So this evening, I had class with SABIC. The session went well: we discussed dealing with problems, using diplomatic language, handling uncomfortable situations, etc. For the current events part of the lesson, we read an article written last year for the Guardian. Basically, it reported on the abductions of humanitarian aid workers and how that prompted the pull out of many NGOs in Iraq. We touched on some interesting topics in class– whether hostage-taking was effective, whether a country occupied by a foreign military had the right to kill innocent civilians, whether the media should broadcast the realities of war (for example, the beheadings of hostages)… That my students responded with anti-US jabs didn’t surprise me, but I was a little disappointed they answered the questions only in the context of the US occupation in Iraq. To me, these issues apply anywhere there is conflict: it could be the Middle East, it could be Afghanistan, it could be right here in China… oh well, I wasn’t exactly sure whether to bring up the recent villager uprisings in Guangdong.

On my commute home, I tuned in to NPR and Dem Now on the iPod. The particular show I had downloaded talked about the 4 CPT hostages taken by militants. Now, I’m not religious, and I don’t agree with missionary activities… Not sure what their programs entail elsewhere in the world, but in Iraq, the CPTers joined with Iraqis in calling for human rights for detainees and an end to the unjust war. Anyway, the DemNow show concluded with a statement delivered by Tom Fox’s daughter, Katherine. FYI, Tom Fox is the only American among the four hostages, and he’s from Virginia. I was so touched and moved by Ms. Fox’s speech that I nearly choked on the train. And after I arrived home, poor John was treated to a total meltdown. There’s just something about these people who leave everything to pursue a passion, a hope, a dream. I really admire that strength and courage. And it made me sad, because I realized that I should do more. I need to convert all this fragility and hypersensitivity bullshit into action, because for one, it’s a damn inconvenience. I mean, literally, I can crack in public any second. But anyway, enough about me. Judge for yourself: here’s the transcript of Ms. Fox’s speech. For the full effect, listen to the tailend of the Dec. 12th broadcast of DemNow.

I am the daughter of Tom Fox. My father made a choice to travel to Iraq and listen to those who are not heard. He meets with families who are missing loved ones. He has spent most of his time in Iraq trying to free detainees. I did not want my father to go to a country where his American citizenship could potentially overshadow his peaceful reasons for being there. But this is who my father is. He is deeply committed to a peaceful resolution to these issues. He is there because the Iraqi people are not being heard and are, so often, not supported. I feel as if this has to be a mistake that he has been taken. He is there only shed light on the experiences of each Iraqi he meets. He is there to help. Peacefully, respectfully and completely.
He tells me of how well he has been welcomed by the families he has met. The graciousness, mercy and compassion he has experienced in the country is something he often mentions when we speak. Neighbors come to visit and bring food and kindness. He is moved by the warmth of the people he has met.

He is my support and my guide. I need him safe and with me again. I will continue to hold him and everyone that he is with in the Light and pray for a peaceful resolution. Please let him go. I need him home.

I’ve been a mad travel agent these last few days. I tell you, I never thought I’d see the day when those annoying frequent flyer miles would pay off. Finally, I’m getting some action out of those things. My father had a bunch of miles on his NorthWorst account (from back in the day when that was the only airline that connected DC to Taiwan). His account had been inactive for the last four years, but he had tons of points to burn. In just a few clicks, John and I had two free roundtrip tix to Tokyo for the holiday. Awww yeah! See, my OCD organization skills are coming in handy. And I suppose being my parents’ PA has its perks…

Today I booked a weekend trip to Harbin. Still spent like 2 days researching all the options (this is where my OCD cripples me) but in the end, we got to use our China Eastern frequent flyer miles. We had enough points for two one-way tickets, so not too shabby. Yay. Of course, Bubs and I are going to freeze our asses off in -30 C, but hey, I hear the Ice Lantern Festival is really cool, and Russian food should be tasty!

In other travel news, Shanghaiist and the Shanghai Daily reported that an express train line will link Shanghai and Tibet come July. Due to high altitudes (4,000 meter above sea level) for roughtly 960 km of the journey, train cars will be pressurized like airplane cabins. The trip is expected to take 53 hours. John’s already told me this is going on our travel list… maybe August or September though (don’t want to be the guinea pigs). So, who’s on board for that trip?

Yesterday, while searching for ground cloves (my quest continues), I came across tahini at City Supermarket. You have no idea how many times I have gone to that damn place only to discover that they sold out of tahini. Who the hell is buying all this sesame paste? Anyway, looked like they were all stocked up this time; the jars lined several shelves. I had actually given up on locating tahini; figures it would appear after I’d stopped searching. So I stood there debating whether or not to buy: I just wanted ordinary tahini, but City only had this organic stuff, at about $7 USD a jar. Obviously, I caved. After all, who knows when I’ll see it again. Ah well, hopefully it will last forever.

So this afternoon, I prepped dried garbanzo beans (using the quick soak method) and gave this hummus recipe my best shot. The recipe came from an Iraqi cookbook (which I don’t actually own) called Delights from the Garden of Eden. And yummy, the hummus was stellar. Now I wish I could credit the recipe, but… the instructions called for 2 15-oz. cans OR 1 1/2 cups dry. I hadn’t measured the beans dry, so I just had wet beans. Now the 15-oz can, does that weight include the liquid or bean juice? See how confusing food stuff can be? Do you feel my pain? Yes, thank you for playing the violin for me. Oh well, I figured at least this time I had all the ingredients; that was half the battle. The rest was just a matter of throwing it all together, right? Wrong. My taste buds might as well be dead. My concoction was a pathetically bland mixture. Thank goodness Bubbey entered to save the day. Tons more salt, paprika, and lemon juice later, the hummus tasted perfect. I’m already craving the next batch for tomorrow. Unfortunately, recreating the masterpiece will not be easy. I’ll have to do some backtracking with the wet beans/dry beans portions. Either that, or call on the magic of Bubbey once again. Pain in my ass, really. All just for hummus.

So John and I went to a BBQ yesterday. My friend Susie is a big dog lover. She’s got her own lil’ pup, and she’s also fostering Lulu. Her other guests brought their dogs as well. Not to brag or anything, but geez, I’ve been around the doggie block, and seriously, R&M totally deserve their whole “Angels on Earth” appellation. I mean, in the course of three hours, two dogs got stressed from all the commotion and peed on the carpet, one had to be watched at all times (or else he would jump on the table and scarf down all the food), and the other was so attached to mommy that she whimpered when mommy went to the restroom. Come on, now. I know you’re a dog that depends on your human, but goodness gracious, some independence please! Yes, my angels deserve many, many more outings and kitty hunts.

Sorry for the long absence again… I just haven’t been in the mood lately. One reason could be my getting upstaged by my blogging protege, i.e. Bubbey, who also happens to be a self-proclaimed, award-winning photographer. I mean come on, how can I compete for readership when competition is so damn fierce? Ok, just kidding. Really, I just haven’t been up to it. For one, the daily news continues to depress me: another goddamn fucking blast in China’s deadly coal mines, the US and its continuing bullshit practices and policies, Alito and his anti-abortion agenda, wars here, fighting there, torture who knows where… seriously, who can deal with this? Every day, I feel more and more strongly about my no kid policy. Two misanthropes simply cannot raise a child. On that note, I’m trying to focus on more positive things. What better diversion than food? So, I’ve been on another dangerous baking kick. I’ve baked like three yellow cakes in one week. Luckily, two were for parties (Yeah, can you believe? We’re actually getting invited to dinner parties?). Actually, I’ve wanted to branch out to other recipes, but I can’t find ground cloves for the life of me. I’ve gone to Carrefour, City Super, the upscale Lianhua, and Hui Jin. I’m told the Pines may have it. Last time, I just omitted cloves from the recipe. I mean, really, can 3/4 teaspoon be that critical? According to John’s sophisticated palette, the answer is yes. I made Molasses Spice cookies the other day, and without flat out saying it, John hinted they were off. Story of my life when it comes to food escapades. What can I do but continue trying.

I was on poopie patrol again this week. Poor Marty. He had a tough couple of days with his bowels. This morning was the first time since Monday that he pinched out a semi-solid loaf. Oh come on, don’t get squeamish on me. Everyone shits. It’s not a big deal. It’s not like I’m talking about something totally disgusting, like a Cleveland steamer or whatever they’re called… we won’t even go there.

So back to Martin. Obviously, he must have ingested something bad. Actually, I think I consumed the same stuff he did. Meanwhile, Remy and John got off scott-free… lucky bastards. So weird though, because aren’t foods supposed to be less prone to rotting under these freezing cold temps? Plus, I didn’t even consume meat. What the hell? I guess my stomach is still a bit sensitive from the food poisoning two weekends ago.

Marty’s been a good sport though. Despite his discomfort, he works hard to maintain status quo. He still loiters around the dinner table like an overstarved animal. He still jockeys with Bembo for prime positioning on the futon (right in front of the heater). And he’s still a big wuss who allows Remy to harass and abuse him. I watched Remy for clues, thinking maybe Martin had communicated something to her, and she would at least show some empathy or try to help him out. Nope. She continued to fight him for every available scrap, and she showed no compassion or leniency when chasing after him outside and when nipping him under the front legs. Didn’t Marts tell her he was feeling sick? Didn’t he tell her to fuck off? I’m definitely turning into a dog nut. See how much time I spend observing and monitoring them? And they still sleep most of the day! This morning, I was wondering: Do dogs from different areas of the world communicate using different “dog languages.” Someone I know suggested there are cultural differences in dogs. She insisted that every dog raised in the US LOVES peanut butter. However, every dog she’s encountered in China shows very little interest in PB. Weird, huh? Yeah, I’m not sure about that either, but it’s something to think about (when you have no life)…

The ladies at the salon always comment that I have the biggest hands… Funny thing, my hands never gained much attention when I was living in the States. I remember in high school, I so envied my friend Tricia. She could palm a basketball (albeit a ladies’ ball) Michael Jordan style. Was so cool. Hmm, well I guess in biology, my partner did seem impressed by my steadiness in dissection. Back then, I had big plans for my hands: they were destined to be surgeon hands. At least that was the original plan. Sigh. Ah well, things change, what can you do.

I suppose now my hands are useful for assembling household furniture and repairing various things around the apartment. Speaking of which, I have this crazy love affair with superglue. That shit is da bomb, and frankly, I can’t stop buying it. I’ve used it to repair all kinds of things, from re-patching carpet to repairing a decorative teapot to constructing a makeshift medicine cabinet out of cardboard. Hehe, ok so the medicine cabinet didn’t go over well with John… Anyway, back to the hands… so yeah, the salon ladies lined up to match their Lilliputian palms against mine. I was like my own little freakshow booth. My fingers were about a joint longer. An Amazon, I tell you! ROAR! Well, I guess being an anomaly has its perks. They insisted my hands would look great with a manicure. Ah, the sales pitch right? Well, since I had already clipped my nails at home, all they had to do was file and color so they gave me the bargain price of 30 rmb ($3.6 USD). And boy was this a steal: I got the base coat, handpainted flowers on each finger (I actually didn’t want so many frills, but they were quite adamant that I not fuck this up with my non-existent fashion sense), plus the top coat. Not too shabby. So, here you go: a shot of the monster hand, or finger rather. I apologize in advance: John, the self-proclaimed, award-winning photographer, was apparently having an off day, i.e. blurry pictures.

It’s official: today marks the two-year anniversary of our China adventure. How did we celebrate? John and I slept in (only to awake to the sounds of jackhammering, again, in the apartment above) and then made mediocre black bean burritos for lunch. Boy, do I miss Chipotle. I suppose it’s a good thing, they haven’t made it to Shanghai yet. As the Dairy Queen peeps will tell you, we have no self-control when it comes to our favorite foods.

From the indoors staring out, today appears beautiful. Clear skies, bright sun. But don’t be fooled: it’s frickin’ FUREEZING outside. It’s early in the afternoon and I have a load of errands to run. But they’ll probably get pushed to another day. I’ve been skipping out on the gym the last few days also. Not good. The Shanghai winter is just too paralyzing. Plus, I had a terrible rest last night. Watched a Chinese gangster movie starring my sweetheart, Andy Lau. He rocks. Of course, the acting was all in Cantonese, so it’s not like my assessment means anything… Anyway, after the movie, I couldn’t sleep. And no, it wasn’t because I was drooling over Mr. Lau’s hotness; my thoughts were much more morbid than that, unfortunately. I just kept thinking about how complicated gangster life must be. Desperation and hopelessness drive one to join the “family.” Then, the family starts making demands to test loyalty and sense of duty. Throw in mind games, strategies, and too much damn violence… I’m telling you: the world’s going to shit and no one has the solution.

Having lived in Shanghai for two years, I totally get it when people complain about “the way things are” here. As you already now, I gripe plenty on this blog.

Still, I couldn’t help but get pissed off by Paul McCartney’s comments last week regarding dogs and cats being slaughtered (in China) for fur. Before I divulge, let me clarify. As an activist, I understand one has to pick and choose personal battles. The world’s a complicated place, yet that should never stop someone from acting for change. So, Sir Paul’s decision to boycott Chinese goods is his decision and his right. I respect his belief that individual actions can bring about positive change. What really ticked me off, however, was his choice of words criticizing China. “This is barbaric. Horrific. It’s like something out of the Dark Ages. And they seem to get a kick out of it. They’re just sick, sick people.” Forgive my sensitivity, but by “they,” is he referring to the animal abusers captured on film, or is he making a blanket statement on the Chinese? He goes on to warn, “If they want to consider themselves a civilized nation… they’re going to have to stop this.” Who the hell is he, the heathen nations police? And is it me, or does his statement paint China as the black sleep in need of serious reform from its angelic global fellows? There’s no denying the brutal treatment of these animals is inhumane and disturbing and shocking. But, does McCartney think the process by which humans consume beef, pork, chicken, or dairy is eco- and animal-friendly? Not only that, who the hell is buying the fur? And puhleez. His government is allied with the current asinine (Bush) administration in this fucked up Iraq war and occupation, supposedly in a fight against the Axes of Evil. Is war civilized? Is the use of chemical weapons like white phosphorus humane? Don’t act like YOUR shit don’t stink!

By Friday night, things were looking good. Bedroom was all set up. It was the weekend, so John and I figured we’d try a night on the town. We hit KABB, an American bar and bistro in the trendy XinTianDi (I had a BOGO coupon!). John likes their burgers and burritos, but the problem with KABB is that despite offering American fare, nothing on their menu ever appeals to me. Even the mac and cheese sounds odd– onions in mac and cheese? Ah well, who messes up mac and cheese? Little did I know, eating just a half serving of that slop would plunge me into the throws of hell. After the meal, my tummy started gurgling. We headed straight home. Saturday, tummy was messed up all day. We went around town on Furby running errands. The sun was out, and it was a good day to be outside. By evening though, I started feeling a chill. From then on, I was a goner– bedridden the next two days, except for trips to the bathroom. I had a really high fever and couldn’t eat anything. It’s Tuesday and I’m feeling much better today. Thankfully, my illness wasn’t avian flu! I would like to give special thanks to John, my dear, dedicated caretaker. He takes care of me even when I make the whole room smell like an old person.

Someone, on Thanksgiving day, decided he wanted to get new bedroom furniture on his day off. We’ve had this super el-cheapo closet since the day we moved in. And about ten days later, the drawers collapsed. Basically, the particle board crumpled around the fittings. I now pull the drawers out with pink plastic string gift-wrapped around each unit. Ugly as hell, but useful. Well every now in then, when he sees my contraption in action, John gets pissed off. So Thursday, he decided it was time for new drawers. Yay. Headed to Ikea and bought a dresser and a highboy. Now, Ikea is all about DIY furniture, so when the salesperson said it would cost 4% of the total bill to assemble this shit in my apartment, I sort of huffed in disbelief. 100 RMB (12 USD) for assembly? Hah, I’ll do it myself! How hard can it be? See what China does to you? You begin to value 100 RMB like it’s 100 USD. It totally warps your concept of what things are worth. So we get the heavy-ass shipment home, unpack all the pieces, and the entire dining/living room is cluttered with wooden planks, cardboard, wooden pegs, hundreds of screws. Sigh. What have I done? Plus, John’s really bad with directions: in other words, he refuses to read them! If he were to assemble the furniture, the drawers would surely be upside down! He still helped though. I played surgeon, and he played assistant. Screwdriver! Check. Wooden pegs! Check. He handed me tools, held up parts, hammered some pieces. We started before the buffet and I finished afterwards. With OCD, everything is an urgent matter. Oh well, was a good way to work off some of that meal!


Speaking of the feast, the Hilton’s turkey day buffet was grand. I ate my happy little heart out. My only regret is that I didn’t save enough room for dessert. Kinda OD’d on the turkey and cranberry sauce and then had no choice but to let the chocolate crepes, raspberry black forest cake, chocolate lollipops, and several slices of spiced pumpkin pie slide by untouched. Lucky for John, he employed the correct strategy. Skimp on the main foods and binge at the dessert table. He put away so many chocolate crepes, man, I started feeling ill just watching him scarf it all down. That night my tummy was so full, I was writhing in pain. I’d never felt so much pain from overeating since that time in Raleigh when John dared me to finish his a tray of homemade bread pudding. When John dares me, I immediately go insane. So, I shoved in FIVE bread puddings. Ingesting them was the easy part, but ten minutes later, I probably had a pound of bread expanded in my belly. I ended up rolling around moaning and groaning all night. We seriously considered going to the hospital. Yeah, it was an asinine thing to do. But you see, that’s my fix. No smokes, no drugs, little to zip alcohol. On occasion, I just indulge to the point of food coma.