The Old Guard and the Old Dog

I just got back from one of the most surreal moments of my entire life. My uncle, well over the age of forty, had been anxious for quite some time to take me out to a bar or a club in Shenzhen, correctly understanding that my brother (visiting from the States on winter break) and I were mired in a slow death-by-boredom while staying with our parents. Though the thought of chilling at a bar with an older relative was a bit bizarre, we finally caved in and hit a huge night club and karaoke bar downtown called, get this, Las Vegas.

It being a high-end club and tonight being Christmas Eve, the three of us were shocked that there was a cover-charge of about $40 US dollars per person to get in. I was fine with getting clobbered at the many dive bars across the street, but I could sense that my uncle was eager to check the place out, perhaps thinking that he could finally find his misplaced youth at the Las Vegas club, so I opened up my wallet and bought our way in. Still smarting at the brutal cost of just getting into the place, I was somewhat demurred by the Christmas gift bags they gave us, which consisted of a Santa hat and some party favors, my favorite being the plastic stick with three plastic hands at the tip, which I guess is a tool for the incredibly lazy or applause-challenged to clap without having to clap. Since my brother and I are in the first category, we knew we would end up having a great time.

What an over-judgment. No one was on the dance floor while possibly the worst DJ of all time was trying to get the crowd pumped. Instead, we were surrounded by rich Cantonese businessmen who were surrounded by wholesome, attractive hookers. A pleasant nice on a normal day, but a little too seedy for me on Christmas Eve. I could only muster a few half claps on my clapping tool.

Then, the performances. First, there was a Ukrainian ballet duo, who did a cute little rendition of Swan Lake in the midst of this gaudy nightclub. I looked at my brother. What the hell was going on? Ukrainians in this Chinese outpost of a town? A head-scratcher indeed. Good thing we had our little fake hands to scratch our heads for us. The pair was followed by a group of Ukrainian break-dancers, who oddly enough decided to open their performance by miming the smoking of joints, and then proceeded to do a terrible Backstreet Boys impersonation by synchronizing their uncreative gyrations, before launching into some truly remarkable breaks. I think I was both in awe of their dancing as I as the fact that there were actually white people here! Dancing! To Dr. Dre!!! I wish I had made this up. Then the ballet dancers came back, at which point my brother and I decided to wander past all the karaoke rooms.

A note about karaoke in China: karaoke bars usually consists of a bunch of small to medium-sized rooms, with plush couches and a state of the art sound system. Usually a haven for horny businessmen, the patrons settle down with some wine or scotch, put on some of their favorite songs, and then watch as dozens of young, beautiful women are herded into each room, at which point each patron is supposed to pick a girl to accompany him for the night. Sex and prostitution are not officially sanctioned, so most of these girls end up just holding the guy’s hand and playing drinking games with them, but sometimes the playfulness can escalate into something more. I really don’t know what happens in these rooms, it’s all hear-say, but I do know that it’s fun (in a tragic kind of way) to walk down the corridors and see these glamorous young girls being shepherded in and out of these rooms. Many of these girls can make more money in a month than they can an entire year in their home-village, so usually they stay on as karaoke girls for a year or two, then head back home and get married and settle down with their savings.

After about 4 Heinekens, my brother and I were ready to hit the dance floor, which we did after a series of songstresses and songs that we just couldn’t understand. Our uncle ended up on the dance floor as well, grabbing some glow sticks and bobbing his head to the funky techno being spun by, again, quite possibly the worst DJ alive. I had never seen such an “old” person act so, well, “young.” I hope that when I get older, I’ll be able to cut loose and be a dork, too.

Anyway, one of the party favors that came with the gift package was a little plastic mallet. I was so engrossed in the dancing and the bobbing, that I didn’t notice that some local girl was tapping me on the shoulder with her mallet. Later on, I realized that this was probably a friendly or flirtatious gesture, but at the moment, all I knew was the someone was taking a mallet to me, so I whirled around and pounded her face a few times with mine. It was Christmas Eve, so I was in a very giving mood.

Still, that doesn’t top my uncle’s story. As we were walking out, he told me about one of the girls who came up to him on the floor, asked him if he was having a good time, then started tapping his chest. My uncle then pointed at where she tapped him, which happened to be a pocket holding his wallet.

“These girls are cunning. They’ll pull this kind of shit where they act all cute and innocent and ask you how you’re doing, but really they’re just trying to jack your money.”

So I asked him, “What did you do?”

He replied, “What else could I do? She tapped my chest, so I grabbed both of her tits.”

Hmmmm. Retribution can sure be sweet, can’t it?

Well, I’m off to Taipei until New Year’s Eve. More relatives to visit, more food to eat, more Chinese people to see. However, there is one thing that is really REALLY beginning to bother me, and that is the slow but calamitous realization that I am pretty much getting sick of Chinese food. Big problem when living in China. If any of you have fix-it solutions, I would much appreciate it. A freeze-dried burrito from Juan’s or Mario’s in Berkeley would do it, too.

The Hong and the Kong

I was in Shenzhen yesterday, a burgeoning commercial port in Guandong province, about 45 minutes outside of Hong Kong. Sitting in the back of a little red taxi, I looked up at the sky and saw the sun, radiating life-feeding energy and warmth to all species here on Earth. Remembering that I was 7000 miles from my home and friends in California, it occurred to me that people back home could be staring at the very same sun at the very same moment, and one thought leapt into my mind: Are they going blind staring at the sun like I am right now?

Somehow, sharing the same sun isn’t quite as romantic as sharing the same moon, like Fievel and that other cute girl mouse (I think it was his sister) in “An American Tail,” at the moment that gave birth to countless forgettable karaoke moments in the years to come. Still, I couldn’t help but feel farther from home than ever before. It probably had something to do with the fact that I was farther from home than ever before.

I haven’t made my marginal presence known in cyberspace for quite some time, as I’ve been busy with trying to force my way into a decent law school back in the States. Now with the LSATs and the application process finally over, what will heretofore be known as the “what the fuck was I doing” period is now behind me, and my adventures in Asia continue unabated.

I actually have been away from Shanghai for nearly a month now. I’ve always fancied myself a big city kind of guy, and while there are plenty of big cities in the world with deservedly huge egos, there is no city I’ve ever been to quite like Hong Kong. Unlike Shanghai, which was annexed into multiple principalities by a handful of Western countries, Hong Kong was own t>

Off the bat, Hong Kong is as modern as any city can get. Skyscrapers, fancy hotels, and crowds of Hugo Boss suited businessmen abound. Like New York, Hong Kong is actually a combination of land and island. HK proper (Manhattan) is the island, and Kowloon (which translates to “Nine Dragons”) is analogous to the rest of the boroughs. People who live in Hong Kong treat people from Kowloon the same way Manhattan-ites treat the Bridge & Tunnel crowd: an inevitable nuisance that just has to be dealt with. Personally, I identify with the Kowloon folk, since I’m always considered a nuisance that has to be dealt with. In solidarity, my Kowloon brethren.

Mike was on a mission to buy make-up for some friends back in Shanghai. I went along with him and got a fantastic banana-nut exfoliating cream that I had been looking for all over the States. Incensed that he was made to be an errand boy for co-workers, Mike ended up buying a bunch of in-demand makeup at sold it back at a 50% mark-up. He always used to draw the prettiest supply and demand curves back in business school anyway.

A note about Christmas shopping in Hong Kong: about half of the entire population of this dense and crowded city is out to buy fleece sweatshirts in the days leading up to Christmas, and they all happen to shop for them in the same shopping district. Walking down the shopping alley after we purchased our make-up, I was overwhelmed at how many people were walking (er, trying to walk) in the alleys. It seriously looked like Woodstock (you know, since we all personally know what Woodstock is like), and I even futilely tried to crowd-surf my way down to the Starbucks for my mocha frap. Shanghai is a much more populated city, but it is also much larger in terms of square kilometers. In Hong Kong, Chinese people are everywhere you turn. It’s an orthodontist’s paradise.

From there, we met up with Karen, and headed towards Lan Kwai Fong, which is a bar and club district situated on a little slope near central HK. A few years ago during a big holiday, the entire section of blocks was overflowing with the inebriated and the unbalanced, a railing at the top of the hill gave way and hordes of people tumbled down, creating a huge domino effect that ended up killing a few dozen people. Never to be deterred from a good brew, we headed over to have a few Boddington’s, and somehow ended up deciding to start a fashion boutique in Shanghai. ( I still scratch my head at how that came about).

I had been devoid of burritos for over 3 months, and I was in the midst of a serious burrito withdrawal, when we happened across a tacqueria in the trendy SoHo restaurant district (even the trendy districts are the same as NYC). Relative to American standards, it might have been the worst burrito ever made, with all the beef on one side and all the other crap on the other. It didn’t matter. Hong Kong had never seen anyone gnaw on a burrito with such glee as I headed back towards Lan Kwai Fong, where the three of us ended up getting piss-drunk and dancing with a huge throng of chubby Brits celebrating someone’s wedding. I figured the bride was the girl wearing the veil, so I swaggered over to her and congratulated her by shaking her hand, except I was so drunk that I had ended up in front of the groom and found myself vigorously shaking his crotch. The ensuing brouhaha need not be described in much detail here, but suffice it to say that this couple will not soon forget their wedding night. I hope he wasn’t too bruised for his big performance.

Hong Kong is a glamorous city that loves its celebrities, its nightlife, and its status as the beacon of modernity and freedom in a seeaof technocratic communism. A few years ago, during my first visit to this great city, I had an epiphany of sorts. I was walking on the Kowloon side one evening, essentially lost, when I turned a corner and suddenly saw the harbor separating Hong Kong and Kowloon. It was just after a rainstorm, and the still lingering clouds hung low across the water, yet there was a slit of an opening that allowed the most perfect and incandescent amount of moonlight through. The combination of the mist, the cerebral glow from the moon, and the seemingly endless lottery of lights emanating from the buildings on Hong Kong island made me realize how large and frightening wonderful this world really is, and how insanely huge its electric bill must be.

When the hell are we going to have cost-efficient solar power?

Cheers to Hong Kong, roast duck, the best dim sum in the world, and the British for building a fantastic subway system. Though I may never be truly Hong Kong-nese, I could ride the metro forever. Hong Kong, I will be back!

Tipping Point

Imagine that you are sitting at a dinner table all by yourself. You are very disoriented and discombobulated, but the one thing that you do know is that you are very hungry. Starving, almost. In front of you, on the table, is a huge plate of [insert favorite food here]. The tableware is set, the food is presented generously, and the smell is amazing. Your stomach rumbles. You can’t remember the last time you were this hungry. The problem is, you can’t reach the food. Your chair is leaning on its back legs, and you are stuck on the verge of tipping over. You are in perfect balance; the chance that you will fall backwards and seriously hurt yourself is the same as you tipping the chair forward and eating the delicious food in front of you. You don’t know which way your chair is going to tip. If you tip backwards, at least you know that you can pick yourself from off the floor and get another chair, or find another way to sit and eat the food. If you tip forward, you know that you’re home-free. But you are neither; you are stuck in the middle, and have to wait at least three weeks before you know which way your chair is going to tip.

No the best of metaphors, but it’s the one I’m using to describe how I feel now that I have finally taken the LSATs. That’s right folks, the big day was yesterday, December 8th. I flew into Shenzhen on Saturday morning, which is a new, developing city in south China (about 4 million registered citizens in the city) about 30-45 minutes outside of Hong Kong, which is where my test was going to be administered. My dad has a place in Shenzhen, and I am blessed to have a father who will go out of his way to make sure I have to worry about as little as possible at moments when I stress out the most. He happened to be in town, and booked a hotel next to the Hong Kong Test and Examination Authority in Kowloon, so that I wouldn’t have to worry about how and when I was going to get to the test.

I spent most of Saturday studying and freaking out. Early in the week, I had taken three straight practice LSATs, and had done really well. Then, on Friday-Sunday, I took three more, and ended up doing much worse. Still decent scores, but not what I needed to get into the schools that I wanted. I started having a prolonged panic attack, and on Sunday I knew that I could not study anymore. I figured that I had done as much as I could, and that my score would come down to what types of questions I got on Monday. My weakness is in the logic games section, where one incorrect deduction or set up can lead to my fucking up a batch of 4-5 questions. If I could get all the logic games down, I knew I had a pretty good chance of getting a decent score. So I threw my hands up, ate a Nestle drumstick, and watched “Groundhog Day” (which is one of the funniest movies EVER) and tried not to think about the test as much as possible.

I woke up at 6:30 am in the morning the day of the test. I needed to get to the exam center by around 8:15, so I had less than two hours to feel fully awake, clean my pipes, and have the right amount of food so that I wouldn’t be too stuffed or, even worse, too hungry. My dad and I tried to orchestrate everything perfectly. I hit the bed early (around 10:00 pm) but couldn’t really sleep until an hour later, at which point I started having really weird dreams about my friend Wil using the sleeve of my gray t-shirt (while still being worn by me) to blow his nose, and then having a huge fight with me about why that wasn’t a friendship-affecting act. It was a little more than I was hoping for in terms of a good night’s sleep. My dad let me sleep and secured a couple of bananas for me the next morning. I wanted to have one for breakfast, since Judy had said it was good brain food, and I wanted another one during the test for a potassium infusion. I also took an Immodium to ensure that I wouldn’t have to go poo-poo cah-cah (an official term recognized by the LSAT folks), and a vitamin supplement to give me that extra boost. I was a standardized test-taking machine.

I won’t talk too much about the test itself, except that I did end up missing the set-up for an entire game. Thankfully, it was only 5 questions worth, so if I missed all my guesses then that’s 5 incorrect points. Some games have up to 8 questions, and that would have been disastrous. After I messed up on the games section, it was really difficult for me to focus on the ensuing section, but after 5 minutes I got my act together and tried to move on. Also, I shouldn’t have had those two cups of tea in the morning. After the break, somewhere between the third logical reasoning section and the reading comprehension section, I seriously had to go pee. And I still had the writing sample. I motioned the proctor and asked if I could make a quick bathroom run before the essay. He shook his head, and I was THIS CLOSE (for those of you who can’t see me, I’m almost pressing my thumb and forefinger together) to whipping little Eric out and pee-ing on his face, but I figured that lawyers weren’t allowed to behave in this fashion until at least 5 years after passing the bar exam, so I resisted.

Oh yeah, and I listened to Sarah’s “Answer” from her new album before the test to calm me down.

Some have asked me how I felt after the test. The only answer that I can give is that I feel pretty much the same as I did before I went in. Yes, it definitely is nice that I don’t have to study for it anymore, but I was really hoping to feel good about my score so that I could get into a good school. Instead, I feel like I’m sitting at the dinner table and on the verge of the tipping point, but I really have no idea which way I’m going to tip. Now, I still have to improve on a personal statement that I don’t feel too great about but can’t seem to make better, and finish up my applications to a variety of schools, with absolutely no idea what my score LSAT score is going to be. Needless to say, I still have a ways to go before I know if I’m going to crash backwards or step up and gorge myself and satisfy my hunger. As always, I’ll keep you posted.

And thanks to all of you who tried to calm me down when I was freaking out, and thanks to all of you who wished me luck, and thanks to all of you who believed in me. Actually, they are all the same people. You know who you are. Thanks. I owe you one.

The Jolly Joe Giant

Before noon, there is an eerie calm that sits on its haunches over the skyscrapers, houses, mazes of apartment complexes. The sky is cloudless, the air is breezeless, and there is an oddly unidentifiable pungency in the air.

*sniff*

The odor is getting stronger, more familiar. It is clear now what the smell is. It is fear, it is trepidation. The scent enters the bicyclists' nostrils as they brake, lean on one foot, and look up at the sky. The scent gives pause to the street vendors who normally sell discounted phone cards and lamb-meat skewers. They look at each other with a shared unspoken discomfort.

The children playing tag in the streets now stop and hide behind the skirts of their mothers and nannies.

Something is about to happen.

And then it slowly begins. First a muffled, languid drumbeat.

boom.......boom........boom

There is something dreadful about that sound. The children start crying. Dogs are scurrying around their leashes, trying to escape and barking out desperate cries.

boom.......boom........boom

Something's coming. The entire city can feel it, but no one can find it in them to move. It is as if time has stopped, but the smoke that escapes from the usually boisterous sidewalk cafes show that time is passing, albeit cautiously.

Boom. Boom. Boom.

The drumbeat is getting louder now. Taxi drivers have now all stopped; some without passengers get out of their cabs, and their frightful anticipation adds to the communal cauldron of already steaming anxiety.

BOOM!

Suddenly, all that is frozen no longer is, as people start the run. What is coming has now arrived, and Shanghai is no longer petrified; it is tearing away. The mothers grab their children and run for safety. The cabs start moving again, though many of them crash into each other. The drivers and passenger do not take the time to bicker; they each bolt of the vehicles and run for shelter. Shop windows close with the flurry of a shuffling deck of cards. Garbage is strewn across the street as the rushing masses bully past trask cans, street signs, and bicycles.

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

The beats are now little earthquakes; the intervals between each one shortened like a metronome on amphetamines. Suddenly, a shadow engulfs the western part of the city. The booming stops. Except for the itinerant siren, Shanghai, though caked in darkness, is quiet once again. Empty.

The sun has been blotted out by the gargantuan force known in China as "Jiu" (Joe). Standing over 300 feet tall in a baggy white Ecko sweatshirt and baggy Snoop Dogg jeans, Joe stretches his arms behind his head and yawns. The force of his breath rushing out shatters all the glass from Hongmei Road down to Gubei Road.

An old woman who was knocked down by the streaming and screaming citizenry picks herself up from the ground. Looking up at the monster, she tries to yell but can only muster a whisper. "ta qi lai le" (he has awoken).

Joe steps on an ambulence. The pavement ruptures at each point of contact with his foot. With each shoe over 30 feet long and about 10 metric tons, there is very little that he has to step over.

"ME, JOE, SOBER!!!" He bellows. This time, all the glass down to Xujiahui shatter at his voice. At the hospital for the deaf, patients drape themselves out of their room windows and yell out in response, "So are we!"

Joe is angry. He has awaken from his slumber without the affects of any alcohol. This is intolerable to him; his destructive side takes over.

"ME!"

"JOE!"

"SOBER! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!!!!!"

He begins to beat his chest with his hands.

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

Two military helicopters approach, unloading machine-gun rounds in a staccato that gives hope to all Shanghai-nese who can hear below.

Joe roars in irritation. The bullets bounce off his titanium-like (yet oh so delicate looking) white skin. He grabs both helicopters and crams them into his mouth. After chewing thoughtfully for a few seconds, he spits out a 15 ton metal sculpture of Britney Spears.

Looking for something to satisfy his unacceptable sobriety, he begins jogging towards the crop of hotels in Gubei New Town. He does not have to jog far; he reaches the Marriott 3 miles away in 10 steps.

"ME! JOE! SOBER! ROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAR!" He beats his chest again. The Chinese flag on top of the Marriott flies off its pole. He stops and sniffs; he smells woman. He leans down and sticks his finger into a room on the 54th floor. There is indeed a young woman in there. He gingerly picks her out from her hotel room, ignoring her hysterical shrieks. He drops her down his pants.

Standing up again, he looks around, searching for satiation. He searches for beer. This can not go on for much longer. Beer is his life force. Without it, he cannot survive for very long. His primitive brain knows this.

The woman has apparently survived the fall. She emerges from his waistline. She yells out to him: "Hey!"

He looks down at her. "Errrr?"

"For a guy with a pair of 30 foot-long feet, you sure have a tiny..."

Joe picks her up again and inserts her into one of his cargo-pant pockets. He likes spunky women.

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

Joe proceeds downtown, knocking down the Yan'an elevated road, the Shanghai Mart, the Westin hotel. The destruction is swift and complete. Shanghai had not been victim of such annihilation since Judy discovered the champagne brunch buffet at the Sheraton Tai Ping Yang.

He finally reaches the Huangpu River. He smiles. Across the river is the massive Tsing Tao Beer distillery. He lets out a roar of delight. The river floods the rubble behind him. Joe leaps over the chasm, knocking down the Grand Hyatt while bracing his fall. The magnificent hotel crashes down on Century Road, leveling 800 feet of Pudong Development District.

Joe drinks Tsing Tao. He licks the bottom of each vat. He feels the buzzing in his head. A smile creeps across his face. This creeping makes a sound much like the opening of the spillway at Hoover Dam. He lets out a burp. It registers a 6.7 on the Richter scale.

He stands up again. He is happy, but only for now. The moment of calm lasts a few minutes. The Shanghainese slowly begin to leave their shelters, cautiously assessing the damage, all the while keeping an eye on the destructive force that is Joe.

BOOM!

Suddenly, everyone scrambles back inside. The nightmare is yet to be over.

"ME! JOE! DRUNK!"
"ME! JOE! WANT NACHOS!"