"O Tannenbaum" is not a Channukah Song

Though my holiday spirit will be arriving a little late, I am listening to some Vince Guaraldi Trio to rekindle the sentiment. My sister is visiting me at the moment, so I will keep this brief. We are preparing for our flight to Shanghai, where we will spend the New Year's weekend.

A few weeks prior to Christmas, my coworkers asked if I was going to do anything special. I told them that I did not (and do not) celebrate Christmas--that I am Jewish. They seemed to understand as we had a conversation lasting a few minutes.

To my surprise (initially), two weeks later my coworkers bought me Christmas presents and had encouraged my students to write me Christmas cards. Upon reflection though, this misunderstanding or flagrant disregard for what I had previously conveyed are both entirely feasible scenarios--neither of which are in the least surprising.

I believe that Chinese people believe that "Christmas" may be an American holiday instead of a Christian one. I have also heard from some Chinese people that "Christmas" is a celebration of individuality. I am not 100% on how those dots connect, but it is an interesting interpretation. And the interpretation arises from Chinese school textbooks--in which there is an annual unit dedicated to "Christmas" and "Christmas" vocabulary. Maybe one-in-a-hundred Chinese people could explain a link between "Christmas" and Jesus. They celebrate "Christmas," not Christmas.

Anyways, I learned a lot about "Christmas" this year. It involves a lot of tinsel, few traditional foods, and a lot of Wham!. I loathe Wham!--though not George Michael. On this note, Wham! now makes it onto the short list of Chinese obsessions that irk me: Stinky Tofu, Durian, and Wham!.

I will stop "scrooging" on "Christmas." Here are some varieties of "Christmas" cards and gifts:

If you're into formality, mystery, and wizardry...

R-E-G-R-E-T, find out what it means to me.

I have been thinking a lot about decision making. The years immediately following undergraduate education have the potential to be a no-man's-land in a battle between embracing youth (and it's potential) and pursuing direction. This transitional space is rife with landmines and barbed wire that are otherwise referred to as "major life decisions." Some dodge the battlefield--blindly realizing that this, in and of itself, is a decision in regards to how to handle one's own life (i.e. procrastination and denial). I know others who look to maneuver around obstacles; and I know others who will do whatever it takes to steadfastly embrace youthful pursuits or to devotedly labor at the "next step."

Bear, motorcycle, high wire, laurel, streamers. This happens

As a friend asks me for my thoughts on applying to the Peace Corps and another asks me for my opinion about teaching in a struggling community, I relay the questions that I have had to ask myself in regards to both of these pursuits that have been passions at some point in my recent past.


As a friend asks me for my thoughts on moving in with his significant other and another friend asks me for my opinion about committing to a year abroad with her significant other, I obviously reflect on my decisions in regards to my former relationship with both those features.

And as I ask my friends for their thoughts on what their next steps will be or for their opinions about what they have learned from their own experiences in whatever they have done  in the past year, I find myself questioning how I make decisions and how I regard decisions I have made in the past year-or-so--which is a rather appropriate act for this resolution-making time of the year.

Cut and Pastiche

I am definitely not posting with the frequency that I would prefer. I wonder if my lack of writing contributes to a sense of feeling overwhelmed with thoughts that I want to communicate; I also wonder if the converse is not true in that the vast number of topics I want to discuss and stories I want to relay make it impossible to focus my writing.

China Study: Case File SZ019 ("To Teach...")

 This blog post is a continuation of my last two posts.

Maoist salute at a Yao-ist temple

From discussing with other foreign English teachers our respective primary students' level of comprehension and ability, I am aware that my students are far below average. Initially, I viewed this to be a challenge. I had no false premonition that I could be a Superman teacher that would push their English language skills to new heights; I did hope that I could at least be a Clark Kent justly encouraging development and helping ever-so-rarely but ever-so-significantly. Within a month of working at my school, I realized I would be closer to a Jimmy Olson: always on the outside reflecting what is happening through a lens of biased perception and sometimes frustrated with my own inabilities in the face of adversity.

Low comprehension and ability is difficult to address with the vast number of students in a class. And, I only see each class once a week--just enough time to keep plugging away with the limited city-wide (maybe nation-wide) text books (each chapter just long enough to fill a 40 minute class).

In lieu of the past posts (including this one), my personal obstacles in my workplace include: my students' language limits, my inexperience, differences in culture, and my own emotions--whether reactive to the environment (i.e. sadness and sympathy for suppressed students) or lingering from my life outside of work.

China Study: Case File SZ018 ("Students and Discipline")

This post is to be read as a continuation of my last post.
 ***
Each of my twelve different classes has 50 students. I teach only three of the six grades at my school. I am teaching at only one of at least five primary schools (1st-6th grade) in my village of Yantian district. There are several other villages in the district, and there are several districts in the city. The point? There are lots of kids in China.

Of course, this means that funding beneficial education for all those students can be a bit of a headache. One way that China helps this economic quandary is to not make high school mandatory. High schools recruit students, and every prospective high school student needs to pass an absurd amount of tests to have their applications considered. This is high school. Not university.

Ubiquitous Chinese Picture Pose

The sad side of this solution is that the majority of Chinese children are essentially channeled straight into factories. There is not much they can do as one fish swimming in a school headed straight for the net. In many ways, the Chinese economy (and society) depends on this channeling of humanity. A good friend acknowledged how easily the tragedy of one doomed life (inevitably headed to an impoverished life of labor and pain) can be lost in the grand scope of the entire Chinese population.

Especially in regards to humanitarian pursuits (e.g. becoming a teacher), Western thinking precludes loosing sight of of an individual's tragedy. And so I cannot lose sight of how this tragedy reiterates itself hundreds of times in my students.

There are many comparable circumstances around the globe. I spent much time at The University of Michigan learning about and advocating against the prison industrial complex that leeches out many forgotten and derelict youth--a brief plug for a friend and esteemed professor's book.

Some may argue that these youth (American or Chinese) are just lucky to get any education as compared with the millions deprived as much around the world. To me, this justification is cruel, dismissive, and offensively illogical. Apples and oranges.

China Study: Case File SZ017 ("Colleagues")

Why won't you love me?

To many of you, the ensuing discussions of the hardships at my school will read as repetition for what I have already communicated. Still, I think certain clarifications and elaborations are necessary to explain why I struggle (on a near daily basis) to get out of bed and go to work. I hope to communicate my struggles in such a way as to appropriately reflect upon how challenging they are without sounding depressed or hopeless. I do enjoy aspects of my job, and I am thrilled with my life in China--when viewed on the whole.

First though not foremost in my school struggles, I need to debunk any notion that I have a shred of support from my colleagues.

My program ensured that there would be a provision of our  contract that guaranteed a "contact teacher" to act as a liaison between the English teachers and their respective schools (administrations, faculties, students, and communities). Prior to even being assigned schools, I learned that relationships between my program's past teachers and their "contact teachers" varied from close friendships to mutual abandonment as the "contact teacher" goes M.I.A. A.S.A.P. Somewhere in between lays my relationship with my contact teacher, "Chuckles."

The Loss of a Great Friend

I do not know if I believe in soul-mates.

I do know that I had found a kindred spirit, a best friend, and a trusted companion. It is so rare to find this--especially in an inanimate object.

Not two-weeks-ago, I realized that my blue zip-up hoodie had gone missing. Only yesterday, I gave-up hope of finding it.

It is with great sadness that I issue this eulogizing blog post. Though I only knew that hoodie for four years (four damn good years), I was familiar with each frayed edge and the origins of each stain. After just four years, I would grossly exagerate that I wore "The Blue Hoodie" for at least 365 days during that time, I would more accurately estimate that I wore "The Blue Hoodie" for at least 100 days (time worn, not days donned and then removed) during that time, and I would definitely know that I could count the times I washed "The Blue Hoodie" on my fingers.

I saw it morph from accessory to pajamas to all-purpose-utility-article. It saw me graduate university. We saw at least 23 countries and 19 states together.

Many came to know me and "The Blue Hoodie" as extensions of one-another. I have heard from several close friends (people, not inanimate objects) that when they thought of me, they thought of me wearing torn jeans, a solid-colored shirt, and "The Blue Hoodie."

So, I will not go on much longer. The sadness of the loss weighs heavily. The following is a montage of moments "The Blue Hoodie" and I shared over the past four years--from a rare snowy day in Jerusalem to its mysterious disappearance in Shenzhen and all that lay between. Cue "Dust in The Wind." You're my boy Blue!

Day 1: A Fox sweatshirt and an Onion fall in love while it snows in Jerusalem

Overwhelmed in Camden Market of London

Shick-shick-Shenma? (Whick-whick-What?)

I love communication. It's one of my passions. So, learning Chinese is an absolute blast for me. Here I am gaining the knowledge of how to communicate with 1/5th of the world. More, probably. With my Spanish abilities (and my barely remembered Hebrew skills?), I may soon be able to have a casual conversation (if not a more intense one) with half (if not more) of the world. I am as happy as a little girl!

Speaking in Chinese is difficult. I am not the first to say as much, but I will elaborate on the difficulties I perceive. N.B. I have observed Chinese people even have issues communicating with one another.

Take a look at my life, I'm a lot like you were.

Accidental Personal Statement?

Much of the romance about exploration and connection relies on stripping away layers (like those of an Onion, mayhaps) to reveal mysteries beyond. What happens once those mysteries lose their undisclosed quality through revealing? What happens to the layers that have been stripped?

For a few years running, I have prided myself on adamantly believing in the power of human connection: connection with others, connection with environment, and connection with the self. Part of my ethos and part of my passions are to connect as much as possible; thus, I explore  and adventure with intent of learning more about others and their places--geographically and with regards to their sense of identity.

Environment onions:
As we delve deeper into new locales and societies, any past layers are not discarded as much as integrated into our knowledge and experience. What is the specialty of Sichuan province (i.e. food)? One of them is Sichuan greenbeans. With this revelation, I lose the mystery of the question but gain the knowledge of what to order in Chengdu. This is a minor example. This concept, though, is acted out on greater scales with regards to learning about hidden alleys with wonderful street vendors that become integrated into routine after being frequented. Once we start peeling away the layers of our environment and how it functions, we continue to add to a cumulative knowledge. There is no loss but the loss of mystery. I would venture so far as to say truly connecting with one's environment is a spiritual fulfillment. One creates a bond to something that is constantly shifting within certain solid structural (or natural) confines; in the past, I have found that this sort of connection with location is conducive to self-affirmation--in chicken-egg fashion, perhaps the latter facilitates the former. Regardless, peeling away an environmental onion reveals an essence of location, of time, and even of self onions.

Caught-up in "Maybe's"

Maybe I feel lighter.

In lieu of the recent slew of necessary questioning and searching I have conducted, I have spent some [also necessary] time contemplating the Chinese "maybe." Anyone who has held a conversation with a non-Native-English-speaking-Chinese-person knows that their individual uses of the word "maybe" are confounding, seemingly incorrect, and easily mocked. Here are some examples:

Me: There is no-one supervising that classroom and a boy just bit another boy.
Chinese Colleague: Yes. Maybe they are disobedient.

***

Chinese Colleague: Maybe you should come to the flag ceremony at 6 a.m.

***

Chinese Colleague: Maybe the school van will be there at 4:30 p.m. to retrieve you and your friends.
Me: Wait. But they are supposed to be.
Chinese Colleague: Yes. Maybe they will be.
Me: But they are contractually obligated to be there.
Chinese Colleague: Maybe they are obligated by contract. Yes.
Me: But...Um...Maybe.

***

What is to be expected? What is to be expected.

Fish don't tread water.

I would be the first to profess how foolish it is to begin a journey or even to begin most tasks with set expectations of how the journey and/or task will unfold and/or culminate. Without a certain amount of flexibility to the whims and uncontrollable forces of the world (especially in China), failure is a constant potential; disappointment, a guaranteed outcome. I know this.

Unfortunately, I am bearing witness, these days, to how knowing something and experiencing it may be stark differences that leave one questioning one's own ilk. As detailed to many of you at various points, I am enduring some trying times. Whether I am at school and facing indifferent students or abusive colleagues, or whether I am at home and elsewhere attempting to distract myself as methods of licking my recently opened wounds. There is no need to detail these trials any further, but my kind readership should be aware that I experience insecurity and stress no matter where I go and nearly no matter what I do. The stress in my life is inescapable because of how profound it is. I wish I could, as I say to myself, "Take it one thing and/or day at a time."

Birthday Break

Faithful and Kind Readers,

Today marks the 24th year that I have walked the Earth. (Get it? Like dinosaurs walked the Earth?)

I am taking the day off from writing, though I want to stay committed to my blogging regularity. So, I am leaving you, my faithful and kind readership, with this.

Taking It To Heart

Serenity now!

In the wake of my National Day vacation to emei shan (Mt. Emei, the holiest of Taoist mountains and located two hours southwest of Chengdu, China) and Leshan (home of the world's tallest seated buddha with toenails bigger than me) I am left reflecting on the balance of life. This seems appropriate and obvious (perhaps appropriately obvious) given the spiritually Buddhist sights I visited. Emei shan rejuvenated me with how it challenged me, with its beauty, with its spiritual essence that enveloped each of its hiking pilgrims much like the low-lying clouds that wrapped and permeated the mountain's sloping and sub-tropical forest; I returned lightened and having come to terms with pressing questions in my life--more on these questions later--only to encounter a burdening pain.

That is waterfall fresh laundry

I know I would fail in describing the climb up the mountain; I know as much because of how complexly beautiful Emei is. Since I feel like this excuse is more a cop-out disguising laziness, I will not use this lame reasoning to withhold  details of my experience on Emei. Instead, I will ask for your understanding given my struggle to find words while my thoughts are so helplessly scattered in the face of some personal and heavy-hearted trials.

A few stray descriptions and reflections will, I hope, suffice.

Battling thousands of Chinese people for a seat on a bus from Chengdu to Emei redefines "holiday travel." Imagine going to O'Hare airport on the busiest travel days surrounding Thanksgiving or Christmas; now, imagine that your airline has issued you a ticket to a destination but has not specified the time of your flight, the number of your flight, or your seat on the flight. The airline just sells tickets to passengers, thus allowing them to do whatever they feel is necessary to make sure that they get to their destinations in a timely manner.

I waited five hours with other sardines in Chengdu's bus station; it took me four hours to move twenty feet. I was elated that I did not have to use the restroom at any time during this experience. I was not elated that many Chinese people firmly believe that body odor is a "western problem."

Teacher Learning

This past week was my most challenging week of teaching thus far. I am no longer too worried about lesson planning, and I have grown accustomed to the scaffolding of my own lesson plans as well as the mystery of whether or not my students will comprehend the topic(s). No--instead the challenges of this past week centered upon my ability to discipline children. Early on in a Monday afternoon class, I was presented with a teacher’s rite of passage: breaking up a fight.

Granted, this duty is a little more stressful and trying with older students who present more of a threat to a fight mediator. I still feel like more of a teacher on this side of that incident.

A particular child in one of my fourth grade classes was not paying attention. Instead of helping to recite the months of the year and instead of demonstrating knowledge of ordinal numbering in dates, he was using a compass and protractor to crush what I think was pencil lead but looked like it could have also been terra cotta—children will always have their mysteries. After the fleeting thought questioning what the hell he was doing passed through my head, I confiscated the protractor and the ground led/terra cotta. As I was returning to the raised podium at the front of the class, another child (sitting directly in front of the one crushing the mysterious substance) said something in Chinese and handed me The Crusher’s compass. I took it and attempted to resume class by throwing a ball to yet another student and by asking, “What day is your birthday?”

Before an answer, The Crusher had gotten out of his seat, assumed a look of ire, and had seized the lapel of the student who had gotten The Crusher’s compass confiscated as well. (The second child’s self-appointed name, by the way, is Bobo: “Like the clown!”) For a few milliseconds, I bemusedly reflected on how traditional of a way this was to start a fight. For a few more milliseconds, I expected to hear The Crusher shout something like: “You swine! I challenge you to a duel, you nefarious fiend.” And for a few more milliseconds, I placed internal bets on how quickly the fight would end given the fact that The Crusher was one of the smaller children in the class (maybe 4’ and 40-ish pounds) and that Bobo was one of the heftier children in the class (maybe 4’ 5” and 80-ish pounds).

Still, not a second passed before I jumped off the raised podium and began pulling The Crusher off of Bobo—who was barely exerting effort to resist The Crusher’s challenge. The tenacious Crusher through a punch that landed right on Bobo’s left ear; still seated, Bobo pushed The Crusher into the desks across the narrow aisle. I stepped up my intervention a notch, seeing that my restraint of force for the sake of not accidentally hurting the students may actually result in them hurting themselves through an escalation of force.

I pried The Crusher’s hands off of Bobo’s lapel and lifted The Crusher by his own lapel with my right arm while holding Bobo back with a stiff-left-arm. As The Crusher thrashed futilely while dangling in the air, the class laughed at his expense. The Crusher punched me in the chest.

Singa[pore]: Simple Song

MacRitchie Reserve

Tuesday, 21/09:

"All day, I grouchily lament having to battle time and the elements as two oncoming events:

1) A typhoon
2) My three day vacation to Singapore.

I desperately pedal through unrelenting rain to get to the bank to withdraw money to exchange for Hong Kong dollars (gangbi). Then, I endure soggy socks and drenched pants to top-up the pay-as-you-go minutes on my phone 'just in case of emergency in Singapore.'

The whole time, I am trying to forget my fifth grade class that knew less than my third graders. And, the whole time I am trying to forget my fourth grade class that tried my patience nearly to its breaking point. The whole time, I wonder if my efforts are in vain as I am not even sure that I will make it to the Hong Kong airport in time to catch my Tiger Airlines flight that may be cancelled due to weather...And so, the whole time I wonder whether I even want to continue this battle with time and the elements.

I decide 'yes,' though my gut tells me I could have just as easily decided otherwise. I need this independent adventure; I need to feel the replenishing spirit of exploration and discovery.

Mid-Autumn Moon Festival Means Vacation!

I start to feel it as I walk to my bus stop--all the while, receiving stares for my hunchbacked poncho covering a backpack stuffed with a weekend's worth of miscellany. I am walking to catch a bus to get to the border crossing so I can walk across the border to catch a bus to catch a subway to catch a train to the airport, where I can catch a flight to Singapore--where I will catch a bus to catch a subway to my hostel. I realize it will take a small miracle to ensure all goes swimmingly despite the torrential downpour and forecasted typhoon.

The Zen Pedagogy [Dammit!]

I have found that being a foreign language instructor who does not speak the native language of his pupils has reduced me to two forms: reflecting shifter and aggravated grump. When I am the former, I picture myself like this; when I am the latter, I picture myself like this. Sometimes I transition between the two within one class period.

The zen side emerges when I encounter some success in teaching my students through a series of steps:
1) Awareness that I must reduce my speech to a basic level;
2) Passively slipping into a comfortable, concise, but very simple form of speech;
3) Seeing a glint in their eyes as they seem to have received a subconscious transmission from my brain to theirs--a transmission that imparts meaning where once there was none for the word "tired."

And it is in these moments of cosmic brilliance that I am optimistic for my current occupation. I become all the more reflective on the process by which I have created meaning in someone else's head. But, this, I believe, is where I fall out of the zen-like line of pedagogical communication.

I become too conscious about the process instead of letting it wash over me; maybe I am too resistant to remaining in an extended negation of my own education just so I can communicate with my students. To appropriately communicate with them (as they are just starting to learn a new language), I must respect them as adults, treat them as children, and teach them words as if they were babies. To do this appropriately, I need to think of what language is useful to a baby (or young child) just learning to speak. To do this appropriately, I need to, sort of, think what is useful to a baby (or young child) linguistically and pedagogically speaking.

Sometimes when I am lesson planning or [trying] to speak with students, I become all-too-aware of how simplified the language I am using is; then, I fear I am belittling the student. But, I see his or her lack of comprehension. So, I smile and continue repeating a phrase or word--all the while trying to encourage them to not worry about the 49 peers staring at him or her and, often, laughing at him or her. As I repeat the phrase or word, I see a look of pained fear and angered irritation cross their eyes (it washes over them just as easily as that aforementioned look of comprehension). Then, I become aware of how terribly annoying and cruel I must sound: I am verbally hammering a word into their face ("Mad. Mad. Mmmmmm-aaaaa-d. Mad. Mad. Mad. MAD. MAAAAAD.") while increasing my volume to compensate for the increasing volume of the classroom behind me. This poor kid must feel like I am yelling at him or her while his or her classmates are pointing and laughing. I sense someone behind me is goofing-off. I have so many reasons I want to escape this spiraling situation; I can only imagine how this kid feels. I start sweating. Or, at least, I become conscious of how much I am sweating. I smile and accept the kid's shaky-voiced attempt: "Blad."

"Blad."

School Lite

A few significant events have happened at my school recently. Each event presented its own unique, laughable discomforts.

Prior to last Monday, Charlie had "asked" me (read: "implored" me) to write a short speech for the "International Flag Raising Ceremony" that would take place on said Monday. Five minutes after Charlie had left the room, he returned and asked: "Elie, have you finished your speech yet?"

So, I whipped out a two-to-three-minute speech that addressed my gratefulness to my headmaster for accepting me in the community, that promoted the necessity of international comaraderie, that expounded upon the importance of cross-cultural exchange, and that encouraged China and the U.S. to responsibly regard their roles as global leaders. Of course, I dumbed the speech down just a bit so that my audience (1st through 6th grade Chinese students with little-to-no ability to comprehend English) would understand the gravity of my motivational words.

Me and Charlie

I arrived to school last Monday just in time to have two sesame balls stuffed with red bean and a bowl of congee before dropping my bag in my office to the loudspeakers blaring the school's anthem. Charlie anxiously put his arm around me, "Elie, International Flag Ceremony is now. Where is your speech?" He picked up the speech print-out from my desk, handed it to me, and offered his translation services.

After five minutes of unfiltered sunshine, a realization about the "International Flag Ceremony" washed over me--the wash being coordinated with the sweat my body was purging in response to the sweltering temperatures. "International Flag Ceremony" was "oooeeeooiii-National Flag Ceremony." Charlie struggled with saying the word "national" without a prefix.

The Inconvenience of Convenience

I mentioned in previous posts that I had bought a bicycle as one of my first orders of business upon setting foot in Shenzhen. When I purchased the bike, I did so with the help of Charlie (my contact teacher at my school) and Anson (the contact teacher at Caitlin's school). Anson had recently purchased at least two bikes from this particular shop. I felt secure in the transaction--having two locals who could also operate as translators, arbiters of quality, and testifiers to the shop's trustworthiness--and have since realized that that may have been a false sense of security.

Within three days of buying my brand new blue bike, I exerted a little too much force when hauling up a hill to make a lunch date. Consequently, the rubber pedals both broke. I MacGyver-ed the pedals to the bike using cardboard and duct tape; I realized, however, that this was only temporary.

My New Digs

I live in the Yantian district of Shenzhen. In my limited experience of the city, my district is by far the most laid back; I particularly enjoy the vibe of my "village." Yantian is composed of four "villages" (certainly nomenclature left-over from before Deng Xiaoping converted the Shenzhen fishing village into the Shenzhen Special Economic Zone metropolis), the first "village" being furthest east from the center of Shenzhen city and the fourth being my home and that of the district's government.

My street leading up to Wutong Mtn.

Here in fourth village, Yantian district, Shenzhen, Guangdong province, China, Planet Earth, there is a pleasant blend of congested shopping streets with mainstream restaurants (both Western and Chinese) and alley-way neighborhoods with removed eateries.

Recallibrating My Settings: Nowist waijiao

I have gotten so used to moving and being in limbo this past year that I feel as though I am a robot when it comes to shifting my expectations: Peace Corps conundrums leaving me without plan (and without home), job searching in a relentlously baren job market, moving to Portland, moving back to Ann Arbor, moving to China, and, within the span of four days, moving from Beijing to a hotel in northern Shenzhen (via train) to my new apartment in eastern Shenzhen. Why should I expect anything other than more shifts in expectations?

The real kicker question: If I expect that I will have to shift my expectations, am I really shifting my expectations ever? Then, what am I actually expecting?

After I successfully "defend my honor" in a futbol match with other teachers from my school (Shenzhen Haitao Primary School), C calls me to let me know that the Shenzhen Bureau of Education has scheduled our apartment to be remodeled starting the next evening; we have less than 24 hours to move-out, and we will do so on the day before school begins. C'est la vie. The following conversation occurs between my contact teacher (Charlie) and me.

BeiDa Express

Now that I have been in China for four full weeks, the first two weeks (which, as they were happening, passed as a blur) are becoming all the more granulated as they seep into the sands of my time. There is much to be discussed, but I feel so overwhelmed with the details and anecdotes that I also feel any attempt at including all that should be included will be an inadequate attempt. So, I'll be more dilligent with my layers of thoughts and experiences.

Here was a typical schedule of my two weeks in Beijing.

(5:00--Jog around a park near Haidan Sports Complex; try to do some basic calisthenics using pull-up bars and parallel bars; brush-off stares from old women on non-electrical, outdoor ellipticals while I brush-off sweat accumulating at a pace on par with my sweatiest sauna experience--the dense air pollution in Beijing only exacerbates the fatiguing summer humidity and heat; try not to laugh as ping-pongers grunt and sing during morning training sessions without ping pong balls on the park's ping pong tables; consider the spiritual and physical benefits of those walking and performing tai chi clapping exercises; stretch, shower, bemoan the inescapable scent of backed-up sewage)


7:00--Wake C; get dressed for a day of classes and teaching; and leave the hotel for a jian bing (a street vendor produced breakfast crepe that costs US$0.50 and features egg, chili sauce, scallions, and garlic); grab a cup of coffee at a bakery--I only realize a week after ordering coffee without cream that I had been ordering coffee without breast milk; review Mandarin flash cards or finalize the details of the day's lesson plan.

Preparation E

The breeze shuffling the leaves of the thirty-year-old cotton wood beyond my parents' backyard soothe my listlessness and my anxieties. The listlessness and anxiety go hand-in-hand, I suppose.

I feel listless because of my awareness of the imminent excitement that will inundate my life: I am moving to China in less than a week.

In fact, one week from the moment when I am writing this will be a moment in which I am recovering from a day lost to air travel and a fourteen-hour-time-shift. My, how my back will ache and my lids will want to shut; but, oh how I will want to take pictures of the signs with aesthetically pleasing script and nonsensical translations.

More after the jump

"Lost" Thoughts: Part VI (Conclusion-ish)

I carry my sentiment from the end of season five into this blog post about the sixth and final season of "Lost": I am freed from the shackles of a time commitment without definite reward.

Though I am somewhat satisfied with the concluding note of the show (one that has been widely discussed and only moderately criticized) in its humanistic emphasis, I am still furious. I should clarify that I am mostly furious with myself: About a week ago I realized that despite my awareness to the frustrations of people who had been avidly following the show, I, too, had been duped into believing that some profound realization would come to fruition thanks to insightful writing that would incorporate allegorical imagery and complexly woven story arcs. Of course, after an estimated 88 hours of time watching events unfold after the crash of Oceanic 815 I am now aware that the show was just a T.V. show. Damnit. Fooled me.

No More Apologies

I have come to realize that I cannot post nearly as often as I would like--nor can I post with the creativity I would prefer. This will be my last apology for being M.I.A.: I am sorry. (Speaking of which, you should check out the new M.I.A. video for "Born Free" knowing that it will be quite violent.) This post should serve as a brief update on my life.

I have spent much of the past month studying so that I can now operate up-to-par with Zingerman's Roadhouse standards. Grueling and challenging at times, the process has ultimately been rewarding. I am all the more knowledgeable about food (production to plate) and enlightened by the organization's philosophy about people, community, and service. I am still loving my job, and I am looking forward to the coming months that are the Roadhouse's busy season--the other night a drunken and proud father of a recent grad insisted on telling me quite the animated joke and then confessing he would stop drinking Johnny Walker Black.

I recently soaked in a few rays while repotting C's and my cucumbers, pimento peppers, and zebra tomatoes.

Recently, I have been observing C and others go through the graduation process and have thus been brought face-to-face with one of those moments when events facilitate reflection on time passed. A flash to me last year would yield an image of a zealous and confident young man ready to start a summer job in service at a popular local business, planting a garden, enjoying the company of friends in an Ann Arbor summer, and secure in a future with the Peace Corps. If I have learned anything in the past year (which has been difficult, to put it mildly), I have learned to be humble about what I do have and to recognize how fleeting what I have can be. I appreciate my position in life, right now, and I do all I can to live contemporaneously with joy in that appreciation.

Still, the fact that I have come full-circle (in a way, when considering the similarities between my basic life description then and my basic life description now) has brought me to some questions that I have not yet been able to put into words for others. My language seems to fail to capture these reflective and thought-provoking circumspections.

Soon, I will begin learning some basic Mandarin. I have made it a goal to begin calligraphy as a hobby come August.

Otherwise, some recent intakes...
Movies I Have Seen Recently and Recommend: "Revolver"
Book Recently Finished: "No One Writes to the Colonel" by Marquez
Book Recently Began: "Steppenwolf" by Hesse
Music on my Mind: The xx, Groove Spoon, RJD2's "The Colossus," Caribou's "Swim," The Twelves remixes, The Glitch Mob

"Lost" Thoughts: Part V

I once had an English teacher that loved reveling in the beauty of a Socratic argument that ended where it began. In season five of "Lost," we start with the disappearance of the island and a changing of all inner rules (space, time, physics, etc.); we end the season with a mystery of how the inner rules will be resolved reiterated with the bending of the show's external rules--the trademark black background is, instead, white. Before and after this season, more so than during the time surrounding any other season, the viewers are left feeling just as the title indicates: Lost. That summary is an accurate depiction of the show's ridiculousness.

Assassination in and/or of the Western

I recently spoke with a friend who told me about an article (I believe by Zizek) that discussed how the Western eventually became impossible to make and that we were left with "meta-westerns." (Bryan, forgive me if I am doing a poor job of recounting.) This trend began with "Shane" (which I have not actually seen), in which the entire Western unfolds from the perspective of the child. From then on, Westerns were no longer possible; instead, "Westerns" were stories that unfolded from the gaze of someone actually watching the real Western take place (e.g. "Shane's" child).

With this in mind, I will address two "Westerns" that I recently watched: "The Wild Bunch" (1969)  and "The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford" (2007).

Dolphins are Bodhisattvas

This will be a brief post instead of a review since I am tired of writing them.

Instead, I am endorsing the film (and the hype behind the film) "The Cove."



In case you do not pay attention to the Oscars beyond Best Film, Director, Actors, Actresses, and Animated Feature, "The Cove" won this year's Best Documentary. Rightfully so. The effort to make this movie is impressive, and the poignancy of the camerawork are all worth the hype and praise. I fully recommend this film as a film.

I also fully recommend this film as a pedagogical device.

I also fully recommend this film as a political piece.

Basically, you should see it. Then, you should check out this site to support the cause. Then you should check out this movie. It is one of my favorites. Then you should check out this site to support the cause.

Then you should go get a snorkel and some O2 tanks and get your ass in the water. See you there.

I Would Pay For Some of This

3/23: Eager eyes

In its 48th year, Ann Arbor Film Festival is the longest running experimental film festival in the world--or so they claim, and I am disinclined to investigate. I am generally intrigued by the ways that people use moving media to convey the human experience or the human imagination, so I am generally intrigued by the films at the festival. As many of you may or may not know, I tend to take advantage of freebies and have a good ear for good deals. So, I am volunteering 15 hours for the festival this weekend in exchange for a free weekend pass. I prepare my eyes for the avant garde and abstract.

(N.B. I am not preparing my eyes for the avant garde as Bunuel and Dali would:



Ew. I am sorry. Though the rest of "Un Chien Andalou" is strange and occasionally funny in its absurdity. Deemed a "classic" by many, I would hesitate to actually recommend unless you plan on partaking in a dialogue about cinema, theory, genre, and the avant garde in film. Basically, that film would be a crucial part of the primer for the AA Filmfest.)

FINALLY!

Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to say that after 257 applications (I have a list) of one sort or another since this time last year that I have found employment!!!

Here.

"Really good American food." That's right.

Not only do I feel total relief that someone out there thinks I am capable of working for them, I am inundated with feelings of validation that it is a renowned employer and organization. Zingerman's has a reputation for excellence in product, service, and management. They value every aspect of their organization, and I am proud and privileged to be a part of that.

I look forward to good food, engaging conversations on good food, encouraging environments to foster good food [service], new friends formed around good food, etc.

Basically, I need to start studying so I can fit in with a group of people who have an encyclopedic knowledge of food. I am excited. Fin.

I [sic] New York

Recently, I have been considering how random my film reviews are: There is no thematic order to the movies I see, and this may contribute to an illegitimacy in my blogging. Then, I remember that this is a blog that follows my travels, adventures, thoughts, and reflections. There is no particular order to these aspects of my life, so the random reviews (courtesy, in part, of the unsystematic order of my Netflix queue) tow the the line of my life. I am sorry if you do not appreciate.

*****

While I am still a huge fan of "Paris, je t'aime,"  I cannot say my enthusiasm for the city-scape montage of love applies to the poorly planned and odiously executed "New York, I Love You."




(I forgot that preview features Phoenix--perhaps the most redeeming quality of the film.)

"Lost" Thoughts: Part IV

Despite the fourth season of "Lost" being about ten episodes shorter than any of the first three (season one, season two, and season three), JJ Abrams and co. generated twice as many questions as they usual do in a season. That being said, I am not sure how much space I can afford for an actual review of the season. I will do my best to recap my thoughts on the season, the show, and where it is going before launching into a recap on questions unanswered and a listing of newly generated questions. Again, I list all these questions because creating and monitoring the progress of questions is the premise and basis for success of "Lost."

With much further ado, "Lost" takes us off the island and brings us to a strange non-island-non-off-island existence within season four. The show has begun leaning away from the petty island drama for the sake of pursuing more confusion about physics, chemistry, space, and time--it is too bad Arntz is not around to help explain some of the conundrums.

At the end of season three, we find out that some Oceanic 815 survivors make it off the island and back to civilization--thanks Beardy Jack. In season four, we have flashes forward to this post-island life for the Oceanic 815 and island survivors (coined The Oceanic 6), flashes backwards to explain more about character origins, and what amount to flashes of the "present" life of the characters on the island. Ultimately, this technique leads to a chase that parallels some of the jungle chases on the island: The present on the island is trying to catch-up to the flashes forward (Oceanic 6 time) that continue to develop in a forward-moving manner. There are some excellent "12 Monkeys"-esque moments during the season--particularly in "The Constant." This also helps to harp on the "Alice in Wonderland" motif that resurfaces throughout the show.

This shift in story-telling provides a new layer of intrigue and, thus, enjoyment for the audience. We sort of know where things are headed and we sort of know where things are, but we do not really know at all how the two are connected. Or if they are connected.

Terry O'Quinn is still the stand-out performer, and the show is trimming some of the fat (N.B. A reduction of Claire). The writers seems to be tired of the Jack-Kate-Sawyer triangle and have shifted more towards the evolution of their friendships and romances without struggle between the males. I eagerly await how Abrams and co. will handle the explanation of how big Walt has gotten even though not a significant amount of internal time has passed.

With one more season of Netflix watching left, I will soon be caught-up to current "Lost" time...Whatever time that may be: Three out of Five stars


Here are the questions left over from Season 1:

What's the deal with the moving black smoke?

What did the others want with Walt?

What is so special about the numbers?

What illness took Rousseau's people?

Where is this island?

What's with Locke's occasional paralysis and even more occasional feeling in his legs?

What made him move to the box company?

What's with Jack's dad on the island?

What is Walt's super power?

What's the point of Vincent?

Season two left overs:

Why do people see a dripping wet Walt when he's not actually around?

What is he saying in said incidents?

What is the significance of the hatch names?

Why was the electromagnetic facility built?

Why was it well-stocked with weapons?

What's with Kate's black horse?

Was Sawyer really holding the spirit of Kate's dead dad?

Is this all going to be some sort of religious metaphor?

Why didn't the black smoke take Echo?

What was flashing in the black smoke?

What did the blacklit blast door say?

Why did the Dharma Initiative drop more food?

Why does Hurley start seeing Dave again?

Why didn't Ben run away when the blast doors had fallen?

Why was Desmond in prison?

What's with the big freak bird that seems to only show up once a season?

What's with the statue foot with four toes?

And now the slew of questions from the third season:

What's Carl's back story?

Why does Jack hear his dad on the intercom?

Why was Locke on that orchard?

Why can Desmond see the future?

Who is the guy who looks like Echo's brother but says he is not him?

Why was Jack in Phucket?

What is the meaning of Juliette's mark?

Why was Sayid in Paris?

How does Mikhael keep surviving death?

What happens to the gull carrying Claire's message?

What happened to Locke's spot on the weed farm?

How did Locke's dad get on the island?

How did Abrams and Co. get Billy Dee Williams to guest?

What was the point of Nickie and Paulo? ("Who the hell is Nickie?"--Sawyer)

Will those two stay buried? ("Things have a way of not staying buried"--Locke)

Why didn't the monster take Juliette and Kate?

Why can't the monster cross "the others'" fence?

What is the story with Jacob?

Who is the man from Tallahasee?

Why was Desmond at an abbey?

Why do men have higher sperm counts on the island?

Why do "the others" idolize Locke?

Are the people on the island dead? Are these layers of hell?

Why hasn't Richard aged?

Why is Ben in charge?

What does Jacob need Locke's help with?

That brings us to questions about season four:

Why does Hurley see the water of the ocean in the mirror in the police station?

Who pounds on the glass of said mirror?

Who is Matthew Abbaddon?

Why is he visiting Hurley?

Who are the "they" Abbaddon talks about to Hurley?

Why are only some people allowed to see Jacob's cabin?

Who was in Jacob's cabin when Hurley peeked in?

How does the cabin move?

How does Hurley make it disappear?

How does Charlie visit Hurley in the hospital?

How does Hurley make Charlie disappear?

Who needs Hurley--according to Charlie?

Why does the woman who Miles visits have a photo of young Echo?

What's the tool Miles uses?

How can he talk to ghosts?

Why was there a Dharma Initiative polar bear skeleton in the desert?

Why was the "rescue team" of Charlotte, Miles, Farraday, and Lupides put together?

Is Abbaddon Naomi's boss?

Does he work for Widmore?

Why are Widmore and Ben at war?

Where is Mikhail?

Is Locke's tyranny supposed to be a religious zealotry metaphor?

Why didn't Dan's experiment with the "payload" work?

Why was the payload 31 minutes late?

Why does Ben have so many passports?

What's Oceanic 6 Sayid's list?

Why is there only one bearing from the island that works?

Why does Miles want $3.2 million?

Who does Miles actually work for?

Why can't Dan remember the playing cards?

Why do people with radiation/EMP exposure get disoriented going to and from the island?

What triggers the space/time shifts that Des goes through?

What's in the Black Rock journal? Tell us more about Tovard Hensel.

Why is Widmore so fascinated with the Black Rock?

Was that seriously a Christmas episode?!?

Why was Dan pleasantly surprised about Des being a constant?

Does island Dan know Des from Oxford Dan?

What is Harper's deal? How come she can disappear with the whispers?

Who filmed Widmore beating Ben's accomplice?

Who are Zach and Emma?

Why does Michael tell Des and Sayid not to trust the captain when he can, in fact, be trusted?

Who faked the Oceanic 815 deep-ocean recovery? Ben or Widmore? Why?

Why does Ben end up in the Sahara (after turning the island's wheel)?

Why does Sawyer suddenly care so much about Claire?

Is that lame action sequence at "the others" village necessary? Everyone gets shot but Sawyer?

Why does Ben use "Dean Moriarity" as his alias in Tunisia?

Why does he receive a funny look from the hotel clerk?

Who killed Nadia?

How did the Rousseau-Ben love go down to produce Alex?

Ben and Widmore have rules of war?

What's with the door in Ben's house?

What's with the temple?

What's with the hieroglyphics?

Did Ben trigger the black smoke? How? How do the mercenaries survive?

Why does Dan lie about the morse code?

Why can't Ben kill Widmore?

What is Widmore talking about with regards to Ben's origins?

Will Ben kill Penelope? Will Desmond get in the way?

When and how does Jack come around to Kate and Aaron?

Why does Hurley think that the Oceanic 6 are all dead?

What happened to Claire and Jack's dad?

What's Horace's story? Bloody nose?

Why does child Locke draw the smoke monster? Does it come from man-made fire?

Why does child Locke pick the knife? Does that link with his struggle to find Jacob and answers?

Why does the secondary protocol have the Dharma Initiative logo? Was the D.I. Widmore's?

What's with the references to Geronimo Jackson?

What's with the references to Portland?

Why does Abbaddon visit Locke in the hospital?

Who is Abbaddon with? Jacob? Richard? Ben? Widmore?

Is the island in the future or the past?

Why is Claire in the cabin? Jack's dad?

Who is Decker?

What is Charlotte's "getting back to the island" all about? Has she actually been there? Is she time traveling?

Where is Dr. Hallowax?

Why did the final orientation tape auto-rewind before finishing?

What did Sawyer whisper to Kate?

Was Hurley playing chess with Echo?

Did Jeremy Bentham commit suicide?

Did anyone survive the boat explosion?

What is San doing with Widmore?

Where did the island go? How did it go?

What's Claire doing in Kate's house? How'd she get there?

What happens with Dan's raft?

Why is John Locke going around as Jeremy Bentham?

How did he die?

Farewell to brother Desmond.

Last question: Abrams, why bother with the following clips?

Hip-hip (for now)

Though I have had certain struggles and bad luck this past year and though I continue to encounter difficulty with employment (more on this later), I had the fortunate circumstance of being able to choose between two fantastic programs/opportunities for the coming year:

1) American Jewish World Service--World Partners Fellowship
2) A teaching program in Shenzhen, China

After spending much anxiety-prone time considering these two options and weighing the benefits and risks/costs, I have come to decide on my future. Regardless of the decision, I have felt such a release knowing that I have been selected for anything--and to top it off, two things which I would love to do. A certain validating relief pulses through me. This feeling is so foreign, of late, that I am not entirely convinced that I will be going abroad on an awesome program. Sort of surreal.

Anyways, I have decided to go teach in China! I am enthusiastic about this decision and eager for an August when I will be learning Mandarin at Peking University and exploring the stones of the Great Wall. Cue jealousy.

The reasons for the decision mostly reduce to the following: The China program offers more support than AJWS. If you are not interested in reading the details from the aforementioned links, I will summarize some important factors (so you can see where my thought process is these days).

AJWS
-Opportunity for individual exploration in rural India
-Much more roughing it
-Connection to Jewish community
-Based on the grueling interview process and the caliber of the other candidates, this program was guaranteed to be rewarding
-Little contact with the outside world, little technological access
-High time commitment with little opportunity to travel, explore, be alone
-Indulge my social justice passions

China
-Be with C
-Paid, insurance included
-Advanced Mandarin education and TEFL Certificate included
-Flight reimbursement, travel bonus at completion of contract
-On-the-ground advisors
-100 fellow program participants in the same BIG city
-Access to Hong Kong and ample time to take advantage of travel, exploration
-Opportunity for individual and group exploration in East and Southeast Asia
-High connectivity to outside world, high technological access
-Moderate time commitment with lots of opportunity to travel, explore, be alone
-Indulge my passion for pedagogy

So yeah! I am enthusiastic to get from here to Shenzhen in September as quickly as possible. To contribute to this, I am continuing my streak of unemployment (sort of, since I freelance write). I trial-shifted at Zingerman's Roadhouse the other day, and I think it went well--fingers are crossed! Otherwise, I am dependent upon volunteering for paid studies. Soon, I may resort to being a figure model.

Life is good, though I retain a "cautious optimism" (as The A.V. Club says in their Newswire sign-offs) simply because I know how easily the rug can be yanked-out from under me.

Recent Tune(s): Beach House's "Teen Dream," Laura Veirs's "July Flame," Starf*cker (I loathe that name)
Recent Film(s): On a western kick...More in future posts. "The Wild Bunch" and "Appaloosa"
Recent Lit(s): "Amsterdam" by McEwan, Online Travel Mag
Recent Wish-List Addition(s): HBO to watch "Treme," to see "Iron Man 2," a job
Online Vid Sign-off: