At the home of XM's mother's friend, Mrs. S-F, I was keen to see how she makes "tofu cheese" (doufuru, 豆腐乳). Much simpler than I imagined (I was thinking vats in the backyard), she put squares of regular tofu, soaked in baijiu into a Styrofoam picnic box and let them sit at 6-9 degrees C for a couple of weeks. When they grew a yellow mold, she put the tofu into jars and again let the jars sit for 20 days. And then, tofu cheese.
When I returned to the living room, her husband said to me, "I know why you are interested in tofu cheese." I thought, how does he know I enjoy learning about ye-olde-tyme ways of doing things, a la Renaissance Faire or Foxfire series? The answer: "Because it's Chinese traditional culture!"
Old China Hands should have been able to guess. Yes, 5,000 years of civilization brought us everything we know including doufuru, and all of it is sacred and untouchable. Unable to muster the expected reply, something standard and acceptable to the group, XM said, "Lauren just likes handmade things", and the conversation moved on.
Later that night, listening to the radio while XM worked on a drawing, the radio featured an interview with the headmaster of a local high school that was selected by the central government to participate in international exchanges. The school had hosted a group of kids from a school in Australia for two weeks earlier in the year, and also had a German girl on a one-year exchange.
On the program, the headmaster has a particular way of relating stories about these foreign students that irked me: while she praised them for certain "foreign" behaviors (zeal towards extracurricular activities, independence), all of these behaviors ultimately related back to how wonderful Chinese culture is. For example: "I was impressed that the Australian kids spent hours each night practicing the words to 'Jasmine Flowers' [Molihua, 茉莉花, a famous traditional song]. I was just astounded at how well they were able to perform it a week later." (Tone: It was a huge effort for them to learn a song in Chinese / I never imagined it was possible for foreigners to pick up Chinese/our song so quickly. )
I mentioned to XM this phenomenon of some Chinese people imagining China as the center of the universe. Is it really that shocking that foreigners can *gasp* learn a foreign language, albeit one that uses characters and tones? Is Chinese culture really so superior that foreigners are here only to bask in its wonderfulness? Maybe because I have travelled to other countries--heck, other places in China--I find it hard to interact with people who say things like "This teapot is superior - only in Jiangsu province can you find this clay." (Here I think to myself: yes, but other places have other clay, and then say, "Boy, that is amazing, you Jiangsu people are so fortunate; back home we have nothing of cultural value").
Because when you do travel, you realize that everybody (at least everybody in China) says that about their hometown (or about their province/China, depending on the scale they wish to pride themselves). And you realize, more importantly, that every place has something to be proud of, and everybody thinks fondly of their hometown, if not because it really is interesting, but because it's natural to have feelings for one's home.
XM assures me that this strange way of thinking and speaking is isolated to the older generation of Chinese, people now in their 50s and 60s. Why they think this way, we don't know. Maybe it comes from highly nationalist education in their youth, or maybe as a reaction to all of the (westernizing) changes of the past twenty years. I considered making the effort to share with them the interesting things I have seen outside of Nanjing, or Jiangsu, or China, but in the end I never do. I don't think they're so interested in listening, just talking. So even though I can't put on my really-impressed-foreigner face anymore, I'll still listen.
Thursday, April 3, 2008
Friday, March 21, 2008
Don't Worry, Everything's Not Fine
Last night I was already asleep when XM woke me to see the special CCTV program on the violence in Tibet.
I had first read reports on H-NET a week before. These reports--blurbs from locals, monks and foreigners--gave the appearance of having squeezed through cracks in the Chinese security blockade, worn and torn from their long journey. They spoke of a hundred of dead, thousands protesting, riots at this and that temple. A jumble of unconfirmed, denied, renegade facts; it was as if the reporting agency had first caught witnesses in flight, and then purposely maintained the rawness of the reports as proud proof of their verity in the face of toned-down Chinese media reports. Seeing the state that the statements arrived in, I stereotypically assumed news in China would feature images of the Potala Palace encircled by dancing minorities carrying flags of the Five Friendlies with the train line in the background (antelopes in tow). Message to the world: "Everything's OK".
My eyes were bleary with sleep and myopia, so the imagery on the TV screen was hazy. There were flames, storefront gates being kicked, axed, and ripped off slowly but surely. Crying, and blood as a civilian was beat in the back of the head. Office furniture and goods being thrown energetically into the street. A middle school caught fire. A man angrily described while wiping tears on his sleeve how his sister wouldn't jump out the window, and burnt to death while he and his wife survived the leap.
I was stunned by the images, the deadpan narration. I was stunned in a 9-11 way, in a what-were-you-doing-when-President-Kennedy-was-assassinated way. This was not propaganda, at least not the obvious kind, the kind that tries to distract you from the truth. It was a real report--a special report, even--to explain what had happened in Lhasa during the past 7 days. And it came straight from CCTV.
After I overcame the haze of sleepiness, the report took on an the creepiness of an Edgar Allen Poe piece. I gradually, then acutely, became aware of a sound that by the end of the report was both enthralling and unbearable: the sound of raucous Tibetans hooting in a most shrill way. It was a continuous din, with random highs and lows, and in no way resembled the semi-organized rally cries reported at the temples. In retrospect, it seems closest to Native American whooping and chanting, but higher-pitched, and completely free-form. It was this eerie din that chilled and compelled me to write about this incident. If YouTube were not shut down (I suspect the Net Nanny no-no'ed some fresh "Free Tibet" propaganda from the opposing camp), I would try and find it there. I expect I will never hear anything like it again, heaven forbid I ever do if in Tibet. [I am now imagining myself surrounded by the omnipresent noise, running as fast as I can while sucking in each thin breath of air, and being chased by rabid zang'ao.]
When the screen went black at the end of the report, and we returned to our regularly scheduled programming, I too returned to sleep. Drifting off, I thought to myself, perhaps the Chinese government has turned a new leaf--heck, a new tree--and decided to take the brave position of opening up before the Olympics instead of shutting down. Today I have come to consider that the report was not entirely open: far few deaths have been reported here than abroad, I didn't see any information on the teargas and shots fired on temple protesters, and the reporting focused on atrocities committed against Han people--but still, I can't shake off the feeling that something has stirred in Chinese reporting. The real test: whether I can access my blog tomorrow.
I had first read reports on H-NET a week before. These reports--blurbs from locals, monks and foreigners--gave the appearance of having squeezed through cracks in the Chinese security blockade, worn and torn from their long journey. They spoke of a hundred of dead, thousands protesting, riots at this and that temple. A jumble of unconfirmed, denied, renegade facts; it was as if the reporting agency had first caught witnesses in flight, and then purposely maintained the rawness of the reports as proud proof of their verity in the face of toned-down Chinese media reports. Seeing the state that the statements arrived in, I stereotypically assumed news in China would feature images of the Potala Palace encircled by dancing minorities carrying flags of the Five Friendlies with the train line in the background (antelopes in tow). Message to the world: "Everything's OK".
My eyes were bleary with sleep and myopia, so the imagery on the TV screen was hazy. There were flames, storefront gates being kicked, axed, and ripped off slowly but surely. Crying, and blood as a civilian was beat in the back of the head. Office furniture and goods being thrown energetically into the street. A middle school caught fire. A man angrily described while wiping tears on his sleeve how his sister wouldn't jump out the window, and burnt to death while he and his wife survived the leap.
I was stunned by the images, the deadpan narration. I was stunned in a 9-11 way, in a what-were-you-doing-when-President-Kennedy-was-assassinated way. This was not propaganda, at least not the obvious kind, the kind that tries to distract you from the truth. It was a real report--a special report, even--to explain what had happened in Lhasa during the past 7 days. And it came straight from CCTV.
After I overcame the haze of sleepiness, the report took on an the creepiness of an Edgar Allen Poe piece. I gradually, then acutely, became aware of a sound that by the end of the report was both enthralling and unbearable: the sound of raucous Tibetans hooting in a most shrill way. It was a continuous din, with random highs and lows, and in no way resembled the semi-organized rally cries reported at the temples. In retrospect, it seems closest to Native American whooping and chanting, but higher-pitched, and completely free-form. It was this eerie din that chilled and compelled me to write about this incident. If YouTube were not shut down (I suspect the Net Nanny no-no'ed some fresh "Free Tibet" propaganda from the opposing camp), I would try and find it there. I expect I will never hear anything like it again, heaven forbid I ever do if in Tibet. [I am now imagining myself surrounded by the omnipresent noise, running as fast as I can while sucking in each thin breath of air, and being chased by rabid zang'ao.]
When the screen went black at the end of the report, and we returned to our regularly scheduled programming, I too returned to sleep. Drifting off, I thought to myself, perhaps the Chinese government has turned a new leaf--heck, a new tree--and decided to take the brave position of opening up before the Olympics instead of shutting down. Today I have come to consider that the report was not entirely open: far few deaths have been reported here than abroad, I didn't see any information on the teargas and shots fired on temple protesters, and the reporting focused on atrocities committed against Han people--but still, I can't shake off the feeling that something has stirred in Chinese reporting. The real test: whether I can access my blog tomorrow.
Monday, September 24, 2007
Web 2.0 / Enterprise 2.0 in the Capital Markets Industry
A pilot study on awareness and use of Web 2.0 by Canright Communications and Evalueserve found that of the executives surveyed, 44% were “extremely” interested in Web 2.0 for business, but only 17% felt “extremely” or “very” knowledgeable about the technology.
The survey results—which were distributed at the Financial Markets World Web 2.0 / Enterprise 2.0 in the Capital Markets Industry event today—mirrored the speakers’ sentiments: the business community in general imagines grand possibilities for Web 2.0 technologies in the workplace, but the barriers to adoption, such as lack of understanding at the executive level or compliance issues, are still great. So great that the speakers were able to give only isolated success stories, and no universal suggestions, to the mostly financial audience.
I came to the event excited to be educated. I knew a little about Web 2.0, but I was overwhelmed by the possibilities I saw in the news and just wanted authoritative instruction on how to filter through all of the noise. (I also wanted to see
The most informative sessions to get the overview were Matt Nelson of TowerGroup’s opening remarks, and the last talk I attended, Dion Hinchcliffe’s ‘Applying Enterprise 2.0 and Web 2.0 in Financial Services: Early Notes from the Field’. In fact, Dion’s absorbing speech would have been better placed early in the day, as it provided a good background, real-life examples of
Other speeches and roundtables drilled down on specific topics, like Instant Messaging, Collaboration, Web 3.0, and David’s talk on using Web 2.0 to source deals (I did not hear the last talk by Tom Steinthal of BSG Alliance). Since I was learning about these areas for the first time I was only able to understand on a superficial level, but was most impressed by Penny Herscher of FirstRain and her simple yet sharp insights (e.g., Web 2.0 will profoundly change buy side research).
Stephen Leung, a Senior Manager at BEA Systems, who was a panelist on both the ‘Web 2.0/Enterprise 2.0 in the Financial Services Industry’ and ‘Rich Internet Applications and the Client Portal: Using Web 2.0 to Improve the Client Experience’ panels, spoke loads on the infrastructure and applications side of Web 2.0, and probably received the most questions from the audience, but the discussion was unfortunately too technical for me.
Although the roundtable topics had various titles, and nearly all of the discussions went overtime out of lively discussion, I didn’t come out of the event in control of Web 2.0 like I thought I would; I just learned how much more there was to it, especially more creative uses of Web 2.0 apps for businesses than I could have imagined.
In following the “Top 10” theme used by Xignite Chariman/CEO/Founder Stephane Dubois to kick-off the first roundtable, here’s my Top 10 Learnings from the event:
10) Web 2.0 technologies should fit into existing workflow and should be invisible to users.
9) The finance world’s secrecy and competitiveness inherently conflicts with Web 2.0’s nature of viral, self-correcting information sharing.
8) Longtail, mashups, fine-grained entitlement, folksonomies, meta data, geo-tagging and MetaWiki are good things.
7) Individuals can use Web 2.0 tools to leverage existing social networks to generate sales or make deals. One can do this outside of any business structures, based on one’s own diversity of contacts, character, competence, the relevance and strength of one’s contacts, and access to information.
6) Executive decision makers’ lack of information on and understanding of Web 2.0—“What’s the ROI?/I don’t have time for this!/Kids these days and their crazy technology…”—prevent companies from realizing adoption. Any new technology would face similar barriers.
5) Web 2.0 is not a technology or a step in development, but a social concept.
4) Legal/compliance teams haven’t yet figured out how to effectively regulate Web 2.0 tools without reducing them to meaninglessness. But giving employees unbridled Web 2.0 tools is also incorrect.
3) Internal company Wikis—which act as a unified log for all project developments and conversations—are a successful example of
2) Each element of SLATES (Search, Links, Authoring, Tagging, Extension, and Signals) is required for a Web 2.0 tool to be effective.
1) There is no clear solution for how the capital markets industry should integrate Web 2.0 into business. The interest is there, but Web 2.0 is still effectively consumer-driven, not enterprise driven.
More discussion on
Originally edited and posted by David Teten on NextNY, Circle of Experts blog, and The Virtual Handshake blog.
Monday, August 6, 2007
Nanjing chosen as capital of China's new Cha-ching! Dynasty
Last week, Louis Vuitton opened its Nanjing store. It opened with all of the pomp and ribbon-cutting and champagne and full-page newspaper ads announcing itself that one would expect from LV anywhere in the world. What I didn't expect, though, was the literal mobs of shoppers that rushed the store the second the doors swung apart.
Nanjing people are known for their, well, modesty. They don't expect too much in life, so they're fairly content with what they have. Nanjingers don't have as a high a per capita GDP as the Sang-hei-nin down the river, but, as they like to say, at least they aren't in Anhui. Having acted as China's capital for the 11th time just last century (almost as many times as Xi'an), the past is a much more exciting topic than the future. It's almost as if the important modernization projects going on -- the skyscrapers, the subway, and booming new satellite towns like Jiangning -- are happening to them, not by them.
So I was taken by surprise by the photo in the Yangtse Evening Post of crazed shoppers clamoring for bags that have a six-month waiting list in Tokyo. I mean, what happened to the good ol' days when Nanjing girls wore polyester stockingettes that didn't match? When old ladies fought on the street? When summers were spent jumping off the Shuiximen city wall into the moat?
Two great quotes have been on my mind that are giving perspective to the designer phenomenon:
Consumerism isn't new to Nanjing. Before, there were Playboy man-bags. Now we have LV man-bags. What is different, it seems, is how much brand has trumped other considerations, like quality and even personal taste. Average Nanjingers' happy-go-lucky status, perfected over the years, is becoming one of material competition seen in Shanghai. Gone are the days of hiking in the mountains or going to Confucius Temple for yummy snacks likeduck-blood soup red bean porridge. Those are just for tourists now; ironically, the tourists now experience a Nanjing that no longer exists for the natives.
The obsession with branding is now literally like branding in the bovine sense. No longer do your clothes belong to you; you belong to them, which is demonstrated by the prominent logos. Example: there is Polo shirt now popular here (let me know if it's anywhere else) in which the teeny tiny Polo appliqué is replaced with one that takes up a 1/4 of the shirtfront. The sole purpose must be to see from space that you are Polo.
If you asked any of the twenty-somethings who went to Louis Vuitton on Day One why they liked LV so much, could any of them describe what I assume is the reason for its fame -- the craftsmanship, or the design? Doubt it. Even more essential, could they explain why they themselves are so attracted? Doubt it even more. These Gen-Y/one-child-policy children/little emperors, according my top source (XM's mother) care only about surrounding themselves with trappings of the good life, as defined by the society in which they are competing.
So, Nanjingers -- at least the young and salaries ones -- are giving meaning to their lives through spending all their cash on expensive stuff. I can't help but think, though, how is that contributing to their upwards development? Where do people go from here, except an endless spiral of wasteful consumption of stuff you don't know you actually don't want, you just think you do? 'Cause that what looks like happened where I grew up. This herd mentality (lots of cow metaphors today) is tying people down, rather than bringing the freedoms of development.
I admit I can't stop how Nanjing or its people changes, and I don't want to keep it from developing. I don't want to become its cultural warlord, either. Maybe my rant today is an expression of White Man's Destiny Part II: Revenge of the Other, in which I want to help Chinese rise not above their original savage ways, but above the McLifestyle, marketing savvy and consumption patterns that we have exported to them. Or maybe I just suffer from first-world ennui, and want to say that I live in--gasp--!!!CHINA!!! And I want !!!CHINA!!! to keep its stockingettes and man-bags and people yelling at each other on the street so there's something to laugh about with the folks back home.
But actually, I just want Nanjing to be a place where people are happy that they have so much already, 'cause mountains and and pipas and even awesome dead bugs have intrinsic value. And heck, at least it isn't Anhui.
Originally posted on Lost Laowai on August 5, 2007.
Nanjing people are known for their, well, modesty. They don't expect too much in life, so they're fairly content with what they have. Nanjingers don't have as a high a per capita GDP as the Sang-hei-nin down the river, but, as they like to say, at least they aren't in Anhui. Having acted as China's capital for the 11th time just last century (almost as many times as Xi'an), the past is a much more exciting topic than the future. It's almost as if the important modernization projects going on -- the skyscrapers, the subway, and booming new satellite towns like Jiangning -- are happening to them, not by them.
So I was taken by surprise by the photo in the Yangtse Evening Post of crazed shoppers clamoring for bags that have a six-month waiting list in Tokyo. I mean, what happened to the good ol' days when Nanjing girls wore polyester stockingettes that didn't match? When old ladies fought on the street? When summers were spent jumping off the Shuiximen city wall into the moat?
Two great quotes have been on my mind that are giving perspective to the designer phenomenon:
"Consumerism is the belief that goods give meaning to individuals and their role in society."
--Gary Cross, An All-Consuming Century
"Development can be seen...as a process of expanding the real freedoms that people enjoy."
--Amartya Sen, Development as Freedom
Consumerism isn't new to Nanjing. Before, there were Playboy man-bags. Now we have LV man-bags. What is different, it seems, is how much brand has trumped other considerations, like quality and even personal taste. Average Nanjingers' happy-go-lucky status, perfected over the years, is becoming one of material competition seen in Shanghai. Gone are the days of hiking in the mountains or going to Confucius Temple for yummy snacks like
The obsession with branding is now literally like branding in the bovine sense. No longer do your clothes belong to you; you belong to them, which is demonstrated by the prominent logos. Example: there is Polo shirt now popular here (let me know if it's anywhere else) in which the teeny tiny Polo appliqué is replaced with one that takes up a 1/4 of the shirtfront. The sole purpose must be to see from space that you are Polo.
If you asked any of the twenty-somethings who went to Louis Vuitton on Day One why they liked LV so much, could any of them describe what I assume is the reason for its fame -- the craftsmanship, or the design? Doubt it. Even more essential, could they explain why they themselves are so attracted? Doubt it even more. These Gen-Y/one-child-policy children/little emperors, according my top source (XM's mother) care only about surrounding themselves with trappings of the good life, as defined by the society in which they are competing.
So, Nanjingers -- at least the young and salaries ones -- are giving meaning to their lives through spending all their cash on expensive stuff. I can't help but think, though, how is that contributing to their upwards development? Where do people go from here, except an endless spiral of wasteful consumption of stuff you don't know you actually don't want, you just think you do? 'Cause that what looks like happened where I grew up. This herd mentality (lots of cow metaphors today) is tying people down, rather than bringing the freedoms of development.
I admit I can't stop how Nanjing or its people changes, and I don't want to keep it from developing. I don't want to become its cultural warlord, either. Maybe my rant today is an expression of White Man's Destiny Part II: Revenge of the Other, in which I want to help Chinese rise not above their original savage ways, but above the McLifestyle, marketing savvy and consumption patterns that we have exported to them. Or maybe I just suffer from first-world ennui, and want to say that I live in--gasp--!!!CHINA!!! And I want !!!CHINA!!! to keep its stockingettes and man-bags and people yelling at each other on the street so there's something to laugh about with the folks back home.
But actually, I just want Nanjing to be a place where people are happy that they have so much already, 'cause mountains and and pipas and even awesome dead bugs have intrinsic value. And heck, at least it isn't Anhui.
Originally posted on Lost Laowai on August 5, 2007.
Year of the Not-So-Golden Pig
I am always a bit behind in writing and posting ideas. This post would optimally have hit the blogsphere, sometime, say, in the months before an estimated 22 million Chinese women conceived in order to give birth to babies before the end of the year.
But alas, it's too late to stop them. However, myinability to think of other stories journalistic integrity requires that I bring forth the information I know regardless of the consequences (not like I expect any Chinese mothers to be reading this blog, for foreigners, in English).
Dear readers, the most vocal elements of the Chinese press would have you believe that this is the year of the Golden Pig, a magnificent year full of wealth and auspiciousness (hence all the babies). Now, everyone knows it's the year of the pig because it rolls around every 12 years and is thus hard to get out of order between the dog and the rat. But whence the golden in the year of the Golden Pig?
Sneaky, brainwashing capitalists, that's who. According to Wikipedia and a number of skeptics and dissenters like this site (in Chinese), we are in the year 24 of the 60-year cycle, or the year of the Fire Pig. Yes, the Fire Pig, folks. (A couple of other sites dispute that it's actually the Earth Pig year, but my calculations still yield Fire Pig.)
I don't know who first came up with this idea that this year was golden, but it's been promulgated most evidently by jewelers, who—unsurprisingly—have seen great sales in golden pig items this year. Every few weeks my local daily, the Yangtze Evening Post, features an "article" about what kind of jewelery to buy.Soft advertisements Articles like this one drop names like Orient Department Store and Millenium Star Jewelers. Another one from the same paper, which was not reproduced online, discussed which kinds of jade from TESIRO were most appropriate for Golden Piglets to wear. English language media like the Shanghai Daily and even the Economist take the bait (the Economist actually just reports on the baby boom caused by it, and doesn't question the nomenclature).
Now, it makes sense that marriages and births would be up the past two years, since the baby boomers from the early 80s are now getting married and having kids of their own. I'm not against an increase in the rate of births and sales of diapers and baby insurance, per se. What bothers me is retailers' intentional distortion of 5,000-year-old oracle bone fact and slapping of "golden" on innocent zodiac animals.
The media deserve an even bigger reprimand for corroborating the falsehood, which has actually caused people to 1) have babies because it's a "lucky" year, overflowing schools and heightening the already-intense competition on these poor kids; and 2) spend their hard-earned kuai on useless golden-piggy merchandise. There are of course articles out there refuting the Golden Pig myth (how else would I have known?), but they seem to have fallen on deaf ears for the recently married/superstitious/illiterate/gullible crowd.
For the record, the next golden pig year will actually occur in 2031, which in itself is misleading. The original meaning of the character 金, is metal, not gold. So, in 2031 women will be birthing metal pigs. I suppose that is less painful than fire pigs. But fire pigs have such magnificent personalities! From one random site in Chinese (my abbreviated translation):
2007, ding hai year: (mountain-crossing pigs) are clever and intelligent, self-supporting, peaceful do-gooders, and wealthy. Women will be fortunate and stable.
First posted on Lost Laowai on July 7 2007.
But alas, it's too late to stop them. However, my
Dear readers, the most vocal elements of the Chinese press would have you believe that this is the year of the Golden Pig, a magnificent year full of wealth and auspiciousness (hence all the babies). Now, everyone knows it's the year of the pig because it rolls around every 12 years and is thus hard to get out of order between the dog and the rat. But whence the golden in the year of the Golden Pig?
Sneaky, brainwashing capitalists, that's who. According to Wikipedia and a number of skeptics and dissenters like this site (in Chinese), we are in the year 24 of the 60-year cycle, or the year of the Fire Pig. Yes, the Fire Pig, folks. (A couple of other sites dispute that it's actually the Earth Pig year, but my calculations still yield Fire Pig.)
I don't know who first came up with this idea that this year was golden, but it's been promulgated most evidently by jewelers, who—unsurprisingly—have seen great sales in golden pig items this year. Every few weeks my local daily, the Yangtze Evening Post, features an "article" about what kind of jewelery to buy.
Now, it makes sense that marriages and births would be up the past two years, since the baby boomers from the early 80s are now getting married and having kids of their own. I'm not against an increase in the rate of births and sales of diapers and baby insurance, per se. What bothers me is retailers' intentional distortion of 5,000-year-old oracle bone fact and slapping of "golden" on innocent zodiac animals.
The media deserve an even bigger reprimand for corroborating the falsehood, which has actually caused people to 1) have babies because it's a "lucky" year, overflowing schools and heightening the already-intense competition on these poor kids; and 2) spend their hard-earned kuai on useless golden-piggy merchandise. There are of course articles out there refuting the Golden Pig myth (how else would I have known?), but they seem to have fallen on deaf ears for the recently married/superstitious/illiterate/gullible crowd.
For the record, the next golden pig year will actually occur in 2031, which in itself is misleading. The original meaning of the character 金, is metal, not gold. So, in 2031 women will be birthing metal pigs. I suppose that is less painful than fire pigs. But fire pigs have such magnificent personalities! From one random site in Chinese (my abbreviated translation):
2007, ding hai year: (mountain-crossing pigs) are clever and intelligent, self-supporting, peaceful do-gooders, and wealthy. Women will be fortunate and stable.
First posted on Lost Laowai on July 7 2007.
Saturday, June 16, 2007
Does Life Imitiate Zhang Yimou Movies, or Does Zhang Yimou Just Make Sh*t Up?
Under the streetlamp, a man crouches on the ground. “Needles and thread”, he calls. The snow muffles the transmission of his words, and the night covers him. No one comes.
A woman in labor helplessly bleeds to a slow death. The instruments clatter to the floor as the young nurse panics, and the doctor, still in shackles, goes into convulsions after being fed buns and water after days without food.
I started watching Chinese movies at around age 17. I had taken a beginner’s Japanese course in tenth grade, and my interest in Chinese cinema drew from my interest in anime. After exhausting all of the anime on the video store “Asian” shelf, Zhang Yimou movies followed naturally. I was a fan of neither Shirokawa nor Bruce Lee.
For anyone who has seen Chinese movies like “To Live”, “Red Sorghum”, “Qiu Ju” or “In the Heat of the Sun”, the imagery is unforgettable. The plots are unadorned, characters often give to silence, and the shots are long, all which allow time for the images to sink deep in one’s mind. I must have watched “To Live” five times. I cried each time, several times throughout the movie. I wondered, why are Asian movies so sad? Years later, an Asian-American friend finally enlightened me: “It’s because Asians think sadness is beautiful”.
After exhausting that video store collection, I thought little of China until college, and even then, it was more of an afterthought, a Plan B. I was intent on a degree in Japanese, or International Relations. Freshman year I took a course way out of my league called “Political Economics of Southeast Asia”, a graduate-level seminar. The professor pitied me, and rather than write a paper on the topic at hand, had me write a book review of Kristof and Wu Dunn’s China Wakes.
It was thus vicariously through that (now) New York Times Op Ed journalist and his wife that I witnessed T****n, danced with corrupt politicians, and sans entry permit took a train through the impoverished countryside. It was also the photo pages of China Wakes that featured that now-famous schoolchild, her big black eyes representing the millions of other Chinese schoolchildren and their big black eyes and their collective dream to end the depravity through education.
As it turned out, neither Japanese nor International Relations were my forte, so I made the bold decision to screw it all and start again from zero with Chinese, promising myself that a year of intensive study abroad would get me across the threshold of acquiring proficiency in somethingforgodsakes. I indeed must have crossed some threshold, because after all these years in China behind me, I still don’t want to go back.
P.S. Learnings since my first impressions? 1) Just like America is not like Hollywood, China is not like Zhang Yimou’s countryside. For emphasis, Chinese people hate Zhang Yimou (even though they make sure that each of his new films beats the previous in box office earnings). 2) Journalists are contortion artists that are always able to kaleidoscope significant yet neutral information to fit western audiences’ preconceptions of The Other as democratizing/not democratizing/threatening/stark and pitiful/changing for the better/enigmatic. Mr. French and colleagues, don’t disappoint us.
The First Honest Apartment Advertising in China
In American suburbia, like the one I grew up in, new housing developments fell into two categories: those named after the streams and hills which they drained/bulldozed to develop, and those named using esoteric Celt words that sound mysterious and intoxicatingly inviting.
The apartment buildings Chinese developers are popping up makes good ol' Plum Run and Turnbrae seem low class; what Chinese city doesn't have a Cité International or Imperial Garden By The River? I'm pretty sure Shanghai had a governmental order a few years ago (I couldn't find the article) to stop using foreign place names in their new buildings, since it so painfully wronged respectful, Shanghai-unrelated places like Santa Fe and Venice.
I know, this comes as news to no one, since I'm not the first person in the blogsphere to mention this romanticizing phenomenon, and I'm actually quite late in doing it, but I just had to bring attention to the apartment building which, I believe, is the first to be brutally honest about itself.
It is called Muma, or in English, "Trojan Horse".
Muma's advertisements cover bus stops and billboards across Nanjing's downtown. The ads feature models in gauzy, filmy wispy dresses and strappy high heels standing next to horses (the strappy heels are "Grecian", get it?). These ads convey the boutique lifestyle that Muma is selling.
Now, after being flabbergasted by the sheer capital invested into so many advertisements, I had Muma on my mind and got to thinking about the name...why Muma? In fact, the more I thought about it, the more I realized Muma is a great name for all the apartment buyers out there fed up with unrealistic, misleading apartment names.
Think about what a Trojan Horse is: a huge structure used to bedazzle townsmen so that they throw open their gates unarmed, resulting in being plundered and overtaken. So...follow my logic...the Trojan Horse apartment building is actually intimating to potential buyers that all of the horses and heels and lovely ladies are all just a trick, a plot to get their money! In a market where image is everything, isn't that the perfect admission?
In order to check if Muma actually had a good reason for its name before writing what would be complete slander, yesterday I visited the construction site and the sales office thereon. Unable to get a comprehensible answer from Saleswoman Yi, I was happy to score a nice brochure-cum-lifestyle magazine instead. It gave no explanation either, but did detail apartment designs.
If the ads represent the intrigue of the horse, then the apartments represent its reality as a tool of deception. Muma, my friends, is typical of a serviced apartment: 37 or 52 sq.m., "essentially furnished", with windows facing north and having your living room television backing the dining room table. Basically, a cramped apartment for 1-2 persons max. Horse and girl not included.
Cost of a Muma apartment, per sq. m.: RMB 17,900
Entertainment value of being named "Trojan Horse Apartments": priceless.
First posted at Lost Laowai.
The apartment buildings Chinese developers are popping up makes good ol' Plum Run and Turnbrae seem low class; what Chinese city doesn't have a Cité International or Imperial Garden By The River? I'm pretty sure Shanghai had a governmental order a few years ago (I couldn't find the article) to stop using foreign place names in their new buildings, since it so painfully wronged respectful, Shanghai-unrelated places like Santa Fe and Venice.
I know, this comes as news to no one, since I'm not the first person in the blogsphere to mention this romanticizing phenomenon, and I'm actually quite late in doing it, but I just had to bring attention to the apartment building which, I believe, is the first to be brutally honest about itself.
It is called Muma, or in English, "Trojan Horse".
Muma's advertisements cover bus stops and billboards across Nanjing's downtown. The ads feature models in gauzy, filmy wispy dresses and strappy high heels standing next to horses (the strappy heels are "Grecian", get it?). These ads convey the boutique lifestyle that Muma is selling.
Now, after being flabbergasted by the sheer capital invested into so many advertisements, I had Muma on my mind and got to thinking about the name...why Muma? In fact, the more I thought about it, the more I realized Muma is a great name for all the apartment buyers out there fed up with unrealistic, misleading apartment names.
Think about what a Trojan Horse is: a huge structure used to bedazzle townsmen so that they throw open their gates unarmed, resulting in being plundered and overtaken. So...follow my logic...the Trojan Horse apartment building is actually intimating to potential buyers that all of the horses and heels and lovely ladies are all just a trick, a plot to get their money! In a market where image is everything, isn't that the perfect admission?
In order to check if Muma actually had a good reason for its name before writing what would be complete slander, yesterday I visited the construction site and the sales office thereon. Unable to get a comprehensible answer from Saleswoman Yi, I was happy to score a nice brochure-cum-lifestyle magazine instead. It gave no explanation either, but did detail apartment designs.
If the ads represent the intrigue of the horse, then the apartments represent its reality as a tool of deception. Muma, my friends, is typical of a serviced apartment: 37 or 52 sq.m., "essentially furnished", with windows facing north and having your living room television backing the dining room table. Basically, a cramped apartment for 1-2 persons max. Horse and girl not included.
Cost of a Muma apartment, per sq. m.: RMB 17,900
Entertainment value of being named "Trojan Horse Apartments": priceless.
First posted at Lost Laowai.
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