Ein! Stop eating tha-- ah, shit

Zoe and I are desperately in love with our puppy. A few times a day, Zoe will die from cuteness while watching Ein's antics. What she does not die from is, however, the fact that Ein will oftentimes partake in a fine delicacy we humans do not have advanced enough tastebuds to appreciate-- that is, his feces. Disgusting habit, but we're weaning off of him. We have to use the Rolled-Up China Daily of Death to teach him lessons about bad habits sometimes, banhammering his feces-eating problem from existence. He's getting better. I think.

Other than that, pictures! Ein's grown in size since we first bought him, but I have a feeling that he'll always be a little puppy in my mind.


These past two weeks, Ein's been shedding a lot of his fur. His back is now more of the same color as the fur on his head, which is a nice golden-brown, like the Stranglers song. Except for the whole thing about heroin. What was I talking about again?

Lastly, here's Ein doing what he does best besides eating feces: playing.




Ein isn't all growns-up yet; but he's getting there.

It's universal

You've just been dumped by a cheating bitch of a girlfriend who used your favorite copy of Punisher War Journal as a rag, fucked your best friend at your little sister's birthday party, and then called her mother a whore in front of your entire family. You've sworn to yourself and your friends time and time again over Pabst Blue Ribbon beers that you'd dump that slut the next chance you got.

But your problem was, is, and has always been the fact that you're an insecure little bitch. Sure, letting this chick know that you're a person with feelings, too, and then ultimately giving her the heave-ho sounds great. Nothing would put your mind more at ease than letting go of someone who has been a negative influence on your psyche, but somehow, you can't. You know if you let this one go, you probably won't ever have anyone in your life that will let you touch them intimately, let alone call them your "girlfriend" in front of your friends, the same people who slowly lose respect for you with each repeated lecture on love and relationships they give you late at night in the parking lot at Jack In The Box.

As your insecurity grows, your ability to fend for yourself weakens. Your girlfriend continues to run you into the ground emotionally, mentally, physically, and financially, until one day-- she's gone. Like a fart in the Staples Center. She did what you couldn't do; she got rid of you, when you knew it should've been the other war around. Now you're feeling empty inside, but it's a bittersweet emptiness with the majority of it resting on the "-sweet" side. Although you're free of this blackened menace that was purging the lifeblood out of you, you're now directionless as you no longer have a bitch girlfriend to appease. There's a reason they call it "growing on someone."

However, with the exocommunication of your former girlfriend comes a new lease on life. You're not sure where your life is going to lead you now, and yet there's this jittery, butterflies-in-the-stomach feeling you can't quite shake. You are now master of your own destiny, and you're still open to the prospect of love, despite how badly you've been hurt in the past. Maybe it's partly the shadow of your insecurity, maybe it's because you've always managed to remain optimistic despite the worst of situations and outcomes, or maybe it's both. But right now, that doesn't matter. You're out there now. You're working out, you're reading books you've always wanted to read, and you're meeting new people. You're getting involved. And it feels goooood.

Then, one day, out of the blue, comes a new girl into your life. It's like that old cliche goes, where the one you were meant to be with was always just under your nose. Where has this person been all my life? you ask yourself as you gaze at her sauntering down the street, her auburn hair flowing, gently caressed by the winds that seem to come and go at her beck and call, equally enamored with her luminence as you are. You've seen the worst the female population has to offer and now you can't help but feel like you're standing at the throes of the best. You like everything about this girl. You like the way she laughs. You like her choice in music. You like her taste in cuisine. Your last girlfriend swore by holiday sales at the Gap, which you knew in your heart of hearts was wrong, due to the company's spotty track record and involvement with sweatshop labor. But this new girl? She shops strictly at American Apparel. Something's different about this girl.

So, you get to know her, take things slow. You find out more about her. And just like your infatuation with her taste in humor, music, and food, you like what you hear. Now, we fast-forward to less than a year later. Things are getting really, really serious between you two. The thing you love the most about her is how well she speaks her mind. Every morning, as you two lay between the sheets that act as a conductor between the rest of the population and your own private world, she talks to you in her mellifluous, honey-dripping voice. She knows how bad you've been hurt in the past. You wear no scars on your body; it's your heart and your soul she's looking into. She promises you that with her, things will be different. As she softly kisses you on your quivering lips, your mind blissfully drifts and you sneak a look at the rays of sunlight that are beginning to creep through the window.

Your heart, too, is adrift with questions. You're madly, deeply in love, and you know things will be, as she said, different this time. Much in the way the pious reconcile their faith in the unknown, you also rest your trust in this intangible yet profound sense of change you are eager to experience. And yet, the questions. The questions. Will it ever be safe for me to love again? Can I really trust her? And the burning question: How will things be this time around?

You'll have your answer in four years.

Dear Beijings, pt. 2

Maybe not the local citizens this time, but rather, a different contingent of people/persons that litter the streets of Wudaokou like ubiquitous yangrou chuan'r sellers, only not as scrumptious or welcoming a sight.

European Men

I'll be honest: I own a plain zip-up hoodie from H&M. And my favorite pair of jeans that I have at the moment are a 130 kuai pair of stonewashed, faded blues from Jack & Jones. But that's it. No floral patterns or T-shirts with a pullstring for me, thanks.

Maybe it's from being raised American or from hanging out with people as cynical, if not moreso, than myself, but I have a natural aversion towards silk scarves paired with tight plain white T-shirts, one which causes me to furl my eyebrows until migraines rear their ugly head.

Now, I know some of you are thinking, "C'mon, Robert, you're describing a metrosexual male, or a male who is fashionably conscious and keeping up with the changing times." No I'm not. There's a reason a term "metrosexual" exists in America, and there's also a reason we refer to these men as simply "European."

I know some of you are also thinking, "what's wrong with expressing yourself through your clothing?" Yes, I own some 8-bit videogame themed T-shirts, clever ones at that. I have no problem with fashion sense, or lack thereof. There's also the philosophy book by Derrida tucked under the arm at all times, the plain black leather laptop bag with the MacBook peeking its unique, non-conformist, one-of-a-kind head ever so accidentally out of the unzipped opening, and the Chinese girl dangling on the arm and hanging on every poorly constructed English sentence and malapropism he manages to sputter out of his unshaven face. Great. Thanks, guys. Now I get to put up with awkward conversations about nothing whenever I sit down and try to study for the goddamn LSATs at my former-favorite coffee shop.

Goddamn it, I did it again. I think I'm just describing White people in general. Ah, well.

Get a haircut, assholes. Put on a fuckin' Quiksilver shirt, and for god's sake, try to be more like this guy:

That's the real motherfucker right there. Mmmm-hmmmm.

Dear Beijings, pt. 1

Technically, almost every single post I've had since coming here qualifies as a heretofore to be known as "Dear Beijings" entry, but here we go.

The "Dear Beijings" section will be a forum in which I rant, bitch, or just observe (don't count on that happening too often) certain things in Chinese society, albeit a microcosmic representation here in Beijing, that either bugs me or that I find funny.

So without further ado...

Bottlenecking

I did a search on "Answers.com" for a good, concise definition of what a bottleneck is, and so far, I've got:

1) A narrow or obstructed section, as of a highway or a pipeline
2) A point or area of traffic congestion
3) A hindrance to progress or production

Now, as of this writing, there are over 18 million people in this crazy little city. Even though I've lived here before, I still consider myself to be somewhat of a new hand here in China, in that I still haven't and probably never will be accustomed to sharing so much space with so many people at once.

What does "being accustomed" to living with so many people entail? It's somewhat of a "chicken-and-egg" problem, in that the problem is created by a source, which in turn is exacerbated by the problem the source creates, ie. too many people. What this has led to is people who push, shove, cut in lines, and people who make the streets utterly unnavigable at times. I understand where this comes from; with so many people all vying for similar things, you've got to cut out your own piece of the pie (or in some cases, the crust).


But here's where the bottlenecking comes in. If you've got thirty motherfuckers pushing and shoving to get onto the subway, guess what? No one's getting on or off the damn train. The Chinese have difficulty reconciling the "First off, then in" rule, in which passengers who have reached their destination get off first, and then people who are boarding get in second. They also have difficulty giving right-of-way in traffic, no matter how few cars are on the road. Once again, this is all part of conditioning via one's environment, but I mean, come the fuck on.

There's too many people in China. That's a problem. But problems are called "problems" for a reason... there's bound to be some kind of solution, so it's not unmanagable. The difficulty in this is, people, by nature, adapt to rather than confront unfavorable situations. Again, too many people in China, but no one's willing to work together to face the issue. How else do you explain the fact that despite being in one of the most densely populated cities in the world, Tokyo commutes are painless procedures where people understand the concept of fairness, priority, and a little thing called "circulating traffic" that allows people to get back home to their loved ones in a fast, if not reasonably acceptable timeframe?

Then again, maybe I am still an idealist. I've only been back here about a month. We'll see how my perception changes as time goes on.

Do Want - October edition

I don't care if you've been left and scorned by every single woman you've ever had the misfortune of attempting a romantic endeavor with. I don't care if you've seen the true face of the evil that mankind is capable of committing day in and day out as a forensic scientist working some of the grisliest murders this country has bared witness to. I don't care if you're Charles-fucking-Manson.

Just look at those things and try your best not to go "awwwww!!!111!11!!!one!!1!1!!!eleven!!!!"

Lookit widdle Kwatos! He's got his own miniature scowl and everything! All the God of War sackboys need are their own sacrificial virgins complete with two-toned boobies and unbelievably generous disposition to ravage, and you're set.

Yes, they keep them as pets, too

Our puppy Ein has now been fast asleep for the past hour and a half, and after a few minutes of debating, I ultimately decided to let 'im sleep. It's been a long day for all of us, as the entire day was spent first going an hour out of town, picking up the puppy, getting all of the necessary supplies (for the time being), and training the little scamp not to shit all around my apartment, but it was all worth it. At the end of the day, Zoe and I are proud owners of a two-and-a-half-month-old Corgi pup.

We decided against the name "Chewie" for aforementioned reasons, and after running through numerous names including Tas, Owen, and Carbunkle (see if you can spot the fantasy/Star Wars/loser references), we settled on naming our pup after the reason we so wanted a corgi in the first place: Ein, the lovable Welsh Pembroke Corgi from "Cowboy Bebop". If you're blatantly obvious, no one can call you out for being unoriginal.

Ein has a peculiar fascination with feet. When I tap the back of my heel against my sandal, he comes running full speed, sometimes slipping against the polished sheen of my pseudo-wood flooring. Likewise, when Zoe wears her panda slippers, Ein figures it's a good idea to chase her feet down and assert his dominance as the cutest furry creature in the household. Next to Sawyer, of course, who's been sitting in his cage the whole time wondering what the fuss is about.

Although it's my first time raising anything that requires to be let outside of the confines of a cage, I know Zoe and I will be good owners to this adventurous little creature that has already brought so many death-by-cuteness moments upon us in the span of a day.

Pictures, of course:

Pingyao

So, I'm back home from a three-day jaunt around the Shanxi province, specifically in Pingyao. Aside from the horrendous traffic getting out of and into Beijing, the trip was a blast. Pingyao is a Chinese 古城 or "Ancient City." Unlike modern-day Beijing but like former Beijing, Pingyao is surrounded on all sides by city walls, although the likelihood of a modern-day siege is doubtful.

What was interesting to me wasn't just the culture surrounding the area, but a more expanded idea (on a personal scale) of just how big China is, and how diverse the regions and its people are from one another. And despite all the differences, how similar, at the end of the day, the Chinese people really are. Our tram driver had difficulty saying a complete sentence without adding a "fuck your mother" in between or at the end of the sentence. I can only imagine how he'd respond if you asked him what he thought of the weather: "The weather's good, and your mother's a fucking cunt. How about you?" This is common lingo amongst all drivers throughout China, giving all travelers that warm and fuzzy feeling that they're never too far from home.

Being in China has made me all sorts of camera-whorish, so here be pictures.

The old woman in this picture is a master paper cutter. While in her shop, she wouldn't let me take pictures of her at work, but I managed to snap this shot of her walking down an alley all bad-ass-like.

While in the magistrate's quarters, we caught this demonstration of how the law was laid out back in the day. The magistrate in the middle of the picture sat around and posed for pictures, but I spared him his dignity by opting not to take a picture of him--up close, at least.

If I want to make any kind of physical contact with her in a picture, I gotta pay 6,000 RMB extra.

And last, but definitely not least, is a picture displaying Zoe's adorable tendencies towards older men. She has a long-lasting adoration towards Clint Eastwood, but not "Dirty Harry" or "A Fistful Of Dollars" Eastwood, rather "Million Dollar Baby" Eastwood.

I'm about two years older than Zoe, so I guess that qualifies me as an older man, even though I look like I'm 16. Ah well.

Good times, and the 国庆节 holiday has just started for us. Looks like we're getting that puppy tomorrow. And in gaming-related nonsense, I beat God of War: Chains of Olympus on Zoe's PSP from start to end during the trip. I keeps it real.