something there is that doesn't love a wall

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

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

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

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?

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.

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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

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

*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.

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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.