For the Record

10.09.2008

Being one of China's most treasured resources (a native English speaker) Collin and I are often overused and abused by people. Being well-humored, we are able to joke about it. We joke about it a little too much, maybe. I believe the amount of humor we find in our abuses has now reached masochistic levels.

You see, last Monday we did some "voice recording" work. It was, to say the least, an interesting experience. Put it this way: Collin and I can now call it even.

Last Saturday Collin casually asked me if I wanted to make some extra cash by doing some voice recording. It sounded harmless enough-- which is generally a huge red flag.

"Are we going to actively take part in our own abuse?"

"Oh, yeah."

"Alright, I'm in."

He calls me late on Saturday night to inform me that the abuse, I mean work, will take place at 9 am on Monday morning. [I love being abused before noon on my days off.]

We get a call late Sunday night saying we need to meet at 8 am instead. The beatings had begun.

Monday morning, we meet up with a Chinese woman who speaks very good British English. (Unfortunately she speaks it a little too often, especially for 8 in the morning). Together the three of us take a cab to an apartment complex not too far from our neighborhood. We go inside an apartment that has been converted into an office & recording studio, where we are greeted by no less than 8 people. Collin turns to me, "Two people actually needed to get the work done and six others to stand around and watch?"

"Yup." [I love China.]

We're handed our voice recording scripts, which turns out to be English teaching material[surprise] for primary school children. We scan through the pages --about 10 in all-- and it looks simple enough. Let's get 'er done!

We are led into a recording room with fancy mics and soundproof material on the walls. The door shuts behind us, and we're told (via speaker from those in the neighboring room) we can begin when ready.

We start reading.

We're stopped.

"Um, could you maybe use a little emotion? You sound very boring. Like maybe you are sleeping." [Maybe?].

I dig deep down and pull out my "Oral Language Voice" that hasn't been used since '95 and begin again. Things are rolling along quite smoothly, until a word pops up that triggers my giggle reflex. The word was "nude." [I understand that I am nearly 25 years old, but seriously, why are they teaching 6 year olds the word nude?]. Collin rolls his eyes at me and tells me to get it together. We continue on.

The next page has the word: "delicious." This isn't a funny word, to MOST people. However, this is a highly loaded word in my family-- it is part of a never ending inside joke we invoke constantly. I giggle again. Collin joins me this time, but reprimands me for being "the worst person he could possibly be doing this with. Well, except for Erin."

The script moves from being simple words and phrases into dialogues. Very cheesy dialogues. Despite being a "Kitty" that is talking to Collin, the "Puppy" I manage to keep a straight face through these.

We get on a roll and are dishing out the dialogues, back and forth, back and forth. Then, in a dialogue between "Rabbit" and "Frog," a 3rd character was introduced: "Monkey." Collin and I exchange confused glances, but I read the part of Monkey anyway. At the end of the dialogue, the voice from the speakers cut in:

"Collin and Traylee? Yes, um, there is a 3rd character in this dialogue, see, so Traylee could you read Monkey in a different voice from Rabbit?"

I whisper over to Collin, "Different voice? I only have one voice."

"Um, sure.. okay, I'll try," I tell the speaker. Different voice... different voice.. a monkey voice? What does a monkey voice sound like? I don't do voices!

I tried. Really, I did. But I sounded so stupid. I couldn't get through a single sentence without erupting into laughter.

The speaker voice came on, "Maybe we should take a break?"

After a quick break & some mental prep, I knocked out the Monkey voice and we moved on.

The dialogues became more and more complicated; Collin and I would have to hold conversations between Pig, Rabbit, Dog, Monkey, and Frog in one dialogue. [Multi-logue?]. It was hard to keep all the voices straight as we read ("Was Pig my high voice or my low voice?") but it was harder to keep from laughing at how dumb we sounded.

Reading through all of the material basically blindly, we had little to no warning when an extra cheesy or funny word was approaching. However, as we neared the end of the script, a word a few lines ahead was glaring at me. There was no way in this world that I would be able to say (or hear Collin say) this word without completely losing it. The word, innocent to those who are not versed in American slang, was a synonym for 'rooster.' This is not a word I generally like to say out loud. Or while being recorded. Or while being recorded and sitting next to my older brother. Awesome.

The seemingly innocent script of conversations occurring between farm animals was dripping with sexual innuendos, causing my face & chin to be dripping with tears & drool as we laughed uncontrollably. The Chinese people in the next room must have thought we'd absolutely lost our minds. We weren't just being immature or unprofessional. This was bad.

Let me give you a sample of what we had to say, but I will use the more proper term, "rooster."

Pig (Collin): Hi, Mrs. Duck!
Duck (Tracy): Hi, Mr. Pig!
Pig: How are you?
Duck: I'm tired. Mr. Rooster wakes me up at 5 am every morning!
Pig: Oh, that's too bad!
Duck: I don't like Mr. Rooster. Can you help me?
Pig: No problem!

The several botched attempts at getting though that dialogue was easily the hardest I have ever laughed in my adult life. The speaker voice cut in again "suggesting" another break.

We graciously accepted. As I went to the bathroom, I could hear Collin awkwardly explaining in the hallway: "You see, um, the word you're using for rooster is actually a, um, bad slang word in American English. That's why we are having such a hard time saying it."

"Oh, no, should we change it?"

"No, no. It's okay. We get what you mean. It is just kinda difficult to say sometimes without laughing."

Collin and I go back into the room, vowing to knock the rest of the script out so we can get our money and go. Grateful that it wasn't me saying "rooster" this time, Collin got to try his own luck with the lovely word:

"Duck, duck, duck,
Rooster, rooster, rooster
Duck in front,
Rooster in back!"

I buried my face in my hands and dared not make eye contact with him. He laughed anyway.

There was only one page left-- we were nearly out of the woods. And the barn.

But not without one more humiliating line for me:

"I'm a rooster!"

The speakers came on: everyone in the other room was laughing. Still not knowing quite what was so bad about the 'rooster' synonym, they at at least understood that me declaring I was one, was pretty damn funny.

Mentally exhausted, we finally neared the end of the last page. Collin was in a zone as he read the final titles to each section:
"Let's Chant"
"Let's Sing"
"Happy Reading"
"Happy Spelling"
"Let's Chant"
"Let's Sing"
"Happy Ending"
"Happy Spell--" An explosion of laughter from my side of the table interrupted him again.

"What? What's your problem now?" he demanded.

"Happy ENDing? You just said Happy ENDing instead of Happy Reading!! God, you better hope the people in the next room don't know what that means."

The look on his face was priceless--he had NO idea that had slipped out.

I couldn't have asked for a more 'Happy Ending.'

Wo hen baoqian (I'm very sorry)

10.07.2008

I am truly sorry for getting so behind on the blog, especially when so many amazing, funny, and 'bloggable' things have been happening lately. I suppose this is a sort of Catch-22... the busier we are and the more fun we are having, means less time to sit in front of a computer to blog about the adventures. Collin is currently away on a trip with his friend Tash in another province; I just returned from 3 trips to 3 different cities. Meanwhile, I hosted my lovely friend Jenn for about 10 days and am now hosting my wonderful friend Liz for the next 10 days. Collin and Tash return to Beijing on Thursday, which means a full house this weekend as well as good times. I've been keeping notes (literally & mentally) of all the things I can't wait to share with you all, so stay posted!

And Breathe Out...

8.25.2008

A collective, massive exhalation occurred last night as the Olympic Torch was extinguished here in Beijing. Some were breathing sighs of sadness, others were sighing with relief. Whichever the case, not a single individual in the Capital last night didn't feel a sudden emptiness. The Games are over.

We've only been on hand to see the preparation for the last 6 months-- but this country and these people have been setting up for this two week event for eight years. Can you imagine preparing for anything for 8 years? [Okay, MD's and Ph.D's aside]. How do you feel when something that grand, that important, that huge is now over? Even after just 6 months of hype, I can honestly say I woke up today feeling a large void. I can't imagine what others must feel.

Collin and I have only known pre-Olympic Beijing-- we've never known "normal" Beijing, if there even is such a thing. Now we will witness post-Olympic Beijing, and can only wonder if it will seem "normal" to the locals. Is a city ever the same after hosting a world event of such a massive scale? I'm sure most past host cities are the same eventually; in fact, it is hard to even think back to who hosted the previous Games more than a few Games ago. But I feel as though here it is different. Here-- the country, the government, the people-- they all wanted to show the world something. They all wanted these Games to be more than just fun and games, they wanted to prove something. Did they succeed? What does the world think of them now?

Whatever the world is saying, the hype will surely settle within a few days and the world spotlight will shine elsewhere.

Here in Beijing, it is back to reality. Back to business as usual. Today is truly the mundane Monday of all mundane Mondays.

Gold on the Green

8.24.2008

Saturday morning I lay in bed, drooling away on my pillow, per usual. My phone rings. I answer it before being fully conscious of what I am doing.

"Hellooo?"

"Trace. Get up. Get your stuff together."

"Wha?"

"I just got two tickets to the gold medal football match today!"

"Today? What time? Are you serious?"

"Yes. Noon."

“What time is it now?”

“10:30. Can you be on the subway by 11? I’ll pick you up from there.”

“Um, yeah, sure, okay.”

I jumped up, totally awake now. Gold medal? Football? Inside the Bird’s Nest?! Surely I was still asleep and dreaming.

I took a shower & got ready in Olympic record time and ran to the subway, taking a "no unauthorized persons" shortcut, putting my head down to ignore the guards who usually prevent my passing.

I arrived at my stop at 11:30; soon after I was hopping in a van with Sean Matthew, on my way to the Olympic Green.

After several botched attempts at getting me through media checkpoints with only Sean Matthew's pass, we finally arrived at the "Spectator's Entrance." The line to get in, as well as the heat at this point, was overbearing. We saw one more shot at a shortcut: the media line (or lack thereof) at the spectator's entrance. Guarded only by a young volunteer, SM once again flashed his pass and after three rushed, "She's with me, she's with me, she's with me!" he relented and let us by.

We hurriedly walked toward the looming National Stadium, more commonly known as the Bird's Nest, and scrambled to our seats. We sat down, thankful for shade and rest, and looked out: our seats were dead center of this amazing field. Luckily we hadn't missed too much, as the score was still 0-0.

I tried to soak it all in, but being in a stadium that grand, along with almost 90,000 other spectators, watching a game that would be watched around the world, is a bit much to comprehend.

The game ended, but there was still more to take in. I had the whole Olympic Green to wander about for as long as I pleased. But after taking a few pictures with me and giving me a general guide to the Green, SM had to get back to work, leaving me to explore alone. And worst of all: meiyou gege! Bu hao. (No brother. No good.)

It was only about 2:30-- 5 hours until sunset-- but I decided I would try to travel around the Green until nightfall. I knew from afar how incredible the stadiums look at night; this would be my only chance during the Games to see them lit up, close up. Maybe I could stick it out.

I walked around and took pictures of nearly every building, every statue, and every display. I walked for 4 hours straight, only taking 10 minutes to rest while eating room temperature yogurt and some Ritz crackers I had picked up at a snack stand. My feet, legs, and knees ached, and my shoulders and chest burned from too much sun, but it didn't matter, I was at a historical place at a historical time. When I finally couldn't walk any longer, I sat on a bench next to the Today Show's set.

"Tracy?"

To my surprise, my friend Megan, also alone, was approaching me. "What are you doing here?" she asked.

"I've been here since noon-- for the soccer game. What about you?"

"I'm gonna be a guest on the Today Show." She proceeded to tell me her story about how she was asked to be on it last week and after becoming friends with one of the anchors, she was asked back again today. Grateful for company, we sat and chatted until it was time for the show. (Unfortunately, Obama's VP announcement caused her segment to be bumped last minute, but we still enjoyed playing the part of "dorky tourists in the background" as the show aired).

Meanwhile, the sun went down, and the Green's lights came on. It was hard to stop staring at the stadiums towering overhead, and the humongous torch burning above it all.

Sixiao and her parents then stopped by the set-- Sho was getting off of work and her parents were on their way to watch the athletic finals in the Nest. Sho pointed out some of her work she's been doing for the last year and a half, "That fencing there is mine.. those ladders are mine.. all those trailers-- mine," she said with a laugh. We took a few pictures and she set off.

After the show ended, SM was off work and we met up again. I insisted on more dorky tourists shots now that the stadiums were lit and the torch was more visible.

Finally, at almost 9:30, 10 hours after arriving, I walked back to the subway. I was exhausted. My legs were throbbing and my shoulders burning, but I was carrying a huge smile and a camera and mind full of Olympic memories.

Beijing Faux Pas Police on the Prowl

8.01.2008

According to the Huffington Post:

A campaign with nearly a million volunteers was launched to give etiquette tips to Beijing locals. "Etiquette booklets" were handed out to 4 million households, which included tips such as:

• no public spitting
• wait patiently and orderly when in line
• wear no more than three color groups in your clothing
• no wearing pajamas and slippers when visiting neighbors
• white socks should never be worn with black leather shoes-- and dark-colored socks are recommended overall
• no public displays of affection [like anyone here does that anyway]
• feet should be slightly apart or in the shape of a V or Y when standing
• handshakes should not last more than three seconds
• don't ask foreigners their age, marital status, income, past experience, address, personal life, religious beliefs or political beliefs [then what will you talk about? Ohh, right… the Olympics!]

I hope everyone gets their act together soon-- Collin and I noticed 6 violations alone when walking down our street today. I wonder if they'll be issuing actual citations for these etiquette & fashion faux pas? Here I was worried about my registration... now I have to go buy a pack of black dress socks and put some "real" clothes on if I want to go shoot the breeze with my neighbors. The handshake thing is actually good advice though-- I always count to 3 in my head when shaking someone's hand and then jerk it away as soon as I hit that third tick. Shaking for 4 seconds is just creepy.

www.huffingtonpost.com/2008/07/31/beijing-issues-style-guid_n_116041.html

Chinglish Part 3

Seen on shirts:

"Overtime One of the World"

"Free Keeps us Living Live"

"Flash Memory"

"Sunrise" on a pink shirt, worn by a male-- with a picture of an ape. [Spotted twice in one day in different parts of the city.]

"Curly Sue: how many flappermades?" [flappermades??]

"Happy Baby" -- worn by a very old lady

Grey shirt, blank on front, but this amazing text in silver on the back: "Nobody Seems to Understand the Nature of Project SHINY." [Could not have said it better myself.]

"Free to Move"

Pink sequins on black: "STOP and THINK"



Song titles as seen on a KTV (karaoke) menu:

"Standing Sex "

"Fluffy"

"Porno Graffiti"

"Lushy"


Seen on signs:

"Beauty Face Hair" - hair salon sign

"Forsaken Items" - bin in Walmart for unwanted goods

"Love yourself and love the woods" - sign in a park

Nice Day for a Red Wedding

7.22.2008

For the better part of last week Tracy conveniently reminded me that she was invited to a traditional Chinese wedding by her language exchange partner on Saturday. By Thursday I had realized that her "reminders" were subtle "can you please be my date because I feel obligated and I desperately don't want to go solo" requests. I in turn made very subtle agreements to go, mostly because if the situation was reversed I would ask the same of her, but also because I was pretty curious to see a Chinese wedding. By Friday morning I inquired additional information about this gathering and learned that the wedding STARTED at 10:58AM. No, that is not a typo, 10:58 is the official starting time. In China people are very superstitious, especially when it comes to numbers. I don't quite have a grasp on how much they truly buy into these silly beliefs, or if it is simply tradition. The Olympics begin on 08/08/08, at 8:08pm, and that is not a coincidence: eight is the mother of all lucky numbers here. So 10:58? "OK, where is the wedding?"

"I guess it takes about an hour and a half to get there, it is just outside of Beijing" Tracy replies.

"Ummmmmm..." Now I realize that I have to wake up early on my precious day off. I ask Tracy for a confirmation, "Did I ever actually TELL you I was going?"

"YES!!" she proclaimed.

"OK. I hate you."

Knowing I had to be up early, I still stayed out very late exploring the hutong of Beijing with friends because I'm, well, me. After a hardy five hours' sleep I woke up cursing Tracy. We hurriedly threw ourselves together for the wedding (what do you wear anyways?), hopped on our bikes, and headed to the subway. We took the subway further north than I had ever been, which was quite eye opening for me: wow, Beijing is really, really big, and even out here, there are still a million people in every direction. After reaching our stop, our directions told us to take a bus. Yeah right, which bus? Which direction? We're running late. Let's catch a cab, it can't be that far from here. No cabs. Awesome. We reluctantly opted to take a "black" cab, which are essentially just old guys who are sitting idly at such locations hoping to profit off of poor saps like ourselves. We are particularly perfect victims for these characters, as we're foreign, naive, and don't speak the language. We point to out our destination written in Chinese characters to the driver, he seems to recognize it and says "Zou ba." (Let's go). We ask "Duo shao qian?" (How much money?) "San shi kuai," (30 yuan) he replies. We agree.

So here we are, deep in the outskirts of Beijing, in this strange man's unmarked "taxi," no air conditioning, stifling hot, stuck in traffic, with the future of our existence on planet Earth in this man's hands. Might sound a bit nerve-racking to the novice, but this is life in China-- doesn't even phase us. We finally break out of traffic and hit the highway. It is quite rural and pleasantly green. With faster speeds comes natural cooling, our moods are up as we curiously stare at our surroundings.

After a solid 15 minutes on the highway, he suddenly pulls off... and starts asking random people on bicycles for assistance to find our desired location. Great. He has no idea where he is going. Not understanding most of the language, Tracy and I have the pleasure of predicting our immediate fate through body language, facial expressions, gestures, and the few Chinese words we know. The shaking of the head is a universal "no." Combine this gesture with "bu ji dao" (don't know), and we become more unsettled with every attempt our driver makes to find our way. After more wrong turns and more questions asked, it seems like we're finally heading in the right direction. We are on small rural roads without many signs of civilization. Where is this freakin' wedding? Who gets married out here? I'm hot, hungry, and grumpy. Seriously, why am I in this car, in this field, in the back of this seat right now? How did 26 years of a life lived lead up to this very moment? Tracy, I hate you.

We finally find a road that the driver recognizes and drive into a large resort of sorts with a very large restaurant/special event center that is essentially a over-sized tin barn with some classically Chinese cheesy decor inside. We enter at 11:30ish-- well past ten fifty-EIGHT. Upon entering, Tracy and I simultaneously realize something via the look on the fuwuyuan's (waitress/service person) face: omg, we are going to be the only foreigners at this extremely large wedding. By now T and I are very used to standing out amongst a crowd of black-topped heads and dark eyes, but the dynamic would be very different here. How many foreigners have EVER been in this building? And how many foreigners ever go to traditional Chinese weddings? Making matters worse, we're late. Not only are we "those" people straggling in late to the most important day of your friend's life, we're also foreign. What should we do? What next? We tentatively approach the event area where we can see the bride and groom on a large stage, an MC of sorts having them perform random things in front of a large crowd seated at circular tables filled with food, beer, and liquor. Maybe we can sneak to some seats during a break in the procedures? Is there assigned seating? What should we do? Just then the bride spots Tracy and I and waves to us, giving us a "come in and sit motion" which causes a scene as all eyes were on her. 200 Chinese people simultaneously look our way, realize that we aren't Chinese, and stare curiously at us as the bride's sister escorts us to our presumably assigned seats. We're sat next to the bride's twin sisters, who speak some broken English to us. All eyes are still on us when they are supposed to be on the bride and groom. Awkward.

The rest of the ceremony was interesting. We were practically force-fed large amounts of food and pijio (beer), the Chinese people at our table (and some from other tables) who could speak English curiously struck up conversation with us, we were asked (forced) to take tons of photos with people we didn't know, I flirted with a fuwuyuan or two, and Tracy and I assumed our usual roles as people of great interest. All was good-- until we met "that guy."

We all know "that guy" at the wedding. You know: the drunkard. Now we weren't particularly surprised to meet "that guy" because everyone inevitably has to meet "that guy" at every wedding. What made "that guy" particularly memorable was the fact that he was American. Yup, that's right: "that guy" was also "foreigner number three." As we met, I felt a bit of tension between T and I and him. You see, our existence at this gathering was mutually threatening. There is no way T and I are going to let some other dude steal our thunder. We are The Foreigners here, thank-you-very-much. It is one thing to have your thunder stolen, it's another to have it stolen by "that guy." Come to find out, "that guy" is from San Diego and both him and Tracy are UCSD alumni. Even in a city of 17 million, the world still seems small. Through drunken slurs we unfortunately learned a bit more about this guy's past, and even more unfortunately were constantly reminded of "how drunk he is" and "how the Chinese men made him drink the baijio (liquor)." From here we learned additional fascinating insights such as "English teachers get ripped off in China," "you should learn Mandarin if you live here," "there is a lot of money to be made in China, especially if you are a Westerner," "if you need a good job I can totally hook you up" (goes for business card, doesn't have one), and finally, the kicker: "I'm friends with Jackie Chan." Drunk Chinese men fight for our respective foreign statuses to get us in their individual and group shots. Here I am, extremely tired, in the middle of nowhere, smiling, posing, and throwing up peace-signs with a bunch of random Chinese people drunk on pijio, baijio, and love. Welcome to China.

When the photo requests began dying down and the crowds started to thin, T and I let the bride know that we wanted to head home. She graciously arranges a ride for us, a ride that is to take us all the way home into the city! Awesome. Finally caught a break... right? Nope, this is China. We quickly learn that one of our co-passengers for this journey is.........drum roll please: yup, you guessed it, "that guy." Just when things couldn't get any worse, we realize that in addition to that guy, our ride-home party has now recruited "that girl." Now this was the first time I've seen a Chinese "that girl," but for the most part, she was tame. As you could easily guess, "that guy" thought that "that girl" was attractive, and as we climbed into the back seat of the tiny vehicle, "that guy" thought it was necessary to let T and I know that he had every intention of taking "that girl" home. As the door slammed, locking T and I into the backseat with "TG and TGr," if you could be inside my head at this very moment you would hear "take me to a happy place, take me to a happy place" on repeat.

The backseat dialog was unfathomably less articulate than previous conversations. Aside from literally repeating everything he told us at the wedding a short half hour ago, "TG" went on to elaborate on how his friends know Jackie Chan and how important it is to learn Chinese if you live here. He then goes on to display his impeccable Mandarin skills by flirting with "TGr" in the front seat. She acts not interested; I want to die. However, we're well on our way home and we can almost see the light at the end of the tunnel. "TG" has successfully bummed and lit a cigarette (quite the feat) and we're temporarily relieved of his drunken rants. Just then, "TGr" motions and yells for the driver to pull over. She hops out and proudly re-displays all the fine wedding cuisine and liquor for all of 5th Ring Road to see. After involuntarily puking, she continues on by sticking her finger down her throat. "TG" rushes out to comfort her; she wants nothing to do with him. While she continues to projectile, "TG" and the driver hover around her for support. Meanwhile, I grab Tracy's camera and start taking photos of the scene-- at this point, I might as well have fun with the situation. After a nice zoomed shot of "TGr" puking, Tracy reminds me that I'm going to hell.

Ten minutes pass and it is now obvious that "TGr" is so sick that she is REFUSING to jump back into the car. I tell Tracy: "OK, I'm hailing a cab and if we get one, you're paying for the entire fare home." Without daring to disagree Tracy concurs. Luckily it takes only a few minutes for me to flag one down (we're on the highway still so there aren't many cabbies), we wave goodbye to our comrades, say insincere "nice to meet you's" to "TG" and we're off. We debrief in the back of the taxi and try to pick up the pieces. I remind Tracy of how much I hate her and that she is eternally in debt to me. Within minutes I've fallen asleep with my head against the back window. I awaken to see we are in our neighborhood and am a bit dehydrated and disoriented. Tracy pays the cab fare (50 yuan) and -- after all we've been through -- informs me that she "snapped some great shots" of me sleeping in the cab. Awww, yes, that's what siblings are for.

Another day, another yuan. Welcome to China.

-C