Hanging with other ex-pats before work starts

(I don't really enjoy traveling. I sort of suffer through it because I think it's required, for growth. I feel like this girl here sometimes.)

“Give my jeans a sniff,” I said. “I've danced my ass off eight nights in a row in them.”
“No thanks,” said Kerri.
“Come on, I've smelled your head on several occasions.”
“I asked you once,” she said.
“Four times.”
“You're keeping count?” she said.
“You don't forget something like that.”
“That disgusting?” she said.
“That unusual a request. 'Smell my head.' People don't say that to me that much,” I said. “Maybe three times in my natural life.”


We rank some tequila-ish thing from a jar of amber liquid with a big dead snake coiled up in it. They drown the snake in there. I admired the rat-faced German girl for sweetly refusing a free shot of it as the bald but handsome owner from Staten Island pressured her. She eventually caved, and ceased to be pretty.

British Mary, a sort of blonde, female Keith Richards, was not very young, but looked older. She’d been in a ten-year abusive relationship, got out and met a nice guy, came to China with him, and he promptly died. She had no money to go home to England, so she got a teaching job in typhoon-ravaged Wenzhou. She always wanted us to visit.


Her best friend here, Diana, was a squat Vietnamese girl who grew up in Germany and frowned at inefficiency. Her German salesman boyfriend Chris had a buzz cut, intellectual glasses, a goatee, and loved Diana, but she had other boys.
Together we squeezed into a taxi, promising an extra 80 cents for taking 5 of us.
German Chris turned to his girlfriend and said, “Your ass is bigger than before. Sorry, not the tits.”
“Stop wingeing about the tits,” said British Mary. “Get her pregnant if you want ‘em bigger.”
“Never,” said Chris.
“I heard if you swallow it makes your tits bigger,” said Mary.
“Kerri,” I said. “You need to start spitting.”
I got a slap in the head.
“There's a lovely bath tube at the Hilton,” said Chris.
“Nice bath tube, eh?” said Kerri.
“They're off to shag,” said Mary. That sort of thing.

When people learn a new language, they always want to master the bad words. I am proud to know the worst things to say in Greek and Hindi. The British are just always foul-mouthed. Women from Newfoundland call each other "silly cunt" maybe 25 times an hour.

We went to the In Club. A German girl acted like she was claiming me on the dance floor, and then she disappeared. Strange. Two Frenchmen urged me to go to the SOS club. I admitted I was a control freak and Kerri admitted she was drunk. What a night.
(This is Redouane, a French Olympic boxer of Algerian descent. He's training for the Beijing Olympics, and usually has his shirt off, hitting on girls much taller than him, like these Dutchies.)




I informed Kerri we were to be king and queen of this ex-pat scene. To be cult leaders we needed to cultivate some followers. We went to the loud, huge SOS club, with lasers and Russian dancers emerging from the walls. Stylish young Chinese people danced in bunches, and you had to squeeze past with the pat on the shoulder that had kept me out of ever getting beaten up in a bar. I had knocked drinks down before, but that pat fixes everything. I can’t wait to teach my nephews this. Some things translate easily across cultures. I started introducing myself to people, shouting my name to a girl named Ling Ling, and then up to a 7-foot Dutch guy the Chinese people called “Holland Yao Ming.” I loved the little Iraqi guy who kept pointing up and smiling as he danced, and who shared his Chivas Regal and green tea with us. I said “Thanks” but wanted to say “Sorry for killing your family.”
Everyone that I knew left, but I felt like dancing more. A smiling Chinese woman came up and was bumping against me a lot as we danced. I realized she was a prostitute. This dancing continued for half an hour, getting racier, and then I told her to “stay here” and I fled the club, fearing for my safety. There was a stripe of ridges on the sidewalk for blind people to walk to work without getting killed. I walked it in the dark, and took a cab home. They save money on electricity by keeping the streets pretty dark. it's a testament to how safe it is here for women, because our large campus is not lit between buildings after sunset, and you can just make out forms walking around in the dark.

I cleaned my new apartment for five hours. I stayed up until I was able to bookend my sleep with sobriety. I couldn't then get the air conditioning to stop tickling my feet. Tomorrow we had to get the medical examination for our resident visas. I decided I was going to refuse the x-ray. You shouldn't have to compromise your health for a job. Felt very good about it, though would be very tired to be making waves tomorrow.
I had a dream that I said to someone with a scary, pock-marked face, “I'm not one of your victims. You bite me, and you'll get the kick of your life.”

At the little hospital the next morning, they gelled our bellies for ultrasounds, drew all our blood without changing gloves, hooked EKG's up to us on a wet dirty mattress.
The technology was fine, like the familiar “E M E” vision questions, but the whole process was degrading, like they were searching for lice. The message was, “Welcome to China: you're a piece of shit.”
I made a big deal about the needless and insulting chest X-ray, since I had proof I didn't have TB, though why should I get any different treatment from the Muslim men in their long shirts? When I caved in, I still made a fool of myself, demanding the lead apron both around my waist and also around my head. A crowd gathered, and I smiled to the technician who was trying to hold my arms behind my back, while I wrestled them free to hold the lead apron over my neck.
Kerri cursed more than she had all trip, after the electrocardiogram lady exposed her bosom in a room with a line out the door.
Hours later, after shopping, Kerri was still upset. She said, “Leave my fucking tits alone, unless you're French and I say so.”
“Let's eat,” I said, “because unless we do I can see you will soon become intolerable. And intolerable would be an upgrade.”

Like our first day in college, we moved in with all the junk we'd bought. Kerri made grilled cheese sandwiches of imported Irish cheese, and did not want to talk about today's physical. Her place already looked swank, with her dark striped bedcover and mood lighting. I'd secretly worked all evening, planning lessons, not like me, and I didn't want to spur her to do the same. Having no Internet for a few days, as usual, was good for me.

“I found salt in a jar,” Kerri said.
“All I got is soy sauce,” I said.
“I like soy sauce, but it gets too salty.”
“You prefer salt?” I said. “Find it less salty?”
“No, I like the taste of soy,” she said.
“But you prefer salt, because soy is too salty.”
“That's correct,” she said.
I nodded. Paul Young played. She'd put up a couple self-standing framed pictures, and it made the room a home. She searched for her lost remote for her broken but currently behaving laptop with such enthusiasm that I was embarrassed because I would be freaking out on self-pity if the same happened to mine. She was pretty amazing. I was about to joke that I should be in a picture framed on her desk, even though I lived just upstairs, when I saw I was in one of them. It's good to have good friends. Made me miss mine back home. Internet addiction was not for nothing. K erri put up another photo of her family, great people who would have risen like the Kennedy's if they hadn't liked the drink so much a couple generations back. Her folks had gotten it together, and had 3 talented, charming kids. The clan caused Kerri agita but thoughts of them guided her decisions even when she was deciding to be on the opposite edge of the planet as them, against their wishes. She'd broken one of today's expensive purchases, a black square lamp that lit up when you touched it. Propped up, it looked fine, prompting me to alter her “Fake it ‘til you make it” mantra to “Fake it after you break it.” She grinned a bit and did the dishes, which I usually do when somebody cooks for me.
“Let's explore,” Kerri said. “I heard piano, and I know there's ping pong.”
“We're celebrating surviving the bad morning and we are not drunk yet," I said.
I looked at the empty wine bottle, and agreed maybe we were. It was a happy night, after I caved on the X-ray instead of getting sent home. Zephora gave me the support I was mad Kerri didn't. Good ex-maybe-not-ex-girlfriend. Should I be strict, or be my silly self with the students we'd meet tomorrow for a tour? I was enjoying our imagined reputation as eccentric but great teachers. It was nice to feel I didn't need all my sleep or food or home to be able to function well.



At dinner, both of our throats closed up a bit from something peppery in the spicy tofu sauce. Kerri panicked, saying she couldn't breathe, and I prayed she would, not wanting to let her family down.
When we got home, Kerri and I argued about whether the water in the kettle was safe to drink.
“How do you know it’s been boiled?” I said.
“The maid did it last night,” she said. “It was piping hot when we came home.”
“How do you know I didn’t drink that pot and fill this again and not boil it?”
“Bring home my remains in a little urn,” she said, drinking it.
“I wonder whose glass this is,” I said, holding up a cup with red lipstick on it. We further argued about why she continued to wear shoes that made her more likely to fall, because they looked better.
“There’s not a man alive who cares about that,” I said.
“Yes there is,” she said.
“Straight man, I meant.”
“Let’s not talk about this anymore,” she said. “It just gets me aggravated.”



High of 99 tomorrow. We read on Yahoo that the Simpsons have been banned from Chinese TV, news itself that apparently was not banned. I have written foul-mouthed emails, but nothing political. It mad sense they should ban the Simpsons since it lampooned a culture they worshipped.

A woman swept the sidewalk with a broom made out of weeping willow leaves.

Every time I try to shut my brain off, take a nap, that's when the ideas come. I flipped the pillow to the cold side. Zephora's a chance for me to have a normal life. Her use of a nickname for me allows me to be someone different, someone hopefully more the me I want to be.

(Zephora and me back in New York)
I could not sleep at all. So many things can go wrong in your life. You get sick, you love the wrong people, you lose everything you thought you needed.



The old Shamrock Pub, a beautiful multi-level bar with ornate stonework surrounding the windows, had moved, and in its placed moves, yes, a McDonald’s. It was cliché to be mad about that, but it had looked nicer before. At a charity talent show in the new Shamrock pub, a Chinese guy came out in blackface to sing “What a Wonderful World.” Kerri and I stared, and everyone went nuts with applause. I tried to figure out how I would explain to the guy that this might offend some. The chubby snarky host John got some blackface on his arm, and I couldn't use the sink in the bathroom because he was busy scrubbing himself with soap. A sweet old bird was jumping all over the dance floor when I returned. You gotta love Britons. The women, of any age and any shape, are sluts, and the men are drunks, and they're pure fun.
Kerri said, “Apparently urine keeps mosquitoes away.”
“Excuse me?” I said.
“I remind myself that every time I pee on my feet in the bathroom.”
This bar, like all the bars here, had a female Filipina singer fronting a Filipino band. Filipinos are so cool. They're like Chinese people combined with black people, with rhythm and style—no blackface needed. Winnie, the Filipina singer came back, showing some back in her frilly outfit. Heartbroken after a recent break-up, she said she loved to sing, yet said how hard it was to go up there and act happy when she was suffering. She said, at the end of yet another Chinese woman's rendition of “My heart will go on,” “Performers in the Philippines are very good.” I guessed it was a putdown of the local culture.



Public urination by men is fine here, though I had yet to pee on a wall or bush on a crowded street. Have done it maybe 5 times in New York, pretending to be talking on my cellphone.

The elevator door slammed me in the chest as I entered. Good morning! We found a faraway place recommended for DVD’s. Kerri asked the lady for DVD’s in English. The old woman closed the gate on the store, took us upstairs and opened a door in the wall hidden by posters. She brought out cartons of DVD’s for a dollar each. We went crazy, and soon I had a pile of 40. I couldn't get her to break up the Raiders of the Lost Ark Trilogy. On the way out I asked Kerri not to pay until I'd tried to negotiate. The old woman acted like I'd stabbed her son, when I offered a lower price, and she threatened to put them back. I caved a bit and typed a higher # on her calculator. She said no. I was beginning to get upset by the bad feeling, and it was only a buck we were arguing over. Kerri agreed I had to pretend to get mad, so I yelled in English that she was making so much money off us, and she pretended to open the gate so people could see, and I said go ahead, and shook the DVD’s at her, and she came back and gave me my price, acting furious. I paid her, she patted me and we said warm goodbyes. She made money, and we saved. Who lost? Hollywood. Screw them. Nicolas Cage has enough money.

By the way, the people in China, even in the little villages, seem to be eating fine, so kids in the West can go back to not finishing their dinners. No more “Finish your plate. They’re starving in China…”

We walked through rain and piss puddles at night in little alleyways with tiny dirty restaurants and people playing cards. Aug 22nd. That's the end of the summer at home. Back to school time. Kerri relished that her old colleagues had a staff retreat this weekend.
“I'm gonna email them and rub it in their face too,” she said. “You can finger me cause I'm on vacation.”

Kerri shouted, “Taxi” though there were none there, outside the Auchan French supermarket. She shouted again.
“I really think it will help if you yell,” I said.
I tried to tousle her hair with the long pole I’d just bought for grabbing hangers down from the drying rack on the porch of every Chinese apt. She swiped it away.
“Stop,” I said. “I'm anointing you.’
“You're annoying me.”
She took out hers. Twice as expensive, but with more features, reddish like a pitchfork. Demon and fool again.

(my bedroom)

At home, Kerri reveled that an old U2 song came on.
“I gotta get up and do something,” she said.
“Drop a doogan?” (Southie-speak for a bowel movement.)
“No, the pan on the stove is crooked and I have to fix it,” she said.
“Wow,” I said.
She opened a fragrant bottle of wine, a new brand: “Grand Dragon.” She tapped her fingers, waiting for me to be ready to drink. I started to suspect it actually was soy sauce. Pretty green bottle except for the Hitler SS symbol. The wine fell well short of its intent, but I liked what it was trying for—subtle and watered down, the little league of good wine, but better than the “Great Wall” gasoline we'd had earlier. I threatened to shave the beard Kerri hated with her shiny new meat cleaver. Then I picked up and admired her fancy knife set, which she rightly took as criticism.
“You know, if I spend $300 to make myself comfortable in the apartment this year,” she said, “I'll appreciate that more than I'll miss the $300.”
I needed to learn that from her. I’d bought the cheapest water boiler, and it looked combustible.
“Screw those people who say you have to go completely native, and can't buy peanut butter,” she went on.
“Yeah, we've traveled enough to know we don't have to reject our own culture to experience another,” I said.
“We can eat like locals for three days, and the other two we can get what we want,” she said.
“But that's only five—,” I began.
“Look at my new alarm clock,” she said.
She pranced around, showing off more purchases.
“I don't like separating when we’re shopping,” I said. “I don't get to see these things.”
“I do my best shopping alone.”
“I know,” I said, “I slow you down, criticizing everything.”
She raised her eyebrows in joy that I was acknowledging this.
We watched our $1 “Kramer vs. Kramer” DVD. I wept several times, and didn’t look over to Kerri to see if she were also.
I called her bad words to lighten the mood, and she said he was going to sleep.
“You're kicking me out?” I said.
“Not only do you lie on my bed and heat up my pillow, but you call me the "C" word," she said. "That is just not acceptable.”
"It is, in Newfoundland," I said, but she was intractable.

(My living room! Check out my $20 guitar)

Last night I played hoop in the dark with some college kid, and though I showed him moves from the streets of Dorchester that made his friend clap, he was too fast for me. For the first time in a month I saw a few of my stomach muscles in the mirror, after missing two meals in 3 days. I did some crunches on the wood floor so I'd have something to see.