Web Log of a Mad Man

My return trip home, thoughts on China, etc...

2008-01-22T10:58:00.000-08:00

I had a dream a few nights ago. I dreamed about China. I'm sure you expect me to say that it was a horror filled nightmare, but it wasn't. In the dream China held all things I loved about life; a promise land filled with joy and laughter. While walking down a random street in a random city, I saw a couple of members from the Chinese Women's Basketball Team. I made eye contact with one of the players-I saw them at the Wuhan airport on my way home, btw-- and she smiled at me. And then I ran into a random person from college. He was dressed up like a clown and was preparing to show the Chinese people his love for joy and humor. The dream made me happy. This is the first dream I've dreamed about the country; I didn't dream about China once while I was over there (dreams about the United States, every night). It's not often that a dream makes you happy, but this dream did. I woke up with a smile on my face and wondering just what the dream meant. I'm not giving this portion of REM sleep any spiritual or social interpretation, but still it makes me pause and think.

As you guessed, I made it home alright. Of course, the country wouldn't just let me leave without some form of trouble. When I arrived at the Enshi airport, inclement weather delayed my initial flight. Three hours later, I discovered that the delay would last eight hours, and I would miss my four subsequent flights. When I arrived in Wuhan that night, I found out, thanks to the translation skills of a good Samaritan, that the next available flight to Los Angeles was forty eight hours later. Luckily I had a friend in the city, (thank you Lucy!) who let me stay at her place for a few nights. A day and a half later, I arrived at the Wuhan airport only to find that the help desk had given me the wrong time. Thankfully, that flight was also delayed by inclement weather. A few hours later, while lounging in the Wuhan terminal I noticed my flight disappeared off the arrival/departure board (no ARRIVED or DELAYED or BOARDING, they just took it off the board) and it is a good thing the Chinese Women's Basketball team didn't mesmerize me too much, because I almost missed my flight out of Wuhan to Guangzhou.

My three remaining flights were uneventful. We did encounter some mad turbulence when flying over Japan (I was praying to God; the Chinese were all asleep) but besides that, the 12 hour flight across the Pacific went off without a hitch. On my flight from LA to Atlanta I sat beside two Hispanics, and I sat, on the charter flight from Atlanta to Nashville, close to a cute Hispanic girl who asked me "Do you speak Spanish?" I had to begrudgingly reply "No, no I don't." I'm pretty sure this is God's way of telling me to pick up the foreign language.

Even though, judging by the papers and the magazines, I should really be learning Chinese. Since my departure, I've noticed China's ubiquitous appearance in American media and culture has gotten worse. China is everywhere. This past weekend, my sister and brother-in-law gave me a Newsweek with a picture of Yao Ming on the front. Yesterday, I noticed three magazine at Barnes and Noble that had something about China on the cover. It's the new, hip thing. And well, I just got out of it. Since I've returned, I've had plenty of time to reflect on my Chinese experience. Here are a few thoughts:

I've had little reverse culture shock, nothing major. Here are the only examples: Americans eat way too much protein, Oranges should not be three dollars a pound, Americans eat way too much sugar and I still haven't become accustomed to putting toilet paper in the toilet (really, who does that?). There you go, that's it. They told us reverse culture shock would be worse than the initial culture shock, and, in my case, they were wrong. I don't have it, and I don't think I will ever have it. Life has pretty much returned back to normal in the good old United States; I'm in the same place I was before I left. Nothing has really changed (besides a few engagements and new gas stations) and life is not perfect, but I wasn't expecting it to be perfect when I returned. And let me tell you, it's a heckuva lot better.

And I mean heckuva. Of course I blame myself for all this, but still, I will take some liberties: I hated my Chinese experience because my Chinese experience sucked. Plan and simple. I had my "return home hi" and I've come down from it. But I consider life here exponentially better than life over there. I enjoy being back for the same reasons I fore casted months ago. Nobody uses me as their high-class American arm-candy; nobody tries to make me drink crappy Chinese beer; nobody feels insulted when I tell them, for a fact, some places in America are hotter than Wuhan; nobody expects me to give them free English lessons when they know three words of the language; NO BAIJIO (cept for the two bottles I smuggled back); no loud speaker that wakes me up at 6:20 every morning; the nearest large city is not 12 hours away; etc.

Sure, it sounds like I enjoy home because home is not China, but that is not entirely true. I do love home for what it has to offer, and China has made me appreciate those things so much more. However, I'm not the kind of person that is going to ditch a ten month commitment because I don't get to eat peanut butter and cheese on a regular basis. Since I've been back, it's been nice to eat Chic-fil-a and go to Barnes and Noble, but I haven't been pining for those things for four months. They are icing on the cake.

I've been renewed with a sense of purpose and optimism since I returned. I don't why, and I don't know if it will last, but I feel as if I now have the opportunity to do what I need to do. China is over, thankfully, and the days I never thought I would see are here. It feels like a dream more or less, like something that only happened in the recess of my mind. I feel like Scrooge on Christmas morning. I just had an experience that very few will ever understand, but that experience has made me better as an individual. I'm awake now, and even though nothing has changed since the night before, it's time to begin life anew. Whatever I do in the long term, whether I move to Nashville or ditch the place for some undiscovered metropolis, I will reflect on China as something that clarified my life. But, and I mean this, thank God it's over.

"I'll see you in the morning if nothing happens."

The Final Post from China

2008-01-08T04:31:00.000-08:00

I arrived in China on August 24 and tomorrow, 136 days later, I'm leaving.

I also have a million and one things to do tonight, but I felt like the blog deserved one last post before I left. Some random thoughts:

I've been enjoying myself since New Year's Eve. I can't explain why. I have had more fun in the last few weeks than the entire four months preceding. Why? Hmmm. Why is a very good question. I've been going out and doing fun things with Chinese people (There is a story where I was dancing on a stage in front of 100 Chinese people in a Chinese dance club, but I don't have time to get into that).

Anyway. It's late. I find it funny that this blog is ending with a whimper and not with a bang, but I guess this is it for now. I leave tomorrow and get in America on Thursday morning. See you all then.

"I'll see you in the morning if nothing happens."

Advent

2007-12-30T07:49:00.000-08:00

My Advent calendar has slowly transformed into a "Jonathan Coming Home Calendar." Take that, Christmas...

Reflections on baijio (among other things)

2007-12-28T09:22:00.001-08:00

What precipitated the love and joy from yesterday's post? Well let me expound.

I was dancing around a fire last night...

It all originated with baijio. I hate it with a passion. Baijio is the official (ok the only) hard liqour of China which has ruined every decent meal in this country for the last two thousand years. It taste like (yes I've had some) the run-off from all the sorrows of a teenage depression, like the secretion of a foot-mashed worm on a rainy day, like the holocaust in liquid form, like the first time you get rejected by a girl. The smell of baijio makes me want to hurl. My stomach churns every time I see a Chinese waitress bring in a bottle of the stuff, because I know what is about to happen next.

As I stated earlier in this blog, the Chinese men love baijio more than reproduction. It makes an appearance at every decent meal. They crack open a bottle, pour it in their cups, and toast each other until too drunk to continue. Now I understand wanting to get drunk every time you eat a meal, but really, a civilization that is six billion years old could have invented something that tastes better.

The Chinese keep drinking it, keep pouring it, and keep toasting each other for the rest of the meal. They really love the toasting part. I don't understand why, it's more or less a game where everyone wins. Everyone toasts everyone and everyone has a good time. The Chinese look forward to this whole toasting thing from the moment they wake up in the morning with a hangover. They live for dinner’s and toasting.

But the main problem is Chinese men consider baijio a sign of machismo. The real men drink a lot. The real men pretend they enjoy it. In fact, besides cigarettes, I'm pretty sure baijio is the only sign of machismo in China. Men in America assert their manhood in many way: hunting, drinking beer, lifting weights, eating spicy food, having a beard, driving a motorcycle, sports, womanizing, business, etc. Men in China have two choices: one hundred proof fire-water and cancer sticks. That is why every man in this country does both. I am a man. I am an American. I’m expected to put the stuff away.

Now you know the foundation of my troubles, I will tell you the story.

I have a Chinese businessman named David. He appears often in this blog--see the mountain park post and the one where I ranted--and David has a friend who is a student at the University across the street. His name is Bevin. Bevin and David have a symbiotic relationship: Bevin does David's translating, teaches David English, and gets David hooked up with the Americans he knows at the University. Why all this ingratiating? Because Bevin hopes by getting on David's good side, David will pay back Bevin's kindness with a job. Do you see where I fit into all this? Yes it's the part where I am an American.

David yearns to be friends with an American. Why? I don't know. It plays into the whole dream of one day making it to America. This whole thing is just a grand production of Fevil: An Amerian Tale. Americans are not humans over here, we’re demi-god status symbols. This is why David wants to be friends with me. He wants everyone to see that he has a friend from America. He wants everyone to know that the Americans like him. He’ll do almost anything to get that.

However, David has forgot the keystone of superficial friendships: I’m the one with the power, and because of this, you better be making me happy. He tries hard—expensive dinners, exotic places—but I really don’t enjoy his company. The sad thing is he doesn’t know that. Why? He is that obtuse. He has driven me to mountain parks, and he has taken me to fancy restaurants, but I hate it. He has such narcissitic confidence. He reminds me of the person that buys a Christmas gift on the sole factor that they want someone to give it to them. He thinks that if he is having a good time showing me around, then I must be having a good time. In his mind I am having the time of my life every time I am around him. There is no way I’m not right? Because spending time with him is a privilege. Something I should be thankful for. He is lowering himself to my level. And I should get down on my knees every night and be thankful that I met a guy that shows me the countryside and buys me dinner. I want to crush his little world. Really. I want to scream “Americans DON’T LIKE YOU!” But he probably wouldn’t pick up on that. Don’t be that person readers.

So I hear you asking: “But Jonathan why do you keep doing stuff with this man?” One word: persistence. Bevin and David are the most persistent people I have met. Bevin will call three times a week and inform me of an invitation to dinner. I will decline the invitation. Bevin will beg for ten minutes. I will still decline. Bevin will call the next day; I will decline again. Eventually I wear down and agree. JC was right: persistence works. They are why I refused to pick up my phone for a whole month. They don’t take no for an answer. One time I yelled into the phone “I WON’T GO.” Bevin and David knocked on my door the next day.

Well, I wore down this week and agreed to go to dinner with David last night. He blew his last chance.

At five thirty David took me to one of the 4,000 minority restaurants in the city. David also took Ms. Lucy (a Sister).

Ms. Lucy has been one of the bright spots of my trip to China. For one, Ms. Lucy studied three years in Jersey (she’s got friends in High places up in Rome), so she understands what it’s like to be a foreigner. Ms. Lucy has empathy for me because she’s been there. Plus, she has the best English of anyone I have met in the last four months. Above all, she’s a Sister. So you know, we have a lot in common.

So, as I was saying, David treated Ms. Lucy and me to dinner at a minority restaurant last night. Dinner was going fine—I wanted to leave, everyone was speaking Chinese, pretty normal circumstances—when the waitress breaked out the baijio. Of course, everyone started drinking.

At this point, the waitresses of the establishment began dancing around a bonfire in the middle of the restaurant (it had a courtyard feel). I feigned interest and left the table. Seeing that I might be interested, Lucy decided that I might enjoy learning how to dance Chinese style and guided me to the fire. Last night I was dancing around a fire with eight Chinese waitresses, the sole reason I came to China.

Unexpectedly, who expects these things, a group of twenty drunken people yanked me out of the conga line into the midst of their bacchanalian revelry. For about thirty seconds I lost all power. I couldn’t escape. I had about two inches of moving room, and there were random hands grabbing my arm and pulling me every direction. They surrounded me like a pack of blood-shot eyed zombies all moaning one-word “driiiinkkkk”. And then they tried forcing baijio down my throat. When you’re surrounded by a mob there is a second where everything starts ticking faster and you think to yourself “Oh I could die.” Granted it isn’t a realistic fear, but you are at the mercy of twenty drunk Chinese. You don’t think about knocking someone over or pushing your way out. You worry about holding your footing against the weight of twenty individuals. They just keep pressing closer and closer, without any coherent thought to what they are doing. And then occurs to you, you’re in this position because you are a foreigner. No other reason. You may die in this blasted place because a pack of baijio saturated Chinese forced you into a blazing bonfire.

I broke out, somehow, enraged out of my mind and soaked from neck to waist in baijio. I smelled like the wretched drink. I made my way to our table, and for the rest of the night I endured the constant toasting of David’s good friends and coworkers, who were eating at the same restaurant on the same night.

Yes, David took me to that restaurant to show me to his entire workplace. I have no humanity around this guy. David uses me to look cool; Bevin uses me to get on David’s good side, and I get a free three dollar meal. Everyone is too involved with his or her agenda to notice that I hate it. Even Sister Lucy.

After dinner they drove me to the foot of my apartment. I was soaked in baijio, livid, and exhausted. After we parked Ms. Lucy said, at the same time I began thanking the good Father for delivering me from evil, “You are the host, you should invite them up to your apartment.” I lost Ms. Lucy, my one Chinese friend who understands. She saw me hating the entire night. She had to know I wanted nothing more than to change clothes and get away from these people. She had too. Now she was on their side.

I invited them up to my filthy apartment (it’s that way to deter guests) in hopes the visit wouldn’t last long. I’m not sure what part about the night signified I was the host. It must have been my baijio soaked jacket. They sat down in my apartment and stayed for about an hour and a half, but that is not the length of it.
They played the part of “annoying houseguest” perfectly: they open doors that are closed for a reason, they touch things you don’t want touched, they stick around longer than they should. It doesn’t help the situation.

And David, right on cue, begins asking me to accompany him to Lichuan sometime in the next week. Lichuan is a town that is three hours away from Enshi. Its main claim to fame is beautiful scenery and that one cave. Lichuan is an overnight trip, and we will spend the night in a beautiful hotel. All my houseguests—Lucy, David, Bevin, David’s friend—were trying to convince me to do it. It was rather funny actually. They had no incentive except “It’s going to be really pretty.” I sat there in disbelief. How dense can a group of people be? What are they not telling me? “It’s going to be really pretty?” That’s all I get out of it? Oh man, they don’t know Americans. I didn’t want to do it. So I turned him down for Friday. I turned him down for Saturday. I turned him down for Sunday. I turned him down for Monday. BUT TUESDAY! TUESDAY I HAVE FREE!

They caught me in a lie. Apparently, New Years Day is a holiday in China and the student’s don’t go to class on that day:
“What do you mean you teach on Tuesday? It is a holiday, students don’t go to class.” Ms. Lucy said.
“What? Wait a second. You celebrate New Years twice in this country?” “Yes.”
“Well I’ll be.”

In extreme frustration I agreed.

Sitting there on that couch, hating everything about the last few months, I had an epiphany: if I could just leave the city by Monday and not tell anyone, I wouldn’t go on Tuesday, I wouldn’t have to talk to Bevin or David ever again, and I wouldn’t have to worry about calling them up and telling them I hate their guts (it has come to that point). Yes that’s right, and I could take my four thousand yuan and I could see the country! I could tell my friends at home I saw the Great Wall. I wouldn’t be cursed to a lifetime of “You went to China for four and half months and you didn’t see the Great Wall?” (or Shanghai, or Hong Kong, or pandas, etc.). Yes that’s right! It’s possible. I’m done with classes; I don’t have anything holding me here. All I need is to find a place to stay, pack my apartment and buy my plane ticket. It would work. I would be out of the city in three days! I had it; I had the ultimate plan. I would travel solo and see the country before I left forever. I became excited. I never become excited about anything. It lasted until three o’clock today.

The money. I lost my bankcard a couple of weeks ago and I have no money, and will have no money for a week. For some reason, I had some wild notion that you could walk into a bank, show your I.D. and clean out your account. I was wrong. My waiban and I went to the bank, and I have to wait seven days before the bank will give me a red cent. I’m stuck in this town for one more week. I probably won’t see Beijing.

Of all the soul-crushing experiences I’ve had in the last few months, this one tops them all. I don’t feel excited about something often, and I don’t know why I became excited about this. It’s not my style to want to see something. It’s not my style to get excited. But I wanted to do something alone. I wanted to overcome my lack of adventure. I wanted to go to a big city in a foreign country and survive on my own. I didn’t want a life cursed by “You didn’t see the Great Wall?” exclamations (and believe me they will happen).

I don’t know what happened to that cursed piece of plastic. I’m pretty sure it was stolen. I’ve looked everywhere in my small apartment and can’t find it. And now I have to wait a week for $500 cash. I guess I shouldn’t have lost it, I should have foreseen this coming and cleaned out my bank account when I had a card. I guess I should say it’s my fault, the whole fact that this China experience has been a disaster. I could have done so much couldn’t I? I should have traveled alone in October holiday when I had the chance. I should have made closer friends with my students. I should have cleaned my apartment, or read more. I should have bought into the culture and ingratiated myself with every person I knew. I should have fought the loneliness instead of letting it beat me. I should have invited my students over instead of surfing the internet. I should have done a myriad number of things that I didn’t do.

I planned on writing an optimistic blog post earlier in the day. It had something to do with overcoming obstacles. Hogwash I know. Is there a home after living in this place? Is there? The hits never stop coming. Something about this place just wants to keep you down. Take me home. Take me home and don’t ever let me leave. That’s all I want. You know that by now.

“I’ll see you in the morning if nothing happens.”

A Post Four Months in the Making

2007-12-27T05:16:00.000-08:00

Brace yourselves...

I hate this. I hate this more than Tennessee football. I hate this more than Christian Laettner of the early 90's. I hate this more than the Backstreet Boys, O-town, N'Sync, Britney, and Christina combined. I hate this more than bad summer movies. I hate this more than 80% of my time at Lipscomb. I hate this more than the Adair county marching band. I hate being a stooge. I hate being a pawn. I hate being a high-class call-boy who is treated well because of his nationality. I hate living here. I hate the joke that somebody should do this for more than an hour. I hate being the only person that feels this way. I hate living here. I HATE Baijio. I hate that I didn't leave three weeks into it. I hate being the center of attention every time I leave my apartment. I hate that I ever stepped on that plane out of Nashville. I hate that I haven't seen the sun in close to a month. I hate the one time that I listened to others instead of trusting my gut it turned into this. I HATE THIS.

I feel a little better; you must have seen that coming. I've wanted to type that almost every day, but I've always held back until now. I didn't want to scare anyone I guess. My coming home can't wait 13 days, 10 hours and 10 minutes. I guess it will have to.

Well, I will not divulge the event's that brought on this blog post. Divulging these events would take three hours of explaining, and I don't feel up for it. Honestly.

In the words of Haley Fuller, and I don't think she would mind me quoting her on this, "I definitely don't have reverse culture shock." Haley has been home a week tomorrow, and she has no reverse culture shock. You don't understand people. At my orientation they TOLD us we would have reverse culture shock and they TOLD us that it would be much worse than the initial culture shock when we left America (Of course, they also told us that once we recovered from initial culture shock we would enjoy life in China more than life in America; I can't speak for Haley, but I on the other hand...). I have seen people experience Chinese reverse culture shock, so I know it exists. When somebody has a total absence of it altogether, something is rotten in the state of Denmark.

I say this because I know I will follow suit. For a total of six hours I will be the happiest man to ever grace the confines of LAX. Let me tell you that. When I return to Nashville and venture out in public, you better believe I'm going to stand there wide-eyed and say "Nobody's staring at me. Nobody's STARING AT ME!" ("My mouth's bleeding Bert! My Mouth's Bleeding!"). I will have reverse culture euphoria. I'll be a hoot and a half for about a week, and after that I'll be just a hoot for the rest of all time.

Well here's another blog post just in case you thought I had a spontaneous, Dickensian, Christmas-inspired change of heart.

BAH!!!!

"I'll see you in the morning if nothing happens."

p.s. I might post the story tomorrow. I'm just too tired for it right now.

p.s.s. Man, it takes a lot of rage to hate something more than I hated Laettner in the early 90's. Really.

Calculations and stuff.

2007-12-26T02:36:00.000-08:00

Hmmmmm...

I have two weeks left, a little under two weeks actually. Two weeks ago was December 12...

I guess everyone has counted down to something. Of course, most normal countdowns end with a ceremony like marriage or graduation. I have never counted down to ceremony, but I have counted down twice before: when I moved out of Mrs. F's and my current countdown to coming home. During that first countdown those last few weeks were almost unbearable. Here we are again, two weeks left.

I'm guessing most people, like myself, create mathematical formulas to make the time pass quicker when they near the end. Some of my favorites:

Multiplying the days by twenty-four, the remaining hours by sixty and the remaining minutes by sixty. It gives you one large sum that never stops moving. Let's see: 1,245,600 seconds. Give or take a couple hundred seconds. On second thought, I don't like that one...

Better yet, let's go with percentages. I have been in China total of 123 days, and I have 14 left. Therefore I have 10% of my time in China remaining. Oh dear. That's depressing. 10% of my life is over two years. 10% is the difference between an A and a B. I'm trying to forget this one...

Or you could shave days. Let's see, since tomorrow it will be 13 days, and today is almost over with. Let's just say the countdown is at 13. And since I'm counting down the days until I get back in America, let's just pretend it's a countdown to leave so it's really at 12 days. Yea I don't like that one either...

Or when taken to extremes, the meta-physical time jump. I usually ask myself where I was one week ago today, say "Wow that doesn't seem like that long ago," and then I apply it to the future. So now the countdown is down to seven days. And since two weeks ago was December 12, and that doesn't seem that long ago (yea it does) then technically I should be leaving any second now. Well, we're 0 for 4...

Or better yet, pretend I am loving this and that the countdown is really something I'm not looking forward too. Then you have to ask why someone would countdown to something when they are not looking forward to it. That's why you don't ask...

And then I slap my head and say "You idiot! It's just two weeks!" When Haley hit her two week mark I kept thinking "Man if I could just make it two weeks, hot dog I'd be set!" Well it's passed. I've been telling myself since the first of October that if I could just make it to Christmas, man, I'd be sitting pretty. Well that happen yesterday. So I'm good, I'm slowly realizing that I should just enjoy it while I can, because it ain't happening again.

And yet when I'm thinking all this mumbo-jumbo, the comedian in the back of my head keeps saying "And you were supposed to do this a whole year!" (rimshot) (canned laughter). Sometime I forget that fact, and then I remember it, and then I forget it again, and then I think "Who were these people kidding? Do this a whole year?" I don't blame the College or the organization for wanting some form of long-term commitment of course. So I guess when I say "These people," I mean every person that has done the China experience and liked it. They must be out of their minds (I have started so many posts with "I believe we should institutionalize anyone who enjoys doing this..." before realizing we would be committing many of my good friends to the loony bin). Of course, before I left I asked seven or eight people who had taught in China before if they enjoyed it, and all recommended it. A 100% approval rate is hard to question.

Alright, alright, alright. So I'm the nut. I realize it, and I hate nothing more. Every single daggum person that has come to China loves it. And what's more, every single daggum person that leaves our beloved Country loves the experience. You could put me on Ripley's Believe it or Not: "Up next, a man who left America and didn't have the time of his life. Believe it, or not?" Ugh, I'm never going to overcome this English-major-travel-abroad-inferiority-complex. I'm like that penguin who just wants to dance! (I didn't like that movie by the way) While all the other penguins want to travel and they don't understand why I want to dance (mixed metaphor but you get the point). Man. I'm going to be regulated to the dust-bin of humanity. Maybe my experience is situational, or maybe I'm just a wuss. I don't care, either way get me home.

Anyways, to sum this up, a list of things I am looking forward to:

No one staring at me in public, no one yelling hello, no mandatory hard-liquor every time I eat a decent meal, no one expecting me to have the secret to English fluency, not being approached by strangers for the secret to English fluency, not being the center of attention everywhere I go, not being used by one person to get on another person's good side, not losing my bank card, not being woken up every morning at 6:15 by the school song, Chick-fil-a, not being offered cigarettes every day, not being cut in line, no more random cell-phone pictures, no more inquiries into my girlfriends, my ability to speak Chinese, my ability to use Chopsticks, my future plans to travel China; family, friends, etc.

But in the spirit of fairness, I would like to list the things I will miss about China:

When I am the recipient of a smile from a pretty Chinese girl.

Now see! Being here isn't all bad. I know I'm going to miss that!

"I'll see you in the morning if nothing happens."

p.s. Happens a lot actually. If I'm thirty and still single, I'll be coming back.

p.s.s. But let's not count on it.

Christmas Eve

2007-12-23T23:34:00.000-08:00

I had plans to attend Christmas mass tonight from seven to nine. Of course, I had already told a lot of my students that I would be going. And, being that it is a particular meeting, I saw it as the best oppurtunity, in my few remaining weeks to maybe smile or look happy or something. I guess it was one of the few things in the history of this train-wreck that I've been looking forward to. Well...

I got a call at 3; it was my translator. She said "You will have a Christmas Dinner today at 5:30." I said "Ok," and hung up the phone. They sucker-punch you with social events over here. By the time you think of the logistics of doing such things, its to late to rescind the invitation. And as I've stated earlier in the year, it's almost impossible to tell someone "No," once they have you on the phone. In fact, it's an insult to turn down an invitation to anything, even though they give you ten minutes warning, even though you've told them weeks before you have plans, even though you don't want to go, etc. And when the invitation is coming from the people that could make your life a living heck if they wanted too, well...

I will miss mass. There is no way I can make it now. Chinese dinners average three or four hours (don't ask me how). I should probably beginning my answers to the plethora of inevitable Christmas questions I will have to answer a dozen times: "What do you do on Christmas?" Do you celebrate Christmas with your family?" "What do Americans do on Christmas?" "If Christmas left San Diego on a train heading in an easterdly direction traveling 95 kph and Thanksgiving left Denver on a train in an westernadly direction travelling 35 kph and the distance between the two Holidays is 2,000 km, and both left at 14:15 Beijing Standard Time, at what time in the American Eastern time zone with the two intersect?" (man I wish).

It's Christmas eve and I'm bummed beyond belief, but I am going to do my best to keep this post from following the standard theme of "Look how much Jonathan hates certain life decisions!" That mentality is becoming cliche on this thing, and I'm running out of ways to express it. OH THAT THIS TOO SOLID FLESH WOULD MELT, THAW, AND RESOLVE ITSELF INTO A DEW! OR THAT THE EVERLASTING HAD NOT FIX'D HIS CANON 'GAINST SELF-SLAUGHTER! (that's Hamlet). Maybe I'll try a picture:

(I don't like the picture either. Merry Christmas).

"I'll see you in the morning if nothing happens."

Today

2007-12-23T03:13:00.000-08:00

I don't lose things on a normal basis. I did not lose my bank card once while I lived in Nashville. However, since coming to China I have lost my Chinese bank card twice. I have no idea how I accomplish this feat: I leave the card in my pants' pocket and only take it out to withdrawal money or put it in another pair of pants. I find the process pretty full-proof. So when I can't find the card in any of my jeans, well I have no idea where to look.

I had special night planned for myself. Around six, I would take myself out to a nice western restaurant (the only one in the city, but still pretty nice), buy myself a nice steak dinner, and return to my apartment to write Food Blog Post Number 2 on Chinese western food. By going out alone, I would enjoy life by myself; I wouldn't succumb to the tempation of changing into my pj's at 6:30 and vegging until bedtime at 12. Well, I woke up from my three hour nap at 5:30 and discovered, sadly, I had lost my bankcard. In the span of two minutes I went from steak dinner to wondering how I am going to live off fifty yuan for the next week (it's actually pretty easy).

Of course, I've already tore my apartment to pieces looking for the cotton-picking thing. I've looked in almost every nook and cranny I have in this apartment. I've looked in pants I haven't worn in weeks (although I last used it on Wednesday). I've even looked in rooms I hadn't been in since Laura died (movie allusion, nobody named Laura has ever died in my life). Just how could I lose that thing? The last time I lost it, I found it in the most inconceivable place: lounging around the stand-up air conditioner in the most isolated corner of my apartment. Why I found it there will go down as one of the mysteries of my life. Just how does a bank card end up behind a stand-up air conditioner? Really? Was I standing beside the air conditioner and decided for some weird reason that I would put my bank card on top of it? Did I wake up in the middle of the night, take it out of my pants, fling it across the living room and then go back to bed without remembering? Really, how does a bank card end up there? Well, as you can imagine, if I found my bank card there last time, I have no clue where to look now.

It takes full eight days to get a new one, and I'm too stubborn to go back to the bank and ask for a new one a second time. I have one choice: find it. Well, I guess I have something to do tomorrow.

Today I went out my students to a park near the city. I don't understand somethings about living here. In America people waste time, I know this, but the time-wasting is usually something that happens without forethought. Here, my students plan days in advance to waste time. When I say time-wasting I mean walking around for three or four hours and staring at trees. I might find this tree-watching fun if I were doing this with friends, but when I'm doing with five or six people who are conversing with me in broken English every minute of three hours, it's exhausting. After walking around with my students for three hours--and I had to insist on leaving early--I came back to my apartment and took a 3 1/2 hour nap. I slept 9 1/2 hours last night. At least I'm well rested.

"I'll see you in the morning if nothing happens."

Goodbye Haley.

2007-12-21T21:17:00.000-08:00

Haley left yesterday. In one fell swoop I lost a lunch buddy, coworker, exercise companion, dinner friend, confidant, etc. In one fell swoop I lost every good thing about living in this country. She kept me sane, she listened to my problems, she talked to me in fluent English, and now she is gone. I can't live knowing that when the phone rings it won't be her on the other end (unless, of course, she is calling me from America). I will never see her (in China) again. I will never visit her apartment to have peanut butter sandwiches with one of her classes again (that happened once); I will never eat eggs & tomatoes with her at that one place with that one guy with really long finger nails again; and I will never curse her under my breath after she insists on running three miles in the Chinese countryside again (that happened once too). Every time I walk by her building, I look up at her apartment, sigh, and reflect that I will never see her live there again. Sometime in the near future, I will go to her apartment door, knock, and hope by some miracle she will open the door, but she won't; she is gone forever When she lived there, I went to that place for solace, as an escape from the country. Now, I consider it nothing but a shell, a memorial to all the good times we had together. Haley, in the words of the poet Fergie "I'm going to miss you like a child misses its blanket." The Backstreet Boys once sang "Show me the meaning of being lonely." You did just that, but that's ok, because you're in a much better place now...

See you in like eighteen days.

Now that Haley has left, I will face one of the greatest tests I have faced in my short life. For the next eighteen days, I will face one gargantuan demon: loneliness. I hate being alone; I live for talking to other people (who understand what I say). It's what I enjoy the most in life. In fact, I'm going to do it. I'm going to do it now. I'm going to proclaim, to the entire world, that I, Jonathan D. Harrison, am an extrovert. There that feels good. I enjoyed idle time in high school, but since then (see blog post 57), I'm not sure what happened. Anyways, I don't like being alone. I will give you an example:

Someone told me a few weeks ago of a person who bought a plant, and I got jealous. Why? I was jealous of the companionship that person had with their plant. Yes the loneliness over here is that bad; it causes twenty-two year old young-men to covet flora (and they had a small plant too). That was before Haley left. Now she is gone and I've started talking to my furniture.

I don't know how I will survive until January 10. The next few weeks will be some of the longest weeks of my life. I don't know how I am going to do it. I really don't. This obstacle seems almost insurmountable.

But all I need to do is survive right? In order words, to survive the next eighteen days I have to not die. That seems pretty easy; I've been not dieing for a while now. In fact, I'm pretty sure I haven't died a single time in my life. If I did die, chances are I couldn't avoid the situation, so you know, I don't have to put much effort into the whole not dieing thing. I'm not stressed about it. So I'm set right? In order to survive, I have to not die. Wow, it sounds simple when put that way. What am I afraid of? Am I losing my mind? I realize the stupidity of my statements, but I'm still dreading the next few weeks. What makes me dread them? Really! What! I've nothing to do for three weeks. Arggghhhhh. I am my own worst enemy Jonathan Harrison, I am my own worst enemy (Web Log of a Mad Man: The only blog where someone refers to themselves in both the first and third person in the same sentence.)

Despite all this, I do have a plan for survival. First of all, I'm avoiding loneliness. I've been making with plans with anybody that calls. I'm picking up the phone when it rings. Shocking I know. I have also resorted to computer games from past. Games that take up hours and hours of your time. I'm also writing more rambling blog posts. I'm also going to watch It's a Wonderful Life--my favorite movie--every day until the time I leave. I can hear myself now "WHY WOULD YOU EVER WANT TO LEAVE BEDFORD FALLS GEORGE BAILEY! WHY!? STAY IN YOUR OWN COUNTRY!"

Eighteen days and then I'm back in America. It's always darkest before the dawn I guess. In the next eighteen days I could find life or I could lose it. I could overcome all the darkness or not. I could come back a much wiser person, or I could come back changed for the worse. The next eighteen days will, as they say, make or break me. That is why I feel this way. I have a fear that it's going to be the latter. Honestly. Maybe I'm being overdramatic, but the next eighteen days I will face who I truly am, the worst parts about myself, without any assitance from another human being. It's going to be a test, a very difficult test.

"I'll see you in the morning if nothing happens."

p.s. One of my students just called and cancelled.

p.s.s. My week old speakers just died.

p.s.s.s. On Thursday a freshman girl showed me her camera phone. In the span of one class period she had taken 70 pictures, 67 of those pictures were of me.

p.s.s.s.s. I do have three other American friends in this town, and they will help me with my lonlieness. So I am thankful for that, but it won't be the same without Haley, she left some big shoes to fill.

p.s.s.s.s.s. I do own a plant that sits on the ledge on my back porch. Her name is Daisy. Here is a picture.

A Far Side Cartoon

2007-12-16T06:42:00.000-08:00

"AHHHHHH QUIT ASKING SO MANY QUESTIONS!" I'm sorry, I really am. I'll tone it down for today's blog post. I do appreciate your responses.

ESL students say funny things in English. It's true. They don't mean it of course, and they try hard, but that doesn't mean we can't find some joy in their statements that are, let's face it, a lot funnier than most native speakers will ever be. ESL students say profound things as well, and who doesn't need some good profundity? I guess I'm trying to convince myself that laughing at their innocence isn't cruel. But you know what? The little boogers laugh at me when I pronounce mandarin wrong in class. So they deserve it.

A few weeks ago in class, I passed out some Far Side Cartoons and asked my students to analyze and comment on what made the cartoon humorous. I, being an idiot, thought the assignment relatively easy; I was wrong. I spent the rest of class walking from one side of the room to the other explaining some relatively simple humor ("The dolphins are speaking Spanish! Dolphins don't speak Spanish in real life! It's funny! Why don't you get it!?"). Well, before I explained one cartoon to one group, they wrote a classic response. Here is the cartoon and their response:

"This is a funny story. Professor Schwartzman can understand what the dog say. He'll be dogs good friends. He can often communicate with dogs as he feel alone. In the future, human being can communicate with every animal. If you were alone, you should contact with animals. Animals will share your sorrow. You can relax."

Well, my interpretation goes something like this: "This cartoon is funny because Professor Schwartzman spent a lot of time making this breakthrough machine, only to discover that it's not a breakthrough : dog language is just as simple as it seems."

Something like that. I don't expect anything too complicated. I guess I find their response funny because it says more about Mr. Harrison than it does about the students. Every week, I get a "Why are you lonely," inquiry from someone; it has become pretty obvious I don't enjoy what I'm doing. So I give them a chance to comment on my melancholy and this is what they say: "Chilax Mr. H. You lonely? Get a dog man. Don't worry, some day science will let you talk with animals and then you'll never be lonely again. It don't matter if you don't like talking with us. When science comes around you'll be ok."

"I'll see you in the morning if nothing happens."

Vague, Philosophical Meanderings

2007-12-13T04:13:00.000-08:00

In the words of Styx, I've got (t t t t t) too much time on my hands.

For the first time in months, my day ended around six o'clock this afternoon. Most days, I finish teaching at twelve and veg for ten hours (with brief breaks for eating and running). But today, after teaching until four, I went shopping with some of my students and returned in time for dinner. Well, I didn't have time for my daily four o'clock depression, but I did think a little more than usual about my time here in China. I ended my musings with a couple of questions. I hope you will give your input.

Do you remember the glory days? Do you remember when Jonathan had a passion? I'm guessing most of you don't. I'm talking about High School. Wait, I hear you say "Jonathan considers High School his glory days?" I answer yes. When was the last time you heard someone say "Man, College was aight, but High School, man those days were fun,"? Probably never. Most people consider High School the hormone-bloated stepping-block to the beginning of life. Now that things have ended, I reflect on college as a huge step back in my life. What happened? And what made High School so fun?

Like I said, I had a passion. I had goals. I had a monster work ethic and I hardly stopped for dinner. I wanted to be an all-state Horn player. I wanted to make state in Academic Team. I realize those goals don't jolt reverence into the masses, but I worked hard. I would go to school--where I played horn for three hours--come home and practice another three hours, study my inane Literature study guides, go to bed and do it again the next day. If my parents informed me dinner was ready during my practice session, it would make me livid; I would respond with a belligerent "Eat without me!" born out of the frustration of having my focus broken (sorry bout that Mom and Dad). When was the last time you heard of a teenage boy getting angry because someone told him to eat food? Gosh I was nuts. I'm not even sure that was me. Which explains why college friends listen with polite incredulity (I've only told two or three, no one wants to hear High School stories for Pete's sake) when I tell them about my unbelievable past; they have no reason to believe the story I tell them. I usually end the conversation wanting to say "You don't understand. I worked harda than most people do in their entire lives. I had class. I was a contender. I was somebody, instead of a bum, which is what I am now, " (with apologies to Marlon Brando). And then college happened...

Well, I hit a brick wall. I remember typing essays my first semester that went something like this "I worked way too hard in High School. Honestly. I'm going to enjoy college instead of rushing from place to place with only 15 minutes for supper. I don't care if it does affect my GPA." I should have shot myself in the foot instead; I burned out at the exact same time everyone else entered the "Life starts now," phase. Imagine a Red Sox fan who has given up on his team the year before they win the world series. He has been cheering for years and years, but all the Bill Buckner moments wear him down and he gives up hope. He stops caring about his team and the entire game of baseball. Of course, the minute he gives up, the BoSox turn the ship around and he watches the entire world jump on the "Reverse the Curse" band wagon, and the only think he can think is "Yea, it's cool now, but just wait until the Red Sox blow another four game lead, and then I'll these people will see what's like to put so much into something only to have disappointment." Of course, those darn Red Sox win the World Series, and all the fans (including the bandwagon newbies) revel in the camaraderie that comes with cheering for the same team. And the old Red Sox fan curses his luck at giving up one year before it paid off, and he feels like he can never go back now that he has transcended baseball. However, it turns out his transcending baseball ostracized him from the maddening crowd, and three years (and another world series later) he fumes in the corner failing to convince others that he watched every game until the 2004 season, and watching baseball is pointless, but no one listens (sorry for the long analogy, I tried to use UK basketball in some way but it didn't work).

I struggle to find a word for the mentality of the Red Sox fan. The mentality originates from the mindset that everything in life has no point, so you know, why work at it. I don't call it laziness, because, believe me, if I had a good reason to do something and I would do it. I want to call it an Ecclesiastical mentality, taken from the book of course, but that adjective means something else. I want to call it nihilism, but that's not a good word either. I don't know what to call it. I started taking up this viewpoint near the end of my Senior year of high school. About the time that food stopped tasting good and my favorite T.V. shows just weren't as funny anymore. I'm not depressed. I've been depressed, and I never want to feel that low again. I'm just, you know, meh. I'm meh. Good word. I've got the mehs. So you know, college passed on. I loafed and I blew an unlimited amount of opportunities to improve my life.

Well, acknowledging this fact has not changed my ways. I'm still the same old college Jonathan, trying to find the old self deep down inside me, but still seeing no reason to put in the effort. Yes, I had ambition in high school, but I can't get over the reasons behind the ambition. I wanted respect in high school from my peers, that's why I worked so hard, but those urges had their base in selfishness. I wanted people to listen to what I said because I was good at what I did; I wanted girls to like me for the same reason. I had a mini-enlightenment at the end of High School, and for some reason, I figured abandoning that work ethic because it was based in selfishness would make me an inherently better individual.

HECK NO! I could not have been more wrong. I should have hit cruise control on the slightly selfish-ambition and had a grand old time in college. I once devoted my life meticulous, hard-nosed practicing three hours a day; Now, I'm too lazy to read! Argh! Why didn't I stay ignorant? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why?! The Jonathan of yesteryear would have said "Ten hours to myself? Now I can become great at anything." The Jonathan of today says "Wow, ten hours until this bloody thing starts over again." I enjoyed life so much more when I seized the day for all the wrong reasons. Transcending a slightly flawed work ethic ruined my life. I've been a shell for four years now.

You know, and this is the sad part, I think something started giving me the answers to my shell state before leaving the country interrupted everything. Life sucker-punched me back to age 18. I never was gung-ho about coming here, but I didn't think I needed to be. I hoped the bad vibes would evaporate once I settled. They didn't; they only got worse. And as one or two good friends will attest, I had many major fears about living here and only one didn't come true. So I have to ask why. Why?

O.k. so shopping really does give you something to write about. Is a slightly flawed work ethic better than no work ethic at at all when abandoned for higher values? Are all work ethics flawed? Is there such thing as a pure work ethic for unselfish motives? And what is the point when we all die anyway? Comfort? A higher good? Art for art's sake? Is asceticism the true meaning of life? Would I have found happiness in China if I had abandoned every pseudo-selfish wants for the sake of everyone else here? What will I do when I get back? What is the point of the game of Life when we all end up with our little blue and pink pegs in the big house at the end (really the board game Life has to be the most depressing yet, at the same time, true things ever made; go to college? Have kids? Fire Insurance? Doctor? Janitor? Try to win? Sucker, no one wins in the game of Life, the same fate awaits us all: a tiny plastic mansion)? If China was for me, why was I placed here where I would not enjoy myself? What valuable lessons will I learn from this? Will I learn any lessons? Why, for the first time in years, did life suddenly open up before I left, but come to a crashing halt when I got here (and no, it's not because China gave me something to work towards)? Why can I not break out of this laziness when I know a different life is much more fulfilling? Is this a test? Why am I so alone? Is there something wrong with coming home early? If there is, why is the alternative better? Why can't Asian women be taller? Why do I regret most of my long-term life decisions? etc.

"I'll see you in the morning if nothing happens."

p.s. despite the absurd length, I have more thoughts on all this jazz, but I either can't post them or just got tired of writing. And um, you don't have to answer all the questions.

p.s.s. I bought a new coat:

Wuhan, Pollution, One Month Left, etc.

2007-12-11T22:00:00.000-08:00

Many people have gathered--friends, loved ones, family--to watch my blog fade off into obscurity.

I've neglected my posting duties recently. Every time I've sit down I find nothing to write about: no refreshing insights, no boring anecdotes, no complaining. I feel empty.

I think if I ever get my PHD, I will write my dissertation on the superiority of Mr. Goodbar over Krackel (Yea, my writer's block is that bad, but have you ever met anyone who preferred Krackel over Mr. Goodbar? I think not).

In college, our English teachers taught us that if you ever have writer's block, sit down and write anything and the problem will fix itself. This is what I am trying to do.

This past weekend I flew to Wuhan (the capitol of Hubei province, home of 12 million potential friends), to visit some old buds and just have a jim-dandy weekend. I loved every minute of it. My friend Lucy (who gets an shout out on the blog) took me to all the foreigner hot spots in the city for some Waigoren watching. I would like to challenge you to go to the nearest McDonald's, sit down, and every time a white person walks through the door say to yourself "Wow, did you just see that? A non-Asian just walked through the door!" And think about me, your beloved blog writer, who gets a high every time he sees a white person he doesn't recognize.

I ate western food too. I ate a real cheeseburger and had a real milkshake. A REAL MILKSHAKE! And then I went to the western supermarket and bought peanut butter and ritz crackers. PEANUT BUTTER AND RITZ CRACKERS!

Ok, I didn't go to Wuhan to see white people or eat food; I went to Wuhan to see friends. I consider the days I spent in Wuhan as some of the happiest days I will ever have in China, and I'd like to thank my friends for that. There is not much more I can write about the subject, because it's just hard to write right now.

However, I should feel thankful they didn't place me in Wuhan. In two days, I got a sinus infection from the devil-spawned pollution of the city. When I came back to Enshi, I brushed my teeth with a brand new toothbrush; the toothbrush turned a rust color the next day. I hacked up something on a towel (hey I was sick) and the next day that part of the towel turned the same rust color. I got friends in that city; they're breathing that crud every day. Not much I can do about it, but still. Horrid details like this keep me from buying an I (heart) China t-shirt. Horrid details like that make me cynical, bitter, and irritable about where I am right now. I realize most of the pollution originates from useless products that fuel the American capitalistic machine, but you think someone would have said "Maybe we shouldn't be doing this," ten or twenty years ago?

Twenty-eight days until I'm back in America. I can't wait. The time hasn't flown by. I'm not going to lie, it feels like a blooming eternity since I got here. I'm going to tell people that I spent five or six years in China one semester. Then those people will say "You saw the great wall right?" and I will say "No." Then those people will say "But you went to Shanghai right?" and then I will say "No." Then those people will say "But you had to go to Hong Kong?" And then I will say "No didn't do that either." And then they will say "So what did you do in China?" and I will say "I taught English in a town called Enshi; don't worry, nobody in China has heard of it either."

But at least the air is fresh!

"I'll see you in the morning if nothing happens."

P.S. It feels weird typing that knowing Mrs. Franklin has passed on.

P.S.S. What in the heck is happening to my country? I'm going to tell my students I'm going back to America to get shot. Since when is gun control a bad idea? I'm all about rights and everything, but this is getting out of hand.

Mrs. Franklin

2007-12-06T05:15:00.000-08:00

I have discovered one thing: I am terrible at writing epitaphs. For about two hours last night I sat in front of my computer compacting the life of Mrs. Mabel Franklin into one blog post, and I failed miserably. Well, here I am to try it again.

I have to face a few problem. I am not talented enough to describe Mrs. Franklin's persona to those of you who never met her. I do not have time to tell, in detail, all the spiders, breakfasts, and nightly talks that I endured while living in her house. To those who never met her and those who do not know that I lived under the care and supervision of a 91 year old woman for one year, I'm afraid you will have to be left out for one blog post.

Mrs. Mabel Franklin passed away a few nights ago due to complications from stroke. I believe she had been looking forward to this day since her husband died twenty-six years earlier. She entered the world the year WWI started in Europe--1914-- and she passed away at the respectable age of 93. She was a caring old lady, and probably the most stubborn woman I ever met. She lived in the same house in green hills for over sixty years, attended the Granny White CofC (I believe as long as she lived at the house, but I can't remember), and made her signature Coca-cola cake every time a pot luck was held, someone passed away, or a holiday was quickly approaching on the calendar.

I will not, despite the temptation, dilute Mrs. Franklin's memory with a load of cliches that we bestow on those who have passed away. As I said earlier, Mrs. Franklin had a stubborn streak a mile long: she would never ever hear of someone turning down her breakfast (believe me I know), and nothing, absolutely nothing, ever changed in her house on Francis avenue. Her life seemed ruled by the fear that somewhere, in the slum that is Green Hills, somebody wanted to break into her house and kill her. I don't know why, I guess she saw too many reports of an elderly African American woman being murdered in East Nashville and thought that might be her one day. I sometimes fantasized her fear derived from secret ties she had with the mafia in the late 1920's and that she did something so egregious it justified paying a mob hitman, eighty years later, to search out and kill an elderly woman. Or, and this is probably more realistic, she never trusted the banks and had a suitcase stuffed with thousands of dollars hidden somewhere in the house, and if anyone ever did find out its location, they just might break in and try to steal it (I think that happened in my hometown like twenty years ago, I digress).

I will never know what made Mrs. Franklin live the way she did, but I do know this fear lead to my spending a year of my life in her house on Francis avenue. She always wanted a young man to be there after dark so she could feel safe, and for one year that young man was me. If you know me, I largely abhorred this experience for many reasons.

First of all, nothing good comes from a nineteen-year old male living with a torturous nine o'clock curfew. Every day for a whole year, save five or six nights, I would ring the doorbell of her house before 9:30, wait for her to unlock from the inside, and walk into her house with a somewhat doleful "Hello Mrs. Franklin. How are you?" Let me tell you, nothing kills a social life like coming home at nine every night, even on the weekends. Kids my age were partying, going to movies, clubbing, etc. and I, as it seemed, was the only teenager in America who stopped my day at nine every night so an elderly woman could sleep in peace. Living with her couldn't have come at a worst time. When I began the service, I had just finished a disastrous freshman year and had the intentions of starting college over. I would do things, I would leave my dorm room, I would go to basketball games, I would join clubs. It was going to be my Renaissance; the world would not hold Jonathan Harrison down any longer! And then I moved into her house. Of course, I saw myself as a some sort of Saint for doing the thing that I was doing--sacrificing myself for the sake of an 91 year old lady--until I discovered few people actually care, and practically no one is there to help you out even when you need it.

Secondly, I found her house, the spoiled kid that I was, almost inhabitable. Her house had not changed in sixty years; it had no central air and only an old furnace in the winter time. The house also had a spider infestation of biblical proportions. Do you remember the spider photo from the beginning of the year? One of those spiders climbed up the curtains during breakfast one day. One day a spider zoomed across the floor of my room while I said on the phone "I think I just saw a chipmunk crawl across the carpet." In that year I found hundreds of decent size spiders lounging in a corner, sitting in the sink when I woke up to get a glass of water (every time, without fail), hanging out in my closet, or chilling in the bathroom sink. In addition (I love typing that), the bathroom had a camel cricket infestation. Yes camel crickets. Google that, and then imagine a Camel Cricket being the first thing you see when you walk into the bathroom in the morning. If karma does exist, I'll be paying for all the insects I killed for the next three lifetimes (really I killed about one a day).

One last intricacy of the process drove me batty. I loved Mrs. Franklin's cooking, but the woman believed a man should eat his weight in biscuits, gravy, bacon, country ham, jelly, eggs, orange juice, and toast every morning. I had never eaten so much food; It never stopped. You need to imagine Thanksgiving every morning to have an idea. She would wake up at six-thirty, start cooking, and not stop until about seven fifteen. I ate a pound of food before eight Anni meridian, and she would not have me eating any less but every crumb of her breakfast. Oh I pleaded; I begged. I would lay prostrate on the kitchen floor crying "All I want is a bowl of cereal, all I want is a bowl of cereal Mrs. Franklin. Please Mrs. Franklin, that's all I want to eat! Please have mercy!" But no convincing could change her mind. She knew what was best for me and my health. It got to the point where I had to choose between yelling at her to stop cooking or eat her breakfast. You know which one I choose. I gained about eight pounds in the first month before I took a up running program that lasted the rest of the year. Man what a woman.

You may wonder why I did it (and I've had to explain it hundreds of times). Something inside of me couldn't live knowing I had a chance to make a 91 year old woman's life peaceful and I passed it up. Of course all that altruistic hokus-pokus vanished in the first week, and I truly believe it's possible to do something with one hundred percent unselfish motives and hate every single minute of it. Although I guess free rent may sound like a selfish motive, I would give ten times the amount of money I saved to go back in time I say "No actually, I think I would like to live in the dorm this year."

But, while altruism moved me into her house, guilt and pride kept me there 370 days. When it came to October, and everyone was begging me to move back into the dorm, I would have absolutely none of it. I could not bear to look an elderly woman in the eyes and say "I just can't stand living in your house." How would that make her feel? Would anyone want to do that? No I wasn't going to do it. I was going to stay a whole year at least. And plus I, Jonathan Harrison, had to persevere. I had to show people that I would overcome the situation that I was in. Living with Mrs. Franklin would not beat me. Moving into the dorm would be a cop-out; it would be running away from a challenge. No I would do a whole year at least, and no one, not even my own parents, would convince me. Two years later, I regret that decision. I would bear her dissapointment and have an entire semester back to myself if I could do it over. I am a little wiser now than I was then, and it applies directly to the situation I am in today.

Yes, without Mrs. Franklin I would not be coming home January. No one should throw away ten months of their life in order to avoid the disappointment of others and prove something to themselves. Life is too short to do something you absolutely hate. Yes, without Mrs. Franklin's house I would have contemplated coming home early, thought about how it would disappoint my students, realize I had a contract to fulfill and then thrown myself off the top floor of the teaching building sometime in mid-February. Whether she knew it or not, she gave me the wisdom and gumption to get out. Yes, yes she did. I would like to thank her for that one day.

I have to admit when I heard she had a stroke last week I almost cried. The old woman encompassed an entire year of my life, good or bad. She talked to me an hour every night for 370 days; I once joked I knew her better than my own grandparents. And despite all the bad, there was still some good. Mrs. Franklin cared more for others than she ever cared for herself; I have never seen a woman love her family more. She may have never been wrong about anything in her entire life, but she channeled most of that strong energy into a maternal affection that she used to mother anyone that would give her the time. She was ruled by worry, but most of the worry in her life originated from what others loved ones were doing, and not her self. She wanted the absolute best for everyone she knew.

I look back with some irony on the last time I spoke with her. When I called her to congratulate her on her 93 birthday, I had just finalized my plans to go to China. She asked me what was new in my life, and I had told her. Her response went something like this:
"Well why in the sam-hill would you want to go to China to teach English for?" She thought it a terrible idea, and thought I shouldn't go. I never got to tell her, and I had full plans of doing so, that she had been right about the whole thing. Of course she didn't need my validation to know that she was right, but I think she would have gotten some pleasure out of hearing me say that.

But like I said in the beginning, she half expected death to come at any moment. I remember distinctly the first time I heard her say it. I thought to myself "I got to call somebody. I think she plans on dying on me tonight! She can't die, I just started doing this!" Little did I know, she said the same thing every night, the same ominous mantra that sounded her way to bed. But the shock from hearing it the first time I will never forget. She had just walked to the foot of the stairs, in preparation to climb up to her bed-room on the second floor. She stopped, let out a long-sigh, looked at me with those glaucoma-stricken eyes and murmured the phrase I will never forget:

"I'll see you in the morning if nothing happens."

Is this the same?

2007-12-02T04:01:00.000-08:00

A few nights ago all of the foreigners, save one, ate at Mecca Home, Enshi's token Western restaurant. As I have said earlier, there are eight of us: five Americans, one Peruvian, one English and one Japanese. We were all sitting around in our own private dinning room, speaking in English, when Kazusan began talking about the differences between Enshi and the rest of China. Apparently, as Kazusan explained and John and Lila agreed, Enshi isn't China, it's something totally different. They began to list the differences: it's noisier here, the people are friendlier, it's dirtier, etc. They said if you compare Enshi to all the other places in this nation (and these are people who have traveled China extensively) this city, and I believe these were Kazusan's words exactly, "Is a different country."

With that being said, I believe everyone, except the foreigners living in Enshi, will forever be ignorant as to the experience living in this city, and that includes my other friends who live in the bigger cities of China. Now I don't mean the politically correct, subjective mumbo-jumbo of "Every city is different and is beautiful in its unique differences,” which I abhor. No, I mean ya'll have no IDEA what it's like to live here. Granted, I was in Yichang for a total of 24 hours, but I saw more differences in those 24 hours than I cared to articulate to my friends, lest I sound like the guy who has a superiority complex about a situation that's identical to the situation of the people to whom he is speaking (you know, nobody likes that guy). I've been trying to convince myself since Sunday that the experiences in this city are similar to the experiences in the bigger towns, because I know that's the correct way to think. However, I can't shake the belief that mindset is wrong. I saw Yichang as a world away from Enshi, and if nothing else, my going to Yichang has made me wonder that if I had lived in a bigger city China might have beeen tolerable and, if the stars were right, possibly, could you believe it?, maybe even *gasp* enjoyable.

We walked around the Yichang for three hours last Saturday night. I can recall one taunting "Hello!" from a near drunk Chinese official who was trying to impress his friends. I just returned from getting some dumplings and a cup of tea at the local Coffee shop. I answered or ignored six people yelling "Hello" and one person asking, "What is your name,” in that short time frame. And these are just the hellos! This isn't considering, if I had to guess, the fifty or sixty glances, stares, and ogles (is that a word) I also received that did not exist in Yichang. I've typed about them before, but if anyone feels like there isn't much difference between Enshi and the rest of this country, I challenge you (yes I am throwing down the gauntlet) to hop a van, endure uncountable hours on winding mountain roads, and spend one weekend in the next month in this town. But you know what? Nobody will do it, and I would feel kind of bad if someone actually did arrive; because I would hate for someone to spend a good deal of money so Jonathan could have self-gratification. You just have to take my word for it.

As evidence, I told one of my classes that some American friends might one-day show up in Enshi to visit, and the entire class lit up like a Christmas tree (most of my students ooed at the prospect of seeing other foreigners). The class then inquired as to their age, gender, marital status, astrological sign, etc. I realized then that if my friends came to this town I would spend the entire weekend doing one of two things: constantly exhibiting them like a group of state-champion Jersey cows or hiding them in my apartment from the Beatlemania roaring outside in the city. I can just see it now "No you don't want to leave my apartment. There is really not much out there to see, I'll go get some food. No it's on me. I'll be a few minutes, just don't go too close to the windows." That doesn't sound too fun now does it?

It's a shame my Yichang experience didn't happen earlier in the year, because I might be spending my second semester in a different city instead of coming home five months early. Of course, at the point that I decided to jump ship I was deep in the belief that my Enshi experience is universal to the China experience and nothing, including a change of scenery, could make my time here enjoyable. Now that I know things are different, I'm way too close to coming home to change my mind (38 days!). But it still makes me a little melancholy to think that, with a few things changed, I could have been placed in a different city and the last five months of my life could have been a hoot-and-a-half instead of mind-numbing, soul-searching weariness. Really it does.

(With that being said, I need to say that no one is to blame for my being in a small, isolated town. This city hired us at the last second after plan A capsized in mid-June. I have also been told that our leader only placed us here because some leaders assured him the superhighway through the city would be completed in August; they lied. The highway looks almost done in the city, but after driving through the countryside I can assure you that if the superhighway is finished by the time I have my first child, I will name him or her Enshi. They have that much work to do.)

Of course, "there's a special providence in the fall of a sparrow." As a good friend said this morning, I'm in Enshi for a reason. I really don't know what that reason is, and I may never know, but I won't fret over small details when this whole China thing is slowly coming to an end. There is no telling how this experience has changed me, but I will rest assured that forty years from now I might log back into blogger for one last blog post in which I proclaim "I GOT IT! I KNOW THE ENTIRE REASON I WENT TO CHINA!" No one will be there to read it, but at least I'll finally have peace of mind.

"I'll see you in the morning if nothing happens."

Reflections on Hamlet

2007-12-01T01:12:00.000-08:00

Today one of my students asked me "Have you ever heard of the work Pride and Prodigious? It's very famours."

It's good to know the influence of Jane Austen has transcended cultural barriers and the Pacific ocean to make its way to China. If one thing infuriates me more than Jane Austen, it's the recent head-ache inducing infatuation for her. I don't mind someone liking good literature, and I consider Jane Austen good literature, but it's one thing to tolerate the money=happiness theme that permeates all of her works and it's totally another to embrace it with uncomparable affection. I guess I have to be filthy stinking rich before an American woman will ever find me attractive. Ok, so I know that's not true, but being rich wouldn't hurt right? And that's what really scares me.

So I've been reading Hamlet in the past week, and, hopefully some of the Shakespearen experts that are known fans of my blog can clear up some things. I'm fine with everything in the play until the last scene. Does anything make less sense than the sword fight at the end? Let's start from the beginning.

For one, Hamlet discovers, the second he returns from a pirate-ridden journey England, that his one and only love Ophelia has killed herself. Naturally, he does what every normal man would do and jumps into her grave, with her brother, to prove that he loved her more than Laertes ever could. They fight in the grave, blah blah blah. You know the story.

What transpires after the fight is something I will never understand. It seems, shortly after the grave sight brawl, that one of the king's courtiers shows up and says to Hamlet "You know the guy who sent you to England to be killed, murdered your father, and married your mom thinks you can win a fencing-match against the guy whose father you killed and just fought in the grave only a few moments ago." Really? Sounds like a swell idea to me! Hamlet is suicidal and mad, I'll give you that (even though I seriously doubt his madness) and a death-wish swordfight would makes sense, but Hamlet has spent the entire play contemplating when to kill Claudius. It seems to me he's passing on any chance of doing this by agreeing to fight Laertes. Hamlet knows that Laertes wants to kill him, he has to. I guess Hamlet could kill Claudius while fighting Laertes, but I would find it difficult to kill someone with a sword while another person is chasing me around the room trying to kill me with their sword. I don't know, I'm no Hamlet.

And while all this tomfoolery is going on, Fortinbras and his entire army are sipping coffee at the Starbucks just outside the palace walls. The entire reason Francisco and Bernardo are on guard at the beginning of the play is because this same guy Fortinbras wanted to invade Denmark and take it for his own. So no one in the castle is thinking "Wait a sec, maybe we should postpone the swordfight, the guy that wanted to invade us a couple of months ago is at the Starbucks across the street with his entire army. "

Nothing has happend here in the last few days. Some of the other foreigners introduced us to a swanky quasi-western restaurant; I have eaten there two nights in a row. I forced myself to write this blogpost, out of commtiment to posting on a regular basis. A little over 39 days until I step off the plane in America. These posts should get more interesting some day soon. I'm currently reading Macbeth. I think someone should perform a Harry Potter version of it where the weird sisters are muggles and everyone else in the play is a witch/wizard. It wouldn't really work, but it would be fun to watch.

"I'll see you in the morning if nothing happens."

Whoops.

2007-11-27T06:40:00.000-08:00

I was a bitter kid in high school, with some very jaded friends. One day, two of my friends--who will remain anonymous--and I were sitting around the lunch table when one of my friends said "You know what, we should create a misogynist's club," and I, in my infinite wisdom said "Yea, we could call ourselves the three masseuses!" Of course I attempted making a brilliant pun on "The Three Stooges," (never mind a masseuse is female) only to find that I made an equally ignorant, but hilarious, malapropism on the word misogynist. After hours of derision, I discovered that misogynist is someone who hates the female race, and has absolutely nothing to do with massages. In essence my friends said "Hey let's create a club for jaded guys who hate women," while I was saying "Yea, and we could call ourselves the three girls that give massages!" In the preceding blog post, I intended the word misogynist to be a malaproptastic throw back to the glory days of high school.

The misspelling of dam however...

I can't explain it really; I never set out to misspell dam or introduce PG rated cuss words into my blog. I don't know what brought it on. It's been fifteen years since I contemplated how adding "n" to a word makes it dirty, or rather how the subtracting "n" from a word can make it clean. However, I have to admit, the entire time I was writing yesterday's post, there was a transcendent mother figure in the back of my head screaming "You shouldn't use that word in your blog! That word is too close to a dirty word! Do you know who reads this thing?! What if they skimmed over the paragraph, read it wrong, and thought you meant the bad word?" To which I replied (to the transcendent mother figure in the back of my head) "What am I, seven? Damn is not a bad word!"

Apparently I never overcame those language insecurities: I subconsciously misspelled dam five times, reread the post two times, and didn't notice my mistake until some friends pointed it out the next morning (at that point I screamed "Mother I'm sorry! I didn't mean to do it mother!).

It's only a matter of time before I dress up like my transcendent mother figure, take my dictionary to the shower, and slice it up with the huge butcher knife.

But, I feel I have to explain this thoroughly, because in misspelling dam I inadvertently stuck two malapropisms in one blog post where I only attended one. One was glaring (Damn! Damn! Damn! Damn!) while the other is easily missed unless you are writing a term paper on Web Log of Madman. With that being said "damgate" as I would like to call it, was totally unplanned and slightly hilarious. That was the point of this post.

Of course, I now feel like that shrink that arrives, explains everything that has happened in the last ninety minutes, and kills all the fun and suspense of a slightly funny and delightfully ambiguous blog post. Oh well, have a good day.

"I'll see you in the morning if nothing happens."

P.s. Dictionary? I wouldn't even harm a fly.

p.s.s. Ok. So I've waited twenty minutes for one of the 18 flies in my apartment to land on my hand so I could type "There is a fly crawling on my hand right now; creepy." But the little buggers arn't being friendly tonight. Sometimes things just don't go your way.

Yichang!

2007-11-26T05:52:00.000-08:00

Something magical happened last weekend: I left Enshi. The destination: Yichang. My favorite punctuation for this paragraph: the colon. My mood: the happiness. It was: great. Item being revoked if my former teachers see this blog post: my diploma. Dig: it.

I wouldn't say it was a monumental day in my life, but I made a lot of big steps. I travelled by myself in a country where I don't speak ten words of the language (well, I wasn't by myself, but I didn't know a soul). I've always been hesitant to travel alone--I don't think anyone enjoys doing it, unless you're one of those crazy nut-job Peace Corps people--but something happened on Friday that made me grow up and travel by myself. I can't explain what. I think I decided that life here was far worse than any Deliverance nightmare that could happen in the Chinese country side. So my students took me to the bus stop and I hopped a ten hour Chinese sleeper bus ride to the metropolis of Yichang, home of my friends.

I rode a Chinese sleeper bus from EnShi to Yichang. In China, there are two types of buses: sleeper buses and sitter buses. The sleeper buses are nice, because if you are under 5' 4" you have the opportunity to sleep the entire trip in comfort. The sitter buses, according to my students, are the scourge of humanity. I rode the sleeper bus on the way there, and a sitter bus on the way back. On the sleeper bus I had a cot to my own, a blanket, and a nice window view of the Chinese country side. On the sitter bus (really a van), I was wedged in-between chain smokers and a vomiting baby, a loud-man driver who stopped the van every twenty minutes to pick up hitch hikers, and a guy who kept hocking loogies and spitting them on the floor. I prefer the sitter. I like my space.

I arrived in Yichang at six in the morning with a massive stomach ache and two hours of rest. Yichang is an interesting place. It's home to the largest free-standing damn in the entire stinking world (no really): the Three Gorges Damn, a massive construction project that once fully operational will be capable of destroying small c-class planets and giving power to close to four hundred million people ("Fear will keep the local systems in line. Fear of this battlestation!" bu wah ha ha ha). But I didn't see the damn. Yichang has much cooler things to offer: American friends!

I have some old friends from my college days (you know like last May) who teach at the Three Gorges University in Yichang, and they are super-awesome. When I got there, Brad, Beth and Amy--who have been here over a year and are pretty much fluent in Mandarin Chinese--had a whole day planned of showing me the city, and it rocked. The happiest I've been in China.

The day started out with an hour nap; then Brad cooked banana pancakes for everyone. After recovering from my stomach ache (non-pancake related) Brad and I headed out to lunch with three other students. During this time, I saw some Indians (Indians!), which just goes to show the differences between Yichang and Enshi. I'm pretty sure most of the people in my city have never seen a person with dark skin, ever.

Around four, my friends decided to go to the local Yichang House of Pain. When we arrived, we were ushered to a shady basement room where a Chinese misogynist administer unspeakable amounts of torture to my feet for the two inhuman hours. They never got me to talk, but they tried: they boiled my feet using steam, they hit pressure points on my burnt feet, they painted my tootsies in hot wax, they even raked my feet with some sort of device they lovingly called "The cow-bone." And when that didn't work, they walked on my back. I'd rather not talk about it. The pain is gone but the memories will linger forever...

And then we went to Pizza Hut! Which, in case your wondering, is akin to a fine French restaurant in America. We were greeted by a hostess at the door, and we had to wait! Amazing. The pizza's good stuff too, and it tastes just like American pizza and costs just as much. The entire time I was thinking about my Pizza Hut at home where you can normally hear conversations such as: "And I told him to git outta here before I called the cops, because I know for a fact that issa ill-eagle for an ambulance worker to talk about who he done picked up and I don't care who he picked up or just what that guy did in High school, because he shouldn't be coming in here and talking about his job like that and whats your last name again? That'll be 13.95."

So goes the night. Yichang is a beautiful place, and I am so thankful to have friends there. The little weekend trip saved my sanity and probably is, like I said, the happiest I will ever be in China. Thank you friends. I spent 23 hours in the town and 22 hours on the road, but it was worth it. There is a ton more to write about the journey, but I have promises to keep, and kilometers to go before I sleep, and kilometers to go before I sleep.

"I'll see you in the morning if nothing happens."

p.s. I also picked up some awesome DVD's there. Yichang has an American DVD alley. We went there in-between the torture and Pizza Hut.

p.s.s. Can you find the malapropism in this blog post?

The Thanksgiving Post

2007-11-22T06:36:00.000-08:00

This post won't be long. I know I have been writing candidly about my feelings these last few days. However, Thanksgiving went really well. That's it for today. I'll write more about it soon. It's late.

Happy Thanksgiving.

"I'll see you in the morning if nothing happens."

Well, about that whole Indian thing...

2007-11-20T21:31:00.000-08:00

I have a funny story which may become muddled under the lingo, but I hope you in enjoy it. I was giving a lecture on Thanksgiving today in class; I know it has nothing to do with spoken English, but I ran out of things to teach the second week of October.

In the beginning, the Pilgrims left their country because of a certain kind of persecution. When the Pilgrims arrived in America, they met the Indians who taught them how to plant crops and grow food. Therefore, when the Pilgrims had an overabundance of food next Autumn, they invited the Indians over for a meal to thank them for being helpful. The Pilgrims called this meal "Thanksgiving". They called it this because they were a Certain People who were thankful to a Certain Person. The Pilgrims thought this was such a good idea, they decided to eat this meal every year in order to remember how this Certain Person helped them through their hard times.

Then someone asked a question (probably the third question that has been asked all semester):
"So do the Indians and the Pilgrims still do this today?"
"Umm, no Tina, no they don't."
"Why not?"
"Umm. They just don't."
"Why not?"
"Well because all the white people killed all the Indians."
"The Pilgrims killed the Indians?"
"No the Pilgrims did not kill the Indians."
"But if they were a Certain Kind of people why did they kill the Indians?"
"No the Pilgrims didn't kill the Indians. The Pilgrims were peaceful and the Indians were peaceful and they had a meal together," (keep in mind, the majority of my class doesn't know the word "Peaceful")
"But you said they killed the Indians."
"No I didn't. Later in history, much later, more white people came over from England and killed the Indians."
"So were these white people a Certain Kind of people?"
"Yes, wait no. Wait yes. I don't know."
"So if the Pilgrims were sick and dying when it was really cold, why didn't the Indians kill them then?"
"No, the Indians were peaceful; they didn't kill anyone. The Pilgrims were peaceful too. Nobody killed anybody. White people killed the Indians much later in history."
"So the Pilgrims had a certain meal thanking a Certain Person, and then they killed all the Indians?"
"Look WHITE PEOPLE are not Pilgrims (wait a second). Pilgrims are white, but they are not the people that killed the Indians. Other white people, who were not a Certain Kind of people (wait a second), killed the Indians much later. America was a very rich country, lots of money in the land. America had gold and silver, and white people wanted what the Indians considered their land. When the Indians fought back the White people had guns and the Indians didn't so they lost."

It's very simplified, but I'm talking on a third grade vocabulary here. Also, Chinese students are like sharks, when they smell blood they attack with unmerciful tenacity. No one asks questions in any of my classes, but the second I look vulnerable I'm like the President in a news conference. All my students starting asking questions.

"But you said the Indians were peaceful." Someone else said.
"Look they were peaceful in the beginning. There are lots of different Indians, some were peaceful some weren't. The pilgrims met peaceful Indians, and they had a meal together because everybody was peaceful."
"So all the white people killed the Indians and the Indians didn't fight back?"
"No the Indians fought back later, they even fought each other, they just didn't win because the white people had guns."
"So the Indians helped the Pilgrims grow food and then the Pilgrims killed the Indians?"
"No! Did I not just say they had a meal together? Did I not just say they were peaceful? The Indians helped them plant food and then the Pilgrims invited the Indians over as a way of saying thank you for helping them. No one killed anyone. It was peaceful. Nobody killed anybody!"
"So why didn't the government stop them?"
"Look there was no government, did I not just say they came to America because nobody was there? They came to America before anybody came to America, before it was a country."
"But you said they landed at the state of Massachusetts."
"It wasn't the state of Massachusetts then! It was just a piece of land! They landed at what is now the state of Massachusetts! They left their country for a piece of land that would later be called Massachusetts, on a piece of land that would later be called America! They left England for America because nobody was there!"
"But you said the Indians were there when the Pilgrims got there."
"Yes the Indians were there when the Pilgrims got there. The Pilgrims came to America because there were no white people in America."
"Do you hate Indians because you're white?"
"Look I don't hate Indians. I'm 1/32 Indian myself. It's not a great time in American history, ok, nobody is proud of it. The Indians now live on big pieces of land in the middle of nowhere. The point is, the Pilgrims came and they were peaceful. The Indians helped them and they were peaceful. They had a meal together giving thanks and they called it Thanksgiving. Nobody killed anybody!"
"So why don't they eat together today?"

Ugh. I hate teaching. Today I walked to the back of class to find, to my extreme horror, that a student was playing with a live turtle. I don't know if playing is the right word. The student had placed in on top of something so the turtle couldn't move. She was sadistically watching the turtle flail its legs and arms in a desperate, yet futile, attempt to get away. It was a form of entertainment for her, just like the archetypal spoiled child that never learns to respect animals (see "Finding Nemo"). Yes, I'm teaching college. What did I do about it? Absolutley nothing.

Because? I am one snide remark, one hateful glance, or one tortured animal away from going the book of Judges on one of my classes. When I lose it, I'm going to lose it big: I'm going to knock over a water cooler or a 100lb. lecturn or destroy a chair or some other form of primal aggression to remind my class that I am, in fact, three times bigger than any one in the room. It's been brewing in me for a long time. I just can't take it any more. I've tried talking over the class. I've tried teaching 50 students a subject I know nothing about. I've tried asking them to be quiet. They don't care, I don't care. So I might as well scare the bejuses out of them so I can teach the last four weeks in peace, and because I've been slowly losing my mind since I got here (I've resorted to fear of physical harm as a way of keeping order in a classroom? It's like I'm using the dark side of the force). At the very least I'll yell for ten mintues and then leave the classroom for the rest of the day. I really don't care; because what's the worst they can do? Fire me? (I've been living by that mantra for two months now).

Looking back on it, I should have learned their names (even though it's pretty difficult to learn the names of 140 girls that all look the same, especially when they change seats every time you make a new seating chart), so I could discipline them personally. It's too late for that now. I hope it doesn't happen, but I almost did it today, and I almost did it yesterday. And I never had a temper. What is happening to me?

Happy Thanksgiving!

"I'll see you in the morning if nothing happens."

p.s. Before today, everyone in my oldest class did not know the words: issue, especially, recieve, describe, influential, source, invent, aggressive, proud, conflict, excessive, narrow, difference, and physical.

Describe? They've been learning English for 5 years and they don't know the word describe?

p.s.s. What's that movie starring William H. Macy that we watched in Dr. Prill's class? The one where the professor begins the movie on the verge of getting tenure and ends the movie beating the snot out of one of his students? Ok, it's Oleanna. I knew all along. I feel like William H. Macy. Everything is getting to me: this life is taking years off my life.

Another post.

2007-11-18T01:44:00.000-08:00

Without further ado, I present to you the top ten answers to the top ten questions asked to foreingers in China:

1.Huh? I'm sorry I don't know what you're...Could you spell that?
2.Chinese girls are very pretty, they cook really well too.
3.Umm, I came to Enshi because...
4.Steve Nash
5.Umm, I left America because, umm...
6.January
7.No, I don't plan to get a Chinese girlfriend before January.
8.No, I really don't have the money to go to Beijing for a whole month in August.
9.Let me give you my email instead.
10.It's very spicy.

There a ton of honorable mentions such as: "No I don't have a girlfriend," or "I actually have three or four girlfriends in America," and "No I don't smoke."

The smoking is the saddest part. Every man (not an exaggeration) in this country is a chain smoker, and there will be a lung cancer epidemic in twenty years like the world has never seen. All the men know that it's bad for them, and that knowledge doesn't stop them. Oh well.

Here is one hour in the life of Jonathan Harrison:

5:30: Student from last night knocks on my door to invite me out to dinner with Chinese buisness man. I ignore the knock. He leaves (I will never know how he found out where I live).

5:31: The phone rings.

5:38: Another knock on the door. Presumably my 11 year old friend, but I would rather not take my chances.

5:39: Phone rings.

5:49: Phone rings again.

5:58: Someone else knocks on the door. My guess is Tina and Elsa, two of my students.

5:59: Phone rings.

6:11: Phone rings.

6:21: Phone rings.

"I'll see you in the morning if nothing happens."

Another long post.

2007-11-17T07:35:00.000-08:00

I find it difficult to type this post. Not because I have a burdensome message to convey, but because every time I sit at the computer to write, the only thing that comes out is how much I can't stand living here (I venture to use the word "hate", but realize you should only hate things such as Nazi's and Tennessee football). I also realize that the chronic negative attitude wears on others as much as it wears on myself, and I can only write about it so much before everyone gets tired of hearing it. However, this mood is not something that wavers in and out; it's something that's more persistent than I can possibly explain: I believe the collective time I've been happy to be here amounts to around two minutes and thirty-seven seconds. I can't be false to myself. I would love for this blog to be a travel monologue about all the great things that I have seen and how this is the best decision I've ever made. On the contrary, after 84 days and what I feel is giving this whole thing a fair shot, I would venture to say this maybe the opposite end of the decision spectrum. That's it. I've said my piece, and I will keep it at that. I'll stop, besides the random asides about loneliness, talking about how low I feel.

Here is one anecdote that is partly responsible for the love festival found in the previous paragraph:

I'm one of those people that hate telling someone "no". I try to avoid it all costs. I was informed, before leaving, that the Chinese also hate telling someone "no" and will not press the situation if you politely refuse. I was looking forward to this aspect in the culture, but when I got here I discovered that this only works if you are Chinese: if Americans try to politely refuse, the Chinese press the issue worse than a telemarketer working to feed his wife and five kids (which just goes to show, that if you ever travel to another culture, fully expect all the bad things to apply to you with full force and all the good things to never show up when you need them the most). However I, like most people, have learned to disappoint others at the sake of my own sanity, but this doesn't mean I enjoy doing it.

I picked up the phone at 10:30 tonight; because of the late time, I was expecting it to be someone I enjoyed talking to (i.e. someone from America), only to discover it was an English student from the University across the street.

Now, this merits some explaining. Haley and I teach at a college of 7,000 and there is a University of 27,000 across the street. Through our connections, we've met many of the English majors from the University, and these English majors, understandably, want to become good friends with us in order to improve their English speaking abilities. Knowing these English majors has it's good and bad consequences: they have better English than the majority of our students, so they've been able to help us shop and do a variety of other things; however, they have also been overzealous in their friendships. So Haley and I have had to handle both the social advances of our students (which is what we are paid to do) and the social advances of students across the street. We're handling twice the load than should be expected. Until you've heard your phone ring thirty times in one afternoon, you really don't understand.

So I pick up the phone at 10:30, fully expecting my family on the other end, only to hear a student from the University, and he has a request. Do you remember the joyous blog post from three weeks ago? The blog post where I explained how I woke up at six in the morning to spend ten hours driving through the Chinese country side to see a mountain park that was under construction? Well same student, but this time he, or the business man he knows, wants to take me to the Sichaun province tomorrow morning. We are to leave at eight in the morning and return by three or four.

It's hard to describe the ridiculousness of this trip. This is akin to someone in Nashville calling a good friend and saying "Hey man, were going to drive to Kansas City tomorrow. We will be leaving around eight in the morning and should return by three or four." Sichuan is the home of the pandas, but it's two provinces over (and yes I double checked, he said Sichuan). Three weeks ago, we left at eight in the morning, stayed within the province, and returned around ten at night (after being told we would get back around three or four). Now how in the heck are we going to drive two provinces over and get back by three in the afternoon? I almost said some expletives in the phone about how that was the biggest load of baloney that I had ever heard and if Mr. Business man ever wanted to make a trip that didn't break the laws of nature to go ahead and give me a call because I wouldn't be picking up the phone from here until the end of time...

It would be a difficult trip to conceive even if we flew. I guess we could have gone by plane, but you can only get flights from Enshi to two cities: Wuhan and Chonqching. Neither is in Sichuan. I guess we could have taken a private plane, but I've never seen a private plane fly out of this city. Really it boggles the mind.

I don't care if a family of talking Panda's would have greeted us when we stepped off the plane, I wasn't going on this trip (seriously, even if the Pandas watched UK basketball and listened to Tom Waits, I still wouldn't consider going). So I politely refused; I said I had plans to eat lunch with my neighbors and couldn't make it (the truth). And the guy spent the next ten minutes trying to convince me that I really didn't need to eat lunch with my neighbors, and I needed to go on this trip. Even if the lunch plans were a lie this student had a snowball's chance in heck of convincing me to go on this trip. Nothing irks me more than a person who thinks their impromptu plans are more important than someone else who had the foresight and respect to plan ahead. I never lose my temper with anyone, and I didn't in this situation, but I came awfully close. That's something that never happens in America.

Of course, I was the last of five foreigners to turn the student down, which explains his desperation. But really people? Are we not human? Do we not bleed? Do we sit around staring at the phone thinking "Man I have nothing to do tomorrow. I sure do hope that one guy calls and invites to drive me all over creation because I have nothing but free time on my hands and oh I sure hope he calls because I never get a phone call and I would just be dieing to pick up the phone if it rang right now. And even though if I called him and asked him to do something when it wasn't convenient for him he would politely refuse and I would just have to accept it, and even though if I politely refuse a request it is shoved down my throat like Judas in Lucifer's mouth in the tenth circle of Hell, I certainly hope that phone rings sometimes soon, because I've been doing nothing but waiting all day and..."

Here's the straw: if I picked up my phone, my day would be filled with four or five of these situations. This, along with the stares, the hellos, the ogling, the dinners, etc. make up one day in the life of Jonathan Harrison. But like I said, I'm trying to think more positive from here on out. I swear.

"I'll see you in the morning if nothing happens."

The Language

2007-11-15T05:09:00.000-08:00

Today in class, I heard someone, very quietly, ask their friend "Do you think Mr. Harrison is crazy?"
"Yes Echo," Mr. Harrison said "Yes, I am crazy."
"I was asking Challen."
Well my students think I'm loopy, what else is new? I don't blame them. I sing to myself 95% of class to crowd out the omnipresent screeching in my head that says "YOU ARN'T TEACHING THESE KIDS ANYTHING!" Sometimes I laugh for no reason. Sometimes I dance. Sometimes I stare off into space. Last week a different student in a different class asked me "Why do you hate Enshi?"

It's been a long week. I have been teaching 20+ hours and have given another two hours of lecture. Today I introduced some of my students to the Beatles.

The Language. I am not a linguist. I will never profess to be. In fact, I think I am the opposite of a linguist (whatever that is). Whenever I lost my wanderlust, I also lost my fascination for learning other languages. Although, as I stated earlier, trying to learn Chinese has made me appreciate western languages a lot more than I used to.

Chinese is almost beyond explanation. As many of you know, Chinese is built on tones, and not words. There are a lot less words in Chinese than there are in most other languages; therefore, it's not so much what you say but how you say it. In Chinese, one word can have four different meanings. There are four different tones--one level, one rising, one falling and then rising, and one falling--and the four tones are applied to almost every word. Therefore, if you say one word the wrong way, it has the wrong meaning. For example, the two words Zhu Yuan, the name of our University, also mean the bordello across the street. It's hard to express the limitless awkward situations that arise from a language that works this way.

I also think, and this is the most incorrect opinion ever posted on this blog, that when someone speaks Chinese, the listeners subconsciously choose the meaning that applies to the situation. When I was learning Spanish in high school it was hard to decipher what a native speaker was trying to say, but when I learned more words understanding became easier. When someone speaks quickly in a Western language, you can understand what they are saying because you know the words. When someone speaks quickly in a Eastern language, it's impossible to sit there and decipher just what tone they are using. I know what the tones sound like, but the speed is too quick to hear tones. And I don't think that hearing the tones is something that comes with being immersed in the language for a long period of time. I've been here for over two months, I've been listening for the tones, and I still don't hear 90% of them. Therefore, I think the Chinese hear a word and apply the right meaning to the situation with lightning quick reflexes. I know I'm wrong. This tone-deafness is a product of Western ignorance, but I still wonder why every program on T.V. has subtitles.

Chinese has also helped raise my appreciation of other foreign languages. For one, I have only heard of three words that have the same meaning in Mandarin as in English: Tofu, Typhoon, and Mama (and let me tell you, these come in handy all the time). Other languages are chock full of words that have crossed the language barrier. Mandarin has three. You think, and this boggles the mind, that English speakers would have adopted Chinese words that describe distinctly Chinese objects, such as chopsticks, dragon, or even Pagoda. Nope. Pagoda is Portuguese. Nothing in English makes sense in Mandarin. We're on the other side of the world here. If I had to choose one example of how Eastern and Western cultures are different, the language would be it.

However, I'm apathetic for learning the language. Even in the face of China's mythic economic boom, even with the prospect of a guaranteed job from here until the day I day, and even though it would make life in China a thousand times easier; I don't care to learn the language. To me, learning the language is as interesting as memorizing the breeding habits of squirrels. Why? Because when I look up an English word in a dictionary, I see Latin, German, Spanish or French as the root language, never Chinese. My main beef for learning German in college it was nothing but dead weight unless you ever travelled to Europe. But man, German seems practical compared to Chinese. Of course, two years from now I'll probably be the bush of Africa wondering why I didn't learn Chinese when I had the chance, and how Chinese seems practical compared to a rare strand of Swahili; the grass is always greener...

I guess appreciation of other languages is not Jonathan's strong point. I'll probably never amount to much because of it, but that's ok, because the same fate awaits us all. Well, here's to another lonely day.

"I'll see you in the morning if nothing happens."

p.s. Practical isn't the right word. As far as practicality goes, Mandarin is up there with Spanish. But my dream job is not to speak the language of a culture for which I have a lukewarm affection. I don't think anyone would want to that for a living. Really, I want to give this world travelling a second shot; because I think this is an isolated situation. Everyone who goes abroad loves it, except for me. But you try walking class and having ten seperate groups of people yell "HELLO" like I yell "HERE KITTTY KITTY KITTY" every time I see the neigbhorhood cat. And you try weathering this everytime you go out in public. Anyone would go mad. There is no doubt in my mind.

?

2007-11-12T06:50:00.000-08:00

Wow. I'm pretty sure that last blog post was contradictory and didn't have a point. Not my best work. Oh well. I was trying to say that while some people say they enjoy travelling, their definition of travelling in no way resembles what I am doing. And even though I am in a foreign country and not enjoying it, if I was doing what most consider travelling, I would probably be enjoying it. And even though I'm not travelling per se, I just might want to do it sometime in the (far-away) future.

I also meant to say, but failed miserably, that if I was living long-term in a western culture, I might enjoy this a little more. The East is so far removed from everything I know that I find it difficult to relate with any one here.

On some nights I travel to the faux Starbucks down the street. On the wall, there are three Van Gogh's , the foremost being a copy of The Café Terrace on the Place du Forum Arles at Night, a painting for which I have a slight affinity because there has been a poster of it in my sister's old bedroom since I was 13. Every time I stare at The Cafe Terrace, I can't thinking there are probably five people in the entire city who have even heard of Van Gogh, much less know that he painted it. The painting is nothing more than high-brow eye candy being exhibited because of it's ties with Western culture. No one ever looks at it. Nobody even appreciates the beauty. Nobody cares that it's a masterpiece. It's just a thing on a wall that takes up space. A painting that is only wanted because it's from the West. When I look at that painting, I feel like I have more in common with The Cafe Terrace than I do with most people I meet. The only reason I was allowed to come here, the only reason I am oggled at, the only reason I am so popular is because I am from the West. I feel more connected to a work of art than I do most human beings; now that is real loniliness.

Tonight, for the first time, I heard of the story of San Diego. San Diego, probably not his real name, was a nineteen year old guy from San Diego CA. He was good looking, single, and got all the attention in the world from every girl in the city. San Diego taught at the University across the street. He also, you guessed it, breached his contract and left a semester early. Apparently he couldn't take the attention.

San Diego, The Cafe Terrace, and I are going to play poker some day.

I guess that is what I was trying to say.

"I'll see you in the morning if nothing happens."

On Western Culture.

2007-11-12T01:52:00.001-08:00

I used to have wanderlust. I'm not really sure what happened. Sometime between seventh grade and college all desires to leave the country left myself. I believe I have covered this earlier in the year. I don't have a desire to immerse myself in other cultures, in fact, I don't understand that desire at all. That translates into other things as well. When I arrived in China, the "cultural high" that everyone talks about lasted 14 waking hours. I think for most people it lasts around two weeks. I first experienced cultural shock in a terminal of the Los Angeles Airport, which is documented by the voicemail to a good friend in which I uttered the now immortal lines "I don't know if your asleep right now, but I'm in the the airport in L.A. calling from a pay phone and I'm pretty sure this is the biggest mistake I have ever made in my entire life." I ate at the airport McDonald's that night because I was already homesick and needed some comfort food (where was I, California?). I maybe the victim of a self-fulfilling prophecy, I'm not throwing that out the window, but nothing has occurred to date to make me think that this should be enjoyable. And everyday that goes by I think "How could anyone want to do this ten months?" But I feel the majority of people who love travelling, have no where close to the same experience that I have. Maybe I'm missing out on something. Well we've been over this before. There will be a quiz on Monday. But with that being said, I think there maybe some point in the future, where I might enjoy travelling to some other foreign countries in the west. Let me explain.

I don't consider what I am doing as "travelling". I find it insulting to call it that. To me, travelling consists of no responsibility, short-term pleasure seeking in foreign countries. I don't see anything wrong with that, as long as the person used some form of self-discipline to earn the money spent while going abroad. Pleasure without self-discipline creates social monsters like Paris, Mary Kate and Ashley (WHY LANCE WHY!!!??). Granted, I did have wonderful beneficiaries who helped me get here, but I also have a full time job--an easy full time job, but a job nonetheless. I also have not left this city in over two months. I would like to challenge those of you who love travelling to go over seas and spend over two months in the small city, without leaving once. If you done this, you have my have my respect, and the right say you love travelling, but I will venture to say that most of you have not. If you do this, you might discover something shocking: that anyplace becomes like "home" after while, in the respect that everything, no matter how different, becomes monotonous and second-nature. Every place has its good and its bad, and every one is basically the same. I didn't need to go 13,000 miles to find that out.

But with that being said, I think I would like to "travel" in the future. I think it would be cool to see other foreign countries--in the west. There are so many times where I here people speak Chinese and I think "Man, what I would pay to be learning German again, that was actually easy and pretty cool compared to this," or French, or Spanish, or ANY Indo-European language (I'll go in-depth on the language later). China is too different for me. Everything is different over here. It's like at some point in the past someone said "Ok were going to make sure we have nothing in common in with everyone else," and everybody did just that. The toilets are different, the food is different, the music is different; everything is different. They even have a "Chinese chess". I can deal with the toilet, the food and the music, but the chess kills me. The call our form of chess (which is the chess everyone else in the world plays) "Western chess." It was invented in INDIA! Is India the west? I'm not sure. It's the straw that breaks the camel's back. The Chess.

"I'll see you in the morning if nothing happens."

P.S. I went mad on projectgutenberg.com today. Not that I plan on reading Two Gentleman of Verona, Twelth Night, Agnes Grey, All's Well that End's Well, As You Like It, The Complete Works of Lord Byron, Dubliners, Henry IV Parts 1 and 2, Henry V, Henry VI Parts 1-3, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, Julius Cesear, King John, King Lear, An Interpretation of The Qur'an, Lyrical Ballads Volumes 1 & 2, Macbeth, Mansfield Park, Measure for Measure, The Tempest, The Life and Strange Surprizing Adventures of Robinson Crusoe, of York, Mariner: Who lived Eight and Twenty Years, all alone in an uninhabited Island on the Coast of America, near the Mouth of the Great River of Oroonoque; Having been cast on Shore by Shipwreck, wherein all the Men perished but himself. With An Account how he was at last as strangely deliver'd by Pyrates; The Merchant of Venice, A Midsummer's Night Dream, Much Ado About Nothing, Northanger Abbey, Oliver Twist, Othello, Persuasion, Richard II, Richard III, Romeo and Juliet, Sense and Sensibility, The Complete Works of Percy Bysshe Shelley Volumes 1-3, Taming of the Shrew, and Wuthering Heights all before January, but hey, I got my options.

My favorite person in Enshi

2007-11-11T02:41:00.000-08:00

There are somethings in life that make you laugh. This is one of them. On Friday night I was walking up the stairs to my apartment, when a kid came bounding down the stairs in my direction. Upon seeing who I was, he opened up an English book and began asking me for the correct answer to a few questions. I obliged. Even though I didn't recognize who he was, he said he had something for me and told me to go wait in my apartment. He later showed up at the apartment with some form of Chinese food. And well, I guess a friendship was born. Apparently we had met at a supermarket at some point in the past; I don't really remember when that was, but I'll take his word for it.

I think this kid is a genius. Seriously. He displays a keen sense of empathy and understanding that I have seen in very few people to date. For example, today he took me to the movie theater. Before we left, he bounded up to Haley's door, knocked five or six times and when Haley didn't asnwer returned to where I was standing. He said "Her air-conditioning is on, but she did not answer the door. I think she is home but does not want to go." First, he was able to deduce that Haley might have been home because her air-conditioning was on. Second, he understands that she might be at home but refuses to answer the door because she does not want to go, and he respects that (this trait is not uniform across the culture, someone called my apartment on Thursday night five or six times in succession, the phone rang 49 times. Yes, I counted. About ring 30 they started knocking on my door. Would you want to spend time with someone who calls and lets the phone ring 49 times? Would you want to spend time with someone who thinks that if I don't pick up the phone, I just might answer the door? I mean really). Third, he knew the term "air-conditioning". And while we're on the subject of English, his spoken English is better than the majority of my students. He seldomly asks me to repeat myself, and he understands the majority of things that I say.

And he is eleven.

Yea, eleven. He picks up on social hints quicker than people five times his age. At the movies today (yes an eleven year old boy escorted me around town), he could tell I didn't want to stay for a second screening of "The Adventures of Shark Boy and Lava Girl in 3-D" and asked if I wanted to leave. And did I mention we missed the first part of the movie? So we had all the reason in the world to stay and catch the part we missed. On Friday night, after we finished watching the CBA (he hates basketball by the way), I said "Man I'm tired" and little-buddy was out the door in thirty seconds.

It's really scary how enjoyable it is to hang out with this kid. He doesn't really talk unless you ask him a question (or he is asking you a question, which doesn't happen that often), but when he does talk his pronunciation is impressive. In a life surrounded by people who talk as much English as possible in order to improve their speaking ability, it's refreshing to just hang out with someone who says absolutley nothing. But it's like he knows what it is like to be a foreigner. He does all the right things. Like I said, it's scary. And did I mention that he is eleven?

I guess it shows what kind of time I'm having when my favorite person I've met so far is an eleven year old boy. I promise not to crack any Michael Jackson jokes. But I can't imagine what people think when they see a twenty-two year old American talking to an eleven year old kid in the back of a bus.

"I'll see you in the morning if nothing happens."

p.s. 250 million watching Yao vs. Yi? Believe it.

What blog? I have a blog?!

2007-11-09T22:42:00.000-08:00

So I know it's been a while; I got so wore out by the food post that I had to take a week off from all forms of writing. Honestly, I have a better reason for my absence; I've given up the internet in my apartment. I was spending 4+ hours on it a day and I decided, thankfully, that my time would be better spent reading a book, preparing for class, doing my job, etc. Although this will have a direct correlation to the decrease in posting frequency, I do think I will post more than once a week. So there is no need to worry.

Something you do need to worry about, 11/11 is National Singles Day in China (thank you for the information Lucy). This is the day in which all the singles in China (mostly males) have a good time celebrating their singleness. I'm not leaving the apartment tomorrow, picking up my phone, or answering the door. Too many people know.

"I'll see you in the morning if nothing happens."

The Food Post (Part 1)

2007-11-02T03:10:00.000-07:00

The moment has arrived. You have waited weeks, possibly months, hopelessly clicking on the "refresh" button on the off chance that I might post it. You have sent a myriad of pleading emails, where you begged me to write it. You have missed work, funerals and family weddings so you could be on the internet when it finally happened. And now the moment is here: Jonathan's blog post on Chinese food.

Or one part of it.

Typing an entire post on food is quite an undertaken. That's one reason why I've taken my time in writing something about it. Believe it or not, Chinese food is a large part of the Chinese culture (and as the old joke goes, over here they call Chinese food simply "Food"), and there are several different settings and characteristics to write about. For the sake of my sanity, I will break the food post into three separate postings. For today, I will write the blog post on the mostly soul-sucking experience that is the formal Chinese dinner (not because of the food, just normally what transpires while everyone else is eating).

But before I type that, let me cover some basics. First, forget everything you know about Chinese food in America. "General Tso's Chicken" does not exist outside of America, neither do fortune cookies. The entire buffet style experience is an American invention, and, as you could guess, so are the sugar-loaded dishes that you will find on the the buffet. Most Chinese would hate Chinese food in America: it's too sweet and too saucy. Granted, there are a few dishes in China that are reminiscent of something you would find on an American buffet, but this is an exception to the rule.

Second, the Chinese LOVE rice. It's a staple of every meal. I was told at the beginning, to my extreme joy, that a strong man should eat seven to eight cups of rice at every sitting (this included me). Eat your heart out Robert Atkins.

Third, most Chinese food is extremely oily and extremely spicy, but this is not the same as saucy. There is a difference.

Fourth, boneless meat does not exist in China. The Chinese eat fish, pork and beef. I hate eating fish. Most of it looks pretty good until you bite into a piece and discover you choose some form of fish rib cage. Then you are faced with the predicament of pulling thirty tiny fish bones out of your mouth at a table of ten people without looking like a complete idiot. I don't mind pork and beef, but it is still annoying to stick a huge bone in your mouth, chew around it, and then spit it back out onto your plate. Because, and I didn't mention this, in China it's impolite to touch your food with your hands.

Fifth, I have not eat with a fork since I left America. Chopsticks are used at every meal. I have been given a spoon twice since being here. I would try eating with it, only to find myself subconsciously ditching the spoon for the chopsticks ten seconds later. I'm pretty much a master at using them. If you don't eat with chopsticks you will die from starvation. There is no choice in the matter.

Without further ado, the Chinese formal dinner. First I'll begin with the main course at every meal:

JUST KIDDING (ha ha ha; however, here is a funny little anecdote, take it what you will. After we had been in the country around three days, Haley asked our translator the infamous question: "Americans think that the Chinese eat dog. Is that true?"Our translator "Dog? Oh no no no no no."
Haley: "So what does it taste like? Our translator "Oh not very good at all." Actually if you're hip on history, you can probably guess where this is coming from. But I am here to tell you that no form of domesticated animal is on the menu in China).

Sorry, back on track: the Chinese formal dinner. At Chinese dinners, everyone sits around a circular table. On the table is a huge glass lazy susan. On the lazy susan are the dishes for the dinner. These dishes include several plates of cooked food, most being vegetables mixed with some form of pork, chicken or beef. In addition to these dishes, Chinese dinners include a "hotpot" which is a large metal pot placed upon an open flame cooker (reminds me of something you take camping). Inside the pot is a form of soup that includes lots of meat and vegetables. The hotpot is the main course. Here is a picture:

This is the aftermath of a Chinese dinner (I would have taken a picture before we started eating, but I had been snapping photos all night, it seemed rude at the time). But you can see the lazy susan, the dishes, and the hot pot in the middle. When eating at a Chinese dinner, you grab whatever you want to eat with your chopsticks and put it straight in your mouth or into your bowl--which is usually filled with rice, and then repeat. That's right, your double dipping with ten other people. But it hasn't killed me, yet.

Ahh yes, but I hear you asking (those of you who made it this far), "But Jonathan, what do you drink?" Ahh I am so glad you asked! BEER! BEER! (sometimes juice) AND MORE BEER (ok and baijia too)! Let me explain in depth.

In China, at the dinner setting, the Chinese have a tradition of toasting the hell out of everyone at the table. This tradition is called the Chinese Wine Culture, and I could live without it. The Chinese Wine Culture consists of toasting someone at the table and then drinking a glass full of beer or hard liquor; a formal drinking game if you will. If you had the right personality, you could excel by toasting everyone at the table four or five times while getting soused on your own weapon of choice. However, I prefer not to get soused in public and I usually find myself thinking "Gosh what if I forget to toast someone? Best not toast anybody at all," However, you offend everyone by not doing anything, so I offer one or two meager toasts and hope the dinner ends soon. The problem is the alcohol.

I am a man and in China alcohol is a machismo thing. The more you can put away the more manly you are, and the less you drink, well you know. So I am expected to love drinking beer and to love drinking lots of it. For starters, the taste of beer makes me wretch (esoteric FYI, PBR is the best you can buy, that should tell you something). In China, turning something down is considered extremely polite, and if you turn something down, chances are you really want it. You can imagine the confusion that ensues. Usually at these dinners it's just me and Haley, and since I am the American guy (women are not expected to drink) I bear the brunt of the alcoholic aggression.

And then there is the baijia. As mentioned earlier in the year (or when I began typing this post), the only hard liquor in China is rice wine or baijia. The good baijia averages at an amazing 50% alcohol content, and the good baijia is what appears at Chinese dinners. Whoaaa buddy. Baijia is what you are SUPPOSED to toast everyone with. The Chinese pass around beer (or juice for the ladies) out of politeness for the foreigners that don't want to end the night singing "Father Abraham" while jumping from chair to chair, and trying to kiss all the waitresses before finally giving up and screaming "LET'S GO TO THE KARAOKE BAR!!!" at the top of their lungs (didn't happen. You think I would be coming home early if it did?). So on top of the beer, this hard liquor also makes an appearance, making the awkward situation even more so. And well, everyone at the table wants to have a good time, so if you turn down the baijia, you ruin the fun for everyone, and pretty much the entire dinner.

With all this being said, the food is extremely, extremely good and inexpensive. It puts American restaurant food to shame. First of all, the food is fresh. I once asked for Chicken at one of these dinners and it took forty minutes for us to finally get our food. I asked why it took so long and the only response was "It's fresh." It took so long because they were actually KILLING THE CHICKEN! I love it. Good times. Also, it's cheaper than you would ever believe. The picture above with seven dishes and a hotpot cost around $15-20 American dollars. It could easily feed ten full grown men. Have you ever heard that fact that the majority of the world lives on less than one dollar a day? It's not because the rest of the world is suffering, it's because you dang Americans are paying way too much for food that doesn't cost very much at all. You think Wendy's isn't making a killing of the dollar value menu? And guess what? In China, it's even cheaper to cook for yourself! But yea, I guess what I'm trying to say is that the food in China is very good. Have a good day.

"I'll see you in the morning if nothing happens."

p.s. sorry about the random spacing and almost maddening lack of paragraph breaks. Blogger does not like it when you add pictures. I tried to fix it but nothing seems to work.

The Halloween Post

2007-10-31T01:45:00.001-07:00

I can say little about Halloween in China. Most Chinese have never heard of it. Most Chinese don't even believe in Ghosts. When I asked my Freshman class (fifty-three girls, one guy) if any of them believed ghosts exist, fifty-three gave a resounding no and one brave little girl in the fifth row said yes. I, like Jerry Garcia, am more intrigued by the one girl that said yes than I am the fifty-three that said no. Anyone brave enough to stand out in a group orientated culture is usually very set in her beliefs. But I'll save that conversation for another day, because shortly thereafter the bell rang and I had to move on to another class.

I don't know how you feel on the subject, but I think ghosts exists. I also believe, and this will probably ruffle some feathers, it's a requirement for anyone who claims to hold the big C nomenclature. The N.T. is rife with demons and supernatural, and to claim their nonexistence is dangerous; because then you have to concoct an incredible post-modern explanation to justify an opinion that contradicts the very essence of the canonical works on which base your beliefs (that essence being that there is something beyond this world). At the very most you can actively ignore the issue, but you can't really deny it. You can try, but the result would probably be more comical than serious.

Some sailors were in boat and they saw a man walking on water, and they were scared. Why were they scared? Because they thought they saw a ghost.

J.C. shows up in a room of crowded people without coming through the door. The people in the room are startled because, well, they thought they were seeing a ghost. And his response? "How can I be a ghost? A ghost doesn't have flesh and bones!" This would have been a prime opportunity to squash all belief in something that doesn't exist, but instead he says "This is difference between me and a spirit." He did more to justify their existence than he did to deny it, and it seems to me that if his followers were so blatantly wrong about something he would correct it, but he didn't. Some food for thought.

I also believe in ghosts, as only nine or ten of my good friends know, because I have seen one myself. During the summer a few years ago, I accompanied my friend on a short trip out to his house; he needed somethings for college, and it was summer and I had nothing better to do. It was a Sunday night and the two of us were alone in the house, just talking in the kitchen. He needed to use the restroom and, being that the only bathroom was on the second floor, left me in the kitchen eating twisty cheeze-its. Now at this time, I was facing a doorframe that led into a living room which had an entrance way into the family room. Two minutes after he left, I glanced up to see, via the entrance way, the tail end of something walking across the family room. I started to say "Well that was qui..."

And then the toilet flushed.

We were stark alone this house, my friend is not one to play pranks, and this way no shadow. I told my friend and he informed me of half a dozen instances in the house that he could never explain. And well, it all makes out for a good story. Of course, it's not good to focus on these things too much, but it's Halloween and I'm in the spirit.

I think Haley and I will be having a two person Halloween party tonight. It's good to get away from all Chinese influences and have American time. Plus I don't think my students would understand the concept of a costume party. As far as costumes go, I think Haley will be dressing up like a Chinese student, and I, much to the delight of my mother, will be dressing up like Hugh Hefner. Hey, it's all I have.

"I'll see you in the morning if nothing happens."

The last few days.

2007-10-29T03:05:00.001-07:00

Whoo, I don't feel like writing. It's been a extremely busy three or four days, way too much to write in one blog post. So, in an effort to entertain the masses, I will give you a brief gamut of all the highlites of this past weekend:

*I was teaching about lieing today in class when I said "It's very bad to lie, I never lie unless it means I will hurt the person's feeling by telling them the truth. Even then, I don't think it's a good thing to do."
One of my students: "Like when you told us you had four or five girlfriends?"

*Yesterday (and today for that matter) for the first time in the history of the world, Jonathan Harrison ran three miles. I remember the first time I ran a mile. It was one of the coldest days in the year, and the SAC was nearly empty: it was me, an old man, and the guy working desk. I hit the 8/13 mark and I said to myself "Today is the day. Today for the first time in your life that you will run a mile!" And I did. I remember the first time I ran two miles as well. It was a pretty warm day on a track in China. I hit the mile mark and I said to myself "Man, I'm not winded, I could run two miles!" Isn't it funny how things that happen so long ago only seem like yesterday in our minds? In fact, it seems like it was just last week...

*So on Saturday morning Nate and I were invited by a student to go to a "park" with a Chinese business man. Now there are many people whose enthusiasm to become friends with a native speaker drains the very life out of you. This was one of those instances. For beginners (this story will be long, sorry) we were told to meet at the school gate at ten on Saturday morning. At eight-thirty that morning the student calls and says "The time has been changed to nine." Thanks for the advanced warning, and then (you will love this) The same guy calls as 8:55 asking "Where are you?" That's a quick way to lose a new friend. To continue, we drive about two and a half hours (90% of the trip being hairpin mountain curbs) to this mountain park that is UNDER CONSTRUCTION! After climbing 1,336 wet cement steps (I could write an entire blog post on steps) to the top, we are told by the construction workers that the Americans cannot proceed because of the danger. Well, this doesn't stop everyone else, including the other American, but I stop ascending at the point where the steps stop and the ropes begin. I descend in a rather quick manner and waited at the bottom of the mountain for a total of three hours--I played with a puppy, was given a one hour Chinese lesson by a extremely friendly construction worker, and ruminated on the absence of my adventerous spirit. The others came back, we at a restaurant in a small village (which unknownlingy carved itself in history as the subject of my future food blog post), and then drove the rest of the way back through hairpin curbs and rain. I was slightly nauseated. Oh we also chased a pig down the road for about 100 feet. It was one of the highlites of my life.

*I've been on an internet fast for the last few days. This is the reason for the no blog posts and what not. I spend way too much time doing pointless things.

That's pretty much it. Hope everyone is doing well. The food post is coming, trust me. Just give me a few more days.

"I'll see you in the morning if nothing happens."

SOOOOWEEEE! HERE PIG PIG PIG PIG PIG PIG! SOOOOWEEEE! (Man I love typing that). So you thought I meant some California pot-belly oinker? No these swine are huge. I'm sure they rule the Chinese countryside in some Conradian nightmare akin to the Heart of Darkness. They walk around uninhibited, like lions on the Serengeti. Really why was a two hundred pound pig walking down the side of an isolated road? I mean where was it going? Why was it there? Did it escape? Does it have a home? This is not the first time this has happened. I saw two random battleship size pigs walking down the road the last time I left the city. And, on top of all these observations, I'm pretty sure (and my Dad will correct me if I'm wrong) pigs this big are some of the meanest creatures alive. This one wanted to fight with our car until it realized that we were slightly bigger. Well lets just say that that if I ever met one in the wild I'm thankful that I would probably out run it. I'm pretty sure sows this big can't run three miles. Although I think they can climb trees (or is that bears?). Anyway, have a good day.

The Blackest Man in Enshi

2007-10-25T05:57:00.000-07:00

You'll never believe what I heard. I walked into one of the local grocery stores and emanating from a loudspeaker, straight out of St. Louis, was that song where the kids say:

"Do your chain hang low? Do it wobble to the flo? Do it shine in the light? Is it platinum, Is it gold? Could you throw it over ya shoulda? If ya hot, it make ya cold. Do your chain hang low?" (punctuation added)

And I was like "Ya buddy, CHAIN. That's what I'm saying Jibbs is my homeboy!" Except I wasn't. But the song made me happy, and then it made me sad; because there was no one to share in my happiness. It made me happy (and then sad) for a variety of reasons. First, I thought Chain was a regional hit in the southern United States. I guess it found it's way out of the South. I dont know what Jibbs would think if he knew that "Chain" was playing in a isolated Chinese city of 200k people, but I bet he probably wouldn't care. Second, and this should make you smile, if anyone in this city deserves to be enjoying that song, it's me. I'm from the its region, I've heard of the term rhythm, I'm tall and have curly hair, I'm a minority. Yes that's right, it all adds up: I am the blackest man in Enshi. Laugh, laugh all you want. If you were here you would agree with me. Now if you will excuse me, I'm going listen to some Hall & Oates.

"I'll see you in the morning if nothing happens."

p.s. I also have the slight beginnings of a head cold. Which means I didn't run today, which makes me sadder than words can tell. I think I am going to take some nyquil and wake up about mid-december.

p.s.s. Maybe you should just give me your email and I will let you know when I finally get around to the food post. I'm hating food right now, except my Chocolate bread. I love me some Chocolate bread.

Well I'm making it public...

2007-10-24T07:33:00.000-07:00

So Haley and a I were eating lunch today when she said "You know we've been here two months?" And I said "No we haven't, we left on the twenty-fourth, so we still got a couple of days." Then I looked at the calendar, for some reason I thought it was the twenty second. It's been two months. So sit back and enjoy the blog post that has been two months in the making...

For a myriad of reasons, and I believe most everyone has heard through the rumor mill by now, China and I will be breaking up around the first of the year. We've had about three or four bad weeks together, and I don't see this relationship improving. So I decided to end it early about three weeks ago. Of course, we'll still be together for a couple of more months just for posterity's sake, but as of mid-January China and I will "just be friends" for the foreseeable future. Leaving China early has been one of the toughest choices I have ever made--one that has revealed several things about myself that I did not know before, and well it's not pretty--but I can't think of a decision that has put me more at ease. China and I weren't meant to be, and I can say that with some confidence; the cultural high lasted about two days, then culture shock hit and lasted about two weeks, and then that subsided and a month and a half later I still want out. I don't want to dilute the term "miserable" by describing my self as just that; because I'm not. However, China exposed some serious issues that I won't fix by staying for ten months and doing damage to myself and no good for other people.

THINK about me (keep cool with the jargon here people) because I never thought in my wildest dreams that I would come to a foreign country and discover that I am a bigot. Or it could be the exact opposite, and I just want to have a conversation with someone that respects me for who I am and not some superficial characteristic that I cannot control. I really can't tell the two apart, but I believe the latter has lead to the former. Either way it has been wearing me down for the last few weeks (I should go to a country where the people arn't nice, you know like New York City). I love these people, but it's just these aspects that have made basic human communication a bear and because of that burden I've turned into a hermit living off the basic essentials in life: facebook, guitar, email, water and chocolate bread (and running, man am I starting to love running). I do leave the apartment daily, but even those ventures usually lead to thinking the things I wrote about on my blog yesterday. This country and it's people are wonderful, probably the nicest in the world, but like I said the problem is all mine.

Oh well, this has been a pretty intimate post. I hope the random guy in Montana that ran into this blog on accident enjoyed it; or maybe the friend I haven't talk to since middle school; or the college classmate I've never talked to in my entire life, who has been secretly facebook stalking me for the past year (you know who you are); or maybe even one of my students. It's interesting finding out who actually reads this thing. I just discovered I have 90 hits on my empty profile page. I'm sorry about that, if I knew people were looking at it I would have put something there. Any way, have a good night, all you crazy Americans out there.

"I'll see you in the morning if nothing happens."

Another long day

2007-10-23T06:42:00.001-07:00

I am getting real tired of this circus bear act real quick. I don't know if the attention is this bad in bigger cities, but it's about to send me medieval on some poor unsuspecting Chinese English student. You can't go anywhere in public without two dozen Chinese people yelling "HELLO!" from across the street, inside of stores, right behind you, above you on ledges, underneath the ground, inside your soul, etc. And if you say hello back, which I normally do, they get so tickled you make their day. I guess one half of these hello's are the Chinese being friendly, but the other part is a game the Chinese play to see if the waigoren will say hello back. I know it's innocent, but I still can't shake the feeling that I'm an animal in a zoo that keeps getting pelted with peanuts just to see if I will move.

(what's that scene in Dumbo? Where dumbo is being harassed by a group of young boys and then mama Jumbo gets mad and comes in and goes loco on their unsuspecting tails, but because she does it she gets incarcerated and separated from Dumbo and every time you watch the movie you know it's about to happen and your like "NO MAMA JUMBO DON'T DO IT!" But you know she's going to do it anyway and all she is trying to do is protect her baby [I mean that's all she is trying to do man!] but you know if she protects her baby she could possibly never see him again so you are screaming at the T.V for her not to do it, but you know she is going to do it and nothing can stop her, and the entire time your thinking that maybe this is the time that Mama Jumbo won't get mad and Dumbo and Jumbo won't be separated and everyone can avoid all the pain, but she does it every time and the separation takes a piece out of your soul even though you know they will be reunited at the end on the train with the blackbirds singing "When I see an elephant flyyyyiiiiiii!" And that Walt Disney was a genius and would you believe I haven't seen this movie since I was ten?)

Oh, and did I mention that this happens every time you go out in public? Yea. Everytime.

One of my favorite people in the whole city is the girl who works at the dumpling place I frequent every day. She gives me as much attention as a brentwood soccer mom; it's great. I don't think she knows I'm an American. I paid her for dumplings a couple of days ago and she looked straight through me. Didn't even smile. Made my day. No joke.

I've just had another long day, and that's probably the reason for the negativity. The school has the start of a sports meeting tomorrow, and I don't have to teach class until next Monday--unless it rains. It's raining now, but I think it should stop by tomorrow morning. I have also lost control of all my classes, they've started to get up and leave the room like it's a coffee shop. I'll have to turn into a disciplinarian, which is something I wanted to avoid. Believe me, I started this whole semester with the "Start tough and ease up" ideology. I went into my class and tried to scare them into thinking that I wouldn't take any misbehavior from anyone. Then I discovered later that the "scary" section of my first day lecture hit the language barrier going about 90 m.p.h. and died there on the spot. They didn't understand a single word I said. It took the wind out of my sails. Oh well, I'm really starting to hate this whole teaching thing.

Wow. This has been an uplifting one. At least I left the part out about the bordello.

"I'll see you in the morning if nothing happens."

p.s. Sorry, I couldn't resist. It's a little known fact that there is a bordello across street from our college. Funny story actually. This bordello looks like a nice Chinese hotel. One day I was walking with one of my students and thought I might inquire about a possible place for my parents to stay if they were to come visit me. So I pointed to the Hotel and said:
"How much does it cost to stay there?"
"What?!" My student said.
"How much does it cost to stay at that hotel?"
"Nononononononononono."
"What?"
"Nononononononononono."
"Huh?"
"Bad place. Don't go."
"Bad place? It sure looks nice to me"
"Nononononononononono."
"Huh? Alright, if you say so. Are you sure that's a bad place."
"Yesyesyesyesyesyesyesyesyes."

It took a student with a much better English to finally tell me the place's true identity. I'm glad I didn't go in and inquire myself. Also, besides the two or three people working behind the counter (just like a hotel), no one ever goes in or goes out. I guess buisness is bad. Which is a good thing, or there is a back entrance, which makes you wonder why there is a lobby and three people working the front desk if no one is ever going to use the front entrance. Anyway, one thing is for sure. We're not in America anymore.

p.s.s. this is not the food post, sorry. Give me a few more days.

A little thing happened on a track in Enshi.

2007-10-21T03:21:00.000-07:00

Today, on a track in Enshi China, something was accomplished that has never been accomplished in the history of man. Something which the entire world has been itching to see since it's conception. Something unmatched in the unparalleled strength and fortitude that was needed for this event to finally occur. Today on a track in Enshi China, Jonathan Harrison ran two miles.

Without stopping.

At a pretty brisk pace.

And he is still alive.

WHOOOOO! I TOLD MY CRITICS THAT I WOULD RUN TWO MILES! I TOLD MY CRITICS AND YOU DID NOT BELIEVE ME!

Ok enough channeling of Muhammad Ali. It's one thing that I thought I would never accomplish. Something that has been over two or three years in the making. I remember back in the days of college when I never thought I would run one mile (and I remember that day too, it was a cold day during winter break and there was no on in the SAC except a middle-aged man and the guy working behind the counter. And I hit the 3/4 of a mile mark and I said to myself "Today is the day. Today is the first day in your life that you will run one mile." And then I did.), when I would hit 8/13 of a mile and stop because I was winded. I remember back in fourth grade, when I was the most out of shape kid in the entire P.E. class. Coach told us to run 8 laps around the basketball court. And I was still on lap six when all the other guys (and girls) had finished, and I was going to finish those eight laps, I was going to do it. Then coach told me that it was alright and I didn't have to run all eight laps, but I wanted to finish, and he wouldn't let me (and who could blame him, that probably would have taken twenty minutes). NOW I HAVE RUN TWO MILES. At age 22 JONATHAN HARRISON IS IN THE BEST SHAPE OF HIS LIFE!!!!! AND YOU KNOW WHAT? HE'S GOING TO DO IT TOMORROW!!!!!! WHOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!

"I'll see you in the morning if nothing happens."

p.s. Sorry for all the self-aggrandizing, I need to feel good about something. Also I attended a little "c" family today (or is it big C?) and loved it. Probably because: 1. I got to talk to a woman who studied in Jersey for three years, 2. It is by far the best meal I've had in China (like a buffalo wing vegetable soup, amazzzzing) and 3. No one tried to force feed me alcohol. And I actually took part in the family gathering itself. I wish I could write more about it, but it's pretty obvious why I can't. Anyways WHOOOOOOOO.

EFC: Enshi Fried Chicken

2007-10-20T03:50:00.000-07:00

Whoooo, they got some fried chicken over here, and I'm not really sure just what in the heck they fry it in but ten minutes after you eat one piece you get all lightheaded, and the world starts swimming, and the girls seem about ten times prettier but you feel like you are about to throw up or you just don't feel right for the next hour or two. But you feel kind of good. It's weird man. It must be some reallllllly old grease. Or something. Weird.

"I'll see you in the morning if nothing happens"

p.s. This is NOT the food post, I just have to share this with everyone. Really, I don't know what is up with this chicken. But after one bite the world starts spinning and it's weirdest thing. If it was like half a chicken I would understand. But it's just one bite! It's probably not healthy. This is the second time I have been experienced by this chicken. The first time I thought it was me, now I know it is the chicken. And it takes a total of five minutes to hit you. It's really quick. Wow. I hope I don't get addicted. Because the stuff tastes awful.

p.s.s I'm sure I'll get a call in a few hours from my mother telling me to 1. Quit eating the chicken, and 2. Quit telling everyone about it via the blog. I will quit eating the chicken don't worry. In fact, if somebody orders it for me I will turn it down cold (or hot). I don't know if it hits the Chinese the same way it hits americans. Maybe it's a food allergy. Wow. Anyway, man. That is some powerful stuff.

Chinese Orphanage

2007-10-19T23:33:00.000-07:00

Today I visited a Chinese orphanage inside of the city. I, of course, was expecting the heart-wrenching poverty and malnourishment that accompanies every visit to a foreign orphanage. However, when we got there we discovered that the place was cleaner than my apartment, overstaffed, and underpopulated with a troop of minor musicians who looked well fed, happy and a lot better off than their peers who have family that want them (well that's the way it looked). And we were also not allowed to take pictures. Sad day. To compensate, here is a picture of me with a stone tiger.

Also, just a warning for you wonderful people sending me letters. Today I got a piece of mail that was sent on September 26. My other American friends gave it to me. It appeared in their mailbox today. At least the country got the nationality right. That is something the USPS would never do. So if you send a letter telling me how cool I am, confessing your undying love, etc. and I never respond, chances are it went back in time to the foreign teachers who taught here before me like in that movie with Sandra Bullock and Keeonoh Reeves. And speaking of Sandra Bullock, apparently Brit ran over somebodies foot with her car. Which requires a few questions to be asked: why does she own a car? why is she driving it? who was the idiot that let her pass her driver's exam? and why is she not in prison yet? Oh come on, it's only a matter time, except this time she'll probably kill someone and then this whole Hiltonlohanspears badgirlz thing won't be cute or funny anymore. Yea, I agree with the main pop culture criticism that making fun of Britney is too easy and we should all move on to harder targets, but those people arn't living in a country that still listens to "Hit Me Baby One More Time". Wait, here I go again.

"I'll see you in the morning if nothing happens,"

p.s. the food blog post is coming. If I did it today you would get a few pictures of leftovers, and I don't think anybody wants that.

Caught

2007-10-17T22:37:00.000-07:00

I was eating lunch with two of my second year students when a first year student sat down and asked me "So, what are your girlfriends names?" Well, this confused my second year students, because at the first day of the year I told them that I didn't have a girlfriend in America.
"Well you see, when I told you I didn't have a girlfriend, I meant umm, some girl, ummm..."
"So you have a girlfriend in America?"
"Yes. Four actually."
"Four!"
"Yes. I'm quite popular in America."
"But you told us you only had one girlfriend your entire life?"
"I did? Ummm, yea I did. Ummm. Well girlfriend is a term that can mean a lot of different things."
"So what does it mean in America?"
"It's ummm, someone that you go on dates with, wait, ummm someone you take out to dinner and stuff."
"But you don't want to marry?"
"Exactly, don't want to marry, just go out on dates. I'm too young to get married."
"So when do you want to get married?"
"Ummm. When I'm thirty-four. That sounds like a good age. Thirty-four."
"So you have a girlfriend in America?"
"Yes, umm, four or five."
"You don't know for sure?"
"Yes, I might call a couple of them and find out just what is going on. Maybe three and a half. We'll say three and a half girlfriends. That is a good number. "
"I bet you miss them alot?"
"Sure do."

Today during class, and you might find this funny, I had a craving for Chinese food. I had a craving for American Chinese food. Chinese food is different than Chinese food. I'll write about this in-depth later. Hopefully I will have pictures.

"I'll see you in the morning if nothing happens."

Future Girlfriends?

2007-10-16T05:27:00.000-07:00

So I broke the news to my students. I now officially have "four or five girlfriends" back in the United States. I figured a gargantuan lie is just as bad as a small one (and more impressive). I'm currently taking applications for those four or five coveted spots. Resumes can be emailed to harrisonjd@lipscomb.edu. Please include an 8X10 glamour shot (my Chinese students want to see pictures. Lots and lots of pictures) , and something about how you will always love me or something like that. Applications are due by the end of this week. No late applications will be accepted (unless you are really, really attractive, or just really attractive, or just attractive, or you just send an email. Either way).

The Chinese will ask you one of three things: do you sing? do you play basketball? and do you dance? You have to be an expert at all three, because any denial of physical ability in these hobbies will only lead them to believe that you are modest. Take for example basketball. For the first week I was asked by everyone at the University if I played basketball. I said no, no I don't. This was taken as modesty, until I actually played a game and proved that I couldn't play. And now no one asks me that question anymore. Which makes me wonder why they didn't believe me in the first place. So modest. He is so very very modest.

I think the more time I spend here, the less I have to write about. Which is why this is the first blog post in three days and it's not very long. It will be ending here shortly. Have a good day.

"I'll see you in the morning if nothing happens."

Haley's Post

2007-10-13T06:49:00.000-07:00

Hi,

This is Haley, the 2nd half of Jonathan's China experience. You might say that if I'm Dr. Jekyl, then Jonathan is Mr. Hyde. Just kidding, but if anybody really wants to understand what the other half is doing here in China, here's my say: I will admit, being so far away from home is very hard, but everyday I have to wake up and realize that my emotions towards China shape my experience. I wake up and think how beautiful life can be if we begin every adventure with a positive emotion...how beautiful life can become for each one of us.

But, that's on a good day.

So, my final note is to say this. I'm proud of Jonathan trying each day to accept his China experience. It takes courage to try some of my Chinese dishes or to walk with me as I look through every shop in China. Jonathan is an amazing guy and I'm glad that he's here to keep me laughing and reminding me how good life is back home. He loves all of you very much and cannot wait to be reunited with you. This is the reason why China has been hard. His heart remains with you always.

God Bless,

Haley

China after dark

2007-10-11T05:10:00.000-07:00

Man this place can be lonely sometimes. Today can only be highlighted by an attempt at teaching 40 19 year old girls how to sing "My Heart Will Go On" (it was requested, heavily). I was asked, after playing the song five times (like I didn't hear enough in the 90's) and singing with the entire class once, to come back some other day and actually teach the song. Ummm.

The day died around 7:15 tonight. That's too early to go to bed, so I guess I will stay up and read a book or surf pointless web pages for a couple of hours. Tonight is a great night to call by the way, although everyone will read this after the fact.

It seems that when the whether cools off and it rains a little bit, the Chinese go inside about six o'clock and don't come out for the rest night. I went walking up and down the street outside of our university and it was deserted, well about as deserted as anything can be in a country of 1.4 billion people. Which brings up another interesting point which I have been meaning to write about.

I know I've heard two or three people say that Americans are loud. If you are travelling abroad you can always tell who the Americans are because they're ten times louder than everyone else and are callously indifferent to the polite silence of other countries. I now know that the word "abroad" in that opinion means "Europe" , because Americans have nothing on the Chinese.

Everything is loud over here. Everything. Whenever we went to a speech competition about a month ago, the speakers were loud enough to cause long term hearing damage. In fact, whenever someone uses audio equipment the volume is turned up so much the music can hardly be heard over the fuzz caused by speakers being pushed past their limits. The car horn is the favorite form of communication. The Chinese use it for its original purpose: to inform people of your presence. So if a driver has slightest inclination that you are not aware of his two ton gravel truck driving down the middle of the street, he will honk. And it's loud. People set off fireworks at the most random times in the most random places. A construction company is dynamiting the hills next to my school. There was that random air-raid siren from about three weeks back. I'm pretty sure the cell-phones don't even come with a vibrate setting, and when one starts ringing at the most inappropriate time it's not considered rude.

So walking the street tonight was nice, because for the first time in a while, my apartment wasn't the only place in the city that was quiet. I'm hoping (and it's pretty rude of me to hope) that the cold will keep people inside past the hours of six. But I'm guessing it won't. With the rain and the changing whether, it was a good day to stay inside and drink hot chocolate. If they had hot chocolate here.

"I'll see you in the morning if nothing happens."

My first stint as an ESL teacher

2007-10-10T01:41:00.000-07:00

A few years ago--long before the days of China came into being--I taught esl to an Egyptian Janitor at Lipscomb University. His name was Magdi Girgis, and he was a short Arabic man with a head full of graying hair and moustache to match. He had never really picked up much English, and I don't believe ever will. But every Thursday around seven he would show up with his Oxford English for Beginners book in the small little room underneath the newly renovated Ward Lecture Auditorium (complete with a Steinway!) and he and I would banter back and forth in English and Arabic.

We never accomplished much. I didn't really know what I was doing, and I'm pretty sure he didn't want to learn English. He would point at a picture and he would say "Kreall?" and I would pronounce "Cereal," with forty-two separate syllables and drag it out until saying the word lasted longer than five minutes (which, by the way, have you ever looked at the word cereal? I will forever have pity for people trying to learn english). And then I would explain just what "Cereal" was and then he would catch on and write it in Arabic and show it to me. I would nod in fascination, and the cycle would repeat itself. We never went much beyond that. And the lessons ended after one semester.

And a third of the time we didn't even meet. Either he wouldn't show up or I couldn't make it. I used to dread fighting the frigid wind and the cold that sunk into the bones only to find that Magdi had already gone home for the day. The first time it happened I showed up and asked every Janitor in the building where he was before deducing he wasn't coming. All of the other times I would sit in the cold, dead classroom for fifteen minutes and then leave. Once or twice I did it to him too, but I can imagine him walking in five minutes late, seeing I wasn't there, and walking right back out to enjoy his break in some place warm. I'm pretty sure no love was lost.

And one time I walked in at seven o'clock to find him and a friend drinking iced whiskey right in the lobby outside of Ward. It was one of the greatest sights I have ever seen. Two janitors boldly breaking the draconian laws of an establishment that didn't care enough, nor had any power, over the lower-income workers. I can just see the President--or whomever enforces those rules--in that situation turning the other way like it was the sheriff at the end of To Kill a Mockingbird. Those two men were the carnivalesque or the upside-down kingdom at work. Two guys from a different culture who didn't care about ridiculousness of it all. Two guys who were invincible from the very organization that gave them a living. They had power. They were also pretty far gone by the time I got there. Of course I sat down and had a couple of drinks with them (just kidding!), but I did sit and talk long enough to make walking over there worth it. And then I left smiling my head off.

I will never forget Magdi, as little influence that he had on my life. He always walked around in a cloud of cigarette smoke and hardly ever smiled. As if some Deity was punishing him for something that he did, and the punishment was America, away from family, friends, a language that made sense and into a disrespectful, cursed culture with weather reminiscent of Dante's ninth circle of hell. I always felt sorry for him. He probably didn't ask to be sixty years old and cleaning up after spoiled, egocentric American kids for a living, but he would probably be doing that until he died. You could tell he was always thinking about home. His eyes always had the glazed over, far-off look as if they were seeing something that would never be seen again; reminiscing over the past and disregarding the future. He was a tortured soul, and there is no telling just what he is doing now. Hey may still be a janitor at Lipscomb, or he may not. I hope he made it home though. I really do.

And we're back...

2007-10-09T03:40:00.000-07:00

Has it really been five days? Internet problems coupled with a lack of all things interesting has made Jonathan's blog a dull web page. I've bet I've lost 95% of my readership. I bet there is a way to tell if you can read Chinese. Ahh but who cares.

I hate being so dang attractive. I hate it. I remember with hopeless nostalgia the days when women gratefully ignored me like I managed Waffle House (speaking of Waffle House, you know what was stuck in my head the other day? That song "I love you, Waffle House hashbrowns, I love you I do." You can't hear it unless you go to a Waffle House and select it on the jukebox. I need therapy). I just went out to get some dumplings at a restaurant about a quarter mile from my university, and I'll be danged if every one of the 2,000,000,000 girls in between here and there didn't stare at me or giggle or make some sort of comment. No, Jonathan is not being conceited. It gets old, real old. That's why I hate going out on my own. Usually if I go somewhere with Haley or one of my students the ogling is not that bad (we heard a rumor that everyone at the University across the street thinks Haley and I are a couple from Australia. Where they got that? I have no idea). I never thought I would know what it's like to be famous, but by-golly I do. It's not that great, I'd rather live in grand obscurity.

"I'll see you in the morning if nothing happens."

p.s. Fall finally arrived yesterday. It's good to have cool weather, real good.

More stuff

2007-10-04T05:55:00.000-07:00

Ok, Ok, Ok, Ok. I bought "Moon River" too. The Henry Mancini version. Time Life Music presents...

Little known fact. Pepto Bismol will turn your tongue black. I tried taking a picture but all attempts just seemed uncouth. You can imagine my surprise when I opened my mouth to brush my teeth and found that I look like a giraffe.

Something else. It's humid over here. When we first got here, it was hot. Then it cooled off for four weeks. And then it got hot again. I don't understand. It's October in the mountains. It's not supposed to be hot. I keep asking people "When does it cool off around here?" And I get blank stares. You know how awesome it would be to ask someone a question and have them know what I'm saying? I think I want that for Christmas.

Oh, I'm currently not picking up my phone. So if you're calling, please give me a time frame at which you will call and I will pick the phone up then. You see, picking up the phone guarantees that the next three to four hours of your life will be occupied by hanging out with someone. And generally "I'm sorry I just can't do that," doesn't translate well; because the Chinese don't take no for an answer. I've also been sick the last few days, so I really don't feel like running around the city. Therefore I don't pick up the phone. Have you ever unplugged the phone? It's awesome. It doesn't ring, ever.

"I'll see you in the morning if nothing happens."

American Music in China and Cave

2007-10-03T06:26:00.000-07:00

A nasty rumor has been floating around the internet that I bought "Hollaback Girl" and "My Humps" off itunes yesterday. I have no comment. Actually I plead the fifth. I did hear "My Humps" blasting from a scooter that drove by me on the street. Which is probably why I bought that song; if I indeed did.

American music in China. The people over here only know sucky American songs ("California Hotel", "Country Roads" and "We Will Rock You" excluded). Were talking Celine Dion, Backstreet Boys, and Whitney Houston. They love these people, and they will ask you to sing their songs a capella in front of crowds of fifty or sixty people like you get paid to sing for a living. That gets old realll quick. I mean, do I look like Celine Dion? Would I go up to a girl and ask her to sing Johnny Cash, expect her to do a good job, and expect her to know all the words to all his songs? Absolutely not, if she could pull that off the next thing I would ask would be her hand in marriage. And of course they ask "Have you ever heard of (insert artist name)" And I got so tired of replying "Actually when Backstreet Boys came out I was in Middle School. All my friends and I thought they were a bunch of homo-corporate tools, we hated them. They can't sing, can't play an instruments, can't write music, and probably have the combined musical iq of Paris Hilton," that I've started to reply (to my extreme shame) "Yea I love the Backstreet Boys! JT? I love that guy!" (Actually I think he was in nsync, but is anybody going to pretend they know enough about this stuff to contradict me? Didn't think so). You remember when JT and Britney were a thing? That was a weird time. I mean that's one of those relationships that seemed like it never happened. Now JT has brought sexy back and Britney is so busy increasing everyone's self-esteem via the VMA's that she's lost custody of both her children to Kevin Federline? Someone has to do something. We can't claim to be decent people and let such atrocities go on in this world. Ladies and gentleman, I would give up the rest of my life to raise those kids, but I'm in China and my hands are tied. In fact, there about two years behind the pop culture times over here. Everyone thinks that Brad Pitt and Jennifer Aniston are still together. Seriously.

Man, I need to get out.

Where was I? Yea, so everyone over here likes sucky music. And hold on to your seats, no one has heard of the Beatles. Much less Led Zeppelin, Dylan, the Rolling Stones, Limp Bizkit, Janis, Hendrix, Simon and Garfunkel, AC/DC, the Grateful Dead, Pink Floyd, Neil Young, take it wherever you want it. However, like I said earlier, they do know one good song from John Denver, The Eagles, and Queen. Of course it's the three songs that get played so many times that you want to rip the radio out of the car whenever you hear them, but beggars can't be choosers. I'll quit.

Yesterday Haley and I travelled two hours to one of the largest cavern's in the eastern world. We kept hearing that this cave is "The Largest Cave in the World" from everyone that wasn't caucasian. Granted, it was a quite impressive sight, but I don't think it's the largest cave in the world. I kept wanting to say "Can you show me international academic journal that has published the scientific evidence proving this claim?" but instead I just said "The Largest Cave in the World? SWEET!" And I can understand why they would say this, here is a picture of the entrance

This--according to a website that is not Chinese--is the second largest cave entrance in the world. It's about 300 ft. high. The cave continues this way for about a two miles into the mountain. Pretty impressive, and if I had a vote, I would say it's the largest cave in the world. But I have yet to see a website that substantiates these claims, and I'm pretty sure the experts have known about this thing for a while.

There's not much to say about a cave. Have you ever tried? "It was real pretty." That's about it. Man, "My Humps" is one awful song. Yet here I am listening to it.

"I'll see you in the morning if nothing happens"

p.s. I love the comments and keep them coming. It is a little difficult for me to view them though, since blogger is blocked over here. I do have a way of viewing them, but it is a fourteen step process that I rarely take the time to plow through. I will reply to them, just give me time.

p.s.s. I don't think Limp Bizkit is one of the greatest bands ever. I can't sleep at night knowing that someone might take my sarcasm as reality. In fact, one of the happiest days of my life is when Cristina Agueliera poned Fred Durst. Can't you believe that relationship almost happened? Wait a second. Never mind.

Waigoren and Chinese Weddings

2007-10-01T05:21:00.000-07:00

So the votes are in, there are only eight foreigners in all of Enshi: five Americans, one Japanese, one English and his Brazilian/Peruvian wife. I got to meet the English man and his wife for the first time yesterday. We, of course, met at the meeting of the foreigners hosted by the Chinese government. At the meeting we were herded into a room with forty Chinese. Three Chinese men gave Chinese speeches, and the rest of us ate fruit. After that, everyone had dinner. Thankfully, and I do mean thankfully, all the foreigners were allowed to eat together in a room with only two or three Chinese.

I say thankfully because public intoxication is encouraged in a formal dinner setting, to the point where if you don't get slammed they seem very disappointed. It spoils the fun I guess. I'm pretty sure it's what they live for. The Chinese have one favorite liquor: baijai (rice wine) which is around %50 alcohol. Foreigners can't stand the stuff but the Chinese love it. Since it was just the foreigners, nobody was getting drunk and nobody was being forced to drink baijai. Good times.

I also went to a Chinese wedding today. Don't get excited. A Chinese wedding is more or less a string of rituals rather than a ceremony. When arrived, the groom was carrying the bride on his back about a half mile from his house. Apparently he has to carry her a good distance for some reason, while his friends make the process as difficult and as embarrassing as possible. By the time he made it to the house, he was wearing nothing but his knickers. But he was still caring his wife. Never getting married in China, never.

And then we played cards for the next three hours while sitting in a room surrounded by all the close friends and family and it felt like something from my Big Fat Greek Wedding where we couldn't speak a word and we were out of place but we were the honored guest for two people we have never met and will never see again. And.

I just had a sudden onset of modernism. Sorry. All we did was play cards in this house full of Chinese people. And then we travelled to a fancy hotel to eat dinner. When we made it up the stairs to the second floor we discovered a huge room with three hundred Chinese all preparing to eat. There was a two minute introduction of the bride and groom and then we ate dinner. But this is the amazing part: when the Chinese finished eating they left. It was amazing! There was no flower throwing, garter throwing, dancing, cake cutting, cleaning, mingling, rice throwing, etc. Nobody was like "You know I'm such a good friend I should really stay for the rice-throwing, but I really just want to get the sam-hill out of here." Or "I don't know these people from Adam, should I really try to catch the garter?" We all know this, in America weddings how well you know the person directly correlates with how long you stay at the reception. Everyone gets cake and nobody cleans (unless you're family). In China, you eat and leave. Amazing. I love it.

Afterwards there was singing with close family and friends back at the house, but we decided to skip out on that.

Something funny (ok funny to me). Our university is pronounced Enshi Zhu Yuan. Zhu is pronounced "Jew" and Yuan is the for word college. However, yuan is also the word for money. So my college is pronounced Enshi Jew Money. Create your own punchline (I'm not anti-Semitic I swear, I've never even known a Jew. I love Jews. Dylan is a Jew, JC is a Jew [Jews also killed him, but we won't get into that], Phillip Roth is a Jew [I probably won't get a job because of this post one day], Robbie Robertson is half Jewish [I bet they're freezing my bank accounts right now], I just think it's funny).

More pictures tomorrow.

(Don't tell Mom.)

"I'll see you in the morning if nothing happens."

Blog post I made so I can tell friends "I did something today"

2007-09-28T21:34:00.001-07:00

At 7:30 this morning I woke up to the sounds of someone screaming "Hey, can I come in?!" I went back to sleep. This little anecdote brings up an interesting point. The Chinese have no concept of "Sleeping-in"; they don't do it. I think they wake up at 6:30 in the morning, every morning. Even on Saturdays and Sundays. I think the same person came around at 10:00. Same results.

I'm going to grow a beard. For two reasons: one because I can't wait to have another physical feature that further sets me apart from the crowd and makes me stand out from everyone else on the street; two because shaving every day is killing my face.

I also am gaining weight. Today for breakfast I had four mooncakes and an oatmeal cream pie. Yesterday I ate a whole loaf of chocolate bread, on top of three square meals and half a liter of orange juice. I'm eating like it's nobody's business. At this rate I'll look like Tevye from Fiddler on the Roof when I get back. Tradition! Yada, yada, yada.

"I'll see you in the morning if nothing happens."

The greatest vacation that never was

2007-09-28T08:19:00.000-07:00

So I have the next week off from class (it's weird, in China Thanksgiving break is in the first week of October, except it's not Thanksgiving break, it's national Holiday. I'm not sure just what that is). Haley and I were planning to go to Xi'an for a couple of days and see four friends that leave in Yichang. Xi'an is one of four hundred ancient capitols of China, but I'm pretty sure it is one of the oldest. It takes about 24 hours on a bus to get to Xi'an, and it's also the home of the terracotta soldiers, but that's not really important now, because plans for Xi'an have fallen through.

Our waiban casually reminded us that we agreed to go to a "meeting of the foreigners" thrown by the city government on Sunday night, making a trip to Xi'an a lot less realistic. Now this "foreigner meeting" is enticing to me for a couple of reasons. I am 99% sure I know of every foreigner in this city. There are eight of us: five Americans, one Japanese, one Australian and his Brazilian wife. And we all teach at our respective universities. Now I wanted to go to this meeting on the off chance that there is some Canadian hiding in a sewer on the other side of town. Discovering another foreigner would make my month, especially if they were close to my age, but that's probably not going to happen. I can imagine the meeting being Haley and I and a couple of Chinese officials. Our American friends didn't agree to go and have already left town. The Australian and his wife have probably done the same. Kazusan might be there, but I'm not getting my hopes up. I'll keep you up to date on how it goes.

It looks like I'll be spending a lot longer in Enshi for this next week than I had hoped. Which means guarenteed daily blog posts! The inspection has ended, and I avoided the wrath of any state inspectors. Now, I get to relax for a week. Even if it is in my apartment. I'm sad. Wasn't expecting that. I was starting to look forward to travelling. What is happening to me?

"I'll see you in the morning if nothing happens"
(actually it's the afternoon in America, I hope everyone is having a good lunch)

One month?

2007-09-26T07:04:00.000-07:00

I don't know if you heard, but China and I celebrated our one month aniversary yesterday. I wouldn't say we are in love. Not yet, but I'm enjoying this relationship a lot more now than I was at two weeks when we almost broke up. It's easier to say "Wow, China and I only have nine months left together." Not to mention that next week I begin almost a week and half of vacation. It will be eight months before I realize it. This time is really flying by fast. Now that I have settled down, I can start to do some good work. Some random observances on why life here is so much more easier than life in the states:

1. There are little responsibilities. I don't have to worry about a car, I only work about five hours a day, and I live by myself with all the luxuries anyone could ask for (ok so the roaches get annoying, but I've also found that with no carpet and a broom, roaches slide across the floor like a hockey puck. Banishing them from my apartment has become fun).

2. Money is not a problem. Not at all, you can feed a family of four over here for a couple of American dollars a day. And I get subsidized well for doing absolutley nothing. Almost everything is dirt cheap. In fact, I can't believe I ever tore apart my car to find a four quarters so I could go to Wendy's and get a hamburger. There is no telling how much money those fatcats are making off the dollar menu. You should see the good food you can get over here for $.40.

I don't know how I'm going to adjust when I get back. It's nice not having to micromanage your bank account everytime you go the grocery store. It's so different from college, all the free time in the world, not a worry on your mind and no drama. But it's not home, and I won't forget that.

"I'll see you in the morning if nothing happens."

Cheating, Parties and Mid-Autumn Day

2007-09-25T06:27:00.000-07:00

So this is going to be a massive blog post. For starters, today is mid-autumn day in China. It's a minor holiday, kind of like our Halloween. What do people do on mid-autumn day? Eat a big dinner with the family, eat mooncakes,--they're like pastries with fruit filling, not anything special but still pretty good--look at the moon and remember the story about the moon (so this pretty girl eats some medicine, becomes really lite, and flies to the moon with a white rabbit. That's pretty much the story. I'm not sure what the punch line is). It's a time to have fun. Which made today's classes really easy; yesterday, is another story.

So I have been telling yesterday's class for a week that there will be a Idiom, Proverb and Vocabulary quiz this week. At the start of class everyday, we have been covering one idiom and one proverb for that day. I explain each for five minutes and move on with the rest of the assignments. I told them last week that I would give a quiz today I also said before I started the quiz "No cheating, this means yada yada yada" I wish I had a youtube video of what happened after I started passing out the quizzes.

The class, after I had passed out THREE QUIZZES, started passing around dictionaries like it was a scrabble tournament. They didn't even look at the test before they began cheating. So many people were cheating, I couldn't even tell who wasn't cheating. I wrote down about twenty names of people I was going to fail , before I stopped the quiz and said that I wasn't going to grade it (that or fail the whole class), and it took ten minutes, after the class monitor explained it in CHINESE, for everyone to catch that I wasn't going to grade the quiz and they were wasting their time by finishing it. And even THEN the students got about %50 of the answers right (I feel like that teacher that gives an open book test and then one student fails it, except I gave an open book quiz yesterday and everyone failed, I think I maybe doing something wrong here). So that's my experience with giving a quiz on paper. Probably will never repeat that. Still have no idea what I am doing for a final.

But tonight I got to hang with one of my other classes when they had their mid-autumn day party. Here is a picture:

This is my smallest class. Pretty sweet. I hate to play favorites, but they are so much easier to teach because there are so few of them. Plus they are really cool. Some other happenings:
I think I saw an albino Chinese person today. They were chinese, but they had naturally light brown hair. Plus they were really pale. I thought it was another american, but they were Chinese. One of the strangest things I've seen in a while. I'm ashamed to admit, I stared. Something else, Haley and I were walking to the our apartments when this little boy points us and yells at the top of his lungs "WAIGOREN!" (foreigner) His grandmother smacked him in the mouth. You talk about funny. Adults know that we know what Waigoren means, but little kids don't. So the only people that call us that are little kids. Anyway, another day, another night.

"I'll see you in the morning if nothing happens."

p.s. My class has yet to be visited by any State experts, I hope that maybe I'll dodge that bullet, but we'll see.

The Inspectors

2007-09-23T19:47:00.001-07:00

They have arrived.

They have arrived in their black audis with their blue briefcases. State inspectors. This week Enshi Vocational and Technical college is being inspected by the government to approve a massive amount of funding and increase the status of the school one level. The adminstration has been preparing for this for two years. Everyone is on edge, and in a few short hours a state inspector will be sitting in on my class room evaluating my performance.

When Haley and I were walking to class this morning, we ran into our translator who said "The experts have begun entering the classrooms." Sounds ominous doesn't it?

We have been told (of course) to not worry about it. And I seriously doubt that the performance of one twenty-two year old American is going to derail two years worth of work. The administration knows what they are supposed to do, and I don't. So I am going to teach, with enthusiasm. And hope that the inspector doesn't speak English. And what's the worst that can happen, they fire me and send me home? I'm blacklisted from Enshi for the rest of my life? ("Why yes, well you see, there is small town in China that I can never vist again. Those were hard times. I'd rather not talk about it.") I'll keep you updated. Edge-of-your-seat excitment I know.

"I'll see you in the morning if nothing happens"

A funny little anecdote

2007-09-22T00:52:00.000-07:00

In on my classes a few days ago we played a game. I call it the lying game, and I'm sure that you have played it before. It goes a little something like this: everyone rights three facts about themselves but one is a lie. The person comes to the front of the class and tries to fool the class into thinking that the lie is the truth. If he or she does, they get a point. Pretty simple, eh? (you would think, but it takes about fourteen minutes of explaining and three examples before everyone gets it, I feel inept cuz I just can't explain this thing clear enough).

Any way, everything was going peachy until one girl writes these three things on the board:

1. I have two older sisters
2. I have never been to Wuhan
3. I have been sucked at the breast until age six.

And the class didn't laugh. Well they did but only a few snickers and not the riot I was expecting. And most of the snickers were from my reaction after reading the board. These definitely are not American schools. Maybe they talk about breastfeeding everyday? Maybe it's as popular as basketball. Who knows?

(It was #2 in case you were wondering)

"I'll see you in the morning if nothing happens."

Sports

2007-09-21T03:20:00.000-07:00

I feel that I'm pretty much settled; because for the first time that I have been in China, I'm struggling to find something to write about. I went to a Chinese pool hall today. That pretty much describes that adventure. Chinese pool is the same as American pool, except the poolballs are smaller and the table is a lot faster (is that pool term? I don't know. But you don't have to hit the cue ball that hard for it to go shooting across the table). I, of course, prefer American pool, but Chinese pool is a nice alternative.

Basketball. Let me just say a word about basketball. The Chinese love basketball more than Americans. Well, they love to play it more than Americans. Everyone is always playing some basketball. The girls, the guys; short, tall; fat, skinny. Everyone plays basketball. I'm guessing Yao Ming is the perpetrator of this phenomena; because they love the NBA and they have never heard of the NCAA. And everyone plays like they've been watching the NBA too: no passing, no shooting; only dribble penetration and layups. It's rather funny that a foreign country would love something more than the people that created it.

I'm going to post a picture of my neighbors parrot:

Sorry about the bad quality, but I had to lean out of a windowsill to get this photo. Don't ask me why I took it; I guess I was bored. These blog posts will get more interesting. I promise.

"I'll see you in the morning if nothing happens."

The newest member of the family

2007-09-20T05:32:00.000-07:00

I went out last night and spent a couple of yuan on a guitar. I think I've already played more guitar today than I have in the last year. It's crazy. I miss American music about as much as I miss Chick-fil-a. Now whenver I learn a new song, I get a good feeling. A feeling that never happened when I learned a new song in the states. I'm actually practicing. In addition, last night I met a Chinese guy who had never heard of the Beatles. He also had never heard of my main man JC. But he had heard of Michael Jackson. Thank goodness, I was getting worried. There is still good in the world.

I started teaching the literature class today. It tanked. I'm going to go back in the trenches and regroup. See what I can do to right this ship. I found out today that Chinese students like English poetry as much as American students (I was under the impression that they would like it more; what was I thinking?). And the language barrier certainly didn't help matters any. So granted, I don't know what I'm going to do about this, but I got a week to figure it out.

So I have this friend. Her English name is Lily. Lily is persistent. Lily has also cooked me dinner three times since Saturday (Lily is an awesome cook). Lily meets me after class and eats lunch with me everyday. Lily has cleaned my kitchen, twice. Lily has cleaned my apartment. It's becoming so bad that my students are starting to ask if she is my girlfriend and if there is any interest (no, there is not). Lily is not even an English major (but yes, Lily can speak English). I'm hoping this is Lily's way of asking for English lessons, and that everything will calm down in the next week. Because I'm starting to miss my free time in the afternoons.

"I'll see you in the morning if nothing happens"

MSG and random things

2007-09-19T03:07:00.000-07:00

To answer the request of my cousin Jack (and any of you who keep up with the world news) Typhoon Wipha is about seven hundred miles to the east of Enshi. I'm safe from super typhoons.

Some random facts:

In China they sell MSG by the bag. You ever wondered what MSG looks like? A mixture between salt and rice. I'm not really sure why it's so bad, but if everything in America proudly proclaims "NO MSG!!!!!!" I told my friend it was probably best if I stayed away from it. Man, it must taste real good if everybody hates it.

Haley came by apartment after practicing basketball and brought a stray cocker-spaniel with her. I almost got a new pet, but it ran off before I could decide what to do with it.

My camera's batteries are dead.

Happy Chinese National Humiliation Day (I'm not kidding)

2007-09-17T22:01:00.000-07:00

Have I got a blog post for you.

I'm about to begin class around ten o'clock this morning, when the most blaring, obnoxious, loud noise filled the entire building. It sounded like an air-raid siren coming from a hundred feet outside. I started to ask my students "What in the sam-hill is that sound?", and no one knew. My first instinct: "My gosh the building is on fire and have to get these kids down seven flights of stares with little to no training, why wasn't I told this might happen?" Of course I went outside the hall way to see just what other teachers were doing, and no one was going anywhere. In my frustration, I spent the next five minutes trying to find someone who could yell (in English) why there was alarm going off outside the building, why it didn't stop, and why wasn't I told about it. The best answer I got was "When people are building something sometimes they make a sound to warn people". And well, I stuck with that. The sound continued (man it was loud), and continued and continued and went on for about forty minutes. All through my class. Which begs the deep philosophical question:

"How do you teach spoken English when you can't hear yourself talk?"

I don't know. I spent most of the class retrenching trying to find something in my workbook that would require no speaking from the teacher or the students. And then when I didn't find anything (surprise!), I kicked myself for about twenty minutes for not having a backup plan in case a random, blaring siren makes communication impossible in class. Needless to say, I couldn't teach, I lost control of the class and had to spend the next hour (after the siren stopped) trying to gain control of forty-five students who had every right in the world to be talking.

I found out after class from my friend Lily--the Chinese domestic demi-goddess--today is the anniversary of the first Japanese invasion of China back before WWII, and the siren was commemorating that moment. In fact, as I found out later on the government website, today is the first annual National Humiliation Day in China (http://english.mofcom.gov.cn/aarticle/subject/lhsessions/lanmub/200703/20070304464874.html).
Yes, National Humiliation Day. I don't think that translates well, but I'll let it be. I don't know if someone meant for their to be an element of surprise along with Humiliation Day, but if they did, they deserve a raise. If they didn't however, they might want to know that out of the fifty or so people I asked, only one knew the answer. Granted, it was the inaugural NHD, and it will probably catch on by the third NHD, but as far as the first NHD goes, not many people are aware that it is NHD. Except for me, and I'm not Chinese.

"I'll see you in the morning if nothing happens."

Kentucky Football!

2007-09-16T22:21:00.000-07:00

It finally happened. I never thought I would see it. There were times where I doubted it would ever occur. For the first time in my life the University of Kentucky has a ranked football team. Yes that's right ranked. That means better than other football teams. That means if you tune into the top 25 scoreboard you will see the score for their game, even if they are playing an unranked team. That means if they ever play on TV it will be the twenty-third ranked Wildcates versus some other team. That means that if an unranked team beats them (and this one blows my mind) it will be an upset.

I have waited for this moment for years. It's was on the (very) short list of things I've hoped to see or experience before I die. Which now include (but in no particular order):

1. Marriage
2. UK beats Tennessee in football

(So I said it was a very short list. Hey, I've already seen the President in person, been to the Kentucky Derby 3 times, ran a mile, and won a State Champion ribbon in banana bread. It's been a pretty fufilling life. Maybe I should add "Go to the superbowl" so people won't think I hold marriage as important as seeing UK beat Tennessee in football).

Oh yea, China.

It's been a pretty interesting couple of days. On Saturday night a Chinese friend of mine invited me to her family's apartment to cook me dinner. When we got there she put on an apron, went into the kitchen and didn't come out for ninety minutes. When she was finished we had a dinner of ten seperate dishes. I thought to myself--while she cleaned the kitchen and I finished watching Mission Impossible III on her big screen TV--"Hey, I maybe falling for this girl" (just kidding, mom). But it was a really good meal.

Yesterday, ten of my students took me on a trek through the city of Enshi. It was pretty sweet. Tha's all for now. No knew spider photos. Sorry.

"I'll see you in the morning if nothing happens."

Spider Watch 2007

2007-09-15T00:10:00.001-07:00

Same spider, same place, different night. Except last night I had the pleasure of watching it crawl away. One of the creepiest things you will ever see. I believe it is a giant crab/huntsman/banana spider because they are nocturnal and this one only shows up past dark. They also eat roaches. Which might explain why I don't have much of a roach problem and everyone else does. I think I may tape a playing card or something to the wall just so you can grasp how big this thing really is. Haley swears she has seen one bigger. Probably a tarantula.

More photos!

First sunset I've seen in three weeks.Taken from my back porch.

There is some crazy butterfly action everyday outside of my aparment. I took about fifty photos, this is one that I enjoy. Like most bugs over here, these things are huge. But they're also butterflies and who doesn't like big butterflies? Hope you enjoy this light blogpost.

"I'll see you in the morning if nothing happens."

Resurgam!

2007-09-14T02:16:00.000-07:00

Little beknownst to everyone back in the states, I declared Tuesday national "Turn this Ship Around Day" and was stoked beyond belief to tell my loyal blog readers that I, Jonathan Harrison, had a five step plan to cure all misery associated with homesickness and culture shock and that with the help of a Good friend (let's stay hip on the blog jargon) this China experience would be some of the best months of my life, and that I, Jonathan Harrison, refused to spend the next ten months in my apartment not eating, surfing facebook, and listening to depressing Tom Waits (love. that. man.) music until I hopped on a plane next June or died from malnutrition (whichever comes first).

Only to find that my internet was down.

And has been down for three days. Being that my last blog post was kind of a downer, it is with great pleasure I say:

"I'M STILL ALIVE!"

With that being said, I have a myriad of topics to discuss. Almost one for every day the internet was down (so three).

1. Long term commitments: When you start to think about it, ten months is a long time. In fact, it is such a long time it can lead anyone to sit and mull over just how long it is. I think it is comparable to eternity, in the fact that there is a beginning and no end. Just think, in February there will still be four months left! I've left the door wide open for an entire world of change. No matter how long I stay here (unless it's my entire life and I don't see that happening) I will have to rebuild once I get back to the States. Thinking about that is enough to drown a man. Therefore the only cure is to get busy (Thank you, Dr. Hearn) doing stuff, and put home in the recesses of my memory for now.

2. Literature: I've read the Odyssey in the last four days and have started on Ulysses. I don't really know why I enjoy reading a book that's beyond my reach, but there is something about it that is hard to put down. Joyce is like a holstien cows jigsaw puzzle with no corner pieces. I'll end up throwing it across the room about page 300.

3. Bugs: Before I begin on the bugs (this is a really fascinating piece) I would like to say that I have seen blue skies today for the first time in three weeks. I was wondering why Enshi is always in perpetual cloudiness. But it has gone away, at least for a little while.

They have some crazy creatures here. A couple of days ago I saw a moth about the size of a bird that flew like a hummingbird. I watched it for a good twenty minutes before I remembered I had a camera, but, sadly, the batteries were dead. I had never seen anything like it before; it's probably nothing really special, but man, was it cool. Also, I was on my way up to my apartment a few nights ago when I heard something say in an Australian accent "Hey look up." I saw this:

Yes ladies and gentleman, that is a monster spider. The dead spider beside it is what most would consider "big". I said Australian because it is a spider that only the Crocodile Hunter (r.i.p.) would love. The reflection in the middle? Those are the spiders eyes. The spider was so big it had red eye. I'd say it is about a 14 inches from legtip to legtip (is that a word). But I don't think it's only native to China, because I saw something this big in Mrs. Franklin's house once (the one that crawled up the curtains while I was eating breakfast, yea I know you remember me telling you about it). Which is not only the truth, but a great segway into the tag line:
"I'll see you in the morning if nothing happens."

A mere confession

2007-09-09T04:35:00.001-07:00

Is it sad that I already have a countdown? Somewhere around 295 days (assuming that I stay the whole length of my contract). I guess it's obvious that I'm not loving what I'm doing right now. At least the dislike comes and goes in waves. I do reserve the right to love it later on, but I don't see that happening. Everyone has been very encouraging though, and I appreciate that. The thing that kills me is that everyone who comes over here loves this place, and I have this everpresent fear that I am the one percent that don't. I was afraid of that before I left, and I hate to see my fears come to fruition. This could still go down as the worst decision of my life; an idea I thought would go away once I got here, but it has only gotten worse.

(ok people, I still remember the real reason I came here. I haven't forgotten. And I don't really need reminding. In case you couldn't tell, I'm not %100 right now. I feel about %15. Is it possible that I just don't have the personality for this kind of thing? )

Yesterday Haley and I went shopping at a brand new grocery store about a mile away. Three kids stuck by our side for about a half hour. I don't really understand why they did; because the entire time they were acting like we didn't know, or we couldn't tell, they were there. They didn't try to talk to us. They followed us like they were our kids. When we went to the cash register they left. Of course there were the standard gawkers, but the kids took the cake. I need to get busy doing something. It'll get better, and I hope to tell you when it does.

"I'll see you in the morning if nothing happens."

"Poor Tom's a-cold"

2007-09-07T19:08:00.000-07:00

It has rained at least six of the twelve days that we have been in Enshi. I can remember seeing the sun only once and if that were not enough, it has gotten cold. The coldness has it's own life, you can never escape no matter how many layers you put on. It goes straight to your joints. It also defies the laws of natue: I'm pretty sure it's about sixty-five degrees outside. One day I will see the sun again, one day.

It's also extremely lonely over here. I'm starting to consider Bob Dylan and Tom Waits as some of my closest friends. Sometimes we play scrabble with the Beatles on Wednesday nights. Ha. If only it weren't true.

You ever slept to get away from the world? I hope not. I guess its a form of alcoholism. Although the consequences are a lot more beneficial. I wouldn't advise it though, it starts to become an addictive behavior. You know, it gets to a point where you can't go 24 hours without sleeping just a little. That is when you know you need help. No tagline today. I'm not feeling it.

2007-09-07T01:10:00.000-07:00

I did it. I broke down and bought Nessun Dorma on itunes. RIP Pavarotti. I'm not going to pretend like I was ever a fan.

At six every morning I am awakend by the sounds of the Chinese national anthem followed by Swan Lake. It's beginning to wear on me. The music is so loud that it even comes through a closed window. Don't get me wrong, I dig the Chinese national anthem, it makes you proud to be Chinese. However, if I had a choice, I would prefer it not wake me up two hours before my alarm.

There are speakers all over campus that play random songs at the most random moments. Swan lake is one of them; the rest are Chinese pop songs. It reminds me a lot like Lipscomb, where you can never get away from the canned, uplifting music. Even in the summer, when no one is on campus and there is no reason for music to be playing.

Last night Nate (one of five Americans in Enshi) was looking behind my air conditioning unit and discovered this:

Yes, there is a hole about half a foot in diameter in my apartment wall that leads directly to the outside stairwell. I saw the hole a from the outside a few days ago and wondered where it went. Now I know.

And while were on photo high. Some of the biggest moths in the world live in Enshi. This monster was trying to get into my apartment a few nights ago:

It's really not that clear, but that is a BIG moth. You have to take my word for it. I thought about letting him in so I would have someone to talk to.

"I'll see you in the morning if nothing happens."

The problem with language

2007-09-05T21:48:00.000-07:00

You know what I miss? You know what I miss more than anything? It's the ability to enter a gas station ask the attendant "How are you today" and have the attendant know what I was saying. I wouldn't even want an answer, just an acknowledgment that we were speaking the same language. I miss spoken communication, the power to have spoken communication with just about anyone. The power to speak without thinking "Will they know what I am trying to say?" That is what I miss. I miss talking to people, really talking to people. When I crashed a few days ago (which I did), it came to my realization that this, more than anything, is what kept me going in life. And travelling ripped it away.

The standard response is to learn the language, and I will. But, I really don't have a desire too. I don't know why. It's not me. Elitist racism? Maybe. I'm not ruling that out. I'm immersed in one of the friendliest cultures on earth. People will come out of nowhere just to say "Hello. How are you?" Just to see if it will really work. It has never been so easy to make friends. I really don't have to do much. Just go out in public. Learning some mandarin would make life so much easier (in fact it would be the polite thing to do). However, I would rather teach class, hold up in my apartment, surf the internet all day for the next ten months, and eat microwave romaine (sp?), than learn mandarin, go out in public, eat authentic food, and travel China when I have the chance.

(I'm sure someone out there is writhing on the floor) If I had to be honest with myself, as you can already tell, travelling is not my bag, baby. Never really has been. I don't want to say it's a waste of time. I can understand its merits. And I can understand why someone would enjoy it. For me, however, I stopped getting excited about such things when I was thirteen. I'm not saying my mentality is right (some of my favorite people love travelling) it just doesn't do much for me. And I think there is a better excuse than stoicism or laziness. The main reason for travelling I feel is to broaden your mindset, kill prejudice, maybe see some things some people will never see. Well I don't believe I have trouble with a narrow mentality on the world. Of course, I have some prejudice (like we all do) but it's not so bad that I think ethnic cleansing is good idea. And I don't see how seeing the cistine chapel will make me better individual. I just don't get this whole travelling thing (maybe this is how an autistic person feels).

If you travelled to every country in the world, learned every language in the world, and became accustomed to every culture world, would you be some sort of superhuman? No, to me you would be a person without a home. It's sophistry, I know, but I think it makes a point.

I've listened to the three songs I bought 46 times since yesterday. My laptop is back up and working (thank you Uncle Dave), and I now have my music. I was just asked to teach American film, tv and literature appreciation (hmm). And I just got a letter from America. It's getting better people, but sometimes I just want to talk to my friends.

"I'll see you in the morning if nothing happens"

2007-09-05T00:17:00.000-07:00

I discovered how to change itunes' standard language from Mandarin to English. Watch out. I've already spent $2. The last twenty-four hours has brought about a flood of good news, for one the crispy state of my laptop hard drive is now no longer crispy: it's %100 ok to charge your laptop using Chinese outlets. So the fact that my laptop can't find the hard drive is, one word, weird. It still doesn't work (thought it might when I figure out just how to reseat the hard drive), but still it's not my fault!

In addition (awkward middle school transition which I have come to hate but use allll the time), teaching today went well. It went beyond well, it was almost fun. I really got in a groove for a couple of minutes and felt like my students were actually learning something. And then they told me that they covered "giving directions" last year. It was their final. I still feel good.

Random fact. The people next door own--of all the random things to own in China-- a parrot. It speaks English. Well, I know of one word: hello. But its pronunciation is impeccable. Almost perfect. Whenver I'm feeling down, I just remember that my neighbors have a pet that speaks my language, and I feel a little better.

No kidding, this is one really awesome hello. I wonder if he reads Joyce.

Well once again: "I'll see you in the morning if nothing happens."

2007-09-04T01:48:00.000-07:00

There is a magical land where everyone speaks English and all the girls are six feet tall. And it is called: America. At least that was the mindset I had yesterday, and it still lingers. I'm coming off a low of very bad days, which has the be the worst culture shock that anyone in the world has ever experienced. I packed my bags (that's literal not figurative) and there still laying here beside my computer, patiently waiting for something (they're good bags). And I haven't unpacked them yet. I'm in limbo. Limbo John.

The worst part of teaching is by far the stares. First there is the "What the f*** is he talking about?", (which would be great if the thinking was in English, because then I could explain in English and they would understand. I have no idea how that translates into Chinese). Next, my personal favorite, is the "I'm bored as heck" (which probably originates from the "What the f***" and can you really blame them? I'm not a professional teacher and have had no training. And I'm pretty sure that I'm not expected to be a good teacher since I haven't really been told just what to teach. More on this later). Last is various renditions on "Oooooo, American", which has to be worst. I won't be modest: I'm a sex symbol over here. And (for those of you who have always wanted to be a sex symbol) it is not as cool as it sounds; in fact, it will drive you mad. I hope I never become famous. Everyone staring at you, every girl giggling, random people pointing and saying things you don't understand. All this derives from my nationality and my WAY above average height. What have a done to deserve it? Nothing and it has almost driven me mad.

I just read some classroom responses to the question "What would I change about myself". You can sum up sixty answers in about four sentences:
1. My english. It is too bad.
2. My happiness. I am not happy.
3. My height. I am short and fat.
4. My eyes. They are too small.

And here I almost left because my english was too good, I was happy someplace else, I'm too tall and, if I say so myself, I do have pretty eyes.

In the words of the immortal Mrs. Franklin: "I'll see you in the morning if nothing happens."

A rock and a hard place

2007-09-02T09:46:00.000-07:00

Today will (hopefully) go down as one of the worst days in China. To make a long story short, it had to do with a dinner hosted by both the top official at my university and the man in charge of my China program. It was either get tipsy and offend a much needed ally or stay sober and offend my future coworkers (who were royally confused because I had some bajai three nights before).--Imagine it, ten Chinese trying to offer you hard liqour despite your protests because they think you are trying to be super polite, but your not. And then people start offering toasts and they ask you AGAIN to drink the stuff and you are forced for the ninth time in front a crowd of fifteen people to turn the stuff down, and almost raise your voice (which is a huge no-no) much less offer a return toast which is what you are supposed to do to get people to like you--I ended up spending the rest of my day laying on my bed wondering what in the hell I have gotten myself into. Trust me, if the trip back was any less than thirty million flights I'd be on my way home right now. But it isn't, and now I'm up til one planning my first day of class tomorrow. It really was a nightmare scenario. I should have seen it coming a mile away and faked sick. Oh well, at the very worst I for the next ten months I can teach my classes, hold up in my apartment, and eat romaine that I pay someone to buy for me. It's not a very fufilling life, but it's survival, and that is the number one priority when you offend people in high places.

EnShi: The city

2007-08-31T21:55:00.000-07:00

This town is both mad and beautiful like the quite girl in high school that you could never get off your mind. For comparisons sake, it reminds of Gatlinburg without all the commercialism. There are mountains on the horizon (not really tall mountains, but mountains nonetheless) that you can see only when the omnipresent fog lifts every night in the few hours before dark. The city itself is composed of your stereotypical chinese buildings: pagodas, shanties, etc. But it is the people themselves that make this town. A few nights ago some people set off professional grade fireworks a few hundred feet from my apartment for longer than a half hour (reason? it was thursday night of course); all the women of this city do dances in large groups that are reminciscint of syncrhonized swimming above ground; and the high rises of downtown Enshi are covered with neon lights that are coordinated to put on a disco light-show every night. If I only knew Chinese it might be the perfect town: totally wild in it's 200,000 person obscurity. I think I'm falling in love with it. In fact, I'm already contemplating how much I'm going to miss it. And I've been here three days.

Is it rolling Bob?

2007-08-30T04:38:00.000-07:00

The basics: I have made it to EnShi safely. I am having the oppisite of a electronic renaissance. Right now I am typing on a computer that has nothing but Chinese characters. And this is only a test post. More to come when I can log onto my desktop.