allison wonderland

I'm moving this blog to Posterous

2010-07-07T14:49:00.000-07:00

I'm giving Posterous a serious test drive. Here's the new address: jonallison.posterous.com. 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.

You were fine, blogger. Thanks all the same. We'll just leave it at that.

life at ludicrous speed

2010-06-08T08:14:00.000-07:00

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".

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.

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.

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.

__________________________________

By the way, if you've ever wondered what my classes are like, this should give you a pretty good idea.

we ALL miss you, greg

2010-06-04T08:46:00.000-07:00

Every day I get the same question from a different student.

"Jon, I hear you're coming back (always instead of 'going back')to America, and that you're never 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.

"Yes, that's true that I'm going back to America," I say, with a bracing-for-impact expression on my face, "but never is a strong word."

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.

"Will you see Greg when you go home?" she asked (Ivy met Greg when he and AJ came to visit).

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.

"Can you please email me some pictures of you and Greg before you leave?" she asked in earnest.

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.

Ivy responded to my email by saying this:
"Do you mind if i share the pictures with some of my best friends?
And could you sent me more about your "silly" pictures? I want to make a photo album of ours."

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.

Don't be shy, ladies; it's okay to ask for silly pictures of Greg for a personal photo album of yours, too.

______________________________________

Also, here's a video of Greg throwing a snowball at a tiger:

the days are just packed

2010-05-22T19:55:00.000-07:00

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...

April 9-11
Beijing with the Phillips
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.

April 24-25
Dude's Weekend
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?

the old "boat in hand" trick (click on the pic to really experience the magic)

April 30-May 2
泰山 Tai Mountain
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!"

May 4
Self-Portrait
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.

May 5
Cinco de Mayo - Robata Pinata
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.)

May 7-9
North Face 10k in Beijing
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.

May 15-17
The Bossman comes
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.

May 22-now
English Week
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.

June 23
I go home.

solitary solidarity

2010-04-26T00:18:00.000-07:00

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.

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.

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 blog, 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.

"Have you told any students about this?" I asked Ryan.

"No."

"We usually pay for students when we eat with them," I said, "Are we allowed to treat you to a meal?"

"I thought about that. I don't know," Ryan replied.

"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."

"Yeah, I've thought about all this earlier today when I was blogging about it. I'm not sure."

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.

"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.

"You should tell Vince about this," I told Ryan, "he would love to give you advice on how to do this."

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.

"Vince strikes again!" he said, smiling.

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.

facebook stalkers beware!

2010-04-17T00:07:00.000-07:00

A couple weeks ago I joined 人人 (renren/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:

"Do you have QQ?" the student asks, giggling, hands over mouth (if it's a girl).

"No."

"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 eat?"

"No, sorry. I can give you my email address." I might as well have said, "No, but I do wear diapers."

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 (zhong wen/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 that 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.

"Recent Visitors"

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."

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?

Click for larger picture.

我 (wo/me)

that's no moon

2010-04-02T09:57:00.000-07:00

Our 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?

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.

"I've changed my Chinese name," he told me over pizza.

"Why?"

"Because I hate my father," he said without hesitation.

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.

Here's a video of us atop Moon Hill, high on altitude.

panda brawl!

2010-03-30T01:26:00.000-07:00

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!

Chameless

2010-03-14T08:14:00.000-07:00

Yeah, I'll have a Fenti cafe latte, thanks.

Wait, there's a Pizza Hut too?? Let's go in!

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.

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.

Unrelated incident.

you got served

2010-03-11T22:25:00.001-08:00

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 is this? You hold your chopsticks tentatively in the attack position. You want to look like you can't wait to dive in, like this 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 Baijiu 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.

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 Baijiu, 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 Baijiu, 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.

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.

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...

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.

"Alright, buddy, I'll see you after classes start!" I said, walking away.

"Uh!" he said loudly, "the bag?"

"Oh, of course," I said, handing it to him, confused, "Sorry I forgot." I assumed it was for me.

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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?"

"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.

"You can borrow it," he said.

"What? Are you serious?" I looked at him, searching his face for sincerity. It was there.

"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."

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...

Couldn't resist posting this: I took this picture of a picture of Young Ken and his parents. The cuteness continues...

Chinese Mexi-Dip

2010-02-25T07:37:00.000-08:00

We 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:

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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...

the deep south part 1

2010-02-19T20:10:00.000-08:00

"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."

"I'm a foreigner," I responded, "it doesn't matter," and spit anyway.

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!).

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?!)

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.

"I don't want to be an intellectual yuppy," Ryan said," just studying for knowledge's sake."

"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."

At this point I couldn't concentrate on the game and I interjected.

"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."

"I don't think there's a balance," Tony responded, "just the Holy Spirit."

I remained silent and drew and discarded tiles robotically for a while. Tony won again.

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.

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.

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!

when Sceviours attack

2010-02-16T19:19:00.001-08:00

"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...

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.

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.

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.

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.

(see left for more photos)

innocence makes the heart grow fonder

2009-11-26T19:22:00.000-08:00

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 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. Jiangxi, she said, which is in the south. I was right.

“You speak southern Chinese,” I told her in broken Chinese, “People from Baoding say bu sher, but you say bu suh.” (bu shi = no, it’s not)

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. What is he going to say?? they seemed to beg.

Another example. The same night after I left 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. My family’s story isn’t over, I told them, we are still growing. 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.

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 My Friends Over You.

In my younger and more vulnerable years

2009-10-30T08:21:00.000-07:00

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 The Great Gatsby all I heard was complaints. It's too hard, 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 real 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).

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. It is a hard book, after all, 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.

"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?"

The students were smilingly timidly; they don't really understand sarcasm, which only encouraged me to lay it on thicker.

"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."

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. Do i just shrug it off? I thought as I read the book aloud, Is forgiveness the answer here? 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.

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:

No amount of fire or freshness can challenge what a man stores up in his ghostly heart.

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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:

Jon, I like your moustache, which make you more handsome and maturity.

Sweet victory.

Notice the pants. and the awkwardness.

something there is that doesn't love a wall

2009-10-14T03:11:00.000-07:00

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 lived 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. "不到长城非好汉" bu dao chang cheng fei hao han. “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!).

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.

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).

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As Tim chronicled on his blog, 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, chi you and chai you: 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.

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!

But now for something completely different:

Look closer... that's right, those are cigarettes in the grabber machine. Life is beautiful, isn't it?

leave me a massage

2009-10-09T03:22:00.001-07:00

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, ba huo guan, 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 li hai (great), while Ryan's was bu tai hao (not too good). Ryan's masseuse also told him to not leave China.

"Don't leave," she said in Chinese, "You can find a wife here."

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 shu fu (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.

"I ran out of money," she told me.

I guess Chinese yuan burns as hot in your pocket as dollars do.

one goal to rule them all

2009-10-03T07:45:00.000-07:00

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.

"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."

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.

"So, this is like your baptism," Ryan told him at the end of the game. Vince smiled back.

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.

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. I got this, 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:

"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."

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.

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.

my face is a certificate

2009-09-28T04:58:00.000-07:00

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 met a girl named Emma the other day who told me she had already seen me before.

"You live in building #8, Emma? I live in #9. So close!"

"Oh yes, I have you seen you in your window many times."

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.

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.

"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 thought we were just going to the campus phone store... why the big group? I thought. They stood there looking a little embarrassed, and they peered at me with big puppy eyes. Peter chimed in.

"They very much want to leave school," he pleaded, "can we do this in the city?"

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. You just hang in there, baby, we'll get you out of here soon enough. Eat your greens! 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

still largely unplanned and I was tired.

"Alright," I said with playful reluctancy, "we can go off-campus."

"Yeah!" the girls exclaimed.

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.

"That was easy, huh?" I said to them.

"Yes, it was," Jessica responded, "it's because your face looks like a certificate."

I've been called many things, but a certificate, that's new.

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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

the first picture, they were eager to see what else I had.

"Want to see another handsome friend?"

"Yeah!" Girls were already reaching for the picture.

"This is Chris."

This time, they frowned. The mustache doesn't do it for the Chinese girls. So, I playfully withheld the picture from them.

"What's wrong with Chris? Well then, you don't get to see him!"

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."

"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!"

I couldn't help but laugh as I forgave her. I told Sunny I would tell Chris that she thought he was handsome.

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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):

where is my mind?

2009-09-13T20:47:00.000-07:00

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.

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. What the heck kind of sandwich was that? I could still taste it. There 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 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.

---------------------------

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.

The Chinglish Kitchen

Middle School Play

china delay

2009-09-10T21:40:00.000-07:00

I 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:

Maybe this is China's way of telling me they don't want me back... Yeah, here's your "Visa" to China!

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 highlights.

on vicodin

2009-08-24T12:17:00.000-07:00

*caution: graphic content*

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.

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. 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?

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 Nurse anesthetist. Boy, anesthesiologists are a bore, aren't they? Whenever I see one I end up falling asleep! 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.

"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."

"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?"

"We can give you some sedation so you might feel like taking a nap, but you'll be mildly alert."

I'm pretty sure my eyes got bigger. Alert 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.

"So did you make your decision?" he asked.

"Decision?" I was confused.

"Yeah, did you want the epidural or general anesthesia?"

"You mean I can just be totally out if I want to?"

"If that's what you want."

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.

"I'll do the general."

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.

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.

-----------------------------------------------

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.

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.

the student becomes the teacher

2009-06-09T05:17:00.000-07:00

This 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.

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.

"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!

"It's a secret that you have a boyfriend?" I asked her.

"No, it's a secret that he is a soldier!"

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.

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.

"If He says it's okay to hate them," I said, "then you can hate them. But don't hide this from Him."

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.

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.

I'll see you in less than two weeks, America!

我很累了

2009-05-27T21:48:00.000-07:00

(I'm tired)
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.

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.

"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!"

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.

"Oh man," I said to Tim, "if Star Trek is playing, I'm going to see it."

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...

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:

Monday: Class and English Corner until 7:30pm, then English Night practice until bedtime.
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.
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.
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.

I'll stop here.
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...

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.

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.

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.

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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...

the media room

2009-05-10T08:03:00.000-07:00

"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...

"You have to apply for a media room?" I asked him, confused. All I usually did was ask for one.

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.

"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."

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 waiguoren (foreigner).

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

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.

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

e on the other. The first question was predictable.

"Does Ryan have a girlfriend," one of Ryan's students asked me. Everyone laughed. It's funny every time to them.

"Ryan does not have a girlfriend," I answered with confidence. An easy point for us.

"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.

"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."

"Hm, I'm going to guess 3," I said. Ryan doesn't wash his hair that often.

Ryan held up his paper, which read, "2." One point for the students.

One of Ryan's female students stood up. Most of the questions came from females.

"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.

"X-Men and... uh... Ace Ventura?," he said. One point for them.

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.

"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.

"Black!" I guessed. Ryan peaked in his shorts.

"White." The class lost it.

And so the game ended.

The class: 13

Ryan and Jon: 11

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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.

"Don't worry, miss, I've got you," Superman tells her calmly.

"You've got me? But who's got you?!" Lois exclaims. They all laughed.

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.

"Wow!" many students gasped. A few of them even clapped.

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.

天安门

2009-05-04T07:42:00.000-07:00

(Tiananmen = gate of heavenly peace)

Friday, May 1st was International Labor Day. But you probably didn't know that, did you? That's because you live in America, one of only two countries in the world that celebrates Labor Day on a different day. Why? Because America can. And Canada can... tag along. After tossing around a few ideas, and having a few fall through, Tim, Ryan, Cameron, and I decided to go to Beijing for a couple days. According to common sense, it was the wrong weekend to go; Beijing is already chalked full of people, but especially on holidays. And it felt like every one of them climbed aboard the no. 9 bus with us as we left the train station Saturday morning. Where were we going? We weren't sure, which was the beauty of our visit; no plans. I needed to buy new shoes (I've never been able to say that my shoes "broke" before, but I'm pretty sure my foot's not suppose to stick out the side), and everyone else mostly just wanted to eat at Subway. I was the only one who had never been to Tiananmen Square during any of my visits; so I quickly shouted the idea out to everyone as we were passing it on the no. 9 bus. They sort of shrugged their shoulders and we got off the bus. Most of our decisions were made with the shrugging of shoulders. And here is what ensued:

9 - 10 am - Tiananmen Square, not only the biggest square in the world, but apparently the most bugged. Why they closed the viewing of Mao's body on such a busy day is beyond me.

10:30 - 11:30 - wi-fi @ Starbucks

12 - 1 pm - foot-long Subway Melt w/ 10 yuan Mt. Dew (you finally made it, MD!)

1 - 3 - shopping at a yuppy outdoor mall - I bought new cross-trainers

3 - 4 - walking in a circle for an hour

4 - 7 - reading, napping, drinking at the Bookwo rm, which was, unfortunately, a few hundred feet from where we started. Great bookstore, horrible online map. I loved the fact that there was a bar. It felt more right drinking a Gin n' Tonic while reading LOTR than coffee ever has.

7:30 - 8:30 - bloomin' onion & medium rare burger at Outback - truly novelty in China

9 - 11 - waiting at a riverside street of shops and bars for Tim's college friend to show up (she was on her own and kept having to borrow random people's phones to call Tim as she tracked us down)

11 - 2 am - chatting and walking with Tim's friend, Lisa, an English teacher in S. Korea

2:30 - 11 am- sleep

12 - fruitless search for more Mt. Dew (good grief, it's good)

2:30 pm - train ride home. My seat was next to a pair of cute Chinese kids squeezed together into one seat. It was a brother (9) and sister (11), whom I talked with the entire hour ride, instead of reading and listening to music, my original plan. You can't miss an opportunity to try out your Chinese with kids. There's nothing better than making them laugh out loud by telling them that your friend is actually your 40 year old grandpa. "Bu ke neng!" they kept shouting (impossible).

The greatness in the trip could have also been its downfall. Our purposelessness, thankfully, didn't spill over into how we related to one another. It's always a tendency on vacation for me to live selfishly, to only think about what I want to do. But we grew together on this trip. While we have been together for a good eight months, Ryan made an interesting observation over our burgers at Outback.

"There are still ways that we don't know each other," he said as he dipped his fried onion slice into that 2nd bowl of bloomin' onion sauce, which you always have to ask for, "You guys have never seen what I'm like when I pursue a girl."

"Or when we're with our families," Cameron added.

How deeply can you know someone?

Why do Chinese people eat ice cream before their meal and eat white rice last? I have no idea.

Our picture in front of the father of Chinese democracy, Sun Yat-Sen.

Still revered, I guess.

North Face. Ben Sherman. Nike. Quiksilver. Apple. It ruled.

sleepy head at the hostel.

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As a Redskins fan, I'm not sure how I missed this video. It's probably because I don't pay enough attention to Chris Cooley's blog, which is one of the most popular player blogs in all of sports, and there's a reason why. Aside from being one of the best Tight Ends in football, Cooley works hard to give his readers tons of backstage info and stories about the Redskins you could never get anywhere else. This fantasy draft video from last fall is a great example. Fred Smoot is hilarious.

a beard's tale

2009-04-27T05:49:00.000-07:00

I go home in two months. This is something I've been saying for the past month, probably because no matter how many times I say it never feels more true. And I've let my beard grow out to prove it. Last night a few of us (to the right) were walking through an underground mall when we walked by a popular clothing store called "Septwolves." Sprawled out and inanimate lay a life-size gray plastic wolf with sparkling eyes in the corner of the store. Its head was tilted upward as if to meet the gaze of the shoppers and entice them to assume a wilder clothing style, but when I looked at it all it did was remind me of my old bedroom. Our family's part-husky mutt, Darla, used to sleep in my room when I lived at home a few years ago. I used to close the door behind me when I went to bed to keep the cats from creeping in at night (I hate cat hair); so poor energetic Darla would always have to wait for me to wake up to let her out. By morning she would have always left her dogbed and found a fresh spot on the carpet to lay down and wait on. Whenever I would roll over and open my eyes for a moment in the mornings, Darla would already be staring at me, and when I'd meet her gaze, even if just for a moment, her ears would immediately tilt back and her tail would start to wag. She never figured out that it was usually a false alarm. But there she'd lay, patient and poised. And on I walked in an underground mall in Baoding, Hebei, China, thinking about how my dog used to patiently watch me until I woke up in the mornings when I used to live at mom's house in Norfolk, Virginia.

I wouldn't say I'm homesick, but I was. My western body never expected me to spend any extensive amounts of time this far east, so when my blood cells or neurons or whatever it is that gets things done in my immune system built my immune system it didn't take Chinese colds into account. But they should have and hopefully they've been paying attention this past year because I've been hit hard. Two weeks ago I caught one of my worst, and I cancelled two classes, something I haven't done yet. I made the call to cancel my classes in the morning before I went to bed; so when I woke up it all of a sudden hit me that I had no obligations that day and I became euphoric. How should I use this glorious day? Which movies should I watch? What book should I finally finish? I quickly went to pour a bowl of cereal and make coffee. This almost made me forget I was sick, until about a minute later when I... well, let's just say I was pretty congested in just about every hole in my head. Actually being sick really takes the fun out of staying home sick. Every minute my head seemed to gain more weight and my morale slowly plummeted. Somehow that day my cozy room became dull and suffocating and my quaint apartment suddenly seemed just plain small, and I wanted to go home. I imagined my response if I had gotten a call from my boss, Newt, that day with the opportunity to do just that:

"Hey, Bubba! (he says bubba a lot) I got some strange news for you. You've been fired from the Financial College... something about telling a student she was a hermaphrodite? (I'll explain later...) Anyway, I've got a flight home for you tomorrow. Can you make it to Beijing by the morning?"

"Hot dog! I'll be there in an hour!" I would've shouted in ecstasy. I would have then grabbed my gray hoodie and macbook and left the scene of the crime like a bat out of hell, congestion and all.

Eventually I soothed my sore heart by watching Heat (for the first time) and an episode of Jeeves & Wooster, but not even Bertie Wooster's dopey humor could lift me out of this hole I had suddenly found myself in. Sickness and sadness seem directly tied somehow, and it wasn't until I really recovered from my sickness that life here became exciting again. Now I truly believe that that sickness was a divine thorn in the side, the squeeze I didn't know I needed to get the splinter near the threshold of the skin, to a place where I could see and deal with it. The homesickness had been there, probably for a while, but I didn't know how real it was until I was holed up in my apartment for two days with a congested head and an overwhelming amount of unwatched movies taunting me from my dvd booklet. Now it seems that the splinter isn't gone, but that home has taken its right place in my life; something I miss dearly, but I wait patiently for its arrival. I'm still excited to go home and make Darla wait for me to get up every morning this summer. I'm excited to live with Austin and Graham for two weeks and wash dishes at Austin's restaurant for some extra money. And, holy cow, the beach...

I need to shave.

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A few Wednesdays ago, I had just finished teaching the first half of one of my two undergraduate English classes (my two favorite classes) and I was getting my supplies together during the break when one of my generally shy students named Nancy called me over to her desk.

"Hey, Jon," she said anxiously with a big smile, "I have a question."

"Okay, what is it?" I smiled back.

"What do you call it when it's a boy and a girl at the same time?"

My smile vanished, afraid of what she was asking me.

"Um... it's called... (my voiced lowered) a hermaphrodite."

"How do you spell that?" she started to look suspicious about my answer.

"Sorry, I've never actually written this word before, so I don't know to spell it." ...which was true, even though I could very well have looked it up in my ipod's dictionary. I just didn't want her to learn this word. "But it's called a hermaphrodite."

She thought for a moment. "I thought it was called twins."

It all made sense.

"Yes, yes, you're right. It is called twins. Yes, this is the only word we use to describe this. I thought you meant something else. Yes, twins." I quickly went back to my desk. It was one of the loneliest awkward situations I have ever known; I was the only one in our conversation who know how awkward it really was.

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For anyone who doesn't have a mom to do this for him:

春天来了!

2009-03-27T20:52:00.000-07:00

(spring is coming)
Each of my students has one major project this semester; they have to make a five minute presentation on their plans for the ten years following their graduation. Many of them have used the opportunity to talk about big dreams, like owning their own foreign trade company, traveling all over China, or, as one girl named Ivy explained, living in a cottage in Switzerland where she and her husband can raise their two little "trouble-makers." It's great to see all of the students on the edge of their seats as they listen to their friend stand up front talk about his or her dreams. Without fail, when it's time for the presenter to answer questions, a student will stand up and ask a question like, "What qualities will you look for in a husband?" or "Tell us about your mr. right." This will guarantee a ripple of giggles throughout the room (something I can't resist joining in on). One of my favorite things about the presentations, and teaching here in general, is the mispronunciations and grammatical errors. It's inevitable for a people with such a different mother tongue to butcher English, and it tickles me every time. Charles was answering questions following his presentation when someone asked him where his love for basketball fit in with his plans for the future. Charles paused, looking for just the right word. Unfortunately, he found two right words, and just put them together,

"Basketball is my hobbit."

I was the only one to laugh.

Marina was explaining... something (admittedly, I dazed out for a moment) when I heard her say,

"I think we all need stromboli!"

Based on the context, I realized she had meant to say, "strong body," but instead she made me think of dinners at the Hatchers, courtesy of Joyce Hatcher (tell her I miss it, Ryan), and I dazed out again.

The classroom isn't the only place for English misunderstandings. Just this morning I heard Ryan carefully enunciating his email address to his student on the phone,

"...b...e...t...t...w...y...@... No, Owen, it's not two U's; it's the letter 'W', like the word, 'window'."

As I'm beginning to study Chinese, I know I make similar mistakes in their language; they're just a little more gracious than I am.

-----------------------

For some reason, I've gotten into the same conversation three different times with three different people in the last week about the relativity of truth. Our close friends, Robert and Vince, seem to think it's possible for truth to be completely relative. "We are all truth detectives, but no one person can know it" Robert (seen left) said. Vince used a different metaphor, one that can more easily identify with. He said he believed in a "programmer" and that we're all computers. It's up to us whether we want to buy into that software we've been programmed to use or not. "I am denying everything!" Vince exclaimed. More than whether this is true or not (notice how truth works), it's about living a life of convenience. We all tend to want to believe what is convenient for us, and we sometimes fool ourselves into thinking we're searching for truth. This is where our conversations with Robert and Vince have gotten, which is extremely exciting. I was talking with my friend, Ken, last week over KFC sundaes about what he desires in a girl. He said he doesn't really desire a girlfriend right now, but that his mother told him that "it's his duty" to find a wife (don't evey try, mom). Eventually I was able to explain why I respect my brother and his wife's relationship so much. I told him I love that they share the same goal; they encourage one another to a relationship with their creator. This led to a bigger conversation about our creator.

Things are happening here; for us it's a matter of living with purpose. We have some great friendships with students, as well as with each other. I want my relationships with my students to grow into something that resembles my relationships with my brothers, Tim, Ryan, and Cameron. And they are.

english night

2009-03-12T05:38:00.000-07:00

I must admit that there was a time when I didn't feel like having an English Night. But there I was last Friday night; giving high fives, leading 250 students sing "Brown Eyed Girl," and dancing my way down to the stage to "Paper Planes." And I wouldn't have had it any other way. Ryan and I had attempted to pitch an "English Club" to the administration at our school last semester, and it met unexpected opposition. Ms. Zhao, the head of the English Dept. and our boss, heard the word 'club' and immediately expected us to plan an opening ceremony for our bonafide 'club', which would include board meetings and club officers. So, we decided to re-pitch our idea under the name "English Night" a month or so later, and I can gladly say that we haven't appointed any club officers yet, and we don't plan to. Ms. Zhao loved the idea, and so did the students.

"Hey, are you coming to English Night on Friday night?"

"What is it?" one skeptical girl answered.

"Well, we're going to sing some English songs and play some games--"

Her eyes lit up. "Perfect!" she exclaimed, clasping her hands together.

Many of us in Baoding had set goals at the beginning of the semester to switch gears with our friendships. Last semester we had stretched ourselves wide among the students, taking advantage of every opportunity to get to know our students. As a result of this, we all have close friends on our campuses, many of them unexpected. This semester we decided it was time to go deep instead of wide. We have tried our best to focus on those close friendships, sometimes having forsaking others in order to do so. It has been quite a change, and extremely fruitful. And so I sat at our initial planning meeting with the other four people on our team, skeptical. We were dreaming about what songs to sing and what kind of a skit to perform, and I couldn't stay quiet any longer.

"I'm sorry; I'm all of a sudden wondering why we're doing this in the first place," I said, "I mean, if we're trying to go deep instead of wide, why do we want to host an event for hundreds of students. Isn't it a little counter-productive?"

The others were confused, rightfully.

"We aren't just getting up there singing songs and giving a lecture," answered Emily, "It's about much more than that..."

"We're proclaiming truth to hundreds of students," added Amelia.

And so I was convinced. It took about another ten minutes for me to jump back on the bandwagon, but jump I did. Especially after Tim and I were assigned the "Run-On." It had been a while since any of us had planned a Club, and we were a little rusty. But all it took was a night of planning over grilled cheese sandwhiches in my kitchen for Tim and I to create a character infusing kung fu and magic, and we were back in the groove. You should have seen Tim practicing his opening magic dance across the red tile floor, or maybe it would be better if you just watched the performance itself...

-Important Notes-

Our good friend, Vince (seen above), was responsible for the camera-work. Notice the acrobatic cinematography.

Near the end of Part 2, Emily (Rose) gives a heart-wrenching monologue where she rhetorically asks the crowd, "What should I do?" Listen closely for a girl yelling, "BEAT HER!" Apparently, by the look on her face, she wasn't kidding. It nearly broke Emily from her character.

Part 1

Part 2

The Night led to some good conversations and opportunities to get closer with our good friends. It was a success in every possible way. So many of my students have told me in class this week how much they loved it.

Be thinking about our close relationships with Robert, Vince, Jack, and Ken.

back in the saddle

2009-02-23T04:48:00.000-08:00

What is this... anxiety? I thought as my book was beginning to collect dust sitting on my lap. It was 9:10 am, Monday morning; I had to leave in five minutes to catch the bus and make it to school on time, and I had just been sitting in front of the Holy Book for about fifteen minutes without making it past one verse. Why couldn't I concentrate? Sure, this was the first day of the new semester, but all of my classes and students were the same, and I had gotten a pretty good handle on what I was doing. But, there I was, listless. Or maybe it was poised. My stomach churned and bubbled, and I remembered I was saving myself for a delicious Jian Bing on the street outside school (see picture). I rushed out. The Jian Bing tasted just as I remembered as I devoured it in the hallway; 9:55, right on time. I walked in through the back door of the class room to put my coat on the shelf. Many of the silent students took notice of the bustling in the back and turned to see who it was. They tapped each other and smiled and waved. Forget about too-cool-for-school American college students; they were happy to see me, and in China if you're happy to see someone, by god, you smile and wave. It felt good. I walked up the aisle very proud of my position, and my new deep blue sweater vest. I was looking and playing the part enough that I even fooled myself; a college professor. I then proceeded to do what most college professors do to open class; I pulled up a chair, stood on it, and led a game of Simon Says. Granted, the game is great practice for anyone learning a second language, but the irony remains. After the game, I asked the students to sit down, as did I.

"Are we thinking in English again?" I asked, fearing they had forgotten how to speak it over the holiday.

They nodded, which meant no. Usually, after a game, I had begun my classes with a famous quote. This time I though I'd do something a little different to help them jog their English memories.

"I'm going to write a short sentence on the board, and I want you to tell me what you think, okay?"

"Okay," they said sporadically.

Humans... are... animals. I turned around; not much of a reaction.

"Do you think this is true?" I asked. Most of them nodded. "Everyone thinks this is true?" They nodded again. I wrote another sentence: I... am... an... animal. I had them all yell it with me like animals.

"Is this true?" I asked again. This time not so many nods. Most of them had a problem admitting that they were animals, but had no problem saying that the human race belongs in the animal category. Eventually they realized the logical fallacy of this position, and either had to accept both or neither. My intent wasn't to convince them they weren't animals. It was more to get to the bottom of the differences between humans and animals. This was the conversation I wanted to have. And it was a good one, no matter if the class had poor English skills or whether it was one of my Undergraduate classes (only two of my eight classes will be getting an undergrad degree; the rest have to settle on a three-year degree that, unfortunately, doesn't mean nearly as much). The differences we found were vast; using tools, inventing/creating, studying, wearing clothes, making music, etc. I eventually steered the conversation toward our quote for the day: "Art is the signature of man" (GK Chesterton). After the chasm we dug between animals and humans, it was hard for anyone to say that humans were merely advanced animals. A couple of the classes even got to the point of talking about the soul. It was one of my favorite exercises in any class so far. I felt like a teacher. I half expected them to stand on their desks at the end of class and begin reciting "O' Captain, my Captain." I guess I need to undermine the administration in some way before I can get them to do that.

Today I tried something similar in two classes with the famous phrase; 'Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all... with varying results. No one seems to have any opinions about it so far. I ended up just giving the entire quote (from the Tennyson poem) and moving on. It's always hard to repeat a great experience; the danger of sequels... take the Star Wars prequels for example. George Lucas thought if he threw in some lightsaber-wielding Jedi, some backwards sentences from Yoda, and Natalie Portman, he could recreate the Star Wars magic. Have I already become George Lucas? Do I want so badly to feel like a real teacher again that I'll settle for the mediocre, the trite? Is it really all just about me? Have I forgotten my Han Solo?

Reconnecting with friends at school has been invigorating. It's amazing to watch as I'm blessed with new opportunities to be with them, and know them better. Whether it's eating lunch with them in their dorm, letting them use my hot water, or throwing snowballs at them, it's great to be back.

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I replaced my rock slab (bed) for a new fouton. It has a dark forest design; so, I named it Fangorn.

roamin holiday

2009-02-10T22:33:00.000-08:00

China is a dynamic country, and I have only caught a glimpse of it. After braving the cold North for several months, our team decided to use our winter holiday as a bit of an escape. Three weeks ago we met with the rest of the IECS team in Beijing and flew to the South, to Shenzhen, Guangdong for the first official IECS Conference. There is a saying in China: you don't know you're poor until you go to Shenzhen. And I can tell you from experience that this isn't exclusive to the Chinese; I felt poor. The amount of money wasn't the only thing that made Shenzhen feel Western; it was mainly that everyone called me "partner" at the local saloon. Alright, not that kind of western; we're too far east for that. There were malls with movie theatres, traffic laws that people actually followed, Papa John's, blue skies, coffee shops, and amusement parks. And a beach, which is where we spent the first half of our week, at a sea-side hotel on a gorgeous bay, complete with a McDonald's and KFC situated at the foot of our hotel (for the squeamish foreigner). It was here between these two fast food staples that we filmed a video for our friends in Virginia. Each one of us had about a minute of air time (just enough time to feel self-conscious about ourselves). I just received word last week that all of our fellow leaders at Rockbridge saw the video and were excited to see us. Hopefully, the palm trees in the background weren't too misleading...

Our time at the beach in Shenzhen was a much needed respite; it was a time of meeting together, gleaning wisdom, reading on the beach, playing Majong... It was hard to leave. But the second half of our time in Shenzhen was just as invigorating. We moved to a hotel in the city, where we were able to tap into some western luxuries, like 7-11, Starbucks, and H&M (I bought a hoodie). Throughout the week our team was led to consider a goal-driven lifestyle, one where we plan our time around loving others and achieving our dreams. We were given tools to accomplish this, and it's something our team in Baoding is excited about starting in the coming semester. The "Ghost" was moving all week, encouraging each of us and spurring us on toward love and good deeds. I needed it.

And that was only Part 1 of our journey. From Shenzhen the five of us traveled even further south to the beaches of Sanya, Hainan, the southernmost point in China. Our good friend (and Majong Master) from Baoding, Cameron, joined us in Sanya. And it was glorious. It felt strange sitting in my self-made sand-chair, reading Orson Scott Card and Chesterton, with the faint crash of the tide creeping up in front of me. It felt so far from the China I've gotten to know (and love, mind you), so close to home. Thankfully, every time I'd think I was back in Virginia Beach, a naked Chinese toddler would scamper by to remind me where I was. It was also great to have a literal taste of home, a wonderful restaurant called Rainbow Cafe. As much as I absolutely love the food in China, I had no idea how much I missed American food until I picked up that ten-page menu; burgers, chimichangas, salads, pasta... And it tasted like the pictures. I definitely gained a couple pounds, just at Rainbow. Our hostel was also all we could ask for; we were lucky enough to get a room for all six of us, and we were blessed enough to not get on each other's nerves... too much. We stayed in Sanya for a week, and I don't think it will be my last time. Next time you're considering Hawaii for a vacation, think again...

Part 3 was shorter than the rest, and the most western, if you can imagine. Hong Kong isn't China. Whatever geological category you thought they both belonged to needs to be reorganized. For example, we thought we had missed the Super Bowl as it was happening during our flight in the morning to Hong Kong, but after only a little effort, we found a sports bar that was replaying it that night. American Football playing on a television in China... mind-blowing. And there was no smoking. NO SMOKING... in a bar... in China. It was then that we realized Hong Kong was not China. By the way, what a game! I was on my feet in that sports bar on more than one occasion. I'd also like to take this time to congratulate the Arizona Cardinals and Kurt Warner; what a game you played, Kurt; 377 yards? against Pittsburgh?? Sure, you threw a costly interception that turned into what some might call the greatest play in Super Bowl history at your expense, but you used to be a grocer. All in perspective, friend. If it were up to me, Kurt, you'd be in the Hall when you decide to hang up your spurs, which hopefully won't be anytime soon. Also, Kurt, remember when we met in Missouri last year? I was the squirly kid in the tie and sport coat filming one of your interviews? No? Nothing? Yeah, me neither...

Our few days in the "Fragrant Harbor" were spent renewing our Visas (our real reason for being there), getting lost for an hour (I was the one lost and it was scary), purchasing a Hong Kong style Majong set, traveling to the top of Victoria Peak where we caught a glimpse of the entire skyline, enjoying the ubiquitous wi-fi, taking pictures of the tall buildings for Greg, eating Italian food, etc. It was great.

But here I am, home again in Baoding, sitting at my favorite coffee shop, as, across the table, Ryan ponders a Yeats poem pressed against his chest, and as Tim informs himself, and us, on global issues via a rare issue of the Economist. Ryan and I begin teaching on Monday, the 16th, and we both have confessed that while we are excited about getting back into the grind, we feel a little unprepared. We hope to use this next week wisely in preparation; please be thinking about that. Soon I'll be reunited with many students I care about. I hope to be more purposeful in those relationships this semester, in hopes that they will more resemble my friendships with my team. I also hope to study the language here more ardently this semester, which is hard to do when all the people I spend time with are either American or want nothing more than to practice their English. I think it will be a useful tool and I love learning it.
But now I've got to go; the girls are making chili for dinner... mmm... cheddar cheese on top...

Here's some media:

The six of us on Victoria Peak in Hong Kong.

You mean we didn't miss the Super Bowl?!

The longest continuous escalator in the world. It was pretty long.

Click it and find the "Virginia Hotel."

the winter of content

2009-01-12T22:30:00.000-08:00

We had it all planned out. Having just finished a delicious dinner with five students, the IECS Baoding team had just decided how to spend the rest of our night. After all, it was only 9pm; the night was younger than Santa Claus was when he was found by Necile, the Wood Nymph. We were going to walk back to Ryan and I's apartment in the freezing night air (literally), and park ourselves on my bed and couch and watch Home Alone 2 (we had just watched the first one the week before). We were skipping up the steps of our building, excited about drinking hot chocolate and allowing the image of Macaulay Caulkin screaming with his hands against his cheeks to be burned into our retinas, when it happened. The steps were pitch black, as they typically are at night because the motion sensored lights rarely work. I fumbled my key into the lock and turned hard (you have to).

"Oh no," I muttered, "my key just broke."

"Are you serious?" was the consensus response.

It was a clean break; the key was completely inside the lock, barely protruding. We all tried picking at it with our finger nails; no dice. After a good five minutes we decided to bother our neighbor and fellow foreign teacher, James, who lives on the fourth floor. James is a late twenties Englishman, whose physical appearance can be summed up as jolly. James lives with his Chinese girlfriend, Iris, who has an affinity for stray cats (seriously; Ryan and I had to take care of "Mimi" for two nights last week). Iris also has quite the take-charge personality. She scuttled down in her bath robe and tried everything to get the broken key out: a pair of scissors, a screwdriver, another key... nothing.

Our neighbors across the hall finally heard all the racket and came out to see what was going on. There were three 20-something girls who joined our little party, and none of them spoke English. After a lot of leaning over to watch Iris fiddle with the lock, another neighbor, Du, came down the stairs and, after assessing the situation, decided to call in "the experts." As we waited for the experts to come and rescue us, our girl neighbors invited us into their apartment for some quality miscommunication. We all celebrated when the experts arrived and we tried to go out and meet them at our front door, but Du was there to hold us back. Apparently these "experts" didn't want us to watch them break into our apartment. Now, I had been curious about what kind of pick-locking "experts" were working at 10 pm, and there I had my answer; they were experts alright, expert-burglars! And they didn't want us to know how easy it was for them to pick our lock. Either way, we finally got into our apartment, AND we came out of the deal with an invitation to dumplings at our neighbors' apartment. That was three weeks ago...

Last Thursday Tim, Ryan, Cameron, and I enjoyed some delicious beef and cabbage dumplings with our neighbors. It was one of the most genuinely Chinese moments of my time in this country. I had never really been invited into anyone's life here who wasn't living in a college dorm. One of the girls does nails near the supermarket, another works in the supermarket, and the other sells trinkets in an underground market. They were all extremely giving when it seemed like there wasn't much to give. Amelia had made the comment after the broken key incident that none of their rooms were decorated "cute." The rooms were certainly bare, and I'm sure they would have liked to decorate just as Emily and Amelia do, but they just can't. No money. They had only one small round card table, and two chairs to use for dinner; so, we had to bring our big nice chairs from our apartment. Their light was burnt-out in the kitchen, leaving the chef to fumble through a dark, steamy room; so, I had to run to my room and grab my shiny standing lamp, and they even tried to reject it. While I am well aware that their culture teaches this face-saving attitude, these girls were as genuine as they come. It was for this reason that these dumplings, even after the 22nd and 24th ones with the same filling, tasted better than any of the better quality dumplings we have had here.

----------------------------------------

This past month has been filled with holidays, exams, coffee shops, Emily's boyfriend coming to visit, KTV, etc. Christmas was definitely a highlight. We all acknowledged that homesickness would be at its fiercest during the holiday season and we were all prepared for a forlorn Christmas morning, but thanks to Emily and Amelia, Christmas felt like Christmas. They prepared french toast and peppermint coffee for breakfast. They had all of their gifts wrapped tightly, sitting beneath a great fake Christmas tree. Ryan and I responded by bringing our presents bare; I just turned mine upside-down so you couldn't read the writing on the top (Ryan wrapped his in blankets). We also enjoyed some sweet time with the entire IECS team, as they all came to visit Baoding for Christmas. Unfortunately, I missed out on a lot of this time due to exams. I was forced to give mine on all of the days surrounding Christmas, and they were long. My exam was a five minute interview with each student; 5 minutes x 400 students = really long. But it's over now.

The winter holiday began two weeks ago and it won't end until mid-February. And we are doing our best to take advantage of it. Last week, we watched a mini-movie-marathon. We decided to watch both ends of the spectrum; Little Women followed by Braveheart (thanks for the popcorn, mom!). I've never felt so... differently, in one day. Yesterday, seven of us went to a park where there was ice skating on a frozen pond. Instead of ice skating, we decided to rent metal chairs to slide around on. We raced, pushed each other, made trains... there's really no way to explain it other than that; just know that it was one of the most fun times of 2009 (and will remain so, I'm sure). A big part of our holiday has been Mahjong. I advise anyone and everyone to learn to play Mahjong; there's really no better game out there. Our California-born-Chinese-friend, Cameron, has taught us how to play, but unfortunately for him we have grown impressive (most impressive), and it's getting harder and harder for him to beat us.

The next month will be full of travel. Ryan and I are going to Shijiazhuang for a few days later this week. A few of our students whom we are close with live in Shijiazhuang, which is the capital of our province. Then the IECS team is off Shenzhen, Guangdong in the deep south for a week-long conference with our fellow teachers. Then the Baoding team is going to Sanya, Hainan for a week. Hainan is the southernmost point in China, and is basically China's version of Hawaii. Then, we will be in Hong Kong for a few days, renewing our VISAs (which will say 'Professional' when we're done). It will be a long trip; so, if you don't hear from me, I apologize.

Here are some things to think about:

-Our team will be spending a lot of time together, and we want to nip bitterness and frustration in the bud before it spreads. We also want to fight the vacation-mentality and focus on each other, as well as the One who is giving us this time, rather than ourselves.

-Ryan and I will get some quality time in Sijiazhuang with some students. We want to have meaningful conversations and deeper friendships (with each other as well).

-As next semester approaches, we hope to have a better handle on how to use our time and who to use it with.

Here is some media to tide you over:

Christmas Eve night at our favorite Coffee Bar with our favorite fu wu yuan (waiters).

Two of my Christmas presents (one's to keep my body warm while I'm sitting inside; the other's to keep my hands warm while I'm riding my bike).

Strangely, we haven't escaped Christmas Marketing scams all the way in China. Notice the unison head-bow in disgrace. Also, when Cameron says, "no loitering," a girl is trying to kick us out of the store.

This one's from the Beijing Marathon back in October. It's been a while since it happened, but that doesn't help me understand it any better.

your old men will dream dreams

2008-12-10T05:46:00.000-08:00

"Girls are, by nature, easy," was one of the more surprising statements Tim made this past week. I'll leave it up to you to judge whether it's just as true out of context as it is in. The fantastic five (Tim, Ryan, Emily, Amelia, and I) were eating lunch following our Sunday morning family time at one of our old stand-by restaurants, The Old Cook. [We have about four restaurants that qualify as "old stand-by's"; one is a standard middle class Chinese restaurant just across the street from Ryan and I's apartment which we named "Jason's" after our teacher friend, "Jason" (clever, I know); another is a cheap gai fan (dish of your choice over rice) restaurant near the Hebei University campus in the back of a place we call the "Red Tent", a long canopy of street restaurants (costs about 6 yuan); another is a Tibetan noodle place also in the Red Tent (about 6 yuan); and the fourth is The Old Cook, a typical middle class Chinese restaurant just around the corner from Jason's... upon further thought it's pretty identical to Jason's; we probably just go there for variety sake.]

We were eating some of our favorite dishes at The Old Cook, and the reoccuring topic of Christmas came up. The entire IECS team is participating in a Secret Santa gift exchange and we starting talking about the different wish lists each team member had submitted. Following some suspicious comments made by Amelia, the rest of us decided to try and figure out whose name she had drawn. Amelia's most leading comment was, "mine's gonna be pretty hard to shop for," and it was this comment that led Tim to say that it couldn't be a girl because, "girls are, by nature, easy." It only took us a few seconds to start laughing. It's moments like these that get me up in the morning. Actually, maybe I need to stop having these kinds of moments because I've been waking up really early recently. Just the other day I woke up at 2:45am, only to lay in that half-asleep-crazy-dream-state where time is somehow still passing normally but you're dreaming ridiculous dreams, for the next four hours. It was weird. Also, I had a dream the other night that Sega released a new video game... for every system Sega has ever created. Think about that; the same game with versions for Sega Genesis, Sega CD, Sega Saturn, and Sega Dreamcast all coming out at the same time. For some reason in the dream I was watching my brother, Nathanael, play, which is ridiculous because there's no way I would have let anyone else touch that Sega Saturn controller but me, not until I had beaten it, twice. A couple nights later I dreamt that Nathanael and Maureen got pregnant; actually, just Maureen (dudes can't get pregnant, dummy, except for Arnold). Prophetic? I hope so; I really want to play that game...

Despite this sleeping funk I have been in, this past weekend was quite restful. Last week I had invited several students to help me decorate my classroom for Christmas on Saturday. I brought a six foot tall plastic Christmas tree, ornaments, lights, a pile of computer paper and scissors, and Santa Claus faces. What a great time it was to cut out dozens of snowflakes and set up my pastic tree with some of my favorite students (I know you're not supposed to have those, but it's too late now). Right when I arrived, a few of the boys started setting up the tree with lightning speed, and it was finished within minutes, ornaments, lights and all. Unfortunately, it looked like a Christmas tree that Scrooge would have set up before his conversion, a mangled mockery of everything the tree stands for. I didn't blame the boys and was happy to see their excitement, but when they left I asked one of my girl students (Kerri) to help me redo the whole thing. Now, it's a thing of beauty. Unlike Charlie Brown's tree, this graceful tree stands up all on its own, no love needed. Before each class this week, students have been surrounding it with their cell phones taking pictures. I've been telling them that I don't know where it came from, and that it must be a gift from Santa. I'm convinced that at least a few of them believe me.

Here's a shot of me teaching a Christmas song to one of the classes that Ryan and I teach in tandem (he's taking the picture), as well as a picture of me with my favorite class (I told you, it's too late).

Keep us in mind as we explain the meaning and origin of Christmas. They already have lots of questions...

from Beijing with love

2008-11-28T08:03:00.000-08:00

“I’d make out with Brad Pitt,” Ryan said as he picked up his pen. We had been sitting in our favorite coffee shop, the Blue Melody Coffee Bar, for about three hours. Tim and I had spent the previous hour communicating to the bartender and waitress by pictures on paper, while showing them pictures of our lives on our macbooks. This statement was the conclusion of a short conversation about how much we both loved Brad Pitt. Ryan, Tim, and I were lightly debating over which movie to watch tonight, and I had thrown in the possibility of the new Coen Brothers’ film, Burn After Reading. He had a grin on his face that told me he was kidding, but one can never tell with Ryan; I’ve found he’s full of surprises…

Ryan and I were asked to give lectures to all who wanted to attend, which meant that they would be chiefly attended by our students, as well as the rest of the English Department. Ms. Zhao, our boss, told us our lectures could be about whatever we wanted, as long as they were in English. While I strongly considered the history of video games, I settled on American Football. Two weeks ago I spoke to about 350 students about Football. I borrowed Ryan’s Virginia Tech jersey, explained the rules and the popularity of the NFL, and showed them pictures of the best team in the NFL; the Redskins. I also asked Ryan and Cameron (a friend and fellow teacher from California) to exhibit some of the rules and vocabulary I talked about. These included Cameron jumping offsides as I threw a yellow flag, and Ryan tackling Cameron… to the ground, much to Cameron’s dismay. I ended the lecture by showing some of the Redskins vs. Eagles game from this season. Last week was Ryan’s turn. He chose to lecture about the Wild West. It was amazing to see how little the students knew about both subjects. Everything we put on the screen and explained was new to them; the same could be said for me if I sat in on a lecture about obscure pieces of Chinese history. Ryan took advantage of his time up front, donning two six-shooters, a bandana, and a cowboy hat. See the video for the full effect.

These past couple weeks have been some of the busiest of my life, but, if asked, I probably couldn’t recall a quarter of what happened. It was just too fast. This past weekend our group traveled to Beijing to help some Chinese friends run an English Club, a place where Chinese students and friends and sing songs, play games, and learn about western culture, all with the purpose of improving English. It was Ryan, Tim, Amelia, Emily, Cameron, and I. We arrived just in time for English Club on Saturday afternoon. I helped by playing the guitar as we sang English songs, including a “new” song we introduced; Brown Eyed Girl. Before Club I told a girl the name of the new song we were going to sing.

"I can see her in my mind, and she is beautiful," she said.

After the music Tim explained the history of Thanksgiving, followed by a game of Charades. After Club we enjoyed a great Chinese meal with our Beijing friends. Later our energetic friend, Vicky, chaperoned us as we toured the business district. Beijing is a great place, complete with Coldstone (which we couldn't find), Papa John's, Subway, Starbucks, and a delightful hostel bar where the tenders don't really know how to make drinks correctly, but are open to correction. We also did some Christmas shopping in along a river, a part of town called Ho-Hi. If we were working, we probably would have whistled.

Thanksgiving was an interesting day. Our students took it upon themselves to bombard us with Happy Thanksgiving text messages. Emily counted over 40 on her phone. It was certainly a nice gesture, but somehow, many of them sent identical messages (a forwarding extravaganza, I assume). Amelia and Emily were gracious enough to cook the most American meal we could get our hands on; Mexican food. The chicken tacos were unbelievable, and most importantly, there was cheese. This weekend we travel to Lang Fang to celebrate Thanksgiving with the entire IECS teaching team. I'm looking forward to life slowing down a little next week. I'm also looking forward to going back to the underground supermarket; I've heard the workers are all now wearing Santa hats...

During each of my classes this past week, I asked my students to express what they are most thankful for. One bold young man named Kobe stood up and said with full confidence, "I'm thankful for the woman who will one day be my wife!" He wasn't done, "I'm also thankful to her parents for giving birth to such a beautiful girl."

Those are the days I live for.

----------------------

Here's a view of the bus we take to school every day.

jonny on the spot

2008-11-14T18:19:00.000-08:00

Let me tell you about my friend, Jack. I have three Chinese friends/students named Jack, but this particular Jack stands out from the rest, mostly because he's always there. Every time Ryan or I participate in a fun activity on campus, Jack somehow catches word about it and shows up. At first, I admit, I was a little apprehensive about his dedication to being around wherever we were, but now it is a joy to see him. Jack's English is fairly poor (and highly amusing at times), but it is improving. A good example of his English level occurred last week when Jack found out that Tim was really sick. Like the rest of Tim's Chinese friends, Jack was worried about Tim. Many of these friends took it upon themselves to visit him and tell him to "drink more hot water." Jack decided a text message was enough.

"Hi Tim. I'm Jack. I heard you were sinking..."

Jack's favorite pastime is to put Ryan and me on the spot. Most Chinese people love to see we foreigners perform, but Jack can't get enough of it. Two weeks ago, at the Karaoke Competition, Jack made sure Ryan, Tim, and I had front row seats. Looking back, this was probably to make it easier to force us onto the stage. He continually tried to get us to perform more. "Have a try," he said, with a smile on his face so big, his eyeballs disappeared. The epitome of his pushing came when he tried to convince Ryan to make a "nunchuck" performance on stage. Honestly, I can't remember how our conversation even came to this. Ryan, of course, has no idea how to use nunchucks and would have either made a fool of himself or knocked himself out. After Ryan refused, Jack tried harder.

"It doesn't matter! Have a try!"

While Ryan didn't make a nunchuck performance, we didn witness one, impromptu, that night. During the competition we went back-stage to congratulate some of our students. Somehow, one of the students we had just met the day before came and found us back-stage. Ryan had had a conversation with this student about kung fu and the student told Ryan that someday he would teach him for free. What ensued back-stage seemed surreal. He said hello to us and placed his duffel bag on a nearby table. He then tore off his winter coat to reveal a full kung fu outfit. He pulled a pair of metal nunchucks out of his bag and began his performance. It all happened so fast that all Ryan and I could do was look at each other. The performance was fast and furious. It ended up being a little too furious as the nunchucks accidentally connected with each other, shattering one of them in mid-air, spraying shrapnel in all directions. We covered our faces, and the student left, a little embarassed. "What just happened?" was all we could say...

Now, I've caught onto Jack's "have a try" game and try my best to turn the tables whenever I can. Tuesday of last week was "Single Day" in China, which is the opposite of Valentine's Day. From what my students have told me, this is a day for single friends to go out together and celebrate their collective loneliness. If you are not single on this day, it would be frowned upon for you and your significant other to be seen on the town. Basically, if you're "taken," stay home on Single Day. Our friends, Robert and Billy, play in a rock band together and decided to put on a small concert in one of the classrooms (the show included a performance from our nunchuck friend; this time no one or thing was hurt, emotionally or physically). As you might have guessed, they asked Ryan and me to perform as well. I brought my guitar and played a few songs (Iron & Wine, John Vanderslice, and, accompanied by Ryan, Wonderwall... again). Jack wasn't satisfied.

"No more?" he asked.

"You go, Jack," I said as I pushed him in the back, "Have a try!"

"No, no, no," he pleaded, waving his hands, "I can't play!"

"It doesn't matter! Have a try!"

He got my joke and LOLed. Later that night he walked Ryan and me out to our taxi, carrying my guitar for me along the way.

"Let me carry it, Jack," I said.

"No, I must thank you for coming," he said with another big smile.

And so our friendship has formed, based a continual plea for the other to perform. Of course, I already know the outcome: It will always be the Ryan and me.

---------------------------------

Yesterday, Ryan ate lunch with two of our close friends, Vince and Ken. Seemingly out of the blue, Vince gave Ryan an idea on how to improve their class. He told Ryan he should start telling stories from The Book. Taken aback, Ryan began to answer both of their questions about The Book.

We don't know how this happened or where it's going. All we know is, The Boss never does anything the same way twice. And so we wait on Him...

great expectations

2008-11-03T04:17:00.000-08:00

One week ago our good friend, Vince, walked up to me at English Corner (a time when Chinese students practice English) with a purpose in his eyes.

"Jon, I will be competing in the final round of the Karaoke Competition this Thursday," he said succinctly.

"No way! I'd love to come and watch, "I said with genuine excitement. What a great opportunity to support my good buddy, I thought. I should have seen the next part a mile away.

"You will also perform something," asked Vince, at least I think he meant it to come out in the form of a question, but he couldn't hide his intentions. He expected me to perform. Later he sounded flabbergasted that I would only perform one song.

"I'm afraid the students expect much more from you," he said.

It always happens this way, and the IECS team has begun to expect it. No matter what they say, the Chinese always expect more from us. For example, a week and a half ago we were all asked to attend a pumpkin carving event. I imagined several tables set up with pumpkins where everyone could carve at their own leisure. Of course not. We entered a class room packed with freshman students, each armed with a cell phone camera held upright in our direction. Of course, they want us to lead this and sing songs and answer questions and carve pumpkins in front of students, not for. Always perform. Always in the heat of the lime light. "Have a try," is a popular way for Chinese people to request our performance. At first, to be honest, this was quite an annoyance. No longer could we attend an event and enjoy it from the background. But now that we're used it, we have embraced it, and we just expect to be put on the spot. Now we just have fun with it.

When the Karaoke Competition rolled around this past Thursday, Ryan and I prepared to perform two songs; Ryan would perform "Man in the Mirror" by the king of pop and we would sing "Wonderwall" together (maybe the only crowd-pleasing song I know on the guitar). We were given front row seats at the Competition, an event with an attendance of well over 300. And of course, I was also randomly asked to stand up and say something in English about one of the performances. I said something about the girls being beautiful and they all cheered. Ryan's "Man in the Mirror" was a huge hit; despite his lack of knowledge of the song, he still hit the chorus spot on. And Tim accompanied Ryan and me for "Wonderwall." We gave the camera to our friend Jack, who not only took video of the performance, but continually snapped pictures during the video. Enjoy.

The next night, on Halloween, we hosted a movie night on our campus. While debating for about a week on what route to take with the movie choice (It was either Truman Show for its accessibility and good message or Poltergeist because the movie night took place on Halloween or Star Wars... because it's Star Wars), we settled on Poltergeist, and it was a huge hit. About 400 students packed out the stadium-seating classroom, and nearly every one of them screamed at every scary scene (and repeated the s*** word every time it came up in the movie). It was like watching a scary movie with 400 Mark Herritts, which is as close to heaven as I might get on Earth. It's great to see how much the students enjoy our presence on campus, and relationships are flourishing because of it.

Yesterday Vince invited Ryan and I to the park to join him and his friend, Lily. I expected a quiet afternoon in the sun, but when I arrived on campus to meet Vince, there were ten of my students waiting to join us (all girls but one). Of course, I thought to myself, why didn't I expect this? We welcomed the inclusion of my students and had a great afternoon. At one point we encountered a pseudo-toboggan ride on top of a hill, the track made out of Sesame Street arms. 5 yuan a pop? Thanks, I'll have one! Again, the students proved themselves to be as innocent as 12 year olds, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

Be sure to be thinking about them, just as we have been.

Vince, Ryan and I were chatting by our bus stop the other day about life without hope. Vince says he's leading one. He said there's no light at the end of the tunnel. Somehow, as Vince tends to do, a few minutes later he switched conversation gears and got excited about what it means to give one's life away.

"We were created to help others," he said as he looked down at the pavement, in deep thought, "The more we give ourselves away, the more we will get."

I think he's getting somewhere, and I hope he gets there. Be thinking about him.

not to be outdone

2008-10-23T01:08:00.000-07:00

I recently realized that the majority of actions taken in my life can be explained with the preface, "not to be outdone." I spent much of my adolescence trying as little as possible, all the while shooting for the most success; quite efficient, if you think about it, Greg. The epitome of this mindset occurred in tenth grade. I was playing on the JV basketball team, and during one game, while I was running up and down the floor scoring loads of points, Gabe Cohen was taking a breather on the sideline. Coach McNabb, my old JJV soccer coach, walked over to Gabe and asked him, "where did Jon get all that speed?" Gabe thought for a second and answered, "video games." An exaggeration? Not really. But to my point, there were times when I actually made an effort. I studied for some tests; I jogged during Christmas break, once. All of these efforts were made just to keep up with the rest of the pack. I never wanted to be outdone, at least too much. Nearly a decade later, things aren't so different. I play video games about 90% less than I did at 16, but I still always shoot for efficiency, sort of.

Last week, the Hebei University teachers (Tim, Emily, and Amelia) had been invited to a fellow teacher's apartment to learn how to make dumplings. How fun, I thought, maybe Sophie will invite ol' Jon too. Dumplings are my favorite Chinese food and I'd always wanted to learn how to make them. But alas, no invite! That night, feeling slightly defeated, I asked Ryan to join me for dinner. We rode our bikes over to a popular street food area; a long red canopy forming a wide corridor of street restaurants, where snacks, noodles, soups, and dumplings were all being served. I had accidentally made a few friends at one of the restaurants the week before. I made my way to the canopy by myself one night and sat down at a random too-small-for-Americans table. A kind middle-aged lady approached me in Chinese. I saw that they were steaming dumplings in wood-basket stacks.

"Hayao yiga jiao zi," I think is what said (I want one order of dumplings). Whatever I said, she brought me what I wanted. She also showed me a Chinese menu and started pointing at one of the items and telling me about it. I heard the Chinese word for "noodles" over and over, but I waved my hand; I just wanted dumplings. She still brought me the noodle dish she was talking about, but, as I later found out when I attempted to pay, it was for free. It was a nice gesture; so, I decided to return the favor by going back there (not to mention the daughter of the parents running the place is a bit of a cutie). Throughout Ryan and I's meal of dumplings and noodles, the daughter and two men were rolling dumplings at another table. At the end of our meal, I decided that I didn't have to be left out after all. I perused my phrase book and mixed together the words, "I can help." So, not to be outdone by my fellow teachers, I walked over to the dumpling-rollers and said (in Chinese), "You work too hard; I can help." Somehow they understood me (which is pretty rare; often they'll look at me confused, forcing me to repeat myself until they finally say, "Oh, Chow FAN." And I'll grit my teeth and say, "that's what I said!" ...the tones are hard) and offered us to sit down. For over an hour, Ryan and I tried our hand at making dumplings (don't worry, we washed our hands). And these weren't just your typical boiled dumplings; these were intricately woven steamed dumplings. Basically, we stunk at it. But even though our new friends spoke a total of two English phrases, they loved having us try, and they even used some of our mangled dumplings. Now, when we go there, we receive a warm welcome. But for some reason the free food stopped coming...

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Ryan, Tim, and I just had our "dudes lunch" this afternoon. We get together every Thursday and go enjoy a little taste of America, KFC. Today we sat there for over an hour and talked about "the boss." Tim made the observation that despite our preconceptions about life in China being hard, we are well provided for here. We get paid enough to not have to worry about money, and we have everything we need. Of course, we still don't have a clothes dryer, which is the same for everyone here in China, and which is quite an enigma to me. Nate and I agreed on this a couple weeks ago (Andrew and Maureen disagreed) ; we would rather have a dryer than a washer. Granted, without a washer, I'd have to wash my clothes by hand (or foot), which would take time and effort (maybe 2 hours, at the most?). But after that, my clothes would be dry in an hour! As it is, I have to wait 2 days to 1 week for my clothes to dry on the clothes line, depending on the type (jeans take forever). Anyway, you decide...

Either way, it's great to share joys and struggles with some great dudes over fried chicken. We'll be there at 12:30 every Thursday if anyone wants to join us...

lets go away, you and i

2008-10-12T00:32:00.000-07:00

I haven't taught a class in two weeks. Adina, our co-worker and care-taker at the Hebei College of Finance, jokingly mentioned to Ryan this past week that it seemed like I was getting paid to do more traveling than teaching. This is only half-true. While I have done more traveling than teaching and I have been paid, I... hm... I feel like some part of that wasn't true.... It'll come to me. All I know is that after two weeks of vacay, I've covered some real estate. After my first week of teaching, all classes all over China were canceled for one week due to the National Holiday. Of course, these canceled classes needed to be made up (eastern logic); so the Saturday and Sunday before the National Holiday were filled with classes. It was also during these make-up classes that I learned all of my classes would be canceled yet again the week following the holiday because all my freshman would have to fulfill one week of military exercises. A nice surprise, to say the least; with the extra week, I had enough time to purchase a flight down to the Guangxi province to visit my brother, Nathanael, his wife, Maureen, and our friend Andrew. Despite the make-up classes, the National Holiday was still a holiday, and was great for getting more acclimated to Baoding, on my bike, of course. At the end of the week, the Baoding IECS team traveled to Beijing for two days to meet with the rest of the IECS team, and also to do some shopping. We all braved the monstrous Pearl Market, where there are hundreds of shopkeepers all yelling, and sometimes grabbing, at you to buy scarves, or jackets, or ipods, or little gel packs that heat up when you bend them due to a really cool crystallizing chemical reaction that only cost 10 yuan, but only work once... sometimes they lie to you. After purchasing several gems at the Pearl Market (no pun intended), Tim and I grabbed a taxi to find the newly built Apple Store, the biggest in the world, with no intention other than to get our greasy little fingers on as many Apple products as possible. We arrived to find an elaborate outdoor mall with all of the expensive western stores one could ask for, and about as many westerners. For the full experience, see the video to my left (your right).

After returning to Baoding for a couple nights, I caught a train back to Beijing on Monday in order to fly down south to Guangxi. Everything surrounding that day was congested. Not only was all of the transportation I took packed to the brim with Chinese people, but I was suffering the worst cold of my life. Unfortunately, as many of you know, my time management skills are quite poor, and following a few mishaps on Monday, I missed my flight; so I was forced to find a hostel for the night. Normally, a mistake like that would cost a lot of money, but I'll tell you, if you're going to make that kind of mistake, do it in China. While all of the extra costs of getting around and staying a night in Beijing cost me hundreds of Yuan, hundreds of Yuan only equals about $50. As I told Nathanael that day, I was almost relieved to not have to try and hang out in Guangxi that night; I felt absolutely horrible and would have been useless. The hostel was very adequate, with a cleaner room and more comfortable bed than in my own apartment. I felt a little better the next day, and after learning my lessons, I arrived at the airport two hours early. I ate some noodles in the terminal right next to an empty Subway restaurant, where the two Chinese girl Subway workers stared at me, confused. I think they expected me to eat there.

It was great to see Nathanael and Andrew when I arrived in Guangxi, whom I hadn't seen in 10 months. It was a little humbling to see that Nate was skinnier than I am (he lost 20 lbs.), but after trekking the six flights to his apartment several times I could see that he earned it. Before we traveled to their city, we decided to stay a night in Nanning, the capital of Guangxi, to see an old friend, and to also buy some DVDs. I hadn't seen Spencer in four years, probably the longest separation from a friend I can recall (a reunion is required for this category). Seeing him was a little frustrating at first because he couldn't communicate very well; his English skills had taken a nose dive since I last saw him. It felt like speaking with an amnesiac. It took him a few hours and a few dumplings to feel comfortable speaking English, and by the time he took us to a strip of lakeside bars that night, he was a regular chatty kathy. The conversation at the serene bar went as deep as the lake we were sitting by, and I learned more about Spencer's heart in those couple hours than I could have hoped for out of a month's time. He's also still the funniest Chinese person I know.

The next few days were spent in Baise, the city that Nate, Maureen, and Andrew have called home since February. We grabbed some good south China food, rode a canopied boat around the lake, caught up on the Redskins... By the way, I'm a little frustrated that the Redskins are flying so high. I was completely comfortable writing them off this year with me living in China and all, and after that horrendous opening game against the Giants, I was ready to. But as it is, each week I have to anxiously abstain from sports and fantasy websites from Sunday until Wednesday, when the game becomes available for download, when I can finally allow my catharsis. And then I must spend hours reading Washington Post articles and watching Tony Korneiser and Michael Wilbon's daily podcasts following the games so that I can adequately soak up all of the Skins' success. I repeat, must. Anyway, while I was in Baise I was also able to be involved with the Firefly Coffeehouse, the business they have been running in Baise for some time now. Each night from Thursday to Sunday, the rooftop coffeehouse is open and themed. The two nights I was there were "Game Night" and "90's Night." The coffeehouse is beautifully set up and attracts a slew of local Chinese English speakers. On 90's Night Andrew gave a presentation on "The Internet" and 90's music, part of which was Andrew and I's rendition of Wonderwall.

My time in Guangxi flew by, but the time with my brother was well worth the trip. For the first time in our lives we have been living in different places, and our reunion in Guangxi might be the last until next summer. But we both recognize our Father's hand in our lives, and we trust Him for when we will meet again. Maybe he'll still be skinnier than I am when I see him next, at least that's what he says. I think there are a few bags of Salt N' Vinegar chips waiting for Nate back home that say different...

No matter how much weight you lose or where you are on the globe, society will find new ways to make you feel fat. While I was in Baise, Nate showed me where he buys underwear that fits him (us) so I could buy some. See for yourself.

For those who miss Spencer...

dragon cheesesteak

2008-09-24T03:34:00.000-07:00

I would tell you that after ten days of Chinese submersion, I am not homesick, but my subconscious would tell you otherwise. The other night I dreamed I was in the underground supermarket here in Baoding, shopping for what, I'm not sure (probably for cucumber flavored Lays chips or tomato ketchup Bugles, both of which I have purchased). In the corner of the supermarket there was a Zero's Subs, a delicious toasted sub restaurant in Virginia. The Sub of the Month was called a "Dragon Cheesesteak," which is, I'm assuming, the Chinese version of the Philly Cheesesteak. Whatever it was, it looked delicious and if the dream had continued I probably would have ordered it. The dream was a little anticlimactic though, not as good as the dream I had a few nights ago when I took a trip to the Middle East with my friends, Hudson and David Sullivan (who don't know each other). The food has been amazing. Most of the IECS team's Chinese language knowledge involves eating food, boxing up food, or screaming for the waitress, "FU YEN!!" By the way, as I'm writing this I'm dipping Ritz crackers into Skippy peanut butter. I also ate KFC for lunch yesterday, and pizza for dinner. Okay, maybe I do miss America... but just a little.

I have now taught one full week of classes, and I really enjoy it. Sometimes the students' English speaking levels can be quite poor, making them difficult to communicate with, but it's still fun. They love to ask me about the NBA, the Beijing Olympics (sometimes even my thoughts on the slogan, "one world, one dream"), and they always ask me to sing a song; so far, all I've been able to come up with is "I got friends in low places," which isn't even a song I listen to very much and I only know the chorus, but they applaud it every time. I spend a lot of time enunciating carefully and writing words on the board they don't recognize. It has become a habit to do this, sometimes to a fault. I realized this the other day when I wrote the word, "diarrhea" on the board. Let me explain. All of my students are freshman and most of them do not have English names; so, much of my classtime so far has been spent on giving them English names. While the list of names goes around the classroom I usually give them an opportunity to ask me more questions. One of the students stood up and asked me, "Can you tell us an interesting story from your childhood?" I thought for a second, and only one popped in my head. I began to explain that this story was an "embarrassing" (which I wrote on the board) story. I told them that it happened when I was ten years old and was playing "baseball." I explained what the position of "catcher" is by acting out how a "pitcher" throws and how a catcher squats to catch the ball. I explained that my stomach began to hurt and that squatting is a poor position to be in when this happens. I then wrote the word, "diarrhea" on the board. Right then I realized that during all my years of Spanish class, my teachers and professors never told us how to say "poop," "feces," or "diarrhea." Why should I expect them to know these words in English? Yet I persisted. I also wrote "poop" on the board, and began to use motions. Blank stares. No one laughed. I started to laugh to myself, as I usually do when I'm enjoying an awkward situation. I quickly ended the story and asked if there were anymore questions. Next time I'll refrain from telling stories involving bodily functions.

Ryan and I are celebrities at the Hebei College of Finance. Students line up after class to have their pictures taken with us, and they love to have conversations with us. For example, they have a biweekly gathering where all the students can practice their English skills called "English Corner." Ryan and I attended this function for the first time last week upon request from the Dean of our English department.

"The students are very excited to meet you," Ms. Zhao told us, "They have been waiting for you." An understatement. Ryan and I arrived to a fleet of smiling, waving, and applauding students. We entered the library atrium and the students closed in. Hundreds of students fell silent. I turned to Ryan.

"I guess we need to say something to the crowd, maybe?" We turned to the masses.

"Hello, my name is Ryan," Ryan yelled out, enunciating carefully, "We are from A-mer-ica."

"And my name is Jon," I belted, "We are very excited to be your teachers this year. Please come and speak to us. We would like to talk to each of you." Maybe not the best choice of words, but it certainly was effective. The students then shuffled their feet to get within arms length of us and the questions began. Ryan then grabbed my arm, maybe thirty minutes later, at least that's what it felt like.

"Hey, it's 7:30. We should probably go," he told me. We had arrived at six. Yesterday we went to the English Corner again, but this time brought our two IECS friends, Emily and Amelia, because there are far more girls than boys. It was still overwhelming and we only stayed one hour this time, but it was still an effective time.

As Tim has already chronicled on his blog, life became extremely convenient as of last Saturday when the Baoding IECS team set out to buy bikes. While the rest of the team was content to buy "normal" bicycles (and rightly so), Tim and I decided to dip into the kitty a little and buy something nicer. Both of us had taken notice of all of the electric bikes being ridden all over the place, and we wanted a pair. You should read it on Tim's blog; he does a good job of telling the story. It involves some heckling, a little jealousy, and an abandoned apartment. Although, I did notice that it in Tim's version there's no mention of trading bikes every once in a while. I could have sworn that was part of the deal...

Thanks for thinking of me and the IECS team. We are making friends fast. A good example of this was a big dinner the other night with all five of us and some of our Chinese friends in a private room, which we had to spend 100 yuan to use; so, we were forced to over-order. There was a lot of food left when we were done; so, we decided to play a game in which the loser had to eat a dumpling. Afterward our bellies were stuffed, but we had big smiles on our faces. More times like this are to come. KTV tonight...

my bike.

made in China voyage

2008-09-17T15:28:00.000-07:00

Over the last two months, you might have been asking yourself this question: Did Jon leave his blog in Missouri? The answer is no. But I'll tell you what I did leave in Missouri : an incredibly comfortable pair of Eddie Bauer slippers, a cable that hooks my Macbook up to an HDTV, and most importantly, a 90-pill box of Lactaid. All remain tucked away in the Learfield corporate apartment in Jefferson City, waiting to surprise someone who enjoys all of my favorite past times; loitering in front of the TV while my body breaks down lactose. Don't worry, I replaced the Lactaid when I arrived in Virginia as soon as possible and I couldn't be more satisfied with the replacement; Kirkland Signature lactaid! I stopped in at Costco a few weeks ago and found the holy grail for the lactose intolerant; a 180-pill box of knock-off lactaid for $15; that's roughly 8 cents a lactose ingestion! Costco has done so much for me, I wish I could repay them. Maybe I'll donate some money...

Unfortunately, half of that box of Costco lactaid is now sitting in the Allison medicine cubpoard. The other half is with me here in Baoding, China, and I imagine it will be used just as much as its stateside counterpart.

"You need to buy milk over here, guys, to keep up with your dairy intake," Newt, our IECS Director, told us last night over a delicious Chinese meal.

"It's too late for me," I said, "you guys go on without me." Why Newt laughed at me when I said, "It's the worst thing that's ever happened to me," I'll never know.

The dairy is scarce over here, and generally unappealing. The milk is not kept cold at the supermarket, leading me to believe it's not actually milk, while the cartons of what looks like milk from afar are labeled "Yoghurt." I still swear it's really milk (it's so liquidy), but my Chinese friend, Gary, advised me that it is actually yogurt. However, I did find some imported Land O' Lakes cheese yesterday, and it was being kept cold, which is a good sign. It was over $6 (US) for a stick of sharp cheddar cheese, a price I will gladly pay when I begin to miss cheese.

I'm sharing an apartment with a gentleman named Ryan, a saucy Virginia Tech graduate and fellow IECS employee. Don't worry, he loves Virginia Tech just as much as the rest of you hokies out there. Ryan, Newt, and I were invited to be introduced in front of an English class at the Hebei College of Finance yesterday (the school where we will be teaching starting next week). I explained that I was excited to be a teacher and was a graduate of Old Dominion University. Ryan followed by carefully anunciated the fact that he graduated from Virginia Tech, home of the greatest American football team in the world, followed by applause (they like to do that).

I was also given the opportunity by Ms. Zhao, the Dean of the English Dept., to be introduced in front of one of my future classes, much to my surprise, as well as the students'. The freshman class of about 20 girls and 2 boys picked their heads up from their workbooks as I walked in (with Ryan), looking confused. I explained who I was and that I was from Ver-jin-eea and that I was excited about being their teacher next week. Silence. Their mouths gaping, as if they were all waiting for spoonfuls of cough syrup. This is consistent with several aspects of Chinese culture: students know their place in the class room; they sit quietly and wait for a lecture, pen at the ready, with no expectations of having to vocally participate; it's also not common to see white foreigners in Baoding, let alone have them as teachers; also, at the halfway point of each class, Chinese students expect to be fed a collective spoonful of cough syrup. Speaking of syrup, soda tastes much better here. As is the case in many countries, the soda in China is made with real cane sugar, as opposed to corn syrup in the US. Hooray for empty calories! But back to teaching, all of my classes are freshman Oral English classes, while Ryan's are all sophomore Writing classes. Each class is about two hours, and all of my classes are in the same classroom, which is quite convenient. The campus is brand new, with nice facilities; there's even a western coffee restaurant on campus (Ryan and I were served french fries there yesterday, even though we didn't order them).

Ryan and I aren't the only teachers on the IECS team in Baoding. There are three other teachers teaching at another school in the area, Hebei University; Tim, Amelia, and Emily. While the Hebei College of Finance has about 10,000 students, Hebei University has nearly 50,000. All three of them are wonderful people, and, like Ryan, are already becoming close friends, except for Tim; what a jerk. Just kidding. Tim has been a close friend since 9th grade, and I'm so blessed to have him here with me. Soon the ten minute walk in between our apartments will be cut down to 2 minutes after we both buy Autobikes.

Ryan and I's apartment is very adequate. We each have our own room and our own TVs, complete with ridiculous Chinese commercials; there's a kitchen with a stove, microwave, refrigerator, and toaster oven; there's a shower with hot water, and a western toilet. One lesson we learned the hard way is, you can't flush your toilet paper. Newt, Tim, Amelia, and Emily all wanted to come see our apartment for the first time yesterday. We brought them over and as we began the tour, our steps made splashing sounds, which wasn't there when we had left that morning. So, the tour mostly consisted mopping and sweeping up water which covered half of our apartment. It's all dry now, but we having gotten a chance to buy cleaning supplies; so, the floors are quite dirty, and we are definitely walking around in sandals until we remedy the problem.

The next few days will be spent doing several things: We all need to do some shopping to buy essentials, which will also help us get to know Baoding better. We all begin teaching next week, which will take a lot of preparation. Luckily, all my classes are once a weekers; so, one lesson plan a week should do just fine. I need to work on ways to get my students to loosen up. Hopefully, I can use Newt as a resource while he's still here; he's amazing at getting them to open up and be themselves. My mornings will also be spent getting up progressively earlier. Yesterday morning I woke up at 5am and this morning at 3:30am. At this rate who knows when I'll be waking up next week!

Thank you all for thinking about me and these things.

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Also, my sister, Faith's kidney transplant went extremely well yesterday! Her new kidney, which was inside my mom just a few days ago, is successfully producing urine, which sounds gross, but is great news! Continue to be mindful of her and my mom as well.

the cheese stands alone

2008-07-30T08:18:00.000-07:00

I could date a celebrity. I'm already prepared for the lack of a private life; I love public relationships. If anything happens in the slightest on the "girl front" I tell everyone. You probably think this is just a product of my egotism. So what if I like to tell my friends when I'm in love, and so what if that person happens to be a Cylon on Battlestar Galactica? Sure, they give me flack about it. "It's a TV show, dude," they chide, "Cylons don't exist... go for Starbuck instead." It comes back to bite me when things don't go well because I have to tell the story a hundo times, but I think public relationships are healthy. It's good to get opinions from outside sources; it keeps you grounded, which is the second reason why I could date a celebrity; celebrities need to stay grounded. How refreshing is it to see a movie star who is "down to earth?" Very, is the correct answer there. You see the reverse all the time. Celebrities become full of themselves; they marry other celebs and live depressing lives in the smoldering heat of the lime light. Mixing stardom with relationships is a dangerous brew.

So, really, it's not just that I could date a celebrity, it's that celebrities need me. Think about it; you're a movie star hottie, and you're featured in every issue of US Weekly and People. The public sees you dating celeb hunks and they put up with you, but really, they're just waiting for you to fail. That one slip of the tongue on Regis & Kelly. "I always knew she was a jerk," they'll say. Now, think about you walking down the street holding hands with some average dude with a "down to earth" job, maybe a middle school teacher or a community organizer or a newsroom intern. Not only will it make US Weekly, but people will love you forever; so, when you decide to be brutally honest on Letterman about how you don't write your own songs (you're a singer now) and you don't ever plan to, people will give you some slack. We'll be the feel good story of all of Hollywood. They'll probably write a movie about us, and we could play us! Wait, that means I'll become famous too...

Here's the biggest hurdle; I'm not very good around celebrities. I have a hard time being myself. That one shot I'll get at some point in my life to talk to an attractive celebrity will be so packed with pressure; I might freeze. But luckily I got a practice swing last week.

I had the opportunity to go see a Kansas City Royals game with our sports broadcaster. We got to go down onto the field while they were having batting practice. It was an especially humid day; so I was sweating as hard as the players. I saw John Buck take some swings in the cage. I brushed shoulders with Gil Meche as he walked by me in the dugout. The Royals were playing the Detroit Tigers, whom one of Old Dominion's former players now plays for, Justin Verlander. Justin's no nobody; he was the second overall pick a few years ago and he's turning into a star pitcher for the Tigers. Justin and I actually had a speech class together my freshman year (his senior year), and we would chat every once in a while. He always had the biggest smile on his face, and he would try and convince me to come out and watch the ODU baseball team play. Every time I heard his name since then I would spout out what I just told you; Verlander, ODU, class together, nicest guy, etc.

The Royals were wrapping up and Bill, the sports broadcaster, said, "Hey, you wanna go see your buddy, Verlander?" Oh no, I thought. He's not going to remember me.

"Sure," I said.

We walked over to the Tigers dugout and sat down on the bench as the players filed out onto the field. I frantically scanned every player to see which was him. I assured Bill that he probably wouldn't remember me, that he's big-time now. Each walked into the dugout, then went straight up the stairs onto the field. One of them took a hard left into the dugout and walked towards us. Oh God, I thought, it's Verlander. Everything came down to this. Verlander was the pride and joy of ODU sports. If he doesn't remember me, I thought, how can I keep building him up to be this old buddy of mine? I remained seated as he walked closer.

"Hey, Justin!" I said, smiling. He looked over at me with a quizical look, "you probably don't remember me, but we had speech class together."

"At ODU?" he said. I froze.

"Yup..." was all I could get out. No 'remember that assignment we had to do?' or 'remember our really feminine teacher?'

I moved on, "Yeah, I'm working in Jefferson City in a radio news room and we're down here covering the Royals."

"Where is that?" he asked. I explained that it was in between KC and St. Louis. I could tell he thought I was lying at this point.

"So, how'd speech class work out for you?" he said, a half-ass attempt at a joke.

"I'm broadcasting now," I said. What an idiot. I could feel the conversation ending. It's over, I thought. Justin Verlander, star pitcher for the Detroit Tigers, thinks I'm a liar, a jerk, and an asshole. He shook my hand, and grinned, not nearly the size of the toothy smile I remember from speech class.

"Good to see ya," he walked off.

I spent the next couple hours thinking about what I should have said, how the conversation should have ended. That's it, I realized, no second chances.

And that's what separates the men from the boys. You've got to perform when it's all on the line. No second chances. So, when I'm reading at a coffee shop and Carrie Underwood walks in and orders a cafe latte, I'll know what to do. I pull out my gun and hold the place up. I yell at everyone to get down. I go to the register and demand that they open the safe and bag the money, as well as scan one of those gift cards and put $1000 on it (any more than that would look suspicious when I use it at other Starbucks). As they're bagging the money I look around and act like I notice Carrie Underwood for the first time. I say something like, "Are you Carrie Underwood?" After she affirms that she is Carrie Underwood I say something about a "change of plans." I take the money and I demand Carrie comes with me. I lead her out to my car by gunpoint and tell her to get in the driver's seat and drive. She starts driving as I continue to point the gun at her in the passenger seat, acting really nervous, by the way. Hopefully, it's humid so I am sweating profusely. She notices I'm nervous and starts to ask me questions like, "How are you going to get away with this?" After we drive late into the night I tell her to pull into a motel. There are some awkward moments because the only room available is a single bed. She sees that I'm really a gentleman when I tell her that she can have the bed, and I sleep on the floor. She realizes I'm just mixed up, and starts to care for me. Sure, I go to jail when I give her back a couple days later, but we'll have made a deep connection by then, and she'll probably write a song about me. Later we'll date, but break up after I become famous.

I need to get that concealed weapon license...

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Also, here's a song I wrote:

hire greg

2008-07-20T09:38:00.000-07:00

My good friend Greg was asked to make a minute-long video resume for a website called hireme.tv, which is built for job-searching using video. Greg's video will be used as a template. The professional that Greg is, he knocked it out of the park. The video (apart from its poor quality) is well done and has just the right amount of humor to attract attention, but not away from Greg's qualifications. I'd hire him:

Greg inspired me. I decided to use his video as a template for my own video resume. I gave it my best shot, but making the video only made me realize one thing; maybe I'm not exactly ready for the real world...

Also, here's a video of Greg as a kid (he used to want to be a cop).

not everything is good for the gander

2008-07-15T07:14:00.000-07:00

I took an early lunch yesterday at around eleven, and I was feeling quite professional on my way home. The reason for the early lunch was that I had to be in the booth by 12:30 to do the 1 o'clock news cast, and then the 2, and the 3. Jarred, fellow intern, heard that I was doing the newscasts earlier that morning and came to visit me at my desk.

"Newscasts, huh?" said Jarred, "not in the booth, practicing?"

"Nah," I replied.

The truth is I was actually thinking about practicing, mostly so that my voice wouldn't sound hoarse during my first cast. But as soon Jarred suggested that I needed practice, I put the kibosh on the idea. Practice? Me? I don't think so. Don't need it. So, I entered the dark, chilly apartment (we keep it at 68), unpracticed, and on my lonesome. I decided to take advantage of the seclusion and put on some of my music. Yeah, good music. I plugged in my new ipod touch to the stereo and blasted The Dodos. Not too loud... neighbors. I turned it down, but just a little. I snapped my fingers as I perused the cabinets and refrigerator. Velveeta mac and cheese, thank you very much (don't worry, it's the 2% milk version, half the fat. daddy's taking care of himself). I sat down at the table with my piping hot bowl of mac and cheese, popped a lactaid pill, and grabbed the latest issue of the Economist. Needless to say, I was feeling pretty good at this point; my music was playing via my sleek ipod touch, I was gearing up to do three newscasts without practice because I'm that good, I had a copy of the young liberal's Bible in front of me, and lactose was successfully being broken down in my body, thanks to lactaid. At this point the roommates had arrived and were rummaging through the kitchen; so I turned the music down, but just a little. I was jamming out, scooping up the mac and cheese, flipping through the Economist, when i arrived at a particular article about Thomas Paine. Hey, I know about Thomas Paine, I thought. I wrote a paper or two about him while getting my Poly Sci minor. I at least know enough to throw out little nuggets here and there to impress friends: Common Sense pamphlet in 1775, state of nature, men are good, etc. I'm not sure why I remember Paine so well; maybe it's because of my infatuation with the movie Major Payne.

Thomas Paine has always been a confidence booster for me, but his use has really only been in the form of the random fact. The skill I learned best as an English major is how to communicate just enough about a subject to seem knowledgeable, which is essentially bullshitting. The random fact has always been my intellectual crutch. There are really only a handful things I know anything about. For example, I like to remind the average Feist listener that she used to be in a band called Broken Social Scene, a Canadian post-rock experiment group. It's important to mention when Ben Stein is on TV that he was once a speech writer for Richard Nixon. When the OC was on, it was always nice to quiz people about what movie Marissa was in as a kid (she was the throw-up girl in the Sixth Sense). And if someone is reading a newspaper or a magazine, I like to slyly bring up the fact that paper comes from trees.

I began to read the article about Thomas Paine feeling very proud of the fact that I already knew something about an Economist article before reading it. I got to about the third line. An Arkansas legislator was attempting to pass a bill to create a Thomas Paine day... What for? I read on... To educate the people about the impact he had on our independence? Oh no! I mean, sure, he did have a huge impact, but I don't want everyone to know about it. If everyone knew about Thomas Paine, not only would everyone else be getting smarter, but my relative intelligence would go down. I became angry. The bill didn't pass, phew. "...an effort to institute a Paine day in all 50 states...so far nine states have passed such resolutions, including...Virginia"?! What the hell? What did I even get my minor for if everyone's going to already know what I learned due to a stupid holiday? Going to school was never about educating myself; it was about being educated more than others.

This was a blow. My mac and cheese started to taste more slimy than good, The Dodos' constant banging began to annoy me, and I started to get nervous about my afternoon broadcasts. Why didn't I practice?! This was just like the other day when my roommates and I were watching Arrested Development. I tried to throw out an apparently ancient random fact in a last ditch effort to look informed.

"You know Gob and Amy Polar are married in real life too," I said.

"Yeah, we know," everyone said in near unison.

Here's the problem; not everyone can be intelligent. Some have to be uninformed for others to be informed. Good cannot exist without evil, light without dark, etc. We need to limit what we pass on to the uninformed, for the sake of people like me, the marginally intelligent. People like me cling to the few pieces of knowledge that get clogged on their way out "the other ear" after we learn them. Sometimes, what's good for the goose is not good for the gander.

the greatest game ever

2008-07-08T12:20:00.000-07:00

I was riding on a heavily delayed flight from Baltimore to Kansas City yesterday, squeezed between two older folks, one one of whom smelled. I couldn't quite pinpoint the source of the smell, but since one of the older folks was a dapper woman, I guessed it was the frazzled old man. The old man was reading a book about a 1958 football game between the Baltimore Colts and the New York Giants. I leaned back in my chair and attempted to sleep, but being unable to doze off, I decided to open my left eye and skim what he was reading every once in a while. I think he noticed what I was doing, and let me know he didn't like it by turning towards me to look out the window whenever he thought I was doing it; so I had to keep my head completely forward. You know the drill. The book was entitled "The Greatest Game Ever", and towards the end of the flight we began to chat about it. Apparently, he was at the game (he was older than I thought) and he told me it wasn't actually that good of a game. Either way, I dispute the title. The greatest game ever is not a particular football, basketball, or soccer game; it's not even Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time for N64 (that's #2). It's sardines. A game of sardines in a big, dark house has never failed me, and it never will. It's guaranteed fun. Our game in Annapolis, Maryland, the night of July 4th was no exception.

If you don't know what sardines is, it's the opposite of hide and seek. Instead of everyone hiding and one person searching, only one person hides and everyone else searches. When the hider is found, the seeker hides with the hider, until eventually one seeker is left; ie, the loser. The loser is the next hider, get it? The game takes place in a house, preferably a large one, and all the lights need to be out, the darker the better. It gets even better when you meld it with 7 minutes in heaven, at least that's what I hear...

We were able to corral 7 players for our ID4 game, (Austin, Greg, Mark, Emily, Corie, Hanna, and I) which was just right. The game started at 1 a.m. and ended at around 3:30 a.m. It was, without a doubt, the creepiest game of sardines I have ever played. The house was, as Emily pointed out, the size of a 'manor' and was so dark I couldn't even see my own hand in front of my face. During the first game I attempted several times to convince the other players that we needed our cell phones, which were confiscated at the outset, to give us a chance of finding the hider, but really I was just scared and wanted a phone to call to my mommy. Austin was the first hider, and after a while he got tired of hiding and started banging on the walls of the deep closet he was hiding in. I immediately knew it was Austin, but knowing is only half the battle. The slow deliberate banging still managed to creep me out. And knowing that Austin would surely jump out and scare us (the wily bastard) didn't keep me from jumping when he screamed and leaped out at us. I wasn't the only one scared; the usually tough Greg, who has never officially been scared by a movie his whole life, was panting harder than a woman in labor after Austin jumped out at us.

Greg wasn't the only one to lose his innocence that night; I about peed my pants feeling around several dark closets (I later opted for just kicking around the closets with my foot so I wouldn't have to actually go in. it's probably better off I never found anyone in there; they would have received a swift kick in the gut), and Hanna was peer pressured into smoking her first cigarette. I didn't realize we had actually 'peer pressured' her into it until she said, "I can't believe I'm doing this" and started coughing after her first inhale. Corie, on the other hand, claimed she "didn't know how to inhale." She was probably just lying and wanted to not die of lung cancer. I know, lame, right? This wasn't the first time I had played sardines with Corie, but at least this time she didn't insult me. A couple years ago, we were playing in my old college house and Corie was hiding in a closet with someone else. I found them, but naturally, the savvy player that I am, I wanted to shake the company I was in; so, I left the closet and said something like, "garsh, where are they?" and led them astray. I then went back to the closet and quietly hid with Corie and the other hider. I was so sly, in fact, that Corie didn't even know I had joined them in the closet. I know this because she whispered to her co-hider, "Jon just looked in here, and didn't even see us. what an idiot!" This was followed by a few seconds of silence and me saying, "I'm right here, Corie." I'll let you decide who the real idiot was...

I also cheated. By the third game, I had lost the jitters and was boldly swiping my hands through dark closets and under beds, but I wanted to win; so, I cheated. Mark, my best friend, was the hider. I broke off from the group and whispered Marks' name in every room, knowing he'd cheat with me. Of course, Mark had beaten me to it, and was already cheating by rotating between two hiding spots. I should have known; Mark has always been a great cheater. I remember a particular game of capture the flag on a youth group retreat in 8th grade where Mark had somehow procured both teams' colors (each team wore sashes or bandannas with their team color on them) and was able to go into both bases and secretly steal both teams' flags. I remember him running up to me and saying, "Look what I have!"

Corie, Mark, and I were sitting on washers and dryers in the laundry room awaiting our turns to go search the dark manor one last time when I asked, "Why don't adults play sardines?"

"I don't know," Mark said.

"I mean, how old are we all here? 23? We're adults," I said.

"Are we?" Corie answered.

I've realized that most real adults don't really play sardines by the unimpressed looks on people's faces as I've recounted how much fun we had playing. Will I one day wake up and adjust my suit in front of the mirror in preparation for work, and think about how childish I once was? Or, will I get home from work some day, and take my suit off in preparation for a good game of sardines with friends? And why does every scenario have me wearing a suit?

-----------------------

Btdub, here's a commercial I was in a couple months ago:

expecto patronum

2008-07-02T08:10:00.000-07:00

This might be old news to all you Hogwarts students and Leaky Cauldron regulars out there, but JK Rowling has written a Harry Potter prequel! Here's the catch: it's 800 words long, handwritten, fits on the front and back of a note card, and there's only one copy in existence. Rowling wrote the prequel for a charity auction, as well as several other authors (Neil Gaiman, for one). The rules for the authors were that the story had to be handwritten and could fit on a note card. Well, Rowling cheated a little and stretched hers out onto both sides of the card. But how could she not, if, as she says, "I did feel like a relapsing addict as I sat down to write - the words poured from my pen with frightening ease."

The story is said to feature James Potter and Sirius Black about three years before Harry is born, and it involves an altercation with a policeman, and, of course, there's magic involved. The story went for the equivalent of around $50,000. Rowling did make it clear that she is not writing a prequel... boo!

Listen to this BBC reporter read a snippet of the story.

layered comedy

2008-06-26T14:44:00.000-07:00

The Onion used to be a novelty. Oh, look at this funny fake newspaper, honey; it's so cute! Then you put it down and move on, similar to your phase with Weekly World News... remember how funny that was? Well, The Onion is now a comedic powerhouse. They upgraded to podcasts a while back, which I flirted around with, but now they've got video and I can't stop (it stings). Btdub, their articles are still funny too.

Here's a classic that I saw a while back that will appeal to dorks like me more than anyone:

This one was released yesterday and explains how to pretend you give a sh*&! about the presidential election:

Today Now!: How To Pretend You Give A Shit About The Election

If you play fantasy sports, read this.

somebody dies in this post

2008-06-18T19:21:00.000-07:00

I witnessed two events live in St. Louis last weekend, both of which included several of the same qualities: they were both witnessed by hundreds of people, and they uh.... both were... uh.. in St. Louis.

That's right, you've probably guessed what they were. The first was an Iron and Wine concert and the other was a giraffe giving birth. Iron and Wine was fantastic, save for the 'separate but equal' set-up in the Pageant Theater, where minors are only allowed in half of the downstairs and none are allowed in the balcony. The giraffe giving birth was like any child/animal-birth; it took forever, daddy was nowhere to be found, it occurred at the zoo, and it was highly disturbing. Not only was the mama giraffe strutting around in circles with two hooves sticking out of her anus for over an hour (I can only vouch for the amount of time I was there), but when the final push was pushed, the baby fell a good five feet out of mama, onto its head on the ground. You'd think the mama could have buckled her knees a little and laid her baby on the ground gently, but maybe the five foot drop acts as the slap on the behind human babies need to jump start their lives for giraffes. Watch the footage and see for yourself. Apparently, baby giraffes start walking within hours, but we didn't stay long enough for that. On a side note, did you know that guerrillas look just like humans; they gots fingers and everything!

I made a comment on the way out of the zoo about how I thought it would have been funny if we also saw an animal dying. Be careful what you wish for: RIP, Glen McMurry... of a broken heart.

Enjoy!

google maps has me giggling

2008-06-11T14:01:00.000-07:00

There's a new feature on maps.google.com that will knock your socks off, and if those socks get knocked off outdoors, near a road of some kind, you'll be able to see a satellite picture of it on google maps a year from now. Here's what I mean. First of all, for all those mid-Missourians reading this, the feature is not yet available to you; it's only available in the big cities (Kansas City, New York, Chicago, Hampton Roads...). The new feature is called "Street View" and it will literally take you down the street. Until now, the satellite pictures used on Google Maps or Google Earth are all from above. Remember how cool it was when you were able to zoom in and see the roof your home? Now, you can look in your window, from the view of the street. Just type in an address, and click street view at the top of the map. Now, click one of the blue streets, and google will ask you if you want to see the street view. You better say yes! You'll be amazed by the quality and functionality. You can spin the camera around by clicking and dragging, with 360 degrees of capability. I've included a shot in Times Square and also one of my old college house in Norfolk. My guess is that the pictures are one year old, because of the cars parked in front of the house (mine, Colin, Doug, etc.).

There are two guys walking into the house in this picture. Maybe they're the guys who took all these satellite pictures...

conan o'brian is still funny

2008-06-09T12:31:00.000-07:00

Reading a high school graduation commencement speech given by Conan O'Brian reminded me how funny he was. I used to love him. Now, youtube has reminded that he is still funny.

Here's a video of Conan and ex-co-host Andy Richter doing a Q&A session with each other. What a duo they once were...

Also, here's a short clip from the short-lived show Andy Richter Controls the Universe. Conan guest starred on this episode as the eccentric head of the company. Another great show that Fox canned. Fox is full of dummies.

You can watch the full episode in parts.

see ribbon

2008-06-09T11:22:00.000-07:00

Being a dork is a lot dorkier than I thought. Maybe I was spoiled back in Virginia with a plethora of dorks for friends, but it used to be a lot easier to get a group of people together to watch watch dorky movies; ie, asian, sci-fi, zombie, Miyazaki, etc. Sure, some of my friends abstained from these activities, but I still got some respect. I could have sworn being a dork was becoming cool, or at least on its way. Seth Cohen from the OC is a prime example of how dorks have now become cool. Seth, while obviously adorable, was a huge dork. He played video games, read and wrote comic books, and never really went to the jock parties, and if he did, he got beat up. Yet no one could deny his moxy. Ladies wanted him and dudes wanted to be him. I saw this social evolution growing up. When I was in high school, a copy of Electronic Gaming Monthly was a hot commodity on the school bus, even if it was the soccer or basketball team bus. You had to get in line to read it, and the qeue consisted of the coolest kids at school. As I got to college the evolution continued, and most kids were into at least one or two dorky habits. We probably have video games to thank, and now with the Wii, girls and parents are dorks too (although, parents have always been dorks).

Missouri is little bit different. Dorks are dorks out here. Maybe the cool dork hasn't made his way out to the mid-west just yet. Of course, gaming is socially accepted. Everybody plays video games. But this hasn't spilled over into other hobbies like comics, movies, TV shows, and computing (the word sounds dorky as I type it). Battlestar Galactica is my most recent example. It's dorky right off the bat because there's a made up sci-fi word right in the title. While I do admit Battlestar is probably the dorkiest thing I've been involved with, it would have been at least respected back in Norfolk. It's flat out frowned upon in Missouri. It's for this reason I bring it up whenever I can in social situations.

I like to first bring up the topic of favorite TV shows. Generally shows like Lost, 24, Sex and the City, or an MTV reality show are mentioned. Then I like to drop the BS bomb.

"Have you ever seen Battlestar Galactica?" At this point I usually can't hold in my joy; so, I'll ask the question with a big (dorky) grin. This is then followed by a frown and a few seconds of silence.

"Are you serious?" Now he or she is scanning my face to see whether I'm joking or not, a little uneasy about how to handle the situation. Do I let Jon know what I really think of him now or do I not make a big deal out of it and hope the subject changes?

And then Zach came along. An angel straight from the pearly gates, fellow intern, and now favorite roommate, Zach has been gracious enough to give Battlestar Galactica a shot. Like any dork relationship, it's give and take. Zach is a big Star Trek: Deep Space Nine fan, and not just a casual one. He doesn't wear a communicator on his shirt, but he is going through the entire series solo (again). He's halfway through season 4 right now. I decided to make an offer: how about you watch a Battlestar with me, and I'll watch a Deep Space Nine with you? It was like shooting a dead guy in a casket.

We've watched four Battestars together now and we're not looking back. Glen, bless his little heart, tried to watch one and couldn't handle it. I respect that, kudos for the effort. My third roommate, however, Jarred, has watched 3 episodes with Zach and I, and yet, refuses to admit that he's a fan. I think any sane person out there would admit that sitting through a show as dorky as Battlestar Galactica on three separate occasions would signify a "fan", or maybe better yet, a dork.

It's up to you, Jarred. You can come clean whenever you like. We're waiting on the other side...

----------------------------

Thanks to my friend, Steve Mays, I have lately been enjoying the tech side of the internet. One of the best referrals Mr. Mays has given me is a techy named Chris Pirillo. Steve Jobs was giving a keynote address today on several new iphone and macbook features, and while I wasn't able to watch Jobs live on the internet, I was able to watch Chris Pirillo watch Jobs live on the internet. Pirillo has a live video stream of him on the computer, which sometimes is just as boring as it sounds, but at other times, like today, it can be pretty interesting. He's got a blog when some great tech reviews (mostly Apple stuff), and clever articles. Today he was really hopped up on coffee, and let out an emphatic "yes!" or "woohoo!" when Jobs announced a cool new feature. Maybe you dorks out there will enjoy him as much as I have.

bookmark this page

2008-06-05T09:48:00.000-07:00

There's nothing more vital to the 21st century human than his internet routine. The internet is all about convenience. Just like with watching TV: nobody wants to have to actually get up out of their seat to change the channel "manually" anymore; so, the remote was created, and then lost in your couch cushions. Now, nobody wants to have to actually pick up the remote and flip through TV channels to get their news and entertainment. What a hassle. I want what I want when I want it, right? I mean, if Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers, where the heck is the peck of pickled peppers Peter Piper picked? Alright, enough alliteratory rhymes (that's not a real genre).

Like I was saying, the internet just plain rules. I can't get enough. Everything I know I learned on the internet. If I have a question I just go to www.askjeeves.com. If I want to laugh, I'll search for .wav clips from my favorite movies and TV shows; Tommy Boy, Billy Madison, and the Simpsons. These are great for mix CDs. Usually I like to stick a few laughs in between my pop punk. For example, I'll make a cd that goes like this: Whippernsapper, Slick Shoes, Dogwood, Vroom, Ralph Wiggum clip from the Simpsons, back to Whippersnapper, etc. I'll also tend to turn up the CD in my car at the funny sound clips if I have passengers in my car, just to show off.

Don't worry if you didn't recognize any of those bands in the last paragraph. This is premium underground stuff. You just need to get your hands on Songs From the Penalty Box, Vol. 3 and turn the clock back to when you were in 9th grade, and maybe, just maybe, you'll appreciate it.

So, here are the sites I like to go to for my different online needs:

Sports (mostly NFL):
si.com
espn.com
http://tinyurl.com/6ah3um (Kornheiser and Wilbon's video podcast)

Redskins:
washingtonpost.com/redskins
redskins.com

News:
cnn.com
nytimes.com

Politics:
thepage.time.com (just found out about this today, but I already love it)

Movie reviews and news:
rottentomatoes.com

Asian movie reviews and news:
twitchfilm.net
lovehkfilm.com
kfccinema.com

Music reviews:
pitchforkmedia.com

Profiles of celebrities and news anchors I have crushes on:
wikipedia.org

Cables:
monoprice.com (thank you, John Colonna)

Funniest internet show:
http://tinyurl.com/2mty4y

Tech reviews:
cnet.com

Sermons:
redeemer.com

Loneliness:
facebook.com

Blogs for keeping up with loved ones oversieze:
mesaydo.wordpress.com
petercphillips.blogspot.com

Hotness rating:
hotornot.com

Captain Picard rap song:
picard.ytmnd.com

-------------------------

Anyone who is planning to run a blog to keep friends and family updated on life needs to buy this: the Flip Video Mino. It's tiny; fits right in your pocket. And it takes an hour of video (2GB). The video quality is surprisingly good, and the mic picks up sound nicely. Also, it's got a USB jack that flips out of the side so you can plug it right into your computer. It's easy to use (big red button on the back does it all) and not too expensive ($179). The Mino just came out, but I had an opportunity to mess around with the previous version last week. Here's a video of me toying around with it...

interns have hierarchy too

2008-06-02T14:02:00.000-07:00

I am no longer the last link of the food chain. With the arrival of the Learfield summer interns last week, I finally get to eat. Once doomed to a work-life analogous to that of phytoplankton, I have now been promoted to a small crustacean. And what do I finally get to eat? Chicken biscuits. As I've already mentioned on this blog, I love Chicken biscuits. Brent Martin has been flooding me with free chicken biscuit coupons (2) he finds in the newspaper, and I finally got to use one today. Zach Osborne, summer intern and roommate, came to me this morning with nothing to do, and I said, "Wanna go to McDonald's?" I enjoyed the rush of being able to do that. I'm not sure I am able to do that actually...

I even get to give work to interns. Today Jarred Donalson, another summer intern and roommate, also came to me drunk with boredom this afternoon and asked me if I had any work for him to do. I have been an intern, myself, for a good four and a half months; so, I know what it's like to ask others if they have any work for me to do, and usually, it's because of devastating boredom. Just as I was finished telling Jarred I had nothing for him, Steve Mays came to me and explained how he'd like to create a Missourinet channel on YouTube and that he wanted all the videos on my account transferred to it... anyway, it came down to some mind-numbing cutting and pasting work that I was not interested in doing. Luckily, there was Jarred with nothing to do. I, being drunk with power, served Jarred (servant leadership) by giving him an opportunity to succeed. Jarred is doing that little project right now... while I blog. Now that I think about it, I should probably be doing something constructive with this time. Maybe God's giving me this promotion to give me a chance to prove I can handle the responsibility of... ah, I'll think about this later.

If you're reading this, Jarred, and you're upset that Zach came to me with the same problem, but I took him out to eat instead of giving him work, like I did to you, just take this as a lesson: If you come to me with boredom, you never know what you're going to get. It's like the mystery AirHead flavor, except in this case it's not always delicious, like it was for Zach.

----------------------

Here's a wire story picked up by the Nebraska Radio Network a few years ago. David Brazeal, who comes into Learfield every Monday, read this out loud to everyone in the news room as he was going through his old files. Sometimes fatigue can really take over and really effect your work, with some hilarious results...

(Bellevue) A walk to benefit cancer research is expected to draw more than 600 people, including Nebraska's first lady.
Stephanie Johanns will kick off the Relay for Life at Bellevue West High School tonight.
The all-night event will include a memorial service for those who have died from cancer, massages and face-painting clowns.

the broadcaster who meant well

2008-05-28T08:06:00.000-07:00

I arrive at Learfield at 5 am, ready to work, ready to be the sports guy. I get to my computer, ready to gather the news. I open Microsoft Word, ready to write my broadcasts. I have two, one minute broadcasts that I'm supposed to record by 6:15, and Bill informed me of the best strategy; get into the booth at 5:45 to record them, which obviously requires already written broadcasts to read. I get about three sentences in, and look down at the time. Oh no! 5:38! I had spent about 25 minutes just staring at the screen, my eyes still glazed with a heavy film of drowsiness and inexperience. I want to reach for the coffee machine so badly, but, alas, I've given up caffeine. I speed it up, and I get into the booth around 5:56, my heart racing.

I record my first broadcast for the Nebraska Radio Network flawlessly. I cut it up and mix it down (broadcasting lingo, you wouldn't understand). 6:05. I record my Missourinet broadcast, with a few hiccups, but it's serviceable. I cut it up and mix... something in my mind clicks. Oh no! At the beginning and end of my Nebraska broadcast I had recorded, "Good Morning, I'm Jon Allison with sports on the Missourinet!" I go back into the Nebraska broadcast and record the correct lead-in and out... 6:12. Okay, I can do this. I go back into the Missourinet broadcast and begin the cutting and mixing at the speed of light. Finished... 6:16! That's it. Too late. I'm finished. I'm done. One whole minute of dead air. I clench my teeth and my fists, and I curse as loud as anyone would curse in a sound-proof booth, over and over. and over. I leave the booth with my head down... but then I realize: I've got a one minute due by 7:15 and a two minute that goes out at 7:20. It's time to screw my head back on and get to work.

I write my broadcasts and get into the booth with plenty of time... flawless, really this time. I wait and listen from them on the radio. Everything's fine. sigh.

I later admit my 6:15 defeat to the other reporters. They take a second to respond, which proves that I really had fudged it. They proceed to tell me that 'it happens' and 'it's not a big deal', and that it's not dead air that went out; it's just the previous day's 6:15 that went out (which is only slightly better than dead air). I take comfort in the fact that the lead story is still the same: the Royals lose.

From then on, I never missed a broadcast. A couple of them went down to the minute, but when I got them in, it felt like... like... coming home. Unfortunately, I didn't get to bring in a brewskie to prove my manliness. Instead, in between my noon and afternoon broadcasts, I went home and napped.

Following is a video (because I can't figure out how to post an mp3 using blogger) of my first ever broadcast from my first week at Learfield back in January (have pity on me... it was 6 in the morning and I was so much younger then), followed by one of my broadcasts from this weekend. I think you'll enjoy the difference.

the fiduciary broadcaster

2008-05-21T13:57:00.000-07:00

Part of my job as the intern is to write news stories for our website, the stories that don't make it out of the jam jar, no matter how much the reporters scrape. Just about every day the reporters will ask me to either write a story on my own, or convert a broadcasted story into a written story. For example, today I was asked to go cover the unveiling of these new road signs; I was one of two reporters there. I hope I don't sound bitter; I'm learning every day and I very much enjoy it, but this is just the reality of what I do. Sometimes, Bill Pollock, the sports broadcaster, asks me to do this as well. In fact, during my first week at Learfield, I shadowed Bill for a day, and he thought it would be a good idea for me to write and broadcast a story. Boy, was it bad. The broadcast sounded like it came from a tight-lipped sixth grader.

Last Friday, the news room boss, Scott Brandon, was chatting with Bill about Bill's approaching wedding anniversary. Bill was telling Scott that he was going to take his wife to Chicago for the weekend, and was hoping to take Friday and Monday off, but he couldn't find a replacement for those days (the news must go on). Scott looked over at me and said, "Why doesn't Jon do it?" Bill turned his head toward me, smiled a villainous smile, and agreed, "Yeah..." I shrugged my shoulders and put out my hands, palms up. "Sure."

I was trying to hold my smile back, but I don't think I did a very good job. It felt good that they had faith in me, and I was going to get to write sports stories, be the "sports guy" for a couple days. I could finally hide my femininity without remorse. I could order an entire pizza for myself, and eat it while enjoying a beer, right at work. I could probably even watch Jennifer Lopez's Flashdance music video on youtube, and not worry if anyone is looking over my shoulder. Hey, he's the sports guy; what do you expect? If I looked over at a male coworker's briefcase and noticed a copy of "Atonement" sticking out of one of its pockets, I could ridicule the guy... not like that's ever happened to me before or anything...

Monday rolled around, and Bill started to coach me on the particulars of being him, explaining how he utilizes "cuts" that he gets from our affiliates, and what times the broadcasts go out, and I finally realized... I was going to have to broadcast as well! I got nervous.

"So, I'm going to be doing the broadcasts, too, right?" I said coolly. I chose this route, instead of, "I'm doing the broadcasts?!?!" which would have been more accurate.

"Yup." He bit.

"So, I'll have to be here at 5:30 in the morning?" Bill gets in early.

"Well, I usually get here a little before 5," said Bill.

"You bastard." I didn't say that.

Eventually, my head prevailed and I got excited. I've been practicing my broadcasting for months, with only a couple of broadcasts to show for it. Granted, unless the Cardinals or Royals are playing, it'll be about University of Central Missouri softball, but I'm excited.

So, stay tuned, and if you're on the internet on Friday, or Monday, go to www.missourinet.com and click on the "Sports Report" link under "Missourinet Audio", and you'll hear my most recent broadcast. I'll have one done every hour in the early morning, and a couple in the afternoon.

By the way, I've decided this is how I'm going to go out. So, if you listen on Monday, I'm going to do it naked.

----------------------

Right now I have two heroes:

and Peter Phillips

the moviegoer's war

2008-05-14T19:11:00.000-07:00

I just watched Charlie Wilson's War and I loved it. While the film is supposedly extremely accurate, it is, none the less, a glorification film. You know how I know that? Because I want to be a Senator now. How cool would it be to use your political know-how to raise money to kill commies, while being drunk on scotch the entire time? But after I laid on the couch for about twenty minutes dreaming about political stardom, I came to the all important realization: it was just a movie. Don't get me wrong; I love a good glorification movie. I wanted to be a cop after LA Confidential, a man with no conscience after Wedding Crashers, a play-write after Finding Neverland, a woman after Pride & Prejudice, a genius after Good Will Hunting, a timecop after... Timecop. The grass is always greener, though, isn't it? I mean, come on, let's get real; think about what Jean Claude has to go through everyday as a time-traveling cop. How could you raise a family like that? How could your digestive system cope with all the different types of food? Most of ours can't even handle a trip to China; how about a trip to the 18th century? Didn't think so.

But this is a realization one usually must come to after watching a movie, be it a comedy, musical, or horror. Just a movie. I say 'usually' because there are certain movies for each of us that, after which, we choose to remain in. Most of us boys are still dancing atop the brightly lit staircase in the carbonite chamber on Cloud City, doing "impressive" back-flips and wielding our blue lightsabers (I can't believe 'carbonite' and lightsaber' have red squiggly lines underneath them; welcome to the nineties, spell check). Most girls are still soaring, tumbling, and freewheeling on a magic carpet ride over Agrabah, as they sing at the top of their lungs about being in love. Okay, boys too...

My point is that when we go see a movie, we are supposed to "suspend disbelief", and when the movie is over, we are supposed reclaim our faculties, and live reasonable existences. But do we really have to? I don't think so. Am I the only one that actually prayed to God that he would give me superpowers after watching Superman as a kid? Maybe, but I bet most of us are still living in the fantasy of some film we've seen in the past, and I think that's okay. If I want to be a Senator someday, after serving time as a Navy pilot (Top Gun), a mobster (Usual Suspects), and a husband (Father of the Bride, both parts), then that's my right!

So, raise whatever you got. Here's to living in a dreamworld!

---------------

To explain my prayer for superpowers: I remember it vividly. I was about 10, and I was sitting on the toilet. I remember thinking seriously about whether superheros existed, and, realizing that they didn't, I began to bargain with God. I told him that I would be a really humble superhero; I would be like those pro athletes who always give glory to God in the beginning of their post-game interviews (obviously, that's why God gave them their athletic powers). But I was greedy. I had so many superpowers in mind, I couldn't focus on just one; I just remember muttering solemnly, "God, give me a superpower." Unsure which one he might have given me, I stuck out my right hand, folded my middle two fingers into my palm, flexed my arm as hard as I could, and aimed at the wall. No web came out.
I remain a mere human to this day.

----------------

By the way, I'm not really engaged.

keep austin weird

2008-05-08T19:08:00.000-07:00

Greg and I decided to be adventurous and fly down to Austin, Texas last weekend, and visit two of my friends. When I say adventurous, I mean, for the hell of it. On the friend closeness scale (think of the two finger illustration), these two friends and I are probably still just touching, not exactly crossed yet (we're working on it); so, a flight down to see them wasn't a necessity. But I wanted to go; so, we went. Both of these friends are ladies, and both were under the impression I was really down there to see the other person (they don't know each other), which I was fine with. Greg was the really adventurous one; he didn't know either of them.
It turned out be a great time.

We arrived tired on Thursday night, and went to bed fairly early (though I couldn't sleep due to a creepy fluttering sound in the kitchen). Actually, it's important to note our means of transportation. Greg rented a car, and had selected a black Mazda sedan on the internet. As we walked onto the lot at the airport and followed the numbers and letters to our car's spot, we saw one of the best surprises I've ever gotten; a bright burnt orange (UT colors) Chevy HHR. If you haven't heard of it, you've seen it; the HHR is Chevy's answer to the PT Cruiser. Greg was flabbergasted. To pour salt on Greg's wound, next to the HHR was a black Mazda sedan.

I woke up the next morning alone; Greg had to drive to Houston early that morning to visit a mutual friend, no pun intended (he runs a mutual fund). Upon orders from my friend Erin, I took her bike around the corner to a "Tex-Mex" restaurant and ate breakfast tacos for a dollar apiece. I got the last two. I then rode her bike to downtown Austin on one of the most beautiful days I can remember. It was then that I fell in love with Austin. It was a packed city with everything a 23 year old guy could want; music scene, tons of local restaurants and bars, and women. Maybe it was the stark contrast between Austin and Jefferson City, two capital cities, which is where the similarities stop. Maybe it was the breakfast tacos. All I know is I couldn't have picked a better place to break in my new Rainbow sandals.

I arrived at the Four Seasons Hotel, where Erin works, and under the shade of trees, as gracefully as one can, I unfurled into a hammock, and closed my eyes, only to be awoken by some piping hot Four Seasons coffee. I burned my tongue.
I later met up with my other friend, Kelly, for lunch, and, for the first time ever, I ordered Diet Dr. Pepper at a restaurant. Anyone who has lived with me knows I love the stuff, but to drink it in conjunction with a delicious Buffalo burger was just too much fun. And Kelly ordered it too! It was then that I knew Kelly and I were destined to be together. We talked about everything. Nothing was off limits. We really connected, you know?

We're engaged now. We spent the rest of the weekend planning our wedding. The date is July 17, which is a Thursday. Get ready for the best reception you've ever been to. She really wanted one of those cheesy cover bands that covers everything, but, luckily, I was able to talk some sense into her. We're getting a strictly Sinatra cover artist. I had to do some bargaining, of course. In exchange, we're going to do the whole Butterfly Kisses thing for her and her dad. Can you believe her dad actually used to sing that to her when she was little? I thought society was done with that little tradition.

Look, I'm sorry, alright? Thursday was the only day that worked for the both of us. Kelly has step class on Saturdays, and I mean every Saturday. She made sure when I called Carnival to book our honeymoon, that I asked if they held step class on the boat. They don't. So, I guess it's the Sandals Resort for us, after all (my choice anyway). I mean, I told her, I'm sure we can find a vacant step somewhere, honey; I'll even bring my boombox, if it means that much to you. Marriage, right?

The wedding will obviously be in my hometown, Norfolk, VA, at Tab Church. We're crossing our fingers for the sanctuary, but it will probably be booked, knowing Tab; so, it might be in the Lighthouse (youth center). Golly, that reminds me; I need to call Pastor Kenny. Kelly's going to kill me. I guess she'll have to learn about my forgetful nature sometime, right? By the way, If anyone has a cute niece who can walk up an aisle without making a fool of herself, we need a flower girl, but one with a little composure, please. See you there. Dress accordingly.

---------------------

Summer movies I'm most excited about:

1. The Dark Knight, duh.
2. Indiana Jones
3. The Good, the Bad, and the Weird (if I lived in Korea)
4. Speed Racer
5. Prince Caspian
6. Iron Man (but not enough to go see it)
7. Wall-E
8. Incredible Hulk (I don't see why they're redoing it; although, I think I'm the only one who liked the first one)
9. The Mummy 3
10. Hancock

And here's Jet Li at age 8 (you'll recognize him at the end):

flickr video test

2008-05-07T06:36:00.000-07:00

I continue to taunt you with fake blog posts. Flickr now has a video feature; they call it an extended photo. The limit is 1:30, the idea being that people will be uploading video from their digital cameras. Unfortunately, my first attempt at using Flickr video for work purposes has failed (something about the html script). So, I'm testing it on my blog to see if it's a software issue.

Here's a delicious video of the former British Prime Minister John Major speaking to the media at the Churchill Memorial in Fulton, Missouri, across the street from the gymnasium where Churchill delivered his famous "Iron Curtain" speech.

A true post is forthcoming.

blogging 101

2008-04-30T21:09:00.003-07:00

Sceviour Island Claimed! 22
Originally uploaded by buckleberryferry

To the right is a picture of me on a ferry from Nova Scotia to New Foundland, obviously prepared for dehydration. I embedded this photo without even going to my blog's posting page. Flickr allows you to create blog posts, using your pictures uploaded on Flickr, and it automatically posts on your blog.
You can also click on the picture to view the rest of my set of pictures (I wasn't the only one on the ferry).

Also, flickr has a very nice looking slideshow of your set, and you can throw a link to that on your blog post.

19th century attraction

2008-04-29T12:30:00.000-07:00

I've been reading Les Miserables for some time now, as some of you might have noticed on the left side of this blog. Unfortunately, my copy is now drenched in sweat, due to how much hard work it has taken to get as far as I have. The book is good, no question about that. Many of the scenes have been suspenseful enough to glue my rear end to the very edge of my leather recliner. But I just have a sense that Hugo wasn't that concerned with keeping his reader's attention. To make matters more difficult, I have recently noticed that the copy I have been struggling through is an abridged version! No longer does finishing the book mean I can stand it up next to my U-10 soccer trophies as a personal intellectual achievement.

But there are scenes that keep me interested. For example, Jean Valjean's adopted daughter, Cosette has recently come into her own as a grown woman (16 years old), and the 19th century Parisian men have started to take notice. Cosette has fallen in love with a young gentleman named Marius; and by love, I mean the two sat in the same section of Paris and nervously glanced at each other every day for about a quarter of a year, never speaking. But, alas, Jean Valjean became jealous of this obvious love, and asked Cosette to go to a differet part of town on their daily walks, resulting in Marius not knowing where to find her, resulting in Cosette becoming angry with Marius:

One day she suddenly thought of Marius: "Why!" said she, "I no longer think of him."

Oh, young love! It didn't take long, however, for Cosette to notice another strapping young man on the streets of Paris. Here's what she liked about him:

That same week, she noticed a very handsome officer of lancers, with a wasp-like waist, a delicious uniform, the cheeks of a young girl, a sword under his arm, waxed mustaches, and a glazed schapka, passing the gate. Moreover, he had light hair, prominent blue eyes, a round face, was vain, insolent and good-looking; quite the reverse of Marius. He had a cigar in his mouth.

This passage brought me to a new level of understanding. Here I am, a college-educated, 23 year-old man, and I'm still single. Of course, this has led to daily hour-long mirror inspections, as I try and figure out what is wrong with me. Why don't the ladies take my bait? Hugo's scene comforted me: I was born in the wrong century! If this was 1831, I would be a hot commodity. I don't know when waxed mustaches, wasp-like waists, and having the cheeks of a young girl went out of style, but I have certainly felt the consequences.

With looks as good as Gillenormand's, you can understand his reaction to his comrades' chiding(/jealousy):

"See here!" they said to him, "there's a little creature there who is making eyes at you, look."

"Have I the time," replied the lancer, "to look at all the girls who look at me?"

While it is comforting to have understanding, it is unsettling to wrestle with the truth that I was born two hundred years late. Hopefully, like clothing, retro standards for attraction will come back in style some day.
And I will be laughing... as I powder my girlishly red cheeks and cinch up my corset. Now, if I could only find that buffer so I can glaze my schapka...

-----------

Millencolin and No Use For a Name just put out new albums and they haven't changed a bit. You'd think not selling out would have kept me listening.
Thanks, Andy Jenkins.

my name is url

2008-04-24T07:27:00.001-07:00

IMPORTANT NOTE:

I will be changing my blog url from internalbleeming.blogspot.com to:

jonallison.blogspot.com

(you know you like it)

tomorrow: April 25, 2008

almost winning

2008-04-23T14:35:00.000-07:00

In a mere hour spent with Steve Walsh, one would most likely hear no less than five carefully recalled quotes or one-liners, all verbatim. Some of these quotes he's adopted into the "daily use" column; for example: "because that's the kind of guy... (knocks on closest hard surface twice) ...I am." One quote he has recently adopted is from Grantland Rice, an early 20th century sports writer: "The tragedy of life is not in losing, but in almost winning."

Today was the third day in a row Steve has taken me to the Missouri State Capitol for a free lunch. Today was the annual "fish-fry day," while yesterday was "rice day." The day before, Steve and I went to cover a media conference in the Senate Lounge. The Missouri Corn Growers Association was holding a conference to feature a new study, which showed that using ethanol infused gasoline (e10) saves drivers money, but all the corn-talk did was make me hungry. After the conference, the media and legislators were invited to partake in a free lunch. We found the room where corn farmers and legislators were fraternizing over lunch; a pocket in the Capitol just around the corner from the rotunda. To the left there were stacks of Panera lunch boxes, separated by the type of sandwich. There was smoked turkey, ham and cheese, and chicken salad. By this time I was excited; I love Panera. I decided to play it safe and go for the chicken salad sandwich. After getting our free sodas (another plus) we sat down to eat. I saw several others pulling food out of their lunch boxes, and I noticed some were pulling out chocolate chip cookies, my favorite cookie, and favorite dessert (possibly); my excitement reached an all-time high. I ransacked my lunch box, chicken salad flying everywhere, and found my cookie. I almost cried. It was one of those cookies you find in a Christmas tin box, the ones that taste like pie crust (as a Corn Growers employee next to me pointed out). Disgruntled, I ate my lunch and still ate the sub-par desert, because I had no other choice. I had thoughts of standing up in front of the legislators and media and asking if anyone wanted to trade, hoping that all of these gentleman had forgotten middle school lunch economy, where food trading is life or death. But, alas, I ate what I was given.

After lunch, I asked Steve, "what was that quote about almost winning?"

As I explained to Steve that day, I would have rather had a shoddy free lunch than what I got. I almost had the perfect lunch: free and delicious. Of course, I would have paid about eight dollars had I ordered my boxed lunch at an actual Panera restaurant. Steve called me ungrateful, but come on! I almost won!

watch me work!

2008-04-23T12:41:00.001-07:00

<--- (now on my sidebar)

I'm doing my best to act like you're not there.

3 months

2008-04-18T07:27:00.000-07:00

Just about three months ago, I shadowed Bob Priddy in the Missourinet news room (who, as I'm writing this, just yelled out to the rest of the news room, "we've got the latest Wall Street Urinal here!") during my first week at Learfield. I learned from others that Bob had been working at Learfield for 30 years, and was one of the first Missourinet reporters. Bob asked that I arrive at 5:30am that day; so I got there in my navy blue blazer, kakis, shirt and tie at around 5:40, to watch Bob do... whatever he does. I was in awe as I stood in the recording booth; he recorded his news stories with impeccable timing, recording them at 1:59 if supposed to be under 2 minutes, every time without fumbling even once. I sat there next to him at his computer as he typed up story after story, a routine he had maintained over a quarter of a century, a majority of those years spent in front of a typewriter and microphone, often broadcasting live. Bob didn't talked to me much, despite me breathing on his neck for a good two hours, and when he did talk to me, he maintained his focus on his current project, rarely turning to me. I didn't take this as impolite; I knew the news was always time-sensitive, and I didn't want to get in the way. At around 8 o'clock Bob got a call from one of the other reporters, asking him if he wanted any breakfast from Hardees. Bob told him what he wanted, then swiveled to me, put the phone to his chest and said, "Does the intern want anything?"

"Sure," I said, "a chicken biscuit meal would be great."

"A chicken biscuit..." Bob looked perplexed.

He turned back to the computer, and told the reporter what I wanted.

"The intern wants a chicken biscuit... That's right," he again turned to me, "Brent doesn't think they have chicken biscuits. In case they don't have it, what would you like?"

I was surprised, "Really? Uh, I guess a bacon, egg, and cheese biscuit meal, then." I made sure to get the "meal" part in there. A biscuit, by itself, is rarely satisfying to me.

Bob relayed the messaged, hung up the phone, and returned to his work. About twenty minutes later, a frazzled, bald, bearded man walked in with Hardees bags in his hands. This must be Brent, I thought.

"A chicken biscuit?" he asked, incredulously.

"They have 'em in Virginia," I said.

"I mean, I was like, 'do you have chicken biscuits?'," he said, "and they said, 'they're real popular in southern Missouri, but we don't have 'em here.' I'd never heard of that before, a chicken biscuit; must be a southern thing."

So began what I discovered to be a pigeon-holing of Virginia as "the south." It was also the beginning of what I have come to appreciate as one of the most translatable to sitcom workplaces I have ever experienced. It just so happens that this workplace is also showing me a lot about myself and what I want do with my life.

This morning, Brent asked Bill (the sports director) and I if we wanted to go get some breakfast. We first went to the HyVee (grocery store) to get some Starbucks coffee and food. I was dissatisfied with the selection of food there; so, I decide I wanted to go to Hardees. Brent and Bill agreed to ride along. As we pulled up to the drive-thru menu, I perused each biscuit, only to find an advertisement on the side for a new biscuit: "New! Chicken Biscuit"
I pointed it out to Brent and he laughed. He then told Bill the story of my first week at Learfield.
I then pondered some deep relections about the passage of time, and something about growing up, probably.

I later enjoyed the greasy chicken biscuit at my desk, and am currently awaiting the stomach-ache that never fails to follow it.

Apparently, I'm appreciated here.

-----------

remember this?

social injustice 2

2008-04-11T09:08:00.000-07:00

I don't mean to be irreverent here, but one of the most wide-spread consequences of 9/11 is the security lines at airports. I don't disagree with the raised caution airports have taken; I think they're completely necessary. But no one likes to wait an hour, only to completely undress at the end, in front of security guards, whose job is to be skeptical of your patriotism. The blow to the self-esteem is compounded by the random search. It's already uncomfortable to undress in front of a crowd, but it's even more uncomfortable to undress in front of one individual; not to mention the hassle and inconvenience of possibly being late to your flight. And if you're running late, you'll probably show your anxiety in the security line with jittery mannerisms, and your constant checking of pockets, cell phones, and watches. If I was a guard, I'd definitely pick the guy who's sweating and constantly checking his watch for the "random search" rather than the calm average joe. Random searches are certainly good precautions, and I don't think they shouldn't be administered; however, the 21st century has become the century of airport-dread, something that, I think, can be addressed.

As a child, I never understood how others dreaded the dentist, especially the adults. I always loved the dentist, and would always choose a dentist appointment over school, if given the choice. Now, I sing quite a different tune. I hate it. Why the change?
Maybe dentists are more aggressive in their work towards adults. Maybe if the gaping mouth at their disposal is 30 years old rather than 9, they'll go for that extra piece of plaque behind that molar.
But I think it was the prize chest that changed everything. My Dentist would have a chest of toys and trinkets that I got to choose from once my teeth were cleaned. Obviously, there were those useless orange plastic fish all over the place, but if you dug deep enough, you might find a mini-plinko or a squirt gun.

Here's my idea: give those chosen for random searches a chest of prizes to choose from. The chest might need to be updated for adults. Instead of a chest of plastic fish, maybe a chest of candy, and not the "fun size" bars, the real ones. Maybe a table of magazines they can choose from: MacLife, the Economist, US Weekly, etc. Maybe a little gift certificate to be used at the food court. Maybe even a thumb drive (hey, welcome to the 21st century; and those things are a dime a dozen nowadays anyway).
Think about it; the security lines of anxiety will be replaced by lines of excited people raising their hands to be searched. The whole experience will change. Airports will no longer be dreaded, and Americans will be happier. The power of the prize chest.

---

I've never seen a commercial that made me so happy. Truly Totoro-esque (you can quote me on that).

Ben Stein gives me fifteen minutes of fame

2008-04-04T07:27:00.000-07:00

Fifteen minutes, just about literally.

Yesterday I was able to stalk Ben Stein (with the rest of the media) as he walked around the Missouri State Capitol, after he was featured in a press conference promoting his new film about Intelligent Design. As one of the missourinet reporters (Brent) and I worked in our office in the Capitol later that morning, Brent asked me if I would write the story, as well as edit and publish the video I'd taken (something I do regularly). I was excited to accept. I had written several stories for the missourinet website previously, but they were mostly just turning already broadcasted stories into prose for the site. This was to be my own story. Had I known I was going to actually write the story, I might have covered Stein differently, but, luckily, as lovable as Ben Stein is, I was spellbound by just about everything he did and said; so, I was prepared to write it. My story was completed and published at 7pm last night (much later than intended) as the top story on the website, a place it held for about four minutes, when it was then kicked out of the top spot by a story about superdelegates.
I had begun to edit the video at around noon, but through a series of technological mishaps (through no fault of my macbook, as it never is. my precious...) the video wasn't ready to be embedded until 7. The day turned from a jovial morning into a tight-fisted, teeth-clenched , "serenity now" afternoon.
Hopefully, this won't mean "insanity later."

I didn't make the connection until after about an hour of watching legislator after legislator get their pictures taken with Stein; I carry Clear Eyes with me everywhere I go:

As he walked by me (and out of my life) in the hallway he said, "bye bye" like a little kid. Down the hall he turned around and said, "Keep using the Clear Eyes!"

---

My video was quickly found and embedded on the blog Upright Alice. I don't think they like Ben Stein anymore over at Upright Alice, just a feeling.

The contrast between Upright Alice's take on Ben Stein's press conference and my story exhibits the differences between mainstream media and the blogosphere. Missourinet's own Steve Walsh blogged about these differences on the official Missourinet blog, citing sources from all over the spectrum. One particular agenda-driven blog named Fired Up! Missouri didn't take kindly to Steve's assertions and so began the blog-battle. They accused Steve of being just like them, citing a pretty minor cases in his writing (even showing a picture of Steve). Steve responded by asking the writer of the Fired Up! Missouri blog to reveal his identity. Fired Up! toned the hostility down in their response, well aware that they had to maintain anonymity.

The comments could be the most fun part of the blog-battle. (see Steve's first post again)

social injustice

2008-03-29T14:15:00.000-07:00

I've figured it out.

Part of becoming an adult in America is understanding that one is part of a larger community. The American community. This community needs its people to speak up when something is amiss. That's what democracy is all about. Well, the first thing on my agenda as a true American adult is: toilets.

You won't see legislators or even typical bloggers out there in cyberspace taking on this issue, but I see no reason to avoid it.

This whole motion-sensored life America is living in the bathroom needs to be re-examined. Soon the sensors will be so powerful that paper towels will spit out at me as I walk toward the urinal or stall. Each faucet will cut on and off as I walk by. The hand-driers will be set off as the door shuts behind me, turning the room into a tornado of paper towels. The scene will be as dramatic as a western gun-duel. These aspects of the bathroom are not my concern. It's when the business in the bathroom gets serious enough for stall use that I take issue.

Everyone knows those motion-sensor toilets never work like they're supposed to. Either they will never flush, and you'll wave your hands back and forth across the sensor to no avail, eventually being forced to leave your business unfinished as you exit the stall. Or the toilet will flush no less than 12 times before you're finished. This is a complete waste of water, and (WARNING: EXPLICIT MATERIAL) not to mention the unwanted mid-day bath you might receive depending on the strength of the toilet. The Baltimore airport was a perfect example of this last weekend. I would have been better off bringing a bar of soap, shampoo, and a towel. I have rarely had problems like these at the urinals, and I see no reason as to how urinal motion-sensors could have been designed with better technology than the toilet sensors. But such is life.

What is the reasoning behind these flushers? Well, I can imagine restaurants and airports were tired of people not flushing; so, they wanted to make it impossible for them not to not flush. Surely, some liberal threw in the matter of germs to the debate, and it was sustained.
Obviously, the result has become a complete back-fire (or should I say back-washing).
No one thinks a motion-sensor flusher is a bad idea, in theory, but it needs adjusting.
And I have figured it out.

There needs to be some trigger to set off the sensor other than someone getting up... Maybe we need to forget the notion of motion.
What does everyone do when they use a stall? They lock the door. What do they do when they leave? They unlock the door. You've probably figured it out by now. Make unlocking the stall door the trigger! No self-respecting, self-conscious American uses the stall without locking the door! Why not use this self-consciousness to better serve the American people?

I don't know how to go about making change. Do I go to my local senator or representative? Do I boycott public toilets? Surely, that will only be to my disadvantage.
All I know is: knowing is half the battle.

I'd like to thank people like George Costanza and Larry David (get it?) in encouraging me to speak out against social injustice. If it wasn't for them, I'd still be living in the dark.

speaking of...

money

2008-03-19T14:28:00.000-07:00

Money is one of the seven deadly sins. You know why? Because it's sexy. There's nothing that turns my white bread into texas toast like a twenty dollar bill. So, naturally whenever I turn CNBC on, it returns the favor. If my TV had a homepage I would definitely set it to CNBC. My favorite part of CNBC is when the market opens in the morning. I love watching those happy faces at the Nasdaq and New York Stock Exchange light up when that bell rings at 9:30. Here's the problem: that's the only part of CNBC I understand. After that bell rings and all those suits shout and wave papers at the TV's at the NYSE like they're lost, they lose me. If they didn't have that ticker rolling at the bottom, I'd get bored; not because I understand the ticker, but because it mesmerizes me, and I know that those green plus signs mean money, and, again, I like money. It wasn't until I recently glanced up from the ticker and noticed one of the reporters that my interest in CNBC took a turn. That brings me to one of the other seven deadly sins: women. Put the two sins together and what do you get? Erin Burnett. There's nothing steamier than a fine woman talking about money. I've only recently noticed Erin; she grew on me. We have a 40 inch plasma TV tuned into CNBC 24/7 here in the Missourinet newsroom. It took me about a month to notice her, and when I did, I did what I always do when I have a crush on a woman: I googled and wikied her. As it turns out, Erin has recently written a story for Men's Health (somehow I'm not the only one that has noticed her). In it she divulges 8 ways to impress her. Naturally, I took notes. Here they are:

1. Pack Your Bags

Any guy who can plan a trip to an exotic locale, such as Mongolia, Mozambique, or Papua New Guinea, would impress me.
2. Buy Me a New Atlas and Globe
You could unlock my heart by allowing me to dream up my next trip. I love to travel, and hope to eventually set foot in 100 countries. I have many more to go.
3. Do Something Special for My Parents
Family is important to me, so round-trip business-class tickets to Australia and New Zealand for my parents would earn you big points in my book.
4. Relax Me
Yoga keeps me calm, so I'd be impressed if you thought to send a yoga instructor to my apartment for private sessions.
5. Help Me Work Out
Finding an exercise bike at my door would be great for rainy days when my Raleigh M80 mountain bike and I are stuck indoors.
6. Edify Me
Reading is a passion of mine, so a gathering with a couple of my favorite authors, especially Jared Diamond (Guns, Germs, and Steel) and Robin McKinley (The Blue Sword) would make for an exceptional evening.
7. Please My Palate
Hiring a personal chef to prepare meals for the few nights a week I am home would be unforgettable.
8. Send Me Packing
A man who recognizes the importance of my time with the girls is a keeper. A long weekend spa getaway for my sisters and me would be perfection.

Now, I've seen the online reaction (the best kind there is). Many are calling her a gold digger. If after reading her tips, you're one of these gullible people, stop here. I don't want you to shift your opinion. If I'm the only one that still loves her, then we'll end up together. I'm just playing the odds.

If you're still reading, fine. You fell into her trap. Erin Burnett is actually the most down to earth , girl next door kind of a girl there has ever been. She just wrote this article to get rid of all the admirers. Don't take my word for it. Go next door, ask the girl there what she would do if she became famous and millions of men were going gaga over her? If she's a gold digger, she will say she'd love it. If she's actually the girl next door type, she'll say, "Golly me, I don't think I'd like that. I'd probably try and trick them into hating me." You see?! That's what Erin's doing, and it's not fooling me. I know what she wants. She wants a nice walk on the beach; not in the Caribbean, just the closest one, so as not to waste gas. She doesn't want an Atlas and a globe to plan her next huge trip that you would have to pay for, she just likes geography. When she says she wants you to help her work out, she just wants you to hold her feet down while she does her sit-ups.

She's a simple woman with simple tastes. Think about it, if she was a gold digger and she was writing this article, she would probably write... uh... okay, it might look pretty similar...
Okay, fine! Let her fool you! That'll just leave her to me. I'm okay with that. I'll just run down to Barnes & Noble and get that Atlas. I'll even circle all of the best bargain restaurants in her area before I give it to her. I'm sure that's what she wants. You'll see.

---

Hey, we all make mistakes.

dreams of my father

2008-03-16T13:52:00.000-07:00

Here's an inverse relationship:
The older you get, the less you can dream.

I don't mean you have less time to dream, or that growing up means you have to give up being a dreamer, but just that the older you get, the less dreams there are to dream. For example, when I was in fifth grade I still bought action figures. I remember one day I brought in all of my Batman figures to school for everyone to see. I had two Batmobiles (from Batman and Batman Forever), one Batwing, several versions of Batman, Robin, Two-Face, etc. I remember realizing as I brought in my figures that most kids in sixth and seventh grade didn't collect action figures anymore. I swore that day that I would not let the ebb and flow of society drag me along. I would continue collecting action figures as long as I loved it. I dreamt that as a senior in high school (a near grown-up to a fifth grader) I would still collect them. This dream consisted of a snapshot of my bedroom where I had them displayed and organized across my bookshelves for all the world to see, and I was unashamed. A year later, I no longer collected action figures.

Here's what I mean: When I became a senior in high school, I could no longer dream about being a senior in high school. It was reality, and it was happening. Now, as a 23 year old, there are many things that have already happened that I can no longer dream about. I always imagined what dorm life would be like in college, but I slacked off in high school and didn't get into the schools I wanted to, stayed at home my freshman year and never got to live in a dorm. I could go back to school and live in the dorms if I really wanted to, but, in reality, I need to let that dream go. The opportunity has passed. I used to dream about going to an extremely challenging school (Harvard, Princeton, etc.), and, of course I never expected to, but I still dreamed about what it would be like if I did, just for the fun of it. It's too late now. It would be silly to dream about that now because it's literally impossible. Instead, these old dreams are now replaced by realities. I can either be ashamed of how these realities didn't match up with my dreams, or I can embrace them as a part of who I am, and as experiences that are solely mine.

Dreaming has taken a different shape now that I'm "an adult." It's still fun, and I'll never stop doing it (of course, that's what I said about collecting action figures). In some ways, even though there are less phases and ages of life I can dream about (which are lessening every day), there are almost thousands upon thousands more dreams I can dream now that I'm unencumbered by any life-patterns I'm supposed to follow. I've left behind the student track, if I so desire. The possibilities are now infinite. I could go back to school for the rest of my life, and fill some wall of my future with countless degrees and achievements; I could find a path in life that would make me rich and comfortable; I could choose a career that forces me to pinch every penny for the rest of my life; or I could collect donations using this blog from whoever is willing to pay the Anniversary to reunite for a live performance of 'Designing a Nervous Breakdown.'
In fact, where I am right now might be the most dreamable place I've ever been. In contrast to my fifth grade dream of collecting action figures as a senior in high school, which dreamed I would display in my bedroom, there are now no settings, times, or characters forced upon my dreams. As a fifth grader, I knew beyond any shadow of a doubt, that in seven years I would be a senior in high school; but as a 23 year old, (single) news room intern in Jefferson City, Missouri, my dreams of myself in seven years are completely malleable. I could be anywhere with anyone doing anything.
I could allow this truth to scare me, but, as a dreamer, I'm going to do what dreamers do, and dream.

Of course, I could always just dream about having Totoro as my neighbor; a dream for all ages.

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Here is proof that they are attempting to make an Arrested Development movie. Allow this and the next video to make you smile as you remember what it was like to let your television make you truly happy.

sweet dreams

2008-03-11T18:09:00.000-07:00

Why dreams are never talked about I'll never understand. Why don't we ask our coworkers in the morning how their dreams were? Whatever happened to people saying 'sweet dreams' at night? Obviously, at some point in history, people acknowledged the importance of dreams. When we encounter someone in the morning who is in a bad mood, we generally just think he or she is a dick, but we rarely think about what could be causing that bad mood. For me, a poor night's sleep gets make me downright angry, and I'll usually carry that anger with me deep into the afternoon. Of course, for me sleep is a very delicate thing; I will sleep terribly for no good reason, which is probably why I get so angry about it. But one thing that is universal that can often times dictate our moods is a dream. We've all had dreams where someone we are close to has died or has done something terrible to us, and we wake up from those dreams either shaken up or convinced our best friend is a bastard.

I had a wonderful morning today. I was singing in the shower and dancing my way up and down the stairs, and I have little to attribute my excitement to other than a dream I dreamt last night. It was short and sweet...

There's a lot about the dream that's fuzzy, and, as we are all well aware of the nature of dreams, if I wasn't writing it all down right now, I would probably forget everything by tomorrow. But I do know that in the dream I wasn't me. I was an older, bigger, stronger, bearded man, and I had a hurt leg; I don't know any background, but I felt stronger, not to mention my hurt leg. I was having an intimate meal with an important man in his home. From what my memory tells me, he was Asian, he was rich, and he was evil. I know he was Asian because we were sitting on the ground at a very low table, and I know he was evil because of what happened next. It must have been something I said that made this evil Asian unhappy because he called in one of his henchman, who was also Asian. He wore a black suit and had a gun, which he proceeded to point at me. I immediately jumped into a hallway to escape, and it was at this moment that I know part of the dream was me writing it as it was happening, which might explain why I wasn't myself. I remember writing as I laid in the hallway something about how I would have fought the henchman had my leg been strong, but I knew I had to run (this is the last thing I remember writing). As the henchman appeared from around the corner I forward-rolled (is there any other way?) into a nearby bathroom and locked the door. The bathroom was small, about five square feet, and the ceiling was about twenty feet high. I knew the only way was up. I began to climb with my arms and legs stretched out against the tile walls. It was surprisingly easy to get to the ceiling, which, when I pushed up against, came off as easily as if it was made of styrofoam (don't ask why I went straight for the ceiling instead of going out the window I clearly remember climbing past). I climbed onto the roof and ran as fast as I could to the front of the house, where my car was parked along the street (which was, of course, my Accord). Somehow the two Asians appeared on the roof behind me and gave chase. All of a sudden, I had a back-pack strapped on, which I trusted to act as a mini parachute as I launched myself off of the roof; and it worked! I floated through the air, over the front yard and landed right next to my car on the street. It was here that I woke up.

I tried every sleep trick I knew to get back into the dream. But alas, I found myself in a dream reunited with old friends, which was fine, but C'mon!! It wasn't frustration, however, that I felt in the morning. The dream was so much fun that I became the most optimistic version of me I've ever been. I worked harder; I laughed louder; I felt like I had accomplished something. And I had. Because I know deep down in my heart that those damn Asians would have never caught me.

So, the next time your co-worker, roommate, lover, or partner blows you off in the morning or yells at you for drinking all of his Fresca, ask him how his dreams were last night. Chances are he dreamt about you drinking all of his Fresca, because, as everybody knows, you hate Fresca.

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If you're as excited about this Democrat Primary race as I am, you'll probably want to remember Super Tuesday, because, like a dream, if we don't remind ourselves about it, it will fade away. This will jog your memory.

the ripe age

2008-03-07T16:09:00.001-08:00

"I think every man needs a navy blue blazer and a pair of gray slacks," the wise Clyde told me a few weeks ago. He was sitting in the passenger seat as I drove us home from Blockbuster in my 1991 Honda Accord, complete with bright yellow tape across the rear passenger window and a gaping crack in the windshield, which, if the eye chooses to follow, draws attention to a busted rear view mirror, all on the passenger side. To ensure that the passenger side doesn't bear the entire burden of the car's old age, there are no less than four dents on the body; the locations of which are so disadvantageous that there are truly no attractive angles through which to view the car. Nothing can prepare you for the moment when no cars are visible in your mirrors, and you turn your head to find my car in your blind spot. You'd have rather hit it than see it. I used to jest that these idiosyncrasies only added character to the car. It's difficult to shrug them off now that I chauffeur multi-million dollar business executives around like Clyde. I became very self-conscious when we reached my car to go to
Blockbuster. To make matters worse, it was an extremely cold night and the windows had fogged up. Out of my desire to get the car trip over with quickly, I started to drive without giving the car enough time to defrost. I tried to squint through the square inch of clear windshield, but I realized it was futile and I put the car in park at a stop-sign, hoping no one would approach from behind. Maybe it was my self-consciousness that reminded me I wanted to ask Clyde about buying a suit.

"I don't know if you are the right guy to ask for advice on the subject, but I need a suit. I think I'm the only respectable 23 year old without a suit," I told him. I explained that I had attended my friend's wedding a few months ago, and I was the only guy wearing khakis. It was a sobering moment, indeed. My excuse for this is that I was a groomsman in nearly every wedding I had attended before this one, but this excuse doesn't hold much water. At age 23 I didn't even have a pair of dark slacks, for which there is no excuse; except maybe that I never planned on growing up.

Luckily, there are guys like Clyde who are willing to take younger guys aside, ride with them in their crappy cars , and tell them they need to grow up and get a damn suit. Let’s just say that I now finally have a respectable pair of gray slacks.

---

I have started to realize there are several issues every young adult needs to have his mind made up about. No matter how closely I follow the presidential election I feel inadequate every time there is a debate among the candidates on these core issues. These issues include: economic philosophy, national security posture, health care, gay marriage, the death penalty, and, last but certainly not least, abortion (which sort of includes stem-cell research). I wish there was some sort of placement test that every young adult is forced to take, something similar to a career placement test. It would ask you questions like: if you have an hour of free time, would you spend it a) surfing the internet, b) watching TV, c) reading, or d) playing Breath of Fire II on Game Boy Advance? -or- choose one of these foods to eat for breakfast: a) eggs, b) sausage, c) chocolate cake, or d) a 1/4 lb Hebrew National Hot Dog from Costco. If you are one of Bill Cosby’s kids you would probably choose chocolate cake, which would result in the test telling you that you are a hawk when it comes to national security; you believe in trickle-down economics; you disagree with gay marriage; you agree with the death penalty; however, you not only agree with stem-cell research, but you should pursue a career in it. See? they could even meld it with the career placement test.

I think, even more important than choosing sides on these issues, every young adult needs to select which national news network will tell them what to think. There are plenty now: CNN, Fox News, and MSNBC. Here’s a way to choose:

If you think it’s cute that on a show with a name as tough as ‘Hardball’, the host can’t help but grin and laugh every minute, watch MSNBC.

If you never laugh during the Colbert Report, but only nod in agreement; and if you watch television from a tanning bed, watch Fox News.

If you want your political anchor to report the news as intensely as you’d expect from someone named Wold Blitzer, and never ever smiles; and if you have time to watch from 10am until noon on weekends and are attracted to Asian-American women, stick to CNN.

Now, you won’t have to worry about thinking; they’ll think for you. It’s easy to know what side someone is on at work because in our news room everyone has little flat-panel televisions right next to their computers, and everyone is always watching the news (hence ‘news room’). This way, I get to broadcast my political affiliation without actually saying anything.
I won’t say which one I’ve chosen. But let’s just say it’s the oldest one.