tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-77875470160544683562024-03-14T01:01:47.745-07:00allison wonderlandJon Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16932025864650980480noreply@blogger.comBlogger74125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7787547016054468356.post-66520710773459999862010-07-07T14:49:00.000-07:002010-07-07T14:54:51.170-07:00I'm moving this blog to PosterousI'm giving Posterous a serious test drive. Here's the new address: <a href="jonallison.posterous.com">jonallison.posterous.com</a>. All my old posts from blogger have been successfully imported to the new site, which is a pretty incredible feature Posterous has. Thanks for everything, blogger! But also, no thanks, kind of. I never really liked you that much. Maybe if you were different, I'd stay, and by "different", I mean better. <div><br /></div><div>You were fine, blogger. Thanks all the same. We'll just leave it at that.</div>Jon Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16932025864650980480noreply@blogger.com23tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7787547016054468356.post-20923505853767422302010-06-08T08:14:00.000-07:002010-06-08T09:21:22.379-07:00life at ludicrous speed<img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisWpZeQGJ1udPOyREY-hg2qeJVRSAGu_SHqBmU47xbrEy29m3kJMolDsfM_-4KoL5lrkri2xjx3ZUF-KD-0w0pnXQVb1cQd_ainASvh9YvzkyBTMNZPQ1eYkQfXmoPbMpn3I0Kh4N9VfcL/s400/IMG_1044.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480428295119430578" border="0" />My time in China is quickly draining, and my friends here are realizing it. My neighbors tried to book me, Ryan, and Bethany for dinner and the date I had to tell them was Friday, June 18. My meals are quickly being booked up and all the guys I have told I'd like to play basketball with are cashing in their rain checks. On Saturday, I played baseball with Koreans in the morning (I batted .1000, by the way) and played basketball with Chinese students at night. Two times in the last four days I've been set up with boys to play basketball with by mutual acquaintances. Today a Finance professor named Mr. Wong asked me to play with some of his students. On Friday my student, Sunny, asked me to meet her at the playground so her classmates, who I'd never met, could play with me. It will be a rude awakening playing basketball in the States; I won't be able to just park in the paint and own it. But now at least I know what it's like to be Yao Ming... by living in China, I mean. I'll never know what it's like to be 7'6". <div><br /></div><div><br /><br /><br /><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjG4n8RpUnncxgPq0DqK5WNdxfw6DnK619FN7-z43BP98ArAM4reH5Njl3ffg4ovwydDEXV-2rYMsJqijvILsdV4gEwkfUu5eDljco9QsAuqrqKr6xYWxZIsSc9Gz_a8ceYqhRR61Yl7td/s400/IMG_1046.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480429836067636978" border="0" />The Saturday basketball game was after a going-away party my students threw for me. I have taught these 2 classes for 3 semesters now and I'll probably miss them more than any of my other classes. So, to celebrate our friendship, my students reserved a corner of the cafeteria, brought a laptop, a microphone, an amp, a slew of wooden rollers and dough, so that we could all make dumplings together while doing KTV (karaoke, Chinese style) in the background. I opened the party by singing the only Chinese song I know, 朋友 (pengyou-friend). The classes are 95% girls and the 10 boys all sat by themselves near the computer, eating nuts and drinking beer, which they bought at the cafeteria. So, I forced them to let the girls teach them how to make dumplings, something I love to do and hope to take back home with me. Inevitably, the party turned into a flour-fight. </div><div><br /></div><div>Things are just as busy in the classroom. Since we are leaving a couple weeks early in the semester, we are having to make those weeks up now, meaning that during these last couple weeks, I have double the classes. Not to mention, I'll be giving all my exams the week before I leave, and for one class, the day before. Accelerated grading will be a theme starting this week.</div><div><br /></div><div>But through all this there is immense purpose. After the English Week it hit me that if there can be this amount of impact in one week from students getting to know some teachers that they had never met, how much more can I have an impact in a few weeks with friends I've known for 2 years. Deep, life-hinging conversations are being had all over Baoding. Two girls have become true daughters of their Maker in the last two days. My buddy, Robert, is asking the Father for the gift of the holy ghost. My tutor and I just had a long conversation about the meaning of life yesterday. I was able to share the whole story with her. Things are happening and it's exciting to be a part of it. I'm just trying to keep up. <br /><br /><br />__________________________________<br /><br />By the way, if you've ever wondered what my classes are like, this should give you a pretty good idea.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLplYNDFrEc5hnmeWGQ1uM2f3-YkSjHYtr3wmeWQYbR6eVSS29T1Fgr5yQ3f5REuAl8dsoRsDsh493Y1DAkV5WWVSILM-UDVfzNdIM4LSuTcCRIf7G7jCLVODTSHCG7ZbKJWPCFrsGoXyG/s1600/IMG_1062.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLplYNDFrEc5hnmeWGQ1uM2f3-YkSjHYtr3wmeWQYbR6eVSS29T1Fgr5yQ3f5REuAl8dsoRsDsh493Y1DAkV5WWVSILM-UDVfzNdIM4LSuTcCRIf7G7jCLVODTSHCG7ZbKJWPCFrsGoXyG/s400/IMG_1062.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480432308175088706" border="0" /></a></div>Jon Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16932025864650980480noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7787547016054468356.post-18242851950732717392010-06-04T08:46:00.000-07:002010-06-05T19:28:18.974-07:00we ALL miss you, gregEvery day I get the same question from a different student.<br /><br />"Jon, I hear you're coming back (always instead of 'going back')to America, and that you're <span style="font-style: italic;">never</span> coming back to China..." It's not exactly a question, but the sad puppy face that always follows is effectively the question mark. And I always answer the same way.<br /><br />"Yes, that's true that I'm going back to America," I say, with a bracing-for-impact expression on my face, "but <span style="font-style: italic;">never</span> is a strong word."<br /><br />I'm always sure to explain that I love China and that I'm not leaving because I don't like Baoding or our school or the students, but that it's just time to go home. A couple days ago, after class, my students, Ivy and Charlotte, were telling me how much they would miss me and that they hoped I would come back. After a few minutes of this, Ivy suddenly remembered something important.<br /><br />"Will you see Greg when you go home?" she asked (Ivy met Greg when he and AJ came to visit).<br /><br />Somehow it came up that she thinks Greg is very "handsome", which is the catch-all word the students use to describe an attractive boy because they don't really know the words "hot" or "physical specimen", which would both be apt descriptions of Greg.<br /><br />"Can you please email me some pictures of you and Greg before you leave?" she asked in earnest.<br /><br />I love that my leaving reminded Ivy that she needed pictures of Greg. But I guess it makes sense; shouldn't all things just continually remind us that we need to see Greg's glowing face again? I thought I'd share the pictures I sent with you. The first one is on top of Pike's Peak in Colorado. The second is from our Newfoundland trip a few years back. The third is from a silly moment in the Longwood house at ODU, but now I'm not so sure why we thought it was funny enough to spend so much time setting it up (Paul Sanders's hand can be seen holding Bella from under the table). The fourth is at a lobster restaurant in Maine, also from our Newfoundland trip.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9z1VMkySSnzPZ4J72-T4tCYOf2ttwXWhMCP4dXaW3iqgOPtqEvA6QJ8dI24-D6d284-PwpCwpShPicyxBeuuQ4NZLG25IHGKhqBeDNSyZmfU5VWGm9ztMn8Zi4XzjVIgavMh1xsdD47xr/s1600/eleven...+139.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9z1VMkySSnzPZ4J72-T4tCYOf2ttwXWhMCP4dXaW3iqgOPtqEvA6QJ8dI24-D6d284-PwpCwpShPicyxBeuuQ4NZLG25IHGKhqBeDNSyZmfU5VWGm9ztMn8Zi4XzjVIgavMh1xsdD47xr/s400/eleven...+139.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5478951279783202354" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb_9kxXAlPzWMz1ZgLJ-w3xUysO3a7FTQZZ1Fnn9HKPjIHrA7mzmg3iAdOO60G3zif-7t0dSSZjwJw7j3OdpkAmBkpPZGITNpNpxkC4YJ5-E6tBZj_MYGdLG694N91roOyBUW5erJo1Yjj/s1600/IMG_8963.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb_9kxXAlPzWMz1ZgLJ-w3xUysO3a7FTQZZ1Fnn9HKPjIHrA7mzmg3iAdOO60G3zif-7t0dSSZjwJw7j3OdpkAmBkpPZGITNpNpxkC4YJ5-E6tBZj_MYGdLG694N91roOyBUW5erJo1Yjj/s400/IMG_8963.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5478950653006015538" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheekHcueWzHyyxZ86dNLWSTvGmCOVqk5v3YbDqqG12op_QO8F7g_FALj2gRe8XPShtyZEXPXrcCq6YPY9VxkLrTjZhlkE2lCUh1xOggSvTrUgg5Ztr33c_wfEAG8bd6TPQ4LbQSTzR3KBf/s1600/brunch+010.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheekHcueWzHyyxZ86dNLWSTvGmCOVqk5v3YbDqqG12op_QO8F7g_FALj2gRe8XPShtyZEXPXrcCq6YPY9VxkLrTjZhlkE2lCUh1xOggSvTrUgg5Ztr33c_wfEAG8bd6TPQ4LbQSTzR3KBf/s400/brunch+010.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5478950402181527490" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2I7jYllj6rk7BXKYVwL9u5kEnfdXQFqEjUPzjsiasvHYMvcU5nW8vM-wZdcTxy28plNYVzCMwk5YYd8PO2cr8KEpTk-kIcTi0X3ToItQh0Kn84x2NnbbwQdkDqy56GCBljkSdiwc7OKHy/s1600/IMG_8766.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2I7jYllj6rk7BXKYVwL9u5kEnfdXQFqEjUPzjsiasvHYMvcU5nW8vM-wZdcTxy28plNYVzCMwk5YYd8PO2cr8KEpTk-kIcTi0X3ToItQh0Kn84x2NnbbwQdkDqy56GCBljkSdiwc7OKHy/s400/IMG_8766.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5478949710612716466" border="0" /></a><br />Ivy responded to my email by saying this:<br />"Do you mind if i share the pictures with some of my best friends?<br />And could you sent me more about your "silly" pictures? I want to make a photo album of ours."<br /><br />To inform everyone, I spoke with Greg a few days ago and he is surviving boot camp. He has the nickname "Under the Radar" on the front of his uniform because he is doing his best to stay out of the line of fire and just get through the darn thing. And it's working. He'll be back in VA just a few days before I will be.<br /><br />Don't be shy, ladies; it's okay to ask for silly pictures of Greg for a personal photo album of yours, too.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">______________________________________<br /></div><br /></div>Also, here's a video of Greg throwing a snowball at a tiger:<br /><br /><object height="385" width="480"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/ArY3cYWYgCg&hl=en_US&fs=1&color1=0x2b405b&color2=0x6b8ab6"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/ArY3cYWYgCg&hl=en_US&fs=1&color1=0x2b405b&color2=0x6b8ab6" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" height="385" width="480"></embed></object>Jon Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16932025864650980480noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7787547016054468356.post-91893516782099787082010-05-22T19:55:00.000-07:002010-06-05T06:02:17.934-07:00the days are just packed<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbD43dDumXrgCu8Ews9z0uxQ5DIlFu_tJukqrZf9wl1KHIsBynP3kS6mz9wxoWy8wTf8Nh4DjAmECWg8sH-tWlqM0l6j7nYLlAqnjqnz-WSNN09FJMgJDBIZfAsrRUzSvh0Hd-ctqWBsF7/s1600/IMG_0987.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 283px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbD43dDumXrgCu8Ews9z0uxQ5DIlFu_tJukqrZf9wl1KHIsBynP3kS6mz9wxoWy8wTf8Nh4DjAmECWg8sH-tWlqM0l6j7nYLlAqnjqnz-WSNN09FJMgJDBIZfAsrRUzSvh0Hd-ctqWBsF7/s320/IMG_0987.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5474331931824606114" border="0" /></a>I've said it before and I'll say it again, if I have enough time to, that is: time is moving faster now more than ever! I feel like God is holding the fast forward button on his godly life remote, reclining back in his godly cloud chair in heaven. I mean, let's be honest: some things are funnier to watch in fast forward. For example, Jon, already late for his lunch date, trying to start his motorbike outside of his apartment. If Jon trying to start it by putting the bike in gear and running it up and down the sidewalks on campus isn't funny enough for you, hit fast forward. Just be sure to play it in normal speed when it never starts and he shouts in anger as he puts it back inside. That was a couple months ago, and ever since I've had the busiest and fastest two months of my life. Each of the last six weekends has been characterized by travel; either I have traveled somewhere or Ryan and I have entertained travelers in our apartment. As I write this, there are 12 American teachers sitting in my living room going over lesson plans as they prepare for "English Week" at our school. More on that later...<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><br /><br />April 9-11<br />Beijing with the Phillips<br />What a blessing it was to see Peter and Janet in Baoding, Hebei, China! Tim had the great opportunity to show his mother and brother his Chinese life: his apartment, his classes and students, his friends, his team, favorite restaurants and foods, coffee shops, etc. I got to taste this when Greg and AJ visited me. There's no substitute for experience; I can tell my friends and family about my life, but to see it is another story (Don't feel bad, Mom, you got to see Nate's Chinese life; so you know what it's like!). This time also reminded me how much I love Peter. His trip to China was the most time I've spent with him in the last couple years and it was great to reconnect on our lives; plans, girls, etc. We got to see Tiananmen Square and The Forbidden City (my first time) together. Our good friend, Robert, invited us over for dinner at his mother's Beijing apartment and we cooked dumplings together. Truly, an unforgettable experience.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfaDURl3ukezK3Y0FH_V4VCTSZNNvWhR5GI2LfFh5iE2UeoTWsSWPL_-A3rbiDEo_IiRgC3ppaEnvurXHhRRWqbgfUZQI54jct1_vWYYkT9VJtfZBUjR9WX-4fG0ix4wg3cWd6NMvXvb5W/s1600/24675_771833407579_7815150_44382882_6287552_n.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfaDURl3ukezK3Y0FH_V4VCTSZNNvWhR5GI2LfFh5iE2UeoTWsSWPL_-A3rbiDEo_IiRgC3ppaEnvurXHhRRWqbgfUZQI54jct1_vWYYkT9VJtfZBUjR9WX-4fG0ix4wg3cWd6NMvXvb5W/s400/24675_771833407579_7815150_44382882_6287552_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5474329577598435634" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIA4-kKmDMX-s2e-QnifGt1OfYUxjOCiBm5tVsvZm8pKniUOEO1MMHWjZV8ReRaqL40x5-4U1fhzBRHdmXMf1FXG54u4544TUNWe4AKtHAwY1O3YdzVYnsuMbMyT-gdAKRgywovQKCe6O_/s1600/24675_771833711969_7815150_44382914_757524_n.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIA4-kKmDMX-s2e-QnifGt1OfYUxjOCiBm5tVsvZm8pKniUOEO1MMHWjZV8ReRaqL40x5-4U1fhzBRHdmXMf1FXG54u4544TUNWe4AKtHAwY1O3YdzVYnsuMbMyT-gdAKRgywovQKCe6O_/s400/24675_771833711969_7815150_44382914_757524_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5474329834716578578" border="0" /></a><br />April 24-25<br />Dude's Weekend<br />The IECS babes all traveled to Lang Fang to watch Glee and bake cookies, at least I imagine that's what they did... The Dudes came to Baoding and stayed with Ryan and me. We... talked... in several locations for about 24 hours. After dinner at a nice restaurant I handed out some Norfolk (Emerson's) cigars I had brought over and all of us smoked together. Later we watched a kung fu movie. What did you expect?<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibwNvFl5OfDSLeYKkcLalXNTOe0o0uwgkwcWAj6mtssDqPnvHjVPiKrLRIBo3XSJrGzMdfxkQAT_DYePIg6yb1kAOXF6hylDPIVkaCf7ImAAb8eDj7V6of9yvpLR1J7Zgnfzm7MN7gJJxj/s1600/IMG_0911.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibwNvFl5OfDSLeYKkcLalXNTOe0o0uwgkwcWAj6mtssDqPnvHjVPiKrLRIBo3XSJrGzMdfxkQAT_DYePIg6yb1kAOXF6hylDPIVkaCf7ImAAb8eDj7V6of9yvpLR1J7Zgnfzm7MN7gJJxj/s400/IMG_0911.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5474314221069635618" border="0" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">the old "boat in hand" trick (click on the pic to really experience the magic)<br /><br /></div>April 30-May 2<br />泰山 Tai Mountain<br />Bethany and I joined our good friends, Vince, Loretta, and Lucy, to Tai Shan, one of the biggest and most famous mountains in all of China. It is known for its beauty, but also for its difficulty. As many mountains in China are, Tai Shan has been paved with concrete stays all the way to the top. It took us about 4 hours to reach the summit, and we rarely stopped. The last hour was one of the most difficult physical tasks of my life, only to be surpassed by the 10k race two weeks later. The trip was short and sweet: a bus trip through the night Friday night, Tai Shan on Saturday, then to the capital of Shan Dong on Sunday, home by Sunday night. I was so tired at the top that Bethany, Lucy, and I rode (expensive) cable cars most of the way down. Later Vince found out that I didn't take pictures during the ride. "What!" he said in disbelief, "that's the only reason anyone rides it." He was so overly upset that anytime one of us was upset about something the rest of the trip, we would just say, "Cable car!"<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlbufkgwIxZZwGjw1MTY66flH-XRmAfvD8FXka7F-Z9lFzeI4xJh1DvQ1_lncdYgjF5S03mnmQLGNYDgAnswsC-RM95TXwymC6iV9AUoFcrxJlQgCdlu7hC7AmApkRkdW2Soby7jcZt-6H/s1600/IMG_0919.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlbufkgwIxZZwGjw1MTY66flH-XRmAfvD8FXka7F-Z9lFzeI4xJh1DvQ1_lncdYgjF5S03mnmQLGNYDgAnswsC-RM95TXwymC6iV9AUoFcrxJlQgCdlu7hC7AmApkRkdW2Soby7jcZt-6H/s400/IMG_0919.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5474305605602462242" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEbfFTDrnd5elgfheC6UV3Gm-F7i04AnjL3gqiiSADo2MmhglrKIb5fS9X2YiaAk3a1wLxnHblcy5U-5zTE3MJIb1ykY4-Yhc_-xgqeMIc8k0Y-rEgU2Zqw1buQ3G_ksIF2Y7vZc4hBOr3/s1600/IMG_0947.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEbfFTDrnd5elgfheC6UV3Gm-F7i04AnjL3gqiiSADo2MmhglrKIb5fS9X2YiaAk3a1wLxnHblcy5U-5zTE3MJIb1ykY4-Yhc_-xgqeMIc8k0Y-rEgU2Zqw1buQ3G_ksIF2Y7vZc4hBOr3/s400/IMG_0947.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5474307036321814770" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDbrVQeKRA6r6BDYCvPUII7AmdLOF-we3wBphOXGzuSJX0gJxoKfxwDzxiVLpkS_WTZQqXBuBiSzGteD5lrsDxoAjYpJIimx2dxKUmL9xxkEUvGEy1cJEFMDGZF9Qw6KYxeFAIWrN-gziK/s1600/DSCN4252.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDbrVQeKRA6r6BDYCvPUII7AmdLOF-we3wBphOXGzuSJX0gJxoKfxwDzxiVLpkS_WTZQqXBuBiSzGteD5lrsDxoAjYpJIimx2dxKUmL9xxkEUvGEy1cJEFMDGZF9Qw6KYxeFAIWrN-gziK/s400/DSCN4252.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5474309196681806002" border="0" /></a><br />May 4<br />Self-Portrait<br />I had my students draw a self-portrait, and for each body part they had to write things about themselves, like for mouth-what you want to say; for heart-someone and something you like, etc. I drew a self-portrait on the board as an example. Here it is.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisQyi7ODCik97kqv8733JqkPsQjZxGla3ApqmpWONe9s_vCvN6ZluqE5RklKpnEn6yrPSwkh-qyAWnpg76LVG7mWMw2CyNhwb-8jLE67X1M0BmyZrQF8znQcoojGJ12H3qUYbCqgA3nzmV/s1600/IMG_0977.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisQyi7ODCik97kqv8733JqkPsQjZxGla3ApqmpWONe9s_vCvN6ZluqE5RklKpnEn6yrPSwkh-qyAWnpg76LVG7mWMw2CyNhwb-8jLE67X1M0BmyZrQF8znQcoojGJ12H3qUYbCqgA3nzmV/s400/IMG_0977.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5474328616641377234" border="0" /></a><br />May 5<br />Cinco de Mayo - Robata Pinata<br />We decided to go get drinks to celebrate Cinco de Mayo. Ryan, Tim, and I decided to make a pinata. Unfortunately, we didn't have paper mache or... whatever else a pinata is made out of. But we did have boxes, imaginations, and an affinity for science-fiction. So, after about an hour's work, out came "Robata Pinata." We took it to a bar and busted it with a fake sword. For some reason, the Chinese people weren't as excited as we were about busting a box full of candy all over the floor, even though it looked like a robot. (btw-If you want to keep enjoying the holiday in the future, don't look up its origin, because there's really no reason to celebrate it and no one in Latin America cares about it. It's about as good a reason to drink as 5pm is.)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh103UhLRysbHb-dk98dkT0KT06bjeEGf-UCk7rzybEINcYVNdQzaKf8a0iXBLw-ExmLBFPEqLxzw-ElGn0ED7cFsBDmdeX71rl7OFu9b6S5gLZhN3DmAaTWhV0XGj029Y21Xc09qvNwyjN/s1600/IMG_0978.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh103UhLRysbHb-dk98dkT0KT06bjeEGf-UCk7rzybEINcYVNdQzaKf8a0iXBLw-ExmLBFPEqLxzw-ElGn0ED7cFsBDmdeX71rl7OFu9b6S5gLZhN3DmAaTWhV0XGj029Y21Xc09qvNwyjN/s400/IMG_0978.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5474320198073325650" border="0" /></a><br />May 7-9<br />North Face 10k in Beijing<br />All of the IECS teachers traveled to ChangPing, just north of Beijing to run a 10k race together. We had all been training for a couple months and were all prepared... sort of. My training had kind of peaked at about the 6k mark; so for the first half of the race I was feeling good. Then things went downhill, literally. Everyone knew that the trail had hills, but we all underestimated how hard it would make the race. Nearly everybody finished about 10 minutes slower than they anticipated. The last 20 minutes was the hardest of my life. I'm not sure how I finished. At one point I was running (on empty) and I saw Peter, who had already finished. "Go, Jon! Only 2km left!" he shouted. This didn't really encourage me because I just wanted it to be over immediately. About five minutes later I saw Stephen. "Alright, Jon! Just 2km left!" What is this, Groundhog Day? I thought to myself. Somehow I finished in 70 minutes, which was slower than I wanted, but it felt good, at least it did later. It was also a great opportunity to hang out with Ken, who came with us to cheer us on. That night, after the race, a bunch of us traveled to the city to eat a good American burger. Ken and I split a blue cheese burger and a barbecue-onion ring burger. Later Ken told me that it was "the best dinner ever!" The next day Ken elaborated: "I think yesterday was the best day ever." Well said.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmHR8X35YHRitei3XuJd9DKFVnGs0j92jQw4WDKvKUkgtnjZpjIXWipTfuLDpGxl3ZCzTECPjBlyTligawYgInh8ygy2LJ6JrfrhRcCuSTq7ZQscFBt02wyepRpu0Ifyv_3BhKPIvgNNfg/s1600/IMG_4812.JPG.jpeg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmHR8X35YHRitei3XuJd9DKFVnGs0j92jQw4WDKvKUkgtnjZpjIXWipTfuLDpGxl3ZCzTECPjBlyTligawYgInh8ygy2LJ6JrfrhRcCuSTq7ZQscFBt02wyepRpu0Ifyv_3BhKPIvgNNfg/s400/IMG_4812.JPG.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5474323587263415074" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim3vjFkwjHb_u7U9rAlPmPrz9z8am_yVQJltBuPhO8GnZOsLxrkg89Q5yMjZwHQ3ljomS3kTc5ZotBO3npIgHvtMJ1eErIIyUQv7UGrx5ev-HCDIdYR2qOpkg3LzeNkhy5xwI1GHbosE_6/s1600/IMG_4826.JPG.jpeg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim3vjFkwjHb_u7U9rAlPmPrz9z8am_yVQJltBuPhO8GnZOsLxrkg89Q5yMjZwHQ3ljomS3kTc5ZotBO3npIgHvtMJ1eErIIyUQv7UGrx5ev-HCDIdYR2qOpkg3LzeNkhy5xwI1GHbosE_6/s400/IMG_4826.JPG.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5474326150063882306" border="0" /></a><br />May 15-17<br />The Bossman comes<br />Newt, the head of IECS, came with his assistant (and our friend) Frank to stay with Ryan and me. He was here to spend quality time with the Baoding teachers, but also to prepare for English Week, which started a week later. We ate dinner at a restaurant we have endearingly called "The Sleeping Newt" because during our first week here, Newt took us to eat there and then... fell asleep. This time Newt didn't fall asleep.<br /><br />May 22-now<br />English Week<br />12 Americans arrived on Friday night to kick off the highly anticipated English Week, something the students have been stoked about for a while. Bethany, Ryan, and I were most of our students' first American friends; so having 12 more come to our school just to meet them is quite a big deal. Saturday night we had "English Night", which the resident teachers usually run, but this time it was (other than leading music) Newt and the other teachers in the spotlight. After English Night, Newt invited the 300 students who attended to come and meet the teachers. And boy, did they accept! The 12 teachers were swarmed with hundreds of instant friends. I spent my time in the back of the room coaxing my students to go and talk to them. "I'm too nervous!" they told me. But I kept pushing and most of them took the risk. Throughout this week there will several lectures and English Nights, a day trip with students to the Great Wall, and finally and American Square Dance Night, which might turn into the biggest even this school has ever seen. It's humbling and freeing to not be the center of attention for once. Ryan, Bethany, and I are here to, as Ryan put it, set the other teachers up for success, and as they meet and befriend students, they set us and IECS up for success. Most of our good friends at Hebei University (where Tim, Kerry, and Amelia teach) were friendships that started on an English Week 2 years ago. It's amazing how much of an impact one week can make.<br /><br />June 23<br />I go home.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR9p6BDpwUusSWjiApRwGI8fsguRL2kkxQNYO8OBF5S8kMujX1FB_HHsEGV-xwAcpDc7VdFztewCbOC37ZptGrcTNmA_P5qggBosgaYNJeJ_1WfBuD-wnibd9ZGJX0r_AcruI3cr4OdIbP/s1600/IMG_0081.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR9p6BDpwUusSWjiApRwGI8fsguRL2kkxQNYO8OBF5S8kMujX1FB_HHsEGV-xwAcpDc7VdFztewCbOC37ZptGrcTNmA_P5qggBosgaYNJeJ_1WfBuD-wnibd9ZGJX0r_AcruI3cr4OdIbP/s400/IMG_0081.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5474333849234680290" border="0" /></a></div>Jon Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16932025864650980480noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7787547016054468356.post-18931718589001318352010-04-26T00:18:00.000-07:002010-04-26T07:20:49.757-07:00solitary solidarity<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIcEojA2GbFl9CqaXTzge0xjtGDYE9jOr606KXP5MnsDXqP0mLvaol7zE57n3ZX2h-aa3EuYvjvsXHP3uU5T9K0KLXunhph4y-FhIxWMJjURKr23nAoMHfI6asXUd3gJ1tUmO68CPSa9cx/s1600/big-muscles.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 268px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIcEojA2GbFl9CqaXTzge0xjtGDYE9jOr606KXP5MnsDXqP0mLvaol7zE57n3ZX2h-aa3EuYvjvsXHP3uU5T9K0KLXunhph4y-FhIxWMJjURKr23nAoMHfI6asXUd3gJ1tUmO68CPSa9cx/s400/big-muscles.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5464442534908964370" border="0" /></a>This may come as a surprise, but about three times a week I go to work out at a gym. Now, I know what you're thinking: isn't this the same Jon that used to throw down cheese doodlez by the bag, the one who would get primed up for his high school basketball games by playing Ready2Rumble on Dreamcast for 3 hours, the same Jon who gained 25 pounds his freshman year of college, not because of booze, but because of, specifically, sour cream n' onion Lays potato chips? And if I'm not out of shape and overweight, the pendulum swings the other way completely. Those that met me at the Dulles airport last June remember a sickly, lanky, pale Jon (the mothers present immediately wanted to feed me). "Figured as much," you probably said to yourselves as you hugged me and wondered how long I had left. This year, however, I'm hoping to bound through that security gate a healthy, fit, pale Jon. But working out can be boring, if it's done alone. Just ask the group of Chinese bros that busted into our gym two weeks ago. Four guys walked in and, without a word, each found his own machine and pounded it. Now, if they had done this alone, who would have been there to witness the measurement of their biceps following the work-out? That's right: after finishing, they huddled together in the corner, pulled out the tape measurer and actually measured their biceps together. I imagine the measuring tape they used had three measurements on it: puny, useless, and massive. You could see the sinister grins on their faces as their biceps were, in fact, massive.<br /><br />I usually go with Ryan, Tim, and Cameron. None of us are professionals, exhibited by our first destination upon arriving at the gym this afternoon: the trampoline. We burned calories by trying to "bounce" each other as high as we could. After that and a spry run on the treadmills, we pumped several irons, if you will; then we hit the locker room. Locker rooms always precipitate conversation, for better or for worse, and ours today was about Ryan's "70 yuan challenge." Ryan loves solidarity, even more than I do. He has bared with us through seasons 5 and 6 of Lost, even though it was never his idea and he probably wouldn't really care if we dropped the show, even this close to its end. Last year it was Battlestar Galactica, which is not anywhere near his interests. He told me he once he fashioned his own lightsaber in Middle School, but, after knowing Ryan at age 25, it's hard to believe he was ever into science fiction (maybe Star Wars is so widely loved, it doesn't even count as sci-fi). He does these things just to be with us; it's one of the things I love about Ryan. Just two weeks ago, Ryan convinced me join the girls in a class at the gym called "Body Pump." This is an ability and desire I might not be blessed with. As Bethany pointed out a few days ago: "Jon, you don't like doing something you're not interested in, do you?" Astute, Bethany.<br /><br />Over the last year and a half, Ryan has been struck by his students' ability to live on such a tight budget. We estimated that each student probably lives on about 10 yuan each day ($1.50). That includes all three meals. Ryan has decided to give himself this challenge: spend no more than 70 yuan in one week. His purpose is be better stated on his <a href="http://ryaninbaoding.blogspot.com/2010/04/70-yuan-challenge.html">blog</a>, but Ryan essentially intends to build solidarity with his students. He wants to know what it's like to live like them. Of course, as always, I had my reservations. So, I questioned him in the locker room.<br /><br />"Have you told any students about this?" I asked Ryan.<br /><br />"No."<br /><br />"We usually pay for students when we eat with them," I said, "Are we allowed to treat you to a meal?"<br /><br />"I thought about that. I don't know," Ryan replied.<br /><br />"I'll tell you what's difficult about this experiment," I said, "you are living the life of a foreigner on a students' budget. We have team dinner together at restaurants. You just came to work out at the gym, the membership for which you already paid for; something a student couldn't afford to do."<br /><br />"Yeah, I've thought about all this earlier today when I was blogging about it. I'm not sure."<br /><br />Just like that, without answering all the hypothetical questions and without even telling those he intends to have solidarity with, he started his challenge. While I'm stuck asking too many questions, Ryan tends to shoot first. Today, he bought one bottle of water to drink in the gym (1 yuan), and then we all went to lunch together. Ryan was going to just buy a couple pork burgers on the street for a few Yuan, but Cameron, Tim, and I chose a cheap lunch for all of us: dumplings. We ordered 3 plates of jiao zi (dumplings) with 3 different fillings, each plate containing 20 dumplings. We shared 60 authentic dumplings jam-packed with flavor for 28 Yuan. Split between four people, that's $1.00 each. I'm still in awe of this, even after a year and a half. But the awesome nature of the price dwindled once we realized how much Ryan had to pay: 7 Yuan. That leaves him with 2 Yuan for dinner.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZqDdG1cBUHbT7bYYBk8wXi6gEvIjmABcpubd2zE6tb31pHbZe6DdMICmovmURvVCQvCm3hdnQ5cFsZ23G98jQlc7ZK5MdYFHlRcWam5ATzVbtVO0UnhwyWrZfszmERwnkv5nP0blJwJGD/s1600/IMG_0112.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZqDdG1cBUHbT7bYYBk8wXi6gEvIjmABcpubd2zE6tb31pHbZe6DdMICmovmURvVCQvCm3hdnQ5cFsZ23G98jQlc7ZK5MdYFHlRcWam5ATzVbtVO0UnhwyWrZfszmERwnkv5nP0blJwJGD/s400/IMG_0112.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5464447296889771714" border="0" /></a>"没事 (mei shi/no problem), I'll just have to get creative," he told us. In the school cafeteria, 2 Yuan can can probably buy Ryan a bowl of rice porridge and a piece of fried bread, but that's it. One of our students who excells at living a bargain lifestyle is our friend, Vince (pictured left). His stomach is a bottomless pit, yet he finds ways to fill it, usually by finishing the entire table's leftovers (and by sweating as he does it. Guaranteed: a meal with Vince is a meal with a sweaty Vince). It's common to let him finish your rice, or even your Coke.<br /><br />"You should tell Vince about this," I told Ryan, "he would love to give you advice on how to do this."<br /><br />I didn't finish my 20 oz. Coke during our meal; so, after lunch I left it at the table. As we were leaving, Ryan made a quick cut and ran back inside. He came out with my unfinished Coke in his hand.<br /><br />"Vince strikes again!" he said, smiling.<br /><br />It'll be interesting to see how this challenge affects Ryan, and what he learns about his students as he attempts to increase his solidarity with our Chinese friends, even in such a small way. Certainly, it will be tough. But not as tough as running on treadmills. Sure, it's easy while you're coasting, but try recovering from a dropped towel. It immediately turns into a light-speed banana peel you have to dodge under your fight. And one foul step on that thing, just one, and you're a goner.Jon Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16932025864650980480noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7787547016054468356.post-81446214718863585502010-04-17T00:07:00.000-07:002010-04-17T01:04:17.654-07:00facebook stalkers beware!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieAtPuIJvP_tykgyh016zBMER58OkBZ_mAub6bXrIBdzDPsO9pUqRfzZIojgxTObktcghUnDXIp8ASgxOmjY6B_bTGefAXAsh7p0w5IRVjgbfXUHsRMKtl48hMhzrObq54EPUFiyoehDUe/s1600/renren-1.png"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 225px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieAtPuIJvP_tykgyh016zBMER58OkBZ_mAub6bXrIBdzDPsO9pUqRfzZIojgxTObktcghUnDXIp8ASgxOmjY6B_bTGefAXAsh7p0w5IRVjgbfXUHsRMKtl48hMhzrObq54EPUFiyoehDUe/s400/renren-1.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5461008568484705586" border="0" /></a>A couple weeks ago I joined 人人 (<span style="font-style: italic;">renren/</span>everyone), the Chinese version of facebook. I have, so far in my Chinese life, abstained from all Chinese online social networks, particularly QQ. This is basically AIM, but it's updated with twitter and facebook qualities. From conversations with students, it seems that approximately 1/3 of their lives are spent on QQ. They flirt, get angry with each other, make new friends, all on QQ. This could be said about my life at 15 years old, not 21, as my students are. I often hear stories about students getting on QQ to meet foreigners so they can practice their English. Sometimes I react by lecturing on the dangers of this activity, but usually I just smile and nod. When I meet someone new at school, the end of our conversation usually goes like this:<br /><br />"Do you have QQ?" the student asks, giggling, hands over mouth (if it's a girl).<br /><br />"No."<br /><br />"What?!" the student asks with a look of utter incredulity. Clutching at straws he asks, "Do you have MSN??" almost as if he's asking, "Do you <span style="font-style: italic;">eat</span>?"<br /><br />"No, sorry. I can give you my email address." I might as well have said, "No, but I do wear diapers."<br /><br />So, I've decided to meet them in the middle; I signed up for 人人. So far it's been fun to find my students and friends on there and see what their mysterious internet social lives are like. It's also pretty difficult; the enter site is in 中文 (<span style="font-style: italic;">zhong wen</span>/Chinese), which is actually good for Chinese practice. The most jarring part of the whole experience was entirely one-sided. My second friend on 人人 was a girl I know from Beijing. Strangely, after becoming friends with me, she added me to her top friends bracket on the right side of her profile. I didn't think we were <span style="font-style: italic;">that</span> close, I thought, but it's a nice gesture anyway. A few friends later, I noticed that everbody had done the same thing. Hm. I know people like me here, but come on. So I copied the characters above the "Top Friends" bracket, and pasted them into my trusty Google Translator.<br /><br />"Recent Visitors"<br /><br />Ahh!! I quickly exited the profile I was currently looking at. My cover was blown! It was like a searchlight finding a thief in the dark, or like someone yanking the bush out of the ground that I was hiding behind. I feld exposed. Mind you, I wasn't doing anything suspicious. I was just doing what people do on facebook, looking at pictures of people and watching their online activity without them knowing... which in all other facets of life would be known as "stalking."<br /><br />This has totally shaken my view of online social networks. Now, on 人人, if I check out someone's profile I need to be okay with them knowing about it, or I need to leave a comment so that I had a reason to be there. I don't think facebook would ever adopt "Recent Visitors" because it would scare everyone, but should they?<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqX4Lqkjb4Qk7lSY8gWT5tDcUJkh4XiR3L81TNnP1sIidHTTyj7eUubhA8o4rNUIJKLqSMrm7vsXOPEf7zVsi5jwmNgQEkfUWQuOESsH5n7efMpjRlT0TcxcmwKkoK081PH-gjuBRbLtK5/s1600/renren.png"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 252px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqX4Lqkjb4Qk7lSY8gWT5tDcUJkh4XiR3L81TNnP1sIidHTTyj7eUubhA8o4rNUIJKLqSMrm7vsXOPEf7zVsi5jwmNgQEkfUWQuOESsH5n7efMpjRlT0TcxcmwKkoK081PH-gjuBRbLtK5/s400/renren.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5461012738502970546" border="0" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><br />Click for larger picture.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCFXUrqZAs_oKqRGSi-iIeXD8G6ltwkoYaMDOqtgHxPXp5tNQetTSwVjTNaAdBHre1zAwYDdqVNeR-W6Q3vdzHQuRbnt1HxvdJXFA34huCp__sKyHVj14D9iJgQ0vuz9EDlP_RO-lzJWKP/s1600/Screen+shot+2010-04-17+at+3.37.08+PM.png"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 251px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCFXUrqZAs_oKqRGSi-iIeXD8G6ltwkoYaMDOqtgHxPXp5tNQetTSwVjTNaAdBHre1zAwYDdqVNeR-W6Q3vdzHQuRbnt1HxvdJXFA34huCp__sKyHVj14D9iJgQ0vuz9EDlP_RO-lzJWKP/s400/Screen+shot+2010-04-17+at+3.37.08+PM.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5461013947788221154" border="0" /></a><br />我 (<span style="font-style: italic;">wo/</span>me)<br /></div>Jon Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16932025864650980480noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7787547016054468356.post-81449687580916296422010-04-02T09:57:00.000-07:002010-04-02T10:21:00.417-07:00that's no moonOur clan of Americans climbed to the tip top of Moon Hill on an unfortunately dreary day. I remember feeling old because there were hundreds of steps to get to the first of two summits, and I actually had to take several breathers, and it wasn't due to the altitude. I'm glad to say that I've recently been training for a 10k (along with the rest of the IECS team) coming up in May in Beijing; so if I had a rematch with the stairs at Moon Hill now, it'd be no contest. This was the third leg of our trip, following Macau and Shenzhen, and it was also a homecoming for me. My first experience in China was in 2002 in this town called Yangshuo in the Guangxi province. Bryce, Mark, Hudson, and Andrew were all there, and it was this trip that catapulted a long-lasting, romantic, and somewhat steamy relationship between China and me. We've been hot and heavy ever since. I returned to Yangshuo two years later, and it was then that I decided to someday live in China. Who knew it would be so soon? <br /><br />We spent 5 days in Yangshuo, staying at the Bamboo House hostel. It didn't take long for us to notice the Chinese character for righteousness painted on the tiled wall behind the front desk. I asked Annie, the young desk attendant and she proceeded to tell me her testimony. It was quite a blessing to connect with other believers in such a random place, and it wasn't the last time on this trip. Two of the days, unfortunately, were spent knee deep in tissues in my hostel bed. I had a nasty head cold, but on the last two days I had the strength to reunite with an old friend that some of the guys on that early trip would remember: William Wu. He joined our group for dinner the night before we left. <br /><br />"I've changed my Chinese name," he told me over pizza.<br /><br />"Why?"<br /><br />"Because I hate my father," he said without hesitation. <br /><br />It was this kind of transparency that originally attracted me to William, along with his sarcastic sense of humor. But this time he wasn't being sarcastic, and the next morning William and I met for breakfast and talked about what it would look like to forgive his father for leaving his family and starting a new one. As one might expect, it would be hard; it would be unthinkable, implausible. I told him that forgiveness is possible, but only if you've really been forgiven before. Only then will you pay the price for someone else's debt. Before we left we exchanged recommendations; he wrote several Chinese film and music recommendations on a slip of paper for me and I wrote "Romans 5:8" on a piece of paper for him and told him to look at it later. He thanked me. William is a believer in love and truth and I hope that will lead him to the incarnation of the truth. <br /><br />Here's a video of us atop Moon Hill, high on altitude.<br /><br /><object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/7RI0Fnevrt0&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/7RI0Fnevrt0&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object>Jon Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16932025864650980480noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7787547016054468356.post-76216261715983574952010-03-30T01:26:00.000-07:002010-03-30T01:30:26.024-07:00panda brawl!I neglected to post a story about the second half of our travels during the winter holiday; so here is the first of a handful of videos I'm posting instead. This is in Chengdu, Sichuan, during the final leg of our journey. We went to a Panda park and we were lucky enough to witness this clash of cuteness. Our tour guide said he leads groups to the park three times a week, but had only seen something like this once before. Enjoy!<br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/HP9u4FmRvbw&hl=en_US&fs=1&"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/HP9u4FmRvbw&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>Jon Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16932025864650980480noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7787547016054468356.post-32763201921767526402010-03-14T08:14:00.000-07:002010-03-14T08:34:21.744-07:00Chameless<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_yC0h5XSSaKbdXxMfLSF15LVNHpPAe65xB5Um076ox2yd0B8ZhMxkQYhVxcecoRE6fJXU5RJlZAyrFtRTC17awzVAjvsXDoYwwzSi-6kaRDVgInQBYt8Dk5LthD2ORHtATVFAY1Mo83S_/s1600-h/IMG_0755.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_yC0h5XSSaKbdXxMfLSF15LVNHpPAe65xB5Um076ox2yd0B8ZhMxkQYhVxcecoRE6fJXU5RJlZAyrFtRTC17awzVAjvsXDoYwwzSi-6kaRDVgInQBYt8Dk5LthD2ORHtATVFAY1Mo83S_/s400/IMG_0755.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5448509278551069282" border="0" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Yeah, I'll have a Fenti cafe latte, thanks.<br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoB0hczimSyQg0hRLgkfYlJQ6PSfQTzKZf8UGv62S5KhyphenhyphenNVWcG1UPI9exKb0wVNyVc1CGz_U4vZT2b9VED_YXP2dWqi_bGwIN63H3H-qG9TY91LdYElFEGnivSm-TZ31RiyzLZHU0C_vcP/s1600-h/IMG_0756.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoB0hczimSyQg0hRLgkfYlJQ6PSfQTzKZf8UGv62S5KhyphenhyphenNVWcG1UPI9exKb0wVNyVc1CGz_U4vZT2b9VED_YXP2dWqi_bGwIN63H3H-qG9TY91LdYElFEGnivSm-TZ31RiyzLZHU0C_vcP/s400/IMG_0756.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5448509510454998322" border="0" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Wait, there's a Pizza Hut too?? Let's go in!<br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXEOQnq0obVmfxTxaciQV9npOnu1olwj-yJbmO-zjIwPHPQhODOeUxmJB40aori0H_7J4IvfMUsrvvG4o17pjtj8jUVY20GrUtSrIfRzFPQkTF0lEohFUQ84Sc82W5AW2xU2IhYvt7s8gr/s1600-h/IMG_0757.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXEOQnq0obVmfxTxaciQV9npOnu1olwj-yJbmO-zjIwPHPQhODOeUxmJB40aori0H_7J4IvfMUsrvvG4o17pjtj8jUVY20GrUtSrIfRzFPQkTF0lEohFUQ84Sc82W5AW2xU2IhYvt7s8gr/s400/IMG_0757.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5448509759872806242" border="0" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Imagine our surprise when we walked up to the building hoping for a cup of Ctarbucks coffee and a slice of pizza, and we noticed that the lovely set-up inside is really just a lovely picture on the outside. There's no restaurant through these locked doors. There's literally nothing inside this building. The face of this building is a facade, really. A security guard from the neighboring parking lot saw us tugging on the locked doors and he walked over to help us. All he did was wave his hand and shake his head. When we asked questions, he shrugged his shoulders and returned to his post.<br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoA5uqpmr36qKLjB_iqVItXXS41IF9PjiZhlVu-_iSoIxbvE8PkIe1So0iviJzfPJSNsjzwofBR73L0vWXPjtdw-ipcKLf5gb8Ycnzbd8Wm-Vv_Z72MAR__q9-d8pha0up8FFCOz0qtXVu/s1600-h/IMG_0758.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoA5uqpmr36qKLjB_iqVItXXS41IF9PjiZhlVu-_iSoIxbvE8PkIe1So0iviJzfPJSNsjzwofBR73L0vWXPjtdw-ipcKLf5gb8Ycnzbd8Wm-Vv_Z72MAR__q9-d8pha0up8FFCOz0qtXVu/s400/IMG_0758.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5448510045389416338" border="0" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">On second thought, I'm glad there's no real restaurant inside. Though they may look like pepperonis, I can't see Neaples being a good pizza topping.<br /><br /><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB4seh0n0jfzPni2wGsHVGHWdoeZ81FfeGzmoX1rRVYVrbPSCSJkGTCxQpSrB3cKVk1s9xnJRmsyjPCDQ4qhNODO7589gB2IJLYIDlYlLOGbJ9woUTvkBPlTOAK74J_A0gENqYC0x06Sj5/s1600-h/IMG_0733.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB4seh0n0jfzPni2wGsHVGHWdoeZ81FfeGzmoX1rRVYVrbPSCSJkGTCxQpSrB3cKVk1s9xnJRmsyjPCDQ4qhNODO7589gB2IJLYIDlYlLOGbJ9woUTvkBPlTOAK74J_A0gENqYC0x06Sj5/s400/IMG_0733.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5448512453634799890" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Unrelated incident.<br /></div>Jon Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16932025864650980480noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7787547016054468356.post-39020907673908409282010-03-11T22:25:00.001-08:002010-03-13T17:35:00.558-08:00you got served<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8lPdDDTo1OJFSfym-onBwJ_CrDjoQ2PTUq5mf0g-_CCTwMcQNA-2CzH5nNamzyQiSGW7J7Ufg-FCIhHYzy8-SYQ0N5jRHkEWM3Z0yO_uJPbLOMdsh8uazykPyJ4GwaznNusDiS51I0a7f/s1600-h/3596746816_c00b19666f_o.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8lPdDDTo1OJFSfym-onBwJ_CrDjoQ2PTUq5mf0g-_CCTwMcQNA-2CzH5nNamzyQiSGW7J7Ufg-FCIhHYzy8-SYQ0N5jRHkEWM3Z0yO_uJPbLOMdsh8uazykPyJ4GwaznNusDiS51I0a7f/s400/3596746816_c00b19666f_o.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5447783699204900994" border="0" /></a>Before you is a bounty; countless dishes handpicked just for you. Each dish seems to have the same question hovering above it: what in the world <span style="font-style: italic;">is</span> <span style="font-style: italic;">this</span>? You hold your chopsticks tentatively in the attack position. You want to look like you can't wait to dive in, like <span style="font-style: italic;">this</span> is the meal of a lifetime, man. Sitting next to you is your Chinese assistant. Although he doesn't speak any English, he is about twice your age and he does touch your leg and laugh in your ear once in a while. The frequency of this increases with each glass of <span style="font-style: italic;">Baijiu</span> he finishes. The bounty spins on its massive, glass lazy susan each time a waitress brings a new dish so that it situates right in front of you, for you to try first and for everyone to else watch. You reach for it, not knowing what it is. As you grab a piece, Ken, the friend you came here to see, translates for you: Pig Kidney. Your assistant, Ken's father, seems to enjoy your reaction after you try it. Later he'll put more on your plate. You don't seem to be too eager about the rest of the new dishes coming out; so Ken's father puts those on your plate too. This is his way of making sure you enjoy yourself, something you resort to chalking up to "cultural differences". These dishes include: duck feet, turtle soup, jellyfish head, sea cucumber (which looks earily similar to a massive slug), and pigeon. The deep-fried Kung Pao Shrimp is what you fill up on, the diamond in the rough.<br /><br />Ken was excited to introduce Ryan and me to his extended family, but he was his normal quiet self at dinner. He didn't even greet his family members when we arrived, which seemed odd, but later it made sense when Ken explained that he saw his family every weekend for a big meal. His grandparents were over eighty years old, with plenty of energy to spare. Grandpa was proud to ask me, "How old do you think I am?" I played along, "Sixty," I said. He held up his hand to make the symbol for eight with pride, "Ba Shi!" Later I asked them how long they had been married. Again the hand symbol, this time for six, "Leo Shi!" Ryan and I raised our glasses to them and exclaimed, "Gambei!" (drink up!), though Grandpa was drinking <span style="font-style: italic;">Baijiu</span>, a seriously terrible Chinese spirit that tastes like rubbing alcohol smells, and we were drinking Coke. The men at the table kept asking us to drink <span style="font-style: italic;">Baijiu</span>, but were surprisingly acquiesent when we refused. Generally, Chinese men don't take no for an answer, and we're forced to take sips of it at each "Gambei". Though my description of Ken's father might sound like a creepy old man, leg touching is quite normal for Chinese men, and plopping a serving of food onto a guest's plate is considered polite; allowing a guest to serve themselves is nearly unthinkable. There is such an exorbitant amount of food ordered and forced upon guests at a meal with a Chinese family that I've often wondered if I was being fattened up to be eaten later for dessert. Meeting Ken's Grandpa was quite an experience, but he was only my second favorite. Ken's cousins had one of the cutest daughters of all time. She was shy, but later her mother, a nurse in her late-30's, came to sit by me and her daughter followed. I took a picture with her.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXsprnMoCEpDw7u5sDauKolJ9MKwPpB-Au2C_UlVioaPy6nLmB9AauGEz4BRZQCtIdCGy7Tq3Zh_BFi_5qlfgvjuxljdTbHjPhcZrmuUqPRwr6kAZT4hwJlCgEJUcFavpLB-VyMxh8nfox/s1600-h/IMG_0759.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXsprnMoCEpDw7u5sDauKolJ9MKwPpB-Au2C_UlVioaPy6nLmB9AauGEz4BRZQCtIdCGy7Tq3Zh_BFi_5qlfgvjuxljdTbHjPhcZrmuUqPRwr6kAZT4hwJlCgEJUcFavpLB-VyMxh8nfox/s400/IMG_0759.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5447789005543314898" border="0" /></a>The cute little girl was certainly shy, but not about making noise. Throughout the meal she was up and around the room knocking on things and singing, later returning to pull her mom's hair. This is a typical practice for a Chinese child. An American girl would have been yelled at and/or disciplined for such a rukus, but Chinese children generally run the show, which is ironic, considering how strict Chinese teachers are. The other night I was at dinner with another Chinese mother and child, and it was the same routine. Noise and mess caused by the little girl, while the mother sits by, and everyone else watches and smiles. Her mother explained how her daughter will rarely listen to her if she tells her daughter to do something she doesn't want to do, but if her teacher tells her to do the same thing there's an immediate behavior change. Part of this lack of discipline at home is due to the one child policy in China; most people consider the upcoming generation to be extremely spoiled because the parents can't have any other children.<br /><br /><br />Ken is also an only child, and while his family is not wealthy, Ken is given the bulk of the family's finances to spend during his study. Along with this he's bestowed a high amount of pressure, which results in many arguments with his parents about his future. Ken studies German and English, all on his own, while working hard to get an Bachelor's degree in International Trade. He's a smart kid and often our conversations will lend themselves toward tangents on the many meanings of life. During our visit in Tangshan, we talked about what it means to have a soul, and whether animals have one, which of course led us to a conversation on the 2nd Resurrection... actually, I'm not sure how we got there...<br /><br />It was a treat to visit his hometown and we were certainly taken care of. All of our meals were paid for and we were put up in a nice hotel. Toward the end of the trip, I was so used to being served that when we were boarding the train together to return to Baoding I noticed Ken was holding a big bag of snacks and groceries. I pointed at it and asked where he got it. "My parents," he said, smiling. Later that day (after a 6 hour train ride), I walked Ken to his dorm and I was holding the bag of groceries.<br /><br />"Alright, buddy, I'll see you after classes start!" I said, walking away.<br /><br />"Uh!" he said loudly, "the bag?"<br /><br />"Oh, of course," I said, handing it to him, confused, "Sorry I forgot." I assumed it was for me.<br /><br /><br />---------------------------------<br /><br />Our visit to Tangshan was Ryan and I's second studen-home visit in a week. A week earlier we were in Handan visiting Lee, a student Ryan is close to but who I had only hung out with a few times. He is a little wealthier than most of our students, evidenced by his possession of an Xbox 360, a rare commodity in China. Most students play PC and don't even have their own. Lee's mom was quite the chatty cathy; I'd venture to say that I learned more Chinese during the 3 days I spent with her than during the previous month. As we were leaving, Lee asked me, "Jon, do you have all your stuff?"<br /><br />"Um, yeah, I just need to get one more thing," I said. I walked over to his Xbox and picked it up, smiling at him.<br /><br />"You can borrow it," he said.<br /><br />"What? Are you serious?" I looked at him, searching his face for sincerity. It was there.<br /><br />"Yeah, my girlfriend told me I need to study more," he said, "and I'll be in Baoding in two weeks. So I can take it back then."<br /><br />Fastforward two weeks: Lee still isn't here and I've taken the Redskins into the 2013 season in Madden 2010. I've been playing far too much this week, but fortunately, one of the benefits of being single is I have no girlfriend telling me to stop...<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNiG5bwSFc2tH3EbHQ_GJg_KH7UHz_jTEtYiUa1NgLJBXv9Ynzw8MG_9O-0K09LEEL0CqXDtHwF9tu9_Y0QRcW2YvoffSRfHXe5HDHghnY6in7InV6uHWV_QocVJJLSmHxfwSzlp-YgNqg/s1600-h/IMG_0750.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNiG5bwSFc2tH3EbHQ_GJg_KH7UHz_jTEtYiUa1NgLJBXv9Ynzw8MG_9O-0K09LEEL0CqXDtHwF9tu9_Y0QRcW2YvoffSRfHXe5HDHghnY6in7InV6uHWV_QocVJJLSmHxfwSzlp-YgNqg/s400/IMG_0750.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5447793063268508098" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Couldn't resist posting this: I took this picture of a picture of Young Ken and his parents. The cuteness continues...<br /></div>Jon Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16932025864650980480noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7787547016054468356.post-42153965371345673672010-02-25T07:37:00.000-08:002010-03-07T08:13:13.794-08:00Chinese Mexi-DipWe love Mexi-Dip in the Allison house. Growing up, every Friday night was spent on the den floor, sitting cross-legged in front of two piping hot oven pans of re-fried beans, covered in sauce, covered in tomatoes and onions, covered in cheese. There's even an art to eating it. If eaten incorrectly, one chip can drag the whole sheet of cheese off the top of the dip in one swoop, essentially ruining the entire evening. It's been a family tradition since the days of TGIF and remains one even today. I asked my sisters to send over the ingredients that we lack in China, along with the recipe, and I made it myself for my friends here. Even without sour cream (had to use yogurt with lemon juice as a substitute) and proper tortilla chips (had to use Korean kimchi-flavored potato chips), the dip was incredible. The result in pictures:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjhMBkdVPxdmdAAs6qg373VBfeMlzrpUqgyHUJ9L0N1cVw6FzSeQ5mwZq-BObsv50mefj7n-zsH2tENANhinj5dh-f9Xg86se0wQbsW8pvy2LZEdVZh1x1hVNtBsyCwKCaJAw310sMF2DS/s1600-h/IMG_0701.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjhMBkdVPxdmdAAs6qg373VBfeMlzrpUqgyHUJ9L0N1cVw6FzSeQ5mwZq-BObsv50mefj7n-zsH2tENANhinj5dh-f9Xg86se0wQbsW8pvy2LZEdVZh1x1hVNtBsyCwKCaJAw310sMF2DS/s400/IMG_0701.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5442209210956688354" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAK1jpfNMXB3l15ZEcBDr1xAze7Z-3vl2yicfbxEFC0Eq2PRCgD_3vF94bHY4kJbL6Jhd8_zeXUbdlODYmCk07DI8362zpebtj8UTLvvVeWQYRryD8Q-bChFKKtCjyJ_Gec0iMobTWLui4/s1600-h/IMG_0703.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAK1jpfNMXB3l15ZEcBDr1xAze7Z-3vl2yicfbxEFC0Eq2PRCgD_3vF94bHY4kJbL6Jhd8_zeXUbdlODYmCk07DI8362zpebtj8UTLvvVeWQYRryD8Q-bChFKKtCjyJ_Gec0iMobTWLui4/s400/IMG_0703.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5442210071337843762" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS3eKtguwdL-3JnitW1caQEcTT6F4F5fETV0-aKGeOKz-NE4XHsUfo4sTpxnO9uV6Y_s2ohkvHDlJGOGDpN2tlW81WIWSsp6J5hfLtowA9qM95wfeb2miYd0tngoZswECo_BWQ5bSH58Jn/s1600-h/IMG_0705.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS3eKtguwdL-3JnitW1caQEcTT6F4F5fETV0-aKGeOKz-NE4XHsUfo4sTpxnO9uV6Y_s2ohkvHDlJGOGDpN2tlW81WIWSsp6J5hfLtowA9qM95wfeb2miYd0tngoZswECo_BWQ5bSH58Jn/s400/IMG_0705.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5442211348178548722" border="0" /></a><br />-------------------------------<br /><br />I found this piece of fake money on the floor of my classroom just after the last student had turned in her exam. If you look closely, you'll notice miniature notes on The Great Gatsby and Freytag's Pyramid. Looks like cheaters can prosper after all...<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlhBkoCXhOw4lZg6wZs_FjY5tXwf1lAlrRyPdEPYZEW5miKcmsWpW_2EunZeI7XJ9AugJe5u_1yGjOe5eJLcjCBUzb-q_By6gMzop0y5CyQ9wnQvYt1YoxQNysEF8U-58b1Tcg0xHAXCt3/s1600-h/IMG_0721.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlhBkoCXhOw4lZg6wZs_FjY5tXwf1lAlrRyPdEPYZEW5miKcmsWpW_2EunZeI7XJ9AugJe5u_1yGjOe5eJLcjCBUzb-q_By6gMzop0y5CyQ9wnQvYt1YoxQNysEF8U-58b1Tcg0xHAXCt3/s400/IMG_0721.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5442212565950351378" border="0" /></a>Jon Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16932025864650980480noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7787547016054468356.post-70958934040331670312010-02-19T20:10:00.000-08:002010-02-19T21:45:01.723-08:00the deep south part 1<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsjatfABk2pUvFfdV3EKSakgSBo06Z4AOOdV8pinXbBOQ910wNPROAP3274k1wuHBUL9RAl8Q_b3Pe70k0u1Mt2CQlTHDUZnHsQmPJfrY_XxI_AzIGKzpuC_fRodEqOekWVHt_FKElDvz5/s1600-h/IMG_0497.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 274px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsjatfABk2pUvFfdV3EKSakgSBo06Z4AOOdV8pinXbBOQ910wNPROAP3274k1wuHBUL9RAl8Q_b3Pe70k0u1Mt2CQlTHDUZnHsQmPJfrY_XxI_AzIGKzpuC_fRodEqOekWVHt_FKElDvz5/s400/IMG_0497.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5440194615055717826" border="0" /></a>"Don't spit," Robert told me as we walked down a clean, tree-sheltered street in Shenzhen, "people will think you're from the North."<br /><br />"I'm a foreigner," I responded, "it doesn't matter," and spit anyway.<br /><br />Robert is a close friend who grew up in Shenzhen, a city which borders Hong Kong on the southern coast of Guangdong, and moving to Baoding was as close to culture shock as one could get moving from one Chinese city to another. Shenzhen is known across China for its wealth. Walking down its streets, I couldn't help but feel like I was in some American city. The streets were clean and there was a Starbucks and 7-Eleven nearby. I even bought a hoodie in H&M there. That was a year ago. Last month the entire IECS team returned to Shenzhen for another Conference, which kicked off the Baoding team's 3 week trip across southern China. Before we traveled to the South the team met in Beijing for two nights, one of which was spent at a restaurant listening to Tim's engagement tale, which, like a fine wine, gets taller with age. His story inspired all the other couples to tell their stories and by the end of the night everyone was swooning (So tie down the sails! We're going downtown!).<br /><br />While we stayed in an ocean front hotel in Shenzhen, most of our time was spent in meetings. While I wasn't too excited about that with the sound of the ocean crashing a mere football field away, we had the opportunity to listen to some incredible teaching from wise (ie, old) men and women. Our main teacher happened to have been a Chaplain of the Washington Redskins; so, needless to say, I was spellbound at his every word, hoping the next one would be "Joe Gibbs" or "Art Monk." (why OH WHY did my iphone have to run out of memory just as he was telling a great Joe Gibbs story so I couldn't record it?!)<br /><br />It was a time of challenging spiritual thoughts and ideas, and meaningful conversations. One of them occurred over a game of Majong in a private room in a neighboring hotel. It was one of those incredible electronic Majong tables that shuffled the tiles for you. All you have to do is push a button on the table and the center piece raises up, waiting for you to push the tiles into the center of the table. After you do that the center piece slowly descends back down and your newly shuffled tiles rise up in front of you, perfectly stacked into four walls. The waitress served us each free piping-hot tea and Tony (pictured right), our Chinese co-worker, promptly won three games in a row. Ryan started talking about the prospect of going to Graduate school to study the Scripture full time.<br /><br />"I don't want to be an intellectual yuppy," Ryan said," just studying for knowledge's sake."<br /><br />"I think studying is important," Tony said, feeling a tile with his forefinger and discarding it, knowing what it was without even looking at it, "but I want a simple faith."<br /><br />At this point I couldn't concentrate on the game and I interjected.<br /><br />"So, there's a balance to being a believer then," I said, always feeling the need to draw a conclusion for the sake of argument, "the renewing of your mind is important, but it's also critical to merely trust Him."<br /><br />"I don't think there's a balance," Tony responded, "just the Holy Spirit."<br /><br />I remained silent and drew and discarded tiles robotically for a while. Tony won again.<br /><br />The rest of the week in Shenzhen was a blast, but I hard time resting at night because everyone was talking about next year. Many are not returning to China. What to do? I kept thinking. I'm still not sure, but I think ideas and dreams in my mind about it are becoming ever more coherent. One of the final nights was spent on the roof of our hotel with Tim and Stephen, a teammate in Tianjin. We smoked cigars from Emerson's in Norfolk I had brought all the way from the States and we called the gathering "Entmoot." The conversation ran deep as it always does when Stephen is around. He is a catalyst for all sorts of Joy and I'm so glad he and his wife, Beth, stuck with us for the next leg of our trip to Guangxi. But first the group split up for a couple days due to divided interests.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaVad9y9UtJq4kl0oNNbE-lXe7BB3Rlyb-XUzFLgThil8C99hR8kg6njQyjB1cBtpK5XO2sktGOHiHmxYSpWYNbZbaLpHCnHlWTgTYNuCqlheH2hSEBpqY3xN0ilhCM8WJH6DauW7cxIs3/s1600-h/IMG_0502.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaVad9y9UtJq4kl0oNNbE-lXe7BB3Rlyb-XUzFLgThil8C99hR8kg6njQyjB1cBtpK5XO2sktGOHiHmxYSpWYNbZbaLpHCnHlWTgTYNuCqlheH2hSEBpqY3xN0ilhCM8WJH6DauW7cxIs3/s400/IMG_0502.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5440194992981628082" border="0" /></a>After the Conference, a small group traveled to Hong Kong for a couple days while the Baoding team went to Macau, a city very near Shenzhen and Hong Kong which was returned to China about the same time Hong Kong was. Like, Hong Kong, Macau was owned by a European country for over a century, but Portugal had had a hand in Macau a lot longer than Britain had been a part Hong Kong. Despite now being a part of China, Macau remains an expensive city and is known for being the eastern version of Las Vegas, actually generating more revenue in its casinos than its western counterpart. We stayed in a hostel in a border city called Zhuhai, a typical southern coastal city; though, not nearly as nice as Shenzhen. For two days we stayed in individual bedrooms that were so small it felt like sleeping in lockers, but they were clean and the room felt cozy rather than cramped. The border between Zhuhai and Macau is the most-crossed border in the world and we added to the statistic for those two days. We ate massive burgers the first night and explored the Venetian casino, never sitting down at any tables because we couldn't find the right minimum bid. Our goal was Blackjack, which remains my only real experience with gambling, but the Venetian was too affluent for our wallets; so we decided to wait until the next day and try another casino. The next day we visited St. Paul's Cathedral and saw disturbing paintings of St. Augustine and Japanese martyrs. Later we almost bought "ObaMao" t-shirts. We ate Portuguese food for dinner and afterward Ryan almost got in a yelling match with a passing driver who nearly ran over Kerry in a cobblestone alleyway. We then returned to our goal: an affordable Blackjack table. It took a few casinos before we found our table and it was worth it... well, it was for me. Tim wasn't so lucky. The dealer got 4 blackjack hands in the first seven or eight hands. I'm not sure how I survived the onslaught, but I was about even after them; Tim wasn't. Eventually the crowded table emptied and it was only Tim, Ryan, and me. We gave Kerry and Amelia a few chips to play with and we were promptly joined by a bald elderly Chinese man who spoke fluent English. He rarely bet on his own hands, but would toss chips onto ours and we eventually called him "Master" because of his unsurpassed knowledge of the game. With his astute advice and a few strokes of luck, I doubled my money. I actually had to get Bethany to take my chips away from me after I doubled up so that I could get up from the table, which is always the hardest part. It was worth the trip; even Tim would tell you.<br /><br />Next we rejoined the Hong Kong group for our trip to Yangshuo, Guangxi, famous for its unnaturally shaped and beautiful mountains. If you google "China" you'll find pictures of the Great Wall and these mountains pretty quickly. It was a return trip for me, as my first two short trips to China were to the same area. I'll write about that later and I guarantee it will be one of the few instances when a sequel is even better than the original!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisSq-vx_OT3LfyR7wsCGWm9OCV_InUobRQN4TRJuOrK4gtMQiPckQfFXLUdehPhNpjpWmLhzBRrrdVUPvtBTU84bMTprdrA4BltxuiVCky-qo9nQAAFX-X_vrC_MeeRhybUC1LumXjQntZ/s1600-h/IMG_0550.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisSq-vx_OT3LfyR7wsCGWm9OCV_InUobRQN4TRJuOrK4gtMQiPckQfFXLUdehPhNpjpWmLhzBRrrdVUPvtBTU84bMTprdrA4BltxuiVCky-qo9nQAAFX-X_vrC_MeeRhybUC1LumXjQntZ/s400/IMG_0550.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5440196351665005346" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimNMayATc4W4KvKtBdS9c0hWnvG6bbs6r5eU8jd7lXdeQ2CWZjFD_6S4Gtmndaz1g758tPoDPnJm1-XflZnKiLGRhbFOXaO889KCE1oaDkK324IXTmm8mAmGVTQCgKFJJQ1xrb8G7EtyUv/s1600-h/IMG_0544.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimNMayATc4W4KvKtBdS9c0hWnvG6bbs6r5eU8jd7lXdeQ2CWZjFD_6S4Gtmndaz1g758tPoDPnJm1-XflZnKiLGRhbFOXaO889KCE1oaDkK324IXTmm8mAmGVTQCgKFJJQ1xrb8G7EtyUv/s400/IMG_0544.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5440195455379974274" border="0" /></a>Jon Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16932025864650980480noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7787547016054468356.post-5377148799867951232010-02-16T19:19:00.001-08:002010-02-20T17:59:38.699-08:00when Sceviours attack<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhbiJ1HGR4AioI2VAhZlFuSJANABrVZzRXJwhfgyE2Ek_HomHqvAmhpIfBOicZVVbb2Z8HSDUw7O2owqmtniyE4t78lcBk3LFfM7fgK7RtpyMoR5TtCt65j8lkj-MeFDlPXCaJlgeqgnaH/s1600-h/IMG_0430.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhbiJ1HGR4AioI2VAhZlFuSJANABrVZzRXJwhfgyE2Ek_HomHqvAmhpIfBOicZVVbb2Z8HSDUw7O2owqmtniyE4t78lcBk3LFfM7fgK7RtpyMoR5TtCt65j8lkj-MeFDlPXCaJlgeqgnaH/s400/IMG_0430.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5439072148748813938" border="0" /></a>"Nobody cares about me," I said countless times. Melissa visited Tim. Dan visited Emily. Bethany's parents visited her. Me? No one missed me, I thought. Just when I thought for sure that I was forgotten; when I thought I was forsaken, forgone, forsworn, the Sceviours came. Greg and AJ cared. They braved the treacherous drive to New York; they sat snuggly and patiently on a 14 hour flight to South Korea for a "short" layover. Then when the word "delayed" donned the electronic departure board, they didn't snicker or mope! No, they strolled right up to the Korean Air desk and were promptly rewarded for their optimism with an offer for a free night in a four star hotel in Seoul. They turned to one another and with grim faces said, "Jon would have wanted us to," and they acquiesced, begrudgingly, "Alright," they said to the beautiful Korean desk attendants with the red scarves around their necks, "if we have to," and they took it for the team, for me. The next morning they boarded that last flight beleaguered with exhaustion from their unfortunate extended layover and they sat, once again. They endured the jet lag, the staring, the donkey burgers, all for me... <div><br /></div><div>Greg is an old friend, one of my dearest. But AJ had always been Greg's brother and over the years it was impossible for me to look beyond their similarities. I had always seen AJ as a Greg clone, another strapping young heart-breaker who might at any moment invest your money or take a nap on your bed. I learned more about AJ during this trip than I would care to mention to you. Let me just say this: AJ has read The Hobbit (more than once) and he listens to Sigur Ros. While he does have some of Greg's admirable qualities; ie, Greg's looks, and the desire to save rather than spend, (which resulted in his ability to purchase his own Macbook Pro and travel to China at the ripe age of 16, something Greg might not have even been able to pull off) AJ is his own man. Don't be fooled. </div><div><br /></div><div>It was great to be able to take them to my favorite places and show them all my favorite foods. We got massages, which they loved, and the fire cups, which Greg abhorred. They loved the Coke Chicken and the dumplings, but they didn't really enjoy the Donkey Burgers and the cow tongue (but who did?). They were able to appreciate the cafeteria that's only a two minute walk from my apartment and all the different foods there: the gai fan (dish over rice), the dishes, the knife-cut noodles, and the fried rice; all for under or around $1. They met my close friends, like Ken, Vince, and Robert. They got whooped by Sophie in Ping Pong, as we all have (she plays on the school team and is my student). We held a special "English Corner" for the two of them, which was attended by about 20 girls, not surprisingly. A few of them joined us for dinner and it was such a delight to share Sophie and Ivy, two of my students, with them. Unfortunately, for about 4 days straight I was sequestered to my apartment, grading exams. It was a frustrating time for me, but AJ and Greg were able to find their own fun in the city, which was special (I hope) for them. </div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXnSi7w6pSELaqw89S568MXzrkOo_06Q7nofn6LOi8rI44DLuVF8sido43jKfhrITTlb9xEsNb9-ZcyyqtSQwkX0Y2Zd2XTHiMLUhrItvB5ImP8PcXo_9eGsyBVvQ328NZQRt648L72avZ/s1600-h/IMG_0442.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXnSi7w6pSELaqw89S568MXzrkOo_06Q7nofn6LOi8rI44DLuVF8sido43jKfhrITTlb9xEsNb9-ZcyyqtSQwkX0Y2Zd2XTHiMLUhrItvB5ImP8PcXo_9eGsyBVvQ328NZQRt648L72avZ/s400/IMG_0442.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5439072690044303026" border="0" /></a>For the final week of their stay we decided to travel. It might have been counter-intuitive, given how cold it already was in Baoding, but we traveled even further north to Harbin, a city near the northeastern tip of China, bordering Russia. Our intention was to see the famous Ice Festival, entire buildings and replicas chiseled out of ice and lit by florescent lighting. As it turned out, our favorite part was a surprise to most of us: the Tiger Park. We spent an entire morning in a van with barred windows driving around snow covered landscapes, dripping with bengal tigers. "This is like Jurassic Park," someone said joyfully as we drove into the park and the massive fenced gate closed electronically behind us, locking us in with the tigers. Most of us held each other even tighter after that comment. The tigers were massive and sometimes they would come up to the windows and sniff us. "AJ!! Keep your hands in this car!!" Bethany would scream at AJ as he grinned back. At the final section of the tour, we were presented with a verbal menu of animals to feed the tigers, alive. So, we purchased the pheasant because it was cheap. An armored jeep drove out to the middle of the park and, as the tigers were crawling all over it, someone tossed a live pheasant out of the sun roof. One of the tigers leaped and grabbed it and it was over. So, we decided to step up and buy the lamb. It was the most revolting and mesmerizing spectacles I've ever seen. For about thirty minutes several tigers held the lamb in their mouths (don't worry, the lamb died early), each of them holding it still but gently pulling in their own direction; they each wanted it for themselves. One of them tore a leg off and ran away with it. Eventually it was pandemonium and the lamb was in pieces. The three girls in our group at this point were looking away, their cheeks streaked with tears, as the guys remained engrossed. The whole time the driver kept stupidly driving into the gathering of tigers to break them up. At one point our van was stuck and he kept backing up and pulling forward to get out with no luck. We all trembled at the thought of being stuck in a park of feasting bengal tigers. Overall, it was incredible and it was definitely my favorite part of Harbin. Well, that and Cameron riding an electronic bull in a sketchy mall. </div><div><br /></div><div>Finally, the Sceviours had to leave and, while it was bittersweet, as parting always is, I was so happy that they had come. Certainly, as close as Greg and I are, there were moments of strife and we had to deal with them, but it felt good to be close enough to him to have to go through those moments, to apologize and to forgive. I truly felt loved by their visit, and sometimes that's a hard thing for a person to accept: another man's gracious love. It's hard to know what to do with it. I accepted it this time and can't wait to see those guys again. Maybe next time we can experience something a little less disgusting together.<br /><br />(see left for more photos)<br /><br /><object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" align="right" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/O5jfpR4V7ts&hl=en_US&fs=1&"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/O5jfpR4V7ts&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" height="344" width="425"></embed></object><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6oSJt4U07Yn_tGYpQGaLyJ49Sjmo81-TgRerB3HSs0pDh5n3nBll76x3fXGqC9bJwCPD_tZQnwkF2wJtw3TkwCHGxo5M6NgtF-_FxFulPQykDGFcrIRP4iG1uFrwo_DGH-coTyXVNY3g4/s1600-h/IMG_0471.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6oSJt4U07Yn_tGYpQGaLyJ49Sjmo81-TgRerB3HSs0pDh5n3nBll76x3fXGqC9bJwCPD_tZQnwkF2wJtw3TkwCHGxo5M6NgtF-_FxFulPQykDGFcrIRP4iG1uFrwo_DGH-coTyXVNY3g4/s400/IMG_0471.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5439072317443772418" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxY4YcTB7OG8pIHVvO-ZAFC5go4aTF4PdWon2gO88XmPj8wqXXoIth6A2P0Gm44xaUj7REbKSD6vREJwORtYjdTPxqQL6ONSj_gU8RhjDYf666u0f31_8Osik4UlLEPUC0piQW13HEgQLh/s1600-h/IMG_0431.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxY4YcTB7OG8pIHVvO-ZAFC5go4aTF4PdWon2gO88XmPj8wqXXoIth6A2P0Gm44xaUj7REbKSD6vREJwORtYjdTPxqQL6ONSj_gU8RhjDYf666u0f31_8Osik4UlLEPUC0piQW13HEgQLh/s400/IMG_0431.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5439071651773224978" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDOj9clf8qCtngoef7AcVTzaGwGxTpu69eYNQypK7EkpPngruA5a9bOiFX0zFcJt7JDaMiyLUvrgwvHJYZ6VdHe_V7_qU2Ed8BRg0nWZ1V-JasG83BpLRtp9ICeifmuhlGkobjKGmfP5Eo/s1600-h/IMG_0432.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDOj9clf8qCtngoef7AcVTzaGwGxTpu69eYNQypK7EkpPngruA5a9bOiFX0zFcJt7JDaMiyLUvrgwvHJYZ6VdHe_V7_qU2Ed8BRg0nWZ1V-JasG83BpLRtp9ICeifmuhlGkobjKGmfP5Eo/s400/IMG_0432.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5439071867710636930" border="0" /></a><br /><br /></div>Jon Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16932025864650980480noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7787547016054468356.post-6208330300370279662009-11-26T19:22:00.000-08:002009-11-26T21:50:54.796-08:00innocence makes the heart grow fonder<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdsPnwmDAwPKIQ3z_xUq4uCQjQ15WP0gavEWlnx5HxP__88jsrsfpENaaub5ZOf5h2mOLIHYil5SgG7W2B_A89WGZ70ZI5EevFoyFxwsYbG9GVDOr7ICenTuaeEE8G4f2uCvfUydAxIPzX/s1600/group_clapping.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdsPnwmDAwPKIQ3z_xUq4uCQjQ15WP0gavEWlnx5HxP__88jsrsfpENaaub5ZOf5h2mOLIHYil5SgG7W2B_A89WGZ70ZI5EevFoyFxwsYbG9GVDOr7ICenTuaeEE8G4f2uCvfUydAxIPzX/s320/group_clapping.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5408656651762930338" border="0" /></a><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Despite what you might think, I’m not that well-traveled. Even so, I’m confident that there is no place like China in the whole</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"> wide world. Here’s one reason. The other day I was waiting for my Great Gatsby quizzes to finish their copying in the copy store on campus and I ran into one of my old students named Alice, who’s incredibly short and whose English is more than a few rungs below ‘intermediate’. I didn’t remember that her name was Alice at the time; so I asked for her Chinese name: Zhang Yuan Yuan. She heard me speak Chinese with the copy store worker and was impressed. She told me I had “made a great progress.” I then told her that my Chinese was not that great and she should test my skills by asking me some questions in Chinese. She agreed with glee. Suddenly, the seemingly slow-witted little girl began to spit out sentences at light speed. I told her to slow down and answered her questions the best I could. As she was speaking I noticed that her pronunciation wasn’t like that of someone from our city, Baoding, which is located in the north of China, in the Hebei province. She sounded like someone from the south. So, I asked her where she was from. <i>Jiangxi</i>, she said, which is in the south. I was right. </span> <p style="margin: 0px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal;font-family:Helvetica;font-size:12px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br />“You speak southern Chinese,” I told her in broken Chinese, “People from Baoding say <i>bu sher</i>, but you say <i>bu suh</i>.” (<i>bu shi </i>= <i>no, it’s not</i>) </span></p> <p style="margin: 0px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; min-height: 14px;font-family:Helvetica;font-size:12px;"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal;font-family:Helvetica;font-size:12px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Just then I realized that the entire score of people in the copy store had been riveted with our Chinese conversation because they suddenly began clapping. They couldn’t believe that an American could hear the difference in Chinese dialects. I can’t imagine Americans or Canadians or Englishmen or Belgians celebrating for a foreigner like that (those are the only other places I’ve been). This isn’t the first time this has happened. About a month ago I struck up a Chinese conversation with a girl on the bus and even though I could have sworn the mass of bodies on the bus had been minding their own business, it wasn’t so. The girl told me she worked at McDonald’s and she eventually told me that I should come visit her there, an obvious flirtation. For some reason, at that moment I picked up my head and looked around. Everyone was facing me, each set of eyes were fixed on me and their mouths were gaping. <i>What is he going to say?? </i>they seemed to beg. </span></p> <p face="Helvetica" size="12px" style="margin: 0px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; min-height: 14px;"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal;font-family:Helvetica;font-size:12px;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE8sOqWWNveOu4ZSbeuNGUlgN4P7f3shiNZXSR3Whb4jYWI59vrwSWaAQRpIqybEtqSaikBVV-DhGzZy50sFLThnHDbuLk2M1LW8hztypjiS8SavX4EDVnnxAjsbWQDVAT0GWFRNrt0t3y/s1600/Family+pic+1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 274px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE8sOqWWNveOu4ZSbeuNGUlgN4P7f3shiNZXSR3Whb4jYWI59vrwSWaAQRpIqybEtqSaikBVV-DhGzZy50sFLThnHDbuLk2M1LW8hztypjiS8SavX4EDVnnxAjsbWQDVAT0GWFRNrt0t3y/s320/Family+pic+1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5408656306374304914" border="0" /></a><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Another example. The same night after I le</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">ft my conversation with Alice, I went to Hebei University to meet up with the other teachers on our team and we put on an English Night. It was a little lackluster, to be frank. Not only were we subdued to a smaller room with less students because of H1N1, but some of us teachers were a little tired and not quite in the mood to lead songs and games in front of 100 Chinese students (yes, that is less than normal). But despite ourselves, it was a success. The six of us, plus 2 other teachers who we have become close with, formed a panel on stage to discuss our families. Each of us tackled a question that we had chosen and prepared for before-hand. My question was, “What is the most difficult thing about your relationship with your family?” I chose this question because I wanted to talk about our family’s struggles through divorce, and how painful it has been. I wanted to stress the importance in mourning that loss (and how it took me nearly a decade to do so), and that when someone wrongs you, it’s an opportunity for forgiveness. <i>My family’s story isn’t over</i>, I told them, <i>we are still growing</i>. After we answered our prepared questions, we opened the floor for the students to ask questions. Two students wanted Amelia’s attention, but each went about their approach in different ways. During one of the students’ questions, I saw a girl a few seats away from me writing frantically on a small piece of paper. After a couple drafts which she discarded, she settled on one and then folded it several times, and asked the students in front of her to pass it to Amelia, who was standing next to me. I couldn’t help but peak: “You’ve made a great impression on me with your story and I want to make friends with you.” Amelia looked up at the girl and the student pecked her head down a little and waved a cute, embarrassed wave. Another student raised his hand to ask a question. It was a boy with dark skin and he bravely stood up and said he had three questions “for the beautiful girl standing next to Jon.” Summary: One, is she single? Two, would she date a Chinese boy? Three, would she consider anyone in this room? We all laughed and I covered my face with my hands like one of the embarrassed Chinese girls would. Amelia’s answers: Yes. Yes. No. “I’m a teacher and you are students!” she reminded them. Everyone laughed. </span></p> <p face="Helvetica" size="12px" style="margin: 0px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; min-height: 14px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span><br /></p> <p face="Helvetica" size="12px" style="margin: 0px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">During my short talk on the panel, I got choked up and my voice broke a little. I didn’t think that would happen when I had prepared what I had to say, but that moment I felt close to the situation, despite the thousands of miles and days that separate me from its clutches. Personally, the distance of China has an estranging effect on my relationships at home. My heart has a hard time extending beyond my current surroundings. But that moment it did, and I hope for more moments like that, that will remind me what the Father is doing my heart and wants to do in the lives of those I love. As the great philosopher once said, “Distance means nothing to me. It only makes me want to see you longer.” And that was even before he wrote <i>My Friends Over You. </i></span></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-family: Helvetica; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal;"><i><br /></i></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-family: Helvetica; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal;"><br /></p>Jon Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16932025864650980480noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7787547016054468356.post-66351660821822615572009-10-30T08:21:00.000-07:002009-11-01T02:04:10.224-08:00In my younger and more vulnerable years<img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUSuzzXMtonJdMKnTFzGTVEaGqPdkG00fsQ9M9OLdgD9dnJZtFzD-hWDMTYFPrNpnG2ckRlU-a9KUv9klV6MOCtlZqZCCsr9kymwnu2M4bVqVVLIv3QVGbrOCJcsM8Uect2Tc2eP3QEZEv/s400/200432120-002.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5398428601959775410" />My students hate me, I'm sure of it. My old students love me. They always tell me how much they miss my class. Of course, they do; I would miss my class too. Last year all we did was play games to get the Freshman to open their mouths. Now I teach Juniors, who are effectively Seniors because they graduate in three years. I taught them the word, "Senioritis" because they all have it. They don't want homework (who does?), especially not from the push-over foreign devil. After I assigned the first chapter of <i>The Great Gatsby </i>all I heard was complaints. <i>It's too hard, </i>they kept saying. It is hard. Sometimes it takes me until the fourth or fifth class of teaching a passage to really get what Fitzgerald is saying. The guy is so beyond me that I'm apprehensive to even claim that. But I wanted to challenge them. I wanted to be <i>real</i> teacher and I wanted them to learn something, instead of just play games. So after every reading assignment, I give a short, harmless quiz to make sure they've read it. The results, so far, have varied: some classes did fairly well, while others failed miserably. While one bad apple does seem to spoil the whole batch, I think dedication spurs others on just as effectively. Those classes that do the work and get it seem to be led by certain ardent students. One girl named Sunny read more than I asked the class to, including the last chapter because she wanted to see what happens (ala my sister, Faith).<div><br /></div><div>I should have seen it coming. In my experience, many of my students are shameless cheaters. Whenever I've given a test, patrolling is a necessity, as the students will obviously look at each other's papers or pull out their books. It's absurd. Yesterday I had two classes in the morning. The first class failed the chapter 3 quiz miserably. As I patrolled the aisles, I saw their shame as they sat still without a clue and I pitied them. <i>It is a hard book, after all, </i>I thought. So I gave them one of the answers, outright, and a hint to another. They still failed miserably, but at least not pathetically. The class that directly followed had inverse results: nearly every answer was perfect, and identical. As I patrolled that class, I saw all the correct answers quickly written, and it was like a sinister revelation, like the end of The Usual Suspects. If I was holding a coffee mug, it would have soundlessly tumbled to the ground. I could feel the electricity in the air as the storm clouds hovered over me; I was angry. It wasn't just the test they were cheating, they were cheating me. I felt like a fool for having compassion on the previous class, not just because they abused me. I helped them because I wanted them to like me. It was also surprising that they were so juvenile. Junior college students banding together to cheat as a class in such an obvious fashion. The boldness was astounding. As I normally do when I'm angry, I breathed deeply and spoke softly as I collected their papers.</div><div><div><br /></div><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 241px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilekco892ViKv2LQxyyEbc95VD8nkroEhz2YoTip8YAyqlJodZZ2Owal4XEmC_f4h41cP-HscEp6XHx6NCO8ZJ3v1oeBSfV4bex8qTIqeasdssaAnPreSliPmHo9sRKWf6fHYZHnBc0mIh/s400/24131192_afcbaf3488_o.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5398431079740753954" /><div>"Wow," I said sarcastically as I leafed through them in front of the class, "you guys did much better this time. I guess I should be happy, right?"</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>The students were smilingly timidly; they don't really understand sarcasm, which only encouraged me to lay it on thicker. </div><div><br /></div><div>"Hm, all the answers are right," I said as I turned to write a short list on the board, "This leaves two options. One, everyone did the homework. Yay! Two," I paused and turned around for effect, "the other class told you the answers."</div><div><br /></div><div>They all booed and hissed. Of course they didn't cheat, they said. I reminded them that I was a student for sixteen years. "I know," I enunciated. I told them that I really didn't want to have to make different quizzes for every class, but I would if I had to. They didn't like that very much. It took me a minute to collect myself as I was reading through Gatsby, I fumbled over the words, still feeling pangs here and there. <i>Do i just shrug it off? </i>I thought as I read the book aloud, <i>Is forgiveness the answer here? </i>I still have trouble discerning my heart (as Ryan would say): was I only upset because of my insecurity as a teacher? Am I allowed to be angry with them? How does my forgiveness towards them effect how I take measures to keep them from cheating again? No matter the reality of how I was hurt, the fact remains that I took it personally. Certainly, I have learned a basic lesson in teaching (in China): don't trust students just because they giggle and swoon when you smile at them. They want to get by without doing the work just as much as I did in high school, even if they are college students.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>The cheating aside, I have felt more comfortable teaching these past few weeks. Finally, this week the students seem excited about reading Gatsby. They want to see what happens when Gatsby and Daisy meet "accidentally" at Nick's for tea (my favorite chapter). I'll end with my favorite line from the book: Nick is hovering around Gatsby's elaborate library as Gatsby and Daisy sit together on the sofa, allowing reality to flirt with, but eventually fall short of, their dreams:</div><div><br /></div><div><i>No amount of fire or freshness can challenge what a man stores up in his ghostly heart.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div><i>------------------------------------------</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div>I have donned a mustache for almost two weeks now and the students have taken notice. General dissatisfaction is the response from my girl students. Chinese girls don't much like facial hair, especially on the upper lip. Except for one. Lily sent me this text message immediately after leaving my class this Monday:</div><div><br /></div><div><i>Jon, I like your moustache, which make you more handsome and maturity. </i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div>Sweet victory.</div><div><br /></div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfHiM8bJz_lpLJGLYdp-6c2cfMxjRnsIz1AYxNPWVEgMpmu1nxOCT75pEcgQ8xQJnW5c5TChjHVVmTyJZleU7p3XxqNCc01LQCwoZWIlcrP3w-F00zO3_vf39l4WT2u26nlfyUkF6ZoFmM/s400/IMG_0297.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5398428213598712610" /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Notice the pants. and the awkwardness.</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></div>Jon Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16932025864650980480noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7787547016054468356.post-88376409159130607872009-10-14T03:11:00.000-07:002009-10-16T09:29:13.560-07:00something there is that doesn't love a wall<img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2428vuo6sDyhdnbNwBNBggoKKbWnIEDk4cYpSVKq6kdsFJJGgjKl1ezTrxCA2YQ4ljVb3ne71IiQwl1bgPurd0GsvgFNG_u2oshMQx0zS_pdOjYcvlc6q0sUeD5YoW_T-uvktuMCU5sOK/s400/IMG_3170.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393228687096570242" /><div style="text-align: left;"><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia">I'm not sure what Robert Frost was talking about. The greater the wall the better, I always say. And it doesn't get any greater than The Great Wall itself. It was almost embarrassing telling people that I had <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">lived</span> near Beijing for 10 months and had still never been to the massive wall. But now the monkey is off my back and I'm a real man, according to Chinese culture. "<span style="font: 16.0px STSong"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;">不到长城非好汉</span></span>" <i>bu dao chang cheng fei hao han</i>. “He who does not reach the Great Wall is not a true man.” My classes were all impressed when I spoke it to them, after I had unbuttoned my dress shirt to show the meaningful "I CLIMBED THE GREAT WALL" shirt I was donning underneath. The Great Wall is truly massive; it stretches nearly four thousand miles, and we only hiked on it for five hours. Some of our hike was devastatingly steep, like a ladder, but those inclines were mostly climbed the night of our arrival, either dimly lit by the setting sun or by our fluorescent headlamps. Our second day on the wall was generally easy, save for a few breaks in the Wall that we had to surmount. Oh, by the way, we slept on the Wall. That's right: on it. Our menu for the trip included: tuna sandwiches, homemade Chinese chex mix, Great Wall brand red wine, donuts (actually called 'donitas'), and a tiny Snickers bar (thanks, Kerry!).</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia; min-height: 19.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia">That was the most eventful part of my National Day holiday, a weeklong break in classes to celebrate new China's 60th anniversary. There was an ornate parade and military exhibition on TV that I missed; I was wasting my time watching a Redskins game instead (Dan Snyder has made a cuckold me, of all of us). But I did see the replay. President Hu JinTao stood presidentially out of an open sunroof of a black car as it rolled past all of the formations of soldiers and workers and humungous missile launchers, shouting, "Hello, comrades! You work too hard!" The regiments shouted something back about it "being for the people" after Hu Jintao's exclamation.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia; min-height: 19.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia">Speaking of holidays, I've got another five day break in class coming up including this weekend. I'm off to Beijing this weekend to cheer Ryan on as he runs the Beijing Marathon; then it's back to school for a two day "Sports Day," during which I will cheer on more runners (I'm not ready for primetime yet).</p></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>-----------------------------------------</div><div><br /></div><br /><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiyex1QDFt354DFeYf05gdGJN4-OiVVLialQ3c3O0TZhipHfDPQvBCwmFKb7g1shM5NDposujUxp66KvQCU96oYm4OU2vvTzWQlIw0n5FEZ0xgQGkSqGXHoVYpnweEArlgJiitJAOzu_gg/s400/IMG_0120.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393230263789199138" /><div><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia">As Tim chronicled on his <a href="http://timphillipsinchina.blogspot.com/2009/09/sorry-about-mess.html">blog</a>, we got mopeds. We set out to buy full-blown motorcycles, but after learning the specifics of Chinese motor law, we down-graded and bought the next best thing. My bike will go 50 mph if I push it, which originally sounded like a con to me, but after driving in Chinese traffic for a month, it's definitely a plus. I'll just say that the traffic here is a little wilder than in the US and speed is the least of my concerns, another reason why you'll never see me riding without a helmet. The new experience of driving in China has taught me some new Chinese words, but just as in the states, I always have to learn the hard way; for example, the difference between the words, <i>chi you </i>and<i> chai you</i>: gasoline and diesel. Even after seeing my buddy, Cameron, make the mistake of filling his bike with diesel first-hand, I misunderstood the gasman at the gas station and successfully puttered out on my way home a week ago. It was in the exact spot Cameron's bike broke down. I admit, I let more than a few expletives fly behind my yellow-tinted face shield as I walked it home. Thankfully, I was only about a mile away from home. A couple days later one of my friends from Tim's school, Kevin, came over to help me fix my bike, syphoning out the diesel and adding some of his syphoned gas into my bike. It turned out to be a good excuse to hang with him. We found out that we have something in common: our futures our uncertain. He graduates this winter and will look for a job in the south. If this is my last year in China, I'll head back west to find a job, really far west.</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia; min-height: 19.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia">Kevin's not the only student I might not see much of over this next year. My good friend Jack from last year is now in Beijing, toiling. Vince might go back to his hometown a couple hours to the north after this semester to find work. And who knows with Robert; we've already had a handful of goodbye dinners for him, but he always seems to come back to Baoding. The reality of my time here is unsettling; it truly is but a breath. And yet that breath is invigorating. Each moment is an opportunity to trust in the "future grace" of our Father. Thanks, John Piper!</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia; min-height: 19.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia">But now for something completely different:</p></div><div><br /></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiNkfkE-iTBX55MstcRlQJPk1MH8cairJh_-l3EPQHCFFemcbgtKk34iJ9JeERNDTnyDD70IKc3gngFweeiSTLN5RukMjB9nZsjBH2Z82y4Q8OKlpeFz9q9ylTkW3yVuiLjhLDUK9hcfyf/s400/IMG_0284.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393230729976947938" /><div><br /></div><div>Look closer... that's right, those are cigarettes in the grabber machine. Life is beautiful, isn't it?<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></div>Jon Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16932025864650980480noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7787547016054468356.post-28589164250301206272009-10-09T03:22:00.001-07:002009-10-09T08:09:16.557-07:00leave me a massage<img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGafphXpXGJ6xRNSnSz2vo50K8JXBPb6HgPIfYutEQJZhyDwlkMBDrnV9Jp2kZXhyp4hnOnp8-SkH5yWFrrIGXwNaiQmPx1Rm7M5IvRWP7R4sfR19K5mPhBaelKDYrelbOi2-pRXJ8dr-4/s400/IMG_0275.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390611515703287538" /><div style="text-align: left;">Getting massaged in China is good for so many reasons. Chief among them, of course, is they give you really flowy pajamas to wear that hearken you back to Saturday mornings in front of the tube watching Eek the Cat and X-Men. Not to mention, it feels good to have someone use their fist as a billy club and nail you in your lower back, over and over, which, thankfully for me, does not hearken back to childhood days. It's nice to pay less than $10 for 2 hours of full body mincing. It's also nice to lay on your stomach while someone suctions cups of fire onto your back and it's even nicer when your masseuse comments on how white your butt is while she's doing it. The procedure, <i>ba huo guan, </i>is supposed to suck the cold out of your body, and the darker the circles left on your back, the worse your health is. After seeing my red circles, I was told my health was <i>li hai</i> (great), while Ryan's was <i>bu tai hao</i> (not too good). Ryan's masseuse also told him to not leave China.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">"Don't leave," she said in Chinese, "You can find a wife here<i>."</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div>This isn't the first time a woman has told us that. Last year the woman who sweeps the area around the campus lake told us not to go anywhere. There are plenty of girls here, she told us. Our visit to the masseuse was also a nice gauge of our Chinese speaking abilities. I was able to actually carry a superficial conversation with my masseuse, whereas last year we relied solely on our Chinese friend in the room. She didn't like, however, when I told her she was being too rough in Chinese (and with a little Charades). Her smile faded into an instant frown. I was sure to tell her once she continued that it was very <i>shu fu</i> (comfortable). All the masseuses in the room were from our city, Baoding, except for mine. She grew up in Shanghai. I asked her how she ended up in Baoding, hoping she would say true love or something romantic.</div><div><br /></div><div>"I ran out of money," she told me. </div><div><br /></div><div>I guess Chinese yuan burns as hot in your pocket as dollars do.</div><div><br /></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz6mLGOlS5AP21dNQnaLCn_ag7N7fWXmeMdltvo86mnWx3lz6n1bEW5m5v9ipoVxRIHq1ohFp3Xq99AzCoSRC-KMKl3__Og2oUk3Ij8GU0QHO5y6YqjhD3gqT0TmOWtDO1HIWSMAkE9urH/s400/IMG_0270.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390611176012563970" /><br /><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMxNkp7R5u4TSNDr646V4ODADf44Dlfm9uDGHmfFfWz3picV0eXzVNI_wk1Gm7mgKMb8qR32ie3PmhX_fPFHXqxIxYWyyv393u37PMesXREC5TJ3chqOmg_pDwCt2r_q1yAM8UkLLmNmEn/s400/IMG_0271.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390611002052079154" /><div><br /></div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfFmqAjhp1l_lMCzYKaY9aBzRCLn6XD3D3HLHWWcplkOCYjjdO-gKSS34faAmLZUfBuDltLuCwqGgw5p7QvOmtwPa45078vexQxurpcyaih0-lvBZkMQhL1uqsj6bfuamncB_gpaErKmue/s400/IMG_0273.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390610816880384882" /></div><div><br /></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiraHXxADXkb968nXbQ-TZu1r-Fh5cfesuCNLt4RucfrdA2Gg2EZfjn9_Htgw4dL4mX-KDhfNxKDOEHr9hP-JycNvkIO1oFwHMxHIxzCX7ZNxSomBU05524JvsrnMZ14l4AIGSzfFGFEjbl/s400/IMG_0279.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390610579839722194" />Jon Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16932025864650980480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7787547016054468356.post-79761776756840674652009-10-03T07:45:00.000-07:002009-10-03T09:41:00.334-07:00one goal to rule them all<img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD0MQgi3_QXfLVOscjakryyFyCzGQkI9w_N0NjrAgQUQgoBv0u-nyVnbzvKyyTKQ1OBURZNnrfqVn1OnPLOV7AZejr0pe7C3Vt-JpcQvz6SlbMsIx07n0YFcfCpl1G1oo4T0mBtBtwSmMB/s400/DSCN2274.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388409533132096642" /><div style="text-align: left;">It was the 2nd half of the semi-finals in the inter-department soccer tournament. It was 1-1 with little time left and several of us were bleeding. You could feel the simultaneous disbelief and hope among the English department players. My shin was bleeding after diving to cover up an errant ball in front of an empty net. It was only our 4th game together, marking my 4th game of goal keeper experience, ever. We were one of two teams to make it out of our 4 team division, by winning two of our first three games, the 2nd victory coming against the vaunted Finance department. Vince didn't care about anything after that.</div><div><br /></div><div>"No one expected us to beat them!" he reminded me several times, "No one will remember the champion, but they will remember that the lowly English department defeated the Finance department."</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>In fact, Vince was so sure we'd lose to the Finance department that he told Ryan and me that he would become an X-tian if we did.</div><div><br /></div><div>"So, this is like your baptism," Ryan told him at the end of the game. Vince smiled back. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Vince is the most passionate player I've ever seen. If a team could win on sheer emotion, we would just send Vince out there, 1 vs. 11. Every header is followed by a yell, and every on-coming defender is met with a battle cry and a road block. He might not be the most skillful player on the field, but he makes up for it with adrenaline and will. After I dove to save the errant ball in the 2nd half of the semi-finals, Vince screamed, "Yeah!" and picked me up off the ground. That moment was one of the reasons I had grown to love the goalkeeper position. I don't know how I had missed it my whole life. You mean, I get to be the last line of defense? I get to react to shots and use my hands? Put me in! During the first game I had let two goals go in, the first of which was obviously my fault. But I learned and I grew. The next two games I didn't allow any in. Of course, it helped that the fields and goals were smaller than normal size and I can reach my hands above the post. That aside, I felt capable, but I soon experienced the down-side of playing on an island: capability doesn't preclude culpability.</div><div><br /></div><div>During the final minutes of the tied game, there was a foul just outside my goal box. It was a routine indirect kick. Three of our players lined up as a wall in front of the kicker, several other players marked men in the box, and I sank into my ready position. The only option for the kicker was over the wall and I was ready. The whistle blew, players scurried and jostled. The ball flew over the heads of our defensive wall. <span style="font-style: italic;">I got this, </span>I thought. The ball sank like a slider and I put my hands in between my legs to block it and before the ball arrived I started to think about a counter-attack. I looked up to see where our attackers were so I could get them the... the ball! It hit my hands but didn't stop. It dribbled behind me like an out of gas marathon runner stumbling across the finish line. My teammates turned away. I closed my eyes. Vince. Oh no. And in a moment my luck had run out. The game ended and I apologized to my teammates. Vince later sent me a message to assuage my guilt:</div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUYY0HyWmxnihufBBvfsQFFTf93FH6gOQF5i6CAHDyVHyjO3WxepN-KTRnRkIb24Llwg-D6p_MHbSnFGP38UvcawmCmmdqu4hmIKcZY1TYz-h6ukN45bCyiWksrqmeZLWi9jVid6kbt1EO/s400/IMG_0236.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388412730016744114" />"nice play today, you have saved us from hell many times. we can't stand here to play without you. we're proud of you. remember my friend. we're a team. we win as a team. we lose as a team. we still got one more game to play tomorrow. one more game to win."<br /><br />The cliches meant more this time than they ever did. Unfortunately, we lost the consolation game. A 1-1 tie that ended in a shoot-out. Our players missed, their shots were perfect corner blasts and I froze like an oak tree in the face of each one. We got 4th place. That night the team met for dinner at the on-campus restaurant with cases of beer to consume. Luckily Ryan and I were able to avoid the binging because we already had other plans. We celebrated with them for about a half hour, made speeches, took pictures. All of the players were either my old students or my current students and most of them are poor students. It was a blessing to be able to have fun with them and show them I cared outside of class, so that when I shush them in class and tell them to do their homework they'll know I still like them.</div><div><br /></div><div>Ryan and I agreed: it's a gift to be able to have something you love coincide with the Father's plans. I played 5 games in 8 days and loved every bit of it, and through our fun, students were cared for, love was shown, we became closer with Vince. Who knows whether he'll keep his word (I think he will), but I love that he felt the freedom to joke with us about our beliefs. This experience has given me the freedom to dream. I have passions and interests for a reason and it's up to me to dream about them and show up, asking for and expecting opportunities. The Father will do the rest.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSvDoJ6pSmogXmYuA0azSWtz8LuBW3sI4ygfcEkpIjdVC28znaYvg_5kXfcCIpWGwfd4O5bZT4RdVGEzRRHJ38BWKPtjsfwqgg0UZEFubHUn_RRHP9xG8LIOgkMN5yNNaPF20qi9NCy8-g/s400/IMG_3058.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388412351979268818" /><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div></div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaTyUIK90Eu_kCXKbYUjnXhBrACVBXHA-PoQGX7tyMEvSocCrnC-mI3tdddXn-PgRxMYP7rakOO27-4lJVZjT4jmyd6sxmn5WA_rWZhdHne0SL3n7Ji4IyA-DdTKGtG3gj_y-V7c3FlALN/s400/IMG_3057.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388411524297334194" /><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9_16INboG48nG9zSaDWQnyYWBQcd0nmtrTnmzPAzF4CxbPeQCTwHUYIOX2i8_VthDb9dacNZmh8uZvpCzUPf8aLmIzy6fKGh8kF4H8LYk2azXeukDxDQwSTd_FR6OVByOuUrYSuNGsOgF/s400/DSCN2256.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388410872113753170" /></div><div><br /></div>Jon Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16932025864650980480noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7787547016054468356.post-89519952497522095862009-09-28T04:58:00.000-07:002009-09-28T07:30:19.851-07:00my face is a certificate<img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi29GZlFZsPphVCI2YFm-YD8My04oh22MVSMO4zpwkc_bwp2BA90aBA24ADcO4opuB0oXos0uozm4vh_nsdGT7aWFbQky-iwux8H6BEOWnVrcDJKk5IExplaj90cbw6GwyMW7MVhXWM0S9r/s400/eleven...+094.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386508977426309138" /><div style="text-align: left;">If only they knew. I'm just an average joe back in the states. In fact, I've been told a handful of times that I actually look like "Average Joe" from the reality TV show. But they keep staring and pointing and the girls keep giggling. The fringe life of a pale-skinned American male in China has been magnified this year by my move onto campus, and that my new on-campus apartment is bracketed by two all girls dormitories, each of which can see right into my kitchen and bedroom when my curtains are drawn. It's quite a wake up call when I roll out of bed and shuffle into the kitchen for coffee in just my boxers and slippers. Whoops, looks like I forgot again that there are literally a thousand freshman girls out my kitchen window (5 floors, 6 students to a room).<i> </i> I met a girl named Emma the other day who told me she had already seen me before.</div><div><br /></div><div>"You live in building #8, Emma? I live in #9. So close!" </div><div><br /></div><div>"Oh yes, I have you seen you in your window many times."</div><div><div><br /></div><div>Not to mention that three of my six classes are all girls, 50 in each. Even though my junior students are less impressed with a foreign teacher than my freshmen were last year, I still hear random snaps from cell phone cameras while I teach. Teaching all girls has had its perks so far. They're more eager to participate and seem more comfortable being themselves, whereas the girls in my other classes don't express themselves as freely, as the boys will joke them for girly comments. And it is always a bigger hit in the all-girls classes when I'm showing pictures of my life and I say, "Do you want to see a picture of one of my handsome friends?" When I hold it up some girls are nearly bursting through their desks with their arms outstretched (they loved Christian's faux senior picture from our trip to Colorado). All this to say that while I'm far more comfortable in my second year as a teacher at the Hebei College of Finance, the school, in many ways, hasn't changed towards me. They still haven't recovered from my initial arrival a year ago. I stand out as much now as I ever did; jogging around the track (that's right, I do that now), eating a bowl of noodles, buying a bottle of water in Chinese. But standing out does have its perks.</div><div><br /></div><div>Yesterday one of my students from last year, Peter, came over to help me go change my cell phone plan... about 4 hours early. He came over at ten in the morning, just before the rest of our IECS team was to arrive for our Sunday morning family time, and he brought Jessica with him, also one of my old students.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>"I'm busy now, Peter,"I said, "I can go around 3 pm this afternoon. Is that okay?" I had already told him yesterday that I wanted to go at that time. They both seemed disappointed. I didn't understand. At 2:59 pm they came back, this time with one more friend named Judy. <i>I thought we were just going to the campus phone store... why the big group? </i>I thought. They stood there looking a little embarrassed, and they peered at me with big puppy eyes. Peter chimed in.</div><div><br /></div><div>"They very much want to leave school," he pleaded, "can we do this in the city?" </div><div><br /></div><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9fGSPrMhTb0JCqSEWvGCo8EprtkmMOrpmDdvAF3PM4amh_3TEmLfM1dwtvexCLRroThv0LtzQVHo81j5pQHL_ZyrqFDWwdMZfS_X3N2ghKRLEwRnFy1OZqzz9L4vEfPx-4ImY5Xw55NqS/s400/IMG_0094.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386510564439924178" /><div>Immediately I understood. The students aren't allowed to leave school due to the swine flu. They need special certificates signed and stamped in order to leave. Some of the students take drastic measures, like Peter, who will climb over the fence with his friends in a secluded corner of campus. Vince, a close friend, works in the administrative office and was left with nothing to do one night for enough time to rummage through all the cabinets looking for the certificates. He found them, made about ten copies for himself, found the official red stamp, and signed and stamped them. He has considered making a business out of it. But for the most part, the students are stuck at school and are bored out of their minds. They flock around the campus pond and just sit there, looking lost. Every day at the gates you can find boyfriends and girlfriends holding each other through the bars, giving each other gifts, as if it were some kind of prison. <i>You just hang in there, baby, we'll get you out of here soon enough. Eat your greens! </i>I looked at how helpless Jessica and Judy were and I knew I was their only hope. My plans for the day flashed before my eyes; class for the next day was</div><div> still largely unplanned and I was tired. </div><div><br /></div><div>"Alright," I said with playful reluctancy, "we can go off-campus." </div><div><br /></div><div>"Yeah!" the girls exclaimed.</div><div><br /></div><div>Their plan was to go with me to the phone store and then go off and do some shopping. As we approached the school gate there was a handful of incredulous security guards, screwing up their eyes at us. We walked right through. One of the guards questioned the girls as we walked by and I told him, "yi qi," (we're together) in hopes that my broken Chinese would be endearing and help them forget all the beaurocracy. He smiled and waved.</div><div><br /></div><div>"That was easy, huh?" I said to them.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>"Yes, it was," Jessica responded, "it's because your face looks like a certificate."</div><div><br /></div><div>I've been called many things, but a certificate, that's new. </div><div><br /></div><div>--------------------------------------</div><div><br /></div><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiRizXIhGtGj51r3zgsI97nPDos0yTm4ZtHz8SnkOivEqqsX_et3WePv-xxCIZ91L159Z6qKwQfe2AR7k9ds8mFnfRx-iRgDFD51qDtWSw7Hw2VO5H8hnJr7mQ0tntseCoB4C-1rUJQ3Ah/s320/Gregs+21!+015.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386521342860875618" /><div>On a side note, after I showed the picture of handsome Christian to my first class last week, I followed it up by trying to show them another handsome friend. After</div><div> the first picture, they were eager to see what else I had. </div><div><br /></div><div>"Want to see another handsome friend?"</div><div><br /></div><div>"Yeah!" Girls were already reaching for the picture.</div><div><br /></div><div>"This is Chris."</div><div><br /></div><div>This time, they frowned. The mustache doesn't do it for the Chinese girls. So, I playfully withheld the picture from them. </div><div><br /></div><div>"What's wrong with Chris? Well then, you don't get to see him!"</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>In China you can be fairly sure that if one class doesn't like something, the rest will feel the same way; so, each class since I've played the same game. After they are disappointed by the mustache, I angrily put the picture back into my album and they laugh. This morning, after seeing the picture, one of the girls yelled, "terrible!" and everyone laughed. So, I angrily withheld the picture, but I must have played it too well. Tonight I got a call from Sunny who apologized for saying that my friend looked "terrible."</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>"Maybe I have been in a bad mood this morning and I felt guilty," she told me, "So I'm very sorry. Actually I do think he is handsome!" </div><div><br /></div><div>I couldn't help but laugh as I forgave her. I told Sunny I would tell Chris that she thought he was handsome. </div><div><br /></div><div>------------------------------------------</div><div><br /></div><div>Here's a shot of a couple separated by bars (it's hard to be conspicuous when you're as white as I am in China. They looked right me when I took it):</div><div><br /></div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaEJQISBXPO7OhqfITC27inS6SrAz5Gpkfijl1JohVTL1Pw0wmTzfMIogsZvY8cuOXFXzdHpS-jOqL3ziYlBrK3-L3ZRmA9jnm0Twy1q9YLRf-cz9nMUUB_E8k2uyktLiYytilahfBFCIQ/s320/IMG_0131.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386523677934026258" /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><div><br /></div><div> </div></div></div>Jon Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16932025864650980480noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7787547016054468356.post-38762722275824547982009-09-13T20:47:00.000-07:002009-09-13T21:27:19.427-07:00where is my mind?I'm finally going to China, at least as far as I know. I received my Visa invitation in the mail on Friday and tomorrow I'm heading to the Chinese Embassy in DC to get my Visa. Tuesday I'll fly. If all goes as planned, which it probably won't (not pecimism), I'll be in China on Wednesday. I'll be bombarded by students on arrival, the vast majority of whose names will have left me. Hopefully, they won't take it personally. There are a few students with interesting English names I will remember though, like Loretta, Sunshine, God... seriously, his name is God and He'll be my student this year. I'll be sure to teach Him with reverent fear. <div><br /></div><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq3fe0qr8zNsQhvD7rGDMMkeGXUPFlIgDApRVGbsZicg72F3RvupUnjwN_IS-1fUJJ7A2JtFNxRa0b_3HH3X7A5w-JwQcyT80QuK5a2ltV9uP-AOaYvSmqpH7TnTRm3g2Ca1uCrUXFk9xj/s320/emptyurmindcz5.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381174942426718834" /><div>One of the reasons I'm so excited to go is that I think part of my mind is already there. I think Tim and Ryan must have stowed a piece of it in their carry-ons when they flew over two weeks ago. I haven't slept well since they left and sometimes I've even found it hard to think clearly. Like today, for example, I was describing my birthday to my friend in China on Skype and I had to pause after I wrote, "For lunch I ate a..." I couldn't think of the word. I sat thinking. <i>What the heck kind of sandwich was that? </i>I could still taste it. There<i> </i>were a couple people sitting around me, but I was embarrassed to ask them to help me remember a sandwich meat that starts with 'P'.<i> </i>I actually googled "best sandwich meats" for help and I finally found it: pastrami. Anyway, I hope to be in one piece when I get there and that I'll stay that way for the foreseeable future. </div><div><br /></div><div>---------------------------</div><div><br /></div><div>I was showing my Aunt and Uncle some videos from China yesterday and I realized that there were still a couple I hadn't made public. So, here are two skits we performed in the Spring. The first is the classic chef skit where the chef's arms aren't actually his, but the guy's behind him inside his oversized t-shirt. You know the one. I pretend to have a French accent as Tim's flailing arms protrude from my armpits, knocking things over and covering my face with peanut butter. Half of the skit is me describing to Tim where certain items are on the table, which never seems to get old. On a side note, Tim can barely breathe inside the jacket I'm wearing and is sweating profusely. Just after the video ends, Tim's slippery hands try to pick up a glass bottle of hot sauce, which slides right out of his butter fingers and smashes all over the floor. The students were very concerned. I made a joke about how dropping the lajiao (hot sauce) is very bad luck. Apparently, they didn't get that I was kidding; later, a couple of students asked me if that was really true. We also didn't practice. We performed it at our English Night. The second video is another skit we performed at an English talent event in front of a good 300 students. It's the Middle School Play. You know the one. Look for Ryan's dramatic fall in the 2nd act. </div><div><br /></div><div>The Chinglish Kitchen</div><div><br /></div><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/RIEhGU8pNS8&hl=en&fs=1&"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/RIEhGU8pNS8&hl=en&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><div><br /></div><div>Middle School Play</div><div><br /></div><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/z8y-s32RWGw&hl=en&fs=1&"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/z8y-s32RWGw&hl=en&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>Jon Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16932025864650980480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7787547016054468356.post-45136210054488468312009-09-10T21:40:00.000-07:002009-09-11T22:11:20.265-07:00china delayI was supposed to leave on August 27, but it's two weeks later and I'm still sitting in my old bedroom in Norfolk. The reason I'm not in China has to do with my Visa. For some reason, it expired; no one can tell me why, but it has. For much of my two week hiatus I've been sitting on my thumbs waiting for a package to come in the mail from China. The package is like the flick of the finger on the first domino. Once it comes several things can happen, ending with my arrival in Beijing, which will begin my ten month stint. It seems my wait will come to an end tomorrow, at least that's what the Post Office told me. Apparently, they're tracking it. Today I checked the mail at least four times before it arrived. When it did, I found something like a practical joke:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEaIKRTN7B_3YaVHjVGTVlECittRSMHc4HVuhdTMVfy1AmgDf0bi2Tm0HVavNOthb_NQeWgdHTEiOYWyOBPcXJZokqdK1oE2GDWt6FZnNRO85EFjtol8zYWAgwJnvmswzbIOf0LmnBbYrQ/s1600-h/IMG_0078.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEaIKRTN7B_3YaVHjVGTVlECittRSMHc4HVuhdTMVfy1AmgDf0bi2Tm0HVavNOthb_NQeWgdHTEiOYWyOBPcXJZokqdK1oE2GDWt6FZnNRO85EFjtol8zYWAgwJnvmswzbIOf0LmnBbYrQ/s400/IMG_0078.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5380069780803982370" border="0" /></a><br />Maybe this is China's way of telling me they don't want me back... <i>Yeah, here's your "Visa" to China!</i><br /><br /><div>During my extra America time I've spent a lot of money, mostly on an iPhone. With it I've been able to record the past two weeks. Here are a few <a href="http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2087279&id=33600296">highlights</a>.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Jon Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16932025864650980480noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7787547016054468356.post-36293591312135717702009-08-24T12:17:00.000-07:002009-08-24T14:12:06.107-07:00on vicodin*caution: graphic content*<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyNymjXOvWlniYyQ_DhSPLGaRJl6Kojq5BuLmOrdjrJWh1NwqY6Ejw-jQrFOcXE0rWamXJZccNhjLOo0hdQGp_InIjApjffVpvRehyphenhyphen2r7DZSb9IoPeyr8IsCOkdaDuUlDZILs9wBJIuvLz/s1600-h/vicodin2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 256px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyNymjXOvWlniYyQ_DhSPLGaRJl6Kojq5BuLmOrdjrJWh1NwqY6Ejw-jQrFOcXE0rWamXJZccNhjLOo0hdQGp_InIjApjffVpvRehyphenhyphen2r7DZSb9IoPeyr8IsCOkdaDuUlDZILs9wBJIuvLz/s400/vicodin2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373623853333048674" border="0" /></a>I'm currently naked, and have been for the better part of 4 days. I just showered for the first time in that span. Naked doesn't mean exposed; I have been wrapped in swaddling clothes for modesty sake. While I won't go into detail, I had surgery this past Friday, and it had to do with my bait and tackle. Everything's fine now, except that I've been on Vicodin ever since. A narcotic, in every sense of the word. One of the two active ingredients is acetaminophen, which I figured was the part of the tag-team that relieved the pain. Last night, in an effort to be normal again, I decided to just take Tylenol instead of Vicodin (mainly so that I could have a beer), hoping that the loopiness would go away with the pain. Unfortunately, whatever the surgeon did to me on Friday left me with formidable pain. The Tylenol didn't cut it; so now I'm back.<br /><br />Vicodin doesn't make me say funny things. It doesn't make me see apparitions. And it doesn't really knock me out. It's almost akin to having a few beers. Basically, it makes me care less. I do sleep more easily, but not because of the drug itself; I think it's because my scope of concern when I'm on the narcotic shrinks to the size of my bed, almost like Scrooge's bed-curtains he hides behind. And it might take the Ghost of Christmas Future ripping my curtains aside to convince me there was something more to care about. But I wouldn't say I am Scrooge, who might lack care for others; I'm not care-less, more like care-free. I've also enjoyed how great of an excuse it has been to do nothing. Of course, I am in pain and I can't really do anything even mildly strenuous, but I when need to, I'll ostentatiously play the surgery card. <span style="font-style: italic;">Yeah, sorry, I really wish I could go with you to hang out with all of those acquaintances; it's just the surgery, you know?</span><br /><br />The surgery was my first and it was scarier than I anticipated. The nurse was exhaustingly nice. When she learned I'm living in China, she asked me if I knew a neighbor of hers who was also living there. Fat chance. She poked needles into both of my arms, one for an IV and the other to draw some blood. Strike that, an asian nurse came in to take my blood when the other one wasn't there. Later, with my mom by my side, I was visited by the first ghost: the <em>Nurse</em> anesthetist. <span style="font-style: italic;">Boy, anesthesiologists are a bore, aren't they? Whenever I see one I end up falling asleep!</span> I wanted to use that one on him, but when he started to explain the procedure, he frightened me. Apparently they were going to give me an epidural.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR5ySDk6NN1M0fgQUmSOMsOioGhMP2RcDAkpTDlj5Ef7GP0S9O_bBUCC5N6arQBE7z-0Hpca_-zlX7pUmce5D8YnNBUp3LlObeh_NAKcUJuJRVOg8yYFQ4d3g8JfvIXQ-noXieGRHIs4_M/s1600-h/epidural.gif"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 316px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR5ySDk6NN1M0fgQUmSOMsOioGhMP2RcDAkpTDlj5Ef7GP0S9O_bBUCC5N6arQBE7z-0Hpca_-zlX7pUmce5D8YnNBUp3LlObeh_NAKcUJuJRVOg8yYFQ4d3g8JfvIXQ-noXieGRHIs4_M/s320/epidural.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373624327816567506" border="0" /></a>"We are going to stick a needle into the middle of your back, near the spine," he explained, "Then we'll ask you to arch your back, with the needle still in, and we'll put a catheter in through the hole we've made. After that you'll lose feeling from the waste down."<br /><br />"Boy, I just never thought I'd ever have to get an epidural," I said, mildly excited until I realized what this all meant, "So, during the surgery I'll be awake?"<br /><br />"We can give you some sedation so you might feel like taking a nap, but you'll be mildly alert."<br /><br />I'm pretty sure my eyes got bigger. <span style="font-style: italic;">Alert </span>was not one of the words I wanted to hear in the same sentence as surgery. But I trusted them and I signed the waiver. At least I could say I've had an epidural before, right? Then the second ghost came in. He was nice too, but he actually had good news.<br /><br />"So did you make your decision?" he asked.<br /><br />"Decision?" I was confused.<br /><br />"Yeah, did you want the epidural or general anesthesia?"<br /><br />"You mean I can just be totally out if I want to?"<br /><br />"If that's what you want."<br /><br />Hm. A huge needle in my arched spine and being alert while someone cuts me open OR falling asleep and waking up to the problem fixed.<br /><br />"I'll do the general."<br /><br />The third ghost arrived and was as calm, if not calmer, than the ghost of Christmas future. The surgeon explained the procedure once again and, whether it was the anesthesia dripping into my IV or the solemnity in his voice, I nearly fell asleep before he finished talking. Until he told me I couldn't drive for a week and a half. Lame. <br /><br />The surgery was easy, from my point of view. All I did was fall asleep. I remember them starting the drip into my IV, the surgeon leaving, then being carted back to the OR. I must have cracked some sort of joke about everyone's inexperience in the OR because all I remember is one of the nurse's laughing about it being all of our first times. Unless she was serious, which would mean that I made the right decision. I would hate to have been awake and hear someone say, "whoops." Hopefully nobody goofed in there. down there.<br /><br />-----------------------------------------------<br /><br />I'm going back to China on Thursday, September 3. Mark your calendars, America, things are about to get a lot duller once I leave.<br /><br />Tim and the rest of my team will be arriving a week earlier than I am. In case you don't know Tim, here's a picture of him. It's really recent.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCeJuf-KrE6CwrHoH0vkmB5KBsjbH4AwUBBqWAMtNiVIsfzIikpHZR93ZM6D1FBpZXqPkqH1S64m9XylRMjDW8ZJAlsIU4vBlkyCgh2WLkZtyn7kRyCtVzWE2QtWPjAcvmmMmSUWok29NU/s1600-h/Picture+1.png"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCeJuf-KrE6CwrHoH0vkmB5KBsjbH4AwUBBqWAMtNiVIsfzIikpHZR93ZM6D1FBpZXqPkqH1S64m9XylRMjDW8ZJAlsIU4vBlkyCgh2WLkZtyn7kRyCtVzWE2QtWPjAcvmmMmSUWok29NU/s400/Picture+1.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373626053486072946" border="0" /></a>Jon Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16932025864650980480noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7787547016054468356.post-34421005310328838412009-06-09T05:17:00.000-07:002009-06-10T21:38:35.824-07:00the student becomes the teacherThis week and next week I am sitting in front of around 300 students individually for an oral exam. This will, in total, take about 32 hours of my life. Yesterday I made it through my first 5 hours. I have asked my students to choose one of five questions and prepare to talk about it with me for five minutes. Easy. My purpose is for them to express themselves rather than memorize and recite answers. So far the conversations have been interesting. The favorite question so far has been: What makes China so special? Sometimes at the end of their answer I'll say, "You forgot to say the food!" One girl named Nancy took the cue and started talking about her favorite foods. She was aghast to hear that my favorite dumpling filling is egg and tomato. She had never had it before and she couldn't get over it. "Egg... and tomato?!" This is a popular Chinese dish, but when it comes to dumplings most Chinese are pretty convential: pork and a vegetable. Nancy's favorite was pork and cabbage. Many of the students educated me about their favorite parts of Chinese history and culture, and I was glad to listen.<br /><br />Some students chose to talk about how much they admire Chairman Mao Zedong, or Premier Zhou Enlai, the Chinese Premier during Mao's reign. One girl said she admired soldiers for their self-sacrificial attitudes. <br /><br />"I have to tell you, Jon," Sunny said to me at the end of her exam," I have a boyfriend and he is a soldier. But this is a secret! You can't tell anyone!<br /><br />"It's a secret that you have a boyfriend?" I asked her.<br /><br />"No, it's a secret that he is a soldier!" <br /><br />I have no idea why that would be a secret or why she would tell her teacher during an exam, but I was about 4 hours in at that point; so I didn't think about it too much. <br /><br />One part of Chinese history I learned more about yesterday was from my friend, Jack, over dinner. He began to explain what the Nanjing Massacre in the winter of 1937 meant to him. What ensued was an hour-long conversation about hatred, revenge, and forgiveness. Jack couldn't find it in himself to forgive the Japanese for what they had done, to the point of a sense of hatred for all Japanese people. He kept saying that the Japanese government is in denial and that if they asked for forgiveness, he would forgive them. I implored him to ask our Father about this. <br /><br />"If He says it's okay to hate them," I said, "then you can hate them. But don't hide this from Him." <br /><br />He said I couldn't understand how he feels, that I'm not Chinese. He's right, and the things that were done to his people were terrible, absolutely unmentionable things, but when does forgiveness takes place? Does it depend on the other party's asking for it? If we use Our Father as an example, forgiveness is usually a preemptive strike... This is something we all have to deal with in our lives. Jack's not the only one.<br /><br />If you don't know much about the Nanjing Massacre, I encourage you to learn about it. Some call it the "forgotten holocaust." But if you have a weak stomach, steer clear of the pictures or accounts of some of the things the Japanese did.<br /><br /><br />I'll see you in less than two weeks, America!Jon Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16932025864650980480noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7787547016054468356.post-55664128944600560242009-05-27T21:48:00.000-07:002009-05-29T09:49:57.597-07:00我很累了(I'm tired)<br />I awoke as my bedroom door creaked open. I rolled over to identify the intruder. Peeking his head in the doorway was Jack, one of my closest friends at school, and, as of a month ago. a new brother. He's also one of my favorite people in the world. But it was 8:30 on Saturday morning and I had just had one of the most people-ridden, tiresome weeks of my life. All I could muster was a groan and I just rolled back over. Jack got the message and quietly closed my door and left me there. I probably should have said something like, "hello," but I just couldn't do it. I just laid there, feeling invaded. The long week had started the previous Saturday with a surprise trip to Beijing. <br /><br />For several months, IECS had been preparing for three "English Weeks" in our three cities: Baoding, Lang Fang, and Tianjin. Dozens of Americans had raised thousands of dollars to make the two week trip; they had taken off work and prepared music and skits to perform, among other things (like buying me Tums and more mac n cheese). Our five man team in Baoding was preparing for their arrival as well. But then the Swine Flu came and for a myriad of complicated bureaucratic reasons all three of our English Weeks were prevented from coming to China. There was nothing IECS could do. Money was lost; time was wasted. It felt like a kick in the pants. Our IECS Director, Newt, had already arrived in China early before he knew that the trips were canceled. So in lou of the canceled English Weeks, Newt invited the IECS team to Beijing for a final gathering before the end of the year. It was a bittersweet time, the last time our team would totally be together. But it was like salve on the wound of the English Week cancellation and we were all grateful to reconnect. The Baoding team arrived in Beijing early on Saturday morning to take advantage of our time there. We visited the Olympic Square and went inside the Bird's Nest, which honestly felt more like an empty stadium than a historic playing field. But we made our own fun, as we always do. Unfortunately, we mismanaged our time at the Bird's Nest and at 2pm we were all starving... for American food. And we were all getting a little edgy. <br /><br />"If we keep talking we're just going to get angrier," Tim pointed out, "No more talking until we find the place where we're going to eat!" <br /><br />The rest of us liked the idea and consented. For a good ten minutes we just walked and pointed. We made the trek (no pun intended... you'll see) to an outdoor mall where we knew there was a lot of foreign options. We went to a few restaurants to check out their menus, still in silence. The waiters were more than a little confused. After several attempts at choosing a place with thumb-votes, Tim broke the silence in frustration. It was interesting to see all of the misunderstandings come out. Each person had different ideas in mind about how much to spend and what he wanted to eat, but we couldn't talk about it. Eventually we settled on McDonald's. We hadn't intended to eat there, but when we spotted the COLDSTONE in the mall we decided to save our money for desert and eat cheap. The other big surprise at the mall was the underground movie theater.<br /><br />"Oh man," I said to Tim, "if Star Trek is playing, I'm going to see it."<br /><br />We walked down the escalator in our excitement (running would overdo it... it's an escalator) and there it was, a huge cardboard advertisement for Star Trek. We entered the clean, futuristic looking cinema and saw that it was playing, in a half hour. We rushed to Coldstone to get milkshakes and snuck them into the theater(I don't know what the Chinese rule about bringing your own snacks is, but we didn't want to risk it). It was awesome: the movie, the milkshake, the deafening sound, the science-fictionness, the dad in the front giving high-fives to his little sons at the end of the movie...<br /><br />That night and the next day our team celebrated being together with great food and good conversation. We essentially said goodbye to six of our team members, who aren't returning next year. The Boading team arrived back home that Sunday night with just enough time to go to bed. Here was my schedule for following week:<br /><br />Monday: Class and English Corner until 7:30pm, then English Night practice until bedtime.<br />Tuesday: Chinese class in the morning, English Night prep in the afternoon, and English Night at night (which was a huge success), then McDonald's again... it's an English Night tradition.<br />Wednesday: Class all morning, NT Wright reading assignment in the afternoon (for dude time the next day), then Team Dinner and Family Time at night.<br />Thursday: Class all morning, Dude Time in the afternoon, our friend Ken's birthday dinner, then a student-run English event at night called the "Flame Youth" (Vince's creation), in which we were participating in a few skits.<br /><br />I'll stop here.<br />The Flame Youth event ended a little later than expected (Vince even had to cancel his rendition of the "I Have a Dream" speech) at around 10pm, which meant I would be going to bed when I got home, just to wake up at 6:30 the next day to go back to school for class. So, Jack, the intruder form earlier (or later, depending on how you look at it), invited a few of us to stay in his dormitory. He said he had a couple empty beds and he could make more empty if we needed to, which we knew meant he would kick roommates out. Our friend Tony from Beijing was visiting us and decided he would stay with Jack (he was instrumental in Jack's decision to join our family), and so did Ryan. Now, I'm not one to miss out on a good sleep-over; so, despite my exhaustion and my expectation of a poor night's sleep in the dorm, and my fear that if I said yes it would mean that one of Jack's roommates would be sleeping outside on the concrete that night, I said yes. Jack was so happy; he couldn't get the smile to leave his face. He worked so hard to make our beds nice for us and to take care of us. It was a great time to be together. The electricity cut off at 11pm, as it does for every dorm on campus, and we went to bed. Around 11:30 I was about to drift off... when, all of a sudden, my good friend Tony beat me to the punch, audibly. He started snoring at a volume I've never witnessed before. I laid there trying to overcome the noise for about an hour and a half, when I finally achieved Nirvana. 6am came swiftly, and I wasn't happy about it, as the night of sleep seemed to do more harm than good. But breakfast in the cafeteria with the guys was well worth it. I used the experience to explain the word "snore" to my classes that day, which made them laugh. Most of them said they had roommates who snored, but none of them said they did. Hm...<br /><br />My day at school ended around 4pm and I met up with Tony and Tim in Tim's dorm at Hebei University to find Tony sprawled out in Tim's bed watching Max Payne on Tim's laptop. I quickly pulled out Hot Fuzz and told him to switch movies (I had just bought it). That night we went to a Spa, a long-overdue gift we had promised Tony as a Christmas present. We sat in the hot tub and sauna together, got massaged, and ate at the free midnight buffet. What a great time. It was relaxing, but I still longed for that sleep I'd been missing. That's why, the next morning, when Jack popped in my room at 8:30 I shrunk away. <br /><br />But our Father blesses us and meets, even in those times of exhaustion and bad moods. Scratch that: the boss meets us especially when we're tired and in a bad mood. Sometimes that's when he uses us the most. It's then when we rely on Him. All that he asks is that I be me, and He'll be Him. Somehow, after that tiring week, Jack and I are closer, and two other students, Jack's friend Billy and our friend Ken, have heard the Good News and are studying and considering what they've heard. Be thinking about them. Ken and I have talked a few times recently about the Father and he's got lots of questions.<br /><br />This weekend is the Dragon Boat Festival in China and we have Thursday and Friday off of school. About one billion people will be eating Zong Zi's, sweet rice and a date wrapped in a leaf triangle, to celebrate. Me? I got a good night's sleep last night; I just read for about an hour; I had cereal for breakfast and a bowl of Macaroni and Cheese for lunch. And I'm ready to go again.<br /><br />--------------------------------<br /><br /><br />This country is fickle about websites and it doesn't like blogger right now, which is why there's no media on this post... yet...Jon Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16932025864650980480noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7787547016054468356.post-91832364430909691112009-05-10T08:03:00.000-07:002009-05-12T01:56:36.890-07:00the media room<img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 330px; height: 219px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCxQd2ac3R_bYMfjaQaaOmadBXvfZgphxIht5_0Ew2EZs_6aWzZi__OuXvQP4UkFyeP_ze3kYwy6BxdjfY_rgMnvLsdVFPJtiNEcECxeuzNI2aAnPCIuNZ0fIBfTV_9VesA9qOxaTe6JNf/s400/rushmore.jpg.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334854217865828066" />"Ugh!" shouted Vince as we walked across campus, "I can't believe you can get a media classroom that easily! I have applied many times for a media room and I never get one!" Everyone knows who Vince is; he is one of the most important students on campus. He is the head of the Ministry of Study Affairs, a student union full of undercover brilliant students who would rather hold events, have ministry meetings, and study their own preferred subjects than study for their classes. Who can blame them? The majority of the students at Hebei College of Finance ended up at this school by failing to pass a few standardized tests that would have allowed them to attend the school of their choice. On top of that, many of them were forced into majors they didn't choose. It's a slippery slope in China. Once you don't pass the tests in high school, you don't get a choice in much of anything. But that doesn't mean you have to just sit and take it, or so Vince would tell you. You can create a slew of student unions and hold English speaking events until your head explodes instead. If you've ever seen Rushmore, Vince is Max Fischer, with a touch of Jack from the Newsies, always leading the charge against the establishment. Except that he doesn't do lasso-dance routines when he's by himself. Well, I guess I have no way of knowing that for sure...<div><br /></div><div>"You have to <i>apply</i> for a media room?" I asked him, confused. All I usually did was ask for one.</div><div><br /></div><div>Our walking pace quickened as Vince was trying hard to find something to blame for feeling slighted over never getting his media room, and I was trying to give him one: my white skin. </div><div><br /></div><div>"Sorry, man," I told him, "you know it's just because I'm a foreign teacher. All I do is call Ms. Zhao and she finds one for me. Listen, next time you want a media room I'll book it for you."</div><div><br /></div><div>I could see in his eyes that he didn't want my pity. But I felt sorry for Vince because the school does bend over backwards for me. Just last week I asked for a media room on Tuesday night for my classes on Wednesday morning by sending a text message to the head of our department, Ms. Zhao. She responded promptly by giving me a media room. I arrived there in the morning and put in the DVD I wanted to use. Nothing happened. I looked at the computer again. No DVD compatibility. Crap. I quickly called Ms. Zhao, explained the situation, and within ten minutes my students and I moved to a different media room with a DVD player. I then proceeded to show some movie scenes without subtitles for listening practice (Dead Poet's Society, Little Miss Sunshine, Hitch, Superman). Another victory for the <i>waiguoren (</i>foreigner).</div><div><br /></div><div>The next day things weren't so easy. I found out the night before that there was no media room available with a DVD player, only the one useless media room that I had tried that day. I could just see Vince grinning over a bowl of noodles, satisfied with his sabotage. But I wasn't going to let it defeat me. No DVD, no problem. I explained my predicament to Ryan, who conveniently teaches in the classroom next door. We had just heard an idea that day from our friend, Emily. Her parents had come to visit her for a couple weeks and she brought them to a few of her classes. They played a game where t</div><div>he students tested Emily to see how well she knew her parents. They asked her questions, and her parents wrote their answers down before Emily could answer. Emily then answered for her parents.</div><div><br /></div><div>At 9am that Thursday morning, during the class break, Ryan and I directed our students to the DVD-less media room that I had reserved, which had suddenly found its use; it holds 100 students, which was about exactly the number of our two classes combined. I wrote "How well do Ryan and Jon know each other?" on the board and we played. The students were on one team, their goal being to stump us, and Ryan and I wer</div><div>e on the other. The first question was predictable.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>"Does Ryan have a girlfriend," one of Ryan's students asked me. Everyone laughed. It's funny every time to them.<br /></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>"Ryan does not have a girlfriend," I answered with confidence. An easy point for us.<br /></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>"Okay, now who wants to ask me if Jon has a girlfriend?" Ryan asked the class after the laughter had subsided. They laughed again. One of my students named Christina stood up to ask a question. </div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>"How often every week does Ryan wash his hair?" she asked. Christina had apparently noticed that Ryan hadn't washed his hair that day, something she always seems to notice about anyone. Actually, the last two times I had seen Christina, she had told me, "I think it's time to wash your hair."</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>"Hm, I'm going to guess 3," I said. Ryan doesn't wash his hair that often.<br /></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Ryan held up his paper, which read, "2." One point for the students. </div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>One of Ryan's female students stood up. Most of the questions came from females.<br /></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span></div><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz0rjSogCUzY-wPs3aLEDj7lQiAu7zqs3YcpMk3kxiubpQjR4jWeTQHVEJEmufwgzDgJiIypY6i5sX-25PNZQ1OUcSBq0exexd9v-Iqv8FIHRIf3E23-8w5nsXNqBgTJi6rCRxbWY0lbP-/s400/1890421477_ecf1696f9c.jpg.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334858309897001330" /><div>"What's Jon's favorite movie?" she asked Ryan. This was a hard question, so the student decided to give Ryan a break. She said I could write down five movies and Ryan had two guesses to guess any of them. It was hard to be honest with my top-five list; I wanted him to guess one. So, I put Lord of the Rings, which we were both reading, and Superman, which we had watched in my class the day before. The result was unfortunate.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>"X-Men and... uh... Ace Ventura?," he said. One point for them.<br /></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>The game continued on with a few hard questions and a few easy ones. Ryan guessed my favorite quote correctly (found on the left side of this blog); I missed the age of Ryan's dog by one year; Ryan guessed that my favorite experience in life was either my trip to Newfoundland or my trip to Colorado/Oklahoma, both of which were great guesses. But I tried too hard with my answer, "Teaching in China." The last question was perhaps the funniest.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span></div><div>"What color underwear is Ryan wearing today?" Coco, Ryan's student, asked me. I remembered seeing a pair of black boxers hanging in our shower room recently. </div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>"Black!" I guessed. Ryan peaked in his shorts.<br /></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>"White." The class lost it.<br /></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>And so the game ended.<br /></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>The class: 13<br /></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Ryan and Jon: 11<br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">---------------------------------------</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicqUCseFBZHkMY5WZGvx-eWVLc25rCuBjmkWlrwT9byUaXkCQQJ86YeVTNmwcJDnL1v_BQF_BycdeFHHQ6tnVu_vS_3_8Zg2D2ZDAdlkgRwwjZbpnjz6HgTpCsxnTiEWbTihacLK8PYoQs/s400/Superman-1-Chris-Reeve.jpg.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334854071690561986" /><div style="text-align: left;">I love watching my students watch movies. The rest of that week, I decided to simplify my movie-viewing in my classes down to just one movie: Superman. I showed each class the rooftop interview between Lois Lane and Superman for listening practice, and instead of switching films like I had planned I just decided to let them watch more Superman. They knew very little about him, just that he rescues people. Most of my classes had big smiles on their faces when Superman took Lois for a ride over Metropolis. But their big reaction came when he first rescued Lois as she fell from the dangling helicopter. The laughed when Clark ran down the street and ripped his shirt open to reveal the bright red "S" on his chest. But they gasped when he caught Lois.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>"Don't worry, miss, I've got you," Superman tells her calmly.<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>"You've got me? But who's got you?!" Lois exclaims. They all laughed.<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>The helicopter then falls towards Superman and Lois. Instead of avoiding it, Superman flies right at it and catches it with one hand, his other arm occupied holding Lois.<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>"Wow!" many students gasped. A few of them even clapped. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">There's something in the innocent heart that jumps for joy over Superman. And somehow, the Chinese students still have that heart. Imagine a classroom of 50 American college students watching Superman. We're too cynical to react like them, even if we'd never seen Superman before. And even if we felt like they did, we wouldn't clap or say, "wow." Which is why I took hold of the chance to actually smile when Superman catches Lois. Because that's how I feel when I watch Superman; happy.<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div> </div>Jon Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16932025864650980480noreply@blogger.com2