Shower in China: So Easy!

This is how it breaks down over here: Teacher A has no water in her apartment. She had water until Saturday, but then she ran out of credit on her water meter, and all of her water sources (including water to flush) are locked by computer until she can find her water credit card, go to the right bank, purchase electronic credit, get back to her building, find the one guard who has a key to her water meter, insert the card, and let the credit load. So that's Teacher A.

Teacher B lives in the same buiding. Teacher B has water, but her water heater broke on Saturday, and her landlord is suspicious that she's about to flee the country after pay day, so he says he'll fix the water heater "one of these days, maybe soon."

Teacher C--this would be me--has both water and a functional water heater BUT her shower head is broken and she cleans herself by positioning bits of her body under the waist-high tap and splashing. She's also out of deodorant and has to use a Mennen Speed Stick a beau left over at her place, and now every time she raises her arm she catches a distinct whiff of her Daddy.

And we wonder why no one wants to sit with us at the staff canteen...

Rainstorm, Eddie Bauer, and Darling Darling Michael Kors

Last Thursday, on my way to the train station to catch the train to TV Land, I got caught in the rain. Not just any rain, a friggin' mini-monsoon. I don't know exactly how much rain fell, but it started around 4, and by 6, our car engine had stalled (the driver was trying to drive through three feet of water) and I ended up getting out and walking the last quarter-mile to the train station in water which, at best, came only to my knees, my suitcase over my head. I had to laugh: it was still raining, I had my big Michael Kors bag with a laptop stuffed in it (that bag holds EVERYTHING and still looks great) plus an Eddie Bauer All Weather Rolling Suitcase which I balanced on the top of my head and I was slipping in my hideous little Crocs. I kept thinking, "Am I going to die in a riptide in downtown Beijing?" Seriously--there were eddies, waves, currents in that water--even a vicious undertow at one point. The water came up to my crotch and I was wet from head to toe by the time I sloshed into the train station. Did I mention this was raw sewage plus rainwater? Since I had very few extra clothes with me--just a little black dress I had planned to wear for the final event, and a different shirt--I spent the next few days in the LBD, trying not to show my arms too much (it's sleeveless) except to people like The Rose who has so little sexual interest in me that I could probably run around in a dish towel and two pasties and all he'd say is, "Did you cook anymore potatoes? Ah, they were lovely, really lovely," and mean it.

By the time I got to the hotel I was dry, although my clothes were stiff with sewage. I showered--declined an invitation to join others at a banquet--and went straight to bed. I woke up the next morning with the worst allergies ever and spent the day snuffling in The Rose's ear, making him regret having arrived at the train station hours before I did. Irony: had I taken a taxi straight from the place where I lived--and skipped going to Beijing to meet him at the high-speed train--I would have avoided the rain altogether and smelled a lot better too.

Two things to note here: my Michael Kors bag kept my computer dry, even though it doesn't fasten across the top, and it still looks great, even after a year of using it as a bookbag. (Must get inside pocket zipper fixed.) Second: That Eddie Bauer suitcase, while soaking wet on the outside, kept everything inside nice and dry, including the LBD, my good shoes, and my new Kobo e-reader. So--no complaints, really. Buy quality, that's what I'm saying, because you never know when life will slam you straight into a tropical storm and leave you to bail yourself out and still be camera-ready when the red light turns on.

Could I use this  to justify buying myself a really nice piece of jewelery? Or, maybe a really good umbrella? If I HAD brought my umbrella--I couldn't have used it as I needed both hands to keep 29 pounds of luggage over my head. So it all worked out, although I could have used a better LBD. It just didn't live up to the promise of the handbag and shoes.

The Westin is the Bestin!

I'm back. Rather than sending individual emails to various friends and family members making them drool with envy about my 36-hour vacation, I'll spill the major details here. My friend The Rose and I managed to snag a very good deal at the Westin and scored a SUITE which included all sorts of perks, like two baths, two TVs, a HUGE bedroom for me, a folding cot in the living room for him which was bigger than a single bed and as effing comfortable as the California King in my room, free espresso made in our room by the espresso machine, a heated toilet seat with guidelights for night time landings, a bathtub big enough for four which had a view of the city...I could go on and one but won't. Suffice to say the suite was cheaper than two single rooms and we ate every meal for free--a huge brunch with luxuries like freshly squeezed watermelon, cucumber, orange, and mango juice, an omelet bar, Western, Chinese, and Japanese food, smoked salmon--I could on and on but won't, as I want room to discuss the pleasure of going to the executive lounge for people smart enough to drop their dough on the suites, which was essentially a Happy Hour excess of cocktails and what's called in the South a "cocktail supper" which means tons of canapes, hot and cold, fruit, tiny desserts, pizza, dim sum, shrip the size of tennis balls. Plus free use of the gym (24 hours) and swimming pool, plus a spa, where I had a killer massage and facial at half price.  The bill was not staggering: in fact, I've paid more for one night at not-so-good hotes in downtown Portland than I did for two nights in the suite. The Rose footed his half, I footed mine, we met occasionally for a drink or a viewing of Red Dwarf but for the most part left each other alone to do our own things. The suite was almost double the size of my apartment, by the way.

Upon coming home I discovered that Ayi had taken the dogs for a beauty treatment and now both are sporting a  poodle cut: shaved bodies, huge heads, tiny ruffs around their skinny ankles. I think I've mentioned that neither are poodles--the terrier doesn't look too bad, having a dash of Bichon in her, but the poodle cut on the Peke's stumpy little body looks like a fat girl in ankle boots and leggings: you have to see it to understand why it's so very very wrong.

I'm all clevered out: I had to be charming for Chinese TV--live, of all things--which was very difficult as a contestant who DIDN'T make it past the first round was in the audience glaring at me for four straight hours. However, if you are in need of a break, may I recommend the Westin? I've always been a Hyatt girl but I'm telling you, this was the cleanest, nicest place I've ever stayed in, and as I travel a lot for MJN2, staying at five-stars across China, you can believe me when I say it is absolutely the best. Oh, NB: ironically, as it was the first day in 19 plus years when I could have actually slept in--I had insomnia. And so did the Rose. We did the show on about four hours of sleep, each.

Frightfully Busy, What ho!

Well, it's true: between work, grad school, and the odd TV show appearance, I've been putting in 19 hour days: up at five, hit the computer, walk dogs, shower, go to work, work during lunch time, come home, walk dogs, wolf down dinner, hit the computer. Add repeated blowing of nose from sinus infection/hayfever and you have the portrait of someone who is No Damn Fun.

I'm going away for a few days for a show--judging English. I'm actually only working a few hours Friday afternoon (after teaching all morning) and Sunday morning but I have to actually vacate Beijing to do it, given the distance of the TV studio from the town. Which means Friday night through Sunday night I am footloose and fancy free in another city, where I plan on checking out of whatever gruesome "Chinese three star hotel" they're putting me up in and taking a deluxe room at the Hilton. This 36 hour break will be my year's vacation, the one and only time I am free from dogs, ayi, students, work. Naturally, during this time I have a ten-page paper to knock off for graduate school, but oh bliss, I can do it in my jammies--heck, NAKED if I want--without being interrupted by a wet little nozzle seeking reassurance that Mommy still loves him/her. (Yes, that would be one of the dogs.) I won't have to walk anyone. I won't be awakened by the sound of Satan's teeny tiny toenails tipping across the floor. No snoring or snarling in the middle of the night. No doggies jumping on to the bed and nudging me awake for a potty run. I have in my suitcase a bag of Doritos, French Roast Coffee, a coffee press, milk (boxed) and a box of Lucky Charms. This may not be YOUR heaven, but right now, these and a remote are mine. Bliss. Did I mention that I'll have my first bath in over a year?


Wish you were here!




Entitled: Sisterly Love Across the T#$%Sn Straight. There'll be none of THAT on MY vacation!




What for you give me English score five? I are ten! Die, Bitch Judge, Die!



The East is Red and the Art is Something

This picture is frankly so charming that I wanted to share it without snarky comments. I had a strange dream some time ago which pointed out that perhaps the rise in violence is related to the fact that little children in the US listen less to songs like "The Music Goes Round and Round" and more "Gangsta Paradise." Looking at the  image above, I yearn for more wholesome (albeit picturesque and unrealistic) ideals. However, I do have a picture of equal charm to share: good eats, no meat,  little heat or electricity, much sharing. I've never had a better group of friends.

It's Me and the Music. Or Something

I am fighting off a case of laryngitis. It strikes once in a while, usually at the tail end of a cold. I fight off colds with Zicam, and I frankly wish I had stock in the company. I no longer play piano, or guitar, not that I played either one well, but I do sing, and this pictures sums it all up for me:


You Play And I'll Sing!



Easy Chocolate Cake for Novice Bakers in Chinese Kitchen Without an Oven

So, it's late, and you have the munchies, and your Chinese friends are expecting you to put out in the culinary sense. They want something "Western" and their ideas do not involve peanut butter or bananas. You are stymied, as you haven't gone grocery shopping in a while, don't have eggs, and one of your pals is vegan to boot. You don't have an oven. You DO have a microwave, and a square or round eight inch pan, and baby, that's all you need.

This is a riff on the classic Wacky Cake, or War Cake, or Impossible Cake. It has no eggs, no dairy, and you can reduce the amount of sugar so that your Chinese friends will eat it and pronounce it very good. (Of course, if you have any Morrocan friends over, double the icing.) You just need the pan you're going to nuke it in, a spoon, some measuring cups (one cup is fine, you can eyeball the half-cup with good results) and a strainer or colander is good to get out any lumps. All the ingredients--except perhaps the cocoa--are at the xiao mai bu in the first floor of your complex. This takes about one minute to measure, one minute to stir, and four to five minutes to nuke.

Set a colander or strainer over the cake pan. You can use a cheap plastic microwaveable pan, preferably a round one but a square one will do, size about eight inches in diameter--smaller will do if you must. Dump one and one-half cups of flour into the sifter. Add three tablespoons cocoa on top, then one cup of white sugar. Use the spoon to push the ingredients through the sifter and there, the initial mixing is done. I add a pinch of salt as well.

Make three wells, or holes, to hold the next three ingredients, spooning one ingredient into each hole. In hole one, a teaspoon of baking soda. Hole two, five tablespoons of cooking oil (NOT OLIVE OIL! I use cool melted butter for this if there are no vegans around). Hole three, one tablespoon of plain white vinegar. Pour one cup of cold water over everything, plus a teaspoon of some flavoring, such s vanilla extract, or even a teaspoon of brandy. Mix quickly until there are no weird streaks of anything--but not so much your batter gets tough. Put in microwave and cook on high for four minutes. Check--there should be some moist spots on the top of the cake, but the middle should be quite solid. If I'm using a square cake pan, it needs 4 and 1/2 minutes to be just barely done, and 5 minutes to verge on too-done. When you have determined it's finished, leave it in the microwave to cool off.

Unlike normal cakes, which have quite a bit of fat in them, this cake tends to be a bit gummy when hot: it's far better served cold, and if you can let it sit overnight, it's even better. There's a deep color to the cake, which is pleasing to the eye. I'm not overly fond of this cake but it does well in an emergency. I like tender cakes with a fine crumb and my favorite cake recipe comes from the 1952 edition of the Mirro Cookbook my mother was given as a bride. That's a Thistle Cake recipe, one which I hope to recreate for the Chinese kitchen but haven't faffed with in a while.

Note on this cake recipe: my local friends think this is too sweet, and you can safely take out three tablespoons of sugar from the one-cup measurement before it affects the texture or taste overmuch. That is to say, I make this with three tablespoons of sugar less than called for above, and my foreign friends are ok with it as I load it with frosting for them, while I serve it plain to Chinese guests, with a side of whipped cream. It's a compromise and we're all happy with it. I like to mix up this cake if I have little guests over--they like the drama of watching the baking soda hit the vinegar and it's a quick and easy chemistry lesson. You don't have to mess with the three holes thing--you can just mix up all the dry ingredients, then dump in the wet, and it's fine. But cooking is about tradition and showmanship and I am happy to think of my grandmothers mixing up this cake in precisely the same way.

Let's Get Physical! Physical!

Yes, it's true, I own a wii and I work out at least three times a week, seven times a week if time permits and my stress fracture is up to it. Since I am not thin, the fact that I work out religiously surprises a lot of people: once you see me effortlessly lift a heavy object, such as a school chair with a student still in it, and effortlessly bring it over my head, you will then begin to credit my claim that I do indeed put in sweat time.

I do love to eat, but I love my work outs too. I used to think working out was a punishment, a feeling that I garnered no doubt from growing up in a family of readers. "She has to work out EVERY DAY to keep that figure," my mother would hiss, looking up at the tv screen just long enough to take someone in while flicking pages in her book. You know what? Having trained first as a dancer, then not having the time or money to train or work out and becoming a fat chick, I have found something out: Working out is a privilege. It means you have the time and freedom to devote to your own health, physical and mental, and those are very, very good things.

If you are a single parent and your kid is a whiner, or ill, or takes up an unusual amount of your time due to some situation (in my case, my delightful daughter had a TV career) you don't have the time to sweat. First of all, if you don't have a baby sitter, you can't just leave your kid at home at four-thirty to go run around the block. I know a lot of Chinese parents who think nothing of leaving their infant unattended while they go party, but I'm not like that, thank God. I used to take my little girl down to the park with me when I studied Wu Shu, but she was jealous and angry and inevitably ran up to me from behind just as I was performing a spinning back-kick: she'd rather get hurt and get attention than to play quietly right in front of me. I gave up Wu Shu, finally, because of the daily battle: she'd scream and cry about having to get up and go to the park (literally ten feet from my doorstep) and every day she'd time it perfectly so that she sprang into my kicking foot at just the right moment to achieve total mastery of the situation. "MOMMY KICKED ME" she'd gasp while a crowd gathered. It was hell.

I moved soon after that and got into a real hell--having to get up at four-thirty to walk her to her training (Peking Opera) by five--and by the time I walked back to my home, got ready for work, walked back to pick her up and got her to school--and me to my job--I was exhausted and covered in sweat and filthy and didn't have much to give to my own career. Poverty has its uses and its blessings but there are moments when, as a poor single mom, a girl just wants to scream, LEAVE ME ALONE LONG ENOUGH TO WORK UP A SWEAT I CAN CLEAN UP AFTER! Poor people sweat all day, nervous sweat that they're going to be late to Job One or Job Two, sweat as they run up the stairs, sweat as they ride two hours on packed buses to work...but it's not the sort of body-shaping aerobic activity that results in great abs--or at least, it wasn't for me. You would be surprised by how many women would relish a trip to the gym if someone else would watch the kids and cook their dinner--throw in a pair of the right sports shoes and some bike shorts that fit and you'd see the birth of a gym rat before your very eyes.

I'm single, and except for walking those two morons I live with, I have zero responsibilities. I can turn the three-times-daily walk into mini-workouts because I now have an Ipod and tons of music and good walking shoes, things I didn't have in my single-poor-mom days.  I also have work-out clothes and I don't have to worry about "wearing out" my good clothes.  I also have sufficient time and space to move the coffee table after dinner and get down to doing squats and yoga with my wii, which effortlessly tracks my moves and calorie burns. I also can make myself a yogurt parfait if I want without hearing "I thought Moms were supposed to COOK for their families!" or other criticisms. Poor people--especially poor fat girls--don't have the resources to join a gym, or get a wii, or even walk around the block 10,000 steps. To do so shows that you have sufficient time to do something for yourself that goes well beyond subsistence survivial. Yay for me.

Kids in Cars, China Style

So, I'm walking down the street with my hippest Chinese friend, someone I've known and worked with for about ten years. He's recently come back from a year of study in the US, where he's a doctoral candidate in the same field I'm in. We're talkng about a research project we'd like to work on together, and we're mulling over which university to approach with the plan, when a car backs up and almost runs us over. It's going rather slowly and we're able to jump out of the way, but considering the week I had (getting kicked out of the Friendship Store, falling into a Chinese toilet and almost breaking my leg or worse, losing a shoe,  getting sideswiped while in a taxi) I'm not taking any chances and jump back unnecessarily far, up onto a high concrete curb that acts as a traffic barrier. This catches the driver's attention and he actually STOPS the car to laugh at me. This is when I realize two things: first, he's smoking. The windows are rolled up to catch every particle of smoke, and second, there's a woman and BABY in the front seat next to him and the baby is simply sitting in the woman's lap, a la Britney, inhaling all that smoke and bumping its little forehead against the dash. I don't think there are any laws here about restraining children in cars--I often see cars with masses of little ones hanging out the window, drinking out of glass bottles and sucking on stick lollipops--and I remember the wonderful freedom from restraint I had as a child, when all of us simply piled into a car and took off. I also remember working as a student nurse in a hospital and dealing with the parents who lost their kids that way, processing the insurance paperwork for children now gone vegetable due to head trauma. I'd happily take stuffing myself into a restraint over death by auto any day. My friend--hip as he is---didn't understand why I was upset. "Don't worry, you've lost a LOT of weight," he counseled. "This time next year no one will make fun of you!" I said, "Xiao Wang, it's not the fact this jerk is sneering at me for jumping on a traffic barricade to keep from being crushed by his damn bad driving, but the fact he's sneering at me while giving his kid head trauma and cancer." Xiao Wang looked at me with great pity and said kindly, "You still don't get it. Over here, if you can afford a car, you are invincible."