serving the people

I'm waiting for the water in my shower to warm up because I'm really in one of those hot shower moods right now. It also might be because I haven't showered since Sunday night, and I'm going to need some industrial strength abrasive cleansing to get off the funk that has been simmering on my body for the past two days. And like a curious pothead trying coke for the first time in the upstairs room at some frat party, the West Wing just doesn't do it for me anymore. So I might as well update the ruination of my future political career, and let you all back in the modern comforts of Western civilization know what's been poppin' in the East.

I still haven't mentioned anything about the hilarity on a stick that we discovered at the temple fair we went to after returning from Pinyao. As part of the over a week long celebration of Chinese New Year, many of the temples in China hold kind of carnival-esque celebrations. It's kind of like the carnival the PTA put on in the parking lot of your elementary school, you know, like the one in Kindergarten Cop with the Gettysburg Address. Just instead of seeing pony rides and that little kid crying cuz he popped himself on the teeter-toter, replace all of that with a shit ton of Chinese people. Surprisingly, the simple joys derived from meet on a stick and silly hats are pretty universal. Even the Chinese people know how to get down in a bright purple afro. After wandering around for a while, well, more like being carried along the general flow of Chinese people traveling in the same direction, we eventually stopped for some food. Of all the things I've seen on a stick in China (including cicadas, starfish, and seahorses) I think I peaked at the temple fair with scorpion. I know some of you may be thinking "Joe Rogan pulled that stunt last week on that rerun of Couples Fear Factor. I am unimpressed." But these weren't little "squash them under your foot" type scorpions. These were big, black, badass National Geographic scorpions. Maybe this is all lost in translation, but it was disturbing at the time. Some nights, I snap out of a feverish dream of scorpions on a stick chasing me down the corridors of my high school and I wake in a cold sweat. I'm also naked and Abe Lincoln is running next to me. Then all of a sudden, I fall through a whole in the floor and into the boardroom of General Electric, where my 8th grade Science teacher tells me he loves me. I sill haven't figured that part out yet.

I think at the temple fair, we were as much of an attraction as the fair itself. I can't count how many Chinese people walked by us and took our picture. Maybe it was the silly hats, but I think they would have taken our picture regardless, just to show their friends back home that the TV wasn't lying and white people really do exist. One guy even walked by and snapped around 10 completely unnecessary pictures with his high shutter speed, telephoto lens camera, as if we weren't standing completely still right in front of him. It was weird. I mean, that's not to say we didn't make a spectacle of ourselves when we were there. Naturally, at such a temple fair as this, there was a stage set up for public karaoke, and, since we all know I resist the spotlight about as well as Jay-Z does an opportunity to retire and buy something, Ping, Nelka and I decided that it was time for the ongoing charade that is our dignity to end. We got up on stage and belted out one of the reportedly worst renditions of R. Kelly's "I Believe I Can Fly" that has ever been performed in the history of songs being performed in front of people. Yeah, it was bad. In our defense, however, we didn't have an entire choir lending back up vocals, nor a cornfield or clips of Space Jam to set the ambiance. But some Chinese girl came up to me afterwards and wanted to take a picture of me, so I guess it wasn't all that bad. We're thinking of taking this show on the road, so keep your eyes open and check your local stadium for details. This tour is going to be huge.

There isn't much else to report from the temple fair. All the Beida students got back to campus over the weekend and classes started back up on Monday. Two interesting observations about this. Firstly, it's kind of weird to see all of the regular students back in action. Even when we arrived, most of the students had already left for break, so I never really knew how isolated we really were when I walked around campus. Now, you couldn't swing a dead cat without hitting about 6 Beida students. Not that I go outside and swing dead cats around trying to knock down as many Beida students as I can for sport or anything. With so many Chinese students floating around, we really stand out against the crowd and I finally have started to get those inkling feelings of being an out of place foreigner. I haven't really sensed that until now, but I guess it was one of those things that you wouldn't notice until it smacks you in the face like your pimp after coming up short that night.

Secondly, I've noticed so many reunions between students. Friends reconnecting with friends. Separated lovers finally able to be with each other again. It's actually kind of heart-warming how happy everyone is to be back and see each other. It sort of got me thinking about my own return to the states and what it's going to be like to see everyone again and exchange our respective legends from the past months. There's not much more to this story, but it's one of those little things in life that kind of make you realize what its all about and why it's pretty fucking amazing sometimes.

We just got back from eating some Thai food downtown for Winnie's birthday and I think I'm going to pass out the food was so good. It was so spicy and so delicious I'm pretty sure I've gone partly deaf because of it. I never thought food could do that to you, but I think it's a good sign. Anyway, time to get all Mandarin up in this bitch before I fall asleep right where I'm sitting.

breaker breaker one nine...

the pinyao pow wow

The long awaited part dos of our weekend New Years extravaganza is finally here, and I know you were waiting with bated breath. Like Snakes on a Plane, there's an equal amount of life threatening danger blended with a heavy dose of unintentional hilarity in the story of our stay in Pinyao. First, lest you be lost in back story, Pinyao is one of the most complete standing ancient cities in China. The city, circumscribed by an ancient wall that once protected it's residents, had few buildings that were more than a story high, each mocked up in the traditional architecture of ancient China. Yes, it's an incredible tourist trap, but unlike Beijing or some of the other more cosmopolitan modern day cities, this is more a destination for rural Chinese tourists, meaning we stuck out more than The Game would at the Republican National Convention. Much like a Quenton Tarantino film, our time in Pinyao doesn't have much narrative continuity, but is rather best represented as a compilation of many stories, some of which have intertwining themes and characters.

Guns n' ammo: So, releasing the ridiculous little children that we all have secretly chained to a radiator in our basement, a bunch of us bought plastic pellet guns from a man on the side of the road. At the price we paid, I'm surprised some of the guns lasted more than 15 minutes. Needless to say, shortly after figuring out how these guns worked, there began a weekend long string of "bustin' a cap in yo' ass" point blank shots and "duck and cover" spy moves. It did seem a little odd how little Chinese people cared about us walking around the streets of Pinyao flashing our guns around and popping each other in the chest, but I guess it's so incredibly hard to obtain an actual gun that the ones we had must have been fake. I do think we went a little overboard when we ended up with a replica Uzi and M-16 somehow. However, they well exceeded their 5 kuai price tag worth of enjoy. Especially while shooting each other during our John Woo-esque bike chase scene in the streets outside the ancient city while looking for an ATM. I know... tension!

Villagers, ahoy!: During lunch on the first afternoon we were in Pinyao, towards the end of our meal, an entire village of Chinese tourists came out of the woodwork to take an over abundance of pictures with the foreigners. And when I say an entire village, I literally estimate there had to be at least 30 of them. There isn't really more to this story, it was just mildly hilarious how excited they were to take pictures with us. One of the old women there was definitely trying to secretly catch a picture of me, as if I was some near extinct species that would scare easily and scurry back into the jungle if approached too quickly. It's the little things in life.

I like to ride my bicycle: This weekend was also eventful because I finally, after over 20 years of never knowing the love of a good bicycle, learned how to keep myself relatively upright on that new-fangled two wheeled contraption those Chinese people love to ride so much. Yes it's true, I didn't It all began during our chase scene. 7 of us rented 4 bikes, meaning 3 had to saddle up on the back. Since I, at the time, didn't know how to ride a bike, I played gunner to Sandro's occasionally overzealous driving, much to the amusement of every Chinese biker and driver we passed, who all stopped to stare at us. Somewhere between the second and final stop we made looking for money, I managed to not fall over for more than 45 seconds. Great success! So, after taking a brief hiatus to walk the top of the city's wall and bask in the radiant glory that came from the sun setting rather majestically over the city rooftops (no kidding, it was kind of beautiful), I saddled up my very own bike for a tour around the city walls, a tour which would eventually lead to my tragic Shakespearian demise. Like Ms. Cleo's tarot card readings, I should have recognized the omens of this ride from the beginning. Firstly, I lost control of my bike almost flew into a huge ditch. Secondly, I was almost the simultaneous cause of both a car and bike accident, which would have been an impressive stat to add to my resume. The straw that broke the camel's back was when, as my sunglasses began slipping off my face, I reached up to readjust them, momentarily forgetting that I could barely ride a bike as it was with two hands, let alone with only one. I veered off the path, hit a patch of rocks, and ate garbage off the ground. Not only did I basically flip over the handlebars and land about 10 feet away from where my bike stopped, but, as if God himself punctuated my fall, I popped the balloon that was tied to the handlebars, more than anything else the biggest loss of the fall. It was the most I ever fell down. Arriving back in the city, my shady bicycle skills proved to be even more of a hindrance when surrounded by people, eliciting more laughter from the people of Pinyao, and surprisingly a few pieces of advice from one old guy who clearly recognized my amateur bike riding status. It was actually kind of cool, because rather than being extremely pissed off that I kept almost crashing into people or actually crashing into walls, the people around me thought it was hilarious and had no shame in letting me know that.

Survivors: I don't know if it was a function of the New Years holiday or simply just where we were driving though, but while we rolled towards Pinyao, the surrounding area was eerily abandoned. Seemingly deserted store fronts and other former signs of life created a landscape that literally looked like we were the last surviving humans of either a nuclear apocalypse or, perhaps, a massive zombie attack. There was virtually no one on the road, all the stores were closed and locked up, even the gas stations we passed literally looked like they had been cleaned out before society was either destroyed or moved on. I was half expecting something to come running out of the fields and attack our caravan, which we would most likely have to blow away with shotguns. It was kind of creepy in that whole "Someone should make an awesome movie and/or video game about this. I'd totally play it!"

So there you have it, all caught up on my time in Pinyao. Sure, there are a few things missing, like the techno dance party I started at the appropriately named "Happy Carnival," the anarchy that ensued during the no rules of Chinese bumper cars, or the 8th Wonder of the World, but those are more "you had to be there" stories, translating poorly into a blog. Just because I didn't tell you, doesn't mean I don't still love you.

bring in the wealth...

rome is burning

So, my sincerest of apologies that there has been a dearth of posts in the past week and a half or so. Alas, there was little to write about save the usual "I got drunk and..." fables that have so powerfully dominated my blog like Napoleon's armies storming through Eastern Europe. But, like the fierce Siberian tundra cutting off his supply lines, our weekend excursion to Taiyuan, the capital city of Shanxi province, and Pinyao, one of the oldest completely intact cities of ancient China, have, like a weekend in Atlantic City or a good old fashioned acid trip, provided much needed inspirational material for the coming entries. Unfortunately, much like the Ping Dynasty weekend, this story is going to have to be spread over a few entries like Country Crock over a blueberry muffin.

We arrived in Taiyuan after an arduous seven hour bus ride with a few stops in some shady Chinese rest stops that put the "dirt" in "Dirt McGirt." As expected, the bathrooms smelled like the inside of a hot rhinoceros' bowels, the food was lackluster, and everything was overpriced. Although, when we stopped for lunch, we did see a large purple hauling truck carrying the exact same truck on its flat bed. Clearly, being too lazy to pay another driver to drive the second truck back, you might as well just saddle the second truck up and carry it back. Only in China. We finally pulled up to the hotel in Taiyuan amid a cacophony of exploding fireworks in celebration of the coming Chinese New Year (which, side note, was happening that night). I'm officially convinced that you could invade China with small arms during Chinese New Year and none would be the wiser. Ubiquitous explosions and various plumes of smoke from the sidewalk transformed the city into what literally sounded like war zone. Soon after settling ourself in the hotel rooms, myself, Dilshan, Sandro, Pat and Ping, feeling like Gary Glitter at a child porn convention, walked a block down the road and purchased ourselves some nice and legal fireworks. The way fireworks breakdown in China is you buy essentially what amounts to a small box with a fuse containing somewhere around 10 fireworks. The instructions on the side read "light and run away." We also bought some cherry bombs which Pat liked cuz they "look like little soccer balls!" Needless to say, a bunch of overexcited Americans setting of a small manner explosives in China was a recipe for a thankfully much avoided disaster.

Unnecessarily fearing the wrath of the nearby stationed security guard at the hotel's front door, we decided to set off the fireworks we bought in the alley way next to our hotel. Had we realized at the time how cavalier the population of China is about setting fireworks of in the middle of the sidewalk in close proximity to the facade of buildings, we wouldn't have been so preoccupied with venturing as far away from the general populous as reasonably possible. But, given what transpired after loosing our Chinese firework virginity, I think it's best we managed to only hit one woman in the leg. So we set off the small box of fireworks, promptly after expelling it's inaugural explosion, tipped on it's side, unpredictably sending fireworks towards us, at one point sailing a screaming spiraling shot mere feet over our heads. A woman, who was walking down the alley while talking on her cell phone, who clearly stopped next to us while we set off the fireworks, obviously seeing that something had gone wrong, decided as we all began to run the opposite direction away from the exploding projectiles, decided that this was the right time to continue her journey. Needless to say, she got hit in the leg by a firework as she walked through the "No Fly Zone". I guess it was her own fault. She brushed it off with a surprisingly large disdain for what had just happened. Then we began throwing cherry bombs down the alley, points for getting it to explode before it hit the ground, bonus points for setting off a car alarm, the latter which we only achieved later in the night.

After dinner at another buffet restaurant which reminded me of a Brazilian barbeque the way the waiters toted meet around the restaurant floor we, along with virtually the entire city of Taiyuan, began the serious celebration of New Years. To begin the festivities, we purchased a 12 pack of Qingdao, cuz nothing screams "safety" more than fireworks and beer. Chinese New Year is incredible, and, much like tubgirl.com, I'd never thought I'd ever see anything like it. 11pm signified a crescendo in the celebration, as if the sounds of the city became an orchestral composition. The city began roaring personal celebrations. Since fireworks are so accessible, New Years quickly becomes your own personally choreographed celebration. It's unparalleled to see how each group chooses to represent their own personal joy at the coming of the new year in the same 100 yard stretch of road. In my own humble opinion, it blows the American celebration of the 4th out of the water. Why watch only one person's idea of what a fireworks celebration should be when you can see three or four by simply turning your head. And when there are essentially no rules and setting fireworks off in the middle of the road or right next to a multistory building is completely acceptable, that innate human creativity comes out, the inspiration that comes from a world which disregards safety and societal constraints, allowing for that "it" factor of the primal human experience to emerge.

Once 11:45pm rolled around, the city was roaring with exuberance. It's said that people set off fireworks to ward off evil spirits for the coming year, but at this moment I began to think that it's more about unity, about a nation coming together in the communal celebration of something larger than the one. And if that celebration happens to include endangering someone's safety while simultaneously blowing up a small part of your host country, then I'm all for it. As the celebrations continued, the remnants of the exploded fireworks from all along the road began to rain down upon us like confetti as if we were in a ticker-tape parade , merely adding to the celebration that already littered the streets. The hotel that was across the road from us set off a massive chain of poppers, forcing the sidewalk to look like it had been set ablaze. To give you an idea of how many celebratory fireworks went off, when I woke up, black snot came out of my nose from all the smoke the night before. When I went to sleep, explosions were going off. When I woke up, not only were explosions were still going off, but the city looked foggy there was so much residual smoke milling about. Needless to say, people are still celebrating fireworks in an effort in a continuation of the week long celebration of Chinese New Years.

We only spent one day in Taiyuan, but soon enough (hopefully tomorrow) I'll finish the tale of this weekend's festivities with events from Pinyao. But until then, Dr. Jones is on a perilous quest through the Temple of Doom, and needs my undivided attention lest he get his heart pulled out by that evil shaman dude. He was bad ass.

la duzi...

the reign of the ping dynasty, part two: too much weekend

Don't think that I forgot about the second half of our story. Were it not worthy of it's own 2 and a half hour blockbuster, I would have included it in the previous entry. But let's not kid ourselves, you could hardly summon the stamina of a marathon runner required to read the full tale in one sitting, nor I the creative energy to write it. I'll confess, even I needed a cigarette after the tantric like cerebral love making the previous entry gave me. But, after a good night sleep and a horses dose of ginseng, I'm ready for round 2.

Sunday afternoon commenced around 4pm, kicking off approximately 20 straight hours of tomfoolery. Myself, Dilshan, Pat and Ping left to go get ourselves all pampered at a local massage parlor in Wudaokou. 55 kuai for an 80 minute full body massage is a steal at twice the price. But let us truly set the stage before our play commences. Not only were we all fancy pantsed up because we were leaving to go to dinner straight after the massage, but we brought with us a bottle of red wine, as well as cheese, crackers and berries recently purchased form "My Store" a small little western convenience store down the road from the massage parlor. Other than indulging in the hedonistic vibes of wine, berries, cheese and crackers during a massage, there was no reason for it. But everyone deserves to feel like a Roman emperor every once and a while.

The massage was, as the expression goes, just what the doctor ordered, despite getting verbally mocked like I was the fat kid on the playground in grade school. I was told, in Chinese mind you, that I couldn't relax, I was too skinny and my legs were too hairy. I guess it was all in good fun. At least the ladies massaging us seemed to get a kick out of them, and if I can bring a smile to their faces at my expense, then my life is complete. I love making women happy. But back to the story. They soaked our feet in hot water, in the meanwhile, massaging our hands, arms, shoulders and back, and then finally moving onto our feet and legs. Granted at one point I was definitely getting punched about the kidneys, it was one of those sadistic kind of pains that feels good in a way that makes you question your sexual fetishes. Oh, and it definitely got a little awkward when she was massaging my upper and inner thigh. I was half expecting her to start handling my package like she was UPS. But we got their cards and they told us that we should request them next time we come back, so I got myself a little massage girl in Beijing now. Cross that life goal off my list.

After our massages, we met up with a group of people and headed out to Ping's birthday dinner at a Middle Eastern restaurant called A Thousand and One Nights. The food was absolutely delicious, but we all know that no meal is complete without a score of beautiful belly dancers to accompany it, which thankfully, were provided free of charge by the restaurant. Personal note: McDonald's with belly dancers. The three incredibly attractive women were all from the Xinjiang province of China. You know, that part of northeast China that boarders Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, and those other miscellaneous "stan" countries. A couple of us were called out to shake what our respective mothers gave us with the dancers, myself, of course, included. I, however, being the emphatic dancer that I am, stuck my ass so far out when I was dancing with one of the girls that I may have embarrassingly, and incredibly unintentionally, knocked her off the stage and taken command of the show. If she ever reads and understands this, I sincerely apologize for knocking her off the stage and would like to make it up to her by buying her a nice steak dinner, with the possible option of sex at the end of the night, should she be so inclined. I found out later in the night that she was 18.

We left the restaurant and made our way down the road to Sanlitun. Needless to say, there was a reason we ate Ping's birthday dinner at this restaurant, and it was not only because of the highly acclaimed food and dancers. It's proximity to bars was not overlooked. There is, for one of the first times in my blogs brief history, not much to report from Sanlitun, beyond the usual happenings that go on in the bar districts. We have definitely decided, however, that we're going to have to start making mix CDs and brining them to the clubs, because their weak sauce selection of hip hop and other danceable material is starting to get to me. It also frustrates me when I hear Shakira's "Hips Don't Lie" at least twice at every bar/club we go to. Actually, I lied about there not being any happenings of note. We ventured to a reportedly fashionable club called China Doll, which definitely caught us off guard for a few reasons. First of all, it was virtually empty, unexpected since it is, supposedly, a well respected club. Secondly, they were definitely projecting borderline porn on the wall. And while I'm all for borderline porn in my place of occupancy, I didn't really need to be dancing only to glance over and catch a glimpse of naked male and female bodies intertwiningly swimming sensually around each other underwater... while wearing Zorro-esque masks and various S&M gear accessories. I could have ignored this, were it not for some creepy guy, who I'm pretty sure worked there because he was back and forth behind the DJ stand, not been filming it on his camcorder. It was weird.

After moving on to Shooters and dropping some bills on a few more rounds of drinks, the witching hour was upon us, and we had to make our way towards the famed Goose and Duck where we had planned to watch the Super Bowl, partly because we wanted to get good seats for the game, partly because Shooters kicked us out so they could close down. Thus began The Long March: The Musical. For reasons that baffle common understanding, all 20 of us (estimated figure) broke into song while walking down to road to the Goose and Duck. Our repertoire included classic hits such as Journey's "Don't Stop Believing," popular hip-hop joints like Notorious BIG's "Hypnotize," and old school melodies the likes of The Foundations' "Build Me Up Buttercup." Needless to say, we ran a pretty wide spectrum of genres, however, the quality of our vocal styling, like a Genesis reunion tour without Phil Collins, left much to be desired.

I found an odd sense of unity while watching the Super Bowl from a foreign country, like sparking up a joint at 4:20 or doing the YMCA at a bar mitzvah. The Goose and Duck was the largest conglomeration of ex-pats and American businessmen since that time the Indian government hosted their 2003 Free Turkey and Porn for all Ex-Pats and American Businessmen conference in Calcutta. Having woken up at 11am on Sunday morning and been drinking pretty solidly since around 5pm, I, along with a few others, promptly took a brief recovery nap on top of the tables we snagged (front row center by the way). After waking up and watching a fairly uneventful first half of the game (with a few exceptional plays that need not be reiterated), the greatest halftime show man has ever experienced since the inception of musical performances happening halfway through sporting events occurred: Prince. I dunno if you all caught this in the states because we had the game broadcast on ESPN, but following Prince's rivetingly emotional performance of Purple Rain (majestically performed in the downpouring climate of Miami's Dolphin Stadium), the announcer made the most appropriate description of "That... was... amazing!" I'm not a religious man but I think I found God during those 20 minutes.

Following the halftime show, as the populous of the Goose and Duck became more and more inebriated, the drunken comments began, partly from members of our crew, partly from the drunken people sitting behind us. This also prompted the most awkward interaction in a bathroom in Beijing I've had ever: I was, as many people do, relieving myself during the post halftime show break in the game. A drunken American who I had the fortunate pleasure of peeing next to at the urinal turned and looked at me for an extendedly awkward 30 seconds. He eventually broke the silence with "So I have a meeting at 4:30... do you think I have time to go home and take a nap before?" I told him he probably did seeing as the game would end somewhere around 11pm. After a few seconds of awkward silence, he chimed in with "You know, these urinal cakes really do smell like flowers." At which point, I decided that I needed to leave the bathroom as soon as possible, regardless of the statues of the completion of my urinal experience. The game ended and we entered the noontime sunshine of downtown Beijing, delirious like we had just dropped some of the hottest LSD round the turn. After posing a few ridiculous Heisman's with the footballs we won, Sandro, who had been drinking the entire game, provided the greatest unfulfilled suggestion I had ever heard next to letting Arnold Schwarzenegger join the And 1 tour. For reasons beyond logic, there was an amusement park across the road from the bar we were at. Sandro's brilliant suggestions surmounted to "Hey look! An amusement park! That'd be way better than going to class. We can eat candy and puke on little kids. It'd be awesome!" Like presenting Galileo's model of the solar system to the Catholic Church, I wish we had listened to him. But alas, my bed was calling my name and I, in theory, did have to go to class that day, cuz supposedly that's what I'm doing here in China. Thereupon arriving home at noon, I had the most glorious two and a half hours of sleep I've ever had.

And so, concludes our epic tale of the reign of the Ping Dynasty. Similar to R. Kelly's "Trapped in the Closet," our story was funny, dramatic, shocking and thought provoking all at once, however, with an unfortunately lack of R. Kelly throughout. There's not much else that can be said about this weekend that wouldn't completely undermine the poignant message and glory found in the text above. However, in the movie version of this weekend, I'd be played by Neil Patrick Harris. Sweet dreams, children.

tickets go on sale tomorrow...

the reign of the ping dynasty, part one: club. swing. fuck.

A random anecdote to start things off: So several days ago I saw a guy selling puppies out of a bag by the entrance to one of the subway stations downtown. This was not, however, an isolated instance and, depending on your opinion on cute pets in unfortunately adorable scenarios, you may find me to be cold and heartless, much like Cambodian tyrant Pol Pot and his Khmer Rouge or the evil sorcerer Gargamel in The Smurfs, for finding this hilarious instead of heart breaking. There's not much else to say about this, I just want you to know that puppies come in bags in China and that eating them isn't as cruel as you'd originally think but actually saves them from a severely pouched upbringing.

This entry is going to be part one of a two part series documenting the financial fiasco that the reign of the Ping Dynasty, the Enron of modern dynasties, has wrought upon our program. Just to give you a brief preview of the weekend, dinner Saturday and Sunday night was around 6000 yuan between a total of 28 people. But that's not where this story begins.

Friday night, we went to the palatial Hollywood estate that is the apartment of the EducAsian kids who are sharing in the joy of some of our classes this semester. Other than bringing copious amounts of sexy back, as well as engaging in the time honored collegiate practices of Beer Pong, Flip Cup, and Boat Races, this night, unfortunately, didn't provide any outstanding stories. So rather than fabricating them like I worked for Fox News, I'll just let you fill in the pieces of the night. I'm sure you can predict the course of this story like a poorly written adult film (she orders an extra large sausage pizza but ends up getting boned instead). But don't get the wrong impression, the party and post-party after party at Propaganda was fun. Unlike a geriatric who left his Viagra at home or New Coke, this night wasn't disappointing, just nothing beyond the expected happened, which we all know is my favorite part of life. Oh, the only noteworthy aspect of Friday night's festivities was that I, for the second time in the 3 and a half weeks we've been here, ended up walking home from Wudaokou around or after 3am, this time with Dilshan in tow. But that is neither here nor there, and really plays a fairly insignificant role in the grand scheme of the goings on of this weekend. Like pubic hair, it's fun to talk about, but it really doesn't matter. I'll just move on to the more interesting aspect of our story: Saturday night.

Saturday night, we meandered our way towards Hohai, a bar district fairly close to our campus (fairly is a relative term by the way). We were on a quest to find a most delicious tapas restaurant called Bed Bar, or so the magazine That's Beijing told us. And we all know that a magazine, like your mother, will never lie to you, and if it does, it's only to protect you from the harsh realities of the real world. On our walk from the subway station to where we believed the restaurant to be, we passed by a group of guys who I'm fairly confident were engaged in an real, live, authentic Chinese street brawl. And yes, it fulfilled every fantasy I've ever had about Chinese people beating the living crap out of each other. There was intelligible screaming. There were two crews of what I can only assume were drunk Chinese thugs. The only improvement it was missing was Jet Li and a score of blade weapons, but hey, I have to leave some things to the imagination, otherwise what's the point of living. New life goal: see Jet Li in a real, live Chinese street brawl.

We finally find this restaurant, which it turns out is actually inside a hutong and has got an awesome decor and vibe to it. It was kind of had an "ancient imperial tea house meets European techno chic with tapas on the side" thing going on, which I totally dig. The food was a little on the expensive side, contributing to the 6000 yuan I mentioned earlier. It could have also been the two bottles of wine we ordered. However, unlike finding a DVD copy of Gigli in the bargain bin at your local WalMart, or perhaps your mom, the food worth every penny (sick burn!). Do note: there's no false advertising in the name "Bed Bar." They really do have these royal-esque lounge beds all up in that restaurant, providing a chance for you to kick back, enjoy your tapas, and feel like a true globe trotting pimp. We ate on this enclosed terrace area between the two buildings the restaurant encompassed. After we finished our meal, we ended up in a room that had this solid wooden canopy bed. We had been eying this bed the entire night like it was the well chested girl at the party who's so drunk and who's wearing a shirt that is cut so precariously low you are damn certain her tits are going to fly out at some point during the party, you just don't know when or where. All you know is that you want to be right next to her when they do, hoping to be that guy who gets to tell her her nipple is showing and awkwardly point to it when she doesn't hear you the first time. After hanging in this room for a while, we ended up migrating to another room that was probably 75% bed, which, needless to say, gave me some good ideas for what I could do in there involving a bunch of naked women, 4 freshly baked apple pies, and a set of lawn darts. Needless to say, virtually everything about this restaurant was awesome, so it was fitting that I ended up there.

After the meal, knowing full well that Super Bowl Sunday was going to be a long day (given that Super Bowl Sunday is really Super Bowl Monday Morning after factoring the 13 hour time difference between Eastern Standard Time and Chinese Standard Time), we actually ended up calling it an early night and heading back home to Beida almost immediately after dinner, not without a quick layover at Luch for a beer and some hookah before calling it a night. Saturday, playing the "Deep Impact" to Sunday's "Armageddon," was the much more tame night of the weekend, however. But alas, you'll have to wait for my next entry to hear about that, because I'm far to tried to scribe it right now and when I finally do, you'll understand why. I feel like I should tack on a cliffhanger ending to this post to ensure that you come back to read the rest of our two part mini-series on the Ping Dynasty. So this is the part where Montel Williams gets gunned down before being able to reveal to Tanya who the father of her baby is. And the doctors who performed the paternity test are being held hostage by North Korean radicals who will execute one hostage every hour until the U.S. agrees to forfeit their nuclear weapons system schematics within the next 48 hours.

monkey shoe shine...

vasa or moostercard

I bought Nutella yesterday, which makes me as happy as Michael Jackson in a McDonald's Playplace. No one sees what happens in the ball pit. However, a rather uneventful week has left blog material scarce, like kosher Jews in Big Joe's Pork and Cheese Emporium or white people on BET. But never the less, the few stories I have cobbled together from the last week should make for a hilariously disjointed episode of my blog.

I spent Tuesday on a journey trying not to get deported from China in a week and a half by getting my tourist visa extended to a student one. Having no idea where I was going, my usual style in life, I jumped in a cab with only a piece of paper denoting my destination... unfortunately all in Chinese, so reading it would be more difficult than the new guy trying to hold onto a bar of soap in the prison showers. Should problems arise, I'd most likely be fucked. But no matter, I arrived at the Visa Store (as I shall now be calling it) unscathed and began waiting in line, the only thing that keeps the bureaucratic wheels of government spinning, well, that and the blood of dissidents. In my time in line, I noticed a few things of worth. One) As would be expected, there was a guard patrolling the floor of the building, I'm guessing there to preserve the strict order expected in an official building of the government of the People's Republic of China. However, it struck me as odd, maybe this is the true American in me emerging, that this guy wasn't armed. Not so much that I expect him to be armed because of a stereotypical view that the Chinese government holds the iron fisted grip of martial law over its citizens. I'm obviously not of the opinion that only firearms could prevent this building from decaying into the natural anarchy that arises from a bunch of people waiting in line for a few hours. Although, there's even at least one armed guard at the DMV, just in case someone goes postal. The reason this caught me off guard is largely because I'm confident that if I hypothetically wanted to start some shit up in there, this 109 pound unarmed Chinese man wasn't going to do much to get in my way. I would drop him like Britney Spears' child. Two) I saw at least two or three families of foreigners (read: white people) toting what I assume was a brand new Chinese baby, fresh of the production line. There's not really a story here, it was just interesting to see how the white families with Chinese children in America begin. Like sausage, I never really considered exactly how those kind of things were made. It was also a good chance for me to get out into the city by myself and have some good old me time.

After submitting all my forms, I left and wandered around for a while, hoping to happen upon a subway stop to avoid paying another 41 yuan on the way home. I eventually found one, road the rails until I had to transfer train lines. I got out of the station and decided to wander around for a while, having never been in the area that I frequently breeze through when changing trains. I wandered around for a while, made my way through another hutong, clearly out of place. I mean I'm a 5'11" white man in China, so I'm always out of place. But unlike the last hutong I was in, this didn't look like the kind where any Westerners go. A bunch of kids ran up to me chattering "Hello!" as they approached. It was kinda cute, and I sorta wanted one, but I resisted my temptation to shoplift one and kept walking. After I got back to a main road, I hailed a cab home through some pretty heavy rush hour traffic and happened upon the kind of comedy I couldn't even make up. As we're sitting in the cab, the cab driver just starts rabbiting on in Chinese to me, cuz naturally being able to say where I wanted to go and understanding his first question meant that I was fluent in Chinese, moreover that I even cared. I didn't catch much of what he said, except he kept talking about his family. I'm not sure if he was really proud of them or possibly getting a divorce, but I think he got the picture that I didn't understand what he was saying because he cut his story off after a while... either that or he was finished. Anyway, during the inevitable silence that arises in a long cab ride, the driver sneezes all over his steering wheel. But it wasn't like he made any effort to sneeze anywhere else. In fact, it kind of looked like he thought, of all the places in the cab he could sneeze, anywhere but the steering wheel would have been inappropriate and uncalled for. He then proceeds to whip his snot off the steering wheel with his hand. Next to hiding my erections in 8th grade English class, not laughing was the hardest thing I've ever done. It was awkward.

Those are all my good stories from Tuesday. However, Wednesday night's imbibing of alcohol provided some more stories. The circumstances of this night are, like the French military, largely inconsequential. The moral of the story is Ping, my roommate, and I ended up in these girls' apartment near the club we were at. Check your notions of sketch at the door, because it's not like these were random floozies we picked up on one of our drunken haunts. We knew them before tonight. Anyway, after some drinking games that were about as unnecessary as giving a pair of ice skates to Steven Hawkings, Ping comes over to me and says "I think we need to go. I have to puke but I don't wanna do it here." So we gracefully made our exit, using the fact that it was 4:30am as our cover for leaving. After getting out of there apartment complex, I helpfully suggest that Ping should probably puke behind the bushes. He tells me he's all good, then, standing on the curb, pukes dead into the road, in front of a line of cabs. Surprisingly, after he's done, about two cabs pull up next to us, obviously hoping to catch our fare that night. As Ping so eloquently pointed out, we couldn't take those, because they'd probably charge us the extra "puking insurance" that cabs tend to have for drunkards like ourselves. I wasn't sure if they hadn't seen him puke, or assumed that since he puked in the middle of the road he wouldn't puke in the cab, but we declined to take either of those. We eventually made it home, after buying some baozi at the 7-11 nearby which, unfortunately, tasted exactly like the inside of a 7-11. They were gross

That's all I have for now. As this weekend marks the reign of the Ping Dynasty (the codename for Ping's weekend birthday bonanza coined by Nelka, our resident Sri Lankan beauty), there will be much to blog about come Monday, of this I am sure. However, the amount of blog entries I have that begin with "so I got really drunk and..." is becoming staggeringly high, so hopefully there will be other happenings beyond the drunken absurdities that my surround my life. Oh well, we'll see what the weekend winds bring. Until then, keep your head in the clouds, and keep reaching for the stars!

postman pat and his black and white cat...