October 14th: cupcake bastards and night ride

27th day

Woke in time to catch the debate (a few excellent body blows from Kerry, I actually cheered) then wandered over with Erin to visit the primary English teachers, two of which, Erin noted, are single. I met Eva, Viola, Alice, and Apple, who witnessing her frantic energy, had helped herself to Erin’s candy bowl.

Erin’s office was sparse, but a cubicle all her own. There was a piece of paper on her desk which read: Ms. Rock’s schedule.

I made fun of her. (In a Butthead voice) “You’re an adult.”

We both laughed. What a weird concept.

Eva asked me, “What is your surname?”

“Willis. I’m Mr. Willis.”

“Do you have Chinese surname?”

“No. Give one to me.”

Apple said something in Chinese. Eva translated: “Shi.”

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing. It’s just a surname. It’s her (meaning Apple) surname.”

“Wait. Did she just ask me to marry her?” I teased.

Eva translated and Apple laughed, shook her head. “No, she is joking.”

“Ah. Sister, yes?”

They nodded. I told them it was nice to meet them and excused myself to go watch the debate some more.

I checked email and my friend Julie write back saying there might be something to the whole rice=sleepy theory. I investigated and sure enough, white carbs are a high source of the amino acid tryptophan (the same stuff that causes Thanksgiving narcolepsy from turkey) It’s all starting to make sense now. The Chinese eat a helluva lot of rice, which warrants their citywide mandatory naps after lunch, and also how Feng Jao Li is able to nod off at just after 6pm. (Take note, insomniacs. Only white rice will do, brown rice doesn’t have the same effect.) I’m certain their high-tryptophan diet is also why they’re docile and easily startled. After almost a month on the stuff, (forgiving the fries and coffee discrepancies) I’ve started to feel “dosed.”

In Michael Moore’s “Bowling for Columbine,” I think the subject of diet as a contributing factor should have been looked into. For surely if rice makes the Chinese docile, then testosterone-injected beef has an impact on Americans’ temper. Couple that with the constant fear-mongering in the media, and it could be the recipe for why we keep killing each other.

My first class sang louder and happier than any thus far. They wouldn’t even go early to lunch in favor of hearing the song one last time. I think I’ve perfectly balanced the fun/learning dynamic.

Rose gave me a bag of cupcakes and at my last class, I left them on the desk. When I returned to retrieve them, the little bastards had eaten them. Boys pointed at other boys, allaying the blame on someone else. Some did so while still chewing the cupcakes. If it wasn’t so funny, I might have been upset. At an earlier class, I left my notebook behind. They returned that. The same courtesy wasn’t extended to the cupcakes. All’s fair in love and snacks.

Sunny wasn’t in my junior 1 class, and before the bell rang, an attractive teacher walked by, went into the class next door.

I asked some of my students, “Who is that?”

They shrugged.

I teased, “That’s my wife.”

This got a rise out of them. Hey, any way I can get them to practice English….

As I began class, one boy ran up to me, said “She is maths teacher.”

“Math teacher, eh? Maybe she’d like to get together and multiply.”

Luckily, this joke went over their heads.

Dinner was not the best. Afterwards, I took a little night bike ride to see if I could find the other club. Legend has it, it’s on the fourth floor of a grocery store.

A rainbow billboard sign turned out to be a fuckoff steak restaurant. I tried the fourth floor of the grocery, but no dice. Outside, they had that “dancing on the sidewalk” thing going, and when I pulled up, a reggae bossanova version of that damn Titanic song was playing. Why does China obsess over three songs that just suck?

I tried the grocery store next to KFC, but found nothing. I bought some jam while I was there since I was out, and almost bought some tomato puree, but there was no can opener to be had. The ladies at the store pantomimed that I had to stab the bastard open with a knife like some hunger-crazed refugee. I thanked them, but left without it. Upstairs they had a music section and I browsed, saw some “Yesterday Once More” compilations. What is up with this singular Carpenters song?

I rode back, dodging oblivious motorcyclers and gawking pedestrians.

Drank some glucose drink to get warm (the autumn chill has descended at sundown these days) and blogged. Watched BBC, slept the sleep of the bike-and-fresh-air variety.