The old grey mare...

So, for no particular reason I've decided to take up my keyboard and post on my dusty blog. Because of this complete lack of any kind of reason I'm also focusing this blog entry on things my mother would be most interested in.

---

Chief among these right now is, of course, her grandson, Lucas (or, as I like to call him, the Grand Overlord of All He Surveys at Least in His Own Mind – GOAHSLHOM for short). We're closing in on his second birthday and he is in full-tilt "Terrible Twos" mode. Now to be fair he's better-behaved than other two year olds I've encountered. He is, however, incredibly active and hard to manage for a variety of reasons:

• he is hypercurious about everything (the more dangerous or annoying the better);
• he is much larger than other children his age;
• he is commensurately strong.

When he wants something it takes the concerted effort of Joan and her mother together to rein him in (or just me since I'm still the giant in the family).

He is, in a word, annoying.

The annoyance is mitigated, however by the sheer joy of watching him develop (and, in my case, the sheer joy of warping his mind for my own amusement). The initial health scare is gone. Lucas is a big, healthy, active, normal child in every sense. He's developing manual skills (some of them annoying – my desk drawers are no longer sacrosanct). He's developing very good listening comprehension skills in both English and Chinese. (We often underestimate how much he understands now!) His spoken skills are pretty good; he can communicate most things quite clearly now (and boy does he like to communicate them constantly!). He can recognize about 75% of the alphabet without error and about half of the remainder with about 50% accuracy. (He still confuses "N", "M" and "W" mind.) He's memorized a couple of Tang Dynasty poems (remember those from your childhood, Mom?) and is even at the point of beginning to recognize some Chinese characters in context (but not independently yet).

Some of the interesting character traits he's developing:

• he's absolutely obsessed with cars and has been from an amazingly young age;
• he loves Dora the Explorer (the TV show and the books);
• he's recently developed a love of the ridiculous rhymes of Dr. Seuss (There's a Wocket in my Pocket! being his current favourite book edging out by a hair the illustrated version of The Itsy Bitsy Spider);
• he likes to play hide and seek and is both remorseless and tireless while playing it;
• when he's tired he doesn't get whiny and cry, he gets crazy and runs around like a manic idiot;
• he's an extremely picky eater (obviously acquired from Joan, not me!);
• he likes music and will dance to it all the time, sometimes even managing to look cute instead of spastic;
• his first favourite song was, of all things, "Iron Man" which has given me one of my favourite images of all times: an elderly Chinese lady humming "Iron Man" to a young baby to soothe him;
• a current favourite song is the theme song to the old television show Night Court although I recently introduced him (by accident) to "Squeeze Box" which he also enjoys.
  

I do have a lot of new pictures of him and will post them as soon as possible, but some technical problems are interfering with this at the moment. When those are cleared, I'll make a new blog entry that consists almost entirely of Lucas photos.

---

The next person that Mom's going to be interested about is, of course, Joan. Joan is doing well, but this term bit off (quite a) bit more than she could chew work-wise and is worn to a frazzle. I, of course, told her this was a mistake long before she started into teaching 30 periods per week—over and above the whole parenting thing, mind—but nobody ever listens to me until it's too late. Still, this term is ending soon and next term she won't be making this same mistake. He won't come out and admit that I was right, but we both know that I was.

Joan is still the chief driving force behind us wanting to buy an apartment in Wuhan. This is proving more difficult than we had anticipated because the Chinese mortgage industry, like most large-scale operations in China, is run by untrained chimpanzees with bladder control problems. (They don't know what they're doing, are unsuited to their positions and like to piss on everything around them.) The size of the down payment we need to make is just too large to be realistic so I'm going to have to go hunting for a better-paid job or start a successful business or something. (Alternatively I could win the lottery or something. It's hard to do when you don't buy tickets, however.) We're still working at it though, even through the added expense of a personified force of destruction (a.k.a. 王森锐 or Lucas) in the household. Indeed it is for Lucas (giving him a stable home in his childhood) that we're going through this. It'd just be nice to get it done earlier.

Other things Joan-related: she's on her way to getting her Master's degree in teaching, get this, Chinese as a Foreign Language. This is our entry plan for Canada. Given the giant China has become on the world stage there's a lot of places itching to have their staff trained in Chinese. Further a lot of overseas Chinese are interested in having their children learn their "mother" tongue. This is beside the obvious possibility of government interest in native Chinese speakers. There's lots of opportunity for the future in this and Joan's working hard at it.

(Anybody want to learn Chinese from Joan so she can get some praxis?)

---

This leads to me, the last person my mother is interested in hearing about in our little family over here in China. My family life is going fine, although two sudden adjustments (bachelor-to-husband, husband-to-father) in rapid succession after 40 years of solitude was a bit of a shock (to put it mildly). As you may have gathered from the above, I'm insanely fond (and proud!) of my son despite the annoyances and worse of parenthood. (Oh, Mom? I apologize unreservedly.) Pretty much anything I do these days is for him, short- or long-term.

My work life is far improved at my new school, the Hubei Communication Technical College. This is not what one would call a high-rung college (more third-string) and as such they lack the arrogance of my previous school which (fraudulently) banks in on the good name of one of the more respected universities in China (Wuhan University). They, as a result, pay me (slightly) better, give me a much nicer (albeit about 10% smaller) apartment and pay all my bills except long distance telephone. That's not the best part, however. The best part is that I'm not just a 白猴子 ("white monkey") to them. I'm a teacher. I'm treated as a teacher and an asset. My opinion is sought out on matters that affect me (and sometimes even on matters that don't affect me). I'm invited to planning meetings. I'm actually encouraged to interact with the Chinese staff! (Three dinners so far and still counting, and this after I had to demure from two because of scheduling conflicts.)

The down side, of course, is my students. Just like the East Lake Campus students of my last school, these students are the dregs of China's educational system. They're entirely unsuited to being in university-level (or even college-level!) education. Unlike my former East Lake students, however, I actually feel for these kids. They're not arrogant, spoiled rich brats on the whole. (There's one exception out of about 100 students.) They're decent human beings who are being forced into something they have no interest in nor aptitude for. (The same is true of my former East Lake students, but I loathed them as human beings so didn't care about their suffering.)

On the other hand, my main campus students at my old school were decent people and, in many cases, people I actively thought had a real future (with several of them proving my predictions correct now!). I have no such students here. Still I'm overall much happier with my work here than I was at the old place so the move was a net plus.

My mother was kind enough to send me a big batch of books for my technical use (she's already sent Lucas about 20...). Because of her I'm now learning how to use ANTLR, Groovy, Scala, Erlang and Haskell (with Clojure on the way in another package) so that I can get my technical skills back up to snuff and ready for a move to high tech. Further, I have prospects, high tech-wise, here in China. One of my former students has talked to his manager about me and that manager is interested. Should things go well, I may be out of teaching next year this time and back into software, this time working for a Chinese company with ... well, I won't give away what it is that they were interested in me for so that I don't jinx the process of being hired. If this happens, though, it will be big. Very big.

---

That's it for this blog for now. Hopefully I can get back into the swing of things again (I have a strategy I like to call "mini-blogging" that may help) and not have a three-month gap again. And Mom, for no particular reason I promise that the pictures of Lucas will be up in a blog posting just for you before the week is out.

A small story to tide the gap.

I know, I know. More than a month. Trust me, I've been really busy and now am in the middle of moving. I'll have a post with lots of cute pictures of Lucas and stuff, but for now I'll just relate an early story of my stay in China.

Now I have to explain about my first school. It was a crappy little community college-like affair whose leadership had Grand Ambitions. (I have to capitalize it to get the scope of it across.) To accomplish its aims it had to do a lot of renovation and upgrading. One of the most visible upgrades was an actually-quite-impressive sports field.

It was a very modern sports field, all things considered, replacing a dusty clay track with a modern spongey-rubbery sort of deal, for example. The bleachers were being completely replaced (albeit with the ubiquitous concrete-covering-bricks construction that plagues most of China's buildings). While this was going on, there was landscaping being done all across the campus as well.

It is the landscaping to which I will be turning my attention because, one day, while teaching classes, I happened to look outside my classroom window. What I saw left me baffled. Two workmen were working fastidiously in the blazing afternoon sun alongside the sports field fence.

One man, apparently the foreman, was digging what looked like over-sized post holes. He'd dig one of these holes, proceed 3m down the fence, dig another hole, proceed 3m and so on. The second man was two holes (6m) behind him, very carefully and thoroughly filling in the holes. It went on like that with mechanical precision. One man digging an over-sized post hole. An empty post hole being left in the sun. One man filling in a post hole.

I was, of course, very curious. I was new to China and I knew the Chinese had different ways of doing things. I simply couldn't fathom what the pair were doing. Was this some bizarre way to aerate soil? Or was it a way to take the hard clay and loosen it up to aid in irrigation? I set out after class, student in tow, to find out.

The workmen were just countryside enough to be positively thrilled that a foreign teacher was expressing interest in their work. They showed me their equipment, talked about the weather and such (through translation, of course) and finally I got to the point.

"Why is it that you're doing this here? You dig a hole, and he fills it in two holes behind you?"

The answer was very enlightening in a Chan (Zen) sort of way.

"Oh, our work group usually has three people," the foreman explained. "But today the tree planter is in the hospital, sick."

OK, before Mom kills me...

...I should probably keep my promise, albeit two days delayed.

This is another Lucas entry people, so if you're not interested in a parent's obviously unbiased view as to his spawn being the cutest thing in the world, move along. I understand there's a blog featuring paint drying that's probably more interesting than this one will be.

So, I keep getting asked what Lucas is like. I keep getting stymied in trying to explain it. How, exactly, do you describe a whole personality in a few, short sentences? Lucas is a human being (if only just barely at times). And despite being under 18 months old he's still a complex creature. For example he's got "exhuberant, laughing bundle of joy" and he's got "cranky, whiny little thing". Talk about range! Jack Nicholson Heath Ledger's got nothing on him!

OK, snarky levity aside, I guess it's time to try and explain what Lucas is like. I'll supplement this with a few pictures.

From Lucas

In general Lucas is a joy. He's happy and mirthful and interested in everything around him. Even the things I don't want him to be interested in. Perhaps especially the things I don't want him to be interested in. You've all seen his happy, interested face in previous entries so I won't bother showing those. Direct your eyes to the picture on the left instead for what his face looks like when he doesn't get what he wants. What's happening there? He wants something and Daddy isn't giving it to him. So he's grabbing Daddy's leg and looking really cranky.

Now usually Lucas isn't cranky. He's cranky a little bit when he's tired but doesn't want to sleep. He's cranky a little bit when interested in something that we won't share with him. Otherwise, however, he's fine. Except when he's sick. Like he was this week, with a cold. See that cranky face above? Imagine a week of this. (This isn't to say that he's always cranky when he's ill. He's just cranky a whole lot more often and switches from giggling to cranky faster than Sichuan Opera singers switch masks.)

From Lucas

One of the other things you don't get to see much of in photos is Lucas sleeping. This is a tragedy, really, because it's one of the things that he's really, really good at. He sleeps with gusto (as you can tell from the photo gracing the right). A bed that's big enough to hold two adults (one of whom is known for being a restless sleeper no less) isn't big enough to hold Lucas without having a tent around him to prevent him from splitting his head when he rolls off. Like he did last night. The rolling off thing, I mean, not the splitting head. The tent on the bed (which, again, you can see in past pictures) saved him from everything except the fright of his life. His screeching howls brought three people to his room in about two heartbeats only to have him suffer the indignity of having those same three people laugh at his terror as we found him trapped at the foot of the bed by the tent. (I know this makes us awful human beings, but it was damned funny!)

From Lucas

Of course he doesn't always sleep in a bed. When Joan and her mother go shopping they bring Lucas along and Lucas often gets worn out from pointing at things and grabbing at things and in general getting overstimulated and overexcited by things. A lot of times when they return, the picture you see to the left is what I'm greeted with.

We generally just leave him in the stroller until he wakes up by himself. This could be hours later.

From Lucas

The walking thing that had us so scared earlier in the year has gone swimmingly. Lucas now trundles around under his own steam and turns our hair white one at a time as he does bone-headed things like walking into corners and door or stumbling over deceptively level floors. Luckily we have a harness rigged up on him that usually permits us to catch him before he hurts himself. The main problem here is that he just gets so excited with whatever has his attention that he forgets about small things like "balance" or "not being in the same place as hard objects". We don't always keep him in a harness, though, as you can see by the picture to the right. (The indistinct thing in the bowl, incidentally, is Lucas' very short-lived pet shrimp. No, I will not be explaining that any further.) Mostly we have him in the harness when outdoors (because falling there can be really bad) or when he's tired and his balance hits levels that in Canada would make a breathalyzer test mandatory.

So there's a thumbnail sketch of my son. The extrovert toddler inflicted upon to introvert parents. (I'm sure that I'm being paid back for something in a past life. Saṃsāra can be a real bitch.) I hope this has given enough of a taste that I stop getting hounded by a frustrated grandmother who has yet to meet her grandson. (In a similar vein I hope that peace breaks out in the Middle East and that I get a hunk of that green cheese from the Moon.)

It always works out in the end.

So, I did my usual holidays thing and missed what day it was. As a result I didn't do my Sunday update. This turns out to be for the best, however, because it saves me the effort of making two posts and it gives me the opportunity to expound at length on some of the mystifying aspects of Chinese culture.

Today was the 19th of January and, while I was enjoying one of those rare mornings where I can sleep in after having gotten a decent night's sleep, the phone suddenly rang. It was about 8AM or so. Joan's cousin was calling. She and her family were on the way to visit. (Consider how an average Canadian family would react to being told—not asked, note!—that someone was on their way to visit. Directly from sleep. With one hour being a possible arrival time. Maybe two. Most Canadian families would go ballistic over this. For Chinese families this is the norm.) So up we got in a rush. For a change this wasn't a case of Joan just forgetting to tell me that visitors were coming today (she does this often) but was instead a complete surprise to her as well. Like a well-oiled machine we leaped into action. Joan fed the baby, I showered, Joan's mother made breakfast (热干面 – Wuhan-style "hot dry" noodles). Then I ate, got the baby handed to me while Joan swept the floors.

Arrival time was 9, maybe 10. So they arrived by 11. (The culturally-German in my audience are already grinding their bicuspids into powder here. I can hear it all the way over in China!) By this point the house was in passable shape and ready for the comedy to ensue. You see, the family was over for Lucas' birthday. They screwed up a little, though, seeing as Lucas was born on the 9th and they thought it was the 19th, but still their hearts were in the right place. That and they came bearing gifts including a sizable 红包 ("red envelope") with an embarrassing amount of cash in it.

A decent visit was had by all, partially courtesy of Joan's mother's ability to cook up a fancy, sizable meal from nothing on short notice: beef and carrot hot pot, "mountain medicine" (a weird sort of yam, I think) with pork, stir-fried cucumber and sausage, mixed vegetables, chicken feet, and a few more dishes which escape my memory now.

It is this whole thing working out in the end that always mystifies me with Chinese culture. These are some of the most disorganized people I've ever met in my entire life. I have never seen people who plan so much for so little effect, for example. (That is when planning is done at all. In personal lives it rarely is.) Yet, somehow, everything gets muddled through to a satisfactory conclusion. I wish I could learn this trick. Life would be a lot more relaxing if I could just know in the back of my mind that things always work out (in a muddled way) at the end.

Speaking of muddled things (nice segue for talking about Lucas, isn't it?!): Lucas was a champ for most of the day. Cheerful, charming, etc. All the things he's famous for. Unfortunately this ended (thankfully after our guests left) this afternoon. He's constipated, you see, and he's really unhappy about it. And he makes this unhappiness known at a very high volume.

Weekend Update

As promised, here's my Sunday update.

Aside from Lucas' birthday (about which I've already posted) this has been a nice, relaxing week. I haven't had classes and the paperwork I have to do is on hold because I have no idea when or where to send it. Sometime soon I'm going to get a panicked call from the Foreign Office asking me when I'll hand in my marks and after that I'm on my own until school starts again sometime in February. (The FO in this school has simply the worst communication skills I've ever encountered in my life. They're not actively evil like my previous school. They're just incredibly incompetent.)

I've been spending some time assembling what I need to make Joan's new computer something that's useful to her and which I can actually understand when the time comes for me to fix problems. The major problem I have right now is when Joan has a problem with her computer (my old Sony laptop from 2003) I can't be of much help. It's all in Chinese, and Joan doesn't know the technical terms in English. Trying to diagnose a problem when I have to wait for her to translate (badly) every piece of text on a dialogue box, guess what it really says and then try to see if I can fix it is not good for my sanity.

So what's my solution? Well, I've managed to track down a copy of Windows XP Professional in English. I've also managed to pick up the "MUI" (Multilingual User Interface) pack for it that includes Chinese. I snarfed a copy of Office 2007 and am in the process of tracking down the Chinese Language Pack for that as well. I've used a virtual machine on my laptop to test out the configuration and make sure everything works as expected. The result is, when I've finally got it all installed on Joan's machine, a computer that has everything in place for her to work in her native language, but which will allow me to work in my native language should any problems arise.

Have I mentioned at all just how much I hate Windows these days?

From Lucas

Anyway, no other particularly interesting news to report. I did have someone ask me what Lucas' favourite toy is. Before his birthday I would have responded that his favourite toy was his stuffed dog that looks almost, but not quite, completely unlike Snoopy. Every morning when he gets dumped on our bed to play, he always spots the dog and starts pointing at it making "Ah! Ah!" sounds quite adamantly, and if we don't get it for him (and by "we" of course I mean "me") he gets a little bit upset.

Things change, however, and it's looking like that house I got him for his birthday (you can see a piece of it in one of Friday's pictures) is topping the list. He's still asking for the dog and still gets upset if you don't give it to him, but now the dog mostly lies there disregarded except for an occasional pounce. The rest of the time is spent with him puzzling over the house.

Life is good.

Six months is long enough, isn't it?

So, I've been incredibly lazy and demotivated in the last six months. As is typical for China (and, indeed, anywhere) I've been hit with the "no good deed goes unpunished" thing this year and had, thereby, my life sucked out of me. I could rant for a while on this subject, but I think it's better, given the catching up I have to do, to just give you the executive summary: three of the foreign teachers at the main campus of WUISS did such a good job and were so popular with the students that in punishment for this we were sent to the Sweathogs campus (a.k.a. "The East Lake Campus of Wuhan University International Software School, a business division of Wuhan University"). So instead of having 14 hours per week with students that were an active joy to teach, I got, last term, only six hours with students of that calibre and 10 hours with the Sweathogs. (Yes, they increased my teaching hours by two so I could have more exposre to these dullards!) These students, in particular my early Friday class, are so worthless—not just as students but in many cases as human beings—that I just found myself not wanting to think about things.

Added into this was the increasing stress of my imminent fatherhood. Joan, as can be seen in the picture next to this paragraph, was increasingly obviously going to be changing my life still further with a bouncing baby basketball child of some indeterminate gender (you're not allowed to know this in advance in China and Joan didn't want to spend the money it would take to get the answer through bribery). The nervousness I felt around this I couldn't let show because Joan was already nervous enough for about fifteen people. I instead kept it bottled inside and pretended to not be worried.

Joan, in retrospect, is a pretty incredible girl. Where most women in China won't work for three months before giving birth, Joan was working literally up to the night before the exciting series of hospital visits leading to final delivery of our child. Those hospital visits in themselves were nerve-wracking—we went three times with false labour before we finally got the real thing—and in retrospect I'm very happy that the school completely screwed up in organizing a special class (it was to have started on the 7th of January but actually started on the 14th) because I'd have been useless in the classroom while all that was going on. As it was, I didn't feel particularly useful, but at least I could be there a little bit.

(I had to keep rushing home, you see, on the off chance the school gave me the information I needed for my classes so I could plan. In the end I had three days' notice to plan for a 14-day—uninterrupted!—course where I taught over four terms of English in two weeks to a single class. Three. Days'. Notice.)

Anyway, by now anybody who actually bothers to read this blog already knows that on the 9th of January, at 12:40AM, in the city of Wuhan, Lucas Richter (a.k.a. 王森鋭 – Wang Senrui) was born to two loving, exhausted and emotionally drained parents. It was a difficult delivery, made even more difficult by the fact that he weighed 4.35kg (9.57 pounds) that finally led to delivery by caesarian section. Still, it's all over now and Joan is recovering nicely from the surgery, albeit getting a wee bit cranky at our child. (Ironically I have more experience with babies than Joan seeing as I was babysitting at about the same time she was born....)

Lucas is, as of yesterday, one month old and has already wrought massive changes to our life. Now of course some of this is because of the horrific weather we've been having—China is experiencing the worst winter in living memory right now, but I'll be saying more on that later, complete with pictures—which has crammed us all, effectively, into the only heated room in the apartment. (I have a small space heater in the office, so I can do work there, but it's not very comfortable.) This crazy weather is beginning to let up, but we're still all stuck in that one room complete with jury-rigged bed extension for Joan's mother to sleep on. Still, all that aside, Lucas is now the master of our household. When he wants to eat, he eats (or our ears bleed – our choice). When he wants to sleep (which isn't often enough...) he sleeps. And, of course, when he decides that he wants to sleep on a person, not on a pile of blankets so soft it would embarrass a cloud? He sleeps on a person. (The choice, again, is that or our eardrums bleed.)

On the whole, though, to be fair to the little tyke, he's been good. I've babysat for kids far more prone to squalling and I've heard the horror stories of not getting any sleep at night because that's when the baby is active. Lucas sleeps through most of the night without fussing, waking up only at midnight and, typically, 5AM for feeding. A minor adjustment to my sleep/wake cycle will account for those late night feedings without me getting too wiped out by lack of sleep.

Lucas, at this point, according to everybody, looks a lot like me. (This will, of course, change and already has.) He's a big-'un and he definitely has my eye shape. His nose, to me, looks more like Joan's and his eye colour....

Well, people keep asking me about the colour of his eyes. I keep having to say "I don't know". It's frankly quite embarrassing, but the truth is that, despite Lucas' eyes having opened long ago (first glimpse of them was day 3 -- by now he's looking at things and actively tracking movement) I still can't really describe his eye colour. The eyes are dark. Very dark. But not dark like Chinese eyes which reach the point of almost looking black. There's a hint of blue to them. Or something. Maybe dark hazel? I have an idea. Click on the picture next to this paragraph (I took a closeup) and decide for yourself. Maybe then you can tell me what colour the eyes are.

Anyway, that's enough catching up for today. I promise that I will restart blogging with something resembling regularity so that my mother doesn't kill me. I'll also have more pictures to show next time around (it takes a while to upload these things!) including what it looks like in Wuhan when there's more than three days of snow in a winter.

Bad Moon Rising

"I hear hurricanes a-blowin'.
I know the end is comin' soon.
I fear rivers overflowin'.
I hear the voice of rage and ruin."

So, last evening the sky suddenly—very suddenly—went black. My well-lit office suddenly plunged into darkness. I turned my head to look out the window and leaped into action, rushing to my bedroom, going out onto the balcony and pulling in the clothes that were hanging there....

Let's fade out to a time about two months ago. As before the world suddenly turned black, but I had no idea what was coming. Curiously I looked out the window at a world plunged into twilight grey. I watched as a lake whose surface is usually glass suddenly started to froth. I watched as a sign atop a nearby hotel suddenly lost one of its characters, the "letter" floating away like a leaf caught in a zephyr. Only the leaf, in this case, was a sizable chunk of metal.

I continued watching, still not quite fathoming what I was seeing as a large strip of stainless steel siding was stripped from a building's roof. As trees ever-closer to my apartment started sway and, in some cases, actually bend in the wind. Then it struck the building, just as I was getting out of my chair to investigate further. The wind blasting through my wide-open window (three metres away) nearly pushed me back into the chair.

Needless to say this started a big panic. Windows were shut everywhere and clothing, which was snapping in the wind like ever so many flags, was hastily collected. All just in time for the rain to start falling. Rain with drops so huge that at first glance I thought it was hail.So you can understand why, upon seeing the world go dark, I rushed into action. And none too soon, because the tempest that struck last night was far worse than the one I first witnessed.

First came the winds, easily stronger than the one that stripped the siding from a building and tossed it around like crumpled paper. The trees were all bending last night and, surveying the scene this morning, several of them snapped. A nice, tall pine, for example, that has always had a good, triangular profile now looks like it's wilting because the top snapped and is hanging to one side. Three trees right next to my building have had major load-bearing branches just break off, one falling toward and almost leaning on the building. A pile of wood palates in a neighbouring yard that was once stacked neatly is now scattered to the four corners and what's left of the pile proper has a thick tree branch stuck on it.

Next came the rain. Only the rain didn't come in drops. It came as a torrent. I sometimes joke about Niagara Falls opening up over Wuhan. Last night it did. I won't be joking about it anymore. Now unlike that last rainstorm I detailed, East Lake didn't jump its banks and flood streets. This rain didn't actually last all that long. It fell out of the sky and briefly turned all the streets into rivers (I'll explain how I know this below), but the torrent lasted maybe five minutes. Then it turned to regular rain for about 20 minutes. Then it went away leaving only (much-weakened) wind behind.

And lightening. Oh man was there lightning last night! The most glorious display I've seen since that tornado that wreaked havoc in Edmonton and then passed over where I lived in Regina (sans tornado). When that storm struck, there was constant lightning, turning the world into an eerie, strobe-lit scene. I even witnessed it striking a radar tower at the airport (which then spewed sparks far and wide and proceeded to catch fire).
That's what it was like last night, although as far as I could see nothing actually hit the ground; it was all an aerial display that put the best of fireworks to shame for sheer glory. (Oddly there was very little thunder, and what there was was very muted rumblings long-delayed after the lightning that triggered it. I think the closest the lightning ever came was about 5km from timing it -- and that was the stuff that was directly overhead!)

And the power loss. Did I mention that yet? I didn't? Well, suddenly, with no warning whatsoever, all the power in my building cut out. And in the neighbourhood buildings. And in the surrounding neighbourhoods. Indeed as far as the eye could see there was no light at all (aside from the flickering stuff overhead). Now there's an inconveniently placed mountain between me and the bulk of the city, but given what I saw, I suspect the whole city had been plunged into darkness. Obviously the lightning did touch down somewhere, and where it touched it wreaked havoc. For a good 20 minutes nobody had any light other than the occasional flashlight or candle visible in the windows. Then, after I briefly looked up from my Nintendo DS, I noticed that the business district kitty-corner across the lake from us had light. Shortly afterwards the neighbours around us all had light. We were an island of darkness in the neighbourhood, matching the university behind us. Our compound is owned by the university, you see, and, apparently, gets its power feed from the university, not the neighbourhood grid.

At this point I got tired of sitting in the dark while everybody around us had light. The rain had long ago stopped. I was curious to see what the rain did in the neighbourhood, and it was time for my evening exercise walk anyway. So, over Joan's objections (who was convinced I was going to get struck by lightning which had, by that point, receded to over 20km away) I went out for my walk. This is where I saw the aftermath and concluded that the rain had turned all the roads into raging rivers.

Everywhere I looked I saw signs of things being swept into the streets and down the hill -- including things like piles of bricks. The street vendors were all out in force by this point, but it was apparent from watching them that they were tense and unhappy. One DVD vendor was carefully inspecting his stock, for example, while one vendor of fried potatoes had a pile of raw potato chunks piled on the dirt next to a half-empty bucket of the things. Obviously it had been knocked over by a miniature flash flood.

We got our lights back, eventually. In fact the timing scared about ten years from my life. When I went out for my walk I, naturally, walked down the stairs. (Elevators use electricity, recall.) When I reached the last step, I stretched my arm out to open the door and at exactly the same moment that I touched the door, all of the university district lights came on. The hallway lit up. The building's exterior lights lit up. The bank of electrical metres lit up and beeped in unison. I jumped out of my skin and clung to the ceiling.

All in all quite a fun day.

Catching up.

It's been a long time since I've posted here. I have a good excuse, however: I'm a lazy bastard.

Now in my defence, since the last time I posted I did my exams (a brain-melting activity), calculated marks (an exercise in creative justifications) and then started working on my project with Jeff full time. These all interfered with my mental energy in writing blog entries. Too, I'm back to my old trouble: the things I write about are, to me, after six years in this country, everyday and commonplace. It's hard for me to believe that any of this could be even slightly interesting. Still, my mother has not-so-subtly hinted...

Joan, my little mother-to-be, is progressing well in pregnancy. Everything is going according to The List I was given (a list from an experienced father of what to expect as the mother goes through the assorted physical, mental and emotional changes of pregnancy). I'm not going into details, but just rest assured that it's all according to The List.

One problem Joan faces (and, therefore, so do I) is that she has nothing that takes up her time. She's never learnt how to handle free time. In her whole life she's never had any. She's been invariably studying or working (or, more often, both). This interacts very badly with so-called "morning sickness". (Why is it called this? Because calling it "twenty-four-by-seven nausea" is bad salesmanship....) A typical day after she stopped working basically consisted of Joan sitting around the home, sleeping, disturbing me at my work and complaining about an upset stomach.

We found a cure for this, however, on Sunday. An old friend from my previous school invited us out to where he lives over the summer. (Basically a palatial house rented by a foreign engineer in the middle of one of Wuhan's largest parks.) Joan likes Robert (the friend in question), likes Xin Xia (Robert's girlfriend) and was really looking forward to the visit. The visit was amiable, fun and wound up, as most visits here do, in a restaurant for supper, together with our hostess (the Australian wife of the Dutch engineer who rents the palace). Joan ate, drank, chatted and generally had a good time -- and to both our surprise she didn't get sick. She had an appetite, and then didn't chuck it back up afterwards.

This sealed it for me. Joan's going to have to find a hobby or something to do during the day so she's not dwelling on her morning sickness. When she's occupied she is happy, perky, cheerful and not at all sick. When she's left to her own devices her life is miserable. I don't like seeing her miserable.

One suggestion (thanks, Mom!) that I've received is for Joan to start a blog of her own. I'm trying now to gently coax her to that idea, so hopefully it happens. If it does, I'll announce my family's newest blogger with great fanfare right here.

But Mom? Turnabout is fair play. I have no idea what's going on in your life. Maybe it's time for you and Andy to start a small blog?...

The sign says all you can eat...

...not all you'd care to eat. This line comes from a Far Side comic from many years ago. I was reminded of it yesterday for some reason.

Robert, a colleague from my previous school (some of you may remember him from the wedding) finally joined the 21st century and bought a computer. He consulted with me to select the computer and then Joan acted to bargain for him. This gave him a pretty decent laptop for a good price.

To reward us for our efforts, Robert, together with his girlfriend Xin Xia, took Joan and I out for dinner at "Kaiwei Beer House" -- a sort of upscale hotpot/buffet restaurant of the all-you-can-eat variety. There everybody pigged out (even Joan: she's entering her "permanently hungry" phase of pregnancy it seems) and we sat for close to two and a half hours talking, eating and generally enjoying ourselves. Finally we asked for the bill.

Now there were some food items left on the table. The waitress apologetically told us that if there was food left over we'd have to pay a surcharge. This led to some initial consternation, but this was rapidly followed with shrugged shoulders and us chowing down further. Then Joan decided she wanted more of this item. Xin Xia wanted more of this other item. Then the desserts were spotted and grabbed. Then salads were proposed and consumed. (Yes. In that order. Don't ask me to explain. My brain hurts.) A half-hour later we finally finished. Again. This time with an empty table, so no surcharge.

So let me get this straight: if we leave some food behind (and it wasn't a lot!) we have to pay extra but if we eat that food, plus a whole lot more, and we occupy a table for an extra half-hour, the price isn't raised?

I love this place!

"Summer... turns me upside down."

Free cookies (nice salty ones with chives in them -- I'm in China, remember!) to anybody who can figure out where the title comes from.

So summer is officially approaching. Technically I'm still in spring here, but I find it difficult to refer to 33°C@80%+ as "spring". Still, this is approaching the end of my sixth year in China, so I'm getting used to the heat. I'm not even using the air conditioner yet. I've partially adapted, it seems.

Maybe the massive weight loss has something to do with it?

Anyway, with summer comes all sorts of other fun things besides heat and humidity. As usual these things come in two forms: the good and the bad. Maybe that should be "the good, the bad and the ugly". Only I'm in China. Let's modify this to "the good, the bad and the positively weird".

Let's look first at the good:

• As the temperatures rise, the clothing gets skimpier and skimpier. Yes, I'm married, but this doesn't mean I'm dead! Watching the cute local girls wander around in clothing that would make a By Ward Market streetwalker gasp in shame (without the cynical, self-consciousness you'd find in said streetwalkers) is a good way to take my mind off of the searing heat.
• The city explodes with greenery and flowers. A city that in the winter is the epitome of dingy industrial cities, grey and lifeless, suddenly sprouts green everywhere. The underlying acrid scent of pollution that permeates everything is masked very effectively by a bewildering variety of sweetly-scented flowers. They're even nice on the eyes—almost, but not quite, matching the scantily-clad girls.
• A lot of my favourite foods here are summertime foods: especially the cold noodle(-like) dishes. These are coming to the table more and more often.

OK. That's pretty much it for the good. Now let's talk about the bad:

• There is, of course, the searing heat. Today it was "only" 33°C. It's been warmer already—today was actually a bit of a relief—and it's going to get worse and worse. I've seen as high as 42°C with humidity well in excess of 70%.
• The growth of all this greenery includes some plants (which I have yet to identify) which drive my nose nuts. This starts in early spring, goes away for a while, restarts around this time of year, disappears in early summer, then comes back at the tail end of summer. Every year for the past six I've lived through this and I hate it. I was allergic to nothing in Canada. It was a bit of a shock to find out how the allergy-plagued people live, let me tell you!
• One word: mosquitoes. This place is a positive paradise for those little blood-sucking vermin. They invade everything. They'll even fly to the 20th story of skyscrapers and plague people. They're merciless and they're beyond counting. If you spend an evening killing them and managed to destroy 20, you can rest assured that there's dozens more hiding where you can't find them ready to come out at you when you're no longer looking for them.

Now it's time for the positively weird:

• First on the weird list is the sheets I sleep on. If you click on the image to the right you'll notice something odd on the side of the bed farthest from the camera. It looks like the bed is covered with little pieces of wood, right? Well, it's not wood. It's bamboo. And it's hundreds of little pieces (slightly smaller in area than a Mah-jong tile) threaded together with fishing line and edged with stretchy rubber stuff. It keeps you cool in the heat. It sounds ridiculous and uncomfortable, but it is neither. It really works and it is actually quite comfortable. (The more hirsute among us have to wear light underclothes to bed, however, to avoid some truly painful moments.)
• The second weird thing is probably leaping out at you in that picture while I babbled on about the sheets. Notice that funny dome over the bed? It's a tent. There is a tent over my bed. It is mesh on all sides, including the bottom. It zips up tight allowing nothing to get in. Since Joan is pregnant now she doesn't want us to light mosquito coils at night (what we used to do to keep mosquitoes from eating us alive). So instead we bought a tent to put on the bed. I was a bit sceptical at first, but it does work well. I even (mostly) fit!
• The final weird thing is the bedding again. Ignore the covered half of the bed. For Joan the weather is still too cool for the bamboo sheets, you see, so we've folded a quilt for her side of the bed. Back over on the bamboo side, look at the odd pillow. It's made of woven grass on the side you can see. The other side is thin strips of bamboo. The filling is buckwheat husks. (It was once scented with chrysanthemum blooms, but those have long since faded away.) This is the pillow you use to keep your head cool at night. The side I have up now is suited to moderate heat. The other side is stiffer (and takes a lot of getting used to!) but is very suitable for the blazing heat later in the summer. Of course by that time I'll be firing up the air conditioner, so that side of the pillow will rarely see action. But it's there for the inevitable days where the power company decides to just shut down the electricity without warning. (Let's hope they at least pick a windy day for that!)

So, that was my little taste of China for this post. Hope you enjoyed it.

My eyes! They're burning!

One of the wonderful things I've found here in China is a set of eye drops. They are made by the Rohto (Mentholatum) company in Japan and the particular version I've got seems to be unavailable outside of Asia. (Other Rohto/Mentholatum eye drops are available in the USA, but none, for some reason, are available in Canada. This is too bad.)

I encountered these eye drops first about two years ago. My eyes got something caught in them that was very painful while I was walking down the street with Joan one day. We happened to be near a pharmacy, so we went inside and asked for eye drops. Joan looked over the available set and latched onto these ones. Right there in the shop we opened the package, undid the top and Joan dropped them in my eyes. As the bottle was moving to the first eye, I was thinking to myself, "hang on, this smells familiar – what is it?" Just as the drops hit my eye it struck me what that familiar scent was.

It was menthol. (Had I known that it was a product of the Mentholatum division of Rohto, of course, this wouldn't have been a surprise. Here, however, there is no such division. It was just the Rohto brand.)

Ten seconds of intense burning later something miraculous happened. The burning vanished. So did the pain of whatever it was that got in my eye and made it feel like a (very small) knife was stuck in it. So did all visible blood vessels when I checked the eye in a mirror the shop had. Indeed the eye that didn't get the drops looked positively unhealthy by comparison. Too, the eye in question not only felt better, it felt... cool, like someone had built a tiny air conditioner in it.

I quickly put the drops in the other eye and endured the ten seconds of burning and had the same magic feeling (and lack of redness) occur there as well. I've been using these drops ever since.

Living the Life of Cassandra

I've always felt some affinity for Cassandra of Greek fame. (For those not up on the classics, she was given the gift of prescience by Apollo, who was smitten with her, spurned Apollo's advances and was then cursed to have her accurate predictions of the future never believed.) I have a variant of her curse, you see. I see something. I have a very good idea of where it's going to go. I tell people. I'm not believed. It comes true.

Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

I had this problem in my places of work, for example: a case in point being the company Entrust. The code name for one version of the software that was being pushed was "Project Banff". It was late and by all estimates was going to be slipping even further behind. Management came up with a "brilliant scheme" to provide "incentive" for getting it out on time.

"On time" for them was, if memory serves, the end of August of that year. Realistic estimates for completion put the real delivery date around October. This was unacceptable, so one of the VPs—the development VP—came up with this brilliant incentive scam scheme: if the product is shipped by August, the company would take all the developers and all the testers out for an all-expenses-paid trip to Banff for a week (or maybe two? -- memory fails from so long ago).

Now I was in an unusual (or, as it turns out, not so unusual) position in Entrust. I was a lowly software developer. Further, I had absolutely zero ambitions for a management role. Yet I think I may have been the only person in the whole company who'd actually taken, you know, honest-to-goodness management courses. Further, I was one of five people I knew—none of us managers (sorry, Jeff – you had no budget, so you were a supervisor, not a manager)—who actually read... well, anything, really, but especially books and articles on management and motivation. And what I knew from my training and my reading (as did anybody else in the vanishingly small group of us who knew anything on the subject) was that performance bonuses tied to a timetable failed. Always. 100% of the time.

You see, the management thinking behind such bogus schemes is that workers are malingering and grossly overestimating the time required to do tasks. If they are given an incentive, they'll stop goldbricking, put their noses to the grindstone blah blah blah blah blah blah. But this is, not to put too fine a point on it, total bullshit. At least in high tech it tends to be total bullshit. (It may be in other fields too, but I'm not in a position to knowledgeably discuss such.) In reality, in high tech the workers tend to be strongly self-motivated and, if anything, are too optimistic in their estimates. A fairly popular agile development process (or unprocess) has, in fact, as one of its techniques a way of calculating just how overly optimistic developers tend to be in their estimates and using these calculations to get a better approximation of the real amount of time required. So when you have an estimate for delivery in October, one thing is 99% certain: the absolute earliest that it will be delivered is in October. Further, any attempt to squeeze it out earlier without reducing the features to be delivered will have the opposite of the intended goal. You will delay final delivery.

I pointed this out to the VP in question. (Stupid me: I believed him when he said he was interested in employee feedback!) I further made the prediction that the actual delivery date, if this incentive plan wasn't unhooked from delivery date, wouldn't be August nor even October. I said that the delivery date would be more like March of next year. I was, of course, not believed. Because the VP in question, based on his almost months of experience in upper management, believed firmly that he could mutate reality just by wishing it so.

Fast forward to August. The release is a disaster. Only a small number of groups had actually delivered their stuff by the due date (the toolkit group I was part of being one of them – Jeff's influence here, and true to the "no good deed goes unpunished" adage he was viewed with suspicion for this). The product is nowhere near ready. The delivery slips past August. Past September. Past October. Slips all the way to April of next year (proving my point that developers are overly optimistic, seeing as I had predicted March). Because exactly what I predicted happened: an initial push of hard work started. Then people noticed that, despite putting in 12-hour days (testers especially), no real extra progress was being made. In under two months the whole company realised that the Banff incentive wasn't going to happen. In that time the developers and, more so, the testers had burned themselves out completely. Despair set in, followed by ennui. Developers didn't care any more, so the product slipped further and further and further behind. When it was finally shipped in April, this was with features scaled down on top of everything else.

So how was my foresight rewarded? With a rueful "I guess you were right", right? Wrong. My foresight was rewarded with an accusation that I had personally seen to the project's utter, complete failure. I was specifically named by the VP as one of the reasons for the failure. I guess my negative vibes (which didn't actually impact the productivity of the team I actually worked with, oddly enough, seeing as that team was one of the very, very few who delivered everything on time for the Banff trip...) were transmitted to the company as a whole—even people I had never met—and caused the project to die. Or something.

So why am I regaling the world with this tale now seven (or is it eight?) years later? Because this is only an example of what hits me every damned day of my life, practically. Joan giving me another perfect example of this.

On Friday Joan's laptop (my old Sony) starts acting up. The "L" key doesn't work at all and the "Backspace" key is flaky. I tell her, very candidly, that the computer needs to be repaired; that we should take it in on the weekend. Joan, of course, doesn't believe the only person in the household who knows anything about computers. Besides, she wasn't going to need the computer for anything in the near future anyway.

Well, the distant future of three days later, she's got a big task to do that needs the computer. (This being China she's given the big task with under 24 hours of notice before it's due, of course.) And not only is the "L" key not working now, nor is the Backspace working at all. Nor the delete. Nor the right arrow. Nor the shift key. Nor ... You get the picture. Too bad nobody warned her at all about having to get it fixed, eh?

This is my life, almost every day. See why I feel for Cassandra so much?

I don't know how to nap.

It sounds ridiculous, but I'm serious. I don't have the knack. People around me -- especially here in China -- can take naps. I can't.

If I plan for a one-hour nap and don't have something external (a person, an alarm clock, etc.) to wake me up, I'll wake up hours and hours later. There's no upper bound on this. I've taken a nap a 1PM and woken up at 3AM before. What's worse, though, is that when this happens, my sleep cycle is so thoroughly screwed I have insomnia for the next few days straight just as if I've been jet-lagged.

"So," you suggest, "why not use an alarm?" Well, I've tried that. If I use something (or someone) to wake me up after an hour, say, I wake up more tired and more muddle-headed than I was when I decided I needed the nap. The whole point of the nap is lost that way.

I'm really jealous of the people around me who can nap. It looks so ... restful.

It's Official. My life is disturbing.

So, yesterday was the Big Day, news-wise. By the time it all settled down, though, I was too drained to have the energy to write. So today is the day I try to settle down and organise my thoughts to transmit not only the news, but a taste of my life over the past year and a bit.

Of course all of this starts in March 18th, 2006. A lot of things -- basically the meaningful bits of my whole life -- started then. Of course Joan, being Chinese, and me, being a bit of a traditionalist at times, thought the whole point of marriage was to have children. For a variety of reasons, however, we didn't seriously start working on this until July of 2006. Well, OK. October.

Still, by the end of January we started to get a little suspicious. People around us who got married at about the time we did (or, in many cases, long after we did!) were in a family way, but our oven had no bun. February through March heightened all suspicion to the point that in April we decided enough was enough. It was time to bring in medical opinion. (And, of course, by "we" I mean "Joan". I would find it hard to consider anything less appealing to me than going to a doctor for this kind of thing. Even in Canada, where notions like "privacy" aren't just known but actively enforced I'd be antsy. Here in China? Where people discuss their most intimate personal details openly in public with a thousand others around? And where people are endlessly fascinated with even the most minute detail of foreigners' lives? "Antsy" isn't strong enough a word. Remind me to tell you of Joan's first experience with how foreigners are treated here in China sometime.)

A lot of dates are getting branded on my brain around this time of year. March 18th. April 30. May 14. May 19. April 25.

April 30 was our first trip to a hospital specialising in reproductive medicine. It was an abortive attempt (no pun intended) but it really heightened just how uncomfortable I was going to the hospital in China for problems like this. The doctor sat at a desk in an office and people just clustered around competing for her attention. When they got it, they blurted out their problems openly. And, of course, when Joan started talking, everybody was staring at me and listening intently. The result of it, however, was that the doctor suggested that another hospital would be better for this particular problem -- specifically the big one here: Tongji.

We decided to take that doctor's advice and arranged for a trip to Tongji hospital, finally getting there on May 14. There I had my panic attack as the number of people involved was truly incredible to behold. There was just no way in Hell I was going to have this potential problem discussed out in the open with literally hundreds of people in earshot. The visit was cancelled.

Well, almost cancelled.

Joan tried one last time to get actual information from the "Information Desk" and this time actually got it. There was a speciality clinic in a completely different part of the hospital than we had been sent to, you see. And when Joan went to check it out, she found it to be actually civilised. Private consultations, for example, with the top professor. Private. Closed door, even. I jumped at it like a shot.

(Well, actually I didn't. I still wasn't happy with the whole situation, but this I was willing to face at least.)

An hour later, after a strange man had fondled my genitalia and pronounced them structurally sound, I found myself in the lab building in a private room ... How can I put this delicately? Extracting seeds. Yeah. That's the way to word it. I found myself in a private room (or as private as the Chinese can imagine a private room to be -- the glass was frosted) extracting seeds. Into a small plastic cup. Surrounded by classic paintings featuring nudes (since actual pornography is technically illegal here). The cup was handed over to a technician and we waited for the results.

The results, after interpretation by the professor, were not good. Basically a low motile sperm count with a larger-than-average proportion of malformed cells. What we had suspected turned into a true nightmare. This was the low point of the week.

Slowly over the week we recovered from the shock and started investigating things which could be done. The news wasn't exactly encouraging, but neither was it hopeless. I wasn't sterile. I just had reduced fertility. I did a lot of research, as did Joan and we started to plan sort of a reverse of the Catholic "rhythm" method of birth control. Joan was a real trooper as we investigated and planned, proving once again that I had made a very good choice in marriage. (Her choice? We're still debating her taste in that....)

That Friday, however, I noticed a few things that had me curious. First, Joan was late with her period. Way late. As in, by that point, six days late. This is not the first time that's happened, though. In fact it was the third. The record was almost two weeks late, in fact. So missing the period wasn't a strong sign. There were, however, other things that weren't adding up for me. Small subtle changes in Joan that I hadn't seen before. Things that added up to me, on Friday, asking Joan what she thought and us agreeing that on that Sunday we'd go get a home pregnancy test to see what the scoop was.

I'll segue a bit here and describe a minor incident that happened Friday morning. I was shifting some clothing around from storage to use and stumbled across a small plastic bag with what looked like a small box of pills. That evening, before we started to talk about the possibility of Joan being pregnant, I asked Joan -- as a kind of afterthought while doing something else -- what they were, pulling them out and glancing over them quickly. Joan gave some vague thing about "women's stuff" and I dropped them back where they belonged. No alarm bells rang. Later, as we went to bed, I noticed that Joan had left that drawer slightly open, but again no alarms rang.

Fast forward to Saturday morning. That would be the 19th. A day before we agreed to go out and get a pregnancy kit. At 5:30AM I get woken up by a voice saying "Michael? Michael? Wake up." As I clawed my way toward consciousness, that same voice added "You're going to be a father." As I struggled to make sense of my suddenly upside-down world, I realised what had happened. That "box of pills"? Was a home pregnancy check. Joan was already suspicious a couple of days before I started to get suspicious and had picked up the kit. She wanted to test without me knowing in case it would raise false hopes. But the hopes weren't false. The kit showed "pregnant".

So consider the timing. On Monday I was told I was low fertility. That it would be a lot of work and effort (and possibly even require in vitro) to make a child. Quite possibly the lowest point in my life. Then on Saturday of the same week I'm told that I'm about to be a father. Quite possibly the highest point in my life, second only, maybe, to March 18, 2006. The timing of all of this is very disturbing.

Later calculation has us figuring that conception occurred on April 25th, incidentally. Which means that Joan was pregnant already before we visited even the first doctor, not to mention the one who fondled my genitals and pronounced me infertile.

Of course I'm still a cynical bastard, so, although I told a few people about this already, I didn't blog it until today because home pregnancy kits aren't 100% certain. But yesterday Joan and her mother went to that first hospital and had a proper lab check done and it's now official. Joan is pregnant and I'm going to be a father.

Contrasts (redux).

Other interesting contrasts.

Today the cherry trees in the pictures I put up last time got hit by wind. Flower petals flew around everywhere in a veritable blizzard. It looked truly spectacular -- another one of those moments of sublime beauty that keep me in this country. And along with it came another contrast.

The contrast this time was social, not visual. The students, upon seeing the petal storm, were electrified. My class was utterly and totally disrupted (and I didn't mind, believe me!). The students all ran to the windows, throwing them wide to see more clearly and to allow the petals to come into the classroom. Pandemonium reigned for a few moments as they took in the sight and, in many cases, broke out their mobile phones to snap pictures.

Not just the girls. The boys were just as ga-ga over flowers.

I think back to my school days and I can't find even a single memory of a boy who'd publicly go ga-ga over flowers. Here it's perfectly normal. Tough, seasoned warriors in ancient Chinese novels weep at the sight of gorgeous blooms. It's just the way life is here, and to me, the outsider, it's truly a wonder to behold.

Contrasts

Another busy week. I started a WUISS Linux User's Group (hopefully to expand into a Wuhan Linux User's Group) and the WUISS English Club.

At the former I pretty much organised it all myself and did the keynote speech ("What Is Linux and Why Would I Want to Use It?") since Linux is so rare in China. I had about 18 people attend with 14 staying through the whole meeting. One small problem developed when my laptop's CD drive refused to burn anything. (That's about the fourth laptop in a row, from three manufacturers, whose built-in CD-ROM screwed up. I hate laptops sometimes.) More people will probably show up at the next meeting in two weeks.

At the latter I was smarter. The goal here is to give the students their own English Corner -- one made for and by the students and run by the students. I'm acting in a strictly advisory capacity and as the teacher who gives them credibility when they're asking for funds, equipment, locations, etc. I'm doing as little work as possible there because I want the students to find out for themselves how hard it is to organise things. Yesterday was the first activity they ran and it went reasonably well. The only thing that really got screwed up was the advertising, something we'll be talking about next meeting.

Spring is finally springing here in Wuhan and I can finally answer a question that I'm frequently asked. "What is it that keeps you in China?" Nowadays the answer is more obvious in the form of Joan, but I was in China two years before I moved to the city Joan was in and four-and-a-half years before I married her. What kept me here all that time?

The answer is a single word: contrasts.

China can be a profoundly ugly country. Buildings look dilapidated less than two years after they're built. Everything is dirty and grimy. The air is so polluted I rarely see blue in the sky, and when I do it's a blue with an unhealthy brown tint. Yet intermixed with all this deep ugliness is equally profound beauty. I don't just mean my wife, either!

Consider for example the photo (taken by my lovely, talented wife) at the top left of this blog entry. This is an example of the profound beauty I'm talking about. It doesn't show, however, the contrasts I'm speaking of. For those you have to look to the photo to the right (taken by the significantly less lovely and less talented me). Here the cherry tree in full bloom (part of a long line of them along an alley you can see in the photo below) is stunningly beautiful. The photograph simply doesn't do it justice! Yet around it is a wall that's crumbling, a building that's falling apart and just general signs of decay and unpleasantness. It's the kind of contrast that makes me swoon (nearly) and keeps me interested in this place. Somehow the juxtaposition of ugliness next to beauty makes the beauty more mysterious and captures my imagination.

So I stay.

One Year Ago Today...

One year ago today the unfathomable occurred. A lovely, young, vivacious, otherwise-intelligent Chinese girl by the name of 王琼 (Joan Wang) consented to marry a cynical, cranky Canadian. Friends and relatives of said Canadian flew in from Canada unable to believe, without seeing it with their own eyes, that their Michael Richter was actually getting married.

One year ago today they saw it all. I really had no choice, in the end. Once I met Joan in 九江, it was pretty much inevitable that I would fall in love with her and seek to marry her. Joan, however, had a choice and, in an incredible event that warped both time and space in its significance, nonetheless chose me. Not a day has gone by without my wondering what I did to deserve such a perfect girl. My end conclusion was that I must have done something truly spectacular in a past life, because nothing in this life can explain what happened.

One year ago today this lovely girl and I both had to adjust. I had to adjust to a life spent, now, with someone else. I had to learn to give more and take less. I had to learn how to be a good husband and a decent person. I had to learn how to stop having money flow from my hands like water from a faucet. It was hard learning it all -- I still haven't accomplished it completely -- but worth every minute and every hard lesson. For her part Joan had less to learn. What she mostly had to learn -- or at least exercise -- was forgiveness as a cranky man set in his ways painfully adjusted to a newer, better life.

One year ago today 王琼 changed my life forever for the better.

One year ago today.

Windows Security And Other Oxymorons

So, last time I installed Windows on Joan's laptop (my old Sony), I made a mistake. I installed Windows.

OK. More seriously, I made the mistake of installing anti-virus software after connecting to the network. Long before protection was in place her system had viruses up and running which could not be cleaned out with any anti-virus application. Still, the system was usable and there's no other Windows systems on the network for her to infect, so we left things lying.

Lying, that is, until her system was slowed down so much under the assault of viruses and adware that just minimising a window would take longer than 30 seconds.

So today it was "back up all your data so I can reinstall all the software in the known universe" day. This time, however, I did the smart thing and installed Windows, installed an anti-virus package, then installed the network. If this doesn't work, I'm going to tell Joan that she's got no choice. It's time to switch to Linux.

Happy Birthday To Me

So, today is my birthday. I've already talked about the present I got (and the amusing way in which it was bought) in yesterday's blog entry. Today I'll talk about the birthday itself. I'll be updating this entry as the day progresses so stay tuned.

My day opens up with the best present possible: waking up next to the beautiful girl who was somehow sufficiently brain-damaged to become my wife. After that a printer is next to nothing.

I woke up long before Joan did, so I spent much of the morning watching her and listening to her snore lightly. I also experimented with moving around and watching her move after me (although this had the side effect of continually shrinking the space available to me on the bed). Finally she woke up and wished me a happy birthday. We then got up.

Joan's mother had been busy. When we got up, we were faced with the traditional birthday...

...noodles. Yes. You read that right. Birthday noodles. You were expecting cake?! Which country do you think I live in again?

In China the birthday tradition is to make a bowl of "long life noodles" -- basically a spicy noodle soup with slices of beef, vegetables, mushrooms and other things (this one had spicy sticky rice dumplings, for example)
-- and, to be strictly traditional, share it with family and neighbours. (We decided to keep it in the family, however. We're not that traditional. Our neighbours aren't Chinese and wouldn't understand the meaning of it anyway.)

That's it for the morning report. Stay tuned as I update my birthday report over the day.

Afternoon update:
Joan had to go to the dentist today to get her braces adjusted, so I was left pretty much alone all afternoon. I tinkered with my printer, mostly, figuring out how to make it do its tricks and such. I also, as an acid test, printed off an e-book I'd been wanting to get run off at a print shop for a while. The new printer is sweet: fast and yet with good quality output. This even though the Linux drivers don't support it fully.

Evening update:
My birthday dinner was delicious. Joan's mother bought some 夫妻肺片 (Lit. "Married Couple Lung Pieces" -- mysteriously named because as far as I know there's no lung pieces in it, nor any married couples), a dish consisting of sliced beef, sliced beef tripe, sliced beef blood vessels, peanuts -- all in a peppery, garlic oil sauce. Other dishes included 腐乳 (fermented "cream tofu"), a marinated tofu and pepper dish, some Chinese cabbage hearts, and fried, spicy fish.

After dinner my friend from SCUM dropped by with his girlfriend. Oh, and a new coffee maker as my birthday present, so now its time to find some decent coffee.

Night-time update:
So, I headed out for my night-time walk and fell into a mud puddle, coming home dripping wet. Fun, fun, fun. Still a decent birthday overall.

Down The Rabbit Hole

Only it's not a rabbit hole this time. It's....

Let's back up a bit.

So, this afternoon Joan goes to the washroom. (We have a squat toilet here to Joan's delight and my eternal unhappiness.) As she prepares to go, the gold chain around her neck which has my father's old wedding band on it unlatches and slithers down her chest and into the toilet.

The wedding band, luckily, lands next to the toilet on the floor.

Still, the chain is down the "rabbit hole" -- about a one-meter drop down to the trap. (This, incidentally, is why I prefer western toilets. I mean another reason why. As disgusting as it would be, I could, in a western toilet, just reach my hand in and grab the chain.) Further, the way the plumbing is set up, to get to the trap and open it to gather the chain would require us to go to our neighbour downstairs. Who isn't at home, this being Spring Festival and all that. On top of that, we need a monkey wrench to open the trap, a tool I sadly do not have in my toolbox. Of course we could just hire a plumber but since this is Spring Festival season the for-hire workers we can usually not throw a brick for fear of hitting three or four on the head are nowhere to be seen.

So we've been using half-assed measures like snipped coat hangars tied to wooden poles trying to snag the chain from the toilet. As of 5:30PM today, about an hour after the incident happened, I managed to snag it to the point of it being visible once. Sadly it slipped off and plunged back down the hole then. Since then I've not been able to snag it again. Joan's trying it now.

I'll update this post with our progress for those who are sitting on the edge of their seats wanting to hear how it comes out.

Update #1
As of 6:30PM still no luck. Joan hasn't quite given up hope yet.

Update #2
We've given up as of 7:10PM. I can only think, "Thank God it wasn't me who dropped it -- I'd not hear the end of it for the next six months!"

In other news, it turns out we forgot a scheduled class with our four girls at the hospital today. I hate holidays.

Final (I GOD-DAMNED HOPE!) Update:
The chain has been found. It never actually fell down the toilet. It fell into Joan's clothing after a segment gave out. (The clasp is rock-solid.) She had me, her mother (and herself, but that's not important) fishing in a stinky, grotesque toilet for hours. She went out for a walk with the necklace hanging somewhere inside her clothing. Then, when getting ready for bed, it fell out on the bathroom floor.

How irritating.