Foreign Expert Certificate

I got my foreign expert certificate for China today. Hooray! The inside of the front page says the following:

"This certificate is valid in the People's Republic of China.

The bearer of the Certificate is a foreign expert confirmed by the State Administration of Foreign Experts Affairs of the People's Republic of China or the administration departments of foreign experts affairs of provincial people's governments. The bearer is entitled to conveniences and treatments for foreign experts provided by the government of the People's Republic of China."

I'M NOT SURE WHAT THOSE CONVENIENCES AND TREATMENTS INCLUDE, BUT I BET IT'S A LOT OF REALLY AWESOME THINGS, YOU GUYS.

Peace out.

Syrup

There's a restaurant in the alley right next to the college that has Sunday brunch including bacon and french toast. There's another teacher that I make go at the same time with me because I don't like eggs and she can't eat french toast, so we trade. And of course, to properly eat french toast, you need syrup. But the restaurant only has honey.

I asked around, and found out that a store just up the street had some syrup. They said it wasn't anything we had in America, but that it looked like maple syrup and maybe I could give it a try. I actually don't recognize the name brand, and it was about $5 a bottle (for a pretty alright size). I was a little wary, but I decided to get it.

I feel really sheepish carrying it into the restaurant. The owner is out in the area all the time, and I thought he might get mad at me. But when he saw me holding it, he just looked at me and the bottle and said, quote, "Whoa." He's Chinese, if that makes it any funnier. It did to me.

But in either case, the real point of the story is that it's actually AWESOME and I'm really glad I got it because it makes it taste so much better and now I can have something like a western breakfast once a week, which is something I didn't have at all in Cambodia, so that's nice.

In other news, another foreigner at the restaurant today saw me holding it and asked, "Hey buddy, where'd you get that syrup?" I thought that was funny, and also that I should start a Chinese syrup business.

Peace out.

Worst Superhero Ever

I hate it when songs disappear. Mostly I hate it because you never know the last time that you'll hear them, so you can't appreciate them.

There was a girl on Semester at Sea who played guitar, song, wrote, and apparently was a DJ as well. I never talked to her much, just a few times, but she seemed nice. I think the first time was when I left a tour to go cliff diving in Hawaii when we weren't supposed to and she was photographing people jumping. Another time she borrowed my guitar and I listened to her play when she was in her room with a few other friends.

One of the songs that she played that time, I think, was called "Worst Superhero Ever." I'm pretty sure her friends pushed her to play it even though she didn't really want to. I don't remember a lot of the lyrics, but I remember that it was a nice melody that would relate to some aspect of a superhero, but always tagged on a "without ..." and then the redeeming quality of said hero, which I thought was clever. And the chorus had a very simple but catchy mix of chords, lyrics, and melody as well, ending with "I'm the worst superhero ever."

Part of what's sad about things like this is that you'll never get to know all the analogies and clever jokes that are in it. But what makes me saddest about it really is that the songs I love most are always ones written by people I know, even if I don't know them incredibly well, even sometimes if the songs aren't killer. There's just something way more interesting and personal about it and it feels like that's how art's supposed to be, accessible to you.

The last few days on SAS, I found out she recorded a few of her songs for friends. Someone said that I could have a copy, but that she was shy about it and I should ask her first. I didn't see her again before we got off the ship.

I remember that I asked her once if she would send me a copy of that song. She never replied.

Peace out.

Taj Mahal

My favorite for-real food in the whole world is pad thai. I've been trying to find a thai restaurant here pretty much since I showed up with very limited luck. The one that I've seen in real life is really intimidating, like you're only supposed to go there if you're very rich and have both an entourage and a reservation. I am not rich and have neither of those things, so I'm afraid to go in. Maybe I could wear a shirt that says "SHUT UP AND TAKE MY MONEY" in Chinese, but I don't know if the humor translates.

I asked two of my students tonight if they knew where any Thai restaurants were in the area, and they pointed to an alley right next to the school. "REALLY!?" I shouted excitedly. They assured me yeah, just walk back there and I would find it.

I walked back, and I saw a restaurant with the character for "Thai" in its name, which I've memorized just in case. I wasn't sure that this place would actually have pad thai, but I decided if it was worth a try. In my currently terrible Chinese, I asked if the host spoke English. Nope. I looked at the menu which was in English, and it appeared to be pretty much exclusively Indian items. I asked some more in my terrible Chinese if they had Thai food, and after a while they agreed that no, they didn't, and I should try yet another street (which I later tried, and also failed).

I found out that the reason "Thai" was in the name is because the name of the restaurant is supposed to be "Taj Mahal," and they use the sound of the Thai character for the Ta in Taj.

Peace out.

Me First

People say that one of the problems with China is that the people have a "Me First" complex/issue/problem. I don't know if it's true of every single person or in actually meaningful situations, but it definitely applies to cutting in lines. It doesn't matter where you are - train station, police station, bank, hospital, your own funeral - someone will try their best to cut in front of you if you leave even a millimeter of space between yourself and the body in front of you. That might be part of why Chinese people pack so tightly in those types of places.

I was at the store across the street tonight getting a recharge card for my phone. I tried to do it online, but I spent about 20 minutes navigated the site in Chrome-translated Chinese and made no progress. I don't think paying online here is as easy as it is in the states. Anywho, there was one little old Chinese lady at the counter. I was standing right by her, leaning against the counter with maybe ten inches of space between myself and the old lady.

I saw a youngish girl walking towards the store. I thought to myself, "Hm, I wonder if that's enough space for someone to try to steal it. I bet this girl wouldn't be that rude."

WRONG.

She came back to the counter when she had her things and bolted right for the space in between me and the old lady. I couldn't believe it. Before she could cement herself to the counter in front of me, I reached my arm forward and gave her a little elbow on the side and basically boxed her out of the way like you would in soccer or basketball. I should say that I've NEVER seen the victim of cutting do this in China before.

The girl seemed quite taken aback. She gasped a little bit. I forced her behind me in the line. She tried to say something to me in Chinese. I didn't catch much except for the phrase "don't have." I wouldn't have cared even if I understood, so when she spoke I just turned and glared daggers at her, which I'm told I'm pretty good at. Once I turned back around, we didn't glance or speak to each other again.

Peace out.

Little Meow

The Chinese word for "cat" is "mao," which I'm personally convinced is an onomatopoeia for the sound that the animal makes. The word for a kitten is just "xiao mao," where "xiao" means small/little. So in my head I think of the Chinese word for kitten as "little meow." I dig it.

I was in a restaurant a couple days ago just across the street from the college and on the second floor of the restaurant, one of the ones I don't go to very often and I'm actually not sure of the name of right now. It's very thin, with vibrantly colored floors and menu and a TV that's way too loud. I haven't had much luck with the things I've ordered there before, but I don't just want to go to the same two or three restaurants for 10 months so sometimes I try to do something new.

When I showed up, a guy who I'm pretty sure is the owner was sitting at a table two across from me, and there was a kitten on the table with him that kept poking at his food. The waitress girls - possibly his daughters - were eyeing it, and then I think he picked it up and put it on the ground. It kept running around his feet searching for bits of food or trying to pull its way back up, so one of the girls grabbed it by the scruff of its neck, opened a door to another room in the side of the eating area, and closed the kitten behind the door. I was a little sad, because I wanted to eat with him/her.

Later, after my food came out, the kitten managed to walk out of the door when someone else walked through it. It walked around for a little while, and then I think one of the girls noticed it again. She picked it up and was walking towards the door, but an older woman noticed that I was watching intently, and probably looked sad. She said something, and the girl looked at me. I put my hand out. I didn't know what to say, because I didn't know the word for "cat" or "kitten" yet. I know the words for "I want" and "it," but I don't know if it's for humans or animals. If it's for humans, I didn't want to look at some 14-year-old waitress girl and say "I want it." I ended up just saying "Wo yao!" [I want!]. It was clear enough what I was talking about, so she came over and handed the little meow to me.

It sat on my lap for the first little while and I pet it while it rested on my knee. Sometimes it was claw and knead my knee, which I didn't mind because it's just a kitten and not actually painful in any way. Eventually he got a little bit nosy and started aiming for my food, and then insisted on jumping up on the table. I held him off for a little while by putting pieces of meat on a napkin in very small chunks and letting it try to eat them, which it would manage after a bit of effort. But then it kept going for the noodles, and I didn't really have anything more to give him. He wanted the whole plate, not just the pieces. So I put him back on my knee, but he didn't like that, so he hopped down to the floor, and the waitress took him back again.

Peace out.

Not Creative, Just Poor

My desk was too low.

Peace out.

The Rules

1. The Rules are written in pencil so that you can change them if you really fucked up. They go into effect at 12:30PM, Monday, August 6th, 2012, China time. But you should start earlier than that.

2. Write a blog post every day. It doesn't need to be long, or current, or true. It can just be an idea. But you have to do it.

3. Carry your camera with you outside of class. Remember your graduation speech? Remember how happy you were to see your Digital Pictures 2 folder? Who cares if your jean pockets ruin one per year? It's worth it!

4. If something is too personal for a blog, that's why you're going to do your absolute best to take up stick figure art again. You'll be glad you did. So grab a fucking hard-back spiral bound journal ASAP and get on it.

5. Stop feeling inadequate/being a pussy and try to write some fucking songs. And don't blame the guitar. Stop being lazy, get over it, and get better at it.

6. You have 30 minutes on Reddit per day. No link hogging. DO COOL SHIT instead.

7. Email or elsewise contact old friends sometimes. You'll both appreciate it.

8. Explore more once you get a bike. Look for buildings to climb, good public pieces, places you could put your own, ways to interact with the environment.

9. DETAILSDETAILSDETAILSDETAILSDETAILSDETAILSDETAILSDETAILSDETAILSDETA

10. Spend as little time eating as you can. Be wary of lingering conversation.

11. Studying Chinese gets moved up the priority list. Now is th etime.

12. Once you get a bike, exercise at least 4x/wk. Try to get skates/stick/puck.

13. Acceptable pastime activities: Blog, photograph, draw, guitar, piano, write, email friends, study Chinese, exercise, watch a movie/lecture, read a book, do math.

Unacceptable: Reddit, Facebook.

14. You listen to to-do lists so MAKE SOME! And then follow through.

15. Read the rules sometimes to help remind you of them/enforce them.

THE AMENDMENTS

I. Program for at least 15 minutes a day. Project Euler counts; so does Udacity.

II. Aim for 3 pages of AoPS per day and 1 page of The Math Book. per day.

//

In real life, they're highlighted and underlined. I didn't write the word "pastime." I actually wrote "past-time" and realized that it was wrong, underlined it to shame myself, and draw a smiley face with equal-sign eyes over top of it.

Peace out.

The Mobility Myth

I just happened across this post at SomethingAwful in their prison thread and thought it was pretty interesting, so I'm just keeping it for posterity... of myself.

"There is political opposition to asking questions like 'Why do people commit crime?', because the answer- 'In many communities, the best choice for an ambitious hard-working upwardly-mobile youth is organized crime.'- doesn't fit into our national myth of egalitarian upward mobility through hard work. So the very idea of trying to understand social issues at all is demonized and ridiculed."

Peace out.

Long Exposure

I hope the formatting on this doesn't come out like poop.

((O_O))

//

Edit: Holy yay! I can email pictures to my blagonet!!! So ya'll can expect from pictures from China/Cambodia.

Peace out.

Long Division

From Steve Yegge:

"I went back and looked at the long-division algorithm they teach in grade school, and damn if it isn't annoyingly complicated. It's deterministic, sure, but you never have to do it by hand, because it's easier to find a calculator, even if you're stuck on a desert island without electricity. You'll still have a calculator in your watch, or your dental filling, or something."

Peace out.

Handwritten

One bad thing about handwritten letters is that I can never remember what I said in the ones I sent out.

Peace out.

The Website is Down

The power in the dorm flickered on and off yesterday in the afternoon, and the internet remained down thereafter for about twenty-four hours. I sent an email to ResCom which read as follows:

"Please reconnect the internets in simmons hall. There have been no blogotubes for the past 24 hours.

Thanks"

Things still didn't get fixed after that, so Matt and I made this comic, and sent it to ResCom.

Click here for comic

We did not get a reply.

But the internet came back.

Peace out.

A Goon's Summary of Ayn Rand

Since you haven't read the books, let me summarize:

Evil non-WASP liberals with spooky names: we're outlawing money because we're terrible straw men.

Sexy Elite WASPs with heroic names like Max Powers and Jon Thor: BUT WE DESERVE TO HAVE ALL THE MONEY BECAUSE WE ARE SPECIAL!

Liberals: No. No money for you. We're going to melt your mansion down and feed it to the homeless.

WASP: BUT I WANT MONEY!

//

part 3 is just going to be a 3 hour long scene where a guy reads Galt's speech over a post-apocalyptic soundtrack

And a boxing glove attached to a spring-loaded mechanical arm punches you repeatedly in the balls while sitting in your theater seat.

Peace out.

Why I Don't Like Pro Tools

Before when I wrote songs, every song had its own feel. Snow and Lights made me think of looking out the bay window in the winter down toward the street light in my front yard doing a snow storm. Sleep in Peace made me think of a young couple in a small house packing their things up and moving to a neighborhood like mine. Meaning to Write made me think of driving in my car on an open back road on a clear night. One Day One Night made me think of getting on a plane and flying home and my neighbor's basement and how I would get to and from the airport and how I excited I was to write that song.

Now every song feels like this:

Click for full-size

Boring. Dumb. Emotionless. Empty. Mathematical. MIDI. Plastic. Edited. Talentless. Computerized. Ugh.

Before, whenever I would write a song, I would just close my eyes and practice it over and over and over again at the piano, and recording was done in one shot, over and over and over again, until I played and sang the whole thing through with (almost) zero mistakes. I wasn't micromanaging. I wasn't editing. Plastic perfection wasn't the aim. Just the correct essence of the song. Pro Tools kills that. Now the aim is synthetic perfection. It doesn't matter if your song has a soul or not; Rebecca Black's Friday is regarded as better than Apathy by The Stuff because it's been airbrushed.

If Pro Tools was the only way to record songs, I don't think I ever would have started. And if I ever use it again, it will be long, long after I've cemented what a song is to me, so that its image in my head is of what the song really is, instead of some gray and black computer screen.

Peace out.

The Duck

Rigatoni's got rid of the fake plastic candles on their tables. Today was the first day I noticed. I stayed late to talk to Hortense and a friend of hers visiting from Cornell at a different table, one towards the window and the back. When we were eating, Hortense looked over my shoulder and shouted "DUCK!" and I looked out the window behind me and saw a cute mallard walking up and down the window that went all the way to the ground, quacking as it went, even though I couldn't hear it. It wanted to come inside because it knew there was food here, but it couldn't figure out the way in, architecture was simply too complicated for it to handle. Other people got bread on their way out, and we saw them break bits of bread and throw them towards the duck, and he ate them, and I decided I wanted to be like them and feed him too, so on the way out I went to get some bread from the very quiet bread girl who never gives you enough oil or cheese, right next to the cute Chinese girl with the well-defined jawline, and asked for a slice of bread, she asked which kind, and I didn't know which one to go with, but I thought the baguettes would be too tough for the duck, so I got rosemary instead because it looked softer. It was softer. But when I threw it to the duck, he ignored it, and the ignored it again, and then I threw one that I know he saw, and he put his beak up to it for a second, shook it, and ran away. It was too strong for him.

Peace out.

I Don't Know

I came back to visit the high school during my freshman year of college to tell Mr. Trabocco that I had transferred from Brown to Penn State, and his reaction was an incredulous, "What is wrong with you?!" I didn't have a defense prepared. He said, "You just wrote yourself a one-way ticket to the proletariat, buddy."

//

Today I went to talk to a random computer science honors advisor about a career in software engineering. I told him that I was interested in computer science, specifically in being a code monkey, just sitting down at a screen and writing programs that do cool stuff, and his response was, through chuckles, "What is wrong with you?" Again, I didn't know.

Peace out.

Joe

Just so that I remember: I asked the folk singer Joe Crookston at a house party how I could actually get into the music scene without my parents killing me for wanting to be a starving artist, and he said to work at music camps. Residential, work with other artists, get paid, do something cool, meet the big times. Good advice.

Peace out.

Throwing Away

We cleared a bunch of stuff out of the basement today. Included: A puzzle of three white kittens that my mom completed and framed when I was in middle school sometime. A tiny kid-sized drumset that my dad got me for Christmas when I was in elementary school, and I thought that a drum solo consisted of hitting each drum once, in order, as fast as you could, and I thought that you could march a concert snare by tying a length of rope around it. A styrofoam "bubble" that you could strap around my back when I was about five years old, because I was afraid of swimming, and I think I only used it once or twice; I remember one of them was a sunny day in my mom's friend's backyard pool.

I have a tiny bit of hoarder/pack-rat tendencies. But not too bad.

Peace out.

Coldstone

Tarik: What's "Ayn Rand?"
Collin: Satan.

Peace out.