Dogs and Dresses

I'm house-sitting for a woman here in Shangri-la but I've found that I actually prefer to sleep at my own place because her dogs are fucking nuts. Hudson (black) is a neurotic New Yorker who has found herself transplanted to high-altitude China and Qili is a born and bred local, thick set, crafty and eternally hungry. The saviour of the trio is little Mao, a teeny kitty, very young though street smart and not about to let you pat her for nuthin, except maybe a plastic meat sausage.



Oh and I nearly forgot....this dress. Sweet baby jesus.
It will be mine, oh yes...it will be mine.

Hori Smoku Sailor Jerry: The Life of Norman K. Collins

I just watched this film on the life of tattooist Norman "Sailor Jerry" Collins. Good doco with great characters. I've seen a few good documentaries lately where the story is entirely told by the characters within or in this case from letters the main protagonist wrote himself as well. There's kind of nothing worse than that "Lead Anchor" style where someone else's words tell a heavily-influenced story. Pisses people off, especially if it's trying to convince of a political perspective. I'd criticise Michael Moore for this. Not because I disagree with his politics necessarily but because it just doesn't leave much room for the intelligence of an audience to make up their own damn minds given the data.
Anyway, I'm definitely thinking hard about what tattoo/s I'm going to get come February when I head to Hawaii.

Cult Cinema Tuesdays fundraiser

Hey Gang,

So the blog is revived. First up, my latest hair-brained scheme here in Yunnan province, China. A new bar has just opened here and would be perfect for a regular movie night. So can I get a round of applause for Cult Cinema Tuesdays!

First up a documentary double bill.

Pulling John - an arm wrestling documentary

King of Kong - the classic video game documentary.

Wet Weather

I made it out to Mao's Live House again this week. I went and got dinner with my flattie and some of her "friends". I use the inverted comas not to question their friendship but to emphasise a distinction made by foreigners between their "friends" and their "Chinese friends". If we're going out with "friends", there's an assumption that they'll be whitey Westerners, we'll speak in English, eat Western food and generally ignore the fact we're in China. There's a few different types of foreigner behaviour here. This is just one. But with this particular group of friends it was exaggerated, even to the point where the Chinese boyfriend of one of the friends was barely spoken to all night and he sat there reading a magazine. I guess I would have tried harder if it didn't seem like the sort of situation where I'd be accused of cutting in on someone. It's shitty, real shitty.

We went and sat on the rooftop terrace of Fish Nation, ordered fish and chips and some cider. One of the girls confessed it was her second time that week to go eat fish and chips there. Moved inside at the first whiff of a hint of rain and continued to listen to tales of sexual frustration in this nations capital. It is probably about the most boring topic of conversation imaginable. Makes you want to jump up on your chair and with great gesticulation bellow "You're not getting any sex because you walk around like a dried up psychopath and become a social retard whenever a guy is around!!" There is no excuse in Beijing. Plenty of foreigners, plenty of nightlife. We went to leave and discovered it was absolutely pissing with rain. The biggest soggiest raindrops you've ever seen soaked the streets and I got to run barefoot through the wet all the way up to Mao's Live House, about 4 minutes away. I dried off as best I could in Mao's with a serviette but it was pretty futile. I was wet. No biggie. I was kinda confused at how it went down at Mao's with these Aussie ladies and the Chinese boyfriend. We made it to the upstairs area, only myself and my flattie had bought a drink and we sat up there and practiced our English for a while. "Aren't we here to see some bands?" I thought, but these guys were too caught up in their conversation on Chinese tax law to bother so I went downstairs to the band room alone. I can always feel the air twitch when I enter somewhere alone in China. China is weird and more conservative than you'd think.




So fair enough, the first band was spectacularly terrible and I wondered how they ever got a gig there. The keyboardists spine also seemed to have invented a new joint somewhere between his navel and nipples and could bend in ways that a spine really shouldn't. I love it when Chinese guys take their shirts off though. It reminds me of having a bath with my brother when he was 11. So the shit band ended and I strolled back upstairs to see the guys again. Still sitting there, still talking tax. I could hear other bands setting up but still these guys wouldn't budge. As we all made it back downstairs an hour later I realised what the score was. We were standing around and then some Nordic-looking douche comes on stage and mispronounces "Ni hao" while grinning widely. He promptly launched into a boring 15 minute drum solo much to the applause of the audience. Some other white lady came on and sang along to some abominable Electro/Folk shite and the crowd couldn't get enough. It was then I realised we were here to see the white people play. They sucked just as hard as the first guys, but they were headlining and we were all meant to be impressed they were playing in Beijing, China! I realised my companions seemingly had contempt for Chinese performers and that foreignness is enough to get you a gig here. I already had a good hunch, but I know when I get my Mandarin punk band of hot foreign girls happening it's going to bring Beijing to it's knees.





I left after 3 or 4 songs of the headliner before I killed the crowd, the band and then turned a gun on myself and wandered down the street to get my bike. The rain had slowed and the streets that were drowning with storm water earlier were back to normal. No cleaner looking, just slightly damp. The closer I got to my bike, the heavier the rain became until I was putting the key in my locks with water teaming down my face. I was still committed to riding home and hadn't really done much riding that day so I was keen for the ridiculous mission home. Riding angry after a frustrating and lame night I went hammering it up ZhangZiZhong Street, rain hitting my face and beading off my cheeks. I couldn't help but start laughing as a was riding. The smile was soon wiped of my dial when I was nearly cleaned up by a giant SUV pulling out of a side street. The fucker didn't look to see me coming, but I was riding too fast up the wrong side of the road. But still, you don't want to hit a foreigner, Mr Chinese Man.

I figured a good ride in the rain might do my bike some good, clean her up a little. I was completely saturated after 5 minutes in the deluge but still having a great time. It's 30-35'C here so I wasn't cold despite it being past midnight and being soaking wet. The rain was coursing down my face as I rode, my hair wetter than if I had just washed it. The rain ran down my brow and into my eyes. I had to stop more than once because of the stinging acid rain against my eyeballs. The other Chinese people on the roads didn't seem to be having this problem and I cursed these damn large round eyes of mine.

I pulled into my apartment block and locked my bike outside only to be joined seconds later by my flattie who had only just pulled up in her taxi. I told you I ride faster than cars. :D

Chinese Water Torture

I just signed up for some intensive Chinese lessons for the next month or so. This great lil lady came to my flat and we went over my old text books (Yes, I do carry old Chinese texts books with me wherever I go, shut up). It was pretty horrifying. I'm way rusty after half a year in Oz practicing my English and drinking too much.

Now I'm back in China, it's time to get back on that wagon. I've signed up for 4 x 2 hour lessons a week. Only 8 hours and back in Kunming I was doing 16. But they weren't one on one lessons and that makes a difference. There's no others to take up the slack and nowhere to hide, although I don't rule out diving under the table and peeking out when things get rough. Stormy times ahead people.

My other language learning strategy involves..um... drinking too much, funnily enough. I heart Mao's Live House, that shitty punk dive I found a week or so back. It's craptastic, the guys are hot, the girls look like they'd slit your throat for a dollar. My kinda people. There's gigs there coming up. I'm going, I'm going alone and I'm going to talk to everyone who'll listen to me. Hey, it's language practice...

Also! I'm translating a website for a tattoo buddy of mine over here. Excellent way to bone up on the tattoo vocab hey?

Ah guys, my shit is in flux, but fuck it. I'm sick of the worrying.

It's time to tear this city apart.

24 kuai is 4 Australian dollars, 3 US.

Today was my first ever experience with having "hired help". My flatmate's got it organised that every Monday they turn up for an hour and make the magic happen. 3 Chinese women rocked up with punctuality and cleaning products that would impress a German. Are Germans clean? I don't know, but I'm pretty sure they're on time. Regardless, the proletarian in me twitched a little.

I'm going to do the math/s just to clear something up.

3 ladies@ 24kuai/hour = 8 kuai each = $1.33AUD per person for an hours work.

Ker-azey.