Shanghai Vixen

"You love someone who doesn't deserve it, because at least you have someone."

Yeah, at least I have never been there; took the tact of being fiercely independent to a fault. Although I am also very much a person who needs people. I am lucky, I have never had that insecure need to seek out approval via, to fill my emotional holes, with sex. (Physical holes, though!)

The scene with the "holy poo" was so familiar: someone being completely insane, someone else insane enough to believe it, someone knowing better but going along with it, and one or two people being all No. Fucking. Way! and cracking up. It was hard when I was the only person realizing how completely warped their behavior was. I am so giddily happy that Camus turned out so cool, that I now have an ally to snicker with.

She's tougher than I, in her way, although she has that luxury as she does have a healthy family with her mom and half-sister. When my mom waxes psycho, I'm like, "I, um, need to go over there now. Hell, I'm just going back to China! Zai wei!" Camus with lay it out, whether to my mom or her dad, "Look, you are being psycho, and I will not tolerate it!" I really admire her for that.

The Diedre/mother character...continues to remind so wincingly of my own mother, delusions of grandeur in particular. I would love my mom to watch this, I wonder how she would react? The usual denial - "I am not like THAT!" and angry accusation - "YOU think I'm like THAT?!"

Well, I do. If not worse in some ways. Bipolar, delusional, generally a bitch, check. The obsessive-compusive element just puts extra "fun" in the disfunctional. But I do not tell her that: pity, exhaustion, cowardice, the feeble desire to still have a parent, even though she never was one to me. Stronger, braver Camus has been less battered by the madness, her crazy dad did not raise her, her sound sane mom did.

My mom nearly gave me away, too - to one of her lawyers who found me "spunky". Beginning to watch "Running with Scissors" prompted me to Google him - he was disbarred for embezzling his clients. Go mom, sure can pick 'em! One more commonality with this tale. Instead, I landed with my wonderful grandparents, which was the best thing that ever happened to me. Except my mom hates her parents, so my finding a happy home with them is a large source of her current vitriol.

"Don't pull that maternal crap with me." Haaaa. *Makes mental note.*

Which is why I can only watch a few minutes at a time, it is too familiar and intense. It is no shocker that my brother killed himself; the surprise is that I have turned out as functional, even healthy and happy, as I have. It has not been easy, but it gets easier. I think I have this sturdy core of survival, a determination to be something more than my circumstances. Am I? I believe I am. I may never accomplish as much as I would like to, but I have done pretty well by myself.

Watching the movie, though, is a different story: yeah, the narratives are different, and my mother handing me off at age fifteen was the best fucking thing that ever happened to me. Although she tried to hand me off a few times before, to her shrinks/lawyers (all of whom were actually not RWS types, good men, but…), but didn’t happen, she was too reliant on me.  Still, the portrayal of the mother is too, too familiar. I think it is worse that my mother was actually quite successful and famous for her spell.

Memories of self: at age eleven, homeschooled, playing “princess rescuers!” with the mormon girls next door on our farm, to save women before they are reenslaved by yet more men. At age 14: when I already refused to visit the bio-ba, was all, “If you make me go, I will either run away at a gas station, or else burn down the house when everyone’s sleeping. I’d prefer Juvi to being around him.”

"Bitch asked for it.” I also see my own situation in Burrough’s youthful adoration of his mother, the self-important, high-maintanence diva. She was always rather insufferable, I hear from her cousins who I’m now close to, but as a kid, as Princess Rescuer! I wanted to take care of her, had to take care of her. Since I was nine, throwing myself between my huge adolescent brother and her. Making her eat, making her sleep – she was much more functional then; but only marginally. She went back from being my bio-ba’s pet to being my Grandpa’s and my shared pet: he bought the litter, I cleaned it. I have never seen her, ever, once, try to take care of herself.

The Barn House, the highway, the century-old Eucalyptus tree. The golden mice, The Wondrous Adventures of Hans, the 11-yo suicide attempt, the wood burning stoves, the tadpoles in the concrete pond. The raccoons, the tornado, the path, the garden, the dead baby rabit, the castle-like neighbor homes, the public school segregation I noticed even at age seven, ostracized by my own race and class because I was smart but strange like the fob Vietnamese and Indians from (to my parents) the projects. The first grade teacher, who died a year later in a plane crash, who apparently informed my parents, “[Vixen] is the smartest student I have ever encountered. She really marches to the beat of her own drum.”

I have an amazing memory, and have gone from a totally shitty life to a really wonderful one. I have nightmares about both of my parents: bio-ba, being forced to meet and interact with him. Ma, that she has taken over my life/finances, gotten me declared insane, and I am tryyyyyying desperately to get back to my real family and/or bio-coz in San Diego, better yet back to Shanghai, and can’t for some reason. These are my hells. If they were real life, I would run, scream, fight: but being nightmares, I am stuck. Among the worst, this being the RESTLESS of June, I was working as an anthropologist and teacher in rural Shanxi, worrying about the Silver Lining. That part was a protracted dream, of interactions and dialectical differences. Then, within this one long dream, which felt so real, I one night went to sleep. I wake up, holey fuck, in a similar but utterly different apartment – freaked out, “Where am I?” “This is a dream.” I laid back down on my cot, woke up – in another, similar apartment, except. Except there were piles upon piles of crap, of clipped articles, of unperused magazines, of, of crap! everywhere. All with notes scribbled on them, in black pen. “I am my mom. I am in hell.” I sat back down, gazed about for a sharp object.

I awoke, gasping, in my own Huilonghui bed. Silver Lining screechedd off of me, “WTF, mom?!”

I normally do okay on my own; that is my default, I survived that way, braved the emotional elements. Soldiering on, I do okay, albeit better with someone I can someone l can lean on sometimes. But, shit diving, I need that person I have yet to find. I don’t need the cable so much as to know the shore is there for me.

Pouring rain. Shanghai's skies are rather feeling like I did Wednesday night. Somewhere upstails a not-me dragon is having a tantrum. I do love the sound of the rain, pouring into the Lu that was formerly the Zhao Jia Bang, a spit's way outside my window.

I come home to a cute, sweet, long email from Either Or. I feel so guilty for my disinterest in her, try to rationalize that she's not hitting on me, just over-exuberantly friendly. I really wish I was attracted to her, she is so cool and wonderful. But I am not.

Tonight was comparatively mellow; yesterday was crazy ass! Yesterday, I had a morning interview, a lunch date with W - that will take its own post - an afternoon interview, then went home and crashed for a few hours, as needed after over stimulation. I was planning to go to a Live Bar concert with La Turqa, and last minute recruited Yi (manager of Sweet Fish's band). Then La Turqa bailed on me, I subwayed over to Renmin Guangchang to meet up with Yi and her friends - two rather prissy Spaniards who quickly decided all this was too much trouble, as it took forever to get a taxi. (They thought insisted on waiting St Regis queue...and nothing says "Rip me off!" like...)

We finally found this great, wonderful, nice, professional taxi driver (and taxi) - we will both call and commend him - and got our asses to Yangpu. Island 33 was less interesting live than in their recordings, but nice folks. Then Ferris Wheel came on and rather sucked - but they sing in English, so the shabi laowai contingent loves them.

"Shall we get out of here?" Yi suggested. We piled out, and contined to 4 Live. My Beijing pal Lao Kai was playing, and the joy of seeing him head-banging to rocker god delusions always cancels out my dislike for their bad metal music, to make me smile. I love Lao Kai.

Bored with the music, Yi and I headed upstairs to find Jifu, Old Devil and Early Pine - old friends of both his and mine, but that he retained in the divorce. It was actually fun seeing him; having recently fallen in and out of love, I can enjoy him fairly neutrally. For about ten minutes. May I say, it was a very gratifying exchange: two months ago, I went to the opening of Old Home's new bar. We were barely acquaintances before, but we'd become pals over interviews and via Iski. Jifu, at the event, very cattily asked why I was there, "It's not as if you are friends with anyone here." Fuck you, Jifu: I am friends not only with the boss but with his entire band (although we don't hang out much now, because of him) and several other bands playing or out for the opening. Last night though la, Jifu rather reluctantly asked my help in recruiting young Sanghei bands for his record company, acknowleging that I am oot and aboot more than he is.

It is very...nice, in a way. For six years, I was "Jifu's laowai laopo" and then I was his ex. With a few people who know me well, I have always been simply "me" (whatever the fuck that is); but it general it has been really only this past year that I have stood on my own feet. Jifu early did notice that while my love of the Shanghai rock scene started with CB, it progressed immensely beyond. Lo siento, I shouldn't give a flying fuck about his opinion, but his recognition and expression of my position in this community did actually quite mean something to me.

I bopped back downstairs to say hey to Lao Kai, a quick hug and fondnesses, insincere nicities to Yi about Sweet Fish's band, then he stalked off griping about how the caliber of roadies has deteriorated, and Yi wanted to go. Lao Kai la: a former mentor/gege, we're not so much in touch these days, but we do love each other. He was a skanky laowai for a long time, but at least (Yaya gives me some perspective) consistantly dated/cheated on/skanked on cool strong women. He is now very happily married to an amazing woman, has two fabulous little kids, and finally has a "real" job. I still can't take him very seriously, but...I so love Lao Kai. Yaya reminds me of him just in terms of flakey laowaimen in the Chinese rock scene, and I used to think Yaya was though less of a loser; now I owe mental apologies to Lao Kai for the comparison. For however infamously skanky Lao Kai ever got, he always went for cool, strong, interesting women - not girl-pets like Yaya.

Yi and I continued on to see if 288 was open - she'd heard it was zhuangxiu-ing. It was open, and thriving. We enjoyed Crazy Mushroom Brigade, and I dragged her over to meet and hang out with the band. They're really interesting, musically and personally.

As we were rocking out, a Chinese girl came over and told us in influent English that the men over there wanted us to join them. We glanced over, two meh caucasian men in their fifties: ew, old! Plus, both Yi and I are rather disinterested in white men. The girl came over several times, pestering us. What the fuck? Just because we are 1. two women out together, and 2. two WHITE women out together, we must be...what? desperate?

We continued to refuse, but after much pesterage, I said, what the hell, let's go talk to them. Petty businessmen, frequent travellors, quite boring. Margaritas or something immediately arrived for Yi and I - 1. Thanks for asking, assholes! 2. I don't even like sweet stuff. 3. We both feared roofies and only sniffed at them suspiciously.

We bailed quickly. The amusement factor was short-lived. Seriously: men, go wave about your American passports/fat wallets/supposedly large white dicks, the financially/face-desperate Chinese gals will flock on over. (And quickly take over your lives - ha! Awesome.)

Caucasian men in Asia who still go for same-race women think they deserve a fucking sticker or something for it. Whatevah: they're still less attractive, interesting, and age-appropriate than minimum 90% of Chinese men. Not all of us ingest the stereotypes celebrating/fetishizing white men and the "exotic" "sexy" Asian women while demonizing white/western women and Asian men. Such. Bull. Shit.

Oh man, I so often meet amazing, cute, cool men who appreciate my curvy, creamy, tiny self. Alas, they usually already have wives or girlfriends (but no girl-pets) who they adore and babble adorably/adoringly about. Tonight was La Turqa's and Brilly's shared birthday party, great fun and fun people of course. I'm still a bit, "Waaaiiit, you two know each other?!" but such is the Shanghai mafia. The hot Chindian showed up, was a sexy but annoying cad as always. I met this hot/dorky architect who went to grad school with F, my high school best friend and platonic (and gay) prom date.

I had a great time hanging out with him. La Turqa early on advised that he has an awesome girlfriend, and he soon started gushing to me about her. Cool. I can happily have flirtatious friendships with unavailable men, enjoying the dynamic. I enjoy men even more if they are in love with and dedicated to amazing women. Doesn't help my own Boyquest very much, but: it maintains my belief in the dickhood.

It's delicious, delectable. What confidence, that this guy can share a company, a home, a life with his kick-ass girl, and still flirt freely. I was explaining my semi-vegetarianism, always problematic at barbeques, and he was all, [looks up and down], "You're on a diet?! Why?! You look great." Doll. I'd have kissed him, except that he and I both respect his girlfriend too much.

I love confident men, and I love the strong women they love.

The rain, now, is violent, brilliant, beautiful.

I am about to head out to join Yi and La Turqa to head to a concert at Live Bar, but finishing my random net putzing session first. I am lately addicted to a newly-found blog www.feminisiting.com - extra rewarding given recent encounters. I am a proud, determined feminist, and while more pragmatic and forgiving than most of our cunthood, it is nice to immerse my brain in the similarly self-humanizing. However, they have a lot on there about fundi christian misogyny, which utterly freaks me out: too fucking familiar to the shit I grew up amidst. Much of the reason I became first a feminist (at age 9) and eventually who I am now was observing the nasty, dehumanizing (to men as well as women) misogyny of the fundis and reacting "No. Fucking. Way."

Check out the "Purity Prom" video - that so upset me I was rendered unfunctional for half a day.

But, it also has gems like this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R8FfFwtL91Q&eurl=

Heh, love me some Wanda: I am so now calling The Silver Lining "Detachable Pussy!" from here out. That act could be so more drawn out though. "That's the thing with pussies, they *never* do what you tell them to!" "My pussy frequently gets scared and hides under the sofa." Etc.

Last night La Turqa introduced me to an artist/musician called HK 119. She is now so my angry/weird inspiration. Alas, blog.com and youtube are incompatible, so check out http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qeAqP_4VNAs, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X7ugSjX3Vys and my favorite, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZDgdBd_EpeM. So Bowie, but cooler! I want to be her; actually I probably already in my way am. :)

I'm also currently watching http://www.linktv.org/programs/chinese. I like Link, watch their daily Middle Eastern and Latin American news podcasts while at the gym. This show is mixed, it's more of the cultural reverance/exotification that Huaqiaos so often have towards "Chinese culture" ("Hahahaha! WTF does that even mean?! To laowai/huaqiaos, it has nothing to do with China or culture!" = my minimum thrice a day comment heard from Chinese friends). Not at all like the diaspora cuisine project I'd like to do; mine is much cooler. Still, interesting concept la.

Yaya leaves tomorrow. We had dinner tonight, and I had steeled myself to confront him about the cold, condescending, indifferent and distancing way he talks about his mystery girlfriend. Whom he had never referred to by name. I really, really wanted to be proved wrong. Then he announced she was joining us shortly, and I was stymied: too surprised that he would even let me meet her to get my words and thoughts out.

Too bad, as they proved so on-target.

She is a sweet little thing: cute, demure, quiet, confused. Must make him feel all "manly" and shit. She seems a very nice woman but unlucky enough to date an expatriate man who considers her a relationship rather than a person, and a pet rather than a person. A large amount of fault falls to the women who put up with this infantilization, but with loyalty to the cunthood I blame the men. The pathetic, insecure, misogynistic ones who require a "helpless little woman" to make them feel like a "real man".

It is so revolting even in the abstract. Having it served up in front of me, by a man I thought the world of and loved madly, it's amazing I only went to the toilet once to vomit.

I...will glump him now with so many expatriate males, who I love as people but absolutely detest as men. Except that I loved him as a man, danced this strange dance for a while, so I am less willing to differentiate the two than with the rest of my skanky/sketchy pals - I didn't know him here, so it was easier to be misled (largely by my own idealistic heart).

I shouldn't be hurt by being rejected by a man like this: I should have always remained out of the league of him and his likes. I: am such a sentimental fool.

As I wrote in the letter I decided not send him, but intended to express tonight: everyone deserves someone that they glow about, someone that makes their eyes sparkle and their lips crack a slightly dirty half smile. Otherwise, they are "chicken thighs" - as a Canto friend puts it (apparently "chicken ribs" in Mandarin): not much meat, not so tasty, but keep them around until you find something else.

What speaks worth of Yaya: whether he protracts this relationship out of guilt or duty or chicken thigh-dom, or he really wants the ego-masturbating, needy little pet situation? I believe the latter, and that is why I am so disgusted with him right now. And disgusted with myself, for not realizing this half a year ago.

For the past three weeks, I have with Yaya experienced this wonderful, intense, intimate, deep friendship. Now: I just feel like part of his ego masturbation project. I won't deny, I received many early warnings about his proclivities; I ignored them. I realize now, the more emotionally intimate he is with a woman, the more he respects her as a person, then less he will want to be with her. You know, that takes like work and shit! 

I renounce my feelings: I thought I was in love with him, but that I will only really know in hindsight. Idiotic crush, more likely. I even contemplated adopting Yaya into my Didis, but Franzi and Dr. King are men such gorgeously in respect with women, there is no comparison. I have already given much deserved but always unsufficient props to Dr. King. Franzi was my first (unrequited) love, and remains my platonic ideal. As a jiejie I trained him well, his girlfriends have all been amazingly kickass, so much so that even when I was still in love with him, I totally adored his girl then, and we became close friends. I never met several girlfriends, but I am so happy for him and his current gal, who I think and hope he will marry. Dr. King, I am not sure who is right for him, or how he will find her. I hope he does, I want to gain another sister.

How I really feel about Yaya, I can only say accurately in a year or five, when all the dust has settled. But: I don't know how well or how long until I can distill my disparate emotions about him. The irony: I helped him get a job here, and his being here with his fucked up relationship (and may I stress, his girlfriend is really nice, but it's a really unhealthy vibe) will probably kill our friendship. Our "friendship" - nice elephant, pat pat.

I was going to offer to see him off at the airport - his girlfriend and brother both have to work, and seem to be quite unsentimental. I regret this, I would even now still like to see him off, we have the common defensiveness of emotional orphens. But - I just couldn't. Not now.

Meanwhile, Jifu is fucking psychic. Like a vampire, he only descends to online chat when I am most emotionally suckable. I am resisting the temptation to tell him that I just lost the man I love - he would be like, "yawn, again! What's wrong with you? You always love the wrong men." Yup: I have noticed this problem already.

Who are the right men?

I had the best recovery night: Little Face, who is so cutely in love with her Meiguoning, and then out for a second dinner with La Turqa and El Aleman. Reminders of what I want, and contrasts with what Yaya is doing. I: will hold out. I have loved that way twice, almost stopped at numbers one and two, and hope to look no further than three.

Yaya...I know well enough to preclude his probable excuses. I still...get the glow, the sparkly eye and the semi-dirty smile, when I think about him. Which, I shall try to never do ever again.  

Right now: I don't even care whether our friendship survives. He has exploited that too much, especially on the personal level, for me to forgive it. Yeah, days ago, I was feeling and writing very differently. I do still want him to prove me wrong: act like mutual humans with his girlfriend and discuss her warmly; or dump her, get with someone amazing who kicks his chubby little ass. I still want him to earn my affection and opinion - before I continue to withdraw them. Probably won't happen.

I am pissed off. Pissed off with men, pissed off with dating, pissed off with myself.

Last night I ended up at a party with LL, the friend Shi Laoshi had been trying to pimp me too. Always fun hanging with him, and I was starting to think, "Okay, if he is into me, I guess I can get over the age difference." Then, after he leaves, I learn from our mutual friend that he is married - I already knew he has a kid. What the fuck, Shi Laoshi? Messing with my mind here. I suppose it's possible that LL is like many of my Chinese friends divorced or separated, but it's such a loss of face/upsetting to the kid that they keep it quiet - I have hung out with LL a lot, and never met or heard mentioned a wife. But, I'm not going to stick my neck out to find out. Maybe I completely misunderstood Shi Laoshi last week.

Still, it pisses me off.

It pisses me off that Xiao Dai, after hitting on me and kissing me last week, is now completely avoiding me. I sent a casual work/friendship email, to signal that it doesn't need to be an issue, but he's not responding.

It pisses me off that my friend Either/Or spent her week long visit hitting on me, despite my consistant rebluffing of her. We've had a nicely flirty vibe before, so it is partly my fault. But, and I feel badly for being such a guy, she looks horrible now: up on the weight, down on the personal hygiene. My instinctive reaction to her has gone from Hmm! to Ick... My loss, she's a great woman, but I got really pissed off with her pawage, and started avoiding her because of it.

Generally, I'm maybe 80% straight, 20%...curious. I am visually attracted to some women, but physically I find us too squishy. I adore muscular but plump women, rather like myself. In East Asia, where body types tend towards the angular, which I love on men and find so unappealing on women, I am 99% hetero. Around ethnic Europeans, who tend towards the curves I love on women and think are ugly on men, I am 99% lesbian. I also quite lust after many black and South Asian women - but South Asian men are pretty yummy too.

Either/Or...sigh. She was so cute semi-plump, but now is taking really bad care of herself. Bad timing too, I'm pining for Yaya, and that has me in generally hetero mode. I've kissed lots of girls - squishy - but have never been able to go beyond that. I think I want that one aspect of my life to be "normal" - I do have very conventional desires for a male spouse and kids. I feel like I should sample sapphic sex, just as I should probably, just once to say I have, fuck a white boy - but I also feel too horrible about using people for my own sexual tourism.

Then there's Email ABC, a guy here I met online and have a protracted flirtation via correspondence with. He seems sweet and boring.

Then there's WW, the latest Sangheining, a journalist, very interesting and interested, but we're both too busy. And he strikes me as rather foreigner-fetishy, and looks a lot like the guy who once stalked me. And he's very lazy about scheduling, we've been playing email footsie trying to schedule a meet-up for ages.

It all pisses me off. And it pisses me off most that Yaya is leaving already in two days. And it pisses me off...okay, there is so much that pisses me off about him right now that I don't know where to start. And I am pissed off with myself for getting so emotionally battered by all of this.

I completely disagree with this article. I love Chinglish. It causes so much accidental amusement, and I like its lack of pretention - a growingly rare commodity in China. I also just love all sorts of linguistic humor, and if it's multilingual humor, all the better. I am such a geek that way. Recently a girl asked me, "打火机有吗?" and then she switched to English - "I mean a lighter, not a turkey..." We chuckled, and I joked that it would be funny if I then pulled a turkey out of my purse...

I also think China goes overboard in trying to cater to shabi laowai with English translations of everything. Call me nativist, but I think people in China should learn to speak Chinese. Humph.

IN the June 13 issue of Shanghai Daily there was a most intriguing story by Wang Yanlin regarding some of the Chinese-to-English mistranslations appearing here and there around the city.

She was right. In the eyes of those who know English well - Chinese and foreigners alike - some of the signs are funny, some rude or insulting, and others are simply beyond comprehension.

First, let me say that English is probably the most difficult of all the widely-spoken languages on Earth. This is because the language is an amalgam, a fusion of many other tongues. There are borrowings from Chinese. For example, if I haven't seen a friend for weeks, I'll say, "Long time no see," using Chinese grammar.

The Chinese language, on the other hand, follows an internal evolutionary development within the tongue itself. "Chinglish," the bringing in of English or semi-English words, is a relatively new phenomenon.

Wang aptly points out that mistranslation harms the image of a city that has been an international mecca for more than 100 years and will host the coming World Expo. These misleading posters can also harm businesses using them by losing potential sales to "rich" lao wai simply because visitors may not understand what they're looking at.

For example, outside the guest house of a large university here in the city is a big, lit sign that reads: Customer Paramountcy, Credit Standing the First.

I wouldn't do any business with them. If I were new to the city I have no idea what I'm getting into. As far as I know there's no such word as "paramountcy." Someone has spent a lot of money to create gibberish. If, instead the sign had read: Our Customers are our Business! Your Credit is Always Good Here, I'd be more comfortable.

There are convenient public toilets here and the government has been forward-looking enough to provide handicapped access, but on many wheelchair ramps there are signs which read: Deformed Man Entrance.

Try that in a Western country and there'd be demonstrations for weeks by thousands of men and women in wheelchairs.

Let's look at some other signs which I've seen hither and thither around town:

- "Please rely on reverse ticket instructor." (Is the ticket reversed or is it the instructor? How silly of me: How to reverse your ticket?!)

- "Paper Urine Slice Here." (Wood feces piece near here.)

- "Beauty is the sunshine hug you." (Ugliness is the darkness beat you.)

- "Live if you are not death." (Die if you are not living.)

And a few for which I can make no comment whatsoever:

- "Good eat, good drink, good life. This food is very test."

-"Natural Joyous Beautious Yourself."

In a government office, there's a cautionary sign advising: No Sputtering.

"What do you want?" the clerk barked at me.

"Well, you see...I, ah...It's just...No, what I mean is..."

At my local post office, there's a small computer screen which is a part of a weighing machine. The screen announces: Make This Window Civilization, Happy and Savety.

The spelling is just as it appears. Imagine. An entire civilization right there living inside a postal window.

I saw a billboard the other day over an accounting firm's office: National Accredited Association of Bookies.

Do you think they really meant "Bookkeepers?"

I bought a cleaning cloth at Carrefour which says it can be: Effective in Use in Kitchen, Car, Architect.

It's nice to know that if I see any dirty building designers or members of any of the architectural societies that need sprucing up, I can make them all sparkling clean and hygienic with this marvelous rag.

A hair salon on Guo Ding Lu, near Fudan University advertises the following services: Shear the Eyebrow (20 yuan), Electricity Winding Eyelash (35 yuan), Toilette (25 yuan).

I wonder what happens to you if you order all three. I'd hate to think.

The all-time, hands-down, no contest, don't-look-further winner, though, goes to a sign that's not here but in Wenzhou, Zhejiang Province: Spade A: The Black Peach Teaches The Hair to Operate the Department.

Now, if there's anyone out there that can tell me what that means, I'd sure like to know.

Two years ago my wife (Chinese) and I went to Lijiang to escape Shanghai's summer heat. We stayed at a lovely inn owned and operated by a woman who was fluent in several languages. After she got to know us, she asked me one morning if I'd go around with her and look at the signs she had put up in English.

She was very anxious I would correct any mistakes. As I suspected, I found very few and even those could be easily understood. She offered to reduce our bill, but I told her I enjoyed doing it and was glad I could help.

It should be pretty easy to get some help from a person skilled in English for some of these folks producing these flawed translations.

The last item to consider: It is nearly impossible for anyone to write or speak English perfectly. Don't strive for perfection. Just try and make it understandable.

Friday, I spent the day hydrating off the effects of the prior night's Martini Night, and only shlepped out belatedly for a BizArt opening, which by the time my taxi driver had sliced through the weekend traffic, it was so late that I decided to "Eh, fuck it," with apologies to Big Bean, who I really want and need a long talk with about arts promotion stuff. Instead, I told the driver to continue on to Fuzhou Lu, for a Dior coctail. I was dreading it: it was at one of [Diamond Ho]'s spaces, the queen of Hongky tack who believes herself an "Artiste!" and "art"-collector, and surrounds herself with fashistas and PR flaks who reinforce her delusions.

It was a new space of hers, and gorgeous building - in an old deco office building behind the Bund - with a floor hideously transformed. Oh, why can't *I* be a shit-rich Hongkong Taitai?! I at least would use my power for good, rather than evil! (Of course, every time I date wealthy men, I quickly dump them because I detest sexual colonization. Ethics and humanism suck!)

But, I walked in to an empty place. "Yeah, they set up, said there was an event, but then no one came," the doorman shrugged. I felt rather punked - they'd sent me the invite that very morning. Dior's PR companies go from shit to worse - although their thing this weekend is the one competent fashion PR company in town. At the same time, I was relieved. Dior, plus [flaky PR co], plus [Diamond Ho] and attendent sycophantic tacky Hongkies are a pretty hellish gathering in my book, the crap I put up with for free champaigne and a well-paying job; I had tried to drag Yaya along to have balancing good conversation (sigh, so good!), but it was his girlfriend's birthday (he glumly informed).

I was a bit miffed at having shlepped pointlessly to the Bund - it is a long haul from my Sugawei digs - but since I was already there I decided to make the most of it. I got two tins of beer (hadn't packed my pocket knife/bottle opener), and carted them to the Bund. Slurping, watching, thinking, reminiscing, hoping. Being gawked at by all the Xiawuning tourists, being amused at their amusement with me as the outsider despite my being so Sanghaining I'm practically part of the plaster - but harder to tear down. (By the way, the fastest way to get a Shanghainese guy to try to kiss you is by being a caucasian who can speak some Sangheiwu - as both Friday and last night, I have no idea who he is but: cute! showed. Strategically mafan to even bother with the TBA.)

Waitan memories: eight years ago to the day of Thursday's martini night with Yaya was Jifu's 23rd birthday, our first of his together. I was working in an office on Fuzhou Lu, had splured for a bottle of champaigne (100 RMB was a lot back when I made 2000 RMB a month) and some 20 kuai of fruit - the first time I ever ate a kiwi - and met him after work on the Bund. I had also bought him a boquet of 23 roses, for his 23 years. Jifu found it quite mortifying for a girl to give a man flowers, that is/was just not done! And made me carry them all night. We found this grungy little open air cafe, which for the price of a plate of fries let us consume our brought consumables unmolested. That cafe of course has since been gentrified into some fancy schmancy place I would never go to - unless bribed with free drinks for journos. We then [TMI] and then went for zidong sushi and sake for the first time ever (the second time, our one year anniversary, we got kicked out for eating/drinking too much!), and after we went home to Xinkezhan took a slew more pictures with San Wei and Mr. Wonderful. Fond, wonderful memories. I miss them all, not as we are now but as we were then. Innocent, delirious. Not that I'm not still.

After that, for several years on our monthly anniversaries, and a couple of years of birthdays, Jifu and I would meet up for a walk and a drink on the Bund. I have had many a memory there since...the Hugo Boss launch, which was big enough to have real people and so I reconnected with several long lost friends. The Shiatzy Chen launch, with general awkwardness with the male model I'd made out with (bad vixen! bad!) the week before. Taking many a friend there to share a beer, most recently last fall my lovely adopted brother in law Mark.

After reflecting, finishing my beer, smiling patiently at the xiawuning hecklage, I decided to walk home. I traversed Beijing Lu, past many more memory markers - there I once took the bus after work in 1999 to Lao Cheng on a rather demeaning mission for Jifu, long story, involving deceiving his then "real" girlfriend it took him another year to break up with (wait, why do I like Chinese men?!); - here I photographed the oldest water hydrant in Shanghai, a month before it was removed and put into the historical archives where no one will ever see it again; - there was once Shanghai's first Synagoge, but I was a decade too late to see it. So much is gone; but so much remains, but for how long? I so detest globalization, gentrification.

I walked and walked, rueing the absence of camera but also enjoying the simple seeing through my own eyes. Wandering into buildings, chatting with old men, visiting ghosts my own and not. Contemplating my life; where it has gone and where it is going, my hopes and my fears. I don't believe in gods but I like to believe in ghosts; I like to think that just as innumerable places exist in a time, so many times coexist in a place. All the things these walls have seen are etched into them, as definitely as if less tangibly than all my loves and losses are burned into lines in my heart and on my face. My own home, I feel has many ghosts, some resident, some adopted with the spare chairs rescued from demolition sites; I feel my ghosts, or perhaps the memories of our collective past, help to embrace and sustain me.

In American college, we get condoms waved menacingly at us with the reminder that when we fuck someone, we also fuck all of their past fucks. Fun with fluids. In a similar but less squicky vein, I feel that when we love someone, we also love all of their past loves. When I love, I love reluctantly and absolutely. If my brakes work, it means I don't love you.

Post title: I have a Sheryl Crow tune of that name on heavy rotation right now, interspersed with Regina Spector and perennial fav Paul Simon. Making a stand, of course, applies to so very much. The opening, about the homeless man handing out flowers, reminds me of my Gege, who was the scary scruffy crazy homeless guy in the years before his death. I have been thinking about my Gege a lot lately, going through old photographs, wondering who he was really, wanting to start a book that would involve interviewing people in Indian ashrams and US cults who knew him, but I cannot handle the intensely traumatic emotion of that until I have found a supportive partner.  I cannot afford to collapse until I have someone there to catch me, slap me back into shape.

Ever since Mr. Wonderful died, I have wanted to tattoo a cartoon I draw of him onto my shoulder, and I think I shall buck up the courage to do so in July, when Guangguang - a tattooed lady and old friend and fan's of Mr. Wonderful's - returns. Or, perhaps with the very tattooed Yaya, or while on my birthday trip with Peaceful Peasant. The sentiment behind the Mr. Wondeful tattoo, beyond remembering a wonderful friend and feline companion who purred me through many difficult but amazing years, is the sentiment at the end of Amores Perros, I think it was: Somos tambien lo que hamos perdido, we are also what we have lost. My grandfather, my brother, Mr. Wonderful, Jifu, Bjoston - Franzi and Yaya I still have as didis despite losing as lovers - moments, hopes, dreams, even the inane and unformed ambitions I had during high school and college, even the friends who have drifted hopefully temporarily out of my life. You tambien y siempre soy tu - you are also, always part of me.

65 kilos, baby! That's down seven this year - less that I would like, but slow and steady la. I will get down to my once-standard 62 by my 31st birthday in a month, hopefully, and then to my target of 55 by the end of the summer but more likely the end of the year. I have not been exercising enough - five hours a week rather than the ten to fifteen I want. But, I have gotten very good at the eating part, and that plus even just five hours a week of intense exercise is getting me back to the the sexy Vixen hiding under the flab. Yay!

Meanwhile, my latest chunk of money just came through, and I am up to $10,000 in my account. Not huge, and it will go fast as I am spending $1500 a month trying to pay off my remaining $20,000 in student loans. My ambition is to maintain a cushion of $10,000 in savings, pay off the loans by end of 2008, then save up for a downpayment on a place in three years. I want to start buying into mutual funds, stocks and such - but shall avoid the Chinese stock market! Until it crashes. Considering how much I live check to check, and I started this year completely broke, it is really nice to have a bit of padding.

I don't know whether it's the flush of wealth or the lighter flesh or the fresh blush that comes from falling in love, but I suddenly seem to be a man magnet. Last night, I went to the SGA opening, and as always bumped into lots of friends there. Huddled in a group as I walked in were three of my favorite artists, Shi Laoshi, Lao Ji and Lao Liu. Shi Laoshi was Jifu's highschool teacher, and I suppose that is why he feels strangely responsible for me. He is such a meddling old Shanghainese taitai, always wanting to gossip about my love life with me.

So, it was not surprising when he greated me, "[Vixen!] Have you a boyfriend right now?" the way most Chinese will open with "Have you eaten?" "Um, no, but I have this situation..." Shi Laoshi cut me off there, "No boyfriend?! Excellent! Here's one for you!" and he shoved Lao Liu at me.

Lao Liu grinned at me embarassedly yet hopefully. We are friends, he is a very sweet man, and I love his art. But, he is forty, aka way too old for me, and very plain.  I have picked up an interested vibe from him before, but was never sure enough about it to think on it much. Before I had time to react at all, the trio announced they were heading upstairs for dinner; I said I'd join in a bit after I'd finished seeing the show.

While doing so, I bumped into Xiao Dai, a photographer active in the art and music scenes and an old friend. He was looking great, has grown his hair out some and had a bit of scruffy arty stubble - a look I usually hate but that works on Xiao Dai. We hadn't caught up in several months, so chattered as we finished seeing the show, and then subjected me to a succession of photos.

I sensed from the get go that Xiao Dai was acting differently towards me. Touches, looks, taking endless pictures of me instead of the usual handful. We headed up to dinner together, and I sat with him and some other friends rather than Lao Liu and my pimp/yentl Shi Laoshi - I was still (am still) in confusion over whether I could date Lao Liu, and things with Xiao Dai were promising to get interesting.

And they did. I've always liked Xiao Dai, and often thought he would be dateable. We're the same age, travel the same circles and do similar things. But, before last night, I never picked up any signals of interest, and I had him filed away in the friend book. Throughout dinner, he was in constant physical contact. Afterwards, we went back down to the gallery, and he was going to hang out there with some friends for a while, but he wanted to see me off. We were alone in the elevator, and started making out. Damn, I have missed making out! He packed me into a taxi with another kiss.

I'm still a little weirded out that I made out with Xiao Dai.

Dating Xiao Dai would probably work. Except he's a Christian, converted a few years ago. Bleh. I moved to commie China to get away from the fucking Christians!

Dating Lao Liu would probably work. Except I don't find him physically attractive. He flitted over to our table for a drink and a chat, and I was increasingly knocked over by the realization, that this guy is really into me, and has been for the seven years I have known him, only he's so shy and quiet, and I'm so dim, I never quite noticed it.  Is it bad that I am tempted because I love his art, but could never afford it on my own? He is, incidentally, quite famous and rich, but I care more about talent and character and intelligence, which he has lots of. Looks, though, not so much.

With either of them, we would make quite the art scene power couple.  I have written articles on both of them in recent months, and am currently working with Xiao Dai on a project. It would be nice.

But, getting involved with either of them, or anyone else, would be so unfair to them while I am madly in love with Yaya. The situation remains unchanged there; had a Martini Night for him Thursday and fun was had by all, and he continues to be very physically affectionate with me. I know he loves me and is attracted to me, but then he goes dutifully back to the girlfriend. If he acted remotely in love with her, if he seemed happy, I would back off, and dance at their wedding. But: he refuses to even tell me her name, let alone introduce us, and he talks of her in a weary, bored, vaguely annoyed tone. She sounds so unresourceful, so dependent upon him, is more like a pet than a partner. Even if he doesn't get with me, I want him to dump her and find someone he is crazy about. I love him and want to see him as happy as he deserves to be, with or without me.

And in the meanwhile, I guess I'll keep making out with hot photographers in dark elevators. But: I'd rather be kissing Yaya. Dammit!

Compliments of Peaceful Dragon: