STONE-COLD GEMINI http://stonecoldgemini.com/ absolutely ambivalent en-us Nucleus CMS v3.24 © Weblog http://backend.userland.com/rss http://stonecoldgemini.com//nucleus/nucleus2.gif STONE-COLD GEMINI http://stonecoldgemini.com/ birds of a feather http://stonecoldgemini.com/index.php?itemid=215 That's Shanghai March 2010 vs. Shanghai Talk March 2010

I couldn't find any better images than this online, but I wanted to shared with you guys the sad/funny coincidence of two of the big Shanghai expat rags having the same cover this month. I guess everyone was just too excited about the upcoming Shanghai literary festival and pictures of books on shelves were in short supply.

I do hope I get a chance to go to the literary festival, although I am not familiar with too many of the authors. I just want to look a real, live author in the eyes and see if I am missing anything. I have read Po Bronson's advice about beooming a writer and he mentions this importance of having connections with other writers. (I feel like I have to mention that I am ambivalent about Po Bronson, or not, since it's mentioned in the head that I am ambivalent about everything.) The job I have now has put me into regular contact with people who write for a living, but now that I'm on the other side of the fence, I am also seeing the people who write for a living with the same love and attention to detail as people who serve French fries for a living (no offense to anyone who is doing so).

I have also just started to work through a book of writing exercises called Now Write!. The material was actually compiled by a woman who quit her day job, took a CFA course, and wrote a novel. Good on her, truly, but do you need to take a CFA course to write? Certainly, you have to go through an editing process, and hopefully in the company and with the assistance of people who love to read if not write. So you need to at least have a supportive network if not formal training. I read Bronson's What Should I Do with My Life after I found a shiny, red copy at Harvest Time in Chungli. (Yes, shiny new book covers attract me attention. Not my only criteria, but definitely a point in a book's favor when I am deciding what to read.) I read it and found it rather bland and uninspiring, except for his personal revelations about the series of decisions and actions that led him to become the author he wanted to be. He took writing classes at night and loved for just once a week to be surrounded by people who cared about the way the words in a sentence fit together. Then he rented some space in a house with a bunch of other artists and writers just to be surrounded by dedicated and creative folks. After this weekend, I should have my office and I am even getting a new laptop* next week, so the logistical difficulties I am facing will be overcome. I know making time is slightly more difficult, but if I am able to make even a little time now I think it will be even easier when I am not wrestling for some peace and quiet with Beau and the roommate. Then there's the hard part, the process I've read about time and time again of finding the confidence to write, the belief that you have anything new and interesting to contribute, the confidence to find your own voice, the long hours needed to find that voice and make it credible. I know it will take years but I can't see any other way about it.


*My current laptop has been on its last legs for a while now, so I am getting a MacBook. This is a very exciting change for me because I have always used PCs. Macs aren't that hard to get used to, though, and they are just so damn sexy. It won't improve my writing but it will be really fund to use. I do feel guilty, however, when I remember Wendell Berry's essay Why I Am Not Going to Buy a Computer where he said:

when somebody has used a computer to write work that is demonstrably better than Dante's, and when this better is demonstrably attributable to the use of a computer, then I will speak of computcr with a more respectful tone of voice, though I still will not buy one.


(Although one intelligent person replied to Berry -- and this has always amused me -- “Not to be obtuse, but being willing to bare my illiterate soul for all to see, is there indeed a ‘work demonstrably better than Dante’s’. . .which was written on a Royal standard typewriter?”)

Basically, I think a computer must be a huge waste of energy and materials, especially in contrast to a pen and a pad of paper, which I still use on occasion when no computer is handy (or regularly, if you count writing in my journal), but for some reason, having been raised in an era when computers are used record thoughts, it's very difficult for me to do more than journal or jot notes with a pen and paper. I feel like I am less committed, like I am obviously going to devote less time and sincerity to my efforts in a notebook, while when I sit at the computer, I feel like I am in for the long haul, and I can also rewrite constantly as I am typing, which is very convenient and useful on a computer. Also, it matters even which computer or which font I am using. For instance, when I sit down to "write" something, I do so in Word (and was very upset when Word in 2007 looked so different from previous editions!) and I use Times New Roman font, size 12, and I usually double-space and set up my template just the way I was required to in college. When I post a blog, I do so right in the CMS, because I am used to the appearance of the CMS and the style of the font and the layout, etc, and that encourages me to write in a blogging style which I can't seem to reach in Word or with a pen and paper. Likewise, I have never been able to journal on a computer; only in a notebook, and only with a black pen that uses very, very black ink. But I have digressed far, far away now.]]> General http://stonecoldgemini.com/index.php?itemid=215 Sat, 6 Mar 2010 23:32:40 -0600 Hasta la vista, baby! http://stonecoldgemini.com/index.php?itemid=214 You're fired!To follow up on the ayi situation, I finally was able to get rid of her last weekend. Apparently -- and I found this way funny --she came in on unexpectedly on Friday. Beau was still peacefully sleeping in the buff when she thrust open the bedroom door, began berating him in Chinese for not putting the dirty laundry outside the door as she had requested, and start sweeping the floor. Surprised, he yelled at her in English, "You're not supposed to be here!" She called and said "Ting bu dong!" ("I don't understand!") and set him right off. He called out for our roommate who stumbled blind and groggy out of his bed to chase her out of the house.

Our roommate has impeccable Chinese so I was planning on him being here the day that we fired her, but I ended up being on my own. I originally was going to tell her that my cousin was coming and would take care of the housecleaning for us, but being a little uncertain about how to explain that situation in Chinese, I led with, "My boyfriend is angry at you and you can't come back." That was not a good call, as she started protesting and explaining that everything that had happened was not her fault. She was grabbing my arm and I thought she might cry, but she was shouting. Finally she insisted on calling my co-worker who has employed her for 5 years. I tried explaining to her that 9am on a Sunday was not an appropriate time to call up a foreigner, but she ignored me. Thankfully, he was awake and after chatting with her for a few minutes and then talking to me to find out what was going on, he told her that my mom was coming into town and would be taking care of us from now on. That was completely valid to her. She asked about her salary which I already had in my pocket, but then insisted that I give her more because "is how you do things in China." I was annoyed considering she hadn't been there for two weeks already and we'd just given her a Chinese New Year bonus, but more so because she hadn't done any work at all in the past couple of months and it was just getting silly now. However, I have her the money, let her take the groceries she had brought with her, and closed the door behind her with a mixed sense of guilt and relief. It wasn't a very pleasant situation but I was just happy to see her go.

Hasta la vista, baby!


My friends are now recommending new ayis but I really don't want another stranger in my house. Roommate is also moving out as I type and while it's been a blast, I can't wait to have the spare bedroom to myself as an office. I do try writing but the living room and the dining room are not the most comfortable places for it. Beau has also been using our flat screen TV as a monitor since we moved in which means when I park myself in my favorite spot (seated on a throw pillow behind the coffee table, armed with a pen, a journal, some books, and a cup of coffee) I have to watch whatever TV show he is watching or whatever computer/video game he is playing or, for a real treat, I get to watch him fiddle with the computer and try to improve the connection speed. He can actually look at the torrents streaming for prolonged lengths of time. It brings him joy. It makes me nuts. ]]> General http://stonecoldgemini.com/index.php?itemid=214 Sat, 6 Mar 2010 23:21:26 -0600 Time to fire the ayi http://stonecoldgemini.com/index.php?itemid=212
Her manners have also left something to be desired. When I first began my search online for a housekeeper, I came across articles about how to deal with these Chinese maids who aren't accustomed to our Western ways. As always, I shook my head at those snotty expat wives who would pay for their maids to attend special courses to learn about taking care of a Western household. I was certain I would be more open-minded and more comfortable dealing with a local woman who would prepare local food for us. I have been, but only to an extent. When she cleaned out what I was using for a mop bucket and proudly showed me that she was going to use it to store the rice, I only shook my head and crossed my fingers that we wouldn't get sick. I enjoyed all the meals she prepared for us, salty and oily as they were, until she started preparing plates of chicken feet with chicken gizzards. Beau was upset enough about unsuspectingly biting into an organ of some sort that he immediately asked her to only prepare the meat we were used to, though we never complained that it was full of bones and skin like local Chinese food.

However, certain other of her habits have proven to be more than we can tolerate in the privacy of our home. Beau's work schedule varies, so he might have a night on the piss in the middle of the week, and dreaded being awoken by the ayi pummeling on the doors and shouting at him to get out of bed. She found his consternation amusing, not understanding that he is far too kind to show that he was seriously vexed. I had been working 12-16 hours a day for a while, and hadn't really noticed how far the situation was sliding until I had some free time and a little more energy. I decided that she perhaps was leaving the house largely untouched because we had let it get cluttered with objects and items she didn't know what to do with, so we tossed out all the old papers and magazines and I organized my clothes. She praised my efforts and told me the closet looked much better now that I had cleaned it. She proceeded in the same useless fashion she had been going for the past few months, even asking to shower in our bathroom although she hadn't cleaned it in four months.

It's at the point now where the 12 hours a week we are paying for her have quietly dwindled to 6-8 hours a week. She passes through the rooms with a broom, but leaves behind dirty dishes and food wrappers. I get annoyed with her for not cleaning up after us better, but then I am disgusted with myself for not cleaning up after us better.

I am too American to deal with a housekeeper. I can't bring myself to speak sternly to an older woman, and no matter how much I like having the laundry done for me, I can't get past the fact that asking this old lady to do my laundry is somehow unfitting. I try to convince myself that she is happy to earn the money, but I imagine my own mother or grandmother sorting through a stranger's sweaty gym socks, and I am fairly racked with guilt. And no matter how nice it is to have someone else take on the burden of housework, which is a tedious, messy, and nearly thankless task, I still want everything done to my specifications. Employing someone who is really missing the mark and then feeling too guilty and awkward to be more forward with her makes me feel frustrated and impotent. And at least if I avoid cleaning the bathroom for a few weeks, it isn't costing me money.

Then there's just the privacy issue. Inviting someone into your home for a set number of hours every week to rummage through your private areas requires an abandon that I just can't muster. Being at home while she was cooking and then being barked at in the friendly Chinese way to "eat,eat!" has been very irritating. I would find that sort of thing charming as a guest in a friend's house or in a restaurant, but in my living room, it feels incredibly invasive. She has now taken to explaining to us over lunch how difficult her life is, how squalid her apartment is, how little money she has, and then asking us for more money or certain household items she has determined we no longer need. By her standards, our monthly rent represents an astronomical sum, but it isn't cheap for us either. Hiring her is also a luxury (though I had hoped we would save money by asking her to cook meals, but this hasn't been the case), and we have been paying her more than anyone else that she works for.

Suffice it to conclude that had the relationship remained as idyllic as it was in the first few weeks, when I came home to tasty meals, waxed floors, and a sparkling bathroom, I could have suppressed all my guilt of hiring a local grandmother to scrub my toilet. However, because it seems more and more apparent that we are being milked for the money she thinks we must have and don't, I have to spend way too much time thinking about how to deal with someone who was supposed to make my life easier. Now I feel like an imperialistic, white-skinned prima donna and I'm still scrubbing my own toilet. ]]> Shanghai http://stonecoldgemini.com/index.php?itemid=212 Wed, 17 Feb 2010 09:27:58 -0600 Happy Holidays! http://stonecoldgemini.com/index.php?itemid=211 Fireworks on Hengshan LuToday is Chinese New Year, Valentine's Day and -- according to Beau -- the start of Carnivale (which means Mardi Gras is this coming Tuesday). It's raining and cold outside now (sleet was coming down last night) so the fireworks have stopped for the moment. I can't say I'm not happy about that. I dig Chinese New Year fireworks: Where else can you walk out of a bar into Willy Wonka's Warzone where Roman candles are exploding with a deafening noise just a few meters from drunken spectators, lighting up the night sky in trippy rainbows and making the air smoky and dense. It's unreal and beautiful. However, that environment is not conducive to sleep, so when the rain won out today around 10am, I was glad to sneak in a few more Zs. However, I expect I will have to pay for it later as I am sure every household still has cartons and crates of fireworks that have yet to reach their full potential.


Fireworks on Hengshan Lu
]]> Shanghai http://stonecoldgemini.com/index.php?itemid=211 Sat, 13 Feb 2010 23:23:28 -0600 for the love of all that is holy i am not going to talk to you again you dummy http://stonecoldgemini.com/index.php?itemid=210
Let's just keep this in mind: An appeal to a [false] authority is a logical fallacy. Therefore, when you say something erroneous, but insist that it's true because a) that has been your experience in your 25 long years of life, b) your mom was an English teacher, or c) you studied three or four languages, you aren't correct. You haven't advanced your argument a bit. You have shut me up because I don't cast my pearls at the bar and you have established yourself as a moron in my mind. Now, it would be unreasonable of me to assume you would lose sleep over that, but bar-moron, I would just like the point that out.

you and your brethren annoy me

And, for your further elucidation:

The difference between "Can you buy me a car?" and "Could you buy me a car?" is the difference between a first- and second-class conditional, which means it is the difference between a possible situation and a hypothetical situation. And grammar rules are prescriptive, dummy. English teachers are not tasked with describing colloquial English to their students but with teaching them how to speak correct English. And while it was probably just heart wrenching to find out that there was more than one way to ask a question when you arrived on Chinese shores after a year of studying the language in the States, your teachers did not introduce you to a dozen grammar patterns every lesson because, in a classroom setting, learning a language is accumulative. You care enough about your job to have an opinion about it but not enough to learn how to do it. If you were smart, I would only have to say this once, because I am not giving you my opinion but the fact of the matter. Your mother may have been an English teacher but it's curious that she neglected to teach you any grammar. ]]> Rants and Fumes http://stonecoldgemini.com/index.php?itemid=210 Mon, 1 Feb 2010 23:25:27 -0600 running on fumes http://stonecoldgemini.com/index.php?itemid=209 The roots of education are bitter but the fruits are sweet. -Aristotle
The roots of education are bitter but the fruits are sweet. -Aristotle
The roots of education are bitter but the fruits are sweet. -Aristotle
The roots of education are bitter but the fruits are sweet. -Aristotle
The roots of education are bitter but the fruits are sweet. -Aristotle
The roots of education are bitter but the fruits are sweet. -Aristotle
The roots of education are bitter but the fruits are sweet. -Aristotle
The roots of education are bitter but the fruits are sweet. -Aristotle
The roots of education are bitter but the fruits are sweet. -Aristotle
The roots of education are bitter but the fruits are sweet. -Aristotle
The roots of education are bitter but the fruits are sweet. -Aristotle
The roots of education are bitter but the fruits are sweet. -Aristotle
The roots of education are bitter but the fruits are sweet. -Aristotle
The roots of education are bitter but the fruits are sweet. -Aristotle
The roots of education are bitter but the fruits are sweet. -Aristotle
The roots of education are bitter but the fruits are sweet. -Aristotle
The roots of education are bitter but the fruits are sweet. -Aristotle
The roots of education are bitter but the fruits are sweet. -Aristotle
The roots of education are bitter but the fruits are sweet. -Aristotle

I must, I must, I must have more thoughts than this/I must, I must, I must have more thoughts than this/I must, I must, I must have more thoughts than this, I must, I must. -Mike Doughty


The trouble with using experience as a guide is that the final exam often comes first and then the lesson. -Unknown

Learn everything you can, anytime you can, from anyone you can -- there will always come a time when you will grateful you did. -Sarah Caldwell

Experience shows that success is due less to ability than to zeal. The winner is he who gives himself to his work, body and soul. -Charles Buxton

If you will call your troubles experiences, and remember that every experience develops some latent force within you, you will grow vigorous and happy, however adverse your circumstances may seem to be. -James Russell Miller

Experience is what causes a person to make new mistakes instead of old ones. -Unknown

We are not here merely to make a living. We are here to enrich the world. -Woodrow Wilson




To be nobody but yourself in a world which is doing its best, night and day, to make you everybody else means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight; and never stop fighting. -e.e. cummings




Human nature, if healthy, demands excitement; and if it does not obtain its thrilling excitement in the right way, it will seek it in the wrong. God never makes bloodless stoics; He makes no passionless saints. -Oswald Chambers


Man -- a being in search of meaning. -Plato

(Man is defined as a human being and woman as a female -- whenever she behaves as a human being she is said to imitate the male. -Simone de Beauvoir)

Each contact with a human being is so rare, so precious, one should preserve it. -Anais Nin

There are too many people, and too few human beings. -Robert Zend


Human beings cling to their delicious tyrannies and to their exquisite nonsense, till death stares them in the face. -Sydney Smith
]]> Thoughts http://stonecoldgemini.com/index.php?itemid=209 Sat, 16 Jan 2010 00:07:29 -0600 Tony Perkins is a horse's ass http://stonecoldgemini.com/index.php?itemid=208
Stop Obama's Crossdresser Protection Bill‏
From: Tony Perkins (reply@frc.org)
Sent: Wed 1/06/10 11:08 PM
To: ---------------

Family Research Council


Sign our petition to tell our elected leaders we oppose the so-called "Employment Non-Discrimination Act" (ENDA)

Stop Obama's Crossdresser Protection Bill
January 06, 2010 | Share with Friends

Dear ------,

On New Year's Eve, when most Americans were waiting for the ball to drop in Times Square, the Obama Administration dropped another bombshell in its agenda to radicalize America by appointing its first openly "transgender" person to a high federal post. "Transgender" is an umbrella term for anyone who "expresses" a "gender identity" contrary to their biological sex at birth-in other words, men who claim to be (and dress as) women, and vice versa.

Mitchell Simpson, a man who had sex-change surgery and now calls himself a woman (named "Amanda"), was appointed as Senior Technical Advisor to the Commerce Department. Simpson announced that "as one of the first transgender presidential appointees to the federal government, I hope that I will soon be one of hundreds."

The day after Simpson began work, The New York Times reported that the main website advertising jobs with the federal government now says there will be no "discrimination" based on "gender identity"-even though Congress has never passed a law saying that.

This new policy applies only to the federal government. But there is a bill being considered in Congress, the so-called "Employment Non-Discrimination Act" (ENDA), which would require every employer in America to open every position to homosexuals (by making "sexual orientation" a protected category) and "transgenders" (by protecting "gender identity").

All American employers including Christian owned businesses and potentially Christian ministries would be affected.

"Gender identity disorder" is a recognized mental illness that should be treated-not affirmed and protected. And the right of employers to set "dress and grooming standards" for their employees should include the most basic standard of all-that people dress in a way appropriate for their biological sex.

Don't let Congress and President Obama force American employers to hire homosexuals, transsexuals, and cross-dressers.

Sign our petition to tell our elected leaders we oppose the so-called "Employment Non-Discrimination Act" (ENDA)

Sincerely,

Tony Perkins
President

P.S. Please forward this email to at least one friend.

I actually yelped when I read this in the office on Friday. I was so disgusted. Let's be honest here: I did sign up for this mailing list in college when I was more vocally anti-abortion than I am now. Since then, my thoughts on that particular human problem have become more nuanced. And since then, I have tried repeatedly to remove myself from this mailing list, but with no luck. The subject line of this particular message was so incredible that I had to open it up and see what they were ranting about, yet again.

Can you fucking believe these people? From their tone, you would think our dear leader just promulgated legislation requiring men to dress as women!

And there's a special circle of hell reserved for Bible-thumpers who rely on science to buttress their moral stances. Depression is a medicable disorder, you fucks. So is ADD. How many of your kids are on Prozac or Ritalin? How many people in your collective employ are mentally ill by the standards of that oh-so-finicky goliath, the American Psychological Institute?

And as for your fucking standards, how many women, Christian or otherwise, rock up to their office jobs in a tasteful pant suit? Nobody in their right mind is telling women they have to wear skirts and dresses to work, and if they do, most professional places require that they aren't indecently short. Why shouldn't the penised among us enjoy the same spectrum of wardrobe options? Who the fuck cares as long as they are doing their jobs?

And what about poor Richard Curtis? That poor slob. Actually, my pity is misplaced given his record of voting AGAINST legislation that would have protected the rights of gays and lesbians in the US. But the sentiment could not be more simply, beautifully and aptly expressed than "People like Curtis are forced to live in the closet because of people like Curtis." And Tony Perkins. Fucking Wikipedia is more nuanced.

FAMILY FUCKING VALUES! Lord have mercy, I am glad I have no chair at that Tony Perkins Christmas dinner table. Can you imagine the secrets, the lies? The pretending?

I used to date a guy in a family like that, and on informal nights out the girls talked about the most recent transgressions of their husbands, their father, the lies at work, their private Christian school, and church. And then on big holidays, I would join them for dinner and they would all link hands and pray to God and make a big show of respect for the adulterous, licentious head of the family. And as confusing and nauseating as that was for me, it occurs to me now it was probably at least one step closer to God than Tony Perkins. They were trying to be close, trying to include the lost sheep, trying to be a family full of imperfect people.

That's a family. That's family values. Families are SUPPOSED to be a safe place where individuals can express themselves. Families are SUPPOSED to provide unconditional love. Home is the place to which the prodigal son returns, where the father welcomes him back with open arms.

I am gonna start my own Family Values platform. Then I am gonna stand on my soapbox and talk about real family values. Family values is not only for straight, evangelical Protestant men and women in nuclear families. People fuck up, and your God allows for that, Tony Perkins. I have read the Bible, you fuck. And what about the fact that this world is fallen? At the very least, you can give the transgendered among us the benefit of the doubt — God created the world, human sin brought about the Fall, now we are living in an imperfect place. No amount of legislation or APA literature-thumping is going to redeem it. Family values are about inclusion and you're trying to institute a national dress code.

Read your manual, you shithead.

Luke 12:
[22] And he said to his disciples, "Therefore I tell you, do not be anxious about your life, what you shall eat, nor about your body, what you shall put on.
[23] For life is more than food, and the body more than clothing.
[24] Consider the ravens: they neither sow nor reap, they have neither storehouse nor barn, and yet God feeds them. Of how much more value are you than the birds!
[25] And which of you by being anxious can add a cubit to his span of life?
[26] If then you are not able to do as small a thing as that, why are you anxious about the rest?
[27] Consider the lilies, how they grow; they neither toil nor spin; yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these.
[28] But if God so clothes the grass which is alive in the field today and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, how much more will he clothe you, O men of little faith!


Stupid. You should be glad you even have clothes considering how many people in developing countries are worried about wearing anything at all, let alone dealing with existential/superficial questions like whether or not their outfit reflects their gender identity. Maybe you should look into that, you fuck. ]]> Rants and Fumes http://stonecoldgemini.com/index.php?itemid=208 Sat, 9 Jan 2010 22:04:30 -0600 The alarm went off at 4am. http://stonecoldgemini.com/index.php?itemid=207 Beau packed one more pair of shoes and one more jacket. I was angry because he had two pairs of shoes and three jackets. “I only have one pair of shoes and one jacket,” I said. “You should not have more clothes than your girlfriend.” Beau smiled at me and I stared at the clock.
...
We held hands in the taxi and I looked out the window. The taxi driver drove very fast. Sometimes I felt scared and sometimes Beau got angry. The taxi driver took the wrong exit. He backed up all the way to the highway. Other cars were coming toward us very quickly.
The taxi driver asked us which terminal we had to go to. I said I didn’t know because I the itinerary was in my suitcase. My suitcase was in the trunk. We drove past Terminal 1, but we didn’t see a sign for the airline so we drove to Terminal 2. We saw the sign for our airline and I told him to stop. The fare was ¥177. I gave him ¥180. He moved very slowly because he didn’t want to give me the change. I waited in the taxi until he gave me the change.
I gave my passport to the man at the desk. Beau squatted on the floor. He took everything out of his bag. He could not find his passport. We looked for his passport but it was not anywhere. We called our roommate and asked him to look for the passport. He found it in the living room. There was no time for Beau to get his passport. “Now you have three jackets and no passport,” I said. “Don’t,” said Beau. I thought about going to Hong Kong without Beau and I started to cry. Beau gave me a hug. He said he would come later. I knew he would try but I knew he would not be able to come.
I took a taxi to the hostel. I opened the door to peek inside. An old woman waved to me. She sat down behind the desk and told me to wait. She prayed out loud in Cantonese. I could not understand her. When she stopped I told her about my reservation, but she told me to wait. She pulled some beads out of her purse and she prayed out loud in Cantonese again. When she was done she found my reservation in a notebook. Someone had written “Mr. Bo” and had drawn a long line next to his name.
There were two small beds, a small TV, and a small table inside the room. I put my suitcase on one bed and put my documents into my purse. The visa office opens at 2:00. I went to the visa office at 1:45. When I got there, there was a very long line of people. I got in line behind an old woman. An ugly old Western man walked by with a beautiful young Chinese woman. I wondered why that beautiful woman wanted to be with that old man. If I were her, I would not want to be with that kind of old man. I put on my headphones and listened to some music.
A young Chinese woman asked the old Chinese woman in front of me if she could speak Chinese. “Can you speak Chinese?” she said in English. “Yes,” said the old woman in Chinese. They spoke for a long time. She asked the old woman about her documents. The young woman had a green form. I looked at my documents and I did not have a green form. When they finished talking, I asked her where she got that green form. “Up there,” she said, and pointed to the front of the line. The line in front of me was very long. I looked behind me. The line behind me was very long, too. The young woman gave me her form and she got a new one at the front of the line. “Thank you,” I said. “Do you want to stand in line here?” She said no.
I filled out my green form in line by writing on my laptop. The line started to move. It was moving quickly. When I got to the front of the line, the ugly old Western man came pushing past everyone. He asked the guard at the door a question. He sounded like a confused old American man. I was surprised because I had thought he was European. He pushed his way back to the end of the line.
I took off my rings to go through the metal detector. The guard told me to put them back on. A woman tried to move in front of me and the guard told her to stop. I went through the metal detector and it beeped. I looked at the guard and he told me to keep going. I got on the elevator with some other people that had been near me in the line. A young man was looking in the mirror in the elevator and combing his hair with his fingers.
The visa office was very large. There were many rows of seats facing the clerks’ counters. I sat in the chair and waited for my number to show up on the screen. When my number showed up I walked very quickly to the right desk. I gave the clerk all my papers. Then the old woman came up to the desk and was angry because they hadn’t called her number. I was embarrassed because she had been ahead of me in the line. The clerk was annoyed and told her she had waited for five minutes but she didn’t come. She told her to wait. I said sorry to the old woman and she sat down. The clerk told me to get a photocopy of my work permit. “Both sides,” she said. I saw the old woman and told her to go to the clerk. I got a photocopy of my work permit, both sides. I gave them to the clerk. She told me to come back at 3:00 the next day. I saw the young Chinese woman who gave me her form. She was the beautiful young Chinese woman with the ugly old Western man. “Thank you for your help,” I told her. “No problem,” she said, but she did not look at me.
I went to the coffee shop that Beau likes. I got online to do some work but I read and blogged instead. After a few hours Stan came to meet me. We walked around and I talked to him about my job. Stan took me to a laksa noodle restaurant. We ordered noodles and talked. Stan was in a good mood and happy to talk. We walked around for a long time after that and talked. It was good to be with Stan and be in Hong Kong.
The next day I went back to the coffee shop. My sister called me. She said she was at the hostel with her friend. Beau called me and told me he could not come to Hong Kong. His voice sounded very happy. I told him I was sorry he could not come. He asked me what I was doing. I said, “Reading at the coffee shop.” After thirty minutes he walked in the door. I gave him a hug. “I love you,” I said. “I’m so happy you came.” We had some coffee and walked around. I put on a black t-shirt and some jeans. We went to meet my sister and her friend. “Are you going to wear that?” she said. “Yes,” I said. “No,” she said. “You have to buy some new clothes,” she said. We went shopping and I bought a new shirt and some boots. We had dinner in Kowloon. The new boots hurt my feet.
We went Stan’s friends’ house. We went on the roof and drank wine and talked to some good-looking people. There was a beautiful man with a boyfriend. They had a friend who was very funny. I asked the friend if he had ever heard of a “broner.” Beau shook his head. The friend laughed. “No,” he said. “But the best new word I have learned recently is procrasturbation.” We all laughed. We asked other people if they had procrasturbated and they laughed, too. At midnight the fireworks went off all around the city and the harbor. We all hugged and kissed and drank some more champagne. My sister and her friend were cold and they wanted to leave. I said goodbye to everyone and we went to Lan Kwai Fong.
Lan Kwai Fong was very crowded. There were many police officers and we had to walk in queues. Beau took us to a bar. It was quiet and only a few people were inside. My sister and her friend were tired and they wanted to go home. They hailed a taxi. My sister gave me a hug. The taxi driver drove away. They hailed another taxi and went home. Beau and I walked through Lan Kwai Fong. “Happy new year!” a man said. “Happy new year!” I said. Then he squeezed my ass. “Hey!” I said. “What happened?” Beau said. “He squeezed my ass,” I said. Beau shouted at him. “Let’s go home,” Beau said.
On New Year’s Day we went to Stanley Market with my sister. We wanted to ride on the top of the 260 bus but it was full. We sat on the bottom and my sister stared out the window. She had not been in Hong Kong for ten years. We took my sister to a restaurant by the water. We walked through the market but we did not buy anything. We got back on the 260 bus and we fell asleep. My sister went to the hostel to take a nap. We went to the coffee shop to meet Stan. Stan took us to a Beijing restaurant. We ate dumplings and beef shanks.
We met my sister. Beau took us to a bar. Basil met us at the bar and he talked to my sister. She talked about teaching and Basil listened to her and asked a lot of questions. Stan came to the bar. I wanted Basil to meet Stan. They talked and Basil said some funny things that made everyone laugh. Stan went home. Basil took us to a club. I was very drunk and I danced with my sister. I was embarrassed that Basil could see us. The club closed and Basil took us to a bar. “Do you come here a lot?” we said. “Yes,” he said. “There are a lot of hookers here,” my sister said. We laughed. Basil was embarrassed because he did not mean to make us think he pays for sex. Some people tried to push me and Beau. Beau kissed me and we bumped into the people. They gripped each other’s arms like they were making a magic circle of force. I kissed one man’s hand and they walked away. Basil and my sister did not look happy. I felt embarrassed for making them uncomfortable, but not until the next day. We went back to the hostel.
I woke up at 12. Beau and my sister were already awake. My sister told me to hurry up. I felt sick because I drank too much. We went to Starbucks. My sister went back to Guangzhou. I called Stan and told him to meet us at The Flying Pan. When we got there it was too crowded so we went to another restaurant. The food was not as good as The Flying Pan and it was very expensive. I felt sick so I could not finish my expensive sausage and eggs. Stan had to feed his friends’ fish so we went to their apartment. I fell asleep and Beau and Stan talked. We stayed there for two hours. Beau and I had to go to the airport. We said goodbye to Stan and checked in at the Airport Express station. Beau tried to find a video game in the ifc mall but he could not. We went to the airport and he tried to find the video game at the toy store but they did not have Xbox games. We ate dinner at Popeye’s. Beau gave me pieces of his chicken skin because my chicken fingers were not spicy.
I filled out the health form on the plane. I said I did not have any symptoms of H1N1. I used my phone to find the phone numbers to put on the form. Beau fell asleep. He woke up because the flight attendant hit him with the food cart. “Do you want pork or seafood?” she said. “Seafood,” said Beau. He opened his tray and found a long black hair. He closed the tray and went back to sleep. He woke up and I told him to fill out his health form. He was very tired. His eyes were red and watery. His nose was running. He wrote on the form that he did not have any symptoms of H1N1.
We went to the baggage carousel. I stood by the chute and Beau stood far away. I found one bag. Beau found one bag. But we waited there for a long time because each of us did not know the other one had found a bag. We went outside and caught a taxi. The taxi was very expensive and I forgot to get a receipt. When we went inside, Beau told me to call my sister. I could not find my phone. I emptied my purse onto the bed but my phone was not anywhere. I was angry at myself for losing my phone on the plane, but I decided not to be angry because I had a good time in Hong Kong.
]]> General http://stonecoldgemini.com/index.php?itemid=207 Sat, 9 Jan 2010 21:15:23 -0600 Ode to Jay http://stonecoldgemini.com/index.php?itemid=206 There's more room for ambiguity than I thought.
There's more room for ambiguity than I thought. ]]> General http://stonecoldgemini.com/index.php?itemid=206 Wed, 30 Dec 2009 23:06:13 -0600 muumuuhouse.com http://stonecoldgemini.com/index.php?itemid=205
(This is all cutting into my special TV time with Beau when I come home from the office emotionally, physically and sometimes even morally drained to stare at a TV showing any one of the following three programs: Californication, Sons of Anarchy or Big Bang Theory. But I digress.)

I am definitely a reader, but I tend to buy my own books, and I don't ever let myself buy new fiction. Not only do I suspect anything very popular and easily obtained of being poorly written, but also a college classmates and self-appointed intellectual superior (JD, you know who you are) once told me that I shouldn't read anything contemporary until I have read the rest of the Western canon. I started following his advice but at some point I must have lost my way as I ended up with a lot of Henry Miller, some Proust, a collection of Flannery O'Connor's short stories, a secondhand copy of Jonathan Livingston Seagull, some political non-fiction, and a slew of textbooks for learning Chinese and French. All in all, it's a pretty shameful disarray of a collection for someone who likes reading and wants to write.

I did come across a number of online literary journals that have been very stimulating in the past few days. I won't go into it because if you are into it, you already know the most well-known, such as McSweeney's. Muumuuhouse.com was a really fun find for me, thanks to the interview on bookslut.com with Brandon Scott Gorrell. I couldn't stop reading the stories, poems and excerpts posted there, although I found many of them pretentious:

They were the kind of writers that appeared in McSweeney's and collections edited by Dave Eggers. They weren't my kind of writers. They were sitting in their nice apartments or dorm rooms reading the latest Haruki Murakami story while I was sitting in a shitty little ramshackle house reading a used copy of Erskine Caldwell's God's Little Acre.


When I read that I am not sure if I am hearing the author or the narrator, but I am not sure that it matters. I don't know any of these people and it makes me wonder if these categories of people exist. And then it makes me wonder what category of person I am, and what categories all the people I know would fit into. I think it was less descriptive than taking an unfair opportunity to name drop and possibly slight McSweeney's and Dave Eggers and I think it would have been useful to actually tell me what kind of people he has at this party, unless this is a technical piece written by a writer for other writers only - I have heard of McSweeney's before but not Dave Eggers. Writing should speak to something in the human experience, and I get liking and not liking types of people, but I am not sure if the category of "writers who appear in McSweeney's" is a large enough category to be valid, or if it even exists beyond a very small group of writers who try to get their stuff published online.

I also took issue with the end of this story:

On the street I thought, "My life is sort of like that smelly guy's life in that there is something definitely wrong with me but I don’t know how to fix it and people are moving away from me so I am just going to keep moving towards them until I figure out what is wrong, hopefully I get fixed soon."


The thing is, I actually like the piece and initially I even liked this parallel drawn at the end. But it was stated so bluntly that I felt like he punched me in the face. And then I was offended on behalf of the homeless man that this budding wordsmith thought he could compare his emotional insecurities with what I imagine must be the real trials and tribulations of being homeless and mentally ill.

And I also found it sometimes ungrammatical, which I thought was amusing and strange. I think we can afford to be flexible on grammar when it comes to genius, but I'm not sure that anything I read at Muumuu House really registered on the genius scale. Sentences like "the Thai person who I had been communicating with beckoned me" need 'whom,' not 'who." There are a few places, like "Sometimes I glanced at people and felt annoyed about a pressure I detected to be sociable," where the meaning can be misconstrued, like the pressure was sociable and it was annoying him? But actually, I know exactly what he means, when there are people around who seem open to talking, or worse yet, actually come and talk to you, when the last thing you want is to get trapped in a conversation with another person.

And I would have preferred the subjunctive for - "It felt as if I was on 'E'" - and a few other places but I know better than to argue about that. But kudos for using Oxford commas.

I did, however, find reading story after story in their signature choppy, dry and detached style to be something like eating some lemon sorbet between courses. I'm overstuffed on Henry Miller lately as I've been trying to get through the Rosy Crucifixion and everything I've been writing privately has been soppy and sappy and I was getting stuck in long scenes and long conversations that couldn't resolve themselves. However, a refreshing bit of alarmingly simple and detached prose has given me some new ideas about how to keep moving. It all reminds me of this blog I once read (and man have I just wasted a huge chunk of time trying to find it again) that was called something like "The World's Most Boring Blog." The blog that currently holds this title is not the one I am thinking of and is boring in a very mundane way.That other blog was just fantastic - entry upon entry about sharpening pencils and lining them up on the top of the desk, closing the door that was ajar, etc. It was fantastic. And that's another thing that bothered me about what I read - it was freakishly detached sometimes, to the point of being disturbing, and I really just hate disturbing stories/movies/music/graphic t-shirts/plush toys, etc. I hate Quentin Tarantino, for example. I have seen anything associated with him since I saw Reservoir Dogs for the first time a few years ago, and I think my life is better for it. I am all for being prodded out of complacency by an intellectual gadfly, but I have been so underexposed to popular culture that I really don't need a gory bloodbath (i.e., a crazy psycho that tortures people).

And I've digressed again. What I would like to point out is that when Mr. Gorrell writes:

I looked at the toilet paper holder and saw that there was no toilet paper. There was a hose next to the toilet that had a spray nozzle attached to the end of it. I felt very bad. I tested the hose by pressing its lever. I stood a little and put the sprayer behind my ass and sprayed my asshole with it. It seemed to work, my asshole felt clean. I stood and got my notebook out of my bag and ripped a quarter of a page out and wiped my ass with it. It had traces of shit.


I think it's very funny. This kind of objective, value-free perspective is really suitable and really amusing. But when he bums a cigarette from a French woman and then later writes:

There were many different places to sit at the pier and I switched between them a lot. The French woman had a problem with her ticket and her voice rose to a yelling tone. She said, "Please, I have a child." There were chickens walking around the pier.


it makes me a little nauseous. I thought the piece was amusing and it really made me want to give it a shot, just try to write something like them because I think the results would be funny. But I spent a lot of time last night and this morning wondering what happened to that poor French woman with her child. I've traveled with a tight budget before and it's really scary, and I keep wondering if that was her problem, if she had no money to change the ticket, or if she had to stay there until the next ferry left the next day or something, and whether or not she could afford a hotel room, and if she had to sleep outside, did anything bad happen to her? Because Bangkok is a pretty damn unsavory place and bad things happen to women and little children in Thailand. I think talking about your shit in a squatty potty in a monotone, staccato voice is pretty fun. Mentioning that a woman with a child was distressed at the ticket counter in Bangkok between talking about where you sat and talking about the damned chickens is, in a word, disturbing. I don't like disturbing.

Ultimately, muumuuhouse.com was only one of the sites that I found, and while I wouldn't actually want to write in that style, I thought it was pretty effective at creating a sense of humor and when everything is flattened to the same saltine-high level, it can be very revealing (when it's not disturbing). ]]> Thoughts http://stonecoldgemini.com/index.php?itemid=205 Wed, 30 Dec 2009 05:37:59 -0600