Free Advice for a Potential World Leader
Dear Ms.Mrs. (I’m sure real Americans get offended by such modernity) Palin:
Let’s be friends. Friends make their friends look like idiots for fun sometimes, but they don’t let them make themselves look dumb. That said, I keep reading news pieces about how you might want to make a run at the presidency in four years. I offer you my best wishes. And this advice.
If you really want to be the next President, stop talking about it.
You managed to make a few friends in this election. Those real Americans you kept talking about are, no doubt, stirred by your potential. Let’s learn from this election, though. You lost. That means you didn’t make enough friends.
So let’s solve that problem. To do so, we need to find the causes of the problem (consider that your first lesson).
You made some pretty big mistakes. You kind of looked like a moron during your interview with Katie Couric. And you need to admit it.
I’m not talking the things you stand for. I even agree with you on at least a few of the more controversial ones. I, too, would like to see abortion stopped. I, too, believe in God enough to say He isn’t lying in the beginning of his Bible. And most Americans can overlook what they deem to be religious fanaticism, anyway (you haven’t already forgotten our President-elect’s pastor, have you?).
I’m talking about the fact that you didn’t know anything about politics or history. That was the real problem.
Also, let’s address the fact that you never addressed facts. That, too, was a problem.
Yes, politicians spin things and avoid questions. They do it by spewing tons of conflicting and vague details, not by avoiding cameras and pledging their allegiance to ‘gee, so many’ Supreme Court decisions.
You don’t know how to talk to the public. Not to enough of the public to get elected, anyway. So stop.
Remember that one guy—the guy who won the election? He is talking a lot. He can do that. He has things to say. You don’t. So don’t.
You don’t yet have the persona to get elected. You do have time to change that persona. Hide away for the next two and a half years and learn the things politicians have to know. If you can emerge from a quiet respite and surprise everyone with poise, charm and intelligence, you will have helped yourself a lot.
Oh, and you may want to avoid corruption. And stop calling people who don’t agree with you un-American. But that’s entirely up to you.
I hope you find direction for your future. Don’t worry, you don’t become President overnight. It takes at least a year or two. Ask Barack.
Oh, and don’t stay up all night fretting about how to proceed—given the length of your nights, that could prove fatal, and then this letter will be wasted.
Sincerely,
Justin
Gentlemen First*
I’m sure most of you have already noted this, but I figured I would point it out for those less observant souls. My last post gave you instructions on how to read something, complete with easy-to-follow links. Imagine my smugness, then, when I read Scott Adam’s latest post and found the same thing.
When Mensa members get blogging ideas from you, it feels good, I’ve found.
*Obscure allusion for a close circle of friends
Context
My unorthodox method of news browsing led me to CNN’s report on President-Elect Obama’s pick for chief of staff from the Onion’s recent videos. It was an enlightening experience I’ll recommend.
Start here. Watch a few of the videos, including this one.
Then go here.
If you care, report back here.
Dumbed Down Depression
“When someone tells you something defies description, you can be pretty sure he’s going to have a go at it anyway.” - Clyde Aster
I think of this every time someone says, “I don’t really know a lot about economics, but it seems to me….” You’ll notice I haven’t commented much on the economic downturn. Fortunately, some people who actually know what is happening have commented. And he has commented in a way that makes sense to all of us. Like Dr. Saxon explaining Platonic forms to Cowboy Dave, it’s beautiful and beneficial to all of us.
Excursion: Shenyang (Part Two)
If you missed it, be sure to check part one.
Working Ourselves Up
Once we were checked into our hotel, the urge to check out of our adventure loomed its head. The relief of solving all immediate problems and the joy of a comfortable room, combined, managed to simulate the experience of sharing a joint (according to what I’m told) without the smell or legal ramifications. Hence, Andrew and I sat on our couch and springy bed (respectively) for about a half hour with no clear indication of any purpose or intended action. Our map sprawled on the floor along with various documents and papers demonstrating our sightseeing intent. It was a rather photogenic mix I was just too unmotivated to stand up and record. Eventually, though, the fog lifted and we headed out to see where we were.
Experience points: -.5
Looking Up and Around
We had already seen the commercial walking street while finding a hotel that would except our white faces, so we didn’t feel like heading that way again. Instead, we noticed a couple of lit steeple-like towers and thought we’d check try to find out what they were. So we struck out at the brisk clip of non-shopping tourists in commercial district. Before long, we’d walked past the shiny surfaces and crowds to the little-known parts of the city that have earned their anonymity. We eventually reached the lit towers and found they were relatively pointless decorations on various buildings. Of course, they probably had some meaning, but we were out to see, not learn.
At this point, we pulled out our cameras and took various night shots while striking out in another direction. It didn’t take long to reach Zhongshan Guangchang. I was lining up my first picture of the dancers in front of the Giant Mao when the little girl at my left elbow asked, ‘Where are you from?’ It wasn’t the first time (that night) I’d been a basic question in English by a young learner, so I smiled, answered and went back to capturing the scene recorded only a thousand other times. Her next, ‘Why are you here?’ was a little more surprising. It was no match for the follow-up: ‘Do you have any religious beliefs?’ Gina was in Grade 3 and about as fluent as anyone I’ve met in China. Before long, her cousin, parents and a few friends had assembled, while Andrew gathered some older curious linguists. I smiled to watch over the heads of my audience while other foreigners took their pictures and walked on. I was glad to be in my position instead of theirs.
Gina was a great translator for our impromptu English corner. She waited patiently while others asked more basic questions, but kept interest enough to follow her own more advanced line of questioning when appropriate. She didn’t control the conversation, but was ready to translate when I and her parents had exhausted our store of second-language knowledge. I don’t know how long the discussion would have developed, but Andrew and I were still moderately lost and without dinner. A little coaxing earned me a picture of a few of my learner/teachers. Before we left, Gina approached with a ‘Teacher, this is for you,’ and handed me a pink plastic bead identical to those on the bracelet she was wearing. It didn’t get a bracelet, but it made it back to Changchun with me.
[I would later learn interested parties often assemble in Mao's shadow to practice their English and hit up foreigners for practice. Savor the irony.]
Experience points: .5
Revelry points: 1
Feeding a Habit
We gradually found our way back toward the hotel and decided it was time to eat. After scouring the walking street, we decided to enjoy the urban development. Thus began a series of dining experiences that managed to avoid all native Chinese food in Shenyang. It wasn’t planned, but it was the happy result of joining holiday spirit and modern development.
Pizza Hut in China could easily get its own post. Maybe it will. For now, I’ll just say it has to exert a little effort to keep from turning into a red-hatted stepchild. It is billed as fine dining. It does serve real pizza, but that doesn’t interest most Chinese, as the lack of cheese in their normal diet renders pizza only moderately enjoyable. Andrew and I enjoyed the unconcealed shock of our waitress when we ordered a thirteen-incher for the two of us (it was labeled as serving four or five). Pizza. Pepsi. It was nice.
The result of eating quite a bit of pizza after living on a Chinese diet for more than a year could easily get its own post. It definitely won’t. For now, I’ll just say I will never again downplay a Chinese friend’s reluctance to eat so much cheese.
Experience points: .5
Revelry points: -3
I know you’re wondering when it will end. Don’t worry, the first half of the trip makes for a good story, the second made for good pictures. There’s not much more to say.
Being Tourists
We timed our arrival at the palace the next morning to coincide with the published opening time, which meant our morning at Starbucks had to start a little early. It wasn’t going to get cut short.
Before administering their government from Beijing, the Qing emperors made Shenyang their capital. When they made the move, they left behind a palace that is basically a smaller Forbidden City. Perfect weather. Spare camera batteries. It was a good visit.
We checked the map to guide our walk to a pagoda in the city. Our path fortuitously crossed the street a few blocks away from the Mao statue. Pictures ensued.
Beiling Park (North Tomb) was an eleven-yuan taxi ride from the pagoda, and it was worth it. Despite an attempt to rip us off at the ticket booth (selling us extra tickets we didn’t want), the park was a great stop. For a minimal fee, visitors can enjoy quite a few acres (if my numbers are right) of relatively peaceful grass around two large lakes. A slightly more hefty fee got us into the tomb complex. I’m not sure it was worth the extra time to see tomb itself, as it looked like, well, a little white hill, but it was why we were there. We did the right thing.
We re-entered the train station about twenty-four hours after leaving it and with plenty of time to spare. The ride home was less eventful. Neither of us really felt like practicing our Chinese, and our benchmates had their hands and backs and shoulders and laps full with an energetic five-year old. I did try to listen in to the children’s book she read to him at one point. It was about, um, stuff.
Ripoff: 20元, -20元 (Good job, Andrew)
Experience points: 1
Excursion: Shenyang (Part One)
I’ve had a mantra over the last couple of months: It’s fun to be a foreigner in China. I decided to test that claim last week with a trip to a different part of China.
Last week was a break from the routine of classes because of the National Day holiday, which, after making up a couple of days of school on Saturday and Sunday, turned into a week-long holiday. I’ve been wanting to see more of China for some time now, so I grabbed Andrew (another teacher in town), and we headed off to Shenyang. Now, Andrew has studied some Chinese, but he’s not a native speaker yet. I can order food. It was going to be a challenge.
Getting Tickets
The first challenge up for grabs? Tickets. Some other friends were leaving for a trip of their own earlier in the week, so I got help from a native speaker to secure a ticket to Shenyang, but it was too early to get one back, so our initial test was a rather important one. It was easy. Wave a little money, flash the ticket beginning the process we hoped to conclude, and we had two train tickets and two little pieces of paper that cost 5元 each but no one could tell us what they were for.
Ripoff: 10元
Experience points: .5
Getting There
We hadn’t even gotten on the train yet when the communication game started. When you’re as conspicuous as an American in the Changchun train station, you begin to interpret stares fairly accurately, so I wasn’t surprised when the young man that had been watching us in the waiting room was waiting for us just after the gate. I was surprised when it turned out he could barely speak any English. He apparently was just interested in foreigners and willing to decelerate, standardize and simplify his Mandarin enough for us to understand him. His standing ticket didn’t restrict him to any particular location on the train, so he followed us to our seats and even managed to secure an open seat for most of his short ride. And the party started.
We spent the next four hours engaging, more or less, in Chinese conversation. First with our new friend, then the woman next to me, and finally a businessman who decided he liked us. Each had their own conversation style. The young guy was careful with his Chinese and willing to work through our limited understanding. After hearing us talk for a while, the woman decided she had a few questions, so she chimed in. The unfortunate part was that her Chinese was more like the average person’s Chinese, meaning it sounded to me more or less as if she were talking through a vacuum hose—with the vacuum turned on. She seemed a little disappointed with our blank stares, but our friend came to the rescue and translated her questions from real Chinese to foreigner Chinese. This led to a happy conversation about our home and family and love life. At this point, our young friend had reached his destination, and a businessman who had been enjoying the show decided to get in on the action. He had realized that we understood better when things were slow, so he dropped the speed down to about six words per minute and cranked the volume up to just below vocal chord shredding. The rest of the car had pretty much gotten over the foreigners at this point, but all the commotion reinvigorated them to stare some more. He eventually settled into a more naturally communicative speech pattern and we discussed our lives. We even learned we had our Christian faith in common, and he promised to call and invite us to visit his church some weekend.
As for the Chinese factor, I was able to follow some of what was being said, but Andrew’s comprehension was better. I, however, seemed to generate more interest (I assume because I was closer to them), so I generally understood and answered as well as I could, got some help from Andrew when possible, checked my mini-dictionary a few times, and played a rather hearty game of charades. It was not the most effective communication, but it was interesting and enjoyable, and fueled my desire to learn the language.
Experience points: 2
Checking In
So far, I hadn’t done anything new, but that was about to change. I arrived in a new city armed only with a phrasebook and a hotel reservation. We stopped in for a little bit of home at Yoshinoya (I meant Andrew’s home) to prepare ourselves physically, mentally, and emotionally to get to the hotel. The first taxi driver we spotted knew the hotel, took us there, and had nice standard Chinese so we could chat about his family back in Heilongjiang.
I was feeling pretty good as I popped out of the taxi and pulled my reservation voucher from my bag. It could have been hard to get a good hotel on our own, so I was glad to have done my research online. The place looked nice and was pretty well located. The receptionist stepped on my toes pretty hard during the happy dance, though, by informing me they had no reservation for me and no available rooms. I kindly informed her they did have a reservation for me—I had the confirmation number on the form for her to check out. She still denied it. So Andrew politely informed her of our reservation, as indicated by the reservation voucher we had given her. Yet another rejection. And our Chinese is better than her English, so communication was not exactly profuse.
At this point, she started making phone calls and clicking buttons on the computer while her associate went back to browsing her magazine. Less than encouraging. Our requests for information or someone with more information yielded an exhortation to wait. Fifteen minutes later, she called me over and, without a word, handed me the phone. Through the phone, an English-speaking Chinese man apologized for the problem, told me he would sort it out, and asked to speak to the receptionist again. She took the phone, said goodbye and hung up. More waiting.
Andrew and I are starting to worry a little. A brief mental review of my conversation enlightened me to the fact that the man I had spoken to had called me by name, so he must have been with the agency I used to make the reservation. Another round of charades, and we had the number our receptionist had used to reach him. Conveniently, the number is busy. After a few tries, I managed to get through to a lady who used her minimal English to tell me she was working on the problem, and that she would call me back with a solution in a few minutes.
Another half-hour, and we decided to solve the problem ourselves.
Andrew got a hotel recommendation from the receptionist and wisely asked her to call and check for vacancies before we went. She found they did, indeed, have a room they could reserve for us. It would only cost 580元 (my ‘reserved’ room was 177元). We then explained that we would like a room more in the price range of the one we had selected, and she pointed out a hotel a few blocks away that could accommodate us.
We made it to the hotel and found they had available rooms. But we couldn’t have one. When asked why, the receptionist told us foreigners didn’t stay there. We smiled and said we understood, but we would be happy with their rooms. She responded by shaking her head and refusing to communicate further. Fortunately a maintenance woman standing by happened to have great English and explained everything the girl had said in English. We asked why we couldn’t stay there, and the maintenance woman looked confused. After several minutes of conversation, she explained the hotel was only a three-star hotel. We assured her that we were fine with that as she ushered us out the front door and told us where we could find another affordable hotel. I have been in hotels that implied I wasn’t good enough to stay there. I have been in hotels that I didn’t feel good enough to stay there. It was the first time I’d been in a hotel that told me it wasn’t good enough for me to stay there.
We wandered in the direction our rubber gloved guide had pointed, but couldn’t find the hotel. It was a nice walk, though. We had made our way onto one of Shenyang’s walking streets, with plenty of activity, overpriced shopping and Western food. Finally, we spotted some hotels. I recognized the first one from my online hotel research as the Shenyang branch of the Shangri La. We knew prices were rising, but we were about fed up enough to pay them anyway. Bracing ourselves against the potential wallet weight-loss, we headed into the Golden Triangle hotel and priced a room. They had one available for 300元. I don’t know about you, but I have moments when I know I’ve made a decision even though I’m going to go through the motions of considering it. I was staying in that hotel.
Fortunately, Andrew had the insight to ask if they had something cheaper. They offered us a room for 280元. Looking back, I realized it was the same room and they were beginning to bargain. Unfortunately, our Americanism had kicked in and we didn’t realize that then. So, for 100元, we had upgraded the hotel and location.
I realized, though, that we still had not resolved our reservation issue. I tried the number a few more times before getting through to the woman who told me she was working on it before we got cut off. My phone rang seconds later, and it was the gentleman I could talk to. I almost would rather not have understood him. It would have been easier to maintain a good attitude. He informed me that they had not bothered to actually make the reservation they had charged me for, but that they had worked hard to ’solve the problem’. If we would go back to the original hotel, he would make arrangements for us at another hotel and get a taxi to take us there. Informing him that we had already found another hotel, I asked if he could make arrangements where we were (with our paying the 100元 difference). He sputtered that he couldn’t. His staff had spent time making a reservation for us elsewhere and as we had a reservation with him from the beginning he had the right to make other arrangements for us. I reminded him he’d had the right to make the reservation I had requested in the first place and that by waiving that right, he had cost me precious time and money.
I really wasn’t interested in trekking back to the original hotel to wait and see if they could start getting things right. I canceled my reservation, signed on the dotted line and went up to enjoy our couch, soft beds, plush carpet, clean bathroom and complimentary bath robes.
Ripoff: 177元 (They had managed to charge my credit card despite the inability to reserve a room. No refund. Yet.)
Lesson learned: Never use Agoda Travel.
Experience points: 1
We were finally ready to see the place we were visiting, but the hotel fiasco had eaten too much time to make it to any of the sights. Similarly, it has blocked off enough space on the blog to earn it its own post.
The rest of the story will follow soon.
Pictures of the trip are ready for viewing.
I Finally Felt It
I have a new roommate and a new appreciation for life.
See, I had a birthday last week. If you missed it, don’t feel bad. More people than I could remember remembered it for you. And I’ve always had a sort of soft spot for underplaying my birthday anyway. This one was a little different, though.
I didn’t have any big party or anything, and I’m glad. But I got every form of birthday greeting invented since the Qing Dynasty. One friend that was away started the day off by having another friend come to my dorm to deliver a gift and card. Text messages started rolling in from friends, colleagues and bosses. Various ecards got themselves delivered to my inbox. I had voice mails from home waiting when I got back from a nice lunch with Vic and May. The birthday wish that had been left on my door had an addendum from an English-speaking Japanese teacher. A few friends made contact via IM. Karyn, Kelly and Divena, with their powers combined, secured me both the turtle I’d been thinking about buying and homemade dessert (two separate items for those of you that were concerned about it) for our Friday night meeting, even though it was Chinese take-out night. Another couple of friends provided candy and Chinese study aids to be the last gifts of the day (though not the weekend). I even looked forward to checking the hateful new wall with its full load of birthday messages.
To revel in such an outpouring of love seems to counter my claim of preferring an understated birthday. This was a special birthday, though. It reminded me of the countless contributors to the life I was measuring. Each variant of those two words (or four characters) came from someone that had in some way touched my life. A person without whom I would be different. Weaker. Poorer.
I offer sincere thanks both to those who have made me this twenty-three year old and for them.
And to those of you who didn’t say anything, no hard feelings. You just missed your chance to be thanked.
But I’m still thankful for you.
Aside: For those of you who were kind enough to refrain from asking what must be the most pointless question of the ages, this time it actually does feel different. I feel as if I’m transitioning from ‘college age’ to ‘young adult’. I guess that means I see myself as needing to think a little more long-term. I’ve been trying to do so for a while now, but it was a good reminder. I have nothing to report on that front, but I’m more aware now. And rest assured if i felt this one, I won’t feel another for a good long while. And I will be annoyed if you ask.
Head and Shoulders, Poesy and Prose
At long last, I break my silence. About this election, I mean.
I begin with an oft-attributed and commonly restated quotation that goes something like this:
“Any man who is not a socialist when he is twenty has no heart; any man who is a socialist when he is forty has no head.”
This bit of wisdom wrenched from the unheard mouth of Francois Guizot was passed to me by my grandfather a couple of years ago. My grandfather is a very wise man.
And, really, few statements so accurately summarize this election.
Cherishing clarity over brevity, I shall now elaborate. Obama’s vision and charisma are truly inspirational. His world where the smallest person is valued and protected is worth striving for. And who better to lead us there than a disadvantaged guy who skyrocketed past the prejudice on a potent combination of pure ambition and an unnamed-higher-power(s)-given ability?
The only problem is that, despite the catchy slogan, I can’t believe in it. And who better to turn to for a dose of reality than the maverick turned skipping calf who has lived long enough to know that happy dreams are quickly broken in the prison camp of life? Grand plans of principle and caring oft go awry when executed by flawed people. McCain knows just how flawed people really are and will stand firm against insubstantial dreams of better days.
Obama knows it’s broken and wants to fix it without bothering to figure out what went wrong in the first place. He’s going to reshuffle some parts, gild the rough spots and hope for the best. McCain has watched it break and is going to make sure nothing comes near it to further damage it (side note: that means it doesn’t get fixed either).
I had a friend recently theorize the difference between liberals and conservatives results from the complexity with which they see the world. I hereby layer another filter on the discussion. Perhaps the difference is determined by the chronological direction they look for guidance in their policies.
Take, for example, the opening citation. What perception! The glorious complexities of government solved by a simple adage. The political feuds of countless generations reduced to a single guiding aphorism. Call me a liberal, and I’ll boldly proclaim this truth to guide my nation into a glorious future of understanding and advancement. Gone are the squabbles over political leanings. We shall relegate all such enlightened notions to history.
As a conservative, I’ll consider the history of this bit of wisdom. It has been taken completely out of context, had its noted notions of government exchanged to address contemporary concerns, had its ages and syntax molded to fit various eras, and been inaccurately heard from the mouths of multiple people. It is most often mis-attributed to Winston Churchill, who most probably never had such notions, and it is often remedially drawn from the works of George Bernard Shaw, who most definitely repudiated the idea. Power-grabbing, glory-sharing, name-dropping, content-wrangling. It’s how people work—and all to claim the power of credulity.
And where does this leave a hopeful young person attempting to make an informed decision? I want to see things get better as much as any Bolshevik, and I’m about as fed up with the current system of doing things. However, I differ from my century-old revolutionary counterparts in simile in that I have been taught a bit more about history. Don’t misunderstand, I don’t think Barak is a communist or would turn the US into the setting of future James Bond missions. I don’t really think he’ll do anything of his own at all, but that’s a different discussion.
I suppose that’s why I usually vote conservative. But I still have seven weeks to dream.
Olympics: Quick Question
Here are some thoughts after watching far too much Olympics:
Anyone know why the Aussie women had to borrow uniforms from the wrestlers for the basketball final?
Olympics: Dear IOC
Here are some thoughts after watching far too much Olympics, in the form of an open letter (shoutout) to the IOC:
Dear M. Rogge,
Equestrian?
Sincerely yours,
Justin