The Crazies

China attracts its fair share of nuts, with no place being as rich in characters as Beijing. Most foreigners here fall into three camps: students, crunchy with enthusiasm and body filth, corporate expatriates who are put up in such cushy surroundings that they can well believe they are still "back home" and long-term expats with no real skills, no real jobs, and who stay because they married a local or are avoiding possible persecution in their home state. There are a few sub-categories, of course, but the trend holds pretty solid. Needless to say, the last category is especially loaded with nut jobs.

My downstairs neighbor is one of them. On my second visit to the real estate firm that was handling my lease, my realtor confessed that the downstairs neighbor of one of the flats I was considering had already paid him a visit--twice--pumping him for details about me. This is not a good sign. As we walked over to the apartment so I could take a final look, a tall, grey-haired woman with an obviously half-Chinese toddler literally jumped out of some bushes to take a good look at me. Then she launched into her verbal assault, the bulk of which was: I am a home-schooling mom, even though my daughter is only 18 months, so she's on a strict schedule, I'll tell you when you can do anything noisy and that includes sweeping the floor, and btw, how much money do you make and what is the name of the school where you teach. In other words, it was a grilling: what was my financial status, as well as FEAR ME! I AM A HOME-SCHOOLING GOD-DESS AND THEREFORE WORTHY OF ALL LOVE AND ADMIRATION. I KNOW MORE ABOUT EDUCATION THAN THEE!

Some homeschooled kids turn out ok, but in general, their mothers are nut jobs too: how many homeschool moms have actually bothered with studying education? Precious few. You think you can learn that from the internet? Do you know how to teach reading, how to use math manipulatives such as Unix cubes, how to spot dyslexia? I do: I have enough respect for the profession to not only get trained in it but to update my skills far beyond what is required in my home state. If you fling the name of some home-schooling website from the Internet at me and think I'm going to fall down at your feet and praise you for having actually read a whole web page, you're wrong. You want to discuss education with me, fine: I'm pretty well versed in ECE, ELM, and various ECE theories and practices including Montessori, Waldorf, and Reggia Emilia. I study brain-based research into education. So put up your dukes, and let's spar. What I will not tolerate is someone acting as if they are socially superior to me because they can home school. And that is precisely what this woman was trying to convey. Even the realtor, with his limited English, understood that The Bitch Downstairs was trying to one-up me, and for the life of us both, we couldn't figure out why. (Ok, well, maybe insecurity.) I'm old, I'm tired, I'm poor: why would anyone feel the need to try to top that when it's so obviously out there? I will not apologize for being any of those things---I took a pretty sound beating from life, it lasted a LONG TIME, and  yet I'm still moving forward. So there.

A lot of parents in Beijing homeschool because they can't afford the outrageous school fees. Even sending your kid to a local school can cost about 10,000 USD per year, with first a "registration fee" of three to four thousand dollars, then fees per term for study. Some people ask me, "Why didn't you send your kid to the American school?" For starters, there isn't one. The US government does not provide a free education for its citizens abroad unless you are working for the government--in which case, they pay tuition for your children to attend an international school, but that school might actually be British, Canadian, or set up and run by a private investor group which is multi-national. Why should the government sent up free schools for US citizens?  They shouldn't, they aren't obliged to, and they didn't ask me to come here and live. As long as I earn less than a certain amount  per year, I don't even pay taxes in the US. I do pay whopping big taxes to the Chinese government, but then again, I live here. As far as I'm concerned, my own government is off the hook regarding the education of expatriates abroad. Sadly, not everyone gets that.

So, back to The Neighbor. I mentioned to a friend who lives nearby that I had been graced by a visit from The Crazy Neighbor and she launched into a story that chilled my very bones. Apparently while Crazy Neighbor's husband was gone (doing what, we can only imagine) she took to haunting the common courtyard area, small child in tow. She could be found day and sometimes night lurking in the bushes, ready to pounce on anyone walking by and tell them in three different languages all about her home schooling (which she has yet to begin.) One day to my friend's surprise, she launched a different attack. As my friend--a sweet woman with a shy manner which belies her rapier wit--was struggling with her bike lock, Crazy Neighbor approached. "Do you like chicken?" Crazy Lady began. My friend struggled to come up with a reply that could be innocent and not lead to further conversation. No need. "Because I don't have any," Crazy Lady continued. "But I could give you some spiced crab apples."

Do you see what loneliness does to people? If only Crazy Lady found a nice play group for her daughter, got out, saw some people, she might take to having safe, sane conversations with people who were genuinely glad to see her and her toddler daughter, who is indeed adorable. Instead, we run, and even text each other when she's outside, that mad lonely gleam in her eye, desperate to assault us with a conversation that proves that no, no, she's not trapped in a crap marriage in a country she doesn't like with a kid she can't afford to take to a local school so she can have a flippin' cup of coffee in peace and quiet...how very well I understand, and how deeply grateful I am for the poverty that forced and forces me to get up and go to work every day. Even today. Happy Sunday.

Fall, That Very Special Time of Year

It's Fall, and as usual, I have a new job. I dislike moving and I really dislike being the new person. I keep getting hired to "fill in the gaps" of schools which always means writing new curriculum, fighting to get classroom space and supplies, etc: just as I finally breathe a sigh of relief with everything under control, I either get a) promoted, b) given a new subject to teach at a different level or c) so outraged I quit and go to another school.

Just in case you are NOT a teaching professional, it takes a full year of teaching a particular curriculum to a particular age group before you are really competent at it, have lessons lined up, and can actually NOT spend the evenings making up flash cards, interactive whiteboard slides, or other things (sometimes even the curriculum itself) your department is too cheap to buy. I have been in one school for three years, but each year was given a different subject and grade level to teach: thus, being new every year. I switched schools last year and found that I had TWO different subjects to teach which were entirely different, and neither had so much as a textbook. So I had two curriculum to pull together. This year, I topped myself by being by hired by one school, but in teaching in both campuses, different subjects, to eight different grade levels.  To top it off, Lulu's tuition and room and board rose dramatically this year, and all this "new", including an apartment which is four times the price of my old one, has cut down on the amount I have for free lance work. I had a houseful of drunken teenage guests the first two weeks of the new job, and I have another guest arriving next week who will, God willing, be able to fend for himself. I also picked up a very cool editing job, which I finished last night, and now have 97 English poems to compose for a new national curriculum, to be done next week. I haven't started yet, but I figure it's not that hard to rhyme "moon" with "June." I could well be singing another tune by next weekend.

And you wonder at my silence...

Time Flies. So Do Flies.

Just in case you've been wondering where I spent the last month...I moved. I had drunken teenage houseguests, and I started a new job. All three began within a 72-hour period. The job is a newly created position split over two different departments, which meant I missed out on key training on both sides as I was at Meeting A when Meeting B was occuring simultaneously. I had the joy of moving into a new flat--at least it's larger than the last one--while also trying to host daughter Lulu Belle and her beau, and the odd friend who crashed as well. I did not do Mysterious Job Number Two which is a shame as Lulu's tuition increased a LOT this year and I am now paying four times as much for rent as I did this time last year. The new job is incredibly demanding and I got maneuvered into doing things I consider an absolute waste of time (more on that later) such as wandering around the building looking for a computer in which to check daily emails because nobody thought to provide me with a desk or computer. I have to fight 18-year old teaching assistants for use of a shared computer. Let me recap: I have advanced degrees, but no where to put my coat or purse.  To say I am under stress is an understatement. For THIS I turned down a job in Sudan? No wonder I haven't posted: I haven't had time to eat a square meal, let alone write about one. Tell me that this too shall pass. Please.

Charming Chinese Pictures

Let's get this place all clean for Comrade Zanne!



I'm sorry, I don't have time to play right now! Let me finish my homework first.

What's Going On

Ah, moving, that delightful annual occurence which makes a rectal exam by a ham-fisted novice a comparative walk in the park...It was horrible, and complicated by the fact that some asshole had parked his car illegally, half on the street, half on the sidewalk, thus making it impossible for the moving van to enter the compound where I live...the management office was called and they flat-out refused to notify the owner of the car to move his damn vehicle as--and I quote--he OWNS his apartment while I am merely renting. In the six-hour standoff, a compromise was reached: the asshole remained an asshole, and lucky little me got to pay for a van to shuttle the stuff in, with a new team of movers in place to take the things out of the big moving van, load them into the little moving van, drive it down the street to my compound, then unload it and carry it up the stairs. By the time this was accomplished, no one (no mover, that is) gave a rat's ass about what went where and I found after they left that all my clothes had been dumped into shelves willy-nilly and that many pieces were missing. Apparently during the shuttle a few boxes broke open, my clothes were scattered on the pavement, and during the picking up process, no one gave a damn if passer-bys scooped stuff up for themselves. But I'm moved, and I have three delightful neighbors and one crazy bitch whom I shall post about--a lot--under the name of The Mad Hatter. However, I will have virtually no access to internet for the next two or three weeks, so if you want me, you'll have to call.

Tinky Asshat and Other Bad Choices

Resolved over cocktails last night:

For some reason, the bigger the foreign asshole, the more likely he will choose to have the word "dragon" in his Chinese name. Major asshats we know and don't love have named themselves Big Dragon, Dragon Wind (now THERE's something to be scared of) and Little Dragon. I do know one Little Dragon of whom I am quite fond, but the name was chosen for him because it's closest to his surname, Long.

What the ladies had to say: Very inventive, guys. We are so impressed by your superior knowledge of Chinese culture. You know what? Want to show off what you really  know? How about you name yourselves CHOPSTICKS! At least they're Asian, whereas the dragon is found in European mythology as well.

What our Chinese names are; not anything to do with dragons, thank you. I did have a pretty appalling moniker when I was married, however: I still spelled my name with an "X", as in Xanne. (Yeah, Alexandra. Shut up. And don't call me Sandy! I only let Gina Guida write that on my name tag the first day of third grade because the idiot couldn't remember how to write an "X" and I've suffered from it ever since.) My married Chinese surname; Du. As in, altogether now-- Xanne Du. Xanadu! I couldn't wait to get that name changed fast enough, let me tell you, especially when people started referring to me as "Xannadon't." My current nickname: Xanax. As in, many people wish I had some.

Worst "English" names ever: Tinky Asshat, his wife Flesh, and their son Prince. Tinky because the man liked little Tinky Winky from Teletubbies, and "Ass Hat" because his pocket translator translated the characters of his name--Liu, and Mao, as "Ass" (as in "Donkey") and "Hat" (as in "Hat.") "Flesh" is the unfortunate result of bad pronuncation and a Summer's Eve commercial, and Prince is just Prince. I've written before about my students Ballet and Pony (both male) and girls named Keller (after Helen Keller.) I've known Joyknow and Cathy (pronounced "Casey") and the scads of Helens and Janes. My favorite odd name: I had to interview someone for a TV show whose English name was Caligula, and who assured me in low creepy tones that "He didn't indulge in the eating of flesh." (Much to Tinky's relief, eh?) For the record, cocktails consisted of "Pineapple water served in your fresh coconut hell" with appetizers of "Minge Pie." Had he been there, Caligula wouldn't have been interested, which meant a good time was had by all, for sure.

Some Things You Should Know

All right: it's now so hot and humid here and going out, even at night, is the equivilent of walking around in  a dirty sauna or two. I feel like I'm walking through hot dirty butter. Each breath of air fills my lungs with even more hot moist crap. Last night I waited over an hour and a half in a queue to get a taxi--in downtown Beijing--at eleven at night. The driver I finally got was VERY unhappy about having to take me so far--in the direct opposite of where he lived, btw--but he did it, and I tipped him a hundred kuai for doing so. Patronizing? I think not. I took him an hour away from his final destination.

Here's what you should know if you are unfortunate enough to be here in summer:

First: it's really hot and humid. St. Louis humid with third world pollution as a cherry on top. You think you can take that? Then welcome. If not, stay home and watch "Big Bird Goes to China." Take a quiz about China on Enchanted Learning dot com. You'll learn about as much.

Second: if you come here and have a really, really uncomfortable day or two due to lies, incompetent workers, and just general fuck-ups over which you have no control, then you have had a Bad China Day. This includes things like your plane being grounded because of high wind---even though not a breath of air is stirring and you see other planes landing and taking off---or the teller at Bank of China announcing into the loudspeaker, "You don't have any money. Go away." Or an  ATM eating your card on a Friday afternoon just as the bank office is closing. Bad, but not undoable. (They have all happened to me, except for the "plane can't take off due to high winds. That happened to my friend and as a consequence she missed her own Going Away Party. No kidding.)

Third, however, is the Bad China Day which turns into the Fucked Over Big Time in China which is better known as "chucked." As in, "Wow, the guy who was arranging my visa for my trip to Vietnam kept my passport for two weeks longer than he said he would and now my visa for China has expired and the police are escorting me to the airport right now and I can't call my girlfriend as my phone just ran out of minutes and they won't let me stop and buy more minutes..." Or, as I was witness to the other day, a visa agent called in sick and for some reason she had taken all the passports home with her, so my friend was unable to pick up her passport as promised that morning and was due to fly to the US three hours later...the meltdown and tantrum were worth of an Oscar, truly awe-inspiring, and if I were the clerk that had to deal with that histrionic, vitriolic and totally justified fit of rage, I would have probably done exactly what she did, which was this: Hang up.

Chucked. It happens. Just try really hard to make sure it doesn't happen to you. But if it does, do what I did: head to the Writer's Bar at Raffles Hotel and see if three Singapore Slings and some congenial company don't make it all a lot, lot better.