Home Away From Home

Monday through Friday I spend 20 hours in the classroom. That means 1/6 of my time on the weekdays are spent here:

Welcome to my desk. It has a smooth top surface for lightning-fast writing, sturdy legs that will withstand the pressure of those who prefer engraving on paper over writing (you know who you are), and a lovely shelf to hold your extra books barrier to keep anyone from comfortably using the desk.

OK, maybe I'm being a little too hard on the desk. It might be the chair's fault. But in either case, this is clearly a chair-desk combo. The chair came with the desk.

My only guess is that the chair designer at the factory and the desk designer didn't work together; thus, the chair was made too high and the desk was made too low. Or perhaps they did work together, and a third guy came along after the desk and chair were made and had the brilliant idea to add a shelf.

At first one might think that this is only a problem for really tall people. But take a closer look. The problem isn't the length of my legs – as it is trying to sit on the bus:

The problem with my desk is the gap between the seat of the chair and the bottom of the shelf. Imagine how thin your upper legs would have to be to fit between that gap.

And if you're lucky enough to have pencil-thin legs, there is a lovely shin-barrier that will keep you from scooting in too close. I might add that this barrier also keeps me from extending my legs so that they fit under the desk.

Solution? I have three.

1. Sit "normal" and hunch over to reach the top of my desk
2. Extend my legs sideways into the aisle
3. Get rid of the desk altogether and do my work in my lap

And lest you pity me too much, you can rest assured I'm not in this alone. Nearly all of my class faces the same problem.

My teacher told me that there are some other desks on campus that are even worse, so I guess I should consider myself blessed. Just be prepared for me to come home with an arched back.

My New Favorite Fruit

When you find food you really like, it's hard to try something new. At home, it seems like the only time we ever try something new is when we have coupons. If we don't have coupons, then we don't want to risk buying something that we might not like when we can buy something we already know we like.

Things are no different in China. By now I know what food I like, and it is really hard to spend my money on something new. And unfortunately, I haven't found any coupons. But coupons aren't the only catalyst to exploration. Friends are, too!

When I eat with friends they often offer me their food to taste. That is when I stumbled across this:

Dynamite comes in small packages.

In Chinese, the name of this fruit is pronounced "lee-jer." When I looked up the translation online, I discovered it has the terribly unappetizing name of "lychee."

Somebody please find the man or woman who was in charge of naming this thing. I've got a bone to pick with them. It wouldn't surprise me if it's the same person in charge of naming oranges: "naval," "bloody,"  etc.

Instead, I would hire the apple guy: "red delicious," "pink lady," "golden delicious," (and the lesser-known) "seek-no-further," "strawberry parfait," "pixie crunch," and "revival." Look them up if you don't believe me.

And I must confess, I've always envied Roald Dahl for creating the "Scrumdiddlyumptious Bar." Unfortunately, he's not around anymore to consult. 

These things peal very easily. Inside, there is a translucent ball with a seed inside. The texture most resembles the inside of a grape, though it is less firm and more juicy.

And as for the taste, it is completely unique. I think this is in the fruit punch family. If you mix four parts fruit punch and one part watermelon you might be close to creating "lychee juice."

...I'm serious about finding the apple guy to change the name of this fruit.

Has anyone seen this fruit in the U.S.?

Stuffed Animals and Balls are for Babies

If you've been following my blog, you'll remember this little guy from a few days ago. This picture was taken at the same time I took the photos for my last post.

I also had a little time on my hands to do some magic with Photoshop. If I had enough time, I would spruce up my photos on every post. But I don't have enough time, so you're stuck looking at "normal" photos again (not at the expense of boredom, though -- keep reading).

In order to protect the identity of this boy, let's call him Phillip.

Actually, I have no idea who he is. I didn't ask him.

Apparently, Phillip found a fun-looking brick on the ground. Children here play a little more roughly than those in the U.S.

Suddenly, something (other than a tall, strange-looking white man squatting down awkwardly across the street while pointing a big machine at him) grabbed his attention.

At this point in the story, I'm not sure what happened. Here are my theories:

1. Phillip saw something really interesting, and he wanted to go see it. But his brick was too fun to leave behind, so he tried to pick it up and take it with him, not realizing that the brick weighed more than him.
2. There was a big puddle of oil under the brick from the street vendor selling deep-fried scorpions who sets up shop in that place every day (he happened to be sick this day and didn't come to work). The brick wasn't fun anymore, so Phillip tried to push off of the brick to get up, causing the brick to slide backward on the oil, making Phillip lose his balance. 
3. A massive gust of wind blindsided him, knocking him to the ground. 

I never felt a gust of wind, so I think it's ridiculous to assume that wind did it. It must be either 1 or 2.

At this point I entered into news photographer mode. News photographers are trained not to get involved in what's happening -- no matter how serious -- but only to keep taking pictures. To my credit, I knew the mom was right beside him.

I also started saying things like "Oh no!" and "Poor guy!" and "Oh, that looks bad!" all while I kept clicking my camera. I felt like a jerk. That's pretty bad that my instinct was to keep taking pictures. Journalism has corrupted me.

The moment he lifted his head I saw the trail of blood run down.

About three seconds after he fell, a woman who I am guessing is his mother picked him up. At first she didn't notice the blood.

As soon as she saw the blood, she grabbed a tissue and held it on his head.

She ran Phillip across the street and ran into a buliding.

Upon reading the sign, I was stunned. It was a pharmacy.

Lesson learned:  If you're going to let your child play with bricks, do it in front of a pharmacy.

I saw the child a couple of days later, and he looked good. He didn't even have a bandage on his forehead. It must have looked a lot more serious than it was.

Or maybe they superglued it shut.

Oh, and this morning I went for a stroll and came across the other child from last week's post. He was playing...

...with a hammer.

He was trying to break apart a wooden chair with the back of it.

When I passed by again about 30 minutes later, his mother was holding him, and he was crying.

The pharmacy was also just across the street.

Looks like they learned their lesson.

Cultural Conundrum #11: The "Bottom" Line

A couple of months ago I created a post about children here, mainly highlighting their cuteness. There's much more to them than meets the eye.

...but(t) sometimes it meets the eye. (I'm going to have a hard time not overusing puns in this post -- please "bare" with me)

Most children here have a convenient slit in the back of their pants. Based on the number of children I've seen here, I would guess that four out of five children have it. It might be different in other cities. They don't get much older than this guy.

I've been told that only the wealthy families buy diapers for their children (though many of them still have the slit while wearing diapers).

You can probably guess how it functions. In an earlier post you'll remember that Chinese people use "squatty potties" instead of a "sitting" Western-style toilet. So when children need to go, they just squat and do their business -- anywhere.

This obviously raises a lot of questions, and unfortunately I haven't done enough research to answer them all. But I'll tell you what I know (and have seen).

One day I happened to have my camera in my backpack when I saw the child pictured above. He was playing about two feet outside the entrance to his parents' shop. He was holding a toy gun. It made for a great photo.

As I started to get my camera out of my backpack, the boy squatted, pointed his toy gun straight above him, and "went" (I was seeing this all from the back). For a split second I considered taking a photo because it was so funny with the toy gun and all. But I couldn't bring myself to do it. It's just not the same as those embarrassing potty training photos (or videos) that our parents took of us when we were little. This was a bit too "exposed" if you know what I mean (but still a hilarious image in my mind).

Just as the child finished, the father came out screaming. I didn't stay to watch him clean it up.

Sometimes the parents don't clean it up, especially if it's on a street or sidewalk. Just blame it on the dog.

One time I saw a little girl walking with her friend in the middle of the street. Suddenly she stopped, did her business, and kept on walking. They are so nonchalant about it --  even if there are people all around them.

I've been told that the risk diminishes if the children are being held or if they are sitting (on a lap, in a taxi, in a chair, etc.) because they instinctively do the squatting position when they need to go. Still, I don't think I would be the first one to let that boy with the gun sit on my lap. And I'm not sure what happens when they are really small and can't squat.

This still begs the question:  What about walking around in buildings?

In all of the buildings I've been in, I've only seen parents hold their children. But I imagine they are free to walk around in the house. Perhaps carpeting isn't common? I haven't been in many houses here.

This is called a cultural conundrum for a reason. It still baffles me, and I have a lot of questions. My Chinese vocabulary just isn't good enough to ask them yet.

Stay tuned for a sad story about this little guy. Don't worry. He's OK now.

Modeling: Round #2

I'm starting to get the hang of this modeling business. I might have finally discovered that career I've been searching for. A couple of days ago I was back to work.

And so was Andrew.

In case you missed the last time we worked together, you should check it out.

If you remember, last time I made a big mistake. I changed my clothes in-between modeling (a big "no-no" in this business). But this time we planned my wardrobe...and I didn't mess up!

Drum roll please.

*dldldldldldldldldldldldldldldldldl*

(click to enlarge)

As you can see, it is a completely different style than the first one he did. That's because Andrew is not a one-trick pony. He's an artist. And he dabs in many different styles. For example, when I arrived he was working on a Picaso-style painting. He's an amazing guy.

I love this style. He told me the name of it, but I don't remember. Every once in a while he would go wild with the brush -- like Tazmanian-Devil-esque. It was really hard to sit there when that happened because I really wanted to get up and see what he was doing.

It was also really hard to sit there because I convinced myself that my head itched...but if I itched it I would have messed up the wrinkles in my clothes. I wasn't sure if he was painting them at the moment or not.

And as you can probably guess, I didn't get to choose my own pose. Originally I was actually going to stand the entire time. Then he changed his mind.

The entire painting only took a little less than two hours to paint.

I won't be taking this one home for a few reasons. One, he's already given me one. Two, it's too big to fit in my luggage. And three, Andrew doesn't have any paintings or drawings of me. 

I bet he'll hang it in his living room.

Cultural Conundrum #10: The Wave

The other day I realized that I had yet to show off my Microsoft Paint skills. When I get the opportunity I like to supplement my blog posts with pictures. But as I've mentioned before, I am very new to the whole photography thing.

But this is not so with Microsoft Paint.

And since today's topic presents a good opportunity to utilize my craft -- and since I'm feeling generous today -- I thought we could move on from photography games to the real deal.

Behold, "the wave": 

In the U.S. this hand gesture conveys such meanings as...

"Get that out of my face."

"You're too close. Scoot back a little bit farther."

"I'm on the phone. Don't bother me now. Leave."

...and the like.

But in China it means the complete opposite. It means...

"Come closer!"

"Taxi!"

"Is that you over there? You're too far away. Come here! I have something to tell you."

"Waitress!"

...and the like.

Whereas we turn the palm up and bend our fingers toward us to gesture for someone to come, people here use this gesture. So don't run away if a Chinese person does this wave in your direction. You'll think they don't like you, but they'll think you don't like them.

Cultural Conundrum #9: Safety

There are three main classroom buildings here for international students. Probably the first thing the casual observer notices upon entering one of them is the security guard sitting at the desk placed awkwardly in the center of the room.

In fact, anyone walking by one of the buildings will see the security guard staring back at them through the glass doors. And naturally, the presence of a security guard conjures up feelings of peace, security, and safety.

...that is until you begin to explore.

For example, behold the emergency phone directly across from the security guard's desk.

Looks "safe," right? Now drop your eyes down a little ways.

It's not connected to anything. That makes me wonder if those other two "safe"-looking boxes next to the phone are hollow.

But maybe I'm being too hard on them. Maybe they're working on it. They've probably got some backup plans in the meantime.

*walks up stairs*

See! Look over there! That fire exit is screaming, "Safety!"

The lights on the sign are even on.

What's more, the literal translation of the Chinese is not just "Exit" but "Safe Exit." This makes up for the phony phone.

Wait...what's this?

It's locked. Every day. And there are no other exits. But at least we're safe from burglars.

I want to be careful not to use my university as the representative of all of China. Perhaps my university is just an exception. But I have seen similar kinds of things around here.

For example, one of my friends here has a friend who is a fireman. That fireman saw the fire extinguishers either in the dorm or in this building (I don't remember), and he said they aren't functional at all.

A Chinese person also told me that if someone is trying to break into your home and rob you or hurt you, it is best to take the matter into your own hands (i.e. grab a baseball bat or knife and get to business) because the cops will take way too long to arrive.

However, I have heard that the paramedics will come quickly when called.

All of that said, more than one of my Chinese friends in the States have said that they consider China to be really safe. Maybe the unplugged safety phone, the locked fire exits, and the unusable fire extinguishers are actually signs of how safe China is. After all, only places that have intruders and catch on fire need those kinds of things.