My friend, Julianne, goes to Indonesia

My friend, Julianne, is going to Indonesia. She just finished her masters in Teaching English to Speakers of Other Languages from Teachers College, Columbia University, and she was selected to be teaching fellow in a U.S. government program. She'll be there an academic year.

I met Julianne in 2002 when we both took a teacher training certificate course in Boston. Julianne had been in Switzerland for more than a year, and she had her sights set on returning. After the course, she found a job in Basel, teaching English to the blind. Then, five years later, she got into Columbia the same year I did--a total coincidence.

Now, she's back on the road, and blogging about it. If you'd like to see what she's up to, go to http://www.julianne-in-indonesia.blogspot.com. (She's only just started writing, though, as she leaves the U.S. tomorrow.)

" We, the greater good mob, contributed..."

Here is an interesting conversation I just had with my best friend at the j-school, Venkat. (Sorry Kim, Venkat just edited my last lit journ paper, so now he's number one.) He's a brilliant writer from India and he used to be an engineer. (I like both of these details.)

In any case, Venkat alerted me to a story in the New York Times about the Freddie Mac executive who hanged himself. (Or at least, he was found hung without any evidence of foul play.) This guy, David Kellerman, was brought in as CFO after the government seized the company last September. Then he was awarded a $800,000 bonus during a time when people don't think much of these things.

This is how our chat about this went:

Maile:

you know what my mother would say

in her chinese accent?

Venkat:

what?

Maile:

GUILTY CONSCIENCE!

Venkat:

no that isnt right

much as it feels that way

Maile:

i never said that my mother was reasonable, venkat!

Venkat:

:) alright

but seriously

the guy was employed after the collapse

Maile:

this is pretty hardcore

Venkat:

if i may, i am going to pick out some sentences

1. Mr. Kellermann, 41, had been Freddie Mac’s chief financial officer since September. He was named to the position when the federal government seized the company and ousted its top executives last fall.

2. Mr. Kellermann had received a bonus of about $800,000.

3. caused some controversy earlier this month, and some lawmakers called for them to be rescinded (*edit: lawmakers were acting on emotion)

4. Mr. Kellermann hired a private security firm after reporters came to his house to ask about his bonus. (*edit: kellerman threatened, hounded)

Maile:
we drove him to suicide?

the media did it?

Venkat:

i dont know the details at all

but i am inclined to believe we, the greater good mob, contributed.

who is to prove suicides, after all.

they almost certainly don't have a single factor.

it's just a bloody volatile world I live in.

anyway, nuf said.

back to reading and at some point, writing about copper.

i want one hard hitting compassionate story for the financiers.

I think Venkat really does bring up some valid points. But like he said, we don't know all the details. Kellerman might have had personal problems totally unrelated to his work, or mental health issues, or there is a sliver of a chance it was foul play. But yes, the media can really make life hell for others, especially when there are so many media groups ruthlessly competing for the same stories.

Something to think on...

Russian hairdresser rapist; pissed on while flying and pigeon carriers

My friend Xeb is pretty brilliant. (Though she's not brilliant enough to have permalinks on her blog. I can say that 'cause I've just learned how to put them in.) She's an anthropologist and here is an example of the interesting things she comes up with:

The wonderful thing about doing what I do (socio-cultural anthropology) is that you can take voyeuristic delight in human absurdity and nobody can accuse you of procrastinating and being a flake (well they can, but you have valid counterarguments), because this is precisely what you've been trained to do. So for today, let me chronicle some of the more absurd, err, absurdities I have come across:

The Russian Times reports the fascinating story of a Robber, tuned into a Sex-Slave by a local Hairdresser: According to RT, "A hairdresser from the small Russian town of Meshchovsk subdued a man who tried to rob her shop, and then raped him for three days in the utility room. The incident occurred on Saturday, March 14. The working day was coming to an end at a small hairdressers, when a man armed with a gun rushed in and demanded the day’s earnings. The frightened employees and customers agreed to fulfill his demand, but when the shop’s owner, 28-year-old Olga, was handing the money to the robber, she suddenly knocked him down on the floor and then tied him up with a hairdryer cord. The 32-year-old Viktor couldn’t have known that the woman was a yellow belt in karate. Olga locked the unlucky robber in the utility room and told her colleagues that she was going to call the police – but didn’t do so. When everybody left home, she approached the man and ordered him to ‘take of his underpants’ threatening to hand him over to the police if he refuses to cooperate.After that Olga raped her hostage for three long days. She chained Viktor to the radiator with pink furry handcuffs and fed him Viagra. She eventually let the man go on Monday, March 16, saying: “Get out of my sight!” Viktor went straight to hospital as his genitals were injured, and then to the police. Olga was resentful when she was taken by the police. “What a bastard,” the woman said about Viktor. “Yes, we had sex a couple of times. But I’ve bought him new jeans, gave him food and even gave him 1.000 roubles (around $ 30) when he left.”. After that she wrote a notice to the police claiming the man tried to rob her shop. Both Olga and Viktor may now face prison terms. The woman could be convicted of rape, while the man of robbery".


In other parts of the world the Honolulu Advertiser tells the sad tale of a man who decided to take a bathroom break in an airplane and proceeded to urinate over his 66-year old fellow passenger. Not much of an advertisement for Honolulu as "Federal Court judge Leslie Kobayashi yesterday sentenced a 28-year-old man from Saipan to 21 days in prison for assaulting a fellow passenger on a flight from Los Angeles to Honolulu. Jerome Kenneth Kingzio had pleaded guilty. The incident took place on March 21. U.S. Attorney Ed Kubo said court documents show the victim, a 66-year-old woman, was watching the in-flight movie when Kingzio stood next to her and began urinating on her. The case was investigated by the Federal Bureau of Investigation. The prosecution was handled by Assistant United States Attorney Marshall H. Silverberg.


If anyone doubts the value-added by resorting to the indigenous over the 'modern' let them consider the inherent genius behind this crime spree in Brazil, reported by Yahoo News. So, the story is that in San Paolo, inmates have devised an innovative way to smuggle in cell phones into a prison farm in Brazil: carrier pigeons. Guards at the Danilio Pinheiro prison near the southeastern city of Sorocaba noticed a pigeon resting on an electric wire with a small cloth bag tied to one of its legs last week. "The guards nabbed the bird after luring it down with some food and discovered components of a small cell phone inside the bag," police investigator Celso Soramiglio said Tuesday. One day later, another pigeon was spotted dragging a similar bag inside the prison's exercise yard. Inside the bag was the cell phone's charger, Soramiglio said. The birds were apparently bred and raised inside the prison, smuggled out, outfitted with the cell phone parts and then released to fly back.

Check out her site at http://xebiliciouss.blogspot.com/.

I am endlessly amazed at how small the world can be.

So yesterday, I met up with a classmate from Emerson, with whom I studied film. Troy was in town working on a television series, a fact I learned from his Facebook status message. (He, in the last 9 years, or so, has become something of an expert on childbirth and he has produced several series for places like the Discovery Channel.) We met at the bus station because he was pressed for time and had to get to a location in New Jersey, but we did have a good chance to catch up.

Troy is doing this TV stuff, which is neat, but more interestingly, he's become a medium. (Read about him here http://www.troyparkinson.com/) Like the kind that receive messages from dead people. He started developing his medium skills in Boston ("Everyone can do it--it's like a muscle that can be exercised," he says), unbeknownst to me, and others, and now he's got a Web site, does a radio show, is writing a book and has been featured on Fargo (where he's from) news.

Random, right?

Then he tells me he was just in Hawaii for five weeks, waiting for a baby to be born (so he could tape the process). Not only was he in Hawaii, but he was in Kona, my home town!

Troy stayed at the Dragonfly Ranch and loved it. He said he also really loved Hawaii because, unlike in Fargo, where he is a somewhat cautious about with whom he shares his spiritual work, people in Hawaii really dig stuff like crystals, tarot cards, aura readings and talking to dolphins. He became the in-house medium and it was good.

Now, among the guests at the Dragonfly Ranch for whom Troy read was Ian Usher. Mr. Usher, an Englishman, sold his life on eBay and is aiming to achieve 100 goals in 100 weeks. (Learn more at http://www.100goals100weeks.com) However, oddly enough, I had already heard about Mr. Usher because my friend Karin, a journalist in Hawaii, wrote about him here http://www.hawaii247.org/2009/01/18/man-with-a-lot-of-goals-visits-big-island/ .

But to top it all off, Mr. Usher was quite impressed with Troy's reading, so he blogged about it here http://100goals100weeks.blogspot.com/2009/01/mystic-reading-with-troy.html !

So to sum up: We're all connected and the Internet is amazing.

There's a lot happening with me in New York these days. The new semester has just started. I have piles of work to do and I'm preparing for life after j-school, which I look forward to tremendously. I'm in a pretty good mood these days, though; this can be attributed to finally seeing the back end of my miserable reporting class (I won't moan about it here, but not to put to fine a point on it, it was was shit) and having a very good break. I played tourist in New York, finally, then my old pal, Kev Dogg, came out from Los Angeles. Together, we drove up to Boston to see Heather, my college roommate, and some of the gang from the Emerson days. Few in my current life--which is filled with fresh-faced 22-year-olds--realize that when I went to school, I was the baby. With the old crowd, I was the baby again, and that was nice.

Being back in Boston also gave me the chance to kind of think about how life seems to progress for most people. Kev Dogg is a reasonably successful production manager in Hollywood, but he often finds his work unrewarding and is frustrated with his personal life. Heather lives in the sticks with her fiancé and they have a nice home, lots of furniture, regular jobs, a small business detailing cars and a bearded iguana named Pete. Mike, another of the crowd, recently married a chemist (I think--she does something with science) and was Manager of the Year at the hotel where he works. Of course, all this life stuff went on while I was out travelling and generally getting into mischief. It was a bit weird to see how much our lives had diverged, but it was also very reassuring, comforting even, that it's still so easy for all of us to hang out. It was also interesting to realize that despite our very different experiences, none of us has changed especially, nor were we certain about the future. It is as if we had all fallen into our situations by chance and were waiting for a nudge into whatever is next. There is an anxiety in that and we all feel it. Somehow, this made me feel better about taking out a lot of money to attend a school I don't particularly like and having doubts about what I am doing.

After Boston, I went up to Canada with a very nice Frenchman, Romain. We caught a rideshare up and stayed with one of his high school friends who has been studying aeronautic engineering in Montréal for the past four-and-a-half years. She lives just outside the city center and played a brilliant tour guide. We also went up to Mont Tremblant, a ski resort area an hour north of the city. This was the result of whim, on my part, to go dog-sledding, which was an excellent, though irresponsibly costly, pursuit. It was also viciously cold in Québec--the intensity of which I had never experienced before in my life. For the dog-sledding adventure, I wore three pairs of socks, including one, heavy, wooly pair, tights, under wool long-johns, under jeans, under a rented pair of ski pants, as well as several sweaters and a snow jacket.


Exhibit A:




Yes, that's frost on my hair and ice on my eyelashes.

So here I am back in school now. I've decided to make more of an effort to keep up with my blog. While I believe my writing has improved here, I see the need for a daily habit, just to keep at it. Plus, there's an awful lot going on at Columbia, so it's not that I suffer a lack of subject matter. However, my new aim is less to be a journalist and more to be a writer. Given the current state of the journalism industry, I am starting to think that I may not be well-suited for the cut-throat, alcohol-soaked and surprising shallow world of reporting. Thus, to come closer to my personal aims, I am focusing more on developing a keen eye through which to observe the world, a unique voice with which to describe it and lastly, an active mind, connected to a human heart, through which process it all. I assure you the last mentioned is not, generally speaking, ever addressed at the mighty, mighty Columbia University Graduate School of Journalism, much to my naive chagrin.
Now let's talk about yesterday.

Gwen Ifill came to school. She's on a book tour (she's got a book called The Breakthrough: Race and Politics in the Age of Obama) , but showed up at Columbia for an 8:15 a.m. session. The student center where she spoke was full, most impressive given that journalism students tend not to be (sober) morning people (myself, proudly, excluded).

She talked about all sorts of things--how she got her start, about being a black reporter and how one goes about covering politics--then she opened the floor for questions. None of these were particularly earth-shattering. They mostly were about race and the fact that I can't remember them without referring to my notes means that they are probably not worth repeating. But Ms. Ifill was super sharp, very charming and down-to-earth.

Something I had hoped she would address was Obama's bi-racialness. There is so much talk about the "black man," we forget altogether, so it seems, that Obama is just as white and he is black. Not only that, his father was from Africa. This, to me, makes Obama, not at all an African-American in the traditional sense (though clearly the literal sense). As a half-Chinese/half-Irish American, I'm a bit put off by all this: It makes it crystal clear that race is PURELY a matter of color and only color. Now, of course, Obama himself might identify himself as being an "African-American," but really, that would have been a choice he made. In theory, he could have just a legitimately declared himself a "White-American," though few others would have accepted this. For all this talk about progress this country has made when it comes to racism, here is a bald example of how we really do only think in terms of color. And that's just sad.

However, I didn't ask Ms. Ifill about this. The conversation flowed away from this subject by the time I had the courage to speak up, I asked her what she thought about Sarkozy's plan to inject 600 million euro into France's print media industry by modernizing the presses, cutting delivery costs and giving a subscription (of choice) to every French citizen when they turn 18 (I particularly like this last aspect). This notion rubbed Ms. Ifill the wrong way and she jokingly asked, before I clarified, if he was giving out subscriptions to government-run papers (of which I don't believe France has any).

"This is a business," she stated firmly, bristling at the thought the government might get involved with the media, even as its industry is collapsing. (And this is not to say I agree with the current proposed bail-outs. Generally, I don't. But then again, I don't really see the auto industry playing the same cultural role as the media, which I believe to be the greatest engine for creating a well-informed public.) Ironically, my question came right after a comment she made about the dangers of a public becoming increasingly specialized in their consumption habits because of the Internet and how we have to somehow think of a solution to increase a vital readership. When I pointed this out, she just repeated that media is a business and it behooves us as journalists to figure it out how to reach our audiences.

Good luck, America.

But in all events, life is good and things, for me at least, look up.

I woke up this morning with messages from a from a former student, and his dad, announcing that they have both joined the wonderful world of Twitter.

What?! I have been technologically outdone by a 12-year-old AND his middle-aged father?!

(OK, now I realize, some of you might not even know what Twitter is, which means that you have ALSO been outdone by a 12-year-old and his middle-aged father, but like, BY A LOT. But that's alright. Twitter is kind of like a blog, except all the messages are very short and you send them to your Web page via text messages from your phone.)

So, feeling very unhip and pressured to do what the cool kids are doing, I went an signed myself up for my own Twitter account. You can check it out at http://twitter.com/mailecannon .

However, I also found that Twitter is friendly with Blogger, so anyone using Blogger can add a Twitter box to their side bar. (Yes, go look at the side bar.)

So now, anything I send to Twitter will be instantly sent to my blog here at MonkeyPrints. (Take that 12-year-old boy and middle-aged dad! I see your Twitter and raise you one Blogger widget!)

This means of course that I will be updating my blog more often, but that those posts will be shorter, and probably less well written.

Wicked.

Alright. I admit it. My photoshop skills are rough. But this image was inspired by a headline from the New York Times today:

"Bernanke Is Pessimistic, but Bush Urges a ‘Deep Breath’"

Fret not, fellow Americans! Our economy is taking a turn down the shitter, but all will be fine if we just BREATHE a little! Let's hope that Unkie George doesn't just pass out, or do something like learn to read, with all that oxygen going to his brain for the first time in his life!

In all events, I'm in a chipper mood because I'm in Montreal! What a great city! I got a sublet for the month of July and I'm smack dab in the middle of downtown. I'm living on Bishop Street which is one parallel street over from the celebrated Crescent Street (the reasons for which it is celebrated are unknown to me, especially as it looks a lot like MOST of the streets surrounding it, but all the guidebooks suggest that it's something special). I'm studying French at the YMCA and that's just three blocks away. Classes run from 8:30 a.m. to 3 p.m. and in the mornings it's grammar and in the afternoons, conversation. I'm learning all sorts of things that I should have learned ages ago and I'm finally developing a base on which to attach the many colorful French words and expressions I have learned over the years. This means I can now use slang and vulgarities in the passive voice, the past conditional and the plus-que-parfait. Si tu n'avais pas ete un connard saoul le hier soir, tu n'aurais pas eu la guelle de bois ce matin. (If you hadn't been a drunken bastard last night, you wouldn't have had a hang-over this morning.)

Like most YMCAs, this one that houses a language school is also home to a fitness center--one that is very well-equipped and well-maintained. They offer dozens of classes, a lap pool, an indoor running track and an impressive array of resistance training equipment. They've got a class I've been to twice called "Boot Camp Circuit Training". The first time I went, we went outdoors, climbed a million stairs, then the height of Mont Royal four times (I only did two), played tag, did a bunch of push-ups, then worked with resistance bands in pairs. Last night, I went back for more torture, but this time we stayed indoors. We ran, hopped, jumped, did a lot of push-ups, worked with weights and stretched and by the end of it I managed to bruise my right thumb in a wheelbarrow race (oh! it was so much easier when I was 8!) then scrape open AND bruise my left shin leaping over a step that was clearly too high for my 26-inch inseam. Awesome!

Aside from studying and working out, I have settled into my neighborhood and found a health food store, a Chinese supermarket and a very good western supermarket. I've been cooking a lot and I find that making my own food makes me feel more at home.

Other interesting events:

Ingrid, a girl I met in France in March recently came to Montreal with her boyfriend. It was her first trip to North America. We met up for lunch and we both came to the conclusion that my French is improving and no, no one but the Quebecois can understand the so-called French spoken here. This was very reassuring as I find little difficulty getting around France, but can't always understand basic conversation here.

The Montreal Jazz Festival was in full-swing when I arrived. I didn't get out to too many of the events, but I did see a silent film that was part of series shown in conjunction with the festival. It was "Underworld", from 1927, and it is considered to be one of the first films of the gangster genre. Being a silent film, there weren't any words spoken, but there was live music accompaniment which was pretty cool.

Last Friday, my school hosted an "International Lunch" whereby all students were invited to bring a dish representative of their home country. My school hosts an enormous number of South Americans and Mexicans, but there are also some students from Sri Lanka, Taiwan, Japan and Korea. My contribution to the event was six Spam musubi, cut into small pieces, then two cucumber and avocado rolls, cut maki style. To keep it simple, I told them it was "Hawaiian sushi". The Korean students seemed especially appreciative of the Spam musubi.

That evening, I was killing time on Facebook when I saw my old roommate from my time in London (circa 2000), Ryan, a Canadian, come online. I wrote and told him that I was in-country and he invited me to his "birthday weekend" at St. Sauveur Water Park. His brother lives in Montreal and I caught a ride up with him. His brother, Deryk, is an academic. He's working on his PhD in management and the conversation up to the water park went into the cerebral very quickly. It was really kind of nice, especially after an intellectually lonely and stifling year in Kona. The water park was wicked, too. (As Ryan best described it, "It's not just water slides. It's water slides that you have to take a ski lift to and wear helments for!") Ryan was with his girlfriend, her sister and another couple, and we all had an excellent time. Apparently, in Canada, going to a water park is kind of a big thing that everyone does during the summer. Given the length and intensity of the winters here, I guess I can see it, but you don't really see a lot of Americans in their 30s get excited about water slides.

I have a new student. I lept into the elevator at school one day (literally, the door was closing, so I ran and jumped in) and the woman inside was a bit surprised by my action. She was clearly Chinese so I smiled at her and asked her where she was from. "China," she said simply. "Where in China?" I pressed. "In the north", she said. "OH! Ni shi dongbei ren" I said ("You're a northeasterner!"). We got to talking and it turned out that she was from Dalian, the first city I lived in in China. I told her I was a teacher and then, on the spot, she asked me to give her lessons. Never one to turn down easy money, I accepted her offer. I now teach her twice a week for an hour and a half each time and we focus mostly on pronunciation (liaison and intonation). She's a very nice lady. She and her 12-year-old daughter came to Canada three years ago when her husband got a job here.

It's really quite nice to have the Chinese connection. Michelle, my student, has shown me how to get around and where to buy food at the best prices. Also, last Friday, she took me to a tofu factory run by a Chinese lady who grew up in Taipei. Apparently all Chinese people know this place that is tucked away in a very residential area. The factory produces all sorts of soy products, including soy milk, and for less than $5, I walked away with a brick of firm tofu, a bag of fermented soy beans and a litre of soy milk. The proprietess, an absolutely glamorous middle-aged lady who wore red lipstick and kept her black hair in fingerwaves under a discreet hairnet, was also very proud to inform me, in a mix of Chinese and English, that her operation produces strictly organic products and had the certificate on the wall to prove it. She also doesn't believe in waste, so when customers come directly to the factory for tofu, they have to bring their own containters. The woman who came in after us, followed by a rather patient looking laowai who clearly spoke no Chinese, brought in a giant silver dish that looked like it was going straight back into the kitchen once it left the building. Hooray for being Chinese!

On Sunday, I went and saw David Sedaris speak at Indigo Bookstore. He was brilliant, as expected, and I was chuffed to be able to attend such an event, free of charge, just by virtue of being in a major world city again. The place was packed, but as I was on my own, a security guard led me to an empty seat in front of the stage! Sedaris read a bit of his new book, When You Are Engulfed in Flames, then he took questions from the audience. Someone asked about his writing process and he mentioned that he often gets people in graduate writing programs at his readings. He says that he always tells them: "Don't waste your time with grad school! If you want to be a writer you should become a prostitute! And there are two very good reasons for this. The first is, when you're young, people will want to sleep with you. Even the most homely 25-year-old can find a 50-year-old who will want to sleep with them and who will pay for it! Second, being a prostitute will get you into all kinds of adventures and you'll have plenty to write about when you're old and withered." This I found rather amusing. And it reminds me of something I read in an interview with Hemingway. When asked what he "would consider to be the best intellectual training for the would-be writer", he said, "He said, 'Let’s say that he [would-be writer] should go out and hang himself because he finds that writing well is impossibly difficult. Then he should be cut down without mercy and forced by his own self to write as well as he can for the rest of his life. At least he will have the story of the hanging to commence with.' I have so much to do before becoming a writer...!

David Sedaris also shared, the exact details of which he found in a little blue notebook he kept in his breast pocked, that the night before he had met a woman whose mother's name was Jackie Chan and whose father's was Dick Hornballer. (To which he responded, "Why didn't he just go by Richard?") I liked this story because this is the kind of stuff I note, as well.

So that's the current run-down. There may be more henceforth.

I've finally left Hawaii! Wahoo!

I'm in Boston now, staying with my friend, Laurie, and her fiance, Todd, at their home in Wakefield.

It's really weird being back. Boston has gotten a lot cleaner, a lot swisher and it's a lot smaller than I remember it. I've spent the past few days just walking around the city and it's a bit strange to know how to get around a city so well, but to feel so detached from it.





Last weekend, I went with Laurie and Todd to Lake Winnipesaukee, in New Hampshire. Laurie's family has a house on the lake and in celebration of Todd's and Laurie's brother, John's, birthdays, there was a party. The festivities coincided with "Laconia Motorcycle Weekend" and thousands of bikers were in town for the event.

In the last couple of years, I have developed a fondness for motorcycles, so this event was of certain interest to me. One of John's friends, Joe, came to the party after a ride through Canada and Maine. He humored me by taking me on his Harley for a short trip through the neighborhood. That was good.

We all came back Sunday evening and since then, I've just been hanging around the house in my pajamas, reading, napping and catching up with old friends. Two nights ago I went out with Kevin and Daniel, friends from a more politically-active time. We went for dinner in the North End, Boston's Little Italy and my old neighborhood. The area has been taken over by yuppies, but save for that, it is as charming as ever. I went by my old apartment, only to learn it is now an office for some company. I did bump into my neighbors, an Italian couple who run a coffee shop across the alley, and they recognized me. We had a nice chat.

Last night, I went out with Heather, my college roommate, and we took a tour of our old stomping grounds. It turns out that Emerson College has sold all of its old brownstone buildings that once housed students to real estate developers. Our old dorm was gutted and is in the process of being renovated; there was a huge sign announcing "Luxury Residences" on offer.

I leave for Montreal on Monday. I will post again from there.

My sister was lamenting life here in Kona (I think I have mentioned that she also quit her job in Los Angeles to come home to help Dad) the other day and she said, "All of my friends who are from here, and never left, have kids now."

She sighed and I thought about it. One of her friends already has four kids.

"Well, what about Rebecca (not her real name)?" I asked. Rebecca and my sister have known each other since grade school, and she's a really lovely, beautiful girl who, for the most part, has her life together.

Leilani thought about it. "True. She doesn't have kids. But she does have an STD."

That's Kona!

I am still at Carden...

Still.

This situation may soon change, however, and then I will write more.

But until then, check out another blog by a guy called Drew. He is a current teacher at Carden, and a very good, very observant and very humorous writer.

http://www.echron.blogspot.com

Things are as usual: work, study, work, study, work, study. There is also a fair amount of pretending to studying and thinking about studying.

The beginning of the month saw the national May 1 holiday, and like many a jaded foreigner in China, I opted out of fighting the travelling crowds and stayed in Beijing. (More than that, three-fourths of my students were in town, so I had to work.) There was much to do and see in the capital this year, anyhow. The Dashanzi art district hosted a huge international art festival, and the Midi school, the school in China for rock music, put together a week long event out in Haidian. Artists from all over the world, including Korea, Taiwan, Spain and England performed.

Michael, the new roomie, and I schlepped it over to Haidian park on the first day. The music was alright and the dark beer, at just 8 RMB per clear plastic cup, was even better.

After the festival, we went to one of my favorite restaurants in Beijing. It's a hole in the wall in central Beijing, on a main road in the northern hutong (traditional housing) area. The place has amazing jiao zi (dumplings), including a number of su de (vegetarian) choices--the mushroom and egg jiao zi can find no equal.

It's a bit weird having another hapa around. There's an awful lot of "well, you're hair is more Chinese than mine, but my eyes are more almond shaped..." and "your parents don't get along either?!" Also, since having Michael around, I see that I really am Chinese in some ways. We went grocery shopping the other day, which is quite cool because Michael is a cook, and I realized, because he is, that I am equally comfortable in the dairy section, as well as in the spice/sauce/and dried things that look like twigs section. Michael is as just as at ease in the open market as in the chain supermarket, as I am, and unlike my very white French roommate, he has no qualms about haggling, squeezing the produce, nor buying green vegetables, whose English names we are not quite sure of, but are quite confident that they're probably just fine to eat.

At the restaurant we went to, aforementioned, Michael saw two old men squawking over a bowl of stewed bones. "I want that," Michael said shameless pointing to the men's table, and within minutes, out came the xiaojie (waitress) with a big bowl of beef bones, complete with plastic glove and drinking straw to get into the crevices. Michael went straight to work on the marrow with the gusto I believe to be reserved only for those with Sinic blood in their veins. Then, in his scouse brogue he said with satisfaction, "That's lovely."

That's Michael. (I don't really think he's looks very Chinese, not as much as me, at least.)

In other news, I did not get the job with the international school. They shot me down quick--not even an interview. But, however, the British Council came through, and last Saturday was my first day. It's an OK gig. I just give interviews to painfully nervous Chinese people, for whom the test often dictates their immediate success or near future plans. The cool thing is the job will send me to different cities soon. I am looking forward to that.

Thursday was my birthday. I am 26 years old. It's a strange feeling realizing that this is my THIRD birthday in China.

I tend to get a bit weird around my birthday, but I must admit that this year was not so bad. I've taken an extended break from drinking, so I didn't go out (really, I just don't have the time, money or inkling anymore), but my roommate treated me to lunch and I broke my diet to enjoy a chocolate ice cream. (Note: chocolate ice cream tastes much much better when you eat after a long period of not eating it. [Note: I am not really on a diet so much as on a health kick. Since cutting out the drink and other vices, I've put myself on a whole foods, low-dairy diet. Given that I have already been a vegetarian for 12 years now(!), this was not so hard, but I try to eat processed foods as little as possible. The results have been tremendous. I cook and clean a lot now--the kitchen has never been in better shape--I've lost some weight and my digestion system has never been so functional and efficient, something of an achievement here in China where most foreigners contend with Mao's revenge on at least a monthly basis.])
I bought this book as a present to myself. It's Hunter S. Thompson's Curse of Lono, illustrated by Ralph Steadman. This book was hard to find before Mr. Thompson decided to spray the walls of his home with his own blood and genius, but since the violent event, the story has been rereleased in giant coffee-table format. I was thrilled to find the book at my local bookstore/coffee shop/free wireless Internet access hangout, so I bought it. Hunter S. Thompson spent some time in Hawaii in the early 80's and the book is a collection of his writing about the place. As the photo to the left attests to, Mr. Thompson spent some time on the Kona Coast (though I can't imagine what he, or anyone for that matter, could have be doing there that would constitute "ass kicking").
Ralph Steadman was an artist I became familiar with in college. Here is his interpretation of the Kona Pier. The fish drawn up is the author, himself.


In other news, things are hectic on the home front. My roommate, whom I refer to as La Poupee (the French for "bimbo"), announced four days ago that she will be leaving Beijing on the 23rd. This left my other roommate and I in a scramble to get someone in here as soon as possible to take her room (of course La Poupee was far too busy with her own affairs, such as washing her hair and arranging farewell meetings, to make any effort to find someone herself-- despite her demand for an instant return on her deposit). Perrine, the roommate staying, with whom I get along well, and I, needless to say have been pissed. But as luck would have it, we found someone yesterday. He's another hapa (his dad's from Hong Kong and his mom is English) and he comes from Liverpool. Amazingly, like another hapa I know, he studied media in school, took up service work upon graduation (he's a cook) and then came to China to be an English teacher. What is most appealing about him, aside from the cook part, is that, unlike most of the people I have been encountering of late (very young, hyper-ambitious, or hyper-slack, recent graduates who have come to Beijing to either "break-into" the Chinese market (they usually return home deflated, having discovered that the road to CEO greatness requires wicked Mandarin skills and a struggle greater than a three-month internship) or to pickle their minds and livers on the cheap while snagging as many Chinese girls as possible (they usually return home after having run out of money), is this guy has had roommates in the past, he supports himself and doesn't seem to have any specific agenda other than "seeing how the other half lives" and getting away from the alarmingly "media saturated" British society (his words).
Other news: I am still working and studying, working and studying and working and studying. It looks like the job with the British Council is not panning out, but a friend of mine just referred me for a job at his place of work, the International School of Beijing. The position is Marketing and Publications Manager, and my friend said, given my background, that I may have a good shot at it. This would mean a full American salary, with benefits. We shall see...

My buddy Baron at the paper sent this to me. (He's a photographer.) He told me he found it while he was cleaning out his storage space.

This photo ran front page when I was 13. Baron took it and Karin, another buddy, and actually my one-time supervisor while I was a reporter at the paper, wrote the article. Baron said he actually remembered the interview and taking the picture because I was "cute and talking as if the words couldn't come out fast enough."

Some things don't change. Except for the cute part, of course.

flower girl, originally uploaded by dadapunk80.

This little girl came up to us with a card saying she had to raise money for school. Perrine is a soft touch and gave her all the coins in her purse, but we refused the flower and told her to keep the money in her pocket and not to give it to anyone. (The beggar kids in China are pimped out by their parents or even organized crime bosses and touristy areas are carved out into turfs protected for a fee. We assumed it was the same in Bangkok.) The girl was pleased with her wind fall, but came back five minutes later to give us a flower. We saw her again another night, and she recognized us and hit us up for more money, but we were so generous the second time.

perrine and the monk, originally uploaded by dadapunk80.

The monk came by and put the tiger's head in Perrine's lap. The tiger didn't seem to mind.

elephant, originally uploaded by dadapunk80.

Like all good tourists in Thailand, Perrine and I went for an elephant ride. It's was really quite good. Our elephant's name was Fendi and she was 45 years old. She's got a pummelo in her mouth.

Superauditor!

superauditor, originally uploaded by dadapunk80.

So being an auditor requires stamina, speed, a cunning wit and a super accurate thumb for hitting the "on" button on the voice recorders. Daniel was in the zone that day.

Benny's got the goods...

DSC00777, originally uploaded by dadapunk80.

Oh Hell! (See the following note.)

Germans!

danielsara, originally uploaded by dadapunk80.

Daniel and Sara made up the non-Benny and Maile Puma team. Sara was studying Chinese in Beijing before the trip, and Daniel flew in from Germany. We were all quick to become pals and when I got back to Beijing, Sara let me live with her for two weeks while I sussed out new digs.

Rock Stars!

IMGP0034, originally uploaded by dadapunk80.

Not really, but other people thought they were rock stars. The guy on the right is Benjamin, a German. I met him just before I left for Shanghai and he invited me to an art project where more than 400 foreigners got together in these blue suits to be photographed.

The suits they are wearing is what maintenance workers all over China wear. Not a single person I spoke to could explain the objective of the piece, but in the end, I guess it was just something to do. I didn't participate (not foreign-looking enough), but took lots of pictures of Benny and his friends who were willing and accomodating models. This picture is definitely one of the better ones.

Since then, I've hung out with these kids a lot.