I have no desire to get a prize for being a big-ass loser, so I'm not going to catalogue the many misadventures I've had this month, but let's mention a few highs and lows. High: quit my job on a Thursday morning at 8:30 due to a certain line being crossed, and had three unsolicited job offers by three thirty that same day. Yay. None pay as well as that job but involve far less hours and far less bullshit. At least with a Chinese organization I'm going to know when to bend over and grab my ankles and am smart enough now to bring my own lube. With the Brits, I was never quite so sure. Low point: giving a foot massage to a--ahem, friend--who promptly threw up. But at least he made it to the toilet first.
For the second time in four months, I have sassed a man at a nightclub only to have him die suddenly within the week. So if you were planning to ask me if I want a drink, don't, unless you have a pretty strong ticker and have had your cholesterol checked recently. The latest one was truly bizarre: it's someone I know through Mysterious Job Number Two and he asked me if he could buy me a drink. Since I knew he was dating Marcia Sue (speaking of vomit...) I declined, as she was there at the next table. He went home with someone else (neither me nor Marcia) and I thought that was the end of it. He died a few days ago, in this classic manner: suddenly, and with meat in his mouth. (Name the source, o ye classics scholars.)
My partner Link had a gig with someone else this weekend (we each belong to a few different bands--we're the open marriage of music) and it was decided in the expat community to have a wake for our dead colleague at this gig. Emails were sent, we all agreed to have a rip-roaring wake featuring rock and roll courtesy of Link's guitar, and we all showed up at the nightclub at the specified time. Yes, we showed up, only to find that the nightclub owner had decided at the last minute to have a comedy open mic night for Chinese comics and the nightclub was packed with the young hip crowd laughing hysterically at comrades doing imitations of key scenes from that classic TV soap opera, Huanzhu Gege. The comics were killing the audience and the comedy night went on---and on--and on. Finally a rather sweet-faced foreign boy was allowed to get up and play and one of his songs, he announced, was about Jesus. The crowd groaned. The comedy act in a foreign language they didn't know was one thing, but the missionary thing was another...to everybody's relief it was a very good song told from The Lord's point of view, featuring the line, "I get so tired of being right all the time." Don't we all.
On a sadder note: two of my friends have lost their fathers recently to pancreatic cancer, and a third one is flying out shortly for the same reason, hoping to get home in time. I don't know what to say, as platitudes, however true, aren't really going to solve anything, or make anyone feel better. I wish I could do something concrete, but I can't. I don't have huge sums of money to fly my friend out faster, I can't keep his father out of pain, I can't give anyone a peaceful resolution. I have never gone through the loss of a parent myself and I can only imagine what any of it might be like. I think of all the stories my friend has related about his family and I think, how lucky you were to have had that! I'm not really mourning the men I sassed who consequently passed away, although I do honor their passing, but in my own way I am mourning this man I never met, who did such a superb job raising my friend.
