Here is not there

Restore Sanity

2010-10-30T17:28:00.003-05:00

I was inspired by Jon Stewart's keynote speech at the Rally to Restore Sanity and/or Fear. ... and perhaps a glass of wine.

I got this idea for a project to perpetuate the magnanimity of this seedling movement toward saying "No more" to hemorrhaging broadcast and print media that stoke fear into its audience in order to cling to the last of the bait that remains to catch advertisers. After all, if fear can be used to win elections, couldn't it also be used to keep people watching and reading?

Media has been evolving since conch shells, pinafores and town criers, songs, the pen and the press. Its evolution mirrors the advances in both technology and ruling systems. Now we are at a new precipice for both. We are a global community with the technological tools to create a heretofore unimaginable kind of virtual utopia. It stands to reason that our media also evolves.

Usher in citizen journalism. We will always need observant and inquisitive reporters and careful scribes to convey news to the citizens of an everchanging worlds. But who let our current media rise to its current ruling-class status? And now that we have our own tools to report and disseminate, who really needs the fearmongers? And we certainly don't need media telling us how to think about the world we are all experiencing together. Only the individual can decide what is right and what is wrong.

Our community has been pitted against itself. The best way to destroy any society is to create discourse from within.

I believe that the United States is still the home of the brave men and women who, despite all their worries, still care about their fellow man, regardless of who they voted for in the last election.

Because of this, I want to be part of an ongoing movement to reclaim our country from a media dictatorship.

I want to help create a new platform for new citizen pundits and analysts to sensibly conduct civil interchanges with one another despite non-fundamental difference; a network whereby the subscribers are both audience and participant, interviewer and interviewee; where civic leaders can go to find out what their constituents really need; where we can all start talking again.

I want to use propaganda for a beneficial purpose and stage large group social projects that build the moral of our country, not destroy it.

I want to remember the hope I felt in 2008. And that hope had not so much to do with Obama and what he promised, but with what happened that year during elections. We voted in record numbers. We took part in civic events and civil conversations because we felt strongly about wanting something different -- regardless of our partisan allegiances. We were working in concert en masse for the first time in a very long time. And that mobile America is what gave me hope.

Two years later, we've become exhausted and disenfranchised. We are dangerously divided because we've been listening antagonistic self-anointed demagogues demand that we be angry at each other while panning their cameras out on the small, but vocal collection of the worst of us on both sides of the aisle. We are being subverted into believing that the other side, no matter who they are, is irrational and will not budge -- so why should we. And after awhile, one starts to believe it. If you're told repeatedly that all your efforts will fail, eventually you succumb to discouragement.

Our country was founded by people who refused to listen to flat-earthers. Nothing has changed. It's time we stopped listening trusting in media and start trusting in each ourselves.

Something old, something new

2010-09-29T10:13:00.002-05:00

In a valley made my Oden's horses' hooves

Adam and I returned from our amazing honeymoon in Iceland yesterday afternoon. It was a nonstop, dawn-to dusk rush to take in as much as we could of this mysterious island country. With every twist and turn of each climbing crag or lolling foothill, we encountered a new landscape. Within minutes, the scenery would transform from lush seaside to black and jagged rock -- from roaring blue waterfalls on green moss to motionless, cold pools buried deep within the soundless cliffs.

We woke very early each morning and warmed ourselves with farm-fresh breakfasts before shoving back into the tiny white car that groaned under the weight of another day's drive over steep mountains that rushed into valleys. We traveled by road, by foot, and hand and knee to bellycrawl to the most hospitable vantage points. By the evenings, we were tired and dirty.

-----

We didn't know how it would be possible to return back to our home in monochromatic Houston. This morning, we worried ourselves about the inevitably of that ennui that hisses in the corners of a life of mundane routine. We made oaths to try to our best to stave off the pathos of pattern that often pulls at the weave of a marriage -- knowing that it would take a daily effort for the rest of our lives to not let the awe of each other and this world to get buried in a box with the guestbook and our wedding photos somewhere in the back of our conscious. We've heard the stories ...

My husband left for work and set myself to tend to hearth, unpacking and washing and putting the house right after the torrent of the past few weeks. Already, the tedium of duty and familiarity begins to draw sighs from my mouth. But I discovered something I didn't expect as I pulled our wedding gifts from boxes and put them away: I feel like a bride. Something feels different now. I don't know what it is, but I didn't expect it.

English teacher

2010-01-22T20:44:00.000-06:00

It's a mantle I'm not ready to wear. The words sound strange out of my mouth. I'm still trying to hold on to being an editor.

The principal at the private institute where I teach adults (and young adults) English as a second language is always encouraging me and pointing out things that I might instinctually be doing right. She is convinced I may have found my second calling after having to abandon my first.

Students have recently started telling me that I'm their favorite teacher. And it makes me cringe. I would worry that they were only buttering me up for a good grade, or that perhaps I am too lenient, but I know these students; they are sincere. I know this because I spend time talking to them in the hallways or during lunch or after class. They bring me their papers from other classes and ask for my help. I am really eager to help them understand ... and I guess that's what worries me.

I might be on the verge of really enjoying being an educator. The pay is low (and hourly in my current position) and I'm taking home at least 10 more hours of work each week for which I do not get paid. If it were a job I didn't care about, I'd phone it in. But because I care, I'm struggling to come up with ways to reach my students and it's taking up time that I simply don't have.

Taking a step back, I remind myself what led me to this school: I asked myself why I enjoyed about being an editor and what I enjoyed about by previous job. The primary reason is that I love my language.

And now, as a teacher, for the first time, I really feel like a writer because my colleagues and my students regard me as such. And I love that.

My red backpack

2009-11-29T18:14:00.002-06:00

It's a silly thing, really. But I have this red, corduroy backpack that I love. I was thinking about who I was the day I bought it. It was in October 2004. (I even wrote about buying it in my journal).

I had been trying to work up the nerve to leave my then husband for months. I had left a bread crumb trail to redemption hoping that something would change; that I would finally forgive him of the mistakes he made or that he would stop making them.

And my grandmother was dying. In a morphine-induced non sequiter she told me, unprompted, that I couldn't save the world, so it was probably best to try to save myself. I had no idea where that came from, but since I was dealing with this other problem and it was one of the last things she said to me, it meant something.

It was a Saturday. We took a family trip to a sports store where I was encouraged to "get something nice for myself." (At a sports store?) So I wandered off to the camping aisle, nostalgic for the days when my car was filled with all sorts of ornaments of wilderness escapism. And then I found myself looking at backpacks.

This backpack was a regular school backpack. It was corduroy and a deep red color. It was the only one of its kind and it seemed out of place among the heavier "let's go camping" backpacks. It was on sale.

I looked at it and was suddenly filled with hope. I imagined all the things I'd put in it and all the places I'd go. I sat there daydreaming of college and airports and decks of cards and books and toothbrushes ...

So I got it.

A month later, I told my husband that I had to leave. At that time in my life, it was the most difficult decision I ever had to make. In addition to all the serious problems in our marriage, I felt like I just wasn't going anywhere in life. And it may sound selfish, but if I couldn't save us, I had to save myself.

Two months later, I went back to school.

Sometimes I took the backpack to school, but usually it was used for overnight trips, hotel stays, drives to Austin. Two years later, I had a degree. I took the books out of my bag and took a trip out to California for my 30th birthday. A month later, the backpack was carry on to my first trip abroad to Japan. Later, it accompanied me to Florida, then back to China, then to my boyfriend's house, back to California a few times, back to Beijing, to Tibet, to Chengdu, to Sanya, where my boyfriend asked me to marry him, to home, to Las Vegas ...

And it's been filled with decks of cards, toothbrushes, books, blankets, towels, swimsuits, cold medicine, souvenirs ...

I really love that backpack.

I used to write

2009-11-15T10:20:00.001-06:00

For about a solid year, I was journaling everyday. Then I moved away and I stopped. When I finally had a buhjillion things to write about, I stopped. Part of it was because I had become dependent on the online journal platform and those sites were all blocked in the country where I lived. But mostly, I just simply didn't have both time and energy. I was too busy living.

Yesterday, I visited my friend Gretchen's blog (Chopstick Chatter). She's still in the trenches at Xinhua. She writes about the hilariously bizarre slice of life that is Beijing through an American girl's eyes. Her entries are witty and thoughtful and everything I wish mine were had I ever bothered to write them.

And I asked myself: What happened?

So I opened up my LJ and found my last entry. It was private. Lo and behold, it contained the very answer to my question. I was, essentially, poking fun at myself using highfalutin diction. Something I probably wrote under the influence of a couple glasses of Great Wall. I laughed when I discovered this tucked away. And although I get what I was saying, I feel like I'm missing something.

Anyway. I thought I'd share it.

***

(From my LiveJournal June 5, 2009)

Although I know better, part of me: toys with the idea that I can actually make a difference; and hopes that all my intellectual posturing and indignant rallying (and make no mistake, there was indignant rallying) had some small part in obliterating the chin ese dam against LJ.

Its so odd that here -- on the day after a day whose (pardon the possessive personification) mere mention shuddered hundreds ((conservatively)) of Web sites -- I am posting with liberty on a site from which I have been banned since my arrival in this upside-down world six months ago.

What a shame I have nothing significant to report.

Or rather, the business of experience has left me ill-want to report.

It's a strange transformation. I may actually have more to speak about than I ever have in my life. My head is loosening it's belt with lofty thoughts of thisisms and thatisms -- yet, I feel less inclined to burden my audience with these minor ornaments of experience. They are significant. They are monumental. But: An important thing I've learned about relative significance and monumnentism, is that what has meaning to one audience will not necessarily have meaning to another. Simply, some things are destined to be lost in translation.

So it goes.

I am member to a small society of nitwits and misfits who have, for individual reasons unknown, consigned themselves to a life of alien obscurity. At some point, you become so obsessed with the novel-like narrative in your head that you start to distill snapshots of the ordinary life that you witness on a day-to-day basis into a forced collage of witticisms or, worse, platitudes.

I just don't want to do that anymore.

Ming bai le!

2009-04-07T22:14:00.003-05:00

First, some dream seepage:

I had a dream I had to stack blocks. The blocks came in different dimensions and configurations, but I had to stack them in a way that was modular so as to take up as little space as possible -- and to be uniform, clean. I was creating columns. I'd say it was a little like Tetris -- but I think it was actually very much a literal interpretation of me defragging my brain. I hate it when I dream in blocks and sectors. Sometimes I swear I'm turning into a computer. Dogs look like their owners. Old couples start to look like each other over time. We take on the characteristics of those who are our most constant companions, right?

Now, the update:
With April has come a renewal of spirit. I feel I've made it past the rough phase and now I'm feeling enthusiastic again. The idyllic weather has greatly contributed to this change.

I have gotten used to my own alieness. Aside from missing my friends and family at home, I don't really think about it anymore. It's really very simple: I live here. That's what I'm doing in Beijing. Just living here. That's all.

It's kind of cool.

Love my language

2009-03-22T02:54:00.003-05:00

Last week some Chinese colleagues were asking if I meet be interested in karaoking with them. Of course! They started telling me who in the office had a beautiful singing voice which led to a conversation about talents. One colleague showed me a picture her daughter had made. It was amazing. Her daughter was 7 when she made it. I told them I wish I could do something like that, prompting one colleague to ask, "what is your special talent?"

Before I could answer, the colleague whose daughter is a budding artist said, "She's linguistically talented. She is good at languages, wordcraft and understanding what other people mean even if they're not using the right words.

Needless to say, I was incredibly touched.

Then she said, "That means you mostly use the left part of your brain. You are left-brained."

And I said, "Yeah, I left my brain at home!"

I think I was even more tickled when they laughed at and appreciated my lousy pun. I really do think puns are a good way to practice, understand and play with your language.

And now for some dinosaurs: http://www.qwantz.com/archive/001424.html

Control

2009-03-21T06:41:00.005-05:00

I'm ready to roll up my sleeves and fix my attitude.

I heard myself say something last night that surprised me, and as soon as it came out of my mouth, I felt much better about everything, "Control is always an illusion."

That said, I had a "vulnerable" nightmare that betrayed my latent struggle to maintain some modicum of control. It was about someone from my past who I couldn't trust and of whom I was afraid. I always used to have nightmares of him stalking me, years after the threat was gone. I haven't had a nightmare about it in two years. In my dream, he was trying to get to me in a crowd. He came up behind me, grabbed my arm and tried to pull me away.

I recognize this as not being a dream about him, though. It probably had more to do with the frequency with which strangers here in Beijing approach me and grab my elbow and try to pull me in the direction of their stores, or try to get me to give them money. I hate it. It makes me angry that somebody thinks they're going to get what they want out of me through physical coercion. I can't say that emphatically enough. It makes me *very* angry. I do not respond well to this and several of the store-pushers near my apartment now know this. They need to know that this is NOT how you get something you want from me. So I yell at them. I yell at them loud enough to turn heads. It's not a culture thing. This is how I react to anybody grabbing me. It's a natural defense mechanism.

So I think the nightmare was really about being afraid of losing control of who gets to touch me, how and why. The part of the dream I'm not sure how to interpret was the part where my long-distance friend Max came to my rescue and escorted me to safety and a hot meal. But what we thought was a 24-hour Indian food restaurant really turned out to be a 24-hour Thai massage place. Oh well. I'm still very grateful to him in dreamland.

Regardless of any of that, I need to continue to work on my acceptance of that over which I have no control. I feel that in the past two years, I have made gradual, but significant strides toward being a more calm, centered and patient person. I still have a long way to go.

I could not have come here to China and do the job that I do two years ago -- and I knew that then. I was too high-strung and anxious and still clinging to a desire to control. Before agreeing to take this position, I had to really examine myself and ask myself, honestly, if I would be up for the challenge -- knowing that every day would bring a new and difficult lesson in patience. I decided I was and that this was just an "advanced accelerated course" in the practice of perspective.

Control is an illusion, but self-control is very real. This is what I am reminding myself now as I resolve to get back on track in my exercises in positivity.

random act of kindness

2009-03-18T10:30:00.002-05:00

I've been having a hard time lately. "They say" that the third month living in China is the hardest and I'm inclined to believe them.

I'm not miserable, but my stress levels are the highest they've been in more than two years -- something that is probably compounded in my case by the trials I face at work. I knew what I was getting myself into when I signed up to work for the state-run news agency and all that entails, but I really underestimated how much it would affect me to deal with some of the ethical problems I'm dealing with now. March is mad because it's the anniversary of certain uprisings in certain western provinces in the past 50 years. I've had to deal with all the crap that comes from that. This may be the most soul-robbing job I've ever had. Hopefully, when this course is complete, it will have also been one of the most rewarding.

The above sentence is an example of me trying to chisel away at the ever-growing chip on my shoulder. Rather than talk about the hundreds of things that are driving me crazy about this upside down place, I want to write about the one tiny little thing that happened today that made it all a little easier:

I was eating dinner at some obscure place called Other Western. It was a cute little place that tried real hard. (Unfortunately, I think it may be the reason my tummy is angry now).

As I was waiting for the bill, the cutest little boy -- probably about 10 -- walked up to Gretchen and I and said, "Hello? Welcome to Beijing."

It melted me. It chiseled away at the chip.

People here ... can be difficult. There are some truly baffling behaviors that if I didn't have some relativity and a thick skin, I'd find almost aggressive. But there are jerks in every corner of the world. So it goes. There are reasons here, like in every place, to watch my back and watch it carefully. But as a foreigner, I might be an easier target -- especially in my quietly hostile workplace.

But then there is just this sweet, innocent welcoming warmth that some people here have that makes it so much easier to be an alien.

Where was I? I forgot the point that I was making

2009-03-03T04:33:00.006-06:00

Mentally, I've been spread thin. February was exhausting -- leaving me little energy in quiet moments to capture my thoughts about this whole experience.

I'm disappointed. I had hoped to do a better job of cataloging, dissecting, distilling day-to-day discoveries. Wrapping things up in a delicate little bow at the end of each day to try to describe something that might not be all that interesting to anyone anyway.

Meh. Sufficed to say, China is no Shangri la.

I'm glad I came, though. I've learned so much already. I'm learning so much about this country, how a different people think, a little about why they think so differently, geography, history. All and all, it's a great semester abroad in my ongoing education.

On to more specifics:
I broke free from my oppressive roommate with little drama. She was keeping a log of my comings and goings (including comings and goings to the bathroom -- an important matter, I suppose, for someone who takes five showers a day). I couldn't have left a minute later without losing my wits. But to spare her feelings -- or arguments about why I couldn't leave -- I moved most of my things out before she could get in my way and I told her an exaggerated truth about a future visitor coming to stay with me for a "very long time."

The new apartment is nice. Spacious. Faces east to west so I get sun on both sides. Has 24 hour hot water. Is a brand new construction. Is closer to work. Is a two-three minute walk from Gretchen's apartment. Has businesses around it. And I live alone! I'm pleased. I expect the change of scenery will do wonders for my comfort level just as soon as the DSL gets hooked up.

The job has been stressing me out. There has been all kinds of drama and I'm trying to stay out of the crossfire. But tensions are high and don't seem to be easing up. Further, the work ethic -- no, ALL ethic -- at this particularly organization is atrocious. Why in the world would I have to lecture about not plagiarizing Wikipedia? How is this not common sense at a news organization? And how is it that I've had to yell about it more than once? And how come people don't get fired for outright lies or plagiarism, but they do get fined seriously for turning their stories in on the wrong form? I don't get it. But I'll tell you this: I cannot keep my sanity or my dignity as an editor and work here beyond the duration of my current contract.

I'm trying to get involved in activities here. There have been networking events in which I have no interest. Instead, I prefer to get involved in things that are more natural to me -- theater, local music, etc. I went to an audition for Midsummer's Night Dream, but didn't read for it when I learned the run dates would coincide with my travel dates. But I did volunteer to help out in any way I can. I also priced some basses, but the search continues. I've got to save up for June.

And I can't wait till June.

Readers: I invite you to help me get back on track by asking me specific questions. What would you find interesting? And please don't ask about the food -- there's so much more to talk about.

end of the holiday

2009-02-09T01:53:00.007-06:00

I didn't care for the Spring Festival, aka, Chinese Lunar New Year.

It's really a time for families. My expat buddies all took off to Bali and my Chinese colleagues spent it with their families. It was a lonely time marked by the incessant explosion of fireworks. At home, I always looked forward to July 4. Now, I'm not sure if fireworks will ever be special again.

I guess the holiday made me a little cranky, then introspective. I'm disappointed in myself for not writing anything in the past few weeks. In the past year, I had become very disciplined about daily, or near-daily writing. The exercise actually helped me to become better focused and more disciplined in other facets of my life. I feel guilty about not writing -- like I've cheated on my diet or skipped going to the gym too many days in a row.

So, I'm trying to climb back onto the wagon.

I think I may have reached the disillusionment phase of living abroad. But in all honesty, I can't say I was ever really illusioned. I never really let myself develop an sort of specific expectations so I therefore don't feel let down in any way. I hear this phase is supposed to be pretty rough, though, so maybe I haven't really reached it yet.

Sufficed to say, I've developed some pretty clear opinions based on a few observations, and not all of them are diplomatic. They're not completely negative, either. I guess I'm just trying to maintain a matter-of-fact attitude. If I dwell too much on the things that really annoy me, I'm going to wind up completely missing out on all the things that make this an extraordinary experience. It would be easy to to get weighed down by it all, but I'm not going to do that.

Today is the 15th and last day of the Spring Festival holiday. It is called the Lantern Festival. The Lunar New Year begins on the first new moon of the year and by the time the moon waxes full, it is officially Spring "chun."

And it is spring here, now. I no longer have to wear my coat -- a sweater or a hoody suffice. Warmer weather invariably means warmer spirits for Jenny.

It also helps for me to have time markers. The passage of time is very strange, here. It doesn't feel like I've only been here two months. It feels much longer. I'm trying to combat this affect by looking forward to things -- goal setting, rather. I've also been watching the moon. It helps put time back into perspective.

Something about which I am very excited: Traveling to Tibet, Mt. Everest and Sanya in early June.

Blogsnobbery: A confession

2009-01-24T23:07:00.002-06:00

The past two weeks ... has it been two weeks? ... have been filled with crazy adventures. I've been aching to write all about it, but the longer it takes me to sit down and write, the fuzzier the details that made it journal-worthy in the first place become.

So why not simply write it all out immediately after the adventure?

A) The adventure made me sleepy.
B) And here's where the blogsnobbery comes into play: I haven't found the time to upload the videos, pictures and links I need to present a deep, media-rich blog experience.

Yes. I worry about that kind of thing now.

My country

2009-01-20T01:18:00.000-06:00

The separation from my country on this day has given me pause. I've been steeping in reflection about what it means to really love one's country. Today, I am surprised and humbled by the amount of I love for the United States of America.

Tonight, so far away from any star-spangled banners, I'll find a few countrymen, gather around a television and watch -- as the whole world watches -- an event that transcends a mere changing of the guard.

As we try to shape an understanding about what exactly it means, it's easy to assign significance to the obvious: Our new leader is our first black leader; Our new leader replaces an old leader who failed us miserably; Our new leader inherits confusing global concerns of conflict and economic strife; etc.

And although all these things are indeed significant -- in both individual weight and in concert -- there is an even bigger picture to behold.

The world is changing and we, the people, are carrying torches to help light the way through this unexplored territory.

After years of awkward adolescence, happily oblivious to our role in the global community and content to trust our good name to elected powers who 'knew better than we did,' we somehow began to start asking the right questions. And now, with the avalanche of technology that helps us gain cultural relativity and insight into the lives of our friends in other countries, we're moving past the egocentric behavior for which we have been long known and are starting to earnestly desire what is best for ourselves and our neighbors. We are beginning to hold our own community to higher standards. In doing so, we are not only holding our leadership accountable, but we are holding ourselves accountable. Our democracy is a privilege and must be used with responsibility.

And this year, we did so. We voted in record numbers. We took part in civic exercises. We asked each other some difficult questions about how to renew our belief that our nation was still a beautiful nation.

And those whose opinions were not in the majority, have been remarkably patriotic and mature by supporting the majority and supporting our new leader. Our new president takes office with a higher support rating than the votes that made him president.

In primary school we sang jingoistic songs about America, the beautiful. We were taught that our country was the best country -- without question -- and that our duty was to love and serve. When we grew up and entered the workforce and joined in the race of impossible hyperconsumerism, the iconoclasm of our childhood ideal made us feel naive, lied-to cheated. It was easier to do nothing than to raise our voice to an unstoppable machine that was bigger, faster and stronger than we were.

But maybe the tall tales of John Henry and Johnny Appleseed disguised lessons that we're starting to recollect: Change comes seed by seed and together, we're bigger than the machine.

Hope is not a hokey thing. It's not childish or naive to have hope. We almost lost our hope, but decided that we liked the idea of America, the beautiful and we weren't going to part with that ideal so easily.

It takes the effort of every citizen to reconcile the ideal with the reality. But today, we prove that we haven't lost hope of that possibility.

The change

2009-01-11T01:18:00.004-06:00

You reach a point when you stop thinking, "Everything is so strange and different," and start to realize that it is you who is so strange and different.

With this discovery comes the humility you need to begin to learn.

I get it now, China. Teach me.

***

I remember a conversation I had with Matt after he had been in Japan a few months. He said that the difference you feel after you stop being a being a guest and start living in a foreign country was not something that could be described in words. He said he could talk about it in loose terms and that I could only concretely comprehend what he was saying, but until I actually did it, I could never really relate ... never understand.

I think I understand what he meant as I try to shape words around one of the most abstract feelings I've ever encountered.

I use analogies in order to relate the unknown to the known. This was something about Matt and I often argued. He wasn't satisfied with my "close-enough" non correlations. I do understand why. There is not always a translation when dealing with abstractions. There is no equal sign between something concrete and something abstract. But barring a better language, I'll do the best I can with what I have. In preface of what follows: I can't explain this feeling to you, but I am going to try to give you something that might come close.

This "far away" feeling is exactly that. It's a feeling. It's a distinct emotion. And it is attached solely to the experience of being ... alien. Trying to describe it is like trying to describe anger to someone who has never felt it.

My memories of being a small child are coming into sharp focus. I had all the capacity for comprehension that I do now -- if not, more so. I am very clearly remembering being about four or five years old. Up until that point, all of my understanding of the world came directly and solely from my parents. I really had no other socialization until Sunset Methodist's Mother's Day Out Program at the age of 5. Suddenly and rapidly, the world began to unfold. It was overwhelming, frustrating, exciting, rewarding, terrifying, wonderful ... and all of this before recess. Can you remember what it was like?

I remember how excited I was when I mastered a new skill and how frustrating it was when the mastery didn't come quickly and easily. I remember the oddness of new sensations. (My new town of Pasadena had an incredibly strange new taste and that was very different from McAllen. The mats we took our naps on had such a strange smell. I have strong tactile memories of fingerpainting for the first time, or of the corduroy pants I wore. Et cetera). I had to relate to someone other than my immediate family. It was the first time I met children my age. They acted differently than I did. I made a few friends. JoAnna Salazar and Michael O'Brien. I can't believe I remember their names. The teachers sometimes seemed mean. I had never encountered that. This new society had rules I had to learn. Had expectations. Sometimes I missed my parents and Jimmy and John so much. Sometimes I was at the top of the world because I was the first kid in my class to know all my letters. Sometimes I felt so stupid because I wasn't as coordinated as the kids who magically understood jump ropes. Sometimes my feelings got hurt because I didn't understand the way other children joked around. Sometimes I was exhausted from all the new things I saw that day. Sometimes I was excited because learning was so much fun.

But all of the time, I was very aware that I was only striking the surface of the knowledge the world had to offer. I guess I was a sensitive child. The strangeness of the world I faced every day kept me wide awake and overwhelmed at night. So I'd sneak into my brother's room and we'd watch the boxfan blow the pages of our giant Disney picture book. And we told each other stories about the different worlds that we imagined were out there ... that were just as strange as ours, but somehow easier to understand.

And how I feel today isn't exactly like how I felt when I was five -- but it's the closest I can come to desccribing it.

Some thoughts as I wait for the water to warm

2009-01-06T20:24:00.003-06:00

Can be found on my LJ. It's already behind the wall and I didn't want to jeopardize my enjoyment of this journal. You know where to look. dubya dubya dubya dot livejournal dot com slash users slash hereisnotthere

Serious illness cause for concern

2009-01-06T05:44:00.002-06:00

Dear Abby,

I am American editor working for a very large news bureau in Beijing. I just edited an interesting story. A chick -- as in 19 year old girl -- died in Beijing yesterday morning. The results from her medical tests have concluded that this is the first confirmed bird flu case since 2003. She lived my district.

My roommate is sick. She's been keeping me up with her coughing. She smells wretched. And of course, like everyone else here, she doesn't cover her mouth when she coughs and takes no precaution against the spread of communicable diseases.

Additionally, my roommate is shrill, self-centered, annoying and has the attention span of a duck.

Can I have her quarantined?

Signed,
Bothered in Beijing

A list of ironies and/or changes

2009-01-03T18:59:00.007-06:00

Then: About four years ago, I switched from coffee to tea. I gave it up while I was on the chron desk because it just got to be too unhealthy a habit. So while everyone else was mad-dashing to Starbucks in the morning, I was patiently steeping. Often jasmine or green teas. Now: I am in the land of a million teas and all I want to drink is coffee.
Then: Along those same lines, unless I was meeting up with Chere, I never understood what the big deal about Starbucks was. Its viral omnipresence didn't sit well with my elitist sensibilities. Now: I go there by myself just to hang out because I love the way it smells and the familiarity and omnipresence brings me comfort in a world that's upside down.
Then: I could only step foot in a Wal-Mart if it was after Target closed and I desperately needed something. I also had to don a new persona (that's how Darla was born) and make a joke out of the expedition. The place was always filthy and crowded with unclean masses. Now: I still hate it. But it really is the most convenient place to go. The store's layout makes sense. I can find what I need and get out of there in 10 minutes. The prices aren't ridiculous as they are just about everywhere else. The food is healthy. The place is clean and usually crowded with well-groomed shoppers.
Then: I shivered and complained at anything under 68 F. Now: I won't layer up (no more long johns) for anything less than about about -8 C. (Notice the switch from F to C) I wear normal clothes and the lesser of the two coats I brought. I might wear my scarf and hat, too.
Then: We Houstonians get a bad rep for not walking (or biking) because everything is too spread out. Now: People are flabbergasted that I insist on walking distances less than 2 miles. A new friend of mine refused to have me meet her Starbucks about a mile from my apartment because it was "too far" for me.
Then: Along those lines ... I loathed the idea of stairs and something like a "stair stepper" was the dumbest thing I ever heard. Meanwhile, my once-muscular legs were rapidly entering their 30s. Now: I give credit to all the stairs for my already-improving fitness, and my killer legs. Seriously, my legs and ass are looking pretty good. I'm almost back to my early 2005 shape and I've only been here a month.
Then: I very rarely slept. And when I did, it was often during the day. The blame lay on my own malfunctioning rhythms. (That is until around Ike ... then I started sleeping like a normal person and it was amazing. Amazing. It changed my life to learn that it was possible. I even slept through someone else's loud snoring and sleep-talking). Now: I am capable of sleeping, but never get enough rest because of external circumstances. Those circumstances include my rude-as-f*** roommate; My upstairs neighbors, Mr. and Mrs. Domestic Abuse and their dog Napoleon; dry, hot and still air in my bedroom; plywood mattress; my own desire for the peace and quiet that only comes late at night. (Sorry for the gripe-fest, I am currently writing this under the duress of mind-bending fatigue).
Then: I got pretty annoyed if I couldn't shave at the very least every other day. Now: It's just impractical and I'm over it.
Then: Heavy crowds gave me panic attacks. If I couldn't easily access an exit, I'd get sick to my stomach. Now: I stood in sardine-packed subway. I was literally crushed by people on all sides. I felt mild discomfort but I didn't freak out.
Then: In the states, I was considered "short." Now: Here, I am still considered short.
Then: "Captain Jenny" was just a nickname. Now: I actually use a compass daily and ... I scratched my cornea on my first day here. I got some drops from the clinic at my work and it seemed to be healed. The dryness of the air has revealed that my eye has not yet healed. My eye is irritated by dry, dusty wind. I might actually have to wear an eyepatch. Oh lord.

And now for something completely the same:

I thought that being removed from all my nerdy nerdy friends would help impede my juggernaut toward absolute dorkdom. It has not. In fact, if anything, it may have gotten worse. During the past weekend I:

Corrected Gretchen on the nature of Captain Kirk's personality when she played his name card in Apples to Apples. The word was "unscrupulous." And I said, "Nuh - uh. Captain Kirk had plenty of scruples, unless you are referring to the episode named "The Enemy Within." Yes, I did.
I looked for a map of Middle Earth on Google Maps and was surprised when I didn't find one.
I had to stop myself from penning a rant about how mmorpg game developers were missing a huge market by not releasing games for Mac and how it suxx0rz that WoW was the only one who did because it's a completely n3rfed sandbox for n00bz.

At least I can count on one thing never changing.

Another auld lang syne

2009-01-02T23:06:00.002-06:00

On New Year's Eve, I went to a Communist Youth League party at my work.

It wasn't what I'd call "fun," but it was good wholesome fun. It reminded me so much of spaghetti night on the last night of an APP Christmas show run after the lights go up. It took place in the cafeteria. The stage was pulled out and there were skits. Awards were handed out. There were door prizes. There was juice and candy. Actually, it was exactly like the Cub Scouts Blue and Gold banquet. Except instead of Cub Scouts, it was a bunch grown Chinese men and woman. (Apparently, you stay in the Youth league until you get invited to join the party by an extant member who sponsors you).

Gretchen and I stayed long enough to hear one skit too many before taking off to meet folks for the New Years Eve celebration. It was at a "Mexican" restaurant in Sanlitun. I hate to be snobby, but ... attempts at Tex-Mex by anyone who isn't either from Tex or Mex are just sad. But I'm sure that me and the guy I met from Sugarland are the only ones who noticed. Yes. I met a guy from Sugarland in a TexMex restaurant in Beijing.

I'm still a noobie, but here's how I see the expat community: Everybody knows each other here. There's one big expat circle that does things like New Years together -- spread out over three venues. Within that circle are smaller circles that do Friday night things together. Two or three circles may meet up on a Friday or Saturday. But your one circle is who you have brunch with.

And the circle Gretchen adopted me into is a pretty cool bunch of guys.

So at Saddle (the TexMex place), we rang in the new year. It got loud and rowdy. Yeehaw. I gave a midnight peck to my new friend, Jim. Honestly, it was strange being alone (as in, sans boyfriend) on New Years. The last time I went kissless was Y2K when Mike was still in Vegas. Geez. Anyway ... It's funny what you take for granted.

Peter (works with Gretchen and I) met up with us at some point. Then we all went for pizza before calling it a night.

I had a really good time, but I found myself really missing my friends.

So what I wound up doing the next night seemed a little special to me ...

On New Year's day, I met the group for brunch in the village in Sanlitun. When we were discussing our next move, I admitted I was pretty itchy to go to the Mac store. Which was met by approval from the men in the group. Apparently, guys dig Mac stores. Then we all walked around and played "bad foreigner" in the mall. We played in the toy store. We tested the massage chairs and all the electronics. Then we went our ways.

That night, we met up at Ian and Leslie's to play Apples to Apples. Gretchen got it from home for Christmas. Of course I kicked ass. As silly as it sounds, it made me really happy to play that game. It made me feel closer to my home friends. :)

Yesterday, I spent the day craving something spicy. Everyone makes these claims about dishes being "spicy" but they are not. My tastebuds were about to die of boredom. I would have paid $20 for a single jalepeno. So, despite the fact that the dryness of the air caused my scratched cornea to irritate the hell out of me, I jumped on the invitation to go to a Thai restaurant. I ordered the spiciest things on the menu (still could have been a little spicier) but it was the happiest my tastebuds had been since my last real sushi date (Miyakos -- something with eel in it. And Tiger eye. Love is tiger eye).

After Purple Haze (the Thai place) we all went to a weird restaurant/dance club were we ordered some heinekens and a hooka. I didn't stay long. The eye was killing me and that place was sucking moisture from my cells.

It's so dry here. Desert dry. Last night I got the second nosebleed I've ever had. The first one was when Bec and I were in the Mojave, applying Carmex to our nostrils.

I feel like I'm starting to get the hang of things here. People are telling me where to meet them and I'm taking the subway and walking. I use the cabs at night when I have to. It's difficult because I don't speak Chinese, but even when the cabbie drops me off in the wrong place, my sense of direction is getting good enough to just say, " may sure" and walk the rest of the way.

I've felt homesick, but I still haven't really felt "shocked." I still find that strange. There is so much here that is bizarre and completely f***** up, but I really don't feel shocked. Other than pining for my friends, the only thing that might fall into the culture shock category is an occassional feeling of frustration.

And I'm tired. I really don't get enough sleep. And I make myself this vow: I will never again electively live with someone I don't know and love.

Viddys: Ain't no party like a communist party and the first installment of "Mac stores around the world."

I've decided I'm going to buy iLife at some point when there's income.

The Germans

2009-01-02T22:33:00.003-06:00

Monday night I met Anke. She's a tall, thin blonde German who knows my roommate. We hit it off pretty well and she invited me for sushi (which my roommate doesn't seem to like. Mark another check in reasons why I'll probably never see her again after I move outta here). So Tuesday I met up with her.

When I asked her how she new my roommate, she told me that she was going to take my room before I did, but then she got to know my roommate a little better. It was such a relief to hear that I haven't been overreacting. After venting to Anke, I felt so much better about the whole thing.

Anke and I went to a clothing mall so she could pick up a suit she had made. It looked good, it's affordable and it may be my only chance to have clothing made to fit my body -- so I'm gonna do that when the funds come in.

That night, Anke invited me to have dinner with two friends of hers. Also, tall thin German girls. Anke had prepared a German dinner. It was good. The company was good and I learned a new word: Steichholzschachtelchen. It's a matchbox.

This might sound terrible, but it was nice to talk to blonde people. Outside of work, it had been too long since I had a conversation where I didn't have to be extraordinarily careful about idioms and strange turns of phrases. Even though the German girls struggled a bit on a few words, they know my language. And by virtue of my language borrowing from theirs, I wasn't completely in the dark when they spoke in German.

I read an article on an SA forum a couple months ago about how Americans have this nasty habit of oversimplifying their conversations when speaking to non-English speakers. Since then, I try to be sensitive to make sure I'm not doing that. But with the vast differences between Chinese and English, I really have to. It's different with German and Latin languages.

Language really does define and mirror a culture. The way we think is shaped by how we speak to one another. I feel very observant of this, lately. Especially at dinner with the Germans. We were able to relate to each other so well on most things.

One difference, they really were more refined ... more sensitive about some of things that go on here in China. I'm sensitive, too. (The spitting still really bothers me). But I don't think I'm as sensitive.

Food!

2008-12-27T06:29:00.004-06:00

Everyone keeps asking me about the food here. The thing is, I've never really been that big into food. Yes, the food is very different here, but honestly, I just don't think about it all that much. But because it's the burning question on everyone's minds, I will start to pay attention to what I'm eating and bring the culinary adventure to you, dear reader.

***
In the past few conversations I've had with folks back home, there has been a repeated message: Be brave, Jenny. And I think what people were really saying was, "Consign yourself to fate and eat something bizarre."

So today, after registering as an alien and walking around town for awhile, I decided to just jump right in. I was drawn into this fast-food court in the basement of a supermarket by a Yoshinoya sign. The memory of eating there in Japan was a pleasant one, but when I glanced at the menu, I knew I had to let it go as a thing of the past. All meat. (And without getting too graphic, I discovered through conversation that I am unique in that I've been here three weeks and my, ahem ... "system," is still in good shape. Apparently, most people start having "system" problems within three days. The apparent cause for my sustained comfort: I don't eat meat. Score another point for that lifestyle decision. So, I'm going to try my best to keep it up.

So I walked about the court, looking at the menus for something to reach out and grab me. And it literally did. While glancing at a menu at one place, I was welcomed and led by the elbow by the manager to a table where I was given tea. Now ... this is a fast-food court, but it's still a pretty ceremonious thing. So, rather than argue that I was just browsing, I placed my tummy in the hands of HanNaShan Food place.

I consulted Lonely Planet for the phrase I practice, but keep forgetting: wo bu yao rou. But I'm sure I butchered it, so I just pointed to the different words for "meat" and said, "bu." The waitress pointed to a picture of something weird and I indicated that I was interested, but I wanted to know what was in the maki (feeling brave). I think she tried to tell me that I didn't want it, and I thought I indicated that I would eat fish. She nodded and pointed to something weird and orange on the menu. I pointed again to the maki, she nodded and left. Then she came back and asked for 38 yuan, which I thought was more than it ought to be, but then I figured she must have thrown in the bizarre orange thing. When she returned again, she brought the veggie bowl, the orange stuff AND the maki. Oh geez! It decided it was worth the 38 yuan to experiment.

The veggie bowl was huge. It consisted of pickled carrot, bean sprouts, something dark green and leafy (like spinach) some different sprouts, mushrooms (ick) all on top of rice and topped off with an egg. (Eggs go on top of a lot of dishes). It came with some sort of appetizer soup and two tiny dishes of pickled veggies. It was actually pretty good as long as I ate around the mushrooms.

The questionable orange stuff ... I have no idea what it was. It was greasy and most definitely came from some animal, but it wasn't any part of any animal you might readily recognize. If it wasn't animal, then it was fried in animal fat. It was chewy in a skin-kind of way. I'd say it was fish skin if I had to guess based on taste. But I didn't know fish had skin. Maybe some cartilage? I don't know.

The maki was hilarious. Accompanying the maki was pre-poured soy sauce. And in the soy was was something green that looked exactly like a caterpillar. I mean, down to the ridges and segments. Honest to god, I thought it was a caterpillar until I tried to pick it up and turned out to be wasabi squeezed from a tube.But the maki itself ... well, I thought it looked like it could have been salmon. It was certainly the right color. but it was a little too solid and firm in shape. I had a try. It was hot dog. Cold, uncooked hot dog. The other ingredients were unidentifiable veggies. All together, it really wasn't all that bad. I bit the bullet and stuck it out for three or four pieces.

I'm sure my waitress got a kick out of me laughing at and taking pictures of my food.

Someone's sentimental

2008-12-25T05:32:00.003-06:00

To everyone,

Your love is the light from the sun. And I am the moon. And I take your light and shine down on the dark and quiet places of the earth.

***

I laughed at myself when I realized what I had done. I went to Wal-Mart (which "high-end," but easy to navigate) to buy myself a little Christmas present: A humidifier. It looks like a bunny -- a weird alien robot- type bunny. You know, the kind of bunny I go ga ga for. Humidfiers are a necessity in this dry air, especially when the heat is on everywhere you go. Very especially when you've spent all your life in a coastal city. Anyway, while I was there, I picked up some snacks for the office. I got some tea and imported Danish butter cookies.

When I got to work, it occurred to me that I associate those Danish shortbreads with the Christmas tins that our family invariably received each Christmas from some not-that-close acquaintance like a co-worker or real-estate agent. I guess I missed Christmas more that I would have admitted.

Do they know it's Christmas?

2008-12-24T09:56:00.002-06:00

I can't really make out how I feel about Christmas. Presently, it's Christmas eve, I am at work and I will be until the wee hours of Christmas. I'll go home, write, sleep, and be back here at work tomorrow night. But the truth is, I don't really mind.

I really like my job. I do it well. And that's a good feeling in a place where it's so difficult for me to do anything well. I feel pretty comfortable when I'm at work. And while I'm here, I'm not obsessing over how nice it would be to be with friends and family right now.

My Chinese colleagues have been very nice to me tonight. They are all coming up to me and asking if it is difficult to be here on Christmas. It is. But I tell them it brings me comfort to be here. And it's true. (It's strange that I found a job for which I like to come in early or don't mind staying late. I don't want to spend my time here hiding on a desk, though. But I'm pretty darned broke now and can't afford to spend too much on cabs, buses, admission fees, shopping and the like. By the time I start getting income, I'll probably be confident enough to tackle some broader explorations of my environment. The weather should be a little more pleasant by then, too).

Anyway, I'm not the biggest fan of Christmas, but I do miss everyone at home. I even miss making fun of Christmas with other scrooges. Maybe I'll make my way to Sanlitun tonight and go croon Christmas carols with other ex-pats. But probably not. I just want everyone to have themselves a merry little Christmas.

***

Got ripped off at the fruitstand today. I knew I was getting ripped off, too. But I don't know how to bargain yet. Frustrating. Then I tried to buy a dumpling in the cafeteria today and the guy went out of his way to ignore me. When I wouldn't go away, he kind of shooed me off. This happens. And when this happens, I think of the girl at the Starbucks in Sogo who is excited to see me because it gives her a chance to practice her English. Or the two school girls who helped me find my apartment building even though I couldn't speak Chinese and they couldn't speak English, so it took awhile. They didn't dismiss me. For every "Hello" (the rude kind)" there is going to be a "Hi, Ni hao" somewhere around the corner. Those make my day.

***

I read Jacey's knitting blog tonight. It's amazing how good she's gotten since she began a little more than a year ago. I don't know a stitch about knitting, but her blog really made me want to take it up. I'm proud of her, but a little envious, too. I thought to myself, "I wish I had a craft talent. I want to create things. I bet a hobby like that would really be good for my mental health. I could pick it up whenever I needed to focus, or blow off steam, or whatever." Then I realized that I guess I kind of do that with my writing. And I'm a pretty decent writer. But my friends can't wear my prose, or hang it in their kitchens, or anything like that. I want a tangible, tactile talent. Maybe I can get her to teach me when I come home. But she'll have to be patient. I have the attention span of a

***

I'm really missing my LJ. It had all these nice privacy features, so I could ramble at will and not subject anyone to it all. And since I'd been using LJ since 2002? 2003? it's become my preferred method of journaling. And I say, "journaling" and not blogging, because most of what I have written there is not for public consumption. "Blog" just has this "audience" connotation for me. My LJ was my diary. I've had many paper journals. I've written in the first few pages of each of them and then forgot about them. But in the past few years, I've become really good at writing in my LJ. Maybe it's because handwriting is more difficult for me (writers cramps and illegibility). Maybe I just grew used to it. I don't know.

Mostly I kept it as a dream diary. It also replaced various dogeared notebooks for my lousy attempts at poetry. But now that I have travels to report, I think about my audience much more. I think about filtering out and tucking away the entries that are just for me. But I am loathe to start a new journal for dream diary entries.

That said: I haven't dreamt much since I've been here. After six days here, I dreamed I went to meet Natalie, Jeremy, Adam and Dave for lunch, but when I got there, they had all left. Yesterday morning, I dreamed I found my own apartment and was free from my insane roommate. Aside from those quick little flashes, I don't dream.

Except this afternoon when I finally got some rest by putting my headphones on over my earplugs (not very comfortable, but it's the only way I could drown her out). I finally had some dreams. I dreamed of the ghostd of Christmas's past. Jacob Marley as played by Ben Armintor. No kidding. I was meeting Dave, Jim and Chris Mitchell at a diner. And Ben showed up. Then I went to some virtual room -- like a holodeck -- and put on these goggles to play some game. And I was playing the game online with an old friend/lover -- but I wasn't sure who it was. But then I got a message on my G3 phone (which I don't own, yet). I had a new inbox message from an ex who had some snarky retort to something I had posted. But it didn't bother me because I knew he didn't mean it personally. And I think Heather Frietag was mentioned. It was a pretty sticky dream, I wish I could remember more.

***

I laughed my ass off a few minutes ago when I heard someone sing Happy birthday, dear Jesus (to the tune of the Happy Birthday). Oh Holy Sh** that was hilarious. I wish someone else could have been around to hear it. It was bizarre and lovely at the same time.

***

A more progressively minded colleague here asked my opinions on a hot-button issue. He is visiting the region of said hot-button issue and wanted to know, as a journalist, what kind of questions he should ask and what he should report on while he was there. He was curious about Western perceptions of the issue and why they seem skewed in one direction. We then had an incredibly engaging conversation about the differences in our respective media practices. It was pretty awesome. Then he told me he studied media in South Africa for a few years and that he could empathisize with the culture shock he imagined I was feeling today, especially as I sit here on my desk on Christmas Eve.

What did I tell you? For every frustration, for every silent curse against some of the things I've encountered, there is a reminder of why I came here in the first place.

Guttiwuts

2008-12-23T21:34:00.003-06:00

I used to have panic attacks. The first occurrence I remember happened in high school. I remember running out of geometry class and freaking out in the hallway for no good reason at all. I had no idea what was wrong with me. I didn't tell anyone about it because I knew it wasn't "normal" and I didn't want anyone to jump to the conclusion that they often do with teenagers, "they must be on drugs." I wasn't. It was just a surge of adrenaline dumped into my bloodstream. My hormones were out of whack. They always have been.

The episodes weren't by any means frequent until around 2003 or 2004. Then they came like rain. In 2005, after missing classes and feeling nervous most of the time, I sought the help of pharmaceuticals. I hated Zoloft. I didn't feel normal. I gained 20 pounds in six weeks. I was calm, but depressed as hell. I decided to take my mother's advice and try a mind-over-matter approach. During that time, I think it was safe to say that the attacks originated from anxieties. (Though not all my attacks were. Some of them were simply just surges in adrenaline). So I practiced relaxation techniques. At first I was pretty lousy at it -- only being able to stop the "about to faint or have a heart attack or run an 80-yard dash or vomit or all of the above" feeling by finding someplace quiet and dark and sitting still. Eventually, I got much better at recognizing early warning signs and nipping it in the bud by taking a walk or finding a distraction. I think from about March 2007 until September of this year, I was episode free.

I had one on the day I told my boss about the China thing. I guess it was because I knew telling him would eventually result in him letting me go (which it did) and that in telling him, saying it out loud, I was really committing myself to it. I decided not to be too hard on myself for that one.

Since then, on and off, I'll have this feeling that is the physical sensation that precedes a panic attack. I know I won't actually have one because I've been walking around with this feeling so often that I'm used to it now.

It's alot like the feeling you get when the rollercoaster plunges -- only it doesn't fade away. So lately, I've had this almost constant feeling of having been punched in the gut.

Maybe it's just the food. My roommate does cook some noxious stuff.

I wanted to be with you alone, and talk about the weather

2008-12-23T10:42:00.002-06:00

It drives me crazy that my moods are so easily affected by the weather. I am reminding myself that part of my "funk" has a great deal to do with the temperature, the humidity -- or in this case, the lack thereof. Granted, I've got a full plate, but I'm recognizing some familiar winter whine on my part.

So it shouldn't surprise me that I was in a pretty good mood today. I don't know how cold it was today. I don't care. It felt comfortable to me. I've pretty much grown accustomed to it. I think I'm most likely genetically predisposed for it, anyway. It just felt warmer to me today.

Then again, my mood could have had everything to do with all the e-mails and skype conversations I got/had this morning (last night). I'm so glad that I put out a squeaky wheel cry for communication this weekend and that so many of my loved ones responded. I don't need money. I don't need care packages. I just need lots of love. And I have it. I'm doing just fine.

I claimed a small victory today. Having wifi in my room really has helped my sanity. And although my roommate is still a little much to handle, I found I had a little bit more patience today. I am trying very hard and I think I did alright today. I decided to think of her as a little child. (Aren't we all?). Typing it just now, I realize how condescending that sounds, but I really do mean it in a loving way. Maybe I should rephrase that: I decided to give to her the same patience I would give to a little child.

I remember what a challenge it was to live with Alex when we were first getting to know each other. I was his caretaker every day during the summer and he was a child with so many emotional needs. But I grew to love him and even miss him when he wasn't in my custody. Of course this is different, but there is a definite parallel. Alex and I struggled to overcome the strangeness of it all: We were instant family and bound to love each other. We were both in unfamiliar territory. We had to learn to speak in a common language. And you know, I'm sure I drove him just as crazy as he drove me.

There are similarities here. I have recognized and volunteered my participation in a universal family. I am bound to love all, harboring ill-will for none. I am in unfamiliar territory. I have to learn to find a common language with everyone here. And I wouldn't say I'm the easiest person in the world to get to know, either.

I'm trying. I really am. It's not easy, but last year I resolved to be good to myself and good to others, and I've managed to keep that resolution. I won't give up now. I've heard many editor's credos, but the one I like the best is "do no harm," followed by, "question everything." (And that includes myself).

I reserve the right to vent about my roommate, though. If nothing else, it might make for some humourous anecdotes.

***

I really do like my job. Moreover, I like the people with whom I work. The middle editors/writers who translate the copy into English are really good people. Most of them are interns, or straight-from college kids. For the most part, they have a decent grasp of my language, and English ain't that easy. Try explaining verb conjugations to someone whose language has none. Forget things like future perfect. Wow. But most of them are talented, helpful and curious new friends. For instance, Gretchen and I were eating at this little place near the compound when two of our colleagues came in. They asked what we were having and Gretchen said, "the only thing I know how to order." The next day, Sophia handed me a translation of the menu for that restaurant. She even indicated which dishes were spicy and which were not. She had put some work into it. How awesome is that? (The Chinese people always seem to be surprised if they see me eating something "spicy." I guess they're used to dealing with Westerners who like bland foods. I'm from Texas, y'all.)

I learned and put into a practice a new word today. "Zherli." It means "here." I'm starting to be able to direct my cab rides home. Slowly, but surely. That is an amazing feeling. You really take for granted something as simple as giving a cabbie directions. I count that as another victory for the day.

Yes, it's hard. Yes, the adjustment is a challenge. And a big 'yes,' I miss the hell out of all my loved ones. But when my loved ones feed me encouraging words, I feel like I have the strength to really kick ass at this thing. You would think hearing from home would have the opposite effect -- that I would be heartsick for the comfort of my family and friends and catch the next plane home. But the more I hear from everyone, the more determined and bolstered I feel.

I am a strong-willed and determined woman who often thinks she can do anything in the world -- I didn't become that way all by myself. I had alot of help.

How do you feel about this imported blog thing?

2008-12-23T01:54:00.003-06:00

So, these notes you've been seeing are coming from my blogspot (http://phyerbird.blogspot.com/) my new blog spot since I can't seem to access my live journal. I've got it feeding into my Facebook. Problem is, that could get annoying for all my Facebook pals.

Comments? Do you just want to click the link at your own leisure? When I really have a pressing matter, I'll save that for Facebook posts. Or does it save you surf time to have one-stop clicking? How do you reader people feel about it?

Hipster F***

2008-12-23T01:15:00.002-06:00

The last time Sara and I hung out, I think I went blue-man on hipster trash. I don't think I initiated it. I think it started with the mention of a particular night-life blogger Chron used to have. Regardless, I kind of went on a tear -- which is easy to do when you're trying to wait for the Benjys crowd to give up and leave your local on a Saturday night. God, I really loathe the Benjy's crowd. Self-entitled brats.

Today, I feel a little humbled. I stumbled on Pitchfork's honorable mentions for 2008 (I maintain I did not seek out that Web site) and had to admit that I really kinda dug a few of those albums. I'm taking a pass for Sun Kil Moon ... 'cause, well, damn. But now I'm suspecting I shouldn't talk to loudly about the hipster scene when I catch myself thinking, "Damn! I wish I could torrent here!" after drooling over some of the albums I missed.

Okay. Fine. I shouldn't throw out the baby with the bathwather. I get it. But you're still never gonna catch me saying, "Hey, let's go to Poison Girl." Never. Gonna. Happen. (Unless I'm itching for pinball? Nah.)

Now you'll have to excuse me. I'm going to miss my subway stop because I'm too entranced by In Ear Park. Again. And I think the cafeteria is serving crow today. Works out swell.

I don't like this anymore than you do, but ...

2008-12-22T12:00:00.002-06:00

I wonder if I did something to get LJ pushed behind "the wall." I haven't been able to access it since my last post there. So, I'm going to move here.

I prefer my LJ. It feels natural to me. Maybe I'll bounce back and forth if access returns. I don't like not being able to see what I wrote in the past. Sometimes I like to look back and remember how I felt about something after the feeling has changed. I guess its my own version of pencil marks on a door frame.

I have no reasonable concept of time, anymore. I know, when I stop and think about it, that I have been here in Beijing for two weeks. Only two weeks. But it seems like a much longer time in my head. And I feel like so much has changed -- but not with me, with the people I love. I watch them all wake up from far away. I catch little glimpses. Little snippets of conversations, like an AM band I can only tune into on cold nights.

It reminds me of a little radio I had when I was about Joey's age. Late at night, long after I was tucked in, I would turn it on and twist the knob through the bands, hoping to catch some secrets of the world outside my tent of blankets. (The AM radio was embedded in the belly of a stuffed white cat. I remember when my uncle Jim ... or was it Granny? gave it to me on Christmas. That night I heard Feliz Navidad on two stations).

And perhaps there are no secrets, and not much has changed. But it feels that way.

I wonder when I'll change. I catch my temper igniting often. With the exception of my pure and righteous anger over a particularly painful and ongoing matter, the better part of 2008 has found me calm. Every day I felt like a better pupil of the virtue of patience. But now, I am ashamed that I seem to become frustrated more easily here. It feels like a step backward. I hope it won't take me too long to adjust, and relax. And be patient.

This place feels haunted. There are a million ghosts here and I feel like I am one of them.

***

Now that I've gotten some emo crap out of my system, I can go on to the juicy bits. My coworker, Gretchen, let me tag along with her Friday night. We went to this tucked-away little disco in Sanlitun (party district where all the expats hang). Here, I was introduced to the concept of "fake" alcohol. Gretchen described thusly: Everything you get in China is a cheap knock-off. Including and especially the booze. You may think you're getting Barcadi, you may even see the bottle, but beware. It will hit you like a ton of bricks and you'll feel really rough tomorrow. So, after one mojito, when I started feeling as though I'd had three mojitos, I decided not to drink anymore "fake alcohol" and I stuck to Tsingtao -- which I believe is Chinese for "watered-down donkey piss." It's not exactly the beverage of kings. After the drink at the disco, we moved on to the main event: Gretchen's friend's band. I think they were OK, but I wound up missing much of the show to go outside for fresh air. I really didn't care that it was 30 F out. I preferred freezing to burping up other people's smoke. I can't even remember what it was like before Houston passed the smoking ban. Smoking in bars just seems so barbaric to me now.

I successfully got a cab ride back to my hutong. And, here's the real victory, I successfully scared the wits out of a Chinese dude who mistook me for a prostitute. As I was walking toward my complex, this jerk comes up to me and starts talking to me and trying to pet me. I yelled loudly at him and pulled my arm back to get ready to start swinging. He got the picture and took off running as fast as he could in the opposite direction. I just hope that if anything like that ever happens again, I get the same outcome.

Saturday sucked. I'd say Gretchen was right about the fake alcohol, but I think most of my malaise came from all the smoke and the wannabe john.

Saturday night a cold front blew in. And I mean "blew in." My building made the most ghastly noises. And when the wind wasn't rattling my doors, my roommate was. But I'll forgo the roommate gripe here. The temperatures plunged to 10 F. I ventured out twice on Sunday, both times getting whipped by the wind, but I did it. And I feel kind of like a badass for thinking that if it wasn't for the wind, it wouldn't be so bad. Thank you longjohns and Burlington Coat Factory.

That was my weekend. Tonight I worked my first night shift. It went well. I was pretty busy most the night with a steady stream of copy, but not so busy I couldn't check my facebook and banter back and forth with Crystal.

2007-09-24T22:23:00.001-05:00

I think I can I think I can

2006-11-27T01:51:00.000-06:00

This month has been ridiculous. It has been simultaneously the longest month and the shortest month and I am out of steam. A few more days will find my life completely different from the way it has been for two years.

Sleep deprived and anxious, worn out and uncreative, more work, no time, no sleep, so afraid of failure I can't do anything well. I've aged at least five years in three months ... or has it been longer. I can't remember. I can barely remember yesterday. Is this worth it?

And then I think about the life I lived before all of this. The unfulfilled, unsatisfying, unchallenging, great gulping snowball of fading prospects and I push forward.

Always pushing forward.

Good for me.

Meet the new boss

2006-11-10T15:54:00.000-06:00

I don't know, I've just been too worn out for all of this.

I'm pleased, but not optimistic about the change in Congress. This reflects nothing more than a vote of no confidence for the presiding administration. It's the closest thing to a revolution I could hope for, but it's not enough. It's a change in name only, really. The Dems, science bless 'em, don't really have what it takes to turn this thing around. Maybe the power will get to their heads and they'll grow a collective pair, but in the meantime, I doubt we'll see the changes for which we have prayed. I've said it before, the problems in the U.S. didn't start and won't end on Pennsylvania Avenue.

I'm still very excited about the possibility of expatriating myself. At least for awhile. LJ friends can refer to my November 16, 2005 entry.

On the why's

2006-10-31T16:03:00.000-06:00

I was recently assigned to write an article about Myspace, Youtube, Facebook and the like. The professor who assigned the story said, "Let's do a story about these things."

To which the room of would-be reporters answered, "What about them?"

Although I think that's a very good question (it's kind of old hat by now), I think part of being a writer is to be able to find an "angle."

Thus I dutifully offered, "Let's look at this from a sociological point of view. Let's find out how these Web sites have changed the way people communicate and socialize."

Since then, I've been looking to see how Myspace et al has changed socialization. The more I look, the more creeped out I am. To be fair, I think it's fascinating. I amazed at how much information people will freely give about themselves. The removal of face-to-face, personalized communication has made people more forthcoming about sometimes very personal issues. This communication revolution could be incredibly healthy. The way we identify with one another is changing and this could foster tolerance and understanding.

But I'm a skeptic. I think there is also a danger that comes with this. Eliminating the necessity for interpersonal, in-person contact will eventually lead to a society that has forgotten how to operate in the "real world." Granted, I understand the virtual world is fast replacing the actual one, but there are some things that cannot-- or should not -- be substituted. Intimate communication is one of those things.

A phone call is replaced by a message. And although I appreciate the convenience of a quick message, I miss the phone call.

It is also strange how some people have packed up all their real-world relationships, dramas, etc. and have imposed them on their virtual world. Myspace becomes an easy tool for roping in little circles of people. In the case of the little town where I live, Myspace has become a way to add fuel to the wildfire of gossip. As if there wasn't enough to gossip about, now everyone is peeking in on everyone else's Myspace pages and taking those tidbits to the sewing circle. Or spats are played out on the field of Myspace. He left this comment. She de-friend that person.

This is completely contrary to what I see as the benefits of Myspace and other such networking sites. I have made some decent penpals through Myspace, though not as many as I would like. I had friends on both coasts and a pal who reported from Scotland. (I will keep in touch with them through other means). The virtual world has the opportunity to expand your real world, why limit yourself to the same circle you grew up with and get drunk with every Saturday.

The people I care most about know how to get in touch with me. With Myspace, the people I cared least about also knew how to get in touch with me.

I once worked nights as a copyeditor at a newspaper. Frequently, I would finish my work but would be waiting on late breaking stories to be filed by a reporter. I tried to take advantage of this time by studying or catching up on reading, but often I found myself too wired on coffee and too exhausted to do anything but read mindless drivel or play Web games while I waited. I understand the need for that kind of distraction.

But in the case of Myspace, there are really only so many memes you can read and so many banal little surveys you can fill out before it's no longer an excuse. But it happens anyway and there is absolutely no enrichment in it. I am guilty of wasting time. I have wasted time in more tragic ways than losing an hour on Myspace, but because of that, I feel embarrassed by the time spent so fruitlessly.

I was extremely overwhelmed by the volume of work I needed to finish this weekend. I was so stressed about how much there was to do that it took me twice as long to finish any one project. I found myself still plugging away when the sun rose.

I have always procrastinated. In some ways, it's natural for me to work up against deadlines. Some of my best work has come from it. But this was ridiculous, not to mention unhealthy. I examined the ways in which I misappropriated my time. Myspace wasn't the worst culprit, but it was guilty enough for me to consider abandoning it. (I'm abandoning other bandits, as well). Sleep-deprived and fed up with senselessness of it all, I deleted my account.

So there you have it: The why's of why you're reading this here instead of on my Myspace blog.
Blogging was really the only thing I enjoyed, anyway. And I don't consider that a waste of time. I am only a writer if I'm writing. Besides, I never respected Myspace blogs as a serious domain for the exchange of ideas.

Call me a snob. You certainly wouldn't be the first.

November 7

2006-10-08T14:39:00.000-05:00

It's one thing to whine about poor drivers and rude cell phone users. These are issues to which I assign my ire because they are easy. They are tiny symptoms of a much larger problem, but I can vent about them and -- for a moment -- I feel temporarily purged. For a moment, my temper is laser-beam focused on something relatively small compared to the endemic issue of national stupidity.

No. I'm not saying everyone in the nation is stupid. But something is seriously wrong, here. Something is missing and I suspect that many people are aware of it, but aren't sure how to fix it.

Countrymen, the nation you kept hidden underneath your mattress has been stolen while you were watching TV. This happened several years ago, but you are only now stirring from your stupor and are ready to do something about it.

Unfortunately, in your absence, the thieves have made off with your entire identity as an American. They've run up outrageous bills in your name. Your credit here and abroad is ruined. They have used your identity to steal what does not belong to them. They have used your name in committing perjury. They have used your good name to act aggressively toward other nations. They have used your name to kill. Hell, they just passed a bill in your name that would allow them to suspend statutes of peace to commit torture. The rest of the world now has a pretty dismal opinion of you.

But you didn't do any of this. The thieves did. In your name. Acting in your interest. While you slept. Some of you even voluntarily signed over Power of Attorney to the thieves. The ones who didn't sign over all rights to their freedoms are no better. They're still sitting on their thumbs wondering, "what the hell just happened."

But now we're all a little wiser for the wear. Slowly, we are all turning to the same page. If you guys can just stop arguing for a minute and think about this logically, maybe, only maybe, do we stand a chance of ending this before it gets any worse.

And I've had to think about that one. I've asked myself if I perceive the situation as being worse than it really is because I'm living in the middle of it, and would it seem as bad if I had a different perspective. Every generation claims the sky is falling, right? That's true. But I think this really is as bad as it seems. It's pretty damned bad. Our leaders are contemplating something as barbaric as hanging another leader for his crimes against humanity. Pot. Kettle. Black.

Since we don't have a time machine, we can't ever truly rectify this. The blood stains won't come out on this one. We can look at where we went wrong and try to learn from the past. We can also grow a pair of national balls and reinstate our freedoms. We are, after all, the people. And this used to be a democracy. Take it back, it's yours. Don't sit around waiting for dictators to give it back to you, because 1) that ain't gonna happen and 2) are you really that much of a pushover?

Impeachment of the entire regime sounds like a good start, but it's not very practical. Maybe we'll save that for later. There is something else you can do. One month from today. Diebolds be damned, do it anyway. And then start screaming like the spoiled brats we Americans are perceived to be if you don't get your way.

Another thing: Read The Constitution. I mean really read it, past the preamble and all. There's some really good stuff in there. Then reflect on it and imagine what its authors had envisioned for We, The People. It might just make you remember what this country is supposed to look like.

I hate that beyond voting and raising my voice about this, I don't know what else to do to solve all our problems. It wears me out thinking about this. It makes me want to bail this ship and head for international waters. Whining like this makes me no better than the pansy-ass dems we have seated in Congress or the armchair pundits who preach to their living room choirs over coffee or beer. But I'm going to raise my voice because somebody took something that belongs to me and I'm not going to sit around and cry about it. This won't be the end of my political rants. As I've said, in some way or shape, all my rants stem from the from this. Our collective behaviour is indicative of a huge problem that didn't start and won't end in the White House.

2006-08-25T01:34:00.000-05:00

I'm thinking about making my moniker, myself, a brand. Every identity has the potential to be a brand -- if you do it right. This is my first post, and I'm just not up for establishing myself as a brand today. Maybe later. We'll see. All I know is I want to take over the world (wide web).