Coming full circle…

I am mid-thought of several things I wanted to write about, deep shit like Truth, and Literature, and the Live Music scene in Hong Kong. That is just all going to have to wait though. And why are you being spared these ramblings? Well, because I am leaving town for Chinese New Year… Oh, where am I going you ask? That would be Burma, or as my passport visa indicates, Union of Myanmar.

There are many reasons why this trip has particular significance to me. Some have to do with the politics of Burma, officially renamed Myanmar in 1989 by the military junta, a country currently holding more than 2,000 political prisoners. And the jailed democratic leader Aung San Suu Kyi has asked that foreigners not travel to the state while it is under military control, so a real effort to consider an itinerary that avoids government-backed activities has been made. Another reason this trip is of particular importance to me is that my aunt Nancy and I am traveling together, and Nancy is the one who got me traveling by taking me out of school when I was eight years old to cross the US via Amtrak and then head off to Europe for a month. [When I was six, Nancy had said that when I turned eight that she would take me on a trip anywhere I wanted to go... so where did I want to go? I told her LA. She said she would pick the place. Good for both of us that she overrode my rather limited six year old world view and selected NYC, London, Rotterdam and Amsterdam.]

So, today we head off to places really totally unknown… trying to arrange things via the internet in Burma has been very very very challenging, so we are mostly just sort of going for it… We will be in Rangoon (Yangon), Mandalay and Bagan.

Thirty years later, A & N ride again.

Smells and Boys. Sometimes Smelly Boys.

Where I live is quite fragrant. Hong Kong, after all, translates to “Fragrant Harbor.” This can be a good thing, though more often than not, it is a bad thing. This is mostly because I have a very sensitive sense of smell. So sensitive in fact, that I cannot turn it off and I aggravate the problem by intentionally smelling everything and then proclaiming that it smells this way or that way. And the fragrances of a harbor can be, you know… GROSS. There are some things that really, really make me wretch: the red tide in the Aberdeen Harbor, Dried Fish Street in Central, the fermented tofu stands in Wan Chai, and the garbage trucks. Tobacco cigarettes go without saying, but fighting that is an exercise in complete futility around here. Oh, and there is also the pollution. On the 29th of January we set a new pollution record over here with 2,000,000 parts per liter (this lady tracks it on her Twitter feed.) Sweet. In the past Hong Kong has realigned the pollution index in order to avoid the smelly truth about the air.

So, anyhow, there are a lot of fragrances around this (shrinking) harbor.

However, in the vein of relative objectivity, it must be said that I live outside of the serious pollution situation on the north side of Lamma Island, and it is cleaner there, if for no other reason than abundant (vermin producing) foliage. [Though I do work in Causeway Bay, the consistent winner in the most polluted area of HK...] Anyhow, where I live is not so smelly (except for Po Wah Yuen – which I not-so-affectionately refer to as Poo Wah Yuen because of the amount of dog poop that is all over.) In fact, where I actually lay my head smells pretty nice. We have more than a dozen Frangiapani [Plumeria] trees around, a huge veggie and herb garden and tons of flowers around our lychee, papaya and mango trees. [I am very grateful that my landlord is into gardening, because even though I thought I kind of was - it turns out - - not so much.] And when it rains in the subtropics, as it did the other day, two things happen: 1) the air gets cleaner and 2) the smells on Lamma – the good ones – really come out in that wet, floral, earthy way. It is really pleasant and kind of makes you close your eyes and take a big ole breath.

As I was walking home from the ferry two nights ago I was totally immersed in that jungle flower smell – even through Poo Wah Yuen. And, as smells often do… it took me right back to the first time I remembered really identifying that part of Life on Lamma. I was walking from Tai Peng to Wang Long (haha – and you thought my living in Pak Kok was funny… ) to meet Ex #5. It was a beautiful morning. I was, well, I guess I was unemployed. I was heading out on the road for points and durations unknown within a matter of days and I was in high spirits. I felt really free. Now when I smell that smell I feel that way again – enough so that for a moment I almost get nostalgic for #5.

Almost.

But as I recalled that moment, I started to think about the other smells I associate with boys. Not boys in general of course, but certain boys. Like for instance, I associate the salty smell of Pacific Beach combined with the smell of rental apartment paint and carpeting in my Emerald Street apartment with Ex #1. Oh and also Taco Salsa (now Taco Surf, but it was better back then when Pete L. and crew referred to it as T-Sals.) I associate several smells that will remain unnamed here with Ex #2, but the smell of Marin or a ski shop always brings him right back to me. And also the hoppy smell of a good micro-brewery. Ex #3 just smelled clean. Always. It was nice. Ex #4… well, he was obsessive about hygiene, something definitely for another blog, but he was very into products with too strong of a smell too. And too many of them. Super strong soap, shampoo, deodorant, cologne, Bounce dyer sheets. It was just a plethora of mid-range cosmetical fragrance that could sometimes make eyes burn. Ex #5 was earthy. Not smelly at all, in fact he mostly smelled good, but different (in a lot of ways.) He also liked very expensive cologne. He must have stolen it because I sure as shit did not buy it for him and he had zero dinero; but he smelled alright.

Some other smells that I catch olfactory glimpses of on occasion in totally out of context situations with equally powerful effects include:

• Fair food
• A certain kind of HK smog that reminds me of LA
• Jameson’s Irish Whiskey
• Public schools and the wax they use on high school gymnasium floors
• Sauteing garlic and onion
• Recycled airplane air
• Salt water
• Baking bread
• The stale smell of Vegas casinos at 4 a.m.
• Fine leather
• Clove cigarettes
• Barbecues

Everything on that list reminds me of a very specific person or place. You may even be able to identify whom or which. I like that it doesn’t even have to be a good smell necessarily to have the intended effect. Like here. Though I suppose that could lead right into an entire discussion on the gag-reflex. Case in point: I got an email the other day that reminded me of another smell:

I know I have mentioned the smell thing before. And I have had some very entertaining questions with regard to smell-obsession. But I think the instant recall that smell can engender makes it very dear to me, especially as I wander further afield. When I teach sense of place in Geography, and now in Literature courses, I always do sensory activities that require students to identify smells with places and scenes and characters and scenarios. And even when they we there is no smell to identify – there always is. And really, it can make all the difference.

Politics are so jive. That’s the way, uh-huh uh-huh we like it, uh-huh uh-huh.

Last night at dinner I was reminded of the most recent controversy swirling around the Obama White House… You know, how Rahm Emanuel has a foul mouth. Oh wow. How amazing. This old news is in the news because Sarah Palin is all offended… so much so that she took it to her Facebook page. Gasp. You Go Girl. So here is the deal. SPalin is totally offended that Rahm Emanuel referred to liberal politicians who were not supporting the Obama health care plan as “Fucking retarded.”

HAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

So Spalin, the woman who called her own Down’s Syndrome child, the one she is now defending – along with those pesky liberal Dems she normally hates so much – yes, you guessed right: RETARDED.

Personally, I think that Sarah Palin is really dangerous – she has what has often been referred to as “retard strength” in terms of her public sway. I am not sure if it is to do with her innate abilities in this area, or if it is more of a statement towards the collective brain power of her constituents. Either way, they are sofa king re todd did. And today she is in the great state of Tennessee, telling the Tea Baggers that “America is ready for another Revolution.” Yes, this from the lady who keeps going on about being so sick of “talk talk talk” that she quit governing, wrote a book, went on TV, and gives speeches.

SCARY.

Emanuel is sort of known for his use of colorful language. And you know how I feel about the use of the “F-Word.” I think it is fan-fucking-tastic. But Lil’ ol’ Sarah, she sure is hurtin’ for certain. Funny, she didn’t seem so offended when Dick Cheney told Senator Patrick Leahy of Vermont to “go fuck himself.” Anyhow, of course Emanuel apologized, because this is the sort of shit we need to be worried about:

Today Emanuel apologized for using the phrase. “The White House remains committed to addressing the concerns and needs of Americans living with disabilities,” says a White House aide, “and recognizes that derogatory remarks demean us all.”

It is assumed Emanuel stands by his use of the word “fucking.”

I thought the following comment with regard to the whole thing was pretty funny:

Does anyone understand that the words ‘profanity’ and ‘obscenity’ do not mean the same thing? It is another of the many shames of the current occupant of the White House that he can joke about teaching profanity to children. Profanity is not a joking matter.

Naturally ‘obscenity’ is great fun… and very suitable for children.

This post is relatively redundant in the vein of Sarah-Palin-Needs-to-GFH. But I feel better now. And here is a little Holy Fuck interlude to brighten your day.

The Saturday Experience.

I work on Saturdays. Except for the part about not being able to do other things, I really don’t mind this. I arrive at my office anywhere between 9:00 am and 9:45 am. I begin teaching at 10:00 am. I do not stop until 6:00 pm. I teach Creative Writing to 9th graders from 10:00-11:30. I teach Creative Writing to 7th graders from 11:30-1:00. I have a private Literature tutorial from 1:00-2:00. I teach Creative Writing to 10th graders from 2:00-3:30 (this is one of my favorite classes, ironically not featured here because we forgot to take pictures. I will add photos when I see them next in two weeks.) I have another private tutorial (covering several subjects) from 3:30-4:30. I teach IB A1 SL Literature from 4:30-6:00. Then I go home. This is a little bit of what it looks like:

It’s beginning to look a little kung hei fat choi-ish

Inevitably, I’ve been thinking a lot about the upcoming Lunar New Year. The idea of a lunar new year is appealing to me because it seems less arbitrary than one based on the numbers assigned by [Hail!] Caesar. Plus, I take issue with the whole 0.25 of a day thing that leads to Leap year. Paradoxically, I love the idea of a leap year, just not the required accounting to arrive at one.

But, I digress.

The Chinese Lunar New Year is based on the lunisolar Chinese Calendar, generally falling between the last half of January and the first half of February. This means you have to do a little research on your animal sign if you birthday falls early in the Julian year. [However, in spite of your astrological ambiguity, according to Malcolm Gladwell, you are far more likely to end up one of those superlative outliers.] Chinese New Year is the main holiday here and not only for lai see. [Lai see is supposed to be handed out to "young people" be married people. I think this is a grand tradition. Except for the fact that according the Chinese standards I am no longer young and therefor the offer of lai see to me is a suggestion that I need to get my shit together and get married. Bummer.] It is known as the Golden Week and this is a great benefit for all of us as the factories in Guangzhou shut down and so we usually have a week of really nice, relatively unpolluted weather.  Some of the other things that I love about the Chinese New Year festival include the flowers, the orange trees, the lights… vacation… and of course all the superstitions. Meet me, the Dog:

The Dog is wonderfully hard worker, a perfectionist and someone who loves the small details. He is also a bit anti-social, pessimistic and stubborn. They are one of the most honest and loyal signs of the Chinese zodiac and will always go to bat for a worthy cause. The Dog is a fantastic listener and his advice is usually very intuitive.

To this end I get a kick out of looking into my Chinese astrological predictions for the upcoming year. Several of my local Chinese friends are absolutely fanatical about seeing their astrologer or fortune tellers prior to the start of the new lunar year. [This spills over into business too as everyone makes a very concerted effort to conclude all business dealings initiated in the current year before the new one begins regardless  of it having nothing to do with the fiscal calendar at all.] I think astrology is great fun and sometimes I get a little uncomfortable with its accuracy (one reason I have not yet deigned to see a fortune teller – do I really wanna know?) Looking at my horoscope, because I’m a Dog – which always reminds me of Peter Venkman, going, “So… she’s a dog…” – I am pretty excited for this year. According to one site, for Dogs, the year of the white metal Tiger is:

It doesn’t get much better than this. The Year of the Tiger may as well be The Year of the Dog, as you’re not likely to have a more fortunate year, even when your own sign is ruling. In fact, it is the Dog who can expect the most from 2010. Perhaps you are a typical, cautious, unassuming, nostalgic Dog sign person. Forget all that! This is a year to make your mark on the world. The biggest mistake you can make is to sit on the sidelines. There will be plenty of action, and you need to be right in the middle of it. Ride the Tiger to fame and glory. Do the most outrageous thing you have contemplated but could not bring yourself to initiate. There is not a better time in sight, especially if you require a little luck to succeed. Now is also when you want to plan  that momentous occasion celebrating the next phase of your life.

Hell yeah. That sounds like a year to behold. (Or be old, as one of my students just said… Nice one, kid.) We used Chinese horoscopes as fodder for creative writing today – we have been studying superstition, allegories and Gothic traditions in literature – and so we all got look at our horoscopes and determine what we though of the accuracy. Most people thought they were more accurate than not… for me.. I found it absolutely spot on.

Here are some of the high points from the site we used:

The Dog is the most likeable sign in the Chinese zodiac…  loyal with a capital “L”… the one who people are most likely to turn to when they need help… will come through every time… sensitive to others and empathizes with them, particularly if someone has suffered an injustice, reacting quickly with the same feeling, as though he/she had been personally offended… honest, intelligent and straightforward… will take on any responsibility that is given to them and you can be sure that they will do their job conscientiously and well.

Dog people are often born old and get younger as they age.

… a great sense of integrity and fair play…  idealistic, and dreamers to the core… tend to be easily upset and shocked more often than the other more realistic zodiac types… a pessimistic side to their character… their spirit is drained when they hear of situations beyond their control, such as natural or human disasters… natural to long for everything to be done in the best possible way and is often anxious about the potential problems that may occur… a strong sense of duty and responsibility…

If you need anymore proof that I am a total Dog… check out what they say my positive and negative traits are:

attentive, well-meaning, helpful, warm-hearted, altruistic, modest, devoted, philosophical, dutiful, discreet, intelligent and enthusiastic.
but also can be…
nasty, mean-spirited, disagreeable, bad-tempered, self-righteous, judgmental, quarrelsome, accusing, nervous, anxious and impossible to live with.

Freaky.

I would certainly be curious to see how accurate you found these lunar renderings (mine or yours…) Until then, I leave you with these fabulous lyrical stylings à la Survivor, straight outta 1982… which was, for the record, the year of the D-O-G.

(Tiger photo from here.)

Someone else’s true story.

“no mother ever dreams that her daughter’s gonna grow up to be a junkie.”

That is the caption beneath a photo of one of my former students, which I came across recently. I stopped and looked at the photo for a long time. The image was incongruous with the caption, which is not to say that the caption was inaccurate, but that there were other photos that captured her point much better. This one was… well, it was cute. Like, playful. Like the girl I remembered sitting in the front of my American Government class absently flipping her flip-flop while she acted just like a high school senior should. I always liked her. And I had a soft spot for one of the boys she hung around too. I heard that he had a hard road after high school as well.

None of these kids came from places of ease.

I suppose that was something that always engendered a certain amount of emotion from me: frustration, compassion, interest, admiration. They were an tough crowd but such a willing audience when given the opportunity to be. Not many people give teenagers this opportunity.

I think that is quite a shame.

The more I thought about it, the more it seemed that the photo and it’s caption actually were appropriate precisely because of their incongruity. She was, no she IS a multi-faceted young lady. I could certainly look back and say “I saw the signs…” but that would be trite and unimportant now. And if I did see some kind of sign, I certainly did not have any sort of solution. No viable, believable alternative to present. Sometimes leading by example is not enough. Or the timing is off. Or it just seems so paltry in comparison to the uncertainty that the future guarantees.

I haven’t spoken with her in ages. If I did, what would I say now? I am not sure. Would I tell her: “I know how you feel.” What a lie. Would I say: “Things can only get better.” How trite. Would I suggest… offer… recommend… shrug… I think I would take Marilyn Manson’s advice and just listen. Even when she wasn’t talking I would listen. Especially then.

The life of a junkie is a heartbreaking one. I know this all too well. The ones around me have had devastatingly difficult lives. True also, they have made life for those around them difficult, and in some cases, heartbreaking. All you can do is be present – particularly in absence.

When I look at this picture I see the girl I knew but I understand that she is different now. But different only in the way we say in Asia… same same – but – different. Who knows how to articulate all the dreams mothers have for their daughters. There are just too many. But there is no mutual exclusivity within the context of those dreams. I believe she is clean now, or enough so that she can say she is an addict.

I hope she goes home soon.

I’d like to thank the Academy…

Every year, I host an Academy Awards party on Oscar® Sunday©. In the States it was kind of different because my party actually incorporated the awards telecast and we could do silly things like dress up or whatever. Over here in GMT +8, we do it differently. They do televise the awards eventually, usually on Monday night after everyone has worked out who won, who looked like shit and who won the coveted Red Carpet Douche-Bag award.

Some things remain the same though: we still pick the winners and have a little pool to see who can out guess the guessers Academy. This year I think I am going to add some categories like Best/Worst dressed, Best/Worst lines, or Best/Worst audience appearance, just for a little more variety. And we have champagne, ’cause we are classy like that. Oh, and one other thing we can do here, thanks to the fabulous Asian copyright laws, is that we can hand out the movies as swag because they are easily purchased in any SE Asian locale. We have ‘em all. [Okay, except Avatar.]

And so, as the necessary prelude to the March 7 (or 8th) event, “The Academy” announced the Oscar® nominees a couple of days ago. [Their website has a countdown in case you have lost the ability to use a calendar.] This of course precipitated the standard litany of commentary on the oversights, the poor judgment, the obvious make-up calls, the general dissatisfaction with the list. It’s predicable and fabulous and a part of the cultural fabric to which I always look forward.

A Dedication: If you think it is for you, you are probably correct.

Don’t sell me anything
Your one time offer so uncalled for, you call it piece of mind
‘Cause I can see your house from here
Now leaves have fallen, dear

You little, little privateer.

Online Suicide. [Don't get emo - it is not what you might be thinking.]

I made a decision last week to delete both my MySpace and my Facebook accounts. I had been thinking about it for a while for myriad reasons, but every time I considered it, I came up with a reason not to do it: But, I have all those photos on there… But, how will I know about all those ‘events’… But, what if that ONE person I MUST meet is on there… But, what if I miss something really, really, really cool…

Yeah, right.

I spent a lot of time as an adolescent worrying about missing shit. Like, if you were not somewhere, something amazing might happen. This caused me tremendous stress the one time I was put on “restriction” by my mother for antics that had gone just a few steps too far. My mom decided that I would be on “restriction” and this meant that I had to be home by 9 pm on weekdays (you know, all those nights spent at the Petaluma Public Library  – working so hard…) and I could only go out one night on the weekend with a midnight curfew. I thought my life was over. Only one night? What if I picked the wrong one? Oh.My.God. Total devastation. Looking back on this now I have to laugh for a couple of reasons: 1) I lived in freaking Petaluma after all, if it happened on a Friday it was gonna happen again on a Saturday and truth be told, shit rarely ever happened… and 2) The fact that what I just described was restriction is sort of hilarious – my unborn children better hope they never cross the line because I will lock them down – and for the record, after like five months of said “restriction” I asked my mom when – oh when! – would it be over and she went for the total killer blow saying, with complete coolness and appropriate aplomb, “Oh, yeah, I suppose it can be over now.” Talk about fished in. Mom, FTW.

Anyhow, to have this happening in my adult life was becoming too much of a recurring and horrifying déjà vu.

There were some other issues. I am really irritated at how both sites are operating and using our information/photos/etc – regardless of the fact that there are “Terms of Use” and the framework itself may necessitate said operations. The more I read about how they work, the more I don’t like it. Then I checked out the Web 2.0 Suicide Machine and it really made me think. [It is with no small bit of irony that the reason I heard about the Suicide Machine was through a blog I am linked to on Facebook.] But the developers of the concept have a point. Get back into the real world.

Then consider the fact that I have more than 300 “friends” on Facebook, and 150 or so on Myspace. [This after much culling, which has led to all sorts of drama. I have actually received emails asking why people had been deleted. From the people in question as well as other friends. Seriously. And then, someone I know was speaking to another person about me, and person #2 said, "Well, can Amanda be trusted? She deleted me from Facebook." I know you think I must be making this shit up - but I assure you, I am not. ] Who the FUCK has 500 friends? I mean, SERIOUSLY. I have already expounded on Dunbar’s number here, so I will not bore you with that, but SERIOUSLY. And the politics of social network friends. Holy Mother of God. I know there are tons of articles about it already, but it is like people lose their sense of reality when they enter the virtual world of social networking. Perhaps that is the point for some people, but where have the boundaries gone? In real life, you have to have a reason to be someone’s friend, don’t you? Just because you know Person A does not mean you are therefore friends with all of Person A’s friends… or does it? Though, to be sure I have fallen on both sides of this equation as well, as I mentioned here.

You be the judge.

I have been thinking a lot about the meaning that we assign to life lately. Good, bad, relevant, irrelevant, successful, unsuccessful. Such deeply personal interpretations that we automatically empower with conclusive meaning. Really, in so many ways it is arbitrary. It seems like the real meaning should be deduced entirely from the way in which something manifests in your life. Possibly that is too relativist an option, but in terms of measuring up, or meeting standards… Whose standards are these anyhow? Who is really doing the measuring? Who is making the large determinations about how we are supposed to live, or what we are supposed to be doing? [In other words, where did I pick up all this mental baggage that essentially does little except serve as some annoying little recording that constantly questions whether or not I am "doing it right."] Camus asked, if something worth living for is worth dying for, what about something not worth dying for? Good question, monsieur.

Today I was reminded of all this as I was looking through MissAnnaKay’s blog. I follow Anna’s blog with some degree of interest because I love to see the things that catch her eye. The blog is somewhat like a stream of conscious exercise, which makes it fascinating in it’s own right, and I get a kick out of seeing what may lie behind the perceptions of a witty and precocious nineteen year old. She had a Joseph Campbell quote on her page which I had not seen in a long time:

We must let go of the life we have planned, so as to accept the one that is waiting for us.

True THAT.