February 17th: the wine and cheese social/ pasta extravaganza
[ posted by mcdeviltoast ]
Day 154
Woke at ten to 12, thanked Rhys and Jeni for their hospitality, rode home in the grey damp nastiness. After a shower, I went to the arts building, started going through the repertoire. Three songs in, a knock came at the door. It was Feng Jao Li, hidden by a winter cap and scarf. After such a long time, I was happy to see her, wished her a happy new year ("Xinyen kuai le!") asked her how her holiday was.
"Did you visit your family?"
A perplexed look. I dug out my phrasebook, started flipping through it for "family" and she threw her head back and did a stifled scream of frustration like an 8 year old. Then she snapped, "I wanting to sing now."
Instantly pissed, I curtly exited.
"Fine. Goodbye."
She said "Goodbye" after me but it was insincere. Fuck her. A lot. After all the times I've tried to just practice but humored her intrusions and questions with patience and adult candor, this is how I'm repaid? Plus, all the other available rooms with pianos and she has to kick me out of this one instead of unlocking another one? Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck! I seethed in my room for a while constantly replaying the scene in my head and getting worked up. I asked myself why. I don't enjoy feeling upset or angry, why would my mind stick and dwell on something so unpleasant that bore no fruit but bad spirits? Justified anger is empowering, but in this case it came from ego, and tends to be ugly. Maybe it's the bodhisattva nature of me that makes me want to cheer up the one sad girl at a party rather than join the festivities. Something about my personality also seems to seize onto a bad moment with pitbull jaws. But it's for the purpose of needing to change it, and thereby gain relief from the cognitive dissonance. In this situation, I could not change it, relief would come from forced indifference. I ordered myself to think of other things: "She's a child, you can't change that. And she doesn't know enough English to understand your venting. Let it go."
I wrote, gathered up the cheese and pasta materials. Tonight would be wine and cheese night, followed by some pasta with LaRosa's sauce and sundried tomatoes, fresh parm to grate on top. I kept trying to wait for Erin and Matt to come back before we had this event, but I could wait no more. Incidentally, I'm now officially concerned for them. It's about four days until school starts again. Where the hell are they?
I pedaled back to Dongzhou in spitting rain. Rhys and I went to Times for a few bottles of wine, returned and hung out with Heather while Jeni slept. Heather and I went on a search for Dongzhou's piano, to indulge my sense of completion from earlier. It was a fruitless hunt. We fetched Mike, had a wine and cheese social, listened to Verdi. We toasted to being fortunate cultured creatures, enjoying cheese delicacies of the West: extra sharp white cheddar, baby belbel, a mango/ginger white stilton, (and some mild cheddar from New Zealand.) They thanked me for providing the treats, but the real heroine of the evening was Barb Willis, to whom all of us will be sending an email of earnest gratitude. Send more cheese and jerky!
Feeling wine-tingly and excited, we began the pasta process, then feasted, conversation replaced by orgasmic moans and soft chewing. We all patted our bellies, in a state of foodstacy. I thanked my cohorts for being cool enough to share with. In such a small town, I am blessed to have such a masterfully charismatic group of people with which to mutually experience this adventure. I could have just as easily been stuck with a bunch of uptight missionaries, clad in awful sweaters and lacquered with Brylcreme, endlessly trying to extoll the virtues of Amy Grant, Disney, and "Chicken Soup for the Expatriate Soul." Our collective is a wry, passionate, booksmart, politically-conscious den of creative and clever hedonists. Rhys remarked how it's like third college. We seem like a bunch of dorm mates rather than fellow teachers, we learn as much as we teach, and we know how to enjoy the hell out of time off. Huzzah for us!
In short time, Mickey stopped by and we all went to the club (all but Mike who decided to go on a night bike ride). We met Heather's flute teacher there, and his posse of friends, all piled into a table on the first floor. Pitchers of beer were brought. I told Rhys and Jeni, "This is the moment right here. The night is over." However, the ganbei-ing was light, toasts were relegated to baby sips at our hosts' behest.
DJ Marco started playing that Misfits cover/remix straightaway. I'm rarely at the club early enough to catch the first set, and he played some excellent stuff. None of that crap with intrusive cheesy vocals. I went back to give him props by pointing at the decks, giving them a thumbs-up. I danced for a bit, returning periodically to the table to drink more, nibble some fruit. During the floor show, I took Rhys and Jeni to the green room where they were bade to roll some cigarettes. A chap in a striped sweater must have thought it was weed, because he tried to shotgun it to everyone, squinted his eyes in pleasure and thanked Rhys and Jeni over and over. He even gave them tea and chocolate in appreciation. Dude, it's just tobacco. But hey, if his self-induced placebo was getting him off, more power to he and his brain.
When the music started up again, I MC'd for a while, then saw Sisi out in the crowd. I hugged her, asked her how she'd been, invited her back to the table to meet everyone. As Rhys and Jeni are dedicated readers of my blog, it's important for them to see the principal characters in the flesh. We had a drink, then I returned to the top of my monitor, laying some mad flow on the Haimenfolk: "Rhymes so heady and deadly they're killable / but you don't know English so for you they're just syllables" and such. Sisi disappeared by the end of the night and had I not introduced her to the others I might have imagined I saw her.
We walked back to Dongzhou, had some chocolate and the last bottle of wine, which put Rhys over the edge. His stomach rejected further intake, and I crashed in Heather's room to give him privacy during fragile vomiting time. I dreamt of serving at Mecklenburg's, my skills rusty, but still there. Then it turned into some early TV show with an evil Kevin Bacon.
Woke at ten to 12, thanked Rhys and Jeni for their hospitality, rode home in the grey damp nastiness. After a shower, I went to the arts building, started going through the repertoire. Three songs in, a knock came at the door. It was Feng Jao Li, hidden by a winter cap and scarf. After such a long time, I was happy to see her, wished her a happy new year ("Xinyen kuai le!") asked her how her holiday was.
"Did you visit your family?"
A perplexed look. I dug out my phrasebook, started flipping through it for "family" and she threw her head back and did a stifled scream of frustration like an 8 year old. Then she snapped, "I wanting to sing now."
Instantly pissed, I curtly exited.
"Fine. Goodbye."
She said "Goodbye" after me but it was insincere. Fuck her. A lot. After all the times I've tried to just practice but humored her intrusions and questions with patience and adult candor, this is how I'm repaid? Plus, all the other available rooms with pianos and she has to kick me out of this one instead of unlocking another one? Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck! I seethed in my room for a while constantly replaying the scene in my head and getting worked up. I asked myself why. I don't enjoy feeling upset or angry, why would my mind stick and dwell on something so unpleasant that bore no fruit but bad spirits? Justified anger is empowering, but in this case it came from ego, and tends to be ugly. Maybe it's the bodhisattva nature of me that makes me want to cheer up the one sad girl at a party rather than join the festivities. Something about my personality also seems to seize onto a bad moment with pitbull jaws. But it's for the purpose of needing to change it, and thereby gain relief from the cognitive dissonance. In this situation, I could not change it, relief would come from forced indifference. I ordered myself to think of other things: "She's a child, you can't change that. And she doesn't know enough English to understand your venting. Let it go."
I wrote, gathered up the cheese and pasta materials. Tonight would be wine and cheese night, followed by some pasta with LaRosa's sauce and sundried tomatoes, fresh parm to grate on top. I kept trying to wait for Erin and Matt to come back before we had this event, but I could wait no more. Incidentally, I'm now officially concerned for them. It's about four days until school starts again. Where the hell are they?
I pedaled back to Dongzhou in spitting rain. Rhys and I went to Times for a few bottles of wine, returned and hung out with Heather while Jeni slept. Heather and I went on a search for Dongzhou's piano, to indulge my sense of completion from earlier. It was a fruitless hunt. We fetched Mike, had a wine and cheese social, listened to Verdi. We toasted to being fortunate cultured creatures, enjoying cheese delicacies of the West: extra sharp white cheddar, baby belbel, a mango/ginger white stilton, (and some mild cheddar from New Zealand.) They thanked me for providing the treats, but the real heroine of the evening was Barb Willis, to whom all of us will be sending an email of earnest gratitude. Send more cheese and jerky!
Feeling wine-tingly and excited, we began the pasta process, then feasted, conversation replaced by orgasmic moans and soft chewing. We all patted our bellies, in a state of foodstacy. I thanked my cohorts for being cool enough to share with. In such a small town, I am blessed to have such a masterfully charismatic group of people with which to mutually experience this adventure. I could have just as easily been stuck with a bunch of uptight missionaries, clad in awful sweaters and lacquered with Brylcreme, endlessly trying to extoll the virtues of Amy Grant, Disney, and "Chicken Soup for the Expatriate Soul." Our collective is a wry, passionate, booksmart, politically-conscious den of creative and clever hedonists. Rhys remarked how it's like third college. We seem like a bunch of dorm mates rather than fellow teachers, we learn as much as we teach, and we know how to enjoy the hell out of time off. Huzzah for us!
In short time, Mickey stopped by and we all went to the club (all but Mike who decided to go on a night bike ride). We met Heather's flute teacher there, and his posse of friends, all piled into a table on the first floor. Pitchers of beer were brought. I told Rhys and Jeni, "This is the moment right here. The night is over." However, the ganbei-ing was light, toasts were relegated to baby sips at our hosts' behest.
DJ Marco started playing that Misfits cover/remix straightaway. I'm rarely at the club early enough to catch the first set, and he played some excellent stuff. None of that crap with intrusive cheesy vocals. I went back to give him props by pointing at the decks, giving them a thumbs-up. I danced for a bit, returning periodically to the table to drink more, nibble some fruit. During the floor show, I took Rhys and Jeni to the green room where they were bade to roll some cigarettes. A chap in a striped sweater must have thought it was weed, because he tried to shotgun it to everyone, squinted his eyes in pleasure and thanked Rhys and Jeni over and over. He even gave them tea and chocolate in appreciation. Dude, it's just tobacco. But hey, if his self-induced placebo was getting him off, more power to he and his brain.
When the music started up again, I MC'd for a while, then saw Sisi out in the crowd. I hugged her, asked her how she'd been, invited her back to the table to meet everyone. As Rhys and Jeni are dedicated readers of my blog, it's important for them to see the principal characters in the flesh. We had a drink, then I returned to the top of my monitor, laying some mad flow on the Haimenfolk: "Rhymes so heady and deadly they're killable / but you don't know English so for you they're just syllables" and such. Sisi disappeared by the end of the night and had I not introduced her to the others I might have imagined I saw her.
We walked back to Dongzhou, had some chocolate and the last bottle of wine, which put Rhys over the edge. His stomach rejected further intake, and I crashed in Heather's room to give him privacy during fragile vomiting time. I dreamt of serving at Mecklenburg's, my skills rusty, but still there. Then it turned into some early TV show with an evil Kevin Bacon.
---
[ posted by mcdeviltoast @ 2/17/2005 04:20:00 AM ]
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The dumbtronica act Montana & McDeviltoast, along with their friends, keep each other updated on their activities. Much fun having by all, and Pockys fear for their lives!