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Jones doesn’t ring like Colbert

One of my more recently-discovered daily joys is reading BBC’s Magazine Monitor. Basically, they read the news and then give you the non-newsy highlights. I like it for a few reasons, namely, 1) it’s really well done and 2) it’s the kind of thing I do when I read the news.

I’m going to try something similar. Don’t worry, I don’t want to make this a regular feature. Unless, of course, it’s demanded by thousands of fans threatening violence to kittens. So, enjoy this single instance of the day’s news in review.

Let’s start small. This story gets notice simply because it is quite possibly the most fascinating political event I’ve witnessed in my brief tread on the life wheel. The king got fired. So he’s leaving. End of story. Except that his mother doesn’t really want to move out of the royally-sponsored home she’s lived in for years. Oh, and that there are rumors that he destroyed important documents and pilfered royal assets, but he’s letting us know not to bother following up on those. And really, I believe him. What kind of important documents are accessible to a king who can get voted out of office?

I highly recommend reading the article for the opportunity to revel in the queerness of an expelled king:

  • “[T]he ex-king did express concern about his future security and where he would live.”
  • “I don’t see any complications in the former king’s departure from the palace.”
  • “But he said it was time to move on rather than regret what had happened – and that the authorities had promised to find jobs for everyone.”
  • “He said that Gyanendra did however ask the government for help in finding alternative accommodation for him and his mother. ‘Once the issue is resolved he will immediately move.’ “

In another power grab—but with some sort of struggle this time—Bolivia owns a new gas company. Because it wants it. It runs something like this: the Bolivian government decided it wants to control its own industries, so it started negotiating with the company that currently controls things. After Bolivia “waited patiently all month,” they realized the company wasn’t going to give them everything they wanted, so they just seized control. My favorite part is the justification: “They wanted to be bosses, and have us be the employees. We’re a small country – sometimes they call us underdeveloped – but we have lots of dignity.” Read: We’re big people. Stop treating us like children, or we’re taking our ball and going home. OK, so it’s actually your ball, but we want it, so we think it should be ours. Dignity.

I blamed them until I realized Bolivia was just following the leaders. With no reported misgivings, the UN has decided they’re going to allow member nations to attack pirates in Somali waters. Hey US, UK, France, China, Libya or basically anyone else, it’s OK to invade a sovereign nation’s territory with hostile intent—you said so. I think I just found a new meaning for self-referentially absurd. China, Vietnam and Libya were quick to point out they were cool with this resolution because it didn’t violate the sovereignty of any other countries. Except the one they decided to blatantly ignore.

And while we’re talking about ignoring, I was happily perusing this story about the latest space shuttle trip’s purpose when I stumbled across its placement of an astronaut in a six-month stint on the space station. He was mentioned in passing after the new laboratory and toilet parts threads had been developed nearly to their limits. Adding to the insult was the quick progress to the other astronaut aboard: Buzz Lightyear. Yes, the action figure garnered exactly one paragraph and eight words more attention than the human. I assume that was because Buzz was on an exciting “educational programme,” and the stupid human was just keeping the space station running for the next six months.

The last story is from space as well—both the inky expanse around us and that vast mental void we call scientific prediction. Scientists found a planet outside our solar system that is not vastly different in size from the earth. It could very well be habitable if not inhabited. OK, well, that’s a surmise, but it makes sense. Follow it: they discovered the planet’s existence and approximate size by noting a warp in light rays from a distant star. The light measurements aren’t solid enough to even know much about the star, but science doesn’t care so much about the star as about the vastly smaller planet that seems to be orbiting it. They like it so much they named it. MOA-2007-BLG-192Lb. I’m a little upset because they stole my (or Brian Regan’s) preferred name for my first child. Now if I use it, people will naturally assume my progeny was named after that planet that warped the light rays so they think it’s there and is probably the home to a human-like race of people smart enough to avoid building Chicago.

But I’m getting distracted from telling you why this has so excited them.

They took the the solid data from the mangled electromagnetic waves and plugged them into their vast knowledge (“best ideas”) of planet formation. Remember all those planets they built? And of course we’ve all watched countless planets’ genesis. From there, they speculate that this planet might have an atmosphere—a thick one even. Which is good, because the only data they can gather seems to indicate the surface temperature would naturally be lower than that of Pluto (an odd measuring stick since that thing got demoted from planethood). But since there might be an atmosphere, it’s possible that the surface temperature would be higher than colder than anything that has ever been measured or imagined before. And obviously, if the temperature is high enough, there might be liquid on the surface. And we could totally imagine that liquid being water. Which is what we think would make a nice surface of an inhabitable planet.

And that’s really not me making them sound ridiculous. My science disclaimer (recently and appropriately joined by the history/law/politics disclaimer) is further justified.

I dare you to pronounce my sardonicism unwarranted. Now if it could do something constructive. Or at least earn me money.

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Growing Pains

A student at my English corner yesterday made an insightful observation: “I think technological advances have made our lives worse.” Her point was that the increased availability of goods and services, from food to communication, has decreased our satisfaction and, consequently, enjoyment of life.

There is certainly a lot of good that is lost as a society progresses. Let’s all share examples.

I’ll go first.

I’m not sure of China’s official label on the developed/developing scale. I do know, though, that the North, my region of residence is less developed than the South. I also know that my city is less developed than some others in the North. I also know that my immediate vicinity is termed the ‘Jing Yue Economic Development Zone’ of the city. Suffice it to say my neighborhood is economically and technologically marbled. I’ve looked on unsurprised as BMWs passed a donkey-drawn cart in front of my college.

A few months ago, I was needing to transfer some of my Chinese salary to my American bank. It’s actually a frighteningly expensive and awkward exercise. Western Union gets the job done, though, and I was glad to learn from their website that WU considers Jing Yue developed enough to host a branch. Upon arrival, though, I learned it was a developing branch. As in, a computer glitch was blocking them from transmitting or receiving funds. John, the designated foreigner liaison used his smooth English to promise me the difficulties would be resolved “soon.” He collected my number and promised to keep me informed of developments.

I made the trek downtown and settled my affairs after three days with no word. Problem solved, the limping Western Union managed to escape my ponderings.

John called me last night (Saturday night. The bank was closed.). He remembered my visit, my name and my need to transfer money and wanted to let me know the system was again functional. He hung up with a wish to see me soon. Twenty seconds later he called again to give me his personal cell phone number in case I ever needed his help with anything. When was the last time your banker did that?

We may be behind with some technological advances, but we remember what good old-fashioned customer service is like. And it worked: I’ll definitely go there next time I need to send money. And it won’t have anything to do with cutting out the two-hour trip downtown and back.

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The Mourning After

Midnight concluded the official mourning period here. The uneasy silence is broken.

I am uniquely disqualified to discuss emotional responses, for the simple reason that my emotive expression is apparently inversely proportional to the intensity of that emotion. That stated, on to the discussion.

The mourning was clearly a sort of offshoot from national pride. I can’t nail down whether it is part of the Chinese cultural identity to be rocked so deeply or if it was the proffering of an expected reaction, so I won’t try. All I know is it brought back the atmosphere of the days surrounding Ace’s death at school. Most of us barely knew him, so we could honestly say we were largely unaffected. At the same time, we were acutely aware of the intense distress of those around and among us, and desperately wished to commiserate. I remember watching girls gush tears and stifle sobs in mouths that had never spoken a word to him. It seemed unavoidably appropriate at the time. And discomfortably pretentious.

So I was left to navigate the choppy waters of emotion without any depth gauge. I was assured by my students that discussing the earthquake—engaging its effects—would be a good step. At its first mention, the bright clouded and the garrulous fell mute. I was usually left to expound my own thoughts without the input of those most obviously affected. And with mixed success.

Certainly, we are all saddened by the loss of life. Especially as the rubble is sifted through the chunky sieve of human understanding in a desperate search for answers. Talking with students and Chinese friends has reminded me that platitudes don’t placate, yet they are all most people have. They’re the same platitudes that got tossed around when Ace died, only without the religious verbiage.

They didn’t mean much then either.

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To Blave

Starbucks doesn’t exactly top my proverbial list of forgotten glories. There are multiple reasons for this, including the present availability of coffee and coffee drinks, my historical habitative distance from Starbucks and my general preference of less corporate caffeine and ambience sources.

Starbucks still represents a deep part of me, though, and is a lifestyle/pastime/indulgence that I engage when available. It is, in some small way, a microcosm of America—that land that disregards my willful distancing of myself from it to core my cultural self-awareness. That’s why I seek it out when available. It’s the home I experienced a little of back home.

A little taste of American indulgenceThat’s what made this gift so special. It wasn’t that I craved Starbucks, I hadn’t dropped hints, I hadn’t declared my passion for the absented watering hole. No, this gift was motivated by awareness. I’ve received plenty of gifts since coming to China—mostly tassels, terra cotta and the knick-knacks I hoped to collect. I’m so expectant of being endowed with them I rarely bother to gather them myself. And they are predictably massing themselves on various shelves, ledges and walls in my room. I love them.

If my student had arrived in Beijing planning to buy a little something for some people she was interacting with, she would have left with a distinctly Chinese welcoming gift. And I would have felt welcome and appreciated and grateful. No, she experienced a little bit of America in Beijing, remembered at least one person who might be missing it and procured him a piece.

I considered saving it for a rainy day. I contemplated receiving it like Bethlehem water. I visualized it sitting in my refrigerator while I mulled the decision. I sat in my office and drank it because I felt like it and it was handy.

It provided everything America does best: sugar, comfort, indulgence, fat, ease, energy, relaxation.

I hope to give such gifts.

I’m told some people buy things simply because they want to buy something. It doesn’t matter what, as long as it’s relatively appropriate. I’ve never understood that. I only buy something when it convinces me I need it—usually a fairly difficult process, I happily report. I gift the same way. Unfortunately, I’m often as hard to convince in that situation too.

Those of you most familiar with me are most aware of my gifting malaise. There’s a reason—I despise intentional gifting, the sense that a gift is owed and is accordingly proffered. It’s not that I find it bad or wrong. I envy those of you good at it. Because I’m terrible at it. An object informs me it belongs with someone I know. I acquire and accommodate it. It’s a special moment—the hair rises on the back of my neck and lays down on the side of my head, colors saturate, planes sharpen, a withdrawal thrills me.

So when my gifts are lame, don’t blame me—blame the objects’ poor communication skills.

Or my ability to interpret them.

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Static v Clarity or Circumlocution

alize I should probably clean my bathroom floor. Except I feel I just cleaned it because I’d been planning to remake my bed after washing it last. I didn’t, though, because after I washed it last time, I had to finish washing the kitchen and life-room floors. When I finished washing the floors, I planned to wash my cleaning rags, but figured I should wait to do that until I had finished washing and drying the dishes so I could include the towels and dishcloth. Only, it was about dinner time, so I had to dirty some dishes to make food. I struggled a little with dinner because I couldn’t find my favorite spatula until I remembered I had used it to make an egg at lunch, so it was dirty. So I washed it—and a few other things while I waited for the rice to finish. staticI ate at my desk, like normal, while I wrote on a few Facebook walls. I had seen the generative messages on my wall a few days before, but I had been taking a break from grading to write a blog post at the time, so I didn’t want to stop and respond. My desk was still a little messy with the odds and ends I had set on it to get them out of the way while I dusted and swept, so I didn’t really feel bad leaving my bowl on the desk until I finished my messages. One of my students IMed me with a question about class, so I broke off Facebook to check what I’d assigned last week and remembered I needed to make copies for class the next day. I got back with my copies and realized I hadn’t stopped at the store as I had intended to, so I’d have to go to out between class and my SAC the next night. That was cool, though, ’cause it reduced my demand for dishes. Of course, when the SAC was over, I was too tired to do much more than read a few chapters before drifting off to sleep. Sleeping in was OK—to make up for getting to bed so late—since it was a class-less morning, a day to finish the odd jobs I’d been putting off. I washed up some dishes and called back my friend that had been trying to reach me when I had been at class and SAC, then realized I was hungry. Lacking food in the house, since I had forgotten to go to the store, I headed out to get some. Walking near the bookstore, I remembered the email I had promised to send a friend, so I took care of that as soon as I got back—even before putting away the groceries. I couldn’t really bring myself to dirty the dishes I’d just washed, though, so I ate an apple and planned on an early dinner. Of course, the apple was with the food I had shelved on my bed to write the email, so when it was consumed and the rest were put away, my bed needed straightening. It was about time to change the sheets, and I was in a cleaning mood, so I pulled off the old sheets and put on new, but realized I couldn’t wash the old ones because I had finished off the bleach last time I cleaned the bathroom. I’d just been to the store, though, and I wasn’t going back out to get bleach. Besides, it would be easier to pick that up when I restocked my cleaning supplies, but I usually did that at Walmart, which meant taking a few hours, and I’d probably want to get some of the less-locally-available foods when I was there anyway, and since I’d just bought food, I didn’t need to buy more at Walmart, so the sheets could wait with the cleaning rags to be washed. Anyway, my last trip to Walmart had reminded me that I should get a new ink cartridge, which required a trip downtown, so maybe I should make that trip this weekend. Which means moving lesson planning to a new time, as I had done this week’s lesson plans after my Walmart trip and that didn’t work so well. And shouldn’t I be establishing a regular time to do lesson plans by now? Don’t I know what a normal week looks like? Of course, my friends didn’t—I needed to message them about when we would meet next since the new EC time might conflict with our original plan. So I sent that message and realized I had been waiting on an email from another teacher, so I checked on that before heading out to dinner. Quick mirror check: looks OK, except the mirror is dirty. I should probably clean it. Of course, then again, the whole bathroom could stand another cleaning—especially the floor. I’ll do that as soo