INDIA: FEAST FOR THE SENSES ETC, ETC, AD INFINITUM

Scenes from the last few days in Jaipur, the "pink city" of Rajasthan...

HOW MANY COWS ARE IN THIS PICTURE?

Count 'em up (you can click the image to make it bigger) and post your answer in the comments section to the lower right. A correct answer will win you a postcard from India where I will be busy dodging bulls and visiting compadres for the next week and a half. Good luck!

CHINESE SLANG FOR ANY OCCASION

The modern scholar of Mandarin is more likely to be found squinting over a computer or a mobile screen than laboring over scrolls and calligraphy. In my own struggle to improve my language fluency I have found texting in particular to be a fine way to study the usage of particles, abbreviations, and colloquialisms. It is also an excellent way to practice slang.

As I’ve probably given out more than 100 business cards in the last 5 months I’ve collected more than a few text pals, people who I never see again in person but who write occasionally to remind me to stay warm in the cold weather or send holiday greetings. I can’t explain this other than to say that I am the only Chinese-speaking American many folks here have met personally and they think it is fun to have the modern equivalent of a pen pal.

Of course on occasion I encounter someone looking for a little bit more.

An example: returning home last night after ten I noticed that a Chinese fellow I had met at the Treehouse the weekend before and with whom I had exchanged brief “hey, aren’t you looking forward to Spring Festival” texts the night before, had sent me two texts in the last hour. I ignored them and sat down at my desk to write up some notes. Fifteen minutes later he called. I didn’t answer and minutes later he sent another text. Moderately irritated I consulted three separate dictionaries to be certain of the right term to express inappropriateness in the sense of impropriety rather than simple unsuitability and wrote him to say that as I hardly knew him, he shouldn’t be contacting me so late at night. I then fired off a text to my friend Wu Jie, first scanning this book

for an amusing synonym for “idiot” (I settled on 脑子养鱼 brain eaten by fishes) and telling her he was 烦死我了 (literally “annoying me to the point of death”). In the meantime he sent me two more texts.

Wu Jie wrote back and asked if I wanted her to make him stop bothering me. I wanted to reply to tell her not to bother, that I could handle it myself, but first I had to check the dictionary again. I knew there was a way to say something equivalent to the English “I’ll fix him!” but couldn’t remember if one was supposed to use 修理 (to repair), 处理 (to handle), or something else entirely. A short investigation revealed that the term was actually 收拾, which usually means to put things in order or clean up but can also mean “to settle with; punish”. Wu Jie replied with the universally-recognized smiley face symbol.

Texting is a great way to play around with slang that can be dangerous to say aloud but which is enormously fun to learn and can cast some very interesting lights on social change. I highly recommend the book above whose author was featured in an interview I posted a few months ago and whose title (literally “cow cunt”) means, if you recall “fucking awesome”. The author does an excellent job of introducing various subcultures (drugs, the sex industry, internet culture) and explains how strong each term is and among whom it is safe to use it (so, for example, while I could playfully call my Uncle Mu a 混蛋 (hundan, literally “slacker egg” and somewhat equivalent to the English term “lazybones”) I most definitely could not tell him the show I went to the night before was totally niubi).

Following is a selection of some of my favorite terms from the book, along with their pronunciation and accompanying explanations. I’ve kept it pretty clean and will leave it to you to guess what body part resembles, and is thus called “chrysanthemum” in slang. Buy the book and you will learn many, many things.

狗屁不通 gǒupìbùtōng（go pee boo tohng）

Incoherent, nonsensical. Literally “dog unable to fart.” Exclaimed in response to something, it means roughly “that makes no sense” or “that’s total bull.” Can also be used as an adjective to describe someone who doesn’t know what they’re talking about.

小兔崽子 xiǎotùzǎizi（shaow too dzigh dz--zǎi rhymes with “high”)

Son of a rabbit. A gentle, teasing insult common among older people and directed at younger people. Ironically, parents often use this term to tease their children.

老不死的 lǎobusǐde（laow boo sih duh)

A rude term for an old person. Literally “old and not dead.”

叫你生孩子没屁股眼 jiào nǐ shēng háizi méi pìguyǎn (jaow nee shung hi dz may pee goo yen)

Literally, “May your child be born without an asshole.” Sometimes 没屁股眼 méipìguyǎn by itself (“no asshole,” or more technically “imperforate anus”) is used as a curse like “Damn!” Originated in Hong Kong and surrounding southern areas, but now commonly used all over China.

管你屌事 guǎn nǐ diǎo shì (gwan nee dyow shih)

Mind your own damn business. Literally “mind your own dick.” Similiarly, “It’s none of my damn business” or “I don’t give a shit” is 管我屌事 guǎn wǒ diǎo shì, literally, “I’m watching my own dick.”

去吃大便 qù chī dàbiàn (chee chih dah byinn)

Go eat excrement; go eat poop. Similar to saying “get lost.” Sounds mild and silly, so it’s mostly used by girls in a teasing way.

炒饭 chǎofàn (chow fahn)

Literally “fried rice.” Taiwan slang for having sex, because stir-frying rice involves a lot of flipping and turning.

满地找牙 mǎn dì zhǎo yá (mahn dee jaow yah)

Get beaten up. Literally “find [one’s] teeth on the ground.” Used in northern China.

瘾君子 yǐnjūnzǐ (een jwen dz)

Drug addict. Literally “addicted gentleman” or “addicted nobleperson,” because once upon a time only wealthy people could afford drugs, and opium was considered a status symbol.

我出来大酱油的 wǒ chūlái dà jiàngyóu de (wuh choo lie dah jyung you duh)

Literally, “I’m just out buying soy sauce.” This phrase, along with “soy sauce guy,” swept the Chinese internet by storm thanks to a widely viewed Guangzhou TV news clip of a reporter asking an average man on the street his opinion of the latest celebrity scandal. The man famously replied “管我屌事，我出来大酱油的”--I don’t give a shit, I’m just out buying soy sauce.” Internet users have taken up the phrase “buying soy sauce” as a cynical euphemism for “It’s none of my business” or “Who gives a fuck?” On the Chinese version of Facebook and other popular sites, one now commonly finds, among the possible answers to online polls, “I’m just buying soy sauce.”

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Excerpted from Niubi! The REAL Chinese You Were Never Taught in School, by Eveline Chao. Please don’t sue me.

IF MARGARET MEAD CAN EAT IT I CAN TOO*

I can't say that I remember what previously held the title of most disgusting thing I've ever eaten but I'd like to announce a new winner. Last night I was at another fancy restaurant in a private suite sitting at a table covered with fresh rose petals alongside my boss and a half dozen Chinese businessmen...

Our host insisted that I sit to his right, as his guest of honor, and kept an eye on how I was enjoying the fare. Everything I was served was tasty and appealingly prepared until I lifted the lid of a bowl that was delivered to my plate and was confronted with this:

Sea cucumbers. In broth. For eating. The arrival of the course was greeted with enthusiasm at the table; one guest asked me if we had them America. Yes, I said, but we don't typically eat them. Fools! He must have chuckled to himself, taking a lusty bite and telling me that it was extremely nutritious and quite expensive. And very fresh and delicious, added my host, urging me to dig in. I didn't want to be impolite, so...

It was worse than I had imagined. In texture, flavor, and in form it was unquestionably the very worst thing I have ever tasted. The sight of it quivering in my spoon churned my stomach and I raised it to my lips while freezing my features into an expression of enthusiasm, even appetite. My host approved and pressed me to finish. Bearing the heavy mantle of my profession and thinking of all those stoic eaters of manioc beer, beetles, and sheep's eyeballs that have come before me, I chowed down. And I finished it. With a smile on my face.

Proof:

* Do they eat sea cucumbers in PNG? I have no idea. But I AM fairly certain that our girl Maggie had to deal with a culinary challenge or two back in the day.

EVERYBODY LOVES ME --- SO WHY AM I SO GLUM?

I listen, I pay attention, I take notes; it’s part of the job description and it isn’t as if I have anything better to do. I still feel like a doofus most of the time but it seems that I am perceived as anything but. I have rapidly become a master of Beijing social life. In this context and this context only I can live up to one of my very first nicknames: I charm, I impress, I destroy.

I have an armory of anecdotes to deploy when conversation founders; any number of “high culture” proverbs to let loose; I know what to say to delight anyone from a shopkeeper or restaurateur to a high-powered lawyer or performer. This is in addition to the fact that my face delights. Many Chinese people doubtless think me a hulking foreign devil, but my comrades and hosts have nothing but good things to say. Either I am 双美 ("doubly beautiful", on account of being both from 美国 [meiguo, or America], the “beautiful country” and a 美女 [meinu, or pretty girl]), or I remind people of the 洋娃娃 (yang wawa, or “foreign doll”) with curly golden hair and pink cheeks they used to play with as children [Chinese in their 20s and 30s today only ever had access to the toys made in the south for the overseas market. There are now some dolls with Asiatic appearances produced for the domestic market, but yang wawas remain popular]. You would be surprised how often this comparison comes up. The possibility that I trigger someone’s childhood memory of toys and doll fantasy worlds concerns me slightly but as long as it makes them comfortable with me I’m happy.

There are parts of Beijing and of other cities in China where foreign faces are barely noted, but in the spaces I frequent I am almost always the only one. As a guest at a restaurant or a visitor to an office I add instant cache. My presence brings status and international panache. Some days on the subway I am grouchy and try not to make eye contact with anyone but on other days I play “how many eyes are on me”, looking around to count the people staring at me (my max so far = 14). This gets tiresome when I just want to blow my nose or when people on either side of me are reading the Chinese text message I’m writing over my shoulder but it’s just part of life here.

If I haven’t said it before, I should also add that the vast majority of people here are incredibly gracious and friendly. I couldn't count the times I’ve been taken out to dinner or treated to a show or a day trip. Taxi drivers, acquaintances, and people on the street often ask the same few rather invasive questions (where are you from? are you married? how long have you been in China? how much money do you make? etc), but they do so with enormously well-intentioned curiosity and so far I have never tired of engaging with them.

It helps a great deal that I love it here. I find it tremendously exciting and challenging; a project that my brain can wrap itself around and around. The place and the politics frustrate and anger me often, but many places do the same. I may worry endlessly about the direction the world is going in, and how it is being driven in part by this nation which composes nearly a quarter of the globe’s population, but that will never stop me from feeling a buoyant love for the people here: for my friends, for my landlords, for my “co-workers”, for people on the bus and the street, for the shy and respectful migrant students I volunteer to teach every other week. My compassion, my curiosity, my very heart - all are expanded by openness to this nation and this culture. I want to let people in. I want to learn.

So why is it so hard? Why do I not want to get out of bed most every day? All the logic I can muster reminds me how lucky I am to have this opportunity but all my logical defenses crumble in the face of daydreams of being at home. I don’t care much for money, having subsisted for a good long time on student-sized stipends, but right now I wish I had buckets of it: I want to fly back across the ocean for shows and birthdays, to fly everyone out here to get to know the country that has won me over and to see their minds blown.

Instead I sit in my office, on the bus, in the cars of my friends, staring out the window at the metropolis and making conversation, thinking of what I should write in my fieldnotes when I sit down to my computer and hoping that when I get home someone will be on skype. The point of this whole adventure, in the end, is to learn enough that I have something to share, enough so that in some small way I can increase cross-cultural (and particularly cross-national) understanding, compassion, and tolerance. I hope that is at the end of the road still but too often it feels like my experiences are only for me and I just don’t see the point of that. I didn’t come to be a dilettante, I didn’t come to be a star. It’s nice that so many people here think I’m great but it doesn’t bring the people I love any closer.

I miss you: Ryan and Montana and John and Mark and Vanessa and Sarah and Sara(h) and Carly and Mom and Gret and Dad and Rick and Nick and Georgia and Allison and Jessica and ELD and Austin and Emily and Carrie and Melissa and Paul and Kirk and Emmy and Marybeth and Matthew and Jason and so many others that I see only too rarely. I hope you feel how much I love you and how much I wish I could share this with you.

在后海骑冰车 (ICE-CYCLING AT HOUHAI)

One lovely crisp winter day last weekend I dragged my old classmate Ding Ding (who has a real English name which I just can't get accustomed to using) out to Houhai, having heard an appealing rumor that there one could rent some sort of ice-bike to traverse the lake's frozen surface.

It was true! After paying $1.5o to enter, we had an array of vehicle choices. There was the ice bike, as above, seating two and available in a variety of colors. There were ice skates. There were two-seater sleds propelled by vicious-looking ice picks.

(yes, there was also cotton candy, along with popcorn, roasted sweet potatoes, and kettle corn)

There was at least one sheep-drawn carriage:

For the kids, there was a mini-carriage pulled by a robot dressed in children's clothes and sometimes bearing the head of the sheep. It boasted a speaker that blasted shrill chorals and seemed only able to move in circles. Ding Ding and I both found it extremely creepy. This was as close as I was willing to get for a picture.

There were also at least two repurposed bumper cars which, though mechanized, didn't move very fast. I attempted to sort the different types of vehicles by quality and assign them by proportion to different segments of the population: elites, workers, cadres, the burgeoning middle-class. Ding Ding (below) threw popcorn at me until I shut up.

It was the best day I've had in weeks. Why don't we have these things in the States?

BECAUSE MARK SIANO SHOULDN'T HAVE ALL THE FUN*

We can't all be Mark Siano, but if we have a father who is handy with photoshop (thanks pops!) and a friend willing to take academic glamour shots of us on the streets of Beijing than we too can have our own promotional posters.

This photo, and those below, were taken one cold day in the historic hutong Nanluoguxiang, a pedestrian street and moderately cheesy tourist attraction near my home in central Beijing. Fulbright had demanded pictures of all of its grantees "doing research" for our conference in March and so I asked Wu Jie to take a few. I was hoping for a shot where I was foregrounded, looking intellectual, and there was a blur of frenzied consumers behind me. Unfortunately there weren't many people out that day strolling in the cold and so Wu Jie had me pose in front of a few shops, reflecting on the wondrous array of consumer goods. Of course my research has nothing to do with knit hats or Fidel Castro dolls, but I tried to pretend.

Wondering what astute observations I was recording on the notepad? I just kept writing 研究, the Chinese character for "research," over and over again and imagining what a jerk I must look like. Now I know. And I kind of like it.

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*SOME of the fun, certainly, but not ALL of it.