I’m all for instant gratification. I’m as bad an offender as anyone, I was on the phone all the way to and from work, yesterday.

But…

I came to an intersection today on my way to work. At various corners of this intersection there were arrayed 5 people. All were on their cell phones:

1. Across the street on my right. A youngish man riding a bike with a dog in a basket on the handlebars. Talking on his cell phone.
2. Across the street to my left. A woman in a pink jogging suit pushing a baby stroller. Talking on her cell phone.
3. To my right. A man, balding, in a jogging suit, and holding a coffee in his left hand. Talking on a cell phone.
4. Also to my right. A woman, pushing a stroller and very close to what is presumably her husband… the guy from number 3. Talking on her cell phone.
5. And then me. A young incredibly attractive man, driving in my car. Talking on my cell phone.

I can understand the people that were by themselves (if you don’t count the dog and the baby); they’re out for a walk and are looking for someone to talk to. But the married couple? Both on their cell phones and (I assume) not talking to each other? If you want to talk to whomever it is that you’re talking to so badly that you would interrupt a walk with your spouse and child, then why aren’t you with them?

I’m staying home sick today and watching the Documentary Channel. I’m not staying home sick because of the Documentary Channel, it’s just what I’m doing right now. Half my life ago, I would have found this documentary about Thai boxing incredibly boring. Now, though, it’s fascinating… which is funny. You’d think that G.I. Joe would have kept my interest long into my 80’s.

M, the Brazillian girl, came back from England this week, after an 8? 9? month absence. This is good. Brazillian girls are friends with other Brazillian girls. And that can only be a positive.

And my passport is definitely gone. Which pisses me off because listen, I don’t lose stuff. I just don’t. I can’t remember ever losing anything, except once, my wallet about 10 years ago… and that wasn’t actually lost, just misplaced, and I recovered it a couple days later. Which means that someone took my passport, most likely from my office where I had it last, and has since sold it to an international jewelry thief.

Which would, admittedly, be pretty cool. I have this fantasy of being stopped by immigration officials in Hong Kong; severe looking young men to small for their big uniforms, masking their innate fear behind authority. They step in front of me and pull me aside, “Mr. Kleeman, we’ve been looking for you for a long time.” And I reply, “Cool! What did I do?”

OK, in addition to showering in the dark and sitting in the shower, I also do this thing where I plug my ears with my fingers and let the water run over my head. I can’t hear anything but the water rushing over my head, from the inside. It sounds like a torrential rainstorm on a tin roof and everything else is completely blocked out. It’s zen.

If I were to combine this with the other two, my head might explode from the sheer relaxation.

These are the things that happen.

My parents are in town, which is good, but odd. More or less, I haven’t seen them much since going off to college, me going to Santa Barbara, and they going to Virginia so my Dad could continue being a spy.

I mean “flower salesman”.

After that, it was once or twice a year. Christmas, and then usually one other time. My Dad I see more often; he coming out to the West from time to time on… “business”; but Mom only the once or twice a year.

You have to understand our familly, though. This is normal. We are close without actually being the physical definition of the word. Which is why, I assume, that I am always so (initially) melancholy when they come to visit. What do you say? What do you do? It’s always a trip for me to talk to the friends of mine that hang out with their parent(s). Really? Because you both like video games?

I used to think I was normal, and the rest of the world was crazy. I realize, as I make more and more laps, that I’m the one who’s fucked up. But who cares? If the world was truly homogenous, how boring would it be? (very. it would be very boring).

But they’re here, and that’s cool.

One of my best friends had a baby last week. Or, more correctly, two of my best friends had a baby last week being as they’re married to each other. I take a certain amount of pride in that as I was one of the two people that set them up… they both being friends of mine at the time. This is a credited hook-up, too, it being ezplained at their wedding, not just a grandiose exaggeration that I like to take credit for, though the later part is true.

And speaking of trips, this is a big one. They are the first in the Core Group to have a kid for one, and in a lot of ways it’s going to change things for all of us.

Why wasn’t I consulted first?

I’ve never been an “uncle” before, and I had never held a baby before last Tuesday. 31 years old and never held a baby. Never had the opportunity to, actually. It’s weird, as it turns out babies are like people, only really really small. Did you know that?

And this kid is pretty cute, too, which if you knew me is a completely odd thing to say. And I don’t mean the bullshit cute that you have to say. I don’t have to say it, my friends are knee deep in parenthood with nary a second to read tripe like this. I’ve told parents that their babies were cute before while my inner monologue was screaming, “What the hell is that?!” This is not one of those cases. This kid really is cute. Blond hair, blue eyes, 10 each fingers and toes… is this what life is supposed to be about?

Suddenly, I’m outpaced in maturity, life plan, and whatever else catchphrase you have that means they’re “adults” while I’m still “undecided”.

Which, of course, isn’t true; but like I said, I’m freaking out. The funny thing is, for the last 9 months, I’ve been playing the Dude-I-Am-NOT-Cool-With-This role… and I just know I’m going to be the first to babysit.

Life.