October 22nd: TGIF'nF

Day 35

The week has flown by, (what, Friday already?) but I am also ready for a break. Every class had at least a few non-participatory slackers, despite my pleading with them not to make me feel angry.

The third class intro went as follows:

Mr. Willis: “Hello, class.”

Class: “Hello, Mr.Willis.”

Mr. Willis: “How are you?”

Class: “Fine, thanks, and you?”

Mr. Willis: “(sigh) I want to feel happy. My last class made me feel angry. They would not write what I write. They talked when I talked. But you are a good class, so I will be happy, right?”

Class: “Yes.”

Mr. Willis: “Ok, then,”

And sure enough, I’d walk around to check on their writing and two or three of them would have nothing written, or even have a piece of paper out.

The last class was with Pete and Jimmy. I gave them a couple Crack Heist stickers, and then I was mobbed by the whole class hoping to receive treats from my bag. I doled out the dead glow bracelets and then I had to shrug, tell them to be seated.

Rose told me every other Friday would be an earlier schedule: (1pm instead of 1:40), which I was grateful for, but halfway through Jimmy and Pete’s class, the eye exercise recording started and I had to talk over that, the students and try to get everyone writing. On top of that, I wasn’t sure what time class got out since the bells were out of sync.

I asked, “What time is class over?”

They would answer “yes.”

“No, what time?”

“No.”

After a few of these exchanges, I almost lost it. I wrote “yes/no” on the board and drew a nasty X across them.

“What time? Time! Not yes, not no. Class is over when?”

“Yes.”

“Not yes! Class is over at 2:00 or class is over at 1:30…class is over at…..?”

“2:30.”

“But it’s 2:40 now. So class is over?”

“Yes.”

“Ok. Thank you! See you next week. So long.”

Deep breaths. Laugh about it. Enjoy the weekend.

I pedaled to the post office to mail stuff to my parents and Sara Jett. I supplied my own boxes this time, so I wouldn’t be charged, but they just ended up putting my boxes into the other boxes. I filled out the forms, got exam cramp again, and then I realized I had switched the sender/addressee columns and had to do them over again. It was loads cheaper and more professional at this post office (the one nearer KFC) so I shan’t give the other one my patronage any longer.

I swung by the supermarket for beer, Pocky and a fruitless search for microwave popcorn. Downstairs, I got some bananas and the gent who weighed them laughed to his friend after I said “Xie xie.” I can’t figure out if they’re just tickled when a Westerner says “thanks” in their native tongue or if we’re fucking up the pronunciation. I think I’ve mastered it. It’s a subtle behind the teeth “sh” sound, like a round, hissing “h.” Challenging language, Chinese.

I kept my sunglasses on inside the supermarket because I had a sensitive day and it allowed me some space. I sang Radiohead’s “How to Disappear Completely” to myself and I was able to keep calm in the commerce chaos.

Outside, a man who was no bigger than a basketball had a metal tray begging for change. I’m not sure what malady he was afflicted with, but his head was the biggest part of him. Tiny limbs, a pleading face. He invoked a strange comic pathos. I wanted to put him in my bike basket, ride him around ET-like, give him some fun. All of this was thought of after I was blocks away.

A girl riding by looked at me point-blank and said, “May-gwah-hren!” (American person)

I said, “Correct.”

After dinner I gave Erin a surprise: We watched Spiderman 2 on my computer. Earlier at lunch, Steven stood next to me in queue, asked me about my weekend plans and I had mentioned going to the cinema, as Erin and I were both craving a movie.

“Oh, you can watch VCD’s and it’s cheaper than cinema.”

“I don’t have a VCD player.”

“Oh, that’s alright.You can watch on your computer.”

“Really.”

He asked, “Have you seen Spy 2?”

“No.”

“I have it at my dorm.”

Steven ran to get it while I ate, then found me and gave it to me.

“You may need to download VCD player for it.”

“Thanks, man.”

“See you next week? Enjoy the film.”

I hooked my woofer up to the computer and had to unplug one of the speakers so periodic Chinese dialogue wouldn’t kick in.

It felt good to watch a movie, especially one as great as Spiderman 2. Nobody but Sam Raimi could have done those films, and I love the “Evil Dead” nuances of the hospital scene, replete with quick-camera zoom edits and a chainsaw.

Afterwards we watched viral videos from ifilm.com, including the “he-man lebowski,” and Jon Stewart on Crossfire, but the constant rebuffering was frustrating.

I had a few beers and decided to go to the club, this time equipped with my CDs in case they wanted me to spin. I got there when the weird raffle was going on and the dance floor was playing the crap R&B.

They saw my CD’s in hand and motioned for me to go ahead. Ha! I threw on some Basement Jaxx, Secret Chiefs 3, Goldfrapp, Faithless, a Killing Joke remix, and then the gentle guy went on again. I went and got a beer, returned and spun De La Soul, Massive Attack with Mos Def and Asian Dub Foundation, then Johnny took over and I got my dance on.

I was behind the stage while Johnny spun and rhymed over what he played. The MC with the microphone smiled and I clapped him on the back hoping he would engage in some flow, too. He leaned in while I rapped and said, “I… DON’T KNOW.” I laughed. It’s funny. These guys are my friends and I’ve never really said anything to them. It’s a mostly nonverbal friendship.

djing at the club

After the club let out, I pedaled home tipsy and worn out, ranting to myself in English, asking random people smoking outside restaurants if they had dumplings.

I took a shower, blinked away the cruel realities of consciousness.