Real Talk with Xià Mù

 

A shot of one of the swimming beaches.

I've discovered that my balcony is the perfect perch during the wee hours of daybreak to watch an elderly Chinese neighbor of mine dance his way through a Kung Fu routine. Last Thursday at about 6:00 a.m., riding the courage of a caffeine buzz, I gave him a good old fashioned standing-o and hollered "Mess him up!" while he desecrated his phantom foe on repeat. It's a tremendously elegant art form--replete with suspended punches and kicks and deliberately slow turns and twists--and I count myself fortunate that he performs outdoors in the open for nosey observers like me. Actually, I'm quite aware it's not for my benefit, but it'd be a grievous shame for him to be without a responsive audience. Standing there applauding him, I was feeling all peaceful and smug, and I launched into that same strain of thought I've been inclined to recently, about me being a lucky guy and all. But when I turned and tried the door, the sonuvagun was locked--a surefire warning from the cosmos for me to chill out with the schmaltz. Flustered, I tried knocking, realized how moronic that was, and had to pull the old crawl-in-the-cracked-window trick. I wriggled for what seemed like an eternity, and having just aroused the awareness of the Kung Fu master, I'm sure he watched the ensemble. At least I wasn't in scanties.

Anyway, after watching the Kung Fu show in the mornings, there's sometimes hot water. The old bit about "steaming hot water from 5:00- 8:00 a.m." that's posted in the lobby downstairs is a sham. Empirically, I know this sign to be false, as I've run a half dozen experiments in the past couple'o weeks that prove otherwise. There's hot water alright, the sign should read, from 7:20 until maybe 7:45, depending on the alignment of the stars or the daily sensibilities of the doorman. Otherwise, the hot water beads and dribbles out from 7:45 until 10:00. This poses a problem for me on Thursdays, when I have to leave campus by 6:45 to make get to the med. school for the nursing gals (who are all so sweet as to meet me at the gate). All that to say, I had to follow that embarrassing scene with the Kung Fu laoshi up with a cold shower and then head off to teach nurses about American dating and romance. Talk about insult to injury.

It gets better, though. Scrolling through the e-mail inbox Friday night, I about came apart when I found a message announcing that I'm to take part in a faculty lecture series about American life and culture. "Send your lecture title and the date you plan to present to our Qingdao faculty," it reads. "I'm not into publicly humiliating myself," I considered writing back, although I've partaken in that plenty recently. This series, the e-mail later reveals, runs during both fall and spring semesters and is not optional for foreign faculty. In other words, I couldn't just ignore that I'd received it, which is what I'm inclined to do with e-mails that are too long or e-mails with dictates like "Send your lecture title." I spent the weekend gnashing my teeth. So when I went to the office and read titles like "Technology Practices in American Classrooms," "American Foreign Economic Policy," and "Christmas" on the sign-up sheet, I breathed relief. I signed up to present on "Sports in America" but then realized I'm the only sports fanatic here. I haven't changed it yet, but I'm giving serious consideration to "American Urban Art," even though I know nothing about it. Thinking maybe urban graffiti and hip-hop culture. Give me some suggestions, please, if you're there.

Only other news is that I've become a frequent patron of the nearby KTV, a karaoke joint. My singing voice is quite lousy, and the only jam I know in their selection is Arthur Conley's "Sweet Soul Music." The good folks of Qingdao seem to think I have a gift belting out "Sweet Soul Music," and I think they are just having fun at my expense, but I can have fun at my expense, too.

 

Memories for Free Ninety Nine

When I walked through the entrance and surveyed the restaurant, a cozy but standing-room-only little joint in the middle of the student barrio, the only thing I remember thinking was "I'm coming for you, kung pao chicken." This was at about six o'clock on Saturday night at a happening place stuffed with a bunch of hungry college students; nothing unusual. The class monitor and another student were my escort, and while I knew they took me there to celebrate my birthday, they kept me in the dark about other specifics, so I assumed it'd be just the three of us. After all, it was a holiday weekend and I was aware that most students were going to try to make it home to be with family. So, focused only on the damage I planned to do to an order of kung pao chicken, I stayed close behind those two as they bobbed and weaved through the crowd, up a flight of stairs, and past several private parties tucked away in private rooms, thinking along the way that they were being rather managerial about scouting out a table. Finally, they halted in front of the last door. I thought at this point we'd about-face and try elsewhere for a table. They knocked though, as to announce our arrival and then pushed me into the dimly-lit room, where twenty six of their classmates crowded around a birthday cake and began crooning "Happy Birthday." It took me a moment to register what was going on because I was utterly shocked, but once I came to I felt like a bona fide dignitary, the biggest kahuna on the planet.

After the song and the blowing out of candles, I was led to the honorary seat facing the door, given one of those paper crowns to sport for the evening, and one by one each person toasted to my happiness and health. I KO'd lots of kung pao chicken, I had a cake that was gussied up with peaches and grapes, and I got to hang out for an evening with some of the sweetest people I've ever met. The only lamentable moment of the night came when several students implored me to stand up and sing them a song, and although I really gave a few Neil Diamond tracks some serious consideration, I declined. (I once sang a cappella with some American friends at a Christmas party in Spain, and I vowed afterwards never to do it again.) Anyway, when Christmas rolls around this year, maybe I'll find my friend Dolly Parton's Christmas album and she and I can duet some tunes for the class. I'll start storing up the courage.

I intended this post to be about my students' kindness instead of my surprise at the party. I've been thinking about this whole experience a lot recently and wondering what I did to deserve this--them--and there's no good answer. The good karma is pouring in for who knows what reason, and I know I better reciprocate and spread it around. Maybe I should rewatch that overdone disaster of a movie Kevin Spacey and Helen Hunt made when they were relevant, Pay It Forward, for some inspiration. Then again, movies like that make me lose faith in such ideas. Only thing left to say I guess: despite the fact that twenty seven is no real feat or milestone as far as birthdays go, this was one to write home about. I'll never forget it.

I've Got a Name

A picture of the sophmore geniuses who came up with my new Chinese name, Mooncake Xià Mù.

Call me Mooncake Xià Mù (月饼 夏木). Some time ago--nevermind how long--I grew tired of saying "Kevin" in Chinese (Kǎi wén) when introducing myself, so I decided to let my students give me a new Chinese name. After some debate, the students (in the above picture) decided upon Xià Mù. When pronounced, the name sounds strikingly similar to "Shamu" the well-known orca, but translated it means "summer forest." Xià Mù is a peach of a name, I think, and I totally dig it because I can remember it and pronounce it with little difficulty. Admittedly, when they call me Xià Mù I like to picture myself as a killer whale, not a summer forest.

More about my students: I have eight classes and about 350 students in all. I picked up two oral English classes of nursing students at the Medical College, sixty girls in each class, and boy are these two classes fun to teach. The first week we recited a short essay from the assigned textbook that was titled "Romance and Reality," but next week will be the real treat when we tackle "Will You Go Out with Me?" and "My Daughter Smokes." I quite literally believe all of my students are the kindest and best students in the world. They seem to hang on my every word, they laugh at even the lamest of my jokes, and they really get a laugh out of gifting me mooncakes and watching me devour them. I have no doubt it's unhealthy to scarf down the amount of mooncakes I've eaten the past week, but I daren't refuse a homemade cake, ever. This is the reason why one of my students added "mooncake" to my name. Thus, my official Chinese name became Mooncake Xià Mù. There's some serious irony to this lilting name, and I love it.

I'm very endeared by the effort my students and their families have made to scoop me in and feed me. One student invited me to celebrate the Mid-Autumn Festival this Thursday with her husband and their parents. This is a big deal because it's a day for families to be together, and their parents don't speak English. I hope not to shame myself by flinging food everywhere with my chopsticks as I frequently do. (To be fair, how is a fella' supposed to hoist up a steamed potsticker the size of a baseball and eat it without making a mess?) I also shot pool with this same couple yesterday--poorly shot pool, that is. He's an adroit player, a regular hustler and shark. She, however, is very pregnant, and although it was a labor for her to manuever around the contours of the table and bend at the waist to shoot, she got the better of me, too. This won't happen again.

Anyway, being invited into someone's home is unheard of in China; best friends don't invite one another over because the home is the most private of places, I've learned. Another student informed me that her folks, who are both professors at the Medical College, would like to have me over to their apartment for dinner later this month. Yet another invited me to attend an agricultural / farming celebration later this autumn with her family. An entire class of students wants to throw me a party on my upcoming birthday. I feel very honored, and soon I'll be the sated, bloated, and contented Mooncake Xià Mù.


One of three writing classes, junior English majors. Picture taken by an anonymous woman who wanted to sit in on class, so I put her to work as classroom photographer.

Camera Etiquette for Dummies

Took a walk around the grounds of Zhanshan Temple on Monday with a couple Bavarian friends from the building and came across the above sandal and Buddha aficionado. The process he's undertaking in the photo is remarkable, and although I stopped short of asking the sale price of those straw woven sandals next to him (because I don't know how to ask that in Chinese and the pair looks a bit too small for me anyway), I thought it'd be nice to at least take a picture. Others, I believe, had asked him if they could, but since I haven't the faintest idea how to ask I just tried to be discreet by holding the camera at waist level, looking up at the sky, and snapping away from the belt in hopes that I'd come away a winner. As fate and a little luck would have it, this is the forth or fifth photo I took and the only one that came out. His scowl shows that he clearly caught on to my gimmick by this point, and boy did my little indiscretion jar the tranquility right out of him. If I'd had the gall to take pictures of the ensuing scene, you would've seen a shouting Monk in a really sore and fiery state. Maybe next time.

 

Other than the shame that comes with disquieting the most peaceful man I've maybe ever been in the presence of, I've been having a big time becoming acquainted with the city and making friends around campus. I have a good oldfashioned red-as-a-boiled-lobster sunburn from swimming too long at the beach, I've made my feet sore from walking along the piers and marketplaces, and I've given myself a headache trying to learn the language. Yesterday was the first day I received tutoring from one of my neighbors, a Russian exchange student who's working on her master's in Chinese. She told me she thinks it's a good idea to learn the characters alongside the pinyin; I told her I didn't have much faith or interest in learning characters, but who am I to disagree and turn away her kindness? Accordingly, I bought a very elementary Chinese character workbook that allows me to trace the most basic of characters about twenty times over. I suppose the idea is that tracing builds muscle memory or something, but so far I've rendered that theory bunk. Wait till my Russian friend comes back today and sees the disaster I've made in the workbook. Also, I find it both funny and bizarre that I'll be speaking Chinese with a Russian accent.

 

With the semester fast approaching, I'm feeling very grateful for the transitional period I've had. Classes start this coming Monday, Sept. 2, and I'm anxious to meet my students. The Dean of the International School stopped by my place yesterday morning to give me the low down on my teaching assignment. I've been assigned to teach three sections of reading and three of writing, and while I don't know how many students are in each section, I'm guessing I'll have around 150. Anyway, exchange and foreign instructors don't teach from textbooks here, so I'm at liberty to choose all of the course reading materials. I couldn't be happier about it.

 

That's about the size of it. Zai jian and until next time.

Shiver My Timbers

Ramen noodles, chocolate chips, pineapple juice, and beer--that's the extent of my dietary intake thus far in Qingdao, yet I feel like a million bucks. In fact, I've got such a spring in this ol' giddy-up that I'm planning a bus excursion this afternoon that, if all goes according to plan, ought to take me to Jimo Lu (a huge bargaining market) and Beer Street (after all, the Qingdao Beer Festival is supposed to be spectacular and near the beach). Time permitting, I may even follow up with a stop at the supermarket and buy something to eat that's of more substance.

A quick note, though, on my reticence to stray from the convenience store in my building for grocery purposes: The shop owner clearly gets a bang out of the items I'm buying. In turn, I get a kick out of his enjoyment, and though I can't make heads or tails of what he says to me, and vice versa, we are able to share a laugh about how preposterous my purchases are. I spill the chocolate, noodles, juice, and beer on the counter, and when I peer up and meet his eyes, we both break out in laughter. Also, twice I have walked downstairs to find him catching a snoozer on the sofa in the lobby, and when he hitches that eyelid up and spies me, he bolts upright, guides me to his store front, unlocks the gate, and ushers me in. While I recognize that I'll eventually want to stray from the premises for food, the mere thought of taking my business elsewhere seems like rotten betrayal just now.

These excursion plans to the market and Beer Street are in abeyance, however, until the maintenance man, whose English name is Frank, I believe, returns to fix up the bathroom and the ceiling lights. I'm mighty proud to have solved the perplexing washing machine issue on my own. Turns out I just have to slink the drain hose through my apartment to the sump pump looking hole in my bathroom floor and let her blast away. Who knew? Finding that solution taxed every ounce of my problem solving ability.

The embedded picture is of the mote surrounding the Forbidden City in Beijing. . . . And no, it has no connection to anything in this post, but boy ain't it pretty to look at! Till next time.

P.s.: Happy birthday, Ma! Wish I could celebrate with you in person but know I will be thinking of you.

The Filet of the Neighborhood

Ni hao, yo! I'm new to blogging and a bit technologically disadvantaged for my age, so please hang with me for a few weeks while I labor through my blogging struggles. I started this blog because I'm teaching English as an exchange instructor in Qingdao, China and want to share experiences, mishaps, and accomplishments with friends and family.

Having just arrived in Qingdao from a tour of Beijing, I find myself missing Herbert, the tour guide and master translator who took me around Beijing, from the Chinese acrobat show to the Great Wall. The embedded picture is of Herb and me, palling and hot-rodding around the hutongs in a rickshaw. I was fascinated listening to him talk--all of his anecdotal offerings were filled with symbolism and metaphor. This won't be as eloquent as Herb's version, but here's an example: in teaching me to (more effectively) use chopsticks, he shared the story of how he learned. His mother suggested to him that he is the top articulated chopstick and they (his mother and father) are the foundational bottom. The key is to navigate distance: not too far, not too close.  I like the take-away about balance. Herbert also shared that he works for twelve months on as a guide in Beijing and twelve off as a father, husband, and fisherman in his rural hometown. I asked what he fishes for. He said a buzz. 

I'm now in Qingdao and in an apartment that needs some serious tending. Levi, if you can hear me, I need your help, brother. The air conditioner is down at the moment, and I feel like I've puddled into the recliner. Additionally, the gentleman who lived here last has jerry-rigged the appliances and plumbing; that is, I imagine my digs will be grand once I disarm the booby traps. To flush the toilet (upon which a cracked and duct taped seat and lid sit), I pull up on two chopsticks that are tied to the rubber stopper in the tank. To use the washing machine, I have to move the drain hose around the bevy of bowls and pans pocking my kitchen floor. Yellow water rockets out when the machine drains, I learned last night, much like it does from a gardening hose when thumb is clamped over the hose end. I take such challenges as an affront to my virility, to my ability to be handy and be a man. All that to say, in short, I'm actually looking forward to the coming weeks of repairing and settling into the apartment. (On another positive note, there's an incredible vista beyond my balcony, and there's a group of Bavarians living on my floor I'll become fast friends with.)

In closing, I've really been enjoying myself, I'm looking forward to my year here, and I'm very grateful to Missouri State for the opportunity. I have every faith that my students will be like the Chinese folks I've encountered thus far--really patient, reserved, and curious about me. I reckon this will make teaching easy. I'm glad people have taken an interest in me because I am anxious to connect with them, too.

Zai jian for now.