All Things Change

1   Drinking tea whle walking up stairs ends in ruin.
2   Massages are relaxing.
3   Washing a spoon under fast running water can result in awkward wet patches on your clothing.
4   A healthy understanding of alcohol is healthy.
5   Talking to insects in your car, while driving, can result in an accident.
6   The way you act outwardly affects the way you think inwardly.
7   Most advertising plays on fears by constructing a false reality.
8   Living vicariously through your kids can be quite enjoyable.
9   Many leaders have egos that need caressing.
10 People act differently and have different beliefs but we all share similar needs.
11 Husbands who try to solve “the” problem usually further provoke an already upset wife.
12 Friendship is best served as an indelible connection. 

What have you learnt by doing?

At present we’re in Beijing sitting out the arrival of number three child, due two days before the Olympics. So we’re somewhat privy to the finishing touches going into the master piece that will be the 29^th modern Olympiad.

The city is bright and sparkling, relatively, with freshly painted lines on newly bituminized roads, with new road signs and no beggars. There is heightened security and an over abundance of just completed modern architectural marvels. But what has caught my attention is the fain. That’s right fake rain. 

By bombarding the Beijing skies with silver iodide particles shot from mountainside cannons the local authorities are trying the control the weather. Which means fain. The fain falls and cleans the pollution from the air by washing it earth bound.  

I not sure of any other country that would actually choose to hold a major international event in the peak of their bad weather season. China has of course chosen this date because the eighth day of the eighth month of the eighth year of this century is ridiculously auspicious, and they can control the weather. Control the weather!? Well it has been faining fairly well the last few days.

In my own limited experience fain tends to fall very lightly for a prolonged period. It’s a very reluctant drop that is so small it shouldn’t be falling but I suspect the silver iodide adds the extra weight to cause its decent. The other day it fained from the morning until sundown then it turned into a half hour rain. Then precipitation ceased. 

The Olympics will be perfect. Almost like a studio production. In fact, I am convinced that if the organizers could get hold of a giant dome, ala “The Trueman Show”, they would plop it over the city, ala the “Simpsons Movie”. Control of the light, the season, the cast, the character development, and of course the plot is all important around these parts. 

Of course when you’re the host you make sure the drinks are cold, the table is set and that the kids are in bed, but this year’s Olympics is going to be a little bit Fhina than usual.

(I understand why “they’re” doing it, really I do, auspicious date and all. I’m just a little touchy about getting wet by fake water.)

Our decision to move set in motion the stages of transition. The “leaving” stage looked a little like this:
(1) Haggle with moving companies. (1.1) Say goodbye. (1.2) Make some apologies. (1.3) A few last meals with friends.
(2) Wrap house hold items in a 100 or so meters of bubble wrap. (2.1) Say goodbye. (2.2) A few more last meals with friends.
(3) Stuff 66 labeled boxes with household items. (3.1) Say goodbye. (3.2) Even more last meals with friends.
(4) Load. Then a few days later, unload our material possessions. (4.1) Say goodbye. (4.2) The last meal with friends. (4.3) Say Hello.
(5) Start new life. (5.1) Sigh…
(6) Apologize to the family for being grumpy and overly critical… 

Transition by nature is emotional, tiring and at its peak chaotic. But we made it through this one quite well. Sure there was the mid flight panic, “Oh crap! Where’s the camera cord?” and “Did you remember to turn off the gas?” and “Does anyone know we’re arriving today?”  But there were some less obvious but more impacting issues waiting to be addressed on arrival. 

HUMIDITY. Our little family hails from a few different places all of which are, climactically speaking, dry. Qingdao, our new city, is not. We now have a rather nice apartment in a rather nice apartment complex rather close to the oceans edge (just over 100 meters). But being at sea level a heavy fog often envelopes our world, bringing dampness. The summer brings heat (as it should) and also rain (which it shouldn’t) with its signature humidity. The sweating adds an irritant to the day a little like a mild headache. But what really gets us (me really) on edge is the smell of damp clothing that refuses to dry and the threat of mold cultures growing on the internal walls.  

Environmental differences are said to be the first, although less apparent, challenge people face when we begin the entering phase of the transition. But sometimes culture can create an environmental issue that can become challenging and stressful.  

SECURITY. As mentioned our new house really is quite nice and not only is it by the ocean it’s also immediately next door to the Olympic sailing venue. A mildly exciting fact which currently is proving to be frustrating due to an overly thorough security blockade. Our complex falls within the “security shadow” that surrounds the venue so access to and from our place of abode is becoming limited. The affinity that China has for walls, exclusion and isolationism is not lost on the local organizers, but sadly it is on the residents of our complex. Entering or leaving the “shadow” has become an exercise reliant on tactical moves. Firstly we heed the wise words of Gangis Khan. “The Long Wall (aka Great Wall) is only as strong as those who defend it”. So we try to choose the weakest looking centurion and pass on through or if stopped plead our case. This has so far proven a useful method but as the 29^th Olympiad draws neigh we’re expecting the centurion insist on us dismounting our taxi seats and walking the last kilometer.  

I think they’re only making me walk so I can experience the humidity. Jerks…

Inspiration for a blog entry of late has been a little hard. Anything I might want to write about pales as shallowness compared to the goings on in Asia recently.

Below are two links to some implications of the Sichuan earth quake. They begin to address an issue I’ve been pondering of late…

http://video.on.nytimes.com/?fr_story=33c853f1e465517686b2ff5fa595f8f1d964b1e9

http://www.nytimes.com/slideshow/2008/05/28/world/20080528QUAKE_index.html

…the many social impacts of economics.

The story in these above links is more clearly understood by the poor. The rich (us) live in housing safe from weather, with reliable infrastructure that ensures we stay safer and if there is a problem help is delivered quicker than a pizza.

In a previous post I wrote of my unhealthy obsession with demolition. Around these parts there’s plenty of it going down and the character/word chai, as pictured below, is plastered over every part of the building within reach of the aerosol wielding “artist”. Chai means demolish.

For me the word chai has begun to symbolize my city as I see it multiple times every day. I’d become a little too fascinated with it. I had plans to turn it into art. “Chai art”. And then of course plaster it on T-shirts, coffee mugs, hats, and anything else that might sell. So I set out to make myself into the famous and rich artist I deserved to be.   

I started by photographing every chai (demolish) I saw on a local six storey building only to discover that the neighbouring building was also covered in demolish and the next and the next… two entire city blocks. In all about 15 buildings each containing at least 48 homes and multiple small businesses. That’s about 720 homes. The ground floors of these six storey buildings were tagged with demolish and professionally painted propaganda slogans stating, “Leave early and stay safe” and “Live peacefully move soon”.   

Demolition companies are contracted to flatten the old buildings and encourage the locals to move soon, stay safe and live peacefully. They achieve this by first knocking down community facilities like bicycle sheds, add-on storage rooms and small private markets that are out of “building code”. Once flattened the rubble from these illegal annexes is left awkwardly strewn across the common space. Then to make the environment more peaceful, loud speakers are strung up high and turned on full with a polite reassuring voice firmly reminding the locals from early in the day until late into the evening that, “NOW would be the best time to move”.

These looped announcements are so loud that it’s difficult to hold a conversation. I had some friendly yellversations with a few of the locals who explained there’s nothing they can do to stop all this. They thought my country must be better than theirs… I felt sad, and they humiliated. They were losing their home.   

To begin to understand, imagine a developer sending in some slack-jaw-yokel to tag demolish all over your house because they planned to buy it off you. Then to help you understand signs are placed all over your front yard explaining why it’s best to take the money and leave now. And then your house is blasted with a friendly looped message that reminds you to move before they cut off your water, gas, electricity, telephone and public heating pipes before the sub-zero winter sets in.   

As I continued on from the demolition site a young guy handed me a flyer encouraging me buy a beautiful new apartment to be built in the same location. It was full of thesaurus English in fancy script font, which made little sense, “Harmonic living style”, “Passivity abode”, “Jubilant exist delight”.   

I’m not so chai any more.

For just about every one of the 2000 or more days that we’ve resided here we’ve seen people getting around with what looks like large purple hickeys. Did they have a rash? Did they get hit with 20 baseballs? Or has someone been playing with an industrial vacuum cleaner?

No. It is called baguan (bar~gw~R) or hot cupping and it’s a cure-all for ALL that ails you. What can’t be fixed by being tapped with an *I.V. line/bag seemingly can be with 20 glass bulbous like cups. A small flame is used to create low pressure inside the cup before it’s dropped with a “thhhhup” onto your back. The low pressure inside the cup then allows you skin, with flesh attached, to stretch and pinch its way deep into the cup.  

So did I really want to have 18 or so large bruised, itching, sun burnt like welts on my back? Hmmm… maybe and no. I was up for a regular Zhongyi (Chinese medical) massage but it was at a new up-market set up. So when the guy in the white lab coat wheeled out a trolley of clinking glass bulbous cups my fear levels began peaking. ‘White lab coat guy’ sensed the fear or simply saw my contorted face and asked, “Are you afraid?” He had challenged my macho pride, “No, no. Of course not,” I replied. Oh was I ever quivering and on the inside telling myself, “You idiot.” Later that night as the light rubbing of my shirt caused stinging pain to numerous welts I told my self out loud, “You idiot.”  

At the time I told myself “Sure it kills but later on you’ll feel better.” It’s funny how denial twists reality and allows me to do completely stupid things.  

Denial lied to me. It really hurts to be lied to. 

* A trip to the doctor for a cold, the runs, a severed limb or unexplained hair growth can be treated with an I.V. line/bag. Most hospitals here have a large room at the entrance filled with big comfy couches each with its own I.V. stand and hook.

Within 24 hours of posting my last post I came home to find the below scene.

A three year old three foot Ultra Man taking on Bob the Builder (Hou Yi- Aunty Hou). However menacing a three foot Ultra Man can be Hou Yi defended herself gallantly with the toy rake.

And yes the Ultra Man gear was a gift that made it through our defenses. It’s a struggle to hold up our pacifist ways with the ever vigilant war mongers giving my children birthday/Christmas presents. 

Being the naive and idealistic parents that we are, we teach our boys that guns are bad and thus we don’t have any toy ones. Although the occasional one has slipped through the defenses camouflaged in birthday wrapping paper. The reality of using a gun is that they are designed to stop blooded living things from living. 

Although despite our efforts both our boys, 8 and 3 years old, have taken to making finger guns to shoot each other with. Of course if either of them does pull the finger gun out they demand of the other one, “Stick your hands up”. Oh the allure of the gun, oh what every little boy wants. Power. “Hands up now or I’ll shoot!” 

Explosions. Unless you’re a powder monkey from the war ships of yester year, a miner, a demolition expert, military munitions expert, or terrorist you probably don’t have any real practical use for explosions. But in many parts of the world small explosions mixed with mineral/chemical compounds are set off as fireworks. Fireworks are, on average, safe for the user, horrible for the environment and central to the well being of some economies. My source, a taxi driver, told me that the average family would spend at least a week’s salary each Chinese New Year on colorful and noisy explosives of all sizes.  

There is a sizable chunk of my conscience that really dislikes fireworks but the “little boy within” just can’t help but buy some. Lighting the wick is simple yet hazardous and the success of the strike is always unknown until the first bang or flash. The adrenalin, the power, the attention… the little boy within is glowing. But when my 8 year old son sees the debris of spent fireworks shells piled high in our housing complex he says with disgust, “What a waste of money, poor people need money”. 

So little boys love the abusive power of the gun. They also delight in the spectacle of explosions, but realize it’s a waste of money. Of course big men (like world leaders) also understand these facts, but seem to pretend they don’t… Pretending you don’t understand information is another thing little boys are good at. 

I caught up with an old friend the other day… 

That’s right I’m beginning a story with “the-old-friend-telling-me-something-intro”. The term “old friend” is supposed to make the reader feel comfortable and ready to hear something wholesome. The term “the other day” is also supposed to evoke accuracy and factually in the retelling. 

… and he told me about a speaker he heard. Now this speaker was a Catholic monk and this Catholic monk had a friend who was a Catholic priest. (Although the structure of this last sentence might suggest I’m telling a joke, really I’m not.) So this Catholic priest has heard every imaginable sin, via the confession box, but never has anyone confessed the sin of greed. Go figure. So either the priest is lying (which is a popular stance within the media) or people generally have no problem with excess.  Two days later I heard a little more about greed on the radio. A stock market guru type guy commenting on market fluctuations stated and then restated that, “Greed puts money into the market and fear takes it out.” I always thought there was something sinister about the stock market. 

And now since being on our family holiday back in Australia I’ve plateaued my food intake at a level of binge. I can say without any exaggeration that I have not felt even slightly hungry for the last six weeks. Christmas was so good that I just kept it coming. And there’s more for me to confess, but I’m not Catholic and chances are you’re not a priest so I’ll save it for the non-cyber world. 

So what is there to learn from this? Is it that Catholic’s don’t confess as much as they should? Or is it that the stock market scares me and may very well be the root of many sins? Or I am just greedy? 

Like many things, to become weird all you need to do is take a few simple steps. That’s right, get yourself out there and go for a walk: step, step, step… I don’t mean going for an early evening exercise walk with the dog. I mean go do something in suburbia like banking, shopping or paying a bill, but don’t take the car. Ever walked to a service station? It scares the shop assistant.  

Since being back in Perth I’ve had the time and the necessity to walk during standard busy hours. As I’ve walked I’ve tried to find somebody, anybody, anywhere within sight who might also be walking. But alas except for my own reflection in the vehicles stopped at intersections I couldn’t see another person between me and the horizon actually walking. Oh sure people get to and from their car, but again that’s not the walking. 

I’ve done this test both while walking and driving, and I haven’t been able to find the single person walking. Although I do on other occasions remember seeing some people walking during day time. From a generalized recollection these walkers belonged to marginalized demographics like new arrival immigrants and Australia’s traditional land owners. 

A definite sense of isolation and vulnerability comes over you as you make your way along the perfectly built foot/cycle path. Why am I the only one? Is this safe? Am I doing something wrong? It feels wrong? Maybe I’ve exhibiting some underlying criminal tendencies! Then you reassure yourself from within, “Nooo… you’re not wrong or a criminal, everyone else is just better than you that’s all. And yes, you might as well just consider yourself weird.”