Most Important Words in China

The other day, in contemplating how easy it is to get around a place where you understand the culture (mostly) and the language (fully), I came up with this top 5 list of the most important Chinese phrases in the world to learn. These are sort of like 'must know' basics of basics, to maneuver and position oneself in China. (They work in Chinatowns too):

谢谢 Xie4xie 　“Thanks.” The Chinese aren’t big on ‘please’, but they love thank you so much that they’ll often hit you with a barrage of it, ‘xiexiexiexiexiexiexiexie’. True, sometimes it’s in a way to get rid of you… sometimes it’s in genuine thanks, and sometimes it’s because they don’t know what the hell you are talking about. But nonetheless, it’s the universal word that means gratitude. We’ll leave the cultural lesson of discerning what they are actually showing gratitude for, up to you.

听不懂 (Ting1 bu dong3) “I don’t understand what you are saying.” This phrase is your best friend, go-to and solace. When the barrage of Chinese follows your perfectly accented ‘ni hao’, this phrase, immediately upon being uttered, will instantly replace any looks of irritation, impatience, or xenophobia with something else: ill-concealed laughter, countenances of compassion (feigned or mockery, possibly) and an immediate switch to the language that transcends all national, political and cultural boundaries… ‘Charades’.

不知道 (Bu4 zhi1dao) “I don’t know.” You may hear this phrase more than use it, however learn from the Chinese how to bu zhidao every situation you wish to evade, play dumb about, or avoid.

不好意思 (Bu4hao3yi4si) “Sorry.” You’re likely going to be needing to apologize a lot, what with tone errors that change your intended meaning from a polite query of ‘May I ask’ into ‘Please, kiss me’. Will equip you well to ward off face slaps. In fact, you can just throw this word out at random, just to be on the safe side of etiquette. Buhaoyisi literally means ‘bad feeling’, and can be used to apologize to all the dainty toes your oversized foreign feet will step on in the crowded subway, to repent over some cultural faux pas you likely don’t know you’ve committed, or to just curry favor, in general.

让一下 (Rang yixia) “Let me through.” Buhaoyisi’s slightly stronger cousin. Use this when you’re trapped in a subway car and can’t get out, or stymied in your efforts to crowd-worm through a city of 18 million people. (Rang yixia) is guaranteed to have people jumping out of the way, parting the Red Sea, or doing whatever it takes to let the foreign devil through!

Derelict Blogger Who Always Stays Clear of the Closing Doors

I confess my sins. Sorry!

I got things going down; more details will follow... thus, of late, neglecting the indulgent pleasure of blogging. Am I turning into one of those rushing around no face expression people? There's often much to tell, but there is so much non-computer time of life that needs to be absorbed and spent. Maybe it's because the weather has gotten better. Maybe I am a fair-weather blogger.

I have a story though. There's been a dearth of weird happenings... or maybe I'm just xiguan now. But, luckily, came across one of those beautiful moments when China collides with NYC.

So i share... a subway moment:

Some Chinese kid was going bonkers on the train. His mom starts yelling at him in Chinese, and he was running around and whooping and stuff, and yelling back in Chinese and spitting, etc.

Then, all of a sudden, mid-Chinese, he stops; and in perfect English, tones as bold as brass, he says "NEXT STOP 23rd St. ELY AVE TRANSFER AVAILABLE TO THE 7, THE E, AND THE V". Exactly like the subway announcer does it, word for word.

Seconds later, right on time, the conductor makes the real announcement, but of course included the enthusiastic "stay clear of the closing doors"... so the kid immediately makes the whole announcement again, plus that addendum.

Then they went back to yelling in Chinese.

Thankful for weird Chinese moments. They remind me I'm alive hehe.

Sick Chew-Spit-Crash-Burn-Break Love

Everyone has their opinions about New York, mine being somewhat skewed by relativity factors. I find everyone so courteous and polite here. So peaceful and laid back. My alarming anger management problem, developed over the course of the China bicycle commute years, seems to have dissipated quite a bit. In two months of being here, just one relapse in one irritated subway information attendant incident; a low blood sugar run in with one large lazy man who spat words. He, being well-versed in the language of subway sign ambiguity, didn't give a crap. hehe.

Most people you meet who have lived here for years, will sit down and give you what I like to call the 'New York Talking To.' Though it differs in content, it always conforms in tone. Last night's did not disappoint. Gently leading in with phrases of the 'this town will chew you up and spit you out' variety, and gradually devolving into the 'crash and burn' and 'break you' bent (all backed up with the required sordid tales, of course). All, in the end, leading to the usual sum-up: 'God I love this city.' Yep.

So why all this twisted, incomprehensible, baffling love everywhere? You can't define it, and I definitely won't try to explain, I'll just tell you about my NYC night.

I met a musician last week, during my foray into event-ing. He invited me to his gig this week, at the Italian Cultural Centre.

The Italian Cultural Centre is like the Park Avenue equivalent of a high school auditorium. Reminicent of a dusty scented gym, minus the torn basketball hoop and with better velvet curtains. The $10 entrance admission I initially found steep, but as I mounted the grand staircase to the recital room, I realized the value of my purchase: the place, slightly earthy and unkempt, 60% posh, 40% just what it was... and just what I like.

The entertainment, of the lovely variety. A great 6 piece band, a piano composer whose songs were inspired by her singing cat and by conversations with people she loved. An eclectic spotted crowd of about 40; very nice old Italian men sitting by themselves (ripe for my conversation starter of 'Bocce ball?'), made-up elderly women (not sitting with the old men) with big false teeth sitting in fur coats, and a painter with a tendency to summer in Italy; he didn't want to forget how it felt the rest of the year.

That was 7 o'clock. Concert out, and a glass of wine awaiting us all on the folding table outside.

Fast forward to 9pm. O the simultaneous worlds of NYC. I meet up with a friend made through ChinesePod, and find myself at a rock concert up the street from my house. The band looks slightly washed up, but they are compensating with super-gelled hairdos. A 64-year old woman, not at all washed up, commands the stage, lustily performing with a sexiness this 30-ish gal could only dream of. I use 'command' in the military sense of the word. This kind of raw confidence only a 64-year old ex-Meatloaf collaborator giving a concert in the East Village could have. A 15 minute rattling subway car ride is all that separates this woman from her fur coat clad peers up the avenue.

The audience seemed to be full of other near-senior citizens, the apparent unifying factor being that you had to look deceivingly younger than your age to be part of this crowd. The interrogation of the night inevitably came around to, 'How old do you think I am? Her? Him?' I throw out a safe, 37? 52! 41? 65! A scary entrapping question usually posed by people with grudges they are looking to justify, but safe on this night. Plastic surgery? Heathly rock-star lifestyle?

At the risk of feeling that I'm in an unhealthy, even dysfunctional, relationship, I will say... I'm in the scary grips of a crash-and-burn-chew-you-up-spit-you-out-and-break-you love affair.

China through the eyes of Chinglish

Thank God for Chinglish. Chinglish is keeping me in cappuccinos. I still have a leftover job from China, one that I love because I can take it with me. And love, too, because it still connects me with the place I left, and often makes me chuckle.

I haven't had much time to write here the last few days because I am in the process of proofreading a 100,000 word book that is being put out about the 2007 Special Olympic Games held in Shanghai. The other day, I came across this segment, which was about an amazing girl in China who has devoted her life to helping the disabled. She is majoring in Special Education. When I came across this paragraph, however, I couldn't help it, it really made me burst into five minutes of laughter... it's very cute:

"Having studied special education for six years, Chen feels that China's general attitudes towards the intellectually-challenged have changed enormously. In fact, some of her classmates had no idea about special education when they chose the major, assuming that special education was related to special services and that they would become spies after graduation. In China, the change of concept is the most important thing."

Besides being quite funny and quaint that these students thought that 'special education' meant something to do with the exciting world of international spy-dom, which is very telling in itself, the passage also gives insight to how the education system works in China. In the West, we often take for granted the freedom to choose what career we wish to pursue. However, in China, your score on one single solitary final exam in high school basically determines the rest of your life (career-wise and financially, I mean). Where your mark ranks in standing dictates which university you will go to, you don't get much say. From what that university happens to have as far as course content, you can try to find something you want to study, but there still are no guarantees you can get into it. Sometimes you are just told. Beyond that, if you are not from a certain area, you cannot even be considered for certain schools.

You can imagine the pressure this puts kids under to prepare for that one test. Basically it can determine your career path and corresponding economic position and related quality of life (or lack thereof) for the rest of your life.

Just think of all those potentially brilliant would-be spies out there that will never get the chance to reach their potential.

More Chinglish quotes to come in the near future...

Towning It, NYC-style

Attended my first ‘event’ in NYC. Yes, despite Chinese podcast renown, I’m not quite big enough yet in this town to rate invites to ‘events' (oh how I miss pseudo-stardom); I was invited along by another recent emigrant from Shanghai. At the last minute she couldn’t make it, but I decided, what the heck, I’ll go alone.

Grand. It seems on any given street at any given moment in this city, people are ‘eventing.’ I was just happy to be on the inside. Or I could even say, happy to be inside, as it was -10 degrees and falling, outside.

There is a real guest list. Fortunately I am armed with my friend’s name, which is Chinese, but apparently I look the part because they don’t question it. The 'are-you-posh-enough-to-enter' security measures seem quite strict. After six years as a western person in China, you take for granted your seeming ability to blend in due to the very fact that you stand out. Not so, here. Now I find I am just another slightly under-dressed member of the unnervingly tall crowd. Crowd viewing from the perch of my 5 foot 9 inch frame has taken on a decided upward angle.

On taking in this new scene, I find it reassuring to know that events in NYC have free drinks as well; especially considering the $9 glasses of wine that have done a good job of drying me out from my high-fluting Shanghai days. It’s a charity event; I’m glad I saved my booze budget to contribute to one of the little kids that need bus fare for field trips. Makes me feel a little less like an affluent white person at an event. Conscience-salve.

Events in NYC have people with last names hyphenated with things like ‘Scorsese.’ There are photographers. They’re photographing everyone but me!! I think I manage to get an ugly chewing-appetizer shot taken of myself, luckily; collateral damage in a photo of someone markedly better dressed. I knew I should have brought more clothing, less gift tea, on my exodus from China.

Working the room. I meet cool people. How is it that every single person in New York City has a cool job? I still don’t quite understand who staffs the Burger Kings, as I’ve never met anyone who isn’t an artist, designer, musician, opera-singer, curator, actor. Surely there must be a lot of job openings for street-sweepers; I make a mental note to apply. Times like these, having an ex-job that no one quite gets (ex-podcast star) is a real plus. You say it fast and they are afraid to question; perhaps it’s the next up-and-coming thing that they haven’t heard of. Or perhaps they hear it and relate it with the other ‘ex-‘P’ star’ profession. It seems to give me some credibility, anyway.

Scanning the room, I do, indeed, find a lot of handsome specimens of the male variety. This is something new for a Shanghai gal… nice. Chatting easily with some hotties, I find myself increasingly yet secretly perplexed: extremely well-dressed? very in touch with their feminine side? gay? Yes, I can tell a Shanghainese person from a Taiwanese, but it seems that my gaydar has completely gone awry. So many beautiful men… so not sure what team. Just when I’m sure, I’m not. Gorgeous staring from across the room… suddenly lays a hand flirtatiously on Beautiful next to him. Flamboyant… after what feels like girl talk, asks for my number. The mystery deepens. I give it, the number, of course, with the singular reason of the opportunity for future observational studies… well that, and the off-chance that maybe he’s just a really good dresser? ;)

Canada Rises Up

Word on the street is that it was Canada geese that brought the plane down in the East river yesterday:

Though the Federal Aviation Administration has cautioned that the cause of the accident remains under investigation, one theory that quickly emerged was that the plane had encountered a large flock of geese. Sen. Charles E. Schumer said Transportation Secretary Mary E. Peters told him it appeared that Canada geese, which migrate through the New York area, might have knocked out both engines. - LA Times

Wikipedia has already immortalized the international incident on its 'Canada Goose' page:

A collision with a flock of Canada geese is initially blamed for a US Airways Airbus 320 suffering a total power loss after takeoff from New York LaGuardia Airport on 15 January 2009. The plane landed in the Hudson River causing no fatal injuries to the 155 passengers and crew.

...expecting reprisals today. It's just as I suspected:

Since 1999, The United States Department of Agriculture Wildlife Services agency has been engaged in lethal culls of Canada Geese primarily in urban or densely populated areas.

Act of terror? Canada finally rising up, in their Oh-so-Canada way? Canada goose poop is a passive-aggressive act of terror to the world. There's practically biological warfare going on in Central Park already.

How to Live Delightfully Unemployed

I find myself accidental bedfellow with quite a few other friends who have found themselves temporarily without work. Yes it's true, unlike them, I wasn't laid off, I quit; however all roads lead to Rome, and the Rome of the moment is: unemployment.

Now, we all know not having a job can be stressful. However, I've often found in life that very frequently what we presume to be something terrible that happens, often turns out to be the very best thing that could of happened in the end. It opens us up to corners we wouldn't have turned, people we wouldn't have met, places we wouldn't have experienced. Therefore, while we all devour the job websites with their promised lands of wonderful careers (EARN $86,400-$291,600/Yr. Processing ®DISH NETWORK Orders Online), we all must hurry up and make sure to take advantage of our new found freedom while we have it.

How to Live Delightfully Unemployed

Fellow unemployed bedfellow arranges meeting at Cafe Grumpy, in the West Village. We opt for the drip coffee, as it rings in at a somewhat budget acceptable $2.50 tag. Free newspapers are strewn about, no need to buy. In normal, employed circumstances, I would have cappuccino snobbery. But I am pleasantly surprised to discover that 1) anyone even makes drip coffee anymore, and 2) it's actually good! The $2.50 gives you quite a performance--this drip coffee is no regular drip coffee.

Cheap lunches. Walking and eating a $2.50 bagel and cream cheese is a simple pleasure of life that even when I get a real job, I will not give up. At these prices, even an unemployed can treat their friend!

The sunny afternoon beckons. We find that we tend to walk slower, now that we have nowhere to go. We notice buildings we never saw before, and they are beautiful. A jaunt led by my friend leads us to a wonderful art gallery he has planned for us to check out. Our $5 entry fee feels well worth it. It's Alex Grey's psychedelic paintings, featured in the Chapel of Sacred Mirrors gallery in Chelsea. It's riveting, even without taking LSD. Anyway, we find a couple more free art galleries on the way home. Fortunately we have time to pop in!

Walking home, the good conversation is free. The sunny but brisk day fades into a crispier dusk. Friend is hungrier than me so we grab a quick slice of pizza and then stop at the Porto Rico coffee shop where coffee beans cost only $8 a pound, a lot less than their usual counterparts.

A delight! All on less than $10. We both feel delightfully unemployed by the end of it!

Now, I take a moment, to appreciate a few further delights of unemployment:

Alternative commute hours:
Yes, yes, we know there's no commute when there's no job, but you still have to get places. The delight is that you get a seat, almost always. The crowd is a little different to. You get a better view of the breakdancer buskers that occasionally cartwheel through the train car, and you don't have to feel guilty if you have no spare change to give them, after all, you're unemployed too!

Alternative commutes:
When you don't really have to be anywhere, you can take all the time in the world to get there. Bridge walking is not an activity the working generally have the luxury of. My favourite is Williamsburg Bridge. Industrial and heavy, not as elegant as its touristy neighbors, the Brooklyn and Manhattan. I like the clatter of the metro going by and watching the orange sky frame the city. Very delightful.

$1 book carts:
When you're working you really don't have the time (or sufficient desperation) to scrounge through all the stained 1989 Steven King and 'How to' books for things you don't want to know how to do. However, when you are delightfully unemployed, you discover the treasures the people with paycheques left behind in their hurry. And there is no way that a book slipped off the organized and paper-fragranced shelves of Barnes and Noble can give you nearly as much satisfaction as the gritty wonderfulness of finding a book on a dollar cart that you actually want to read. I found two! And they are only a little stained. Not only that, you actually have time to read them!

Make old people friends:
There is nothing more enjoyable than the company of someone who doesn't take themselves too seriously, can pass on a world of wisdom, and likes idle chat over cookies. Fulltime jobs don't lend themselves to long-winded life stories with loquacious old people. Time on your hands, does. They'll be happy too. Visit your gramma, adopt a grandpa, keep the lady at the laundromat company over a clothes dry. Definitely delightful!

More time to have a smile on your face:
Walking leisurely and smiling to oneself leads to many interesting conversations and new friends. Even in NYC. Or maybe moreso, as there are other crazies like yourself wandering around looking for a friendly face ;)

OK no job can suck, admittedly. Money obviously is a factor one does have to think about. But let's face it! We're not going to be unemployed forever! So let us delight in the experience of unemployment and get some retraining in how little it takes to have a truly wonderful time.