Chapter 112

Most of my dreams feel like a mixure of a terrifying psychedelic trip and a dystopian movie, but last night I had a wholesome dream about camping with friends and barbecuing. No idea what that was about, perhaps the endorphins coursing through my veins after all the exercising and traveling I’ve been doing.

I fucked around on the internet while listening to a vaporwave playlist (I like vaporwave), did a bit of tai chi, then went out with the dog. For the second day in a row he ran into Qiuqiu, a nasty little poodle who seems to hate him. I’d estimate about 25% of Chinese dogs are named Qiuqiu (“Little Ball”), and that figure is even higher among poodles.

I supervised a lab, then had a double with the twelfth-graders. They’re supposed to erase the board and keep the classroom clean, but when I walked in, the board was covered with math equations, though they had half an hour to clear it. I promptly walked out and sat back at my desk. Tired of this shit. Ten minutes later, one student came to apologize, it was her duty but she was busy and babadee babada, excuses excuses excuses. She’s literally The Nicest Girl In The World so I couldn’t stay angry but I still told her that her excuses aren’t valid, it takes less than 30 seconds to erase the whole board, it’s just basic respect, and it’s not the first time. She looked like she was on the verge of tears, and I told her to go back to the classroom and I’d be there in a few minutes.

I went home for lunch after a detour to the noodle shop. There was some mangled Chinglish on the menu, it read “The construction of new soclalist countryside”, no idea where that came from, as the Chinese characters above it just mean “Chinese traditional cuisine”. Chinglish signs are the domain of Level-1 Tim Budong Fresh-Off-The-Boat expats and of course as an Old Asia Hand I’m way past that, but still, the phenomenon continues puzzling me to this day. Why do they add superfluous English if nobody will read it? And why don’t they get someone to proofread it? I got my shrimp noodles (no mushrooms, on the first try!) and also bought a box of jackfruit from a lady who set up her table on the sidewalk. Jackfruit has a very strange rubbery texture, a smooth pit and a smell that can’t be described as pleasant, but I like it, I’d even say it’s one of my favorite fruits. I ate while watching a documentary about Mike Perry, the, ahem, mentally unstable UFC fighter.

I got back to the office in the pissing rain, so I sat there with soaked trousers for a while. I had fuckall to do all afternoon, so I wrote my diary and listened to the new Cannibal Corpse album. It got very positive reviews from what I’ve seen, but I found it extremely boring. Not bad, not sloppily played, not even stale, just nothing that excited me. Am I getting bored of death metal?! I sure hope not. Then I put on a compilation of tracks by or featuring Celph Titled, who has got to be one of my favorite rappers, with his bizarre metaphors, prolific output, instantly recognizable deep voice and intricate wordplay. I also put on an album by Cloud Rat, recommended by a friend, some powerful and evocative grindcore that reminded me of Fuck The Facts in more than one way, and then the new release by Spectral Wound, a black metal project from Montreal. I like atmospheric or ambient or shoegazy new-school black metal, but Spectral Wound just throws some straight-up second-wave Norwegian-style sound at you, that will definitely be a re-listen. So perhaps I’m not bored of extreme music after all.

I went home and had a snack of tortilla chips, a carrot cut in sticks, and Italian cold cuts. I watched MMA news, one of these pieces made me a bit angry. Rose Namajunas, the strawweight title contender, is of Lithuanian descent and her grandfather emigrated to the USA to flee the Soviet Union. So, she doesn’t like communism, and made some comments about the Chinese champ Zhang Weili that were unnecessary political. A journalist asked the champ “Hey Zhang Weili, what do you think about this pathetic attempt to start shit?” and she replied something along the lines of “I'm literally the sweetest person in the world and all of that trash talk bullshit is puzzling to me. We're all athletes of different nationalities, races, and religions. One day I'd like to invite Rose to come to China, we'll train together and I'll show her around, it will be a cultural exchange” So, basically the type of Chinese hospitality that have been shown to me thousands of times, mixed with her professionalism. But internet fucktards all went “OMG DIDUSEETHAT sHe tHrEaTeNeD rOsE iF rOsE gOeS tO cHiNa sHe'LL bE ThRoWn iN a cOnCeNtRaTiOn cAmP” People are very, but very disconnected from what life in China is, and I often myself get asked questions about how it is to live in a dystopian fascist authoritarian country. From reading this diary, you should know at this point that it’s not much more than going to work, eating, sleeping, indulging in hobbies, except that I’m surrounded by Chinese people and propaganda banners.

At 18:30, I rode my bicycle for half an hour to the climbing facility. My two Mexicanos were there, playing hacky sack, I kicked it around with them and then we put our harnesses and climbing shoes on. I did pretty piss-poorly, I couldn’t complete the route I finally managed to unlock last time, and it didn’t take long for my forearm and finger strength to be completely depleted. I had been working out two days in a row prior, and haven’t climbed for three weeks, maybe that’s why. I had fun though.

There’s a petting zoo and an aquarium in the shopping mall where the climbing wall is. At some point, we heard a bit of a commotion, as two women were walking goats and some of those fluffy South American animals (llama? alpaca?) and one of them escaped their grasp, jumping around until it got caught. It was pretty comical.

On the way home I stopped at the bar and had beef tacos and a Goose Island IPA. Two friends were there, guys with an immense general culture, fans of pub quizzes. One of them read us some questions from when he was quizmaster a few months ago, one was “What do Ayn Rand, Richard Sterling, Donnie Yen and Rocky Balboa have in common?”, it took me a while but I got it. Props to you, dear reader, if you know the answer! We had a very nice conversation about teaching, linguistics and culture then we parted ways, it’s a weeknight after all. I got home, poured a negroni, and sat in bed doing a practice driving test.